#why was he all OVER the second half off the show

[heartyluv]

cockwarming with caleb and zayne (separately) and they’re sleepy and clingy and won’t let you out of their sight 🫢 omg who said that…

Note: Righttt, like who said that.. 👀 But really, this was so fun, omg. I hope headcanons are okay. I just felt like all the ideas were flowing so easily like this. And I am so sorry if this is too freaked outtt LOLL!!! Thank you so much for the request, luvly!

Creds to @/enchanthings & @/anitalenia for the dividers!

Warning: I feel like cock warming being in this is enough for you guys to understand what’s going to be happening in here.

Caleb

ꨄ︎ Okay so for Caleb, I feel like he comes home after needing to be away for work. Your man is tired and jet lagged, and the first thing he wants to do after he washes the airport off of himself, is take a long nap with you.

ꨄ︎ And duhhh, you are climbing in that bed with him. You two fall asleep, but you wake up maybe an hour into it. He’s knocked out, even snoring a little. While being in his arms is where you’d want to be, you did have some chores to finish up before he got home. So you figure, why don’t I just get up and do them while he sleeps so he gets my undivided attention later?

ꨄ︎ So with the stealth of a ninja—an inexperienced one—you snake out of his hold. You wash dishes, prep for dinner, and you even take a shower. Like that’s how tired he is because I think Caleb would notice if you even twitched on a normal day, let alone sneaking out of the bed.

ꨄ︎ Then bam, another hour goes by, maybe an hour and a half. (I believe you wanted to get back into bed with him, but you didn’t want to wake your poor baby up.) Caleb isn’t necessarily awake, but you know those times where you wake up and you’re half aware for like a second? That’s what happens with him when he notices you’re gone. And he does not like that.

ꨄ︎ He’s like a lost puppy, getting out the bed, groggy, hair messy, and searching for you. It’s a quick search since he sees you as soon as he steps out the room. You’re in the living room, watching something on TV.

ꨄ︎ “Baby, you left me,” he says sleepily, eyes barely open. “Come back to bed. Please?”

ꨄ︎ And you think it’s all innocent, till you look over at him and he has a tent in his pantsss LOLLL. Like okay, it was completely innocent, but I firmly believe Caleb is always semi-hard around you. He actually can’t help it. It’s like his cock is always on go and just ready when you are.

ꨄ︎ He notices you staring and even when he looks like he needs to take his ass to bed, he can’t help but smirk. And don’t get him wrong, he wants to fuck you. But his body legitimately needs more rest, so he tells you what he’s thinking.

ꨄ︎ “Why don’t you come watch your show in the room with my cock inside you? Best of both worlds, don’t you think?”

ꨄ︎ Cock warming is y’all’s thingggg omg. So you make sure you’re quick to follow him. And Caleb doesn’t just want his dick inside of you, he wants skin to skin contact.

ꨄ︎ Now, I’m about to get freaky, so bare with me.

ꨄ︎ You both get undressed, you make sure you have the remote before you lay down, and Caleb’s strong body is right behind you.

ꨄ︎ “Go ahead and find what you were watching,” he kisses your neck. “Let me get you ready for me.”

ꨄ︎ Baby, you’re trying to just click on the damn app to open it but you’re struggling. And you wanna know why? BECAUSE WHILE YOU HOLD YOUR LEG UP, CALEB IS TEASING YOUR CLIT WITH THE TIP OF HIS COCK TO GET YOU WETTTT!!!!!

ꨄ︎ You keep squeezing and clenching around nothing, and the ache in between your thighs is making you dizzy. And mind you, HE’S DOING ALL OF THIS HALF SLEEP, SO IT’S SLOW AND LAZYYY.

ꨄ︎ “I’m about to slide in, okay?” He kisses your shoulder. “You have to stay with me. Don’t want to wake up and you’re not here, again.”

ꨄ︎ And guess what…? When his cock starts to fill you up and he’s a little more than halfway in… You… Have… An… ORGASM!!!!!! Shocked both him and you, but he wasn’t complaining, not one bit.

ꨄ︎ “Holy fuck… If my body wasn’t so tired…”

ꨄ︎ But you assure him it’s okay and he’s fully seated in your soaked cunt, his cock being warmed by your slick and comforted by your tightness.

ꨄ︎ He’s knocked out again shortly after, the sheets over your waists while you play your show on low volume. And you definitely feel him pulse inside of you. It’s comforting in a way.

ꨄ︎ Here’s your overall visual: You just came—unexpectedly—and Caleb’s cock is sitting inside of you. He’s sleeping with his face over your shoulder, his steady breathing in your ear. His big arms hold you so tight, you’re both fully naked, and his strong chest is against your back. And, his hand is on your boob, gently holding it like it’s a stress reliever LOLLLL. You already know, you’re not going anywhere for a good few hours.

Zayne

❄︎ Now for sweet Zayne, I think he’s coming home from the hospital and all he wants to do is be with you. You know those days where you just feel extra clingy for some reason? That’s what he’s feeling. I think between being sleepy and seeing you as his comfort makes his heart so full and warm.

❄︎ But, he frowns when he walks in and you’re not there. No music is playing, he doesn’t hear you humming, he just doesn’t see any sign of you. You’re always doing one of those things when he comes home, so he’s down that he doesn’t see any of it.

❄︎ When he went to text you, it came to him that you told him you were going out with a friend tonight for her birthday. But he smiles when he gets ready to put his phone away to see you had messaged him, telling him you’d be home in twenty minutes.

❄︎ He utilizes that time to do his nightly routine and when you walk through that door? Despite his tiredness, he is hands on.

❄︎ “You look nice,” he kisses your neck as he slides your purse off your shoulder, not even needing to look at the hook to hang it up. “I missed you.”

❄︎ Now, you can’t stop giggling at his ticklish kisses and grabby hands. But you see how tired he is and you’re just as tired from being out, so you know sex isn’t going to happen tonight. So, you suggest cock warming. I don’t think you’ve guys have done it before, honestly. I think you’ve had moments where he’d be sitting inside you for a little bit after having sex, but it’s never longer than a minute or two.

❄︎ “I’m willing to try it. If it lets me feel as close to you as possible, it will become my new favorite pastime.”

❄︎ Zayne doesn’t even want to be away from you while you get undressed. I even think he’s helping you LOLL. Helping you with your heels, sliding your dress off, and had he not showered before you got home, he would’ve been in there with you.

❄︎ But once all of that’s done, you know you have to help him get hard and with what he’s been expecting, he’s already halfway there.

❄︎ Zayne lovessss stimulation. He’s a whining mess when you start to stroke him in his pants, breathing heavily into your mouth as you kiss him tenderly. And the ways he’s talking.. GOOD GOD.. All the while, you’re getting soaked just by doing this. You didn’t even bother with putting panties on.

❄︎ “Is it normal to be so addicted to you? I don’t think I have it in me to be apart from you for any amount of time. Will you indulge me and my selfishness?”

❄︎ Once he lays in the bed, you climb in his lap while he holds his cock to guide himself into you. And it’s literally a breath of fresh air for him when your walls spread to accommodate him. AND WITH THE SLEEPY TONE OF HIS VOICE, IF YOU HAD IT IN YOU, YOU WOULD’VE JUST STARTING BOUNCING ON IT.

❄︎ “Oh, you’re so good to me,” he whispers when you gasp while his cock slides in. “I can’t believe I’ve deprived myself of something so intoxicating.”

❄︎ You actually have him shivering, that’s how good it is. It’s so tender, intimate, and he knows that if you’ll allow him, he’d prefer to be with you like this as much as possible.

❄︎ “Since it’s my day off, I intend to spend all day tomorrow, like this. Is that alright? Because there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

❄︎ Every gentle squeeze of your walls is like being welcomed home. And it’s not long till you both fall asleep like this. I just know every time you move even a little bit, he holds you tighter. He’s serious about not letting you go anywhere if he can help it. If he could cook dinner while you wrapped yourself around him, I’m so sure he’d do it LOLL.

❄︎ Between your weight on top of him and his cock seated in your pussy, the man is wrapped in the most luxurious cocoon. This was the closeness he was yearning for.

[whambamsami]

private show

summary: your shitty boyfriend wants to go to a strip club for his birthday. one of the dancers is desperate to give you the attention you deserve. stripper!bucky pt.1

pt.2

warnings: 18+, adult themes, eventual smut, language, alcohol, let me know if i miss anything!

note: not proofread, so sorry if there's any errors/plot holes! let me know if there's anything i should fix <3

You didn’t want to be here.

Not in the dimly lit, velvet-drenched VIP lounge of a high-end strip club your boyfriend had insisted on for his birthday. Not in the too-tight dress he told you to wear. Not beside him while he ogled other women like you weren’t even there.

“Loosen up,” Nick said, draping his arm around you, with that smile that had won you over months ago, but now just rubbed you the wrong way. “It’s my birthday party.” 

You’d smiled too. Barely. Enough to keep the peace.

He’d begged for this, told you only an insecure woman wouldn’t let him go on his birthday. Hell, he’d even wanted you to tag along.

You thought he wanted you to come with him and his belligerent friends to see that it wasn’t all that bad, to make you more comfortable.

But you were starting to think he got off on making you watch. 

He was generous enough to at least take you to a club that let both genders dance alike, and it was almost overwhelming, seeing men and women’s bodies, some fully exposed, some adorning tiny leather getups, gyrating on stage.

Your boyfriend, the perfect gentleman. 

And he wonders why you won’t take him home to meet your parents.

His friends are all practically howling at a woman onstage, pushing your boyfriend up to get closer to her. She’s wearing nipple pasties, crotchless panties, a pair of stilettos that have you fearing for her ankles, and a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. 

Not that Nick would notice. He never noticed that kind of thing when it came to women. That, or he didn’t care.

“You won’t mind if I get a private dance, will you, babe?”

You wanted to feel angry at him. For him to see just how fucked this entire situation was. You should be feeling more.

But you just felt disgust. He made your skin crawl. You couldn’t give a shit about what he did here. He’d lost you the second he suggested this. 

So you nod tightly. An apology flashes in the woman’s eyes as she slinks off the stage next to him. 

You can’t be mad at her. It’s just business. 

And honestly, the fact that someone else would be filling in for you tonight, pretending to derive any pleasure from whatever Nick planned on doing, was a relief. You weren’t sure you would have it in you.

Not wanting to hear what his pitiful friends had to say about the situation you now found yourself in, you made a break for the bar, flagging down a topless bartender and politely asking for one of the craft cocktails. 

Hey, at least you could get something out of tonight. 

The bartender returned with your cocktail in hand. On the house, he’d said. You wished he was just being friendly, but the look in his eyes told you what this really was.

Pity. 

Whatever. The drink was good. Strong. Exactly what you needed to dull your senses a little, to get your mind off how you even ended up in this club in the first place. 

As you sipped, admittedly a bit faster than you should, the music shifted- bass-heavy and seductive.

The next performer was about to take the stage. 

You turned to face the velvet curtains that hid whoever was up next. Maybe you could pick up a few things, some tips that you could bring to your next relationship.

Your next boyfriend would be more appreciative, you promised yourself.

Better in bed, too. 

The second you saw him, though, everything else blurred.

Huh. A male performer.

All’s fair, right?

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dark stubble shadowing a wicked mouth. Ice-blue eyes that swept the room with slow, calculated confidence. His body was lethal, dressed in nothing but black dress pants and a white button-down-half-unbuttoned, sleeves rolled, like sin in motion.

Your breath caught.

The performer didn’t smile. Not at first. 

But you swear he made eye contact with you.

And when he did, he flashed his canines. Just for a second. Like he knew every dirty thought that was flashing in your head. Like he knew something you didn’t.

The lights dim. The music gets louder. Or maybe everything else gets quieter, you’re not sure.

And suddenly, he’s all you could see.

He walks onto the stage like he’s stalking prey-calm, confident, dangerous. Not a trace of performance in his stride. He doesn’t play it for laughs or gimmicks. He doesn’t wink. He hunts.

The music pulses dark and slow. He unbuttons his shirt one button at a time, each flick of fabric revealing warm, taut muscle, tattoos, scars, shadows that make your mouth dry.

He glances down-just once-and finds your eyes again in the dark.

You squeeze your thighs together, shift again, try to look anywhere else-but it’s no use. He knows what he’s doing. He knows he’s got you.

He unzips his pants. Just an inch. Just enough to make your exhale stutter.

And the second you breathe out, his tongue drags across his bottom lip.

You’re going to combust.

“There you are!” 

You’re snapped out of whatever spell he had you under.

Your boyfriend returned from his little dance, wearing a smile that was a little too wide. Nick and his friends surrounded you at the bar, cutting off what you could see of the performance, much to your disappointment. You didn’t even care when you saw him whispering excitedly to his buddies, when you watched them pat him on the back like he’d won some kind of game, when their eyes would dart over to you like you didn’t know any better. 

Like you were stupid.

You steal a glance at the stage to try and catch the end of the man’s performance, but all you see is the swish of curtains closing as he disappears backstage.

Could this night get any worse?

As if the bartender could read your mind, he appeared again, placing what appeared to be a very expensive bottle of chilled champagne in front of you. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, sir, I didn’t order-”

“On the house.” he stated simply, as if you should have known. The little gold name tag that rested low on his waistband told you his name was Sam. 

God, at least the service here was great. 

Nick and his friends hooted and hollered, reaching for the bottle, excited to grab a glass, but Sam stopped them, pulling the bottle just far enough out of reach. 

“Sorry, boys, but I’m under strict instructions that this is for the lady only. No sharing.”

Your boyfriend’s lips pursed. 

“What, did somebody roofie that or something? Babe, you’re not drinking that. I don’t trust it.” and to solidify his point, he wrapped his arm around you. His sweaty, gross arm. 

You hated that he still felt like he could touch you like this. 

“Actually, sir, that bottle is for her to take to one of the private rooms. This doesn’t happen often, but she’s been asked to join one of our dancers.”

Your stomach dipped.

The champagne sparkled in the light, a little ribbon of condensation sliding down the glass like it knew how flustered you felt.

“She’s been… what?” Nick scoffed, voice rising with laughter he clearly didn’t feel. “Asked to join a dancer?”

Sam nodded, unbothered. You could have sworn you saw a glimpse of a smile on his face, like he was secretly enjoying this. 

“That’s right. Bucky requested her personally.” You could have sworn you saw a glimpse of a smile on his face, like he was secretly enjoying this. “Very rare, especially for him. I’d take it as a compliment.”

Nick scoffed again, turning to you like it was some kind of joke. 

“You’re not seriously considering that, are you?”

You blinked. Slowly. 

Then you looked down at his arm around your waist-the one that had gotten too heavy, too tight, too possessive over time-and peeled it off like it burned.

“You got a dance too, right?” you said evenly, reaching for the neck of the bottle, “At least mine is free.”

Nick’s friends laughed awkwardly. He didn’t.

“He’s probably just trying to upsell you some bullshit champagne fantasy. It’s a trick.”

Sam snorted as he grabbed two champagne flutes.

“Yeah, well. If it is, it’s working.”

Nick reached for your waist, and for once, you were thankful that he was so fucking sweaty all the time, because it let you slip out of his grip. 

“You don’t know what kind of guy he is.”

That made you laugh. It sounded more bitter than you’d ever heard it.

“He’s a stripper, Nick. Not exactly looking for Prince Charming right now. But whatever kind of guy he is, it looks like he’s interested in treating me a bit better than you are.”

Then you turned, grabbed the bottle, and followed Sam toward the back—heart hammering, adrenaline singing through your veins.

You didn’t know what was waiting for you behind the curtain.

But whatever it was?

It had to be better than this.

[mintmatcha]

cw: death

Everything in your house is the same as it ever was. All of your dishes are stacked in the sink, your mail is piled on the hall, the floors need a good polish: Sero kicks off his shoes and quietly observes it all, soaking in the familiarity.

Because the second he sees you, things will no longer be normal.

The usual was thrown out the window months ago, when you strolled up to his apartment and announced you were dying.

"Terminal," you had said. "Less than a year, probably."

Neither one of you had cried in that moment. Nothing had been tangible yet. He thinks, maybe, he had even laughed at the thought. The idea of his longest friendship ending so abruptly, so early felt impossible.

Today, as Sero walks into your living room, it's real.

From your indent on the couch, it takes a moment for you to even process he's entered the room. You full body jump, scrambling to grab the television remote.

"Oh-" you throw a hand over your heart. "You can't scare me like that."

Sero cackles as he leans against the wall. A rerun of your least favorite show is playing. Turns out, even when your time is limited, you still like hate watching things.

"Did you think I was that fox again?" Sero asks and you gasp indignantly.

"Oh my--" You toss your hands up in the air with an insulted scoff. "I swear to god that actually happened. Cross my heart!"

The animation returns to your face when you laugh. It makes Sero's heart ache to see that you haven't faded, even as your body goes.

"I told you. I literally left my front door open to take out the trash and I turn around-" Sero's heard this story at least a fozen times, but he nods along like it's new. "That fox was in my doorway! Just looking at me like-"

Your eyes widen and bulge. It's a familiar lyrics good for impression, Sero thinks. He can picture it's red eyes boring into his.

"It just watched me and I watched it watching me. Then it turned around and calmly walked away, like it was no big deal." The spike of energy in your voice is fading. You settle back into the couch with a placid look, watching him with a passive interest.

Sero strolls over and joins you on the couch. You move your legs to give him room, but he pulls them back over his lap.

"You're so full of shit," he says. "I've lived in this city my whole life and I've never seen a fox."

The smile on your face splits wider. The two of you sit with it for a long while, watching the subtitles on the television flip by. Sero keeps his hands on your ankles, squeezing them as if it's a shape he needs to remember.

What are the things he should be holding on to now? Should he be having grand conversation with you, something kind of final, impossible talk that's going to make the inevitable easier?

"When I die-" you say suddenly. "I'm coming back as a fox and I'm going to sneak into your house."

"Really?" Sero asks. He's no longer playful, just genuine. "You're gonna be a fox?"

You shrug with one shoulder, never looking away from the screen. It's getting close, he thinks. There's nothing he can truly pinpoint, but there's something about you that's slipping away.

"Yeah, why not?" you muse. "There are worse lives."

"Okay." He squeezes your ankles again. "I'll keep an eye out for you."

Sero considers saying that he loves you, or that he can't imagine the world without you, or that the grief he's already carrying feels so ridiculous because you're still here, still in reach but all of it feels unfair to say. Instead, he holds it in until the corners of his eyes burn and his breathing hiccups.

"Or maybe an oarfish," you say. "That'd be sick."

Sero palms away his tears. "You just wanna play Animal Crossing."

"Busted." You crack a smile. "Can you grab another carton of ice cream for me? The last one melted."

Yesterday's container is half full and completely melted, sitting on your coffee table, but Sero gets up anyway. He tosses you your switch, then strolls to the kitchen.

"You can't just eat garbage, you know," he calls back. "It'll kill you."

Your guffaw rings throughout the whole apartment. "I'll eat garbage all I want."

.

It's three weeks later when he passes your place again. A big, red sign is in the window declaring it's for sale. Your parents had placed your furniture on the curb and the neighbors had already claimed all of the pieces, including your misshapen couch. Sero knows there is no piece of you in any of those items, but it feels cathartic, like spreading your ashes across the street.

There's one trash bag on the curb, filled with things your family didn't want. He wonders if you threw out your vibrator before you died, or if it's in that black bag, fully charged, never to be used again. An animal is picking at the plastic, rustling at the plastic.

"Pst," Sero calls out to scare it away. "Scat-"

A head peeks up and he catches red eyes, wide and bulged, boring into his. A fox, with bits of garbage stuck to its muzzle. It regards him for a long while, watching him watching it.

"Hey," he says. "You're supposed to be at my apartment, not yours."

The animal doesn't blink.

"I'll-" A wave of sorrow hits all at once. Every tear he didn't shed, every joke he didn't tell or story he didn't share, every little moment that'll never happen. It hits like a train, right into his forehead. It's the calm kind of cry, the one without gasps or sobs, but an abnormal amount of tears rolling down his cheeks.

"I'll keep the door open for you, okay?" he whispers. "Just visit soon."

The fox turns and lopes off into the dusk.

[polysucks]

why you think starks are brown. No hate, I just want to know reason 💓

No hate taken!!! I'm more than happy to give a little context.

I also talked a little and at length and then some about why I think the Starks are ndn or indigenous coded, therefore anecdotally "brown" if you want some more!

---

The Starks Are Indigenous and You Can’t Change My Mind

Look, I’m just gonna say it: the Starks are giving "we’ve been here for 10,000 years and you just got off the Mayflower.” Fandom loves to frame them as cold (literally), brooding white dudes who talk to trees and wolvves and die tragically—but if you zoom out just a bit, what you’ll see is a whole culture that’s basically been staring the apocalyptic Chekov’s gun in the face while mumbling “this is fine” for millennia.

Let’s start at the beginning: the First Men walked to Westeros on foot twelve thousand years ago (according to legend. it's giving oral storytelling), chopped some trees, made some mistakes, and then struck a sacred pact with the Children of the Forest. Instead of wiping the Children out like the colonizers down south (cough Andals cough), they basically said, “Yeah u right let’s chill,” and started building their whole culture around respecting nature, living weirwoods, and the gods that inhabit them. Now fast forward six thousand years and the Andals show up like, “Hey, we’ve got gods who look like us and wear robes, and also we’re here to murder your trees bc they're just trees they mean nothing.” (SOUND FAMILIAR?) And the North said: “uhhhhh doubt but alright try me bitch.” The Andals conquered everywhere else in Westeros, but the North? Untouched. Still praying to SpOokY tReEs, burying people under roots, giving a fuck about their ancestors, still naming their kids things like Brandon and Benjen and not, like, Luthor Tyrell III.

So when I say the Starks are Indigenous-coded, I mean it. They are the last major ruling house descended purely from the First Men, with customs, spirituality, and governance structures that date back over ten millennia. They didn’t import Andal feudalism or Southern chivalry—they rule by duty, community ties, and vibes. There’s no divine right here, just “I said I’d guard the North, so I’m gonna guard the North, even if I die horribly doing it.” Which... they usually do.

Physically, too, the Northerners are not your typical pale-and-pink Southron types. Descriptions from the books associate the First Men—and thus the Northmen—with brown hair, darker complexions, and gray eyes. They’re closer to earth tones than the golden-and-ivory palettes of the Reach and Crownlands.

Now, it’s all fun and games until Robb Stark starts stacking Lannister corpses like firewood and suddenly—boom—“savage skinchanger” propaganda. The second the North stops being cold and quiet and starts sending wolves downriver, the Southern rumor mill goes feral. The same lords who wear wolf pelts to look edgy start whispering, “Is he... using magic? Unnatural beasts? Isn’t that his direwolf out there eating men’s faces?”

We’re not even being subtle anymore. This is textbook colonizer panic: “Oh no, the brown people with strong spiritual ties to nature and weird customs have found a way to beat our superior steel and horses! They must be cheating!” And this is coming from a place where Melisandre literally births a shadow demon out of her woman's place and half the people involved just shrug and go, “Well, kings do be kinging and doin whatever it takes to be kinged.” But Robb winning battles with tactics and a big-ass dog? Witchcraft.

And let’s talk tone. The way Northerners are described when they show up in King’s Landing is... gross. Dirty. Sullen. Uncouth. They bring the smell of snow and smoke and old gods into the nice, civilized complacency of the South, and the court acts like they're watching a pack of feral dogs crash a garden party. Even the Dornish, who are also not white-coded in many ways and face plenty of racism, are still seen as exotic—dangerous, sure, but sexy-dangerous. The Northmen? They’re not fetishized. They're feared. Loathed. Dismissed as brutes and barbarians with ways that are so different that they should be feared.

And this is a classic move in imperialist narratives: you marginalize a people, rob them of power and culture, and the second they resist? You demonize them. Turn them into monsters. Say they commune with beasts and demons. (Sound familiar? Because it should.) Whether it’s North American Indigenous peoples being accused of “savagery” the moment they defend their land, or these colonized peoples being portrayed as superstitious and irrational for refusing assimilation and persisting with their culture—Westeros is playing that greatest hit on repeat.

So yes, when I say the Starks are Indigenous-coded, I also mean that the way Westeros treats the North is textbook colonial anxiety. They’re tolerated when they stay quiet and frozen. But when they rise? When they win? Suddenly, they’re not just a threat—they’re unnatural. Inhuman. Monstrous.

And if that ain’t some real-world racial politics wrapped in an easy to swallow fictional narrative, idk what is.

Now let’s talk Boltons vs. Manderlys, the perfect case study in Indigenous vs. Settler-coded houses when it comes to the cultural conversation. The Boltons? Chaotic evil First Men energy. They used to flay people alive, possibly made cloaks out of skin (ok im sorry that’s so baller), and ruled from the Dreadfort for thousands of years as a rival to House Stark. They’re the North turned inward and twisted—a cautionary tale about what happens when colonization doesn’t get you, but intergenerational trauma does. Still, they’re part of the land, part of the same heritage. The Manderlys, on the other hand? Total transplants. They got kicked out of the Reach, showed up in the North all teary-eyed and humble, and the Starks were like, “Fine, you can live in this swamp by the sea.” And they did! Respectfully! But they never converted to the Old Gods. They still pray to the Seven, build stone cities, and have the audacity to name their castle White Harbor. That's like moving into someone’s house and renaming it “Good Christian Suburb.” (like. Like americ--*gets dragged off stage*) But they're chill. Because they never pretended to be something they're not. And they never tried to change the ways of the lands and the peoples who welcomed them when no one else would.

Even within the North, there's a whole spectrum of resistance vs. assimilation. You’ve got the Free Folk beyond the Wall—who are basically the “burn it all down, no kings, no lords” crowd—then the Starks, who are like, “Fine, I’ll wear a crown if it helps keep the peace,” and then the Manderlys, who are “we love it here please don’t send us back south.” It’s not unlike real-world Indigenous communities: some stayed in the woods, some ran into the mountains, some took settler names and built schools—but the throughline is survival. Resistance is survival.

And that, my fellow losers, is what the Starks are all about. They are the final boss of stubborn cultural preservation. They’re the people who would rather freeze than bend the knee to "gods" they don’t believe in. When Ned Stark says “Winter is Coming,” he’s not just talking about weather—he’s quoting a generational mantra. This, too, shall pass. And we will still be here. He's got seasonal depression and ancestral memory and PTSD, and he's still out here doing what is best for his people (well. not anymore, i guess.)

The North Remembers—and So Should You

When we say the Starks and the North are Indigenous-coded, we’re not just slapping a label on because it sounds cool and we’re desperate for representation. We’re talking about a culture that predates colonizers, resists assimilation, honors its dead, and survives against impossible violence. Whether it’s through sacred trees, communal leadership, or refusing to compromise on your ancestral values, the Starks represent the heartbeat of a people who never left their land—because the land never left them.

So yes. The Starks are “brown,” in the way that means something. Not necessarily in skin tone (though there’s canon support for that too), but in soul. In story. In surviving. And if you disagree, I’ll meet you in the godswood under the bleeding tree, and we can discuss it like Northerners—with our fuckin fists.

(this is a joke ur allowed other opinions)

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Can you please do something really smutty with Poly!141 x teammate reader where she had a close call on a mission?

The Things We Almost Lose

Pairing: Poly!141 x Teammate!Reader

Warnings: Group sex, spitroast (vaginal/anal), oral (f receiving), mild D/s undertones, praise kink, creampie, overstimulation, dirty talk, possessiveness, intense emotional tension, detailed aftercare, switching POVs, war/military trauma references, use of military code names and first names

Author's Note: This one is raw, reverent, and heavy with emotion and heat. Pretty much smut with little plot

Summary: After a mission goes sideways and the team believes they’ve lost you, emotions boil over. They need to remind themselves—and you—that you belong to them.

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The air was too quiet.

The kind of silence that didn’t feel like safety — it felt like death.

You were bleeding, curled behind a ruined car on the outskirts of a bombed-out village, trying to regulate your breathing while your comms crackled with distant shouts. The mission had gone sideways. An ambush. You’d split off to cover the flank.

But no one had responded to your last call.

And for forty-three seconds, the men who loved you thought you were gone.

You stumbled into the safehouse two hours later — cut up, covered in dust and blood that wasn’t all yours, with your rifle slung low and your shoulders trembling under the weight of what almost happened.

The room went silent when they saw you.

Four pairs of eyes locked onto your form like predators that had just been denied a kill.

Soap was the first to reach you — he crossed the room in three strides, hands trembling as they caught your face.

“You bloody idiot,” he muttered, voice cracking even as his fingers ghosted over your cheeks like you’d vanish if he pressed too hard.

Gaz stood frozen, jaw tight, knuckles white around the mug he hadn’t yet brought to his lips. Price watched you like he was assessing the damage from across the room — calculating, but barely holding it together behind storm-cloud eyes.

Ghost didn’t say a word.

He just stared at you like you were the last thread tethering him to the earth.

You whispered, “I’m okay.”

But they didn’t believe you.

Because being “okay” meant nothing when they’d almost lost you.

“Why didn’t you call it in?” Price growled later, after they’d cleaned your wounds and you’d downed half a bottle of water. “You could’ve waited for backup.”

“I had to move,” you murmured. “They were closing in—”

“You belong to us.”

Soap said it — not harsh, not cruel — just truth.

You blinked. Heart skipping. Lips parting.

Belong.

Then: “Then show me.”

It started like heat — but became something holy.

They undressed you slowly, reverently. Soap peeled off your ruined shirt with steady hands, brushing a kiss to the healing scrape on your shoulder. Kyle kneeled to help with your pants, knuckles grazing your thighs like prayer. Price held your jaw, eyes locked on yours like he could see the panic still there, buried deep.

And Ghost — Simon — hovered at the edge like a storm held back only by his will.

The moment you were bare before them, Johnny dropped to his knees between your thighs.

“You need this, baby?” he asked.

Your nod was breathless.

His mouth on you was heat and reverence — a hot tongue circling your clit while his fingers curled inside you. Your head fell back as your legs trembled. Someone — Kyle — cradled your jaw, whispering, “Breathe, sweetheart. Let it happen.”

You shattered.

Your first orgasm hit like a wave breaking over your body, and they held you through it — murmuring praise, gentle hands on your hips, your chest, your thighs.

Then Simon spoke.

“Want her like this,” he rasped. “Need to feel her.”

They turned you over.

Pillowed your chest on folded arms. Spread your thighs wide.

You were still slick, gasping when Simon pressed the thick head of his cock to your tightest hole.

“You trust me?” he murmured against your ear.

You nodded.

“Good girl.”

He pushed in slow — filling your ass inch by inch, your body trembling with every stretch. Behind the stretch was pressure. Behind the pressure was ownership.

Then Price knelt in front of you — stroking himself slowly.

“You gonna take us both, love?” he asked.

You moaned, “Yes. Please.”

He slid in with one smooth stroke.

You were full — every inch of your body claimed. You whimpered, whined, shook — and the men around you held you steady like an anchor cast in a storm.

When Gaz stepped forward, hand on your hair, cock hard, you opened your mouth like instinct.

He groaned. “Fuck — look at her.”

You sucked him in as Soap leaned over your back, stroking your clit in slow, tight circles.

“She’s so perfect like this,” he whispered. “So fuckin’ pretty. Made for us.”

Simon started to move.

Slow, punishing thrusts into your ass while Price mirrored his pace below. Their cocks brushed each other through the thin wall between your holes — and you could feel everything.

Every inch. Every twitch. Every greedy thrust.

Your body was alight. Every nerve raw. Every moan pulled from you like a string unraveling.

When you came again, it was violent. Guttural. Your scream muffled by Gaz’s cock as your body clamped down on them all.

“Fuck — she’s coming—”

“Keep going. Don’t stop—”

“Take it, baby, take all of it—”

Price came first — deep inside your cunt with a groan.

Then Simon — hips stuttering, cock pulsing, his voice raw in your ear.

“Mine.”

Gaz came with a hiss as you swallowed around him — and Johnny moaned, “Good girl,” while coaxing you down from the edge with fingers still playing soft circles over your oversensitive clit.

You collapsed. Ravaged. Loved. Alive.

---

Simon’s POV — After

She was dead.

That’s what he thought when her comms dropped and all they could hear was gunfire.

Ghost didn’t panic. Ghost never panicked.

But Simon did.

Because losing her would’ve meant losing the only thing that made all of this worth it.

And now she was here — wrecked and quiet and wrapped in a blanket — and all he could do was watch.

He watched her chest rise and fall. Watched the flutter of her lashes. Watched Soap whisper to her with a smile that cracked at the edges from relief.

Simon ran a hand over his face, jaw clenched so tight it ached.

They had taken her.

Pinned her beneath them. Fucked her like she was the air they needed to breathe. And still — it wasn’t enough.

He wanted to take more. Give more.

“C’mere, love,” he murmured, voice lower now, rough with sleep and emotion.

She turned into his arms — eyes glassy, face peaceful.

He let her lay across his chest.

Let her hear the heartbeat that she stopped — and started again.

---

Later — Aftercare

Price brewed tea while Soap wiped down her thighs with warm water and kisses. Gaz tucked pillows around her body. Simon sat behind her, one arm looped around her middle, the other stroking her hair.

Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“Thank you.”

Simon pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.

“Next time,” he said, voice hoarse, “let us save you.”

She nodded.

And then she slept — tangled in their limbs, alive in their arms, safe in their hearts.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[popcornpoppypop]

Best Worst Date Ever

Summary: 18+, Minors do not interact. You go on a terrible date. Dr. Jack Abbot shows you how a good man treats a good woman.

Warnings: Smut, bad dates, alpha male talk

A/N: I had a bad date and need to be rescued by a hot ER attending. Alas that isn't happening. So, here we are. This is the first time writing anything smutty in a looooong time. By gentle. I was also half drunk writing this so, yeah.

“He’s some kind of architect. I met him at my sister’s engagement party. He seems nice, I don’t know.” You shrugged as you worked on your chart.

“So he’s got some money. Good, at least if he sucks, he’s still paying for dinner.” Mckay laughed.

“That is terrible!” You shook your head.

Jack Abbot was watching from his computer, he didn’t like how red your face was getting. He’d never say anything. It wasn’t his place.

“Thanks for covering the last half of my shift.” You thanked her as you made your way over to Dr. Abbot.

“You finished up?” Jack grumbled, he made the effort to keep eye contact in an effort to try and read your mind. He never could.

“Yep. Went over my cases with Dr. McKay and all my orders are in. Anything else you need?” You smiled. Jack was quiet tonight, more than usual at any rate. He had been ever since you’d mentioned your date.

“No. If you’re satisfied with your work, you’re free to go.” Jack snapped back to the computer.

“Okay then. See you tomorrow.” You looked at him confused as you turned.

“Hey, Whiplash!” Mateo called after you. He had given you the nickname after you worked one of the Salmonella outbreaks and ran from room to room, being the only resident that didn’t fall victim to it had you giving out orders to the nurses as fast as you could. He made a joke about watching you give orders giving the nurses whiplash.

“I’m off, bother McKay.” You waved.

“Oh right! The hot date!” Mateo laughed. Jack leaned back a little to get a better view of the conversation.

“Yes, he is hot.” You smirked.

“Alright Dr. Hotstuff, get you some.” He laughed. “We’ll be at the park tonight if he’s a dud though.” He nudged you with his elbow.

“Hopefully I won’t see you later.” You spun on your heel and pranced out.

Jack’s body was tense, tight like someone had punched his gut. He had fought his feelings for you for so long, it was second nature. But you hadn’t dated in a while. Seeing you excited by another man, or the prospect of one, made him grind his teeth.

“Dr. Abbot, we’ve got a trauma coming in. Nail to the foot.” Bridget informed him.

“Heard.” He nodded and went to glove up.

“Do you want Ancef at the ready?” Mateo asked.

“Sure.” Jack nodded.

“You good, Doc?” Mateo asked.

“Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?” Jack mumbled, his eyes intense as he stared down Mateo.

“You’re more…abrasive than usual.” Mateo shrugged.

“Shall I sugar coat everything for you?” Jack griped.

“Easy, just checking in.” Mateo raised his hands.

“Sorry. No. You’re right. I’ll let up.” Jack nodded. “What do you know about Y/N’s date?” Jack cleared his throat.

“Oh the architect. She showed me a picture, dude looks like superman. Clark Kent type guy. I blushed a little at his picture.” Mateo laughed, shaking his head. “Outside of that, I don’t have a clue. Why?” He cocked an eyebrow.

“Just, curious. Somone should know who she’s with. For safety.” He said as the patient was rolled in. Mateo smiled to himself but didn’t say anything.

You were so over this date. He was cute but that’s all he had going for him. He spent the entire dinner talking about his job or himself. At one point he started rating his exes. When you had mentioned how unsavory that was, he scoffed and called you sensitive.

“Look, Mark. Thank you for taking me out, I’m just not feeling any connection. I’m sorry, I don’t think I’m going to take this any further.” You sighed over the glass of wine you gulped down.

“What the fuck?” He scoffed.

“There just isn’t a connection. It happens.” You shrugged.

“Fucking females. You’ve got an alpha in front of you and you’re going to deny me? Bitch, you’re a four at best!” He snapped.

“Fuck you, I was being nice. You’re repugnant. Waste of my damn time!” You barked as you stormed out of the restaurant. You were so pissed, the anger causing tears to form involuntarily.

You wiped the tears from your face, as the lights of the park came into view. You took your phone out to make sure you didn’t have mascara everywhere.  You straightened yourself up and headed for the sweet release of shitty beer.

“room for one more?” You sighed as you walked up to the group.

“Oh no! How bad was it?” Princess asked as she handed you a beer.

“terrible.” You shook your head and chugged the beer.

“Oh sweetie.” McKay sighed.

“His loss, our gain.” Mateo raised his beer to you.

“Did he at least pay for dinner?” Samira asked.

“I didn’t give him a choice. Left him sitting at the table.” You sat next to Jack. His body was so stiff, like he was angry. You couldn’t remember doing anything to piss him off.

“What did he do?” Princess asked.

“Well, did you know I’m a four at best?” You gave a sad laugh. “Fuck him.” Jack growled. Everyone’s head shot to him. “That was a boy. You need a man.” He sipped his beer. You looked at him, surprised.

“Yeah, well. I don’t attract any good men.” You shrugged.

“You’ll get someone someday.” Princess smiled.

“Eh, I’m done for a while. Not worth the bullshit.” You said, wiping the stray tear from the corner of your eye. You felt Jack put a tissue in your hand. You looked up at him.

“I don’t like when my residents cry and you all cry a lot. I’m prepared.” He shrugged. The group chatted around you, but you couldn’t pull your eyes from Jack.

“Whiplash, you want another?” Mateo asked.

“Uh, no. No, I’m going home. Thanks.” You smiled.

“I’ll walk you home. It’s too late for that bus nonsense you do.” Jack stood with a groan.

“You don’t need to do that.” You argued.

“It’s happening, deal with it.” Jack said as he started walking away. You followed him.

“Thank you.” You sighed. You two walked in silence, his arms swinging past yours, nearly brushing hands, but never quite close enough. It was close enough that it made your skin feel electric.

“You were wrong, by the way,” Jack said once you were far enough from the group for them to hear.

“What?” You looked up at him, confused.

“Well, I don’t know if I’m a good man. But I’m sure as hell not a boy.” He said his gaze felt like it was burning your core.

“You like me?” You cleared your throat, it was suddenly so dry.

“I’m done fighting it. Your senior enough now, it won’t cause any trouble. Y/N, the thought of anyone saying you’re anything but glorious makes me want to tear this world apart.” Jack said as he put a hand on the small of your back to lead you across the street.

“I had no idea.” You whispered.

“Tell me now if you don’t feel the same. I won’t make a thing of it. I’ll drop you off and we never have to speak of it again.” His eye contact was so intense.

“You’re sure?” You asked in a daze. He furrowed his brows in confusion.

“I’ve never been more sure in my life.” He said. He walked you up the steps to your apartment.

“This is surreal.” You sighed as you leaned against your door.

“I need a clear yes or no, here.” Jack crossed his arms.

“Jack, I’ve been dreaming of this for too fucking long.” You smiled. “Yes.” You said. He smiled as he put a hand next to your head, leaning close to you.

“You’re sure?” He hummed, millimeters away from your lips.

“Fuck yes.” Your breath hitched in your chest.

“Let a real man take care of you, then.” He said, a firm hand pressed to your back, and pulling you close as your lips crashed together. You thread your fingers into his hair, the other hand wrapping around his broad shoulders.

“Having yourself a nice night, Doc?” Your neighbor laughed as she walked past.

“Sorry, Mrs. Lincoln.” You chuckled.

“No need to apologize. Bout time someone took good care of you.” She laughed.

“Mrs. Lincoln!” You looked at her in shock. The woman was in her 70s and was diabetic. You took to looking out for her when her son wasn’t around.

“Honey, that man is fine as hell. Get in that apartment and stop worrying about me.” She shook her head. “You take care of her, son.” Mrs. Lincoln waggled her finger at Jack.

“Yes, Ma’am. I plan to.” Jack smiled down at you. You fumbled with your keys in the lock, falling forward a bit as you opened the door.

“It’s a mess, sorry.” You shrugged, suddenly very nervous.

“Mess never bothered me.” Jack growled as he closed the door behind him, wasting no time to gather you in his arms, trailing kisses down your neck, nibbling at your collarbone.

“Oh, Jack…” You sighed.

“Which way is the bedroom?” He held your face in his hands. You pointed down the hall. His hands trailed down your body, feeling every dip and curve with reverence until he got to your thighs. He grabbed them and hiked you up in his arms and started for the bedroom. You wrapped your arms around his neck, biting at his ear. He laid you out on the bed, your dress riding up and giving the slightest peak at your lacey underwear.

“Take your shirt off.” You ordered, a rush of confidence or desperation came over you. Jack obliged. You knew he kept fit, you admired the sight of his arms on a regular basis. You weren’t prepared for how muscular he was. He was solid, not like the superhero actors, like a real man. Like a man who worked out to make sure he could do his job well and protect himself or anyone who needed to.

He walked over to you, standing between your legs. You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until his fingertips grazed your thigh and you gasped.

“I’m going to show you how a real man treats a good woman.” He growled, his eyes dark as he ran his hands up your body, pulling the dress over your head. You lay still in your bra and panties, Jack stood admiring you for a moment before diving down and kissing you.

“You tell me what you want.” Jack whispered against your lips.

“You…” your voice wispy and delicate as your head started to swim with pleasure. Jack bit at your bottom lip. His hand cupped your breast as his kisses trailed down your body until they stopped at your hip, and he took a bite. He pulled the sweet, little, lacey panties down your legs and threw them across the room.

“You should be worshipped with a pussy like this.” Jack was practically drooling. He drifted a finger along your slit causing a shudder to escape your lungs. “How long since you’ve been touched?” He looked at your naked, writhing body as he moved his thumb to your tender clitoris.

“Ah! T-too long!” You whined, your hips instinctively grinding against his finger.

“You’re mine now. I am not ever neglecting you like that. I swear.” He drove two fingers into your warm, wet pussy.

“Please!” You bit your lip as he curled his fingers inside you and hitting the sweet spot.

“So wet, so soft.” He smiled as he palmed his growing erection.

“Jack, I want you. Please!” You were desperate, begging.

“Patience.” He said as he pulled you to the edge of the bed and moved to get to his knees. He kissed your inner thigh before dipping down and letting his mouth devour you.

“Jack!” You gasped as he made quick work of turning your body to Jello. His tongue circling your clit, making you see stars. You were teetering on the edge.

“Taste so sweet, baby.” He hummed against you.

“I want you, now.” You growled, pulling his chin up and forcing him to meet your eyes.

“Yes, Ma’am.” He smiled as he pulled his pants off and let his boxer briefs fall. His erection springing forth. He loomed over you, his eyes never leaving yours as he teased your entrance.

“Please…” You whimpered. Jack didn’t hesitate, thrusting into you slowly. You gasped at the fullness, your nails digging into his back.

“Fuck! Wanted this for too long!” He groaned as he bucked his hips.

“So fucking close…!” You whined. Jack kept his pace steady, dropping his head into the crook of your neck. Your fingers thread in his hair and tug, eliciting a groan from him. You felt yourself nearing the edge, unable to do anything other than beg for more.

“Such a good woman, taking this so well.” Jack hummed into your neck. You buried your face in his shoulder as you came, biting into his shoulder.

“Fuck! Oh fuck, Jack!” You screamed. He grunted as his pace picked up and pulled you close. A scream ripped from his throat as he came, his body shuddering slightly.

“Fuck…” He was breathless, lying atop you. You two lay clinging onto each other like if you let go you’d both crumble.

“You were right.” You panted.

“Huh?” Jack rolled next to you, brushing a lock of hair from your face.

“I did need a good man.” You smiled, closing your eyes. Jack watched you for a moment, completely enthralled by you. He got up and went to your bathroom.

“Jack?” You looked up confused.

“Oh don’t tell me no one has cleaned you up after?” He looked horrified as he came back in, wash cloth in hand.

“I usually did it myself.” You said reaching out hand for the cloth.

“I told you, I’m going to treat you how a real man treats a good woman. Relax.” He said as he ran the cloth across your body. He crawled back next to you, pulling you in close. “Best worst date ever.” You giggled, laying your head on his chest.

[baigepueckers]

Nika Mühl X Reader

Unspoken

Nika didn’t expect to feel so nervous meeting your family.

She was cool under pressure. That was her thing. She could handle screaming fans, last minute shot clocks, GMs in the stands watching her every move. But walking into your childhood home with a bag slung over her shoulder and your fingers laced through hers..that made her stomach flip in ways nothing else did.

It was loud inside cluttered in the most loving way. Old photos on the walls, familiar smells she didn’t recognize but instantly liked. A dog she wasn’t expecting barked twice, sniffed her sock, then curled up under the table like she was already part of the furniture.

Your mom hugged her like she meant it. Your dad offered to make her coffee. Your younger brother challenged her to a game of H-O-R-S-E the minute he realized who she was.

It should’ve been overwhelming. But somehow, it wasn’t.

And then your niece came into the picture.

Your sister went into labor the morning after you arrived, and everything tilted. Plans were dropped. Schedules shifted. Nika found herself in a car with your mom at 2AM, half asleep but wide eyed, following a frantic call and a packed overnight bag.

The baby was tiny. Eight pounds. Her name was Hazel. And from the second you saw her, something in you changed.

Nika saw it.

She couldn’t not see it.

And now two days later you were in the kitchen, holding Hazel against your chest with one arm while gently adjusting a bottle with the other, humming something soft and unrecognizable under your breath.

Nika hadn’t meant to walk in unnoticed. She was just coming in to find her charger. But the second she stepped into the doorway and saw you like that, she froze.

The light was different in here. Warmer. Golden, filtering through the windows and catching the soft strands of your hair. You were wearing one of her oversized hoodies, the sleeves pushed up messily, a burp cloth slung over your shoulder like it was second nature.

Your voice was low, gentle. You were talking to Hazel like she could understand, your words quiet and tender as you cradled her closer.

“You’re already milking this whole “newborn” thing for attention, huh?” you whispered with a small grin.

Nika’s heart didn’t just flutter…it shifted. Like something fundamental had moved inside her.

She had seen you in every mood. Drunk at team parties. Exhausted after studying. Insecure on your worst days. Competitive when someone tried to beat you in Uno. She loved all of it.

But this?

This softness?

This care?

She’d never wanted to marry someone so badly in her life.

She didn’t even believe in that stuff. Not really. She always rolled her eyes when her sister cried at proposal videos. She told herself love didn’t need some big show. But this moment was so quiet, so ordinary…and it broke something open in her anyway.

You rocked slightly as you fed Hazel, shifting your weight from foot to foot like it was instinct. You weren’t even trying to look maternal. You were. Fully. Effortlessly.

And Nika…who never ran out of things to say…suddenly had no words at all.

You looked up at her then, as if sensing something. Caught her eyes over the curve of Hazel’s soft cheek.

“Hey” you said softly. “She was fussing, so I figured I’d give my sister a break.”

You smiled. That sleepy, familiar kind of smile you gave her when you were content and didn’t need anything more than what you had.

“Yeah,” Nika said, voice a little rough. “Looks like you’ve got it handled.”

You chuckled, glancing back down at the baby.

“She’s perfect. I didn’t think I’d be this into it, but…” you trailed off, one hand tracing little circles on Hazel’s back. “She smells so good. Why do babies smell good?”

Nika stepped closer, tucking her hands into her sweatpants pockets to hide the way they were trembling.

“I think it’s evolutionary,” she offered, trying to steady her voice. “To keep people from… you know. Losing their minds.”

“Too late for me, then,” you joked.

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She was too focused on you. On the way your eyelashes fluttered when Hazel shifted. On the way your whole body moved around the baby like she was a part of you.

She could see it. A crib in your shared Seattle apartment someday. You, in that same hoodie, with a little one in your arms and no idea how deeply you’d wrecked her.

“You’d be a really good mom,” she said suddenly.

You blinked, surprised. Then smiled again, this time quieter. “Yeah?”

She nodded, mouth dry. “Yeah. The best.”

And then, before she could help it, her fingers reached out to trace your arm…just once, gentle and slow. Like she needed the contact to ground herself in the moment.

Because if she didn’t touch you, she was going to say something. Something too big.

Like I think I’m in love with the way you hold her.

Like I want this with you.

Like You are my whole future and you don’t even know it yet.

Instead, she stayed quiet. Let her touch speak for her.

And you leaned into it.

Hazel finished the bottle. You kissed the top of her head and sighed, content.

Nika didn’t know how to explain the ache in her chest. Only that it wasn’t bad.

It was the kind that comes when you’re right on the edge of something life changing.

The evening had settled softly over your childhood home…the golden light fading into something quieter and cooler.

Nika found herself sitting beside you on the creaky old porch swing, the one you remembered from childhood, the one your family had insisted she try even though she looked at it like it might break.

You were both quiet for a long moment, the night wrapping around you like a gentle blanket. Hazel was asleep inside, the faint sounds of her soft breathing drifting through the open window.

Nika’s fingers intertwined with yours, her thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles as she stared out into the darkening yard.

She had rehearsed this conversation a thousand times in her head.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

“I want this..us..forever.”

But when the words were finally close..right there on the tip of her tongue, they caught and twisted.

She swallowed hard.

Her voice came out soft, unsure.

“Hey… I uh.”

You looked over, your eyebrows rising gently, the way you always did when she sounded a little lost.

“I, uh” Nika repeated, running a hand through her hair, frustrated at herself. “I just… seeing you with Hazel today… it was wow. It was really something.”

You smiled, squeezing her hand, encouraging her without pressure.

She took a breath. “I guess what I’m trying to say is… you’re amazing. And not just with her. Like… with everything. With me.”

Her words rushed out, a little uneven, but full of meaning.

You reached up, brushing a stray hair from her forehead.

Nika’s heart hammered.

“And I don’t want to mess this up, or rush it, but…”

She faltered again.

You smiled a soft, patient smile that gave her permission to be nervous.

“You don’t have to say it all at once,” you whispered.

Relief flooded her chest.

She leaned in, resting her forehead against yours.

“Maybe I’m just scared I’ll lose you if I say too much.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head.

“You won’t. I’m not going anywhere.”

And with that, the weight lifted just enough for her to press a gentle kiss to your lips…slow, shy, full of everything she couldn’t quite say yet but felt with all her heart

[aq2003]

i think there's a kind of defensiveness that comes from ppl that like the 14th doctor and david's return to the show as like, because one of the main criticisms is that he's basically the same as ten and his return is pointless, the main argument against it becomes that fourteen is a totally different character than ten with totally different traits or personality. but to me i think it's kind of an over-correction (mostly because it comes with ten slander that i don't really agree with). i agree that fourteen is much more emotionally mature, kinder, more open, and kind of overall a better person bc of all his experiences as 11-13. but the human-like love he has for people is the same as ten's and that's why he matters so much. ten's story was a tragedy, he had so so much love in him and he felt things a little too hard and he didn't want to let that go. his life was overall so miserable bc he spent half of it stuck in his grief trying to isolate himself from people (or trying to die) rather than letting himself love again and it got cut short in a moment when for the first time in a While he was genuinely happy to be alive. so it does matter that he kind of gets a second chance as a more grown-up, openly emotional 14th doctor. also bc thirteen spent 99% of her time emotionally closing herself off from her loved ones so it makes perfect sense she regenerates into a doctor that yearns to love people completely and fully with no holds barred, with the face of a previous version of themself that wished for a home but could never have one (or could never let themself have one)

[simplygojo]

Friend-Of-A-Friend ⸺ Chapter Seven

author's note ⸺ Hello lovely people! I hope u are all doing well this Sunday :) I have finished up my edits on this chapter and am very excited to hear your thoughts as this is where the plot begins to thicken. I love all ur comments and some of y'all have just started DMing me and sending in asks and MY HEART IS SO FULL <33 Also exciting news: I will be publishing a nerdjo x reader multi-chapter fic in June!! So stay tuned!! pairing ⸺ Suguru Geto x Reader content ⸺ corporate-worker!reader, emotional tension, modern au, the good-ole-days trope, reader uses female pronouns, taglist at end, 3.8k, this is an 18+ series - mdni

divider credit: @/toastray ୨୧ art credit: @/juziluohai

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Geto: Got it. Be there in 30.

And just like that, your night cracked open.

You stood in the middle of the kitchen, phone still in your hand, as if it might say more if you just kept looking at it.

Thirty minutes.

You didn’t think—just moved.

You wandered into the bathroom, flicking on the soft overhead light. Washed your hands. Then your face. 

You looked up, water dripping from your chin, and stared at your reflection in the mirror. 

Your eyes were wide—not panicked, just… alive. Awake in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time.

You reached blindly for the towel, dabbing at your face, suddenly aware of how warm your cheeks felt.

After touching yourself up a bit, you made your way back to the bedroom, still not really thinking, just doing.

A gentle patter of rain against the windows settled into the background, faint but rhythmic. Not a storm—just the kind of rain that settles in and stays a while. 

The sound curled at the edges of the quiet, filling the space without asking.

But something about the quiet of your apartment made everything sound louder—the whining of the pipes in the wall, the sigh of the heater kicking on, the creak of the floorboards as your heel shifted, just slightly off center.

You moved toward the chair by the window, where your hoodie from two days ago lay draped, sleeves twisted like it had slumped there after giving up.

Picking it up, you folded it without thinking. Placed it on the armrest, suddenly now hyper-aware of how many little messes were sitting around your place that you’d just hadn’t noticed before. 

Not that it made the place look dirty—just kinda more… lived in. And there wasn’t anything wrong with that…right?

A mug sitting out on the counter with a ring of tea at the bottom.

Three receipts in a pile near the keys.

Your shoes—one tipped over, half-tucked under the coffee table.

You righted them. Not for him. Just—because. You’d have to do it eventually, why not now?

You quickly pulled your phone from your back pocket to check the time: 9:47.

Eleven minutes.

The silence you felt was heavy. No music. No TV playing mindlessly in the background. Nothing to fill the void that felt like your apartment.

Your thumb hovered over the screen a second longer than necessary.

Then—Spotify. 

That old, faithful green app on your home screen.

You pressed shuffle on a playlist you’d built over the past few years. Songs shuffled together from half-sleepless mornings and lazy Sunday afternoons. The opening chords of a familiar track spilled into the room—warm, looping guitar, steady drums. 

The kind of sound that didn’t demand anything, just offered itself up and stayed a while.

You let the music play.

Not for any particular reason. It just felt better than the silence.

You sat down on the couch, thumb grazing the seam of your jeans, letting the song fill the space. Nothing dramatic. Just… something to do while the minutes passed.

You weren’t expecting much from tonight.

Geto had always kind of moved through your life like this—unexpectedly, casually. Like showing up was just something he did sometimes. And this felt like one of those times.

You only ever really got to know him in the moments between Gojo.

For a long time—maybe two years—Suguru Geto had just been Gojo’s friend. 

The quieter presence, the steadier one. Always with that half-smile and his sleeves rolled neatly at the forearms, as if even his ease came with intention. You could still picture the first time it was just the two of you, alone in that library.

He was the person standing just off to the side in every memory you had of those years, hands in his pockets, watching the way Gojo filled up the room.

But sometimes Gojo would be late, or forget, or disappear entirely.

And that’s when Geto would sit across from you. 

Just the two of you, sharing whatever was left of the afternoon or the space or the silence. No spotlight. No noise. Just low conversation and the occasional dry comment that stuck with you longer than you expected it to.

Those were the pieces of him you learned—quiet, rare things. A glance. A line from a book. 

The way he really listened when you spoke, not just waiting to reply but actually there to hear you.

୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧

**4 Years Ago: Campus Library 2:28 pm**

The library had that particular kind of quiet that wasn't really silent—just full of other people trying not to make noise. Pages turning, pens scratching. The occasional cough muffled into the crook of an elbow.

It was an older building, with real wooden shelves, not the cold plastic or industrial steel you'd gotten used to in public libraries growing up. These shelves were warm-toned and tall, climbing nearly to the ceiling, stacked tight with worn spines and little brass call number plates.

You were tucked into the far end of one of the long tables by the windows, headphones in, jazz looping soft in your ears. A watered-down iced coffee sat sweating beside your open textbook. 

Business Law. Final exam. Second year.

Your notes were a mess. Your eyes were tired. But your focus had reached that kind of dull, narrowed state where time bent around the pages and the words almost started to make sense.

You didn’t notice him until he put his bag down.

Suguru Geto. Gojo’s best friend—well, other than you.

You blinked up, tugging one earbud out. He gave you a nod—not sheepish, not smug. Just… neutral. Like it was the most natural thing in the world to join you, even though you were pretty sure the two of you had never spoken one-on-one before.

You gave him a polite smile. The kind reserved for like classmates or acquaintances, or friends-of-friends.

Then he opened his bag and pulled out a textbook, spine softened from use, corners curled. He didn’t make a sound beyond that. No explanation. No question. Just settled in, a quiet body beside yours at the edge of the window light.

You tried to refocus on your notes, but the presence of him lingered—a shift in the air, not intrusive, just… present. 

Every so often, your eyes flicked toward him. 

He read steadily, one hand curled near his jaw, thumb brushing the page as he turned it. A pen tucked behind his ear. A faint scuff on his sneakers.

He hadn’t brought headphones, but he didn’t seem to need them.

Your playlist looped into another low, slow track. Jazz drums and upright bass. Something that made the library feel more like a moment than a place.

He leaned back slightly in his chair, eyes still on the page in front of him.

Then, without looking over, he spoke—voice low, just above the hush of the room.

“You studying for BA121?”

You glanced at him, surprised, but then looked down at your boldly labelled textbook and sighed. “Yeah.”

He nodded once, still thumbing the corner of his book, which turned out to be the same one as yours, just in a much worse condition. “Same.”

You blinked. “Oh, wait—really? I didn’t realize you were in that class.”

His mouth quirked—not quite a smile, but close. “Oh really? Interesting. I guess disappearing into the back row really does work.”

You winced, a hand half-lifting in apology. “Sorry—I didn’t mean it like that. I just—I usually sit near the front.”

He let out a soft laugh, and the sound caught you off guard—not loud, but warm, rough around the edges like he didn’t use it all that often.

“It’s alright,” he said, glancing over now. “I wasn’t exactly trying to be memorable.”

You gave a sheepish smile, suddenly aware of how dry your mouth felt.

The silence shifted—same shape, different weight. A little looser around the edges now.

You reached for your pen again, but your grip was soft, unfocused. The lines on the page blurred, just a bit. The kind of blur that had nothing to do with your eyes.

You hadn’t even realized he was in that class. 

Something about that sat a little funny—like you’d missed something obvious. Had he noticed you? Or had the textbook just given it away? Either way, it left a small echo in your chest.

He adjusted in his seat. The hem of his sleeve brushed the table. Nothing big, nothing showy. Just a reminder that he was still there, right next to you.

Not loud. Not distracting. But present.

After a long beat, he spoke again, quieter this time.

“You think you’re gonna pass this final?”

You exhaled through your nose, each word laced with fake annoyance. “Not if I keep talking to Gojo’s mysterious friend.”

He smiled at that. Not sarcastic this time—just a real genuine smile. “Touché.”

You both looked back down at your textbooks, as if by unspoken agreement.

The quiet folded over you again—pen to paper, eyes tracing text—but something buzzed low in your chest now, faint and bright like a secret you weren’t sure you were supposed to have yet.

You fought the smile tugging at your mouth. Really tried. But it was no use. It crept up anyway—cheeky and uninvited.

Curious, you risked a glance sideways in his direction.

And there he was. Suguru. Also looking up. Also smiling.

That same unreadable curl at the corner of his lips, like the two of you were in on something that no one else would ever quite get.

His eyes were dark, but not in the way of shadows, more in the way old velvet holds warmth—quiet, weighty, and worn with something you couldn’t quite name.

Your gazes held.

Not long. Maybe a second. Maybe less.

But it settled in your chest like the gentle weight of a blanket—comforting and light and kind of impossible to ignore.

Then, as if coordinated without a signal, you both dropped your eyes back to the pages in front of you like it hadn’t happened. 

You flipped a page in your notes, hand slower now, pen resting loose between your fingers.

He capped his pen, rolled it once across the back of his knuckles, then uncapped it again.

Neither of you said another word.

But the silence no longer belonged to the library.

୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧

**Present Day: Your Apartment 9:58 pm**

You pulled yourself out of the memory like stepping back from a window—one moment inside it, the next with your palms flat against the glass. 

The library dissolved, its warm wood and filtered light giving way to the dim quiet of your apartment. A different kind of silence. A different kind of ache.

It had been years, but the moment clung like dust in the corners of your mind, undisturbed until now. 

It’s strange, how something so small—just a glance across a library table—could leave a memory deep enough to resurface years later, still whole, like it had been waiting in the quiet just beyond reach.

You blinked, the soft blue glow of your phone as it vibrated, tugging you from your thoughts and back into reality.

Geto: Here. Wanna buzz me up?

You stared at the message for a beat, then stood up and made your way towards the buzzer by your front door.

You had no butterflies. No last-minute panic. Just the faint hum of readiness, like a light turning on in a room you hadn’t entered in a while.

You: Yep! One sec :)

Somewhere below, the door groaned open. Pipes clanked. The building held its breath.

You didn’t move from your little kitchenette beside the entryway. Just stood, fingers curled lightly at your sides, the music behind you still spinning something soft and familiar through the speaker.

Then—

A pause. Just on the other side of your front door.

A knock. 

You reached for the knob. The metal met your fingers, cool and smooth. 

You opened it.

And there he was—Geto.

Rain clung to him in soft streaks, running the length of his coat sleeves, caught in the collar where the fabric had darkened. His hair was all the way down, loose and heavy with water, a few strands pressed flat to his cheek. 

It gave him a different look. 

You noticed how his eyes reflected the warm spill of light from inside when you opened the door, highlighting the softness you tended to see behind his gaze.

You stepped back without thinking, leaving just enough to let him in without speaking.

“Hey,” he said, quiet, with a nod that somehow felt like it held more weight than the word itself.

“Hey,” you echoed, your voice not loud, but enough to cut through the space between you. 

You weren’t sure why you felt so—nervous. You had opened your door to Geto countless times, although it was always when others were already in your apartment…

He stepped inside, careful to toe off his shoes by the door, water already beginning to bead on the floor. You reached instinctively for the towel hanging on the hook near the entry—normally used for grocery runs or spilled tea—and handed it to him without a word.

Thank god you did the laundry this weekend…

“Thanks,” he murmured, accepting it, rubbing the back of his neck first, then pushing his wet hair back with one slow pass of his hand, the towel dragging behind like an afterthought. It didn’t do much—just shifted the strands out of his face before they fell forward again.

You tried not to stare.

Tried not to notice how good he looked like this—rain-damp and quiet, something about the messiness softening him. 

Like an artist's greatest portrait left out in the weather. Like a version of him not meant to be seen by you up close.

He wore it well, though. 

The water-darkened sleeves, the slight flush on his nose and cheeks from the walk, the way the low light caught on the curve of his cheekbone.

Not the kind of thing you should necessarily be noticing. But I mean, you’re not going to hell for thinking your friend is a good-looking dude. It’s not like that meant anything to either of you. 

Still, your eyes caught on the little details. 

The tilt of his jaw when he glanced toward the living room. 

The way his hand settled on the towel, gripping it once like he didn’t quite know what to do with it now that he was inside.

He slid his jacket off, careful with the sleeves, like the fabric might protest if tugged too hard. The movement sent another few drops scattering to the floor.

“Shit—sorry,” he said, glancing down as water beaded at his feet. “Didn’t think it’d be coming down this hard.”

You shook your head, already stepping aside so he could hang it on the rack by the door.

“It’s fine,” you said. “Coat rack’s been bored anyway.”

—That's a bit odd to say, but that’s alright!

He huffed a quiet laugh, eyes flicking toward yours—holding it for just a moment while he smiled at your dumb joke—before returning to the coat rack.

The jacket landed with a wet, muted thump against the hook, shoulders sagging the second he let go, like it had been holding something up for him.

He gave it one last glance, then rubbed his hands along his forearms, slow, trying to shake off the leftover chill.

For a moment, nothing more than the sound of the rain outside, dull and steady against the windows, the faint scrape of the towel as he patted at the ends of his hair.

Then—

“You want tea or anything?” You asked, your fingers brushing the lip of the counter.

He glanced at you, eyes warm. “Yeah. If it’s not a hassle.”

“Of course it’s not,” you said without missing a beat, already turning toward the kettle.

Behind you, the door eased shut on its own. Not a slam—just the soft click of something returning to place.

He stepped further inside, eyes drifting across the space like he was trying to take it in without making a thing of it. You wondered if he was comparing it to your old place—the tiny student flat with barely enough room to turn around, where Gojo used to complain the walls were too thin and the fridge made ‘psychotic noises’ at night.

This one wasn’t much bigger to be honest, but it was yours now. Yours in a way the last one hadn’t been considering you lived with four other girls, and Gojo practically visited every day.

Geto’s gaze flicked across the bookshelf, the little trailing plant over the kitchen cupboard, the single framed print above the couch. 

Not in a nosy way—just absorbing the environment. Familiarizing himself.

He moved toward the couch, careful of the damp towel still hanging from one hand, and sat down like he was half-afraid the thing would squeak under him. It didn’t, the cushion just let out a quiet sigh.

The couch wasn’t far from the kitchen—nothing in your apartment was—so even with your back to him at the counter, you could still hear the soft shuffle of him settling in. 

The towel rustled again as he rubbed the ends of his hair, slower now, like he wasn’t in a rush.

“So…Welcome to my apartment, you haven’t been in this one before,” you said, only half-looking over your shoulder as you measured out loose leaf into the strainer.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice a little lower now. “Kind of weird, isn’t it?”

“Not really,” you said, turning to face him for a beat. “Just overdue, I guess.”

That made him smile—small, crooked. The kind of smile that made your throat go a little tight for no reason at all.

“Nice place,” he said, glancing around again. “Very you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. It just feels like yours. Lived-in. Warm.” He shrugged. “Also the music. And your loose-leaf tea. And the fact that there are, like, four different oddly shaped mugs on that shelf.”

You huffed a laugh as your grin widened. “Okay, Geto, now you’re being judgy.”

“I’m not! I swear…I like it.” His gaze cut to yours, easy.

“Feels settled,” he said, easing back into the couch. “Like it’s got a rhythm.”

You turned toward the kettle, eyebrows lifting. “That’s a polite way of calling it cramped.”

He huffed a laugh through his nose. “Didn’t say that.”

“No, but you thought it.”

Another soft smile. “I just meant—it feels like you. Like you’ve been here a while.”

You glanced over your shoulder. “I have.”

He nodded once, almost to himself, then reached for the towel again, pressing it behind his neck where his hair still dripped a little. 

His eyes scanned the nearby shelf, the quiet kitchen details. No commentary. Just noticing.

You turned back to the counter. “And for the record, I pay too much rent for it not to feel like me.”

“City tax,” he murmured, almost too quiet to catch. “Comfort’s always overpriced.”

Geto laughed under his breath, then went quiet again. You could hear the shift of the fabric beneath him as he crossed one ankle over his knee, glanced down at a coaster on the coffee table like it had caught him off guard.

“This one’s got a cat in a space helmet,” he said.

“Yeah. Set of four. Each one is a different animal in space.”

He paused. “Nice. I like space animals, what are the other ones?”

“One’s a duck. Another one’s a bear, and the one I will be using—” You set down a second coaster beside his. “—is a hippo.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Did you buy these or were they a gift?” He said, completely deadpan.

You glanced back at him with that same grin you just couldn’t seem to shake. “Does it matter? Don’t you like them?”

“Of course I do,” he said, smiling back at you and letting a small chuckle slip past his lips. “Wish I was that cool y’know?”

That made you laugh—quietly, through your nose. You shook your head as you reached for the boiling kettle. “Yeah I do know.”

You poured the tea, the faint hiss of water filling the mugs, and carried them over—setting his down on the space cat. He thanked you with a quiet murmur and wrapped both hands around the mug, warming them.

You sat across from him, your own mug nestled against your legs, knees pulled up comfortably under you. 

For a moment, neither of you said anything—just letting the steam rise, letting the silence stretch a little in that comfortable way that didn’t need filling.

Then—

“So,” you said, your tone light but edged with curiosity, “What’s up? Was this just…You being spontaneous?”

He looked at you then—really looked.

Not with that easy warmth he wore like second nature, but something closer to stillness. 

Like he was weighing the moment in his hands, turning it over before deciding what to offer back. 

After all—Geto never wasted words.

His smile lingered, soft at the edges, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes this time. There was a flicker there instead—something hesitant, almost searching.

His gaze fell, not abruptly, but with a slow sort of grace. 

Drifted down to the rim of the mug cupped between his palms, where steam curled lazily into the air. 

Then further, toward the window, where the rain slipped down in quiet ribbons. The kind of rain that made you feel like the world had shrunk to just the room you were in.

And in that small silence, something in your chest pulled tight. 

It wasn’t weird to ask that—was it?

When his eyes returned to yours, they were softer. 

Unshielded in a way they hadn’t been before. But quickly darted away.

He didn’t speak right away—just let the moment stretch between you, fragile and thin and glinting with something that felt too honest to touch.

“Yeah,” he said finally, his voice low—barely above the whisper of the rain. “I’m just… kinda spontaneous.”

His lips curved slightly, the kind of smile that followed a thought he hadn’t meant to say out loud, but it was a fleeting thing. 

Not a deflection. Not even a joke. Just an acknowledgment that the words were only part of what he meant.

There was a subtle shift, his posture easing toward you with quiet intention.

“But—” His gaze found yours again. This time, he didn’t look away.

And you felt it. The weight of it. 

His thumb drifted along the curve of the mug, slow and deliberate, the motion steadying in a way that suggested he wasn’t quite at rest.

“Is it so wrong if I just wanted some good company?”

Your heartbeat faltered at his words. There was no bravado in it. No performance. Just a small truth, placed gently between you like an offering. 

You were his idea of good company.

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[hyunjinsmuze]

First Time For Everything

warnings: ⛔️18+, first time, fingering, making out, dirty talk, soft!dom felix, praise

pairing: felix x reader

summary: What starts as practice kissing with Felix turns into something neither of you expected

words: 2.5k

You had no idea how it started — your friendship with Stray Kids, that is.

It just happened. One minute, you were awkwardly tagging along to a mutual friend’s birthday dinner, the next, you were curled up on Chan’s couch, surrounded by empty snack bags and limbs tangled between Hyunjin and Han like it was your second home. But among all of them, there was one person you felt closest to the one who always noticed when you were quiet, who made sure you ate when they were ordering food, who waited for your reaction first when he showed you a new song.

Felix.

Felix was the type of person who made space for you. Not because he had to, but because he wanted to. He made you feel like the most important person in the room, even when there were seven other boys shouting over each other about fried chicken and anime.

You didn’t know when it shifted, when your feelings toward him started to twist into something that felt more than platonic. It wasn’t obvious. It wasn’t loud.

It was in the small things.

Like the way he’d smile when you laughed. Or how his hand would linger just a second longer on your back. Or how he looked at you like he knew something you didn’t.

You were already at the dorm when he walked in hoodie loose, hair slightly damp like he’d just come from dance practice. He froze when he saw you sprawled on the couch with a bowl of popcorn and a half-finished can of Coke in your lap.

“Y/N,” he said, grinning. “Didn’t know you were coming over.”

“Seungmin invited me,” you said casually. “But he ditched me for a nap, so now I’m hanging out with your cereal and this very unimpressive Netflix selection.”

He laughed, dropping onto the couch next to you with a soft grunt. His thigh brushed yours — just enough to notice, but not enough to move.

You turned to him, chewing your bottom lip.

“Oh, by the way…”

His brows lifted. “Hmm?”

You tried to play it off like it was no big deal. “You know your friend Jake? From Enhypen?”

Felix’s smile dipped slightly. “Yeah…”

“He DM’d me last night,” you said, keeping your tone light. “He asked me out.”

Silence.

“Wait, what?” Felix blinked at you, straightening slightly. “Jake… DMed you?”

“Yeah,” you said, scrolling through your phone and flashing him the screen. “See? He was like, ‘Hey, I saw you in that photo with Lix. Thought you were really pretty.’ And then he asked if I wanted to get coffee this weekend.”

He wanted to be happy for you. Really, he did. But behind the easy smile, jealousy twisted in his chest like a slow burn. Of course Jake noticed you — everyone did. You were bright, beautiful, magnetic. But the thought of you going out with someone else, someone who wasn’t him, made him feel… small.

Stupid, even.

He’d had years. Years to say something. To tell you that his feelings had shifted, that somewhere along the line, you stopped being just a friend. But he didn’t. He’d kept quiet, convincing himself it was better this way safe, simple.

And now someone else was going to take you out. Make you laugh. Maybe even kiss you.

He swallowed hard, nodding like it didn’t tear him apart inside.

Felix leaned back against the couch, his voice careful. “When did this happen?”

“Last night.”

“Huh.”

You glanced at him. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said quickly. “That’s great. I mean, he’s a good guy.”

“But?” you prompted.

“No but,” he said, too fast.

You gave him a look, and he sighed. “I just didn’t know he was interested in you. That’s all.”

You laughed. “Why? You gatekeeping me from your idol friends now?”

“No, no,” he said, waving you off. “Just… surprised.”

A beat passed.

“You’re really going?” he asked.

“I think so,” you said. “He seems sweet. And I haven’t been on a real date in, like, forever.”

Felix smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Well… make sure you wear your good lipstick.”

You rolled your eyes. “Why?”

“So your lips look good when you kiss him.”

You choked. “I’m not gonna kiss him!”

He turned to you, eyebrows raised. “You’re not?”

“No!”

“Why not?”

You hesitated.

Felix’s eyes narrowed slightly, curiosity piqued. “Y/N…”

“I’ve never kissed anyone,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

The silence that followed was heavy.

“…Seriously?” he said softly.

You nodded, cheeks flushing. “Never found the right time. Or person.”

Felix’s voice dropped just a bit. “You nervous?”

“A little,” you admitted.

He smiled again, softer this time. “Want me to teach you?”

You froze.

“Wait, are you serious?”

“I mean…” he chuckled. “Only if you want me to.”

You looked at him. Really looked.

He was leaning back casually, but his gaze was steady. Focused. You couldn’t read his expression was he joking? Was he teasing you? Or… did he want to?

“Okay,” you said.

His head tilted. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” you repeated. “Teach me.”

The room suddenly felt warmer. Closer.

Felix shifted to face you more fully, one leg bent beneath him. “Alright then,” he said, voice low.

You swallowed.

His hand lifted, fingertips brushing lightly under your chin to tilt your face up.

“You don’t have to if you’re not ready,” he said, and his voice was so gentle, so Felix, it made your chest ache.

“I want to,” you whispered.

His lips brushed yours like a question. Soft. Barely there.

Your breath caught. He pulled back just enough to look at you.

“You okay?” he murmured.

You nodded.

This time, he kissed you properly.

It wasn’t clumsy or rushed. It was careful thoughtful, like he was mapping you out. His lips moved slowly against yours, pausing occasionally like he was listening for your reaction. When your fingers brushed the hem of his hoodie, he let out a quiet breath against your mouth.

You leaned in instinctively, and suddenly it wasn’t practice anymore.

Your fingers slid into his hair, and his hands found your waist. The kiss deepened, his tongue brushing against yours gently. The way he kissed like he wanted to take his time, like this was something he’d dreamed about, making your heart thud wildly in your chest.

When he pulled back, his lips were pink, his voice low.

“You’re a fast learner,” he murmured.

You were breathing hard. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said, eyes dark.

Your hand rested on his chest now, his heartbeat as fast as yours.

“I should probably cancel the date,” you whispered.

Felix blinked. “Wait, what?”

You met his eyes. “I don’t… want to kiss Jake. Not after this.”

He stared at you.

Then his lips curled into the smallest smirk.

“You can still go,” he said, voice dipping. “But just remember who taught you how to kiss.”

Your breath hitched.

“What if I want more?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

He was quiet for a second. Then he leaned in, his lips brushing your jaw.

“Then you’ll get more,” he murmured.

His hand slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, fingers grazing your bare waist. “But only if you want it.”

“I do,” you whispered, trembling slightly.

He kissed you again, rougher this time — more sure. His hand slid to the back of your neck, tilting your head just enough to deepen the kiss.

And then his lips found your throat. Open-mouthed, slow, until he found a spot just beneath your ear that made your stomach flip. He sucked gently, leaving a blooming hickey there, and your breath hitched so hard it made him chuckle against your skin.

“You’re so sensitive,” he said, dragging his teeth lightly across your skin.

His fingers moved lower, brushing along the top of your jeans. You tensed slightly not from discomfort, but anticipation.

He paused. “Can I…?”

You nodded.

His mouth was on yours again before you could second-guess it.

This time, it wasn’t careful or polite it was heat and need. His hands gripped your waist with more certainty, more hunger, pulling you into him like he couldn’t get close enough.

Felix’s lips moved against yours like he’d been waiting to do this for a long time. Every tilt of his head, every brush of his tongue against yours, felt deliberate. Focused. And yet… tender.

Your fingers curled into his hoodie, grounding yourself as his hand slid beneath your shirt again warm, gentle, but insistent. When his palm pressed against the bare skin of your back, you shivered.

“You okay?” he murmured against your lips.

You nodded. “Yeah. I just…”

Your voice trembled slightly, and he kissed the corner of your mouth.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered.

He leaned in again, slower this time savoring the kiss, letting it linger. You could feel his breath hitch slightly when your hand skimmed up his chest. When your fingers brushed his throat, his eyes fluttered shut.

Then he pulled back, resting his forehead against yours.

“Tell me to stop if it’s too much,” he said softly.

You swallowed, heart pounding. “I don’t want you to stop.”

His eyes flicked open. They were darker now deeper, filled with something unspoken.

“I don’t want to stop either,” he admitted.

You barely had time to breathe before his lips were on you again. He pushed you gently back against the couch cushions, bracing himself over you. His thigh slid between yours, pressing just right against your core, and when his hands found your waist again, your hips arched instinctively into his touch.

Felix groaned low in his throat quiet, but real.

“You feel that?” he murmured, brushing his lips along your jaw. “That’s what you do to me.”

Your skin buzzed, every nerve alive.

“I’ve wanted this,” he whispered. “So many times.”

“I didn’t think you—” you started.

“I tried not to,” he said honestly. “You’re my best friend. I didn’t want to ruin anything. But watching someone else try to take you out—” His jaw tensed.

Your hand found the side of his face, thumb brushing his cheekbone. “It wouldn’t have meant anything.”

“This means something,” he whispered.

You didn’t realize your shirt had ridden up until you felt his fingers under your bra line. When you tensed, he paused — not pulling away, just waiting.

He kissed down your stomach slowly, reaching your chest, brushing his lips over your clothed nipple. You squirmed, and he pulled back, smirking.

“I’ve never done this,” you admitted quietly.

“I know,” he said, kissing your collarbone. “That’s why I’m going slow.”

“I want you to touch me,” you whispered.

He exhaled, voice rough.

“Y/N…” His voice cracked. “I’ll make you feel good. I promise.”

He slipped his hand into your waistband, every move careful and patient. His fingers moved gently over your warmth soft, teasing strokes. He didn’t rush. He circled your entrance with the tip of his finger, slow and steady, watching your face.

You gasped — not just at the contact, but the intimacy.

His other hand found yours again, thumb stroking over your knuckles.

“Breathe,” he murmured.

The first brush of his finger inside you was slow, deliberate and when he curled it slightly, your hips jumped. His thumb moved to your clit, circling it gently as he slowly pumped his finger.

Then he added a second.

Your breath stuttered. He groaned softly.

“You’re doing so well,” he whispered, kissing your temple. “So perfect for me.”

His eyes didn’t leave yours not once as his fingers found a rhythm, hitting just the right spot. Your hands gripped his arms, nails dragging down as your thighs trembled around him.

“Lix…” you moaned, breathless.

He kissed your throat again, lips dragging over your jaw. “That’s it. Say my name.”

You whimpered again, unable to help it.

His pace picked up just slightly enough to build. You couldn’t keep your eyes open. The pressure was unbearable and euphoric.

His pace stayed the same curling his fingers at the perfect angle as his thumb stayed on your clit applying the slightest bit of pleasure.

You didn’t even realise how loud your moans were getting but felix was sure seungmin could hear, but he didn’t slow down he didn’t ask you to be quiet. Infact he sped up drawing more moans from you thinking it’s the hottest thing how your so close to coming undone on just his fingers.

“You’re mine,” he whispered against your skin, his voice suddenly low and firm. “Not Jake’s. Not anyone’s. Mine.”

His thumb stroked your hand in time with his fingers inside you, grounding you as you spiraled higher.

Your whole body arched.

He kept whispering, lips at your ear.

“Let go for me, baby. I’ve got you.”

When it hit, it crashed through you — hot, tight, overwhelming. You cried out his name, trembling, and he kissed you through it, holding you close like you were something sacred.

Your whole body shook, you kept your head hidden in the crook of his neck, whimpering and babbling random words as you come down from your orgasm.

Afterward, you lay curled against him, panting, his fingers tangled gently with yours.

“No one’s ever touched me like that,” you whispered.

“No one’s going to again,” he said softly.

You blinked up at him.

He swallowed. “I mean… unless you want this to be—”

“I don’t.”

His relief was instant.

“I don’t think Jake’s getting that coffee,” you added.

Felix laughed quietly. “Good. I like being your first.”

“You’re smug.”

He kissed your cheek. “I’m yours.”

You paused. “Really?”

He cupped your face and kissed you slowly, deeply.

“Always.”

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Primal (Part 2)

Summary: The reader and her mysterious friend are forced to come clean to Beau about who they are. Beau still has questions he needs answered though, and when the reader's heat returns, bringing them both home seems like the smartest choice. But the question of the reader's strange heat puzzles them until Emily voices a theory, one that means they're dealing with something far worse than just a serial killer...

Primal Masterlist

Pairing: Alpha!Beau Arlen x Omega!reader

Word Count: 7,800ish

Warnings: language, angst, violence, drugging, serial killers, death, kidnapping, mention of human trafficking

A/N: Here we go with Part 2! Lots of answers in this part and even more questions!

Reader POV

Thirty Minutes Later

“Oh, what the fuck, Y/N.” You waved awkwardly to the Alpha that was frowning as you walked into the interrogation room. Both of you now wore a pair of Helena PD sweatpants and t-shirt but his annoyed glare remained unchanged. “You moron. You could have walked away. You-”

“Nice to see you too, bud. Always love the compliments,” you said, Beau brushing past you, gently shutting the door behind you.

“Hello. Barclay.” Your jaw dropped, Barclay’s eyes raging as they settled on you. “Tim Barclay. Y/N Y/L/N. Now you two are a long way from home.”

“You told him?” he snarled. You shook your head, Beau smiling happily as he sat up on top of the table.

“No, no. She tried to come up with some half-cocked plan to get you out without us running your prints,” said Beau. Barclay scrunched his brow. “I know what you’re thinking. We didn’t take your prints. Oh but see we did. You had your hands all over that stretcher.”

“Fucker,” Tim grumbled. Beau lifted his chin, looking down his nose at him. “I ain’t saying a fucking word.”

“I ain’t the dumb hick cop you must think I am,” said Beau, sliding to his feet, turning to you with a smile. “Let’s see how much I know already for fun, hm? See Timmy here is a US Marshal, formerly out of the Boston office. He went on a sabbatical ten months ago.”

Beau stepped over to you, tilting his head. You swallowed under his intense gaze, his scent floating around you, making your head dizzy.

“Did you know Tim’s old supervisor took him under his wing when he first started? Poor kid didn’t have much in the way of family. That supervisor invited the young man around for family dinners with his own wife and kid daughter and all that. Turns out Tim was like a big brother to that little girl. Cute story, huh?”

Beau pulled out a phone and spun it around, showing a picture from Tim’s instagram. A throwback of when he’d spent his first Christmas with you and your parents. You closed your eyes, Beau clicking his tongue. 

“Throwback Thursday to that time the little brat gave me the nightmare fuel teddy bear #FrankenBear.” Beau hummed. “Oh and my favorite is the response from a profile with a striking resemblance to you. ‘First off I was eleven and handmade that shit. Second, I remember you bawling like a baby when you opened it, dumbass. #ungratefulbrothers #Imgettingyouacreepyassdollthisyear’.” 

You took a seat at the table, Beau sitting down across from you. He looked to Tim who was breathing deeply, hands in fists from where he was cuffed to the table.

“Why are you protecting your sister, Tim?” 

“She’s not my sister,” he said, peeling open his eyes. “...Legally speaking.”

“Why are you protecting Y/N?” he asked again. Barclay ignored Beau, frowning like he did when he was worried. He stared at you, his scent growing nervous. 

“Because of me,” he whispered, his gaze dropping to his lap. You sighed, Beau leaning back in his seat, glancing at you. 

“Tim worked a big case last fall. Illegal drug smuggling. Pharmaceuticals. It targeted Heat and Rut medications that were sold on the black market to traffickers for control purposes. He was part of the task force.” You found Beau’s face, his eyes cautious. “One man was killed during the raid…by Tim.”

“His brother wants an eye for an eye.” Tim closed his eyes, scrapped up knuckles showing the white of his bones. “I killed his brother so he wants Y/N dead. Only problem is he’s former special ops and he made off with an obnoxious amount of heat inducers. He’s been targeting women that look like Y/N. We’ve bounced around the country but he always follows us. Somehow he has inside information which is why we can’t trust anyone, even law enforcement.”

“We’ve been in Helena two months. Tim finally let me go out of my own tonight for the first time since this all started.” You put your arms on the table, resting your head in them, a wave of exhaustion rolling over you. “It’s my fault this happened.”

“Hey. No, it’s not. I should have been there,” said Tim. You peeled open an eye, his expression softening. He sighed, angling his body towards the sheriff. “I’ll answer whatever questions you have, Arlen. Shit, arrest me for what I did to your officer back at the hospital. But let Y/N go rest somewhere and for the love of god, keep her safe.”

Beau let his gaze wander, your head raising under his heated stare. Your nose twitched, his scent turning musky, your own responding in kind. Tim looked between you, narrowing his eyes.

“Why the fuck are you two eye fucking?” You blinked rapidly, pressing a hand to your abdomen and the heated coil that began to simmer. 

“I uh…need the ladies room,” you said, rushing out of the room and heading down a hall. You shoved open a door and went to the sink, turning the faucet on to splash cold water in your face.

“Are you alright?” You turned, water droplets running down your cheeks. Beau stood in the open door, one large hand splayed against it, his scent coming off even stronger now. His eyes tracked down your body, lingering in way that made your insides clench. “You’re going into heat again, aren’t you.”

“Yup. That is a thing that’s happening,” you said, chewing the inside of your cheek. “I thought the heat stopper worked?”

“It smells…natural.” He wiped a hand over his face, holding it up. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not…scenting you or anything. It’s just…”

“My hormones are all screwed up. I’m sure you smelling like that…” Your cheeks were on fire, slick dampening between your thighs at the thought of being so near a strong, protective Alpha. You cleared your throat. “It just triggered a natural heat I’m sure.” He hummed, both of you ignoring the way you could clearly smell the growing arousal in the air. “You should probably take me to the hospital to be safe.”

He frowned, making a face. “Normally I’d agree with you but there sort of is a serial killer on the loose and given their proven access to heat inducers, we are likely dealing with someone with access to the hospital. I can’t guarantee your safety there.”

“Right,” you said, pointing a finger at him, nodding your head. “Good call a rooney.”

Oh god, someone please drop me off to that killer after all so I don’t die of embarrassment first.

He opened his mouth, pressing his pink lips closed after a moment. He debated something internally before he looked at the ceiling with a wince. “The last place you should be having a heat is a filthy police station with a bunch of criminals down the hall. I…do have a safe place you could have it. And a way to keep Barclay out of the system potentially. Not saying I buy his story but I can keep things on the down low while I look into things.”

“I’m all ears, sheriff.”

Two Hours Later

“How are you feeling, Y/N?” asked Dr. Olson. You hummed from the warm bed you were curled up in, not even bothering to open your eyes. 

God damn, Beau had a comfy bed. A nice, big, soft, full of musky Alpha scent woven into every trace of fabric, bed. He was working downstairs while you rode out a nice, drug-aided heat in his room. Dr. Olson and a nurse Beau knew personally were spending the night along with at least three officers. You’d tried to explain that you could suffer through in his office at the station once you realized how much work you were causing but Beau had an ulterior motive for bringing you home it seemed.

Namely, he had a seventeen year old daughter and the fact he was personally protecting her at home while a serial killer was running around his town?

Yeah, that was not helping this whole, “sexy sheriff made you go into heat” thing. 

“Dr. Olson, my dad wants to talk to you?” You slowly opened your eyes, the doctor leaving as you caught sight of the young woman with dark hair. The nurse excused herself to the guest room next door, leaving the two of you alone. She smiled at you, stepping in for a moment. “Can I get you anything?”

“No, I’ll sleep this off and be better by morning,” you said, the faintest whiff of her light, airy scent in the room. “I promise being an omega normally isn’t like this.”

“That’s what the nurse said.” She came in more, sitting at the end of the bed when you nodded. “When did you get your first full on heat?”

“Early twenties is normal. I’m thirty two and have been having them a decade. They aren’t so bad,” you said, sitting up and leaning back against the stacks of pillows behind you. She looked worried though. “Your first one will be your worst one since you have to go through it without medicine. After that though, it’s a breeze. This is so completely not normal.”

“Do Alphas really trigger heats? Cause like, I know my dad gave you Blaze on the street and then you got better and then you went into heat again after hanging out with him…”

“Um,” you said, scratching your head. You didn’t really want to be talking to this girl about how her very handsome father had absolutely triggered her into having a heat. “I mean, yes, they can if you don’t stick to your regular cycle. True mates can do that too. My hormones are very all over the place right now and I haven’t had one in a while so your dad probably played a small part in it but that’s all completely normal and-”

“He thinks you’re hot.” You blinked, the girl shrugging. “He can’t keep his eyes off you, not to mention he’s doing that musky thing with his scent which last time I smelled that I was ten and walked in on my parents which was scarring enough but yeah, he’s like, into you. Just thought you should know.”

“I’m sure your dad isn’t into me,” you said with a smile, while she hummed. “You’ll learn this but when an omega goes into heat in public, it makes the Alphas…eager. Our heats can trigger their ruts so I’m sure all you think you’re picking up is an Alpha and Omega scenting each other.”

“The doctor told him the only reason you would have gone into heat again so soon after the stopper was because you scented ‘desire’ from an Alpha. And then his face got beat red and then he took a scent blocker but I’m sure you’re right. He’s-”

“Emily, right?” you asked. She hummed, her face knowing she’d overstepped. “Emily…to put this really bluntly, when an Alpha smells an omega in heat, it makes them want to have sex. All you smelled was him getting turned on when I had some very strong heat scents going on. I’m sure he’s a very nice man but that’s all it was. Okay?”

“Sure, cause it’s totally normal for him to bring some random omega home but what do I know. My dad’s just horny, hm?” She got up and you sighed. “I know you don’t want to hear this but I know him. He likes you.”

“Alright,” you resigned, slipping down in the bed, a wave of drowsiness washing over you. “You can tell me how much he likes me after I sleep this off.”

“See? Told you I was right,” she hummed before heading out of the room.

“Kids,” you mumbled, shaking your head. Sure, Beau was attractive and smelled nice…and okay, he was letting you stay in his home…and hadn’t charged Tim with anything yet as far as you knew. But he was just doing his job. He was being nice. He didn’t think of you as anything more than a poor victim. You hadn’t dated or been with anyone in a long time so sure, the hot protective guy paying special attention to you? It was a little crush was all. Nothing more.

At least, that’s what you told yourself as you burrowed your nose in his sheets, wishing he was beside you in that bed. 

Beau POV

The October night air was cool, cutting through my flannel shirt, a sharpness to it that sent a chill down my spine. My gaze darted around the property, an unsettling feeling of being watched cascading over the house. I knew I had my officers around the entrances. Logically, this place was secure. Hunter wouldn’t dare try something here.

True, Emily and I didn’t exactly live in the suburbs. The rustic style house was bigger than the two of us needed but after all the shit she went through with that nutjob family at the camp, I wasn’t above buying the first place that put a smile on her face. We had a few acres that backed up to the woods and surrounded the property. A short minute walk through them on either side lead to the neighbors. 

Unease weighed down as I looked around again. The sun was long gone and I couldn’t make out trees I knew were there from the smear of darkness that enveloped our lit up hideaway.

Goddamnit. I came out here to get some clear air, not fucking paranoid.

I stepped off the porch and to the front path of pavers, veering off it to wander out into the grass about thirty or so feet away. The air was crisp, maybe coming off the mountains tonight. I closed my eyes, hoping the breeze would help the pounding in my head.

A serial killer was running around my town and making fools of my officers. I had information overload on Marshal Tim Barclay. I’d need to talk to him alone soon. On paper, on the premise of facts, I’d be stupid not to suspect he was Hunter. Statistically, you were much more likely to be killed by someone you know and it wouldn’t be some insane stretch to think for some reason, he was manipulating Y/N all along. 

If it were him, that’d be so fucking convenient for me. A nice little bow on the end of a long, emotionally draining, case. But my gut kept throwing up warning flags, flashing neon signs that Barclay truly was nothing more than a guy protective of his kid sister. 

Kid. More like a thirty two year old woman with a body that had me adjusting my underwear more than an acceptable amount tonight. The whole damn house smelled like her. Her goddamn scent was…

“Stop,” I growled when I felt my dick twitch in my jeans. I rubbed my temples, walking out further from the house. Y/N was simply an incredibly attractive, incredibly in heat, omega that was triggering the fact I hadn’t been laid in nearly three years. That was all whatever this…feeling was. 

My hand went to my stomach when a curl of wrongness settled there sending another message upstairs.

You aren’t just horny, moron. You can’t get her scent out of your head. Now why would that be? Remember health class? Biology? That thing we didn’t pay attention in? Bet you wished you had right now cause the answer is buried way in the back drawer of your subconscious under all that useful knowledge of the stats of your fantasy football team. 

The air clearly wasn’t helping and bringing Y/N here was a stupid idea. But I just…couldn’t leave her at the station, couldn’t stay away from her. I couldn’t have Tim booked into the system, a nauseous wave overcoming me each time I thought I’d be better off to formally charge him as Hunter.

He wasn’t crazy. He was scared for Y/N like any good brother would be in this situation. And her? Y/N was a victim that had an Alpha nearly a dozen years older in a tail spin because his job was to catch who hurt her and all he could think about was the vanilla scent that followed her wherever she went.

Forget about Y/N and go back to work. I stormed back inside, my head probably more confused than when I left. I glanced one to the right where the closed doors of the den were. It was quiet inside the room. Good. I’d deal with him later.

“Em, bed time,” I said when went down the hall and found her in the open kitchen making popcorn. She pretended not to hear me, bypassing me as she got out a glass from the cabinet. I stood by the island, crossing my arms, growing impatient as she filled it with cold water from the tap. “Emily. You have to be at the airport at six in the morning. It’s nearly ten. Go. To. Bed.”

“It’s 9:15, old timer,” she scoffed, spinning around with a frown. “I’m already packed and I promise I will be up at 5:30. I’ll sleep on the plane.”

“Emily, I-” She held up a hand, my eyebrows raising.

“There’s a cop on the front porch. There’s a cop on the back porch. There’s a cop by the garage door. Not to mention there’s a doctor and nurse upstairs in your bedroom with that sleeping woman. Then there’s that hot, angry looking guy in the den-”

“I told you not to go in there,” I growled. She held up her hands, her scent growing more tense right along with mine. Why wouldn’t she just go up to her room and sleep and give me one less thing to worry about tonight? “Emily. There is a lot of shit going on-”

“I didn’t go in the stupid den,” she snapped, a bit too much venom behind her words. I breathed deeply, Emily getting her popcorn out of the microwave, pouring it in an empty bowl nearby. “I saw out the window some guy in cuffs got brought into the house and you said don’t go in the den so yeah, I figured that one out. I’m getting sick and tired of everyone treating me like a child. I’m a senior. Seventeen. In a year I’ll be at college living on my own. All you and mom and your friends and even that omega upstairs who I don’t even know…all you do is treat me like an helpless child. Yeah, I got kidnapped last year. Over a year ago. Stop babying me.”

She took her bowl and glass of water, storming off to the living room, the sounds of The Bachelor playing in the distance. I leaned back against the counter, closing my eyes as a dozen conversations from therapy came rolling back. Maybe I’d been too overprotective in the past. Maybe I did need to loosen the reins more. It was a process we’d been working on for over a year and she knew that. But something was going on in town and I needed her clear of this place, no matter how it made her feel.

It was already hard enough to concentrate with Y/N in the house. My gaze wandered away from the family room and to the stairs leading to a dim hallway where she was tucked away. My body buzzed happily for a moment, like it was relishing in the fact she was in our bed right now. 

Y/N being gorgeous as sin wasn’t helping. Her bravery for trying to defend Tim when less than thirty minutes earlier she was in a life or death situation wasn’t great either. It was obvious she cared deeply for him. On top of it all, she escaped a fucking serial killer while drugged to hell. Strong. Intelligent. Beautiful. A kind soul that smelled like walking into a warm bakery on a cold autumn day.

I scratched over the small patch of skin on my neck where my bonding gland was buried deep within, a wave of fuzziness rolling through my body. Wait, that wasn’t lust because of her heat. That was…what the hell was that?

“How the hell did you hold out for so long?” I mumbled to myself. I lasted maybe three minutes from the time I touched Y/N’s neck drenched in the heat inducer to being floored on the ground. From all accounts so far, she’d made it ten from the time she was attacked at the park and made it to the sidewalk in front of the bar.

“You didn’t read that sex ed book you got me, did you.” I glanced up, yanking my hand away when Emily stood there again, her arms crossed. “Heat inducers trigger a heat when an Omega’s cycle isn’t normal. But, if an Omega has a normal cycle like most of them do, the inducer causes a flash point.”

“Like you get flash points right now cause you’re still presenting,” I said quietly, Emily pursing her lips. “So what are me and the doctors missing? A flashpoint is just a mini-heat that lasts for a few minutes.”

“Right. So you gave Y/N the Blaze to stop the flashpoint and she started to get better.”

“But she was not in the middle of a flashpoint. I was there. That was…something worse than a heat.” I said, remembering how hot her scent was, how potent it was. Her shrill, guttural scream as she passed out would be the star of many a nightmares to come.

Emily walked around to the island, taking a seat on a stool. “It temporarily got better and then you sent her into heat again at the station. Now the only reason that could happen would be the really big obvious thing that no one is thinking of because it hasn’t been a thing in over a century when medicine became a thing.” Emily tilted her head, my eyebrows raising. She rolled her eyes. “Dad. That heat inducer was laced with something else. Something they don’t test for because it’s not a thing that happens anymore…Did you seriously not pay attention in history class either?”

“First off, I didn’t take all AP classes like you and second, Em, you’re confusing the hello out of me. What are you even talking about?” She leaned over the island, letting out a groan.

“Way, way, way back in the day, unmated Alpha’s in a Rut that went on too long used to go around biting omegas they wanted in their bonding gland. You know like if they were crossing the ocean or marching across a country or some shit and some poor dude went into rut and he couldn’t bust a nut in an omega.”

“Emily,” I groaned, squeezing my eyes shut. “Jesus fucking christ…”

“Sorry,” she said, making a face like I was the one making it awkward. “Anyway, they’d be so hopped up on Alpha hormones, they wouldn’t even wait to have sex, they’d just bite to claim the first omega that suited their fancy. But they’d go a little stir crazy cause they had to wait so long and they called it-”

“Primal,” I breathed out, shaking my head, opening my eyes again. “That’s…Em, that’s not been a thing for hundreds of years. Primal Alphas don’t exist anymore. We have medicines for Ruts now and even then, you have to be in Rut for close to a year I thought I remember to go Primal. Literally no one in this day and age would be able to have that happen.”

“Alright,” she shrugged. “Maybe I’m wrong but what else makes an omega go into a strong heat that keeps coming on except for being bit by a Primal Alpha? Nothing. The omega goes into heat over and over until they mate with the Primal Alpha and get claimed. It’s either that or die of the heat. At least back in the day. Nowadays like you said, we have medicine.” 

I stared at her, that creeping sensation washing over me again. If Em was right, somehow I had a Primal Alpha with a torture and murder kink running around. And he’d picked Y/N as his next target.

My eyes darted over to the stairs again, dread filling my gut. Would Hunter come back for her? Could I keep her safe from a monster like that? I glanced back at Emily, memories of clutching her tightly while she still had rope burn on her wrists telling me I’d fuck this up and let Y/N down too. 

Emily sighed, looking up at me with gentle eyes as if she could read my thoughts. “I’m sorry for being a pain tonight. I just get nervous when you start banishing me to other states that you’re being too protective cause that just makes me feel like I need you to protect me and we both know from therapy that’s not good for either of us.”

“No, it’s not,” I said gently, tugging on the end of her braid. “I’m your dad, Em. I’ll always protect you and this situation with Hunter is dangerous. I’m not sending you away because I think you aren’t capable. In fact it’s the opposite. I know you’re strong enough to go off on your own. But I’ll worry if you’re here in town, Em and the more worried I am about you, the less focus I can give to protecting that omega upstairs and stopping Hunter from hurting more people. I know my limit and I need your help.”

“Then I go to Seattle and if it’s still not safe for me to come home, I’ll go stay with Grandma and Grandpa in Texas.” I smiled, tugging again. 

“You could stay with your mother…”

“Don’t push it,” she said, pursing her lips. “I told the doctor my idea about the Primal stuff when everyone first got here.”

“What’d he say?” I asked, Emily shrugging.

“He said that it was nearly impossible for a Primal Alpha to be out there without someone knowing about it.” I frowned. Sure, it was far fetched. But Emily was a smart kid, smarter than me about this stuff. He shouldn’t have discounted- “Then he drew blood and made a face like oh shit and then gave Y/N a shot in her bonding gland and then he tested her again and his face looked better.”

“Why didn’t he say anything?” I asked as the stairs creaked. Both our heads turned as Dr. Olson came downstairs, giving us a nod.

“Because that’s not something I could verify on the spot. I sent the instant read results off to a friend of mine at the university to do further analysis. Your daughter’s unfortunately right, Sheriff Arlen. The heat inducer was mixed with salvia from an Alpha in rut. An Alpha that is Primal” he said. 

I wiped a hand over my face as he held up a hand. “I took a precaution with Y/N and gave her a flushing agent to her bonding gland in the event Emily was right. She’ll be just fine with no adverse side effects.”

“That’s great doc but I have a psycho on the loose in my town. Please send any information you and your friend have come up with over to the county morgue’s office and let them know what you’ve discovered. A fucking Primal Alpha serial killer…”

“Will do,” he said, returning upstairs. Emily was quiet, watching me pace around the kitchen. Shit, I was making her anxious. I padded across the wood floor, forcing myself to relax, give her a soft smile.

“Thank you my little smartie pants.” I kissed the top of her head, pulling her into a hug. “You helped Y/N and with my case. I owe you one.”

“Does this mean you’ll start listening to me from now on?”

“It means I’ll listen but you need to give a little too,” I said, leaning back. She rolled her eyes but it lacked any animosity. “Being a grown up means making decisions but also knowing when to listen and do as told. Please be safe tomorrow and don’t go anywhere alone.”

“Deal. If you tell me if you like that omega upstairs.” I breathed deeply, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Dad. You guys are giving off major vibes.”

“And there’s the teenager side again,” I said, Emily smirking. “She’s…attractive.” 

Emily grinned like the cheshire cat, my own eyes narrowing. “Emily. That doesn’t mean anything.”

“You like her,” she said with a triumph hum. “That’s good considering she likes you too. All y’all grown ups forget that pups can smell things y’all can’t like how your scents are doing that mixing thing when y’all are in love.” 

“Mhm,” I said, spinning her around. “Go finish your trashy reality show then off to bed.”

She waved me off and left to the family room, leaving me to settle back in at the table with my laptop. An hour later, Y/N’s scent had lessened, her heat probably having passed which was good. I had a better idea how I wanted to question Barclay about all the bombshells I’d discovered and was just jotting down one last though when I heard Emily start a new episode. I shook my head as Jenny called to check in.

“Any luck?” I asked.

“Only the shitty kind.” I leaned back in my chair, biting the inside of my cheek. “Beau, it’s been over four hours. Hunter’s in the wind. We got to re-group.”

“Keep up patrols but we can pull a third back. I want Hunter to feel squeezed still. Put everyone in the station on this but designate a team to work other cases tonight. I want them to keep working this. Hunter fucked up somewhere and we’re going to find it tonight. You and Pop head back to the station too, get you guys to start tracking down this Primal Alpha thing, see if there’s a connection there,” I said. 

“You coming in? We could head to yours, brainstorm there.”

“Good call. I’ll make some coffee. You guys bring some grub. It’s gonna be an all nighter. Oh and Hoyt? You going to press charges against Barclay or what? I need an answer.”

“No,” she grumbled. “But I do want to kick him in the nuts.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged,” I chuckled, rising from my seat. “You sure you don’t want to charge him?”

“I’d take you up on that but the guy was just protecting his sister. Unless he turns out to not be innocent, then I’ll beat his ass so good he never makes it to trial.”

“Hoyt, what did I tell you about admitting your bloodlust to me?” I sighed.

“Whatever. You ever find out why he went off grid instead of using the Marshal service to keep her safe?”

“I have an idea. I’m about to go question him, see if I’m right. Text me when you guys get here.”

I hung up, grabbing my notepad and pen from the table before heading over to the shut doors of the den. After a brief pause, I turned the handle, Barclay exactly where I’d left him earlier in the night. I quickly surveyed the room, smirking when I saw a stray paperclip on the ground under the desk. Nothing else was out of place, not even where the chair indented the rug. 

“So, how long ago did you get out of those cuffs?” I asked, closing the door behind me. He shrugged his shoulders forward, letting the cuffs fall to the ground behind him as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I’d guess about three minutes after you got dropped off in here?”

“I take it blondie isn’t pressing charges?” he asked. He stood from my office chair, a sharp edge to his scent.  

“To be determined. Now make yourself comfortable,” I said, reaching into my back pocket, tossing a zip tie at him. He caught it, narrowing his eyes. I rested a hand on my hip, not on my gun but near enough for him to get the message. 

Barclay fixed the loop and put his wrists through it, pulling it taught with his teeth. Tim sat back down, all while giving off major, “fuck off” vibes in his scent. I came closer now in the small room, clenching my jaw. “Now we both know you could get out of those if you tried. This is about you understanding your place. Disobey me again and I’ll let blondie hog tie you and beat you like a pinata if that’s what she wants. Understand?”

He rolled his eyes, an air of indifference around him. Not smug. No, he was confident. A confidence he could back up. Which meant he was either going to be a great asset if he was innocent or incredibly dangerous if he was Hunter.

Tim’s jaw clenched, eyes examining me as if I were the one that had attacked his sister or something. “I told you everything I know and Y/N is somewhere in this house. If you were going to charge me, Barlen, you would have left me at the station. So let me go and take my sister with me. We know how to keep a low profile. You can run around and catch your killer without us.”

“It’s Arlen,” I grit out. He smirked, leaning forward in his seat.

“Bitch ass Arlen? No, I think I got it right the first time.” 

“Listen you, Alpha fuck.” The den door swung open quickly, Emily standing there with my radio from my belt. “What the hell-”

“Sorry but they needed you and were freaking out about something,” she said, shoving the radio in my hands. I didn’t miss the way Barclay stared at her, Emily giving it right back as someone droned through the speaker about a massive bar fight at Stormy’s.

“The fucker is trying to pull cops out of the area by causing a diversion,” said Barclay, offering a quick glance at me. “They probably spiked drinks with rut enhancer and the whole place is going nuts.”

I tried to ignore him but he was almost certainly correct. Stormy’s reputation preceded itself. Omegas knew to not go near it. Alphas knew you could easily buy drugs out the back. No cameras and no one ever talked to cops. Hunter’d been in town long enough to know that and know the place was a massive thorn in the side of law enforcement. 

If nothing else, it told us Hunter was still in the original area which was good. I turned around, pressing the call button on my radio. “This is Arlen. Call the fire chief, tell her to send some of her bigger guys down with Rutcan. The aerosol kind and no, I don’t care how expensive it is. Tell her to bill me.” 

I sighed, clipping the radio on my belt. Emily scurried off when I nodded, Barclay biting the inside of his cheek to stop a smile.

“You’re gonna forget that girl you just saw even exists, understand?” I snapped. “I swear to god-”

“The only thing I want is my sister safe. If she’s here with your kid, I’m going to assume you have this place locked down.” He leaned back into the chair, breathing deeply. “I told you everything and I’m sure you looked into me. I get being pissed over what I did to your officer but I do not hurt kids. I’m more of a help to you right now and we both know it. If you won’t let Y/N and me leave town, then at least let me work this with you.”

I took a deep breath. Alright, time to get to the truth.

“Your story doesn’t hold up, Barcly.” He looked confused, a flash of anger on his face hiding concern. Ah, so he was that type of guy. Anger was his front. I could work with that. “That drug dealer brother you said was after you?”

“Yeah…” he trailed off. I sat against my desk, crossing my arms all while Tim frowned up at me.

“He died about three days after you and Y/N left Boston. Drug turf war stuff.” Barclay shook his head, holding up a finger from his bound hands.

“You must have the wrong guy. I have intel from the Marshal service-”

“Barclay.” He snapped his mouth shut, both of us pausing a beat. He didn’t try to hide the gears turning in his head, a dozen scenarios and then some flashing through his mind in a split second.

“You have the wrong guy. Probably the same name. Mix ups have happened before,” he said, landing exactly on the idea I figured he would. But it wasn’t enough yet. I needed more before I could trust him.

“If there was truly a threat, why didn’t you follow your standard protocol and put Y/N into witness protection? Why do this off the books bullshit and put Y/N in danger?”

He looked past me out the dark front window, his face losing some color as the gears in his head turned him down a different path, down the ones he didn’t think existed a moment ago. I knew from his file Timothy Barclay was a highly skilled and highly trained. He graduated valedictorian of his high school in Boston. Somehow managed to get a four year degree in Business Management, minor in Criminal Justice, all while being in the army and joining special forces the second he was eligible at 19. He spent four years running around the world before he got into the Marshals, impossibly difficult at his age but his military career definitely helped. By 24, he graduated training and joined the US Marshals Boston field office where he’d remained up until early last January.

It’d taken some digging and bribing an old friend that was now a Captain back in Houston but he got hold of Tim’s personnel file. The man lived and breathed the US Marshals. He had taken more certifications, more courses, had more awards, than my entire station combined. I was very well aware of the fact this man was a better investigator, a better fighter, better shooter, better liar, than I’d ever be.

But some things, you just couldn’t fake.

“Talk to me, Tim. I can’t read your mind,” I said, trying to coax him back from whatever dark rabbit hole he’d gone down in his head. He blinked a few times, watching the stillness of night outside.

“I uh, got a threat on our front door. Like old school, letters cut out of a magazine, threat. Y/N and I share a place back in Boston,” he said, closing his eyes, searching his memories for an answer he didn’t want. “There was a power outage that night and our backup on our security system didn’t work that night which never sat right with me. Neither of us were home. I had a late call at work and Y/N had a girls night with a friend, stayed at her place. I saw the note when I got home in the morning.”

“Then what happened?” I asked, Tim shaking his head.

“I went to my supervisor like anyone would. Teddy, Y/N’s father. I said I wanted Y/N in protective custody, wit sec, something where she’d be protected round the clock. I didn’t care where. This drug family, they had enough connections with traffickers that if they got hold of Y/N…I just couldn’t let that happen to her.”

“So you went to Teddy,” I said. 

“He said it wouldn’t be safe to do the normal protocol, that the dealers had an in at the Marshal service and would find us. I didn’t understand how that was true but they knew where we lived after all. I figured Teddy was high up in our office, in command. He would have known if there was an insider threat and I had no reason to question him.” Tim took a beat, opening his eyes, breathing quietly. “Teddy told me he’d put me on sabbatical and to grab Y/N and get out of town that night. He said he was to be my only contact and I was to trust no one. He’d tell us when to move around, where to go next but that was it. Every time Y/N asked when we could go home Teddy would say the drug dealer put a hit out on the two of us and we couldn’t come back until he’d built his case against him.”

“Teddy failed to mention this drug dealer being dead.”

“Why would he lie to us?” Barclay looked up at me finally, a mixture of anger and fear. A sliver of vulnerability that he’d fucked up. I sighed, walking over in front of him, stopping at his feet. “I don’t understand.”

“Barclay, I have a serial killer on my hands. They’ve been active in Helena for six months. Before that, looks like the same killer profile as in Boulder.” He shook his head, a look of panic crossing his face. “Before that, Atlanta.”

The dread on his face was a clear enough answer for me. This man had no idea about Hunter or what Teddy was up to. 

“Let me guess. Cleveland before that?” he whispered. I nodded.

“Boston before that,” I said. Tim closed his eyes, flashing them open with another shake of his head. 

“Wait, you said six months. That doesn’t make sense. Y/N and I didn’t show up here until closer to three months ago. There’s no way this guy is following us.”

“Oh, you’re right,” I said, squatting down. “You’re following him. Now tell me again, do you pick your next city or is that Teddy too?”

“That’s not…” Tim made a face, standing and brushing past me. He went to the window, his scent coming off in big panicked waves, something he would have learned to control years ago in all his trainings. No I recognized it all too clearly. It was the same way my office had smelled when Emily was abducted last year. 

“No. No, you’re wrong, Barlen. If Teddy was tracking a serial killer, there’s no way in hell he’d not report it. He’d rather die than see his daughter get a paper cut a-and you’re telling me he’s sending her after a serial killer the past year? It makes no sense. It makes no fucking sense.”

I nodded, quietly walking over to him, cutting his zip tie off. He rubbed his wrists, his face hard again but the worry burned into his eyes. He knew what I did. Teddy was involved with Hunter, with a serial killer. There was no good justification in the world. Except for the fact Teddy probably wanted Hunter to kill Y/N or the both of them for some reason. 

But Tim wasn’t ready to say that out loud and I wasn’t about to push him. 

“No, it doesn’t. A lot doesn’t make sense. All I do know is Y/N was Hunter’s next target and she got away. We have to assume he will come after her again. Either way, you’re both involved and the one thing I have zero doubts about is you value her life above your own. I read your file and I need someone like you to help me catch this son of a bitch.”

Tim steadied himself, nodding to himself. “Hunter comes near her, I’ll make him regret being born.” 

“Good,” I said, his face showing a flash of surprise. “My daughter was abducted last year and left for dead. The things I wanted to do to the man that took her…law and order has it’s place in the world. But some monsters just need to be put down.”

“Maybe you’re not awful after all, Barlen,” he said, tilting his chin up with a barely there smirk. He held out his hand, sharing a firm handshake with him. “Let’s get this guy and figure out what the fuck is going on with Teddy.”

“That’s all I get? No threats to stay away from your sister? Maybe you’re the one that’s into me,” I teased, letting a smile cross my face. Tim chuckled, stepping past me.

“First off, you couldn’t handle me, Barlen.” He looked over his shoulder, a dark smirk on his face. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re handsome and my sister’s type but the whole divorced, dad to a teenager, in his fifties means I don’t even have to threaten you. Once her heat’s passed, she ain’t even going to look at you.”

“I’m forty three, fuckhead.” He just smiled, egging me on. Fine. He wanted to play that game, I was down. “You know how pups can smell things we can’t?” I said, throwing an arm over his shoulders, walking him out of the den and towards the kitchen. “Emily says mine and Y/N’s scents are mixing and we all know that means there’s more than just attraction going on.” I flashed him a wink for good measure, his eye twitching. “Your sister smells so damn good, Barclay. Shit, she could be my true mate.”

“I need to speak with your child with poor scenting abilities. Now,” he grumbled. 

“Barclay. You manage to get her the hell out of that living room and in bed, I won’t let Hoyt kick you in the balls when she gets here in fifteen cause man, she really wants to.”

“Deal,” he said, storming into the living room as I stood over the kitchen table. “Kid, tell me what the hell you smell between your dad and my sister and I won’t toss your butt in bed in the next twelve seconds.”

“Oh boy you really don’t want the answer to that based on your whole vibe. By the way, do you like Jenny?” I heard from the next room, chuckling when Tim scoffed like a teenager. “Cause your scent did that you like someone thing and you sound like you got maybe some enemies to lovers thing going on.”

“You know what you little-”

Glass shattered nearby, the distinctive sound of a shot ringing out, somewhere towards the back of the house. I hit the ground, watching wide eyed as Tim yanked Emily to the floor, covering her body with his all in the same fluid motion.

“Emily!” I went to move for her but slammed down and back behind the kitchen island when shots rang out from the front as well. “Emily! Answer me!”

___________

A/N: Part 3 is coming 5/25!

[harmonyrae]

Inked: Bonus Chapters

Synopsis: What was the first date really like? What revelations about Rafayel will you discover? And what happens when Rafayel gets "art block"? Maybe you can help him through it.

AN: Darlinggggg, guess who’s back from jail!! Sorry, hello. Of course I had to write some bonus chapters for Inked. Especially after @obligatedart collabed with FriskyInk (on the tweet tweet). Sad I had to hide his pp btw... Y’all best follow Obligated & check them out to see the other Rafayel pieces they’ve done. 

Content Warnings: first chapter is pure fluff, second is SPICY, explicit language & sexual content, Masterbation (M), light voyeurism, PiV, genital piercings, half creampie (?), Dom Rafayel coming out to playyyy, 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 6.6k 

FIRST DATE

Don’t overthink it. Don’t. Overthink. It. You’re 100% overthinking it. You should have just texted him this morning and asked what you should wear. It’s too late, he’ll be here in an hour and if you text him now it’ll seem like you didn’t really care about the date and you’re a procrastinator… which you are, but you didn’t this time you’re just…

“Overthinking again…” You whisper to yourself as you slide another hanger over, rejecting another outfit option.

It’s been two hours. Two hours of pacing, redoing your hair, going through every item in your closet at least three times looking for something to wear. You have plenty to wear, but it has to be just right. Spinning around, you dig through your dresser. This is the first time Rafayel is seeing you as, well, you. You had worn super casual clothes to get your tattoo so this is the first time he’ll see what your everyday style is. What if he hates it? Oh god…

Your playlist shuffles and a song you haven’t heard since high school starts to play. Bless you Hayley Williams, you always show up to save the day. You sprint over to your laptop and hit the loop button. Tossing your pajama pants and tank top on your bed, you dance around your room in your underwear. You were 16 again, just trying to find the perfect outfit for the garage party your best friends were hosting. Your nerves melt away as you sway your hips and sing along.

Your hand brushes past the clothes in your closet and as the chorus ends you pull the first thing your eye catches. A purple plaid miniskirt? Okay… outfit ideas loading… Skipping to your dresser you dig out a pair of black tights and knee high socks. Your eyes scan your room and you spot the basket of clean clothes you’ve yet to put away. On top, the perfect top, a cropped vintage band tee. Caleb had been obsessed with Linkon Park in high school and donated all his shirts to you before heading to college. 

“Fuck it. I’m reliving my youth!”

Allowing a silly smile to form, you toss on a cropped long sleeve shirt before the band tee, the tights and socks before smoothing the mini skirt over your hips. You pack your small crossbody bag, just big enough for your phone, house key, a lip balm and your wallet. Just as you lace up your boots you hear a knock on your front door. 

“Oh fuck… oh shit… okay. Everything is fine. This is fine. You look fine. Chill chill chill.”

Scurrying across your living room you stop at your door and fluff your hair once, twice, fuck it, three times for good luck. You open the door and are completely stunlocked. How is he more gorgeous than he was yesterday…? Even in baggy cargo pants, a loose tee and a black denim jacket, the sleeves rolled up just enough to show off his delicious ink. He’s stunning. He gives you a once over, his smirk blossoming into a full blown smile. 

“Damn, you look amazing. I must look like a bum, huh?”

“No! Not at all. Yo-you look good.” You stammer, swearing at yourself for the fumble. 

“Aww cutie, you’re nervous?”

“What? No of course not…” You pause, staring at him as he gives you a knowing look. “Is it that obvious?”

“No, I’m just very perceptive. But if it makes you feel better, I’m nervous too.”

“Wait, why?” 

“Well, I haven’t been on a date in a while. A long while actually. Shop’s been too busy or I’ve been travelling. But most of the time, I just don’t click with anyone.” 

You smile and stare at your boots. 

“So you’re saying you think we ‘clicked,’ is that it?”

When you look back up, he’s leaning on the door frame and running his thumb across his lower lip, stopping to play with his lip ring before tipping his chin up and smirking. 

“I think so. I hope by the end of tonight, you will too.”

As you walk out of your apartment building you slow a bit to let him lead, when he stops in front of a dark blue motorcycle you clutch the hem of your skirt.

“Shit… Should I change? I didn’t realize… I should have –”

“You’re fine! You’ll be sitting behind me, so I’ll cover you.”

He hops on and offers a helmet to you. You stand next to him while you both put on your helmets. His a dark blue to match his bike with white lines around the visor. It’s a distinct pattern, but you can’t tell if it’s intentional. Yours is all white with a blue tinted visor. He holds out his hand and you hold onto him as you swing your leg over. You adjust your skirt and scoot closer to him, sure enough, when you lean forward you feel completely covered. 

He looks over his shoulder whenever he talks to you, his voice only moderately muffled by the bike engine and wind. You hold onto his waist as he drives at a leisurely pace. He weaves through the city streets with ease and before you know it you’re arriving at the pier. 

“Hope you’re ready to be sworn to secrecy.” 

He tucks his helmet under his arm and offers to take yours, but you hang onto it, instead you offer your hand. His cheeks flush and he drops his gaze as he takes it. He leads you down the pier to a building that has large wooden boards covering the doors. When he turns down a back alley you hesitate.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to kidnap you. I’m taking you to the back entrance.”

“Back entrance? To where?”

“Well, it doesn’t have a name yet. I can’t decide. I usually leave those decisions to the last second anyways.” 

He unlocks a thick padlock and pushes the door. The unassuming exterior and covered windows and doors would make you think it’s just an empty shell. How wrong you are.

Gorgeous murals cover every wall. Teal waves with swirls of indigo, cerulean, sapphire, melt into ivory and baby pink mist. The tables are mosaic masterpieces, sea glass and shells encased in resin. Plush chairs that look like clam shells circle each table. A massive bar, lined with tall white bar stools sits against the wall. The liquor case is fully stocked and color coded to perfection. A large stainless steel table at the center of the room serves as the focal point. The shelving unit tucked beneath holds a variety of bowls and plates that would typically hold sushi.

“Rafayel, is this… Is this your sushi restaurant?”

“Yup!” He chirps.

He leads you into the kitchen, which is just as gorgeous as the dining room. Crisp white walls holding framed artwork, counters, stainless steel appliances, open doors showing offices and break rooms yet to be completed. He stops at the counter next to a huge window overlooking the dining room. 

“Is this two-way glass?”

Rafayel nods and you lean over the counter to get a better look. It’s the perfect vantage point to watch the bar and center display table. It would provide extra security too, since you couldn’t even tell it was there when walking through the dining room. 

Rafayel releases your hand to start pulling containers from the cold storage beneath. You watch as he sets out a plate of expertly cut salmon sashimi, followed by plate after plate of other ingredients - tuna, crab, cucumber, avocado, bottles of sriracha, eel sauce and a tiny container of tempura flakes. He slides a bowl of sticky rice over to you, with a rolling mat and sushi nori. You stare at the items like they’re some kind of wild animal. 

“Are we making sushi?” 

He chuckles and turns to wash his hands and grab a pair of gloves from the box mounted to the wall. When he returns you’re looking at each ingredient with your tongue between your teeth. 

“Cutie, whatcha thinkin about?”

“I’ve never made sushi before…”

“Well, tonight you’ll learn. Just pick whatever you like and slap it in there. There’s no rules tonight. The kitchen is ours.”

You wash your hands and don a pair of gloves, returning to his side to follow his lead. You’re fairly daring but you stick with what you’re familiar with, at least for tonight. 

“Okay, rice is down. Salmon, yellowtail, avocado, cucumber, now I just roll it up?”

Rafayel reaches over and points to the small dish of water. 

“Just dip your finger in here and run it along the edge of the nori when you get near the end so it’ll stick. Roll it tight so when you cut it, it’ll stay together. Just like that, damn, you’re a natural!”

“Guess you’ll just have to hire me then.”

You giggle as you roll, glancing at his own roll as you work. Spicy tuna, mango slices, crab, avocado and cucumber. He sets his roll on a long plate and begins layering toppings - choosing mango chili sauce and tempura flakes for his. You try to make a pretty design with avocado, jalapenos and sriracha but it looks like a big mushy mess by the time you’re done. 

“Can you cut mine? I think I made a mess…”

“As long as it’s a delicious mess, that’s what matters, right?”

You watch as he slices your roll with a slow and steady hand. With just as much precision as when he was tracing the lines of your tattoo. Once the rolls are cut, he pulls over a serving cart and loads up the food along with the extra sashimi, bottles of chilled green tea. He leads you to the elevator and your breath is taken away, once again, as you take in the rooftop terrace.

Round marble tables line the balcony, the same cozy shell chairs from downstairs wrap around a fire pit next to another huge bar. Local plants cover the terrace, the scent of flame lilies and ocean breeze is so strong it’s like you’ve been swept away in a tidal wave. The view is insane, the city lights behind you, the ocean and brightly lit pier in front. The fact you’re here alone with someone like Rafayel and he’s pampering you with gourmet sushi? How is this your life?

“You’re eerily quiet…” Rafayel says softly as he places the food on a table with a clear view of the beach and sunset.

“I’m just - I don’t know, stunned? Amazed? This place is gorgeous.”

”Thank you. It’s been a passion project for like, 5 years now? Haven’t been able to get it off the ground with how the whole tattoo thing took off.”

“You mean your well-deserved fame?”

He holds the chair out for you to sit down. What a distinguished gentleman. 

“You think it’s well-deserved, hmm?”

“I do. Your art is… what’s a good word for it…?”

“Bewitching? Exquisite? Alluring?” He teases.

“Special.”

He blinks, such a simple word had such a profound impact. 

“I’m glad you think so.” 

The sound of the waves fills the silence as you eat. As soon as you take the first bite, you moan in delight and proceed to devour the whole thing. Plus one piece of Rafayel’s - only because he begs you to. The spice is absolutely divine, especially with the chilly night air seeping through your thin skirt. The tights and socks really did nothing for you… 

“Would you like to walk along the pier for a bit?”

You go to nod, but are cut off by a shiver. Rafayel immediately stands up and shrugs off his jacket holding it up for you to slide your arms down the sleeves. You don’t even bother arguing, the warmth of his jacket envelopes you, his scent, even stronger than the lilies. He deposits the dishes in the dishwasher before taking your hand and beginning your stroll down the pier. 

The lights along the shore twinkle in the distance, the crashing waves grow louder as you cross over the shoreline and continue to the end. Rafayel leans against the railing, closing his eyes and tipping his head back to let the wind sweep through his hair. You cross your arms and rest your shoulder against his as you lean forward on the railing next to him. 

“Why the ocean?”

He opens his eyes and rests his cheek on his shoulder to look at you, a brow raised.

“I mean, of all the things you could choose as your muse, what made the ocean stand out?”

“The ocean isn’t exactly my muse…” His eyes scan your face, his hand rising to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “But it is a source of inspiration, but more than that, it’s my home.”

“What do you mean?”

“For as long as I can remember, the ocean has been my safe place. The waves would sing to me, the water protecting me. Fish would swim around me, some mocking, some playing, we became friends. Sort of.”  He chuckles, turning to face you fully before continuing. 

“I fell in love with the song of the ocean, how it would speak to people. Providing the message they needed to hear most. The sea doesn’t worry about hurt feelings or context, it just is what it is. No apologies. That’s why the message is so important.”

“What kind of messages does the sea send?”

“You tell me. Close your eyes.”

You raise your brows, but when he straightens to stand behind you you do as he says. His fingers run down your arms, sweeps your hair over your shoulder to gently caress your neck, he finally settles his hands on your hips. His tender touches, the waves beneath you performing a sweet melody, the last bit of sunlight finally fading away leaving you in total darkness. It’s magic. When you hear a soft humming, you open your eyes and look over your shoulder. Rafayel’s eyes are closed, his head tilted forward. You realize his humming is in time with the waves and almost perfectly resembles the tune your mind had invented. 

“Some people need a message of peace. Some a message of destruction. Yours sounds a lot like hope. What are you hoping for?”

His eyes open and he’s so very close. Your breathing falls in line with his and you lean back against him. Suddenly, you’re far too hot. 

“I don’t know yet.” You whisper. 

He doesn’t push, he tilts his head away to give you room to breathe. Lifting his hands from your hips he slides past you and extends a hand.

“It’s getting late, I should probably get you home.”

Following him to his bike, you mount up and feel his heartbeat with your chest pressed against his back. He takes a few turns too quickly and you squeal, making him laugh. He reaches back and pats your knee. His touch lingers and you pout when he returns his hand to the handlebar. 

“I want to show you one more thing.”

He shouts as he speeds up and swerves past a rundown apartment complex. You were entering the rougher part of town. Not as bad as the N109 Zone, but still fairly dangerous. He pulls into a parking lot nearly filled to the brim. When he parks in a VIP spot you can’t help but scoff. Fame privileges. At least that’s what you thought until you saw the front door bearing his name. 

“Artist Playground, sponsored by... Wait, you own this place too?”

“I do. No no no, don’t go inside. Follow me.”

He grabs your hand and drags you to the side of the building. As you shuffle down the narrow alleyway the scent of paint becomes stronger. Bright lights blind you as you enter a large courtyard out back. The lush trees, flower beds and custom fountain take you by surprise. It’s a stark contrast to the front of the building. Vending machines with snacks and drinks line the back fence, as well as a vending machine for what looks like spray paint. A table next to the back wall holds abandoned bottles of paint and small cans and brushes. While the landscape is elegant the artwork that adorns the worn brick walls, the concrete, the tall wooden fences varies in style. From customary spray painted lettering to intricate murals, it’s endless.

“What is this place?”

Rafayel leads you past a group of teens practicing their lettering and carefully sidesteps a young woman creating an optical illusion with chalk on the sidewalk. He opens the gate to an alleyway.

“The Artist’s Playground. It’s a place for everyone to practice their art, no matter what form. We have a photography studio upstairs, a music room with free instruments and recording equipment. There’s a dance studio in the basement. We are building a stage in the lobby for performances. The theater kids are determined to put on a spring musical. And out here?”

He kneels to pick up a can of hot pink spray paint, when he stands he holds it out to you. You stare at him blankly, unmoving. He chuckles before removing the cap and giving it a shake, he turns to the wall. He sprays a fine line, testing the pigment. You watch as he creates a heart shape, you’re about to comment on it being too wide when he bends to pick up a dark pink paint. He outlines the top and rounds out the bottom, letting the paint fizzle out into a fine mist to make a shadow beneath it. When he picks up a can of white you start to see what he’s making. You barely notice how he keeps stopping to look at you, tilting his head and scrunching his nose as he makes adjustments to the piece. 

“I think that does it.”

He braces your shoulders and moves you in front of his masterpiece. He closes one eye and squints, his smile widens. 

“A perfect likeness.”

Looking over your shoulder, you let out a breathy laugh in disbelief. 

“You’re saying those are my lips? You painted my lips on the wall?”

He stoops down to pick up the can of pink paint and offers it to you. 

“You can cover it up, if you want. Up to you.”

You look from his glittering eyes to his paint smeared fingers holding the can. Back and forth until you’re sure he’s lost patience, but he remains steady. His lips curve into a sweet smile and he waits. Finally you take a deep breath and take the can, turning to face the wall. You hear the gravel under his boots creak as he steps back to give you space to work. You’ve never even used spray paint before, but you don’t want to pass up the opportunity to create art with him. 

After a few careful swipes, you step back to examine your work. Rafayel chuckles and moves to stand beside you. You decided to keep his work uncovered, but added your own flare. If they’re your lips, they might as well reflect your personality. Two tiny pink devil horns and a tail with a heart-shaped tail tip sprout out from the piece. Rafayel picks up the white paint again.

“Want to add some dimension?”

“You should do it, I’ll ruin it.”

He shakes his head and takes the pink paint can, replacing it with the white. He points to the wall and crosses his arms expectantly. 

“You can’t ruin it. Just have fun with it.”

So you do. You step up and add a few highlights, even daring to pick up the darker pink to try your hand at a shadow under the tail. When you’re done, you smile and pull out your phone to open the camera. Turning around, you hold it up to get the piece positioned behind you. Before you snap the pic, you look at Rafayel and giggle.

“Well, come on! It’s not just mine. It’s ours.”

He circles behind you and hides half his face behind your head, the spotlights lining the alleyway reflect in his bright eyes. You can just make out the way his brows relax as he smiles. You snap a few pictures and turn to face him. 

“Thank you. That was a lot of fun.”

He nods, lacing his fingers with yours as he leads you through the building for a proper tour. By the time you get back to his bike, you’re exhausted. You cling to him as he drives you home. He doesn’t drive fast, one of his hands covers yours over his stomach for the majority of the ride. You wish the drive was longer, or that you didn’t have to work tomorrow, anything to keep this night from ending. He walks you to your door, you remove his jacket and stifle a giggle as he hastily puts it back on. 

“I’ll bring a jacket next time, I swear…”

“So, there’ll be a next time?”

You blush and he takes the chance, his lips brush against your cheek and you freeze. He does it again and you reach out to touch his chest, his hands finding your waist.

“Are you available Friday night?”

His nose touches yours, his fingers shifting away from the sliver of bare skin at your waist. Such a gentleman… damn it. 

“I am.”

“Good. Same time as tonight? I’ll bring a car this time.”

You nod and laugh. As your laughter dies down, he kisses your cheek once more. You lean into him, but he backs away to straighten his jacket and run a hand through his hair. 

“See you then, cutie.”

As you close the door to your apartment and kick off your shoes, you can’t stop smiling. You flit through your living room and into your bedroom. Falling face first onto your bed, you burst into a fit of giggles. What are you, a teenager who just got asked to homecoming? While you should be embarrassed, you can’t help but kick your feet in the air behind you. You don’t remember the last time a guy made you this giddy. If ever. One thing is for sure, you can’t wait for Friday night.

Post-Talia Party, Before Bike Accident

“Do I risk it?” Tara whispers as she slides up to your desk.

“Don’t.” You lean back and point at her like a stern parent.

She sits on the edge, looking back and forth between the desks. She smiles and you know what’s coming.

“It’s quiet.”

She giggles like a maniac and skips away as you swat at her and nearly fall out of your chair. 

“I swear if a huge Wanderer attack happens in the next 10 minutes it’s your fault!” You scream.

“Are you hoping for that to happen?”

This time your ass leaves the chair and you grip the edge of your desk, you turn to face Jenna who is already laughing at your expense. 

“She’s not wrong. It’s been a slow day. That’s a good thing in our line of work.”

“I know, yeah, it’s good. It’s super… duper good.”

“You’re bored out of your mind.”

Sighing dramatically, you throw your arm over your eyes.

“Guilty as charged.”

“Go home.”

You sit up in your chair and stare at her with wide eyes.

“Wait, no, I’m sorry. I can do paperwork, I didn’t mean –”

“You’ve been doing paperwork the past 2 hours. You were starting to read through old case files for fun. Take a half-day, go home. We’ll call you in if things pick up.”

She pats your shoulder and steals the box of case files off your desk. You follow her advice and pack up your things. Tara waves at you as she skips down the hall to another meeting. Guess that means you get to surprise Rafayel, maybe watch him tattoo for a few hours before making dinner with him. 

The drive to Lemuria Studios from the Association is relatively short. After parking your bike, you stop by the coffee shop on the corner and stroll down the street to the entrance of the studio. As you walk in, several of the artists look up and give you a smile or a nod. You’ve been hanging around Rafayel for less than a week and his team already knows you by name. 

“I brought you your regular!” You chirp as you slide a cup across the counter to Thomas. 

He looks up from his laptop and closes his binder, which is far too full. He should really get a new one, but you know he’s trying to make a statement to Rafayel. They’re overbooked, it’s a good and bad thing, and it gives Thomas an excuse to complain a little. You can’t blame him. 

“You’re an angel.” He eagerly takes the coffee and takes a sip, hissing at the sudden heat, but taking another sip immediately.

You look around and notice Rafayel’s private studio door is open and you can tell it’s empty. You hold the coffee carrier awkwardly and stand on your toes to see if he’s lurking around another artist. When you hear Thomas chuckle you return to the front desk and set the carrier down, propping your hand up on your hip.

“He’s not here?” 

He shakes his head.

“Nope. He said he’s having a bad case of ‘art block’ and…” He puts his fingers up to make air quotes. “‘Can’t work under these conditions’ - so he cancelled his appointments and went upstairs a few hours ago.”

Instinctively, you look up at the ceiling and bite your lip. Do you interrupt him or give him space while he works through whatever ‘art block’ is for him. 

“Does he prefer to be alone when he’s like this?”

Thomas doesn’t look up from the laptop as he types.

“Sometimes. Other times, he recruits me or one of the other artists to join him on a trip to the playground.” He pauses and looks at you. “I realize that sounds weird, you know about the Artist Playground he owns right?” 

You chuckle and nod and he sighs in relief, returning his focus to the screen.

“He didn’t ask for that today, so I don’t know.”

You pick up the carrier and adjust your bag on your shoulder.

“I’ll go up and check on him. At least give him his coffee.”

Thomas waves without looking up and you weave your way through the studio to the back door. You climb the stairs to reach the exterior door of his apartment and use the key he gave you to let yourself in. How you’ve kept getting that key a secret from Tara, you have no idea. She’d never let you hear the end of it. She already damn near deafened you when you told her about the party. 

Creeping into the studio apartment you glance around, when you don’t see him you quietly close the door and kick off your shoes. He might be in the bathroom or up in his loft where his bed was. After putting the coffee cups on the kitchen island, you set your bag and coat on one of the stools. 

His home art studio - basically just his living room - was a mess. When you left this morning there was an unfinished painting on the easel, but all his paint supplies were tucked into their bins on the metal shelves. Now there was a paint-stained sheet on the floor and cans of paint and brushes on a table he’d dragged over. You stare at the painting, nothing’s changed. 

As you make your way up the staircase that leads to his loft, you pause half-way when you hear a soft moan. You wait another moment and when it’s followed by ragged breathing that’s unmistakably Rafayel’s, you cover your mouth. You have a pretty good idea what he might be doing, the question is - do you interrupt? Of fucking course you do. 

Tip toeing up the rest of the stairs you peek over the banister and see Rafayel on his bed. The floor to ceiling windows let in the afternoon sunlight, filling the room with a warm glow. You step closer and hold your breath as you fully take in the sight before you.

His clothes are tossed on the floor near his bed, where he lays, his head tilted back, eyes closed. His body glistens, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with his hand stroking his cock. He hesitates, running his finger along the tip to catch his piercing, the sound he makes almost makes you announce your presence. So needy, desperate, beautiful. When you spot a trail of what looks like blood on his cheek you wince, quickly looking around to see if there was something you missed when coming in. The sudden shift of your feet makes the wooden floors groan, you freeze and stare at Rafayel with a ‘caught in the headlights’ expression. In an instant, his eyes fly open and he finds you, his hand stalls and he sits up to place a pillow over his erection.

“Cutie, I… didn’t hear you come in…” 

Oh, his low breathless voice is going to undo you right here, right now. 

“So, is this how you cure ‘art block’? You snicker as you approach the bed.

He shifts and attempts to roll his eyes, his lips form a pout that doesn’t stick.

“I figured if I could blow off some steam, you know, relax a little, maybe it would help.”

You sit next to him.

“Did it?”

He looks down at the pillow and shakes his head. 

“What happened here?” 

You brush his slightly sweaty hair away from the trail of blood only to realize it’s paint. He chuckles and lifts his hand to wipe it away.

“I was trying to paint, guess I got a little messy. But I can’t even do that…”

You run your hand down his arm and he shivers lightly at your touch. So he needs to reignite his creative inspiration? Hmm… oh! Lightbulb moment! You almost wish you had a lamp you could hold over your head for dramatic effect. 

“I have an idea. How about I help you?”

He gives you a cheeky grin, but you shake your head. You hold out your hand and he stares at you with trepidation. 

“What are you planning, cutie?”

“Trust me, you’ll love it.”

He takes your hand and follows you to the staircase. When you look back and see he’s still holding the pillow over his dick you laugh loudly, grabbing it and tossing it onto his bed. He gasps and gives you a ‘scandalized maiden’ impression, which only makes you laugh harder. You pull him down the stairs and skip over to his painting set up. 

“Paint me.”

Rafayel crosses his arms and squints at you. A small smirk tugs at his lips.

“Like a portrait or…”

“Like my body.”

His eyes light up and when your hand dips to unhook the button of your pants his mouth drops open. He watches you strip, tossing your clothes onto his couch. You attempt to make it sexy, but getting your boots off proved to be tricky and your bra was not cooperating today… Rafayel steps up and circles behind you, unhooking the claps and slowly guiding the straps down your arms. He tosses it onto the pile before running his hands down your sides, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder. 

“Paint me. However you like…”

Stepping away from him, you lower yourself onto the floor and lay on your back. He steps around you, eyes dragging down your body to take in every detail. He looks away just long enough to pick out a few cans of paint. He kneels beside you, pours a dollop of pale green paint onto a worn palette, he wets his brush and dilutes the color. Just as he’s about to make contact, he pauses, the brush hovering over your stomach.

“Raf, stop thinking.”

You reach out and grab his wrist, lowering his hand so the bristles glide over your skin. You gasp at the chill of the paint and slowly release his wrist one finger at a time. His breathing steadies as he moves the brush in small strokes. You close your eyes once he settles, his hand stops shaking, his strokes more confident. 

You peek at him occasionally during pauses when he changes colors or brushes. His brows drawn together, lips parted, shoulders relaxed. He seeks out every beauty mark, adding color to each, stretch marks become vines for the flower garden taking over your torso. He moves down to your thighs, switching his method to carve out lilac scales which taper out to a pastel pink at your ankles. You sigh as his hand grazes the skin of your calf, guiding you to move your legs. He settles in between your thighs, spreading your knees further apart. A hand comes down beside your shoulder and he looks down at you, his brush dripping ivory onto your collarbone. 

Closing your eyes once again, you surrender to the sensations of his brush. The slow drag down the center of your chest, fanning out the color to connect with the flowers adorning your stomach. A moan escapes your throat as he turns his attention to your breasts. What was first unhurried touches become more erratic and wild. You’re not sure what he’s creating, but your mind is fuzzy, your desire spiraling fast. 

He glides his brush over your nipple making you shiver. He does it again and you bite your lip to control yourself. When his lips meet yours you flinch and as his brush crosses your sensitive skin again you gasp into his mouth. He slides his tongue inside to begin a feral dance with your own. Soon his brushes are abandoned and his hands become the primary source of contact. You feel paint slide and melt under his warm palms, but can’t bring yourself to stop him. When his chest meets yours you stop holding back. Your hands reach up for his face, fingers sliding through his hair and digging into his scalp. 

“My beautiful little muse…” He whispers.

His lips trail down your neck allowing your unfocused eyes to examine your surroundings. Your search is a quick success, your hand flattening against the palette abandoned next to you. As your hand smears the paint along his back he groans into the hollow of your neck. He pries your bodies apart to reveal the wild streaks of paint covering his torso. Your hand braces against his chest and descends, turning the mess into distinct handprints. Your clean hand stroking his cheek, thumb teasing the corner of his mouth. Rafayel sighs, his voice low and ragged.

“Keep touching me.”

Your lips form a wicked smile. Your hand moves from his face to his cock, he’s so incredibly hard, his tip flushed and weeping. As you stroke him, he throws his head back, his eyes rolling back as his eyelids flutter closed. You tuck your other hand behind his neck and pull yourself up just enough to kiss the center of his neck. He grunts, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he tries to swallow the sound. You latch onto him, sucking in tandem with your strokes, as if you’re suckling his tip. You play with his piercing and he trembles. You sink your teeth into him and he whines loudly. Pulling away, he slams his mouth down onto yours. His hips roll as he fucks himself into your hand. 

“Use me baby.” You manage to say between sloppy kisses.

Lining him up with your desperate pussy, you slide his tip inside. His hips jerk, sheathing more of himself inside of you. Strangled moans fill the apartment as he takes you. Your hands are finally free to explore his paint-covered body. His pelvis slams into yours and you shout, his hands reach down to direct your legs up and over his shoulders. You get a good look at the delicate scales he meticulously painted getting blurred as his hands grip your flesh roughly.

“You’re a work of art. No paint required…”

He can barely speak, but his words make an impact. Your pussy flutters at his compliment and he swears under his breath. With another snap of his hips you’re coming, hard. Your breathless whimpers make Rafayel move with reckless abandon. His climax hits and his warmth fills you, but he suddenly pulls out, his cum spilling onto your stomach. You look down and watch as his cock twitches. Your legs fall apart as he leans forward to lower himself onto his forearms over you. His lips ghost your jaw as he finishes.

“Thank you… thank you thank you thank you…” He repeats it like a prayer.

Before you can say a word he sits up, his eyes darting around to find his canvas. He crawls off of you to retrieve it off the easel and sets it beside you. His fingers glide over your stomach, gathering his cum and remnants of paint. Your mouth falls open as you watch him add the mixture to his canvas. Fingers tapping and swirling to add dimension to the chaotic ocean scene he’d created. He cleans one of his hands on a towel draped over the table and scooches back over to you.

“May I?”

Without thinking you nod, his hand lowers between your legs and he tucks his fingers into your tender cunt. He removes them and smiles as his fingers drip with your combined release. Watching him mix it with paint and add it to the canvas nearly makes you come again. Rafayel leans back and admires his work… both of his works. Sitting up, you rest your palms on the floor behind you. 

“Didn’t you say you wanted to hang that in the studio?”

He stands to place the canvas on the easel again. He returns to your side to offer his hand, he helps you stand and brings your body against his once more. His hands hold your hips as you sway back and forth.

“It's going to, yea.”

Your shocked expression brings on a fit of laughter, and his laughter is so damn contagious. You laugh with him, thinking he is joking. 

“Does it bother you? A painting with our cum on the wall? And no one knows… only us?”

He kisses your ear, your jaw, relishing every tremble you try so hard to contain.

“I think you like it. Our little dirty secret.”

When he kisses you again, it’s sweet and soft. His hands running down your arms to lift them over his shoulders. He lifts you and your legs wrap around him. He stops to wipe his feet on the clean edge of the sheet before making his way to the bathroom. 

“Looks like your art block is cured.” You giggle into his ear.

As he carefully scrubs away the paint from both of your bodies, his lips barely leave yours. The steam from the shower creates a little safe haven, a world apart, where only soft touches and affectionate kisses exist. 

“Cutie, I think you cured more than my art block.” 

His sudden confession brings tears to your eyes, you grab his face and kiss him as they quietly spill over. It’s not long before he’s got you pinned against the shower wall mumbling praises in your ear as he pounds into you. Beyond all logic, you know you’re falling for him. You feel like you’ve known him your whole life, not barely a week. As you come undone you stare at the ceiling, surrendering yourself to the fall of a lifetime.  🐟𓆩🖤𓆪‎🏍️

Inked Chapters: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Epilogue

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙: @trishiepo0 @not-so-quite-human @kitsunetori @babyx91 @libriomancer @lilyadora @crowskitten22 @letharue @silverbrain @alastor-simp @drama-trauma @0tterteeth @mysticcollectionvoid @godzillaglitter @godoffuckedupcats @klmpun @ariallaisawesome @spidy-spider01 @m00nchildwrites @plsdonttakemyname @hauntedbysmut @withering-dream @lostwingz2236 @simpfortheseven @bubbleteakittyy @spacegrotesk @namjoonseuphoria @celestialforce @rafshottestgf @oxamarok @zaynessbeloved @animecrazy76 @yournextdoorhousewitch @addiglessthanthree @4ttack-ur-heart @moonberry69 @pandoras-rabbit @cookiesaresquishy @hamnaalien @needlewandandthimble @brekkers-whoreais @goddexxluv @satansdaughter123 @poisonf0rest @darkalleycat1987 @morrigan87 @never-justforever @ericherries @lev-berryz @aishasylus @altair718 @yuhuahuaaa @lazypostfandomer @chloepluto1306 @dummiebunny @3fingersofscotch @freddy-2002-blog @sylus-hunter @yourlocalcatscammer @beaconsxd @stellar-seas

AN #2: Secret authors note woo woo! With how extensive Vow is becoming, I would have made Inked a bit more in depth. I may write a few more chapters, BUT my priority is the sequel & future stories for the other boys. I will say this, I have the individual plots for each boy planned & the overall plot that involves all of them. The "final book" will be INSANE. Thank you for the support and I hope you stick around for more tattooed, pierced, smutty goodness.

[all444glo]

SATIVA

summary: i’m ngl this is porn with plot LMAO

warnings: 18+, judes an eater, praise kink central

You were excited to see Jude.

It hadn’t even been that long since you’d seen him, but when you loved someone the way you loved Jude, every day apart felt like a week. He rarely made it out to the States during the season, and when he did, it was quick—just long enough for a dinner, maybe a night together, and then he was gone again. You loved how much he thrived in Madrid, but you hated that you couldn’t show him your side of things like he showed you his.

Fortunately for you—unfortunately for him—Real didn’t make it all the way this year. Knocked out of Champions League, no trophies to bring home. He wouldn’t say it, but you knew it crushed him. Still, it meant he had almost a month free before heading back to Europe for pre-season training. And you were going to make every day of it count.

You wore a red tight silk dress, strapless, soft against your skin and clinging to all the right places. You cooked for him, too—baked chicken, mac and cheese, greens, cornbread. Real soul food. Stuff he’d only ever seen online and begged you to make. You liked taking care of him like this, especially when it reminded him of what home could feel like, even far away from it.

But your final surprise? That was sitting on the coffee table.

A perfectly rolled blunt. Yours.

Jude had mentioned it a few times—joking about how he’d never smoked, not even in England. Between drug testing and being in the spotlight, he never took the risk. But here, in Chicago, off-season, tucked away in your apartment? It felt safe. And something about the idea of him being high for the first time around you made you curious.

You had music playing—smooth R&B in the background—and the scent of dinner filled the space when he finally knocked at your door.

You opened it before he could even knock again. “Hey, baby.”

He smiled, his boyish grin that still made your chest flutter. “My shaylaaa,” he murmured, pulling you into a hug. He lifted you off the ground with ease, kissing the side of your face as your dress rode up. “You look... wow.”

You flushed a little, hiding your smile in his neck. “You hungry?”

“Starving.” He stepped in and froze the second he saw the table. “No way you made all this.”

“I told you I got you.”

He set his bag down, still taking it all in, then noticed the blunt.

He looked at you, half surprised, half impressed. “You serious?”

You nodded. “Only if you want to.”

He didn’t even hesitate. “Let’s do it.”

You watched Jude fumble with the blunt, his long fingers awkward as hell around it. He rotated it and inspected it, as if he was holding some kind of alien technology. “Jude why would you have me light this shit if you’re just gonna stare at it.” You said slightly getting irritated, it didn’t matter if he wasn’t smoking anymore cause you sure were. Jude mean mugged you as he took a deep drag, held it in like he was trying to prove something, then let out this sharp cough that caught you off guard.

“Oi, that burns,” he muttered, voice rough, eyes watering.

You smirked, handing him a glass of water. “God don’t like ugly.”

He rolled his eyes as took a slow sip, then blinked a few times, trying to focus. “I’m feelin’... a bit dizzy. Like my mouth’s on fire, but my head’s floaty?”

You laughed softly. “That’s to be expected honey, you clearly got yourself a little buzzed”

He slumped back on the couch, blinking like he was trying to process a million thoughts. “ Not really—this one hit is barely doing anything.”

You nudged him playfully. “You’re a big guy, Jude. Over six foot, what, 220? One hit ain’t finna get you rapper high.”

He groaned, sliding down further, hair tousled, cheeks flushed from the cough. “Feel like I’m on a boat. Sea’s moving, but no engines yet.”

You took the blunt from him and took a few puffs, already feeling your eyes get heavier and heavier. The familiar high creeping in on you, you took another puff once again and motioned for Jude to come closer. You kissed Jude, exhaling all the smoke from your mouth into his. You could tell he was surprised but it only got him higher. You didn’t even need the weed, your presence made him dizzy enough.

You laughed harder as you pulled away, he looked incredibly dazed. “You gonna be alright?”

He looked over at you, eyes glassy but mischievous. “I don’t know, babe. I think I wanna... I don’t know how to say this.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Try me.”

He cleared his throat, voice a little shaky, “I wanna eat you out. Like, really —’cause I feel like I need to focus on somethin’ other than this dizzy nonsense. You get me?”

You bit your lip, surprised but amused. “You’re all hot and bothered already? Thought that would’ve came later in the night…”

“Shut up,” he said, sitting up straighter, fingers twitching. “I swear, if I don’t get my hands on you, I might pass out. You look so good, I can’t think straight.”

You smiled, sliding closer. “Who knew weed turned you into an eater”

He chuckled, voice soft, “Am I not an “eater” any other time?”

You reached out, took his hand, and squeezed it gently. “I’m gonna hold your hand when I say this, you’re usually not this excited to eat it”

“Love what are you talking about, i’ve literally ripped the gym shorts off of you and ate you in my kit—“

You promptly stood up, tugging him with you toward the bedroom, the haze around him making every step feel a little surreal.

Once inside, he dropped his bags, eyes wide as he took in the sight of you—your dress clinging to your curves, the candlelight casting soft shadows.

“Fuck, y/n, you look—wow,” he whispered, voice cracking just a bit.

You chuckled, walking over slowly, hand trailing down his arm. “You said that already”

“I know,” he admitted, teeth clenching for a moment. “Every time I look at you I remember how much I wanna taste you.”

You laughed softly, the way he said it was so genuine it made your heart flutter.

“Alright,” you said, “but you gotta tell me if you need a break, yeah?”

He nodded eagerly, voice low and needy. “Promise.”

You sat on the edge of the bed, pulling him down with you. His breath hitched as your hands traced the line of his jaw.

“Tell me what you want,” you murmured.

He swallowed, eyes darkening, “I want to make you feel good. I wanna make you cum everyday i’m here.”

You smiled, heart speeding up. “Cmon.”

Your voice was soft but steady as you guided him down between your legs, the silk of your dress rising inch by inch until the back of it kissed your hips. Jude knelt on the floor, fingers pressing into the meat of your thighs like he needed to hold on to something real. His eyes moved slowly, drinking you in like he’d never seen anything so divine.

“You sure?” you asked, the teasing laced in your tone, but your heart still beat hard against your chest.

“I’m not stopping, y/n,” he said, gaze locked on yours. “Not until you’re shaking”

You blinked down at him, lips parting slightly. Something about the way he said it… that slow, quiet confidence… made your stomach twist. His hands ran up your thighs, slow and steady, thumbs brushing just beneath the hem of your underwear.

“Let me have it,” he whispered. “Been thinking about this all flight—he’ll even during my games Don’t make me beg.”

You laughed, just barely. “I thought this was the begging.”

“Not yet,” he murmured, voice low and rich, mouth moving close enough that you felt the heat of his breath through the fabric. “But I can & I will.”

Then he kissed over the cotton between your legs, like it was holy. Once. Twice. His lips moved deliberately, mouthing you slow through the softness, and your hips twitched before you even realized you were reacting. His eyes flicked up, watching the way your head tilted back slightly, mouth parting.

He smiled.

“Yeah,” he cooed, “just like that.”

His fingers curled around the waistband and you lifted your hips to help him, your panties sliding down your legs and tossed aside. Then came the pause — Jude just stared for a moment. Blinking. Lips parted. A breath caught in his throat.

“My lord,” he breathed. “You’re beautiful.”

Your legs shifted slightly, unsure what to do with all that attention, but his hands were quick to press your thighs apart again.

“Don’t hide from me,” he said softly. “Let me see you.” Then his tongue was on you. He started slow, so slow it nearly drove you insane. He was gentle at first, tentative — tasting, exploring. You could feel the way he adjusted, learning your reactions, taking his time like he had nowhere else to be. His tongue traced slow circles, then flattened against your clit, dragging up deliberately. Your hips bucked just slightly as he chuckled against you

“There she is,” he murmured, breath hot against your slick. “Y’like that?” “Mmhm,” you breathed, hand sinking into his curls. “That’s my pretty girl,” he praised, voice thick with hunger. “Give me more. Need all of it.”

Your thighs tried to close around his head, but he kept them spread, arms locked around them as he dove in deeper, tongue flicking in tighter patterns now, confident.

He moaned into you, low and guttural — and that almost sent you over. The vibrations rocked through your core and your hands gripped his hair tighter.

“Jude—shit—right there—don’t stop—” He groaned again like he loved the way you said his name. Then he pulled back just a little, letting his fingers glide into you, one at first, then two, slow and steady as his mouth came back to your clit. Your body arched up into him, eyes rolling back.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he grunted, kissing you messily. “You’re squeezing my fingers like youn want me to come out.”

You whimpered — it was all too much. His voice, his mouth, the pace he’d set.

“I could eat you for hours, y’know that?” he said, licking slow up your center again. “I could’ve done it the first night I met you.”

“You didn’t even know me back then—” you choked out, laughing breathlessly.

“I knew,” he said, voice hard now, tongue teasing your clit again. “I knew I wanted you like this. Mouth full of you. Hands holding you open. You makin’ those pretty sounds.”

Your legs started to tremble and he noticed immediately, never letting up, never losing rhythm.

“Yeah… you’re close, huh?” he said, lips glistening, tongue relentless. “Come on, y/n. Don’t hold back. Let me feel it.”

“Jude—fuck—I’m gonna—”

You fell apart then, hips jerking, a moan tearing from your throat so raw and loud it made the windows shake. Jude didn’t stop — not right away. He kept licking until your legs were twitching and you had to physically push his head back, breathless and dazed.

When he pulled away, his lips were swollen, chin slick with you, and the look in his eyes?

Starved.

You stared at him, chest heaving. “You okay?”

He nodded, crawling up toward you, hovering above. “Still hungry,” he admitted, smiling. He kissed your lips slow and deep.

“Still hungry? You’re insane” You said as your body still trembled faintly. You laid back on the bed, legs loose and splayed, your chest rising and falling in slow, uneven breaths. Jude’s weight shifted beside you, but he didn’t say anything at first — just watched you like he didn’t quite believe what he’d just done. Or what you let him do.

You turned your head slowly, catching the awe in his expression.“You alright?” you asked, voice soft and hoarse, lips curling gently. He nodded, licking his lips absently, still tasting you. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Yeah, I’m good… better than good. You?”

You chuckled a little, brushing sweat-damp hair off your forehead. “Amazing’.”

That made him laugh, the tension cracking a bit. You sighed, letting your fingers spread across his skin, your nails tracing lazy shapes near his collarbone. “You did good, Jude. Real good.”

He smiled at that — not cocky, but quietly proud. “Didn’t hurt, right?” he asked gently. “I wasn’t too rough?” You shook your head. “You are a good eater, I tell you this every time”

He leaned in to kiss your shoulder, then your neck — slow, lingering kisses that felt more like thank yous than anything else.

“Come up here,” you murmured, tugging lightly on his arm until he laid fully beside you, chests pressed together. His skin was still warm from the rush, muscles soft now, loose and pliant.

You tucked your face into the crook of his neck, your arm resting across his waist as his fingers drew slow circles on your back.

“You still high?” you asked quietly, your breath ghosting over his throat.

“A little,” he confessed, chuckling. “Everything feels... floaty. Warm. Like I’m wearing a blanket made out of you.”

You laughed into his skin. “That’s so corny.”

“You love it.”

You sighed into him, letting the comfort settle. “Yeah. I do.”

His hand found yours again under the sheets, fingers lacing together. “I meant what I said earlier,” he murmured. “About wanting to make you cum every day I’m here.”

You hummed softly. “We’ll see if you keep that energy tomorrow.”

“Oh, I will,” he said, voice dropping just slightly again. “But right now… can I just hold you?”

You nodded into his chest as you drifted off to sleep.

[letsgetrowdy43]

The things I do for you—

Jack Hughes x reader

requested by the lovely @toasttt11: 🐞 "you're blind- you're so blind! why would i even do half the things that i do for you for anybody if i wasn't head over heels for them!" this feels like so jack idk why! but anyways whatever you want to write lovely ! i don’t know how much ideas or suggestions you like in your requests so I’ll just keep it simple! but oc is totally fine i love oc’s but x reader is totally good too!

warnings/notes: I did a similar one to this a few months ago, so I switched around who said the dialogue!! Kinda loved making this, so thank you so so much for the request, my love!! As for warnings, there is swearing and alcohol consumption!

Rowan’s summer celly!!

There was something never endingly painful about being in love with a boy whose head was so far in the clouds.

Jack's best friend has been at the brunt of the heartbreak for too long, watching from afar as he basically lusted over other women, waiting for the moment he would finally see her.

The summer was always her favourite time because it was four blissful months dedicated to friends and family time, trips around North America, days on the lake, and nights surrounded by laughter.

The lake house was the holy grail of the quintessential Hughes summer; it was the home base and the highlight of the summer.

This year, they were kicking off the summer with a private party for close friends only. All their best friends from childhood into their adulthood, who were within a close radius of Michigan, were in attendance, meaning the house was packed. Most of Luke and Quinn's college buddies showed up, Jack's USNTDP friends were making an appearance, and even her closest friends from both university and high school were stopping in to kick off the off-season.

The country music had never been louder, the drinks felt never ending, and the conversations and catching up was flowing.

Which had led Josh Norris to the girl's side, a man who had always been in her corner, in a platonic way that sometimes blurred the lines of something a little more sexual. He awkwardly held his beer in his hand, the other wrapped around the girl's shoulder as they chatted with Quinn and his girlfriend, who was finally meeting the people closest to him.

Jack's attention was caught from across the kitchen at the sound of his best friend's more than adorable cackle. A laugh that felt almost sacred to him His eyes zeroed in on her, Josh's hand firmly now on her lower back as he whispered in her ear.

To most, it would have looked innocent, maybe a little too friendly, but Jack's ears immediatley began to ring.

The pit in his stomach growing as he watched her stare up at the older boy, her stare almost angelic before she raised herself up on her tiptoes to whisper something back to Josh.

In seconds, he was walking towards the group, greeting his brother and his girl friend who he had deemed almost too sweet for his grump of a brother before looking at his best friend who almost stiffened as if she had been caught.

"Everything okay, Jack?" she said, taking a sip of her drink before he nodded. "I'm fine, can we talk for a sec?" he nodded to the back deck, away from the crowd.

She, of course, agreed, a trait many of the boys would say was her downfall. Too easy to give in to Jack's will, too quick to put his needs before her own pleasure.

His ex had once described it as pathetic, Luke and Quinn thought of it as her loving demeanour.

When they got outside, her hands instinctively moved to cover herself up from the chill, "Is something on your mind J?"

It took him a second to find the words. He truly had no plan to pull away from her conversation, but seeing her in a position that almost felt reverent.

"Are you trying to sleep with josh?"

A loud laugh left her lips as her eyes narrowed at the seriousness on his face, like he was trying to be mad at her for something that was entirely not his business.

"I'm not, but if i was it would be none of your buisness." she said sternly, her crossed arms tightening aorund her as a signifier of her dissaprroval of his tone.

He immediately just went into defence, "You can't seriously be thinking about doing that?" "I just told you I wasn't, Josh and I have always been friends. And who are you to tell me who and who I can't sleep with?"

Her eyes were fuelled by some sort of deeper anger that had Jack speechless, his mouth open to say something but not a word had left.

"I'm being serious Jack, ever since highschool I have been playing wingman for you and your array of girls, and I'm glad to do it, cause I want to see you happy and you deserve all of that love," she began to choke up at the thought of being that girl in the sidelines, just waiting for him to even glance at her with the sliver of light he had given to other girls in the past. "Why can't you do that for me, Jack? Let me feel like I'm allowed to be happy, and hell, maybe even find someone who likes me!"

"I really can't do that."

She shook her head at his confession, "It's selfish, you're selfish"

"You can't be mad at me for that!"

"I can, and I am because you're blind- you're so blind, Jack!" Her tears of frustration started as she watched his brows furrow. "I don't understand what you're trying to tell me." "I'm mad because I put everyone's needs before my own, especially yours. Even when it comes to you and your love life, at the expense of mine," she huffed, frustration tightening her chest as confusion remained on his face. 

"Why would I do half the things I do for you, for anyone, if I wasn't head over heels for them?" his mouth fell slightly agape as her hands wiped away her tears.

"And I'm not expecting you to understand that, or coddle me. I just want you to let me be happy, and—"

She was cut off by the crushing press of his chapped lips against hers. His hands cupped the sides of her face as her hands fisted the soft fabric of his sweater.

She froze.

only for a second before she melted into his frame, head dizzy at the feeling of his lips, which were rough and almost shocked, like he hadn’t planned this either, but his grip on her face was steady. Certain.

When he finally pulled back, their foreheads rested against each other, both of them breathless, suspended in a fragile space between everything they hadn’t said and everything they just had.

His thumb swiped across the tear-stained skin of her cheeks before dropping them to pull her into a soul-crushing hug. her head tucked under his chin as he held her for what felt like the first time.

"You," she whispered into his chest, barely able to find her voice. "Why right now?"

Jack pulled away just slightly, eyes flicking over her face, desperate to read her reaction even though he barely understood his own thoughts. "Because it’s always been you, you have always been there," he said. "I just didn’t know how to see it until you said it out loud."

She let out a broken laugh, her hands still gripping his sweater like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. "You’re an idiot," she murmured. "I know."

[onlyangel4]

kayfabe. cm punk. part five.

dark!cm punk x superstar!reader

synopsis: you and punk are placed into a long-term onscreen pairing. a storyline romance meant to boost ratings. the chemistry is undeniable, but offscreen, punk is distant. until he’s not. he begins texting late at night. watching. testing boundaries. you realise he’s not method acting. the possessiveness, the tension, the jealousy, it’s all real. and if the storyline ends, he won’t take it well.

part one // part two // part three // part four // part five // part six

you didn’t see him after that moment in the locker room.

not when the show wrapped, not during the post-segment notes, not even by the parking lot. you waited, half out of instinct, half out of some unspoken need but Punk was gone. like he always was when the storm passed.

and that silence?

it felt worse than the things he’d said.

the others were packing up, laughing, unloading tension like nothing had happened. you moved through them on autopilot, jacket slung over one shoulder, face neutral, hands cold.

you barely noticed seth until he fell into step beside you.

"you good?", he asked casually. too casually.

you hesitated. "i'm fine."

he snorted. "yeah. that’s what your face is screaming."

you sighed. "what do you want, seth?"

"to make sure you don’t become another car crash", he said flatly. "we’ve had enough of those around here."

you stopped walking.

he did too.

"seth, i can handle him."

he studied you for a second. long enough to make your stomach twist.

"he’s not playing a character", seth said quietly. "that thing in the ring tonight? that wasn’t performance. that was real."

your mouth opened, to argue, maybe. but nothing came out.

seth tilted his head. "you think you’re in control of this. but i've known him a long time. he doesn’t stop at the curtain. he doesn’t pull back."

"i’m not..." you started, voice tight.

he cut you off. "you are. whether you mean to be or not."

you swallowed, hard.

behind you, footsteps echoed. slow. deliberate.

you knew who it was before you turned.

punk rounded the corner, hoodie down, expression unreadable. he saw seth. saw you.

didn’t flinch.

seth gave a dry smile. "speak of the devil."

punk didn’t look at him.

only at you.

"you ready?" he asked.

the question was simple. but there was weight behind it. like he wasn’t just asking about the ride.

seth stepped in between, just half a pace forward. "she’s good."

punk’s jaw ticked. a flicker of something dark in his eyes.

"i wasn’t talking to you", he said.

you exhaled. shook your head slightly, stepped around seth before this turned into a scene.

"let’s go", you said.

punk didn’t smile. but something in his posture shifted.

you walked past them both, keeping your pace even, even as your skin prickled, and your heart wouldn’t slow down.

behind you, the silence dragged on.

then footsteps followed.

and you didn’t look back.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

the car ride was quiet.

not awkward. not tense. just heavy.

like too many words were floating between you both, unspoken and thick. the hum of the tires, the muted streetlights flashing past, it was easier to focus on those than the man driving.

but the silence didn’t last.

he spoke once you hit the hotel parking lot.

"you wanna come up for a minute?"

you turned to look at him, brow raised. "why?"

punk didn’t look at you. just cut the engine and leaned back in his seat.

"to talk."

you hesitated. "you could’ve done that on the ride."

he finally turned his head. and when his eyes met yours, something about them had softened. just slightly. but enough to lower your guard, even when you knew better.

"five minutes", he said. "that’s all."

you followed him.

the room was quiet, dim, the smell of hotel soap and leather cleaner clinging to the air. he dropped his keys on the dresser, pulled off his hoodie, and for a moment, just a moment, looked like someone normal.

but then he spoke.

"i crossed a line" he said, voice low. "back there. in the locker room."

you stood near the door, arms folded.

"i didn’t mean to scare you."

he turned, eyes on you again but not pleading. not soft. just focused.

"i just don’t like seeing you with them. with him."

you tensed. "bron’s my friend."

"i’ve seen how he looks at you."

"and how do you look at me, punk?"

he smiled at that. slow. tilted.

"like i already know how you taste."

your breath caught.

he stepped closer, not touching, but close enough to feel it. that same tension that lived under your skin since this whole thing began. the worst part? he wasn’t wrong.

you’d let him touch you.

you’d wanted him to.

and he knew it.

"i’m not sorry for the way i want you", he said. "but i’m sorry i pushed."

it sounded like an apology. it felt like a confession.

but it wasn’t.

it was a hook.

and you felt it slide in, sharp and clean.

"you know this isn’t healthy, right?" you said, voice quieter now.

he nodded. "most things worth having aren’t."

another step. your back hit the wall.

he didn’t press further. just looked at you like he was already under your skin, inside your head, woven into your pulse.

"i’ll back off", he said. "if that’s what you want."

you didn’t speak.

couldn’t.

he leaned in, just slightly, breath brushing your jaw, his voice barely above a whisper.

"but if you come knocking. you won’t have to ask twice."

and then he turned away.

sat on the edge of the bed. calm. controlled. already sure of the next move.

the room was too warm. your skin burned.

you left before he could see you hesitate.

because you already knew you would knock eventually.

and he knew it too.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

you should’ve gone straight to your room.

you wanted to. you even made it to the elevator, pressed your floor, walked the hallway with your head down like any other exhausted wrestler wrapping a long night.

but you stopped.

outside his door.

just stopped.

you didn’t knock.

didn’t have to.

the door opened a second later like he’d been waiting on the other side. his eyes swept over you, slow, unreadable and he stepped aside without a word.

you didn’t move.

he waited. silent. the seconds stretched out like thread, ready to snap.

"i shouldn’t have come back", you said.

punk’s voice was low. "but you did."

it wasn’t a question. and it wasn’t smug. just certain.

you still didn’t move. so he did.

closed the door again, slowly. came back to stand in front of you, barely an arm’s length away. his hoodie was gone. just a black t-shirt now, damp at the collar from the night. you could smell the faint mix of sweat, soap, and something sharper, clean, grounded, familiar.

he didn’t touch you.

just looked.

"why do you keep doing this?", you asked and hated how your voice caught.

"because i know what you’re thinking when I’m near you."

you scoffed, weak. "arrogant."

"accurate", he said, voice softer. "you want to hate me. but when we’re alone"

his fingers grazed your wrist. just a brush.

your breath stuttered.

"you want this too."

You should’ve stepped back. pushed him off. slapped him.

you didn’t.

he leaned in, slow, deliberate, one hand ghosting up your arm, the other sliding along your jaw, rough thumb dragging the corner of your mouth like he owned it.

and then he kissed you.

hard. deep. no hesitation.

the kind of kiss that took.

it wasn’t sweet. it wasn’t gentle. it was claiming, hungry, and full of heat that rose fast and desperate under your skin. your back hit the wall. his hands found your waist, your hips, fingers digging in like he was daring you to stop him.

and you didn’t.

not right away.

you kissed him back. you let him take.

until the weight of it, the danger, hit your chest like a freight train.

when you pulled away his eyes burned down into yours, lips red, chest rising.

"you didn’t stop me right away", he said.

your hand shook as you touched your lips.

"don’t do that again", you whispered.

he just stared. calm. focused.

"i will. eventually. when you finally let yourself have what you deserve"

you didn’t answer.

just walked away down the hall, breath ragged, pulse breaking open in your throat.

and the worst part?

you didn’t want to be alone.

you just wanted him to follow.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

you didn’t sleep.

not really.

you laid awake in the dark hotel room, the city humming faintly outside, the sheets tangled around your legs like a reminder. your mouth still tingled. your skin still felt his hands.

you tried to blame adrenaline. heat of the moment. the match. the stress.

but it wasn’t that.

it was him.

the kiss played on a loop behind your eyes, the weight of it, the rough scrape of his jaw, the possessive grip on your hips. there was no distance in it. no storyline.

it was real.

you had kissed cm punk. wanted to. let it happen. craved it. until you didn’t.

until you remembered who you were. where you were. what he was.

you pressed your palm over your lips, like you could scrub the feeling off your skin.

Your phone buzzed.

you grabbed it fast, too fast.

there was a message from him.

you left before i was finished.

your stomach flipped.

the number wasn’t saved.

but you knew who it was.

you stared at the message. typed nothing. locked the screen. tossed the phone away.

but your hand didn’t stop shaking.

he knew exactly what he was doing.

and the worst part?

so did you.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

the next morning

you kept your head down through lobby check-out, sunglasses on even though it was overcast. you didn’t want to run into anyone. especially him.

but it wasn’t him who caught you.

it was bron.

"hey", he said, falling into step beside you on the sidewalk. "you okay?"

you nodded automatically. "yeah. just tired."

he didn’t buy it.

"didn’t see you at breakfast."

"i wasn’t hungry."

he gave you a look. not pressing, not harsh, just bron. protective. the way he always was.

but this time it made your chest ache.

"you know you can talk to me, right?" he said quietly.

you nodded again.

he didn’t push. just walked you to the car, silent the whole way. but as you reached for the door handle, he stopped you.

"just" he hesitated. "be careful."

you turned. "why?"

his jaw clenched. "because i’ve been in this business long enough to know when something looks off."

you stared at him, heart racing.

he didn’t say punk’s name.

he didn’t have to.

you got in without another word.

and as the car pulled away from the curb, you didn’t look back.

but you felt the warning settle behind your ribs like a bruise.

[nizhspo]

genre: haikyuu imagine, fluff

pairing: atsumu miya x fem!reader

summary: country girl (shake it for me).

you’ve gone to school in the same area since kindergarten.

same dusty gyms. same cracked water fountains. same girls who shriek in the locker room and clog the sinks with lip gloss and secrets. same school colors: navy and gold, worn thin on the cheerleaders’ skirts. same gym teachers with warped whistles, who yell more than they teach, and always act like they’ve got something personal against teenage knees.

you’ve always been a nobody here, pastor’s daughter, soft-spoken, long skirts, ponytails.

you don’t dance. don’t date. don’t drink.

you pray before meals and say “yes sir” when called on. you keep your eyes down when it’s time to run laps in p.e., always hoping your name blends into the floorboards.

you’re the kind of girl people forget.

and then the miya twins show up.

they transfer in the first week of senior year, already built like athletes and armed with too many stories from too many schools. loud, cocky, magnetic in a way that makes teachers sigh and girls trip over their own shoelaces. they step into gym like they own it. atsumu’s mouthing off by second period. osamu’s already scoping out the best vending machines and laying claim to a corner of the bleachers.

atsumu talks too much, says things like “c’mon, coach, we’re not that late” with a grin too bright to punish. osamu talks less but sees everything, eyes half-lidded and always watching.

they’ve got that thing.

the kind of pull that makes people lean in without knowing why. where even the teachers roll their eyes but still let them get away with murder. atsumu’s already got three girls giving him their number by week one, and osamu’s the one they ask to help lift the volleyball nets because he’s “less annoying.”

you assume they’ll never learn your name.

you assume that right up until week three, when you’re quietly echoing the gym teacher with your usual “yes sir” during warm-ups, and atsumu turns to parrot it back, high-pitched and ridiculous. osamu barks a real laugh, quick, sharp, and for the first time, you see their eyes on you.

and then, somehow, they start talking to you.

not all at once. not in a mean way. not even in a flirty way.

just—

“you don’t talk much, huh?” atsumu asks, bouncing a volleyball off his hip.

“she just don’t waste her breath like you do,” osamu mutters, squinting toward you with the first real look you’ve gotten from either of them.

“what’s your name again?” atsumu asks.

and after that, you’re theirs. not in a that way. not yet. just… in the way that matters.

you become their gym class girl. their inside joke. their new project.

atsumu shows off for you during drills. osamu stretches beside you and mutters dry commentary under his breath. when you skip laps behind the bleachers, they don’t rat you out, they just slow down so you’re not walking alone. they tease you about your high collars and the way you call soda “pop,” but they never cross the line.

they ask you questions. real ones.

“so you’ve never worn shorts in public?”

“your mom really don’t let you wear nail polish?”

“what do y’all even do on sunday besides church?”

they call you church girl. not like an insult, more like it belongs to them.

and then you start to change.

just a little at first. just a little lip gloss. just a little roll at the waistband of your skirt. just a little boldness in the way you say hell when you trip and fall during dodgeball and both twins lose their minds laughing.

one afternoon, osamu strolls into gym fifteen minutes late with a crumpled doctor’s note and a mcdonald’s bag in hand.

you’re sitting on the bleachers, tying your shoes.

he sits beside you without asking.

“doctor’s office ran long,” he says, like that explains the smell of fries. “you eaten?”

you blink at him. “i’ve never had mcdonald’s.”

he stills. “you’re joking.”

“my parents think it’s poison.”

he stares like you’ve admitted to never breathing oxygen. then he reaches into the bag, pulls out a fry, dips it in sweet ‘n sour sauce, and holds it out to you.

“live a little,” he says. “a lil grease won’t kill you.”

you hesitate. take the bite. and it is greasy. and sweet. and salty. and forbidden. and it tastes like freedom.

another day, atsumu dares you to sneak out of the school gym during fifth period.

it’s a thursday. the air is thick and stale from too many teenagers and not enough windows. the gym teacher’s halfway through explaining a partner drill, and you’re already mentally preparing to be paired with someone who doesn’t remember your name.

atsumu’s leaning back on his hands, legs stretched out obnoxiously long in front of him, lip curled like the rules don’t apply to him—and maybe they don’t. you don’t know why he whispers it. maybe because he’s bored. maybe because you looked too angelic that day in your ankle-length skirt and buttoned-up cardigan. maybe because you smiled at him once, soft and real and half-hidden behind your hand.

“you ever ditched class before?” he murmurs out the corner of his mouth.

you shake your head, already looking nervous.

he grins like that’s the best answer you could’ve given.

“wanna?”

your eyes go wide. “what?”

“right now.” his voice is all honeyed mischief. “i dare you.”

you hesitate, throat dry, fingers twisting into your gym shirt. “we’ll get caught.”

“not if we’re fast.”

and god help you, something inside you wants to say yes. wants to crack open the safe and see what it’s like to run wild, just once. wants to know what your name sounds like outside the mouth of someone who means it.

so you nod.

and he lights up.

you wait until the coach’s back is turned, distracted by some drama near the weight racks. atsumu counts silently: one, two, three, then grabs your hand and bolts for the double doors near the equipment closet.

you’re laughing before you’re even halfway down the hall. loud, gasping, giddy laughter. like it’s been trapped in your chest since birth.

atsumu lets out a triumphant, “woo!” so loud it echoes against the tile.

you clap your hand over his mouth, eyes wide. “shut up!”

but he’s already grinning. his eyes crinkle. “i didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

“i didn’t think you were actually gonna yell.”

he shrugs. “i got excited.”

you’re both panting now, tucked in a quiet stairwell, backs against the cool concrete. the world outside gym class feels like it’s holding its breath, waiting for you to exhale.

your chest rises. falls. rises again. you glance at him. “we’re gonna get in so much trouble.”

he grins. “worth it.”

and weirdly, you believe him.

…

the first time you drink is behind a bonfire in someone’s cow pasture.

“we’ll take care of her,” osamu tells the host, half teasing, half serious.

“like bodyguards,” atsumu says, handing you a red cup with the same grin he always wears.

they teach you how to sip slow. how to pace. how to have fun without losing yourself.

but then one night, you lose yourself anyway.

…

there’s a truck parked just beyond the tree line, mud-streaked, rust-kissed, with dented doors and a busted tail light. the kind that’s seen too many summers, too many backroads, too many half-legal hauls of stolen fireworks and cheap beer. someone’s rigged a bluetooth speaker to the bed, and “country girl (shake it for me)” is rattling the metal, crackling like fire from the busted subwoofer.

teens are everywhere.

boots on dashboards. bare feet on coolers. bodies swaying in loose circles around the fire pit. there’s sweat on sun-browned necks, red solo cups in every hand. someone’s tossing corn chips into their mouth from a tailgate. someone else is making out behind the hay bales. the sky is all purples and pinks, stars trying to peek through the smoke.

you’re standing in the bed of the truck, soaked to the thighs and shining in the firelight. atsumu’s shirt hangs off your frame, oversized and damp, slipping off one bare shoulder. your swim bottoms peek out beneath the hem, clinging where your skin’s still drying from the river. your hair’s a mess. your lips are sticky with bud light. your legs ache in the best way from the rope swing drop you took earlier, screaming all the way into the current.

your hips move wildly to the music, loose, syrupy, offbeat and beautiful. you’re not even dancing, not really. you’re just moving because it feels good. because the wind is warm, and the fire is close, and you are happy.

the twins are hollering for you from the grass.

“get it, church girl!” osamu whoops, tipping back a beer.

atsumu’s leaning on the tailgate, drink in hand, head tilted up to watch you like you’re the damn moon.

his smile’s all teeth, cocky, fond, unreadable. your eyes lock for half a second too long and your chest flips.

you jump down. your feet slap the dirt. your knees dip. the world sways.

you stumble. catch yourself on his arm.

“whoa,” he says, catching your elbow. “easy.”

you grin, breathless. your hands find his shoulders. “you’re so pretty,” you slur, leaning in too close. “has anyone ever told you that?”

he freezes. eyes wide. “uh…”

you loop your arms around his neck, heavy and giggling. “you know,” you whisper, breath warm against his jaw, “i’ve never had my first kiss before.”

you blink at him, dreamy. “if you kiss me… i won’t tell nobody.”

his mouth opens. shuts. his throat bobs.

“you’re drunk,” he mutters. “jesus, girl…”

your knees start to fold. your weight tips forward and he grabs your waist. swears. hoists you up with an arm under your legs, the other around your back.

“alright, c’mere,” he mutters, guiding you toward the truck.

you don’t remember much after that.

not how he eased you into the passenger seat with your head lolling back, or how he cursed under his breath the whole drive, or how the speaker kept playing “god’s country” while he muttered “jesus christ” like a prayer he didn’t believe in.

you don’t remember throwing up behind your porch. you don’t remember him rubbing your back. you don’t remember the door opening, or your mama’s tears, or your daddy’s tight-lipped handshake.

but you remember the next morning.

the headache. the shame. the way your parents circled around you like vultures. the way they prayed. the way they said the devil came in through the bottle.

you sat through it all, silent. seething.

because you’d finally felt free. you were barefoot in someone else’s shirt, dancing under stars to a song your parents would’ve called garbage, and it had felt right.

and now they’d taken that too.

and for the first time in your life you were mad. not at yourself. at them.

because they couldn’t see that you were becoming something. someone. and it scared them.

but not atsumu. not osamu. because they didn’t try to fix you. they just watched you. and cheered. too.

…

but the next night, there’s a tap on your window.

and the next.

and the one after that too.

osamu’s the one you spot first. standing down in the yard, hoodie up, arms crossed, looking up at your second-story window like this is all standard procedure. he jerks his chin toward the roof.

atsumu scrambles up the gutter pipe like he’s done it a hundred times. probably has. osamu gives him a lazy shove at the top, and he half-tumbles, half-crawls across the shingles with a plastic bag clutched in his teeth.

he knocks, twice, soft. then pushes the window open just enough to stick his head in.

“your mom ain’t bring you dinner?” he asks, sheepish, already brushing leaves from his sleeves.

you shake your head, curling your arms tighter around yourself.

he climbs in halfway, settles on the roof beside you. the plastic bag rustles between you. “figured,” he mutters, handing it over. “you’re probably starving.”

you take it with a small smile. the smell of warm fries and something vaguely spicy curls around your face like smoke. he doesn’t look at you as you eat, just leans back on one hand, watching the tree line like it might move.

he keeps showing up. every night. always with food. always with something small to say and a hundred things he doesn’t.

but then one night, he comes empty-handed. climbs up slower. doesn’t smile.

he stands on the roof instead of sitting. shifts his weight back and forth, like he might leave.

“did you mean what you said?” he asks, voice tight, eyes fixed on the dark yard below.

you blink. “huh?”

he nudges a pebble off the edge with the toe of his shoe. watches it fall.

“at the party,” he says. “what you said to me.”

your chest goes still. you pull your knees in, rest your chin there. “what did i say?”

he shrugs, too casual. wipes his palms down his thighs. “never mind. you were drunk. doesn’t matter.”

you’re both quiet. then: “i said i liked you.”

his head snaps toward you.

you meet his eyes, even though it makes your stomach flip. “i like you, atsumu.”

he stares. his mouth opens. shuts. opens again. no words come out.

then finally, barely above a whisper: “good.” he scratches the back of his neck. looks down. “i like you too, church girl.”

the silence hangs, sweet and awkward and charged. you both try to hold it in, but it breaks, soft giggles spilling out between bitten lips and shoulders shaking. you press your face into your arm. he grins like an idiot. you’re both doing your best not to be loud, but it’s so hard when everything feels this big and stupid and good.

when he starts to climb back down, you hesitate.

then you reach for him, arms looping around his torso in the most lopsided, shy, horrifically awkward hug through the open window.

he chuckles, a little startled. leans into it. “g’night,” he says near your ear. and disappears down the side of the house like a ghost with your name written on his wrist.

…

the next day in gym, everything feels electric.

your arms brush while walking the track. your fingers almost touch.

and it’s clumsy. so clumsy. you don’t know how to flirt. you’ve never had a crush that went anywhere.

but atsumu, despite all his charm, is flustered too. because he doesn’t want to scare you. doesn’t want to mess it up. “you okay?” he asks, glancing at you mid-lap.

you nod too fast. “yeah, just… hot out.” you both know it’s not the weather.

when the gym teacher turns, you duck under the bleachers. he follows.

you sit side by side, knees nearly touching. hands braced against the ground, picking at loose gravel. it smells like rubber and dust. the world hums around you, loud and quiet all at once.

atsumu’s picking at the edge of a blade of grass, tearing it into smaller and smaller pieces like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

you’re watching him. watching the way his hair’s curling a little from sweat, the way his lashes are darker today, the way his mouth keeps parting like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how to begin.

you take a breath. let it out. and then say, barely above a whisper, “so…”

he looks up.

you swallow, cheeks hot. “about that first kiss…”

his eyes widen just a little. not mockingly. not smug. just surprised. and soft. a little hopeful, like he’s been waiting to see if you’d bring it up.

“you wanna?” he asks, tilting his head.

you nod, but it’s hesitant. “i… i really don’t know how,” you admit. “i’ve never—”

“hey,” he cuts in gently, shifting closer, the space between you shrinking by inches. “it’s okay. no pressure. we don’t have to if—”

“no,” you say, a little too quickly. then quieter, “i want to.”

his lips twitch into a half-smile. not smug. not teasing. just nervous. and sweet. like he doesn’t wanna scare you.

“alright,” he murmurs. “just close your eyes.”

you do.

“and lean in.”

you hesitate. your hands are planted stiffly on the ground beside you. your heart’s going crazy in your chest, so loud you’re sure he can hear it. you can feel the grass poking at your ankles. feel the tension in the air, the warmth of his thigh just barely brushing yours.

you open one eye. he’s watching you.

“sorry,” you whisper, embarrassed. “i don’t know if i’m doing it right.”

he smiles, softer this time. “you’re doin’ perfect.”

and then you both lean in. slow. careful. like the world might shatter if you move too fast.

your lips meet.

it’s shy. warm. quick. your arms stay at your sides, fists curled tight into the dirt. his lips are soft, barely there. it’s over almost as soon as it began.

you pull back, blinking, face flushed so hot it feels like you might melt into the earth.

“how was it?” he asks, voice hushed, still close.

“it was…” your breath catches. you nod, a little dazed. “it was good. really good.”

he grins, teeth flashing. “did you wanna try again?”

you laugh, nervous and giddy, the sound bubbling out of you before you can stop it. “okay,” you say, covering your face with one hand, then lowering it. “okay. yeah. i’m ready.”

this time, you lean in first. he meets you halfway. and this one lasts longer.

his hand comes up slowly, brushing a bit of hair behind your ear, fingertips grazing your cheek. his lips move gently against yours, unhurried, like he’s memorizing you. like he knows how new this is and wants to make it count.

it’s still soft. still shy. but deeper. sweeter.

when you part, your breath is all tangled with his. your eyes flutter open. you can’t stop smiling.

“wow,” you whisper, dazed. “that was… wow. that was really good.”

atsumu’s eyes shine. he bites his bottom lip, then flashes a grin that’s all mischief.

“can’t wait for you to see what else i’m good at.”

your brain short-circuits. you swat at his arm, sputtering. he just laughs, low and warm, and leans into your shoulder as he stands, offering you his hand.

“c’mon, church girl. before coach realizes we’re gone.”

and he doesn’t let go the whole walk back.