#the highs and lows ! the tension the suspicion!

[leather-n-velvet]

High & Low: Part VII

A Drew Starkey x singer/actress!oc SMAU

Summary: While on hiatus from touring and wanting to branch out with her career, Ivy Blake auditions for OBX, immediately hitting it off with none other than Drew Starkey during their chemistry read. As tension and drama brew between the two, can they get through the highs and lows that come with fame and relationships together?

A/N: Small blurb today along with the usual posts! Kind of a filler chapter. Enjoy!!!

Dividers by: @cafekitsune ⭐️🌙

Previous Part // Masterlist

Ivy was confused, to say the least. Why on earth would O*dessa be messaging her about Drew? Irritation flared inside her as she considered even opening the message.

She glanced over at Drew, who was peacefully sleeping, completely unaware of the constant thoughts plaguing her mind regarding his relationship with O*dessa. He didn’t recognize the discomfort she felt each time her name came up. It wasn’t like Ivy to be so wary of a friend of her boyfriend; she usually made a significant effort to get to know them. But something was stopping her, especially after her conversation with Madelyn just a few days earlier.

It felt as if she didn’t want to accept the possibility that her suspicions were valid, and she certainly didn’t want to confront them head-on. She knew she needed to talk to Drew about her feelings, but how could she bring it up without sounding crazy and jealous?

Ivy wanted their relationship to thrive on communication and honesty, and if she didn’t confess her feelings now, she feared she would only build a wall between them. She understood that she’d never be able to fully let him in if she didn’t start now.

Letting people in had always been difficult for her. After being played and used by too many people in her almost 26 years, she learned those lessons the hard way. This time, with Drew, she refused to let that pattern continue. She had fallen hard for him and, for the first time in her life, saw a future with someone. There was no way she could throw that away over some silly insecurities.

These thoughts kept her awake until the sun began peeking through the cream-colored curtains in her childhood bedroom, causing Drew to start stirring.

Ivy felt his arms wrap around her, pulling her to his chest and pressing a kiss to her neck. “What are you doing up so early?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” she sighed, turning in his embrace to lay across his bare chest, melting into him. “Guess I had a lot on my mind.”

His arms tightened around her. “Anything you want to share with the class?”

She chuckled half-heartedly, her heartbeat thrumming nervously in her chest. “Actually, yes. It’s about O*dessa.”

Drew stiffened. “What about her?”

“She messaged me on Instagram last night, asking me to get you to reach out to her.”

“I feel like there’s more on your mind than that.”

Ivy hesitated, feeling her hands start to shake as the fear of potential confrontation took over. She didn’t like being that girl—laying her insecurities bare and discussing her feelings. In the past, it had always led to conflict. She had a habit of bottling things up just to let them go without a fight, finding herself a human doormat. This relationship with Drew would not be like that, even if it physically pained her to go against everything she was accustomed to.

She sat up, turning to face him and occupying her hands with the hem of the threadbare t-shirt she had dug up from high school. “Um, there is. I’ve just had this feeling about her. Like there’s something off about her vibe. The whole thing with the event mix-up last week has been really bothering me.”

Drew closed his eyes, mentally battling the guilt about the situation. He had been deciding whether to tell her that the entire thing had been a setup, manufactured by none other than O*dessa herself.

“Baby, why didn’t you tell me about any of this?”

Ivy sighed, avoiding his gaze. “I didn’t want to cause any problems. I know you’re close to her, and I’d never tell you who you can and can’t be friends with, but my gut is just telling me something is off.”

“Do you not trust me?”

“Of course I do. I just think it’s her. She seems very dependent on you, and I get that, but…”

Drew noticed Ivy’s shaking hands as she started to pick at her nails—a nervous habit that usually emerged when she felt anxious or overwhelmed. It pained him to see her so torn up just discussing something that bothered her. If he could, he would personally confront everyone who had ever made her feel like a burden for sharing her feelings. He knew how hard this was for her and he hated that he couldn’t help her more.

His hands found hers. “Sweetheart, look at me.”

She glanced up, meeting those denim-blue eyes that she adored.

“I swear to you, you have nothing to worry about. We are just friends, and we have only ever been just friends. You’re my girl. I feel terrible about missing your event, and I promise to start writing everything down so there aren’t any more mix-ups.” He rubbed his thumb across hers, feeling her shaking start to lessen. “But I need you to talk to me about things. I know your past has made you hesitant to open up, but this is different, baby. We’re different. I want to know every single thought that goes through that beautiful head of yours.”

“I’ll try.”

______

drewstarkey

Liked by haley_james, JillianBlake, and 2,347,766 others.

drewstarkey happy birthday stink 🧜🏼‍♀️

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User1 HAPPY BDAY IVY

user2 this is so cute

User3 no one’s gonna talk about the 2nd pic???

railaslovechild THEIR BIRTHDAYS ARE ONLY A DAY APART 🥹

user4 HBD QUEEN

starboyd

Liked by JillianBlake, brooke_starkey, and 123 others.

starboyd Happy birthday, angel 🩵

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sonotivyleague 🥹 happy to be spending and almost sharing a birthday with u 🩵

madrecliner I TOLD YALL TO STOP IT 😭

lacigurl HAPPY BIRTHDAY GORGEOUS 💋

brooke_starkey happy birthday, pretty girl! ☺️

ivyblake

Liked by drewstarkey, hichasestokes, and 23,387,977 others.

ivyblake it’s been a good day 🩵

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madelyncline 26 HAS NEVER LOOKED HOTTER

carlaciagrant happy bday gorgeous girl 🫶🏾

madisonbaileybabe HAPPY BIRTHDAY ANGEL FACE

drewstarkey🪽🩵

user4 HI DREW

user5 DID ANYBODY SEE DREW’S STORY JUST NOW??!

railaslovechild OMFG DID HE SET THIS UP?! MY HEART 🥹😭

o*dessaazion hbd

user1 🤨 @/user2

user2 @/user1 🥸

sabrinacarpenter happy birthday darling 🩷🩷🩷

TheIvyLeague HAPPY BIRTHDAY QUEEN 🎁🎉🎈

ivyblakeupdates HAPPY BIRTHDAY YOU LOVELY HUMAN

ivyblake

Liked by brooke_starkey, railaslovechild, and 21,332,456 others.

ivyblake happy birthday drewby doo, hoping you had your daily pb&j to make it the best day 🩵

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drewstarkey I suspiciously had a freezer full of Uncrustables this morning, any idea how that happened???

ivyblake that’s so strange 🤭

user1 they aren’t even trying to hide it anymore 😂

railaslovechild MARRY EACH OTHER RN

madelyncline Happy birthday drewseph!!!

DrewIvyUpdates SO CUTE HBD DREW

DrewIvyUpdates wait is that IVY'S NECKLACE IN THE 3RD PIC

sonotivyleague

Liked by haley_james, lacigurl, and 213 others.

sonotivyleague birthday boy 🩵

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JillianBlake happy birthday sweet boy!

starboyd thank you mama Jill! madelyncline already in good with the in laws I see 🤭

rude_boy hbd drewseph!!!

lacigurl HAPPY BIRTHDAY BESTIE!!!

o*dessaazion

Liked by ivyblake, drewstarkey, and 877,323 others.

o*dessaazion Happy birthday Joseph. Keep eating that pb n j once a day, it's really good for ur bones

View comments

user3 ummm, did she just somewhat copy Ivy's bday post???

user4 this is umm.... yeah

user5 Ivy liked....

hater1 I LOVE U GUYS

haley_james lol...ok

user4 HOLY FUCK user2 did not see that coming

A/N: Not Haley being messy 🫣

THANK YOU for all of your support!!! Please let me know what you think and don't forget to like and reblog! My inbox is always open for any thoughts or discussions you would like to have about Drew/Ivy! I would love to hear from y'all.

Taglist: @davinashifts333, @rafegf-real, @chalahyung01, @jjmaybankmylovee, @f4irywor1d

[tytangfei]

Rewatching ep5 (beloved) when they meet again for the first time face to face but he has arrows ready to kill her and she's lying to him and he almost kills her himself and she's got a baby as a hostage and they sit down to negotiate and he's suspicious of her but all the tension in the room deflates when they remember who is the most important person in the room right now (the baby) and they're all hungry actually so they set aside their differences for a little while to make food together and eat and there's a bit of relieved joy and then a third party shows up to prove their loyalty to him and vouch for her character and all is right for at least that night

[chleem]

Not a big deal pt4

miniseries; basketball player drew x high scl student reader

Summary: You lose your virginity to a random guy at a frat party miles away from your home. A few days later, you find out that he’s your brother’s competitor, for the regional colleges’ basketball tournament. 

Genre: strangers to lovers, smut, angst, fluff

Warnings: cursing, age gap (18 & 24), protected sex (read at own caution

⋆.˚ please dont copy or translate my work!

♡⸝⸝ p3 | index | p5

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The ringing of your phone jolts you awake, no longer dreaming. 

Your head throbs, the bright sunlight seeping through the curtains only adding to the ache. The loud ring of your phone makes it hard to focus, and for a moment, you can’t quite piece together where you are.

But the arm wrapped around you reminds you of just where you are, and who you’re with. 

Slowly turning your face, you find yourself looking into Drew’s. He’s asleep, completely unaware to the loud ringing. His features are relaxed, eyelids closed, his breathing slow, and a small smile sits on his face. 

What is he dreaming about?

You focus on memorizing every inch of Drew’s face, studying the soft lines, the way his lashes rest against his skin, the gentle curve of his lips. 

A strange mix of disbelief and nostalgia swells inside you. He looks so much like the Drew from four years ago—the one you lost your virginity to. 

Part of you wonders if he’s still that same person, or if he’s changed just as much as you have.

Your phone quiets down eventually, your caller giving up. 

Well, at least you thought so. The ringing comes back, and this time, it causes Drew to flutter his eyes open. He rubs his eyes, yawning as he focuses his gaze to you. The small curve of his lips from earlier is replaced with a grin that stretches ear-to-ear, and his eyes hold a lazy look.

“Morning, baby,” his voice is deeper in the morning, a raspy coat layered on.

You mirror his smile, the nickname causing your heart to skip a beat, “morning.”

“How long have you been staring?”

“The whole night,” you teasingly say, which earns a low chuckle from him.

“No wonder I had a nightmare,” he jokes back, his arm going around you once again and pulling you close. He nudges his face into your neck, a groan escaping probably from the loud ringing phone, “who’s calling?”

You frown, your hand reaching behind you for your phone on the nightstand. 

You glance at the screen, Luke. Your brother? Why on earth is he calling now?

“I just woke up,” you say, forcing out a groan, trying to sound as casual as possible. You can hear Luke moving around on the other end of the line—his footsteps shuffling. 

“Shit, were you in a fucking coma? Open the fucking door.”

What. 

Your heart sinks at the sudden shift in his tone, a sharp tension filling your chest. That last part… Open the door?

You push Drew away, immediately sitting up. “Um, what do you mean-“

“I’m outside your room. Did you not hear, I rang the-“

The rest of Luke’s words fly by your ear. You were wide awake now, the weight of the situation sinking in. 

Luke’s outside of your door. Drew’s naked in your bed. 

You know Luke. You know how he reacts to things like this. And it’s not going to be pretty. His temper is explosive, like a ticking time bomb waiting to go off.

You cover your microphone, and whisper to Drew, “get. out.”

“What?” Drew chuckles, his voice dropping to a softer tone, confused by your sudden urgency. “Why are we whispering?”

Right after, Luke stops himself mid-sentence, his voice cutting through the line, sharp and loaded with suspicion. “…wait, are you with someone?”

“Get out,” you slap Drew’s arm to get him moving, mouthing the words, “Luke’s outside!”

Drew’s eyes widen the same way yours did before. He stumbles off the bed, catching himself just before he crashes to the floor. It would be funny if you weren’t on the risk of getting caught by your brother. “No, just, just give me a minute, yeah? I’m getting ready-“

You get out of bed too, the phone propped on your shoulder. Drew and your clothes are scattered around the floor, mixed together.

You put the phone on speaker, setting it on the nightstand as Luke's complaining echoes through the room. Quickly, you put on your nightgown, searching for a clean pair of underwear.

You glance at Drew. He’s in his boxers, scrambling to find his pants. Is he trying to get caught? “Hurry,” you whisper-yell, looking around for his clothes.

Drew shoots you a blank stare, moving to the other side of the bed.

“Are you done yet? My legs are dying-“

“Almost! Just wait, okay?” You yell back at the phone.

“Y/n, seriously, been out here for forever-“

You find his button-up from last night tucked under the couch, and you toss into his arms. A chuckle escapes his lips as he barely catches it. 

Drew walks past you with his shirt unbuttoned, tie and jacket in his hands. He grabs his shoes, and gets ready to open the door. 

You quickly pull him back, “are you stupid?” You mean that with all your heart; Luke is literally on the other side of the door, and he wants to open it? 

Instead, you swing open the bathroom door and shove Drew inside. "Stay here for a while, alright?”

"What, no—“

You slam the bathroom door shut without another word, then quickly turn to the front door, your hand already on the handle. You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves before facing Luke. 

Forcing a smile, the door opens, impatience written all over Luke’s face. “Finally,” he mutters, brushing past you. His rudeness isn’t a surprise—it’s just how he is.

You mumble something under your breath, closing the door behind you. Luke’s already sprawled out on your couch, legs propped up casually like he owns the place.

At the same time, both of you spot the wine glasses on the coffee table, their presence suddenly hanging in the air, adding a layer of tension you can’t ignore.

“Alright, where is he?” Luke asks, his voice low but demanding as he sits up, scanning the room to find the owner of the other glass. 

Your first instinct is to stop him from getting anywhere near the bathroom. You quickly sit down beside Luke, your hand pushing him back onto the couch. “It’s... yours,” you say, the words coming out quicker than it should. 

Luke looks at you, confusion flickering in his eyes, then down at the wine glass, before he narrows his gaze. “What are you talking about?” he asks, his tone sharp now, sensing- no, knowing something's off. 

“Y’know, it’s a nice hotel, let’s have some coffee,” you say, a lame attempt at sounding casual. You grab the glasses, and with the coffee maker in the small kitchen, you press the open button. 

Sneaking a glance at your brother, his gaze never leaves you, his tongue poking against his tongue. 

“Latte? Oh, they have espresso,” you continue, keeping your voice steady, scrolling through the options. 

“No,” his voice stops you, and you turn around, watching as he gets up. “I gotta leave anyways.”

This time, the smile on your face isn’t fake. “So soon?”

“Yeah, just came to check on you,” Luke gives you a tight smile, his hand reaching for the door handle. “I’ll send an Uber, ‘kay?”

You nod, a bit too eagerly that shows your interest in him leaving. 

Although still suspicious, Luke gives you one last glance before opening the door and stepping out. “Take care of yourself,” he says, his voice quieter now, almost like he's unsure of what to make of the situation.

The door clicks shut behind him, and for a moment, all you can do is breathe, your shoulders relaxing for the first time since he walked in. 

Finally. 

Opening the bathroom door, you look around for Drew. 

Only to find him laying in the bathtub, fully clothed, his tall figure awkwardly trying to fit in the small space. His arms are thrown out to either side, and his fingers fidget with his ring. 

You lean against the doorframe, and when his blue eyes peek at you, a smile appears on his lips. “Hey,” he says, “made myself a home here, I guess.”

You chuckle at his words, and you sit down at the edge of the tub. “Real comfortable there.”

Drew lets out a breathy laugh, shifting lightly. He glances at his watch, the smile fading just a bit, “I’ve got to go too.”

Right, team practice. 

A brief, almost impulsive thought crosses your mind—to ask him for his number, to stay in touch. Is that a ridiculous thought? You’re not sure. You’re not even sure why the idea is lingering, but it feels... right, somehow. Maybe because, despite everything, you don’t want this moment to end so soon.

At least, not with this Drew. 

Your chain of thoughts breaks, with a tough tug on your wrist. 

When you’ve come to your senses, you’re in the tub with him, seated in his lap. 

The warmth radiating off of him is ridiculously comfortable, the blue eyes almost smitten as they look into yours. 

You lean into him, closing your eyes, instinctively tilting your face toward his. You can feel the breath between you both, the tension building, and just as you’re about to close the distance—nothing.

No contact.

You peek at him through one eye, a little confused.

A throaty laugh escapes him, full of amusement. 

Shyly, you move away, only to be pulled back towards him, his hand finding the back of your neck. 

And then, he finally kisses you, gentle yet affectionate. 

It feels different than last night; The kiss feels deeper, more meaningful, and the thought that it might end soon makes your chest tighten with an ache. 

To last longer, you rest your arms around his neck, thrusting your tongue deeper into his mouth. 

Another chuckle escapes Drew, and he pulls away this time. 

With hooded eyes, you catch the soft smile on his lips. “Tryna get me in trouble?” The teasing tone in his voice makes your stomach flutter, along with the way he stares at you. 

“Maybe,” you giggle, and with a roll of your hips against him, he groans, his hands squeezing your waist. He rests his head at the rim of the tub, and you take the chance to kiss his neck. 

“Could be late-“ his words come out hushed, as your tongue grazes over the soft skin of his neck, “a minute or two.”

“Mmhm,” you bring your lips back up to his, and you kiss him again, this time, hungry and demanding. Your hips roll against his, and you could feel his boner poking your inner thigh. 

Your heart speeds up at the thought of doing it right here with Drew, in the bathtub. 

One of his hand slips under your nightgown; kneading your ass. 

It’s the way his blue eyes lustfully stare up at yours, that you continue rubbing your pussy against his lower abdomen. 

Drew readjusts his position, to allow the dent in his pants to rub closer to your wet pussy, your hips riding off the closeness. His low grunts sounds like music to your ears, the occasional rise of his hips offering more satisfaction to your core. 

“You like that?” Drew's voice, low and raspy, breaks the noise of soft moans and grunts, as his hand gently tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Grinding on my cock?”

Fuck. Your brain races with the thoughts of last night, his cock buried deeply in you. The hard length fucking the senses out of you. 

“Drew…” you moan out, sounding more desperate than expected. Your hands clutch on his suit jacket in tight fists, bouncing yourself on his clothed length. 

A breathless chuckle leaves his mouth, his other hand resting at the back of your neck. You feel the rough and cold material of his ring against your jaw, his thumb grazing the skin of your bottom lip. 

“Don’t stop, baby,” he coos, and you feel his dick twitch beneath you. The subtle movement sends your mind into further frenzy, encouraging the orgasm building inside of you. 

Ring! Ring! Ring! 

This time, the sound comes from inside the bathroom, in the tub, the phone that lays beside Drew’s thigh. 

You don’t even glance at it, consumed with building your orgasm. 

He’s not gonna answer anyways-

Drew picks it up, a mischievous grin on his face. “Hey,” he breathes into the phone. 

A moan escapes your lips, and he sticks two fingers into your mouth, deep until it hits the back of your throat. Gagging, you cough out, which makes Drew chuckle softly, a mumbled “sorry” escaping his lips, followed by a quiet, ‘shhh.’

You feel a knot grow in your lower stomach, as he raises his hips and thrusts into yours. You suck at the fingers in your mouth, the ring rubbing against your cheek. 

“Nothing- I’m working out,” he forces out, speaking into the phone. There’s a certain thrill in his voice, a hint of excitement that lingers as he speaks. 

He couldn’t be honest and say currently having your sister ride against my cock.

Although, the thought turns him on more, and he feels another twitch down at his dick.

“Mhm,” he hums mindlessly into the phone, leaning his head back. His mouth parts in awe, forcing his eyes to stay open. 

The hand on your ass grips tighter, averting all the desire to moan there. 

Whimpering against his fingers, you feel the knot inside of you come undone, the warm juice flowing out and definitely staining your underwear. 

You stop sucking his fingers, and you send him a lazy smile, your hips moving slower to ride your orgasm out. When you glance down at his pants, you can see the light stain, yours or his unsure. 

“What, no-“ his brows furrow together, listening in on whoever’s on the other line. 

You move back further until you’re no longer on his lap; tilting your head to study his face. 

But Drew’s hand catches yours, and guides it to the bulge in his pants. He’s still hard. 

You almost moan at the feeling of his thick length underneath your fingertips, Drew stifling back moans too. 

With that, your hands work its magic; palming and massaging his dick, as Drew tries his best to listen intently on the phone. 

“Mhm, yeah,” he agrees into the phone, his voice hitching slightly to hold back moans. You chuckle quietly at that, your hands continuing its touching of his clothed length. 

His hand reaches for you once more, and when you straddle his waist again, it slides to the back of your neck. His lips crash against yours almost desperately, as if he couldn’t get enough. 

Your hands cup his face, kissing him back with the same urgency. 

Drew groans into your lips, but not before hanging up on the phone. It drops inside the tub, the loud thud ignored by the both of you. 

His orgasm flows through him; the liquid spilling out onto his boxer briefs. 

The kiss breaks, and you both lean your foreheads together, gasping for air.

It’s silent, only the distant sound of AC running. 

Then, a breathless laugh slips from you as you process what just happened.

“Who were you calling?” You ask, genuinely curious. Your thumb rubs circles on his cheek, a smirk tugging on the corner of his lips. 

There’s the same mischievous glint in his blue eyes, causing your stomach to twist slightly. “Best if you didn’t know,” he murmurs, his grip on your waist tightening as he straightens up.

You furrow your brows, ready to ask him more. 

“You wanna have lunch together?" His suddenly asks, his voice softening. 

The question catches you off guard. You pull back slightly, meeting his gaze, your mind racing. Is it... a date? Of course it is. But... is that what you really want? 

Well, four years ago you would’ve loved to go out with a dude named Drew.

But the reminder of your brother meeting with you later flashes by. 

“Can’t,” you shrug apologetically at him, as the hand on the back of your neck starts to play with your necklace. 

Having some fun of your own, you run your hands through his hair, the short strands brushing against your fingers. “Okay…dinner,” Drew suggests instead. 

His blue eyes now stare pleadingly into yours, biting on his lower lip as he silently waits for your answer. 

Okay. You’re leaving tomorrow night, it wouldn’t hurt to have a private meal with him. 

You nod, reaching up to gently pull his lip away from his teeth, a soft smile tugging at your own.

The look in his eyes softens, a hint of curiosity flickering as he leans in a little closer. His hands leave you, reaching for his phone. ”Number?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper. Just as you’re about to tell him, he adds, “not your brother’s, though.”

Your eyes furrow at his comment; what’s that supposed to mean?

But he just shakes his head, finding his own joke amusing, “no- never mind. Go ahead.”

Slowly, you tell him his number, and soon enough, you hear your own phone ringing in the background. 

“Thanks, I’ll text you,” he kisses your cheek, gently shifting you off of him, “now, I really need to go.”

You watch as he gets up, and you immediately miss his warmth. He gets out the tub first, but not before turning around to offer his hand. 

You smile at the simple yet soft gesture, and take it, letting him help you out the tub. 

“I might see you later,” you tell him, as Drew leads you along with him, to the door. 

“Really?” Drew’s hand catches the door handle, pushing it open. He turns back to face you, and with your hand still in his, he takes the opportunity to place a gentle kiss there. “I’m looking forward to that already.”

Why can’t he just skip practice? 

“Alright,” you smile, taking your hand out of his, patting down the roughed part of his suit jacket, “get out of here.”

His lips curve into a half-smile, and he gives a playful shrug as he takes a step back. "Bossy," he teases, his voice light but warm, “see you.”

The soft click of the door closing echoes in the quiet room.

 With your back against the door, you slide down to the floor, your legs pulling up as you wrap your arms around them.

Blush creeps onto your cheeks as your mind races, replaying the moments with Drew—the look in his eyes, the feel of his lips on your skin, the way he seemed so different, yet so familiar.

You close your eyes, leaning your head against the door, trying to shake off the warmth still lingering in your chest.

Why does it feel like there's more to it than just... whatever that was? You can’t quite put your finger on it, but you know one thing for sure: this wasn’t how you imagined your visit here to be like.

——

You’ve never been to a real basketball stadium before. 

At first, the staff was unexpectedly rude, shutting you down before you even had a chance to introduce yourself. Just as things seemed hopeless, the manager stepped in, recognizing your name and quickly handing you a ‘visitor’ badge.

He guides you through narrow corridors, until you make it into a more promising section of the place. The air was filled with the scent of fresh gear, and before you knew it, you passed by one of the locker rooms. You catch a brief glimpse inside - a few tall, fit, shirtless dudes who walked around, chatting away. 

Even at your grown-up age, seeing half-naked guys still made you fluster, averting your gaze. 

Following the manager, the path leads to a visible court ahead, the bright lights blinding into the small tunnel. The loud sounds of dribbling and sneakers squeaking against the hardwood floor echo, growing louder with each step. 

Stepping out the tunnel, the staff leads you to the front seats, finding one that isn’t occupied by towels or bags. 

Something about an empty stadium with only its players sends a weird feeling to your brain - the scene surreal somehow. 

“Thank you,” you smile at him, who just nods, walking away. 

Sitting down on the black leathered seat, you look out at the court, taking in the players currently practicing. 

Your instincts kick in, and you scan the floor— spotting Drew, even with his team members running around and dribbling. He's easy to find, his tall frame and confident stride standing out as he lines up for a three-pointer. 

The ball leaves his hands with a smooth flick, arcing toward the hoop, and you watch as it swishes through the net. 

Shit. It’s the way he nonchalantly grabs another ball from the rack, dribbles it once, twice, before casually sinking another three-pointer, his expression completely unbothered that gets you. Other than your heart, something else is throbbing inside of you. 

Like magnets, your eyes focus solely on Drew, even more when you realize the waistband of Calvin Klein peeking out from his shorts. And of course, the v-line that follows-

Thwack!

A ball hits you square in the face, snapping you out of your trance. The sharp impact leaves you blinking, momentarily stunned. 

Slowly, pain creeps into your right jaw, mostly centered there. 

Great. Sitting down for what, not even five minutes? 

As you raise your hand to your face, trying to steady yourself from the blow, the blurry figure of a man slowly comes into focus. He looks flustered as he stammers an apology, but you don’t respond. The pain in your jaw is all-consuming, your head still spinning from the unexpected hit.

“What the fuck, man!”

The loud yell of your brother cuts through the stadium, sharp and full of anger. You don’t even have time to react before he’s charging toward you, his face red. Without hesitation, he roughly shoves the man in front of you, sending him stumbling back a few steps. 

For fuck’s sake, your brother’s outrage might be more frustrating than being hit by a ball…. Does he always have to cause a scene? What a drama queen. 

Even with the pain radiating through your jaw, you manage to drag your hand up and pull the edge of Luke’s shorts. The movement is slow, but it’s enough to make him turn around immediately.

“Shit, y/n, you okay?” He tones his voice down, his features softening as he sits down beside you. 

The lights above you start to drown out; which was because of the crowd gathering around you. They pretend to take a break- but everyone knows it’s to catch a glimpse of a fight threatening to erupt between Luke and his teammate. 

The ache is unbearable, and yet you still manage to lock eyes with Luke. Through clenched teeth, you choke out, “you idiot.”

Luke's eyes widen, guilt flooding his features. Hesitating, his hand hovers near your shoulder, unsure of what to do. 

“Get me an ice pack, dummy,” you rasp, voice thick with frustration. 

Luke winces at your tone, and you catch the muffled laughter from his teammates. 

“Okay, okay,” he mutters, “I’ll get it.” He hurries off, without another word. 

The guy that hit you with the ball apologies once again, and you reassure that you’re okay. Your eyes drift over to the other players, who immediately pretend to be busy with something else. 

You sigh, closing your eyes, as you lean back into the chair. The noise and ruffling of bags fade away as you focus on the pain, trying to relieve it. You place your hands in your lap, relaxing yourself. 

But not even a minute in, a soothing, familiar voice brings you back. 

“Hey baby,”

You crack your eyes open, and there he is, standing in front of you, a concerned smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His blue eyes stare down at you, the gleam in them brighter than the stadium lights. 

Drew.

Your brain immediately replays the scenes of this morning— his lips against yours, his hands all over you, and the call during the…sex? 

He doesn’t wait for an answer; simply sits down beside you, his presence warm and steady. You can feel the tension in his body as he watches you carefully, fidgeting with his hands that lay on his lap. 

The uncontrollable ache in your chest isn’t from the pain, but rather nervous. Fuck. He probably saw the whole process of Luke getting mad! Now you’re embarrassed. Your face is definitely swollen, red, ugly-

“Um, I’ve been hit…multiple times too,” he carefully starts, and you avert your gaze to his face, locking eyes with him. “Ice packs don’t, really work.”

You furrow your eyebrows at him, your lips in a small frown as you wonder where he’s going with this.

His eyes flicker to his teammates, who are clearly stealing glances at the two of you. The quiet murmurs around you seem to make him shift slightly, though, and suddenly, you’re acutely aware of the space between you two. His body scoots closer, letting his knee rests against yours.

The contact is casual, but it sends an unexpected jolt of warmth through you. You catch yourself glancing down at where your legs meet.

His voice lowers just a touch, teasing, “kissing…much better.”

You blink, caught off-guard by his words. The smirk on his lips only deepens, his gaze locked on yours. “Official recommendation?” You manage to say, reflecting the teasing tone back at him. 

He shrugs, sending you an air-kiss, his lips pursed in a playful manner. “Worked in the past.”

“And how many…have you offered?” You jokingly ask, a small smile now present on your lips, as your body relaxes itself in his presence. 

Now it’s Drew’s turn, taken aback by your reply. You giggle at that, as he licks his lips, nodding slowly. He rests an arm over the back of your seat, fingers brushing your back and burning the skin there. 

“You caught me,” Drew says, readjusting his hips to angle his body inches closer (even more close; if that’s even possible) to you. “…just wanted to kiss you…again.”

The words are barely above a whisper, but you hear it. 

You swallow, trying to keep the flutter in your chest under control, but the soft touches he starts giving on your back makes it hard. His fingers rub circles on the bare skin that your top doesn’t cover; making your heart skip a beat. 

It feels like you’re back in high school again, a silly crush. 

Or rather, the specific crush you had on the Drew from WCU. 

Drew’s gaze flicks down to your lips for a moment, a slight shift in his expression that’s almost too subtle to notice — but you catch it. His eyes meet yours again, and you can sense a change, something a little deeper in his look now, less playful and more... intent.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice now softer, changing the topic. The teasing from before has faded, replaced by something a little more earnest. “Feeling better, at least?”

“Yes,” you reply with a smile. The pain was long forgotten since he sat down. “Thank you.”

He shakes his head lightly, before muttering, “as long as you’re okay,” the sincerity in his voice palpable. You feel a strange warmth spreading in your chest, the kind that makes you forget all the chaos around you. 

“Um, do you like the place I sent?” Drew changes the topic, and you quickly understand what he’s referencing—he texted you with an address earlier, just before practice. A restaurant that looks like it belongs in a hidden corner of an old European city. 

You get ready to say yes, that it’s great, but of course, your eyes drift over his shoulder, and you see the faint image of Luke running over. 

The moment- over, just like that. 

You quickly look away from Drew, and sensing the change, he sits up, adjusting his position away from you. His hand back in his lap, his knee no longer resting against yours; he creates an invisible border between you two. 

It stings for a moment; but your brother reaching you distracts it. 

“Here,” Luke hands you the ice pack, breathing heavily. You take it, placing it against your jaw as Luke’s eyes flicker over to Drew beside you, acting nonchalant.  “Starkey.”

Drew looks up at the call of his last name, a tight smile on his lips, “yeah?”

“In my seat,” Luke replies, his voice casual but the tone carrying an underlying edge, even though the other seat beside you was empty. 

To which, Drew glances over your shoulder, at the said seat. But Luke doesn’t follow his gaze. Instead, his eyes stay locked on Drew, and you can almost feel the tension between them, thick and unspoken. Drew's posture shifts slightly, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s going to protest.

But he doesn’t.

With a small shrug, Drew stands up, walking past Luke to the court. He doesn’t turn around for another glance; and joins another teammate to practice. 

Luke drops to the chair that was previously occupied, and his body relaxes, his features softening. “You alright?” He asks again. 

“Took you long enough,” you complain instead, turning your body towards the court. Unknowingly you had your body shifted over to Drew when he was still sitting here. 

Luke doesn’t react; his glare enough to melt the ice pack. “I could get him benched, y’know?” 

You glance at him, surprised by the seriousness in his tone. "What?" You ask, raising an eyebrow, your heart sinking slightly. “Drew? He was just checking up on me-“

“Smith, the one that hit you.”

Oh. 

Well, unless it was Drew, you truly cared less. 

“No, Luke, it was an accident,” you shrug, trying to sound sincere. Your eyes follow Drew on the court, as he successfully jumps and bats the ball out of the other player’s hands. 

“Yeah…no,” Luke mutters, clear that he’s definitely telling the coach. His eyes follow your gaze, and he pokes your shoulder roughly to get your attention. Tearing your eyes away from Drew, you send him a glare. “What did, uh, Drew talk to you about?”

“Oh, um,” you stutter slightly, but ultimately shrug, playing it casually, “he asked if I was fine. That’s all.”

Luke looks at you, clearly not persuaded. 

“Nothing big,” you add on, sending him a smile. 

The ice pack starts to melt in your hands, and noticing it, Luke reaches over to a bag (probably his) and takes a towel out. He hands it to you, but you just narrow your eyes at it, unsure. 

“Relax; it’s unused,” Luke says, and reluctantly you take it. You wrap it around the ice pack, putting it on your jaw again. “I don’t think so- Starkey’s full of shit.”

“More than you?” You tease, earning another poke on your shoulder from him. 

A part of you wanted to know what your brother meant; another part of you didn’t. Even if he was an asshole, you didn’t want to know. At least, not now, when it’s your vacation, and this lovely dream is washing over you. 

“I’m hungry,” you cut whatever Luke wants to say, standing up. “Is the, I don’t know, food court open?” 

Luke watches you stand, a teasing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he watches you, clearly weighing whether or not he should push further. But you can tell he’s deciding against it.

“Nah, that shit’s ass,” he says, a smile tugging on his lips as he stands up. He throws an arm over you, adding extra weight to your shoulders. “I’know a place.”

The strong smell of his sweat hits you; the aftermath of practicing all morning. Your face scrunches up in disgust, as he leads you to the tunnels again, “shower first, you smell like shit.”

He laughs, unfazed, and squeezes your shoulder. 

And as the two of you walk towards the locker rooms, Drew watches, his eyes lingering just a second too long. 

——

The lack of effort your brother brings truly is, amazing. Blows your mind every. time. 

The restaurant he brings you to is the same one as last night, expect well, it’s noon, menu’s different, and oh, you’re sitting outside. 

“Anything else?” The waitress says, as she bats her eyelashes over at your brother. 

With a cocky grin on his face, he gestures the waitress to lean forward. And when she does, he whispers in her ear, causing her to nod enthusiastically. Great, now he’s even flirting with the staff. 

“Food will arrive shortly,” she shyly says, walking away. 

Once she’s gone, the discontent is evident on your face, the frown deepening as you cross your arms. “Seriously?” You almost bark at him, causing him to flinch. 

“What?” He shrugs, oblivious to your frustration. 

“It’s the same place as last night,” you tell him, gesturing around. 

“…that’s why we’re here,” Luke says, with that stupid grin on his face, “Hawk players eat here free.”

Your eyebrows furrow deeper at his words, your gaze shifting to the stunning garden view. Now that you’re really looking at it, the place is beautiful—a secret little oasis that could’ve come straight out of a fairytale.

It’s Luke’s rough kick under the table that snaps you back to reality, your attention shifting to him as he gives you a…rather serious look. 

“So who were you fucking last night?”

“Luke!” You whisper-yell at him, glancing around. Okay, not a lot of people sitting outside. “You can’t just ask that-“

“C’mon, I’m not a fucking idiot,” he interrupts, leaning back in his chair. It’s clear he didn’t buy whatever you said this morning, his eyes scanning you with the annoying know-it-all look. “You forgot how well I know you, y/n.”

With a roll of your eyes, you press your lips together. No way were you telling him. 

Luke scratches his eyebrow, a frown taking over his face. He falls quiet, clearly lost in thought, before his eyes light up with some idea. “How about this…a secret for a secret?”

How ridiculous. This isn’t some middle school game.

“Luke, forget it, I’m not telling you who it was.”

“Ha! So you were with someone,” he exclaims, gently tapping the table. 

Your shoulders drop in exasperation, and you give him a seriously? look. 

Maybe because it’s the first time (other than Zack) that your brother has actually caught you with someone. The thought makes you cringe, the idea of him knowing about that part of your personal life. It’s always been a no-go zone, same for him. 

You open your mouth to tell him off, but he starts his own conversation. 

“I fucking hate Drew Starkey.”

The sudden mention of his name catches you off guard, and you freeze, the words hanging in the air. The change in your brother’s demeanor is immediate—his usual cocky attitude replaced with something colder, sharper. It’s unsettling.

However, can’t help but think, Okay…so he is sharing a secret. 

“What?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper, unsure whether you actually want to know more. You’d already cut him off earlier, back at the court.

“I tried…I tried liking him, and shit, it’s impossible,” Luke laughs, running a hand through his hair. “I guess I’m still petty after all these years, but-“

His eyes meet yours, and seeing how confused you are, his tensed features relax slightly. He looks at you like you're missing something obvious, like he’s just about to reveal a truth you've been blind to.

“Do you not fucking recognize him?”

You swallow hard, feeling your stomach tighten. It’s been a long time since you’ve seen your brother truly hate someone, different from his usual short-tempered self. 

“Fuck- he’s the guy I lost the championship to? WCU? Setting my career back-“

His words fade into the background, replaced by a loud sting in your mind. 

You blink, feeling the weight of the conversation pressing down on you as you slowly sink back into your seat. The cool surface of the chair feels oddly grounding against the storm of thoughts swirling in your head.

Drew—that Drew, the one who had been your brother's rival, the one he'd spent years trying to beat—the one you lost your virginity to. 

The one…you slept with last night. Fuck- that’s why he looks so familiar! The face, his attitude, his jokes- shit. 

The memories come rushing in, vivid and jagged, each one like a slap in the face. 

You can almost hear the loud music from that frat party, the sound of Drew's voice as he took away your first time - when he rejected you. 

“I really like you,” he suddenly admits. 

“But you don’t want me,” you say, finding his sudden confession really stupid, not at all flattering to hear. 

“Don’t say that.”

“But that’s what you said.”

“Do you like me too?”

You blink again, trying to steady your breath, but the air feels thick. 

Your chest tightens, the pressure of everything unsaid between you and Drew settling heavily on your shoulders.

You’ve always thought you were over it—over Drew, over that night, over everything. But the realization hits you now, sharp and unexpected: you weren’t.

You force yourself to focus on Luke’s voice again, but it’s like you’re hearing it underwater. Everything feels muffled, distorted. 

“I mean, every time I see that fucking face, I just wanna-“

Shit. Tonight. Your date with Drew. 

“-Worse, coach thinks we’re ‘prefect’ together, so I always have to look out for him-“

You no longer have the courage to meet him, the confidence you’ve gathered all destroyed, shattered by your own thoughts. It’s as if every word Luke says is a reminder of how messy everything with Drew really is.

“Fuck- I deserved that win more than anything,” he mumbles on, pettiness written all over his face. 

Luke’s words echo in your mind, but you don’t respond. 

Your thoughts are loud enough to drown out everything else.

——

Drew sits on the edge of the fountain, just outside the restaurant. The stone surface feels cool beneath him as he stares at the water, the soft ripples catching the dim light.

It’s been nearly thirty minutes, and ever so often, his eyes flicker upward, searching for any sign of you. He’s trying to steady his nerves, but the longer he waits, the more the uncertainty gnaws at him.

Did you stand him up?

He checks his phone screen again- hundreds of texts but none from you. 

A bitter smile tugs at his lips as he stares down at his lap, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all. He’s just here, waiting, when the answer is so painfully obvious.

“Not a big deal,” Drew mutters to himself, trying to convince his racing thoughts otherwise. He repeats the words again, more firm this time, “not, a big deal.”

He sighs, his eyes darting around as he avoids the curious stares of passersby. The minutes drag on, each one heavier than the last. He waits. waits. and waits.

But you never show up.

-------------------------------

word count: 6.5k

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: FINALLY. i sat down, stared at my laptop, and the words just exploded out of me. sorry i took so long T_T be a bae and ignore any typos xo

do you guys like smaller or bigger fonts? just found out how it change it, and must say, damnnnn. the difference it makes is crazy.

[sturn777]

maybe write smth ab like a slightly perv dealer!chris ?

captured — in which, dealer!chris can't take his eyes off you | ( female reader ) wc 1.8k + ( masterlist ) + ( request )

THE NYC SUBWAY HUMS WITH CHAOS, flickering lights, the screech of metal, and a rush of wind as trains pull in. the air is heavy with sweat, concrete, and city grime. commuters clutch phones and bags, avoiding eye contact, while performers play for spare change. the train lurches forward, bodies swaying, conversations blending into the hum of a city that never stops moving.

you step onto the subway like you own it, chin high, eyes scanning the area. the last seat sits there, empty, a throne waiting. your sleek nails tap against your phone as you glide past tired commuters, their gazes flicking up, curious, annoyed, or admiring. you take the seat without hesitation, crossing your legs and adjusting your perfectly draped fur coat. earbuds in, eyes half-lidded, you ignore the world around you like it’s background noise, the subway your stage.

you pull out your digital camera, its glossy surface catching the flickering subway light. flipping it on, you scroll through the pictures from this night, chaotic flashes of you and your girls, red lips and glitter, arms draped around each other, drinks in hand. a blurry shot of someone laughing too hard, another of you mid-pose with a cheeky smirk. you grin to yourself, biting your lip, replaying the wild moments. a few passengers glance your way, curious about the girl in the subway seat.

a couple feet away, chris leans against the subway pole, thumb lazily scrolling his phone. the dim light catches on the chain around his neck, the edges of his hoodie pulled up just enough to show off the ink peeking from his wrist. he’s not paying attention to the notifications, just a front for the fact his eyes keep drifting to you.

you're in your seat, camera in hand, a small smirk tugging at your lips as you scroll through pictures. the way your hair falls over your shoulder, the glint in your eye as you linger on a particular shot, he can’t help it. you’ve got that effortless energy, the kind that makes people stop and look twice.

his jaw tightens slightly, amusement playing at his lips as he notices the way you’re oblivious to the way he’s watching. it’s annoying how easily you’ve got his attention, but he’s not about to stop looking. not yet.

chris mutters a low "fuckin' hell" under his breath, barely audible over the clatter of the subway. he forces his eyes back to his phone, trying to focus on anything else, but it’s useless. the way you’re biting your lip while scrolling through your photos, the effortless way your legs cross, the curve of your smirk, it’s burned into his brain.

he shifts uncomfortably, adjusting himself subtly as he feels the growing tension in his sweats. his jaw clenches, frustration bubbling under his skin. but even as he stares at his screen, his focus is gone. his mind keeps drifting back to you, and the thought only makes his blood run hotter.

you feel his eyes before you see them, that distinct weight of someone staring. when your gaze flicks up, your suspicions are confirmed—he’s looking right at you, blue eyes sharp and almost lazy at the same time. without missing a beat, you narrow your eyes in a pointed glare, silently telling him to mind his business. it’s bratty and deliberate, the kind of look that says you know exactly what you’re doing.

his lips twitch, almost like he’s fighting a smirk, but he doesn’t back down. he holds your stare for a moment longer before finally looking away, shaking his head with a low exhale, like you’re some kind of test he’s barely passing.

you huff softly, rolling your eyes as you return your attention to your camera, scrolling through the pictures of you and your friends. your finger pauses over a photo, a sly grin creeping onto your lips as you remember the night’s chaos. still, you can feel his gaze flicker back to you occasionally, like he just can’t help himself.

the subway jerks to a halt, and you stand, adjusting your bag on your shoulder as the robotic voice announces your stop. you move quickly, weaving past people, your heels clicking against the grimy floor. chris watches every step, his eyes glued to the way you move, until you’re out the doors and swallowed by the rush of the platform crowd.

he exhales sharply, about to glance back at his phone, when something catches his eye. there, on the seat where you were, is your camera.

“shit,” he mutters, grabbing it before his brain can catch up. his eyes dart to the platform, but the train doors are already sliding shut with that final, unforgiving hiss.

“miss, y’forgot your—” the words are swallowed by the train’s lurch forward.

he sighs, slumping back against the pole, the camera heavy in his hand. his thumb brushes against the worn leather strap, and his eyes flick to the empty seat where you’d been. something tugs at him, the kind of feeling he’s not used to, and he shakes his head, muttering to himself.

“fuck’s sake,” he grumbles, but he doesn’t let go of the camera.

the train ride home is quieter than usual, but his mind isn’t. the camera sits heavy in his lap, its weight dragging his attention no matter how much he tries to ignore it. his fingers run over the edges, brushing the buttons and the viewfinder, but he doesn’t dare turn it on. instead, he shoves it in his bag with a frustrated sigh, leaning back against the window.

when he gets home, he drops it on the bedside table like it’s burning a hole through his hands. his room feels unusually silent, the camera standing out against the clutter of ashtrays, loose cash, and rolling papers.

chris flops onto the bed, scrolling mindlessly through his phone, but it’s no use. every few seconds, his gaze darts to the camera, the glossy screen catching the soft glow of his bedside lamp.

he frowns, biting the inside of his cheek as curiosity scratches at him. “fuckin’ thing,” he mutters to himself, tossing his phone onto the pillow beside him. his hand hovers over the camera, hesitating, before he finally grabs it, turning it over in his hands.

he clicks it on, the screen flickering to life. the first image that pops up is a shot of you, laughing with your friends, the city skyline blurred in the background. his thumb freezes over the button, and he stares.

“shit…” he breathes out, leaning back against the headboard, the glow of the camera lighting up his face.

chris groans softly, the irritation in his voice mingling with something else he refuses to name. "fuckin’ ridiculous," he mutters, shaking his head as his thumb flicks through the photos. each one feels like a punch to the gut—your lips curved in a sly smile, the gleam of your eyes, the way the streetlights framed your silhouette.

he shifts uncomfortably, his free hand trailing over his chest before sliding lower, slipping beneath the waistband of his boxers. "shit," he hisses, head falling back against the headboard.

his fingers pause for a moment, and he glares at the camera like it’s the problem. but his hand moves anyway, slow and deliberate, the images of you burned into his mind as his frustration finds a new outlet.

"damn you," he mutters under his breath, his grip tightening as his chest rises and falls with ragged breaths. the room feels hotter, quieter, the sound of his breathing filling the space as the screen dims, but your face lingers, unshakable.

© STURN777 all rights reserved .

🏷 : ( @emely9274 ; @bluestriips ; @loveparqdise ; @flouqissss ; @st4rcs ; @starwebber9 ; @conspiracy-ash ; @sweetrelieef ; @chris-hallelujah ; @leoslaboratory ; @matttsangel ; @awnmaneez ; @heartss4clauu ; @mattsstarlet ; @madisturni ; @marrykisskilled ; @allmylovc ; @mattsdemi ; @sturnioloangell ; @scream6fanxx ; @amelia-sturniolo3 ; @dominicfikeenthusiast ; @sophand4n4 )

divider : @issysh3ll

[keikikait]

ᴄᴀʀᴏᴜꜱᴇʟ (ʀᴀꜰᴇ ᴄᴀᴍᴇʀᴏɴ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

this is part two. for part one, click here!

pairing: rafe cameron x f!reader, (not au, both are early to mid 20s)

word count: 5.4k

summary: you owe rafe that date, not that you really mind

warnings: enemies to lovers (pogue!reader x rafe), slightly jealous rafe, flirty rafe, sexual(?) tension, sugardaddy!rafe makes an appearance, rafe & reader argue

a note: this was supposed to be short.

please reblog and like, it means a lot! let me know what you think!

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

You never hated your wardrobe more in your life. 

You tore through your closet trying to find something to wear, since Rafe told you to ‘dress to impress’. You couldn’t find much; your high school graduation dress that definitely didn’t fit right anymore, the miniskirt you wore to The Underworld, and an old pencil skirt you wore to a failed interview. You searched through your mother’s closet, too, but she was in the same boat as you. Her husband owned a bait shop, why would she have a fancy dress?

After anxiously checking your bank account, you decide to head onto the north side of Kildare to the only thrift shore in the Outer Banks. You spend hours searching, trying to decide between a dress and the classic skirt and tank top combo. You manage to find a cute blank tank top, tight enough to be flattering but not tight enough to be uncomfortable, choosing to wear the mini skirt you already had. The cashier takes your money, shoving the tank top into a branded paper bag, tossing your receipt in on top. You thank her and smile before heading out.

The evening sun hangs low in the sky after your hours-long shopping trip, although the solo bag in your hand didn’t feel like it was worth it. It was already quarter to six. You felt guilty as you made your way through the small street of stores and shops, having told John B and JJ that you were still feeling the effects of your hangover, and you were unable to hang out with them at The Chateau that night. They didn’t ask any questions, but you could feel their suspicion. You were normally always available to hang out. You had promised Rafe not to tell them, so you didn’t.

You barely slept the day before, spending the whole night thinking about him, scrolling through his Instagram and just admiring him. He pissed you off, he somehow managed to smash every single one of your buttons, yet you couldn’t get Rafe Cameron out of your head. Even when you propped yourself up on your pillows and slid a hand in between your thighs, Rafe was on your mind.

After arriving home, you get ready as quick as you can, touching up the makeup you already had on and getting dressed. You look yourself over in the mirror, fiddling with the hem of your skirt. You pull it a little lower on your hips, trying to cover your ass as much as possible. You put on a pair of sneakers before grabbing your keys and heading outside. The sun had begun to set over the horizon, a beautiful orange colour taking up the sky, and the moon rising. The air was warm and humid, and you could feel the damp sweat on your skin, making your tank top stick to your body. The walk to your father’s shop was never that long, but you felt like you were taking forever, your mind racing as you hurried along the path.

Rafe isn’t here yet, you don’t see his dirt bike or his truck. You lean against the wall, hoping that this wasn’t a big joke, a little prank Rafe and his friends were playing just to humiliate you. You stand waiting, a feeling of dread starting to bubble in your stomach. You knew Rafe was usually late, always making you wait for him, but you still felt anxious as the minutes ticked by. The sun was nearly gone, but there was no sign of Rafe. You could feel your breath coming out shaky, the dread turning into disappointment. Rafe’s words rang in your ears. 

’I’ll pick you up here.’

No way he would miss the opportunity to tease you, right?

You shield your eyes as bright headlights suddenly appear, a truck turning the corner and heading down the small path towards the shop. You let out a sigh, your shoulders rolling with relief. The truck pulled up in front of the shop, its headlights still on. Rafe’s face is illuminated in the orange light, a smug smirk spread across his lips. He watches through the closed window as your shoulders visibly relax, and he almost laughs. You looked so cute, so nervous and expecting to be stood up, like something out of a chick flick.

He turns the car off and gets out, holding the door open. Your stomach clenches when you see him. He’s so frustratingly gorgeous; wearing a dark green short-sleeved button up shirt with no undershirt underneath and a pair of beige 5" inch inseam shorts, exposing the muscles of his upper thighs. You look away, pursing your lips together slightly. You hated Rafe with every fibre of your being, but you had to admit that he was one of the few men on Kildare who could pull off a buzz cut.

He smirks, leaning against his truck as his eyes roam over your body. He noticed how you looked away, averting your gaze before you could let your eyes linger too long. “See something you like, sweetheart?” he teased, pushing himself up from his truck and walking towards you.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” You mumble, wrapping your arms over your stomach. “Are you ready to go?”

Rafe snickers at your response, his eyes flickering down to your covered stomach before returning to your face, a smirk still on his lips. “Yeah, let’s go. But wait,” he says, pausing before you could turn to leave. “I told you to dress to impress.”

You sigh, your head rolling slightly to the right. “This is all I could afford, Rafe. I couldn’t find anything else.”

“That doesn’t impress me,” he says, his eyes narrowing as he looks you up and down. “You look like a high schooler, no better than any other Pogue girl on this side of the Island.”

“Well, what do you want me to do?” You ask, dropping your arms to your side. “Go into debt to buy a dress? Steal it?”

Rafe’s smirk widens. “Or,” he leans forward slightly. “You could be a good girl and let me pick something else out for you. What do you think, sweetheart?”

Your stomach clenches again. You chew on the inside of your cheek, not liking the way that Rafe’s words were affecting you. “What’s the catch? I told you yesterday that I wasn’t going to sleep with you.”

He chuckles softly, leaning back from you. “I already told you there’s no catch.” He reaches a hand out to gently brush a strand of hair out of your face, his touch lingering as he brushes a thumb along your jawline. “You just have to wear whatever I want you to wear,” he whispers.

Your breath hitches, your heart starting to pound. Rafe had never been this touchy before, usually crying out when you got too close with your ‘Pogue germs’. It honestly takes you a few seconds to get your bearings and remember to respond. “W-what?”

“It’s a simple request, really,” he says, his fingers tracing a line along your jaw before moving his hand back down to his side. “You agree to wear something I want you to wear; something more appropriate than this little outfit,” he motions to your skirt. “And in return, I still keep my mouth shut about all your little shenanigans last night.”

Was this a trap? A scheme? A prank? 

You swallow hard before finally replying, “Okay.”

“Excellent,” he says, his smirk growing into a proud smile. It was cute to him, how easy it was to get you to agree to his schemes. His eyes sparkled with amusement as he looked you up and down one more time, taking in your appearance. “Come on,” he says, tilting his head to motion towards his waiting truck, “Let’s get out of here. I have the perfect place in mind.”

You shakily climb into the truck, settling into the seat. You buckle your seatbelt and look around the front of his truck. It was surprisingly clean, a half empty water bottle in one of the cupholders and a bottle of hand sanitiser in the other. A surfboard shaped air freshener hangs from his rearview mirror, along with a Polaroid of him and his youngest sister Wheezie. A bright red scrunchie is wrapped around his gearshift, almost as if someone was marking their property. Him.

You hadn’t heard of Rafe having a girlfriend. Maybe one of his hookups left it.

Rafe gets into the car, shifting around in his seat before glancing over at you. He buckles himself up, his eyes flicking from your skirt, up your body, and stopping at your face. “You look nervous, sweetheart,” he says as he starts the truck back up. “You never been on a date before or something? I know you didn’t date anyone at Kook Academy, but have you been single all this time?”

“Fuck off.” You say, crossing your arms over your stomach.

Rafe laughs at your response, shaking his head. “I never thought you’d be so sensitive about something like that,” he teases. The truck’s engine rumbles to life, the headlights coming on and blinding the dark of the night. He glances over at you one more before putting the truck in drive, slowly pulling away from the bait shop.

“I’ve been on a date before,” You say. “A few, actually. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“A few?” he repeats, glancing over at you again. “You don’t sound so sure about that. Must have been some forgettable dates, if you can’t remember exactly how many you’ve been on.”

You’re already regretting this. “Four dates. Again, none of your business.”

Rafe bites back a snort, raising his eyebrows as they lift with amusement. “Four dates. With Pogues, I assume?” he asks.

“Yeah, who else?” You ask, looking over at him. God, he looks so pretty in the sunlight.

“And how did those dates go?” he asks, making a left turn. He glances over at you before returning his gaze to the road.

“They went fine,” You say. “They were just dates, Rafe. I’m sure you go on them all the time.”

“They went fine?” he asks in a mocking tone, rolling his eyes. “Is that all you can say about them? Just fine? That’s what you get for going out with Pogue losers.” He glances over at you again, studying your expression before returning his attention to the road. “I’ve never been on any date that was just fine.”

Why is he telling you this? “Good for you.” You shift in the seat, looking out the window as you approach the bridge that leads to the mainland.

“I’m just saying. You’ve clearly been dating losers, like Maybank and John B,” Rafe says, feeling jealousy build up in his veins. He didn’t like the idea of you dating any of the Pogues, especially if your date was either JJ or John B. “Maybe if you didn’t spend your time with those asshole Pogues you would have fun.”

“Well, those asshole Pogues are my friends,” You say. “And I really don’t understand what JJ and John B have to do with this.”

Rafe sighs, deciding an argument isn’t worth it. He glances at you as you shift in your seat again, his eyes catching on the way your skirt pulls up with the movement, revealing the smooth skin of your thigh. Images of him biting your thigh flashed through his mind, and he cleared his throat, forcing himself to look away. His grip tightens on the wheel as he focuses on the road. “We’ll be there soon,” he says, his tone slightly stiff.

You nod, glancing over at him momentarily. He chews on his lip as he focuses on the road, shifting in his seat. His thighs spread out on the leather, and your heart leaps into your throat. You tear your eyes away before looking back out the window.

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You and Rafe drive in comfortable silence through the mainland. You haven’t been to the mainland since your high school graduation, and it seems like everything has changed. “So, what store are we going to?”

Rafe glances at you, his eyes flickering from the road to your face. “Why would I tell you and ruin the surprise?” he asks, a smirk on his lips. “Have some patience, sweetheart.”

You sigh, rolling your eyes. One second you were having a decent time, the next second he was opening his mouth. “Fine. Whatever. I trust you.”

He snickers as you respond, shaking his head. “Just relax. Let me treat you nicely, alright?”

“Alright,” You say. “I’m relaxed now.”

Rafe smirks at your response, shifting in his seat again. “Good,” he says. “Just a few more minutes, and you’ll be wondering why you ever doubted me.” 

You look back over at him, watching him as he drives. His fingers tap against the steering wheel, his rings shining in the sun. Your eyes travel down his face to his chest, admiring the way his collarbone sits prominently under his button up, his chain resting against his sun kissed skin. His arms flex slightly with every turn he makes, his rough, calloused hands gripping the steering wheel. You glance back down at the scrunchie, wondering who it belongs to. An ex, perhaps? A hookup? A girlfriend you don’t know about?

After a few minutes, Rafe makes another left turn, pulling into a large parking lot connected to a small, expensive-looking strip of shops. The parking lot was mostly vacant, so he pulled into a free space near a few other cars. He puts the truck in park and kills the engine, glancing over at you. He watches as you take in the surrounding area before looking back at him, a small smirk on his lips. “We’re here,” he says, his face lighting up with a sly smile. “And I can promise you this is going to be a lot more impressive than the last date you went on.”

You get out of the car, clutching your purse as you walk beside him, heading down the sidewalk.

Rafe walks beside you, his hand brushing against yours as you walk. He glances over at you as the sun hits your face, highlighting the different shades in your eyes, the warmth of it casting a nice glow on your skin. He shakes his head slightly before looking away again, trying to keep himself focused. Rafe stops for a moment outside of one of the stores, glancing over at you. “This is the place,” he says, nodding to a store nearby that had high class looking dresses through the windows.

Your eyebrows furrow as you look between him and the mannequins. “Rafe, I don’t know if I can afford this.”

Rafe rolls his eyes at your response, grabbing your hand and pulling you towards the store. “You’re being ridiculous,” he says. “Don’t even think about how much they cost, or what you can afford or whatever. I’m picking the dress and paying for it, remember?” He takes a step towards the door and holds it open for you. “Now, come on. I think I see something I like already.”

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Rafe truly plays dress up with you.

You follow him around the store, your hands itching to reach out for his again. After handing you dresses upon dresses, he sends you off to the changing room to model. He sits in one of the armchairs, spreading his legs wide, and your eyes glance at his thighs whenever you push the curtain aside. Rafe is picky, and he sends you back in to change almost every time.

You’ve tried on at least twelve dresses at this point, growing tired. You pick up the next one, carefully taking it off of the hanger before slipping it over your head, pulling it down. You smooth out the front before turning around to check yourself out. It’s a midi length milkmaid dress that hits you in the middle of your calf, a white linen with small yellow flowers embroidered all over it, with ruffled straps going across your shoulders and a drawstring on the bust. There’s a slit on the left side, running up to the top of your thigh.

You like it. But will he?

You draw the drawstring tighter, pushing your boobs together before stepping out from behind the curtain.  

Rafe glances up from his phone as you step out from the changing room, a smirk immediately growing across his face. He slips his phone into his pocket before letting his gaze roam over you, his jaw visibly tensing when he looks over your thighs. “Turn around for me, sweetheart,” he says, his voice low.

You turn around slowly, looking over your shoulder at him. “You like?”

Rafe eyes you up as you turn, the view from behind just as good as the view from the front. He bites back a groan, his eyes travelling up your back. “I like a lot,” he says, his voice still husky. He glances up, meeting your gaze as he stands from the armchair. “Come here.”

Confused, you step closer.

Rafe reaches out when you do, one hand grabbing your waist and pulling you forward until you're pressed against him. His other hand lifts, gently touching the material of the skirt. “I like the flowers,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. His thumb brushes along the material, feeling how smooth it was, before his hand moves up your side, his touch leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“Y-Yeah, me too.” You stammer.

Rafe glances up at your face, watching your reaction before glancing back down. His hand slowly moves across your side, his thumb brushing along your ribs, stopping just underneath your breast. “I like the colour, too. It’s pretty.”

Your breathing is shaky. His hands feel so rough and warm against your skin. “Is this the one?”

Rafe smirks slightly at your reaction, his fingers tracing an agonisingly slow shape on your rib cage, his nails slightly scratching. “This is the one. You okay with it?”

You nod. You’re more than okay with this dress.

He smirks at your nod, his eyes flickering up to you again. “Good,” he says softly, his voice still as deep as ever. “Then it’s yours.” His hand moves along your hip, resting against your belly as he turns his attention to the tag. “It’s only $210.”

What? Panic streaks across your face. “Rafe, are you sure it isn’t too much?”

Rafe laughs at your reaction, his smirk widening. “It’s fine, sweetheart. I wouldn’t offer to buy it if I couldn’t afford it,” You start to fuss over the price and Rafe rolls his eyes, reaching up and ripping the tag off of the dress. “Well, would you look at that, I have to pay for it now.”

“Rafe!” You whine.

“Don’t worry about it,” Rafe says. “I got it, $210 is nothing to me. Bring your clothes up, and I’ll get a bag for them, you can just keep the dress on.”

“Rafe--” You go to protest, but he’s already walking up to the counter, tag in hand. You give up, heading back into the dressing room to grab your other clothes. You head up to the counter, sliding your clothes into the empty shopping bag as Rafe swipes his card. 

Rafe tucks his card back into the wallet before taking the bag, crumpling up the receipt with his other hand and shoving it into his pockets. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s go.” You follow him out of the shop, heading back to his truck. The truck beeps as it unlocks, and he opens the door, setting the bag down in the floorboards under your seat. He shuts the door and locks it before joining you, walking down the street, expecting you to follow him. 

You catch up with him, fidgeting with your hands. “Thanks, Rafe. For the dress.”

Rafe glances at you as he walks. “Don’t mention it,” he says, his voice almost gentle. “It’s good to treat a girl sometimes.”

You blush a little, pushing your hair out of your face. “So, where to now?”

“Patience,” he says, smirking again. “It’s a surprise.” He leads you down the street, your hands brushing together as you walk. You stop at a crosswalk, and you go to press the button when Rafe stops you. You look at him confused as he looks down the street both ways before grabbing your hand, running across the street. You barely process the fact that you’re holding hands by the time you make it safely across the street. He doesn’t let go at first, even after making it across the street, but he finally lets go, running his hand over his buzzed head. A warmth spreads through your belly, but you push it aside. You wouldn’t ever admit to liking to feel his hand in yours. Not in a million years.

Rafe lets go of your hand once you make it to the other side, shoving both of his hands into his pockets. There’s the smallest hint of a smirk on his lips when he glances at you, like he’s thinking of something but trying to keep himself contained. “Come on, got somethin’ to show you.” You walk down the street before finally seeing what he had planned next, an amusement park on the pier.

You’re excited. Really excited. You haven’t been to an amusement park in years, and you can’t hide your smile as you drag Rafe towards the entrance. “Hey, slow the hell down,” Rafe says, laughing as you drag him towards the amusement park. The smile on his face is genuine, you being excited makes him feel happy for some unknown reason. He begrudgingly lets go of your hand as you make it to the entrance, walking in step with you now, his hands still shoved in his pockets. He pays for your tickets, much to your dismay, before leading you through the gates. The park is pretty crowded, couples and families milling around. “Which one first?”

“Uh, the carousel,” You say. “Duh.”

Rafe snickers at your response, shaking his head. “Of course you would pick the most boring one first,” he says, his tone almost fond. He turns towards it, taking a step forward, but he stops when he realises you aren’t following him anymore. He glances back at you, raising an eyebrow. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go.”

“It’s not boring.” You say, defending the ride.

“It’s a carousel,” he says, rolling his eyes. “It goes in a circle. How’s that not boring?”

You huff. “You’ll see,” you grab his hand, tugging him behind you as you head to the carousel. Rafe chuckles as you take the lead, allowing you to drag him along despite his protests. He keeps his hands stuffed in his pockets the whole way, the feeling of your fingers wrapped around his sending sparks dancing across his skin, a sensation he doesn’t not like. You wait in a short line before climbing onto the carousel. You sit down on a baby pink horse, pulling your dress up to sit comfortably. Rafe stands next to you, holding onto the bar. “Are you gonna sit down?”

Rafe watches you adjust, his eyes lingering on your dress as it hikes up your thighs. He looks at the animals, a smirk slowly spreading wide across his face as he realises how childish they are. “Hell no,” he says. “I’m not getting on one of these kiddie rides--”

The carousel suddenly lurches, sending Rafe stumbling backwards. You burst out laughing, reaching down to extend a hand, speaking between laughs. “Are you okay?”

Rafe glances up at you as he grabs your hand, hauling himself up with a scowl on his face. “Fuck you,” he says, scowling as he stands next to you again. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t do anything,” You say between laughs. “I think that was karma for calling the ride boring.” 

Rafe watched as you laughed, his expression softening. There was something about you, something about the way your eyes crinkled when you laughed, something about the way your hair was shining in the carousel light. His chest tightens, his fingers flexing slightly. The ride starts to turn, moving at a slow pace. The horse you’re sitting on moves up and down.

You notice Rafe’s continued gaze. “Why are you staring at me?”

It takes him a moment to respond, his eyes not leaving yours for another second before they flicker away, his gaze still soft. “What, staring at a pretty girl is a crime now?”

Your head tilts, your heart fluttering. You smile softly. “Pretty?”

“Yeah,” Rafe murmurs. “Real pretty.”

You blush, looking down. “Thanks.”

The light from the carousel is shining down upon you, the pink of your horse glowing with the movement of the ride. Rafe’s attention moves to your bare thighs, the material of your dress riding up with the movement of the horse, exposing more of your skin. His jaw clenches slightly before he drags his gaze away, forcing his eyes to return to your face. His fingers flex, wanting to reach out and touch you, but he holds back. “No problem.”

The carousel comes to a stop, and you stand up, stepping off of the platform.

Rafe stands as well, shoving his hands into his pockets as he follows you closely. He glances down at your legs again as you climb down, taking note of how the skirt hugs your ass while you walk. He looks at your face again before he speaks. “What’s next?”

“Up to you.” You say. Rafe takes a look around the pier, licking his bottom lip. 

Your phone vibrates in your purse, and you unzip it, pulling your phone out. He looks back at you, his eyebrows furrowing. “Who’s calling you?”

“JJ,” You sigh. “Been texting me all evening.”

Rafe scoffs as soon you mention JJ, rolling his eyes. “Why is he blowing up your phone anyway?”

“Because I’m here with you instead of being with him and John B.” You say.

“Thought I told you not to tell them we were together.” he says, his voice getting quiet.

“I didn’t,” You say. “I told them I was busy, but I didn’t give any specifics.”

“So why is he blowing up your phone?” Rafe asks, his hands still in his pockets. He looks annoyed, his chest slightly puffed out.

“I don’t know.” You say, declining JJ’s call.

“Are you and him like…” Rafe pauses, not really wanting to ask, scared of your answer. “Dating, or something?”

“No,” You say, putting your phone back into your purse. “He’s my friend.”

“Your friend that you fuck.” Rafe says bluntly.

Was he really doing this? “Yes, my friend that I fuck, Rafe,” You say. “My friend that I let cum in my mouth. Why do you even care?”

Rafe’s expression hardens, the muscle in his jaw ticking as he clenches his teeth. He looks irritated, upset even. He shakes his head, letting out a humorless chuckle. “Never mind.” He looks around the park for a moment, searching for the nearest ride. “Come on, let’s get on something less childish than a carousel.”

“No,” You grab his hand. “We’re not done talking.”

“Not done talking about what?” he asks, his voice still irritated. “About your little ‘friend’, the one who blows up your phone like you’re his girlfriend?”

“Why do you care if JJ and I fuck or not?” You ask, keeping a grip on his hand.

“I don’t care if you two fuck,” he lies, his jaw still clenched. “That’s not what I’m pissed about.”

“Then what are you pissed about?” You ask.

“I’m pissed because you’re still hanging around a bunch of loser Pogues while you should be here with me.” He answers, his eyes meeting yours, his jaw still set hard.

“I am here with you.” You say, your tone softening.

“Yeah, right now you are,” he mutters. “I doubt this is gonna last. Not if you keep wasting your time with those guys, at least.”

“What do you mean?” You ask.

Rafe looks away, running a hand over the nape of his neck. “You’re always hanging out with them,” he says. “You’re never with me, I never get to hang out with you. But somehow you’re always available for them.”

“Rafe, it’s not like we’re exactly friends.” You say, letting go of his hand. 

“Why not?” he asks, his eyes meeting your face again. “We could be if you wanted to. No one’s stopping you from hanging out with me just as much as you hang out with them.”

“Don’t you hate me?” You ask. “You bullied me and chased me out of Kildare Academy, remember? My dad spent all that money to get me accepted, but I had to go to Kildare County High with the rest of them after that, and my parents never let me live it down. I’m a Pogue, Rafe, so I’m like 90% sure you hate me.”

Rafe goes silent for a moment, his expression softening as he considers your words. “That was years ago,” he says, his tone softening as well. “Things were different then. I was younger, stupid, I was an idiot.”

“And you’re suddenly different now?” You ask.

“Yeah, I’m different now.” He answers. His voice is soft, a tone you haven’t heard that often, if at all, coming from Rafe. “I grew up. Started to see things differently.”

“Congrats on finally discovering empathy years after everyone else did,” You sigh, looking away for a second before looking back at him. “I can’t forget the way you treated me, Rafe.”

“Yeah, that’s fair,” Rafe mutters, his eyes flickering across your face, taking in your expression. “Look, I know a lot happened when we were in school, but I was a dumbass then, okay? What I did to you was messed up, I know that. But I’m different now. Haven’t you been…” He looks like a kicked puppy, worried. “Haven’t you been having a nice time tonight?”

You nod slightly, your voice soft. “Yeah, I’ve been having a nice time, Rafe.”

He lets out a soft breath of relief at your nod, his chest loosening. He glances down at where he’s shoved his hands in his pockets again, avoiding your eyes. “Good,” he murmurs. “I just… I don’t want you to think I’m the same person I was back then.” He looks back up at you, his eyes meeting yours. “I’m not.” He lets out a soft scoff. “I swear. I’m…better now, I guess.”

You sigh, stepping closer to him. “Do you really wanna be friends?”

Rafe’s heart skips a beat as you take a step closer to him, the proximity making his breath catch in his chest. He nods, swallowing a lump in his throat. He wasn’t expecting to pour his heart out to you that night, even the idea of spilling to you was nerve-wracking for him. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Yeah, I do.”

“Just friends?” You ask quietly. “Nothing…nothing more?”

Rafe’s heart nearly beats out of his chest at your question. He looks down at you, considering his answer, his eyes flickering across your face as he thinks. Would friends really describe the way he felt about you? The thought of you just being a friend doesn’t sit well in his stomach, doesn’t feel right. He reaches up, carefully tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Not just friends,” he whispers.

You step closer, your chests nearly touching. “I wanna be more than just friends, too.”

Rafe’s breath catches in his throat as you step closer to him, the feeling of the air crackling between you and him driving him crazy. He swallows, nodding slightly, his fingers slowly moving down your neck, thumb brushing against your pulse. “Good,” he murmurs. “Because I really, really wanna kiss you right now, sweet girl.”

“Oh, god, please do.” You breathe out.

Rafe can’t help the shiver that runs down his spine at your soft voice whispering those words, that pleading tone that drives him crazy. He doesn’t hesitate to act, his thumb pressing against your pulse as he pulls you closer. His other hand rests on your hip, sliding around to the small of your back as he leans down and presses his lips against yours finally, his heart beating faster than it ever has before.

He has you in the palm of his hand.

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★taglist: @ietss, @momoewn, @blairsblg (italics means i couldn’t tag you!)

[lacydollette]

⋆˙⟡ BLESSING IN DISGUISE ⋆˙⟡

CHAPTER EIGHT

PAIRING rafe cameron x lovely kook!reader

WARNING(S) explicit language, barry, arguing, kissing, smut, praise, p in v, unprotected sex, riding, creampie, long chapter this time whopsi

SUMMARY when barry calls you up out of nowhere you surely didn’t expect the day to end the way it did, but you at least got your answer now.

For days, your mind was a war zone. Sarah’s words still haunting you every day, her advice to make a choice and stop dragging everyone, including yourself, through the chaos lingering deep. But the chaos wasn’t just around you—it was inside you, a raging storm of thoughts and feelings that wouldn’t settle even when you tried.

Rafe or JJ?

Your heart already knew the answer, a truth you didn’t want to admit just yet. But your head was stubborn and terrified of the future, spinning uncontrollably. You didn’t want to hurt anyone, least of all yourself, but no matter what you chose, someone would get burned. It was in the middle of one of these endless, messy thoughts that your phone rang. The name on the screen made your brows furrow. Barry.

“Hello?” you answered hesitantly. “Hey princess, need ya’ help,” Barry said, his voice low but urgent. “Uh…what? Since when do you need my help?” you asked, startled. “Since now,” he snapped, sounding impatient. “Just get over here. I’ll explain when ya’ get here.” You rolled your eyes, “Barry, I swear to—”

“Stop complainin’ and c’mere!” he cut you off, hanging up before you could argue further. Barry wasn’t the type to ask for help, let alone from you. And despite your suspicion, you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of excitement at the thought of seeing him again. Barry had always been a chaotic constant in your life, and sometimes his ridiculous antics were the perfect distraction.

A short drive later, you pulled up to Barry’s trailer. You stepped out of the car, brushing off any doubt as you approached the door. “Barry, you better have a damn good reason for this,” you called out, pushing the door open. But the moment you stepped inside, your smile faltered, fading completely when your eyes landed on the figure sitting next to Barry.

Rafe.

He sat slouched in a chair, his arms crossed over his chest, his piercing blue eyes locking onto yours the second you walked in, his stomach twisting at the sight of you. You stopped in your tracks, your gaze darting between him and Barry.

“What the hell is he doing here?” you asked, sounding more than irritated. Barry, looking more amused than anything, leaned back in his chair, lighting a cigarette. Rafe wanted to say something, anything, but Barry jumped in first with that smug grin Rafe hated so much. “What’s he doing here?” He repeated in a high pitched voice, mocking you, leaving you speechless.

Barry exhaled a puff of smoke and looked between the two of you, shaking his head. “I’m sick of this shit. The both of you, acting like you’re in some tragic shit show. Country Club here has been bitchin’ about you nonstop, and honestly, jus’ can’t listen to it anymore.”

Rafe glared at Barry. “You didn’t have to call her,” he muttered. Barry ignored him though, focusing on you instead. “You two need to figure this out. Right now. Fix it, fight it out, make out, I don’t give a shit. Just get it over with so I can have some peace.”

Your jaw dropped, but before you could say anything, Barry stood up and headed for the door. “And for the record,” he added, looking over his shoulder, “if y’all don’t fix it, I swear to God, I’m gonna put a bullet in both of yall’s head.” With that, he walked out of the trailer, leaving you alone with Rafe..

The silence in the trailer was unbearable, a gaping void neither of you was willing to fill. He sat on the edge of the couch, his elbows resting on his knees, while you stood near the door, arms crossed tightly over your chest. Neither of you spoke, the tension growing tighter and tighter with each passing second.

You were sick of this. Sick of the games, the push and pull, the endless cycle of him chasing you just to shove you away again. The frustration bubbling in your chest was threatening to spill over when Rafe finally broke the silence. “So…” he huffed out, nodding nonchalantly.

That was it. One word. A quiet, hesitant, and utterly infuriating word. You rolled your eyes, “Seriously, Rafe? That’s all you’ve got? So?” He looked up at you, his jaw tightening. “What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know,” you snapped, throwing your hands in the air. “Maybe start by explaining why you’ve been acting like a complete asshole? Especially at the bonfire. Do you even realize how out of line that was?” Rafe leaned back slightly while you tore into him, but he didn’t interrupt.

“Every time I think we’ve made progress, you pull something like that. You don’t get to act like you care one second and then push me away the next. You’re a goddamn mess, Rafe, and I’m tired of pretending it’s not affecting me!”

Your words came fast and heated, all the anger and hurt spilling out before you could stop yourself. “You don’t know what you want, and instead of dealing with your own shit, you make me your punching bag. And for what? Because you’re too scared to feel anything real?”

Rafe flinched slightly, your accusations hitting him hard. His hands curled into fists on his knees, but he didn’t fight back. He couldn’t. You were right, and he knew it.

Finally, he exhaled sharply, “I don’t know what to do, okay? I don’t know how to fix this—fix me.” his voice was low and strained. “That’s not good enough!” you yelled, your voice cracking. “You don’t get to destroy everything around you and then act like you’re the victim.”

Rafe’s head snapped up, his blue eyes blazing with a mix of frustration and desperation. “I’m not the victim. You think I don’t know what I’m doing? That I don’t hate myself for it?”

His voice rose, getting up abruptly and pacing around, “I know, alright? And seeing you with JJ makes me actually physically sick. I can’t fucking help that I’m still in love with you!” The confession hit you like a stroke, the words hanging in the air between you. For a moment, you were stunned into silence, staring at him as your heart pounded in your chest.

“You should be with me,” Rafe continued, his voice breaking. “Not him. Not anyone else. Me.” The rawness in his voice cracked something inside you. You’d seen Rafe angry, cruel, and broken—but this was different. This was vulnerability, his raw feelings laid right at your feet.

Your voice softened, trembling slightly. “If you love me so much, then why do you keep pushing me away?” He shook his head, his hands running through his hair as his body trembled. “I don’t know!” he shouted, his voice loud and ragged. “I don’t fucking know how to stop! I’m so screwed up, and every time I think I’m getting better, I just—” He cut himself off, his shoulders slumping as he buried his face in his hands.

The sight of him broke something in you, something you had tried so hard to get rid of. Rafe breathed out heavily, wiping over his face in frustration before he looked up again, his ocean blue eyes finding yours, and both of you stopped breathing for a second.

Suddenly there wasn’t any hatred or anger between you two, just a raw connection, a pull that had been always lingering underneath the surface since you’d returned, just like the one night in your room after you had patched him up.

But now couldn’t take it anymore. And before you could think it through you rushed toward him, closing the distance between you. You cupped his face, pulling his tall figure down to you and pressing your lips to his. Rafe froze for a heartbeat, his breath hitching against your lips. But then he kissed you back, hard and desperate, his hands gripping your waist like you were the only thing keeping him steady.

The kiss was overwhelming, all teeth and tongue and barely contained emotion. It wasn’t sweet or soft—it was raw, built on frustration and longing and every unspoken word between you. His hands moved up your back, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging as the kiss deepened, your body pressing against his.

It was too much, and yet not enough. Every ounce of hurt and desire poured out in that moment, leaving both of you breathless. The kiss grew more frantic, more urgent, as if every pent-up emotion you'd both been holding back was pouring out at once. Your hands held onto his neck, your nails lightly grazing his skin, while his hands rested on your curves.

Without breaking the kiss, you pressed forward, pushing him back onto the worn-out couch. He let out a soft grunt as his back hit the cushions, his hands immediately settling on your round ass as you straddled him. The trailer's cramped space seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you and the heat building between you.

"Are you sure about this?" Rafe whispered through the kiss, his voice rough and low, scared that you might regret this, leaving him again. "Stop talking, Rafe." You muttered out, not getting enough of him.

His eyes darkened at your words, his grip on your ass tightening as you leaned down, capturing his lips in another kiss. It wasn't gentle or careful—neither of you wanted that right now. It was messy and intense. Your hands roamed over his chest, pushing aside the fabric of his black shirt to feel the warmth of his skin. Rafe groaned softly against your mouth, his own hands sliding under your top, fingers trailing up your spine and leaving your skin tingling.

"You're gonna drive me insane," he murmured against your lips, his voice full of both frustration and awe. "You already drive me insane," you shot back breathlessly, tugging his shirt up and over his head.

The air in the room felt heavier as the kiss deepened, your movements becoming more urgent. Rafe's hands gripped your thighs as you rolled your hips against him, earning a low growl from deep in his chest. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing. The tension between you had been building for far too long, and neither of you had any intention of stopping it now. Clothes were shed piece by piece, falling to the floor.

Rafe's hands roamed over your bare skin, his touch slow and deliberate, savoring every inch of you. His lips trailed down the curve of your neck, leaving soft, lingering kisses that made your breath hitch. When his mouth found its way to your tits, you gasped, his warm lips wrapping around the sensitive bud as his hands caressed your sides, holding you close.

"Rafe," you whimpered out, your voice shaky, a mix of anticipation and need as you felt your arousal pooling between your thighs. His name on your lips only spurted him on, his mouth sucking harder, teeth grazing lightly in a way that made your back arch. Your hips began to move on their own, trying to get as much friction as possible, your slick folds grazing over his hard cock.

"You’re so beautiful," he murmured against your skin, inhaling sharply as he felt your eager cunt rub over him. Your fingers threaded through his hair, tugging lightly as he continued to worship you, his hands never staying still, exploring every curve of your body. But you needed more.

“please..need more.” You breathed out. He looked up at you then, eyes full of lust and need, still not believing that he finally had you again. You smiled as you lifted yourself up a little, reaching underneath you and lining his tip up with your entrance, letting it brush through your wet folds to lube it up. Rafe watched as you slowly sunk down on his cock, and he swore he could’ve cum right then and there.

“Shit—“ he cursed as he felt your plush walls embrace him, filling you up to the brim. You whimpered at the sudden fullness, looping your arms around his neck before slowly starting to roll your hips. That’s when you realized just how much you had actually been aching for this.

You started bouncing on his cock faster, making both of you moan out, his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck, placing soft and wet kisses there. “That’s it, baby. Just like that. Fucking missed you.” He breathed against your skin, his hands finding your hips as he noticed your movements growing sloppier.

“I’ve got you.” Rafe whispered through gritted teeth, holding you firm as he thrusted upwards, slamming into you at a rough pace so you could relax. “oh my god—“ you moaned out as his cock continuously hit your cervix, bringing you closer and closer to your release.

And Rafe could tell you were almost there from the way you were clenching around his cock, the noises of skin slapping and your dripping cunt filling the small room of the trailer. At this point you were a moaning mess, arching into him as you felt the wave of your orgasm rush over you, leaving your cunt fluttering around him.

“So fucking pretty when you cum.” He thrusted up into you relentlessly, eyes locked on your beautiful face, fucking you through your orgasm as he was still chasing his own. After a few more hard thrusts you felt him twitch inside of you, hips bucking up and painting you white from the inside, letting out one last groan, “shit.”

The quietness right after was heavy, only your exhausted breaths being heard, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Both of you were worn-out, little droplets of sweat plastered over Rafe’s forehead which you wiped away gently, brushing back his messy hair. Your touch was so tender it made something in his chest ache, a warmth he hadn’t let himself feel in far too long. He smiled at you, his hazy gaze making your tummy flutter in the best way possible.

Meanwhile Rafe’s breathing had slowed, his arms still draped securely around you as if he was afraid you might slip away. The heat of his body calming you. “I’m sorry,” he finally said, his voice breaking the silence. It was soft, almost hesitant while the words still felt heavy on his tongue.

He hated himself for every tear he’d caused you, every ounce of doubt he’d planted in your heart. “I mean it,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “For everything. For how I’ve treated you, for pushing you away when all I wanted was to keep you close… for hurting you when I swore I never would.”

You felt your chest tighten at his words, the raw sincerity in them cutting through the walls you’d built up. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he admitted, his voice trembling. “I get so caught up in my head, and this coke bullshit, it… it makes me feel like I’m in control. But I’m not. I’m spiraling, and I hate myself for dragging you into it.”

Tears welled in his eyes, and he looked away, his jaw clenching as he couldn’t bear to let you see him like this—weak, broken, a mess of a man who didn’t deserve your forgiveness. “But I don’t want to do it anymore. The emptiness, the anger, the self-sabotage. I don’t want to hurt you anymore. I can’t. Not again.”

You reached up, cupping his face in your hands and turning him back to face you. “Rafe,” you said softly, voice steady despite the emotions rushing through your chest. “It’s okay. I forgive you.” His breath hitched, his eyes searching yours as he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“I mean it,” you continued, brushing your thumbs gently over his cheekbones. “I know you’re struggling, but you don’t have to do this alone. I’ll be here. I’ll stay by your side, no matter what. We’ll figure it out together, ray.”

His heart jumped a little at the nickname, as he hadn’t heard it leaving your lips in a long time. He closed his eyes for a moment, his jaw trembling as he processed your words, your forgiveness meaning everything to him, giving him a new chance to make it right this time. “I’ll stop,” he promised, “this coke shit—it ends now. I swear, I’m going to do better. For you. For us.”

You smiled softly, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. It wasn’t like the desperate, heated kisses from earlier. This one was soft, reassuring, a promise to the both of you. “I know,” you murmured against his lips before placing another kiss on his jaw, then his temple. “And I’ll be here to help you. You don’t have to do it alone.”

He pulled you closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck as his arms tightened around you. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, his voice muffled. “Yes, you do,” you replied firmly, running your fingers through his hair. “I love you, Rafe.”

When the words left your lips, Rafe stilled completely, his mind struggling to catch up. You loved him. The three words echoed in his head, almost too good to be true. For a second, he thought he might have imagined it, but the way you looked at him, so full of hope and awe, left no room for doubt. He let out a shaky breath, his lips parting as he wanted to say something. Anything. But no words came out.

lnstead, he reached for you, his big hands cupping your face as he kissed you like he was pouring every ounce of his love and gratitude into you. He held you like you were his lifeline, and in that moment, you knew he meant every word he’d said. This time, he was serious. And you were ready to stand by his side as he found his way back. You had made your decision.

But then the peaceful silence between you and Rafe was suddenly interrupted by the sound of the trailer door creaking open. “Alright, lovebirds, you better have—” Barry stopped mid-sentence, his eyes widening as he took in the scene before him. You and Rafe froze, your legs still straddling him on the couch, Rafe’s shirt you’d hastily grabbed barely doing its job of covering you both.

“Aw, c’mon man!” Barry exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air dramatically. “You seriously fucked? On my couch?!” Rafe groaned, dragging a hand over his face while you tried to stifle a laugh, burying your head in his chest. “Barry, it’s not—”

“Don’t you dare say it’s not what it looks like,” Barry cut him off, glaring. “Because it’s exactly what it looks like! Jesus, Rafe, I said to fix things, not ruin my damn furniture!” You couldn’t hold back your laughter anymore, and Rafe shot you a look, though the corner of his mouth twitched as if he was trying not to smile.

Barry pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering to himself while turning away so you two could get dressed. “I’m gonna have to burn this thing. Or sell it to some crackhead on Craigslist. Rafe, you owe me a new couch. Top-of-the-line, none of that secondhand bullshit.”

“Barry, relax,” Rafe said, trying and failing to keep a straight face. “We’ll clean it.” Barry retorted, “Oh, hell nah,” backing away from the couch like it was radioactive. “You think a bottle of Lysol’s gonna fix this? This couch is dead to me.”

“Barry, we’re sorry. Really.” Tears of laughter streaming down your face as you put on the last piece of clothing. “You can save the apology,” Barry huffed, pointing at the door. “Just get out. Both of you.”

Rafe smirked, standing and buckling up his jeans. “Thanks for the hospitality, Barry.” Barry shook his head, muttering under his breath as he opened the door for you both. “Unbelievable. Next time you two need to ‘talk,’ do it somewhere that doesn’t involve my shit.”

As you and Rafe stepped out into the cool night air, you glanced back at Barry, who was still grumbling to himself. “We owe you,” you called out, still grinning. “Damn right, you do!” Barry shouted back, pointing at Rafe. “I want that new couch by the weekend!”

As the door slammed behind you, Rafe grinned, slipping an arm around your waist, his heart feeling lighter for the first time in ages, like he could actually breathe without having to worry about anything. “I think that went well.” He chuckled. You shook your head, still laughing as you leaned into him. “Oh, definitely.”

LINKS .ᐟ series masterlist

TAGS .ᐟ @gibson-g1rl @beausling @rafesheaven @rafescokewhore @rafeysbunny @rafesangelita @drewspinkbunny @whinyangel @starzify @glitterybombshell @rafesweetie @rafey-baby @nativegirltapes @littlelamy @lizziesangel @maybankslover @cherrygirlfriend @httpsdrewstarkey @lilithblackkk

[andypantsx3]

HOME, SAFE, YOURS : TODOROKI SHOUTO x READER

CONTENT & WARNINGS: pro hero au, gender neutral reader, established relationship, care-taking, aged-up characters, smut (reader gives shouto a shower handjob), 18+ minors please dni!

WORD COUNT: 2k

Shouto looks worn as he toes off his boots in the genkan.

It's not the first time your boyfriend has come home looking tired, and it's thankfully nothing like the bone-deep exhaustion that always pulls at him after a truly harrowing shift. But it's very clear Shouto has stretched himself today, judging by the slightly slower, more ginger way he's carrying himself.

Drawing closer, you can see dirt and ash scraped over his high cheekbones, and that much confirms your suspicions. Definitely a tough take down today, if he's looking this beat up.

"Hi Sho," you say, hurrying over to throw your arms around him, relieved to have him back in your hands. It's a little easier with the height the genkan step gives you, putting his broad shoulders in easier reach. "Tough day today?"

Shouto's arms come around you as he presses his face into your shoulder, breathing in deeply. He's cold, the chill from outside still lingering on his clothes, on his skin. He smells like ash and sweat.

"Hello, love," he says, his voice a low rumble you can feel against you. "It was... difficult."

You grip him tighter, holding him to you. "I'm glad you're safe."

His mouth is warm on the skin of your neck. "I am glad to come home to you."

A smile pulls at your mouth as you pet through his hair. It's soft and silky, but a little piecey—the after effect of having used phosphor, you know. You spend a couple moments absently running your fingers through the strands, clinging to as much of his shoulder as you can reach, reveling in the feeling of him back in your embrace, home safe where you like him best.

Shouto lets you hold him, face still pressed into the crook of your neck, the line of tension in his shoulders unwinding. His breath tickles your skin, slow and even. You cling just a little bit more tightly.

"Let's get some soup in you and get you in the shower, huh?" you say after you've stood like that for some minutes, your voice a little startling in the quiet of your apartment. You lightly tug on a hunk of his hair, inquiring.

Shouto doesn't move, just huffs softly into your shoulder.

You can't help but grin again, charmed by him as always, shifting so you can clutch his face in your hands and pull him up for a kiss instead. This time Shouto goes easily, his mouth following yours, his kiss soft and sweet and slow.

Shouto takes his time with you, so you do too, pouring your relief and your happiness to see him again into the kiss. His hands tighten on your back like he understands, hitching you up against him a bit more firmly.

"Soup time," you tell him when he finally lets your mouth go. Those heterochromatic eyes flutter open, and he frowns a little bit, leaning back in.

You smile into another kiss, laughing when his hands creep down your sides, charting a path to your thighs where you know he intends to pick you up once he's got you. Any other day and you'd let him take you against the wall right there in the genkan. But he's moving so slow you know it will be a struggle for him today, and you don't want him to strain himself any more than he already has.

There are other ways you can show your affection, today.

You quickly worm out of his embrace, dodging when he reaches out a long-fingered hand for you, frowning again. Fuck, he's so cute.

"Soup first," you order him, marching him into the kitchen.

A tiny pout purses his mouth but you're not to be deterred—you set him up at the table with a hot bowl of soup and several of last night's leftover sides; blanched spinach ohitashi and simmered squash. You plop an extra bowl of chicken and cucumber marinade directly in front of his soup as well—knowing full well he'll need the extra protein after a day like today.

As you hoped, the food quickly overtakes your boyfriend's focus. In your experience pro heroes need to intake an insane amount of calories, and even more on days they've utilized their quirks to the extreme. Shouto is no exception, his temperature quirk one of the most voracious energy burners of all, and very quickly the bowls in front of him begin to empty.

He looks even more exhausted when he finishes, and you wolf down your own bowl of soup, cutting him off as he attempts to clear the table.

"Go shower," you tell him, leaning down for a kiss even as you yank a bowl out of his long, elegant fingers.

Shouto looks up at you again, a microscopic downturn to his mouth that would be unreadable on anyone else, but on him counts as a pout. "You said after soup—"

"I'll join you when I'm done," you promise, your heart swelling with affection. It always pleases you that time with you seem to be his priority, even when he's clearly tired like this.

You laugh when this works like a charm, Shouto leaning in for another kiss before obeying. You hear the shower gutter and hiss on as you scrub the bowls in the sink, laying everything out to dry on the counter.

The bathroom is already hot and thick with steam when you let yourself in, and the mirror fogging. Shouto's left the curtain askew and your mouth dries out a little at the peeks of his body you can see—all that lean, sleek muscle glinting wetly in the light.

You step out of your clothes and slide in behind him, throwing an arm around his waist. His shoulders look especially broad in the small stall of your shower, taking up nearly the entire width, and you lean up to kiss in between them, letting your mouth linger.

"Hello, love," Shouto says, trying to turn to look at you. You hold him in place with your grip on his trim waist, reaching up to run a hand through the wet strands of his hair.

"Let me take care of you tonight," you say, pouring your insistence into your tone.

There's not much you can do to help Shouto with a job like pro heroics, particularly without a quirk of your own. But what you can do, what you like to do, is be there for him in the little ways—feeding him soup, washing his hair, taking the reigns when he's tired like this.

The contraction of Shouto's abdomen under your fingers as he sucks in a breath tells you he's understood your meaning. He shifts in your arms to face you, ducking in for a hard, wet kiss. Hot water spatters over your shoulder as he does so, pooling in the places where his skin meets yours.

You let him kiss you, slow and careful. Then you reach past him to uncap his shampoo, and rake it carefully through the strands of his hair, as Shouto obligingly keeps his head bent for you. You admire the way his long eyelashes flutter against his high cheekbones, the way his lovely mouth looks so soft and relaxed like this.

You take your time, moving slowly and carefully, before reaching for his conditioner. You slowly massage that in too, blinking against the water on your face when Shouto pulls you closer to him, pressing his face into your shoulder and huffing out another relaxed breath.

He could be asleep standing up by the time you move onto his his body wash, but he shivers as you run your hands over him. You love the feeling of him in your hands, all that slick, tight, dense muscle under your fingers.

He's so beautiful, so divinely-crafted. Sometimes you cannot believe Todoroki Shouto is yours to love and to care for.

His breath comes a little faster when your hands slide down his trim waist, as you work the suds into the V of his hips. "Love," he says, his voice low, rumbling.

"Turn around," you tell him, gently reaching up to move him as you do so.

You let your hands slide back in place, and then let them slip lower, taking Shouto into your hand. He's velvet soft in your fingers, but obligingly hard, thick and full—and even though you can't see him, you know just how pretty he looks in your palm. You press a kiss to his shoulder blade as he shudders, a powerful arm coming up to prop himself up against the shower wall.

You work him slowly at first, just as carefully as you'd pulled the shampoo through his hair. The flex of his abs against the palm of your other hand is transfixing, the shine and glint of the light over his muscles as he shifts in your fingers hypnotizing. Both of you linger in the moment, letting it stretch out long and hot and sweet, thick and slow like honey.

Shouto lets out a low groan when you thumb over the head of his cock, the arm he has pressed to the wall tensing. You do it again, reveling in the flex of his bicep, the roll of a powerful shoulder.

Shouto is the only person on earth as beautiful on the outside as he is on the inside, and you drink it all in, the sight of him, the beautiful sound of him as he utters your name, low and smooth and thick with feeling.

You keep pumping him like that, exactly how you know he likes, until he strains in your hands, that trim waist flexing as he can't help but rut into your grip.

One of your arms clutches him tighter against you as work him faster, and he lets out a soft moan, his fingers curling into a fist on the shower wall. It's only a minute or so more before he's arching into your hand, his hips bucking.

You tighten your fingers, thumbing over his head again, and that's all it takes. Shouto groans your name into the hiss of the shower spray, and comes all over your palm, every muscle in his body straining forwards.

He's so beautiful as he comes apart in your hands. His chest is heaving when you finally stop, and he shifts in your arms again, ducking his head to press an exhausted, satisfied kiss to your mouth.

"Thank you, love," he intones, those heterochromatic eyes settling on you, dark with pleasure. Pink stains his high cheekbones and the bridge of his nose, and he looks flush with effort, exactly the way he does after he takes you apart in bed most nights.

You grin up at him, leaning up on your toes to press another kiss to his mouth. "I love you, Sho."

He murmurs his reply into your mouth, and you run your hands over him again, pulling through his wet locks.

"Now let's get you into bed," you tell him bossily, reaching past him to turn off the shower spray.

"What about you, love?" he asks, a little frown marring his perfect mouth. You kiss it off of him, then tug him out of the shower and wrap him in a fluffy towel, scrubbing it over his hair.

You'll get back in to take your own shower properly in the morning, you know, and once Shouto has slept things off, he will be eager to return the favor. For now though, you tell him you are satisfied just to be with him, to be near him, to take care of him.

You tell him you love him again, and pull him into bed, still damp and sweet and pliant with his release. You're satisfied as he melts into sleep, his exhaustion winning out.

Truthfully, there is nothing more you want in this life, you think, as you follow after him, slipping into slumber too. You want him like this always, relaxed in your embrace—home, safe, yours.

Happy New Year from me!! I wanted to give you one more Shouto before the year was out. Thank you guys so much for everything this year. I am continually grateful to be a part of this community, and I will work hard to learn more and give you my best in 2024!!

[xxtheophilusxx]

Sparks and Laughter: A Bakugo-Todoroki Tale

Summary: A playful interaction between Todoroki and Bakugo leads to an unexpected and amusing turn of events, revealing a new side to their rivalry and strengthening their bond. Warnings: Tickling Word count: 1.3k

The morning sun filtered through the dorm room blinds, casting warm, golden rays across the common area floor. It was a rare, peaceful moment at U.A. High School, with classes behind them and the students relishing their downtime. Katsuki Bakugo and Shoto Todoroki found themselves sharing the space, each absorbed in their own world. Bakugo lounged on the couch, his intense red eyes fixed on his phone, scowling at whatever caught his attention. Todoroki, a few feet away, was seated in an armchair, his book resting lightly in his hands, his expression calm as ever.

Despite the quiet, there was an undercurrent of tension in the air. It was almost a given with Bakugo around; his presence had a way of charging any room with a certain energy. Yet Todoroki, with his cool composure, never seemed fazed by Bakugo’s fiery personality.

But today, something different stirred in the air. Todoroki’s eyes lifted from his book, glancing over at Bakugo, who was completely engrossed in his phone. A mischievous thought flitted through Todoroki’s mind, one that was as unexpected as it was intriguing. The idea of seeing Bakugo—explosive, always-on-edge Bakugo—react to something as lighthearted as a tickle sparked a rare curiosity in him.

Setting his book aside, Todoroki shifted in his seat, moving quietly closer to Bakugo. The explosive hero-in-training remained oblivious, too focused on his phone to notice Todoroki’s approach. With a hint of a smile tugging at his lips, Todoroki reached out, his fingers lightly brushing Bakugo’s side in a quick, playful motion.

Bakugo’s reaction was immediate. His body went rigid, and he whipped his head around to glare at Todoroki. “The hell do you think you’re doing, Icy Hot?” he growled, his voice low with suspicion.

Todoroki met Bakugo’s glare with an innocent expression, though the amusement in his eyes gave him away. “Just curious,” he said, and before Bakugo could snap back, Todoroki’s fingers darted out again, this time with more intent.

The contact was fleeting, just a light tap on Bakugo’s ribs, but it was enough. Bakugo jerked back, a startled laugh bursting from him before he could catch it. “Hah! What—” His eyes widened in surprise, a mix of shock and irritation flashing across his face.

Todoroki’s smile grew a little wider. “So, you’re ticklish?”

Bakugo’s eyes narrowed, but before he could unleash the retort brewing on his tongue, Todoroki struck again. This time, his fingers found Bakugo’s ribs with more accuracy, drawing a louder, more genuine laugh from him. “Hah—haha! Stop it!” Bakugo barked, twisting away as if the tickles were as deadly as a villain’s attack.

“Cut it out, damn it!” Bakugo demanded, though his voice wavered with the laughter he was desperately trying to contain. Todoroki, however, wasn’t in the mood to listen. He kept at it, his fingers dancing along Bakugo’s sides, delighting in the rare sight of Bakugo squirming and laughing.

It was surreal—Katsuki Bakugo, the volatile, no-nonsense hero-in-training, reduced to a writhing, giggling mess. “Hahaha—hah! Get off—hahaha!” His attempts to swat Todoroki’s hands away were half-hearted, his strength sapped by the unexpected tickles that kept pushing him to the edge of laughter. Todoroki, usually so stoic, found a certain joy in watching Bakugo’s tough exterior crumble under something as simple as a tickle attack.

Bakugo’s laughter was raw and unfiltered, completely at odds with the tough image he usually projected. “Hahaha! I swear—hahaha—Todoroki—” His cheeks flushed red, both from the exertion and the embarrassment of being caught off guard like this. His breath came in short, uneven gasps as he struggled to regain his composure, but Todoroki wasn’t ready to let up just yet. He continued his playful assault, his fingers skimming over every ticklish spot he could find with a surprising amount of enthusiasm.

Finally, when it seemed like Bakugo was on the verge of either collapsing from laughter or exploding in a fit of rage—maybe both—Todoroki relented. He pulled back, his hands retreating as he leaned casually against the couch, his expression as serene as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Bakugo, panting heavily, shot Todoroki a glare that could have melted ice. His hair was even more disheveled than usual, and his pride was clearly bruised. “You’re dead, Icy Hot,” he spat, though the threat was dampened by the breathlessness in his voice.

Todoroki simply shrugged, unfazed. “You needed to loosen up,” he said, as if that explained everything.

Bakugo opened his mouth to retort, but the words caught in his throat. Instead, he let out a frustrated huff, turning away with a scowl, his fingers still twitching as if the sensation of Todoroki’s tickling lingered. Todoroki, satisfied that his little experiment had been a success, picked up his book and resumed reading, his demeanor calm and collected once more.

But Bakugo wasn’t about to let this slide. As Todoroki’s focus shifted back to his book, Bakugo’s scowl morphed into a devious smirk. If Todoroki thought he was going to get away with that, he had another thing coming.

Silently, Bakugo leaned forward, eyes narrowing as he sized up his opponent. Todoroki was still engrossed in his book, unaware of the impending payback. With a sudden, swift movement, Bakugo lunged forward, his hands shooting out to grab Todoroki’s sides.

Todoroki’s reaction was priceless. His book tumbled to the floor as he jerked in surprise, a sharp intake of breath escaping him. But Bakugo wasn’t going to give him a chance to recover. His fingers dug into Todoroki’s sides, moving with the same ruthless precision he used in battle.

“Gotcha now, Icy Hot!” Bakugo growled triumphantly, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

Todoroki’s usually composed face twisted in shock as he tried to wriggle free. “Bakugo—wait—hah!” A laugh, uncharacteristic and almost boyish, slipped out before he could contain it. Bakugo’s grin widened at the sound.

“Oh, you’re ticklish too, huh? Let’s see how you like it!” Bakugo’s hands moved faster, finding every sensitive spot he could reach. Todoroki squirmed, his breath catching between laughs as he tried, and failed, to fend off Bakugo’s relentless assault.

“Hah—stop—haha!” Todoroki’s laughter bubbled up, his usually calm demeanor completely shattered. He twisted in Bakugo’s grip, but the explosive blonde held firm, clearly enjoying the turn of events far too much.

“Not so cool now, are ya?” Bakugo teased, his tone playful but with a hint of vengeance. He continued tickling Todoroki without mercy, relishing the rare opportunity to see the normally stoic hero so undone.

Finally, when Todoroki’s laughs had turned into breathless gasps and his attempts to escape had grown weaker, Bakugo relented. He pulled back, letting Todoroki slump back into the couch, breathless and flushed.

Bakugo crossed his arms, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. “That’s what you get for messing with me.”

Todoroki, still catching his breath, managed a faint smile. “Fair enough,” he admitted, his voice slightly hoarse from laughter. “I guess I deserved that.”

Bakugo huffed, clearly pleased with himself. “Damn right you did.” But despite the tough words, there was a lightness in his tone, a rare sense of camaraderie that hadn’t been there before.

As they both settled back into their seats, the tension that had once filled the room was gone, replaced by a newfound ease between them. Bakugo, still wearing a smirk, glanced over at Todoroki, who was now eyeing him with a mixture of wariness and amusement.

“You better watch your back, Icy Hot,” Bakugo said with a grin. “Next time, I won’t be so nice.”

Todoroki chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

With the playful banter still lingering in the air, they returned to their own activities, but the atmosphere between them had undeniably shifted. What started as a lighthearted moment had turned into an unexpected bonding experience, leaving both of them with a deeper, albeit unspoken, respect for each other. And though neither of them would ever say it out loud, they both knew this wouldn’t be the last time they’d test each other’s limits—in more ways than one.

[couchlovers]

Hii! I was wondering if you could do Clarisse la rue x reader. Like readers the daughter of Zeus and he gifted her the power that her emotions control the weather?

sorry if this doesn’t make any sense lol. Changing it up however you’d like

Storm’s embrace

masterlist pjo masterlist

YN -> your name YLN -> your last name

6,9k words! hope that you’ll like it!

Camp Half-Blood buzzed with tension after the news broke: Zeus’s master bolt had been stolen. The gods were furious, and the campers whispered of war brewing on Olympus. Y/N YLN, daughter of Zeus, felt every pair of eyes on her. The unspoken suspicion was heavy, lingering in every corner of camp. As the only child of Zeus currently at Camp Half-Blood, she was an obvious suspect.

Clarisse LaRue made no effort to hide her opinion. “You know, it’d be convenient if the thief were the one who can summon lightning at will,” she said, crossing her arms during a heated conversation in the training arena.

Y/N glared at her, thunder rumbling faintly in the distance. “You think I’d steal my own father’s bolt? Get a grip, Clarisse. I don’t need his powers to deal with you.”

The campers around them murmured, sensing a confrontation brewing. Clarisse stepped closer, her tone sharp. “Maybe you’re just tired of living in his shadow. Or maybe you don’t have as much control as you pretend to.”

The sky darkened, and Y/N’s hands clenched into fists. “Say that again, LaRue. I dare you.”

Before the situation could escalate further, Chiron’s voice boomed from across the field. “Enough!” The centaur strode toward them, his expression stern. “Both of you, my office. Now.”

In Chiron’s office, the atmosphere was tense. Y/N stood by the window, arms crossed, while Clarisse leaned against the wall, still fuming.

“You two are among the strongest demigods at camp,” Chiron began, his voice calm but firm. “Which is why I’m assigning you to the quest to retrieve Zeus’s bolt. The Oracle has spoken, and it’s clear you’ll need to work together.”

“What?!” both girls exclaimed in unison.

“This isn’t negotiable,” Chiron said, his gaze steady. “The fate of Olympus depends on this quest. You’ll leave tomorrow morning.”

Y/N groaned, rubbing her temples. “Great. Babysitting Ares’s favorite brute while trying to save the world. Can’t wait.”

Clarisse shot her a glare. “As if I want to be stuck with a walking thunderstorm. Try not to fry me when you lose your temper, princess.”

Chiron sighed, clearly unamused. “If you two don’t learn to work together, this quest will fail. And if that happens, war between the gods is inevitable.”

That sobered them both. Y/N glanced at Clarisse, her jaw tightening. “Fine. I’ll do it—for Olympus. Not for her.”

Clarisse smirked. “Likewise.”

The next morning, the quest began. Alongside Grover and Annabeth, Y/N and Clarisse set off into the mortal world, tensions high and patience low. Their first stop was a seemingly harmless roadside diner, where their bickering resumed almost immediately.

“You can’t just charge into every situation swinging your spear,” Y/N said, her tone exasperated.

“And you can’t just summon a storm every time you get moody,” Clarisse shot back, leaning over the table.

Annabeth sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Can you two save this for later? We’re supposed to be tracking down leads, not arguing over breakfast.”

Grover nodded, nervously glancing at the sky. “Yeah, uh, maybe keep the thunderclouds to a minimum? People are starting to notice.”

Y/N glared at Clarisse but relented, taking a deep breath to calm herself. The sky lightened slightly, and the air felt less charged.

For the rest of the day, they managed to keep their bickering to a minimum, but the tension between them remained. Every glance, every word, felt like a challenge waiting to be met.

That night, as they set up camp by the side of a quiet road, Y/N found herself staring at the stars, lost in thought. She hadn’t asked for this quest, or for the pressure of being Zeus’s daughter. She just wanted to prove she was more than the god she came from.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Clarisse’s voice broke through her reverie.

Y/N glanced at her, surprised. “Didn’t think you cared.”

Clarisse shrugged, sitting down beside her. “I don’t. But if we’re going to survive this, we can’t spend the whole time at each other’s throats.”

Y/N hesitated before nodding. “Fair enough.” She glanced at Clarisse. “You’re not as terrible as I thought.”

Clarisse smirked. “Don’t get used to it, princess.”

For the first time, they shared a small, tentative smile. It wasn’t peace, but it was a start.

______________________________________________________________________

The morning after their reluctant truce, the group prepared to leave their makeshift campsite. Percy Jackson, who had joined their team at Chiron’s insistence, was already up and pacing. The son of Poseidon had his own reasons for being on this quest: proving himself, protecting his friends, and figuring out his connection to the stolen bolt.

“Ready to save the world, or are you two gonna keep bickering the whole way?” Percy teased as he adjusted Riptide at his side, glancing between Y/N and Clarisse.

“Save it, Seaweed Brain,” Y/N shot back, rolling her eyes. “Unlike you, some of us actually know how to work under pressure.”

“Right,” Percy quipped with a grin. “Because yelling at each other is totally productive.”

Clarisse snorted, shouldering her spear. “At least I don’t need a magical pen to fight.”

Annabeth groaned, pulling her Yankees cap lower over her eyes. “Can we all focus? We’ve got a long way to go and not a lot of time.”

The group’s next stop was an abandoned warehouse where, according to Grover’s tracking, a minor god associated with Hermes might have information on the bolt. The warehouse was quiet—too quiet.

Inside, the air was thick with tension as they searched for clues. Y/N’s nerves hummed, her emotions sparking faint static electricity in the air.

“I don’t like this,” she muttered, her hand hovering near the dagger she carried at her hip.

“Relax, Princess,” Clarisse said, scanning the room. “Not every empty building is a death trap.”

“I wouldn’t speak so soon,” Percy muttered, drawing Riptide as shadows moved in the corners.

The attack was sudden. A group of empousai—vampire-like creatures—emerged from the darkness, their glowing eyes fixed on the demigods.

“Great,” Y/N grumbled, summoning a small bolt of lightning into her hand. “Just what we needed.”

The group fought hard, their teamwork shaky but effective. Y/N and Clarisse found themselves back-to-back at one point, their weapons slicing through the air in perfect sync.

“Not bad,” Clarisse admitted begrudgingly as she slammed the butt of her spear into an empousa’s chest, sending it flying.

“Right back at you,” Y/N replied, the faintest smile on her lips as she hurled a bolt of lightning into another creature.

Percy, not far away, raised an eyebrow at the exchange. “Are you two… getting along? Should I be concerned?”

“Shut up, Jackson,” they said in unison, making Grover laugh despite the chaos.

Once the fight ended, the group regrouped outside the warehouse. Everyone was exhausted, but the tension between Y/N and Clarisse seemed to have eased—if only slightly.

“You’re a decent fighter,” Y/N said to Clarisse as they walked side by side toward the road.

Clarisse smirked, twirling her spear. “Don’t sound so surprised. Maybe you’re finally realizing I’m not as bad as you thought.”

“Don’t push it,” Y/N shot back, though her tone lacked its usual bite.

Percy watched the exchange with a knowing look, leaning toward Annabeth. “Is it just me, or are those two actually flirting now?”

Annabeth sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Percy, not everything is about romance. Focus.”

As night fell, the group set up camp again, this time in a quiet forest clearing. The stars were bright, and the crackling of the campfire filled the silence.

Y/N sat slightly apart from the group, staring up at the sky. Her emotions had been running high all day, and she needed a moment to clear her mind.

Clarisse, after some hesitation, walked over and plopped down beside her. “You good?”

Y/N blinked, surprised by the question. “Yeah. Why?”

Clarisse shrugged, poking the fire with a stick. “You’ve been quiet. It’s weird. Usually, you’re all lightning and sass.”

Y/N smirked. “Lightning and sass? That’s a new one.”

Clarisse rolled her eyes but smiled faintly. “Whatever. Just… don’t lose your head, okay? We need you to keep it together.”

There was an unexpected softness in her voice that caught Y/N off guard. For a moment, she saw past the tough exterior to the person underneath.

“I’ll try,” Y/N said quietly. “Thanks, Clarisse.”

Clarisse glanced at her, her smirk returning. “Don’t mention it. Seriously, don’t. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

Y/N laughed, and the sound was warm and genuine, making Clarisse’s chest tighten just a little.

From across the fire, Percy and Annabeth exchanged looks. Percy leaned closer to Grover, whispering, “I’m calling it now. Those two are totally into each other.”

Grover nodded sagely. “Oh, 100%. The tension is electric.”

Annabeth groaned again. “Focus, boys. We’ve got bigger problems.”

______________________________________________________________________

The group’s journey led them into the heart of the desert, chasing the latest lead on Zeus’s stolen bolt. The Oracle’s prophecy was vague, but Annabeth’s sharp mind and Grover’s tracking skills had pointed them toward a small, seemingly abandoned roadside gas station.

The heat was unbearable, the sun blazing overhead, and tensions ran high as the group bickered over their next move.

“I’m telling you, this place screams trap,” Percy said, squinting at the gas station.

Annabeth rolled her eyes. “Everything screams trap to you.”

“That’s because it usually is!” Percy shot back.

While the two argued, Y/N stood to the side, her gaze fixed on the horizon. The oppressive heat made her emotions sluggish, but she could feel a storm brewing in the back of her mind. Something about this place felt off.

Clarisse walked over, breaking the silence. “You zoning out again, Thunder Girl? We don’t have time for you to daydream.”

Y/N sighed, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I’m not zoning out. I’m trying to figure out why this place feels so… wrong.”

Clarisse raised an eyebrow, her grip tightening on her spear. “Your gut telling you something?”

“Something like that,” Y/N admitted, glancing at her. “You trust me on this?”

Clarisse hesitated, then gave a small nod. “Yeah. You’ve been right so far.”

The unexpected admission caught Y/N off guard, and for a moment, she forgot the heat, the quest, and the danger.

“Thanks,” she said softly.

Clarisse shrugged, looking away. “Don’t get used to it.”

The group cautiously entered the gas station, weapons at the ready. Inside, the air was stale, and the fluorescent lights flickered ominously. It didn’t take long for the trap to spring—two monstrous automatons emerged from hidden panels, their glowing eyes locking onto the demigods.

“Of course,” Percy muttered, drawing Riptide.

The battle was chaotic. Annabeth and Grover worked to disable the machines’ weak points while Percy engaged one head-on. Y/N and Clarisse, naturally, ended up back-to-back again, their movements almost instinctively in sync.

“Left!” Clarisse shouted as one of the automatons lunged. Y/N reacted instantly, sending a bolt of lightning crackling through its metal body.

“Nice call,” Y/N said, a grin tugging at her lips as the machine collapsed in a smoking heap.

“Keep your head in the game, YLN,” Clarisse replied, though her tone lacked its usual sharpness.

The second automaton charged at them, forcing Clarisse to parry with her spear while Y/N summoned a gust of wind to throw it off balance. Together, they overwhelmed it, Clarisse delivering the final blow with a triumphant yell.

When the dust settled, Percy clapped his hands together. “Well, that was fun. Can we not do that again?”

Annabeth ignored him, crouching to examine the remains of the automatons. “These were definitely sent by someone. They weren’t random.”

“Great,” Clarisse muttered, wiping sweat from her brow. “More people trying to kill us. Just what we needed.”

“Welcome to the club,” Y/N said with a smirk.

Clarisse glanced at her, and for a moment, the tension between them softened.

Later that evening, the group set up camp in a nearby canyon. The desert sky was breathtaking, stars scattered like diamonds across a velvet backdrop. Y/N sat by the campfire, absently tracing patterns in the dirt while the others talked quietly nearby.

Clarisse approached, dropping down beside her without a word.

“You keep sneaking up on me,” Y/N said, glancing at her with a small smile.

Clarisse smirked, leaning her spear against her shoulder. “Not my fault you’re easy to sneak up on.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. For a moment, they sat in companionable silence, the crackling fire filling the space between them.

“You were good back there,” Clarisse said suddenly, her tone uncharacteristically soft.

Y/N blinked, surprised. “What?”

Clarisse looked away, fidgeting with the edge of her armor. “I said you were good. Don’t make me repeat it.”

Y/N’s lips curved into a grin. “Is this your way of being nice?”

“Don’t push it,” Clarisse muttered, though her cheeks reddened faintly.

Y/N chuckled, her heart lighter than it had been in days. “Thanks, Clarisse. You weren’t too bad yourself.”

Clarisse smirked, her confidence returning. “Of course not. I’m always amazing.”

Their laughter drew curious glances from the others, but neither of them seemed to care. For the first time, the storm between them felt less like a battle and more like the calm before something new.

______________________________________________________________________

The group continued their journey, now following a lead from Annabeth that pointed them toward a forest on the outskirts of a small town. The air was thick with tension as they trudged through the dense underbrush. Despite their shared victories, the group’s patience was wearing thin after days of close quarters and constant danger.

For Y/N and Clarisse, the fragile truce they had formed was starting to feel less like a reluctant necessity and more like a natural rhythm. But neither of them dared to voice it—especially not with Percy’s constant teasing.

“Let me guess,” Percy quipped as they stopped for a break. “Y/N and Clarisse were totally in sync during the last fight again? Should we just start calling you the Storm and Spear Duo?”

Y/N groaned, tossing a small pebble at him. “Don’t you have better things to do, Percy?”

Clarisse snorted, crossing her arms. “Ignore him. He’s just jealous we’re better fighters.”

“I’m right here, you know,” Percy replied, feigning offense.

Annabeth stepped between them, exasperated. “Can we focus? There’s something weird about this forest.”

As if on cue, a deep growl echoed through the trees, sending a chill down Y/N’s spine. The group immediately drew their weapons, forming a defensive circle.

“What now?” Grover whimpered, clutching his reed pipes.

Out of the shadows emerged a massive drakon, its scales shimmering ominously in the dappled light. The creature roared, its golden eyes locking onto the demigods.

“Okay, this one’s mine,” Clarisse said, stepping forward with her spear raised.

“Not alone, it’s not,” Y/N replied, summoning a crackling orb of lightning in her hand.

“Great,” Percy muttered. “More teamwork.”

The battle was intense, the drakon’s sheer size and strength making it a formidable opponent. Clarisse fought fearlessly, her spear striking true, while Y/N’s lightning crackled through the air, disorienting the creature.

At one point, the drakon lunged toward Clarisse, its jaws snapping dangerously close. Without thinking, Y/N threw herself in front of her, summoning a massive bolt of lightning that sent the creature reeling.

Clarisse stared at her, wide-eyed. “What the Hades was that?”

“Saving your life, obviously” Y/N shot back, though her voice was breathless from exertion.

Clarisse smirked, regaining her composure. “Don’t get used to being my hero, Thunder Girl.”

“Noted,” Y/N replied with a grin, their gazes locking for a split second longer than necessary.

With Percy and Annabeth’s help, they managed to bring the drakon down. As it dissolved into golden dust, the group slumped against nearby trees, exhausted but triumphant.

That evening, as the group rested in a small clearing, the atmosphere was lighter than it had been in days. Percy and Grover played a clumsy game of hacky sack with a pinecone, while Annabeth sketched battle strategies in the dirt.

Y/N sat apart from the others, her back against a tree, gazing up at the stars. The adrenaline from the fight still buzzed faintly in her veins, but her thoughts kept drifting back to Clarisse.

“Deep in thought again?” Clarisse’s voice broke through the quiet.

Y/N turned to see her approaching, spear resting casually against her shoulder.

“Starting to think you’re stalking me,” Y/N teased, earning a smirk from the daughter of Ares.

“Not my style,” Clarisse replied, sitting down beside her. “But you’ve got a habit of wandering off into your own head.”

“Just thinking,” Y/N said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “About the fight. About… everything.”

Clarisse tilted her head, studying her. “You’re not bad in a fight. For a daughter of Zeus, I mean.”

Y/N snorted. “Thanks, I think.”

There was a beat of silence before Clarisse added, almost hesitantly, “And… thanks for earlier. For stepping in like that.”

Y/N smiled softly. “You’d do the same for me.”

Clarisse hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. I would.”

For a moment, the air between them felt charged, not with tension but with something deeper. Before either of them could say anything more, Percy’s voice cut through the quiet.

“Hey, lovebirds!” he called, grinning. “Are you gonna help with dinner, or should we assume you’re too busy having a moment?”

Y/N groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I’m going to kill him.”

Clarisse laughed, standing up and offering her hand. “Come on, Thunder Girl. Let’s get back before he decides to make it worse.”

Y/N took her hand, and as their fingers briefly touched, a small spark passed between them—whether from her powers or something else, neither of them could say.

______________________________________________________________________

The journey grew more perilous as the group approached their next destination—an ancient temple hidden deep in a swamp. According to Annabeth, it housed an artifact that could point them closer to the lightning bolt’s location. The air was thick with humidity, and the murky waters seemed to ripple with unseen dangers.

“Great,” Percy muttered, poking at the swampy ground with his sword. “Another creepy location. Why can’t quests ever take us to, like, a beach or something?”

“Stop whining, Jackson,” Clarisse snapped, adjusting her armor. “You’re not the one carrying a spear through a swamp.”

“Yeah, because carrying a magical pen is so much harder,” Y/N quipped, earning a chuckle from Clarisse.

“Nice one, Thunder Girl,” Clarisse said with a smirk, making Percy roll his eyes.

Grover’s ears twitched as he scanned the area nervously. “Uh, guys? Can we not taunt the swamp? I’m pretty sure something’s watching us.”

The group immediately tensed, weapons ready, as ripples spread across the water. A massive swamp serpent emerged, its scales glistening like oil and its fangs bared.

“Because, of course, there’s a monster,” Annabeth muttered, readying her knife.

The fight was brutal. The serpent was fast, its body coiling and striking with terrifying precision. Percy’s water abilities gave him an edge, but the creature was relentless.

Y/N and Clarisse once again found themselves working as a team. Y/N summoned gusts of wind and bolts of lightning, forcing the serpent to rear back, while Clarisse struck at its exposed underbelly with her spear.

“Keep it distracted!” Clarisse shouted, narrowly dodging a strike from the serpent’s tail.

“I’m trying!” Y/N replied, hurling another bolt of lightning. The creature roared, the electricity momentarily stunning it.

Clarisse took the opportunity to lunge forward, driving her spear into the serpent’s throat. It let out a final, ear-splitting screech before collapsing into the swamp, its body dissolving into mist.

Panting, Y/N and Clarisse stood side by side, their weapons lowered.

“Not bad,” Clarisse said, giving Y/N a once-over. “You’re getting better at this.”

“Thanks,” Y/N replied, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You weren’t too shabby yourself.”

Percy, pulling himself out of the water, groaned. “Can we all agree that swamps are the worst?”

“Agreed” Annabeth said, wringing out her damp clothes.

That evening, the group set up camp on drier ground. The swamp was eerily quiet now, and the only sounds were the crackling fire and the distant chirping of insects.

Y/N sat near the fire, tending to a few scratches she’d gotten during the fight. Clarisse approached, carrying a small pouch of ambrosia.

“Here,” she said, tossing it to Y/N. “You look like you need it.”

“Thanks,” Y/N said, catching it and unwrapping a small piece of the godly food. “I’m surprised you’re being so nice.”

“Don’t get used to it” Clarisse replied with a smirk, sitting down beside her.

Y/N chuckled, the tension of the day easing slightly. “You know, we make a pretty good team.”

Clarisse raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? Does that mean you’re finally admitting I’m not the worst?”

“Don’t push it” Y/N said, grinning.

Clarisse laughed, her usual tough exterior softening for a moment. “You’re not so bad yourself, Thunder Girl.”

Their eyes met, and for a brief moment, the rest of the world faded away. The crackling fire reflected in Clarisse’s dark eyes, and Y/N felt her heart skip a beat.

Before either of them could say anything, Percy’s voice broke the silence.

“You two getting all cozy again?” he called, his tone teasing.

Clarisse groaned, throwing a small rock in his direction. “Shut up, Jackson!”

Annabeth sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Can we focus for five minutes without someone starting something?”

As the night deepened, the group took turns keeping watch. During her shift, Y/N found herself staring up at the stars, her mind racing with everything that had happened.

She didn’t hear Clarisse approach until the other girl sat down beside her, her presence grounding Y/N’s scattered thoughts.

“Can’t sleep?” Clarisse asked, her voice unusually soft.

“Something like that,” Y/N replied, glancing at her. “What about you?”

“Couldn’t either,” Clarisse admitted, her gaze fixed on the horizon. “Too much going on in my head.”

Y/N hesitated before speaking. “You ever feel like… this whole quest is testing us more than it’s supposed to?”

Clarisse snorted. “Every damn day. But that’s what we do, right? Prove we’re tougher than whatever the gods throw at us.”

Y/N nodded, a faint smile on her lips. “I guess so.”

They sat in silence for a while, the night air cool against their skin. Y/N felt a strange sense of peace, even amidst the chaos of their journey.

“Thanks for having my back today” Clarisse said suddenly, her tone serious.

Y/N looked at her, surprised. “You don’t have to thank me for that. We’re a team.”

Clarisse’s lips quirked into a small smile. “Yeah. We are.”

For a moment, it felt like Clarisse might say more, but the words hung unspoken between them. Instead, she reached out and gave Y/N’s shoulder a quick squeeze before standing up.

“Get some rest,” she said, her usual edge creeping back into her voice. “We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

Y/N watched her walk away, her heart a mix of emotions she wasn’t ready to untangle.

______________________________________________________________________

The final leg of their journey was in sight. After days of battling monsters, navigating treacherous lands, and dealing with their own personal struggles, the group had finally arrived at the Underworld’s entrance.

But something was off. Y/N could feel it—the tension in the air, the sense of impending doom that seemed to press against her chest like an invisible weight. Clarisse, too, had grown more quiet over the past few days, her sharp eyes constantly scanning their surroundings, as if waiting for something—or someone—to strike.

As the group made their way deeper into the dark, ominous caves, Annabeth’s voice cut through the silence. “It doesn’t make sense,” she muttered, glancing at Y/N. “If Hades didn’t take the bolt, who would? And why would they want it?”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. She knew the answer to that question, though she didn’t want to believe it.

“I don’t know,” Y/N replied, voice tight. “But we’re getting closer.”

Suddenly, a figure stepped out from the shadows. Y/N’s breath caught as she recognized him immediately—Luke.

“You,” Percy said, his voice low, laced with fury. “You’re the one who took it.”

Luke smirked, his eyes cold. “I didn’t take anything. I’m just… helping the gods fulfill their prophecy. Don’t you see? You’re all just pawns in their game. I’m doing what they couldn’t.”

The tension was palpable, a storm of anger and betrayal swirling in the air. Clarisse stepped forward, her expression dark with suspicion. “Why are you really here, Luke? You were supposed to be one of us. You promised to fight for the gods, not against them.”

Luke’s eyes flickered with something almost like regret, but it was quickly masked by a cynical grin. “I realized the truth a long time ago. The gods don’t care about us. They use us until we’re no longer useful.”

Y/N’s heart sank, but she stood tall, her emotions churning. “So you’re willing to risk everything—everyone—just to make a point?”

Luke’s eyes met hers, and in that moment, the storm that raged inside of Y/N erupted. She summoned the power of the skies, a crackling bolt of lightning striking from her fingertips.

But Luke was faster. With a quick, almost mocking motion, he deflected the bolt with a wave of his hand, sending it spiraling off into the cavern.

“You think you can beat me?” Luke sneered. “You’re nothing but a weak little demigod.”

Before Y/N could react, Luke lunged at her, his hands crackling with dark energy. He struck out, slamming her into the cave wall with a force that sent a shockwave through her body. She gasped as pain shot through her chest, her ribs screaming in protest.

Clarisse’s voice rang out, sharp and furious. “Get away from her!”

But Luke wasn’t done. He sent a blast of energy toward Clarisse, knocking her back. Y/N’s vision blurred as she struggled to stand, but the pain in her ribs and arm was unbearable. Her arm hung limply at her side, and she could feel the bone grinding against itself.

Luke turned back to Y/N, a cruel smirk on his face. “What’s the matter, Thunder Girl? Can’t handle the heat?”

With a force that surprised even her, Y/N summoned the last of her strength, calling on a surge of lightning that cracked the air around her. The bolt shot toward Luke, but before it could hit him, he deflected it with a dark shield of energy.

“Is that the best you can do?” Luke mocked. “You’re pathetic.”

But before he could make another move, a sudden, enraged shout cut through the chaos.

“No!” Clarisse cried, charging at Luke with all the fury of a storm. Her spear gleamed in the dim light as she swung it at Luke, narrowly missing his chest. But Luke dodged, and with a swift motion, he sent a blast of dark energy straight at Clarisse.

Y/N’s heart dropped. She wasn’t about to let that happen.

With every ounce of strength she had left, Y/N reached out, using the power of the storm to summon a massive bolt of lightning that struck Luke square in the chest. The force of it sent him flying back, his body crashing against the cavern walls with a sickening thud.

Y/N collapsed to the ground, the world spinning around her. Her arm was broken, and she could feel the sharp, agonizing pain of her ribs. Blood dripped down her face from a deep gash on her forehead. She was barely conscious, her vision fading in and out.

Clarisse rushed to her side, her face pale with panic. “Y/N? Y/N, stay with me. Come on, talk to me!”

Y/N’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I’m… fine.”

Clarisse’s hands shook as she examined her wounds, her expression torn with fear and helplessness. “You’re not fine. You’re hurt… so badly.”

Y/N managed a weak smile, her breath ragged. “It’s just a scratch.”

Clarisse’s eyes filled with emotion. “Don’t joke, Y/N. You could’ve… could’ve died!”

“I’m… still here,” Y/N whispered, reaching out with her good arm to grip Clarisse’s hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”

But Clarisse wasn’t listening. Her jaw clenched, her hands shaking with barely controlled rage. “I’m going to make him pay. I swear to the gods, Luke will regret this.”

Y/N barely had the energy to protest, her body shutting down as the pain began to overwhelm her. “Clarisse… I just… need to rest… please…”

Clarisse’s expression softened for a moment, her hand gently brushing Y/N’s hair away from her face. “Don’t you dare give up on me, Y/N. We’re in this together.”

Despite her best efforts, Y/N couldn’t hold on any longer. As the darkness crept in, she could feel Clarisse’s hand still tightly gripping hers, a lifeline that kept her tethered to the world.

When Y/N awoke, the first thing she saw was Clarisse, sitting by her side, her face a mix of exhaustion and relief.

“Hey,” Clarisse whispered, her voice hoarse. “You scared the hell out of me.”

Y/N smiled weakly. “I’m… sorry.”

Clarisse shook her head, brushing a stray lock of hair from Y/N’s face. “No. Don’t apologize. I’m just glad you’re still here.”

The group had managed to escape the Underworld with the lightning bolt, and Luke was gone—vanished for now. But the cost had been high, and Y/N’s wounds were far from healed.

Clarisse stayed by her side as the group made their way back, and the storm that had once raged inside them both seemed to have calmed, replaced by a quiet understanding—a bond that had been forged in the fires of battle.

They weren’t just surviving anymore. They were stronger, together.

______________________________________________________________________

The journey back to Camp Half-Blood had been tense. Y/N was still recovering from her injuries—her broken arm in a sling, ribs wrapped tightly, and a few stitches from the gash across her forehead. Yet, the mission wasn’t over. She had one final task to complete: to return the stolen lightning bolt to her father, Zeus.

The moment they arrived at the camp, Clarisse was by her side, her fierce protectiveness evident in her every movement. Even though the rest of the group was exhausted and covered in dirt and blood from their encounter with Luke, Clarisse’s gaze never wavered from Y/N.

“Y/N, you’re not going to the gods like this,” Clarisse said, her voice low but firm. She was standing beside Y/N as they prepared for the trip to Olympus. “You’re still hurt.”

Y/N, who had been sitting quietly by the campfire, glanced up at her with a tired but determined expression. “Clarisse, I have to do this. I can handle it.”

“You’re injured!” Clarisse’s voice rose slightly, her frustration clear. “What if something happens to you? You can barely stand up without wincing, and you want to go face your father—alone?”

Y/N stood up, wincing from the pain in her ribs but not letting it show. “I’m not some fragile little thing that needs constant babysitting, Clarisse.” Her voice was sharp, though there was no malice behind it. “I’m a big girl, okay? I’ll be fine.”

Clarisse’s eyes flashed with hurt, and for a moment, she said nothing. Y/N turned away, her heart pounding in her chest. She understood why Clarisse was so worried. After all, Clarisse had been by her side through every battle, every near-death experience. But this? This was something she had to do on her own.

“I don’t care how strong you are, Y/N,” Clarisse finally said, her voice quieter but no less intense. “I can’t just sit here and let you go alone. I… I care about you. More than you probably even realize.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat at the admission. She turned back to face Clarisse, her eyes searching her face for any sign of insincerity, but there was none.

“Clarisse…”

Before she could say anything else, Clarisse closed the distance between them, her movements swift and sure. In one fluid motion, she cupped Y/N’s face in her hands and kissed her—soft, urgent, and all-consuming.

Y/N’s world tilted as the kiss deepened, her body pressing instinctively closer to Clarisse’s. It was everything Y/N hadn’t realized she wanted—a surge of heat and tenderness all at once. It was more than just a kiss. It was a promise.

When they pulled away, both of them were breathing heavily, their faces flushed. Clarisse rested her forehead against Y/N’s, their noses almost touching.

“You think you can do this alone?” Clarisse whispered, her voice hushed, but full of an emotion Y/N couldn’t ignore. “You think I can just stand by and watch you risk your life?”

Y/N smiled softly, her heart fluttering. “Clarisse, I don’t need saving. I’m strong. But I don’t mind if you want to be by my side.”

Clarisse chuckled, the tension easing between them. “I’ll be by your side,” she said quietly. “But you’re not doing this alone, Y/N. I care about you too much.”

Y/N reached up, brushing a strand of hair from Clarisse’s face, her heart swelling with affection. “I care about you, too. But I’m going. Whether you like it or not.”

Clarisse sighed, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Fine. But I’m going with you. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Y/N shook her head in mock exasperation, though the warmth in her chest was undeniable. “You’re impossible.”

“Only when I’m fighting for what’s mine,” Clarisse retorted, a glint of mischief in her eyes.

As they made their way to the entrance of Camp Half-Blood, preparing to head to Olympus, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a surge of gratitude. Despite everything that had happened—despite the dangers, the pain, and the uncertainty—she wasn’t facing it alone. Clarisse was with her, and in that moment, it felt like nothing could tear them apart.

The journey to Olympus was a blur, the sounds of the mortal world fading as they ascended to the realm of the gods. Y/N stood before the throne of Zeus, Clarisse at her side, and she could feel the weight of her father’s gaze upon her.

“Daughter,” Zeus said, his voice booming, “you have done well to retrieve my bolt.”

Y/N stood tall, despite her injuries, and offered her father the stolen bolt. “It was a team effort,” she said, glancing at Clarisse with a small, knowing smile.

Zeus nodded, though his gaze flickered briefly to Clarisse. “It seems you have gained not just the power of the storm, but the strength of loyalty and trust.” He paused, a faint smirk crossing his face. “And perhaps a little more.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed, but she didn’t look away from her father’s piercing eyes. “I’ll always stand by my friends and my family. No matter what.”

Clarisse stepped forward, her posture proud. “And I’ll always be here, no matter what happens next.”

Zeus’s expression softened, though he didn’t offer much more than a knowing nod. “Very well. You’ve proven yourself worthy. You may go.”

As they turned to leave, Y/N glanced at Clarisse, her heart swelling with affection. She didn’t need Zeus’s approval to know what she had found in Clarisse was real.

They walked side by side as they descended from Olympus, Y/N’s arm around Clarisse’s shoulders as they made their way back to the mortal world. There was still much to do, many dangers yet to face. But for now, with the storm of their emotions finally settled, they walked together—strong, and ready for whatever came next.

______________________________________________________________________

The days that followed their return from Olympus were filled with a quiet sense of relief and rest. Y/N was still healing from her injuries, her broken arm in a cast and her ribs slowly mending with the help of the camp’s healer, but there was something more significant happening as well—her relationship with Clarisse was growing, shifting from quiet moments of tension to an open, loving bond.

Clarisse, ever the fierce warrior, had softened in ways that Y/N had never expected. She stayed by Y/N’s side constantly, her presence a comforting constant. Whether they were in the infirmary or walking around the camp, Clarisse was always there, her hand always finding its way to Y/N’s—protective, possessive, and gentle all at once.

One afternoon, after another long session with the healer, Y/N was sitting by the fire, the warmth of the flames kissing her skin as she leaned against the stone wall. Clarisse sat beside her, watching over her like a hawk, always making sure Y/N was comfortable, always offering a hand to help when needed.

“You know,” Y/N said softly, her gaze fixed on the fire, “I never thought I’d end up like this—injured, resting, relying on others to help me.”

Clarisse nudged her gently with her shoulder, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “You’ve always been a bit too independent for your own good. Maybe this is a lesson in letting others take care of you for once.”

Y/N grinned, glancing at her. “I suppose I can get used to it, as long as you’re the one taking care of me.”

Clarisse’s eyes softened, and she leaned in, brushing a stray lock of hair behind Y/N’s ear. “Of course. I’ll always be here, Y/N. Always.”

The words were simple, but they carried a depth that made Y/N’s heart swell. She reached up, gently pulling Clarisse into a kiss, slow and tender, savoring the closeness between them. It wasn’t a kiss filled with urgency or desire—it was the kind of kiss that spoke volumes without needing words. It was about the trust they had built, the understanding that they were in this together, no matter what came next.

As they pulled away, Y/N rested her forehead against Clarisse’s, both of them breathing softly in the quiet of the night. “You really don’t have to stay with me all the time, you know.”

Clarisse chuckled, her thumb brushing across Y/N’s knuckles. “I’m not going anywhere. If anything, you’ll have to chase me away.”

Y/N smiled, her heart fluttering in her chest. “I think I’m okay with that.”

Clarisse’s grin grew wider, a playful glint in her eyes. “You better be. Because I’m not leaving your side.”

Days turned into weeks, and Y/N’s healing progressed. She was no longer confined to bedrest, though she still moved cautiously, her body not quite back to its usual strength. But each step she took, Clarisse was there—offering her a hand when needed, walking beside her through the camp as they shared quiet moments, stolen kisses, and laughter.

One afternoon, after Y/N had finished a light training session with Percy and Annabeth, she found herself sitting in a secluded part of the camp, watching the sunset. Clarisse joined her soon after, sitting beside her and wrapping an arm around her waist.

“I can’t believe we made it through all of that,” Y/N said, her voice soft but full of gratitude. “We actually survived.”

Clarisse kissed the top of her head, her lips lingering there. “We did more than survive, Y/N. We made it through together. That’s what matters.”

Y/N leaned into her, resting her head on Clarisse’s shoulder as they watched the sky turn shades of orange and pink. It was peaceful here—far away from the chaos of the quest, the battles, and the dangers they had faced.

“I don’t know what I would’ve done without you,” Y/N murmured, her fingers tracing the outline of Clarisse’s hand.

Clarisse chuckled softly. “You’d have probably gotten yourself into even more trouble.”

Y/N looked up at her, meeting her eyes. “You’re probably right. But I think I’d always want you by my side, no matter what.”

Clarisse’s expression softened, and she leaned in to kiss Y/N again—this time a little more passionately. As they pulled apart, Clarisse’s eyes held a quiet intensity. “You’ve always had me, Y/N. No matter what happens next, I’m here. For good.”

Y/N smiled, her heart swelling in her chest. “Then let’s face everything together, Clarisse.”

They sat there for a long time, watching the sunset, wrapped in each other’s arms. The journey had been difficult—there had been pain, loss, and betrayal. But now, with Clarisse by her side, Y/N knew that no matter what the future held, they would face it together.

Their love, like the storm within Y/N, had been tested—but now it was calm, steady, and unwavering. And for the first time in a long while, Y/N felt truly at peace.

[ficxworm]

Thanks and Giving

Pairing: Wilson x House

Tags: Thanksgiving w/ Hilson, Domestic fluff

The aroma of roasted turkey filled the air, mingling with the faint scent of cinnamon and nutmeg. House slouched on the couch, eyes glued to a football game he didn’t care about, a beer in one hand and the remote in the other. He was already three comments deep into mocking the players’ poor strategies when Wilson emerged from the kitchen.

“House, if you don’t help me with this stuffing, I swear you’re eating frozen pizza for dinner.”

House tilted his head, pretending to weigh his options. “Frozen pizza’s not terrible. Less effort, more cheese. A win-win.”

Wilson set down the tray he was carrying with a heavy sigh. “For once, can you just pretend to care about tradition?”

House smirked. “I am. I’m traditionally annoying.”

Wilson shot him a look but couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto his face. Thanksgiving had always been a mixed bag for both of them. Wilson, ever the sentimentalist, tried to uphold the rituals. House, true to form, found ways to undermine them. Yet somehow, they always ended up here—together.

Reluctantly, House pushed himself off the couch, favoring his leg as he limped into the kitchen. “Fine. But if I burn this stuffing, it’s on you.”

Wilson rolled his eyes. “You’re not going to burn it. Just stir it while I handle the gravy.”

House picked up the spoon and gave a half-hearted swirl. “You know,” he started, “Thanksgiving’s a weird holiday. We gorge ourselves, argue about football, and pretend we’re thankful for things we’re going to complain about tomorrow.”

Wilson didn’t look up from his task. “And yet, here you are. Complaining and stirring at the same time. Truly, a multi-talented man.”

House chuckled, a rare, genuine sound. “Can’t let you have all the fun.”

They worked in companionable silence for a few minutes, the sounds of bubbling pots and the occasional clink of utensils filling the space. House, despite his protests, found a strange comfort in the domesticity of it all. He glanced at Wilson, noticing the way he meticulously whisked the gravy, brow furrowed in concentration. It was…endearing.

“Hey,” House said suddenly, breaking the quiet. “Why do you do this every year? The whole cooking-for-two thing. You could just go to a fancy restaurant or something.”

Wilson paused, spoon in hand, and looked over. “Because it’s not about the food, House. It’s about being with people who matter.”

House arched a brow. “So, no one else answered your invites, huh?”

Wilson shook his head, laughing softly. “No, idiot. I choose to spend it with you.”

For once, House didn’t have a snarky comeback. He just nodded, stirring the stuffing a little more thoughtfully.

When everything was finally ready, they sat at the small kitchen table, plates piled high with turkey, mashed potatoes, and all the fixings. House eyed the spread with mock suspicion. “What are the odds you poisoned something?”

“Very low,” Wilson replied, taking a bite of his own food. “I’d miss your charming commentary too much.”

They ate in comfortable silence for a while, the tension of the day easing with each bite. Eventually, Wilson raised his glass. “To surviving another year. And to…whatever comes next.”

House clinked his bottle against Wilson’s glass. “To tolerating each other. And maybe even liking it a little.”

Wilson smiled, and for once, House let himself enjoy the moment.

Thanksgiving wasn’t about tradition, or even the food. It was about finding something worth holding onto, even in the chaos. And in that, House thought, they were both pretty damn lucky.

[sabbathbloodysabbeth]

Zombie Stomp

Prologue: Fade To Black

I’m an attention whore, so any thoughts from anyone are greatly appreciated :)

Ao3 Link

Eddie moves his body awkwardly to his Uncle’s old boombox. His palms sweat as his fingers slide over the buttons, a soft clicking noise leaving when he presses down.

Behind him, on his bed was one of the first breathtaking boys he’s seen in a while. Eddie’s standards may be low as Robert was the new line cook at Benny’s. Eddie couldn’t be picky. He was a gay man in Hawkins, Indiana. It wasn’t every day you saw an out-and-proud queer walking down the street. Or have one that isn’t out in your bed possibly leaving a grease stain on your mattress and your record.

The Gays flocked out of Hawkin’s faster than they came. Eddie would too if his Uncle didn’t live here.

Uncle Wayne was currently on an overnight shift, thank god. The stars seemed to be aligning for Eddie to get laid, finally. At twenty he was going to lose his virginity. Thank Fuck. ‘86 was going to be his year. He was sure of it.

Turning away from the box he starts to go through his cassettes. In the movies, they normally had music playing in the background. Even in the limited amount of porn Eddie’s seen, there was some tune on.

With that knowledge, Eddie doesn’t think he has a good cassette for this setting. That was a strange realization for him as his music normally fit everything he did. So unless Robert could get it up to Black Sabbath he was out of luck in the music department.

“You like Black Sabbath?” Eddie asks, his voice scratchy from nerves.

Eddie was sure he was going to somehow fuck this up like everything else he did. He turns his body at a slight angle to look at Robert, trying to distract himself from overthinking.

The other man was tilting his head around inspecting his room. Eddie rarely had anyone in here. He was nervous the mess would disgust Robert.

“Uh… who’s that?” Robert asks in a tone that almost turns Eddie off.

Eddie bites his tongue, holding back a sassy remark. He didn’t want to be a dick to what may be his only opportunity with another man. This was his shot to lose his virginity before he was legally able to enter a gay bar. He wanted a little experience under his belt before he had anything else underneath him.

“Um- It’s a uh…” Eddie’s voice cracks. He clears his throat before beginning again. “It’s a band from the seventies. You may have heard of the lead singer. Ozzy Osbourne? That guy who bit a bat’s head off,” Eddie rambles.

“Never heard of her,” Robert admits, beginning to chew on his gum obnoxiously. Eddies suspicions that the other wasn’t listening to him were proven correct.

The longer Eddie spent time with Robert the more annoyed he got. The guy didn’t seem all that interested in Eddie. Not like he had been at the restaurant.

“Hey man, I don’t care what you put on. It’s not like I’m listening to it anyway,” He snorts slightly.

Eddie was starting to think that Robert might be one of the most unattractive men he’s ever met.

“Yeah, alright- alright, yeah, no. No music should be fine then. Silence is probably better than what I have here.” He jokes, cringing at himself feeling like he just disrespected the metal gods. He just wanted to break the awkward tension that was slowly beginning to fall over them.

Eddie moves away from his cassettes, still fidgety and unable to stand put. He knows his nerves made the antsy feeling that never let him sit still worse. Normally he would smoke a joint, but his gut told him that he shouldn’t get high right now. Not with this man who could barely pay attention long enough to get Ozzy’s pronouns right.

Robert responds with a soft grunting noise. Eddie’s body tenses up. He was slowly starting to think that Robert didn’t want to be here. It had been his idea in the first place, now he was acting like Eddie’s pulling his teeth.

“Robert, do you even-” Eddie starts as Robert speaks.

“Why don’t we get this show on the road, huh?” Robert hums out, unbothered that he interrupted Eddie. He doesn’t apologize or wait to hear what Eddie has to say.

That doesn’t sit well with Eddie. If he wasn’t such a chicken shit he would stop this entire thing. He couldn’t. Not while Robert was giving him that look. The same one that led them here after closing Benny’s, and was beginning to spark Eddie’s interest again. Despite all the warning signs pointing to a terrible first time.

The other man begins to pat his lap suggestively. Eddie’s unsure whether he was feeling uncomfortable, or realizing this was all a phase. He did know he wasn’t enjoying himself like he thought he would. He also knew that the voice telling him to get this over with was the devil on his shoulder. He pictured a little demonic queer on his right and a perfectly straight angel on his left.

He moves forward, carefully placing himself in Robert’s lap. He begins to chuckle awkwardly as he realizes he doesn’t know what to do with his limbs, expecting instruction. Instead, Robert moves forward beginning to mess with Eddie’s belt silently. The only noise was the gentle clinking from Robert struggling to get his belt undone.

This is when Eddie realizes that he isn’t hard. He had been earlier when Robert pulled him behind his van to whisper about what he wanted to do to him. Now, his Dick wasn’t responding and Eddie doesn’t think it could be brought back to life. Not even with mouth-to-mouth.

Robert doesn’t seem to be bothered by this, he just begins to kiss up Eddie’s neck. Eddie scrunches his nose up in disgust at how sloppy the other was being. Plus he didn’t see Robert pull his gum out. That made Eddie uncomfortable, worried that the other might get gum in his hair.

After a moment of hyping himself up, Eddie opens his mouth to speak. Robert interrupts him again.

“Gotta relax baby.” A soft chuckle tickles Eddie’s neck before Eddie begins to feel the other’s tongue.

Ok, Eddie thinks he might throw up.

He pushes back with the other still stuck to his neck like a leech. As if he was trying to suck the fruitiness out of Eddie, he was currently succeeding. Not in a good way.

Eddie’s about to rip Robert a new one or consider setting him on fire when his door flies open.

“Eddie pack your shit we-” His Uncle was now in his doorway looking distressed.

Eddie freezes in Robert’s lap. He's starting to believe that God put a curse on him. First, he’s a gay man trapped in the middle of bum fuck nowhere. Second, he couldn’t even find a decent gay to fuck around with. To top it all off his Uncle, who was supposed to be at work, was currently standing in his doorway seeing him in all his faggot glory.

Eddie’s eyes are wide. His heart beats fast in his chest, possibly skipping a few. He can’t bring himself to move from Robert. It was like his limbs were frozen.

Robert on the other hand doesn’t waste a second. He shoves Eddie onto his ass and to the floor. He buckles his belt, which Eddie didn’t realize was undone, before frantically pushing past Wayne. The front door softly shuts behind him.

Wayne doesn’t break eye contact. Eddie’s ears begin to ring. His head went light as his hands shook. All he was able to process was, “...Pack your shit…”

Eddie Munson was getting kicked out, again. You would think he would be a pro at this. But no, he sat there on his ass having a panic attack.

Only if his father could see him now. Probably would call him a little bitch like he had when he kicked Eddie out.

His body goes on autopilot, suddenly standing up and picking clothes off the floor. Eddie doesn’t know when he grabbed his duffle bag, the one he saved for this exact purpose, but he was now stuffing clothes inside it.

Eddie had always expected this to happen when Wayne found out. What he didn’t predict was how hurt he was going to feel. He promised himself after his father that he wasn’t going to let anyone see him like this ever again. Yet here he was, crying like a little bitch.

Eddie could barely feel the tears running down his face. Nor did he feel Wayne’s hands move to his shoulders until they lightly squeezed. A feeble attempt to grab Eddie’s attention.

“Eddie,” Wayne’s voice was soft. Whatever he came in so distressed about was forgotten for just a second.

Eddie’s shoulders tense, and he clenches his jaw preparing to hear his Uncle become a bigot right behind him. His hands stopped doing what they were doing. He digs his nails into the palms of his hands in hopes that it hurts more than this.

He doesn’t turn his head around, not wanting a black eye if that's what Wayne wants to give him. His snot rolls down his face and pools above his lip. He sniffles loudly, wiping the snot from his face into his sleeve.

Eddie was a wet mess. Not in the way he had expected or wanted.

“I- Uh,” Wayne pauses to clear his throat. “I love you, Eds.” The words come out awkwardly and foreign.

Eddie flinches expecting to hear something else. Furrowing his eyebrows confused he turns his head to look at his Uncle. Within the time he has lived in this trailer, Wayne has never spoken those words to him. They knew they loved each other. It was left unspoken and in a grey area, they avoided.

“You.. you what?” Eddie asks stunned. His eyes were wide and puffy as he blinked slowly, feeling as if he was hallucinating. Was this entire scenario just him having a psychotic break? Or was he having a sick nightmare in some conversion camp right now?

“I love you, Eddie,” Wayne speaks, his voice growing more confident as he says it. “And I don’t care who you’re uh,” He pauses awkwardly.

“Who yer romantically involved with. Just as long as you wrap it, and I don’t hear you doing your thing.” Wayne coughs a little. His face was going a light pink, the color reaching to the top of his head.

“You don’t care that I’m a faggot?” Eddie asks in disbelief. “A raging homo, a queer, a fairy, a…” he begins to ramble out. He wants it to be clear what he is to his Uncle. He may have not enjoyed Robert like he had thought he would, but he still got pretty worked up over Ozzy’s chest hair. There was fruitiness a foot and inside Eddie.

“Boy,” Wayne’s voice raises to what Eddie thought it would when he first found him. “If I ever hear you talk about yourself like that ever again, I’ll - I’ll make sure to - well I don’t know what I’ll do, but I’ll make sure you won’t be talking like that ever again.” Wayne huffs out.

A determination in his eye that Eddie hasn’t seen since he first moved in. Wayne had sat him down all of those years ago. Looked him in the eye like he was now and told him he was never going back to his father. Not if he was still breathing and around to have any say about it.

Eddie opens his mouth, feeling like a goldfish trapped in a bowl. Nowhere to go or hide.

“Now, you do need to pack your shit,” Wayne says seriously. “That thing making people turn on each other is in Hawkins. And people already give you enough shit for DnD. Don’t need you getting eaten alive just because they think you’re the devil reincarnated.”

Wayne pulls his hands off Eddie’s shoulders. Then moves calmly to his bedroom door, though something is still off with him. As if he knew something Eddie didn’t.

Eddie just nods his head dumbly, not questioning it. He didn’t want to push the limited amount of luck he had. He was grateful that he wasn’t covered in bruises and on the side of the road again.

****

The man’s face had been covered in so much blood that there was no way of identifying him. Eddie had been carrying the last of their packed bags out to his van when he saw him. The man walked around like it was normal to be covered in blood, nothing frantic in the way he moved. That was the first alarm bell that should have gone off to Eddie.

Eddie was too focused on trying to recognize who it was, so he could ask him if he was alright. It could be Jim, from two trailers down; a man who used to babysit Eddie. Though going off from the limited amount of hair it was more likely George, a middle aged man who was always walking his dogs Or Liam, a police officer that lived closer to the entrance of the trailer park and once busted Eddie for dealing.

Eddie shakily breathes, feeling as if his chest was going to explode. His ears were ringing, his head was foggy and for some reason all he could see were the man’s eyes. They were bloodshot, as if he had or was still crying. His eyes were wide, afraid of something. Of what Eddie hadn’t known. The red was slowly beginning to leak into the man’s iris. Eddie wondered how he was able to see.

Eddie felt his bones ache, reminded of the sound the man’s jaw had made. The loud cracking noise as if it was dislocating itself. The bottom jaw had moved and fell open, the man having no control of it. Though at the same time it looked like he was trying to speak. His face pinched up as a pained groan left him.

From where Eddie stood he could see bits of meat stuck in between the man's teeth as his mouth opened further. Blood slowly dripped down his chin. Instead of words a soft clicking noise came out. Eddie was slowly starting to panic. There was something off about this man. It didn’t seem like he was trying to come over to recieve help.

“Eddie.”

The more Eddie watched him, the more suspicious the other was becoming. From how he walked something didn’t seem right, as if the man hadn’t been a human a day in his life.

Eddie doesn’t believe in skinwalkers. He’s heard a tale or two from his uncle warning him how people could be possessed by one but he never believed him. Now, watching this man he can’t help but believe that this may be a skinwalker. It was irrational and not logical but there was nothing rational with how this man walked.

The bones in his legs were visibly sliding through his skin. The more Eddie observed that’s when he catches the huge chunk of meat slowly sliding behind him. How he hadn’t noticed sooner was odd.

“Boy,”

How could anyone not notice that they were leaving a bloody snail trail behind them? What was scarier than the leg was the noises he made.

The more he moves the louder the groans become. Each time the man tilted his head a soft clicking noise would follow and his eyes would begin to squint.

Eddie took a step back from the van, hearing the trailer door opening with a loud creak as this man or thing came towards him.

“Eddie!”

Eddie could hear his Uncle yelling as the man started to stumble forward faster. As if he was finally processing Eddie was there.

A sudden bang echoed in the trailer park. Eddie doesn’t get enough time to even process that his Uncle was the one who shot the man thing before the loud ringing began. It’s so loud it makes his eyes go foggy and he isn’t even sure he’s really in the trailer park anymore, or if he even had been. Time was moving slowly and then fast forwarding on repeat.

It seems like forever before Eddie’s eyes slowly begin to focus again. The ringing stops. The only sound he could hear was loud breathing. He barely recognizes that it was coming from him.

“Ed’s?” Wayne was leaning over the van. His hand was awkwardly floating an inch above Eddie’s shoulder as if he were afraid to touch him.

Eddie blinks confused. He wasn’t sure what just happened or how he got in the passenger of the van. He had been outside of their trailer just a second ago. Watching as someone’s head gets blown off by Wayne’s shotgun.

He glances around, looking out the window, trying to place where he was.

They were now pulled to the side of the road, right in front of the ‘leaving Hawkins’ sign. It was as if Eddie lost a portion of time. Where it went he was unsure. What he did know was he needed to get out of this van.

Before his Uncle could stop him he’s standing on the side of the road. Dropping to his knees, not caring how bad the pavement hurt. Crouching forward he aims for the grass before he begins to throw up. Tears fell down his face as his throat began to burn. It was painful enough that he had to cough in between small breaks, before he was hurling more.

He lets out a pathetic whine before he vomits each time. Feeling his hair being pulled back with a slight tug. A hand, which he assumes is Wayne’s, begins to rub gently at the knots of his now tense shoulders.

When he’s finished he’s pretty worn out. He could barely keep his eyes open. He leans back, scrunching his nose up before he’s moving to stand. Stumbling into Wayne, before pushing himself away from the other.

He opens his mouth, his hair falling back down his shoulders. Eddie’s looking at his Uncle and he doesn’t know what to say. He just watched his Uncle kill someone and he doesn’t know how to react.

“Wayne,” Eddie’s voice cracks. Tears were rolling down his face. He was having some difficulty breathing or getting words out.

Trying to compose himself he takes a deep shaky breath that hurts his chest.

“You killed him.”

“Eddie-” Wayne starts, hands moving in the air in an ‘Everything is alright’ gesture. He tries to speak but Eddie doesn’t let him.

“No Wayne, you killed that man. What if he had children?” Eddie hisses out. Stumbling back a little more. He felt drunk with how bad his balance was.

“Kid, will you listen to me.” Wayne pleads, “That wasn’t no man anymore. You’ve heard the radio talking about people going nuts. How they’re biting chunks out of people.”

Eddie listens. He has no choice but to. He thinks back to that guy's mouth. How it was covered in blood, mixed with fresh and dried. The way he barely reacted to a piece of his leg dragging behind him. Not only that but for a split moment Eddie had thought the man was a skinwalker. Something that Eddie has been arguing wasn’t real to his uncle for years.

Everything Wayne was bringing up was making since, as Eddie did hear those news reports. Even heard stories from kids in school.

Eddie’s speechless. He doesn’t know what to say. His mouth opens, trying to make a small attempt before it closes. A moment of uncertainty falls over the two of them before Eddie decides he believes his Uncle.

He moves forward without thinking, not afraid to bury himself in his Uncle's arms. Both of them have tears rolling down their faces. Neither of them would ever mention it. Instead, Eddie focuses on the soft, warm breaths that tickle the top of his head. How his arms wrapped tightly around Wayne’s middle. The way Wayne returns the hug, holding Eddie tightly as if he were afraid Eddie was going to disappear.

Eddie squeezes the other gently, as a reminder that he was there and very much real. When they finally separate Eddie looks his Uncle in the eyes. He may not know much right now, but does know he can’t ever lose Wayne. No matter what.

[blush-boulevard]

𝓤𝓷𝓼𝓹𝓸𝓴𝓮𝓷 𝓑𝓸𝓷𝓭𝓼

𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐜𝐨 & 𝐉𝐢𝐧𝐱 - Jinx begins to feel unworthy of Silco’s affection, but Silco reassures her with a simple but profound declaration of love. It’s a rare moment where Silco’s fatherly feelings shine through.

Father & Daughter / Fluff/ Hurt+Comfort/ Angst/ Arcane/ League of Legends/ Silco/ Jinx/ One shot

word count: 1006

@blush-boulevard｜𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬｜𝑅𝒰𝐿𝐸𝒮 𝒜𝒩𝒟 𝒢𝒰𝐼𝒟𝐸𝐿𝐼𝒩𝐸𝒮｜𝕮𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖎𝖘𝖘𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘｜𝓚-𝓹𝓸𝓹 𝓜𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽｜𝓡𝓮𝓰𝓾𝓵𝓪𝓻 𝓜𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽

The factory was quiet, save for the occasional hum of machinery and the soft trickle of water seeping through the old pipes. The air was damp, heavy with the scent of metal and oil, and dimly lit by the weak flicker of Zaun’s neon glow spilling through cracked windows. Jinx sat cross-legged on the floor of Silco’s office, surrounded by scattered pieces of machinery and a tangle of wires. Her back was to him, her shoulders stiff, her head bowed low as if the weight of the world rested on her.

Silco watched her from his desk, his mismatched eyes narrowing as he observed the unusual stillness in her movements. Normally, her workspace was alive with chaotic energy—muttered plans, cackles of laughter, and the constant clinking of tools. But tonight, the room was quiet, the only sound the soft scrape of metal as Jinx fidgeted absentmindedly with a screwdriver.

“You’ve been quiet,” Silco remarked, his deep voice cutting through the silence.

Jinx didn’t look up, didn’t even flinch at his words. She simply shrugged, her gaze fixed on the mess before her. “Just working,” she mumbled, though her voice lacked its usual sharp edge.

“Working, or brooding?” Silco asked, his tone laced with suspicion. He stood and crossed the room, his boots echoing softly against the floor as he approached her. “Something’s on your mind.”

Jinx tensed at his words, her fingers tightening around the screwdriver. “I’m fine,” she said quickly, but the crack in her voice betrayed her.

Silco crouched beside her, his sharp eyes searching her face. In the dim light, he noticed the faint shadows under her eyes, the small smudge of grease on her cheek, and the tension in her jaw. He wasn’t one to pry, but he knew when something was wrong. Jinx’s silence wasn’t just unusual; it was unsettling.

“Jinx,” he said softly, his voice losing its usual sternness. “Talk to me.”

She finally looked up at him, her blue eyes shimmering with frustration and something else—something raw and unspoken. She hesitated, biting her lip as if debating whether to spill the words that were clawing at her throat.

“It’s stupid,” she muttered, dropping her gaze again. “You’ll think it’s stupid.”

“Try me,” Silco urged, his tone firm but not unkind.

Jinx let out a shaky breath, setting the screwdriver aside. She wrapped her arms around her knees, her voice barely above a whisper as she spoke. “I… messed up,” she admitted. “I thought I had everything under control, but I didn’t. And now—now everything’s ruined.”

Silco frowned, his sharp mind already piecing together the gaps in her words. “What happened?”

“There was this… mission,” she said reluctantly, her fingers digging into her sleeves. “I was supposed to tag one of Piltover’s supply routes. Send a message, you know? But I got distracted. I went off-plan, and then the enforcers showed up, and—” Her voice broke, and she shook her head. “I barely made it out. And now they’re probably on high alert because of me.”

Silco exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable. He didn’t lash out, didn’t raise his voice. Instead, he reached out and gently tipped her chin up so she was forced to meet his gaze. “You survived,” he said simply. “That’s what matters.”

“But I failed!” Jinx snapped, her voice cracking with emotion. “I was supposed to be better than this. Better than her.”

The room went silent, her words hanging heavy in the air. Silco didn’t need to ask who she meant. Powder. The name neither of them dared to speak, the shadow of a girl Jinx had tried so hard to leave behind.

“You’re not Powder anymore,” Silco said quietly, his hand falling back to his side. “You haven’t been for a long time. But even Jinx isn’t perfect. No one is.”

Jinx scoffed, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. “You’re supposed to be mad,” she muttered. “Yell at me, tell me how much I screwed up. Not… whatever this is.”

Silco studied her for a long moment, his mismatched eyes narrowing slightly. “Do you think so little of me?” he asked, his voice cutting through her defenses. “Do you think I don’t understand failure?”

Jinx looked at him, startled by the weight in his tone. She opened her mouth to speak, but Silco didn’t give her the chance.

“I built Zaun from nothing,” he continued, his voice low but steady. “Do you think I did that without making mistakes? Without losing battles along the way? Failure is inevitable, Jinx. But it’s what you do with it that defines you.”

His words hit her harder than she expected, cutting through the haze of self-loathing that clouded her mind. She wanted to argue, to push him away, but she couldn’t. Because deep down, she knew he was right.

“But what if I mess up again?” she asked softly, her voice trembling.

“Then you’ll learn from it,” Silco said firmly. “And you’ll keep going. Because that’s what we do. That’s what it means to survive.”

Jinx blinked rapidly, the tears finally spilling over as she buried her face in her hands. She hated crying, hated the vulnerability it exposed. But Silco didn’t mock her, didn’t tell her to toughen up. Instead, he placed a hand on her shoulder, grounding her in a way only he could.

“You’re stronger than you think,” he said, his voice steady. “You’ve proven that time and time again. Don’t let one mistake convince you otherwise.”

For a long moment, they sat there in silence, the unspoken bond between them stronger than any words could convey. Slowly, Jinx lowered her hands, wiping her eyes on her sleeve.

“Thanks,” she muttered, her voice still shaky. “For… not giving up on me.”

Silco gave her a rare, almost imperceptible smile. “You’re my daughter,” he said simply. “I’ll never give up on you.”

The words settled over her like a warm blanket, soothing the ache in her chest. She wasn’t perfect—far from it—but in Silco’s eyes, she didn’t have to be. She was Jinx, flaws and all. And for now, that was enough.

[secret-smut-sideblog]

Please Be Rude

short and indulgent introduction to my rook and lucanis' dynamic. written pre-release so forgive ooc or contradictions

PG-13 - implied self-harm, mage killer tension, chronic pain, jealousy, rivalry, ANGST

-

"Slow down..." The detective raised her hands, narrowed eyes fixed on his dagger. "We're here to help, Crow."

She could be taken care of, too, if need be. The mage in front of him was his first priority. Blade pressed to her throat.

The air was coiled with magic. It crackled around her, rolling off her in a twitching miasma. Topaz yellow eyes set in dark sclera, animal and locked on him. Her arms did not raise, no panicked shuffle backward. Only the slightest twist of her head, a slow fluid movement.

Something was deeply wrong with her, the type he was trained to put down. And yet, his blade held. Staring up at her, transfixed. There was something terribly hypnotic about her, beauty arrested between fear and awe.

She held his gaze, her pupils tight pinpoints. Breath even against metal. Just the slightest extension of her neck in invitation was enough to break the spell.

He stepped back, swiftly stowing his dagger. Shoulders tight and breath strained.

What just happened?

Spite was over the moon with this development. Nearly bouncing in malicious excitement.

'Let me talk to her. I want to talk to that one!'

Lucanis shook his head, resting his hand on the hilt of his dagger. Eyes still narrowed on this dangerous stranger.

Spite growled in frustration, edging toward her regardless.

Haunting eyes slid to the demon's proximity as her pupils widened out into saucers. Not quite focused on his face but slowly scanning the place where he stood.

Even Spite froze. How strange the mockery of his form looked next to her. Only then did Lucanis really take her in and felt an involuntary jolt of his heart.

Long legs and wide hips that led into the dip of a waist. Full spiraled hair that fell to the small of her back, a fascinating rose gold. A regal face with pouted lips, an aquiline nose, and high cheekbones. Eyes slanted and mysterious as a hawk, the amber of them nearly glowed in the low light.

Angular pointed ears gouged with holes. A fractal scar struck at her temple and scattered through her cheek and jaw. A winding rope of a burn scar circled her swan neck.

Empathy struck him at her state. Elves didn't lead easy lives.

"You have someone with you." Her voice finally rose. Calm as a summer lake, and lilted as a loons lone call with a Navarran accent.

Her eyes settled on him again in curiosity.

Nevarra. He eyed the medical utility of her mage armor.

It suddenly all made sense. A Mortalisi.

His grip loosened on his blade.

"It's complicated." He offered.

"Who are you? Who sent you?" He held her in suspicion again. Though, curiosity overrode that more than he would care to admit.

"Caterina sent me."

Caterina?

He sized her up again.

The stillness she stood with was uncanny. A statue only broken by the slightest flexing in her long fingers. He was trained to know intentions just in the way a person stood. He was getting nothing from her.

It was plausible.

"You're not a Crow."

"And you're not human." She stated, a neutral blunt.

A smile nearly cracked his face. It didn't slip him that she hadn't offered her name yet.

"We need a mage-killer." The lilting of her voice was so melodic it bordered on a lullaby.

"I can still work." He assured.

She nodded and turned, done with their conversation. Apparently, the matter was settled.

A fondness rose in his chest, and he quickly stamped it down. He took up the stride of her walk.

"They have my blood, and a contract unfulfilled on my end."

Her step didn't falter.

"We'll settle it."

That fondness reared again.

"Excellent."

-

It had been three nights now at the Lighthouse, and he hadn't seen her.

It settled an anxiety in his gut that wouldn't stop gnawing. Everyone else was accounted for, but his new companion was a shadow he only saw maddening hints of.

She would make an excellent Crow, but she wasn't one. So, the behavior set alarm bells off in his system. Was she avoiding the others?

Quieter, in the back of his mind.

Was she avoiding him?

He shook his head. There was validity to that thought, but her reasons ultimately didn't matter. She was an invisible outlier that must be accounted for.

So that night, in the late of the witching hours, he set out to find her.

Spite jovially trotted at his side, reveling in the absurdity of his hunt.

'Looking for our terrifying beauty, are we?'

Lucanis ignored him, and the hackle raised at his possessive word choice. Ducking his head around doorways, step silent in the dark.

His stride took him up the winding staircase that led to a library. A further circular wing extended to his left.

Once the whole wing was searched, and he was preparing to rise to the next floor, a scent lifted in the air.

He paused, breathing it in. The unmistakable smell of petrichor. Impossible in this setting. There was no rain in the Fade.

His fingers probed along the wall. A seam hidden in wood. Searching further, he found a latch. A small door popped open.

'Oooh, secrets, secrets!' Spite cackled.

The door opened to a dark wooden staircase, risen up high beyond his vision. Rickety and heavy with newly disturbed dust.

He took the stairs, climbing higher and higher into an attic crawlspace. Eyes cresting over the edge of the warped wooden floor.

It was very dark, but the scent was heavy here. More defined. A bouquet of rain, ozone, a hint of sea salt, and something more. Lavender?

The calm of the heady aroma nearly unfocused him, but he finally found his target.

A long form was curled in a corner. The low spectral light from a crescent window fell in slants across her.

She was turned into the wall, laying on her side. Her bicep was the only pillow for her head, no blanket over or bedroll under.

He studied her in confusion, then familiarity. He could recognize the feign of sleep in her even deep breathing. Still facing the wall, but with eyes he knew were open. Waiting for him to make a move. Both held in charged silence.

Familiarity slid to regret. Well, not regret, he needed to find her. Remorse was closer.

How he knew the act of folding yourself so small you could fit into a crevice. Only safe tucked into the cracks.

He had only just learned her name through some digging, her true name beyond the title of Rook. Rassou. A name he had repeated quietly to himself, enjoying the way it hissed and rolled over his tongue. A secret he inexplicably couldn't resist coveting.

Would she respond to it now if he whispered it?

But that was far too intimate. Too much for him and for this figure hiding in a cold attic.

He stepped forward, and she curled tighter into herself. Legs tucked into her chest, breath stilled.

He paused. Sorrow tight in his chest.

He wanted to...

What did he want?

I don't want to hurt you.

A dangerous feeling. Only the surface of a rippling well of emotion that he refused to stare into.

His jaw clenched.

He removed his overcoat as he stepped closer. Her eyes remained on the wall. Draping it over her, he retreated silently back downstairs.

-

She rubbed her cursed hands on her knees to no avail. The tingling pain cramped the muscles stiff, and no amount of coaxing would recede it.

A lifetime forced her to know this. But desperation was not a sensible thing.

"Come on, not now. Not here." She hissed, closing her eyes tight to the torrent rising behind her breast bone. Frustration was a very effective catalyst. One she couldn't afford to indulge.

Trained deep breaths filled her lungs, released through pursed lips.

One... two... three...

Focused slow. Body slow, breath slow.

As long as she was quiet.

Four... five... six...

It will pass.

As long as she was still.

Eight... nine... ten.

They would be safe with her.

She was in control.

"Okay..." She hushed as her eyes slowly opened.

Stolen sleep was not the end of her tether. It never had been. She was stronger than her body, no matter how it tormented her.

But the pain had never abided being ignored. Pain spoke, but it could not listen. Lightning flashed deep in her veins, and it would never heed to her exhausted requests to just stop. Sleep would be held above her reach until it was expelled.

The easiest release was to call a storm. Rising her arms to the heavens to strike from deep in her marrow. A tempest struck from the core of her person.

But this was the Fade. The upper atmosphere was something she wasn't confident in testing.

Option two was a royal elfroot balm. She used to soak up to her forearms in the salve until she was numbed from the elbow down. But she had run out weeks ago, scraping the corners of the tin she had stretched far past its end.

Option three...

They already gave her neck stares. And her thighs were fully wound in scars. Maybe her ankles could take the burned flesh, but it would be excruciating to chafe on her boots. There would be questions.

She sighed, rising to feet. Striding quiet up stone.

A tucked away corner of a stairwell had become her new home. Colder than the crawlspace, but she had slept in worse. She considered keeping up a rotation to avoid further discovery, but there was too much pain to consider anything right now.

There had to be herbs stockpiled somewhere in this sprawling place. The pantry was a good bet.

Except... the Crow tended to haunt the kitchen.

She had returned his overcoat immediately. Leaving it neatly folded on a chair near the cabinets. Of all of them, he should have the sense to stay away. It was hard enough to dodge Bellara's offers of comradery. The girl seemed fixated on winning her over.

Listening at the door for far too long, her hands started to seize again. With a silent huff, she edged her way in.

Searching shelves in the dark with unwilling limbs, she gave rare thanks to her ancestry. Elves had uncanny vision in low light and with eyes that reflected like a predator in the dark. Her inhuman eyes had been accused of stalking villages in the night during her travels.

Good. They should be afraid of her.

"Those are organized by spice group."

Her hand seized, knocking a jar to shatter on the floor.

Lucanis stepped forward from the wall he had been silently leaned on. She stepped back into the opposite wall. Pressing her back flat against stone.

"Easy..." He soothed, hands stretched open in assurance. Taking another step forward.

Her hands clenched shut hard at her sides, and the pain intensified so high it brought tears to her eyes. Doubled over into her forearms, a whimper of pain caught pathetically in her throat. Heart a kicking, cornered animal.

His shoes quickly filled her vision.

Thunder rolled in her chest.

Her ears popped as the air pulled.

Lucanis paused his hands above her. The change in the atmosphere palpable.

"No..." She whispered.

I don't want to hurt you.

Run.

"Shut up!" Lucanis hissed over his shoulder.

The spirit.

Her eyes raised.

It had been so long, she had nearly forgotten. There was a fourth option.

Rassou raised her shaking hand above her head, holding her palm as flat as she could manage. Breathing shallow through a building scream.

"What are you doing?... Don't -"

But a terrible warm met her palm eagerly, interlocking over her knuckles.

An exhausted smile split her face. She released.

A burst of lightning shot from her. Tension melted in the limb like sugar on a tongue, her head lolled forward.

The mirrored form of Lucanis lit for a brief moment in front of her, made manifest in electrocution, as the real Lucanis looked on.

"Again?" She smiled, raising her other hand as her body released from its tight curve. It was immediately taken by the same fervent heat.

She sent another torrent of shock, more intense this time, pulled from deep in her chest. The near constant knot between her shoulders unwound. A small moan of relief left her.

A sigh exhaled from deep in her belly. The heat nearly vibrated with demand. Again.

"Okay, last one for tonight." She planted her feet and pulled from the base of her spine. It arced out in near ecstasy, fluttering her eyes up into lids. Her lower back unfurled, and the muscles in her hips almost gave out. All the tight in her body unwound as a tapestry fast pulled by a thread.

She fell back against the wall loose and stretched, experiencing the transcendent relief only found after the quell of a great pain. Breathing in full pulls of her diaphragm.

"Thank you." Hushed from her lips.

Ducking back out of the door, she rubbed her trembling hands. Massaging her thumbs into her palms, working out the deep ache that still lingered.

-

"What are you reading?"

She looked up from her curl in a nook of the library, always hidden away in some tight corner. It was shameful how often he found himself unconsciously searching for her lately, a one-sided game of hide and seek.

Topaz eyes stayed stony on him, staring him down. Looking at him through tendrils of softly pink tinted spirals, fallen loose from the full golden bundle on the top of her head.

He had never seen someone who looked quite like her before.

There was a long moment of silence that he tried not to squirm through. Intent on showing his intrusion was friendly, leaning against a shelf as a token of vulnerability.

It had not gotten past him that she was on closer terms with his demon. In fact, it had been tormenting him. The actual gloating from Spite didn't help one bit.

'She likes me! Hah! I helped her AND touched her soft skin, and you haven't! When you walk in, she looks for me first!'

It was made worse in the truth of it. Spite would bound over to her like a gleeful imp, and she would turn and give a little smile to the aura of her invisible pet. Greeting him in a soft voice.

"Hello Kakό."

He eventually worked out a translation from a book on Nevarran language he had scrounged from a dusty shelf.

Mischief.

The first time he saw her smile was looking at Spite. Her Mischief.

He tried to stamp down the sickening coil of jealousy in his stomach. Not backing down from her maintained stare for a moment.

She finally held up the book, the cover revealed to him, then set in back on the crest of her knees. Eyes fallen back on the page.

He had barely taken in the cover, some historical tome he was unfamiliar with.

"What's it about?"

She looked up at him again, somewhat incredulous through a blank stare. Sizing him up after a moment with her eyes.

He had pursued targets since he could work. He knew how to feed into someone's benefit of the doubt. How to soothe and coaxe, to slip into the hairline cracks of a targets good graces. Here he was nearly strangled with anxiety. Desperate to reintroduce himself properly.

Hi, I really enjoy your company. You're really interesting, I'd like to be around you a lot more.

Her posture finally opened somewhat begrudgingly, uncurling to lean on folded legs. The book was still held in front of her within an elegant hand. "Cannibalism." She offered in a monotone.

That piqued his interest.

"And are you a fan...?"

She cracked the smallest smile, and his heart roared with triumph.

"I haven't partaken, if that's what you're implying. But the sociology surrounding it is a broader subject than most realize."

He blinked. That was the most he had ever heard her speak and was mildly distracted by how her accent played within the sudden eloquence of her words.

The thought of receiving a passionate lecture from her on the nuance of cannibalism thrilled him. Slowly stretching on the balls of his feet in excitement.

"What could the broader subject be on eating a corpse?" He scoffed.

The book snapped down onto her thighs. He had to clench his jaw to not smile. Success.

"That is only one very limited aspect of cannibalism." She held her fingers up, bending them down with her opposite hand as she reprimanded his feigned arrogance. "There's nutritional, ritualistic, post-mortem and living. Symbolic. Auto. What you're referring to could fit into many categories, including mortuary consumption."

His heart soothed as she went deeper and deeper into the subject. Her passion and clear education on the topic was intoxicating. Spellbinding in her winding through subjects. He took in every word as researched truth, even as she reiterated that she was not as learned as her peers. Maybe even more so because of that. Fully enraptured.

She had just started down an anecdote about a case of impulsive cannibalism brought on during a vicious attack, her posture leaned toward him, fully locked in on her impromptu student. Then Neve called out from far below them.

"Rook! Enough skulking, we've got a lead!"

His heart fell.

"Gamό gia chari..." She muttered under her breath. "Heard!"

"I've wasted your time." She hopped down from her hideaway.

"Time is never wasted in good company. I'd like to hear the end of that story." He rushed, trying to reign in his enthusiasm. Desperate to not spook her again. "It's cruel to leave such a tale unended."

She paused her stride, turning to him with arms crossed. Analyzing him again.

Neve's quick whistle broke the silence, and Rassou snapped her fingers at her in return. Shushing her with clear and precise authority.

Fully ignoring the lust that rose in his belly at that, he waited for her verdict on his character as her eyes returned.

"Would you kill me if I asked you to?"

That question paused him, but only for a moment. Certainty filled his voice.

"Absolutely."

She was quiet for a moment more, then nodded. Beckoning him forward with the curve of her long fingers.

"Come, Crow. We have work to do."

~

Next Chapter

[tonyspank]

CHAPTER TWO | RECKLESS

Tara Carpenter x G!P Reader x Female OC

Warnings: zombies, near death experience, violence, frankie, and idk

A/N: i imagine heather to look like beabadoobee + this is like 6k words or sum like that

series masterlist | main masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

It's your first day in the neighborhood, and you're already behind bars. You quickly get up as the door to the room opens, revealing a stern-looking police officer. She glances at you with a mix of curiosity and suspicion, making you feel even more uneasy.

The blonde woman then begins laughing. Her laughter echoes through the room, breaking the tension that had been building up. You can't help but feel a sense of relief as her laughter seems to lighten the atmosphere.

"If it were up to me, I'd let you out tonight, but Dewey wants you to think about what you've done. Frankie always edged me the wrong way as soon as he got here, he's too childish. I'm Officer Kirby, by the way." Officer Kirby's voice is surprisingly friendly, contrasting with the initial air of suspicion.

She leans against the wall, her expression softening as she continues to speak. "Dewey just wants to make sure you understand the consequences of your actions. We're here to help you, not punish you."

You nod at her words, "Thank you." Officer Kirby nods back, a reassuring smile on her face. "You're welcome," she says, her tone filled with genuine sympathy. "I'll let your visitor in."

Visitor? Was it Iris? You wrap your hand around the iron bars in front of you, waiting for Kirby to bring your visitor in. The sound of footsteps grows louder, and your heart skips a beat as the door swings open to reveal... Tara?

The freckled-faced girl walks towards you with a hesitant smile. "Hey," she says softly. You send her a tiny smile, your voice as low as hers. "Hey."

Tara's visit catches you off guard, and you can't help but wonder why she is visiting you in this place. As she reaches the iron bars, you notice a hint of nervousness in her eyes. "...Thank you. For, uh, not letting me leave with him." You nod, understanding her gratitude. "Of course, Tara. I guess we're even now, huh?"

Tara's eyes widen slightly. "Yeah, I guess so. I still feel like I owe you one." You give her a reassuring smile, hoping to ease any lingering doubts she may have. "Don't worry about it, Tara. Just glad I could help."

Tara stares at you a bit before shaking her head, "Yeah, I don't know. I think I was more messed up than I realized." You slip a finger through the bar, reaching out to gently touch her hand. Tara eyes your hand for a bit, hesitant at first but eventually allowing your touch.

"It's okay, Tara. Plus, I think we were all a little messed up at that party. I thought I landed all my punches until I realized I saw three Frankies instead of one."

Tara gives a small chuckle, her dimples deepening as she looks up at you. You smile at Tara's chuckle, relieved to see her mood lighten. Your own smile begins to fade as you ask, "Hey, do you know anyone named Iris here?" Her eyebrows furrow, and she slowly nods her head.

"Iris? Yeah, I know her. Her and Chad are supposed to be a thing. Why do you ask?" Tara's voice carries a hint of curiosity as she waits for your response.

You hesitate for a moment, unsure if you should confide in Tara. But after a deep breath, you decide to trust her. "I knew Iris before...you know, the walkers. She was my girlfriend."

Tara's eyes widen in surprise, "Are you serious?" You nod, pulling your hand back behind the bars. "Yeah, we've been together since high school. It feels like a lifetime ago now," you reply, a hint of sadness in your voice. Tara's expression softens.

Before she speaks, you noticed a mix of emotions flicker across her face: empathy, understanding, and perhaps a touch of curiosity. It's clear that Tara wants to know more, but she respects your vulnerability and decides to give you the space to share at your own pace. "I'm sorry..."

"It's nice to know she's safe, though. I've been stressing myself out about it." You clear your throat, and tears begin to well up in your eyes. Fuck. You were really about to cry in front of Tara. She frowns at the sight of your tears, worry evident in her expression.

Tara reaches into the cell, her hand barely brushing your forearm "Hey, it's okay to let it out," she says softly. "I'm here for you, whatever you need." You take a deep breath, feeling a wave of relief wash over you at Tara's words.

Her empathy and support make you feel seen and understood. With a shaky voice, you manage to say, "Thank you, Tara. I just... I've been holding it all in for so long, and it's been overwhelming."

You lace your fingers together, trying to steady yourself. Tara's presence provides a much-needed sense of comfort and safety, allowing you to finally release the emotions that have been weighing you down. As tears stream down your face, Tara begins crouching down, allowing you both to sit down on the floor together.

"Shit, I'm sorry." Tara's eyes soften along with her voice, "You don't have to apologize. Now we're even." She jokes, trying to lighten the mood. You manage a weak smile, grateful for Tara's attempt to brighten you up.

The two of you sit in silence, finding solace in each other's presence as you navigate through the overwhelming emotions together.

You don't know how long you've been sitting there, but soon Officer Bailey walks inside the room. Officer Bailey's stern expression softens as he takes in the scene, a small smile fighting his lips. He clears his throat, breaking the silence, "Tara. Visiting time is over."

Tara looks up at Officer Bailey, her eyes filled with sadness but also a sense of acceptance. She squeezes your hand gently before standing up. "Okay." As she walks towards the door, she turns back to give you one last reassuring smile, which you return.

As Tara exits the room, Officer Bailey follows closely behind her, his footsteps echoing down the hallway. You watch them disappear from sight, letting out a heavy sigh.

How could Iris move on without knowing you were okay? Did she even care about you anymore? These questions lingered in your mind, causing a pang of uncertainty. You couldn't help but wonder if Iris had truly moved on or if she still held a flicker of love for you deep within her heart.

You remind yourself that people change, and perhaps Iris had her own reasons for moving on. But somewhere deep down, you still held onto the hope that she had not completely forgotten about you.

It's now afternoon, and you're back in Gale's living room. "Officer Hicks told me what happened at the party." You open your mouth to speak, but she interrupts you.

"I'm not mad! Just a little bit disappointed. I understand that things can get out of hand sometimes, especially at parties. But I hope you realize the importance of making responsible choices and considering the consequences of your actions. I'm also not saying you were in the wrong, but violence was not the way to go about that." As Gale speaks, you feel a sense of relief knowing that she isn't holding any grudges against you.

You nod, grateful for Gale's understanding and willingness to let go of any lingering resentment. "Thank you." You say sincerely, and Gale smiles warmly, believing in your ability to grow from this.

"Anyways. About your job." You perk up, eager to find out what role Gale has assigned you. Gale continues, "I've been thinking about it, and I think you'll be a great runner of ours. You'll be stationed with Chad, Wes, Ethan, and Danny. Sometimes it's about supplies, and other times it's about taking out a herd that's getting a bit too close to home." You feel a surge of excitement at the prospect of being part of the team and contributing to the community's safety.

Gale assures you, "Don't worry, we'll provide you with all the necessary equipment you'll need to handle any situation that may arise." She explains that the team has a well-stocked supply room with everything from weapons to protective gear. Additionally, Gale mentions that they regularly conduct training sessions to ensure everyone is prepared for any challenges they may face.

"Do you have any questions? —" The front door is loudly slammed open, causing you and Gale to rise from the couch. "Sorry, Gale! She wouldn't listen to me." You recognize that voice as Sidney's, but the figure that makes its way down the hallway isn't Sidney, but Iris.

Iris has a distraught look on her face, but anger is also evident in her eyes. She storms into the room, ignoring your presence, and confronts Gale. "Tell Dewey to get a team ready to look for my sister now! Not later now! How could you wait? What if she's in trouble? What if she's bit?"

Iris's voice trembles with worry as she pleads with Gale, her words filled with urgency and fear. Gale's gaze flickers from Sidney's to Iris's, unsure of what to do. You speak up, "Heathers in trouble?"

Iris turns towards you, her eyes filled with desperation. "Yes, Heather's been missing for hours now. Richie returned without her. We need to find her before something bad happens," she says, her voice stern.

Gale's expression softens as they realize the gravity of the situation. "Iris is right, we can't waste any more time. We need to gather a search party and start looking for Heather immediately," Gale declares, determination shining in their eyes.

Everyone rushes out of the house, splitting in different directions as they set up for a search party. You follow Gale the entire time, who turns around as the two of you hand out weapons. She holds out a pistol, "Are you ready?"

You take the pistol from Gale's outstretched hand and say, "More than you know." Gale smirks at your words, and Ethan comes behind you, patting your back. You smile at the curly-haired boy who makes his way inside the truck.

You then glance to your left, Sam is hugging Danny goodbye, and Chad... Chad held Iris's face in his palms, pressing a kiss onto her forehead. Chad whispers something to Iris, and she nods, her eyes never leaving his.

You swallow the lump in your throat, jealousy running throughout your body. Suddenly, a hand lands on your forearm, causing you to jump. You turn around to see Tara, who gives you a subtle smile. "Don't die out there. You owe me for last night."

You give Tara a grateful smile and nod, appreciating her support. "Thanks, Tara. I'll make sure to come back in one piece," you reply, a smile on your face. Tara's heart flutters. She doesn't know what it was, but there was something about your smile that made her feel fuzzy inside.

As you turn back towards the truck, you take a deep breath and remind yourself of the mission ahead, pushing aside any lingering feelings of jealousy.

"Hey? Where the hell is Wes?" Chad asks, moving away from Iris. Tara's smile fades slightly as she scans the area, realizing that Wes is nowhere to be seen. As if on cue, Wes emerges, but with crutches, limping towards the group.

"Hey, man? What happened?" Chad asks, you furrow your eyebrows too, as Wes was just fine last night. Wes looks down at his crutches and sighs. "I had a little accident this morning," he explains. "Fell down the steps and twisted my ankle pretty bad." You feel a pang of sympathy for Wes, hoping he's okay.

Ethan is now out of the SUV, frowning at his friend's injury. "Won't that mean we need someone to replace him for the mission?" Danny glances at Ethan, nodding.

"Yeah, we might need to find a replacement," he says, considering the implications of Wes' injury on the mission. "We can't afford to have someone who can't keep up."

"Gale!" Danny calls out, catching the attention of their dark-haired woman. Gale looks over, curious about the urgency in Danny's voice. She holds up a finger at Richie, who nods, looking back down at a map to try and pinpoint exactly where Heather could be.

"We need someone to step in for Wes," Danny explains, gesturing towards Wes. Gale nods, processing the information quickly. "I can." Another Office that you haven't met says, walking closer to the group of people. Wes eyes widen, "Mom! No."

The officer ignores Wes's protest, her drive unwavering. She looks at him with a reassuring smile. "I'll be fine, Wes. We need to find Heather as soon as possible." Gale gestures to the blonde haired woman to speak with her privately.

Gale leads the officer away from the group, their conversation filled with hushed tones and concerned expressions. You furrow your eyebrows.

What could they be talking about that they can't announce to the group?

As you watch Gale and the officer converse, a sense of unease washes over you. You wonder if there is something more serious going on than just finding Heather. The hushed tones and concerned expressions make you question if there is a hidden danger or threat that they are discussing.

The officer nods, walking away from Gale. Gale walks back to the group, "Frankie will be joining you guys. Chad, speak with Richie." Gale sends everyone a glance before walking away, with Iris and Wes following. Chad quickly nods and approaches Richie, who points at the map and discusses where to look for Heather.

You turn to Ethan, "What's that all about?" He just shrugs and says, "I'm not sure, but it seems like something serious. We should stay alert and keep an eye out for anything unusual while we search for Heather."

He goes back into the SUV, and you turn your head, noticing Tara's stare on you.

She's been staring at you so long that she didn't even notice Sam walking away, leaving her alone. You meet Tara's gaze and raise an eyebrow, silently questioning her.

She quickly looks away, blushing and pretending to be interested in something else. You smile to yourself before following Ethan into the SUV, maybe Tara does like you after all.

The door opens, revealing Frankie. Frankie scoots inside, obviously upset at the fact that you're in his presence. You can't help but crack a smile at his swollen cheek since it appears one of your punches did connect from last night.

Ethan glances at Frankie's swollen cheek and raises an eyebrow, amused by the evidence of your altercation.

He then taps your shoulder, allowing you to take his seat as he sits between you and Frankie. Just as he does this, Chad and Danny get into the truck, glancing at the three of you. "Everyone good?" Ethan nods, raising his thumb with a wide smile on his face.

Chad and Danny exchange a knowing look before shrugging and starting the engine. The truck begins moving down the road, the engine rumbling beneath you. As the truck gains speed, along with your heart rate. You wonder if Heather is safe, and you wonder if you'll return home well and alive.

You steal a glance at Frankie, who seems equally concerned. The uncertainty hangs heavy in the air, but you try to push those thoughts aside and focus on the present moment, gripping onto the seat tightly as the truck continues its journey.

You're miles outside of the community, stepping on branches and leaves as you navigate through the forest. A walker slowly but surely begins approaching your group, its decaying limbs dragging along the ground. You grip your knife tighter before raising it. The walker attempts to grab you, but it's limps fall flat as your knife digs into his skull.

The metallic tang of blood fills the air as you swiftly dispatch the walker. You look at Chad, who nods, ushering everyone to follow him. Chad's leadership skills shine through as he confidently leads the group deeper into the forest, his knowledge of survival tactics evident.

"It should be up here." Danny whispers, his voice barely audible over the rustling leaves. The group moves silently, their senses heightened, ready for any potential danger lurking in the shadows.

An abandoned shed comes into view, its weathered wood creaking in the wind. Chad cautiously approaches the entrance, his hand resting on the hilt of his weapon, prepared for whatever may await them inside.

As Chad pushes open the door, a musty smell fills the air, adding to the creepy ambiance. The group steps inside, trying to adjust their eyes to the dark interior. Thankfully, Ethan turns on his flashlight, illuminating the room and revealing the decaying furniture and cobwebs that cover every surface.

"She can't be here." Ethan whispers, looking around at the group. Chad sighs, clenching his jaw in frustration. You search around the room, hoping to find any clues or signs of Heather. The silence is broken by a faint creaking sound, causing everyone to freeze in anticipation, your hearts pounding in your chests.

Everyone raises their guns, gripping them tightly, ready to defend themselves if necessary. The creaking sound doesn't repeat itself, but the tension in the room remains palpable. Ethan's eyes dart around, scanning every corner for any movement. Chad takes a step forward, his voice filled with determination. "We need to keep searching," he says, his tone commanding.

Your foot hits a loose floorboard, causing it to let out a small squeak, nobody else heard it but you. You then crouch down in front of it, examining the floorboard closely. It appears to have been recently disturbed, with fresh scratches and marks. A sense of unease washes over you as you wonder what could have caused this and if there's something hidden beneath it.

You glance up at Chad, who seems to have noticed your sudden interest in the floorboard. His eyes narrow, mirroring your own unease. Without a word, you both exchange a knowing look, silently agreeing to investigate further. With renewed determination, you pry the loose floorboard open, revealing a hidden compartment underneath.

Abruptly, you're punched in the face, knocking you off balance and sending you sprawling onto the floor. Chad reacts quickly, lunging forward to defend you from the unseen attacker.

A dark-haired girl emerges from the compartment, throwing someone in Chad's face. You squint your eyes, recognizing her—it was Heather! You quickly stand up, but your eyes dart to Frankie, whose finger is about to squeeze the trigger. "Frankie! Don't!"

You shout, desperately hoping to stop Frankie from pulling the trigger. You push the gun away from Heather as a shot rings out, shattering the silence. The bullet narrowly misses Heather's head, grazing her ear instead.

The sound of the gunshot echoes through the air, sending a shockwave of fear through everyone present. Time seems to slow down as Heather stumbles back, her hand instinctively reaching up to touch her wounded ear.

The pain and confusion in her eyes are mirrored by the collective gasp of the group, their faces frozen in a mixture of horror and disbelief. As the gravity of the situation sinks in, chaos erupts around you, with people scrambling to Heather's side and people confronting Frankie.

"Frankie! What the fuck!" Danny shouts, helping Heather get to her feet. Frankie's face pales as he realizes the consequences of his actions, his hands trembling uncontrollably. He stammers, desperately trying to explain himself amidst the chaos and commotion.

"I-I didn't know!" Frankie's voice cracks with fear as he looks around at the accusing glares from the group. His words hang in the air, overshadowed by the weight of his mistake.

"We have to go, now!" Chad announces, grabbing Frankie by the arm and pulling him towards the exit. The group follows Chad's lead, Danny wraps an arm around Heather, helping her the best he can.

Ethan kicks open the door, everyone falling behind him. "You dipshit, you just alerted every single walker in our area with that shot!" You can hear the panic in Ethan's voice as he berates Frankie for his careless action.

"You think we can make it to the truck?" You ask Chad, who pushes Frankie in front of him.

Chad glances back at you, his eyes filled with focus. "We don't have a choice," he replies firmly. "We have to try." With that, he quickens his pace, leading the group towards the distant truck, their lives hanging in the balance.

Danny tries his best to comfort Heather, who is visibly shaken by the close encounter. "We'll make it out of this," he reassures her, his voice filled with persistence. "We just need to stick together and keep moving." Heather nods, finding solace in Danny's words as they continue their treacherous journey towards safety. "I don't know if it's because of all the blood I've lost, but...is that Y/N?"

You smile at the girl beside you, jumping over a fallen tree trunk. "The one and only." You smile. Heather's eyes light up, a glimmer of hope shining through her exhaustion. "I knew you were alive."

Your eyes snap back to the path in front of you as Ethan's boots skirt rocky path, almost sliding. "Watch out," you warn, reaching out a hand to steady him. Ethan nods gratefully, his face pale with fear.

"Wait!" Chad whisper yells, causing everyone in the group to pause. "Do you guys hear that?" You strain your ears, trying to catch any sound that Chad might have heard. The forest is eerily quiet, but then you hear it too—a faint rustling in the distance. It could be the wind, or it could be something else.

"Is that a herd?" Danny asks Chad, squinting his eyes as he tries to make out the source of the sound. Chad nods his head, his expression turning serious. "I think so," he replies, his voice filled with concern. The rustling grows louder, and you can now hear the distinct sound of branches snapping. Your heart starts to race as you realize that whatever is approaching is getting closer and closer.

Groaning and loud moaning from the dead are now added to the mix, sending chills down your spine. "Shit...run!" Ethan yells, his voice filled with panic. Chad and you exchange a quick glance before sprinting, adrenaline coursing through your veins. The sounds get louder, which only fuels your fear, urging you to run faster and escape.

As you run, the smell of decay fills the air, intensifying the horror of the situation. Each step feels heavier as you push yourself to your limits, desperate to put as much distance between you and whatever lurks behind.

You trip over a fallen branch, trying to get back up, but it seems your leg has gotten caught. Panic sets in as you struggle to free yourself, with the sound of your own heartbeat drowning out everything else. You see a walker in the distance gaining on you, causing you to frantically tug at your trapped leg, desperate to break free.

No one seems to notice you've fallen behind—except for Frankie. He stands there in fear and uncertainty, torn between running ahead to safety or staying to help you. His eyes dart back and forth, searching for a solution, as he weighs the risks of leaving you behind. Time feels like it's slipping away as the walker draws closer, and you can only hope that Frankie makes the right choice before it's too late.

He decides to run away, and you watch as he disappears into the distance, leaving you behind.

"Fuck!" Panic sets in as you realize you're on your own with no one to help you escape the approaching danger. Your heart races as you desperately try to come up with a plan to free yourself from the trap and catch up to safety.

The walker is getting closer and closer, its moans growing louder and more desperate. You reach for your knife, which fell when you did, and your middle finger barely brushes against the handle. Your fingers tremble as you struggle to grip the knife, your mind races with thoughts of survival.

The gut hungry walker falls on top of you. Its decaying breath fills your nostrils, causing you to gag. Panic sets in as you feel its cold, lifeless hands clawing at your flesh. You fight back, desperately trying to push the walker off of you.

With a surge of determination, you manage to snatch the knife and tightly grasp it in your hand, digging the knife into its head. The walker's grip weakens as its body goes limp, finally releasing you from its clutches. You let out a heavy breath, pushing it off of you and using your knife to break free from the trap.

Rushing up, you gather anything else you dropped before rushing in the direction of your group, angry and relieved that you're still alive.

"Where's Y/N?" Chad asks, scanning the group for your face. Everyone has made it to the car besides you and Frankie. Frankie finally catches up to the group, out of breath. "I saw Y/N get bit," Frankie pants, sweat dripping down his forehead. "She's gone! It's too late."

Chad's face turns pale as he processes Frankie's words. The group falls into a stunned silence, grief and shock filling the air. Danny leaves the back of the truck, Heather safe and asleep. "What happened?" He questions, unaware of the news.

Frankie takes a deep breath, trying to compose himself. "Y/N got bit by one of those things," he explains, his voice trembling. "I couldn't do anything to save her. It all happened so fast."

Chad's eyes well up with tears as he struggles to find the right words to respond. The weight of the loss hangs heavy in the air, casting a shadow over their already tragic situation.

"We should get her body. To be bury her." Ethan announces to the group. Chad nods solemnly, his voice barely a whisper. "You're right. She deserves a proper farewell."

Abruptly, you appear from the forest, startling everyone. "What the—" Ethan's voice is cut off by you pushing Frankie against the truck, your face contorted with anger.

"You think you can just walk away after what you did?" you seethe, your voice filled with rage. The group watches in shock as you confront Frankie, "You just left me out there to die!"

Frankie's eyes widen in surprise, his voice shaking as he tries to explain himself. "I... I didn't mean to. It was a split-second decision, I panicked." Your nostrils flare before you look at the rest of the group, "We should move, the herd isn't too far behind."

Chad nods and says, "Let's go." Frankie swallows a lump in his throat before joining everyone in the SUV. The SUV speeds away, tension hangs heavy in the air. The group remains silent, each lost in their own thoughts, contemplating the consequences of Frankie's impulsive actions. The trust that once bound them together now teeters on the edge of collapse.

When you arrive at the community, you're greeted by a doctor, the police force, Sam, Quinn, Tara, Iris, Gale, and Sidney. Iris and the doctor rush Heather to the infirmary, while the police begin to put away the weapons and supplies that were used during the mission.

Sam brings Danny into a kiss, relieved to have him back safely. Ethan rushes to his sister, overwhelmed with worry and relief as he embraces her tightly. Chad walks toward Gale and Sidney, informing them about what happened during the mission. You glance at Tara, who smiles at you before walking toward you.

She brings you into a surprising hug, which you hesitate to return. She notices this going to pull back, "Shit, I'm sorry if I crossed a boundary," she stammers, her cheeks turning slightly pink. "I just... I'm really glad you're okay."

You quickly reassure her that it's alright and reciprocate the hug, feeling a fuzzy sensation spread through you as you hold her. She smiles once more, genuine concern and affection visible in her eyes as you start to back away.

You look back at Frankie, who's been leaning against the car ever since you've arrived. You clench your jaw, remembering how he just left you to die. "Hey..." Tara speaks, and your head turns back to her. "What happened?" You take a deep breath, trying to find the right words to explain the situation.

"Frankie... left me," you say. "My leg got trapped, but luckily I managed to escape." Tara's expression turns serious as she listens intently, her eyes reflecting a growing concern for your well-being.

"He just abandoned me, Tara," you continue, shaking your head as the moment flashes before your eyes. "I couldn't believe it. I thought we were a team, but he left me behind without a second thought. And he shot Heather!"

Tara's brows furrow in disbelief, and she reaches out to gently touch your arm, offering comfort and support. "What the fuck? Are you serious? What an asshole." She mutters, glaring at the boy behind you.

You let out a chuckle, placing a hand on top of hers. "Yeah..." Chad, Gale, and Sidney turn to look at Frankie, whispering amongst themselves.

"I can't believe Frankie would do that," Chad says, shaking his head in disappointment. "I thought he was better than that." Gale nods in agreement, adding, "It's a shame. We trusted him." Sidney chimes in, her voice filled with frustration, "We should give him a new job. It's obvious he doesn't belong out there. I mean, what if Y/N died?"

You stare into Tara's eyes, getting lost in them. "Did I ever thank you for taking me back here? And saving my life?" Tara's face breaks out into another smile, "I think you did about the saving your life thing, taking you back? Not yet." She jokingly adds, "But don't worry, I'll be expecting a heartfelt thank you soon."

You chuckle and playfully nudge her shoulder. "...Hmm, I can't think of a thank you right now."

Tara playfully rolls her eyes and says, "Well, I guess I can wait a little longer for that thank you. Just don't forget, I'm here for you."

You smile and say, "Likewise." You then let go of her hand, taking a deep breath. "I'm going to see if Heather's doing okay."

Tara nods, giving you a reassuring smile. "I'll see you later." You give Tara a grateful nod and head towards the infirmary. An older man, Iris, and Heather turn their heads to you, and Heather's face lights up when she sees you. Iris gives you a nod of acknowledgement, and you can see the worry in her eyes. "How's the ear?"

"Dr. Danny Orth said I'll be fine. Just lost a bit of my ear." You nod at her words, sitting down beside Iris, "Well, I'm glad you're okay." Heather smiles weakly, "Yeah, it was a close call. I'm just grateful to be alive." She stares at you, her smile widening. "I still can't believe you're here."

You chuckle and reply, "I missed you, Heather." You reach out and squeeze her hand, returning her own smile before standing up. "Rest, okay?" Iris tells Heather, who playfully rolls her eyes with a nod. "I will," Heather assures Iris. Iris then sends you a look, which you read.

It's as if she is silently thanking you for being there for Heather in her time of need. You walk closer to her, whispering. "Can we please talk?" Iris looks into your eyes before glancing at her sister, whose eyes are closed. She nods and leads you out of the infirmary.

As you step outside, Iris takes a deep breath and turns to face you. "I appreciate you being there for Heather," she says softly. "It means a lot to both of us." You nod, feeling a sense of gratitude for the bond that has formed between you and the sisters during this difficult time. "I just wanted to make sure you're doing okay too," you say, concern evident in your voice.

"I'm okay." You nod. Silence begins to fall over the two of you, unsure of what to say. "How, um, handling all of this? It still feels like I'm stuck in a nightmare," you say, a nervous smile on your lips.

"I've been managing," she replies, a hint of sadness in her eyes. Silence again. She wraps her arms around herself, as if seeking comfort. "I...I missed you. I was so worried you were...dead."

Your eyes begin to water, and you reach out to gently squeeze her hand. "I missed you too." You step closer to her, "The day...the dead started walking, I went back to the apartment... to, uh, to look for you. And after that, I looked until I finally gave up. "

A tear falls from your eyes, and you wipe it away quickly. "I'm so sorry, Iris." you apologize, your voice trembling. "I'm so sorry that I stopped looking for you."

"It's okay," she whispers, her voice filled with forgiveness. "I know how chaotic everything became after the outbreak. We were all just trying to survive." She takes a deep breath, her grip on your hand tightening. "But now that we've found each other again, we can face whatever comes our way together."

You nod, sniffling. "I also...heard about you and Chad." You pause, unsure of how to continue. "I hope you know that I never stopped thinking about you, even when things got tough. And I understand if you've moved on, but I just wanted you to know that my feelings for you never changed."

Iris shakes her head. "Chad...he's a sweet guy...but I don't... I don't want to get attached to someone during these times. Especially after you, it...took a while for me to heal and find myself again. I appreciate your honesty, and it means a lot to me that you've always kept me in your thoughts. But right now, I don't think...I can."

You look at Iris, feeling a mix of disappointment and understanding. You respect her decision and silently hope that one day, when the timing is right, your paths may cross again. "Friends?"

"Friends." You both smile at each other, knowing that maintaining a friendship is the best option for now. You both understand that healing and finding oneself takes time, and that maintaining a friendship allows for growth and support without the pressure of a romantic relationship.

As you part ways, you feel grateful for the connection you share with Iris, knowing that it will continue to evolve in its own unique way.

"Is she okay?" You hear someone say while you're walking home. You turn your head to Amber, who sits on the curb of her house. "Heather?" She says, trying to be more clear.

With a gentle smile, you respond, "Yeah...you should go visit her." Amber shakes her head in disagreement, "No. The last time I saw her, I was yelling at her. I feel like such an asshole." You pause for a moment, understanding Amber's guilt.

"I think she would appreciate seeing you, regardless of what happened before. It's never too late to apologize," you suggest gently. Amber looks thoughtful, contemplating your words before nodding slowly.

"You're right." You smile at her. And she raises her eyebrows, "Tara's right. You do look attractive when you smile." Amber's comment catches you off guard, and you blush in response.

"Well, thank you," you reply, laughing a bit.

The tension in the air seems to ease as Amber chuckles softly. You furrow your eyebrows and say, "Wait. Am I not attractive when I don't smile?"

Amber chuckles again and shakes her head. "No, that's not what I meant. You're attractive either way, but your smile just adds an extra charm to your personality." You hum at her words, "Oh. Well, thanks again."

Amber playfully rolls her eyes, "I definitely just boosted your ego." You laugh, walking away. "You definitely did!"

[mleighd94]

Present Day: The City That Never Sleeps

From the foggy streets of Victorian London to the neon-lit skyline of New York City. A crack of thunder rumbles across the metropolis, rain streaking down the towering glass buildings. Beneath the surface lies a world of shadows, where the line between predator and prey blurs. Y/N stands on the edge of a high-rise rooftop, her leather coat snapping in the wind. The city stretches out before her, bright and chaotic, a stark contrast to the silent, fog-drenched streets of her old life. Over a century has passed, but her resolve remains unbroken. Time has not healed her wounds; it has only sharpened them. Each year since her turning has been marked by the same relentless pursuit: Dominic Laurent. She’s tracked him through the shifting tides of history, through wars, revolutions, and the rise of modern civilization. And now, after decades of hunting, she’s closer than ever. His influence seeps into every corner of the city, hidden beneath layers of wealth, fear, and corruption. Y/N’s crimson eyes narrow. For months, she’s observed Dominic’s empire from afar. She’s also seen the eight men pursuing him—a team of detectives drawn together by the trail of blood and destruction Dominic leaves behind. Though she works alone, she knows their paths will cross sooner or later. A crack of lightning splits the sky, illuminating the streets below. She adjusts the collar of her coat and steps off the rooftop, landing silently in the alley below. The sharp scent of blood fills her senses, drawing her attention. Her ears pick up the distant sounds of a fight. Without hesitation, she follows the sounds to a narrow side street, dimly lit by a flickering streetlamp. The rain slicks the pavement, reflecting the red and blue of distant sirens. Y/N steps into the shadows just in time to witness the chaos unfolding. Dominic’s enforcers—a group of burly men clad in dark suits—are engaged in a brutal fight with the detectives she’s been watching. Bang Chan, their leader, stands firm despite a gash on his forehead. Felix and Hyunjin work together to subdue one attacker, while Seungmin pulls a struggling informant away from the chaos. The fight is brutal, but Dominic’s men are relentless. Y/N steps forward, her presence commanding. With inhuman speed and strength, she takes down the enforcers, leaving the detectives stunned. As the last enemy falls, she turns to them, her crimson eyes glowing faintly in the dark. “You don’t know what you’re dealing with,” she says, her voice low and menacing. “But if you want to survive, you’ll stay out of my way.” The detectives exchange glances, torn between suspicion and gratitude. Bang Chan steps forward. “And who are you?” Y/N smirks, her fangs briefly visible in the dim light. “Someone who’s been hunting this monster longer than you’ve been alive.” “Monster?” I.N echoes, his voice tinged with confusion and curiosity. Y/N’s gaze flicks to him, her expression softening slightly. “Dominic Laurent. The man you’re after.” “How do you know him?” Felix asks. Y/N’s smile fades, replaced by a grim seriousness. “Because he’s the reason I am what I am.” The detectives exchange uneasy glances. “And what are you, exactly?” Seungmin asks, his calm voice laced with suspicion. Y/N doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, she steps closer to Chan, her movements slow and deliberate. She locks eyes with him. “I’m the only chance you have of surviving what’s coming.” The silence stretches, heavy with tension. Finally, Chan nods, his sharp eyes never leaving hers. “Then it looks like we’ll need to have a little chat.” Y/N tilts her head, her smirk returning. “Just try to keep up, detective.” Before they can respond, she vanishes into the shadows, leaving behind only the faint echo of her footsteps and the unsettling memory of her glowing eyes. The detectives stand in silence for a moment. “What the hell just happened?” Han mutters. Chan wipes the blood from his forehead, his expression unreadable. “I think we just met someone who knows Dominic better than we do.”

[queenoftheworldisdead]

Non-compete

Chapter 2

A/N: Reader is female. No physical descriptors used. Let me know if i fucked up and not do that. Chat me up i don't bite!

Summary: Your super genius younger sister is offered a chance of a lifetime to work for either Oscorp or Stark industries straight out of high school. Her choices leave you stuck in an unrequited love triangle.

Warning: Slow Burn, Adult content only! 18+ only please. Dark! There is potentially triggering stories ahead.

Peter Parker x Reader, (not in this chapter Norman Osborn x Reader,)

💻

You stand outside your sister’s closed door, the hallway quiet except for the faint ticking of a wall clock. You should be getting ready for work by now, but something about the heavy silence from her room keeps you planted here.

“Sparks…” You knock lightly, keeping your voice low. Nothing. She’s been holed up in there since the interview—another day of avoidance, of heavy quiet. If it weren’t for the food disappearing from the fridge, you’d be more concerned. You lean in closer, resting your hand against the door. “Please, just open up. I’ll bring home that cake you like from work if you let me in.”

The silence stretches until, finally, you hear the faint shuffle of movement inside. A mix of relief and tension settles in your chest as you wait. You have no idea what mood she’ll be in when she opens the door.

When it does crack open, she’s standing there, eyes red-rimmed and puffy. The sight pulls at something deep in you, but you keep your voice steady. “You didn’t hear back yet, did you? Don’t worry, that’s just how these things go sometimes.”

Her eyes narrow, and her voice sharpens. “I didn’t apply for some dead-end job at a grocery store. He came to me, remember?” Her words feel heavier than they should, like each one is designed to cut.

You inhale slowly, absorbing the sting. She’s said things like this before, made you feel small in ways she probably doesn’t even notice.

“I know Spar—"

“Do you?” she interrupts, her voice edged with frustration. She crosses her arms, her annoyance palpable. “Do you even know who that was?”

You shake your head slightly, bracing for the answer.

“Norman Osborn, Mr. Oscorp himself, as in the founder.," she emphasizes. "The man' whose 's name is on the building,” she snaps, almost daring you to understand.

You open your mouth to speak, but a soft knock from down the hall interrupts your thought.

“Did you hear that?” you ask finally.

“It’s probably someone for dad. Forget about it.”

Maybe she’s right. But your curiosity lingers. “I should get ready for work,” you say, glancing back at her. “I’ll text you later. Just… don’t ignore me, alright? I’ll bring you that cake, and Dino nuggets too.”

She doesn’t respond, just turns away and shuts the door behind her. The sound of it echoes faintly as you make your way down the stairs.

💻

The knock comes softly at first, but the sound echoes through the quiet house, pulling you from your thoughts. No one visits anymore. Your friends? They’ve drifted away, consumed by their own lives, their own problems. You hope it isn’t your father again—you don’t have the energy for another conversation about changing the locks. Love for him only stretches so far when there’s no money left to stretch.

You rest your hand on the doorframe, peering through the glass. A boy stands on the porch—young, maybe Emily’s age—shifting nervously, his hands deep in his pockets. His unease is obvious, as if he's not sure this is the right place.

"Uh, hello? Is Emily home?" His voice is thin, unsure. The question takes you off guard. No one ever came for Emily. She was solitary, always detached from the world around her. Friends were for other people. Not her.

A flicker of curiosity rises. Has she made a friend? Or… something more? No. That’s not Emily. She tells you everything—or so you believed.

“She didn’t mention having anyone over,” you reply, a hint of suspicion in your voice as you push the door open wider. You can’t help but wonder how this boy knows her.

“You must be Emily’s mother.” He guesses to your horror.

The statement hits you like a cold splash of water, and you blink at him, taken aback. Mother? Have you aged that much? The grays, yes, they’ve crept in early, but surely you’ve kept them at bay with the dye.

“Her sister,” you correct, deflated. “Come in.”

His face turns a shade of red, and he stumbles over an apology. “Oh—sorry, I didn’t mean—I mean, you’re beautiful, not to say your mother isn’t—”

A small laugh escapes you despite yourself. It’s sweet, the way he flounders. “It’s alright. Our mom passed away. I’ve just taken on the role since then.” You catch the brief flash of discomfort in his expression as you step aside to let him in. “Would you like something? Water, maybe? Juice?”

You notice it out of the corner of your eye as you close the door—a sleek black sports car parked just outside. You pause for a moment, a small crease forming between your brows. That can’t be his. Someone’s lost, surely. It doesn’t belong here.

“No, thank you… ma’am,” he blurts, his voice cracking slightly as his eyes widen, realizing the slip. “Oh no—I didn’t mean to say that! I mean, not ma’am—sorry!”

You wave it off with a slight smile. “It’s fine. Really.”

His gaze shifts, landing on the scorched wall of the hallway, the burn marks visible even from where he stands. He hesitates before asking, “What happened here?”

You follow his gaze and sigh, embarrassment tugging at your chest. The charred section of wall—remnants of Emily’s endless ‘experiments.’ You’d meant to have it repaired, but life kept getting in the way.

“An electrical fire… sort of,” you mutter, a sheepish laugh slipping through. “Emily thought she could rig up some free electricity. She's always tinkering with things. I told her if she didn't want to live on the streets, she'd leave the car alone.”

He chuckles softly, his eyes still wandering through the room, though you can’t help but feel the weight of your untidy kitchen creeping into your thoughts. Emily never did the dishes, and the trash… well, that was still waiting to be taken out.

You clear your throat and call down the hallway, “Emily!” The shout is louder than you intended, startling him. But of course, she doesn’t answer. She never does.

“I’ll go get her,” you say quickly, stepping back toward the hallway. “Oh, wait—what’s your name again?”

“Peter. Peter Parker.”