#there's a twist i was thinking of pulling

[yogirl-willow]

The Crimson Pact | Part 6

Characterizations | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 7

SoulBond!AU

Pairings: Yandere!Saja Boys x F!Reader

Synopsis: You were never supposed to remember them.

Four hundred years ago, a pact was made—a blood-soaked bond tying five demons to one human soul: yours.

They’ve waited lifetimes for your reincarnation, cursed with obsession, tethered by fate.

And now that you’ve returned?

They’ll burn the world before they let you go again.

Warnings: Soul bond with the Saja Boys, Yandere themes!, obsessive behavior / possessiveness, romantic psychological tension, mentions of implied past death / reincarnation, intense emotional fixation, yearning, dark romance, hurt/comfort

A/N: Thank you all for reading the Crimson Pact! Here's another update that gets the plot rolling. :) I tried to tag everyone I could, but I also know tumblr only allows like 50 or so- regardless I still tried so I hope it works!

───────── ༺🜃༻ ─────────

The Saja boys are all demons.

They are wrath and ruin. Jealousy and death.

And yet, before her, they kneel.

Because she is the Heart. Because her soul is what keeps them from unraveling into true monsters. Because they were bound by her love and her curse.

They don’t just crave her—they depend on her. Without her presence, their minds deteriorate. Their bodies decay. Their hunger becomes unbearable.

Only Y/N’s touch tames the demon inside.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

Part 6:

Where the Bond Burns

Darkness wraps around you like a heartbeat. Then comes the fire. Not heat—but memory.  It floods your mind in violent waves. Too vivid to be a dream. Too tender to be lies. Too painful to be anything but real.

Smoke. Screams. Blood in the dirt. You're barefoot, standing in the center of a razed village, the winter wind biting at your cheeks. Charred thatch and broken beams litter the ground around you, glowing red with the last embers of a fire that’s stolen everything.

“Haneul!” You don’t think—you remember. His name rips from your chest.

You see him ahead—taller, broader, armor torn and covered in soot. His blade drips crimson. His expression is hollow. Around him: corpses. Bandits. Soldiers. Villagers. Men he once fought alongside. Men who dared to touch you. He turns—his eyes blazing.

“Haneul!” you call again, running to him. But someone yanks you back.

“Get her away from him—he’s cursed!”

You scream. Thrash. Soldiers hold you fast. Haneul sees it. The way you’re dragged. The way your arm twists in their grip. His scream splits the sky. “Don’t touch her!” he roars. “She’s mine!”

His sword flashes. You try to break free—but they overpower you. Your last memory of that life is his voice breaking through flame. His face wild, streaked in blood and grief.

“She’s mine!”

The village dissolves. And now—

A silk-draped room. It’s evening. You're in a candlelit room now—pillows, gauze curtains, perfume in the air. Your body sinks into cushions as laughter spills from your lips. A hand brushes your hair behind your ear, fingertips lingering.

“Seoha,” you whisper, dizzy on love. He’s beside you. Shirt loose. Mouth soft with affection. He kisses the inside of your wrist, slow and lingering.

“Run away with me,” he says, voice low. “We’ll vanish. Just us. You love me more than this... don’t you?”

Your smile fades. Your heart aches. “I can’t,” you breathe, trembling. “My family—my name—”

His expression cracks like porcelain. You reach for him, frantic, already regretting the words—but he pulls back. Stands. Shadows crawl across his face. His eyes are wounded. Distant.

You feel the air change. The soft warmth turns bitter. Cold. The candles gutter out.

The world shifts, vanishes like smoke and you feel the biting cold of the ground beneath you. Your body lies still on the floor, draped in bridal silk. Pale. Fragile. Your throat marked by red, too much red. Throat slit. A flower wilted before bloom.

Seoha is bent over you, hands shaking, blood on his mouth from where he tried to kiss you awake. He sobs—not loudly. Not like a man. But like something primal breaking apart. “No…” he chokes. “No, please. You promised me. You were mine. You chose me—”

He clutches you tighter, his tears slip onto your skin—silent, shuddering, like confessions too late. His grip turns bruising. Desperate. Like if he holds you hard enough, time might rewind. Like the blood staining your silk will fade.

But it doesn't.

The room stays still. Too still. The soft rustle of curtains. The faint clink of ornaments. A life continuing… without you in it. He rocks you in his arms. Once. Twice.

"Wake up," he whispers. "You said you loved me." Your head doesn’t tilt. Your lashes don’t flutter. "You said you were mine."

His breath hitches. The world doesn't burn—but something deeper does… inside him. A split down the center of his soul. He presses his mouth to yours—one last time. Still, he holds you. Still, he doesn't let go. Not even when your body cools beneath him.

You wake with a sound caught in your throat. A gasp. A sob. A name—no, two names—

“Seoha…” “Haneul—”

You jolt upright. The world is red. Not fire, not blood, but something deeper. Your vision is soaked in crimson and grief. The aftershock of lives you didn’t live—lives you lost. Your chest heaves like something’s been torn from it. Your ribs ache from a scream that never made it out. Your heart heavy with so much pain.

Next to you, there’s movement—fast, frantic. Romance—Seoha—bolts upright, his hand catching your arm before you can tip forward and clutching you to his chest. “Y/N—” His voice is wrecked. “What did you see? Tell me—did something happen? Tell me baby-”

He’s already cupping your face, thumbs trembling against your cheeks. “Please say something. Please. You’re scaring me—”

But you can’t speak. The grief is too big. The pain is too old. Your lip wobbles. Then the doors burst open like a dam breaking. Haneul arrives first, barefoot, breathless, eyes blazing with panic. Jinu right behind him, followed by Baby and Mystery, all drawn by the invisible tether of your soul to theirs. All five look like they’re in agony just seeing you there—not okay.

You look up at them and break. You hurl yourself into Haneul’s arms. His hands catch you instantly, anchoring you to his chest like he’s done this a thousand times in a thousand lives.

“I’m here,” he breathes into your hair, voice rough with emotion. “I’m here, baby. I’ve got you. I’ve got you—don’t cry like that, please don’t cry like that.”

You release another painful sob as you cry into his chest. It hurts. Jinu drops to his knees beside you, taking your hand in both of his, kissing your knuckles like they’re holy. “She’s remembering,” he says softly. “She’s remembering what happened.”

Baby’s fists are clenched. He looks like he might punch through the wall. Or the sky. “Who did this to her?” he growls, but the rage is hollow. Useless. “Who made her feel this way?”

“No one,” Mystery says, almost inaudible. “It’s us. She’s feeling us. And their pain.”

Seoha shifts behind you, pulling you into his lap like you’ll disappear if he doesn’t wrap every limb around you. His face is ghost-white, his chest bare, still heaving from the terror of waking to your pain. “I thought you were dying,” he says. “God, I thought you were leaving me again.”

You’re shaking uncontrollably. “I saw you,” you whisper. “Both of you.” Your eyes lock with Haneul’s. “I saw you burning. Bleeding. Screaming for me.”

Then with Seoha. “And you… holding my body. I was dead. And you—you were breaking.”

Every boy in the room stills. There’s a silence thick enough to choke on. “I felt everything,” you whisper. “Your heartbreak. Your love. It hurt so much, I thought I was going to die with you.”

Abby presses his forehead to your temple. “I’d die every lifetime if it meant I got to hold you again.”

Jinu kisses your wrist. “You’re here. With us, baby. That’s all that matters.”

Baby’s hands shake as he kneels in front of you. “Don’t ever cry like that again. I’ll kill the world if it makes you cry like that.”

Mystery crawls in beside you, head pressing gently to your shoulder. “We’re with you now,” he murmurs, “and we’ll never leave again.”

And then… Seoha. He turns your chin to face him. His eyes burn. “You think I’m afraid of losing you?” he whispers. “I’m not. Because I won’t. I won’t. Even if I have to tear the heavens open and drag you back from them.”

His lips graze yours—not yet a kiss. Just a whisper of devotion. “You died in my arms once,” he says. “I’m never letting you out of them again.”

And suddenly— They’re all touching you. A thumb brushing your cheekbone. A hand on your back. A kiss to the corner of your mouth. Your collarbone. Your jaw. Your hands.

Worship, in the form of fingertips and lips. Possession, in the shape of tenderness. You’re overwhelmed. Soft sobs slip free—but not from pain this time. From feeling too much.

Because you’re not alone. Because you’re loved so deeply, it’s terrifying. Because the grief you inherited belongs to them, and they’re trying—desperately—to kiss it all away.

You lean into it. Into them. They hold you tighter. You are theirs. And they are yours.

And for a moment, that’s enough. Even if it shouldn’t be. Even if you know—deep down—something darker is still coming.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

There’s a difference between the six of you as the day begins. Something in the air shifts—softer, but heavier. Like the weight of too many emotions pressing on fragile glass.

After you’d cried yourself back to sleep, they hadn’t left you alone. Not for a second. They kissed you until your lashes fluttered shut, until your breathing calmed. Until your pain dulled beneath their whispers and vows.

But today… they had to leave. Just for a few hours. Idol obligations, they said. Interviews. Meet-ups. “We’ll be back before you even miss us,” Haneul had teased, planting a kiss behind your ear.

At first, the silence is peaceful. You sit in the studio, sunlight spilling through the sheer curtains as you try to lose yourself in paint. But your hands— Your fingers tremble slightly. The brush wavers. You blink. Colors blur on the page. A wave of heat rolls through your chest.

“Ugh,” you mutter, pressing your wrist to your forehead. “Maybe I skipped lunch…” You feel dizzy. Strange. Not sick—just… wrong. Like your body isn’t fully yours.

An hour passes. Then two. You drink water. Open a window. Try humming to yourself. But nothing helps. Your skin feels too tight. The room feels too small. And something in your ribs aches—not like illness, but absence. Like being stretched too far from something you're not meant to live without.

“What the hell… I thought the bond symptoms had subsided…” you grumble in frustration. It was so strange. You had felt normal when they left the other day. By the fourth hour, your breath starts to hitch. You lie on the couch, curled up in one of Mystery’s oversized hoodies, trying not to cry. And then—finally—

The front door opens. Footsteps. Voices. The moment you hear it—you bolt.

“Y/N?” Jinu calls out, stepping into the hallway.

But he doesn’t get another word in before you launch yourself at him, arms wrapping around his neck, legs clinging to his waist like a koala. And immediately as you breathe in his scent, you start to feel better.

“Whoa—” he stumbles slightly, catching you with practiced ease. “Miss you too, baby.”

Haneul bursts out laughing behind him. “Damn, give us five seconds to drop our bags!”

“She’s not messing around,” Seoha murmurs, smirking, eyes dark with something more than amusement.

But it’s Mystery—last to enter—who freezes in the doorway. His nose twitches. He steps closer, gaze flicking over you. “You were sick,” he says. Not a question. “But not anymore.”

You blink, still clinging to Jinu’s chest. “How did you—?”

“You don’t smell right when we’re gone. You smell wrong.” His expression is tight. “Like something’s pulling you apart.”

“I just felt weird,” you whisper. “Shaky. Hot. Like… I couldn’t breathe unless one of you walked in the door.”

They all go still and exchange questioning glances. Jinu kisses the top of your head. “You’re okay now.”

“No,” Baby says. “She wasn’t.”

Seoha hums, stepping behind you to run a hand down your spine. “It’s the bond getting stronger. A flare up. That’s all.”

“Sure,” Mystery says under his breath. “The bond.” It should be more stabilzed now. He wonders to himself. So why is she having flare-ups?

But his eyes stay on you—watching the way you bury yourself deeper into Jinu’s hold. Watching how the tension in your body bleeds away as they gather around you again, like wolves circling a den. He sees it before the rest of them do. You aren’t just missing them. You need them. Not emotionally. Physically. Spiritually.

Later that day, you’re curled up on the couch, sketching lazily as the boys come and go around you. Music plays low from the kitchen.

Baby flops beside you, long legs sprawled, arms behind his head. His fingers trail across your wrist—just a touch, light as breath. And suddenly—

The colors around you sharpen. The lines of your drawing look too crisp. The air crackles faintly, like a TV left on the wrong channel. You flinch, breath catching. “What was that…?”

Baby raises a brow. “What?”

You shake your head. “Nothing. I’m probably just—overtired or something.” But your heart is pounding. There’s something alive in your blood. Something that doesn’t belong to you.

That night, the boys cook dinner—galbi and japchae sizzling on the stove, the air thick with spice, garlic, and warmth. You’re chopping vegetables at the counter, sleeves rolled to your elbows, hair tied up in a messy knot. For once, it feels almost normal. Like you're a person again. Like you still live in a world that follows rules.

Seoha brushes behind you—too close, always too close—and passes you a spoon. His hand lingers a second longer than needed, fingers grazing yours. The second your skin touches his—

The stove erupts. Flames leap like claws from the burner. Not a flicker. A flare. Fierce. Bright. Hungry. You flinch. The knife clatters onto the cutting board. Everyone stills. For one perfect second, silence tightens the room like a wire pulled taut. Haneul steps forward, slowly. “That’s not the stove.”

Jinu doesn’t take his eyes off you. “It wasn’t broken earlier.”

Seoha doesn’t move. His hand stays on yours, calm—too calm. “She’s okay,” he murmurs. “It was just a flare.”

“From what?” you whisper, pulse skittering. They don’t answer. Not immediately. Then Jinu speaks, voice soft but heavy: “She centers us.” He swallows. Adds quieter—almost like it hurts to admit it: “Too well. Too completely.”

Mystery moves in from the hallway, his eyes already glowing faintly. He doesn’t come closer—just inhales, deeply. “…She smells like equilibrium,” he murmurs. “Like home.”

Your heart stutters. You take a step back. The boys don’t let you. Seoha slides behind you again, arms wrapping lightly around your waist. Haneul stands at your side, fingers brushing your wrist. Baby tilts his head from across the kitchen, watching you like a predator sizing up something that already belongs to him.

“Soulbond’s getting stronger,” Baby says, voice amused. “Cute, huh?”

You let out an uneasy laugh, your smile only slightly unsure.  Because under your skin, something curls tighter. Thicker. This isn’t just a bond. It’s a root system. A fire line. A storm surge. Something old is waking in you—and whatever it is, it’s bound to them.

And they know it. You can feel it in the way they look at you. Reverent. Possessive. A little afraid. Not afraid for you. Afraid of losing you. Afraid of what they’d do if that balance—you—was ever broken.

“Hey,” Jinu says gently, moving closer. “Don’t run from this. Whatever’s changing… it’s not hurting you. It’s anchoring us.”

“I don’t want to be an anchor,” you whisper.

Seoha presses a kiss behind your ear. “Too late.”

And all around you—five demons in human skin, eyes glowing soft with need, obsession, love—they just watch you.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

“No.”

“Please.” You plead with the best puppy-dog eyes you could muster. “I don’t want your fans suspecting anything or posting about me.” 

The boys had brought you along to their variety show. A result of your sickness when they were away yesterday. “I’d rather die than have you sick again because of me.” Baby said this morning with a grumble before forcing you to get dressed. 

Such events had lead to now, as you watch the five of them stare at you like you’ve grown a second head. Haneul crosses his arms. “That’s literally what disguises are for.”

“I won’t go far,” you insist. “I’ll stay in the mall right next to the building. You can check on me between segments. I just don’t want so many eyes looking at me and suspecting anything… and with the way you guys act, that’s bound to happen.”

“What do you mean?” Jinu asks.

“She means how none of us can keep our paws off her.” Seoha smirks. “Fine. But behave.”

Baby begins to protest. “But-!”

You smile, triumphant. “I will. Promise!”

He glares at you.

Twenty minutes later, you’re sipping warm broth at a tucked-away ramen stall in the back of the upper floor food court—alone, but not quite free. You know they’re watching. Mystery’s familiar warmth lingers like a phantom near your ribs. Jinu's voice still echoes in your ear: “Don’t go anywhere unfamiliar.”

So naturally, when the air turns colder—too cold—you go still. Your breath fogs, though the mall is heated. The hairs rise on your arms. And then—

A figure sits across from you. No footsteps. No sound. Just is. An old man. Not old like human elders, but ancient. His eyes don’t reflect light. They drink it. His suit is formal, black and gray, timeless in a way that doesn’t belong in this century—or any. You freeze, chopsticks mid-air.

“I see why he’s… intrigued by you,” the man says, voice smooth like rusted metal. He takes a deep breath and lets out a smile that chills you to the bone. “You taste like paradox.”

“…Excuse me?”

He doesn’t blink. “You’re tethered,” he murmurs. “To five fractured souls. A full hand’s worth. I’ve never seen it before.”

You grip your chopsticks. “I’m not—”

“You are,” he cuts in softly. “But it’s not finished. Not yet. That’s the dangerous part.” he chuckles in amusement. “The old fool doesn’t know what he’s just done to himself.”

Your stomach turns cold.

“He suspects. But he doesn’t know. Not yet. Your bond is rare. Raw. Unfinished. It could collapse. Or… become something eternal.”

You swallow. “Who suspects what now? And what do you mean, tether?”

He tilts his head. Slow. Exact. Like measuring a blade before it slides between ribs. The demon before you didn’t bother answering your questions. “I once had a friend,” he says. “Smart. Loyal. Desperate. He wanted what you are becoming.”

Your breath catches. “What happened to him?”

The man’s mouth twitches into something like pity. “He failed.”

“Why?”

“He tried to force what should only grow. He tried to anchor love with power. To make a bridge out of obsession. But the soul he bound to wasn’t strong enough. She was never the foundation.”

Your heart stammers. “She couldn’t bear it?”

“She unraveled.” He says it like poetry. Like eulogy. “She died screaming. And so did he.”

You feel it in your bones. The truth. The horror. But what shreds your spine is the feeling that this isn’t a warning—it’s a mirror.

The old demon smiles. “Be careful, child. You are something rare. Not quite human anymore. Not yet divine. If you’re not careful, they’ll tear you in five.”

Your breath hitches. “Who are you?”

He ignores the question. Instead, he leans forward, eyes pale and burning. “There will be a price,” he whispers. “Always. The question is not if you’ll pay it—” His breath brushes your cheek. “—but whether you choose to.”

You jolt back— The lights flicker above. Your ramen is untouched. Your body is shaking. Something cold coils in your spine. You don't realize you're gripping the edge of the table until your knuckles burn.

Who is this demon? And what in god’s name is he talking about?

────────── ⚘ ──────────

Back in the studio, the audience claps. The host jokes. The boys are seated on two couches for the show. Abby fake-laughs at something that didn’t land. 

But Mystery’s head snaps up. His whole body goes rigid. The camera catches it—just for a second. The host frowns. “You alright there, Mystery?”

Abby shoots him a glance. “He’s been feeling sick today,” Jinu says smoothly, stepping in. The host makes a sympathetic noise. “Aw, poor guy.”

But Romance has already frozen. Baby’s eye twitches. They feel it too—you. Your fear. 

Mystery doesn’t say a word. He walks offstage right in the middle of the taping. The crowd gasps. Abby forces a laugh. “We told him not to eat six boiled eggs before a shoot.”

Laughter bubbles. Cameras roll. But the boys go cold inside. Because something just reached you.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

Mystery’s feet are soundless on the tile as he enters the upper floor of the mall. His eyes are darker. Sharper. Not quite human. And then he sees you.

You. Sitting at the corner stall. Shaking. His heart drops. A growl rises in his throat. And then he sees him. The Old One. Still there. Still smiling. Mystery’s body shifts—just enough for his nails to blacken. Fangs graze his lower lip.

“Step away,” he snarls.

 The demon raises a brow. “The beast comes.”

“You scared her.”

The old one stands. Unbothered. “I told her the truth.”

Mystery stills. “You think I won’t rip you apart in front of civilians?”

“I think,” the demon says lightly, “that if you do, she’ll burn faster.”

That stills Mystery. A flicker of fang. A twitch of the claw. But no strike.

“You don’t want her revealed, do you?” the man hums. “Not yet.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” 

The old demon smiles, amusement sparkling in his eyes. “Ah, I see. Even you don’t know.”

“Know what?!”

The old demon chuckles. “But you can feel it, more than the others… the ‘bond’” he stretches the last word like it’s a joke he’d just made. 

Mystery growls at the mention of the bond, eyes growing protective, angry. He goes to take a swipe and then, like smoke curling from a candle—the demon vanishes. Mystery rushes to you. You collapse into his arms the moment he reaches you, clinging so tightly it almost hurts. “Shhh, it’s okay. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” His voice is lower than usual—closer to a growl. “We’ll talk later. I’m getting you out of here.”

He carries you from the mall with a hoodie over your head, your ramen left behind, your pulse still racing.

He carries you for a few minutes and then there’s a flash. It’s quiet. Still. Only the wind and the sound of water lapping the rocks. He’s brought you to a secluded park just beyond the city—hidden and safe. You have no idea what’s going on. How you got here so fast. Fear still gripping your thoughts. 

He sits you down on a wooden bench, you on his lap as he cradles your form protectively. Finally—

“What did he say to you?”

You shake your head. “I don’t know. I don’t understand. Something about his friend, and that I’m becoming something, and to be careful not to tear apart, A choice-” your voice is shaky, trying to remember all you could after such a situation. 

Mystery’s arms wrap around you tighter. “Okay, okay, baby…” he shushes and rocks you as a way to soothe your rapidly beating heart. But in his eyes—beastlike and broken—something ancient and possessive sparks.

You lean into his chest, listening to the low rumble of his breath, the occasional thud of his heartbeat, the way his arms tighten each time you twitch. Finally, your voice comes—hoarse, quiet. A whisper more than a question. “Who… who was that?”

Mystery stiffens behind you. For a second, you think he won’t answer. Then—

“An Old One,” he murmurs. “Older than me. Older than any of us.”

You pull back slightly to look at him. “Like… a demon?” 

He nods, slowly. “More like… a ghost of the first demons. They don’t take orders. Even Gwi Ma doesn’t command them. They don’t usually come out of hiding unless…”

“Unless what?”

His jaw flexes. His eyes are darker now, less gold—more like molten obsidian. “Unless something’s changing.”

You swallow. The air feels too still. The wind too quiet. Mystery brushes a hand over your arm, almost absentmindedly. Like he’s grounding himself.

“He knew things,” you whisper. “He said things I didn’t understand. About… tethering. About bonds.” You look up at him. “Do you know what he meant?”

Mystery’s eyes lock with yours. And you’ve never seen him look so helpless. “No,” he says honestly. “I don’t. I swear, little one. If I did… I’d tell you.”

You study his face. Every line of sincerity. Every flicker of confused concern. He truly doesn’t know. “But he scared you,” he adds softly. “That’s enough. I should’ve been there.”

“It’s not your fault,” you say, but your voice trembles.

Mystery pulls closer. His hands slide up your spine. His nose presses into the crook of your neck. He inhales deeply—shuddering. “You smell better now,” he murmurs, a little too possessively. “Not like fear anymore.”

You try to calm your heartbeat, but his tone wraps around your nerves like a snare. “He shouldn’t have touched your peace,” he growls. “He had no right.”

You rest your head against his shoulder, the thrum of anxiety still vibrating in your chest. He nuzzles your temple. “You’re mine to scare. Mine to break. Mine to fix.”

You blink. “Mystery—”

“I won’t let them take you,” he says simply. “Not Gwi Ma. Not the hunters. Not the Old Ones. Not even fate.”

Your breath hitches.

“But I don’t know what you are,” he admits. “Only that you’re… ours. The piece we were missing. The reason we’re even still sane.”

You close your eyes, the river whispering nearby. Something deep, quiet, ancient curls in your stomach. Not fear. Not anymore. But not comfort either. Something’s shifting. And it has a name. You just don’t know it yet.

The silence stretches again, soft and heavy. Water ripples faintly beside you. The breeze carries the faintest scent of pine and memory. Mystery shifts. You feel it in the way his arms tighten around you—not possessive this time. Not protective. Just… needing.

“I’ve never told you,” he murmurs, “what you were to me. The first time.” Your breath catches. His voice is rough—barely more than a growl smoothed by sorrow.

“You weren’t like this then. You were smaller. Weaker. Human in every way. But you were kind. You sang when no one else did.”

You blink slowly, his breath warm near your ear.

“Three-hundred years ago. It was the Sick Season,” he continues, voice low. “That’s what they called it. The people in your village. They thought the illness was punishment. Or a curse. The priests said prayers. The elders said nothing.”

His fingers stroke your arm absently, grounding himself. “Your siblings were coughing. You didn’t cough yet. So you walked into the woods one night with a lantern and begged the sky for help. I don’t think you expected an answer.”

He exhales. A shaky, fond sound. “But I came. As fog first. Then fur. Then form. And you…” His throat closes. You feel the tremor in him. “You weren’t scared.”

You blink, heart fluttering. “I should have been,” you whisper.

“No,” he says immediately. “You shouldn’t have. Because you saved me first.”

He tilts your face to meet his eyes—molten gold, wide and wet with something too ancient for tears. “You gave me a name,” he murmurs, half-laughing. “A silly one. I didn’t even know what it meant. But you said it like it mattered. Like I mattered.” His mouth brushes your forehead. His eyes closing in content and fondness. “You had called me Hwimori, saying I moved like a whirlwind. However, over time you shortened it…”

Your eyes flashed a crimson as a memory flooded back into you. You uttered his name with a soft gasp of remembrance. “...Hwi”

You felt him purr beneath you and his grip on you tightened at the sound of his name on your lips. He shook slightly as if he might break — because no one’s called him that since you… “Yes…” he breathed a laugh of disbelief. “That’s what it was…” 

You clutched on his sweater tightly, burying your nose in his neck. He sighed in content before continuing. “You fed me crumbs. Apples. You made up songs about the wind. You thought I was just a lonely fox. And I was. But then you… you looked at me like I wasn’t.”

You swallow, throat burning. Mystery presses his forehead to yours. “I didn’t understand death. I didn’t understand why you were singing less, sleeping more. Your hum faded, and I thought I could fix it by keeping you warm. By staying. By loving harder.” He shakes his head slowly. “But love couldn’t stop it. You died with your hand in my fur.”

You flinch. His arms tighten around you. “They dragged me away. I bit them. Changed shape by accident. I didn’t know how to be anything but yours, and they took you anyway.”

His voice breaks now—hoarse, unsteady. “They called me cursed. A beast. And maybe they were right. Because after that, I couldn’t go back to what I was. I couldn’t even remember how.” He closes his eyes. “My grief broke me. My body. My soul. I lost you, and I never stopped howling.”

Tears sting your lashes.

“I wandered for years,” he whispers. “Villages. Mountains. Cities. I learned how to speak. How to walk on two legs. I waited for you. Hoped for you. Even when I forgot your name, I remembered the sound of your laughter.”

You let out a choked sound. His fingers catch it, tracing your jaw. “I didn’t know pain until you stopped singing,” he says. “And even now, even here—centuries later—you hum in your sleep, and it quiets the monster in me. And why now I sing… for you.”

Your voice is a whisper. “I remember… the vision. You curled against my legs.”

“That was real,” he says. “It was the first time I ever felt warm.” Another pause. This one tender, terrible. “They said I was a demon. That I shouldn’t feel. But I did. Because of you. You made me feel—so I became something that could feel you back.”

You shift in his lap, cupping his cheeks with both hands. His eyes flutter shut. His breath shudders. “They said I was a beast,” he murmurs. “But I only ever wanted to be yours.”

You kiss his cheek. He makes a sound—raw and startled—like he’s been starving for it. Like the feel of your lips is too much and not enough. His breath hitches, sharp, and you hear it break in his throat.

“You touched me,” he whispers hoarsely, “and I called it forever.”

Your heart cracks. He’s shaking again—not from fear, but from something deeper. Centuries of ache coiled tight in his chest. Something caged too long. His nose brushes yours, his lips just shy of your mouth, and his hands are trembling against your waist like he’s terrified to want this.

But you do.

So you close the space between you. You kiss him. And everything stops.

You taste the reverence in it—how he doesn’t quite believe it’s real. The shudder that runs down his spine is almost violent. His breath catches like his lungs are learning how to fill for the first time. Like his body never understood how to live until now.

He kisses you like someone who’s never been touched. Like someone who’s wandered lifetimes in thirst, and your mouth is the first drop of water he’s ever found. His hands fly to your back, your waist, your neck—like he needs to feel every inch of you, as if skin-to-skin contact might keep you from vanishing.

He kisses like a soulbeast, not a man. Like instinct. Like prayer. Like his entire existence was a howl that only just found its answer. You pull back just enough to breathe—but his lips chase you, his forehead resting on yours as his chest heaves.

“I’m here now,” you whisper.

His scarred mouth twitches, almost like a smile, but it’s broken. Fragile. Wounded. “I know,” he chokes. “And I’ll never—” His voice cracks. “Never let them take you again. I swear it. I swear—”

“I know,” you say, and kiss him again—quieter this time. Like a promise. And this time, when you curl deeper into his arms, you feel it. The tremor in him stills. 

For the first time in three hundred years, the beast stops trembling.

────────── ⚘ ────────── The air ripples. A breath. A blur. And then Mystery is there—materializing in the middle of the apartment with you in his arms.

“I didn’t know demons could teleport…” 

The moment your feet touch the ground, five shadows surge forward.

Jinu’s already halfway across the room, tie loosened, eyes wild with tension. Seoha and Haneul shoot up from the couch. Baby’s pacing like a storm about to break, jaw clenched, fists flexing and curling. The bond in the room is a live wire—buzzing, seething, flaring.

You barely have time to exhale before they close in. Arms wrap around you from all sides. Jinu’s hands cup your face. Haneul holds you from behind, burying his face into your neck. Seoha presses his forehead to your shoulder. Baby—Baby doesn’t touch you at all. He stands just inches away, vibrating with barely restrained rage, like one wrong word might shatter the floor beneath you.

“You’re okay,” Jinu murmurs, breath shaking. “You’re really okay…”

“I felt it,” Haneul breathes. “The fear. Your fear.”

“You were burning,” Seoha whispers. “The bond flared so hot I thought I’d combust.”

“I told you,” Baby snarls, teeth bared. “She never should’ve left our sight. I told you.”

“Baby—” Jinu starts, but he cuts him off.

“No. No more of this.” He steps toward you finally, eyes glowing faintly. “You think I’m dramatic? Obsessive? Fine. But if anything—anything—had happened to you, I would’ve burned that entire building down. You hear me?” His hand trembles as he reaches out and presses two fingers to your wrist. “I’d obliterate everything.”

“Baby…” you whisper.

He exhales sharply and pulls you into his arms. “I wasn’t angry,” he mutters against your hair. “I was scared.”

You feel it. All of them. Their fear. Their restraint. Their absolute fury at the thought of losing you again. Seoha sinks onto the couch, dragging you with him. The others follow—pressing close, limbs tangled, the kind of closeness only soul-starved creatures know.

“What happened?” Jinu asks, voice controlled, but his eyes are pure flame.

Mystery doesn’t flinch. “An Old One,” he says. “He was waiting for her.”

The room stills. No one speaks. Mystery continues, voice low and gravelly. “He didn’t hurt her. But… he knew something. Said strange things. I got her out before I could kill him.”

You lean against Jinu, your body finally remembering how to breathe. “He said…” You close your eyes. “That He suspects something. That my bond is unfinished. That it could become something eternal. Or collapse entirely.”

“He?” Haneul asks. You nod and mutter softly, “I think… I think he’s talking about Gwi Ma.”

Jinu stills. Seoha leans forward. “Did he say what it meant?”

You shake your head. “Only that he had a friend. A demon who tried to force a bond like mine. And that… it tore his lover apart.”

Silence. Jinu’s hand tightens where it rests on your thigh. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t breathe. But you feel it. In the bond. In his bones. A flicker of something like recognition.

“Jinu,” Seoha says, frowning. “What is it?”

“I don’t know,” Jinu says too quickly. Liar. He knows something. Just not enough to say it out loud. Not yet.

Maybe he doesn’t believe it. Maybe it’s fear. Maybe it’s because the story he heard—the fable of a demon who tried to tether a human soul and failed—always felt like a fairytale. A cautionary myth whispered by demons about the cost of unnatural love.

But now… You’re sitting in front of him. And it doesn’t feel so mythical anymore.

“I’ll find him again,” Mystery mutters darkly. “The next time he speaks to her, I won’t hold back.”

Haneul’s eyes glint with the same promise. “We should’ve gone with you.”

“She wouldn’t have felt fear if we were there,” Baby growls. “She wouldn’t need to feel fear again if she just stayed with us.”

“I wasn’t trying to be reckless,” you whisper. “I just wanted to—”

“You don’t get to be reckless,” Seoha says, not unkindly. “Not when you belong to us.”

You flinch slightly. Not from his tone. From how much you don’t flinch at the possessiveness anymore. They’re all quiet for a moment. Then Jinu softens. His hand brushes your hair behind your ear. “You’re tired.”

Mystery lifts you again before anyone else can move. “I’ll take her.”

There’s no argument. The boys each kiss your head goodnight, lingering longer than they usually do. Mystery carries you to bed like you’re breakable porcelain. Like you're the center of the world and he's afraid you might shatter. You lie down, and he tucks you in, brushing your hair back with fingers that still shake. You touch his wrist. 

“I liked the name,” you whisper. “Hwi.”

His throat tightens as he smiles softly. He nods. Then curls beside you, arms locking around your waist. He buries his nose in your hair. Your scent as an anchor to his very being. 

You fall asleep like that. In the arms of the beast who once guarded your grave. And once your breath evens, he slips out of the room.

The boys are waiting in the living room, the lights dim. No one speaks for a long time. Finally, Jinu says, “There’s a chance—just a chance—that she’s becoming something.”

“Something?” Haneul repeats.

“A… tether,” Jinu murmurs. “But it’s just an old myth. A story.”

Baby’s eyes narrow. “What kind of story?”

Jinu leans back, staring at the ceiling. “One where a demon tried to bind a human soul too tightly. To keep them. Forever. Without the need for Gwi Ma’s intervention. It didn’t end well.”

Seoha’s voice is ice. “And if this isn’t a story?”

“Then she’s not just bonded to us,” Jinu says slowly. “She anchors us.”

Mystery- Hwimori snarls low in his throat. “What do you mean? She’s already ours. What more can she become?”

Jinu doesn’t answer. But the word echoes in his mind. She could become the anchor. Not just to us. To everything.

He couldn’t say that now. Not without further proof. But every one of them is thinking the same thing. If she is becoming something more— They’ll burn heaven and hell before letting it take her away.

TO BE CONTINUED

───────── ༺🜃༻ ─────────

A/N: Yayy Mystery backstory! His past is a bit different from the other boys. His origins weren't human. He was a soul beast that corrupted after your death - which explains his deep senses and connection to you. Because he was a spirit, the name Hwimori fit more as it was one given to him by you (and also not a human name). Hwimori is the name of a Korean rhythmic pattern used in traditional Korean music. It's known for being fast-paced, spiraling, and intense—like a whirlwind. And so the name Hwimori pretty much embodies the chaotic grace of a spirit-beast born from instinct, emotion, and ritual. Like the rhythm, he is relentless, spiraling around you, driven by feeling more than logic. You shorten it to “Hwi,” turning something wild and sacred into something personal and tender.

───────── ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆ ─────────

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[formulafanfics13]

Can you do one where reader is dating Lando but she isn’t famous or an influencer or rich so when she comes to the paddock she feels totally out of place and then overhears some fans talking about how they miss magui and wish Lando and magui were still together and then reader thinks that maybe Lando also feels that way so she starts excluding her self and it ends with Lando showing ( 🔥) that he doesn’t think like that? Thank you!

all mine - LN4🔥

Masterlist

summary: you’re not famous. You’re not rich. You’re just Lando’s girlfriend. And when you overhear fans wishing he was still with Magui, the doubt creeps in. What if he feels the same? What if you were never enough? But Lando sees it — and he knows exactly how to remind you who you are to him.

warnings: insecurity, overheard fan comments, emotional withdrawal, soft dom!Lando, praise kink, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected vaginal sex, possessiveness, reassurance through smut, creampie, reader feeling like an outsider, comfort through physical intimacy

You’re not famous.

You don’t have a blue check next to your name. You don’t post curated selfies or promo codes. You don’t work in fashion, or beauty, or entertainment. You’re just... you.

And when you walk through the paddock holding Lando’s hand, you feel like you’re floating somewhere you don’t belong.

Everyone here is someone. Models. Influencers. Rich girls. Leggy and effortless. Girls who know how to pose when the cameras hit. Girls who laugh at the right volume and flick their hair on cue. Girls who look like they were built to belong to this world.

You try to smile. Try to stay close. Try to shrink into the background and not get in the way. Lando doesn’t act like he’s ashamed of you, he never has. But the whispers still catch you off guard.

Especially today.

It happens outside hospitality.

You’ve just stepped away to take a breather while Lando does media. You’re tucked in a quiet corner, sipping water, checking messages. Behind you, two girls linger by the barricade, whispering with phones half-raised and glossy lips twisted in mild judgement.

“I just miss Magui, you know?”

“She was so perfect for him.”

“They looked so good together.”

“Remember that one summer in Monaco? Ugh, I lived for those stories.”

The other hums. “This new girl’s cute but... I don’t know. Not the same.”

You freeze. They don’t even know you’re listening. You don’t think they’d care if they did. And that’s what hits hardest.

You start pulling away after that.

Not on purpose. Not all at once. But bit by bit, moment by moment. You stop reaching for his hand. You sit further from him during team dinners. You stop slipping into his driver room between sessions. You don’t wait at the exit after quali.

You keep smiling. Keep playing the part. But Lando notices. Because Lando notices everything.

It all comes to a head that night in the hotel.

He’s fresh out of the shower, curls damp, sweatpants hanging low on his hips, towel slung around his neck. You’re sitting on the bed in one of his t-shirts, legs crossed, pretending to scroll your phone.

He looks at you.

You don’t look up.

“Alright,” he says finally. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

You exhale. “It’s really nothing, Lando.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

Your throat tightens. “I just don’t think I fit in.”

He freezes. “What?”

You laugh, brittle. “This whole world — the cameras, the girls, the fans, the money — I don’t belong here. I feel like I’m just tagging along. Like I’m boring compared to what you’re used to.”

He steps forward, slow.

“And then I heard some fans talking,” you continue. “Saying they miss Magui. That she was perfect for you. And maybe they’re right. Maybe you miss her too.”

Silence.

You don’t dare look at him.

Then you feel it, the heat of his body as he stands over you. The quiet inhale through his nose. The soft click of your phone being pulled from your hand and set aside. “Look at me.”

You do.

His eyes are dark. Dangerous. “You think I miss anyone that isn’t you?”

You blink. “I just-”

“You think I bring you into my world, let you sleep in my bed, kiss you before races, because I settled?”

You stay silent.

He leans in, voice low and sharp. “Get on the bed.”

“What?”

“Lie back.”

You obey.

Because his tone is serious. Fierce. The kind of tone that coils in your stomach and makes your skin burn. He kneels between your legs, lifts the hem of his own shirt up your thighs.

“You don’t belong here?” he says softly. “I’ll fucking show you how much you do.”

His mouth finds your cunt in seconds. No hesitation. No warning.

You gasp, back arching, fingers tangling in the sheets.

He devours you. Tongue dragging through your folds, lips sucking your clit like he’s starving. His hands grip your thighs, pulling them open wider, holding you down when you start to squirm.

“Lando-”

“Take it,” he growls. “Let me prove it.”

You come hard, legs shaking, eyes blurred with tears, breath ragged. He doesn’t stop. He fucks you slow. Deep. Spreads your legs over his shoulders and sinks into you like he’s claiming territory. “You think I miss her?” he mutters. “No one tastes like you.”

You cry out.

“No one sounds like you.”

He thrusts harder.

“No one takes me like you do.”

Your hands claw at his back.

“I don’t want some model,” he pants. “I want you. Your voice. Your smile. Your stupid oversized hoodies and the way you always steal my fries and fall asleep on my chest like it’s your fucking right.”

His forehead rests against yours.

“I love you,” he whispers. “So don’t ever pull away again.”

You come again, shattered and sobbing, body curling around him like you’ve finally come home.

In the morning, your legs still ache.

He makes you coffee in bed.

You post a blurry selfie of him kissing your bare shoulder, captioned:

“Still not Magui. Still his.”

[leriexoxo]

Truths Are For Pussies

Enemy! Changbin x Reader

Tags: smut, enemies to lovers, sexting, nudes, public groping, size kink, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), Dom Changbin, rough sex, breeding kink, soft aftercare

Word count: 4.7k

Summary: A drunk dare. One obscene nude you should’ve deleted months ago. You send it to the loudmouth classmate you hate most—Changbin. What you don’t expect? His filthy response. Or how fast it spirals into late-night thirst traps, voice notes, and him promising to fuck you so good you won’t be able to walk.

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You didn’t even want to go out that night.

It had been one of those weeks—back-to-back deadlines, sleepless nights, and that argument with Changbin during Tuesday’s group presentation that had left you pacing your room afterward, teeth clenched, cheeks hot.

He was too much.

Too loud. Too confident. Too all over the place.

Every class, every group chat, every hallway you tried to exist in—he was there. Smirking. Teasing. Rolling his eyes at your notes, talking over you during discussions, always finding ways to get under your skin like it was a personal hobby.

But your girls had insisted. “You need a break. You need tequila.”

So you’d gone.

Lip gloss, crop top, shots lined up like soldiers.

By midnight, the living room was a haze of heat and laughter. Someone had started a game of truth or dare with twisted rules. Everyone was half-drunk and full of bad ideas.

You should’ve seen it coming. The moment your turn came and the bottle pointed at you, a few smirks lit up around the circle like a warning.

“Okay,” Layla grinned, “truth or dare?”

You hesitated. Truth was safe. Predictable. But everyone had been choosing it all night, and you’d mocked them for it. Now it was your turn to be bold.

“Dare.”

Layla didn’t hesitate.

“Send a nude to Seo Changbin… or run a full lap around the football field naked. With a suction dildo stuck to your forehead.”

The room howled.

Someone immediately got up to rummage in a drawer. “I have the dildo!”

Your stomach dropped.

You tried to laugh it off, eyes wide. “Are you fucking insane?”

“You’ve got beef with him, right?” someone snorted.

“This is perfect.”

“You’re always bickering, it’ll shake him up.”

It wasn’t the nudity that scared you. It wasn’t even Changbin.

It was what was already in your camera roll.

A photo you’d taken months ago during a particularly filthy night, when you were feeling reckless and painfully needy. The lights had been low, your skin warm, your thoughts wicked. You’d spread yourself wide open on the sheets, wet and glistening, lips parted, your own fingers pulling at your skin. Your face was in it. Your expression ruined.

You had stared at it afterward, thinking: This is too much. No one can ever see this.

But you hadn’t deleted it.

And now… your hand hovered over it. Over the send button. The whole room was watching you, waiting.

You felt drunk. Braver than you should’ve been.

So you said, too calmly, “Fine.”

And tapped send.

It only took thirty seconds for regret to sink in like poison.

What had you just done?

He was going to lose his mind. Or worse, not react at all. He could ruin you. Show people. Mock you in class. Bring it up next time you tried to speak during a lecture.

You curled into the couch, face hot, eyes burning from the alcohol and the humiliation chewing through your stomach. Your phone buzzed once.

Then twice.

You turned it over.

Changbin 💢:

Did you mean to send that?

You stared at your phone like it had grown teeth.

Your thumb hovered over the keyboard.

Every possible answer felt wrong. You almost typed “ignore it”, but deleted it. Then you typed:

“It was a dare. Just forget it.”

Another ping.

Changbin 💢:

That’s not the kind of photo you send as a dare.

You swallowed.

Your face was burning. All the background noise in the living room—the music, the laughter, the clinking glasses—faded to a soft murmur. The heat of the dare was starting to wear off, replaced by a sick rush of adrenaline and humiliation.

Changbin 💢:

Jesus fucking Christ.

I… I didn’t know you looked like that.

You’ve been walking around class with that between your legs?

You tightened your thighs instinctively.

You typed:

“It was a stupid dare. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

But he wasn’t letting it go.

Changbin 💢:

You already had that pic?

That wasn’t a selfie. That was planned.

You took that for someone. You were gonna send it eventually.

You bit your lip.

“It’s old. I never sent it to anyone.”

Changbin 💢:

That makes it worse.

You paused.

“Why?”

Changbin 💢:

Because I’ve never wanted to fuck someone I hate more than I do right now.

You looked so good. So fucking wet. Like you needed someone to take care of it.

You blinked.

Your stomach flipped. The burn between your legs sharpened. You weren’t sure if it was arousal or pure nerves—probably both.

“This is insane.”

“You’re insane.”

“You’re still the asshole who makes me want to throw things in class.”

You deleted it all.

Instead:

“You’ve seen it now. Can you just forget it?”

The reply came back instantly.

Changbin 💢:

No fucking way.

Changbin 💢:

You’re seriously gonna act like you didn’t send that on purpose? Like you don’t want me thinking about it?

Changbin 💢:

You want me hard for you, don’t you?

“No.” “Fuck off.” “Stop.”

You didn’t send any of those.

“You’re full of yourself.”

Changbin 💢:

Nah, princess. You’re the one dripping in that pic, not me.

You closed your eyes.

He was unraveling you.

The way he talked in person was always irritating—too loud, too smug. But here? In text? At 1:03 a.m.?

He was… different. Sharper. Controlled. Bold in a way that went straight to your core.

“You’re lucky I’m drunk.”

Changbin 💢:

You think I need you drunk for this?

I’d still be hard for you even if we were sober in the library.

You bit back a noise.

Your thighs rubbed together involuntarily.

Changbin 💢:

You want me to send something back? Would that make it fair? Even the score?

Your fingers twitched.

“You’re bluffing.”

Changbin 💢:

Try me.

Your pulse quickened.

“You’re not actually going to—”

Ping.

The photo loaded slowly.

Dark sweatpants. No shirt. His abs were tight, skin glowing with a warm amber sheen like he’d taken the pic right after a workout. His hand tugged the waistband down low, and the bulge beneath was unmistakable—huge, thick, pressed to the fabric like it was dying to be freed.

You inhaled, sharp.

The outline of his cock was ridiculous. Heavy. Thick at the base, curving up. The tip clearly outlined. The kind of size that made your body react before your brain caught up.

And his caption?

Changbin 💢:

Now you can imagine what’s gonna fill you the next time you talk back in class.

You didn’t realize your mouth had gone dry until you swallowed hard.

Someone from the living room called your name. “Babe! Your turn!”

“I’ll be right back,” you called, voice strained.

You grabbed your phone, pushed off the couch, and disappeared into the hallway. Somewhere quieter. Somewhere you could breathe.

And think.

And maybe—just maybe—look again.

Because for the first time since you’d met him, you weren’t sure if you hated him… or if you just didn’t know what to do with how badly you suddenly wanted him.

—

You thought you could outlast the tension.

After the photo he sent—the dick print, the way it looked too big to even be real, the caption that made your thighs clench—you told yourself it was just late-night chaos. That once the sun came up, you could pretend it hadn’t happened.

You left him on read.

Muted the conversation.

Avoided every look in class, kept your expression cold, distant.

But Changbin?

He was different now.

Quieter. Sharper. Dangerous.

He still joked with the guys. Still sat in the same row as always. But whenever your eyes flicked up, he was watching you—really watching. Like he could still see that photo of you spread open and dripping every time you bit your lip or crossed your legs.

And when your professor assigned a partner project and called out his name alongside yours?

You knew it was over.

Later that afternoon, the library was quiet. Too quiet. The air between you was thick with something unsaid as you stood beside where he sat, laptops open, pretending to focus.

You tried not to look at him.

Tried not to remember the outline of his cock stretching grey fabric. The way he’d said “what’s gonna fill you next time you talk back in class.”

Your body hadn’t forgotten.

You’d touched yourself to that image more times than you were ready to admit.

“You’ve been quiet,” he murmured, eyes on the screen.

You didn’t look at him. “I’m working.”

“Right.”

“That’s what you were doing the other night too, huh? Working?”

You stiffened.

“I didn’t take you for the type to keep that kind of photo in your phone. Or was it just waiting for someone better to see it?”

You finally turned. “Are you done?”

He leaned back slightly in his chair, smirking—but something darker hid behind his eyes. He leaned in towards you, low and quiet.

“No. Not even close.”

You didn’t notice when he stood. But you did feel it when he moved behind you.

At first, it was just his hand brushing your shoulder as he leaned to peek at your screen.

Then he didn’t move away.

Instead, you felt the heavy press of his chest behind you. His palm slid slowly—casually—over your back. Lower. Resting at the curve of your waist.

And then he shifted—just slightly—and you felt it.

The unmistakable weight of him.

Hard. Thick. Pressed right up against your ass.

Your breath hitched.

“Miss me?” he whispered.

Your cheeks burned. “You’re disgusting.”

“Am I?”

“Because this…” his hand flattened against your hip, pulling you subtly back into his body, into his cock—“says otherwise.”

You should’ve shoved him.

Should’ve snapped, slapped, screamed.

But your body betrayed you.

Your thighs clenched. Your breathing went shallow.

And when his fingers brushed the hem of your skirt, you didn’t move away.

If anything—you leaned back.

“You liked it,” he murmured, lips just behind your ear.

“You liked knowing I saw you like that. That I wanted to fuck you from the second that photo lit up my screen.”

“You’re full of shit.”

“You keep saying that,” he murmured, voice dropping lower, hungrier. “But your body doesn’t agree.”

His hand slid lower, palm resting on your ass now—really grabbing, squeezing, like it was his already. He rutted against you once, slow, just enough to let you feel the size of him again.

You gasped, barely holding in the noise.

“Poor thing,” he whispered.

“Trying so hard to act like you don’t want this cock stretching you open.”

You closed your eyes. “We’re in a fucking library.”

“And you’re soaked,” he growled. “Aren’t you?”

You were.

You hated him for it.

But God—you wanted more.

“Tell me to stop,” he said, voice a low rumble in your ear.

“Tell me you don’t want me pushing these panties to the side and sliding in right here.”

You didn’t say anything.

And neither did your body.

Because for the first time, you weren’t sure who was in control—him, or the ache between your legs screaming for more.

His grip on your waist didn’t loosen. If anything, it tightened—fingers flexing into the curve of your hips like he wanted to memorize the way you fit under his hands.

You told yourself to move.

To snap out of it.

To shove his cocky ass away and slap the heat off your face.

But instead… you shifted.

Barely. Subtly. Almost like a breath.

Your hips arched back just the tiniest bit—and you felt him twitch.

Big. Hot. Hard against you.

And god help you, you did it again.

This time, he chuckled. Low and raspy.

“Keep doing that and I’m gonna take it personally.”

His voice buzzed against the shell of your ear, warm and wicked.

“I can swear you’re wet.”

“I’m not,” you breathed, barely able to form the words.

“No?”

One of his hands slid from your hip, slipping lower, slow and deliberate. Your skirt offered no protection—his fingers eased beneath the hem with practiced ease, knuckles brushing your thigh.

“Then you won’t mind if I check.”

You gasped. “Changbin—”

But it was too late.

His hand slid up. Under your skirt. Under your panties.

And then—his fingers paused.

Right at your slit.

Slick. Dripping. Heat soaked through cotton and flushed onto his fingertips.

He let out a quiet groan, something dark and pleased.

“Fuck me…”

You froze.

“You’re soaked.”

You should’ve died of embarrassment.

Instead, you whimpered—barely, breath catching in your throat. Your thighs twitched, instinctively trying to close, but his hand was already there, slipping further, middle finger pressing through the wetness and parting you open.

“Look at that,” he muttered. “Fighting me in public, dripping for me in private.”

“You can’t—” you whispered, but your voice cracked halfway through.

“I can,” he said. “And I am.”

His fingertip circled your entrance, not quite pushing in. Just enough to tease. To test how badly your body wanted him.

And it did.

God, it did.

“All this just from my picture?” he murmured. “You really are a dirty little thing.”

“Changbin, we’re—someone could—”

“Then stay quiet,” he whispered, lips grazing your ear. “Be a good girl and let me feel what you’ve been hiding from me.”

You squirmed against him, helpless. His hard-on grinding into your ass. His hand between your legs. Your body betraying everything your mouth refused to say.

But then—he pulled back. Slow. Measured and wicked.

“Not here,” he muttered. “Not yet.”

You let out a shaky exhale, unsure if it was relief or frustration.

“You’re not ready.”

He said it like a promise. Even more like a plan.

—

That night, your phone lit up before midnight.

Changbin 💢

You touching yourself right now?

You swallowed, heat curling in your stomach.

“No.”

A lie.

You’d been thinking about his finger, barely there, slicking through your folds. The way he pressed against you like he could fuck you through your clothes. The restraint he showed—pulling away just when you were about to lose it.

Changbin 💢:

Liar. You were dripping earlier. You think that goes away?

Changbin 💢:

You want help?

Your breath caught.

Then another message.

📷 An image.

A mirror selfie. Taken low. No shirt. Sweatpants slung low on his hips. But this time… no filter, no teasing.

His cock was hard. So obvious. Thick and curving up in those grey sweats, the head visibly straining against the fabric. His hand was wrapped around the base, gripping himself through the material.

Your core clenched.

Changbin 💢:

You made me like this. Do something about it.

Another ping.

🎧An audio file.

You hesitated… then tapped.

His voice—low, breathless, filthy—filled your room.

“Wish you were here right now. I’d be in you already. So deep you’d cry. Want you moaning my name with your thighs wrapped around my waist.”

You bit your knuckle.

“Bet you’re wet again just hearing this.”

You were.

And you knew damn well… this was only the beginning because it was obvious that you knew you should stop.

Mute the chat. Turn your phone off. Go to sleep.

But instead, you hit play again.

Changbin’s voice filled your room for the second time, low and unsteady.

“Wish you were here right now. I’d be in you already. So deep you’d cry. Want you moaning my name with your thighs wrapped around my waist.”

Your hand had already slipped under the waistband of your shorts. Shame curled hot in your chest, but it wasn’t enough to stop you.

Not with his voice saying things like that.

Not when your body was still aching from what he’d done in the library.

You typed, hesitant:

“You’re a menace.”

Changbin 💢:

And you’re quiet. You touching yourself again?

“No.”

Changbin 💢:

You’re such a bad liar.

Another ping. Another message.

Changbin 💢:

Say my name once, and I’ll show you the real thing. But let me hear how down bad you are first.

Your legs squeezed together.

He wasn’t letting up.

Not just the teasing — the control. The way he peeled you open without even being in the same room. It was like he’d figured out every weakness you had and was pressing on all of them at once.

You typed:

“You want me to say your name?”

Changbin 💢:

Just once. Out loud. Right now.

I know you’re touching yourself, i just want to hear you.

Your heart pounded. You stared at the audio reply button. Your thumb hovered.

“I’m not sending you a voice note.”

Changbin 💢:

Why not?

You’re already soaked. Already picturing it, aren’t you?

Changbin 💢:

Me pulling your legs apart. Spitting on your pussy.

Sliding in nice and slow while you beg me to ruin it.

You let out a shaky breath.

Changbin 💢:

C’mon, baby.

Be a good girl and let me hear how badly you want it.

The words good girl punched straight through your resolve.

Your finger hovered over the record button.

You didn’t overthink it. Didn’t script it. But at the back of your mind, you knew shouldn’t have done it.

You knew the second you hit record—you were crossing a line you couldn’t uncross. But the heat in your stomach, the ache between your legs, the way Changbin’s voice still echoed in your ears? It all left you trembling.

So you moaned. You whimpered.

And you said his name.

“Changbin…”

You sounded so fucking needy. So shameless and desperate.

Exactly how you felt.

You hit send with your heart in your throat, thighs clenched tight around your own hand. And then you waited—seconds dragging, breath caught in your chest.

Then: ping.

🎥A video.

No caption. No warning.

You hesitated, pulse in your ears, then tapped it.

The first thing you saw was skin—his hand, wrapped tight around the base of his cock. Thick. Hard. Heavy. His head was a darker shade of his skin, glistening with precum, veins running thick along the shaft.

The next thing you heard?

His voice. Ragged. Strained.

“This what you want, baby?”

He was filming from above, cock in his fist, his abs flexing as he pumped slowly, steadily. Each stroke was loud and wet. His hand moved like he was imagining you were already wrapped around him—tight, dripping, ruined.

“Been jerking off since you moaned my name,” he growled. “You sound so fucking pretty when you’re begging.”

You bit your lip so hard it almost bled.

“Wanna cum in you so bad,” he panted. “Wanna watch it drip out of you. Want you to feel it for days.”

And then—he grunted. Shuddered.

And came.

Ropes of it. Thick spurts shooting across his abs, the head of his cock twitching violently in his grip.

“That’s all for you,” he breathed, voice wrecked.“Next time, I’m doing that inside.”

The video ended, but you were done for.

You stared at your screen like it had punched you in the stomach. Heat licked down your spine. Your hand had slipped between your legs again before you even realized it.

You replayed the video.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

You wanted to taste it. Feel it. Be under it.

Then your screen lit up again.

Changbin 💢:

You still there?

Your fingers trembled. You didn’t even overthink it.

You typed:

“I need you.”

[📍Location Shared]

And hit send.

—

You barely had time to think.

One knock. That’s all it took.

You opened the door and he was on you—mouth crashing into yours, body pinning you flat against the wall like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

He kissed like a man possessed.

Like your voice note had ruined him. Like your moan had carved something primal into his chest and he couldn’t shake it loose.

His tongue slid past your lips, rough and greedy, tasting you like he had to claim you first.

“Fuck,” he growled against your mouth. “Took you long enough.”

You barely had time to respond—his hands were already under your shirt, palming your tits like they were his, thumbs flicking your nipples until you whimpered.

“This all for me?” he asked, breath hot.

“This pussy been soaking since the second I sent that video?”

You gasped as he shoved one leg between yours, grinding up against your clothed heat—his cock already hard, pressing through his sweats like a weapon.

“God,” he groaned. “You feel so fucking good.”

“Can’t wait anymore.”

He picked you up like you weighed nothing, carried you into your own apartment without breaking the kiss, and dropped you—hard—onto the kitchen counter.

Before you could speak, your shorts were yanked down and off. Your panties, too. Ripped aside with one rough pull.

“Fucking knew it,” he muttered as he spread you open. “Look at this wet little pussy. So damn ready for me.”

“You’re such a—”

“Say it,” he snarled, two fingers sliding through your folds, circling your clit just right.

“Say it while I ruin you.”

You choked on a moan, hips jerking up. His fingers dipped inside—thick, slow, curling—testing you.

“Tight,” he hissed. “So fuckin’ tight already.

How the hell you gonna take my cock, baby?”

You looked down—and froze.

He’d pushed his sweats down just enough, and there it was. All of it.

His cock was thick. Long. Veiny. Angry-red at the tip, already leaking. You’d seen the outline. You’d watched him stroke it on video. But up close?

It was fucking terrifying.

And you wanted every inch.

“I’m gonna mess you up real pretty.” he whispered, dragging the head through your slick folds.

“You’re not walking tomorrow.”

You whimpered, thighs trembling.

“Changbin—fuck—”

“What’s that, princess?” he smirked. “You scared of this cock now?”

“Shut the fuck up and give it to me.”

That was all he needed.

He lined up and slammed in—

The stretch was obscene. Your back arched, a broken cry ripped from your throat. He didn’t wait. Didn’t tease. He bottomed out in one brutal stroke, hips snapping forward until his balls slapped against you.

“FUCK,” he growled, head dropping to your shoulder. “Tight little cunt’s squeezing the shit outta me.”

You clawed at his back, desperate to breathe, but it felt too good. The way he filled you—so deep, so thick—you felt him in your stomach.

“Took it all, huh?” he rasped, pulling back just to thrust in harder. “Greedy little thing.”

He fucked you like he meant it. Like he was punishing you for every time you rolled your eyes in class. For every time you told him to shut up.

You were moaning like a pornstar—loud, shameless, wrecked—as he pounded into you on the kitchen counter, sweat dripping, his abs flexing with every thrust.

“You were made for this cock,” he groaned. “Fucking built to take it like a good girl.”

He pulled out suddenly, grabbed your wrist, and dragged you into the living room.

“Bed’s too far. Couch. Now.”

You stumbled, legs shaking. He bent you over the armrest, slapped your ass once—hard—and buried himself inside again with a brutal snap of his hips.

“This ass…” he groaned. “You know how many times I’ve stared at it in class?”

“Wanted to fuck you bent over all the damn desks.”

Your moans were broken now—choked sobs of pleasure every time his hips slammed into you.

He wrapped his hand around your throat, not too tight—just enough to own you.

“You love this, don’t you?” he growled. “Big cock splitting you open. My hand on your neck. My cum dripping out of you.”

“Yes—fuck—yes, Changbin, please—”

“Please what?”

“Please don’t stop.”

His grip tightened. His thrusts turned savage.

“I’m gonna cum inside you,” he warned. “I want it leaking down your thighs when you go to class tomorrow. I want everyone to know this pussy’s mine.”

You clenched around him—hard—and he lost it.

“Fuck—fuck—baby—”

He came deep inside you, groaning like he was unraveling from the core. Hot spurts filling you up, cock twitching inside your walls.

You collapsed forward, shaking.

But he wasn’t done.

He pulled out, flipped you onto the rug, and dropped to his knees.

“Need to taste you.”

His tongue went straight to your core, licking up his own mess, spreading it across your folds as he devoured you like he’d starved for days.

“Not leaving till you cum on my face.”

And you did.

Screaming his name. Shaking. Barely able to think.

Your first mistake had been sending that photo.

But your biggest mistake?

Letting him in.

Because now?

You’d never get him out.

—

You couldn’t move.

You were sprawled out on your back on the rug, blinking at the ceiling, your entire body throbbing with the aftershocks of what he’d just done to you. You felt wrecked in the best, most glorious way.

And yet—somehow—Changbin was the one panting like he’d just gone through hell.

He lay beside you, arm thrown over his face dramatically.

“I’m filing a formal complaint,” he groaned. “Your pussy should come with a fucking warning label.”

You wheezed out a laugh.

“Says the guy who just broke my uterus.”

He turned his head, looked at you.

And melted.

The shift was instant—his gaze softened, mouth twitching into the tiniest smile. He scooted closer, propped himself on one elbow, and brushed your sweaty hair off your cheek.

“You okay?” he asked, voice gentle. “Like… really okay?”

You nodded. “More than okay.”

He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for ten years. Then leaned in and kissed your forehead, your nose, your cheekbone—everywhere but your lips, like he was saving those for dessert.

“I swear I didn’t mean to fuck you like a caveman,” he mumbled. “I blacked out. You made that sound and I was just—gone.”

“You were terrifying,” you whispered, smiling. “In the hottest possible way.”

That made him grin.

He reached over for the hoodie he’d left slung on the chair and helped you into it—actually helped, like lifting your arms, guiding it over your head, kissing your shoulder once it was on.

Then he grabbed a warm towel, knelt between your legs, and started cleaning you up with the softest, most careful touch.

“Can’t have my girl leaking all over the carpet,” he murmured.

“Your girl?”

He looked up with a cocky smirk.

“You just let me raw dog you and you screamed my name for the neighbors, baby. Don’t play shy now.”

You tried to glare, but he leaned forward and kissed your knee. Then your thigh. Then higher.

“Next time,” he said, “I’m taking you slower. Gonna edge you until you’re crying.”

Your stomach flipped.

“You’re already thinking about next time?”

He glanced up at you with a boyish little shrug.

“I think about you all the time.”

Your heart stuttered. Because it didn’t sound like a line. It sounded real. Raw. Like the truth.

He saw your expression shift and leaned in, his lips brushing your temple.

“Not just the sex,” he murmured.

“I think about you when you fight with the professor. When you tie your hoodie strings in knots. When you roll your eyes at me like you always do.”

“Binnie—”

“I like you,” he whispered.

Simple. Honest.

And it hit you harder than any orgasm.

You buried your face in his chest. He chuckled and wrapped his arms around you, one big palm cupping the back of your head like he could hide you there forever.

“You hungry?” he murmured.

“Starving.”

“Good. I got us pizza and fried chicken.”

You looked up. “You really ordered food while I was moaning your name?”

He smirked. “Actually did it on my way here but I can multitask baby.”

You laughed into his chest, and he kissed your head again.

When the food arrived, you sat curled in his lap, eating from his chopsticks while he kissed sauce off your lips between bites.

Later, when you were tucked into bed and halfway to sleep, he whispered:

“You were fucking perfect tonight.”

“I’m gonna be addicted to you now.”

You didn’t say anything back. You just pulled his arm tighter around you and pressed a soft kiss to his knuckles.

Because you already were.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authors note: Its been a hot minute without a Binnie smut 💪🏻 How are we liking this cute little enemies to lovers?? 🤭❤️

Taglist: @tsunderelino @innieandsungielover @inlovewithstraykids @reignessance @jeonismm @sttnficrecs @herejusttemporary @krssliu @kenia4 @miilquetoast @thackery-blinks @leeminho-hall @suga-is-bae @butterflydemons @inejghafawifesblog @malunar28replies @minchanlimbo @mal-lunar-28 @breakmeofftbr @itvenorica124 @slut4junho @deepblueocean97 @thequibbie @yaorzu-blog @imagine-all-the-imagines @just-bria @mischievousleeknow @ifyxu @melanctton @thelostprincessofasgard @binniebb @sillylittlecat1 @darkwitchoferie @m-325 @headfirstfortoro @imseungminsgf @ihrtlix @vernorica123 @hwangjoanna @swordswallower2000 @niki007 @yxna-bliss @firelordtsuki @justwonder113 @mbioooo0000 @sammhisphere @nebugalaxy @cutecucumberkimberly @chancloud8 @sunflwerstar @shxdowofdarkness @aeyla @annyeongffs @beppybeesnuggets @iamwritteninyourstars @crisle19 @stxysakura @ocean-glacierblue

[drewsephrry]

Love Island - Episode 14: Brutal

pairings: rafe cameron x fem!reader

words: 5.5k

warnings: cuss words, sexual innuendos

series masterlist

The sun rises beautifully over Mallorca, spilling into the villa as the islanders slowly stir awake. Soft greetings pass between beds as they begin another day in paradise.

Rafe and Y/N are still tangled together, her face buried in his chest like it's second nature. One of his hands lazily rubs her back while the other reaches for his sunglasses, sliding them on with practiced ease.

Across the room, Cleo sits up with a grin, leans over to give Pope a quick kiss and then tiptoes toward Y/N’s bed.

“Good morning, sunshine.” She whispers, plopping down beside her. Y/N groans in protest, not moving.

“She says good morning back.” Rafe says dryly, earning a laugh from Cleo as she gently shakes Y/N’s shoulder.

“Come on, get up!”

Y/N cracks one eye open, staring at Cleo like she’s just committed a personal betrayal. 

“What did I ever do to you?” She mumbles, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

“I need you for something.” Cleo tugs her camisole strap back onto her shoulder and leans in. Y/N immediately sits up.

“What are we baking?”

“You know me too well.” Cleo grins. “Okay, Pope loves chocolate. So, like, cookies? Brownies? Something cute. I’ll help, I promise.” She adds quickly, glancing around to make sure Pope isn't listening. Most of the girls are heading upstairs and a few boys wander outside. Pope is still lounging in bed, clearly not ready to move.

“Brownies are faster. We can add frosting or something fancy on top.” Y/N says, already reaching for her stuff on the bedside table. “Let me wash my face and I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” Cleo hugs her tightly. Y/N smiles, squeezing her back before Cleo heads toward the back doors.

Just as Y/N grabs her stuff, Rafe speaks up behind her.

“Wow. No ‘good morning’ for me?”

She turns to find him sitting up with his arms crossed and one brow raised, playfully wounded. She smirks, crawling back onto the bed and leaning over him, not-so-innocently.

“Good morning.” She murmurs, planting a quick kiss on his lips, then pulling back suddenly with a hand over her mouth. “Wait, ew. I haven’t brushed my teeth.”

“I don’t care.” He mutters, leaning in again. But she dodges him with a grin. 

“Later. I promise.” She backs away, eyebrows raised in challenge.

“I’m holding you to that.” He replies.

She giggles and bolts upstairs.

Later, in the kitchen, Y/N leans against the counter beside Cleo, both girls focused on carefully piping frosting onto the cupcakes. Across the villa, Rafe and Kelce are lounging on the daybed, catching their breath and hydrating after their morning workout. Y/N glances in their direction, then turns to Cleo. 

“Hey, Cleo?”

“Yeah?” Cleo looks up from the bowl, wiping her hands on a towel.

“How are you and Pope doing?” Y/N asks, hopping onto the counter, swinging her legs and Cleo’s face softens instantly. 

“We’re good. Really good, actually. He’s so sweet, like, genuinely. It’s still a little awkward sometimes, but things are going really well.”

Y/N nods, watching her. 

“Have you guys…you know. Been intimate? At all?”

Cleo lets out a slow breath, considering her words.

“We’ve had a couple solid makeout sessions, yeah. But nothing more than that. I don’t know…it just feels weird knowing everyone’s right there. It's hard to feel comfortable.”

Y/N hums in agreement, twisting the cap off her water bottle and fidgeting with the strap.

“What about you and Rafe? Don’t tell me nothing’s happened.” Cleo narrows her eyes slightly. Y/N’s gaze drops to her bottle. She doesn’t answer right away and that silence speaks louder than anything.

Cleo clocks the look instantly and gently changes gears.

“Okay, okay, switching topics, what kind of frosting are we thinking, chef?”

Y/N blinks and straightens up, visibly grateful. 

“Umm…maybe peanut butter? That could be cute.” She suggests.

She hops down and heads to the cupboard, pulling out ingredients. As she sets them on the counter and begins mixing, Cleo rests a hand on her shoulder.

“You know you don’t have to rush anything, right?” She says softly. Y/N looks up at her.

“If you’re not ready with him…that’s totally okay.”

“I am.” Y/N admits quietly. “I just…I don’t know. I think I’m scared.”

“Scared how?” Cleo frowns. 

“I haven’t been in many relationships. And I don’t want to mess this up. Not with him.” Y/N shakes her head.

“You won’t.” Cleo assures her without hesitation. “Have you told him any of this?”

“He kind of tried last night.” Y/N says, voice barely above a whisper. “To take things further. And I panicked. And I pushed him away.”

Her hands are back on the spatula now, stirring again just to stay busy.

“I feel like I hurt his feelings or something.”

“No way.” Cleo says firmly. “That boy is obsessed with you. He’s not going anywhere because you set a boundary.”

“I think I just need some time to figure it all out.” Y/N exhales shakily, eyes still focused on the frosting.

“Then take it.” Cleo says gently, rubbing her back, smiling at her.

Confessional - Cleo “Y/N’s like my little sister. I care about her so much. Seeing her stress over where things stand with Rafe, especially about intimacy, just breaks my heart. She’s so beautiful, so kind and honestly one of the wisest people here. And I get why she’s anxious, but she needs to know she’s allowed to go at her own pace. Rafe will wait. And if he doesn’t? He’s not worth her.” She shakes her head.

Kelce and Rafe lounge on the daybed, sweat cooling under the shade of the tree. A soft breeze cuts the heat as they sip from their water bottles, catching their breath from the workout.

After a beat of silence, Rafe glances over.

“Hey…can I ask you something?”

Kelce nods, chewing absentmindedly on his straw.

“You know her better than anyone in here.” Rafe starts, hesitating.  “And I told myself I wouldn’t ever ask you anything about your relationship with her, because honestly, I cannot hear all that, but…” He pauses, taking a deep breath.

“Has she always been kind of…hesitant with the more intimate stuff?”

Kelce sighs, lowering his bottle.

“Yeah.” He says quietly. “Y/N’s always been like that. Cautious. When we were together, it took her a while to fully open up. Not because she didn’t care, but because trust isn’t something she gives lightly. Especially when it comes to physical stuff.”

Rafe nods slowly, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

“I respect that. Like, I don’t want her to ever feel pressured. But last night was our first night back in the same bed…we were kissing and I thought maybe we’d go a little further. Nothing major. Just…a step.” He sighs, frustrated more at himself than anything. “But then she got all tense, kind of pulled back. And of course I stopped. No question. I just…I don’t know, it threw me off. Made me wonder if I’d messed something up.”

Kelce watches him for a second, then speaks evenly.

“Y/N likes you. A lot. That much is obvious. But you have to let her move at her own pace. She’s not someone you can rush. She needs to feel totally safe first. If you want this to work, let her lead when it comes to that stuff. She’ll let you in when she’s ready.”

“Yeah. Got it. Thanks, man.” Rafe nods again, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. 

“Anytime.” Kelce shrugs. “You don’t have to tiptoe around me when it comes to her. I’m not holding on to anything. I just want her to be happy.”

He glances toward the kitchen, jaw tightening almost involuntarily.

“And from what I’ve seen…she is. With you. So don’t screw it up.”

Rafe follows his gaze, Y/N is laughing at something Cleo said, the two of them looking carefree and glowing.

“I won’t.” He says quietly.

“Good.” Kelce gives a small nod. 

The two lapse into silence again, but there’s a mutual understanding between them now, unspoken, a little uneasy, but real.

As the afternoon sun blazes over the villa, islanders sprawl across the yard, some tanning, some swimming, others deep in conversation, while Pope and Cleo enjoy the brownies. But the lazy vibe is cut short by the familiar ping of a text.

“I got a text!” John B calls out, already grinning as everyone scrambles toward him.

“Islanders, it’s time to find out how well you really know each other in the Higher or Lower challenge. #numbersdontlie #truthhurts.” He reads.

Cheers erupt, but Y/N shares a nervous glance with Sarah and Maddy as they slump back onto the couch.

“This is gonna get messy.” She mutters and both girls nod knowingly.

Soon, the islanders are split into two teams, seated on opposite bleachers across the lawn. In front of them, photos of each girl stand in a row, heart stickers hiding the key numbers.

Pope steps up with a deck of cards and a grin that says he’s loving every second of this. He holds up the first card.

“I’ll read out a fact about one of the girls and reveal a number tied to it. Then the boys have to guess whether the next girl's number is higher or lower. Each correct guess earns a point. Winning team takes it all.” He explains the rules and then, glances at the first photo. 

“What’s the most amount of money the girls have ever spent, on a man, in one occasion?” He reads and peels off the heart sticker from Maddy’s photo.

“Maddy has spent…$550.”

The boys react instantly.

“Damn.” JJ whistles. “What was that for?”

“I was dating this guy and he lost his AirPods…so I bought him AirPods Max.” Maddy shrugs. 

A mix of impressed and mildly horrified expressions ripple through the bleachers. Pope moves to the next photo.

“Alright, Kiara. Higher or lower than $550?”

The boys huddle quickly.

“Lower.” Topper decides.

“Yeah, definitely lower.” Ryan agrees.

“$200.” Pope reveals. The boys nod, satisfied. Alyssa’s up next and they guess lower, but she surprises them with $250. Cleo follows and as expected by the boys, she’s lower at $150. For Abigail’s number, the boys guess higher and they’re right, again, at $450.

Pope steps to the next photo and smirks. 

“Okay…Y/N. Higher or lower?”

“Higher.” Rafe says without hesitation, arms crossed.

“I’m not so sure. She never spent that much when she was with me.” Kelce raises a brow. 

Despite Kelce’s skepticism, the boys stick with higher and Pope peels back the sticker. 

“Y/N has spent…$300.” He reveals as laughter erupts as “Told y’all.” Kelce leans back smugly. 

The boys look over at Y/N, waiting for the backstory.

“I took Kelce to a Knicks game.” She shrugs, hands resting on the wooden seat.

“Oh my god, yes! I completely forgot about that!” Kelce’s face lights up.

She laughs, shaking her head.

Confessional - Y/N “I feel like $300 is totally reasonable.” She says with a shrug and a grin.

Pope moves to the last photo in the lineup, Sarah.

“Alright. What do we think about Sarah?” He grins.

“Definitely higher.” Topper says without hesitation.

“She’s bougie.” JJ smirks, making the girls burst out laughing as Sarah flips her hair, proudly owning it.

Pope peels back the sticker and the boys erupt.

“$2,000?” Pope yells, holding up the card.

“I booked us a trip.” Sarah says casually with a shrug. The girls gasp in admiration and even the guys look impressed.

Pope focuses back on the stack of cards, grabs the next one and reads it before smirking. 

“Okay, okay. Boys, this one’s juicy.”

Everyone leans in.

“How many nudes have the girls sent?”

The yard instantly fills with oohs and laughter. Pope turns to Maddy’s photo first, peels back the sticker.

“Maddy has sent…thirty.”

The boys look over at her, eyebrows raised.

“I’ve had two serious relationships.” Maddy explains, unbothered. “One of them ended up being long-distance. So...”

The group nods understandingly. Pope moves down the line.

“What do we think about Kiara? More or less?”

“I’m saying more.” JJ throws in and the boys agree after a quick debate. Pope lifts the sticker. 

“Fifteen.”

The boys blink, mildly surprised. 

“Wow.” Ryan mutters.

Next up, Alyssa.

“Higher. Definitely.” The guys say in unison.

Pope reveals the number, three digits.

“In the hundreds?” Topper laughs.

“I’m a tattoo artist. Let’s just say...a lot of clients slide into my DMs for reasons that aren’t about tattoos.” Alyssa smirks.

The girls squeal in shock.

Confessional - Alyssa “What can I say?” She grins. “I’ve had a few very hot customers.”

Back in the yard, Pope points at Cleo’s photo.

“What about Cleo?”

“What do you think, Pope?” JJ raises a brow. 

He thinks for a beat. 

“Honestly? I’m gonna go with lower.” He says and the boys nod, trusting the call.

“Go lower.” Rafe confirms.

Pope peels back the heart. 

“Two.”

“I had just broken up with my ex…sent him two pics…and yeah, we hooked up that night.” Cleo laughs, explaining herself.

“Cleo!” Sarah yells, laughing in shock, while the girls dissolve into giggles.

The boys guess higher for Abigail and they’re right, as it is seven.

Then Pope turns to Y/N’s photo. 

“Okay. Y/N. Higher or lower, boys?”

“Higher.” Topper doesn’t hesitate. 

“Nah, I think it’s lower.” Kelce tilts his head. 

Rafe stays quiet, eyes flicking to Y/N, searching her expression.

After a quick team huddle, they go with higher.

“Ten.” Pope says, revealing the number. Y/N just shrugs, completely unfazed, as the boys nod and move on.

Finally, Pope turns back to Sarah’s photo.

“Alright. Last one, Sarah again. What are we thinking?”

“Higher.” The boys all say in chorus, not even debating. But Sarah just stares blankly at her photo, lips pressed tight.

Pope removes the sticker and the crowd gasps.

“Wait. Two-thousands?” JJ blurts.

“One of my nudes got leaked on Twitter.” Sarah confesses and the yard goes silent.

“I’m so sorry that happened to you.” Maddy says quietly.

Y/N immediately reaches out and squeezes Sarah’s hand. Within seconds, all the girls are around her, pulling her in for a group hug.

Confessional - Sarah “I went viral for, like, two days.” She grins, eyes wide as she looks into the camera. “But my mom’s a lawyer, so…handled.” She wipes her hands together like she’s dusting them off, done and over it, before she smirks proudly.

Back in the yard, Pope claps his hands together.

“Alright, boys. Time to find out your girl’s body count.”

Gasps echo from the bleachers. The girls shift in their seats while the boys lean forward. Pope steps up to Maddy’s photo and peels back the sticker.

“Maddy's body count is…eighteen.”

“Totally respectable.” She gives a casual shrug. 

The girls snap their fingers in approval, supportive energy flowing across the yard.

“Next up, Kiara. Higher or lower than eighteen?”

“Higher.” Topper says confidently.

“No way. Lower.” Rafe argues.

The boys debate but end up siding with Topper. Pope pulls off the heart.

“Twenty. Another point for the boys.”

Cheers go up as Pope moves to Alyssa’s photo.

He barely gets a word out before the guys all shout in unison.

“Higher.”

Pope chuckles, before revealing the number.

“Thirty-one.”

“No need to explain myself.” Alyssa raises her chin.

“Fair enough.” Pope laughs, before heading to Cleo.

The guys settle on lower and they’re right. Her number is seven. Next is Abigail. The boys guess higher.

“Ten.” Pope reveals before moving on. He stops in front of Y/N’s photo.

“Okay. What do we think, boys?”

The boys gather closer and debate among themselves.

“Honestly? No clue.” Rafe frowns slightly, shaking his head. 

“Wait, you haven’t asked her?” Topper looks over. 

“Doesn’t really matter.” Rafe shrugs.

“Lower.” Kelce cuts in, firm. The rest of the guys nod.

“We’re going with lower.” John B announces and Pope peels back the sticker. 

“Five?” JJ raises an eyebrow. Rafe looks at her with wide eyes.

Confessional - Rafe He tilts his head, clearly trying to work something out. “Five just…surprised me, I guess. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t that.” He laughs under his breath, shaking his head. “But like, that doesn’t change anything. At all. I still feel the same about her.”

Across the yard, Y/N stares at her hands, suddenly a little tense.

Maddy nudges her playfully. 

“Hey. That’s a perfect number.” She says.

“It’s…whatever.” Y/N gives a small eye roll, brushing it off, her cheeks turning a bright shade of red. Maddy just smiles and squeezes her hand, holding it quietly.

Confessional - Maddy “I could tell Y/N got in her head a bit, but she seriously has nothing to be insecure about.” Maddy raises an eyebrow, voice full of sass. “If someone’s still judging people over body count in this day and age? You’re just…dumb. Period.”

Back outside, the boys turn to Sarah’s photo.

“Alright, higher or lower than Y/N?” Pope asks.

“Higher.” Topper says instantly and the rest of the boys nod in agreement.

Pope peels off the sticker. 

“Sarah's body count is…twenty-five.”

A few whistles and nods echo around the yard, no one surprised.

“Okay.” Pope announces, holding up the final card. “Last question, how many sexual partners do the girls think is too many for the guy they’re dating?”

A dramatic ‘ooh’ ripples across the group.

Pope steps to Maddy’s photo first.

“Maddy thinks…one hundred is too many.”

The boys glance over at her. She shrugs.

“Honestly? I don’t care what you have done prior to our relationship.”

Everyone nods and Pope moves on. For Kiara, the boys guess lower and they’re right. Her answer was fifties.

Next up, Alyssa. The boys confidently guess higher and Pope cracks up as he removes the sticker.

“Infinity.” He reads and laughter breaks out across the yard.

“I truly couldn't care less about what you have done in your past.” Alyssa grins.

The boys nod, clearly impressed.

They go lower for Cleo and they’re right, again, as her number is thirty.

“I’m a relationship type of girl.” Cleo says seriously. “I don't want to date a player”

Respectful nods follow.

They guess lower again for Abigail, but they’re wrong. Her answer being ninety.

Next up, it's Y/N and the boys guess lower.

“Alright.” Pope says, stepping to her photo. 

“Y/N thinks…” He removes the heart sticker. “Somewhere in the hundreds is too many.”

The guys groan in defeat.

“Like, live your life. Just…I don’t want to be with someone who’s been with everyone. That’s all.” Y/N shrugs, calm and unapologetic.

The boys nod, understanding while Rafe looks away.

“Valid.” John B says.

Finally, Pope reaches the last photo. The boys guess for higher.

“Okay, Sarah. You think too many is…” He peels back the sticker. “Seventy.”

A round of nods and clapping follows as Pope walks to the bleachers, while the boys start to cheer.

Cleo walks up, grinning as new photos of the boys are lined up across the yard, heart stickers ready.

“Alright, ladies, let's bring this one home!” She grins, rallying the girls, who cheer in response. She steps forward and reads the first question aloud. “What’s the most money the boys have spent on a woman in one occasion?” 

With a dramatic pause, she peels the sticker off the first photo, which is Kelce's.

“Kelce has dropped $1,000.” She announces.

“Oh my god.” Sarah gasps, while Y/N just nods like she’s not surprised.

“Yeah…I, uh, booked an Airbnb in the Hamptons for a weekend.” Kelce says, scratching the back of his neck. Y/N smiles at the memory, while the girls react with impressed 'oohs'. Rafe glances over at her, but quickly shifts his focus as Cleo moves on to the next photo.

“Alright, what do we think about Pope?” She asks. The girls guess lower and they’re right. $300.

Then comes Topper’s turn. His picture appears and the girls debate before finally going with higher. Cleo lifts the sticker.

“$150.” She reads. Everyone blinks at him.

“Just dinner.” Topper shrugs like it’s obvious, making Cleo scrunches her nose. 

“Whatever you say, frosted tips.” She mutters before moving on.

Next up is John B and the girls guess higher.

“Please don’t let us down.” Maddy teases, making the girls laugh.

Cleo reveals the amount is $250. The girls cheer and John B just smirks like he expected it.

Then it’s JJ’s turn.

“Lower.” The girls say confidently and Cleo peels back the sticker. 

“$50.” She reads as the villa bursts out laughing, even JJ.

“Wanna explain that one?” Kiara asks, wide-eyed, her smile creeping out of her shocked face.

Y/N clutches Maddy, crying with laughter, while Sarah doubles over holding her stomach.

“I’m…not great with dates or gifts.” JJ admits, grinning. “I just grabbed some KFC and took a girl out on the boat.”

“Aww, that’s actually so cute, J.” Y/N beams. JJ shrugs but smiles as Cleo clears her throat and moves on.

“Okay, Ryan’s up. More or less than fifty?”

The girls all agree on higher and they’re right. $500.

Finally, Rafe’s picture comes up. The girls gather, whispering like they’re about to launch a conspiracy theory.

“More than five hundred is insane.” Y/N says, shaking her head.

“I don’t think it is for him.” Maddy counters. “Have you seen his closet? He’s always in designer everything.”

After a moment of back and forth, the girls lock in their answer, going with higher.

“$3,000.” Cleo pulls off the sticker, shocked. Y/N’s jaw drops. The girls erupt into cheers.

“Wait, what did you even buy?” Cleo asks, stunned.

“A Louis Vuitton bag.” Rafe replies, totally unfazed.

“For her birthday or like…a random Tuesday?” Cleo fires back, making everyone laugh, including Rafe.

“Nah, it wasn’t for anything special.” He shakes his head.

“Lucky you.” Maddy murmurs, leaning over and nudging Y/N.

“Shut up.” Y/N whispers, cheeks flushing.

Confessional - Y/N “Okay, yeah…I was a bit shocked by Rafe’s answer.” She says, raising her brows. “Like, I know he has money, the man’s always in designer stuff and he literally owns a whole company, but just casually dropping three grand like that?” She blinks dramatically. “Wild.”

“Next question is how many nudes have the boys sent?” Cleo announces as the girls get excited.

JJ immediately turns to John B, shaking his head. 

“This is gonna be bad.” He says.

“Really bad.” John B agrees, both of them already bracing for embarrassment.

“Forty-five.” Cleo says, peeling the sticker off Kelce’s board. The girls gasp in unison.

“Yeah, uh…no explanation there.” Kelce says, hands raised in surrender as Cleo blinks in disbelief and moves on.

“Okay, Pope.” She doesn’t wait for the girls to weigh in. “We’re going lower.” 

The girls nod and Cleo pulls off the sticker revealing the number ten.

Next is Topper.

“Higher.” The girls say, and they’re right again, as his stands at sixty-three.

Then comes John B.

“Higher.” They guess, but Cleo reveals it is fifty.

“Agh, so close.” Maddy groans.

JJ’s up next. The girls guess higher and the number on the board sends the villa into chaos.

“One-ninety.” Cleo reads aloud, stunned.

“What?” Sarah gasps, as everyone bursts into laughter.

Confessional - JJ “Don’t slut-shame me on Twitter, please.” JJ grins.

“Okay, what do we think about Ryan?” Cleo reads. The girls guess lower this time and they’re right again. “Thirty-six.”

“Okay.” Cleo says, grinning as she reaches the final picture. “What about Rafe?”

The girls hesitate, some voting lower, others whispering amongst themselves. Finally, they agree on higher.

Cleo peels the sticker off slowly.

“Twelve.”

Y/N blinks in surprise and turns to look at Rafe, who’s relaxed on the bleachers like it’s no big deal.

“Twelve?” Cleo repeats, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah.” Rafe says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I haven’t been in many relationships, but I’ve used dating apps…so, you know.”

Everyone nods, seemingly impressed by the honesty.

“Alright ladies, now for my favorite part, body count time!” Cleo claps her hands together. 

The girls cheer as she pulls the sticker off Kelce’s picture.

“Kelce's body count is...thirty-five.” She reads.

Next is Pope and the girls go with lower. They get it right, at ten.

On Topper’s turn, they all agree on higher.

“Seventy.” Cleo reveals as eyes widen around the yard, while Topper grins smugly like he’s just won a trophy.

John B’s photo is next and the girls guess lower.

“Fifty-seven.” Cleo reads.

Now it’s JJ again and the girls guess higher, after all his previous answers. Cleo pauses, peels the sticker slowly, then stares.

“In the hundreds?” She blinks. The girls scream in disbelief as the boys erupt in laughter. Topper reaches over to dap him up.

“I had fun in high school and college.” JJ shrugs. “Well, the three weeks I went.”

The girls are still giggling as Cleo moves on.

“Ryan?” She asks the girls, still trying to recover.

They all decide on lower and they’re right once again as his answer is twenty-five.

And finally, Rafe.

“Alright. What about Rafe?” Cleo turns to the girls, but all eyes turn to Y/N.

“I-I have no idea.” She says honestly. “We haven’t really talked about that.”

“What do you think though?” Sarah nudges, gently. Y/N glances toward the bleachers, then back to the group. 

“It’s gonna be higher.” She says quietly. “I just…I just know.”

The girls nod and look to Cleo.

“We’ll say higher.” Sarah confirms for the group.

Cleo removes the final sticker.

“Forty-two.” She reads.

The girls react with surprised nods as the boys cheer and clap Rafe on the back. Y/N’s lips part slightly. She doesn’t react outwardly, but a weight settles in her chest.

Confessional - Y/N “Like…I knew he had experience. I mean, obviously, have you seen the guy?” She says, eyes wide. Then her tone shifts, more thoughtful. “But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t…scare me a little?” She admits, her voice softening with a flicker of vulnerability.

Rafe chuckles from the bleachers. 

“I’m 27. I went to business school. I ride a motorcycle.” He says with a shrug, earning a round of laughs from the boys. The girls smile as Cleo claps her hands together.

“Alright ladies, last question!” She grins as the girls cheer. “How many sexual partners do the boys think is too many for the girl they’re dating?”

She heads to Kelce’s photo and peels off the sticker.

“Kelce thinks fifty is too many.”

All eyes turn to the bleachers.

“Okay, but let me just say.” Kelce jumps in, holding up a hand. “I’m not the guy who asks that kind of question or cares about it. What someone’s done in their past? Not my business.”

The girls clap, impressed by the answer and the boys nod along in agreement.

“Aww, okay, that was sweet. Moving on.” Cleo says with a grin. She stops at Pope’s photo. “What do we think, ladies?”

They guess higher, only to get it wrong.

“Pope said 30.” Cleo reads, surprised.

“I totally agree with Kelce.” Pope says quickly. “I just grew up super religious and you know, I haven’t had as much experience as most people here.”

The girls nod respectfully.

“Well, good thing mine’s lower.” Cleo adds with a mischievous grin before bursting out laughing. The rest of the villa joins in.

Next up is Topper. The girls guess higher and miss again.

“Ten?” Cleo reads, blinking.

Topper cringes at his own answer as JJ elbows him. The girls exchange looks, confused and not happy.

Confessional - Alyssa “That was some double standard bullshit.” She says bluntly. “Like, what do you mean ten is too many for your girl when you’ve slept with seventy people? Make it make sense.”

“Wanna explain yourself?” Cleo narrows her eyes at Topper.

“I, uh, I don’t really care about that stuff.” Topper says, stumbling.

“Mm. Sure.” Cleo mutters, unconvinced, before turning to the next board.

John B’s up. The girls guess lower and they’re right. His answer was one hundred. Then it’s JJ and they guess higher.

“Twenty.” Cleo reveals.

“That’s such a fake answer.” Kiara squints.

“Okay, yeah, I was kidding. Honestly, that stuff doesn’t matter to me. It’s your business, not mine.” JJ raises his hands in surrender.

He shrugs, but no one looks convinced. Kiara just rolls her eyes.

Next is Ryan. The girls confidently vote higher. Abigail crosses her fingers, hopeful.

“Infinity!” Cleo reads and bursts out laughing. The girls cheer and clap while Ryan laughs along.

“Yeah.” He says. “Doesn't really matter to me. Your past is your past.”

And last but not least, Rafe.

“Alright, what do we think?” Cleo asks.

“We’re going lower.” Abigail declares. “Obviously.”

“Excuse me?” Rafe gasps dramatically.

“You can’t go higher than infinity.” Abigail smirks.

“Infinity and beyond?” Rafe fires back, sass in full swing. The girls laugh as Cleo removes the sticker.

“Two hundred.”

The girls clap, amused and a little impressed.

With that, the game wraps. The boys are declared the winners and erupt into cheers, hollers echoing across the villa. The girls shake their heads, rolling their eyes, already plotting to win the next challenge.

The islanders start drifting off into smaller groups around the yard, voices buzzing and laughter echoing in the background. Rafe and Y/N grab their water bottles and head to the daybed, the late afternoon sun casting a golden glow over them.

She settles in beside him, legs crossed as he stretches out, one arm behind his head.

“You mentioned something about riding a motorcycle?” She asks, raising her brows, a playful grin tugging at her lips. He chuckles, his hand naturally coming to rest on her thigh. 

“Yeah. Been riding since I was seventeen.” He replies.

“That’s…ridiculously hot.” She mutters, locking eyes with him.

“Yeah?” He smirks, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t. I already regret saying it.” She groans, looking away.

“No, no, say it again, baby.” He teases, voice low and gravelly. His hand gently finds her chin, turning her face back toward his.

Her breath catches as she meets his blue eyes. His thumb traces her cheek, slow and tender. The tension crackles between them like static.

“I…uh…” She pulls back, clearing her throat. “Can we talk about…the challenge?”

He immediately drops his hand, sitting up and nodding, the playfulness fading into something more sincere.

“Of course.” He says, taking a sip from his bottle, while she fidgets with the cap on hers. 

“I just…you heard it already, but I’m not…super experienced. And I think that’s why I haven’t been able to go further with you, yet. I’ve always taken things slow and being in here…just...everything moves fast. Like, really fast. And knowing you’ve had more experience…it kinda freaked me out.” Her voice is quiet, vulnerable, as she finally meets his eyes. Rafe shakes his head gently. 

“There’s nothing to be scared of.” He leans in, his tone soft. “I would never rush you. Ever. Whatever we do, it’s gonna be when you’re ready. I care way more about you being comfortable than about moving things forward.”

He reaches for her hand. 

“And yeah, I’ve had more experience, but that doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t change how I feel about you. We can go at your pace. Only your pace.”

“So…you’re okay with taking it slow?” She blinks slowly, emotion flickering behind her eyes.

“I’m more than okay with it. I want you to feel safe. That’s what matters to me.” He cups her face again, his voice steady and sure.

“Did…did my body count bother you?” Her voice trembles.

“No. Not at all.” His response is immediate.

“But…it’s low.” She admits, a whisper.

“So what?” He scoffs softly. “Y/N, I don’t care if it’s one or zero or a hundred. I like you. That’s what I care about.”

“You mean that?” Her eyes widen slightly.

“Of course I mean it.” He says firmly. “You never have to stress about that kind of stuff with me.”

She exhales deeply, the relief visible on her face. Her smile grows and she leans in, pressing her lips to his in a soft, thankful kiss.

“Thank you.” She whispers as she pulls back slightly.

“You don’t need to thank me.” He murmurs, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re safe with me.”

They hold each other’s gaze, quiet understanding passing between them.

Then, suddenly, Y/N lets out a happy squeal and wraps her arms around him tightly, knocking them both back onto the pillows. They burst into laughter, limbs tangled, hearts light, warmth radiating between them.

“Oh, by the way.” Rafe says, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. “You still owe me that kiss from earlier.”

She smirks, fingers reaching up to toy with the chain around his neck.

“I was hoping you’d forgotten.” She murmurs.

He lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head.

“Not a chance.”

He leans in again and this time, she meets him halfway, closing the distance between them before curling up by his side.

And just as the villa settles into that rare calm, a loud ping cuts through the air.

“What now?” Rafe groans, head flopping back.

Y/N grabs her phone and grins.

“I got a text!” She shouts. The villa immediately perks up as everyone turns toward her.

“Islanders, it’s time to get dressed up because tonight you’re having a blue party! #party4u #glamup.” She reads aloud.

The villa erupts into cheers, already buzzing with excitement.

if you want to be notified about all my fics and updates, follow @drewsephrryslibrary & turn on notifications!!

taglist: @cherrygirlfriend @judesgfirl @littlelamy @starkeyslibrary @rafesbuzzcutseason @k4yr14 @angielvsnick @malibuhearts @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @fastlovela @nemesyaaa @cornliastreett @xoxosblogsblog @st8rkey @lewispool @akobx @vdotcom @stvrkeysgal @heartzshiftamy @xilatrxvmp @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @maybankslover @cameronsbabydoll @veesgrapejuice @magicalyoura1 @bennywattsgf @starkeyszn @rafecameronxxx

[ash-needs-an-url-too]

I'm not going to be able to sleep tonight because of your ACCURSED deep green knife. DEEP GREEN KNIFE. you crumble and fall but your walls are cut away. i can't get away from something organic yet can't figure out... deep green... it's deep green, not just green, but does it cut by being sharp, or by being patient like vines worming their way into cracks? "red barren hall" evokes throat, evokes blood, to me, red is the color of blood... or fruit or flower? violence or growth, or am i lost entirely? i see something falling and splitting open, but that seems wrong; that is blunt, not a deep green knife. I'm not going to be able to sleep tonight. Deep green. DEEP green. Sharp, slicing, cutting, deep green, green is an organic color but where else? Is grass deep green, is it perhaps simply the ground? Blades of grass? I can't get away from organic, organic, flesh and plants and flesh and plants and splitting and falling away, it must be a hall, it must be barren, it must be red, red barren hall, barren hall, red hall, barren red hall, green knife red hall, red hall green knife, red falls by green, those are christmas-y colors but a gift wouldn't be barren and the colors wouldn't be arbitrary or the riddle would be bad. By Eris, you've done something to me, I will not stop thinking about this knife. mentally I am pacing around yelling at the walls and ceiling of the prison cell this riddle has become, it has trapped my mind, knife knife knife WHAT IS A KNIFE? a knife. a knife. what is the knife what is the KNIFE. the walls are cut away, they do not fall, but you fall? wait, what if the barren hall isn't part of you i hadn't considered that. but what cuts away sturdy walls? erosion isn't cutting, but words can be twisted, literal walls could be pulled apart by plants... but RED barren hall, why red? why red? is the whole hall red or is it decorated red? i need you to know i am going to be pacing and murmuring in my chambers all night about this.

flirting: omggg haha that amulet is so neat! Do you mind if I hold it?

[dollyswishingwell]

💍anon - I just finished re-reading my favourite book, and now I'm just wondering what you think the lads guys would be like for a reader who is also a massive bookworm?

(also, I love love love your darker stuff so please don't be worried about posting it!❤️)

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Bookworm

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ just pure fluff

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ The boys with a bookworm reader

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

- He adores the fact that you’re a bookworm. His dreamy, delicate little wife with her legs kicked up on a satin chaise, flipping pages with starry eyes? He wants to paint you like that. Then lock you in a room filled with nothing but books, silk, and him.

- Jealous of fictional men. Absolutely. If you get too into a spicy romance book and start giggling or sighing dreamily, he’ll crawl into your lap like a cat and whimper, “You like him more than me, huh? What’s he got? Wings? Horns? A dark curse?”

- Mimics the book characters to make you laugh. You mention you’re reading about a cursed warlock? Next thing you know, he’s walking around the house in a black velvet cloak, holding a wine glass like it’s blood. “My dearest wife… have you brought me the final moonstone?”

- Doodles hearts and notes in your Kindle case. “DON’T FORGET YOUR REAL HUSBAND.” Or draws himself in your favorite book scenes, replacing the male lead. (He prints out fanart of himself as Lucien Raventhorn, don’t lie.)

- Collects books with pretty covers and doesn’t care what’s inside. “It’s pink and shiny, obviously you’ll love it, cutie.” You have 12 unread books that he bought just because the spines look cute on the shelf.

- Gets very clingy if you’re reading for hours and “forget” to give him attention. Will lay his head in your lap and mumble while you try to focus: “Pearlieee… this guy sounds so mean. You like mean boys now? You want me to start being cruel to you? Maybe I’ll go feral. Start a war. Burn a city.”

- But if you ever cry during a tragic scene, he’s instantly serious. Pulls the Kindle from your hand and cups your face. “You okay, pearl? Want me to make it better?” Then gets unreasonably pissed at the book. “What do you mean they died?! Who do I have to kill!?”

- Also: He writes you fanfic. Secretly. You’ll find a file named “SunflowerQueen_Vol1” on your tablet and it’s Rafayel’s self-insert fantasy romance where you’re the ethereal empress and he’s your cursed knight who’s obsessed with you and dies dramatically (but hotly) in your arms.

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

- Thinks it’s adorable. He finds you nestled in his massive custom reading nook with your knees up and your little Kindle glowing? Instant serotonin. He strokes your hair while reading patient reports beside you, secretly syncing his breathing to yours.

- Buys you medical romance and sultry surgeon smut books to tease you. “This one apparently features a brooding, emotionally unavailable doctor… sounds familiar?”

- When you’re deep into a spicy book, he’ll glance over and mutter with a smirk, “That book must be better than the real thing, huh?” But you always find him right behind you ten minutes later, kissing down your neck, whispering, “Let’s see if fiction can compete with fact.”

- Customises your collection like he’s managing your meds. Categorized. Synced. Updated. One time you couldn’t find your favorite sci-fi trilogy and Zayne just calmly pulled a physical leatherbound version off the shelf, of course he sourced it first edition.

- Keeps an eye on your posture while you read for hours and gently adjusts your legs or massages your back. “You’ll get stiff sitting like that, sweetheart.”

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

- Thinks you’re the cutest thing in the universe when you’re reading. He loves your dreamy sighs, your little gasp when you hit a plot twist, your eyes shining when you talk about a book.

- Falls asleep in your lap while you’re reading, or tugs you under the covers. “Let me dream to the sound of your voice, starlight…”

- You’re like his personal storyteller. He’ll ask, “What’s that one about?” and you excitedly explain the plot of a spicy mafia romance and he’ll just blink and go, “…Interesting. Continue.”

- Memorizes your favorite narrators. Xavier loads up your audiobooks on your devices with enhanced audio filters so it sounds like you’re in another world. Sometimes he even records himself reading your favorite passages in that soft, sleepy tone of his.

- Thinks it’s funny how you’re immune to most dangers but will cry over a fictional death or spiral after finishing a trilogy. Cuddles you silently, brushing your hair while you wail, “I MISS THEM.”

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

- Laughs at your dramatic reactions like, “You’re literally crying over a paper man named Aaron?” but he still hunts down rare collector’s editions of all your favorite fantasy series and has an entire wing of the estate turned into your personal library.

- Absolutely reads over your shoulder, then scoffs like it’s dumb… but then you catch him pacing later like he’s lowkey invested in the plot.

- If you ever get too into a spicy book, he’ll yank the Kindle out of your hands with a smug smirk and go, “Is this what you’re into now, kitty? You know I can do better than a cursed prince.”

- Buys you risqué titles on purpose just to see your face when you open them. “This one has a warning label. Let me know if it’s too much for you.”

- But when you talk excitedly about a story’s politics, worldbuilding, or magic system, he actually engages seriously. “You liked how the council was overthrown? Hm. Remind me to show you how a real power grab works.”

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

- You’ve been a bookworm since childhood and he’s always been the one carrying your backpack of novels when it got too heavy. He still teases you like, “How many books do you need for a single trip to the garden?”

- Keeps a blanket in every room because he knows you’ll curl up somewhere random and read for hours. If he finds you passed out on the floor with your Kindle face down, he’ll tuck you in and carry you to bed.

- Tries to get into your favorite books just to impress you. Reads them in secret so he can say, “Yeah, I like when that guy—Lucien?—saves her from the wyverns. Not bad.”

- Feels a little jealous when you get too emotionally attached to fictional men, especially when you sigh and murmur, “I wish someone would talk to me like that.” He just throws an arm around your waist like, “You want poetic? I’ll give you poetic, pipsqueak.”

- He reads aloud to you when you’re tired, in that low, gravelly voice. Sometimes spicy scenes, sometimes tragic ones. He watches your face more than the book. “You like when he calls her that? I bet I could do it better.”

@gideonsbestiefrfr for u pookie :D

[fleurbly]

hi! i really love your work. was thinking maybe the reader storms out on remmick in the middle of the night but eventually comes back—could lead to smut if it fits your vibe. would love to see what your twisted mind does with it!

cw: smut 18+, breeding kink, dub-con.

You’d promised yourself you wouldn’t come back.

Swore it the last time he had you folded over that crooked antique table, his hands pressing bruises into your hips while you bit down on the sleeve of your sweater just to keep from screaming his name.

But something about him, something about that damn house, pulled at you like a hook in the gut.

The night air was heavy when you stepped onto the porch, and the door was already open. He knew you’d come. Of course he did.

Remmick didn’t wait for you to speak. Just leaned against the frame, shirt unbuttoned and skin pale in the flickering candlelight behind him.

“That look in your eye,” he drawled. “Darlin’, you came here wantin’ a punishment, didn’t you?”

You didn’t answer.

Your silence was an answer.

He pulled you inside with the kind of force that said he hadn’t forgiven you for disappearing. That he’d spent every hour since then thinking about exactly how he’d remind you who you belonged to.

The old house groaned around you, wood and iron and shadow, the air inside warm like breath. The door slammed behind you, and you didn’t even make it past the foyer before his hands were on you, rough, impatient, hungry.

“Ran off like you weren’t carryin’ me in every inch of that body,” he growled, dragging your dress up your thighs. “Like you thought you could leave without a piece of me inside you.”

“Remmick,” you gasped, breath catching as his mouth found the pulse in your throat. “I didn’t—”

“Don’t lie. You knew I’d come for you.”

His voice was thick with that slow, dark tone, but the grip he had on your jaw wasn’t gentle. He kissed you like he was trying to suck the air right out of your lungs. You didn’t even realize he’d gotten you on the floor until the cold wood was pressing into your back, his body looming over you like a dark god.

“I shoulda done this before you walked out that door,” he muttered, undoing his belt with one hand. “Shoulda filled you up so full you’d leak for days.”

You whimpered as he spread your legs, eyes glowing in the dim light, that supernatural stillness in him barely masking how close he was to breaking apart.

“No more runnin’,” he whispered. “You come here, to my house, lookin’ like this. Hell, you knew what I’d do to you.”

He didn’t ease in. Not this time. He pushed into you in one deep, claiming thrust, your back arching off the floor as your body stretched to take him.

“Yeah,” he hissed, voice like velvet dipped in poison. “That’s it. This is what you need, isn’t it? What you came for?”

You choked on a moan as he started to move, dragging out every thrust like he wanted you to feel him for days. His hand splayed low across your stomach.

“You feel that?” he murmured, pressing down as he buried himself to the hilt. “That’s where I’m gonna put it. Gonna fuck a future right into you.”

Your legs trembled around him, and it only made him groan harder, pressing his mouth to your ear like a confession.

“Gonna fill you up,” he promised, voice almost reverent. “Til you’re carryin’ my legacy. Somethin’ old. Somethin’ powerful. Somethin’ mine.”

The candlelight flickered as he drove deeper, harder, the air thick with sweat and sin. And when your body clenched around him, broken sounds spilling from your lips, he didn’t stop. Didn’t even slow.

He kept fucking you like he could brand you from the inside out.

Like your body was just a vessel.

And he was the god meant to claim it.

[viennajoell]

Mine

Pairing:Quinn Hughes x Reader

Summary: Quinn gets jealous;)

Word Count: 2,000

Warnings:Sexual content (18+), jealousy, possessive behavior (consensual), intense sex, praise & light degradation, protected sex, soft aftercare.

It started at the party.

A harmless summer get-together with some of Quinn’s teammates, just a backyard, music, cold drinks, and too many people trying to beat the heat in too little clothing. You were wearing that little sundress Quinn liked, the one with the ties at the shoulders and the slit up the thigh.

He hadn’t said anything when you came out in it, just looked at you. One long sweep of those dark eyes that made your stomach twist.

But now? You were across the patio, laughing at something one of his teammates said. One he didn’t like. And when that guy touched your waist to whisper something in your ear too close, too long. Quinn’s jaw clenched hard enough to crack.

You looked up and locked eyes with him instantly, sensing it. The shift in the air. The weight of his stare. You knew that look.

Quinn didn’t get loud. He didn’t cause scenes.

He just waited.

And when he came up behind you ten minutes later, hand firm at your lower back, whispering, “We’re leaving. Now,” you didn’t argue.

---

The second the front door closed behind you, you were pinned to it.

Not roughly. Not carelessly. Just… deliberately. Like Quinn had been waiting to get his hands on you all night.

His mouth was at your jaw, then your neck, then your collarbone, each kiss harder than the last. His hands gripped your waist like he was trying to ground himself.

“Quinn—”

“You knew what you were doing in that dress,” he growled, pulling the straps down your shoulders. “Letting him touch you. Laughing at his shit. You wanted me to snap.”

Your breath caught, head falling back against the door. “You’re the only one I want.”

“Damn right I am.”

He kissed you, hard and claiming, his thigh slotting between your legs. The soft, quiet Quinn you loved was gone — replaced by something deeper.

He spun you toward the bedroom, undressing you with purpose. The dress fell. Then his shirt. Then your underwear, soaked from how long he’d had you on edge.

By the time he had you on the bed, he was in full control — dark eyes, heavy breath, hands gripping your thighs as he slid them apart and just looked at you.

“Mine,” he murmured. “All fucking mine.”

He dipped his head between your thighs and devoured you, not soft, not slow, but with the kind of hunger that made you sob his name. His tongue worked fast and deep, his hands pinning your hips down, moaning into you every time you whimpered for more.

“God, you taste perfect,” he groaned. “Bet he couldn’t even dream of making you come like this.”

And you did— shaking and gasping, thighs trembling around his head, fingers tugging at his hair while he licked you through every wave of it.

But he wasn’t finished.

Not even close.

---

He was over you in seconds, grabbing a condom from the nightstand, ripping the foil with his teeth like he couldn’t wait another second to be inside you.

“You’re gonna take me, and you’re not gonna think about anyone else but me,” he growled, voice ragged as he lined himself up.

When he thrust in deep and hard your whole body arched, a broken moan spilling from your lips.

“Fuck— Quinn—”

“Yeah?” he grunted, pulling back just enough to slam in again. “You want rough, baby? You want me to prove it?”

You nodded helplessly, nails digging into his back. He gave you exactly what you asked for.

He pounded into you, hips snapping with precision, every stroke hitting deep enough to make you cry out. One hand gripped your thigh, holding it high, the other tangled in your hair to keep you looking up at him.

“That little dress,” he growled. “That fake laugh. You wanted this. Wanted me to lose it.”

You were dizzy with it. With the way he took you, filled you, owned you. It wasn’t just sex. It was Quinn claiming you. Over and over again.

He leaned in, forehead to yours, voice breaking as he said, “You’re mine, baby. No one else gets to touch you. No one else knows you like this.”

“Only you,” you gasped. “Only you.”

And when he came hard and deep, body shaking with it he didn’t stop moving, fucking you through the last wave of it while whispering how perfect you were, how good you felt, how *no one else could ever have you.*

---

After, he held you so tightly you thought he might never let go.

Soft kisses to your temple. Fingers stroking your spine. His heart still racing under your cheek.

“I didn’t like him touching you,” he murmured.

You smiled, barely able to speak. “I didn’t want him. I wanted this.”

Quinn’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You’ve got me. All of me.”

And from the way he kissed you again slow and full of feeling, you knew he meant it.

[cbeargyu]

lettre pour toi 💌 partie deux

summary: a shy high school senior accidentally slips a love letter into the wrong locker, thinking it belongs to her crush park sunghoon — but instead, it ends up in the hands of lee heeseung, a notorious delinquent who takes the letter seriously and declares them a couple on the spot, starting an unexpected and chaotic love story.

pairing: lee heeseung x fem!reader

genre: high school au, romance, fluff, crack, slowburn, light angst.

warnings: delinquent!heeseung, possessive behavior, kissing, stolen first kiss, mild language, emotional tension, misunderstandings, power imbalance.

wc: 2,3k

taglist: @immelissaaa @teenagecheesecakereview @mtaegukk @diameuwu @dongsikeomma @hooline @mokakao28 @tunafishyfishylike @littlesevenkoo @bluetyunhour @lassiie @brwondolly @firstclassjaylee @tinyteezer @stormlit-pages @whoisgami @geniejunn @fics-lovebot @abxszzz @mxxninthesky @yunlazia @st4rg1rlies @lizzykitty123 @meowmeowjang @h4niyahcar @seungsoftly @yenienha @berryzoo @miraeluv @cutehoons02 @lovingchrissturniolo @partyinthebackroom @princesspeachicedtea @heeseungissm @reep04 @mymayaship @itaehynz @sea-moon-star @matchacake2 @hrtsformark @alisonjames-blogspot @kerbearpriv

partie une💌

you didn’t sleep. not really. you tossed and turned all night, your heart too loud, your lips still tingling, your brain replaying the moment over and over again — the warmth of his mouth, the way he pulled you against him, the look in his eyes when he said you tasted sweet. you buried your face in your pillow in humiliation every time your thoughts drifted back to the kiss, and you couldn’t believe it. your first kiss. your first real kiss. and it had been taken from you. stolen by someone you didn’t even like, didn’t even know, someone who had laughed while doing it and walked away like it was nothing. your stomach twisted with the memory, and by the time your alarm rang, you were exhausted and on the verge of tears.

stepping into the classroom felt like dragging your body to a courtroom. every step was heavy, every breath shallow. you kept your head low and made a beeline for your desk, gripping your bag tightly, hoping no one had heard or seen anything. but yoojung and hyojung were already there, and the second they saw your face, they knew something was wrong.

you didn’t want to say it, but it slipped out, your voice cracking the moment the words hit the air. "he… he kissed me."

they froze. yoojung’s eyes widened, hyojung dropped her pen, and the silence stretched for a beat too long.

"he what?" yoojung asked, her voice rising, eyebrows furrowing in disbelief.

"he kissed me," you repeated, softer this time, almost in a whisper, like saying it louder would make it more real. your hands trembled slightly as you clutched your bag, your eyes stinging with shame. "i didn’t want him to. he just— pulled me close and… and it happened. i didn’t even see it coming. i— i’ve never… it was my first—" you stopped, voice breaking. the tears were right there now, trembling on your lashes.

"that asshole," hyojung hissed, slamming her book shut. "what kind of psycho does that?!"

"i swear to god, i’m going to kick his face in," yoojung snapped, already halfway out of her chair. "he can’t do that. he can’t. you didn’t even agree to date him, you didn’t want this!"

"he’s a damn delinquent!" hyojung added. "you don’t deserve this, y/n. you’re not someone he can just—"

but before she could finish, the classroom door opened, and a hush fell over the room like a cold wind. you didn’t have to turn around. you felt it. the shift in energy. the ripple of tension that rolled through your classmates as they all turned their heads toward the back.

he was here.

lee heeseung.

he didn’t knock. didn’t ask. didn’t say anything as he strolled into the room like he owned the place. your heart dropped into your stomach as you watched him scan the desks — and when his eyes landed on yours, his expression shifted into something unreadable, something dark and vaguely amused.

without a word, he marched toward your desk, stopping in front of the seat just ahead of yours. a guy was sitting there, mid conversation, when heeseung nudged the back of his chair with his foot — more like a small kick than a tap.

"move," he said simply.

the guy looked up, confused. "what—?"

"i said move," heeseung repeated, his voice calm, cold, like he wasn’t even angry — just done wasting time. the student stood up without further argument, clearly intimidated, and heeseung dropped into the chair, turning it around so he could lean forward against your desk, his chin resting on his arms as he looked up at you like you were the only person in the room.

"morning, babe," he said, like yesterday hadn’t happened, like stealing your kiss hadn’t meant anything, like pushing someone out of their seat wasn’t worth blinking over.

you shrank in your seat, your eyes darting to your friends for help, but yoojung looked frozen, and hyojung’s expression was somewhere between panic and disbelief. everyone was watching. everyone. some eyes filled with confusion, others with judgment, most with fear. and pity. god, the pity was the worst. murmurs erupted across the classroom almost instantly.

"you sleep okay?" he asked, like you were catching up after a nice date and not a mental breakdown.

you didn’t answer. couldn’t. your hands were trembling under the desk.

"you look like shit," he added, not unkindly—but not kindly either. just saying it. stating a fact. his voice dropped a little lower. "you think too much. stop doing that."

you blinked. slowly. did he know you barely slept? or was he just… guessing? either way, it felt wrong how he said it. too familiar. too intimate. the way people were still staring at you both like you were some kind of bizarre horror show only made it worse.

you heard someone whisper behind you.

"is that really her boyfriend?"

"how did she even get him?"

"heeseung? no way…"

he turned his head, slowly, toward the group of girls sitting to the left. locked eyes with the one who just whispered. silence fell again like a blanket of ice.

"wanna shut up?" he said calmly, but his tone was razor sharp, cold and dangerous in a way that made the girl shrink back in her seat immediately. "you’re irritating me."

your whole body tensed, unable to breathe. was he serious? what was this? why did it feel like he was playing a game you didn’t understand?

before you could say anything, the classroom door opened and the teacher entered, eyes narrowing when he noticed the unexpected visitor.

"lee heeseung," the teacher said, clearly annoyed. "you’re not even in this class. get out."

heeseung stood up slowly, scraping the chair back with a screech that echoed through the silent room. he didn’t look at the teacher. only at you. eyes unwavering.

"i’ll see you at break," he said. "don’t run this time."

and just like that, he left. you felt like collapsing.

and true to his word — he was waiting when the lunch bell rang.

you tried to escape. really, you did. you held onto your friends’ sleeves like lifelines, whispering that maybe if you stuck together, you could lose him in the crowd. but he was already leaning against the wall right outside your door, arms crossed, head tilted, watching every student exit until his eyes landed on you. he pushed off the wall immediately and stalked over, grabbing your arm before you could bolt.

"where do you think you’re going?" he asked, not unkindly, but firmly, like you were being ridiculous for even thinking of hiding. then he turned to your friends and added, "go. i’m having lunch with my girlfriend. so scram."

yoojung opened her mouth to protest, but one look from him shut her right back up. hyojung hesitated, gave you an apologetic look, and tugged yoojung away reluctantly.

you didn’t say anything as he walked with you to the cafeteria, his hand still wrapped around your wrist, his grip steady but not painful. people were watching. people were whispering. you felt like you were floating in a nightmare, unable to ground yourself.

then, as if nothing had happened, heeseung shoved himself to the front of the cafeteria line, pushing aside a group of startled first-years. they didn’t even complain — just stepped back in silence, clearly too scared to say anything.

you stood behind him, frozen and pale, trying not to cry from sheer embarrassment.

he dropped your tray on the table with a loud clack and sat down across from you, already digging into his food with zero shame. you stared at him, still too stunned to sit, unsure if you were supposed to thank him or slap him.

you stared at him. stared at the food. stared at your hands in your lap.

everything about this — the way he forced people aside, how he pushed your friends away, the way he just decided you were his — it wasn’t normal. it wasn’t okay.

"eat," he said, not looking up. "you didn’t eat breakfast, right? figured."

you slowly sat down, your hands stiff and unsure. your stomach churned. not from hunger, but from fear, humiliation, and whatever this twisted situation had become. the cafeteria buzzed around you, full of noise and life, but your table was a bubble of silence. no one dared sit nearby. people passed and stared, whispered and moved on. everyone knew who he was. and now, they knew you were his.

but he didn’t care. he ate like nothing mattered. like he was exactly where he wanted to be.

and for some reason you couldn’t explain, a small part of you—the tiniest, most shameful part—wondered what would happen if you didn’t fight this.

because for the first time in your life… someone had claimed you.

and that someone was lee heeseung.

you didn’t eat. your fingers hovered over the tray for minutes that dragged like hours, your eyes flicking occasionally to heeseung as he ate like this was the most mundane thing in the world. he didn't say much while he chewed, just made these low, bored hums of satisfaction, like the food was halfway decent and that alone was enough to keep him in a good mood.

you hated that he looked so comfortable. you hated more that no one dared to come close, and that people kept staring at you—like you were the stupid girl who got herself involved with lee heeseung.

you hated the way your heart still hadn't stopped racing, the way your hands trembled under the table, the way you couldn't stop feeling like a rabbit locked in a cage with a wolf that had somehow decided not to eat you—yet.

you tried to keep your voice steady, but it cracked halfway through when you finally spoke, words barely louder than a whisper. “i… i didn’t write that letter for you.”

heeseung didn’t react at first. his spoon paused mid-air, still dripping a bit of soup, but his face remained unreadable—no twitch of irritation, no surprise, no hurt, just a kind of flat silence that suddenly made your skin crawl. the air between you shifted, like you had stepped into the wrong room of a dream. you tried again, swallowing thickly, your voice trembling more now.

“it was meant for someone else... park sunghoon. he’s a year above me... i must’ve put it in the wrong locker, i… i didn’t mean for you to find it...”

he lowered his spoon slowly, placed it onto the tray with a quiet clink, and leaned back in his chair as he studied your face. the silence between you stretched thinner and thinner until it was almost painful, and when he finally spoke, his tone was low, measured, almost casual—but you could feel the pressure underneath it like a wire wrapped too tight.

“what?”

you blinked, confused. “what?”

he scoffed softly under his breath, tilted his head to one side, and gave you a look that made your chest tighten with something dangerously close to shame.

“so?” he said, shrugging like your entire emotional crisis was nothing more than a failed math quiz. “you really think i care who you meant to give it to?” he leaned forward then, elbows on the table, hands clasped loosely in front of him like this was a negotiation he’d already won. “you wrote it. you handed it in. it reached me. that’s all that matters.”

you stared at him in disbelief, unsure if he was serious or just playing with you. “but—”

“you want it back?” he interrupted, voice sharp, not loud but firm. “you want me to pretend i never saw it, that you never said those things, that you didn’t want someone to like you back so bad you poured your whole heart into a sheet of paper?” his eyes locked onto yours, intense and unblinking. “should i crumple it up and throw it away? is that what you want?”

you didn’t know what to say. your lips parted, your breath caught. his words cut deeper than you expected. you wanted to scream at him, push him away, demand your letter back, deny everything—but the truth was, he wasn’t wrong. you had wanted someone to see you. you had wanted someone to choose you, to say yes, to make you feel like maybe you weren’t just background noise in everyone else’s lives. but not like this. never like this.

heeseung leaned closer, lowering his voice until only you could hear.

“you were brave to write that,” he said, eyes narrowing ever so slightly, like it actually mattered to him. “even if you’re scared now, even if you’re trying to take it back. i’m not letting you.”

you snapped, finally, your fear twisting into something sharp in your throat. “you don’t get to decide that!” you said, louder than you meant to. your face burned with frustration, and tears prickled behind your eyes. “you don’t even know me!”

he paused. then smiled, slow and unbothered, tilting his head like you’d just challenged him to a game he already planned to win.

“then let’s fix that.”

he stood abruptly, grabbed both trays, dumped them without a word, and returned to you, offering no explanation as he started walking. you stumbled after him, confused, overwhelmed, because you couldn’t just sit there after that—because even if your instincts screamed to run, something darker and dumber kept your feet moving.

you flinched when he reached for your hand again, and this time he didn’t bother hiding his annoyance. he sighed, rolled his eyes, and gripped your sleeve instead.

“fine. don’t hold hands. yet. but i’m walking you home anyway. try not to cry about it.”

you didn’t respond. didn’t have the strength to argue. the walk outside felt surreal—your feet barely touching the ground, your heart pounding in your ears. he didn’t say much, just kept pulling you along like it was his job, like your resistance wasn’t even part of the equation anymore.

you were stuffing your books into your locker with slow, deliberate movements, pretending not to notice the glances thrown your way, the whispers curling around the edges of the hallway like smoke—soft but suffocating. it had only been a few days since the cafeteria incident, and yet it felt like everyone had an opinion about you. the shy girl who accidentally confessed to the wrong guy. the girl lee heeseung decided to claim.

you tried to focus on your breathing, on staying grounded, but the echo of his laugh, the way he’d looked at you like he was peeling away your skin to see what was underneath—it haunted you. and then, you felt them before you saw them. footsteps. that particular silence that people make when they’re about to talk to you. and you turned slowly, already uneasy, already knowing.

chaeyeon and mina stood in front of you. two girls from your class. pretty, sharp-looking, and painfully familiar. it took you a second to remember why—then it clicked. they were the girls heeseung had shut down in front of the whole classroom, the ones who had whispered too loudly about him, about you, and had earned a venomous glare and that cold, spine-chilling, “wanna shut up?” that had left the air in the room frozen for hours.

“hey,” mina said, soft but purposeful, folding her hands in front of her like she didn’t want to look threatening. “can we talk to you for a sec?”

you swallowed hard, nodded slowly, heart already starting to beat faster. chaeyeon remained silent, arms crossed, her gaze steady and unreadable. she looked like someone about to drop a truth you didn’t want to hear.

“is it true?” mina asked, her eyes narrowing slightly. “are you really going out with lee heeseung?”

you opened your mouth, unsure what to say—because were you? did being dragged through the school by your sleeve, having your lunch picked for you, and getting walked home under threats of “we’ll do more than hold hands later” count as dating?

but before you could form anything close to a response, chaeyeon shifted her weight and said flatly, “i’ll tell you one thing. there are a lot of rumors about him.”

mina nodded, eyes darting to your face, watching every flicker of emotion. “he’s kinda famous for… making girls cry. seriously. they say none of his relationships last longer than a month.”

your throat tightened. something cold settled in your stomach. “h-how do you know that?” you asked, your voice small and broken before you could stop it.

chaeyeon looked at you with a knowing gleam in her eye. “i was dating his friend, jungwon. they talk about that stuff. a lot. heeseung’s cruel. he doesn’t even try to hide it.” she leaned in a little. “he gets bored fast. he breaks them before they even realize it.”

you felt your fingers dig into the edge of your locker. the metal felt hot against your skin.

“has he done anything weird to you?” mina asked carefully. “has he tried to… i don’t know… force you into anything?”

your heart skipped. your face flushed immediately, the heat rising from your neck to your ears. you didn’t even have time to form an answer before chaeyeon’s eyes narrowed and she tilted her head slightly.

“he kissed you already, didn’t he?”

your silence—your blush—was all the answer they needed.

“knew it,” chaeyeon muttered, almost to herself. “he always does that. fast. makes you feel like you’re special, like you’re the one that’s different. he’s good at it.”

her words hit you like ice water poured over your head.

so he didn’t mean it?

was it just part of the pattern?

you felt something close to shame twisting inside your chest, guilt and anger and sadness all tangled together. your voice cracked when you tried to speak, but nothing came out. they didn’t wait for you to recover.

“just… be careful,” mina said softly, looking at you with something between sympathy and pity. “seriously. don’t let him mess you up.”

they walked away, leaving you standing there, stunned, the echo of their footsteps disappearing into the hallway while their words echoed on a loop in your mind.

[gracieheartspedro]

thinking about helping eddie dye his hair...

warnings: MDNI!! 18+ only, hair pulling, eddie is a perv and needy, reader is a tease, kissing, dirty talk, almost oral (another brain worm i shared with @amanitacowboy that ended up being a blurb. ty bestie <3)

helping eddie dye his hair dark brown cause his hair is a bit more mousey brunette. every couple months you two track down the same at-home box dye from the local pharmacy. he is adamant you help him because he 'never gets it all out properly'... whatever that means.

getting it on his head is not the big task. it is the washing it out where eddie struggles. apparently.

you paint his entire head in the almost-black dye and make him sit perfectly still at the dining room table. he mostly sits there and uses the time to plan out his next campaign, but this time he just chats with you while you clean up the trailer a bit. you notice his eyes lingering longer on your legs when you are doing the dishes. you jokingly flick him with your wet fingers, calling him a 'perv'.

"only for you, baby. love when you waltz around the house in those tiny shorts and crop tops," he purrs, scanning you up and down.

the dye has been sitting for 30 minutes exactly, so you usher him to the bathroom. he leans over the cream colored tub, huffing and puffing like it's taking everything out of him. in no time, he will be complaining about his knees or back, at the ripe age of 23.

you turn on the water to a lukewarm temperature and slowly ease his head towards the faucet. you are leaned against him, your chest pressed to his shoulder making sure he's fully submerged.

the tub is so loud you cannot hear his little blurbs of complaints. you gesture him to shift a bit on his knees, turning his head so he is facing you.

his hair is long when it's naturally curly and crazy, but it's even longer when it's wet. and thick.

you smile at the way his soaked locks are laying over his face, giggling as he wiggles his nose and eyebrows, trying to move the strands away from his eyes.

you drag your hands through his roots, ensuring you get the dye as best you can. for some reason, eddie's hand grips your side, pressing you into the side of the tub. you look down, refocusing on him.

his face is relaxed, but his mouth is slightly agape and eyes twisted close. "you good, baby?" you ask over the loud running water.

"mmm, just feels real good," he hums, barely audible.

you get to conditioning and that's when you really get to massage his scalp. you do it the same motions as before, this time slower and more methodical. a satisfied smirk creeps across his face, moaning at the back of his throat.

"you like that, huh?" you purr, your mouth inches from his ear.

"fuck..."

when you wash everything out, you flick off the handle, stopping the water completely. you extend backward to the counter with his hand is still gripping your waist. you drop it over his face playfully before helping him wrap his sopping hair up on top of his head. "all done," you giggle, wiping some water droplets from his forehead. you help him stand up and when he finally balances he grabs at your hips again, pulling you close.

his eyes are trained on you, his pupils blown. "you think it's cute playing with my hair like that?"

"i had to get the dye out, eds," you state plainly, still creeping your hands up his arms to rest on his shoulders. he squeezes your sides before getting on your level and pressing a eager, longing, kiss to your lips.

when you pull away, you cannot help but chuckle at the way the towel is tumbling off his head already. you unravel it for him, toss the towel towards the hamper beside the tub.

"i gotta get dinner started, baby. rain check on whatever this is?"

he groans, annoyed that you are not going to give in to his desires right away. but he was also just a man and pressingly hungry.

-

while you cook up his favorite meal, eddie fucks with his hair in the mirror in the bathroom. he combs out a few tangles before adding some mousse you swore up and down would tame the frizz, because you used it yourself, but never did help his unruly mess. but it smelled like you and that was enough to make eddie's cock hard.

and god was he. every time he wracked his brain for how your hands felt in his hair earlier, he feels himself twitching in his sweatpants.

he can't take it anymore. he needed you.

you are plating the spaghetti, calling for eddie as you pour the sauce over his large plate of noodles.

you hear him pad into the kitchen and his hands are immediately on you. you don't think too much of it. eddie's always handsy, wanting his ringed fingers pressed against you somehow. but this touch was more demanding.

you shoot him a glance over your shoulder and he is practically dragging you back to the bedroom.

"baby, what is happening?"

"i need you," he groans, his strong arm locked around your waist. once you back up completely into your bedroom, he's slamming the door shut with his foot.

"what is your deal today?"

he practically scoffs, tossing you onto the bed like you are made of feathers. "you with your fucking nails digging into my scalp earlier," as he says it he's dropping to his knees on the edge of the bed, pulling your hips towards his early awaiting mouth, his damp curls framing his face. "need you to tug on it while i am face first between these thighs."

you roll your eyes back the moment his lips press against your inner thigh. "eddie... dinner will get cold-"

"please, spare me the whining," his voice is stern as he tugs the waistband of your stretchy shorts, "want you so bad i can hardly put mousse in my hair without my cock twitching."

you smirk at his comment. "aw, you're actually using the mousse?"

you reach out, your hand immediately coursing through his now-much-darker curls. the groan he lets out is so guttural and loud, it takes you off guard. he presses a chaste kiss to the already-wet-spot on your panties. "'course i am, sweetheart," he grins, as his finger hooks around the hem of your underwear. the moment your wet core is exposed to the cool arm, you hiss and curl your fingers around his locks. you swear eddie cannot sigh any louder, "good girl. keep doing that and i may not even have to fuck you... may cum in my pants from you pulling at my hair."

[formulafanfics13]

Oscar is discreet, his girlfriend knows and understands, but when people on the internet start commenting on how he was warmer and more talkative about his past relationship, the reader starts to think that the problem is her. This makes her insecure and Oscar makes a point of "sucking" all that insecurity out of her and "putting" love in.

proof in the quiet - OP81🔥

Masterlist

summary: oscar’s always been private. soft-spoken. careful. you understood that when you fell in love with him. but when the internet starts comparing how he treated his ex — how he spoke about her, posted about her — it hits you somewhere you didn’t expect. deep. raw. painful. and when the insecurity threatens to swallow you whole, oscar shows you, with every breath and every thrust, that the love he gives you doesn’t need an audience to be real.

warnings: insecure reader, comparison to exes, social media commentary, deep emotional hurt/comfort, soft dom!oscar, oral sex (f receiving), body worship, praising, slow passionate sex, aftercare, reader cries during sex (comforted), oscar is obsessed with you in the quietest, filthiest way

It starts with a thread. You didn’t mean to see it, didn’t go looking. You never do. But someone tagged you in a tweet with his name in it and curiosity got the better of you.

And then you saw it.

“remember when oscar used to actually be romantic? he used to post about his ex all the time. now it’s like he’s embarrassed to even admit he’s in a relationship lol”

“she’s pretty but it gives... secret situationship. she’s not even on his grid”

“weird how he glowed differently with the last one”

You feel it like a slap. Like cold water to the chest.

You knew he was private. From the beginning. He warned you. Told you how hard it was to have his life so public. How things twisted fast. How he liked to protect what he cared about, keep it quiet, keep it sacred.

You agreed. Understood. Until now. Until your stomach drops scrolling through comment after comment dissecting a relationship they’ll never understand.

You don’t say anything at first. Just go quiet. Keep your distance.

Smile when he pulls you in for a kiss but it doesn’t reach your eyes. He notices. Of course he does.

It comes out one night while you’re brushing your teeth. Oscar’s sitting on the edge of the bed, watching you in the mirror, frowning. “You okay?” he asks gently.

You spit. Rinse. Wipe your mouth with the towel like you can avoid this for one more second.

“I saw some things online,” you admit, voice small.

His eyes narrow. “About you?”

“No. About… us.”

He doesn’t speak,

Just waits.

So you go on. “They said you used to be more open. More affectionate. That you used to post about your ex. And now you don’t even acknowledge me and-” You break off. Swallow hard. “I know it’s stupid. But it made me wonder if maybe… the problem is me.”

Oscar is up in a flash. Crossing the room in two long strides.

He stops in front of you. Hands gentle on your arms. You won’t look at him.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Don’t do that. Don’t let them in here.”

You shake your head. “I just- I don’t need to be flaunted. I just don’t want to feel like I’m invisible.”

His hands slide to your waist. His forehead touches yours. “You’re not invisible.”

He kisses your jaw. “You’re the reason I breathe.”

He backs you slowly toward the bed. One kiss at a time. “You know what I used to post about my ex?”

You blink. He smirks. “Her dog. Her birthday. The trip to Paris we got sponsored for.” He cups your face. “You know what I don’t need to post about you?”

His lips brush yours. "The way you cry when you cum.”

“The way you breathe my name when I go slow.”

“The way you fall asleep against me like I’m the safest place you’ve ever known.”

You’re crying before he even touches you properly. He lays you down gently. Kisses every inch of your skin like he’s trying to reprogram the self-doubt out of you.

And then he goes down on you like it’s his penance. Sucks your clit with slow, reverent pressure. Whispers praise between each stroke of his tongue.“Mine.” “Perfect.” “Could do this forever.”

When he finally pushes into you, it’s not rushed. It’s soft. Slow. Deep. Like he’s trying to press every bit of love into your bones. You cry harder.

Tears spill from the corners of your eyes as he thrusts gently, forehead to yours, thumb stroking your cheek.

“I’m not hiding you,” he whispers, voice thick. “I’m protecting you.”

You moan his name, broken and overwhelmed.

“I love you,” he breathes. “I’ll prove it a thousand ways if I have to.”

Afterwards, when you’re curled in his arms, breathing slowly again, Oscar kisses the top of your head.

And then he whispers something against your temple that makes you clutch him tighter.

“I don’t want the world to watch me love you. I want the world to wonder how I got so lucky.”

[bullet-prooflove]

Dr Daddy & The Short King: Jack Abbot x Reader x Michael "Robby" Robinavitch

Tagging: @kmc1989 @daydreamsareallineed @starstruckunknown-princess @sillymuffintrashflap @thedamnqueenofhell

Summary: Jack confronts you about the transfer at your fire station.

Companion piece to:

Together - Jack comes home to find Robby in the kitchen and you sleeping the morning away.

Pretty Girl - Jack and Robby spend a little quality time with their pretty girl.

Shift Work - Robby knows you've got something on your mind.

“Your short king is here.” That’s what Emil tells you when he pops his head into your office with Jack in tow. You sigh as you glance up at the clock above your desk because Jack, he’s supposed to be asleep right now, resting up for his shift tonight.

“Short king? Jack asks quizzically as he steps inside your 6x9 office, pulling the glass door shut behind him.

“It means you’re silver fox with big dick energy.” You inform him, twisting in your chair as he takes a seat on the edge of your neatly made bed. He hooks his good foot around the pillar of your wheelie chair, dragging you into his proximity. “They call Robby Dr Daddy.”

“What do they call you?” Jack asks as he pulls you into his lap. Your thighs part straddling his hips, your hand reaching up to draw the blinds closed blocking out the outside world.

“Lieutenant.” You answer with a smile.

“And they’re good to you here?” He asks you, his palm coming to rest on the nape of your neck, his thumb tracing over that scar you have tucked underneath the hinge of your jaw. “They don’t make fun of you for being with me and Robby?”

“Fuck no.” You respond jerking your thumb towards the canteen where you can hear a rowdy game of gummy bear poker going on. “Eighty percent of these assholes wish they were me. The other twenty percent’s dicks haven’t worked since the 90s.”

Jack barks out a laugh, rubbing his grizzled cheek up along the column of your throat. Your fingertips comb through his curls, grasping them lightly as you tip his head back so that his whiskey eyes meet yours. “Did Robby snitch on me about the transfer? Is that why you think I’m being bullied?”

Jack’s breathing hitches, his fingers curling into your PFD t-shirt, bunching the fabric. You can feel him hardening against you and it does a little something, knowing how needy and desperate this man is for you.

“Jack.” You tut. “Do I have to punish you right here in my firehouse or can we save it for later when Robby’s available to play?”

The edges of his mouth tip up into a dry smile because it’s been a while since you’ve got a little dommy with him.

“You gotta do what you gotta do honey.” He says in that gravelly tone of his. “But before we start breaking out the whips and chains maybe you wanna give me the low down on why you wanna move out of this place and into one of the most conservative firehouses this side of the river, a place that we both know is going to make your life beyond miserable.”

“Ohh my short king’s been digging around getting intel.” You say, grinding down against his cock and he bites his lower lip to supress the low moan that rises up in his throat. “I can’t decide if that turns me on or pisses me off.”

This is what happens when you don’t feel like you can't talk to him. You deflect, try to divert the attention elsewhere because you don’t know how to cope with the emotional distance between the two of you. Robby, he never let’s that happen but Jack, he’s become complacent trying to figure his own shit out with this shift problem, he hadn’t really factored in how his lack of communication regarding the matter would be affecting you.

His arm encircles your waist before he shifts positions, trapping you underneath him.  His fingers lace through yours, pinning your hands to the mattress as he fixes you with a stern stare.

“Anna.” He says firmly, his voice a rough whisper.  “You don’t need to put on this big girl front with me right now. I get that you have a hard time communicating but we need to have a real conversation about something that’s going to effect all of us. Robby doesn’t want to see you unhappy and I don’t want to see you unhappy and this bullshit with the other firehouse, it’s going to make you unhappy-”

“Jack.” You say softly as he nuzzles his face against the hollow of your throat. “I know that you’re not happy. You think you can hide it from me but I see it and I know it’s because we’re not connecting the way that we did before I took the job here…”

You sigh, your cheek coming to rest against his, your breath ghosting in is ear. “I’m just scared that right now this threesome is in danger of going back to a twosome. You and Robby are one of the best thing that have ever happened to me and I know I’m fucking it up…”

“You aren’t fucking it up.” He promises you, planting featherlight kisses all over your pretty features. “Me and Robby, we love you so damn much and that doesn’t change just because the two of us are out of sync.”

“If I don’t transfer then we don’t get back into sync.” You tell him frankly as his palm cradles your face, guiding your gaze towards his. “There’s not really another option-”

“There is.” Jack assures you as his whiskey eyes drink you in. “One of the other attendings at the hospital is going through a divorce, he wants weekends off so he can spend them with his kids. If I do his weekends after we go to the cabin then my days off will pair with yours, I’ll have to take over his residents but Shen and Ellis are pretty good kids from what I’ve seen.”

“You’d do that?” You ask him. “Switch up your days, take up some extra responsibility, just so you can be with me?”

It galls him that you haven’t experienced that level of dedication before, that it’s such a foreign concept that you. You don’t seem to understand that Jack, he’d fight to spend time with you, the same way he’d fight to do the same for Robby.

“If trading shifts and training a couple of newbies gets me a few more nights with you then it is worth every second.” He tells you, palm smoothing away the hair that’s come loose from your ponytail. “You are a priority in my life Anna, the same way that Robby is. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you both which is why you need to promise me you aren’t going to go through with the transfer.”

Your mouth captures his and his tongue traces over the seam of your lips until you yield to him, your entire form relaxing into his.  He cradles your face between his palms as he kisses you like you were meant to be kissed, like you’re something precious, something to be loved, to be cherished.

“Promise me.” He mumbles, his fingertips untucking your t-shirt allowing his hands to roam underneath it. “Promise me and I’ll fuck you so good in this bed, you’ll be dreaming of me every night you spend in here.”

His palm kneads your breast through your sports bra, his thumb tracing over the pert nipple as his hips rock against yours.

“Jack…” You breathe and he thrusts harder so you can feel him demanding and urgent in the confines of the denim. “Fuck Jack I-”

You’re interrupted by the sound of the bells coming to life, the first alarm hollering through the entire building summoning you for duty. You groan as he rolls off you, springing to your feet like a cat as you tuck in your shirt.

“Anna.” He prompts, propping his head up on his arm. “I never got that promise.”

“No transfer.” You tell him, glancing over your shoulder as you yank open the door. “I’ll stay here, right where I belong.”

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[ponderingmoonlight]

Sanemi losing his shit after realizing you were dragged into the Infinity Castle

Pairing: Sanemi x fiancé!reader

Word Count: 1,6k

Synopsis: You promised to stay behind. He promised he’d come back to you alive. But when you’re suddenly pulled into the heart of the Infinity Castle, everyhting's turned upside down.

Warnings: ohhh I LOVED that teaser y'all, did you see how Obanai literally sprinted to be on Mitsuri's side? That's exactly what I imagined here hehehehe, go have a lil fluff with your soon-to-be husband <3

His instructions were too clear to ignore.

„Stay right where you are, got it? If I catch you out there, I’ll beat the shit out of you. Promise it, jerk.”

“Fine, I promise. Even though I know you’d never beat me.”

“Don’t count on it.”

And even though you couldn’t help but pout at his rough tone, you did exactly what he told you and waited for him at your estate. After all, he told you it will be over after this night, that he won’t be a demon slayer when he returns.

You believed him. How could you not, given the fact that your fiancé is none other than the wind hashira, Sanemi Shinazugawa? The man you always despised but ended up loving instead. The man who seems as cold as ice on the outside but treats you like a princess when no one’s watching. Never in your life, you imagined quitting your work as a demon slayer to become a housewife. Not in a million years, not for a single person on this planet, you would’ve gave up your independence.

Until that jerk came around.

“Don’t worry, (y/n). I’ll kill enough of them fucking creatures for both of us.”

And you believed him. God, you believed every single word that white-haired maniac said. But somehow, you ended up breaking your own promise.

You went from changing into your sleepwear to finding yourself free-falling without ground in sight within the blink of an eye.

Out of instinct, you hold onto the little knife you always keep on your body for dear life, eyes scanning around the area with no real aim. You’ve never seen a place like this, never felt a more overwhelming aura. After years of slaying demons, the stinging smell in the air alone is enough to send a shiver down your spine.  

“What on earth is that place?”

Like you have to ask that question. Your stomach drops below your knees, you can’t help but swallow hard against that tension that builds up deep in your throat. That’s exactly what Sanemi was talking about earlier on, the final battle. And you’re falling straight in the middle of it.

It‘s been years since the last time you’ve held a sword, years since you’ve actually found peace with leaving this part of your life in your past, years since that overwhelming sickness haunted after you. And yet, you have no other choice.

The air is thick with screams, smoke and the stench of blood. Just before you have time to realize it, your body slams into the ground harder than expected, your ankle twisting beneath the impact with a merciless snap. You cry out, barely having time to gather your bearings before a monstrous shriek rips through the darkness.

A demon charges at you with teeth like pointy blades and eyes burning with starvation.

Your fingers fly to your waist, ready to meet the handle of your tiny knife that’s still better than nothing.

Gone.

Your knife, your only defense, is missing.

Panic swells in your chest as you scramble backward, dirt caking your hands, adrenaline drowning your thoughts. The demon lunges. You squeeze your eyes shut. No, this can’t be happening. You can’t just die out here, not like this. Did you really lose your knife like a lousy beginner? What would Sanemi think if he saw you here like this? Would he be sad, disappointed even? Both of you met during your times within the corps, he learned to love that wild and reckless side of yours. What would he say, seeing you standing here with your glossy eyes squeezed shut, desperately grabbing onto the air where your knife would have been?

“I’m sorry, Sanemi…”

You wait for it. The stinging pain of teeth digging deep into your flesh, the lights in your head slowly but surely getting dimmer.

But it never reaches you.

THWACK.

Instead, a gust of wind explodes past you, slicing the demon’s head clean off. Its body crashes beside you with a wet thud. Did you just…dream that? But you didn’t do anything, you didn’t see anyone earlier. There’s no way someone was able to reach you that fast.

And then you hear it - his voice.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?!”

You crack your eyes open. Sanemi’s standing over you, blade in hand, face redder than the blood soaking the ground while he stares down at you. His white hair is wild, his veins bulging, his lavender eyes glow with a fury that chills you more than the demon ever could. Suddenly, your near-death experience fading into the background.

“I told you to stay put! I told you!” he roars, grabbing your arm and yanking you to your feet, almost lifting you off the ground.

“I didn’t-!” you start, but he doesn’t let you finish.

“You promised, (y/n)! What the hell were you thinking?! This isn’t some damn training exercise. This is war!”

His voice cracks slightly and with it, so does your heart.

“You could’ve been killed!”

You’re about to snap back, because yes, he’s right, but his tone still stings and it’s absolutely not your fault you ended up here - until you see the way his hand trembles on your arm. He’s not just angry. He’s terrified. What does all of this look like from his view? Like you decided to go against your promise, like you don’t give a damn about his worries?

“I don’t even know how I got here,” you reply quietly, hand clutching his wrist in order to stop yourself from shooting back at him.

“I changed into my sleepwear, and the next thing I knew, I was falling. I think someone sent me here.”

Sanemi’s eyes narrow, his eyes dart around the area. The fallen slayers, the chaos as far as the eye can see. Those aren’t the demon slayers who agreed on accompanying the hashira on their mission. No, some of them aren’t even able to lift up their sword correctly, get whipped from this earth without even putting up a real fight. You can see the moment it clicks, the moment he slowly but surely starts to realize what’s going on.

"...No," he whispers.

"What?"

“It’s not just you.”

His voice is lower now. Dead serious.

“Everyone’s here. Even slayers who already quit, the rookies who fight like trash... Some of them shouldn’t even be able to fight anymore.”

You swallow thickly.

“You mean…?”

“They dropped every last one of us into this hellhole. They want a final purge.”

Sanemi releases your arm and runs a hand through his hair. He’s trying to stay calm, to think like the hashira he is. But when his eyes meet yours again, that cool command vanishes - replaced by raw fear. This is not a place for his fiancé. Didn’t he promise you that he’ll get home save, that the two of you will live a peaceful life after tonight? What if…what if something happens to you? What if he won’t be able to save you?

No. He can’t let that happen. There’s no way in hell that he’ll let a demon even touch you.

“I’m gonna say this once, and you're gonna listen for real this time.”

He steps closer, resting both hands on your shoulders, firm but shaking. You can’t help but rest your hands against his chest. Usually, his steady heartbeat is what lures you to sleep at night. But his heart is racing, your nerves are tingling and you know there’s only one way to make it out alive.

“You don’t leave my side. Not for a second. Got it?”

You nod, but his eyes blaze harder.

“No. Say it.”

“I won’t leave your side.”

“Again.”

“I won’t leave your side, Sanemi.”

He pulls you into his chest so suddenly you gasp. His arms wrap around you like armor, almost too tight and yet not tight enough. Out of instinct, you wrap your arms around him, crawl your fingers into his back in a desperate attempt to steady yourself. When he cups your chin and presses his lips against yours, you fail to exist for a moment. He brushes over you like he tries to memorize you like a map, like you might vanish into thin air if he doesn’t keep you close. Over and over, his mouth clashes against yours despite the ringing of destruction somewhere far away in your ears, holds you so close to him that you can feel his heartbeat vibrate right through you.

“You don’t get to die here,” he growls into your parted lips. “I gave up everything so you could live, damn it. I’ll carve a thousand demons apart if I have to, but you’re getting out of this with me. You understand me?”

Your fingers curl into the back of his haori. You can feel his heart slamming against your cheek while you press yourself even harder against him.

“Then you don’t get to die either,” you mutter into the fabric.

Sanemi’s silence is heavy until a low chuckle escapes his lips.

“…I won’t. Not if you're watching. After all, dying in front of my fiancé sounds like trash.”

Another demon scream erupts in the distance. Sanemi grabs your hand and though your knife is lost, he places one of his spare blades into your palm.

“Let’s go, princess,” he mutters, trying to mask the shake in his voice.

“Time to survive this nightmare.”

Together.

Tags: @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix  @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @beatrexworld

@froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso  @poketrainer2270 @chaoticwinnercupcake

@lees-chaotic-brain @wordskeeper @polarbvnny @sugu-love @ryva @baku2345

@komelrebi-san @kentocalls @barbuse @sunshine7queen @lavenderdrxp

@yaninnaacu @hopefulbelievertimemachine @vrystalius @sanemifucker @blunderland

[ceramini]

QUIET NOW ᭢᭡ pjs

𝟖𝟏𝟓 ──── dom!jay f!rea ✿ smut !? oral (f receiving), overstim, it’s very messy hehe 𝑫𝑰𝑨𝑹𝒀 ｡ ⠀

REBLOG FOR A KISS!? ʕ´   ᩙᩙ `  ʔ

You were running your mouth again. Teasing him. Challenging him. Doing that thing you always did, cocking your head to the side like you had something smart to say, lips curled just enough to make his patience snap. Jay had been quiet the whole time, but it wasn’t because he didn’t have something to say back.

He was waiting.

Waiting for you to push just a little further.

You were always so smug about it, so proud of the way your words twisted under his skin. And maybe it would’ve worked on someone else. But Jay? He didn’t argue. He didn’t fire back. He just stood there, chest rising slow beneath that fitted black tee, eyes dropping to your thighs like he’d already made the decision.

“Get on the bed,” he said, voice low. Final.

You blinked. “Excuse me—”

“Now.”

Your breath caught. You weren’t sure if it was the way he said it, or the way he was already moving toward you, dragging his rings off one by one like he was preparing himself. Jay was a man who used his hands to talk. To gesture, to exaggerate, to emphasize whatever cocky point he was making. But right now? He didn’t need them for talking. Not at all.

He needed them to spread you open.

And shut you the fuck up.

You landed on the bed with a soft thud, eyes wide as he knelt between your thighs. His touch was rough, impatient, dragging your clothes down without ceremony. He didn’t tease. Didn’t warm you up. He just parted your legs with calloused palms and stared like he’d been dreaming about this exact moment for months.

“Look at this,” he muttered under his breath, dragging his fingers through your folds. “So wet already… and all you’ve done is talk shit.”

You didn’t have a comeback. You couldn’t think. Because his mouth was already on you.

Jay didn’t ease into it, he devoured you. His tongue was everywhere at once, hot and slick and filthy, licking into your pussy with slow, intentional strokes that made your hips jerk up against his face. You gasped, back arching. His grip tightened around your thighs, holding you down like you were misbehaving.

His tongue flattened and dragged over your clit, then circled it, flicked at it, then sucked it into his mouth with a low groan that vibrated through your whole body. The sound alone was enough to make your eyes roll back. It was deep, guttural, like he’d been starving and you were the first thing he’d tasted all day. The only sound in the room was the obscene, wet slurping of his mouth working between your thighs and the occasional breathy moan that slipped out of your lips before you could stop it.

He was so quiet. So goddamn focused. And for a guy who couldn’t go ten seconds without some smartass remark, the silence was almost terrifying.

But it was also… hot.

Jay pulled back just long enough to kiss your clit again, slowly, lips plush and wet. Then he whispered against you, “Fuck… you’re so wet, baby.”

He didn’t wait for a response. He didn’t need one.

His mouth returned with renewed purpose, tongue dipping lower, teasing your entrance before two fingers slipped inside, curling deep. You cried out. The stretch was perfect, the pace slow and deliberate, and with the way his tongue never stopped working your clit, you knew you weren’t going to last.

“Feels good, huh?” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “Pretty little mouth always running… but now you’re quiet. So fucking sweet like this.”

You could barely breathe, let alone speak. Your hands tangled in his hair, trying to anchor yourself as your thighs trembled around his head. He moved faster—fingers fucking up into you, tongue lapping mercilessly, groans getting louder the wetter you got. You were gushing onto his hand, onto his face, and he wasn’t slowing down.

If anything, he seemed drunk on it.

“I could do this all fucking night,” he growled against your clit, voice hoarse. “Look how good you are like this. Dumb, messy, quiet for once.”

You came hard.

Shaking, legs locking around his head, hips bucking up as your orgasm crashed through you like a tidal wave. You moaned his name like it was the only word left in your vocabulary, fingers pulling at his roots while your vision blurred from the sheer force of it.

Jay didn’t stop. He licked you through it, slow, possessive strokes that made you twitch every time his tongue passed over your clit. His fingers slipped out gently, replaced with his mouth one more time. A kiss, almost reverent. Like he was sealing something in.

Then he looked up at you.

Smug. Gleaming. Lips wet, chin glistening, pupils blown wide.

“See?” he whispered, dragging his hands up your thighs to your hips. “Told you I’d shut you up.”

TAGLIST ࿀ ׁ @gxwesn @gyarumindd @somuchdard @ssanhwatto @jinxedly @seokjinthescientist @hoonprksung @eunvyue @kkxheeluv @enhawonnie @ghost-of-minnie @underscorealastor @yazmike @tokkisluv

[lostasterries]

i had a dream...

[verricherri]

HIIIII (another ask bc I have ideas)

I need need need sunshine reader who is always bubbly and fun and grumpy rhett and someone suits on reader and makes her sad so now rhett has to fight a batch (maybe slash their tires)

Where Wanting Isn’t Wrong

A/N: when my cherri asks, i DELIVER 🍒💌 did cherri send this like a month ago? …yes. am i sorry i’m late? …also yes 😭 and yes, this is a little long... Warnings: blame the dust, blame rhett, blame me wanting something that’s not easy but real. Masterlist Feedback and reposts are appreciated  ☀️

The morning smelled like sun-warmed grass and cheap lemonade, the kind the PTA sold in Styrofoam cups for fifty cents, a line of sticky-handed kids waiting while you poured, bright and easy, your laughter ringing out as you ruffled hair and handed out cups with that smile everyone in Wabang knew.

You were a light in this dusty town, the kind that made people pause, made them think maybe today wasn’t so bad. That made Rhett Abbott stop dead in his tracks when he caught it from across the schoolyard.

You didn’t even see him at first. He’d shown up because Perry made him, a truckload of hay bales for the petting zoo you were setting up with your class, because it was the kind of thing you did, volunteering when no one else would, organizing a fundraiser so the kids could go see the state fair, your clipboard clutched against your chest as you gave instructions to parents who never listened.

Rhett tried to drop the bales and leave, quiet, unnoticed, his boots scuffing gravel, hat pulled low, eyes avoiding the way you were bent over tying a kid’s shoelaces with a soft word and a gentle pat.

But you looked up, saw him, and your face cracked into that wide, warm smile, your hand lifting in a wave that made his throat tighten.

“Rhett! Thank you so much for bringing these, we couldn’t have done this without you!”

Your voice carried, soft but somehow stronger than the heat rolling off the asphalt, and he fought the way his stomach twisted, nodding once, tipping his hat without meeting your eyes, his jaw working as he swallowed the words he’d never let himself say.

“Yeah,” he muttered, barely loud enough for you to hear, turning away, wanting to leave before you could get closer.

But of course, you did.

Your boots crunched on gravel as you jogged up, wiping your hands on your jeans, eyes bright.

“Really, thank you. The kids are going to love the petting zoo.”

Your smile didn’t falter, and that was the worst part, the way you looked at him like he wasn’t just Rhett Abbott, the screwup, the one who could never quite get it right.

He shifted, uncomfortable, eyes darting to the kids running past, to the truck, to anywhere but you.

“You need anythin’ else, just let Perry know.”

You opened your mouth like you wanted to say something else, but the whistle of a kettle from the bake sale table cut through, and you turned, waving as you jogged back.

“Thanks again, Rhett!”

He watched you go, that bounce in your step, the way you ruffled a kid’s hair as you passed, and he let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, scrubbing a hand over his mouth before climbing back into the truck.

He didn’t look back, but he could feel you, the way you made the world around you warmer just by being in it.

—

He drove back to the ranch, windows down, the wind hot against his face, trying to shake you off, trying to tell himself it didn’t matter, that you didn’t matter, that you were just being nice, that it wasn’t for him.

That you were sunshine, and sunshine didn’t belong to anyone.

—

But later, when Perry teased him over dinner, elbowing him as Cecilia laughed softly, when Amy giggled about how “She is the best teacher, Uncle Rhett, she’s so pretty and nice,” Rhett felt that tightness in his chest again, pushing at the edges of his ribs, a pressure that made it hard to breathe.

“You gonna help out at the fundraiser tomorrow?” Perry asked, eyebrow lifted, grin lazy.

Rhett shook his head, stabbing at his food.

“Ain’t my thing.”

“Could be,” Perry drawled.

Rhett looked up, eyes sharp.

“Drop it.”

Perry put up his hands, still grinning, but Rhett could feel Cecilia’s eyes on him, warm and sad, like she knew, like everyone in this damn town knew, like the whole world was in on the joke except for you.

—

That night, Rhett sat on the porch, beer bottle sweating in his hand, the crickets loud, the stars sharp and clear.

He thought about you, your laugh, the smudge of flour on your cheek from the bake sale, the way your eyes met his and didn’t flinch, didn’t look away, didn’t judge.

He thought about the way you’d smiled at him, the way it had made something in him ache so badly he wanted to punch something, or pull you close, or both.

He took a long swig, swallowing hard, letting the bitterness burn down his throat.

“Don’t be stupid,” he muttered to himself, leaning back in the creaking chair, eyes on the dark sky.

You weren’t his.

You’d never be his.

But that didn’t stop him from wanting.

—

The next morning smelled like dusty gravel and the sweet tang of early summer, the kind that stuck to your skin before noon. You were there early, pinning up streamers on the chain-link fence around the schoolyard, hair tied back, shirt tied at the waist, humming under your breath as you directed volunteers where to place tables and fold-up chairs.

You were always there, Rhett thought. Always smiling, always making the tired look up and the grumpy pause, even if only for a moment.

He wasn’t supposed to be there. He told Perry he wouldn’t come. Told himself he wouldn’t come. But there he was, parked across the street, engine ticking as it cooled, watching you fuss over the lemonade table, your laugh floating over the hum of the small crowd gathering.

Then he showed up.

Caleb. Fresh boots, crisp plaid shirt, the too-bright grin of a man who wanted everyone to notice him. Wanted you to notice him.

He sauntered up, carrying a box of donated snacks, all swagger, throwing a wink at you that made Rhett’s hands tighten on the wheel.

“Well if it ain’t Miss Angel herself, brightenin’ up the whole damn parking lot.”

You laughed, easy and polite, stepping forward to take the box.

“Morning, Caleb. Thank you for bringing these.” “Anything for you, darlin’,” Caleb said, voice too loud, too slick, eyes lingering too long.

You didn’t flinch, didn’t drop your smile, just turned away, gesturing where the snacks needed to go, pulling your clipboard against your chest as you gave instructions to a pair of teens trying to wrangle folding tables.

Rhett watched you tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, your shoulders rolling back as you squared up to face Caleb again when he followed too close, leaning in like he had a right.

“Can I help with anything else, sweetheart?” Caleb drawled, leaning against the table, elbows spread wide, like he wanted the world to see how close he was standing.

“We’ve got it handled,” you said, still polite, still warm, but Rhett saw the shift in your shoulders, the way your fingers tightened around your pen before you turned away.

Caleb followed you anyway, stepping around a kid with a juice box, flashing you a grin like he thought it meant something.

Rhett’s jaw ticked, heat blooming in his chest, crawling up his throat, bitter and sharp. He forced himself to look away, to focus on the cracked dashboard of the truck, the sweat rolling down the back of his neck, the buzzing hum of the cicadas screaming in the heat.

“Ain’t your business,” he muttered to himself, fingers drumming against the steering wheel.

—

But he couldn’t leave.

Couldn’t tear his eyes away from the way Caleb hovered, the way you laughed politely at something he said, though it didn’t reach your eyes. The way Caleb’s hand brushed your arm, lingered for half a second too long, your shoulders stiffening before you pulled away, moving to help a kid adjust the sign on the lemonade stand.

It was a small thing, that moment, but Rhett felt it like a punch, the blood rushing in his ears.

—

Later, Rhett moved to the edge of the lot, leaning against his truck, arms crossed, cap pulled low. Watching.

Caleb kept orbiting you, always too close, always talking too loud, throwing jokes your way that made the PTA moms giggle, made the other men smirk, but Rhett saw your eyes darting away, your smile thinning at the edges.

“So, what’s a girl like you do after hours, huh?” Caleb’s voice carried across the lot as he leaned against the fence where you were stapling up a banner. “Grade papers, eat dinner, go to bed. Same as everyone else,” you replied lightly, focused on your task, not looking at him. “Aw, c’mon. A smile like that deserves better than microwaved leftovers,” Caleb pushed, stepping in, shadow falling over your shoulder.

Rhett’s knuckles went white where they gripped his arms.

—

You turned then, looking up at Caleb, your smile polite but your eyes cool.

“I appreciate your help today, Caleb, but I need to focus on getting this ready before the parents arrive.”

“I’m just tryin’ to be friendly,” Caleb said, leaning in, voice dropping, low enough that only you and Rhett, standing far enough to watch but close enough to hear, could catch it. “Unless you’re too stuck up for that, Miss Angel.”

Your jaw tightened. Rhett saw it, that flicker of steel beneath the sweetness, the way you squared your shoulders, chin lifting.

“I’m not interested. Back off.”

For a heartbeat, Caleb’s grin slipped, replaced by something colder before he forced the smirk back.

“Your loss,” he drawled, pushing away from the fence with a shrug that tried to play it off.

You turned back to your banner, fingers trembling just once before you pulled the last staple from your pocket, pressing it into the fabric with finality.

—

Rhett let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, tension snapping along his shoulders as he pushed off the truck.

“Don’t,” he muttered to himself, jaw tight. “Don’t do nothin’ stupid.”

But he watched you walk back to the tables, greeting parents with a smile, letting kids hug your waist, your laugh bright but a little tighter, your eyes flickering once across the lot where Rhett stood, meeting his for half a second before you looked away.

He stayed, arms crossed, boots planted in the dirt, watching as Caleb slunk around the edge of the event, trying to catch your eye, smirking when you turned away, whispering something to another ranch hand who chuckled.

Rhett’s hands twitched, rage simmering under his skin, mixing with something else, something he didn’t want to name. Something like want, like need, like the ache that burned low in his belly every time he saw you smile at someone else.

—

The sun dipped lower, the crowd thinning, the air cooling as shadows stretched across the lot.

Rhett didn’t leave. Couldn’t. Not when Caleb was still there, hovering, eyes on you like you were something to claim.

Not when you were there, sunlight in your hair, holding it all together, holding him together without even knowing it.

—

The fundraiser wound down with the taste of dust in the air and kids running through the last dregs of sunlight, parents laughing, cars pulling out one by one, the lot slowly emptying until it was just you and a few volunteers folding tables, the hum of cicadas rising with the cooling air.

You were tired, but it was the good kind, the kind you earned, the kind that made your skin glow as you wiped sweat from your temple, pushing stray hair from your face while you stacked leftover cupcakes into boxes for the staff lounge.

You didn’t see Caleb watching from the fence, didn’t see the way his eyes tracked the last volunteers as they left, didn’t see how he lingered, waiting until you were alone.

You were humming, the soft song you always sang when you cleaned up alone, because it made the silence feel less heavy.

—

“Need a hand?”

The voice made you jump, the cupcake you were packing toppling sideways.

Caleb.

You turned, forcing the polite smile, brushing frosting off your fingers onto a napkin.

“Thanks, but I’ve got it,” you said, moving to close the box, folding it carefully. “Aw, c’mon, sweetheart. Let a man feel useful.”

He stepped closer, boots crunching gravel, the sun catching the edge of a smirk that made your stomach twist, but you kept your voice even.

“I said I’ve got it.”

“Don’t be like that,” he said, hand reaching out, brushing your arm, lingering, thumb stroking the inside of your elbow like he had a right.

You stepped back, pulling your arm away.

“Caleb, stop.”

“You’re just playin’ hard to get, Miss Angel. Everyone sees it.”

The air felt thicker, pressing against your ribs as you held your ground.

“No. I’m not interested. Leave.”

“Don’t act like you’re better than me,” he snapped, the grin dropping, eyes hard, stepping in until your back bumped the table.

You lifted your chin, letting your eyes flash.

“I said. Leave.”

His hand snapped out, gripping your wrist, fingers pressing bruises before you could wrench away. The world narrowed to the smell of stale cologne, the heat of his breath, the weight of his anger.

“Let go of me.”

“Stop pretending you don’t want this—”

Your knee came up fast, slamming into his thigh. He stumbled back with a curse, loosening his grip enough for you to shove him, hard, your breath ragged.

“Touch me again, and I’ll bury you.”

Your voice didn’t shake. Your hands did.

Caleb’s eyes darkened, rage and embarrassment twisting across his face as he stepped forward again.

“You think you can—” “She said stop.”

The voice was low, calm, deadly.

Caleb froze. You turned, chest heaving, and there was Rhett, standing a few feet away, hands balled at his sides, hat low over his eyes, boots planted in the dirt like he was part of it, like nothing could move him.

Caleb let out a breath, scoffing.

“Oh, this what it is? You lettin’ Abbott here fight your battles?”

You stepped forward before Rhett could, shoulders squared, voice sharp.

“I don’t need him to fight for me.” “Doesn’t look like it,” Caleb sneered. “Get. Out.”

Caleb’s jaw ticked, spit hitting the ground as he glared at you, at Rhett, at the way Rhett’s body blocked your view, even though you pushed forward, refusing to hide behind him.

“Crazy bitch.”

You flinched, but you didn’t step back.

Caleb turned, heading for his truck, muttering under his breath, shoulders stiff with wounded pride.

—

You felt your breath leave your body, knees threatening to buckle, adrenaline making your fingers tingle.

“You okay?” Rhett’s voice, low, careful, like approaching a spooked horse.

You nodded, but your eyes were hot, throat tight.

“I had it handled.” “I know.”

Your eyes flicked to him, the way the tension in his jaw trembled, how his fingers flexed like he was holding himself back from tearing the world apart.

“Don’t—” “Stay here.”

And before you could speak, he was gone, long strides across the gravel, boots thudding, darkness swallowing him as he rounded the corner.

—

You stood there, chest rising and falling too fast, fists tight, the air thick with dirt and the smell of hot metal, your pulse drumming in your ears as you tried to decide whether to scream or keep it together.

You heard it first—a dull thud, a sharp grunt, the scrape of boots on gravel.

Then Rhett’s voice, low, dangerous:

“Don’t put your hands on her again.”

You rounded the corner, heart in your throat.

Rhett had Caleb pinned against the side of his truck, forearm pressed hard against his chest, the other hand fisted in Caleb’s shirt. Caleb’s face was twisted, blood trailing from his nose, his eyes wide with panic.

“Rhett,” you called, your voice hoarse, steady. “That’s enough.”

Rhett didn’t look at you. His jaw was tight, shoulders tense, eyes fixed on Caleb with a rage so cold it made you shiver.

“You hear her?” Caleb spat blood, trying to shove Rhett off. “Your girlfriend says it’s enough.”

Rhett’s fist slammed into the truck next to Caleb’s head, hard enough to leave a dent.

“She’s not your business,” Rhett said, his voice like gravel.

You moved closer, boots crunching on the gravel.

“Rhett. Let him go.”

His eyes flicked to you then, dark, unreadable, before dropping to your wrist where Caleb’s fingers had left a smear of dirt and red.

Rhett’s jaw flexed once, twice.

Then he stepped back, letting Caleb stumble forward, gasping.

Caleb wiped his mouth, spit in the dirt, trying to cover the fear in his eyes.

“Crazy bastard,” Caleb muttered, backing away.

“Get in your truck and go,” you said, your voice flat.

Caleb hesitated, but your stare didn’t break. He glanced at Rhett, then back at you, before climbing into his truck and peeling out, tires spitting gravel as he fled down the road.

—

The silence that followed was thick, the only sound the rasp of Rhett’s breathing, your own heartbeat loud in your ears.

You turned to him, anger rising to your tongue before you could swallow it down.

“What the hell was that, Rhett?”

He didn’t look at you, hands flexing, blood drying on his knuckles, chest still rising and falling.

“He touched you.”

“I told him to leave. I handled it.”

“Didn’t look like it to me.”

You stepped closer, pointing at him, heat rising to your face.

“You can’t just beat the shit out of people because you decide it’s your business.”

His eyes met yours, and for a moment you saw it, the flicker of something raw, unguarded, terrified.

“It is my business.”

You froze, blinking, your hand dropping.

“Why?” you asked, your voice quiet, the anger draining into something you didn’t want to name.

Rhett swallowed, looking away, jaw working.

“Because I wanted it to be.”

The words hung there, heavier than fists.

You opened your mouth, closed it again, unsure whether you were angry or grateful or something else entirely, something that burned in your chest in a way you didn’t have words for.

Rhett took a step back, shaking his head.

“I need to go.” “Rhett—”

But he was already turning, walking toward his truck, boots crunching over the gravel, leaving you there under the harsh glow of the single light above the school doors, your arms wrapped around yourself, the night pressing in, your breath shaking out of you as you watched him go.

—

You didn’t sleep that night.

You went home, showered off the sweat and dust and the lingering scent of stale cologne on your arm where Caleb had grabbed you. You tried to eat, pushed food around your plate until the cat meowed and you set it down for him instead.

You replayed it over and over—the way Caleb’s hand tightened, the fear that turned to rage, the way you’d shoved him off, the way Rhett appeared out of nowhere, fists and fury and cold, hard rage.

And the look in Rhett’s eyes when you asked him why.

“Because I wanted it to be.”

—

You didn’t sleep that night, the ceiling above your bed glowing faintly in the dark, your mind replaying the way Caleb’s hand had clamped around your wrist and the heat of your fear twisting into anger as you shoved him off, replaying the thunder of Rhett’s boots on gravel and the flat crack of his fist against Caleb’s jaw, the way blood had splattered on the side of the truck, the way Rhett’s shoulders had risen and fallen like a man barely holding himself back, the way he wouldn’t meet your eyes when you demanded to know why, how his voice had gone low, wrecked, as he’d said, Because I wanted it to be, and how that had settled in your bones like something you didn’t want to carry but couldn’t let go.

You got up before dawn, pulled on jeans and an old T-shirt, hair still damp as you tied it back, the air sticky even in the early morning, and you didn’t think, didn’t plan, just grabbed your keys and drove, the road to the Abbott ranch familiar and empty, the sky slowly bleeding light as you passed fields that glistened with dew, your heart pounding in your chest as you rehearsed what you would say but none of it feeling right, none of it feeling enough.

You pulled up to the ranch just as the sun broke over the fence posts, painting everything gold and sharp, and there he was, near the corral, hammer in hand, fixing a section of fence that didn’t need fixing, his hat low, the muscles in his arms flexing with each strike as dust rose around his boots, sweat already clinging to the back of his neck, his entire body wound tight with that restless energy you had felt in him since the day you met him, the energy that made him look away whenever you caught him staring, that made him leave rooms you entered, that made him clench his jaw when you smiled at other men.

You stepped out, slammed the truck door a little harder than you meant to, the sound splitting the quiet morning, gravel crunching under your boots as you crossed the dirt toward him, the heat of the rising sun pressing against your back, dust swirling around your ankles as you planted yourself a few feet away, crossing your arms over your chest like armor as you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, felt it burn in your lungs as you forced out his name.

“Rhett.”

He didn’t look up, didn’t pause, kept driving that nail into the fence post with methodical violence, the wood splintering as the hammer cracked down again and again, the sound sharp and cruel in the soft dawn.

“Rhett.”

This time his shoulders tensed, the hammer pausing midair before dropping to his side, the muscles in his jaw ticking as he slowly set the hammer down on the post with deliberate care, like he was afraid of what would happen if he let it fall.

When he turned to face you, his eyes were dark and tired, the skin under them shadowed, his lips pressed into a thin line as he looked at you like he was bracing for impact.

“What do you want me to say?”

Your throat tightened, but you held his gaze, forcing your voice to stay steady.

“Anything. The truth.”

A harsh sound slipped from him, almost a laugh but empty, broken, as he shook his head, dropping his eyes for a moment before lifting them back to yours, letting out a breath that ruffled the hair falling across his forehead.

“The truth? Fine. I saw him touch you, and I wanted to kill him.”

You felt the words settle heavy in the space between you, the heat of them searing across your skin, anger rising to meet the fear and confusion you hadn’t had the time to process, your hands curling tighter around your elbows as you forced yourself to respond.

“I didn’t need you to do that.”

He scoffed, the sound low, bitter, as he took a step closer, the heat of him meeting yours, his eyes blazing.

“Yeah, you did.”

Your lips parted, incredulous, the flush rising in your cheeks as your pulse quickened.

“Excuse me?”

“You think I don’t see it? The way you’re always smiling, always being nice to everyone, how you act like nothing ever gets to you, like nothing can touch you, but he got to you, I saw it in your face, and I couldn’t—”

You shook your head, cutting him off, your voice rising as your heart hammered painfully against your ribs.

“He scared me, Rhett. That doesn’t mean I needed you to fix it.”

His jaw clenched, eyes narrowing, his breath coming heavier as he stepped closer, close enough that you could see the flecks of gold in his eyes, could see the way his chest rose and fell like he was trying to calm something inside him.

“I know you can handle yourself,” he snapped, his voice low but shaking, the veins in his neck standing out as he fought to keep control, “but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna stand there and watch some piece of shit put his hands on you like he has the right.”

Your hands dropped to your sides as you took a step forward, refusing to look away, your voice trembling with the frustration and heat that had been building in your chest for months, years.

“Why? Why do you care so damn much, Rhett?”

And there it was, the way he flinched, the way his eyes flickered with fear before he swallowed hard, shaking his head as if he could stop the words from coming out before they slipped past his lips.

“Because I can’t not.”

The silence that fell was so heavy it felt like it pressed down on your shoulders, the air thick and buzzing with everything unspoken, your breath caught in your throat as you tried to find words, but all that came out was a whisper.

“You think you get to just—what, beat the shit out of people who look at me wrong? You think I need that?” “No.” “Then what, Rhett? What the hell do you want from me?”

His chest rose and fell once, twice, before he let out a breath that sounded like it scraped his lungs raw, his eyes closing for a moment before opening again, dark and shining.

“Everything.”

Your heart stopped, the word echoing in your mind, your breath catching as you tried to swallow, tried to push down the way it made your chest ache.

“You don’t get to say that,” you whispered, your voice hoarse, “not after you’ve spent so long acting like I don’t exist, like I’m nothing to you.”

His eyes shuttered for a moment, his jaw clenching, before he stepped closer, so close you could feel the heat radiating off him, so close you could smell the sweat and soap on his skin, the scent of dust clinging to him like it was part of him.

“I never acted like you’re nothing,” he said, his voice low, rough, every word carrying the weight of something he had tried to bury. “I stayed away because I can’t give you the kind of life you deserve, because you deserve someone better, someone good, and I am not—”

“Don’t decide that for me,” you cut in, your voice sharp, your eyes burning, your hands shaking as you stepped closer, so close your boots almost touched.

“You don’t get to decide what I want, Rhett.”

He opened his mouth, closed it again, shaking his head.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“And you don’t know what you’re denying yourself.��

Your eyes burned with the weight of everything unsaid, but you refused to look away, refused to let him shut you out again, refused to let him retreat behind that stoic silence he wore like armor, because you were done letting him hide while you carried the burden of pretending you didn’t see the way he looked at you when he thought you wouldn’t notice, the way his jaw would tighten and his throat would bob when someone else made you laugh, the way he would leave the room with his head down, boots heavy on the floor, because staying was too dangerous for him, too close to everything he spent his whole life running from, and you let the words pour out, your voice low but fierce, layered with the ache you had kept buried for too long.

“You think I don’t see you, Rhett, you think I don’t see the way you watch me when you think I’m not looking, how you find reasons to leave when I walk into a room because you can’t stand to be close, how your jaw clenches so hard I can see it from across the damn room whenever someone else makes me smile, you think I don’t feel it every single time you stand near me, like the air changes, like the world tilts just a little because you’re there, and you think I don’t know what that means?”

His hand lifted then, hesitating in the space between you as if he wanted to reach for you but couldn’t let himself, couldn’t cross that final distance, before it fell back to his side, fingers curling into a tight, shaking fist, his eyes locked on yours, dark and searching, voice cracking under the strain of all the things he had never let himself say.

“Don’t.”

The single word was a plea and a warning, thin and breaking.

“Don’t what?” you asked, your breath catching as you stepped closer, refusing to give him room to run.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he ground out, each syllable heavy, painful.

“Like what, Rhett?” your voice softer now, trembling but unyielding, your chin lifted as you stared him down.

“Like I’m worth it.”

Your chest cracked open at that, something inside you splintering wide in the quiet between his words, something raw and terrified and real unraveling inside of you as you let out a slow breath that trembled on your lips.

“You are.”

—

The silence that followed was thick enough to drown in, stretching between you in the dusty morning air as the world seemed to hold its breath, the whisper of wind across the dry grass and the distant groan of the barn the only sounds that dared to break it, and you could hear your own heartbeat, loud and insistent, thundering in your ears as you watched the way Rhett’s eyes dropped to your mouth and then dragged back up to your eyes with that same war-torn look, like he was fighting a losing battle with himself, with the need that was carved into every tense line of his body, with the fear that clung to him like sweat.

“Don’t,” he said again, softer now, the word so quiet it almost disappeared, but it carried everything he couldn’t say out loud, everything he was too afraid to admit, everything that made him take a half step back even as his eyes pleaded with you not to leave him standing there alone in the wreckage of everything he’d tried to bury. “Rhett,” you whispered, and it came out as a promise and a demand all at once, your own fear swirling in your chest but overridden by the certainty that you weren’t going to walk away from this, from him, not now, not ever. “Don’t,” he repeated, the word a cracked thing, fragile and desperate. “Please,” you breathed, your voice trembling, your eyes searching his, refusing to let him retreat, refusing to let him hide from you, from himself, from the truth that was sitting between you like a live wire.

—

Your hand lifted slowly, fingers trembling with the weight of everything you felt, everything you had kept bottled behind polite smiles and quiet strength, and you reached for him, letting your fingertips brush the edge of his jaw, the roughness of stubble scraping against your skin, the heat of him sinking into your bones in a way that made your breath catch, in a way that felt like it was searing itself into your memory so you could never pretend you hadn’t felt it, never pretend you hadn’t wanted it.

He flinched under your touch, his eyes squeezing shut, his breath leaving him in a shaky exhale like he had been holding it in for too long, like the simple contact of your hand against his face was enough to crack something deep inside him that he had fought to keep locked away, and you didn’t pull back, didn’t let him retreat behind that wall of silence and fear he wore like a second skin, you simply let your palm settle against his cheek, steady and warm, your thumb brushing lightly along the rough edge of his jaw.

“Look at me,” you whispered, your voice low but steady, carrying across the small space between you like a promise and a command all at once, because you were done letting him hide from the truth, done letting him pretend you didn’t see him, didn’t feel him, didn’t want him.

His eyes opened, slow and reluctant, dark lashes lifting to reveal eyes that were glassy and raw, that held fear and longing and something so soft it made your chest ache, and for a moment he just looked at you, breathing hard, like he was trying to memorize every detail of your face in this light, in this moment, like he was afraid if he blinked you would disappear.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said, barely above a whisper, but it felt like it echoed in the quiet, like it was the only sound that mattered, the only truth you needed him to hear.

He let out a breath, one you felt against your wrist, warm and uneven, and his hand came up, hesitating for a moment before it covered yours where it rested on his cheek, his fingers wrapping around your wrist, not to push you away, but to hold you there, to keep you close, to ground himself in the feeling of your skin against his, the reality of you standing there, refusing to let him hide.

And in that moment, in the heat of that silence, in the roughness of your breaths and the closeness of your bodies, with the smell of dust and hay and the sharp morning air between you, something shifted, something gave way, something finally broke open.

You didn’t know who moved first, or if it even mattered, only that one moment you were standing there breathing the same uneven air, your eyes locked on each other with a desperation that bordered on painful, and the next his hand was sliding up to the back of your neck, his palm warm and rough, his thumb brushing along the line of your jaw as if he was memorizing the feel of you, grounding himself in the reality that you were there, that you weren’t turning away, and your own hand was curling around the collar of his shirt, your fingers tightening in the fabric because you needed something to hold on to before you drowned in the way he was looking at you.

Your breath hitched as his forehead dropped to yours, the brim of his hat brushing lightly against the top of your head before he lifted it off with a clumsy, shaking movement, tossing it aside without looking, his other hand coming up to frame your face, and you could feel the tremor in his fingers, could see the way his eyes searched yours for any sign that you would pull away, that you would leave him standing there alone in this raw, terrifying moment he had tried to avoid for so long.

And you didn’t pull away.

You let your eyes flutter closed, let your lips part on a breath that felt like it carried every quiet wish you had ever made in the dead of night, every silent hope you had pressed into your pillow, every ache you had hidden behind your smiles, and when his lips finally touched yours it was soft, so soft you almost thought you imagined it, the lightest brush of rough lips against yours as if he was giving you one last chance to stop him, to step back, to end this before it began.

But you didn’t step back.

You leaned in, just enough for your lips to press more firmly against his, and that was all it took for something to break open between you, for the kiss to deepen, for the soft, hesitant press of his mouth to turn into something hungry, something messy, something real, your fingers tightening in his shirt as you pulled him closer, closing the last breath of space between your bodies, feeling the solid heat of him against you, the rough scrape of stubble against your skin as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss, his breath hitching against your lips in a way that made your knees weaken, made your pulse thrum everywhere, made heat bloom low in your belly.

And it happened fast, in the way storms roll in across the plains, unannounced but inevitable, when the air shifts and the pressure drops, when your body knows before your mind catches up that everything is about to change, and you let it, because you’re tired of resisting things that are meant for you.

Rhett didn’t reach for you like a man seeking comfort; he reached for you like a man who had decided to stop punishing himself, his hand sliding into your hair, not gently, but with a certainty that made your breath catch, tugging you forward as he lowered his mouth to yours, not testing, not asking, but taking in a way that made your stomach tighten and your knees soften, your fingers finding the front of his shirt and fisting it just to keep yourself standing upright.

The kiss wasn’t soft; it was alive, a push and pull, his teeth catching your bottom lip as you gasped, your hand sliding up to his jaw, feeling the roughness of stubble against your palm as you tilted his face, deepening the kiss because you wanted more, because you were done pretending you didn’t want everything he was trying to hold back.

You felt him exhale against your mouth, a low sound that was almost a curse, almost a laugh, like he couldn’t believe this was real, like he’d spent too long telling himself it couldn’t happen to let himself enjoy it, but you swallowed that sound with your mouth, pressing closer, your hips bumping into his, the sun at your back, the taste of dust in the warm air between breaths, the world beyond the fence line falling away as your lips moved against his.

When you pulled back, it wasn’t because you wanted to, but because you needed to breathe, your lips brushing his as you caught your breath, your eyes meeting his in the narrow space between, and for a moment there was no fear, no running, no doubt, just the two of you, here, now, in this place that smelled like hay and sweat and warm earth.

You smiled, a small, sharp thing, as your thumb traced the line of his cheekbone, your voice low, steady, alive with something that had been sleeping inside you for too long.

“Don’t think too hard about it, Rhett.”

And he let out a breath, the corner of his mouth twitching, and he shook his head once, short, almost like a laugh, before he kissed you again, harder this time, his hand splaying across your lower back to pull you in, to remind you he was there, solid and warm and real, and you let yourself lean into him, let yourself kiss him back like you meant it, like you had always meant it, like you would mean it tomorrow and the next day and the day after that.

There was nothing gentle about it, and you didn’t want it to be. You wanted to feel it in your bones, to carry it with you when you left this spot, to let it remind you that some things are worth wanting, worth taking, worth keeping, no matter how hard you’d tried to convince yourself otherwise.

—

It was strange how quiet the world felt afterward, how the air seemed softer somehow, as if the wind itself was holding its breath, letting you have this moment undisturbed.

You didn’t pull away, not fully, even after the kiss ended, your lips swollen and warm, your breath a little uneven as you rested your forehead lightly against his collarbone, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest, the warmth of him grounding you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed until this exact moment. You let your hand settle against his chest, the rough fabric of his shirt scratching your palm as you traced your thumb in small, absent circles, feeling the hard beat of his heart beneath your hand, steady and strong, like a promise you hadn’t asked for but found yourself accepting anyway.

Rhett’s hand didn’t leave your back, his fingers splayed wide, holding you there, not possessive but certain, like he wasn’t ready to let go, like he wasn’t sure how to step away now that he had let himself touch you, now that he had stopped running from what he felt and had let it spill out into the world, tangible and undeniable, painted across the dust and the morning air and the soft heat lingering between your bodies.

Neither of you spoke for a while, and it didn’t feel like silence so much as it felt like a pause, like the world giving you space to breathe, to find your footing again after the rush of something you had both spent too long pretending wasn’t there. You could hear the rustle of the dry grass in the breeze, the creak of the fence settling under the heat of the rising sun, the distant call of a bird overhead, but mostly you could hear him, the low, steady breaths, the way they caught slightly when your thumb pressed a little harder against his chest, the quiet exhale when you shifted just enough to look up at him, your eyes searching his face, trying to read him in this new light.

His eyes were softer than you had ever seen them, the harsh lines of his brow eased, the tension that always lived in the set of his jaw loosened as he looked at you, his lips parted like he might say something, like he wanted to, but the words caught, tangled up in everything else he hadn’t said, everything you both already knew.

You were the one who spoke first, your voice low, careful, but steady, like you were testing it, letting it carry between you without breaking the fragile warmth hanging in the air.

“We’re really doing this, aren’t we?”

His breath hitched, a small, almost disbelieving smile ghosting across his lips, and he let out a sound that was part laugh, part sigh, before he nodded, once, sharp and certain, his hand tightening slightly against your back as if to anchor himself to the truth of it.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice rough, the word scraping out of him like it cost him something to say, but there was relief in it too, soft and raw. “Yeah, we are.”

You felt the corner of your mouth lift, a small, honest smile, your thumb brushing over his shirt as you let your forehead rest against his again, your eyes closing for a moment, letting yourself sink into the warmth of him, into the reality of this moment you had both been dancing around for far too long.

“Took you long enough,” you murmured, the words teasing but gentle, the kind of soft laughter you hadn’t let yourself share with him before, the kind that tasted like relief and hope.

“Don’t,” he muttered, but there was no real heat in it, and you felt the way his chest shook under your hand when he let out a low laugh, the sound rumbling through you in a way that made your heart clench, made you want to pull him closer, made you want to keep him laughing just to hear it again.

You lifted your head, your eyes meeting his, letting the smile linger as you studied him in the morning light, the way it caught on the dark of his hair, the curve of his jaw, the softness around his eyes as he looked back at you like he wasn’t quite sure how you were real.

“I’m not going to break, Rhett,” you said softly, your thumb brushing against the side of his neck where his pulse beat fast and strong beneath your touch, reminding both of you that you were here, that this was real.

His eyes flickered, dark and uncertain, before they softened again, his hand lifting to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering there, brushing lightly against your skin like he was memorizing the feel of you under his touch.

“I know,” he said, the words low, steady, carrying a weight you felt settle in your chest, heavy but not unwelcome. “I just… I don’t want to hurt you.”

You let out a quiet breath, your hand dropping from his chest to catch his wrist, pulling his hand from your face only to hold it between yours, your thumb brushing over the roughness of his knuckles, the small cuts and bruises from the fight, your eyes meeting his with a clarity you hadn’t felt in a long time.

“You won’t,” you said, your voice sure, your gaze steady, and you saw the way his eyes widened slightly, the way he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

He nodded, once, like he was accepting it, like he was letting himself believe it, and you stepped closer, your bodies pressed together in the quiet morning, the heat of him sinking into you as you rested your cheek against his chest, letting your eyes close as you listened to the steady rhythm of his heart, the warmth of his hand as it settled against the back of your neck, holding you there, holding himself there, in this moment you had both chosen, finally, without fear.

You didn’t need to talk about what came next, not yet, because there was time now, time to figure it out, time to learn what it meant to stay, to want, to keep, and you felt the way his thumb brushed lightly against the back of your neck, the quiet way he let out a breath, his head dropping to rest against the top of yours as he held you, and it was enough.

For now, it was enough.

—

That evening you had parted quietly, the weight of what you’d shared still humming under your skin, and when you woke the next day, you moved through your morning with a soft, uncertain lightness, your chest tight with the newness of letting yourself want something without apology.

The next morning came with a quiet you hadn’t felt in a long time, the kind that settled in your bones, warm and calm, as you moved around your classroom, sliding books into cubbies, checking the small plants on the windowsill, letting the morning light fill the room with soft gold as you tried to keep your hands from shaking.

You heard the knock on the door before you saw him, and when you turned, there he was, standing in the doorway with a cup of coffee in one hand, a small clay pot in the other, a tiny green sprout poking out of the dirt, and something about the way he held it, awkward and unsure, made your chest tighten, made your lips twitch into a smile you couldn’t hide.

“For your desk,” he said, clearing his throat, his eyes darting around the room before settling on yours, holding there, soft but steady.

You took the plant from him, letting your fingers brush against his, warm and calloused, and you set it on your desk, turning back to him with a small, real smile that felt like it reached all the way into your chest.

“You’re impossible,” you said, your voice light but your eyes soft, your fingers reaching for the coffee, your thumb brushing against his knuckles as you took it from him.

“Yeah,” he said, his lips twitching, a breath of a laugh leaving him as he scratched at the back of his neck, a flush rising on his cheeks. “But you still want me?”

You didn’t answer with words.

You set the coffee down, stepped closer, letting your fingers hook into the collar of his shirt, pulling him down to you, your lips finding his in a soft, quiet kiss that wasn’t rushed, wasn’t desperate, just was, and when you pulled back, you let your forehead rest against his, your eyes closing as you let out a soft breath, the world beyond the classroom door falling away for a moment.

“Yeah,” you whispered, letting the word hang in the quiet, letting it fill the space between you.

And it wasn’t everything, but it was Rhett's, and that was enough to start.

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