#this turned out longer than i wanted at first but he

[hanjiwuver]

OT8 SKZ Headcannons:

.• {how they orgasm}•.

OT8 x reader HCS..smutty, kinda fluffy

Warnings: degredation, breeding, mentions of choking/slapping, reader is called a bitch, lots of cum obviously, if i missed any lmk!

first post!! lmk how u feel abt it and send me asks!! :3 enjoy~*

smut below the cut….

Christopher Bahng:

• straight to his core. loud, strangled noises spill from his mouth as he ruts into you like a desperate dog.

• grips onto whatever he can grab on you. especially when his orgasm takes him by suprise, hes gasping and frantically finding your wrist to hold so he can ride it out.

• during, he’ll lean down and send a growlish-moan to your ear, in a “you did this to me.” way😵‍💫

• his cock definetly throbs, if he pulls out, all you can see is it bobbing up and down and shooting out hot cum.

• he’s dazed afterwards, looking at his mess with half-lidded eyes as he smears it with his thumb.

• hits him more forcefully than sensually, like a pent up release. and trust, if you choke or slap him while he’s cumming then he’ll roll his eyes back and cum 10x harder.

• same for if he’s cumming from your strap, then its all broken whines and drooly pillows from there.

• im a firm believer of breeding kink chan. he’ll press down on your tummy so you can’t miss the feeling of his warm cum swelling you up.

“ahn- fucking..feel that? good whores get bred out, right? thats fucking right..made me cum, sweet girl..”

Lee Minho:

• sooooooo long.

• his dancer core makes his orgasms last forever.

• you’ll be done touching him, and a minute later his cock is still throbbing and squirting out little droplets of cum.

• usually has deeper, longer moans throughout. but when it first hits, he lets out a loud, pornographic noise akin to a yell.

•his head lowers and his face is pained and focused. hands trembling slightly at how hard it hits him.

• makes the prettiest faces during it. all pleasure dazed, like hes in a trance, or like he can’t believe how intense his orgasm is.

• def an eye roller. his orgasms hit hard, not in a shaking way, but he’ll throw his head back and grip onto you, so he can hold you still while he works through his orgasm.

•when his eyes arent rolled to the back of his head, they are either closed or heavy lidded and unfocused.

• coming back to this, he prefers holding you still while he cums. hes way too sensitive for any extra motion. if you try to move on top of him, he’ll firmly cling onto your shoulders to keep you still.

• always a bit exsausted afterwards, but still laughs in disbelief at how long it really is.

“ah!…stay still. stay fucking still, please. just let me cum…mmfh- fuck..feels so good.”

Seo Changbin:

• goes quiet when he’s about to cum. like its the only thing he can think about.

• 1/3 of moanracha. one of the only ones that moan (but turns kinda growl-ish at the end🤭)

• he knows his strength, so when he cums he tries to either get off of you or relax his body as much as he can. (thats why he prefers you on top)

• sounds in pain but he’s definetly not. he forgets how good you make him feel sometimes.

• a lip-biter, its how he calms himself down, also a throbber!! his hips never stutter though, he’s very good.

• a slut for his neck being touched, bite or kiss on his neck and he’ll cum so good for you.

• like i said earlier, he wants to hold you close so bad! but, he’s nervous he might crush you. so he trains himself for you, softly fucking into you and holding his trembling body back from just holding you down and pounding you.

• soft binnie boy in his dirty talk, his strength doesn’t match his words as he softens his body and starts to cum inside you.

“soft- soft..g’nna fuck you softly, yeah? sweet girl..making me cum..so good to me.”

Hwang Hyunjin:

• 2/3 of moanracha. he moans unashamed, long, sensual noises that have you dripping.

• treats an orgasm like a piece of art, making sure to cum right on your pretty pussy and admire.

• his thighs tremble and his mouth hangs open, pleasure spreading along his body and glowing in his sides, eventually spilling all out onto you, his stunning muse.

• when he’s fucking you, there is nothing in the world that could break his concentration. its like you both have built this sweet atmosphere in the air, heated colors flash in your mind, trapping you with him.

• and when he cums, that atmosphere shatters into a million pieces, like nothing else in the entire world matters besides you and the intense pleasure you’re making him feel.

• he likes when you cum before him, so he can watch your every reaction to his hard work.

• but he likes it even better when you cum with him, he likes sharing the moment with you, so he might even make you hold it.🤭

“…fuck- hold it. i’m almost there, don’t fucking cum yet..fuck! i love you! i love you..so much.”

Han Jisung:

• 3/3 of moanracha. his moans are loud and uncontrollable.

• BIGGEST EYE ROLLER. ive seen him do that shit too many times in videos, im so serious he does that when he cums.

• he also cannot control that tongue of his, shits always out of his mouth while drool drips from his bottom lip.

• he just loves feeling good!! he’ll take anything you give him as long as he gets to cum.

• his poor little cock gets so red. drips a massive amount of precum just to squirt out such a pathetic little load.

• loves teasing his cock after he cums. he’ll rub himself on whatever he can, twitching at the little sparks of harsh pleasure that it grants him.

• says “fuck me” even if he’s topping, such a freaky ass bitch😭

• and if you’re pegging or fingering him, you’ll be suprised at how slutty that little mouth of his is, drooling and babbling out such meaningless little praises and begs.

• grips your wrist and thrusts frantically into you with loud, pathetic whines. his eyes are a bit teary when he places his hand on your tummy, begging you to cum because of how overstimulated he’s getting.

“ah..fuck- fuck me, fuck me harder..shit. ah, please cum- ah..soon. please? s’too much.. i know, im pathetic..m’sorry.”

Lee Felix:

• so sensual. like his orgasm is fire, burning his body so slowly.

• his hips may be frantic, but his voice is shuddery as he whispers pretty words and praises into your ears.

• his face heats up so much its unreal. he cant help but blush at how good you make him feel!!

• that deep voice in your ear😵‍💫 makes u wanna be silent so you can hear him better.

• small load, nothing too much, but it tastes so sweet. you beg him to cum on your face or in your mouth, he feels a little bad but he can’t hold it when he sees you stick your tongue out while he jerks his cock off.

• likes recieving pain when he cums, like scratching his thighs or biting down on his shoulders. it embarrasses him but also makes him drool🫶🏽

• okay fr guys..i think felix can squirt. HEAR ME OUT.

• rub the palm of your hand over his tip rapidly, or agressively rub his slit and he’s writhing and arching under you. gripping your wrist and begging you to slow down before he hides his face and squirts all over his tummy.

• he’s such a pleaser, that he’s unable to focus soley on his pleasure. so if he accidentally cums before you, he’ll pull out and mutter little apologies as he rubs your clit, ruining his own orgasm while shoving his face in your neck.

“..ah! fuck! sorry…m’sorry..hah- so sorry, angel..please cum- please cum too?”

Kim Seungmin:

• when he's subbing, he's a desperate humper. wether its your shoe, or your hand, or even your belongings hes frantically fucking into it, trying to cum hard.

• but the way he cums is still the same, no matter what role he's playing.

• it looks earth shattering. he twitches and shakes, and his eyes are tightly shut (when they arent rolled back to his brain)

• he tries to have you lock eyes with him when he cums, but it always ends up with him breaking it almost immediately.

• prefers to cum on your lower back or tummy, but he's a bit of a clean freak so this preference doesn't help him at all😭

• very dazed and tender after. he'll look at you with loving eyes and caress your cheek, kinda like the sweet version of chan's "you did this to me" attitude.

• he used to be very shy about the way he acted when he came, so he would hold it in, but once you tried to forced one out of him anyway. poor boy was begging you to "wait" and "stop," but his body betrayed him and twitched into your hand.

"mm'ah! wait! stopstop' please- ill cum! please."

(or..dom ver bc im a slut 😈)

"oh? fine..make me cum then, bitch..c'mon- oh fuck..that's a good girl. only thing you're good for, right slut?”

Yang Jeongin:

• doesn’t hit him quite as hard as the others, now that doesn’t mean its not enjoyable for him.

• it just means that his buildup is stronger than his orgasm, it comes in blissful waves rather than the others.

• when it hits, his jaw drops and his eyes close, but soon after 4 seconds of that, hes giggling about it and using it to give you more pleasure.

• big ass load. he cums so much its not funny. he likes cumming in you too, so good luck with that!

• whispers long, teasing groans in your ear to feel you squeeze around him.

•he enjoys fucking more than the actual climax, so he’ll usually hold his orgasm off until you’re begging him to cum.

• then, he’ll tilt his head and glide his cock along your clit with the same pace, like he never stopped fucking you. laughing at your cries and pleads.

“hm..aw, poor baby..want my cum? need my cum inside you? hm..ill think about it.”

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 40: Where Do We Go From Here?

Summary: Things aren't going as smoothly as anyone would like. Maybe they can fix it. Maybe they can't.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 5,970 words

Warnings: Angst, discussion of nightmares, PTSD, discussion of death and killing people, emotions, so many emotions, angst, a little sliver of comfort

A/N: And it is back!! not super proud of this one but I'm starting out on a filler so...yeah. Really just setting up for the next part where some action starts again. You'll see. Anyway, glad to be back at it and I hope you enjoy!

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

John stands at the door, gazing out at the yard. It’s pouring rain, dumping buckets on the roof. The water has pooled on the planks of the deck, splattering with every big drop that pours from the sky. The weather once again mirrors your mood, your sobs audible from your room over the pounding on the roof. 

John holds his mug in his hands, staring at the reflection in the window. Kyle and Johnny are sitting on the couch, both looking like kicked puppies. They’re itching to enter your room and go comfort you, but they’ve been kicked out for now. You’re not in the state of mind to be around any of them right now, no matter how badly your sobs tear at their heartstrings. 

You haven’t been in that state of mind for a few hours now. 

Whatever nightmare had plagued your mind last night, it was particularly awful. You’ve been up since the early hours, waking from a nightmare with a terrified scream that had continued until Kyle finally got you to stop and breathe. His ears are still ringing with it, his mind still pulsing with that fear. Something happened. Someone got in. Someone hurt you. 

Nothing happened. No one got in.  

The only threat was still just in your mind. 

Graves. 

He knows that’s at least part of your nightmares. Christine had disclosed that to him quietly on the side. Even she doesn’t know everything that plagues your dreams, but Graves seems to be a common specter in the darkness of your mind. 

It makes his blood boil, and not just out of anger for what Graves did to you. 

It boils with anger at himself too. 

It’s his fault you’re in this state in the first place. He should have known, he should have seen, he should have suspected. He should have never left you there. You should have been his priority over anything else. 

How badly he’s failed you. 

He lets out a sigh, turning away from the window to move over to the couches. He sinks down with a sigh, resting his elbows on his knees. The little progress you’ve made has regressed with this new string of nightmares, the fear pushing you further and further back into your mind. He’s resolved himself to only get worried when Christine is worried, and right now she’s beginning to look worried. If you regress back again, the chances of bringing you out of that are slim. Sure, there are plenty of options to help, but you have to want them to help. 

He knows exactly what will help, you just don’t want it. 

He runs a hand through his hair as your sobs begin to quiet. It’s longer than he’s let it get for a long time. They’re all a bit scraggly and ragged looking, worn down and lazy now that there’s no strict rules guiding their lives. None of them quite know what to do outside of the regulations they’ve spent the better parts of their lives living under. He’s been in the military longer now than he hasn’t, and he’s been finding himself itching for that structure again. He can never bring himself to relax and put the job aside even on leave. He only takes it when he has to and usually spends it training and keeping his skills sharp. 

Now...now things have changed. 

They have no return now. There’s no clear, set time that they have to return to base. They can’t return to base. It would leave them too open to a possible retaliation from Shepherd. They were betrayed by one of their own already, who's to say someone else wouldn’t be just as eager to become a traitor for a chunk of cash? They’re not even truly safe here. 

How are they going to go back to base after this? Can he bring himself to take you back there, a place you never felt comfortable in the first place? 

Where do they go from here? 

He’s been trying not to think too much about it. That’s a dilemma for a different day. That’s thinking too far ahead. Day by day is as far as he dares to take it now. 

The door closes quietly, John’s head lifting to watch Christine as she approaches the couch. There’s a slump to her shoulders, something that’s been getting lower and lower as the days have progressed. She’s struggling with this just as much as they all are. 

She sinks down on the couch, letting out a long breath. Your sobs have quieted, no sound coming from the room now. The silence is almost eerie after days of constant sounds, good and bad from your room. You were doing better. You were looking more alive and well. 

Then this happened. 

“She’s asleep.” Christine says, her voice strained. “Finally calmed down enough to nap.” She covers her eyes with a hand, sitting there still for a moment. 

“The nightmares?” John asks, glancing at Christine out of the corner of his eye. 

“Worse.” She says, her gaze far away. “She's remembering what happened.” 

John stares at Kyle and Johnny for a moment, the betas returning his worried gaze.

“Those shadows she killed...” Johnny says.

Christine nods. “She's, uh, not taking it well.” 

John runs a hand over his face. He knew it was possible you'd start to remember what happened during the time your omega took control. It wouldn't remain a dark spot forever, though he hoped it would. The things you were forced to do are coming to light now, the things you did to survive because they failed you. Taking the life of someone who deserves it is nothing to them. Taking the life of someone who would take yours just as quickly isn't so much as a second thought. 

You're not like them. 

You've never had to face that reality before, and you shouldn't have had to. 

“One of us should talk to her.” Kyle says.

“I don't think that's the best idea right now.” Christine shakes her head. “She's...regressed a bit. Pushing that on her, while well intentioned, might do more harm than good...” she trails off, her gaze still far away. 

The three of them sit there, waiting for what she’s going to say next. He’s not even sure Johnny or Kyle are breathing as they wait patiently for whatever solution Christine might be able to come up with, whatever move she thinks is the best one to take next. 

“I want to take her out.” Christine says. 

“What?” John asks in surprise. 

“She needs to get out of the house. It’s not doing any of us any good sitting in here all day.” She rubs her eyes. “She expressed interest in going for a walk a couple days ago. She needs to get up and moving, start regaining some of her strength.” 

John lets out a breath leaning back against the couch. He’s tempted to say no. His knee jerk reaction is to refuse. The world outside isn’t safe. If anyone is watching, if anyone sees them...

There’s always going to be that risk though, and Christine is right. Sitting in the house all day isn’t doing any of them any good. They’re at the mercy of the rain, but even then, he doubts it will keep any of them trapped inside for long. 

“When the rain clears up.” He finally says. “We'll discuss it more. But, I think that might be a good idea.” 

“What can we do?” Kyle asks, staring at Christine. 

She lets out a sigh, covering her eyes with her hand. “I don’t know. I’ve helped hundreds of omegas in crisis and yet I don’t know why this case is so hard.” 

“This has become more personal than those cases.” John says. 

Christine’s shoulders slump even more. “I know. I try so hard but she’s just so...different from other omegas.” 

“This entire situation is different from what you’ve done before.” Kyle says. 

“You’re right.” Christine sighs. “The best we can do is let her lead. Do what she needs, give her what she wants. The worst thing that can happen right now is regression. If she regresses too far, we might never get her back.” 

“What is it? Tell me what ye need.” 

“Can you make me forget?” 

“I wish I could.” 

“Hit me hard enough on the head I might forget everything. Then we can all just start over.” 

“That’s not funny.” 

“It wasn’t supposed to be.” 

“Kitten,” Johnny sighs, leaning his elbows on his knees. “I wish I could make those thoughts go away. I wish I could make them mine.” 

“I killed people.” 

“I know.” He reaches out, touching your hand. “I wish ye didnae have to. Ye were just defending yerself. Those Shadows would have done worse to ye if ye hadn’t.” 

You curl up in your chair, turning away from him. “That’s not helpful.” 

“Sorry.” He says, letting out another sigh. “We just want to help ye.” 

You’re silent for a moment, sitting there listening to the waves. It’s cold this morning, not even the thick blanket draped over you offering much respite. It’s the first morning it hasn’t poured rain in days and you were determined to take full advantage of it despite the objections of your pack. 

“I know.” You finally say, staring out at the grey clouds looming on the horizon. The rain will return, just like the dark thoughts constantly swirling in your mind. They make you sick, nausea constantly churning in your stomach and threatening to rise. 

Johnny wraps his hand around yours, his palm warm against your cold skin. “Should head inside. Gonnae catch a cold.” 

“You know that’s a myth right?” You say, tilting your head to stare at him. 

“No it’s not.” He says, pulling your hand between his. “It’s not good for ye being out in the cold.” 

“I’ll live.” You say, trying to pull your hand from his, but he holds you firm. He’s stubborn, but so are you. 

“Kitten...” He says, almost whining at you. “Go inside please.” 

You let out a sigh, staring out at the horizon again. The clouds promise more rain soon, another downpour on its way. You hate it, how much it’s been raining. You just want to be outside, down at the beach, going on walks. Your pack won’t let you though, not while it’s raining, even though they often leave no matter the weather. 

It’s not fair. 

You’re not a fragile flower and you’re tired of being treated that way. Even though your brain feels like it’s in a blender constantly. Even though the pain of what happened still drives into you like a knife, you just want to be treated like a normal human being again. 

“Fine.” You sigh, pushing yourself up to stand. “I’ll go inside.” 

Johnny grabs your arm before you can head back in the door. “Ye know we just want the best for you.” 

You stare at him for a long moment, emotions swirling in your mind. They are trying. You’ll give them that credit. They’re trying, but not hard enough. “What you think is best and what’s actually best isn’t always the same.” 

He looks like a kicked puppy as he lets you go. You turn away before you can feel guilty, heading back inside the cottage. 

You pull the blanket tighter around you as you stare at the flickering flames in the hearth. The heat is intense so close, but it’s warming the chill under your skin. It’s getting colder at night, foretelling the upcoming winter. All the blankets in the world couldn’t fight off the chill that’s settled in you at night. You know what might help, but you’re not brave enough to approach that solution. 

The footsteps on the stairs don’t startle you in the otherwise silent house, the creak of them audible over the crackle of the logs in the fire. 

“I’d add another one.” A voice says from behind you. 

“I’m going to.” You say, reaching for the stack next to the fireplace. 

“Careful. Put it on the side.” 

“I know how to make a fire, thank you.” You snap, shoving the log in before moving it into place with the poker. “I’m not useless.” 

“Didn’t mean to imply you were.” It’s silent for a moment as you settle back into place. “What are you doing out here?” 

“I’m cold.” You answer simply, not feeling up to giving an entire expose on your current state of mind to the person you want to speak to the least right now. 

“We can turn the heat up more.” John says. “Whatever you want to be more comfortable.” 

I want you to leave. You bite your lip, suddenly not brave enough to say it out loud. 

They are trying. 

“Why are you down here?” You ask instead. 

“Couldn’t sleep so I came to get a snack.” He says. “You want anything?” 

“No.” You say quickly, wrapping the blanket tighter around you. “I’m alright.” 

“You sure?” He presses, standing off to your right. 

You hesitate for a moment, curling your toes under the blanket as one of the logs snaps. It’s not food you need from him. Your appetite has decreased again with this new wave of horrible things plaguing your mind. “I want to know why,” You say, swallowing the lump in your throat. “why you left me there.” 

John shifts behind you, silent for a long moment. 

“I got too caught up in the big picture.” He finally says. “I thought that taking out Shepherd would end everything before it went too far. It’s the only way we’ll ever be safe, and I didn’t consider the lengths he’d go to, the lengths he’d let Graves go to, just to cover his own ass long enough for him to escape. I was wrong in making that decision. You’re not like us. You’ve never been left behind, tortured, had to fight your way out of an impossible situation. You shouldn’t have ever been put in that position. We all failed you. Every last one of us.” 

Tears burn your eyes as you stare into the fire. “You left me.” 

“I know.” He says, his voice thick with emotion. “It’s the worst mistake I’ve ever made.” 

“I can’t do this.” You whisper, your knuckles white where they’re gripping the edges of the blanket. The words are coming out and you can’t stop them. Maybe it’s because deep down you remember the better times, when he was a comfort. Someone you could trust to catch you when you fall. “I keep seeing them, seeing what I did, what happened. I killed people.” 

“People that would have killed you without a second thought.” He says. “You were defending yourself in a situation where that was unavoidable. It’s not your fault. None of it is.” 

“Can we ever move past this?” You ask, your voice quiet and broken.  

“I like to think we can.” John says. “It won’t be easy, but if that’s what you want, we sure as hell will work to make it happen. Things won’t go back to the way they were, and they shouldn’t. You deserve better than what we gave you.” 

You don’t respond because you can’t. His words float around in your mind, replaying over and over. You want to believe him. You desperately want to believe him, but a deep part of you can’t. He’s made promises before and then broke them. How can you trust this time will be different? 

The creak of the stairs wakes you. It’s jarring, pulling you out of a sleep you didn’t know you were in. You’re on the couch in the living room, bundled under a blanket with a decorative pillow under your head. You don’t remember moving to the couch. The fire is nothing more than embers now, but it feels warmer in the house. It’s dawn, the grey light streaming in through the window, chasing away the shadows of night. 

“What are you doing out here?” A gruff voice asks you. 

You groan, rubbing your eyes. “Fell asleep.” 

“On the couch?” 

“Think I was on the floor first.” You yawn, pressing your face back into the pillow. “Don’t remember getting to the couch.” 

“Why?” 

“Got cold.” Your voice is slightly muffled as you pull the blanket up higher. 

Simon lets out a sigh before moving around the couch to the fireplace. He adds a couple logs in before lighting it again, the fire crackling back to life. You’re half asleep already as another blanket is draped over you, tucked up around your neck. There’s a feeling of a hand brushing over your head, but that may have just been your imagination as you drift off back to sleep. 

You don’t get to sleep long, more footsteps coming down the stairs waking you. A hand does brush over your head this time, the scent of the beach filling your nose. You let out a groan, trying to snuggle deeper into the blankets. 

“Sleeping out here this morning?” Kyle’s soft voice reaches your ears. 

You grunt, chasing the quickly fading edges of sleep in your brain. 

“Breakfast is ready, if you want to get up.” 

You are hungry. There’s a quiet rumble of your stomach as you begin to register the smells coming from the kitchen: bacon and eggs and coffee. Johnny is making the coffee most likely. Maybe you’ll have some this morning. You might need it with how groggy you feel. 

You stretch out on the couch, trying to breathe some life into your limbs. It’s not the most comfortable couch, definitely not for sleeping, but it’s better than the floor. It was likely John that moved you. He was the only one that knew you were out here last night. 

You're not sure how that makes you feel. 

It's nice on one hand, that he saved you from the pains of sleeping on the floor. But at the same time it feels like an intrusion. There was a time you wouldn't have thought twice about it. There was a time it would have been normal and expected and you would have thanked him for it. 

Now...now you're not sure. 

You push yourself up to sit, joints cracking from being stuck in one position for so long. You blink slowly as you sit there for a moment. It’s warm in the house, almost too warm now with your body warmed from sleep. Dr. Keller is sitting at the table, a steaming mug in front of her. Tea, most likely. Maybe coffee. You’re not quite sure. She gives you a soft smile as you rub a hand across your face. 

You feel groggy as you push yourself up to stand, letting your stomach and feet guide you towards the smells coming from the kitchen. Kyle guides you to the table with a promise of making you a plate and you take your usual seat at the end of the table facing the kitchen. Dr. Keller is to your left this time, coffee in her mug judging by the smell. 

“How did you sleep?” She asks, her hands wrapped around the mug. 

“Fine. Got cold.” You say, resting your head in your hand.

“John turned the heat up a bit. We can get you more blankets if you need them.” Dr. Keller says. 

You hum, letting your eyes close for a moment. You won’t complain about more blankets, more soft things to lay with. There is one thing you wish you had, though. You’re not quite sure how to ask for it, or that it would even be possible to get. 

You jump when a hand touches your back, not realizing you had even dozed off sitting there. 

“Sorry.” Kyle says, setting a plate on the table in front of you. “Food’s hot. You want coffee or tea.” 

“Coffee.” You say instantly, earning a wide grin from Johnny as he takes his own seat at the table. 

“Even split this morning.” He says cheekily, setting his own mug down. “Three against three.” 

“Tea is still the superior choice.” Kyle says from the kitchen. “Better for you anyway.” 

“Coffee has a lot of health benefits as well.” Dr. Keller says. “So long as you don’t add too much sugar into it.” 

“See.” Johnny says, giving them a victorious grin. 

“She said so long as you don’t put too much sugar in it.” Kyle says, carrying over your mug of coffee. “You’ll get diabetes from how much you add in.” 

“Two spoonfuls isnae too much.” He turns to look at Dr. Keller. “Is it?” 

Dr. Keller gives him a worried look. “You might be pushing it there.” 

Johnny’s grin turns into a pout. “What do ye mean?” 

A ghost of a smile tugs at your lips as you quickly shovel a forkful of eggs into your mouth. As much as the deep pain of betrayal still aches in your chest, as much as you still want to hate them, you have to admit you missed this. It’s the least tense you’ve seen all of them in the last few weeks. Even Dr. Keller’s shoulders don’t seem quite so squared as they have been. 

A part of you feels guilty about it. It is your fault deep down. You’re the one keeping them all on edge, driving that wedge between them over and over again. Deep down you’re the one causing the heavy weight that’s settled over the house. You wish you could just go back to normal, you wish you could just wave a wand and make yourself okay again. You wish you could ease their pain just a little bit. 

The eggs suddenly don’t taste quite so good anymore. 

You force them down regardless in favor of causing another scene, in favor of dragging the mood down. They deserve a little lighthearted moment after everything. They don’t need to know the inner turmoil plaguing your mind. 

Simon shifts next to you, his eyes darting to glance at your face. You can feel them, the intensity of his gaze just as sharp as it had been back in the beginning, back before he looked at you with fondness. He’s stiff as he sits there, almost as if he can sense the storm raging inside of you as you force yourself to pretend that you’re fine in favor of keeping the bright mood that’s settled over the table. 

Maybe he can sense it. He is an alpha after all. It’s his job to know, to understand. You glance across the table at John, his eyes on his phone as he sips his tea. 

Your gaze drops down to your plate as you pick up a piece of bacon, your heart shattering just a little bit more. 

“‘S too early.” You whine as hands pull the blanket off of you. Cold air nips at your skin, making you curl up in a ball. 

“It’s noon. Come on.” A hand closes around your arm, gently shaking you. “You want to get up.” 

You let out a whine, pinching your face up. “No.” 

“Trust me. It’ll be worth it.” Kyle says, brushing the hair back from your face. 

“Why.” You say, letting out a huff. 

“We’re going on a little trip.” Kyle pulls you up, forcing you into a seated position. “Dress warm.” 

You’re alone in the room again, the door left open. Light streams in, making you squint against the harsh intrusion. A quick glance at the clock reveals it is, in fact, a little past noon. You took a nap to make up for a night of tumultuous sleep, one of the few things you have to do here in this prison. Nap and read. It’s a lot like your life before the cottage, before everything that happened, except now you’re stuck with your pack around you at all times. 

You almost miss the times they were away. 

You maneuver yourself so your legs dangle over the edge of the bed as you try to blink the drowsiness away. The nap hadn’t been nearly long enough, but judging by Kyle’s eagerness, they let you sleep a bit longer than they wanted. 

You let out a sigh before pushing yourself off the bed, moving to the dresser. You pull out warm clothes, quickly changing. You have no idea what they have planned, what’s going on. There was no frantic rush, Kyle’s energy more excited than anything. It makes you a bit worried as you step out of the room into the living area. 

They’re all waiting by the door, watching you as you approach them, rubbing your eyes. 

“Come on,” John says, setting a pair of shoes on the floor. “Boots on.” 

“What are we doing?” You ask, moving forward automatically. 

“We’re taking a little trip.” Kyle answers. 

You look at him cautiously as you step into the boots, pulling them on. You haven’t been away from the cottage since you arrived two weeks ago. You’ve barely been let outside, weather permitting. It’s an overcast day today, the world grey outside, but grey is better than rain. 

“Ready?” John asks as you stare at him. 

“I guess.” You say, still a bit hesitant. 

They make no effort to ease your discomfort and nerves. 

You’re led out the door and towards the cars by Dr. Keller. Her face is brighter than it has been lately which doesn’t help your nervous energy. She’s excited too, just like the rest of them. You’re not sure why you’re so nervous. Maybe it’s the anxiety of leaving after being trapped inside for so long. You just want to know where you’re going, what it is you’re going to be doing. 

Dr. Keller ushers you into the back seat of one of the cars, getting in the other side. Kyle and John climb into the front while Johnny and Simon get into the other car. 

You watch the green pass by as they drive, taking in the new landscape. You don’t remember arriving at the cottage. You don’t remember most of the trip at all. It’s all a blur in your memory, much like the events that transpired after your omega took over had been. You wish you could remember the trip over those events. You’d take green rolling hills over your own hands taking lives. 

It had been jarring waking in the cottage for the first time. A new place, a lack of memories getting there. You’re beginning to get tired of the pattern. You half expect to fall asleep and wake up somewhere new again most nights. You wouldn’t know any better. A slip of a pill into some food and you’d wake up somewhere halfway across the world. 

You like to think they’d at least warn you beforehand. 

John pulls the car into a parking lot, parking near a line of trees. Johnny pulls into the parking lot behind John, parking near the entrance. It’s on purpose, you know that much. Everything is about safety and making things look as inconspicuous as possible. Anyone could be a rat. Anyone could be watching. 

It’s windier here as you step out of the car, even though you haven't gone far from the cottage. Walking distance, if you were up for a hike. You’re not. 

“Come on, kitten.” Johnny says, guiding you through the parking lot and towards a path. 

You still don’t know what’s happening as you follow them, Johnny holding your hand as you step onto the rocky path. He leads the way, the others following. John is behind you, hovering in case you slip in the gravel. You do your best not to, despite how quickly Johnny is leading you. He’s more eager than Kyle had been, and you’re sure he’d be running if you could keep up. 

You begin to figure out what’s happening as the sound of waves crashing on the shore gets louder and louder. Your chest starts to constrict with emotion as the trees start to get sparser and sparser, a cliff edge visible over Johnny’s shoulder. You want to run now, you want to break ahead and race your way to the edge of the cliff. Johnny, even in his excited state, would catch you before you could take off and potentially hurt yourself. 

You might hurt yourself just trying to run. 

You hate it. 

The land opens before you as you reach the edge of the cliff. The expanse of the sea seems daunting so close, grey and choppy from the wind. Salty air blasts you in the face, rustling your jacket as you stand there above a small beach. It’s empty, but that’s expected for the middle of fall. All the tourists have gone home, those with vacation homes back in better weather for the winter. 

You’re glad you’re alone. You wouldn’t want anyone else ruining this moment. 

Kyle’s fingers wrap around yours as you stand there, staring down at the beach below. “Come on.” 

The gravel turns to dirt as it winds down the side of the cliff, getting steeper as you near the beach. You do nearly slip as you follow Johnny down to the sand, your boots quickly getting muddy. You’re glad for them, understanding why John chose boots over more comfortable shoes. 

You pause as your feet sink into sand. You stare out at the water, at the white crests of waves crashing onto the shore. It’s real. It’s not just some mirage, some painting in the background of your life. It’s really here. You’re really here. 

No one says anything as you take a few steps forward before squatting down. You scoop up a handful of sand, letting it slip through your fingers. It’s coarse against your cold skin, thicker and rockier than the sand you’re used to, but it’s still sand. It’s still a beach. 

You’re at the beach. 

You scoop up another handful of sand, letting it run through your fingers again. You want to put some of it in a jar and set it on the nightstand at the cottage. You want to stare at it and remind yourself you’re really at the coast, you’re really just a short drive away from the sea. You want the sand to sink into your skin and flow through your veins and fill every crack that’s formed in your mind.  

You’re really here. 

You stand up straight, staring out at the water again. Your pack is still behind you, silently watching you. You shuffle forward a couple steps, waiting for one of them to stop you, to grab you and keep you from getting closer, but none of them move. You widen your steps, treading through the soft sand until you reach the edge of the wetter sand where the water was earlier. It’s easier to walk on as you continue to approach the water, the sound of your pack treading through the soft sand disappearing behind you as you get closer and closer to the water. The waves flow up the beach, your feet getting closer and closer to where that water stops. 

You half expect them to stop you as you step forward, letting the waves hit your feet. The salty water washes away the mud and sand clinging to your rubber boots, rushing up over the tops of your feet. You stare down at the water, watching it surge upward and around your ankles. You’d keep walking if you were brave enough, let it get higher and higher until it soaked your clothes, but you know they’d stop you. It’s far too cold to risk getting wet. You can feel the chill of the water through your boots as it flows over your feet. 

You’re not sure how long you stand there, watching the water rush back and forth, feeling the pressure of it against your boots as you stand in the waves. You’re really here. You’re really standing in the sea. 

You finally turn after what seems like an eternity, making your way back up to the softer sand. All of them are standing in a line, watching you. You wonder what’s going through their heads, what they feel standing here. Relief? Happiness? Guilt? Shame? The wind whips at your back, coming right off the water, blowing their scents away from you. What you wouldn’t give to be able to smell them right now. 

Tears burn your eyes as you make your way up towards John, trudging through the sand. His cheeks and nose are pink from the cold wind, his beard longer than you’ve ever seen it. You don’t remember the last time you’ve really looked at him up close. His gaze is uncertain as he stares down at you, trying to gauge your next move. He can’t. You know he can’t and it makes you feel powerful. 

It shouldn’t, but it does. 

“Thank you.” You say finally, a tear sliding down your cheek. “Thank you.” 

You can hear them. They don’t know it, but you can. They think they’re speaking quietly, but in the silence of the morning, you can hear almost every word. Dr. Keller’s protests, John's quiet insistence. 

Leaving. 

That’s the word that caught your attention. Leaving. Someone is leaving. Someone is separating themselves from the pack again, and not just for a trip to town to go to the store. This meaning is different, it hangs differently in the air. 

“I don’t think this is a good idea right now.” Dr. Keller says, her voice just barely audible through the open sliding glass door. It’s open just a crack, just enough to hear what’s transpiring inside. 

“We won’t have another chance.” John says, his voice insistent. “We have to do this. She deserves it.” 

She. You. Whatever it is, it involves you. It always does. You can’t remember a time over the last few weeks when it hasn’t been about you. It’s always about you and you hate it. You almost wish things would go back to the way they were before, when you were a second thought, the one left behind.

You’re going to be left behind again. 

“John-” 

“I know.” John’s voice is louder again. “We have to do what’s best for our pack, and right now this is it.” 

The sliding door opens, the conversation over. Your stomach is churning, nausea eating its way up your esophagus as John crosses the deck towards where you’re seated. His steps are slow and quiet, almost like he’s approaching a wild animal. He might be, depending on how this conversation is going to go. 

How are you going to react? You expected it eventually. They’ll always leave, they’ll always put you last and think about themselves first. Are you upset? Are you angry? Is it a relief? 

You wish you could feel something right now. Instead you feel numb. Another promise broken, another lie told. 

“You’re leaving again.” You say, staring out at the horizon as John takes a seat next to you. You need to get it out first, say what you know before he can say it and break your heart again. 

He lets out a quiet sigh, leaning back in the chair. “We are, but you’re coming with us.” 

You turn to glance at him, taken aback by his words. You’re leaving too? You hadn’t considered this. The cottage is your prison. You are Rapunzel trapped by the Mother Gothel that is your pack, stuck in the tower for the rest of time. 

Leaving? 

“There’s something we need to take care of back in the states.” John explains. “You’re coming with us.” 

Back in the states? What could possibly be there that is left for you, for your pack? 

You don’t like the sound of that. You don’t like the sound of that one bit. 

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[lovelookspretty]

waking up to you

au!rafe cameron x reader

— in which you wake up in a strange alternate reality that just so happens to be the outer banks universe, and to your disbelief, you’re suddenly in a relationship with the shows most unlikely character, rafe cameron.

warnings: Y/N & RAFE DATE 😋 teasing, pretty safe chapter

authors note: btw readers only “weird” around cynthia bc ngl id act like that if i came across her bc shes so annoying on the show omg. but EEE hi guys. if u still arent part of the tag list, feel free to lmk thru replies, anons, dms, or reblogs !!

previous

you’re not surprised to wake up in rafe’s bed again. at this point, it’s almost routine, though every time still feels surreal.

you’ve gotten used to the soft sheets, the familiar scent of him on the pillows, and the way the morning light filters through the blinds just right, casting a warm glow over his peaceful, sleeping face.

he looks so different like this—calm, almost vulnerable. it’s a version of him that no one else really gets to see. and you? you don’t mind at all.

you take a quiet breath, just watching him for a moment longer. but then, his eyes flutter open, and you freeze, quickly closing your eyes to pretend like you’re still sleeping. maybe if you play it off well enough, he won’t—

a finger pokes at your side, and you can’t help the involuntary squirm and groan that escapes you. “rafe,” you mutter, barely opening one eye to glare at him. but he just grins, clearly pleased with himself for catching you.

“thought you were asleep,” he teases, voice rough from sleep, poking your side again until you half-heartedly swat at his hand.

“you’re so annoying,” you mumble, but the smile tugging at your lips betrays you. “get off of me.”

the morning quickly slips into a blur, and before you know it, you're tagging along with rafe for a ride around the island—except not just any ride. he’s got his dirt bike out, the same one you’d seen on the show.

you were kind of surprised when you first saw it in the garage. in the world you knew, rafe got this bike after the first episode started, but here? no rules seem to apply anymore.

you’re wrapped tightly around his torso, his helmet snug on your head as he drives the bike through town, on the beaches, through quiet streets and long stretches of open road. the wind whips past your face, and you can’t help but smile into it, arms locked around him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

eventually, he pulls up to some kook-itorium, the bike coming to a slow stop. rafe kicks the stand down and hops off first, turning to help you off like he always does. his hands are warm as they slide into yours, and for a second, he just holds them, staring down at you with a grin.

“so, what do you think?” he asks, pulling you a little closer as you hop off the bike. he’s been practically advertising himself on the way over here. “a date? hrm? just you n’ me. anywhere you want.”

you smile up at him. “yeah,” you say softly. “i’d like that.”

he tugs you toward the entrance of the building, still holding onto your hand. “just don’t pick somewhere like the seaview grill or— god, that lame museum your mom likes.”

when you step inside the building, it takes you a moment to realize where rafe has brought you. the place has that unmistakable country club vibe—polished, pristine, like every corner of it has been touched by money. but it’s smaller, rounder in shape, and more modern than the main country club building next door. servers move swiftly between tables, balancing trays and drinks. rafe, of course, heads straight past all of this, not even glancing at the downstairs dining area.

you follow him upstairs, past the busy floor where people are eating, drinking, and talking in their quiet, refined way. upstairs, though, it’s a whole different world.

the second floor is open and airy, with barely any walls to box anything in. it’s just the floor, held up by tall pillars that support the roof above, letting the fresh air and views of the island spill right in. the only structure that really stands out is the bar in the middle—a sleek, modern setup that takes up a good portion of the space, all glossy wood and glass shelves stocked with high-end bottles.

the place is filled with kooks, most of them middle-aged. they don’t seem to notice you and rafe, or if they do, they don’t care. oh right, rafe should be about 22 now, legal to drink here. does that make the others 18 and 19?

anyway, rafe is clearly familiar here. a few nods are thrown his way as he leads you forward, and he nods back, murmuring casual greetings under his breath as you weave between tables. you’re amused, but there’s a small part of you that’s bothered.

you thought maybe rafe had brought you here for food downstairs, but it’s pretty clear now that this is just one of his regular stops to get a drink—probably whiskey or even scotch, knowing him. but you keep your mouth shut, not wanting to spoil the mood.

he finally lets go of your hand when he reaches the bar, leaning against the counter with crossed arms as he asks for his drink. you linger beside him for a second, glancing around the open space. the view from up here is stunning, with a perfect sightline to the docks and the country club’s main establishment just next door.

you rub your arm awkwardly, feeling a little out of place among all the well-dressed older folks. after a beat, you step closer to rafe, gently touching his arm to get his attention. “i’m gonna go use the restroom,” you say quietly.

he nods, not taking his eyes off the bartender. but before you can turn to leave, he grabs your arm, tugging you back toward him for a quick kiss. it’s his way of saying 'be safe,' you guess, a small gesture that makes you smile despite the surroundings. you give his arm a gentle squeeze in return, then slip away to head downstairs.

just as you’re descending the steps, though, a familiar voice drifts up toward you. and then you see him—topper, making his way up the stairs. your heart sinks in the half-second you have to process it.

great. the last time you talked to him was at the party, when he was stumbling over some half-assed apology. and now here he is, about to cross your path.

fantastic. just what you needed.

the moment his eyes land on you, there’s a flicker of recognition that lights up his face, just for a moment—like spotting an old acquaintance in a crowd.

“y/n!” he says, his hands coming up as if he’s presenting you to the world. he glances at his mom as if to say, ‘look who it is’. you can feel your heart rate pick up as you pause on the steps, furrowing your brows at them.

they were definitely just talking about you right before this.

you force a smile, but it’s small and tight, barely breaking through your unease. “hi, topper,” you mumble, glancing between him and his mom. there’s a brief moment of silence as you weigh your options—whether to continue this conversation or slip away.

ultimately, you choose the latter. you take a step forward, moving past them and continuing down the stairs, leaving them behind. as you go, you can feel topper’s eyes on you.

he glances down at his shoes and shifts awkwardly, but then, just as quickly, he looks up again. “come on, let’s just go upstairs,” he insists to his mom, trying to shake it off as they both start moving again.

it’s not that you wanted to dismiss topper and his mom or anything. really, you just don’t see the point in lingering in the middle of a public staircase, one of the only two that connected the floors of the country club. you don’t want to be rude, but you also don’t want to talk to topper—especially after your last encounter at the party.

topper and his mom step off the stairs, but the moment topper spots rafe, a grin spreads across his face.

“hey, good seein’ you back here again,” topper greets, approaching the bar with a friendly demeanor.

rafe daps him up casually. “you too, man,” rafe replies, genuinely glad to see him.

topper's mom stands just a foot away, carrying her purse and looking utterly uninterested in the interaction, her gaze flicking off to the side as if she’s assessing the other patrons. she’s never been a fan of rafe, just barely tolerating him because he comes from a good family, and it shows in the way she avoids direct eye contact.

pulling away from the handshake, toppers eyes glance back toward the staircase as if expecting you to appear at any moment. “saw you and y/n come in,” he adds, “just wanted to say hi.”

rafe nods with a smile as he leans back against the bar, one elbow resting casually on the counter. he glances at topper’s mom. “hey, cynthia,” he says, flashing her a grin.

her expression shifts from indifference to surprise, and then it hardens, almost offended by the casual familiarity. she’s always been the type to keep her distance from him, and rafe knows it. to her, he’s still just another troublemaker, another bad influence.

topper notices the slight tension and looks back to rafe, his brow furrowing slightly. “so, what’s up with y/n?” he asks, his tone casual but laced with a hint of concern.

rafe squints, his head cocking to the side as he regards topper. “what do you mean, ‘what’s up’?” he replies, his voice subtly defensive and carrying a hint of warning. “is there something wrong with her?”

topper realizes how that might sound and shakes his head quickly. “no, no, man. i just think she’s, like . . . avoiding me or something,” he clarifies, waving a hand dismissively as if trying to brush off any potential drama.

rafe chuckles, raising his glass up to his lips. “are you surprised?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at topper, the teasing tone evident. he shakes his head, a look of amusement on his face. “girls, man.”

cynthia catches the comment, her expression shifting to one of disapproval. she mutters a clipped ‘ten minutes’ to her son before leaving without a word, turning on her heel and heading toward the stairs to leaving topper there with him.

topper watches her go, feeling the weight of the awkwardness settle over him. he glances back at rafe, who is now watching the scene unfold with a smirk, clearly amused by the whole thing.

“so, what are you guys up to?” topper asks, trying to steer the conversation back to safer waters.

when you step out of the bathroom, you spot her immediately—cynthia, standing at the bottom of the stairs like she’s waiting for her son. you briefly consider turning around, maybe pretending not to notice, but it’s too late. her sharp gaze finds yours, and there’s no escaping it now.

this is great.

you adjust your posture, trying to look casual as you make your way toward the stairs, your mind racing for an excuse to cut this conversation short. the last thing you want is to get caught up with cynthia—if she’s anything like the way she was on the show, you are not open to a conversation.

but it’s like you’re trapped. her eyes lock on you, and she takes a few steps forward in those polished black heels. “y/n,” she says, and there’s a hint of something icy behind that tone, even though she’s putting on a smile.

you stop, eyebrows raising as you stand in place, trying to gauge the situation. her smile is forced, you can tell immediately, but so is yours as you mirror her expression. “cynthia, it’s so . . . nice to see you again,” you say, the words slipping out of your mouth because, well, kooks always know kooks, right? you assume this universe’s y/n has seen her before.

but as soon as the words leave your mouth, cynthia’s expression shifts—her lips purse, and her eyes narrow slightly, pulling her head back like you’ve just said something ridiculous. yep. that was wrong. completely wrong.

“last time i saw you, you were just a kid! every time you come over to my home now, it’s like you’re always sneaking around,” she remarks, her voice dripping with that fake kindness, the kind that’s so transparently bitter it almost stings.

your stomach twists. yeah, this is definitely not the conversation you wanted. “and how are your parents?” cynthia continues, her tone casual but her eyes sharp.

you wave your hand, trying to shrug it off like it’s no big deal. “they’re great! in costa rica right now, on vacation,” you respond, trying to keep things light.

but cynthia hums, her expression a little too knowing. “i heard it was a business trip?” she says, tilting her head slightly.

you clear your throat, feeling the tension grow. this woman is the worst. you’re slipping up so bad. “mix of both,” you say, your voice strained as you force another fake smile.

there’s a brief, uncomfortable silence before the two of you lean forward, laughing in that awkward, forced way where neither of you are actually amused. the laugh dies quickly, and as soon as it does, you drop the pretense, turning on your heel as you head back upstairs, feeling weird about the interaction.

you feel like you were just quizzed. and you failed.

once you’re back upstairs, you immediately catch rafe’s eye as you step into the room. he’s leaning casually against one of the tables, a glint in his eye that matches the small smirk tugging at his lips the second he spots you.

his whole demeanor shifts, but topper, who’s mid-sentence, doesn’t seem to notice right away—until he realizes rafe isn’t paying attention. topper twists around to follow his line of sight, spotting you before continuing whatever rant he was on.

rafe briefly glances back at him, half-listening, as you approach the two of them. when you get close enough, you quietly reach for rafe’s glass, bringing it to your nose to smell whatever’s left of his drink. without a word, you tilt your head back and down what’s left, swallowing with a grimace as you place the empty glass back on the table.

both boys stare at you, each reacting differently. topper furrows his brow, eyes flicking to the glass to see if there’s anything left. “what’s up with you?” he asks, confused, clearly sensing something off.

rafe, on the other hand, is looking at you with a blank expression, though there’s a hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth—because he knows. “she was definitely just talking to your mom, top,” rafe says with a knowing smile, his tone carrying just the right amount of humor to suggest that, naturally, a conversation with cynthia would drive someone to drink.

topper’s face falls slightly, but he doesn’t even argue. he just glances between the two of you in silence because he knows rafe’s probably right. with a quick check of his phone, he pushes away from the table, his energy deflating. “alright, i’ve gotta go. see you guys.”

“bye, top,” you murmur, watching as he walks off, leaving just you and rafe standing together. once topper’s out of sight, you tilt your head all the way up, meeting rafe’s gaze with a lazy, playful smile.

“you decide on where we’re going?” rafe asks, sliding an arm around you, pulling you close as he starts guiding you toward the stairs.

you hum for a long moment, trying to think, before making something up on the spot. “let’s go jet skiing,” you say, half-joking but testing the waters to see what he’d say.

rafe raises his eyebrows, a slight chuckle escaping him. “you wanna go to monty’s?” he repeats, and you assume it could be some jet ski rental place you must go to. he’s amused but surprisingly open to it. “we can go to monty’s, darlin’.”

rafe drives the two of you out to some place a mile or two away, the sign out front reading ‘montgomery’s jet ski rentals’ in bold blue letters. it’s tucked away along a small marina.

you step out of the car. it’s here that you notice the way rafe moves—a kind of quiet confidence that’s hard to ignore. he strides toward the dock with his head held high, like he’s done this a hundred times. you can’t tell if it’s because you two have apparently been here so often that he just knows his way around or if he’s just naturally this confident.

while rafe chats easily with the staff, laughing and slapping one guy on the back like they’re old friends, you find yourself preparing for the ride. you slip into a life vest, adjusting the straps so it fits snugly.

then you’re stepping onto the dock, the jet ski bobbing gently in the water. rafe climbs on first, settling into the front seat, and turns back to offer you his hand. you take it, letting him guide you into place behind him, and then you wrap your arms around his waist. it feels natural, like you’re meant to be there, holding onto him like this.

and, god, the thought hits you—this is probably a dream for hundreds, maybe thousands of people. to be on a jet ski with drew starkey, any version of him, arms wrapped around his waist, close enough to feel the warmth of his back.

it’s a little surreal, and you can’t help but feel grateful for this weird fucking alternate universe you’re in. being a kook, being rafe cameron’s girlfriend, living out days like this—you could get used to it. you could live like this forever.

rafe glances forward, that cocky smirk barely visible at the corner of his lips. without looking back at you, he mutters, “hold on.” and before you have a chance to reply, he twists the throttle, and the jet ski leaps forward, tearing across the water. your arms instinctively tighten around his waist as the engine roars, and you feel the force of the speed pushing you back slightly.

your eyes widen as you’re propelled across the open water. the jet ski skims over waves. you can barely keep from laughing as the wind whips through your hair. it’s fast—so much faster than you expected—and your heart is beating more than ever.

rafe steers you two in wide, looping turns and tight figure-eights, shouting the loudest, most carefree ‘woo!’ that you think you’ve ever heard. his voice carries over the hum of the engine and the slap of the waves, his laughter echoing as you cling on, a laughing mess yourself.

as the jet ski finally begins to slow, you let your chin rest on his back, just near his shoulder so you can look out ahead. you’re both breathing heavily from the ride, and he’s still grinning, clearly thrilled by his own reckless route. he isn’t heading anywhere specific, just weaving around, but that’s what makes it even better. there’s no destination—just you, him, and the freedom of open water.

“wanna take over?” rafe calls out, and you laugh, thinking he’s kidding. but when he glances back over his shoulder, you catch his expression and feel your own smile falter, realizing he’s dead serious.

next thing you know, you’re seated in front, fingers gripping the throttle while rafe sits behind you, holding on with that unshakeable grin of his. the jet ski jolts forward as you try to get the hang of the controls, and you immediately feel the panic rise, the machine moving faster than you expected.

“rafe, i don’t know what i’m doing!” you shout over your shoulder, but rafe’s only response is laughter.

“just go easy on the throttle,” he says, half-shouting and half-laughing as you attempt to steer. but the jet ski wobbles, veering off a bit too quickly, and your grip slips.

“rafe!” you yell, barely keeping control as he’s practically doubled over behind you, finding the whole thing hysterical. he tries to guide you through it, but it’s impossible to listen when you’re both shouting and laughing, the jet ski zigzagging across the water.

but it slows. he wants to teach you properly.

you feel rafe's hands slip over yours, his fingers resting gently against yours as he takes control of the throttle from behind. his touch is firm but relaxed, guiding your grip as he leans in close, his breath warm against your ear. “steady now,” he murmurs. “ease it forward like this, yeah?”

you nod. his voice is a steady hum as he talks you through it. “just a little pressure here,” he says, pressing lightly against the throttle. “see? easy.” his fingers guide yours over the controls until you can feel how each movement changes the jet ski’s pace.

after a minute or two, he lets you take over, his hands staying in place to catch you if needed, but he’s not pushing or pulling anymore. you start to feel it, understanding the rhythm of the throttle and how to steer, and rafe just chuckles.

“that’s my girl,” he says, patting his hand on the spot between your thigh and hip, sending a flutter through you as his hand settles back around you.

a grin stretches across your face, and before you know it, you’re letting out a loud scream that echoes across the water as you pick up speed, trusting yourself more with every second. you’re moving faster, the wind whipping past, and for a moment you feel invincible.

when you decide to slow down, you ease off the throttle, leaning back just enough to press into rafe’s chest. you feel his laugh rumble against you. it makes you smile as you let out a breathy laugh of your own. then, you’re off again, speeding forward with rafe’s steadying hands nearby, the two of you gliding over the waves like you were born to do this together.

you’re both sitting across from each other at a little table outside a bayside café. you pick up your sandwich and take a big, satisfying bite, eyes rolling back with a muffled oh my god because it's just that good.

you didn’t realize how hungry you were until now. you lean your head back, savoring the taste, a content sigh escaping as you sit up again, still chewing, and glance at rafe across the table.

he’s got his phone out, scrolling with his eyebrows furrowed, the lines on his forehead deepening behind his sunglasses. he’s squinting slightly, or maybe he’s just annoyed by whatever’s on the screen. you pause mid-bite, lowering your sandwich slightly before asking, “you okay?”

rafe clears his throat, not looking at you just yet, and clicks his phone off. he flips it over on the table, his hand rubbing down the front of his shorts like he’s brushing something off. “yeah, all good,” he says, reaching for his own food, voice casual, but there’s a tension you can sense from his reaction.

it doesn’t add up, but you decide not to push it. you’ve learned when to give him space, and right now, you’re way more into this sandwich than trying to open up that conversation.

you take another bite, glancing around at the scene in front of you as you chew. it’s a perfect day, bay glistening in the sunlight, people passing. by with relaxed smiles, stopping in at shops or heading toward the water. montgomery’s rentals is right across the street, jet skis and kayaks lining the dock.

rafe leans back in his chair, “dad’s finally starting to trust me to, like, step into his position at the company.” he pauses for a beat, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “he’s flying out of state next week, and he’s leavin’ me in charge while he’s gone.”

you just stare at him, a faint smile tugging at your lips without even realizing it. you can feel the pride in your expression as you tell him, “rafe, that’s really good. i’m proud of you.”

he grins wider, clearly trying to play it cool, and then takes a massive, messy bite of his sandwich. he chews with the gusto of someone who thinks a bite is a whole experience, sauce smearing slightly at the corner of his mouth.

you reach over instinctively, dabbing at the corner of his mouth with a napkin and tossing it back down on the table before going back to your sandwich like it’s second nature.

he swallows and continues, “he hasn’t really told me much, but i figure he’s got some new properties lined up, maybe working out deals or, like, finalizing stuff with investors. you know how he is.”

“yeah, that sounds like ward,” you say, taking another bite, your eyes never leaving him.

“so he’s gonna give me this schedule,” he adds, “a ‘run-down’ or whatever, of what i’ll need to cover. probably sit at the office, sign some stuff, and meet with clients or partners who can’t be pushed off until he’s back.”

“sounds pretty official,” you say, trying to imagine rafe at a desk, talking clients through real estate deals like he was born for it. “do you know what kind of properties he’s working on?”

he shrugs, a small smirk still lingering as he speaks. “knowing him? probably something big—new development or another investment property he wants to secure. he’s been hinting at something ‘game-changing’, like some waterfront project.”

you hum thoughtfully. “so you’ll be doing the groundwork? like, maybe even closing a deal?”

“yeah, maybe,” he says, sounding a little impressed with himself. “i’ll actually get to see if i can handle it.”

it's nice to see rafe so eager to step up, to take on something this big, probably just to prove himself to his dad. he always acts so casual about the family business, but there’s a spark in his eyes today, and you think . . . he can maybe handle being ward cameron for a week.

you just hope you can stay here long enough to see him prove it.

he’s finishing his sandwich, wiping his mouth with a crumpled napkin, and suddenly he’s looking right at you. “oh, yeah—did you ever tell me how that call went with your mom?”

it takes you a second. right, that call with your mom. you remember mentioning it to sarah, but rafe? he still doesn’t even know you hung out with sarah and the others while he was off fishing with ward.

“oh, yeah,” you say, smiling as if the thought just occurred to you. “it was fine. nice to hear from her, i guess. i miss them.” you shrug, playing it casual. but the truth is, you kind of do.

rafe nods, shifting his empty plate and leaning back in his chair, still watching you as he says, “that’s good. i mean, you get so wrapped up in life on the island, it’s easy to go a while without catching up.”

he talks on, making small comments about family and how he totally gets it, but as you sit there, nodding occasionally, your mind is somewhere else entirely.

you almost forgot about that call with your ‘in-this-universe mom.’ it seems so strange—no, it’s stranger that you forgot about it at all. and dad . . . right, your i.t.u. dad was there, too, wasn’t he?

wait . . what?

you feel a slight prickle of discomfort, shifting in your seat as you try to catch every third word rafe’s saying, but really, your mind is circling back to that call.

dad. mom. two words, so familiar. but why are they slipping through your fingers, blurring just a bit?

you force yourself to remember something about them, to pull up a memory, clear as day.

oh! like that one time you and mom spent the whole afternoon baking, sugar and flour coating every surface in the kitchen . . . and dad was there, wasn’t he? but what did he do? your chest tightens, just slightly, and you fidget with your napkin.

okay, try again.

dad. right. he was . . . wait, no, he was definitely there—no, he was doing something.

and then, just like that, the memory clicks into place. right, he’d taken one look at the mess you and mom made, then grabbed the dog and headed out, calling back that he’d be home ‘once the tornado’s over,’ and you and mom laughed.

you exhale, relief washing over you, but there’s still a flicker of something unsettling. why couldn’t you remember that right away?

you try another memory, to reassure yourself. dad did this, mom did that. you’re sifting through so many small, precious fragments, but there’s something strange about each one, something hollow.

the parents you remember—your parents—were so vivid before. but as you replay these memories in your head, they feel softer, blurred at the edges. somehow, they seem more like your parents here—the way they’re talking, laughing, looking at you with the same expressions as your i.t.u. parents.

your stomach twists, realization beginning to dawn, but you can’t even hold onto what that realization is. the longer you stay in this world, the harder it seems to be to grasp what was real and what was . . . this.

are you forgetting your memories?

authors note: okay poor execution LMAO but i know if i was y/n, i wouldve wanted to stay in this universe but we cant have that, so essentially the conflict / the thing that makes her work harder to solve all the relationships in this life for obx!y/n is that shes losing her memories from her real life the longer shes there.

does that make sense?? 😭 like she cant have her cake n eat it too, she can only have one lifetimes memories, her real ones or the ones that belong to the y/n who lives in this universe. makes her work faster to get back to her world so she doesnt feel like she can stay !!

tags: @v2los @cosmixstar @meeuhsworld @lovdrew @lilithblackkk @rovckwells @cherrylooney @iissza @namelesslosers @cocolovey @rafeyswrd @odairtrqsh @gretag13 @vivian-555 @lunaleah @smol-coffee-addict @twinge-vix @drewsephrry @behindviolettwrites @avngrssckr @stonerroadbull @cali-888 @coquettajob @simpingcorner @nymphetkoo @pinkpantheris @ilyrafe @romaescapes @thereallifebambi @inaluvrsworld @rafesweetie @faephoria @solo-pitstop-vibes @my-fabulousness-has-arrived @sgecorrow @rafesgiirl @ravisinghs-wife @booksntings @tinyfairies @maybankslover @honeyluvsatj @darleneslane @alysaaaa444 @w4nnabeurs @thewrittenpodcast @watersquirtpewpewboomm @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @benbarneslut @illicit-affcirs @helo1281917 ++

[endereies]

THOUGHT YOU WERE MINE - CS

No Nut November - Day 5

NNN Masterlist...

-➤ When Chris was finally ready for a relationship with you, it was too late

Your situation with Chris was complicated to say the least. You had been running around with his for the past few months, sneaking off during parties and events. You loved the risk between getting caught with someone who was only meant to be your best friend. But it never stayed that way.

At first you sought out Chris’ attention in the midst of a drunken decision, yet as time went on, you found yourself seeking his frame in the crowd as soon as you arrived. It was stupid, you were aware of that. Chris never did commitment, that he made clear. Countless conversations spiralled around the idea if you two and what you both wanted.

You had thought you could escape the pain of falling for someone you couldn’t have. As soon as your heart clenched when he complimented you, you knew it was over. That feeling only grew and even if in the moment you felt like the only girl he’d ever look at, it was a lie. It didn’t help that when you snuck off with him, it wasn’t always for sex. Occasionally you’d find his hand tangled in yours while the concrete steps lay below you. Sounds of the party called the pair of you back. You always ignored it.

He'd steal the odd kiss from you, in front of people and never batted an eye. The two of you would be dragged into the stage by the other to your favourite songs and you never care how you looked when you were with him.

Those moments made him question how he felt about you, seeing your vibrant smile as you danced with your friends. Or the way you’d laugh without a care in the world. Little did you know he was falling too. He hated it.

Chris was open about his commitment issues to you. He wasn’t someone who was immediately happy getting into a relationship, the whole idea intimidated him. Having a label felt too immediate for him, and after being hurt in a previous relationship it was easy to see why. The fact he was falling for you was already enough to throw him off course, he just couldn’t turn away.

The way you both felt wasn’t subtle. Your friends always giggled when they noticed the smudged makeup that was lining your lips. No matter how many times you v denied the accusations of you two dating, the butterflies in your stomach became obvious.

That was until you confronted Chris about everything.

“Hey Chris...? Vulnerability filled you as soon as the words left your mouth. Quick glances around the room failed to aid you in finding anything else to converse about. His hand stilled from your hip, the touch burning your skin. “Mm? What’s up?”

You hadn’t even said anything to him, and you already felt sick in your stomach. Is this how every confession goes? “Can we talk…about us?”

“What about us Y/n?” You could tell he was getting concerned, yet not out of fear, but the fact he’d have to repeat himself again.

“I don’t want this anymore…like, I don’t know. I guess I don’t want to act like this is all casual anymore.” His touch on your hip no longer burned as it withdrew completely.

“I’ve told you, I’m not into that shit Y/n. We agreed on that, you knew. I’m not meant to be in a relationship, especially with you. That shit would hurt the both of us. We talked about this, end of.”

Tears brimmed at your eyes, and you felt so childish. He was right. You had discussed this more than once, the rules were clear. Weren’t rules meant to be broken. You couldn’t believe that you could be so stupid, the false hope from your friends fed into things that shouldn’t have been touched.

“Right…Well maybe I should go.” He didn’t protest, or even acknowledge you leave. Asking you to stay felt like too much to him, even if every cell argued with him.

The door shutting felt too real. You had actually left, this wasn’t a prank? Chris’s gaze was held on the door, praying you’d push it open and walk back through. You never did.

You quietly left through the front door and walked away from the porch, both your hands in your pockets. You were thankful for the dark sky, that way no one could see your tears. It was too quick, to reactive. It felt scripted hearing those words from him. ‘I’m not meant to be in a relationship, especially with you’

With you…

Maybe if you were someone else, he’d be more willing to hold your hand and call you his. He would always step in and call you ‘his girl’ when any other guy got a little to close to him. For once you wished it wasn’t a ploy. Chris never played you, never treated you badly, never gave you a reason to walk away. Maybe that’s why it hurt so much, he was too perfect.

Steady weeks went by with no contact from you. You never came over to his place anymore, invitations to parties remained unread. He didn’t care, he shouldn’t. What was this weird feeling in his chest.

It hurt seeing you so close and yet so far. Your contact was there, staring him in the face. Your face beaming in the profile picture wasn’t helping him. Chris felt out of place now. Without you by his side he had no one to kiss, no one to hold. He had no one to rant about his day to, no one to console when things got bad. His friends weren’t the same, he needed you. As much as he hated to admit it, all his thoughts revolved around you more than ever. Whenever he used to think about you, his heart clenched with resolute admiration towards you, now it felt sour. It was like a deep breathe wasn’t deep enough, distractions weren’t fulfilling enough.

He hated the feeling of falling for you, but the feeling of losing you was a nauseating sensation he wanted to scratch off his skin.

Not even alcohol could wipe the stain of you, nothing was working. He waited too long and fell comfortable to the casualness of your relationship. He was willing, willing to work through any fears if it meant getting you back.

Before he knew it, his front door was locked, and footsteps disappeared into the night. Stars began to light the sky above him. He found himself wondering if you were looking at them too, like you used to. The walk was only 15 minutes away but each second felt too long. he had waited too long. Now he hurt someone he cared about for his own selfishness.

When Chris turned the corner, his body stilled, and his stomach dropped to his feet. An unfamiliar car was parked outside your house, tilted against the concrete. Your hand placed gently into another’s as they pulled you from the car. You inched closer towards them, yet Chris remained frozen. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. Who was he, why was he here, with you.

The voices were too meek for Chris to make out, yet the message was clear. It was evident when the distance between you two close, his lips softly touching yours.

Only then could Chris turn his eyes away, he felt betrayed without reason. Chris wasn’t ready and when he finally was, he pushed you away enough to move on.

Yet, he loved you first.

@melliflws @yuhayeee @st7rnioioss @sturn-bugz @bueckerrss @worldlxvlys @raysmayhem-72 @patscorner @y0urm4m @bernardsbendystraws @junnniiieee07 @luverboychris @jnkvivi @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @shorthairchris @colorthecosmos444 @anabethinking @zay-sturns @anyaa2s @emilyfaith2003 @jassturn @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @sturniolosiphone @ribread03

© ENDEREIES 2024

[kirozai]

—HSR YANDERES AS TROPES.

Forced Proximity? Soulmates..? Amenesia! Common tropes that always end up happy! Your favorite characters love you so so much! But.. is it in the way you want?...

content warnings: yandere, toxic love, unreliable narrator, descriptions of gore, unrealistic relationships, unwanted PDA, depressive elements, suggestive, gn!reader (maybe ideas for makeup but most of the part is gn) pairing(s): sunday x reader, blade x reader, aventurine x reader, jing yuan x reader word count: around 350-500 each, 2100+ words in all A/N: I got a tiny bit carried away

Aventurine - Amnesia

WHAT’S PLAYING: engravings - Ethan Bortnick

Your eyes are blinded by the casino lights. The sound of chips being thrown and cards being shuffled fills your ears. Things feel so familiar, but at the same time, completely foreign. You turn your eyes to your lover. At least you think he’s your lover.

Two weeks ago you woke up in the dead of night on a hospital bed feeling numb from your head to the tips of your toes. The hospital lights were blinding making you feel dreary. You slowly regained movement by wiggling your fingertips and finally being able to sit up on the comfortable bed. As you gazed around the room you felt shocked to see gold engravings on the trim of the walls. It’s obvious it was a hospital, but it felt too expensive.

And you? You felt out of place.

A nurse walked into your room with a pan of what seemed like a new IV bag and other things like syringes and such. She turned wide-eyed and gasped as she suddenly dropped the pan of expensive medical equipment. You couldn’t make out what she said as she mouthed something out loud. The drowsiness hit you and you passed out.

The next time you woke up to a man sitting beside your bed in the most luxurious clothes you ever laid eyes on. He looked worried, very worried. Realizing you woke up once again his Avgin eyes-

Wait Avgin?...

“Sweetheart! You’ve been out for months. How are you feeling? Is there any pain? How… Can…?” He spoke quickly but after the first couple of sentences, his words faded into mush.

He called you sweetheart though, you deduced he was someone close to you. Someone that must have cared for you. 

But then why do you feel-

Cutting your thoughts you paused. Thinking was causing you too much pain and headache at the moment. You tried to recall what happened. 

And at that moment you realize you couldn’t even recall who you were.

After some time of recovery, you were able to get a couple of things down. The handsome man’s name was Aventurine. He is your lover. (?) You two have been together for quite some time now. You were diagnosed with severe amnesia, but your lover was kind enough to explain everything to you. Although, he was still hesitant to explain what happened to you and the reason why you were in the hospital.

You tried to get something out of the many doctors and nurses, but they seemed… scared.

Aventurine never left your side when other people were around. It was either you and him or no one at all. Leaving you lost and not being able to truly be clear about your condition. Everything went through Aventurine. 

One day during your walk around the large hospital, Aventurine got a call. He looked at it and furrowed his eyebrows, smiled at you, said it was an urgent call, apologized, and left for a brief moment. 

You dragged your IV stand a couple of steps more and abruptly stopped in your tracks as you overheard a pair of nurses talk about… you?

“IPC… they… lies… Aventurine… hiding.” Those were the only few words you were able to make out.

It no longer mattered though because Aventurine’s bright smile found you again and you walked back to your room first. If only you could see the piercing glare that he sent to the nurses. He wouldn’t know what to do if you heard about the fates of them after spreading lies to your pretty head.

After the recovery, you settled in enough to “your life”. Now you sit next to your lover whose luck shines more vibrant than a newborn baby’s laughter. You feel content for the most part.

I wonder if you would still feel content if you were able to take a good look past Aventurine’s perfect poker face. While you sleep he watches you worriedly, wondering if you’ll remember one day. Remember that this perfect love story he crafted isn’t so perfect after all. He wonders how you would react if you were to find out again the atrocities he’s committed in the name of “love”. He holds his chips tightly, but luck has always been on his side.

So tonight like any other night, you’ll smile with no idea of what had occurred in the past. At the end of the day, occasionally it is better to live unaware.

•••

Jing Yuan - Grumpy x Sunshine

WHAT'S PLAYING: Carousel - Melanie Martinez

The Luofu General was known for his joyous laughter and the positivity that he spread throughout the entire planet. He joked and was an infectious smiler. You on the other hand were known as the Yin to his Yang. If Jing Yuan was the sun, you were his moon. It’s adorable on paper, isn’t it?

You do nothing less than agree with the fact that your husband Jing Yuan was very positive. The reason why differed from others though. 

You believed the reason he was so happy was because he sucked every smile, every laugh out of you. 

Your story was the average fairytale, opposite attracts and then they fall in love. The End.

Unfortunately for you, Jing Yuan was anything but ordinary, and maybe that played a part in your perfect tragedy. 

Jing Yuan loved you. You knew that for sure. He had always been a PDA person, always close to you and you would most likely be seen dead than without his arm around your waist. It wasn’t a big deal though. This is what lovers usually do right?

Until you tried to back away. Things got… messy. 

Arguments ensued and you realized that he never really treated you as an equal. He loved you, yes, but he viewed you as lesser and somehow put you on a pedestal at the same. exact. time.

“You don’t respect me.” You stated firmly.

“But I love you.” He replied as if nothing was wrong.

You never thought your husband to be a jealous person and truly he was not. The possessiveness is what got you through.

It began small from making excuses on why you shouldn’t go out,

“It’s my day off!” or “It might rain soon.” Both are lazy excuses you’ve heard again and again. Yet you still seemed to fall again and again for his sunshine charms and wits.

You were the perfect lover to Jing Yuan, loving, kind, and malleable to believe whatever he wanted you to believe.

At some point after the large argument you two shared, you didn’t remember the last time when you had left the estate. 

You felt stuck, stuck on a carousel that kept going around and around and stuck trying to read between the lines of Jing Yuan’s perfect facade. If you caught him at the wrong time you wouldn’t see him for days and when he would return he would haphazardly apologize with the stupidest excuses. 

You never raised your voice anymore after THAT argument though. You were too scared to. So even when he scratches his name into your skin, even if he hugs you so tightly to the point that you feel like your lungs are collapsing, you find excuses for him. For yourself. To make this entire relationship work

Because you love him.

And you don’t not what scares you more anymore. The slight warning in his tone and the ever-present toxicity seeping its way into your originally “perfect” marriage. 

Or.

The fact you’ll still stay even if it gets worse.

Why?

Because you love him.

•••

Blade - Forced Proximity.

WHAT’S PLAYING: This is Love - Black Box

There’s blood on the walls, the floors, and even on the couch. Anything you’ve been able to find you’ve smashed onto the ground. Your hands are covered in blood. No worries to Blade though. He sits on the couch covered in the blood of a man. Your eyes flicker to the dead body right in front of you. The now dead man who tried to help you escape from this prison Blade oh so lovingly calls “your” home to no avail.

Blade’s red eyes stare into the distance of space. Perhaps he’s wondering what he should do next for your transgressions. Perhaps he is wondering what he can do to make you smile again. Or maybe, he doesn’t care. Maybe he finds happiness and contentedness in your suffering. After all, a being who is forever stricken by mara might find peace in others' pain. 

But.

Past this mara-stricken being is a man who does have some semblance of love for you. Blade knew your every like and dislike. He would trail kisses up your neck and on your lips. You’d joke together. You both were disgustingly domestic at times. At least that’s what appeared. Loving Blade wasn’t difficult when every moment you breathed you were near him. 

You wear outfits perfectly fitted to your style sponsored by your self-proclaimed lover himself. Anything you want you’ll get. Jewels, clothing, books, anything you could ever desire. It’s nothing but pocket money for the Stellaron Hunter. 

Your mascara has been smudged after all the tears. Your sniffles fill up the room, you look at your palms. Hands covered in scratches and blisters from broken glass and accidental burns. You don’t have to worry though, Blade will patch it all up for you. This situation will fade into the past just like all the others. Your head peaks again at the dismembered and maimed body on the floor. You stop breathing yet again. You shut your eyes and open them once again when you feel a warm breath on your neck. 

It’s Blade, you can tell that the mara had warned off him. He tightens his arms around your body and somehow pulls you closer than he ever did before in your “relationship”. You blink once again as a tear rolls down your cheek and pray to any Aeon out there for help. Despite this, you're well aware it’s no use. There’s no place in the universe where Blade won’t find you. So you close your eyes to hum a broken chord as you prepare for the cycle to begin again.

•••

Sunday - Soulmates

WHAT’S PLAYING: Butch 4 Butch - Rio Romeo

Fairytale love stories where the prince and the princess lived happily ever after were something that you grew up with on your home planet. As you grew up though, “soulmates” left your mind. Other things like making credits and exploring the galaxies were more on your agenda than finding “true love”.

True love was a fairytale. Something that didn’t exist and that’s what you stood by ever since.

Ever since your planet was destroyed by its inhabitants. If people couldn’t love the homes they lived in how could they ever love one another?

You enjoyed travel, you enjoyed learning about other planets, cultures, and people. You didn’t have time for the nonexistent love. Though you enjoyed hearing the stories of it. You’ve met others who found their “soulmates”, their one and only blessed by the Aeons themselves. 

On your travel across the world, you stumbled on Penacony, The Planet of Dreams and Entertainment. The perfect and endless days are what brought you in the most. You could be there for days on end but turn out to only spend a couple of hours outside in the “real world”.

Real world huh?

You think you miss the real world a little bit. 

“Are the pastries not to your liking love?” Sunday inquires.

“They’re… fine.” You reply.

Sunday smiles. You don’t know what it means though. He smiles at everything, he smiles at gatherings, at your laughter, and even at the tears you desperately try to hold in. He thinks of you as something to be protected, something that should be kept safe in a cage, away from the tainted lies of others.

Everything feels uncomfortable, from the moment you met Sunday you felt an odd gravitational pull towards him. It was truly as if he was your soulmate. 

Except,

Something begged you to run away, something deep in the back of your soul. It all went away when you laid eyes on him though. 

You wish you listened to your fight AND flight response.

Everything you wear is coordinated by the Head of the Oak Family. From the tiniest detail to your entire personality. Sunday is a firm believer that only the true you can come out behind closed doors, with locks only he has access to. His mansion was the perfect enrichment for a now flightless bird like you. 

Perhaps the fairytales were somewhat true. The prince and the princess always seemed to stay forever together.

[lovscb97]

tags: park sunghoon x fem!reader, established relationship, size kink, strength kink, bulge kink, d/s dynamics, dom!sunghoon x sub!reader, unprotected sex (plz don’t), breeding kink, creampie, dirty talk, degradation (slut, whore), praise kink?, nicknames (baby, princess, angel, hoonie, etc), slight fluff, lowkey pwp, reader is described to be shorter than hoon and is easy to pick up/throw around, reader is also very down bad for him (aren’t we all), etc

wc: 2.67k

add. notes: hoon won the poll i put out so i present to u my first ever enha work :3 thank u very much to everyone who voted n this will def not be the last enha fic i put out so do not worry there is much to come for hyung line!!! also icon creds to @/v4mpjay :3

. . . 

sunghoon doesn’t know how much longer he can take this. 

it all started when he began going to the gym regularly, slowly bulking his figure up and feeling himself grow out in his clothes. what used to be his lanky frame that greeted him in the mirror gradually turned into a built man with lean muscles and sharper features, adding to what was already there initially. it wasn’t like this wasn’t what he wanted though, albeit the entire reason why he even started working out in the first place being to improve his health and build better habits for himself, but the outcome wasn’t too bad in itself. he got used to feeling stronger, more lighter on his feet or less out of breath when he climbed the stairs, and it was enjoyable to know that he could lift twice his weight and still feel good as new. in some way, things felt like they were going swell.

that is, until you came into the picture.

now, sunghoon’s always known that you’re small compared to him. even when standing side by side, his height next to yours is a little laughable, though he supposes you’re used to that considering you’ve always been shorter than most of your peers. he’s well aware of how you have to go on your tippy-toes when you guys kiss, and the soft feel of your little hands in his is something that spins in his mind constantly when your fingers lace together. it doesn’t help that you always ask him to fetch your favourite mug from the top cabinet too, his larger physique towering over yours each time he leans over from behind you. he likes to tease you about it, revelling in the way you pout cutely back at him whenever he makes fun of you jokingly despite the small smile playing at your lips, but little do you know about the twisted fantasies breaching his thoughts every moment you spend together. he wonders if you would be disgusted? would you dump him and tell all your friends about what a creepy loser he was? sunghoon can’t help but imagine the worst case scenario, and it would be easy to bury these emotions down the hatchet had it not been for the fact that he’s started to think he is going mad too. 

every time sunghoon comes home from the gym, every time he enters your shared apartment, sweat dripping down his forehead and his water-bottle empty, he swears on his dead grandmother that you start checking him out. it doesn’t help that he's always been attentive either, always needlessly easy at picking up the cues of your discomfort when you're outside in a social space for too long, or being able to tell instantly when you're anything other than the happy go lucky girlfriend he usually sees you as. so, when your lingering gaze begins to trail across his arms a little too long whenever he passes your shared bedroom on his way to the shower, or when your mouth opens and closes to swallow before you're pressing your thighs together subtly each time he moves to wipe himself down each time he’s home— it all sparks something in him. it told him to finally, finally indulge in the nasty thoughts he’s kept tucked away to himself once and for all.

except he doesn’t. because at the end of the day, sunghoon is a gentleman. he pulls open the doors for you with nonchalance written all over him despite his burning ears, and he brings you back your memorised coffee order alongside a few sweet treats when he knows you’re on your period. he holds you close when you’re asleep in bed together, rubbing a gentle thumb against the skin of your cheek because he’s aware that’s what it takes for you to fall asleep, and makes sure you know he’s always going to be there for you in any time of need, even if he’s a thousand miles away. he’s never once made you doubt him, never once given you any reason to suspect he could be anything beyond the perfect, storybook written boyfriend he’s always been. 

until today, at least.

it was a day like any other, a day where you wouldn’t have expected things to take the turn they took at all. you and sunghoon were tangled up in your lavender sheets with your leg thrown over his, the morning sun streaming through the beige curtains you’d picked out on your ikea date together, and no alarms were intact to disturb you as it was the weekend. that’s probably why you both found yourselves in your current situation, your mouths meeting sloppily for short kisses and your boyfriend’s cock buried to the hilt inside you, thrusting ever so gently every other second as he whispered sweet praises to you between the meshing of your lips. the only sounds heard beyond the chirping of the birds outside your window were your soft moans and his low grunts, alongside the quiet noises of your slick dragging against his dick.

“fuck, baby. you feel so good.” sunghoon mumbles, pressing gentle smooches along the skin of your chin and jaw. you reply back something unintelligible, too lost in the euphoria he’s providing you to even form a coherent answer, which only makes him chuckle. he pulls back to admire your figure underneath him, a smile spreading across his lip at the sight of you laid out oh so pretty and pliant just for him. for him. all for his use. his use and his use only. the eventual thought makes his cock twitch inside you, and sunghoon momentarily slows down his movements in fear he’ll accidentally lose control of himself and fuck you into the sheets. his loss of momentum causes you to whine out loud though, large doe eyes blinking up at him in wonder, almost as if asking what happened, which does not make your boyfriend’s job any easier.

“hoonie, faster.” you beg softly, one hand coming up to grip his shoulder as the other bundles up the duvet underneath you. “please, wan’ it so bad.” sunghoon feels like his resolve is on the brink of snapping at your words, and he quickly resumes his previous pace (albeit still slower than what you wanted but better nonetheless) with gritted teeth, trying to think of something, anything that would distract him from the realisation of how fucking small you look under him, or how soft your hand feels resting on his skin. it doesn’t help that the sounds spewing from your lips are so cute, only spurring him on further to do what he longs to. 

“yeah, angel? want it faster? want hoonie to fuck you deeper?” he groans out instead, biting his lip at the sight of you nodding almost instantly to his words. your hole clenches even tighter around him as he speaks to you, and he shudders at the sensation. “shit, don’t do that, princess. might cum too quickly.” he exhales shakily, confused when you shake your head. “don’t care. cum f’me. wanna feel it, please.” you plead almost instantly without thinking, sunghoon’s eyes darkening as the request leaves your mouth. his pace comes to an immediate halt after that, and you make a noise of complaint at the loss of pleasure in your lower region, legs kicking up slightly in protest as you eye your boyfriend who’s currently trying to compose himself above you.

“don’t.. don’t say stuff like that.” sunghoon sighs, eyes closed shut as you cock your head to the side. you’re about to ask him why when he speaks up again. “i won’t be able to hold myself back if you do.” he professes darkly, opening his orbs back up to look deep into yours, his smouldering gaze making you shiver. you involuntary tighten around him at his confession, and he hisses at the feeling, head snapping to look down at you and the blush spreading across your cheeks. 

“i-i don’t.. don’t want you to hold back.” you mutter whilst looking away meekly before he can even comment on your actions. you meet his stare again after a beat of silence, but there’s something dark and sinister swimming in it now, and by the time you can even process what it is, he’s suddenly sheathing himself back into your warm walls, plowing into you with a heightened pace as if this is the last time he’ll ever get to fuck you. your moans tumble out of your mouth before you can even stop them, and you swear you hear sunghoon growl at the way you keen from his movements. 

“yeah? don’t want me to hold back? want me to absolutely destroy this wet cunt with my cock? ruin it for everybody else and mould it to the shape of my dick?” he grunts, a smirk spread across his face as you wildly nod at his words. “what, too fucked out to speak now, baby? where’s that confidence from before, hm?” you whimper at his condescending tone, the noise travelling straight to his core as he curses, continuing to plunge himself deep into you. the tip of his cock brushes against that spongey spot inside you, and you cry out when he angles his thrusts to hit it each time he drives inside your pussy. 

“who knew you were such a slut, huh baby? tell me, how long have you wanted me to spread you open and fuck you like i hated you?” sunghoon pants, tongue lolling out to lick at the sweat gathering on your neck. “s-so long, hoonie!” you mewl in response, eyes rolling to the back of your head when he bites down on your skin. “wanted you to— hnng, wanted you to bend me over and throw me around so bad!” sunghoon laughs breathlessly at your answer. 

“yeah, pretty? want me to use my big arms and toss you onto the bed? you should’ve told me sooner that you were such a whore.” you clench at the degrading name, and sunghoon almost stumbles into you at the sudden jolt of shock. “would’ve done everything you wanted me to. wanted it just as bad as you, did ya know that?” he grits out, pace unrelenting and unforgiving as he proceeds to pound into you. “you’re so fucking small, baby. makes me so goddamn hard every time i think about it. just want to, oh fuck— want to hold you down and make you take it.” 

“do it! do it, hoonie, please do it! make me take it, i wan’ take it for you.” you sob, and sunghoon physically feels the last of his self restrain break in half. he’s far too fucked out now to go back to his old ways, far too gone in the dizziness of making you feel good. his only goal now is to make you cum violently around him, and he’ll stop at nothing to achieve that. “gonna do it, baby. just wait, gonna fuck you so dumb, you’ll be begging me to stop.” he pauses momentarily to grab at the plush of your thigh and tosses your leg over his shoulder, resuming his past actions in the blink of an eye as you cry out at the change. he hits deeper, more harsh this way, and you swear you can feel him battering your cervix with each thrust delivered to your abused cunt.

“fuck, look at that.” sunghoon laughs in disbelief, his eyes fixed on the slightly evident bulge of his cock thrusting in and out of you in your stomach. “taking my cock so well, princess. you gonna cum for me soon, yeah? gonna cum for hoonie and make a mess of me?” he coos at the way you’re drooling, swiping a thumb up to wipe at the spit leaking out of your mouth before sucking it off, the visual of it only making you whine even more. by now, the bed is stained with your leaking arousal, but neither of you care, especially not when he involuntarily moves his hand to press down on your stomach. his movements only cause you to double over in pleasure, and before either of you know it, you’re shaking through an orgasm, thrashing and wailing as tears stream down your face.

“shit, shit, shit! that’s so hot, oh fuck.” sunghoon moans. “you did so well, angel. did so fucking good for me, you deserve a reward, don’t you? don’t you, my baby?” he rambles, and you whine in overstimulation as his thrusts grow more frantic and misplaced when he begins chasing his own release. “get ready, princess, ‘m gonna fill you up. gonna breed you so, so good and make you take it, yeah? you’ll take it, won’t you? take it so good for me like you always do.” by this point, you’re both trembling and whining out loud, sunghoon pistoning his hips into you as he desperately fixes to cum. he can feel the pressure building up, his balls tightening with each harsh thrust he delivers inside of you, and you’re more than ready to feel him ooze out of you, encouraging words spilling from your lips.

“do it, hoonie! do it, please! make me full and fuck it back into me. i’ll take it so good, so good, please baby, please.” you’re babbling by now, too fucked out to think let alone speak, but your words seem to send sunghoon over the edge because by the time you’re even halfway through your sentence, he’s shooting ropes inside of you, painting your walls white with his seed. there’s so much of it that it almost leaks out despite his cock keeping you plugged up, and you watch his beautiful face contort in pleasure, eyebrows furrowed and eyes clenched shut as he continues filling you up. 

“fuck..” sunghoon sighs out once he’s come down from his high, looking down to grip his cock and pull it out slightly only to push it back in when your cunt gushes with his release, causing him to bite his lip at the sinful sight. you whine when he moves back into you, his large arms caging your smaller frame in as he leans down to pepper salty kisses all over your face. “my good girl.” he whispers, slightly collapsing on top of you to catch his breath. his weight on you feels comforting, almost natural as you wrap your tired arms around his back tightly, pressing your bodies together even more than they already are to feel closer and connected to him.

“i didn’t know you were into that.” sunghoon speaks up after a moment of silence, causing you to open your eyes and look at him. he moves so he’s laying on his side, cock still keeping you plugged up despite the awkward position. “into what?” he deadpans at your reaction, and you giggle. “c’mon, babe. you can’t seriously look like that and expect me to not be feral for you.” you smile, and sunghoon huffs out a laugh, spooning an arm around you as he pulls your body closer to his warm one. “still, who knew my girl was so freaky?” you swat at him, and his chest rumbles with laughter, the sound sending an odd pool of warmth flowing through your chest. you both lay there in silence after that, basking in each other’s presence and enjoying the serenity and afterglow which comes from what was quite literally the best sex of your lives. 

“i love you.” you hear sunghoon mumble suddenly, his voice drowsy as he yawns cutely, a large grin spreading on your face at the simple three words which leave him. you reach out for his hand, lacing your small fingers in it before bringing it up to your mouth and pressing a kiss to the back. “love you more, hoonie.” you sigh out in satisfaction, eyes slipping shut slowly as sleep welcomes your tired senses.

you gradually drift off, thoughts filled with sweet dreams of your boyfriend and his precious laughter. 

. . .

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! <3

[p0ckykiss]

prank gone wrong - nishimura riki

summary -> ni-ki's silly april fool's prank sends you to the hospital

-> established relationship

the prank had gone too far.

in retrospect, niki should probably have checked everything before messing around with the food.

as a result, you had to be taken to the hospital due to food poisoning and niki feels horrible now. it turns out that some of the ingredients niki used were past their due date for months and, although they smelled just fine, they were not supposed to be eaten at all.

and you, being you, didn’t check and just wolfed down what was given to you. niki’s plan for his april fool’s prank was just mixing up something that tasted bad but looked like it was good. he didn’t try it though and you ate the whole thing, saying it was not bad at all, have you been practicing? with a smile on your lips.

the result was disastrous. your friend had taken you to the hospital himself - and has just now asked niki to stay and keep you company.

as it seems, you had fallen asleep due to the nausea medicine you were given, and the doctor said you could leave as soon as you wake up since you’re all good now but it’s taking longer than expected.

“i’ll just get a taxi to the company,” he says to niki and gives him the car keys. “you drive back safely and let me know when you make it there.”

he only nods and hope the face he’s making is a thankful one because he had panicked when you suddenly stood up from the couch and ran to the bathroom ten minutes after eating the “food” he made and your friend had to step in and take the reins.

“thanks,” niki finally mumbles something but he is already gone.

niki is sitting down on a bench that’s not so far from the room you are sleeping in right now. he would’ve gone in, but he sent your friend instead. it was a shared room and only one visitor per patient was allowed, niki didn’t want to face you yet.

now he’s the one in charge and, although he wants to stall their reunion, niki stands up and takes slow steps until he’s standing in front of the door.

the nurses are taking care of the patient on the end of the room and you are still sound asleep, chest heaving up and down calmly and niki sighs in relief.

no one pays him attention and he shyly sits down on the stool placed right by your bed.

niki stares at the hand sliding down the mattress and is about to reach out when you pull it back under the bedsheets.

niki looks up to glance at your peaceful sleeping face but is met with a glare.

“were you trying to kill me?” you ask, eyes still trained on niki’s face.

“why would I try to kill you?” he stutters back at you, nervously rubbing his hands together. “i’d never do that.”

you huff.

“you were eagerly offering me what you made,” you explain and niki sighs at least twice before covering his face with both hands. “i thought you were trying to get rid of me.”

“it was supposed to be a harmless prank,” niki whispers and doesn’t dare look you in the eye. “i didn’t know the food was not good anymore and it was not aimed at you. my plan was giving it to the first person who showed up in the kitchen, it just happened to be you.”

“so it was not a targeted attack on me?” you whisper and niki looks up when he hears soft laughter. “i won’t hold it against you then.”

“i’m really sorry,” niki pouts and jumps up when he sees you are sitting up. he tries to help you up and gets his hands slapped away.

you glare at him.

“it was just food poisoning”

you leave the bed and fold the bedsheets, niki watches in silence. “it’s not like you ran over me with a car. i can walk and do things by myself just fine. i’m fine now but you’re lucky i’m not too mad right now.”

oh god, if you were bedridden because of that, niki would not hear the end of it.

in amidst his thinking, you leave niki for a second to ask something to a nurse who’s in the room and come back quickly.

“she said we can leave and that I’m dismissed,” you say solemnly, gathering your belongings that were on the small table by the bed and urging niki out of the room. “i just need to hand this clipboard at the front desk before we exit the hospital.”

you wave said clipboard in front of niki’s eyes and takes large steps out of the room and towards the front desk. you were on the ground floor, so everything was done fast, with niki only watching as you do all the talking with the staff.

“how are we going back to the apartment?” you ask as soon as you both are out of the hospital. the wind that hits your faces is cold and niki is reminded that although winter has ended, the chilly weather still remains and he shivers, buttoning his overcoat up. he turns to look at you and feels terrible because you only have a thin sweater on since you left the dorms in a rush, there was no time or space to think about grabbing a jacket for you.

without thinking, niki unbuttons his overcoat and hands it to you and earns himself a funny look from you.

“what are you doing?” you ask, brow raised, and lips pressed together in a straight line.

“trying to be a nice boyfriend after almost killing you,” niki mutters, shoving the overcoat in your hands. “your friend left us with the car but it’s parked a little far,” he starts walking in the direction he remembers it is.

they walk in silence and niki smiles to himself when he sees you have decided to wear his warm overcoat, the sky blue one he loves the most.

the car is parked five blocks from where they were and niki is rubbing his hands against his arms when they finally reach it, teeth clattering and shivering with his whole body.

“you’re an idiot,” you say before entering the vehicle, claiming the passenger’s seat.

“i’m an idiot,” niki confirms once he’s inside the car as well, sighing in relief at the lack of the cold wind but still trying to warm himself up. “are you hungry?”

you hum and put a hand under your chin.

“are you going to cook for me again? because if so, then i don’t think i’m hungry,” you say and laugh at your own words.

niki is sure his ears are red now, he feels them burning hot, but he can’t blame you for joking like that. “but if you’re going to buy something on our way to the apartment and if you’re paying, then I am hungry.”

niki sighs for the nth time and you stifle a laugh.

“are you paying or not?” you say, reaching out to hold niki’s hand that’s frozen on the steering wheel. “do you need me to drive or something?”

“you don’t even have a driver’s license,” niki replies alarmed and turns to give you a look.

“that was a trick question to make sure you’re here with me and not somewhere in your own head,” you tell niki and squeeze his hand with a smile on your lips. the smile comforts niki who was still tense, thinking about the whole incident with regret. “i hope you’re not feeling too bad about what happened.”

“i am feeling bad but,” niki laughs and finally starts the car, turning the heating on maximum and already thinking of where he can stop by for food. “i’m also feeling scared and a little threatened. please don’t get back at me for attempting to prank you.”

you burst out laughing and niki turns to look at you, a shiver runs down his spine. you have a mischievous glint in your eyes, something is brewing in that ingenious brain of yours and all niki knows is that he’s screwed.

[rafesbabygirlx]

Don’t Smile

Masterlist

Rafe x Reader Angst

Inspiration: Don’t Smile by Sabrina Carpenter

Result from this poll.

Summary: You and Rafe are both struggling with your break up. I’m much different ways. Based in end of season 1 beginning of season 2.

Neither of you wanted the breakup, but you couldn’t handle his erratic behavior any longer. You thought you’d be okay, but for three straight weeks, you lay in bed, unable to eat or find any joy. The months that followed were spent in isolation, shutting yourself off from everyone. Eventually, your friends had enough. They forced you out of bed and insisted you join them at the annual bonfire. You took a shower while they pregamed in your room, the warm water a small relief after three days without one.

You hadn’t charged your phone since the day you shut everyone out, but tonight you decided to. As you finished getting ready, you reached for your phone and your screensaver lit up—an old picture of you and Rafe, taken during happier times. You were on the beach, resting on his chest as his strong arms wrapped around you, squeezing your cheeks together in playful affection. Your heart clenched. Without thinking, you tossed your phone to your friend and asked her to delete his number.

At the bonfire, you grabbed a drink and settled onto a log with your friends. For the first time in a while, you admitted it felt good to be out, even if you had to fake your laughter. Scanning the crowd, you felt a brief moment of peace until your eyes locked on Rafe. He was laughing with his friends, the sound of it carrying over the fire. Your vision narrowed, body turning numb. When Topper shifted, you saw her—a blonde girl hanging on his arm. You knew Rafe could move on quickly, emotions never being his strong suit, but seeing it firsthand cut deeper than anything before.

Time seemed to blur as you stared, your focus broken only when you noticed Rafe looking back at you. A wave of nausea rolled over you, and without a word, you told your friends you were leaving. Before they could respond, you dropped your drink and made your way to the parking lot.

You hadn’t reached your car when you felt a familiar hand on your shoulder. “Where you going so soon, princess?” Rafe’s voice was low, almost gentle.

“Don’t touch me, Rafe.”

“I’ve been trying to call you for weeks. Your parents won’t let me see you. I needed to talk to you.”

“Please, just leave me alone. Go back to your new friend. Please.” Tears gathered at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill.

“Not if you’re not okay.” His grip on your shoulder remained firm.

“Does it make you feel better? Girl after girl? Do you numb yourself with them? Do you even think about me, about how I feel when you’re with them?”

He didn’t answer. His silence confirmed everything. The mask he wore—the pretense that everything was fine—made you sick. And from the way his jaw tightened, it was clear that it made him sick too when you shoved his arm off.

“You can keep pretending, Rafe, but I know.” You turned and walked to your car, leaving him behind as you drove away.

Reblog if you enjoyed. Support your writers.

[ccrisntok]

Your Masterminds, Whit Young, and Ace Markey! (mm! whace au)

(Spoilers lol)

what normal fellas ahahahahaha (I have poured my entire soul into these two there is nothing left of me)

A basic summary of their relationship:

Whit has spent like, over a year manipulating Ace into being complacent in his plans. In his own eyes, Ace is a sorta-stupid lacky, who he's constantly love-bombing to keep obedient. Although, he is a bit glad for the company... it was sorta empty when Ace was "dead" and they couldn't really talk. And maybe Ace almost dying from his fake execution was a bit disturbing. But he's sure its nothing! (He fell in love with him like a moron.)

Ace has fully fallen in love with Whit. He's not happy about it, but it happened. As a result, he's basically ruined any semblance of his own morality, just so he doesn't lose Whit, or the affection he knows is mostly performative. He's more than happy to kill his fuck-face classmates, after a... bit of prodding, and honestly, he'd do anything Whit asked at this point, even die. He'll still complain about it, though.

i tried to be as original as humanly possible, but I'm def giving credit to @talkativeanonymous, @acethehorseishere, and @a-blog-for-kat all for inspiring these two in one way or another (esp. a-blog-for-kat lol).

anyway there's the art, here's the promised lore. warning for like a million words. I'm serious. It's 1,400 words. you can stop here i don't blame you.

also sorry for the odd looking bullet points, didn't realize you couldn't have gaps lol!

This au operates on a probably un-canon assumption that I pulled out of my ass. That is that Mai Akasaki is both a student in the class of 27, and that she is the "time loop" student. She is usually a part of the killing game, but she isn't this time, for reasons I'll explain in a sec.

This specific loop, Mai is attempting to dissuade the (usual) mastermind from wanting to start a killing game in the first place. That mastermind is Whit Young.

She goes about this by trying to curb Whit's main reason for his descent into despair, his resounding loneliness, by giving him championship. Charles hasn't softened up to the others in any regard yet. But that wasn't the main reason, unbenouced to Mai.

In this loop, and this loop alone, Mai sets Whit and Ace up to be friends. She hopes they can help each other, since they usually end up more or less alone in their school life.

Surprisingly, it works. They get along decently well, although a codependency starts to develop on Ace's side.

Around this time, Whit takes up an internship at XF Future, which Mai doesn't realize. He innocently wants to explore other job options, "Matchmaking" not really being a stable career forever.

Obviously FX Future isn't a normal Tech Company. Whit starts to change, in a barely noticeable fashion, the longer he works there.

Ace notices Whit's contacts start looking a lot more vibrant after Whit takes a couple weeks off school for a "company trip." He thinks it's... sort of pretty.

(Whit's time at XF Future showed him a side of humanity he didn't realize existed. Insane levels of greed, using the concepts of "ultimates" to guide a stupid pubic where the Government wanted them, generally a dystopia. It feeds into his existing detachment from humanity, until he hits a breaking point, setting his sights on ending the "Ultimates" concept by killing the newest class in the public eye, including himself.)

(XF Future develops a new sort of technology, prosthetic "eyes" that basically turn you into a living remote control, able to connect to an entire building if its connected via a computer system. Security cameras, doors, fucking air conditioning- everything.

(Whit offers himself as the test dummy, and it goes perfectly.)

Anyway, Mai decides to talk to Ace, since she's starting to realize he's becoming a bit... softer after hanging out with Whit so much? And hopes like, for once, he'll actually accept help for his mountain of problems.

He doesn't take this conversation very well.

Mai, with knowledge from dozens of loops, accidentally brings up an extremely traumatic event, simply mentioning the name "Tyler" once.

In a blinding mix of rage and horror at Mai's knowledge of the event, that Ace has literally never even spoken about in this timeline, Ace shoves her away from him.

She falls backwards, and splits her head on a desk, killing her instantly.

Ace, in a horrified frenzy, calls Whit, literally his only friend.

Whit shows up. Ace expects him to freak the fuck out, call the cops, or something like that... But he doesn't.

Whit simply tells him they were going to hide the body together, not even remotely caring about Mai's death.

yeah that's a little fucking weird, and its terrifying, but going to jail is scarier sooo Ace goes along with it!

After this, Whit wraps Ace into uncharacteristically cruel pranks against some of their classmates and others at Hopes Peak, oftentimes resulting in physical injury.

He acts like these are completely normal and funny, while Ace is both freaked out by it, and sort of enjoys enacting pain on people he didn't like.

Along the way, Whit notices Ace starting to fall for him. Horrible news for Ace, since Whit plays into those emotions by becoming much more physically and emotionally affectionate. Which he doesn't enjoy, like, at all... not a bit...

Whit convinces Ace to assist him in greater and greater acts of violence until Whit just straight up kills someone (not a classmate, a stranger.)

Ace is of course tied into everything way too deep to stop now, and after all this... he doesn't really want to. So he stays as Whit's accomplice for months, up until Whit's weirdo behavior arrives at the idea of the killing game. He references the "First Killing Game", which Ace had never heard of.

The idea is a bit intense for Ace, but at that point, he didn't have anything beyond Whit. If it took this to stay with him... He'd do it. Even if in the end, they both were going to die.

So they get to work!

Ace had been taking engineering classes at Hope's Peak in hopes of getting out of jockeying, and he'd helped his family build sheds and shit since he was a kid, so he focused on the construction and executions.

Whit wired the building an all-encompassing computer system he could control, as well as stealing "Mono-TV" from XF Future, a robot he can fully control to be the "host" of the game.

He also steals the "mind wiping" technology from XF Future. It's weirdly easy to steal stuff from this company, hm? It's almost like they aren't protecting it...

Whit also uses another piece of experimental biological technology... on Ace.

A screen connected to his brain, a lottt less invasive than Whit's eye surgery. It doesn't impact Ace mentally, it just gives him the ability to produce visible projections for easy construction, communicate with Whit remotely, (and give Whit a way to always know what Ace's condition.)

The screen is unclipped when the game starts, but the brain implant is still connected to Whit, so he can detect Ace's condition.

After kidnapping the class of 27 and wiping their memories... It all starts. A killing game, streamed live to the entire nation.

Whit and Ace start off as a part of the class, interacting with the others like normal, a pretty decent show. Things go roughly as planned, putting everyone in the positions Whit wanted them. Untilll... chapter 2.

Ace gets his ass jumped, and almost dies prematurely. This is fine, Whit privately makes sure the wounds properly cleaned, but it does fill Whit with an... ominous feeling.

Ace still kills Arei, a part of the plan, and gets "executed", so he can more easily upkeep the executions and such behind the scenes.

After the screen playing the fake execution turns off, Whit checks to make sure Ace didn't get injured in his running around... but can't detect anything.

At all.

Ace's heart wasn't beating.

He actually, seriously, had a fucking heart attack.

(Ace's heart attack was for a combination of reasons. Firstly, his heart was actually in pretty bad condition as a result of his eating disorder, something Whit had figured was "over" by now. It wasn't!)

(Second, in that moment, the idea that maybe, just maybe, Whit could have been double-crossing him came to Ace. What if Whit loaded the guns? What if Ace's use was done, and Whit was finally getting rid of him? It was terrifying because he could die, and terrifying because... It'd make sense. It was all that ever happened to him.)

So he had a heart attackkk lameeeeee

This makes Whit tweak the fuck out, internally. (lol pretend his spooky ass sprite happens AFTER the execution, not before. shh its all made up its all pretend)

After Levi gets taken to the infirmary, Whit drops Charles off at his room as quickly as he can, then fucking BOLTS IT to a hidden passageway in his room to the like... Mastermind area, with the execution chamber.

Whit manages to resuscitate Ace in time, barely. And even after that, he's in pretty bad condition. But he's conscious and mobile.

Whit gets him as comfortable as he can, and after spending the night, he sort of... has to leave. He does some tweaks to Ace's brain screen thing, creating a functional heart monitor that Ace (and he) can watch.

As often as he can, Whit sneaks off to the Mastermind area at night to make sure Ace doesn't fucking die in his sleep. But Ace gets... decently better quickly, and returns to his duties overseeing the killing game.

Whit still visits almost every night to make sure Ace wakes up, which he can't really explain to himself. Ace was... supposed to be disposable anyway. Why would it matter if he died?

Anyway yeah the rest of the game happens. No clue there.

In the end, Whit and Ace come out as masterminds (happy pride).

I have a comic planned for how the end goes, soooo... that's it!

holy fuck! my fingers! hi the whole 2 people who made it down this far... uh... did you like my lore.....? do you want me dead now for having you read 1,400 words of two evil homsexuals...? 😅 love you thank you im sorry.

[niecotine]

MAJOR LOSER ╱ kim jennie, m.

summary ― jennie was the campus it girl. she had a hot boyfriend, good grades, and all the popularity one could ask for. so why did jennie care if you, a nobody, were getting hit on? you were just a loser.

╭ pairings ― kim jennie x ( f! ) reader. ╭ genre ― mean girl au, smut. ╭ word count ― 5k words.

keywords ― cheerleader!jennie, sub!jennie, hard dom!reader, slow burn, brat taming (!!!), dry humping, spanking, begging, masturbation, jennie receiving oral sex, messy, cum eating.

╰ “. . .isn’t that right, babe?”

╰ the sound of seokhun’s voice snapped jennie out of her daze and she turned to look at him. she hummed in response, mindlessly agreeing with whatever he said. she wasn’t currently dating him, but that might change soon. he was the captain of the college basketball team and she was cheer captain. they made sense.

╰ to everyone around them, they were the perfect match.

╰ right now though, jennie wanted nothing more than to send him away. his incessant talking was interrupting her while she glared daggers at the back of your head.

╰ jennie didn’t like you, or know you for that matter. the two of you had nothing in common besides one advanced chemistry class, in which the two of you were paired up for a project together. that was the only reason she knew your name, or else a loser like you wouldn’t have crossed paths with her anyway.

╰ despite her dismissiveness towards you, jennie had no idea why she was currently so worked up by the sight of you across the cafeteria, getting hit on by a pair of girls.

╰ you probably didn’t even realize what was going on, with the subtle way one of the girls brushed her fingers across your forearm, or shot her friend a look every time you looked away. ugh. jennie was going to be sick.

╰ her freshly manicured nails tapped against the wooden table, stomach churning. seokhun noticed jennie acting antsy and asked her if there was something wrong. despite jennie’s dismissive hum, she finally couldn’t take the sight anymore, getting up and deciding to make her way to you.

╰ seokhun, or their group at the table didn’t bother stopping her. her narrowed gaze was set on the way the girl beside you giggled and leaned against your shoulder, nudging your side.

╰ jennie convinced herself that she was just doing you a favor. yeah. that was it. if you got distracted by those girls, you could possibly put their project at risk. and jennie could end up with a subpar grade. yes, jennie was just doing this to preserve her grades.

╰ “hi.” jennie said, an almost sickly sweet smile plastered on her face as she stopped in front of your table. her eyes were glaring daggers at the girl until she stopped clinging to your side and sat up straight. jennie took that as her green light to wedge herself between you both, gaze not leaving the loser girl. “you can leave. me and her have a project to work on right now.”

╰ jennie rested her hand on your forearm, squeezing the flesh softly (and momentarily being surprised by the firmness). the project had to be submitted in two weeks but the retreating girls didn’t need to know that.

╰ “uh. . .” you started but trailed off, jennie watching the two girls wave at you and walk away in disappointment. “i thought you told me to do the project myself.”

╰ jennie’s nails were digging into your forearm slightly. she was still smiling, her lips curling up so politely that it almost looked sincere. almost. “yeah, but i have a new idea that i just love.”

╰ jennie was lying. obviously. it was the first and most obvious lie possible, but she was willing to take the chance. her grip on your arm only tightened the longer she had to sit there. the loser girls kept glancing back at you as they left the cafeteria. finally.

╰ “right. actually,” you started, tugging your arm out of her harsh grip and standing up, jennie’s eye twitching at the motion as she looked up at you with her sharp gaze. “i’m a bit busy right now. could we discuss it tomorrow? or you could just text your idea to me.”

╰ jenne’s smile dropped from her lips at the emphasis and side-eye you shot her, silently calling her out on her bullshit. the change in her demeanor was almost immediate. she was pissed.

╰ “busy? with what?” a small sigh passed between jennie’s lips as she looked up at you, craning her head back slightly.

╰ “with. . .” you trailed off and averted your gaze momentarily, obviously searching for an excuse, but you didn’t show much of an expression. “personal stuff. the project is due in two weeks. we can talk later.”

╰ jennie hated that neutral expression on your face. it drove her crazy, since she could never tell what you thought. sometimes she swore you were just emotionless.

╰ jennie’s bottom lip puckered in irritation and she placed her hands on her hips. a huff of air passed from her nose and she looked you up and down, pressing on the topic and clearly not wanting to let this go anytime soon. “what personal stuff?”

╰ “. . . nevermind.” you immediately dismissed the topic, as if not wanting to bother arguing with jennie. a flicker of irritation crossed your eyes. “go ahead then. what’s the killer idea for a stupid organic chemistry presentation that you couldn’t wait a day to tell me?”

╰ jennie was satisfied with the annoyed look on your face. it was better than that neutral look. at least irritation was an emotion she could read. as she watched your shoulders slump slightly, a smirk worked its way across her lips. jennie reached out and grasped your forearm again. it was becoming a bad habit. she began to pull you away from the empty table.

╰ “the killer idea is that we’re going somewhere more private to discuss it.” and then she began to push past other tables, pulling you along behind her. she could hear you grumble under your breath as you were pulled along, your annoyance increasing every time people turned to look at you. still, you were silent the entire time you were lead out of the cafeteria and into a private class.

╰ finally, you two were alone. once jennie was sure no one was behind the two of you, she dropped your arm and leaned up against the nearest desk, voice biting as she decided not to beat around the bush. “why were you talking to that loser?”

╰ jennie’s arms crossed over her chest and she raised an eyebrow as she waited for your answer. if looks could kill, you’d have already been six feet under. she watched the way your eye twitched in annoyance. you paused for a moment before replying blankly. “this has nothing to do with the presentation.”

╰ jennie rolled her eyes. she was used to that deadpan attitude of yours, but it pissed her off to no end.

╰ “yeah, well, i don’t care.” jennie pushed off the desk and stepped closer to you, shoving her index against your chest. she hated it, how towering you were. how she had to look up at you, while you had the perfect view of everything she didn’t want you to see. “just answer the question. why were you talking to her.”

╰ now it was your turn to roll your eyes. “i was talking to her because i wanted to. it’s a free country.”

╰ a scoff passed from jennie’s pretty lips at your answer. why’d she even ask? it was a stupid question to begin with. “of course you do.”

╰ her head tilted back and she looked at you, watching a few strands of your hair brush against your cheeks. she was tempted to reach out and touch. her fingers wanted to touch the skin behind them, feel your pulse. wait. no. shut up, mind.

╰ “you have bad taste.” she deadpanned.

╰ “sure. . .” you trailed off with a sigh. glancing at the wall clock, it showed you had 20 minutes left before class. “anything else?”

╰ jennie’s jaw clenched slightly. everything you said, the tone of your voice, the look on your face, even the way you held yourself ― it was all irritating. she wanted nothing more than to smack the indifferent expression right off your face.

╰ jennie stepped even closer until only a few inches separated the two of you and she refused to back away. her own expression mirrored yours as she leaned back slightly, still looking you up and down. “why didn’t you ever text me back last weekend?”

╰ you huffed sharply through your nose. she wasn’t going to let you go, was she? “there was nothing else to say. you were spamming.”

╰ her nose scrunched up in annoyance and jennie narrowed her eyes. that’s when a new feeling started rising in her chest. it was ugly, something she didn’t think she’d feel for someone like you.

╰ “i ―” she began, lifting one hand up to lightly shove your chest again.

╰ “don’t ―” again, her hand pushed against you.

╰ “spam.” and one more time. each word was punctuated with another push.

╰ your expression flickered with something akin to what one would look at an annoying fly, her little shoves not deterring you or moving you much either. “are you done?”

╰ jennie’s nostrils flared as she tilted her head back to glare at you. and why was it so much hotter when you glared? what a weird thing to be attracted to. attracted to. . . wait. she was not attracted to you. no damn way. you were annoying her right now, she should hate you.

╰ the pushes finally stopped as her hand balled into a fist and rested against your chest. “why didn’t you keep the conversation going?” she was getting a headache now from you. why did you have to be so indifferent all the time when she was here feeling so. . . so. . . ugh. what was the feeling she had? she pushed it away, the feeling of wanting to grab your face or punch it or press her own against your mouth. it was annoying.

╰ “because.” you shrugged, unphased. you hoped not reacting to her would bore her out and she’s leave you alone.

╰ she was getting more and more pissed off with every word that passed from your lips. jennie knew she was hot, she was petite and soft and pretty. she was used to getting her way, she was used to men, women and every gender in between falling all over her. but you were indifferent. it was irritating, stupid and infuriating.

╰ she wanted to push you. or punch you. or smack you. or kiss you. oh god. . . why did she want to kiss you all of a sudden?

╰ “anything else you want to say or do?” you scoffed, crossing your arms as you looked down at her, almost tired of being in a constant state of annoyance. “or is her highness going to allow me to get back to class?”

╰ highness? she was not a princess, far from it, but she did look like one. she was the epitome of doe-like perfection and she liked it that way. all the girls either wanted to be her or be with someone like her. and yet there you were, being disinterested and rude to her. acting like she wasn’t the most desirable person around. “oh, bite me.” the words left her mouth before she could even stop herself.

╰ “i will if you keep annoying the crap out of me.” you suppressed a groan, sitting down on one of the seats. you knew she wasn’t going to let you go any time soon until she had her fun with you. gaze flickering around the empty classroom, you eventually stopped to give jennie a once-over, looking at her properly for the first time. her skirt was too short, you noticed off the bat.

╰ jennie’s nose scrunched up with annoyance when she noticed you were checking her out. “shut up,” she huffed and leaned back up against the desk, her arms crossing over her chest. she made sure to shove her chest out more so you could get a better look.

╰ “excellent comeback.” you rolled your eyes and looked away, finding the window more interesting than this mind-numbing conversation.

╰ jennie hated the way you looked right now. arms crossed, shirt tight enough to show how well-built you were for a girl despite your pretty curves, sitting there and looking so relaxed. the more she looked, the more she realized the almost androgynous attractiveness you had. it confused her.

╰ friends, family, strangers alike would fall over themselves to compliment or please jennie, but here you were, acting like you didn’t even care who she was. she wanted to wipe the look off your face. jennie was too used to people unable to take their eyes off her. no one ever treated her like this before and it pissed her off. “ugh,” she groaned, stepping closer to you. jennie reached for your shoulder and shoved you gently. “look at me.”

╰ “there’s nothing much to look at.” you bit back without thinking, your lips twitching upwards slightly, suppressing a small laugh at your own response. “unless there’s something you want to show me that i haven’t seen before?”

╰ jennie’s nostrils flared the moment that last phrase passed from your lips. oh, she really wanted to smack you.

╰ jennie would show you something. show you there was plenty to look at. she stepped up to you and stood in between your legs. slowly, her hands came up and rested on your chest. “i’ve got lots of things i could show you.” she taunted in a low voice, her heart beating quickly. she felt almost lightheaded.

╰ you were momentarily surprised by the fact that she toyed back at you, head tilting slightly as you felt a flicker of interest in your chest (and somewhere else). this was a first. “oh really? then go on and give me an example before i walk out of here. . .”

╰ she’d give you a good example. the best example ever. her hand gripped your shirt and suddenly she was climbing into your lap, settling down heavily against your thighs, both hands now resting against your chest. jennie straddled your lap and she was close enough to see you, to smell you, to feel you.

╰ “does this example work?” jennie breathed out, forcing her voice to sound seductive and not needy like she felt underneath.

╰ “not really,” you looked down at her and your palms settled over her hips. “you’re not the first girl i’ve had in my lap. you’ll have to do more than that to get my attention.”

╰ “is that so?” jennie’s eyes widened for a split second before a defiant look crossed her eyes. she moved, grinding her hips slowly against your own as she bit her lip. her hands began to roam up from your chest, fingers tracing against the skin of your neck and jawline. a shiver passed down her spine the minute she touched you. “do you really think others did better?”

╰ “i guess you’ll have to prove otherwise.” you gripped her hips, fingers slightly digging into the curve of her ass as you made sure the tough material of your jeans rubbed against her clit through her panties with every grind.

╰ a soft gasp escaped jennie’s lips at the feeling and it was almost embarrassing how much she liked the pressure. and the look in your eyes. . . she’d never seen a look like that from you before. her heart was pounding in her ribcage now, feeling more intense than it ever had before. “prove it, huh?”

╰ jennie hummed, leaning forward until her chest was all but pressed against yours, her breath hitting your lips. damn, you smelled good. she felt your fingers slip under her skirt to feel the smooth flesh of her plump ass, squeezing the skin softly as she rolled her hips. jennie moaned softly at the contact.

╰ “you promised to show me a good time,” you mumbled in her neck, nipping the skin under her jaw teasingly. “and yet i’m sitting here and doing all the work.”

╰ jennie’s clit was throbbing softly and she felt her panties dampen as you grabbed her hips and pressed her further into your lap. jennie had the urge to press her face against your neck. she held back, just barely, and let out a slow breath. “you’re ―” she huffed, pushing slightly back into your hands while one of her hands tugged on your hair. she was not going to let you win. “you’re so insufferable, you know that?”

╰ “tch.” you smacked her ass, feeling the fat jiggle under your palm. “careful, brat. you’re not going to get your way with me.”

╰ jennie flinched slightly, but then her eyes narrowed at the fact that your expression didn’t change, still as emotionless as ever. “shut up.” she hissed out, her own grasp on your shirt tugging you closer so she could lean in again. jennie pressed her lips against the skin of your neck, and then nipped gently. “and i always get my way, mutt.”

╰ “that’s it.” your annoyance flared at her words. you grabbed her waist and lifted her off your lap and onto the table, tugging her harshly until she was bent over the surface. keeping one of your palms on the small of her back, you made sure she was pinned face down onto the surface, ignoring her yelp of surprise. “either you behave, or i’ll make you behave. and you’re going to call me ma’am.”

╰ jennie seethed. this was not how this was supposed to go. but the feeling of your hand on her back and the way you were holding her down was making her mind go all fuzzy. jennie pushed against the table, turning her head to glare at you. “i’m never calling you ma’am,” she protested defiantly. “i don’t care how big and strong you are, i’m not following your orders.”

╰ “wrong answer.” your free hand easily unbuckled her skirt and let it slip down her long legs. jennie’s skin was smooth and blemish-free, the sight making you want to mark every inch. your gaze set on her baby blue panties. the cotton fabric was high cut and barely contained the round globes of her ass. you kept her pinned with one hand while the other harshly smacked the right cheek, enough to leave a nice red mark. “apologize.”

╰ jennie hissed through her teeth as your hand came down. it hurt, but it didn’t hurt terribly. just enough sting that was quickly being overpowered by the fire that was starting in her gut. her heart was suddenly beating a hundred miles a minute and she gripped the wood of the table so hard her knuckles went white. “no,” jennie forced out. it came out like a strangled gasp and she wondered why the hell her voice sounded so weak.

╰ “no?” your gaze roamed over her sprawled form. a slight red mark was blossoming in her ass you spanked her harder. you didn’t miss the wobble in her voice and the patch of wetness on the crotch of her panties. “apologize. now.”

╰ “ah!” jennie cried out when another spank landed. another mark that would surely leave a bruise. why was her skin so stupidly sensitive? why was she feeling so weak? jennie should push back up, fight you harder, shove back against your hand. but the moment she tried, the hand came down again. and that’s when she felt that odd throb in her pussy. the need, the want. she was starting to get worked up. “just. . . just shut up, goddamnit.” she tried to snap back, but it no longer held the same confidence.

╰ “what a shame. . . we could be having so much fun,” your voice was cold, but teasing, which was the most emotion you’d ever shown around jennie. unable to hold back, your fingers dipped past her panties to rub her wet pussy teasingly, fingers drenching in her juices. when you heard her moan, you pulled back and spanked her again, mesmerized by the way her ass jiggled. you refused to give her what she wanted. “but you won’t to be a good girl and listen. don’t you know only good girls get rewarded?”

╰ jennie’s pussy pulsed. by now the wetness in her panties was obvious and uncomfortable, and the fact that you were being a prick was turning her on even more. jennie’s skin was burning and her heart was racing. she was starting to get lightheaded and her body was heating up. her breath came out in small pants and she found herself struggling against your hand.

╰ jennie wasn’t a bad girl. jennie was a good girl. jennie needed to be a good girl. “i am a good girl.” she forced the words out, voice almost sounding like a whine.

╰ “good. then apologize. and call me ma’am.” you smirked, feeling a rush as you enjoyed her giving in, but it wasn’t enough. you wanted to reduce her to a whining and needy mess. you wanted to break her princess act and make her beg you to get her off. you wanted her to beg for your fingers in her pussy, your mouth on her clit. “go on.”

╰ “n-no, i. . .” jennie couldn’t say it. she refused to believe she was going to give in this easily. jennie had never given in to anyone, she was used to being the one in control, the one calling the shots. but here you were, forcing her to give in. jennie felt her eyes burn and suddenly she realized she was shaking. her legs were quivering and if you kept this up she was going to collapse. this was embarrassing. “i’m sorry,” she said stubbornly. “i’m sorry, ma’am.”

╰ “beg.” you chuckled, kneeling behind her as you gave her another harsh spank before trailing your tongue over the pink and throbbing skin to soothe the sting. “beg for me to make you feel good.”

╰ “please.” the word spilled out involuntarily and it took jennie a moment for her brain to catch up as she processed what she said. oh god. had she just pleaded with someone like you? begged for you to give her pleasure. jennie was ashamed of herself and her face flooded with heat. her head leaned down, so her forehead was resting against the table. jennie’s voice was quiet as she forced the words out, unable to do anything but push past her shame. “please, ma’am. i’ll be a good girl. j-just make me feel good.”

╰ “hmm, finally.” your fingers hooked her panties and pushed it down, watching the faint wisps of her juices cause the panties to cling to her cunt before peeling off. you wasted no time before licking a long stripe from her throbbing clit to the rosy bud of her asshole, hearing her gasp. you could almost hear the wood creak from how jennie grasped the edge of the table. “and now you can get your reward.”

╰ jennie’s eyes squeezed shut as she shivered from her soaked cunt being exposed to the cold air. the utter shame from the action of being bent over and having her pussy licked in an empty class, especially by someone like you had her clenching and squirming. she felt your hands grasp the flesh of her inner thighs and push them apart to reveal more of her wet and puffy pussy lips so you could wiggle your tongue between more easily.

╰ jennie’s moans and mewls wouldn’t stop, especially when the hot appendage of your tongue laved over her swollen clit repeatedly, the sensitive bud throbbing. your tongue dipped lower and prodded her tight slit, feeling the walls of her cunt clench around the muscle. “needy, aren’t we?” jennie heard you tease, your hot breath brushing against her hypersensitive cunt and causing her to twitch. yet her legs remained spread for your mouth, hips pushing back softly as your tongue and mouth found a rhythm.

╰ “f―fuck. . .” jennie breathed, feeling you pull away to spit on her hooded clit, shaky hand instinctively reaching back to grasp your head and push you back until your mouth met her pussy again. “r―right there.”

╰ you smirked in her pussy as you followed her command, sucking the slippery fold of her clit in your mouth and feeling her jolt, tongue swirling through her dripping cunt. you felt your own panties dampen from the taste of her juices flood your palette, one of your hands slipping into the front of your jeans to rub your clit through your panties while you sucked on her clit and lapped up her juices.

╰ “please.” jennie whispered shakily, her eyes squeezed shut as she felt something tighten in the pit of her stomach. everything else forgotten, her body slipped into instinct as she chased the high that was building up. her thighs were shaking and her mind had blanked. she was unable to think or bother about anything except the feel of you sucking her clit, your head moving from side to side. tongue and teeth lashing on the sensitive bundle of nerves, jennie felt tears gather on her lashline. “please.”

╰ meanwhile you gripped her leg with one hand, your other hand furiously rubbing your own clit as you sloppily ate her pussy. jennie’s shaky fingers gripped your head in place between her legs while she moved her hips back to match your tongue. her cries were incoherent but you could tell how close she was by the way her thighs spasmed and her juices dripped down your chin.

╰ “i’m so close. . .” jennie sobbed, voice a trembling whimper as she struggled for breaths, propping her leg on the table and you paused to watch the way her pussy lips peeled open, dripping with a mix of her creamy juices and your saliva. you pressed your face between her legs, fingers working your own clit quickly while you lapped at the hardened bundle of nerves. you didn’t forget to give her fluttering hole some attention, pushing your tongue in and out of the sopping slit.

╰ jennie’s cries increased in pitch and volume while your tongue lashed at her cunt at a mind numbing pace, feeling her approach her orgasm while you felt your own build up. setting a pace between your tongue and fingers that you both reached your climax together, you felt jennie finally cum in your mouth with a scream, your hips jerking as your moans were muffled between her legs. you ended up coming in your pants with a muffled groan, the vibrations from your mouth prolonging jennie’s orgasm as she bucked her hips back into your face.

╰ her thighs continued to tremble and her eyes rolled back, expecting you to stop once your orgasm had subsided; however, you continued licking at jennie’s walls. she let out a pained groan, trying to tug your hair away from her over-sensitised pussy, but you were stronger and held yourself there as you continued eating her out until her legs shook and she cried out. “n―no more!”

╰ you panted softly as you hesitantly pulled away. strings of her juices connected her pussy to your mouth as you licked your lips and wiped your chin with the back of your hand. both of you were gasping your breath as jennie shakily turned herself over and glanced at you, her eyes dazed and head tipped back.

╰ jennie struggled for breath, glancing at the ceiling as she attempted to gather her wits and grasp what she had just done. she was interrupted by the sound of the bell, signaling her class starting somewhere in the building as dread began to settle in her chest. what had she done?

╰ she slowly sat up and pushed herself up off the desk. jennie’s movements were slow and careful, trying not to show just how weak her legs felt right now. her face was flushed and her breaths came out in pants. why the hell did she get so riled up like that? it made her mad. it made her want to punch you and kiss you at the same time.

╰ jennie quickly pulled her skirt up and tucked her blouse back in, avoiding your gaze still kneeling by her the whole time. “i’m―i’m just going to go to class.” she didn’t know what else to say. jennie was still in denial about the whole situation. it all still felt like a fever dream.

╰ “oh? already?” you cleared your throat, an amused glint in your eyes. you were unable to keep the smirk off your face as you watched her avoid your eyes and get ready to leave. it was pleasing to see how the bitchy little cheerleader reduced to a meek mess just from your tongue. “what a shame. . .”

╰ jennie was not a mess. she wasn’t. sure, her body was on fire and the ache between her legs was annoying and frustrating, but she was not a mess. in fact, she felt more clear headed than she had in a long time. only because of the kind of release she just had that left her satisfied beyond measure. not that she’d ever admit that to you.

╰ her eyes narrowed, but jennie still was avoiding your gaze. “i need to go to class,” she mumbled again before quickly turning to leave the classroom. ugh. she hated you.

╰ jennie stormed towards her locker with a frown. her body was a mess of emotions. frustration, anger and. . . need. wait, need? again?

╰ she took a moment to rest her back against her locker and let out a slow breath. the interaction ran through her mind and she huffed, trying to calm herself. god, you were so infuriating. jennie’s fingers gently touched her now-tender skin and she hissed slightly. you’d bruised her.

╰ this can never happen again, jennie told herself. yet every time she recalled the last glance she had of you wiping your lips after giving her the most mind-blowing head she'd ever received, she felt her pussy flutter in tandem with her heart.

╰ still, the dread didn't pass. god, what had jennie done? she put herself in an intimate position with a girl she claimed was a nobody. jennie had never been with a girl like that. did it always feel so good? it was hard to admit, but the truth was, she liked it.

╰ and fortunately for you, she wanted more. so who was the bigger loser now?

cred, niecotine.

[heathermason6060]

Daryl Dixon x F!Reader Smut: Teasing will get you Somewhere

Gif found on Pinterest unknown credit

Warnings/Mentions: Blue balls, Dark/Rough!Daryl, sexual teasing (Daryl receiving) rough sex, spitting, choking, manhandling, biting, blood blisters, spanking, bruising, it might smell like dubcon but it's not

Summary: Reader wants to see Daryl at his breaking point, teasing and depriving him of release until he gets there. 

Notes: I loved writing this so much. While trying to think of a plot for dark!Daryl I remembered this idea/prompt someone had like 5 years ago where the reader teases a guy until he cracks and just goes crazy. I think it was a fanfiction, but I looked through my bookmarks and ao3 history and couldn't find anything like this so if you know what I'm talking about please let me know!!

All you wanted from the start was to see Daryl snap. He was such an aggressive loudmouthed man, but not in the way you wanted him to be. 

He'd started flirting with you to appease Merle, the man who'd instantly noticed how you swooned around Daryl. The younger Dixon didn't believe him, of course, but he approached you to avoid the harsh blows of Merle calling him a ‘belly-up pussy’ along with more distasteful slurs. 

His way of “flirting” was a lot like Merles at first. Offensive, inappropriate, you know the rest. You'd been patient enough to politely explain that you weren't like the type of women that would fuck Merle after he called them a 'sweet piece of Georgian ass', and he took the hint. 

Daryl was shockingly sweet after that. He was less verbal after learning vulgar compliments weren't the way to go, but it turned out alright for you in the end. He began looking after you like you were his full responsibility. Making sure you were fed first, bringing home clothes specifically for you, along with any other treats he thought you might like. 

It was great, aside from him never making a move on you. He gawked like you were an alien when you started dressing for his gaze, Bobby Brooks shorts, pretty tank tops, even shaving your legs once in a while. But he never made a move. 

That simply wouldn't do. 

It was late one night and you'd slipped into his tent. 

“The hell you doin'?” He cursed, wiping the sleep from his eyes as you zipped up the flap behind you. 

“Can't sleep, Carl won't stop coughing.” 

You'd been sharing a tent with Lori and Carl ever since you arrived with T-Dog. It wasn't a complete lie, Carl was coughing up a storm, sick with some chest cold, but that wasn't the reason for your lack of sleep.

“I got some earplugs.” He sat up and began shifting through his bags. 

“No, it's okay. Can I crash here tonight?” You asked innocently, kicking off your casual flip flops that you saved for night time piss breaks or trips to get water. 

Daryl tried hiding his surprise . The stutter in his voice gave him away. “Uh, sure, I guess. S’long as ya dun snore.”

You behaved for an impressive amount of time. Lying in silence, not moving an inch, waiting for him to loosen up before quietly shifting backwards until your back was pressed up against his chest. 

His heart felt seconds away from collapsing in on itself when he felt you. He'd popped a semi when you'd taken off that big T-shirt he'd given you, and now it was bordering on a full on erection.

You waited until you felt his body relax, which took longer than you originally estimated, and then wiggled your hips. 

The reaction was immediate. He sucked in a breath through his nose and made this choking sound. He grabbed your hips, only for a split second before yanking his hands away like he'd been burned. 

You wiggled again, pushing back until the feeling of the outline of his dick against your ass was ingrained into your memory. 

It didn't take long to wear him down, not at all. He let out a strangled groan and rocked into you, his self restraint long since thrown out the window.

And then you stopped.

He nearly gasped at the loss of friction. The feeling was so devastating that it sobered him, and his cheeks burned with embarrassment. 

“Wha-” he panted. His fingers loosened their hold on your hips and twitched against the fabric of your pajama shorts. “Why'd ya stah- stop?”

“I'm sleepy.” You said plainly, pulling the thin sheet up to your shoulders in emphasis. 

Daryl caught his breath behind you, struggling to make sense of it all through his confusion and disappointment. He grumbled something that sounded like it held an attitude, though sadly that was the extent of his protests. 

You needed more. You needed him to tear your clothes off and ravish you like the animal you knew he was. The Daryl that feverishly humped you like his life depended on it was cute, but you needed the Daryl that he was in his daily life. 

The only way you could think of was to force it out of him, even if it did torture the poor man in the process. 

You kept up the innocent teasing for a while. You took a break after Merle went missing, you knew your limits and his. You weren't a total selfish piece of shit. Only when you arrived at the farm and he began talking to you again did you resume your game of “teasing Daryl until he cracks”.

“How's it look?” You gave a cheeky smile as you turned in a circle with your hands on your hips. 

You'd put on the pair of green cargo shorts he'd found you. They weren't very practical, holding only four pockets, which was less than normal cargo shorts, but they were scandalous. The fabric hugged your ass tight enough to look damn near pornographic. 

“Didn't realize they were that tiny. Christ.” Daryl muttered with pink cheeks. “Jus’ give ‘em ta Beth. 

“Oh god. Can you imagine her face? That girl is still wearing pants in late summer. Her daddy would kill me.” You snorted and turned back to face him. “I'm keeping these bad boys. The fabric is soft. Wanna feel?” 

“Already felt em when I took em.” Despite his words, he set down his knife to free up his hands. 

“Give me your hand.” 

The poor boy was so eager to feel you that he practically threw his hands in yours. When you placed his palms on the sides of your shorts he seemed to snap to life, dropping the nonchalant attitude to rub his thumbs over the fabric covering your hips and thighs. 

You tried to keep the smug smirk off your face, and failed miserably. He was turning himself on just by touching the clothing that covered your pelvis. 

Suddenly, you pulled away, feeling your heart lurch in your chest at the way his face dropped.

“Thanks again. I've been needing new shorts.” 

“Yeah. Uh-huh. S'nothin.”

It went on like that for a while. 

One night you climbed into his tent again with the ruse of being cold, and he didn't mention the fact it was a warm seventy degrees that night. You were wearing nothing but an oversized T-shirt and panties, and made sure to make Daryl aware of this when you slid your knee over his thigh. 

Nothing happened that night either, nothing other than pretending to sleep while he palmed himself through his jeans. 

Another time you put on those green cargo shorts and offered to tidy up his camp, an offer he was quick to accept just so he could watch you needlessly bend over to grab random objects to place somewhere else. 

Once you even made out with him. Late at night in his tent, things got hot and heavy and you straddled him, wearing the same oversized T-shirt and panties, washed since then, of course. 

He was nervous at first, you could tell by the way his hands trembled on their way up your sides. You kissed him slow and sweet, nothing too extreme, not until he pushed his hot tongue against your lips. 

You let him in and groaned at the enthusiasm he showed. He kissed you like you were still teenagers, up in the loft of some barn hiding away from Daddy. 

“Shit.” He panted against your lips. He moved his hands down to your waist and pulled you down hard, groaning when he got that first taste of friction he so desperately craved.

“Slow down.” You breathed. Your body betrayed your words, your hips rolling down gentle and slow, just enough to feel the outline of his aching cock through your clothing. 

“Why?” He muttered before pressing another kiss against your lips. “Wha's stoppin’ ya? I got condoms. Glenn's got the pill. S'fine.” 

You pulled up and away from his lips. He looked so pretty beneath you all desperate like that. It still wasn't what you wanted. 

“I don't know, Daryl-” Your voice choked into a whine when he moved under you, the friction momentarily rendering you speechless. 

“Can't ya feel what yer doin’ to me? Huh?” He snapped his hips again, forcing out another whine. “S’all for you. C'mon now.”

“Not here Daryl.” You tried to keep your voice level and firm. “Not in some tent where we have to be quick and quiet.” 

“Le’s go somewhere then. Anywhere ya want, don't care. Tell me. I'll take ya.” 

Truthfully, that almost made you give in. But it still wasn't the Daryl you wanted to experience. He was desperate, but not desperate enough. 

“Not tonight, Daryl. It's too late and Shane's on watch. He'll have my ass if he catches us sneaking out.” 

Daryl growled in frustration, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. “Won't get caught.”

“Yeah, sure. Let's just wait another night.” You pressed a kiss against his cheek, innocent enough, contrasting painfully with the way you ground down against him one last time before sliding off.

Part of you started doubting your plan. Daryl was too reluctant, too full of self doubt, too terrified at the aspect of losing whatever fun thing you had going on by pushing your limits. Even though you had no problem pushing his. 

His patience amazed you. Any other man would've thrown you to the side after the first few times, or ignored your “wishes” and dove right in. He didn't know that's what you wanted. You couldn't blame him. 

How could you tell someone like Daryl “I want you to fuck me with enough desire and aggression to give a nun a heart attack”? He'd been too gentle during foreplay, too submissive, you were beginning to think he was a virgin. 

Maggie gave you a dress. You didn't know who it once belonged to, her or her sister, but it was one of the cutest things you'd ever laid eyes on. A pretty moss green that went right below your knees, laces up your stomach the same color as the dress, and thankfully, no sleeves. 

The domestic look had Daryl in shambles. You looked like a farm wife from a damn magazine, it took everything he had in him not to fuck you behind the barn like he wanted. 

He took you out that day. On a ‘food supply run’, as he called it. You weren't anyone's first pick for runs, which you understood, you were easily distracted. It was your biggest fault.

So when he asked you specifically, and you alone, you were barely able to contain your excitement. 

The first place you stopped by was an old farmers corner store to pick up enough food so you didn't come back empty handed. A few canned goods, stale snacks and three cans of soda. 

He left that in the back of the truck when the two of you stopped by a house. A very nice house, to your surprise. 

“Can't believe this place hasn't been trashed.” You commented while rummaging through the kitchen. “No more food, but there's some lighter fluid.”

“Hm.” Daryl grunted. After securing the front door he found you still in the kitchen, chewing on a mouthful of gum. 

You'd shoved about three long sticks in your mouth. “Want some?”

He eyed the gum wrapped in silver paper before taking it from your outstretched hand with a gruff thanks. 

It was hard to focus on, his heart felt like it was in his throat, it was hard to swallow, and his jaw ached from his aggressive chewing. He'd done everything you wanted, got birth control; condoms and plan B. He found this nice house that same morning, almost immediately after seeing you walk outside in that dress. He even cleaned up the master bedroom for you, dusting off the sheets and beating the pillows, opening the windows to air out the room. 

There was no way you could wave him off now.

Oh, but you found a way. It was a talent that needed to be fucking studied. 

You were digging through the dresser in the upstairs bedroom when he approached you. You ignored the sound of the door shutting and locking behind him, pretending to be very interested in the contents of the bottom drawer. 

His hands found your sides. Your skin tingled as he pulled you to your feet and pressed you against the dresser with his palm on your lower back.

He went to kissing the back of your neck. His lips were light and soft, contrasting the anxiety bubbling in his gut. 

“Hmm.” You hummed. He brushed your hair over your right shoulder and went back to kissing your neck, peppering them all the way to the point of your left shoulder. 

“Missed ya'.” He muttered, pushing his hips forward to drive home his point. 

You tried not to laugh with pity at the feeling. He was already hard? Poor thing. 

“We're supposed to be looking for food.” You chided playfully. You shifted your ass and earned a low grunt of appreciation for the friction. 

“Then why’re ya in the bedroom?” He challenged. When you didn't respond he smirked against the skin on your neck. 

His hands didn't wait for permission. He bent his knees so he could grab the bottom of your dress, gathering it in his fists and pulling it up and over your ass. He sighed at the sight, you were wearing the type of panties he'd only ever seen on a clothing rack or behind a screen. Black soft fabric, tight and with lace around the hem, hugging your curves just right. 

“Daryl, come on.” You chuckled, but made no attempt to move. “They're gonna wonder where we went.”

He laughed, the sound dry and humorless. “Don't give a shit. They'll survive.” 

“And what is it you wanna do so bad that's more important than feeding our people, huh?” You mused, placing your palms on the dresser he was pushing you harder up against. 

“Ain't my people.” He quipped and ground into you, dying to make you feel how desperate he was for you. 

You choked back a moan. “You didn't answer my question.” 

“Want ya. Right here.”

“Want me to what?” 

Daryl sighed and released his hold on your dress to grip your waist. “Wanna fuck ya nice an’ good. Make y’feel what y’been missin’.”

You groaned. Your grip on the dresser turned white-knuckled as he pushed against you again. 

“Yeah?” Your breath trembled past your open lips. “What else?”

Daryl pressed himself closer, until his mouth was right at your ear. “Wanna feel what ya’ been keepin’ from me. Taste ya'. Shove my dick in that pretty lil’ mouth n’make ya sorry.” 

His words had an obvious effect on you. Your knees trembled and your breathing was louder, more shallow. 

But he still hadn't cracked. 

The curiosity was eating you alive. You couldn't give in now, not when he was so fucking close. You turned to face him and gave a ghost of a smile, trying your best to look sympathetic.

“Maybe some other time.” 

His eyes widened and his eyebrows scrunched tightly together. His nostrils flared as his pupils darted over your face, looking frantically for the slightest sign telling him it was a joke. He looked hurt, confused, like you just slapped him in the face and called him a slur.

There it is. 

“You-” he choked out, “Y’aint serious?” 

You forced a nod. 

“Why?” The way he raised his voice sent a bolt of pleasure through your core, and you had to fight back a whimper. “Got everythin’ ya needed. Went through the trouble’a findin’ this place, ain't gotta be quiet, ain't gotta worry ‘bout walkers or someone hearin’, the hell else you want from me woman?” 

You couldn't stop yourself from whimpering. You bit your bottom lip and tried to steady your breathing, but when you stole a glance at his face and saw the expression held there your lungs shifted into overdrive. 

He looked so fed up. 

“What are you gonna do about it?” You whispered. 

Daryl sneered in contempt. “The hell can I do ‘bout it? Not gonna beg.”

You swallowed hard. You slowly shook your head, your chest rising and falling dramatically, your body still trapped between his arms, his hands on the dresser behind you. 

“Don't want you to beg.” 

You pressed a hand between his legs and he let out a strangled groan, his elbows swaying as they threatened to give out. You flexed your fingers to massage his length, and pulled away. 

His eyes shot open and just as quick his hand wrapped around your wrist, yanking you back to his bulge and nearly breaking your fingers in the process of shoving them down the waistband of his jeans. 

After unbuckling his belt he was able to cram your hand down deeper, forcing you to feel him. 

You gasped when your fingertips made contact. You didn't know a dick could get that hard. It felt just as firm as any other extremity. 

“Daryl.” You let out a long sigh as you gave a half assed attempt to pull your hand out. His grip on your wrist tightened. 

“Hmm?” The teasing tone of his hum made your clit throb. 

“We can't-” You didn't get to finish your sentence before he scoffed and picked you up. Like actually picked you up in his arms, bridal style. He threw you on the plush bed where you bounced a few times, and dove into you.

“S’enough.” He muttered. He pulled your dress up over your waist and looped his fingers through the sides of your panties. You thought he'd hesitate, take a look at the expression on your face and back off, but he didn't. He tugged them down your legs and tossed them off the bed in a random location. 

“Ain't some pussy ya’ got on a leash.” His fingers snaked between your legs, beelining for your cunt. He groaned in surprise, his eyes rolling back at the feeling. You were beyond wet at this point, his aggression had your folds like a slip n slide with lube instead of water. 

You bit back a moan. His fingers spread your folds, smearing your wetness around, his thumb pressing down against your clit. 

“Fuck!” You gasped. Your hips instinctively shifted to the side from the overwhelming sensation, but a firm grip on your waist quickly snatched you back. 

“Think y'can do whatever the hell ya’ want, and I'll jus’ sit back an’ let ya’?” He didn't give you time to answer. He pushed a finger inside you, and both of you hissed at the feeling. “Ffuck. Shit ain't like that no more, princess.” 

Any other time you would've snapped at the insult, but his finger digging around inside you had your mind blank. 

“Wha’s wrong? Huh?” He twisted his finger and you cried out. His voice was sickly sweet, something that should've pissed you off but only fueled your arousal. “Got nothin' to say?” His finger curled, a movement that held no thought behind it, though the way you gasped and arched your back had him repeating the action. 

Then he started mocking you. “Oh no, not now, it's not right, I'm not ready!” He scoffed in disgust. “Like ya’ a lot better when ya’aint speakin’.” 

Oh, god. You should be fuming. You should be spitting venom right back at him, but this is everything you'd wanted from him. It was all going according to plan. 

Maybe he knew that, or maybe he didn't. Either way he was behaving just as you'd imagined countless times, rough, mean, cruel and demanding. 

“C'mon, try a little bit.” He growled after leaning down to bite at your open neck. “Go on. Tell me it ain't the time. Tell me.”

You were nothing but a puddle under him. Your hands became too restless and reached up to grab at him, balling your fists in the back of his shirt.

Never in your life had a man treated you like this. No matter how bad you teased and gave subliminal signals. They would either indulge in your teasing, respect your wishes and back off when told to, or kiss and plead until you relented. 

Finally someone was fucking you like you had always wanted. Or, they were about to. 

The knuckle of his thumb had been digging into your clit for a good minute now, and despite how uncomfortable it could feel at times, you came quickly. 

You sucked in a sharp gasp and locked your legs around his waist, trying to pull his finger in deeper, or make his knuckle grind harder. 

Daryl groaned into your neck as you came around his finger. His hips jerked forward and bumped against his hand between your thighs, knocking his digit in deeper. You yelped, not expecting such a sharp sensation during your warm and soft climax. 

He withdrew his finger and you whined. 

“Sh-sh-sh.” You didn't think a hush could sound so condescending. “Got somethin' better. Gonna make you regret not takin’ it sooner.”

You said it before you could stop yourself. “You don't have it in you.” 

His eyes flicked up to your face as he pulled his zipper down, a look on his face that sent chills across your bare legs.

There was slight amusement, slight relief, as if someone finally gave him permission to show off and prove himself. Lips parted into a breathy smirk, tongue peeking between his teeth, and one eyebrow raised. 

Your eyes dropped to his pants when he pulled his cock free. It looked just as you imagined when you'd touched it only minutes ago, standing at full attention against his lower stomach.

You let out a sigh when you saw it reached his navel. 

Daryl leaned down until he was level with your pussy. You heard it before you felt it, the sound of him spitting, and then warm drool dropping right on your sensitive clit.

You squealed in protest, trying to raise yourself on your elbows, but he stopped you with a hand on your chest. With his free hand he smeared his spit over your already soaking folds, even going as far as to push some inside you with his finger. 

“Ew!” You gasped. 

You felt a tingle. Subtle at first, you just assumed it was the salinity of his saliva, and then more prominent. You were close to panicking until you saw the wad of white gum shoot out of his mouth, landing with a smack against the hardwood floor. 

At least you knew the source of the tingling. You swallowed your own gum, the same way you'd completely forgotten about.

The skin around your cunt buzzed when he slapped the tip of his dick on your clit, and you squirmed beneath him. He steadied you with the same hand on your chest. 

“Wait.” You inhaled deeply. He didn't wait though, he just pushed into your clenched hole, ignoring your whines.

“Ssss-shut up.” His voice trembled. He used his free hand to wrap around the base of his dick, holding it straight as he slowly pushed in further. 

“Y-you said you had condoms.” 

Daryl let out a loud groan as he sank into you. His right hand on your chest increased in pressure as more and more of his upper body weight bore down on it, forcing the air from your lungs. 

He was so thick, and it had been years for you. The burn was incredible, in such a pleasurable way that you should've felt ashamed to enjoy. You tried to moan, but nothing came out aside from a strained breath. 

“Ain't nothin' gonna make me feel rubber instead’a this.” He grunted. He rolled his hips forward and finally pulled his hand off your chest to roll the dress up and over your body. 

“F-Fuck.” His whimper was strangled in his throat. Being completely naked under someone who was fully dressed had you clenching around him, earning another whimper from said man. 

“Should feel ‘shamed, keepin' all this from me.” 

You didn't. Not one bit. 

“But I know ya'aint.” 

You furrowed your brows, momentarily stunned by his apparent mind reading abilities. He jerked his hips forward and your face fell slack, your jaw dropping and your eyelids falling shut. 

His thrusts were harsh, but far too slow for you to get anywhere. You grabbed his shirt and used it to pull him down, desperate for more stimulation. 

Daryl happily obliged. His breath was hot on your ear before he took the lobe between his lips, sucking and licking the flesh. You gasped as he bit down on it, and you could sense the smirk on his lips. 

“Daryl?” You breathed, the name breaking on your tongue with another thrust. 

“Jesus.” He groaned, thoroughly annoyed. He released your ear and pulled back to look at you, frustration evident on his face. “What?”

“Thought I was gonna regret it.”

Your words had his upper lip twitching and his eyes widening ever so slightly. 

“Yeah?” He huffed. “S'gonna be like that?”

He rose from your chest, shifting until he was sitting on his boots. His hands grabbed onto your hips and yanked you down on his dick, forcing a cry from your dry throat. It took him a few seconds to position himself, leaning back just a bit, his grip on your hips tight, and then he started fucking you in a ruthless pace. 

It wasn't what you were expecting. Your mouth dropped into a long gape and your eyes shot open as he pounded his pelvis against yours, driving his dick so deep it reached places your fingers never had. 

Each thrust had a gasp burning in your lungs, and those gasps quickly grew to embarrassing moans. Now that you were ashamed of. If you had the ability to stop it you could, but the way he was thrusting into you rendered you utterly unable to control yourself and the sounds you made. 

“Get up.” 

You weren't sure why he even spoke, because he was moving your body by himself before you could process his command. He pulled you to the side of the bed and turned you over on your stomach, bending you over and shoving his dick back inside you so fast you shrieked. 

Your feet flew up behind you, smacking against the back of his thighs. If you could've seen it you would've laughed. 

The new angle was paralyzing. His dick was no longer tilted against the spot under your stomach, the spot that had you a drooling mess seconds ago. Now it smashed against a deeper part of you, a part that had you groaning with each frustration fueled thrust. 

“Fuck.” Daryl groaned, his pace slowing to give momentary reprieve. He wasn't as young as you, and even though he was always out there doing a hundred times more labor intensive activity, he needed a second to catch his breath. 

There was still an itch yet to be scratched. While he regained his bearings you fought to think of a way to say it without actually saying ‘i want you to hurt me and fuck me till I cry’. You'd already humiliated yourself enough. 

When he began picking up the pace again, you reached for the hand beside your head and bit down on his knuckles. Not gently, either. You bit down so hard he could've ripped a tooth out with the way he yanked his hand away.

“The fuck?” His voice was barely below a shout. “Ya’ crazy bitch!” 

There was no retaliation besides a particularly forceful thrust, to your irritation. 

“You baby.” You managed to grunt out. “Barely bit you.” 

“Barley bi-” he scoffed, looking down at the hand he now had splayed across your lower back. There were deep pink imprints from your teeth over his index finger knuckle, and the skin around it turned a bright red. 

You felt his fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling your hand away from its grip on the bed sheets. Your heart hammered quicker than his thrusts when his breath tickled your skin, and then he bit you. In the same spot you bit him.

It wasn't nearly as hard as you bit him, but you still whimpered at the ache. 

“Point stands.” 

Daryl couldn't believe what he was hearing. His jaw set and he dropped your wrist. 

The smug smirk you'd been keeping to yourself fell when your hair was suddenly twisted in the fist of his right hand. With just that leverage alone he pulled your upper body up, and his left arm snaked around your torso to keep you flush against his chest. 

He yanked your head to the side. You gasped. 

“This what ya’ wanted, huh sweetheart?” He breathed against your ear and drew back until his dick nearly slipped out before slamming back in.  

“Mmm-oh god yes.” You blurted out between moans. 

“Jus' had to ask.” He managed a chuckle. 

“More.” 

He furrowed his brows, but kept up the slow and deep pace. He couldn't imagine what else he could give you. He was fucking you hard enough to bruise, he was pulling your hair, what, did you want him to start beating you? 

He dipped his head down to bite your shoulder, holding back just enough so that he wouldn't give you an actual wound. 

You have to consider that biting someone with enough force to actually break the skin takes a lot. Skin isn't like the flesh of a fruit. It's tough, and would require chewing to break through. So for him to stop right before that point meant he was biting you so hard you got blood blisters, and the pain was all you could focus on. 

Your wail of genuine pain had him pulling back like he'd been shocked. His thrusts slowed, and through ragged breaths he spoke, “Shit, m'sorry. M'so sorry.” 

“No.” You gasped. Your shoulder felt like it was on fire, and your walls cleaned around him in response. “So good. Feels so good.”

Daryl let out a huff in relief. “Ya’ weird as shit, yanno that?” 

“Mhmm.” You groaned, pressing your ass back tightly against him. “More.” 

He took a deep breath to steady himself and pushed you back down on your stomach. He had to work himself up to it, the idea intimidating. Once his thrusts were back to their former sharp pace he raised a hand in the air. 

You tilted your head to the side so your cheek was pressed against the blanket. When you saw his right hand held up, your heart leapt. You never nodded so quickly. 

Daryl ground his teeth together, glancing down at your ass, your face, and back to your ass again before smacking his hand against it. 

It was barely a love tap. 

You groaned, wiggling your hips and earning a moan from him in response to the feeling on his dick. 

He took the hint and gave another smack, harder, but still not giving that burn or satisfying ‘smack’ sound you wanted.

“Daryl, please.” You whimpered. “Hurt me. I'm not made of glass.” 

You barely got the last word out before he slapped you. Open handed, fingers spread and slightly curved to mold perfectly against your asscheek. You yelped and instinctively tried scooting up the bed, held back by his left hand on your hip. 

It clicked in his head then. No wonder people liked spanking so much. His palm tingled and he could see a faint handprint start to color your skin. And the way you reacted, that sound you made, your body trying to get away from him, it made his dick twitch. 

“Fuck!” You cried out after another hard slap. The pain fully distracted you from the ache in your shoulder, white hot pain spreading across your ass and up your spine. 

“Such a baby.” He meant it to sound patronizing, but he was still too amazed by the new turn on he'd discovered, and the words came out breathless. 

Your whimper bled into another cry as he spanked you again. 

And again. 

Again, again, until you were on the verge of tears, sobs bubbling from your wet lips as you tried to squirm away from him. 

As if you actually wanted to. Which you clearly didn't. You were practically gushing around his dick. 

He rubbed his palm over the deep red skin, barely soothing the blinding burn he'd left behind. “Goddamn.” 

“M'gonna cum.” You were literally drooling. 

He snapped his attention away from your ass and back to you. “Whaddya want, huh?” He quickened his pace once again, jolting forward to press his body against your back. You whimpered at the way he moved, his dick pushing deeper inside you. 

“More, please,” you stuttered, trying desperately to work your hand under your body, which proved to be difficult due to his weight on top of you. 

Daryl noticed and lifted your hips with his hands. He shoved your eager arm out of the way and rubbed your clit with his own fingers, fast and deep in a way he assumed you'd like. 

You moaned under him, arching your back, feeling him slip in further. It was as if he grew another inch every five minutes. Or you grew another inch deeper, and he was staying the same. Either way he was deeper, and it felt immaculate. 

The rise to your climax was slow, but powerful. You were fully prepared to gently tip over the edge and slide down in bliss. 

That was before he slapped your pussy. Then you fell down gasping. 

Daryl held onto your body like you were a wild mustang, trashing and twisting under him in ecstasy. He withdrew his hand and grabbed your hips again, resuming his brutal pace, clamping his teeth down on the back of your neck to keep your bodies anchored together. 

It took a while for you to come down from your high. When you did it was violent, the pure bliss smashed away by burning overstimulation. 

“Fu-uck!” You heaved in deep breaths. “Daryl s’too much, can't, wait!”

“Ever since that night ya’ came in my tent, blue ballin’ me like that,” he growled against your neck, “-been dreamin’ ‘bout havin ya’ like this. Fallin’ apart. Face full’a tears. Ain't stoppin now.” 

He wasn't bluffing. He didn't stop. He grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head, ramming into your abused cunt, only slowing to shift in positions so you were on your back. 

The air felt amazing against your chest. Daryl ripped that feeling away with gnashing teeth, biting your hard nipples and alternating between sucking and pinching.

The house had to be surrounded by walkers by now. There was no way it wasn't, you were crying and moaning like you were getting paid for it. 

“Oh, god.” You wailed as another orgasm built up quicker than ever inside you. “Oh please, fuck, god!”

A jolt of pleasure shot through your core when Daryl's hands wrapped around your throat. 

Now, Daryl was no stranger to strangling someone. He'd choked plenty of people out before.

In fights.

He was unaware there was a different type of choking for pleasure. Instead of squeezing the sides of your throat with his thumb and fingers, he wrapped both hands around your neck and fucking strangled you. 

You squeezed your eyes shut so tight they ached as you came. Your orgasm had started off blinding, overwhelming every inch of your body, but Daryl's crushing grip soon muted the tail end of your climax and filled your ears with a deafening ringing. 

Daryl pulled his teeth off your nipple and panted against your ear. “Lemme cum inside ya’, sweetheart.”

You could barely process what he'd said. You forced your eyes open against the pressure induced burn, trying to find his face, only to see the side of his head. 

“Can't pull out.” He growled and released some of the pressure around your throat. Oxygen and blood flooded your head, leaving you dizzy and with black around the edges of your vision. 

“Can't, m'sorry. Oh, huh-  fuck!” His voice was strained as every muscle in his body tensed up. His hips surged forward, stuffing his dick balls deep to coat the end of your walls in his cum. “Mmm-fuck s’good. So good. Ohhh, Hah-” 

He choked on his moan. He moved his head, replacing his hands around your neck with his mouth, kissing and biting at the tender skin as he spurted ropes of hot cum inside you. 

Your body broiled under his crushing form. Your thighs relaxed from their clamped position, falling off his waist and dropping to the bed beneath you. Your lungs ached and your throat was raw, but your pussy buzzed so intently it felt like you had a vibrator pressed against it. 

“Oh, god.” The tone was full of dread and you forced yourself to focus on Daryl. 

“What?” You croaked. There was a stabbing pain in your neck from Daryl choking you out like you were a man his size. 

“Yer all fucked up.” He whined. He traced his fingers across your throat. “S’bad. Oh fuck.”

“Calm down.” You sat upright after he pulled back enough for you to do so, his dick dragging out against your trembling walls in the process and making you hiss.

“It's okay. I'll just tell em a walker got the jump on me. We've all seen them grab throats. It's fine.” You pressed a kiss to his worried lips. 

“Gonna tell em a walker did that too?” He pointed an exhausted finger at the bite mark on your shoulder, which was now in the early stages of a deep bruise, not to mention the blood blister in the shape of his teeth.

You laughed softly. “Fuck no. I'll just skip the tank tops for a week or two.”

That seemed to settle him enough and he nodded, moving to lay on his back. 

“That was amazing.” You broke the long silence. “Seriously. You're the first man to ever… you know.”

Daryl furrowed his eyebrows and looked up at you. “Huh? Y’never…?”

“No! I mean…” you sighed. “Never had a man make me come.”

Now he was at full attention, sitting upright and leaning back on his palms. “Nah, no shit.”

“I'm serious.”

He let out a light scoff, shaking his head in disbelief. “Jesus.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he watched you climb off the bed to grab your thrown panties. “Me too.”

You glanced over your shoulder as you stepped into them. “Really? You never…?”

He nodded, going back to biting his cheek. 

“How'd you last so fucking long?”

A cocky grin crept across his lips at the compliment behind your words. He was worried he didn't last long enough. And you just asked him how he held on so long.

“Jerked off like, ten fuckin’ times today.” 

That meant he knew he was going to fuck you today. Heat spread through your core again, despite how worn out you were. You smiled and climbed back on the bed to smother him with kisses. 

“You're so fucking hot.” You mumbled against his lips, which were moving weakly against your own. 

“Says the bitch that wouldn't fuck me.” He chuckled. 

“Just wanted you to make the decision for me. It's a lot hotter that way.” You hummed, pulling your swollen lips away from his. “It worked.” 

“Psh.” He rolled his eyes and began stuffing his soft cock back in his jeans. “Put yer clothes on. Place is probably crawlin' with walkers. Le’s get the hell outta dodge before anymore show up.”

Now that Daryl was in on your little game, you couldn't wait to play again. 

@ophelialaufey @carlgrimesgfofficial @theskinniestjackson-denny @dilfish-daydreams @my1fx @jinx-nanami

[gilbertscurls]

Snoop (pt. 2) ➵ Matt Sturniolo

summary: after you've found a small box in matt's drawer, the time finally comes.

The day had finally arrived—your five-year anniversary with Matt. He’d been teasing you about a surprise for weeks, but never let any details slip. After your discovery of the ring in his sock drawer, the anticipation had become almost unbearable. You hadn’t let on that you knew, though—part of you wanted to let him have the moment exactly as he’d planned it.

That morning, Matt had been unusually quiet, his usual playful demeanor replaced by a kind of nervous energy. He’d packed an overnight bag for both of you, insisting on taking you somewhere special. The excitement in his eyes, though mixed with some nerves, made you even more eager to see what he had planned.

As the car wound its way through the tree-lined road, the golden light of the setting sun filtered through the leaves. The drive was peaceful, with only the sound of the radio playing softly in the background. You were holding his hand, your heart pounding as you both sat in comfortable silence. Whatever was coming, you could feel it in the air.

After what felt like forever, Matt pulled up to a secluded clearing by the edge of a sparkling lake. The sight before you took your breath away. Tall pine trees surrounded the area, their branches swaying gently in the evening breeze. The lake stretched out before you, its surface reflecting the fiery hues of the setting sun, and in the middle of the clearing, there was a pathway lit by soft, twinkling fairy lights that led to a small, open pavilion draped in white curtains.

You turned to Matt, your eyes wide. “This is beautiful…”

Matt smiled, his face soft with emotion as he looked at you. “It’s not over yet. Come on.” He took your hand and led you down the lighted path toward the pavilion.

As you reached the center of the pavilion, your heart swelled. There was a small table set with candles, your favorite flowers, and soft music playing from somewhere in the distance. It felt like something out of a dream, like the whole world had been designed for this exact moment.

Matt stood in front of you, his hands trembling slightly as he reached out to take yours. His eyes were locked on yours, and you could see the depth of emotion in them—something you’d always known was there, but that felt even more powerful tonight.

“Y/N,” he began, his voice quiet but steady. “There’s so much I’ve been thinking about for the past few months. We’ve been through so much together—more than I ever thought possible when we first started dating. And every single day with you… it’s just made me more sure that I don’t want to spend my life with anyone else.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as he spoke, your heart beating so hard you thought he might hear it.

“I’ve had this whole speech planned out,” he continued, his voice wavering just slightly, “but now that I’m standing here, none of the words seem good enough. How do you tell the person you love more than anything that they mean the world to you? How do you put into words what it feels like to wake up next to your best friend every day, knowing that this is exactly where you’re meant to be?”

Your tears spilled over, and Matt gently squeezed your hands, his own eyes glistening now.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is… you’ve made me the happiest person I’ve ever been. And I don’t want to wait any longer to start the rest of our lives together.”

Matt took a deep breath and let go of one of your hands, reaching into his pocket. Your heart stopped as he knelt down on one knee, pulling out that same small velvet box you’d found weeks ago.

He looked up at you, his voice barely above a whisper now. “Y/N, will you marry me?”

The world seemed to pause in that moment. The twinkling lights, the soft music, the golden light of the setting sun—all of it blurred as you looked down at the man you loved, your chest tight with overwhelming emotion.

With tears streaming down your face, you nodded, barely able to get the words out. “Yes. Of course, yes.”

Matt’s face broke into the most beautiful smile you’d ever seen as he stood, slipping the ring onto your finger. The instant the cool metal touched your skin, you felt a rush of joy so profound it took your breath away.

He pulled you into his arms, holding you tight as the tears flowed freely from both of you. You felt his heart pounding against yours, and in that moment, you knew that this was it—this was your forever.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a soft pink glow across the sky, you stood there in Matt’s arms, knowing that the next chapter of your lives had just begun. And it was going to be more magical than you ever could have imagined.

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @matts-myloverboy, @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut, @lizzymacdonald06, @asherrisrandom, @sturniolowhore69, @faith5drpepper, @emely9274, @psychologyloverfr, @lovetaylorrussellgrr, @conspiracy-ash

[hitlikehammers]

ignis obscura (dragon-sacrifice!Steve falls for random-man-in-the-woods(?)!Eddie before Steve goes to get eaten) (???)

feat. lots of love-at-first-sight, soul-deep devotion sorta shit

When a dragon arrives within telling-distance, the town nearest the lair it claims must send the sacrifice; their most valued possession. Everyone knows this.

It was just that no one in Hawkins had ever imagined—never really believed—that of all the villages, a dragon would come to them.

Steve had imagined it, though. As a boy, he’d thought it an adventure. As a teenager, he’d fancied it something of an escape.

Now, when it happens? As a young man, Steve Harrington mostly just thinks of course it goes like this.

Because he’s the disappointing-but-only son of the mayor, in a town where mayoral wealth rivals the coffers of the crown, and if the dragon wants value? Steve’s the gateway to whatever riches have been hoarded, whatever small power may be marshaled to command more, to rule, to gather up virgins if Steve himself proved insufficient to that fabled task—though he was renowned as the most comely of his people, having just dipped his toe into his prime while keeping the rosy flush to his cheeks alongside the strength in his arms: perfect timing, really. It helped pad the argument for him as the tribute.

As if maybe the dragon had waited, had watched. Had known what it wanted, and swooped in with intent.

Steve couldn’t give two rats’ asses what the dragon did or didn’t do, as he made his way through the woods and up the mountain. The stories of sacrifice always paired with the same end: no matter how you pleased the dragon, the tribute did not live to descend to their home again.

So really, at this point, it was merely a question of how Steve would meet his end. At the dragon’s mercy, of course, but: more like details.

Steve distracts himself with arguments for whether it’s wiser, or more efficient, to carve human flesh with claws or teeth, and it’s a job done so well that he not only finds himself wholly turned around on this trek, far too close to nightfall, and not nearly as near to the cave he’s aiming for as he need be, but more than that:

He fails to notice he’s no longer alone.

“Are you lost?”

There is a honey-smooth quality to the voice that rings out but…deeper. Darker even, though it doesn’t strike warning between Steve’s lungs. It’s…caramelized, and slow slip of thick…almost comfort. Steve fights to keep a clear head: not all dangers are apparent. Enchantment and faerie mischief, even, could have found him in his mindless wandering.

“Lost?” Steve tries to scoff at the right tone of haughty; “I’ve lived here my entire life—“

“In these deserted woods?” the voice, and now there’s a figure that draws nearer, closer in the growing claim of the moon for light but still more silhouette than anything as it—he, the voice is male, Steve is near-certain—turns and assesses their immediate surroundings before tutting thrice:

“Strange choice of domicile.”

And it’s mocking, of course it is: but the honey-caramel of the voice is a molten thing. It warms Steve deep and he cannot even be cross.

“I,” he starts, but sees not point to finishing before he sighs and admits, to himself as much as to the stranger:

“Yes, I am lost.”

“But you’ve lived here your whole life!” the stranger slaps a palm to his own cheek, mouth dropped in faux-horror but he looks so…earnest. And maybe adorable with it, so much so that Steve can’t help but chuckle a little helplessly for it all.

“Hush,” he chides, half-heartedly at best. “I was supposed to get to the caves by nightfall.”

“Ooo,” the stranger leans in, as if to prepare for a secret; Steve didn’t realize he was so close; “scintillating dinner date?”

Steve can’t help it but to snort.

“By a measure,” Steve deadpans, before clearing his throat; “I need to present myself to the dragon.” When the strange man stares at him unblinking Steve deflates a little.

“You know, hot, fire,” he gestures broadly; everyone knows what comes at the end of a sacrifice: “dinner…”

“Why are you looking for a dragon?” the other man asks, his lips pulling down a bit in just-shy-of-a-frown. Steve doesn’t like the look on him, so he tries to put on a bit of a show, match the stranger’s teasing energy from before as best he can in the given circumstances:

“I just so happen to be the village sacrifice,” Steve announces, chest puffed a bit, but he fails to do anything but deepen the frown he’d been aiming to wipe clean from the other man’s face; now Steve’s frowning, too, as he deflates a little, but hardens a little too, crossing his arms and leaning back where the other man’s not even bothered to stop leaning in, despite his apparently displeasure.

“What?” Steve challenges, but it’s brittle, he knows it. “It’s a,” he vacillates, unsure how exactly to describe the…ritual of it. The way it’s cast as a, as a…

“It is a high,” Steve’s voice wavers a bit, like finally saying it aloud makes it all the less believable: “honor.”

The other man eyes him silently until Steve feels it in his very skin, before finally he speaks:

“Hmm,” he tips his head, considering just a little before he seems less to come to a conclusion, and more to a conclusion on how to best voice the things he wanted to say already, at that:

“Well, I know these woods very well, better than any hailing from the village I suspect you’re speaking of,” his gaze flicks Steve top to toes, something warm in it, no, something hot in it, that simmers through Steve’s veins: “and so I can get you to the caves, at the very least for shelter before moonrise-full,” he glances skyward, seeming to doublecheck his words before he nods decisively and reaches out a hand:

“Think you can trust someone you only just stumbled upon in the forest to steer you straight?”

And Steve doesn’t know for sure what he’d have done, what his answer and actions may have been if death-by-some-draconic-means weren’t imminent. But it is, and so he takes the hand offered, and grasps more than shakes, holds more than strikes accord and lets himself notice and relish how smooth and warm it feels against his skin:

“Lead the way.”

He doesn’t know what he’d do in lesser circumstances.

But for the grin on the man’s face, the way it shines brighter than moonlight, than sunrays even, he suspects: for the way it makes of the man a star on his own somehow?

Steve wants very much to believe he’d trust the man anyway, regardless of sense, just for the breadth of that smile.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Looks like the dragon’s out for the night.”

Steve makes an extra survey of the den nestled a good bit into the cave when his mysterious guide comments on the undeniable silence of their surroundings, the telling echo of their footsteps in the empty space.

“Curses,” Steve huffs, both frustrated and dismayed because: “I’ll have angered him, what if he doesn’t think I’m enough for—“

“One,” Steve’s beguiling guide ticks the point off with a finger raised on a strangely elegant hand; “you think dragons to be too irritable.” Steve rolls his eyes to himself—this Man who knows so much of the temperaments of dragons, the ego to presume—

“They can be quite pleasant so long as they have sufficient treasure. And they’re long-lived, so they’re patient,” the man continues on, which: it seems his ego’s well-reasoned out at the very least, Steve supposes.

“Which brings us to point number two,” and of course there’s a number two, a pair of fingers now waving almost accusingly to the side of Steve’s face:

“You’re more than enough to be worth waiting for.”

Steve blushes furiously and thanks the sparse cracks of nearly enchanted—quite possibly enchanted, actually—light for very little chance to be seen for it.

His companion grins with a glimmer of that sparse glow catching his eyes, glittering in it like enchantment themselves, and Steve thinks both that yes, he’s likely been seen and caught so that likewise yes, he needs to move out of the shaft of light that betrays him and with haste, because to think such a thing about this strange and beguiling man—beguiling, good gods—says far to much about what Steve feels about him, and far too soon, even by his standards.

Which are lightning quick already on a day in which he knows restraint.

“Sparse for a horde,” Steve surprises himself for how steady his voice is, given how obvious his bid to change the subject lands, not matter his tone.

His companion is gracious enough to allow the shift without comment:

“You think mortal eyes can see such things without a dragon’s explicit permission?”

But not gracious enough to abandon that ego.

“How do you know so much of dragons?” Steve finally just asks; subtlety’s never been his strongest characteristic, and in honesty, it’s past time to have asked it.

The other man smirks, scoffs a little.

“This may be your village’s first encounter with them,” and it’s said not quite in censure, and not unkindly, but Steve is cowed a bit nonetheless—the man had never named but has more than once referenced where he thinks Steve’s from, and Steve suspects if his vestments and the crests embroidered to them weren’t enough, his lack of knowledge would be—his people have been blessed in many ways, and live privileged lives on the whole, most especially his family, in comparison to their neighbors.

“But here is the only perch for the span of tens of villages,” the man points out; “and they’ve not been left untouched for so long.”

Right. Of course.

“You’re from a neighboring town?”

“One word for it,” the man shrugs, in such a way now that it shivers through his unruly curls; “and you’re from Hawkins, I gather.”

Right. Unsubtle to the bone it seems, indeed.

“For the whole of my life I can say I know only one thing about your home,” the man takes Steve grimace as the confirmation that it is; “and it’s how they share notoriously little to know.”

Steve chews at his lip, knows the failings his family’s rule has had for the people without and without their borders. Has tried to find ways to help without power of his own in the order of things.

“I always wished to see other lands, even the nearest of them,” Steve finally lands on something to say; “I tried to convince my parents, but—”

“Parents?”

It might be the first time his new…friend? Looks properly halted.

“Son and heir,” Steve points to himself with a weary sort of smirk, the whole thing laughable, really; “the tribute has to be valuable, right? I thought upon seeing so little here, I could offer from our own troves before the end, as appeasement but,” Steve sighs, suddenly drained, only now realizing, now that the option eludes him, just how heavily he was counting on the option of at least trying to bargain with the dragon, appealing to its intellect and far more, its love of treasure.

“But if it’s as you say, I may have much less by way of offering at all.”

There’s an instant sort of chill that fills him as he starts to acclimate to the reality that he’s going to die, and soon, and there truly is not hope for an escape. He—

“Let me assure you,” the man’s hand startles Steve, battles and swiftly overcomes the chill in him as it wraps tight around Steve’s wrist, his voice following Steve’s own almost without break, a cutting finality to it, definitiveness in his tone and his eyes alike once Steve meets them—and once Steve meets them, the not-quite-stranger doesn’t let him look away.

Magnetic.

“Based on what I have seen?” and the words could be casual, but the low rumble they’re spoken with is anything but:

“You could walk here wholly empty handed, and no dragon worth their flame would turn you away as unworthy.”

Steve feels less his cheeks, and more his whole body, inside and out, flush bright and there’s no light to hide from, save from the one shimmering in the gaze locked into his own.

And Steve, for all his postures of pride: this time?

He has no desire to hide the way he flushes, never mind the way he shivers, if it means trying to evade those eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~

Incidentally, it’s too late for the other man to turn back, though he clearly knows these woods so well. Steve insists that he stays.

Not for any ulterior motives, of course.

The man argues, if almost for show alone, but agrees on one condition: they neither of them have bedding. The other man apparently hadn’t planned to be out past the hour for rest, is only stuck because of Steve and Steve—

Steve has a pack but he…he presumed he’d either be dead and his offerings deemed fitting, or the dragon would keep him as the dragon desired, bedding or clothing or neither, until the dragon was satisfied.

And then, again: he’d be dead.

It is unthinkable to take the meager blankets Steve can see in a corner, not without permission; not from a dragon, so. The other man is asking to…lie close.

And Steve is not opposed. The man is almost…surreally exquisite, especially in the passing moonlight. His angles are…particular. Alluring. They steal the breath in Steve’s chest a little, long before they’ve earned the right.

“It feels more than overdue now to ask your name,” Steve whispers, not that it’s necessary. Not that there’s anyone to hear.

“Eddie,” the man whispers back, his voice so warm and almost enveloping, like an embrace in itself and Steve feels less absurd for speaking so soft, so privately.

Nearly intimate.

Good gods, now Steve is being absurd and should feel it to his bones. He deserves to suffer the uncomfortable twist of embarrassment it leaves in stomach, at this rate.

“Steve,” he manages to say low enough that his mortification isn’t audible.

But then:

“That is a beautiful name, sweetheart,” Eddie breathes, and he’s shimmied closer somehow while Steve was stuck in his shame-spiral for being the too quick to show his cards, even to himself in his own head.

“Nothing special to it,” Steve mutters, demurs a little but in a coquettish way, doesn’t even mean to. Just…there’s an energy between them now, and Steve’s primed to match it.

“Isn’t there?” Eddie asks, heated and near in a way that dances up Steve’s spine:

“I would hesitate to be so sure.”

Again, Steve doesn’t mean to, or plan to, when he rolls further into Eddie’s frame where they’re laid together, already so close, now nearly in each other’s arms.

He doesn’t mean to, and yet: his arms are gathered close against the chest of a man he doesn’t know, and yet feels…more comfortable next to than any body he’s pressed against in his life.

And there have been fair few.

“You’re so warm,” Steve mouths more than anything, lips dragging on this half-stranger’s neck by accident, because it could be nothing save an accident that Steve now knows that Eddie’s skin tastes of salt and smoked cinnamon sticks and the air in the forrest at night: elemental, somehow. Necessary.

Only by accident would Steve torture himself this way.

“I’d keep you warm always,” Steve hears as the world blurs soft to black, the phantom sensation of arms curling around him, welcoming him to sleep—the whole of it odd in every way because he hadn’t spoken loud enough to be heard, really, even so close, and to read his words from the drag of his mouth to flesh was of course impossible.

“To the end of the Age and beyond if I could,” the words drift blissful, wistful like an invitation into sleep: “if you’d let me.”

So of course: it must have been a dream.

~~~~~~~~~~

Daybreak finds them entangled.

Steve…freezes, as if he didn’t feel snug and perfectly warm wrapped up so close. He weighs the merits of bolting, and making apologies after the fact, against trying to extricate himself without rousing his companion, versus—

“Good morning, sweetness.”

Steve stills somehow further, feels his face heat yet again and yet this time, despite the dark of the cave, he’s…crushed ever so pleasantly against the bare smooth planes of a chest that…shouldn’t be bare, should it, because they moved together close for heat against the chill and for certain it is past dawn but it is still nowhere near warm enough for—

“Did you sleep well?”

Steve groans, which only leads him to burrowing further into the unavoidably welcoming give of Eddie’s chest, lean but strong, Steve can tell, much like he can feel as much as hear the rumbling laughter that cascades through that chest: so much like an invitation to sink into the chest and the sound alike, to never be singular, to never be cold.

What a ridiculous notion.

But then lips are unmistakably pressed to the crown of Steve’s head, not even in passing, no: they linger. They…feel right.

Steve wants for them to be right until the day he dies—

Well. That might actually be possible, or close enough for what he’s earned in this world.

The irony.

Eddie takes to the hunt—the reason he was in the woods to find Steve in the first place, apparently; he says his bow and knives are just down toward the ravine, which Steve vaguely knows but not well, too close to the borders of other lands.

“Don’t fret, though,” and this time the lips press to the low half of Steve’s cheek, affection that does not press its advantage but makes it desires clear, too close to Steve mouth to be anything less.

Steve…is unsure what to make of that. Because he cannot make what he thinks of first; he cannot possibly follow that thread in his own mind—increasingly in his own chest.

“I’ll find you, if you get lost again.”

As if Steve will wander, would risk missing his dragon captor’s return, to even consider one misstep to unintentionally enrage his looming executioner, to even consider missing a single instant in the meantime with this man—

But the glinting smile that man shoots Steve’s way as he strides out the yawning opening in the rocks, its glinting like stardust and warm radiance that fills Steve’s veins then spills over and seeps into his marrow:

Steve doesn’t think that man actually meant getting lost that way.

And what on earth is he supposed to make of that, save everything that he can’t have; that cannot be?

Though, in fairness: it would be on brand. Steven Harrington of Hawkins.

Falling hard and fast and more real than ever before, mere hours before he leaves the mortal coil.

~~~~~~~~~~

“You’re anxious.”

Steve knows now that his dreams were realty, last night. The words, the arms.

He is awake in them now after they eat what Eddie’s secured for them, cooked over a fire perfectly pitched outside the mouth of the cave, its warmth not insufficient as they’d eaten in pleasant company together.

Not insufficient at all. Just not this chest; these arms.

And now they are both of them bare to the waist, knowingly and happily curled into one another, and Steve feels on one hand boneless, weightless, inexplicably held and kept beyond the physical in the embrace of a man he barely knows and yet feels…close to. Something-he-cannot-bring-himself-to-say-at-first sight, like in the fairy stories.

But that man’s palm is splayed across Steve’s chest; can feel the birds’ wings of his heartbeat at first stroke.

For the first time in Steve’s life, it doesn’t feel like a weakness he’s caught out on; with Eddie nuzzling at his hair, Steve doesn’t hesitate to speak his fear with a heavy sigh:

“You said you’ve dealt with dragons.”

“Time to time,” Eddie hums, presses his lips to Steve’s scalp like reassurance.

“How will it happen?” Steve whispers shakily, but for the first time in his entire life, he shakes into someone who seems to care, against all reason; who holds tighter to him for needing rather than casting him away.

“I mean, I know,” Steve licks his lips; “I know what will happen, just,” and he can’t quite finish, chokes around his words. Eddie moves closer against him, under the weight of Steve’s frame, maneuvers them so that he can tilt his head just so to kiss down Steve’s jaw while still holding him close; ever closer.

“Well,” Eddie pecks against the peak of Steve’s cheekbone before moving down, all the while massaging circles against Steve’s chest; “a town sends their most valued,” and he sucks a little the, against Steve’s jawline; “but some towns have less to pick from,” and then he finds Steve’s pulse point and suckles there with real feeling until Steve may be terrified, but he’s simultaneously soft clay in a beautiful man’s hands, under a beautiful man’s mouth.

“A dragon is not a mindless beast,” Eddie adds after Steve can feel he’s been well and thoroughly bruised.

“I’ve always heard they’re very smart,” Steve breathes, maybe nods, mostly just savors Eddie’s heat, his nearness, how he touches Steve like he has value; like Steve has value to him, and what a thing to feel, to want, to possibly hold, even for these stolen moments; “it’s how they tell if you send them less than they’re owed.”

Because of course Steve knows the stories. Steve can remember countless tales of horrific ends for villages, towns, whole kingdoms even, razed for being so haughty and foolish as to try and swindle a dragon—perhaps embellished to encourage children’s behavior, but. The bones of the narrative fit the oft-smoldering evidence often enough, so far as Steve could tell in the proper histories.

“Not owed,” Eddie corrects, firmly but somehow also gently, his capacity for dynamism an oddly comforting thing, so human and forgiving of overstepping boundaries so freely as to maybe not even draw any to begin with, at complete odds with Steve’s entire life; “not how most people think, at least.”

Eddie flip Steve over gently, firmly again, settles them chest to chest, one atop the other as Steve looks down at him, feels his heartbeat crash against Eddie’s own closer than ought to be felt, like their ribs clear way for the two of them, for whatever they could be, and Steve wonders if part of why his heart is racing so is for the loss of the possibility that rushes through him, that swells between them in every moment—something that grows in every moment, every look and touch and blink, that expands effervescent and filled with so much without any knowledge that there is not space to hold it, that what time they have is borrowed at best.

Steve thinks maybe; his sick heart for it could be railing where the rest of him is fixated on etching every one of those looks and blinks and touches into his bones so that they may be among the last parts of him to leave the earth.

“A dragon, above most things, has a particularly keen sense to know precisely where value lies,” Eddie’s explaining again, his hand now still, pressed against Steve’s heart akin to a shield, or a safe-hold. “And how.”

Steve ponder that for a moment before he meets Eddie’s eyes, having felt them heavy and molten upon him with new fire before taking them in for all that they are: brilliance.

Blinding.

Steve leans as Eddie arches and they meet in between to press their lips together after what feels an eternity and an instant of living in a world where they didn’t taste one another in such a way as to drink their fill. As to breathe each other’s breath.

So as to tease and cherish deep, to tongue against the very heart.

And there Steve makes certain, before he loses himself wholly to sensation:

Looks. Touches. Blinks. Carved into his bones, but first.

First he’ll gild them in every single kiss.

~~~~~~~~~~

They transition fully into lovers in a seamless fashion, insatiable like Steve’s never known it. Eddie never keeps him wanting, gives selflessly and Steve does all that he can to reciprocate and more, because Eddie is everything, of that Steve is certain, and therefore he deserves no less.

He also seems dead set on making sure that they are posed as equals. That to lavish one another with affections as much as to ravish each other endless never unbalances one way or the other. Wherever Steve seeks to give more where Eddie should have it, Eddie turns the tables to takes Steve apart so that all he knows is tingly euphoria. A happiness he’s never felt, didn’t quite believe could exist.

Yet here he is. Here they are.

Steve smiles more than he remembers, playful and ravenous and overflowing with feeling, and Eddie doesn’t rise to meet his enthusiasm: he’s already there, matched with him and ecstatic to entwine. It’s a heady thing, addictive and overwhelming and a gift, Steve thinks: maybe the universe forgive him for doing less to stop harm and deprivation in his home, for wishing to help more and acting where he could even if it wasn’t enough. Maybe he gets this sliver of heaven out of pity for what’s to come.

He will take it with open arms. He will welcome it. He will make himself of it until there is not Steve that exists outside of it.

But it cannot overcome the inevitable, in its impending, suffocating weight.

Come the sixth day like this—the sixth night like this—something in Steve gives way. Existing on the precipice of life and death with no telling of when the hammer with strike finally takes too much of a toll, and his nerves betray him.

“Likely they are hunting, it can take many days, weeks even I’m told,” Eddie tries to console him as he shakes, can’t even sob, like his body can’t coordinate even that much to work properly, too distraught are pieces of him he’s flooded with pleasure but finally could no longer be denied, fed on his wonderment and picked until it cracked enough for his fears to bleed through. “But if you are still so anxious we could, or, I could try and look for some clue as to where it’s gone?” Eddie offers carefully, holding Steve together as he does his utmost to shudder out of his skin. “And you can stay here, in case it returns?”

The only thing Steve can do then is shake his head until it hurts, until he’s dizzy with his own vehement denial: it’s the first things that’s properly matched, body to feeling.

It’s fitting that way.

“I,” Steve starts, just voice barely a scratch as Eddie reaches, tips his chin upward and cups his face so delicate:

“What, angel?”

Steve blinks at him—takes him in, presses down to pain as he draws it, brands it onto his skeleton to be remembered, all the tangled but powerfulfeelings he has for this man so fast, so strong.

For this man, for all he feels: Steve makes himself speak what’s heavy and true and real in his galloping heart:

“I have no intention of reneging my duties,” he rasps, holds on to Eddie as tightly as he can, as if maybe their bones could brand one’s another and fuse into one.

“But until no choice is left, I,” Steve chokes, and his eyes burn as he holds Eddie’s gaze, lifts Eddie’s hand away from his cheek and over to his lips to press all his hopeless hopes against Eddie’s palms:

“I don’t want to be out of your sight, nor you taken from mine.”

The tear that escapes him then is caught by Eddie’s thumb. Adoringly.

Each that follows is lost between Eddie’s lips; might belong to them both.

Steve thinks he can believe that much—in these fleeting, sacred moment—to be true.

~~~~~~~~~~

The dragon has still not appeared, and Steve has since collected himself for the most part, with Eddie ready to brace him steady when he starts to falter. It’s a wild novel thing, to be supported this way. To be cared for.

With such care, comes perception. For better or worse.

“What troubles you, beloved?” Eddie eyes him knowingly, a level of sight straight through to Steve’s soul that should not be fathomable in a lifetime, let alone a week’s time.

“My own mind,” Steve admits freely, unwilling any longer—if he ever had been—to hide from Eddie, unsure what the point would be even if he desired to: “it is cowardly, and selfish.”

“I doubt that,” Eddie catches Steve’s jawbone with a single finger, playful, endearing: but clear in its pointed redirection of Steve’s gaze, and his disparagement of his own thoughts:

“I would doubt that quite strongly, in fact.”

Steve lets Eddie touch prompt him to a kiss, as if he needs coaxing before he leans into the crook of Eddie’s neck and breathes him in: the best savours of the ground and sky.

“I would not run from my fate, here,” Steve says, not wholly to remind himself but, not without that purpose at hand; “save that it feels like my fate is…”

And he slides his hand to Eddie’s chest, hopes it speaks for him where he doesn’t know words for the depth and breadth and weight of these feelings; Eddie’s hand covers his, automatic, and he knows he’s understood.

“I wish not to be parted from you, now that I’ve found you,” Steve whispers, swallows hard, then looks Eddie in the eyes, speaks straight to the soul in them so that he is not misread, or underestimated in the weight of his own words, now:

“I think that I may be in love with you.”

And he’s never been before. He’s believed it may be love, but: no. No, it was never love before.

If ever it was love: it is this.

“Oh my precious one,” Eddie pets his hair and kisses after his own touch: “I don’t think that I’m in love with you,” and Steve stiffens only for the instant Eddie leaves between those words, and dipping down to Steve’s ear to exhale with feeling:

“I know it.”

How it is possible to die brokenhearted and happier than he’d ever dreamed, Steve doesn’t know.

But he’s about to serve as object lesson, in just days.

Maybe less.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Know that when,” Steve is speaking to the cracks in the rock that peek at the night sky as he speaks, Eddie on his chest like a blanket, save so much better; “when it happens,mwhen it devours me whole or takes me in pieces,” and his voice catches, but he remains resolute; “it will know you in every inch of me,” and he cups Eddie closer to him then, holds him against the thunderous roar of his pulse.

“My heart is full of you, and it will taste only of devotion,” Steve near-hisses for the fervor in him. “You’ll be the last bit of me known to the world.”

“Never.”

The growl that comes from the body that curls around him, protective, possessive, beloved in a way and to a magnitude Steve didn’t know he could feel before now: the venom in it makes it clear that it’s not a refutation of Steve’s declaration for the sentiment.

It’s a refutation to the cosmos itself.

“I would never allow it,” Eddie bites out, pressing closer to Steve, to his heart: “you will not be forfeit to some dragon,” and oh, but this man Steve loves is wild with his passion, foolhardy and yet all the more lovable for it.

“I would fight with all that I am to protect you,” he vows, presses his lips to Steve’s chest and speaks there like he means well and truly to means to tell Steve to the heart of him this sole, unshakeable truth: “and should somehow I lose the battle, it could only be because there is nothing of me left to fight.”

And for the first time, in all his life: Steve clings to something, someone, he’d happily rip his beating heart out to protect.

And that—he realizes in a single world-rewriting instant—he fears the loss of more than any other thing.

Any. Other. Thing.

~~~~~~~~~~

They don’t speak of it, or of a choice to be made when the time does come: Steve thinks maybe that’s the only way they manage at all, really, is to simply hold it between them in those last days. Known. Seen.

Loved.

And feared.

But always together. Always so close, in every way.

Until the stasis breaks.

“Steve,” Eddie breathes into the afternoon, innocuous. Steve’s stopped counting how many days they’ve stolen together.

“I must leave, my darling.”

Steve narrows his eyes, trying to understand him. He watches as Eddie hurries to gather both of Steve’s hands, to bring them to his lips.

“Only for a short while,” he murmurs between Steve’s fingers, kisses at his knuckles with apology, and with heartsickness thick between his breaths: “barely a moment,” and his breath is short, thin, like the thought of leaving hurts.

And Steve…Steve has been in love for the first time, with the perfect match to his very soul. Unthinkable, but undeniable.

But it hasn’t made him wholly blind.

He means to press, to see if the slight little inklings he’s had every so often hold any weight, point in any direction of significance, means to ask just a simple thing, but then Eddie’s expression breaks open, a miasma of emotion spilling forth as his breath catches, monumental on a sob and he takes the hands at his lips and instead uses them to bury his face.

“Oh, my Steve,” he breathes, and all Steve can really see are the heaving lifts of his shoulders, and the way his curls fall a little like a monsoon.

“I am sorry,” Eddie whispers into Steve hands and Steve feels dampness there, and oh. No.

Not from Eddie. Not for whatever this is. Steve can think of nothing, save Eddie leaving for good before the end, that he should be moved to apologize for. And even that Steve would forgive.

Because Steve loves him.

“Why?” Steve asks, incredulous, his own half-formed ideas to seek to know gone at the sight of his beloved in distress. “What reason on earth do you have to be sorry, you said,” and Steve halts, wonders if that’s the catch, and tries not to falter without reason, tries to stand tall: “only a moment,” and that is what Eddie said, he said only a—

“I lied.”

Steve does to falter.

He starts to fracture and fall entirely. Because what, what all was a lie, was it all a lie, he—

He doesn’t know if he can breathe. He’s never lost his heart before. But he imagines that if death is still waiting for him, and he’ll face it alone: it’s what he’d planed for. What he’s prepared for from the start.

He knows how to be alone. It has to hurt less, than losing his heart now.

It will have to hurt less, at the very end, if it comes to him without a heart in his breast.

“It was worth every second, no matter that it must end, in joy or heartbreak,” Steve finds himself saying, and if his tone rings hollow, it’s only because his heart’s already leaking from him, already half-gone: he means it with every bit he has left, nonetheless.

“You are the moon, pulling me close,” he turns his hands so his palms line to Eddie’s; “the sun wrapping me in warmth,” and he folds their fingers together, clutches tight one last time, greedy as anything:

“You have been the greatest gift at the end of all I’ll ever know.” And that is the truth, that is the last words and final rites written on his bones. “Because of you, I will die fulfilled in ways I didn’t realize I was lacking.”

And then there’s just one thing, because Steve, Steve needs to say this part, he doesn’t think he’s said this part yet:

“Thank you.”

He means it.

But Eddie only holds onto him harder, painfully but it’s perfection; only shakes his head over and over before he finally rasps, barely audible:

“You misunderstand.”

Steve leans closer to hear him, to feel him, to know his warmth in the lat moments that might be left. He wants to understand. He doesn’t want the end to be anything but clear.

Even if it hurts.

“I have lied,” Eddie swallows hard; “but you misunderstand for what.”

Steve…still misunderstands.

“You have been my moon,” Eddie nearly moans, his head nuzzling into Steve’s hands, his hold, with nothing short of desperation:“you have been the sun since the first revelation when I was taught as barely a hatchling that my kind were born of suns, made from fire.”

And that. It’s been those small things: some dragon. Not owed. No dragon would find him unworthy.

The ego to presume.

This is no longer a small thing, spoken now.

“You stole my heart straight away, and I gave it freely but,” Eddie hiccups the slightest bit; “I only grow in relishing that of all the souls in all the worlds, yours has welcomed mine,” and he sniffles, by every god and power in all the worlds—

“You are a privilege.”

And oh, oh, but by every god and power: Steve loves him.

“And you have a dragon’s heart now, no matter how you choose to use it, to keep or reject it,” foolish words Eddie speaks so messy, so rushed and ragged, so ripped out from him visceral and slick with feeling: “and your end will be my end,” and his lips brush Steve’s hands, kiss the pulse on both his wrists:

“And either that will be unmeasurable ages hence,” and his breath catches, and Steve only wants for him to look up, just look up, because he’s said it without saying now, hasn’t he, muddled and frantic and so human, to say he’s anything but as he admits to the thing he thinks he needs to offer apology for.

“Or,” he trips over the next words, but they’re so sodden with candor, the blood in his veins:

“Or my heart may turn ash if you leave but,” and he brings the heels of both Steve’s hands to his mouth and kisses, speaks into them worshipfully:

“Your life will go on as a mortal’s, once I’ve—”

“You’ve given your heart?”

Because Steve had suspicions. Of why Eddie said certain things, certain ways. How warm he was. How strong and even and…ancient the beating of his heart resonated beneath Steve’s ear, his touch, like it radiated heat as a sun in itself.

“Of course,” Eddie’s head snaps up, like he’s offended at any suggestion to the contrary; “almost immediately.”

He blinks; he forgets himself. There’s a lid to his starburst eyes that closes unlike Steve’s, the opposite direction, almost invisible.

But Steve’s watching. Steve doesn’t blink once, cannot miss this.

Cannot pause what he writes into his bones because even if he plans for nothing less than ages unmeasurable, now, he wants this written on the bones that come in the end.

Whenever the end stretches out to.

“And if it’s ill received,” Steve asks slowly, his brows pinching as he picks through the implications of this part: “you—”

“Wither, slowly,” Eddie says, far too matter-of-fact for Steve’s liking, or willingness to stand: “but the end comes, yes.”

“Eddie,” Steve scolds, and Eddie flinches, thinks he’s been caught, been known and revealed now and in so being is anything but wanted with all of Steve’s being.

There is a tiny part of Steve that’s grateful for his foolishness: it makes Steve feel less alone, to be swept so by a love this vast.

“You are the dearest treasure I’ve ever known,” Eddie whispers, but it’s a pleading thing, something even Steve can tell doesn’t feel as if it had a hope to grasp; “if you let me keep you I would hold you closer than all things. To give a dragon’s heart means to place whatever holds it closer than the heart itself ever learned to rest on its own,” and Eddie gathers Steve’s hands again to his chest, stacks them, presses so very hard.

The life in him is a sobering thing. The idea that Steve holds this power somehow in his hands, literally and otherwise, is…staggering.

No less then amazing.

“You are my single desire, but more,” Eddie breathes; “you are my single care, my sole concern,” “my only.”

“Why do you leave, then?”

And Eddie stills. Pulls back only so much as to weigh what he sees in Steve’s face, Steve’s eyes—what Steve sees in his is clear: Eddie didn’t think he’d get to this part. He thought Steve would balk at learning his lover was something more than mere human.

Specifics aside, Steve could have told anyone that from the night that they met.

And so Eddie, bowled over by the shock of the fact that Steve still holds to him, does not waver, seems to speak unvarnished when he answers:

“The things you have shared,” and Steve knows without expansion what Eddie means: tales of home, of his family, of his parents, of how he came to be here, pledged as sacrifice for the good of his town, whispered in the dark as they watched the stars move slow; “I can bear it no longer, my darling.”

And Eddie straightens further then, and Steve sees what he dismissed as the play of the light: the glow in Eddie’s eyes unmistakable as something other, something from within.

“I demand the most valued,” Eddie’s words come out in a hiss, shape even as he hesitates, leaves every moment for Steve to pull away should his touch be unwanted as he reaches to brush Steve’s hair from his face.

“You are that and more to me and yet,” and he shakes his head, and it’s so strange still to be marveled at this way: unbridled and unashamed.

“You said it yourself, valuable,” Eddie nearly spits the word, like a poison he seeks to eke out; “and yet I believe that I said something different.”

Steve frowns, tries to put together the pieces but then his face is framed in long fingers that span the whole of him, fittingly so, as Eddie looks deed in his eyes and says with force and feeling:

“Valued,” he emphasizes with a kiss; “beloved,” and another, and Steve cannot help but smile into it just the slightest bit, his heart soaring as the other pieces—borrowed time and impending ends and forevers in view all at once rearranging into what he thinks might be an always with this man who’s more than a man when he speaks against Steve’s mouth:

“Precious beyond all else and others.”

He pulls back, and marvels more, then narrows his eyes in a way Steve’s never seen, pupils contracting inward from the sides into slits.

“You are mine,” Eddie growls; “but the demands we make are not idle, and they did not value you as you deserved,” Eddie scowls, and Steve sees it now, where he’s going, what he’s doing:

“And they thought it acceptable to send you to me as their most valued, believing they sent you to your death?” Eddie seethes:

“It cannot go unpunished.”

Steve…sees it. Understands, now.

It does not hurt, the idea of losing people who were family only in name, especially not to the man before him, who is all that family should mean, could mean, will mean.

Always, now.

“The villagers are innocents, please,” Steve whispers, and Eddie cups his cheek, so lovingly it aches.

“Fret not,” he says with that warmth that Steve’s melted in from the very start; “I know who deserves my ire.” His expression sours, hardens:

“And they will know their hard-earned consequences.”

Eddie kisses Steve with a kind of devotion bigger than the sky somehow, and it’s only because Steve’s reeling to get his footing back that he trails behind Eddie and not at his side as he makes to depart.

“Please do not follow me, beloved,” he calls over his shoulder, not breaking his pace; “I do not wish you to see-“

“I will stay,” Steve answers, like the words were waiting on this tongue of this very moment: “if.”

Eddie stills; turns.

“If?”

“You promise to return with all haste,” Steve reaches him quick and is the one who kisses with all that he knows, all that he can imagine, all that he holds inside of himself and shares already with Eddie uninhibited; “I will be cold without you.”

And that makes Eddie soften; smile as he promises:

“Done.”

“And,” Steve adds, pulling away from Eddie’s lips to look him straight on as Eddie’s brow quirks in question:

“And?”

“Change for me.”

And Eddie, for once, is wholly dumbfounded. Speechless.

It’s quite a feat to behold.

“You,” he stammers; “you wish to see,” he shakes his head, disbelieving; “beloved, it is not, I am,” and oh, oh: Steve did not expect this part: “we are cast as fearsome creatures for good reason.”

He is wary. He is cautious. He thinks himself the monster. He wants to hide this part from Steve.

But Steve will have nothing hidden between them, least of all this: the whole of who his love is.

“I do not fear you, I could not,” Steve pledges in truth; “and any creature with your heart, who has captured my soul,” Steve grabs Eddie’s shoulders and draws him in, bows those foreheads into one another:

“You could never be anything short of exquisite. Breathtakingly so.”

Eddies breathing is hitched, stuttering. Steve wants to cry for the way he is surprised. Wants to mourn for whatever hurt him to make him this cautious, this stunned by Steve’s love: unconditional.

Undying, now that it’s possible to give as such, and in truth.

And Steve waits, watches him, stares patient until Eddie sighs deeply, steps back far and then closes his eyes and…becomes.

Larger, of course. The wings are a feat. The talons are less a surprise from his spindly fingers.

He’s, he is…

“You are,” Steve reaches, waits until Eddie comes to him, welcomes his touch this way and to feel him, smooth scale not so unlike the chest bare against him in the night—warmth and safety and all that is right:

“Magnificent. And I would know you,” Steve tells him, seeks his gaze as he speaks from the very core of his being: “even if I hadn’t seen it for myself.”

He steps closer, waits for Eddie to be curious enough to bow his head low so Steve can mimic how they’d stood, forehead pressed just moments before.

“These unfathomable eyes,” he whispers between them, and smiles at how those eyes fall closed in something like relief, like comfort after laying down a heavy burden as Steve reaches for the soft underbelly in lighter scales against the charcoal of the rest of his beloved’s form:

“The might of this heart,” and he presses, and yes, exactly as he knew he’d find: thunderous. Could part seas, reshape the globe, stir the stars.

And it’s Steve’s. So he doesn’t hesitate to press his lips above the breathing and breathe out:

“Unmistakable, my darling.”

When he pulls back those eyes truly are just the same: they wonder. They marvel.

At Steve. Just Steve.

It’s intoxicating.

“Do what must be done,” Steve nuzzles at the side of Eddie’s face, pulls his snout to his shoulder so he can kiss at what he supposes is something of a cheek, and then he pulls back, lets go.

But only their bodies. Nothing more. Never anything more. Not ever again.

“Then come home to me.”

Steve could be wrong, or just wishful, but he thinks Eddie glows from within through the whole of himself, and not just his eyes, as he takes flight and shoots like the star Steve always saw inside him, up into the night.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s not long. It’s just as Eddie promised.

After everything, Steve hadn’t worried at all that it would be anything else.

“It was painless,” is what Eddie says as he walks back into the cave, a man again; “and it was for the sake of justice overdue,” as if he must explain. Or seek forgiveness.

Steve pulls him in and kisses him until he’s breathless as an answer for both concerns.

“What now?” he can’t help but ask. He is still more in love than he can breathe through. Will live and die exactly that way for time innumerable.

“You wish to be here, with me?” Eddie asks, almost hesitant; seeking.“You do not feel indebted, or, or coerced? Or tricked or held by force or—”

Steve grins at the babbling, the nervous rambles. To think they’re because of him.

It might just give him an absolutely unbearable ego of his own if it’s to be the norm forevermore.

“Love,” Steve presses a single raised finger to the missile of Eddie’s lips, watches as he adorable crosses his eyes to follow its trajectory.

“You are all that I have imagined and never thought to find.” And it really is as simple and as unthinkable as that, in the end. Or the beginning. “The only way I would be anywhere but your side is to be torn from it, or sent away.”

Eddie growls at the first suggestion, and huffs in pure offense at the suggestion of the second as he reaches and pulls Steve flush to his body: warm, warm, warm.

Steve’s heart flutters against him, reminding him that he owns it wholly.

Eddie’s drums in protective answer, welcoming as much as seeking to leap into Steve’s chest on the same promise, the same pledge as he murmurs into Steve’s lips:

“You still misestimate what it means to be loved by a dragon,” and drags his mouth against Steve’s bottom lips, a little wanton even as his words carry the weight of the universe entire:

“This,” and he clutches Steve’s closer still, so as to not be mistaken; “is for as much of eternity as is for us to grasp.”

It is not sacrifice at all to kiss the man, to love the dragon, in front of him, now.

And for the rest of time ahead.

For @a-little-unsteddie, who requested the quote 'Magic' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson @theheadlessphilosopher

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[hanfourz]

— m.jh thought [✷]

🪼- this has been rotting in my brain for weeks and i had to get it out. (also making this into a longer drabble bc whew; so enjoy this little snippet ig)

warnings: suggestive towards the end, kissing

thinking abt college bsf!myungjae who has a massive crush on you. he doesn't even try to hide it, he's literally so obsessed with you. if someone is looking for jaehyun, they look for you first because wherever you are he follows not too far behind. you can't even fully recall how you two became best friends. you remember him coming into the cafe you worked at a lot with his friends, conveniently around the time you would start your shift. he was always really friendly and sweet, making conversation while he waited for his order to be finished. you remember watching him and his goofball friends bicker loudly in the middle of the coffee shop and when you'd accidentally let out a giggle he was the first to look your way. you remember him one day asking you when your shift was over and him telling you to find him in the library once you were done. since that day, you two have been practically inseparable.

finals were coming up and the two of you had decided to become study partners. terrible idea really because he didn't have a serious bone in his body. whenever he came to your dorm to "study", you two always ended up studying for maybe ten minutes max before yall were huddled up on the couch watching tv. you had to resort to studying alone once he'd left. bad decision number two was letting him convince you to come study at his dorm because his roommate would be out and you'd have "peace and quiet" (as if that was a thing around myung jaehyun). when you got there wearing a baggy tshirt and shorts, jaehyun visibly gulped. everyone but you was very aware of his crush on you and it was times like this that made it especially difficult for him. because how was he meant to act somewhat normal when you looked like that. he wasn't sure he wanted you to be aware of how he felt about you, too scared to lose you as a friend entirely.

jaehyun was even more touchy than usual, body pressed right up against yours as you two sat on his bed. touchiness wasn't uncharacteristic for him, he was like that with everyone but today it was much worse. you didn't really understand why he seemed to be attached to your hip today but you can't say you were complaining. you never minded jaehyuns clinginess, it was actually one of the things you came to rly love about him. once your (very short) study sesh was over, he offered to walk with you back to your dorm since it was dark out. you never turned down spending more time with him and you two headed to the elevator. as you walked you had started yapping to him about something going on with some friends from one of your other classes. he wasn't really paying attention though, hyper focused on the way your cut-neck shirt was falling dangerously low on your shoulder.

as soon as you two were in the elevator, jaehyun was extremely close to you again. when you looked up at him, you were shocked to see the way he was looking at you. and when his hands found the curve of your hips and he was asking to please kiss you, the puzzle pieces started to click in your head. truth is, you'd always found him devastatingly attractive but refused to entertain those thoughts, trying not to catch feelings for someone who was just supposed to be a friend. but you'd be stupid to deny him right now and you'd be a liar if you said you hadn't wanted to kiss him since that first day you saw him in that cafe. so you gave in, you let him kiss you breathless on that elevator and you invited him into your dorm when you realized that your roommate was out. you let him indulge in every lewd fantasy he'd had of you right on your very bed.

[dwaekkicidal]

after reading the biting lino thoughts I neeeeeed u to write pliant lino who for onceeeee let's u have ur way with him, like i totally agree he's THE bratty dom but he's feeling generous so he lets u do what u want plsplspls

im so sorry this is so late! i had this in my drafts and completely forgot to post it ><

the og post

lino who, for once in his life, doesn't know what to do with himself when you're sitting on his lap. your pretty lips that are glossy from your combined spit thanks to the heated makeout session you just had. your lips that are also swollen from the constant attention to his pecs, leaving little marks that make him moan quietly and make his dick twitch

he settles his hands on your hips, holding onto the last drops of his dominance as if his life is on the line until he eventually caves. he's so hard and his mind is so foggy from the various hickeys and bite marks that now litter his chest, some of which are even shaped like a heart as if to add more fuel to the fire <3

❥ pliant lino who finds himself sinking into the couch, just one big puddle, as you roll your hips forward and grind onto him. his chest and neck are red as he takes deep breaths, trying to ground himself from your onslaught

❥ pliant lino whose moans turn more high-pitched and whiney as you test the waters, grabbing his wrists and pinning them above his head on the top of the couch

❥ pliant lino who doesn't object, doesn't move a muscle, doesn't even blink for that matter. he sits there and lets it happen, his pretty boba eyes glossing over as he stares into your wide ones

❥ pliant lino who keeps his hands where you put them, not moving them an inch as you move your hands to pull his cock out of his boxers, pumping him with two hands.

❥ pliant lino who keens when a fat glob of ur spit drops from your shiny lips and lands right onto his throbbing tip. even more so when the squelching sounds seem to get louder and he cant help but spread his legs more and dig his fingers into where his hands rest, still at the top of the couch

❥ pliant lino who bucks his hips desperately, breathily moaning your name alongside throaty whines of how close he is

❥ pliant lino who, if you choose to edge him, will have the prettiest pleading face youve ever seen. no tears yet but you can see the frustration in his eyes and the twitch from his cock

❥ pliant lino who might even pout with a cute frown if not just make an angry face at you through his heaving breaths

❥ pliant lino who wont beg, especially if its the first time with no prior talk about it, but he wont hesitate to whine loudly and wrap his hands around your wrist, tugging you towards him and silently telling you what he wants and what to do

may or may not go dom mode after that hehe

❥ pliant lino who, if you do let him cum right then, will scrunch his face up and furrow his eyebrows as he cums. whether it be on your hands/face or even down your throat, he's gonna have his head thrown back and those big thighs are gonna squeeze around you with each spurt

❥ pliant lino who wants to touch you in some sort of way while this is going on. its mainly to keep him grounded, but he also craves the affection when his mind is reeling

❥ pliant lino who will lowkey fantasize about you overstimulating him if you ride out his orgasm for a little longer than normal

❥ pliant lino who will quickly feel feral and get a sudden urge fuck your brains out after this kind "present" you gave him

❥ pliant lino who, once you two are laying in bed after the fact, pulls an "i know i said that would never happen but... maybe we should do it again. soon. for... research purposes, yeah?"

[tanjamikaelson]

BEST FRIEND'S BROTHER - CHAPTER 1

MASTERLIST

CHAPTER 1: | THUNDERSTORM |

You had been best friends with Sarah Cameron for as long as you could remember. Her house was a second home to you, a place where you were just as comfortable as in your own house. Over the years, you had become close with her entire family, but none more than her older brother, Rafe. While most of the island saw him as a troubled guy with a reputation for anger, you knew a different side of him—one that was softer, more vulnerable. You had known about the strained relationship between Rafe and his father, Ward, and how it weighed heavily on him. Sarah had warned you to steer clear of her brother, advising you never to be alone with him. Yet, despite her warnings, you couldn’t help but be drawn to him.

As you grew older, the dynamic between you and Rafe shifted. You found yourself gravitating toward him whenever Sarah wasn’t around, lingering in conversations that grew longer each time. It wasn’t just that he respected you; it was the way he looked at you—the way his gaze would follow you as you walked past, how his eyes darkened when you rose from the pool, water dripping from your skin. He never made a move, but you couldn’t ignore the way he would bite his lip, the tension lingering between you both like a live wire.

•°•°•°•°•°•

On the night of Hurricane Agatha, you and Sarah had planned a sleepover at her house. The storm outside was violent, with thunder shaking the walls and rain pounding against the windows. While Sarah slept soundly beside you, you lay awake, your heart racing with each crack of thunder. Storms always unsettled you, and made you feel small and exposed.

Unable to sleep, you slipped out of Sarah’s bed as quietly as you could, not wanting to wake her. Without thinking, your feet carried you through the house until you found yourself at Rafe’s door. You paused for a moment, a wave of hesitation washing over you. But before you could turn back, your hand was already on the knob, easing the door open.

Inside, the room was dark, save for the faint glow of the storm outside. Rafe lay asleep, his face soft and untroubled in the dim light. You stood there for a moment, just watching him, your heart fluttering in your chest. He looked so peaceful, so unlike the Rafe the rest of the world knew.

Carefully, you lifted the edge of the bedsheets and slid into the empty space beside him. The movement stirred him awake, and for a moment, his body tensed before he saw you.

"Y/N, what are you doing here?" His voice was hushed, still thick with sleep.

"I’m scared of the storm," you whispered, pulling the sheets up to your chin. You felt a little silly admitting it, but you also knew that, for some reason, being next to Rafe made you feel safer. "I was hoping I could sleep here with you.”

Rafe blinked at you, his brain still catching up to what was happening. He had imagined you in his bed a hundred times—dreams where you were wearing much less, doing much more—but this was real. You were really here, asking to sleep next to him.

"What will Sarah say?" he asked, though the grin on his face showed he didn’t really care.

"You don’t care about that," you teased softly.

"You’re right. I don’t," he admitted with a chuckle. "You can stay, as long as you don’t care either."

"Thank you, Rafey." The nickname rolled off your tongue effortlessly, and Rafe felt his heart skip. He hated when anyone else called him that, but coming from you, it felt different. It felt good.

There was a pause, and then you spoke again, your voice small and uncertain. "Can you... hug me or something?"

Rafe didn’t hesitate. "Yeah, come here," he said, his voice softer now. He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you close, your head resting on his chest. The storm outside raged on, but with Rafe’s heartbeat steady beneath your ear, you finally found peace and drifted off to sleep.

•°•°•°•°•°•

In the soft glow of the early morning light, you stirred awake. The first thing you noticed was how warm and comfortable you felt, cocooned in a haze of safety and sleep. You blinked slowly, your body registering the fact that you weren’t in the same position you had fallen asleep in. Now, you were on your side, your back pressed firmly against something solid and warm. It didn’t take long to realize it was Rafe.

His chest rose and fell with the rhythm of deep sleep, his arms wrapped tightly around your body, pulling you into him as though you were something he couldn’t bear to let go of. The memory of sneaking into his bed last night came rushing back, and a small smile tugged at your lips. It wasn’t just a dream—you were really here, in Rafe’s bed, tangled up with him.

You shifted slightly, moving closer into the comfort of his embrace, and that’s when you felt it. Something firm pressing against your backside. The realization of what it was made your cheeks burn with a mix of embarrassment and excitement. You had never slept with a guy before, but the idea of giving yourself to Rafe—someone who had always been more than just Sarah’s older brother—had danced in your mind more than once.

Curiosity flickered through you, and without thinking, you gently ground your hips back against him. The contact sent a thrill through your body, and just as you did it again, Rafe stirred behind you, his grip on your hips tightening instinctively.

“Good morning, Y/N,” his voice was rough and husky, still thick with sleep as he whispered into your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

You mumbled a soft “Good morning” in return, your voice barely audible over the sound of your heartbeat in your ears. The closeness between you was intoxicating, making you acutely aware of the heat radiating from his body.

But before you could move again, Rafe’s hand gripped your hips firmly, stopping your movements. His breath was uneven, and when he spoke, there was something almost desperate in his voice. “Stop moving,” he said, his tone low and commanding, and though it made you feel shy, it also sent a thrill through you.

You stilled, biting your lip, trying to ignore the warmth spreading through your body. “Is there something wrong?” you asked, your voice innocent, though you knew very well what was happening.

Rafe wanted to laugh, wanted to say yes, but instead, he simply muttered, “No, everything is fine.” He shifted behind you, flipping onto his back as he discreetly moved his hand under the covers to adjust himself, trying to hide his obvious reaction to you.

You saw his movements, the way he was trying to compose himself, and a small smile played at the corners of your lips, but you quickly suppressed it. “Okay… maybe I should go,” you offered, feeling the tension between you both, knowing if you stayed, things could get complicated very quickly.

Rafe nodded, his voice strained as he found an excuse. “Yeah, I have some business to take care of... uh... for my dad,” he stammered, trying to make it sound believable even as his body screamed at him to keep you there.

You climbed out of bed, and as you straightened your clothes, you caught the way Rafe was staring at you. His eyes darkened as he took in the sight of your barely-there shorts and the crop top that had ridden up in the night. His breath hitched, and for a moment, you thought he might pull you back into bed, but then you left the room, your heart pounding in your chest.

When you returned to Sarah’s room, she was just waking up, stretching lazily in bed. She didn’t seem to notice that you had been gone all night, and you breathed a sigh of relief when she didn’t ask.

RAFE’S P.O.V:

When the door clicked shut behind you, Rafe lay there, staring up at the ceiling, his pulse still racing. He cursed under his breath, his hand moving to the waistband of his boxers, unable to control the need pulsing through him.

Rafe threw the sheets off of him, scrambling out of bed and heading straight for the bathroom. He ripped his clothes off with a sense of urgency, turning the shower on before stepping under the spray of cold water. But the cold did nothing to cool the fire raging inside him.

His erection throbbed painfully, the tip red and swollen, leaking with desire. He wrapped his fingers around it, his jaw clenched as he leaned against the cold tiles. But as soon as his hand began to pump, all he could think of was you—your lips, your soft skin pressed against him in bed.

He imagined you on your knees, looking up at him with wide eyes as he guided your mouth to his cock, teaching you what he liked. "Yes, just like that, Y/N," he groaned, his hand moving faster, the image of you sending him over the edge. It didn’t take long for him to spill over his hand, his body trembling as he came hard. His forehead pressed against the cool tiles, and he struggled to catch his breath, still picturing you in his mind.

•°•°•°•°•°•

Later you sat across from Sarah, sharing a quiet breakfast as if everything were normal. But your mind was a whirlwind, you couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened in Rafe’s room—the way his body felt against yours, the tension that had buzzed in the air between you both. It was intense, undeniable, and now, sitting in this kitchen, you felt like you were on the edge of a cliff, suspended between wanting more and fearing what more might mean.

The silence between you and Sarah felt charged, though she had no idea why. Every bite you took felt forced, every word she spoke faded against the rush of thoughts swirling in your mind. You couldn’t help but keep glancing at the door, half hoping, half dreading that he’d walk in. And then he did.

When Rafe stepped into the kitchen, the air shifted immediately, the unspoken tension between you and him palpable. He moved with a casual confidence, but you saw the slight stiffness in his shoulders, the subtle way his eyes sought you out even when he tried to look away. As his gaze met yours, a hundred unsaid things flickered between you, words you weren’t ready to say and feelings neither of you seemed ready to admit. You tried to keep your expression neutral, but you knew your eyes betrayed you.

“Good morning, Rafe,” you greeted, forcing a smile, pretending that you hadn’t just been in his bed only an hour ago.

You knew Sarah was watching, and you didn’t want her to sense that anything was out of the ordinary. But that familiar spark in his eyes was undeniable. It was like you shared a secret, one that neither of you could ignore, no matter how hard you tried.

Rafe mumbled a quick “Good morning,” his tone clipped as he grabbed something from the fridge. He was doing his best to act indifferent, but you saw right through him. He kept his eyes averted, but you felt the way his presence lingered near you, just as your mind kept returning to those stolen moments, wondering if they meant as much to him as they had to you.

Sarah’s voice broke the silence, her gaze narrowing as she studied Rafe. “What’s up with you?” Her question was casual, laced with the usual sibling curiosity, but Rafe’s hasty exit betrayed him. He muttered something unintelligible under his breath, already making his way out of the room as if being near you was more than he could handle.

You shrugged, doing your best to look innocent, as though you were as clueless as she was. But the lingering heat in your cheeks, the way you held your breath, praying Sarah wouldn’t read between the lines, made you feel like a bundle of exposed nerves.

Sarah rolled her eyes, turning back to you. “God, he’s acting so strange sometimes,” she muttered, shaking her head. Her exasperation was apparent, but you could feel the tension thrumming beneath your skin, your heart racing. You tried to focus on her, tried to play along, but every fiber of your being was acutely aware of Rafe’s presence in the house, the memory of his touch still fresh on your skin.

You managed a laugh, hoping it sounded natural. But deep down, you knew this was far from over. The invisible line you’d both crossed wasn’t something either of you could simply walk back from.

Sarah's gaze lingered on the doorway Rafe had disappeared through, her brows knitting together in visible frustration. She swirled her spoon through her cereal absentmindedly, chewing on her bottom lip as her mind turned over all the possibilities. You could feel her curiosity growing, her need to understand her brother’s erratic behavior, and you braced yourself, hoping she wouldn’t press you for answers.

“Do you think... maybe it’s about Ward?” Sarah finally murmured, her voice just above a whisper. “I mean, I know Rafe’s had his issues, but he’s never been this... jumpy.” She looked at you as if searching for confirmation, but you only offered her a neutral shrug, doing your best to look unbothered.

“I don’t know,” you replied softly, taking another bite of your breakfast to hide the nerves tightening in your chest.

Sarah sighed, frustration evident. “Or maybe it’s the drugs. He’s been messing around with god knows what.”

You nodded along, hoping to divert her attention. “Could be. Rafe’s... well, he’s complicated,” you offered vaguely, looking down at your plate.

“Yeah,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Complicated is an understatement.”

She was quiet for a moment, picking at her food, clearly running through every possibility. You could feel the weight of her gaze occasionally flicking toward you, as though she were gauging your reaction, searching for some hint of an answer. Each time, you kept your face carefully blank, pretending to be just as clueless as she was.

But deep down, you knew the truth: this wasn’t something Rafe would ever admit to his sister.

•°•°•°•°•°•

That evening, the boneyard party was packed with people, laughter and music flowing around you in a blur of voices and faces. You were laughing along with your friends, pretending to let loose, but every now and then your gaze would drift, scanning the crowd until it inevitably landed on him—Rafe. He stood near the fire, surrounded by a group of girls, his arm casually draped over one of them. A strange, unfamiliar pang twisted in your chest, jealousy creeping in like a slow burn you couldn’t shake.

You tried to look away, tried to remind yourself that none of it should matter, but it was impossible. The sting settled uncomfortably, pressing against your thoughts and tightening your chest as you tried to brush it off.

“What are you looking at?” Sarah asked, her voice light as she nudged your arm and followed your gaze. She spotted Rafe and the crowd surrounding him, her brow furrowing in slight confusion.

“Nothing,” you replied quickly, managing a shaky smile. “Just… people.”

But as Sarah turned back to Topper, your eyes returned to Rafe. You watched as he exchanged laughter with the girl beside him, his arm slipping around her waist like it was the most natural thing in the world. That one simple act sent your mind spiraling back to that morning in his bed, to the way his touch lingered. Now he was slipping away into the darkness, the girl by his side, and all you could think about was how you wished it was you he was walking away with instead.

Trying to bury the ache that was rising in you, you glanced down at your phone, contemplating leaving. You could feel yourself slipping, and you didn’t want to fall apart here.

“Hey, Sarah,” you started softly, catching her attention. “I think I’m going to go.”

Sarah’s face fell a little. “What? Why?”

“I… I don’t really feel great,” you lied, though it wasn’t entirely untrue.

“Are you getting sick?” she asked, her voice tinged with concern.

“Maybe. I don’t know,” you mumbled, offering her a small shrug. “Just feels like I might be.”

She wrapped you in a hug, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek. “All right, but text me if you need anything, okay?”

You nodded, grateful for the concern but desperate to escape, and made your way to your car. The entire drive home, your mind was a whirl of Rafe’s face, his touch, his voice. By the time you got back, it felt as if the walls of your room were pressing in, amplifying every unresolved emotion.

Slipping under the covers, you tried to shake the thoughts from your mind. You told yourself it was better this way, that he was just passing time, that whatever happened in that room had been nothing more than a moment. But still, a part of you wished he’d come to you instead, wanting to believe that the tension between you hadn’t been one-sided. You couldn’t help wondering if he was thinking of you, too, as his body intertwined with someone else’s.

•°•°•°•°•°•

RAFE’S P.O.V:

The night buzzed with energy around him, but Rafe felt detached, and numb. The firelight flickered across his face as he laughed and joked with the group around him, but his thoughts kept circling back to you. He knew exactly what he was doing, exactly why he’d pulled this girl close, let his arm rest on her shoulders, and felt her gaze lingering on him like he was the only one in the world. It wasn’t her he wanted, but he needed the distraction, anything to numb the ache in his chest that had surfaced the moment you left him that morning.

But even now, as he led her toward his car, flashes of you kept slipping into his mind—your laughter, the warmth of your skin, the way you could make his defenses fall without even trying. He’d spent years keeping people at a distance, protecting himself with walls he’d carefully built, but with you, those walls barely held. And it terrified him.

When he finally pulled her into his arms, he could only think of how much he wanted it to be you. He went through the motions, doing to her what he’d dreamed of doing with you, but with every move, every touch, your face lingered in his mind, an echo he couldn’t escape. By the time dawn broke, his thoughts were a tangled mess, and it was your name, not hers, that haunted him long after she was gone.

•°•°•°•°•°•

You and Sarah were sprawled out in the cabin of her boat, the only place that offered the relief of air conditioning after the brutal storm that had hit. The hum of the AC was a soft, constant background noise as Sarah recounted the events that unfolded at the boneyard party after you left. Her voice was animated, eyes wide with disbelief as she spoke.

“Topper fought with John B, and then JJ pulled a gun on him!” she exclaimed, her words tumbling out quickly, the shock still evident in her tone.

“Seriously? A gun?” you repeated, your eyes widening in disbelief. The idea of someone pulling a weapon at one of your usual hangouts was surreal, almost too extreme to fathom.

“Yeah, can you believe it?” Sarah shook her head, still processing the madness of the situation. “John B was losing it, and then JJ just—he just pulled a gun. It was insane.”

You leaned back against the cool cushions, trying to wrap your head around the idea. “And these are the same pogues Kiara’s been hanging around with?” you asked, incredulous. The thought of her being mixed up with people who carried guns made your stomach churn.

Sarah’s expression darkened at the mention of Kiara, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Yeah, she was there too.”

You both used to be close friends with Kiara back when she attended Kook Academy. The three of you had been inseparable, sharing secrets, laughs, and teenage mischief. But that all changed after she called the cops on Sarah’s birthday, shattering the trust and camaraderie you’d once shared. What was supposed to be a fun night turned into a nightmare, with sirens blaring and party-goers scattering. Kiara had betrayed you both, and it still stung, the wound fresh even after all this time.

“I can’t believe she’s with them now,” you muttered, the bitterness creeping into your voice. The betrayal felt sharp, like an old scar that ached whenever you thought of her. “What happened to her?”

Sarah rolled her eyes, her frustration simmering beneath the surface. “She changed. She thinks she’s better than us now, just because she’s hanging out with pogues.” There was a bite to her words, an edge of anger mixed with hurt. Kiara had turned her back on you both, aligning herself with people who didn’t understand your world, your history.

“We were supposed to be friends,” you said softly, the words tasting bitter in your mouth. The memories of late-night sleepovers, shared secrets, and plans for the future seemed so distant now, almost like they belonged to a different lifetime.

“She’s not worth it,” Sarah replied firmly as if trying to convince both you and herself. “We don’t need her. Especially not after what she did.”

You nodded, trying to push the memories away, but it was hard. You could still remember the way the three of you used to laugh until your stomachs hurt, the way Kiara would always have your backs. But now, it was like she was a completely different person, siding with people who pulled guns at parties and caused chaos wherever they went.

“I guess she really hates us now,” you murmured, feeling the weight of the lost friendship settle in your chest. It hurt more than you wanted to admit, the way things had fallen apart between you all.

Sarah scoffed, her eyes flashing with resentment. “The feeling’s mutual.”

You shared a look, a silent understanding passing between you. No matter what, you still had each other. Even if Kiara was gone, even if things were changing faster than you could keep up with, your bond with Sarah was unshakeable. She was your best friend, your confidante, and no storm—literal or metaphorical—could change that.