#But I didn’t even think to name the band for some reason…

[theglassofmiddleearth]

Imagine Being Isekai'ed into KPOP DEMON HUNTERS. (part 4)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5

This chapter is mainly Romance (Rae oriented!) This one is a bit of a filler episode so I have a feeling that you might not enjoy this one as much but nonetheless, HAVE A GOOD READ!

Breakfast was actually quite nice. Jinu had brought back some hang-over soup, whilst Romance brought back some coffee. To top it all off, Mystery slipped Y/N a sweet bread that she had been craving since a week ago. The spicy soup was able to help her wake up, and Jinu had placed a cup of water on the table inconspicuously to Y/N’s ignorance.

‘Okay well, this has been nice but I have to go.’ Y/N unlocked her phone to a notification from the Huntr/x group chat, asking her if she could supervise the upcoming live recording of Golden.

‘What? But you said we still have to practice to be perfect.’ Romance protested immediately, standing with his arms crossed. 

‘Romance-’

‘Rae. My name is Rae-Jin but just call me Rae.’ He breathed, sitting back down in his chair with a whump. 

‘You’re abandoning us to go hang around Huntr/x?’ Jinu rolled his eyes, looking as if Y/N had greatly offended him.

‘Need I remind you that technically I abandoned them for you lot?’ Y/N raised a single eyebrow, hands on her hips in an imposing stance. ‘Besides, you all just need to practice choreo and singing. That’s all you guys.’ Y/N shrugged, picking up her keys and swiping her notebook and phone. She checked her belongings making sure everything was in order. 

‘You’ll call us if something comes up?’ Jinu said, taking Y/N’s phone from her easily, punching in his number and drop-ringing it.

‘Huh, no password? That's not safe Y/N.’ The leader furrowed his brow, trailing off as he handed Y/N’s phone back to her. 

‘And ghost writing music for a demon boy band is?’ Y/N cheeked, nudging him with her shoulder playfully.

‘Touché.’ He let out a soft smile, as Y/N turned her back to grasp a bottle of juice on the table.

‘Hey, I’ll call you guys if anything comes up okay? Keep practicing! I’m gonna go to work.’ Y/N waved as she headed towards the open elevator doors, taking a swig of her drink, replying to a work text.

‘Stay safe!’ Beom called out as the elevator doors closed.

The boys were left in silence, staring at the closed metal doors. Each of them were thinking the same thing.

‘She’ll be ok, right?’ They all asked in unison.

‘The Honmoon is getting weaker, which means that demons will become more prevalent. I don’t know if it’s safe for her to be out there on her own.’ Abel turned to the group, arms crossed over his chest, his compression shirt stretching.

‘I mean, when we first tried to take her soul, it didn’t work. Maybe she’s unaffected by demon powers?’ Mystery reasoned, trying to reassure the group.

‘I’m not one for taking chances, and we just got our producer. What are we going to do if something happens to her?’ Jinu concluded, slipping off his barstool smoothly. 

'Besides, even if they don't take her soul, they can still harm her physically.' Rae shook his head, dissatisfied with Mystery's reason.

‘If she’s with the demon hunters, then shouldn’t she be safe?’ Beom reasoned, pointing out the truth. ‘Maybe we’ll wait for her call?’

‘I think one of us should stick with her, but stay out of sight. Just to be safe.’ Jinu countered, looking disgruntled.

‘I’ll do it.’ Abel offered easily, shrugging his shoulders.

‘No, we need you for choreo. You're the strongest but most of us haven’t got it down perfectly yet.’ Beom shook his head, looking disappointed. Each of the boys felt the urge to follow Y/N, but on the other hand, they wanted to make sure they did justice to Soda Pop, as their debut stage.

‘Rae, you go. You’ve got everything down almost to a T. Report back if you hear anything, make sure you use your phone. I didn’t acquire them as decorations.’ Jinu sighed, waving Rae off, knowing that the pink haired man was already half way out the door.

‘He’s gonna just jump down the stairs in demon form isn’t he?’ Beom asked, looking at Jinu.

‘Mhm.’ Mystery nodded along, as the stair door swung shut with a clank.

‘Aw rats. Why didn’t I think of that this morning?’ Abel whined, slapping a head on his forehead.

‘I don’t know man. You act so stupid at times but we all know you’re not.’ Jinu laughed, slapping Abel on the back.

‘Lower expectations and then deliver the minimum so people are impressed. That's how I got by dear Jinu.’ Nodding cheerfully while holding a thumbs up.

‘Hey.’ Jinu called over a shadowy blue figure, prowling its way from under the marble kitchen island. ‘You’ll watch over her too. Come find me if she runs into anything that could be dangerous.’

The creature purred in agreement, rubbing its blue head against the leg’s over Jinu before sinking into the ground, wearing a small gat on its head.

‘Alright, let’s get back to work. Y/N said she thought we had to work on the verses a bit more.’ Jinu clapped his hands, ushering his friends back into position.

‘I thought it didn’t matter what Y/N thought.’ Mystery snickered, pulling his arms into his beginning position.

‘Whatever. Let's take it from the top.’ 

–

Meanwhile, Y/N had gotten into a chauffeured car, scribbling the lyrics of Takedown in her notebook. The girls were currently in an interview, expressing how Golden reflected each of their own journeys in life. She flipped between pages, pondering if she should start, What It Sounds Like as well. Y/N wasn’t sure if movie logic actually applied in this world, seeing as this was her new reality. 

She decided to also write down the lyrics of What It Sounds Like as well, just in case.

Honestly, since Y/N had received her memories, she’d felt bad for the girls. It wasn’t their fault Y/N had never been invited to anything. She was admittedly, rather anti-social. If people didn’t try to initiate conversation, she would sit there and do her own thing. Y/N wasn’t afraid to be alone with her thoughts as they were usually filled with lyrics and working on her next beat for the girls. Besides, most of the issues were rooted in Celine’s upbringing of Rumi. The girls weren't the ones keeping her away, it was herself and her own insecurities.

‘We’ve arrived Miss L/N.’ The driver spoke, severing Y/N’s train of thought.

‘Thank you sir! Have a good day!’ Y/N called into the car, before swinging the door shut. Y/N rang up Bobby, hoping that he’d pick up. It was still relatively early in the afternoon.  

After a short conversation, Y/N was brought to the back entrance of the studio, given a staff pass and ushered into the dressing room of Huntr/x.

‘Y/N!’ Sorry we didn’t tell you about launching Golden..’ Rumi smiled sheepishly, looking remorseful.

‘It’s alright, I wrote it so you guys could sing it anyways.’ Y/N shrugged, giving Rumi a forgiving smile.

‘You look like you haven’t been sleeping well.’ Mira stood from her chair, walking closer to Y/N, bringing a hand to grip the ghost writer's chin.

‘Have you been staying up late? Y’know that's bad for you.’ The lean girl sighed, rummaging through her bag for eye cream and handing it to Y/N. The still sleepy girl took it gratefully, smearing some of the cream under her eyebags.

‘Were you up late writing a new song?’ Zoey bounced on the spot, her spacebuns bopping along with her.

‘Uhh, kind of!’ Y/N agreed, looking down at her notebook. Technically, she had been writing a new song. Both for Huntr/x and the Saja Boys. Was it bad that she was helping the Saja Boys at the moment? She had been able to slip Beom and Abel away from the manipulative whispering of their former master but…

Was it permanent?

Was it even real?

‘Five till rehearsal guys! Let’s get the ball rolling!’ A studio executive’s voice called out, clapping their hands authoritatively.

‘Rumi, wait. Can I talk to you?’ Y/N gently grasped the wrist of the purple haired girl.

‘Yeah what’s up?’ Rumi beamed, nerves abuzz from the imminent performance.

‘Rumi I-’

‘Come on Huntr/x lets show them how it's done, done, done!’ Bobby yelled, pushing all the girls off into the stage recording area.

Y/N winced, watching the girls get herded off.

‘Y/N! We’ll talk later okay? Wait for me!’ Rumi called back, using both hands to imitate a megaphone.

‘Okay!’ Y/N called back, feeling a cold shiver creep through her pores, raising the hair on her arms. Y/N broke into a cold sweat, shaking slightly as she took her place in a back corner, hidden away from view. 

‘You’re cold.’ A voice whispered, placing a jacket over Y/N’s shoulders.

‘Wha- Romance?’ Y/N spun around, the newly placed jacket on her shoulders billowing around her. Romance’s pink hair was tied up, tucked into a hoodie, his pink bangs peeking out. His face obscured by a high collared shirt underneath. Behind him was… Jinu’s blue tiger? It gave a low rumble, its pupils dilating at the sight of Y/N.

Aw, it was wearing a tiny hat! It was Jinu's demon familiar. Huh, was he concerned for her?

Nah, couldn't be.

‘It’s Rae, and also, before you say anything, this was Jinu’s idea.’ Rae murmured, pulling the jacket firmly around Y/N once more. ‘Come on, let's get your arms through. Can’t have our writer getting sick.’ 

‘Thanks…’ Y/N flushed slightly, a soothing warmth spread over her skin, caught off-guard by the domestication of the act. The opening bars of Golden began to fill the studio, Y/N recognising her song, snatched her eyes from Rae’s lavender, grey eyes. She felt soft fur under her fingertips as the blue tiger rumbled quietly, circling Y/N’s legs.

Rae however, kept his eyes on Y/N, moving to stand next to her, as Y/N watched the girls with intent. 

‘Y’know, I can dance and sing too. They’re nothing special.’ He huffed, slightly perturbed by Y/N’s lack of attention.

‘Hm? Yeah I know.’ Y/N laughed, breathlessly, relenting to Rae’s tiny tantrum. ‘I’d say you’re the best dancer out of the group other than Abel.’

‘Hmph, well Abel was a swordsman for the Emperor. He can adapt to these rough boyish dances.’ Rae flipped his hair casually.

‘I was a court dancer. I performed Jeongjae for royalty. Rae gave a cocky smile, awaiting Y/N’s praise.

The girl gave him a double glance, taking in his tall stature and elegant limbs. It was clear that the boys were all able to dance, however Rae was right. He possessed a certain amount of grace that the rest of the boys made up for with vigour.

‘Huh, I can see it. When I was watching your group practice, you were quite eye-catching.’ Y/N gave him a reassuring smile, gently stoking Rae’s ego.

The pink haired man gave a hum of satisfaction, nodding in approval before the sound Y/N had dreaded pierced through the studio.

Rumi’s voice had faltered.

Y/N stepped forward instantly but her wrist was caught.

‘Where are you going.’ Rae furrowed his brow.

‘I have to talk to her. Rae, I’ll see you when I get home okay?’ Y/N wrapped her other hand around the boy’s wrist, giving him a gentle squeeze. 

Rae’s grip loosened, momentarily stunned by Y/N’s fleeting touch allowing her to slip out of his grasp.

‘You okay?’ Mira placed a hand on Rumi’s shoulder, as the girl in the centre cleared her throat.

‘Yeah. Yeah I’m fine. Let’s take it again! From the top!’ Rumi pointed, walking back to the starting position.

Y/N dug her fingernails into her palm, watching the performance start again from the beginning. A hand gently prised her fingers out of her palms, silently smoothing out her fingers. Y/N turned slightly, seeing Rae’s familiar hoodie next to her for a second before he disappeared in a puff of smoke.

‘I’m done hiding, now I’m shining like I’m born to b-’ Rumi coughed, the music cutting off instantly.

‘Uhm, Rumi? Are you okay?’ Bobby stepped forward. ‘Do you need some water?’

‘I just need five. I’m gonna take five.’ Her eyes were wide, hands covering her throat.

Protests arose, complaints flew across the room.

‘What?’

‘Five? We go live in ten minutes!’

Y/N hurriedly followed Rumi, power walking behind her.

Rumi slammed the dressing room door open, panting heavily as she ripped off a part of her costume. She practically tore off her jacket, staring into the mirror.

‘Rumi!’ Y/N caught up, running toward the trembling girl. She spotted the girl, leaning over the vanity, chest heaving.

‘Y/N… My voice…’ Rumi gasped, trembling as she touched her neck.

‘Rumi listen I know-’

‘Y/N I…’ She shook, her hands pulling up her jacket. 

‘Rumi, I know about your patterns.’ Y/N closed the door behind her calmly, walking toward the panicking girl carefully.

‘How-’

‘You never want to go to the bathhouse with Zoey and Mira. You always wear long sleeves, no matter the weather, and Celine gets this weird look on her face when she talks about demons and your mother.’ Y/N rattled off, guiding Rumi to sit down with her.

‘They used to just be on my arm. My shoulder. But they’re spreading, Y/N look.’ Rumi shakily pulled down the zipper of her collar, revealing the crawling line of purple patterns.

‘Y/N, how am I supposed to fix the world, fix me, when I don’t have my voice?’ She buried her face into her hands, ‘Why now? When I’m so close?’

‘Rumi-’

‘WHY?!’ Rumi roared, her voice a timbre that she’d never heard before. The shout rippled scarlet red through the room, like a drop in a calm surface of water. The red lines flashed through the city, as the girls gaped at the scene through the window.

Rumi let out a choked gasp, turning to Y/N in horror.

‘Y/N listen, I’m not one of them. I’m not a-’

‘Rumi.’ Y/N slipped off her seat, kneeling in front of Rumi. ‘I know you’re not a demon. This is what I wanted to talk to you about.’ She placed her hands on Rumi’s shoulders. 

‘You knew? And you’re not afraid?’ Rumi’s eyes were welling with tears of fear and uncertainty. ‘You don’t think I’m a monster?’

‘Yes. I knew and I know you're not a monster. Rumi, the only time I'm afraid of you is when I’m standing in between you and Kimbap okay?’

‘Okay.’ She sniffled, letting out a watery laugh.

‘Look. Rumi, I know you released Golden because you thought it would speed up the process.’ Y/N looked up at Rumi through her lashes, giving her shoulders a squeeze.

‘…’

‘And another thing…’ Y/N gave a sheepish smile. ‘You really should tell Mira and Zoey. They’re your family. If you put it off, it’ll be harder for them to understand why you never told them.’

‘But what if they treat me differently.’ Rumi shook her head, holding onto Y/N’s hands. ‘Celine has always told me to hide my patterns. That nothing would change until I turned the Honmoon gold.’

‘Celine was wrong. Look at me, I know you. You aren’t a bad person, your patterns are a part of who you are.’ Y/N stood up, prompting Rumi to stand with her. ‘I see you for who you are Rumi, a huntress who happens to have patterns. You may be part demon, but that doesn’t mean you’re a bad person.’

Y/N squeezed Rumi’s hands, giving her a rueful smile, ‘I’ve been told that some humans act more like demons than demons themselves. You aren’t defined by the world, Rumi. You’re defined by your actions.’

A single tear slid down Rumi’s cheek, caught by Y/N’s thumb as she brushed it away.

‘Do you really think I should tell Mira and Zoey?’

‘Without a doubt.’ 

Rumi inhaled a long breath, brushing away her unshed tears, smudging her eyeliner.

‘Okay. I’ll do it tonight.’ Rumi slipped back on her jacket. ‘Can you be there when I do?’ 

‘Yeah, of course!’ Y/N brushed off Rumi’s jacket, zipping up the girl’s collar. ‘But first, we’re gonna go get some kimbap. Come on, let's go.’ She grinned, dragging Rumi out of the room, toward the back exit. A puff of purple smoke revealed Rae, as his silhouette became visible in the corner of the room, where the girls had just left.

‘A hunter that's part demon?’ Rin’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the open door. 

–

By the time Y/N and Rumi had made it back to the Huntr/x tower, the sun had long set. Rumi was carrying a plastic bag of Kimbap and Y/N was carrying a bag of tteokbokki. They were discussing how to break the news to Mira and Zoey, deciding that they would have to make sure Celine was not around.

As the doors opened, Mira and Zoey rushed toward the girls, enveloping both in a hug.

‘We were so worried when you both disappeared.’ Zoey’s voice was muffled by Y/N’s clothes.

‘Are you both okay?’ Mira was frantic, spinning Rumi around, checking for wounds. Zoey was circling Y/N with eagle eyes.

‘We’re okay.’ Rumi laughed, placing a hand on her group member’s shoulders. ‘But I do have something I have to talk to you both about.’

‘But first, is Celine here?’ Y/N cut in, looking around the room with a raised eyebrow.

‘No, she left a while ago, we didn’t tell her about what happened.’ Zoey shook her head.

‘Okay, you guys should probably sit down for this.’ Y/N gestured towards the couch.

‘What is it?’ Mira and Zoey sat down, leaving Y/N and Rumi standing.

‘Well, first of all, I’m sorry. I’ve been keeping a secret.’ Rumi began, clasping her sweating hands together. ‘Well there's no easy way to say it so I’ll just show you. 

The leader of the girl group slowly took off her jacket, revealing her arms, littered with purple lines, jagged and jarring.

‘I have-’

‘You have patterns?’ Zoey blinked confusedly. 

‘Huh. Not what I was expecting.’ Mira’s eyes were blown wide.

‘Yes, Celine said that my father was a demon. I’ve had these patterns since I was born but Celine always says-’

‘We are hunters. Voices strong. Your flaws and faults must never be seen.’ Both girls repeated, mocking Celine.

‘Yeah… So, that's why I always kept these hidden. So that you wouldn't think I was a monster.’ Rumi ended, her voice breaking.

‘Oh Rumi…’ Zoey rushed towards Rumi, grasping at her hands. ‘We know you’re not a monster. You’re our family.’

‘She’s right, and I understand why you didn’t tell us.’ Mira also stood, placing a hand on her friend's shoulder. ‘Being told you have to hide who you are for years definitely takes a toll on you mentally.’

Y/N smiled proudly, watching the girls come to terms with their new information. 

It made sense that they were understanding. In the movie, they had already encountered Jinu and several other barriers before Rumi’s revelation. It was no wonder Zoey and Mira were scared. 

‘Y/N helped me tell you guys.’ Rumi stepped aside, grabbing Y/N’s hand from behind her. ‘I wasn’t sure if I was going to tell you but…’

‘I knew that you guys would understand.’ Y/N nodded, stepping forward. ‘And I think I have a song for you guys.’

‘Really? Already?!’ Zoey looked excited, grabbing her own notebooks.

‘Yeah, I actually used a lot of what you’ve said, from your own stories. Have a read and see if you like it.’ 

The girls read over and each teared up.

‘How do you put into words how we feel so well?’ Rumi sniffled, wiping her eyes on her sleeve.

‘The scar’s a part of me. Darkness and harmony. My voice without the lies, this is what it sounds like?’ Mira muttered in awe, ‘We don’t pay you enough do we?’

'Uh, actually I get a royalty on all your songs so... I'm actually living pretty comfortably.' Y/N laughed.

After agreeing to come up with the demo for What It Sounds Like that night, Y/N had taken a car back to her area. Remembering to thank the driver as she stepped out.

'Your hunter friend is part demon?' Y/N was greeted by an angry looking Jinu as she exited the elevator into her apartment.

'Uh, am I in trouble?' Y/N looked around, confused by the reaction of the room. All the boys seemed to be... upset?

Next

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[rickie-the-storyteller]

Can anybody come up with some cool-sounding fictional boy band names for me?

[holeforzenin]

You didn’t think it would change anything when you finally became his wife. You were already hopelessly devoted to him, already clinging to him in the mornings, moaning into his mouth every night, already cooking for him, folding his laundry, and kissing his forehead when he groaned and collapsed on the warm couch after his long, tiring 12-hour shift.

But something about the word ‘husband’ did something to you.

Like today. He’s in the kitchen, still in his grimy, work clothes—sweaty shirt pulled tight over his broad chest with the outlines of his muscles bulging out, grease on his hands and his jaw clenched as he harshly opens a jar like it personally insulted him. He mutters a curse when the lid sticks. You’re watching from the doorway with your thighs slowly pressing together as you stare at him like some creepy weirdo.

Not boyfriend. Not roommate. Not fling.

Husband.

Your husband.

Your strong, mean, sexy-ass husband who still calls you “kid” when he’s tired but kisses your ring finger every night before bed. Who talks with his mouth full and gets dirt under his nails but still wears the gold band you slid onto his finger like it was forged into his skin and he makes sure to never lets it get dirty and takes good care of it. Who lets you pick matching toothbrushes and pajama sets for the two of you. Who built you shelves or whatever you want in that case because he’d practically do anything you ask him to. Who splits you in half every night while groaning “my fucking wife” into your throat as he’s pumping warm ropes of his seed into your cunt.

“Toji,” you called out lowly, already walking towards him with your heart pounding for no reason.

He doesn’t even look up. “Yeah?”

“You’re my husband”.

He glances over with his brow raised in confusion and a soft chuckle. “That’s usually how marriage works, baby”.

You reach behind him and slide your hands up his big chest—feeling his hard muscles warm beneath your palms. “I mean it. You’re my husband”.

He stills, clocking the tone in your voice, the shine in your eyes, the way your thighs squeeze together like you’re already aching for him.

“Oh,” he murmurs, finally smirking. “It’s one of those moods”.

“Mhm,” you nod, leaning in to kiss his neck. “Can’t help it. Just wanna climb you all the time”

“Just from me being your husband?”

You nod again. “It’s hot. I’m married to a big, mean, sexy man who fucks me stupid and good every night till I fall asleep like it’s his full-time job”.

He huffs a laugh and sets the jar down. “Oh you’re something else, darling”.

You palm him over his pants and grin happily when you feel he’s already half-hard. “But you love it”.

He doesn’t deny it.

Instead, he grabs your hips and hoists you onto the counter with a grunt, wedging himself between your parted legs and resting his hands on your soft thighs. His hands are rough, a little dirty still, and it only turns you on even more—your blue-collar husband, coming home all worn and warm from working and providing for you.

“You get this wet just from thinking about my last name on your ID?” he teases, sliding a finger along your warm, clothed slit.

You gasp and eagerly nod, clutching and tugging at his shirt to pull him closer—desperately craving more. “Need you to remind me what being your wife means”.

His smile goes sharp and easily lifts you up with his palms beneath your thighs and carries you to the bedroom. “Then hold on, Mrs. Fushiguro. I’m gonna remind you real good”.

[fakebwitch]

rafe finds your panties in his car [smut, jerking off, perv!rafe]

part two

you had an appointment to get your nails done, rafe was at an important business meeting and couldn't take you, since a friend of his was picking him up his car was in the garage, you asked him if you could use his car, and he said yes.

as you get back you parked the car in the garage, turned off the car while picked up the things you had left scattered around the car, putting them back in the bag, and that's where you had an idea.

you thought, rafe had let you use his car by paying for your new set of nails, you had to somehow thank him. a grin grew on your face as you rose slightly from the seat, your hands went under your skirt finding the elastic band of your panties, you grabbed it pushing it down and once you got to your ankles you pulled them completely off. your grin grew even more as you put the lace panties on the gearshift.

after completing your little work of art, you grabbed your purse and keys, opened the door and got out of the car, locking it. you made your way inside the house, the sound of your heels walking on the floor caught his attention.

"hey baby" he greeted you with a smile, getting up from the couch, "rafeyy" you said immediately running into his arms, he pulled you toward him grabbing you by the hips, 4 hours without seeing him was too much for your liking. "how did it go?" he asked with a smile at your clinginess as his hand gently stroked your back, "all good" you replied pulling away from him slightly with a smile, showing him your nails.

"they're perfect baby" he said as he looked at them carefully, he knew you didn’t play about your nails, "i know, aren't they?" you said with a smile turning your hand toward you, looking back at the design for the twentieth time.

you slipped your hand into your jacket pocket pulling out his car keys, "here they are" you said shaking them in front of his face, he grabbed them as you said "thank you so much baby, i love you" you said giving him a kiss, he smiled into the kiss as he whispered "i love you too".

as he deepened the kiss in your head you couldn't help but think of the little surprise you had left for him in the car, just waiting for him to find out. you knew very well that he loved your lingerie, one way or another he was always trying to steal some panties from you so he could keep them when, as he said, “he needed them," and you also knew what for.

the next morning rafe woke up early, he had to attend another business meeting. it was a stressful week, he was full of commitments regarding work finding himself having little time to spend with you. he grabbed the keys of his car as he yawned while heading to the garage, the phone rang in his pocket causing him to sigh as he rolled his eyes, he took it in his hands reading the name of the contact who was calling him, he sighed again deciding to answer it, it was one of the men he was in business with.

"hey, what's up?" said rafe trying to sound as unbothered as possible, the last thing he wanted to do right now was to have a call regarding the various problems that kept coming up. as the man took up the conversation, explaining that business would slow down for reasons he would list for him later, rafe opened the garage door, letting out occasionals little "mhm."

he pulled out his car keys, pressed the button and without looking inside the car opened the door and sat down. "yes, i was aware of that, i just talked to hollis about it yesterday and we both agreed that..." he froze when out of the corner of his eye he saw something white that caught his attention, he shifted his eyes to the mysterious object.

he took a deep breath realizing it was your underwear.

“rafe? are you still there?" the man's voice rang on the other side of the phone, rafe took a few more seconds to look at the piece of underwear and then answered, "y-yeah i'm here sorry, actually i'm kinda busy right now, i'm gonna call you when i'm free" he quickly came up with, wanting to end the call as soon as possible.

"oka-"

before the man could’ve finished rafe immediately hang up. his hands reached out to grab the garment, his fingers rubbed the lace. he looked at the inner part, that was in contact with your pussy, noticing a small wet spot, he didn't think about it for a second and brought the panty closer to his face, his nose made contact with the fabric, inhaling strongly as your smell flooded his nostrils. you just knew how to drive him crazy.

he couldn't help but think about being between your legs as he continued to breathe in your scent, making you feel good as your hands pushed him closer to your pussy, his cock twitching at the thought of having his lips on your wet folds.

as he kept the panties close to his face, with his free hand he quickly untied his belt, unbuttoned his pants pushing them down just enough along with his underwear to get his now semi-hard cock out. his head thought of your sweet taste, your little whimpers when he overstimulated you too much as your smell intoxicated his brain.

with his right hand he began to lightly rub his length, little sounds escaped his lips, muffled by the fabric of your panties. he went further as with his thumb he stroked the tip, pink and swollen, screaming to be inside you, his hand tightened even more around his shaft quickly rubbing the part just below the tip, it drove him crazy.

he kept rubbing as he imagined his hand was yours, little drops of pre cum were coming out of his tip, mixing with his rapidly working hands, creating obscene wet sounds.

his wrist beginning to ache, from how fast he was moving, as he lingered for a few seconds with his thumb, rubbing the tip. he was a mess of moans, his legs twitching as his breathing grew deeper and deeper, his body temperature now crazy.

he moved your panties away from his face and wrapped them around his cock as he resumed rubbing his hard cock with his hand, continuous whimpers escaped his lips as the lace rubbed against the delicate veins of his cock.

"fuuuuck" he breathed, he didn't think he could hold back much longer. he pushed his hips upward as his hand worked up and down his length, his head turned back as continuous moans mixed with cursing escaped his lips.

"h-holy shiit..." he murmured through clenched teeth, the rough fabric of the lace touching the soft tip of his cock made him shudder, his cock throbbing in his hands, eager to cum as soon as possible.

he was in pure ectasy, totally overwhelmed by the pleasure he was experiencing, the only image in his head at that moment was you, and you were helping him finish himself off. "oh y/n please..." he said almost crying, his voice cracked with pleasure as his hand moved even faster down the length, he hadn't even realized he had begged you when you weren't even there.

as his hand tightened around the tip, images of you filled his head, thinking about the way your eyes looked at him every time he thrust into you mercilessly, the way your tits bounced as his body slammed into yours, as his hand grabbed your neck making your eyes roll as he pushed you to the edge, that image was enough to make his cock cum.

"oh fuck me...." he managed to say as his hand moved slower, riding his high, moans and whining came from his lips as he pressed the tip making sure not a drop of his liquid was wasted.

half of it was on his hands, but most of it had ended up on your panties. he let go his grip on his cock, feeling overstimulated as he tried to catch his breath. realization hit him soon after, realizing the 'obscenity of the act he had just performed.

did he regret it? no. had it been one of the best handjobs? yes.

[urmum-lovesme]

Bunny (P3)

Rafe Cameron x Maybank!Reader

summary: Struggling to keep her and JJ’s home afloat, Y/N turns to the only option that guarantees fast cash- stripping at a club on the Cut. But when Rafe Cameron catches her in the act, he sees the perfect opportunity to tighten his grip around her life.

a/n: Here comes more time at the cluubbb. Rafe is more of a dick in this than in the last one ngl (ik she want that dick tho). Also her and jj- my heart she's literally his mother figure stop.

warnings: mentions of drugs, smoking, drinking, a strip club, naked women, drug dealing, aggressive behaviour, black mailing.

(P1) (P2) (P3) (P4) (P5) (P6) (P7) (P8) (P9) (P10) (P11) (P12) (P13) (P14)

The bass thrummed through the club, vibrating up through the floor and into her bones but she barely noticed anymore. The neon lights and the low murmur of conversation, all of it was just background noise now.

She was draped across the lap of one of her regulars, a middle-aged man named Daniel who always paid well and tipped even better. His hand rested on her thigh, fingers just barely brushing against the hem of her skimpy skirt which didn’t even cover her ass, and she giggled at something he said- some stupid joke about how his wife would kill him if she knew where he was. ‘Most likely’ she thought to herself. Y/N traced her nails lightly over his shoulder, tilting her head just enough to make him think he had all of her attention.

"You always know how to make a man feel special sweetheart"

Daniel mused, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. His wedding ring glinted under the dim club lights. She had to push down the small tug in her stomach and just smirked, leaning in so her lips ghosted just past his ear.

"That’s what you pay me for, isn’t it?"

Daniel let out a low chuckle, his hand slightly patting on her thigh,"Worth every damn penny."

She smiled at him- sweet, teasing, practiced- and her eyes flicked toward the entrance for a split second, scanning the room without making it obvious.

Just another night - just another guy.

Daniel's fingers trailed absentmindedly along the bare skin of her thigh, the warmth of his touch barely registering beneath the practiced detachment she had perfected over time. He took another sip of his drink, eyes raking over her with appreciation.

"You should let me take you somewhere nice one of these days"

He murmured, voice thick with whiskey and the kind of confidence only alcohol could provide. Y/N let out a soft laugh, she loved living into their fantasies- it always entertained her most- not to mention it gave her the best tip. Tilting her head to the side as she traced slow circles over his chest with her fingertip. She teased, voice sultry but laced with amusement.

"Oh yeah? Think your wife would be okay with that?"

"She doesn’t have to know."

He grinned, a little too smug and she couldn’t repress her smirk, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "Mm, tempting," she purred, shifting slightly in his lap, feeling the way his breath hitched at the movement.

“But I think you like to hide me right here..."

"So smart, aren’t you?"

Daniel exhaled a laugh, shaking his head. She only smiled, knowing exactly what he wanted to hear. And just like that, his hand slid up, tucking a few crisp bills into the thin waistband of her panties. The sensation of paper against her skin was familiar, almost comforting in a strange way. He always paid well- one of the few reasons she tolerated his lingering touches and lazy smiles.

"That’s for being my best girl"

He said, his fingers brushing against her hip before dropping away. She glanced down at the stack peeking out from the band of her panties, counting the edges in her head. A few hundred at least. Good. Y/N leaned in closer, her lips just shy of his ear once more.

"You keep treating me this well, Danny, and I just might start believing you,"

She whispered, her breath warm against his skin. He chuckled, a deep, indulgent sound, before finishing off the rest of his drink. But just as she was about to shift, reposition herself to make him forget about everything except her and what he had left in his wallet, that same shift in the air from earlier prickled at the back of her neck- and then she felt it.

A gaze.

Heavy, unrelenting, watching her from across the club. Y/N had felt the weight of his stare before she even turned her head. It was always like this. Like some sixth sense, a quiet, nagging feeling at the back of her mind that told her exactly when Rafe Cameron was watching her.

And lately, it was all the damn time.

Her gaze flickered over to where he was sitting- Rafe, lounging in a booth with Barry beside him, the two of them deep in conversation. Barry was grinning, talking what appeared sluggishly, but Rafe wasn’t listening. His sharp blue eyes were fixed on her, the dim glow of the club reflecting off them in a way that made her stomach twist. She rolled her eyes, not even trying to hide it.

Of course he was here again.

Ever since he and Barry started coming around more often, their business booming, Rafe had made it a point to lurk in the background of her nights. She never knew if it was just to get under her skin or if he actually had some purpose behind his actions- which she doubted. Either way, she was sick of it. Turning back to Danny, she let her fingers run over his collar, her nails lightly scraping against his skin as she leaned in.

"What do you say we take this somewhere a little more private, hmm?"

"You‘re a naughty girl Bunny"

Danny grinned, already pulling out his wallet. Y/N just forced out a smile, taking his hand and leading him toward where the private rooms were located. Rafe’s grip tightened around his glass, the condensation slick against his palm as he watched her. His jaw flexed, a slow inhale as Daniel let her take his hand and lead him toward the back rooms with that same effortless sway in her hips, that same lack of hesitation.

Like it was nothing- because it was nothing, that’s what he told himself, anyway. And yet, something ugly twisted inside him, something hot and slow-burning, clawing up his throat and settling behind his ribs like a weight. It wasn’t jealousy.

It wasn’t.

It was disgust. Yeah. Disgust at how easily she paraded herself around. Disgust at how she let men like Danny put their hands on her, whisper in her ear, slide cash into the band of those tiny fucking panties. Disgust at the way she looked at Rafe like he was a problem. His fingers twitched against the glass, the ice inside shifting with the movement. The door to the private rooms clicked shut, sealing her inside with another man. His stomach turned and Barry’s elbow nudged into his side,

“Gott' em panties in a twist cuz?”.”

Rafe's fingers drum against his thigh, his jaw clenching as his eyes stayed fixed on the door Y/N disappeared behind. He just exhaled slowly, lifting his drink to his lips. The whiskey burned its way down his throat, but it didn’t do a damn thing to settle the irritation simmering in his chest. His gaze snaps to the side as Tommy strolls past. Without a second thought, he stands up, stepping into his path and placing a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Hey man-”

Rafe drawls, flashing that easy-going grin that never quite reaches his eyes. Tommy stops, brow furrowing as he looks at him.

“Rafe. Everything good?”

Rafe keeps his grip firm, steering him slightly away from the main floor, lowering his voice just enough, “Need to talk to you about something.” Tommy eyes him warily but gestures for him to go on.

“That girl Y/- shit what’s her- Bunny right?.” Rafe tilts his head toward the private rooms where she’d disappeared to, his lips twitching. Tommy follows his gaze and gives him a small nod of understanding, “yeah?”

“I don’t want her doing private dances anymore.”

Tommy blinks, taken aback, “What?”

“You heard me.” Rafe shifted his weight, standing a little taller as he continued, “No more private rooms for her. Not with other guys, at least.” Tommy scoffs, shaking his head at his absurd request.

“That’s not how this works. She’s one of my best girls. Lotta guys pay good money to have time with her.”

Rafe frown slightly- surprised at the man’s refusal, he lets outs a small hum of amusement, before pulling a roll of cash from his pocket and peeling off a few hundred dollar bills, letting them sit between his fingers.

“That’s cute,” he says. “But see, I’m not asking.”

“You want her to stop doin’ privates… why, exactly?”

Tommy’s expression tightens as he looks at the money, then back at Rafe. Barry, who’s been watching the exchange with mild amusement, finally chimes in. “Oh, he wants her dancin’ for us now?” he says, grinning. “Would ya look at that”

Rafe tilts his head, his rolling his eyes at his friends retort. “Something like that.” Tommy exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

“This isn’t a fuckin’ charity, Cameron. I can’t just—”

“You can if I make it worth your while,” Rafe cuts in smoothly, tapping the stack of cash against Tommy’s chest before pressing it into his hand. “We both know you like money, Tommy. I’ve got plenty of it- so what’s the problem huh?”

Tommy glances down at the bills, hesitating. “I’ll keep it simple for you,” Rafe continues, lowering his voice, his eyes dark with something unreadable.

“She dances for me. Me and Barry. No one else. Every time we’re here.”

Tommy lets out a long breath, eyeing Rafe for a moment before slowly nodding. “Fine. But if she asks, this wasn’t my idea.” Rafe grins, stepping back as he claps the man on the shoulder, “Pleasure doing business.” As Tommy walks off, Barry lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head.

“You’re pussy whipped Cameron.”

Rafe scoffs, leaning back in his seat, his tongue running over his teeth. “Nah, man…” He shakes his head, picking up his drink and taking a slow sip before setting it back down with a quiet clink. His eyes flick back toward the private rooms, dark and unreadable.

“Just gotta make sure she knows who’s in charge.”

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

The dressing room was a haze of perfume, hairspray, and soft music playing from someone’s phone in the corner. Bright, round vanity bulbs framed the mirrors, casting a warm glow over the space, reflecting sequins, silk, and lace. The air carried the sounds of quiet laughter, the snap of compacts closing. Y/N sat at her usual spot, adjusting the strap of her new bra, eyes flicking over her reflection. The strap was loose again- annoying. She huffed, tugging it into place just as Tommy’s voice cut through the chatter.

“Y/N. Need a word.”

“Why?”

She turned, brows furrowing as he gestured her over to him. She slowly rose up from her seat, the sound of her heels clicking against the floor getting lost amongst the chatter of the other few girls scattered around the room. She made it up to the door way and stood opposite the man eyebrows slightly furrowed as she folded her arms waiting. Tommy exhaled through his nose, arms crossed over his chest.

“No more private dances.”

"What?”

“You’re not doing them anymore.”

She let out a dry laugh as the sudden new revelation, “What are you talking about?”

“You heard me.”

“That’s where I make the most money Tommy.”

He didn’t say anything because he knew it was going to be an issue- he also knew it was an inane request. Yet he just kept looking at her, like he was waiting for her to let it go. But she wasn’t letting it go. Her eyebrows were drawn down uncomfortably connoting her distress as her voice rang out once more.

“What the fuck is this? I can’t believe you think that I’m just going to dro-”

“-Rafe Cameron put in a request.”

And just like that, the blood in her veins ran hot. Her stomach twisted at the name alone. “A request?” she repeated slowly, already dreading where this was going. “Yeah.” He shifted his weight, clearly uncomfortable.

“No more private dances for anyone but him and Barry.”

She blinked. Then laughed. A dry, humorless sound. “You’re fucking serious?”

“I’m serious.” As soon as the words passed his lips the the expression of confusion was wiped off of her face in an instance, now being replaced by a face twisted with anger,

“You’re actually letting him tell you how to run your own damn club?”

“Watch it, Y/N.”

“-No, you watch it, Tommy”

She snapped, “I work here and you’re supposed to be my boss. But it doesn’t fucking look like it.”

“I am the boss. And I’m telling you how it is.”

A few girls nearby went quiet, exchanging glances. Tommy took a step closer, lowering his voice. It was uncommon for him to be stern with them, after all he considered most of them like family. So the fact they were all currently sitting watching him lecture Y/N had them slightly on the edge of their seat. She scoffed, shaking her head at him.

“Unbelievable.”

“Yeah, well, believe it.”

Tommy shot her a look. “Do your job Y/N” With that, he turned and walked off, leaving her fuming. Moments after, Y/N stormed out of the dressing room, jaw clenched, fists tight at her sides as she weaved through the dimly lit club. The bass-heavy music thumped in her chest, the colored lights flashing over bodies, over money exchanging hands, over the world she had to survive in. She spotted them right away- Barry leaned in close to some guy, murmuring low as a roll of cash was slipped into his palm. Rafe sat beside him, relaxed, legs spread, beer bottle in one hand, his other draped over the back of the booth like he owned the place. Her blood boiled at the sight of him.

“Are you fucking serious?”

She hissed the moment she reached them, eyes locked on Rafe. Barry let out a low whistle, not even looking up from the customer. “Well, I’ll let the lovebirds sort this one out,” He muttered with a smirk before leading the guy toward a darker corner of the club, leaving them alone. Y/N didn’t waste a second.

“Do you have any idea how much money I’m losing because of your shit?”

“I don’t see how that’s my problem Bunny.”

Her voice was sharp, but quiet enough not to draw attention. Rafe, as always, looked entirely unfazed. He barely lifted his chin to meet her glare, taking a slow sip from his bottle before answering.

“Besides- I think I can afford to pay for a stripper.”

Her teeth clenched so hard it ached. Her fingers curled at her sides, nails pressing into her palms. She was about to snap back, about to tell him exactly where he could shove his money, when his eyes darkened, and he cut her off.

“Just shut up and do your job.”

“-Excuse me?”

She inhaled sharply. He gestured lazily toward the small stage beside their booth, the one with the pole gleaming under the soft purple lights. He tilted his head, a slow, smug grin curling on his lips.

“Go on—I’m waiting, Bunny.”

Fury burned through her, white-hot. She stepped closer, her chest rising and falling heavily, her pulse drumming against her skin as she lifted up her hand pointing at him- ready to curse him out in front of half the club. Rafe watched her, his amusement growing the angrier she got. Before she could let loose, Tommy was suddenly between them, a firm hand on her arm.

“Hey- hey"

He warned, his voice low, expression sharp. Y/N’s breaths were heavy, her fists trembling at her sides as she glared past Tommy at Rafe. He only smirked, slow and easy, like he had all the time in the world. Tommy stepped in between them, his hand firm on Y/N’s arm, his voice low but controlled.

“Are we gonna have a problem here?”

He asked, but his eyes flickered between Y/N and Rafe, knowing exactly what was about to happen. Rafe didn’t flinch. He leaned back, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips.

“Ask your bitch, man.”

Y/N’s eyes widened, blood boiling at the words, her heart pounding in her chest- she genuinely felt like she was going to pass out from rage. She whipped her head toward Tommy, her gaze sharp with fury.

“You’re gonna let him talk to me like that?”

Tommy’s jaw tightened, and his eyes softened just a fraction. He lowered his voice, like he was trying to calm the storm brewing inside her.

“Look—do this for me, and I won’t take a cut out of your payment ever again.”

Y/N’s eyes flickered over his face, her anger simmering down just enough to process his words. No cut? That would make a huge difference. The weight of the decision settled into her chest. She let out a long sigh, her body trembling with the frustration of it all.

“Fine.”

“Great. Now get up there.”

Rafe watched with a knowing grin, his eyes never leaving her as she reluctantly made her way to the pole. She could feel the heat in the room, the music vibrating in her veins, but the irritation still pulsed through her every movement. Her fingers wrapped around the pole which was cool against her hot palms, and with one fluid motion, she spun herself around it- her body a controlled chaos. The lights reflected off her skin as she danced, each move a mix of anger and seduction, trying to drown out the growing tension inside her chest.

Rafe leaned back in the booth with Barry now. He watched her every move, the smirk never fading from his face. Barry let out a low whistle, nudging him. Rafe slapped his arm, as if to shake off the tension of the moment, before yelling out over the music, his voice loud and clear:

“Shake your ass like you mean it!”

Y/N’s eyes shot up, meeting his for a brief second, the rage in them burning hotter than before. She tried to block him out, focusing on her routine, but his words dug into her, fueling the anger that she kept buried deep. Her body flowed into the next move, a slow, deliberate drop to her knees her back arching, her gaze never leaving Rafe’s as she pushed her hips up, challenging. Then, with a slow, deliberate crawl, she made her way toward the end of the small stage where they sat. Each step was calculated, her body close to the floor, her hips swaying with a rhythm that seemed to pierce right through him.

The whole time, she didn’t look away, not once breaking the eye contact- she refused to let him think she cowers under his glare.

Rafe’s hand tightened around his beer bottle, his focus locked on her. He couldn’t help but sit forward, leaning in slightly, the raw intensity of her stare pulling him in. His fingers gripped the neck of the bottle, almost white-knuckled, before he took a slow sip, as though the action could calm this sudden heat inside him.

It didn’t.

Y/N didn’t break eye contact. Her body felt on fire, the music in her bones, the anger in her veins. She reached the edge of the stage and paused, just a foot or two away from Rafe, her chest rising and falling with every breath, her muscles aching but refusing to give in as she ran her hands down her body. His smirk faltered for just a second before it returned, but it wasn’t the same. There was a flicker of something else in his eyes now.

“My private little dancer hmmm?”

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

The sun hung high, casting a golden glow over the beach as the Y/n and Pogues basked in the warmth of one of the rare days off she had. The ocean shimmered in the distance, the waves rolling in lazily against the shore and all of them were lounging around, enjoying the moment of peace. Pope, ever the thoughtful one, sat up and glanced over at the girl,

“So, how’s your job going, Y/N?”

He asked, his voice casual but curious and Y/N shot him a look, raising an eyebrow.

“Jesus Pope- stay in school man”

She teased, shaking her head. The group burst into laughter, and even Pope couldn’t help but crack a smile at her response. Sarah, still amused, chimed in, ��Is it that bad?” Y/N groaned dramatically, rolling over onto her stomach and propping herself up on her elbows to look at the blonde haired girl,

“I’m serving kooks all day, getting yelled at if I bring them a steak at the wrong temperature, if their lemon slice is on the wrong side of the plate… It's just- it’s shit.”

John B and Cleo laughed again, yet she found the others nodding sympathetically. Kiara, who had been humming to herself while watching the waves, looked over at JJ with a playful glint in her eye.

“You should get a job Jayje” she clawed out to the boy who was wading through the water, her voice teasing. JJ groaned and threw a hand up in the air. “Not you too,” he replied dramatically. Y/N’s eyes lit up as she sat up, a smile tugging at her lips.

“Thank you, Kie! Someone else here who has common sense.”

Kiara grinned, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “It’s not that hard JJ,” she joked. JJ shook his head, muttering under his breath, but there was a playful glint in his eye as he watched the gang, clearly enjoying the lighthearted moment. Y/N leaned back, soaking in the easy banter and warmth of the sun. John B stretched out on his towel, a relaxed smile on his face as he glanced over at Y/N.

“It’s nice you could join us though.”

“Thanks JB”

She responded, her voice light as she let out a small hum, resting her head on her folded arms and giving him a grateful look. Just then, JJ, hair still dripping from having left the water moments prior, bounded over and flopped down on top of her, his back sprawling out across hers like a human blanket.

“Jeez, JJ!”

Y/N exclaimed, nearly knocking the wind out of herself under his weight. “Uh, rude?” JJ grinned, his cheek pressed into the sand as he looked up at her.

“You’re heavy as hell, J”

She shot back, trying to wiggle out from under him. The rest of the group laughed, with Cleo shaking her head. “You’re a big back rude boy.” she teased. JJ immediately shot her a look. “Yo- shut up…” he grumbled, but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. The atmosphere was easy and familiar. JJ shifted his weight slightly, settling more comfortably. He looked out over the ocean for a moment before his tone shifted.

“I miss this”

He said, his voice quieter now, almost like a confession. Y/N turned her head just enough to catch his eyes.

“What do you mean?”

He let out a small sigh, his gaze lingering on the others for a moment before meeting hers, “You’re just busy all the time.”

“I know J, I know.”

Y/N nodded, the weight of her words settling between them as she spoke. JJ huffed softly, clearly trying to hold back some frustration.

“Yeah, but—”

“I’m doing it for you, yeah? You’re my brother, J. I’d do anything for you.”

She cut him off, her voice soft but firm, JJ’s eyes softened at that, but before he could respond, his stomach gave a loud rumble cutting him off mid-sentence. Y/N couldn’t help but let out a small laugh of disbelief. “Hungry much?” she teased, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Shut up much?”

JJ groaned, but his stomach gave another loud growl, making everyone laugh. “Let me go get you something to eat,” she offered, already starting to rise. But JJ wasn’t having it. He reached out and grabbed her arm before she could get up, holding her in place.

“Okay, okay, let go”

She said, trying to wiggle free. He just squeezed her tighter, pressing his body closer to hers in a hug. Y/N patted his back sweetly before she let out an exaggerated groan.

“Ew, Jay, you’re all sweaty!” 

Y/N stood in line at the food truck, the warm sun still casting its golden light over the beach as the waves crashed nearby. She couldn’t resist—her favourite fish tacos were the perfect treat, and she’d ordered enough for the whole group. She was balancing her drink in one hand while she fumbled with her phone, checking to make sure everyone had their orders right. Then, just as she was waiting to pick up the food, she heard that familiar voice behind her.

“That’s a lot of food for one person, Maybank” Rafe said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. He eyed the stack of boxes she was waiting for, a smug smirk on his face.

“Sure you can afford all that? Or do you need me to front you a little cash?”

“I can fucking afford to feed myself, you asshole.”

Y/N didn’t even turn around at first, knowing exactly who it was and she shot back without missing a beat. Rafe tutted at her attitude, clearly amused. He stepped closer, his presence still as commanding as ever. “Careful,” he warned, his voice dropping just a notch.

“I could always let your little secret slip, you know? Wouldn’t want your brother finding out how you’re really making money.”

Her stomach twisted, but she didn’t let him see it. She turned to face him, her eyes narrowing. “You wouldn't dare” He just leaned in a little, his smirk widening. “Oh I would,” he said, his voice low, teasing.

“Ruin your perfect little world, wouldn’t I?”

As Y/N stood at the food truck, Rafe’s smug grin never left his face as he stared at her, clearly enjoying the quiet torment no one else had taken notice of. But as they exchanged words, JJ, who had just been chatting with the others, saw the two of them. His eyes narrowed, and a surge of protective instinct kicked in. He took a step forward, moving toward them with purpose.

“You got a problem Cameron?"

JJ muttered, his gaze darting between Y/N and Rafe, his jaw tight. Y/N quickly stepped between them, placing a hand on JJ’s chest to stop him from taking another step- she knew how impulsive her brother could be.

“Jay, let it go”

She said firmly, her tone not leaving room for argument. Rafe just watched, the smug smirk on his face growing wider as he looked Y/N up and down folding his arms. His eyes held a silent warning, the kind that said ‘I’ve got you and there's nothing you can do’ without speaking it aloud. JJ didn’t take his eyes off Rafe, but with a sigh, he let Y/N push him back. He mumbled under his breath,

“You’re lucky she’s here.”

“Oh you bet”

Once she’d pulled her brother away from Rafe and they were on their way back to the group, tacos in hand, JJ couldn’t help but throw a question out. He looked over at Y/N with a raised eyebrow, his tone casual but his eyes sharp.

“Since when do you listen to what Rafe says?”

Y/N just takes a slow bite of her taco, trying to ignore the question. The food tasted like cardboard in her mouth as she chewed slowly, her mind racing.

“Just… leave it Jay.”

Her voice is tired, and JJ can see the exhaustion behind her eyes. He’s about to press her again when he catches the look on her face- a mix of frustration, anger, and something else… something he can’t quite figure out. He lets it go, but his mind is still buzzing. He knows she’s hiding something from him- and he can’t deny that it pisses him off. She’s his older sister. She’s always been the strong one, they’ve always stuck together. So why won’t she tell him what’s going on with her…?

As JJ dropped the subject, Y/N let out a quiet breath she didn’t even realize she’d been holding. But the heaviness didn't lift. She couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt- and all of it was tied to Rafe. She hated herself for letting it get this far but she couldn't let JJ get involved in it, not yet.

Not ever.

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[steveseddie]

my cards are on the table

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt: family dinner and @steddiebingo prompt: matchmaker | rating: t | cw: 999 | tags: different first meeting, pre season 4, matchmaker wayne munson, soft boys

read on ao3

Christmas at the Munson’s consists of early dinner on Christmas Eve and opening presents on Christmas morning once Wayne comes back from work.

It’s been that way since Eddie moved in so when Wayne opens Eddie’s door to tell him to wash up before dinner and casually says he invited someone, Eddie is puzzled.

“You– what?”

“Kid, you gotta stop listening to your music so loud,” Wayne says gruffly, rolling his eyes good-naturedly.

���And you need to explain why you invited someone to dinner!” Eddie demands, narrowing his eyes. “Is it a woman? Are you seeing someone, old man?”

“Not a woman, son, just a kid who does deliveries to the plant sometimes. His folks ain’t gonna be around for Christmas so I invited him over.”

Eddie’s lips press into a thin line. He’s known his uncle is a good man since he took him in. He loves him for it. He just wishes it didn’t mean he has to spend Christmas with a stranger.

“Fine, but I’m not dressing up just because someone is coming over!”

“Suit yourself, son, but I think you might wanna.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows. “Why?” Wayne just shrugs and leaves. “Why?” He repeats but gets no response.

Thirty minutes later there’s a knock on the door, and after whining about how this is Wayne’s guest so he should be the one to get the door, Eddie sighs and opens it to reveal–

“Steve Harrington?” Eddie shakes off the shock and flashes him a mocking grin. “Well, well, well, what are you doing on the wrong side of town, Your Highness? Did you get lost?”

The title makes Steve’s nose wrinkle but he lets it slide. “Actually, your uncle invited me.”

Eddie’s jaw drops. “You’re our guest?”

With a shrug, Steve makes a ta-da! gesture. Eddie stares blankly at him.

“Um, are you gonna let me in, Munson, or–” he trails off, hanging a hand from his neck.

“Ed? Is that the Harrington boy?” Wayne asks, snapping Eddie out of it.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry, come in, man.”

Steve gives him an awkward smile and steps inside.

After shaking Wayne’s hand, he politely asks if he can help and Wayne instructs him to fill three glasses with water. The sight of King Steve with his fancy green sweater and his perfect hair rummaging around their kitchen is so shocking that Eddie wonders if he fell into some alternate dimension. He’s glad that, despite his claim, he put on a red flannel and decent jeans instead of just sweatpants and a shirt with holes in it like he planned.

Still, Wayne could’ve done a better job warning him.

Not that Eddie wants to look good for Harrington or anything.

“Ed, get a chair for Steve,” Wayne says and Eddie dutifully brings the chair they almost never use to the table.

“Thanks,” Steve says, smiling softly.

Eddie isn’t used to pretty boys being nice to him so that’s the only reason why he falters, mumbling a you’re welcome and grabbing the seat furthest from Steve. Considering their table is small, it’s not far enough.

Dinner goes- surprisingly well, actually. Steve and Wayne talk about sports while Eddie rolls his eyes and makes comments about sport culture and conformity. He expects Steve to act annoyed like jocks do when he starts ranting, but he smiles amusedly instead.

And no, that doesn’t make Eddie’s stomach flutter.

After the sports talk, Wayne asks Eddie about his band. He expects Steve to tune him out since he probably doesn’t care what a freak like him does in his free time but he perks up, eyes going wide.

“A band? That’s cool, man!” He says and then starts throwing questions at him about the band’s name and the type of music they play. He even says he’d love to see them play someday.

Wayne’s knowing smile when Eddie blushes thankfully goes unnoticed by Steve.

When they’re done eating, Steve goes to his car to grab something while Wayne and Eddie clean up.

“Really? You couldn’t mention that our guest was Steve?”

“So you could lock yourself in your room? You’re the reason I invited him, boy.”

Eddie gasps. “This was a set up!”

“About time you brought a boy home.”

“Except I didn’t!” Eddie sputters. “You did.”

“You’re welcome.”

Steve comes back then, clearing his throat. “I know you do presents in the morning, but I still wanted to bring something.”

He gives Wayne a bottle of whiskey that probably costs more than his van and a small bag to Eddie. Inside, there’s a Beholder miniature.

“How did you–”

Steve starts rambling. “I know that you run that nerd club and this kid I know is obsessed with that game so I asked him what would be a nice gift for someone like you. He probably thought I was getting it for him and might be disappointed but–”

“Thanks, Steve,” Eddie interrupts once he finally finds his words.

Steve gives him a shy smile. And maybe this one makes his heart stutter.

When all they do is stare at each other, Wayne clears his throat.

Flustered, Steve announces he’s heading out. “Thanks for inviting me. I haven’t had a Christmas dinner in years.”

“You’re welcome, kid,” Wayne says. “Ed, will you see him out? Gotta get ready for my shift.”

“Sure, old man.”

At the door, Steve hesitates. “Sorry I crashed your Christmas dinner. Your uncle wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

Eddie snorts, fiddling with the figurine. “He’s a stubborn old man.”

“Not that I didn’t have fun,” he quickly adds, “I did.”

“Yeah, uh, me too.”

Steve’s pink tongue darts out along his bottom lip.

“Like, enough fun that I could do it again.”

Eddie stops fidgeting and blinks at him. “Hang out with me and my uncle?”

“Or just you,” Steve says and he looks– almost nervous.

Oh.

There’s no denying the butterflies in his stomach this time. “Yeah,” Eddie says, watching Steve start to smile. “I’d like that.”

[myfictionaldreams]

Hey so I was thinking what if steddie ran like a piercing/tattoo shop, and the reader comes in to get a tattoo and or piercing and is absolutely infatuated by the boys 

INK & NEEDLES // Steddie x F!Reader

Summary: Fresh off a bad breakup, you walk into Steve and Eddie’s tattoo shop looking for a distraction. You leave with a lot more than just some ink.

Requested by: im so sorry this took me so many months to write! thank you for the request my love x

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, toxic ex-boyfriend, praise kink, MFM, teasing, fingering, dirty talk, light dom/sub, slight innocence kink

Words:2.3 k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

The skin around your finger nails was becoming sensitive with the way you’re wringing your finger together as your anxiety became as unsettled as your bouncing leg. A change. That was all you’d been thinking about for the last two weeks. Your hair had already been drastically changed, the clothes on your body more revealing and just – comfortable damn it.

Three fucking years, wasted on that asshole just for him to be caught in the gas station toilet, jeans around his ankle and lackluster cock shoved in some random girls throat.

Change. You needed it. Needed to get away from the same rules and regulations that you’d been trapped within for three years. “Oh, babe, just make sure you wear a jacket with that.” “Babe, your hair looks better without the clip”. “No, babe, we can’t hold hands right now, I’m trying to watch the game”. “Babe, babe, babe”. FUCK OFF. Even just reminiscing on him, the time wasted, the lies easily spilling from his lips that had you hoping for stability in a relationship, just for it all to come crashing down. And you know what? Thank god because the sadness and devastation was now very much anger and FUCK HIM attitude.

All of this didn’t mean you were feeling any less anxious about your current decision as you stared up at the black-and-white writing across the shop windows: “INK AND NEEDLE.” Nothing screams change like a permanent something tattooed onto your skin. This wasn’t a quick decision that you’d made, in fact this topic had been something that you and your dickhead ex had aruged about for three days and eventually, like always, you relented and decided against having it.

Now, though, nothing was stopping you except your nerves about stepping into a place where pain was expected to have the desired result.

The tiny ‘ding’ of the bell above the heavy door jingled as you timidly stepped inside, and immediately, your senses were overwhelmed with the smell of antiseptic.

“Be right with you, Sweetheart!” a low, raspy voice called from the back of the shop, currently hidden behind a high wall of every shade of green foliage.

As you were trying to smooth the black material of your skirt, he appeared in the door-shaped gap in the plants. You tried not to swoon visibly. Tall, messy dark curls spilling from under a backwards cap, a sleeveless black band t-shirt stretched across heavily tattooed arms.  Eddie Munson. One of the reasons you chose this specific shop to get your first tattoo is because he was a familiar name, having been the year above you at Hawkins High School. However, it had been years since you’d last set eyes on him, the weird metalhead who never quite fit in, who laughed too loud and lived too fast. Now, it seemed he was just your type of rebellious with the way your thighs were clenching together.

He smirked, like he could see your heart trying to escape your chest. And then behind him – Steve Harrington. Stripped-down casual in ripped jeans and a tight white t-shirt, holden tanned skin and that familiar cocky glint in his eye that you’d admired for years whilst at High School.

You were so fucked.

“Um, hey- hi. Hi, I’m um. Would like one please”.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. One sentence and you’re ready to turn back around and leave Hawkins for the rest of eternity.

“First time?” Eddie asked, tilting his head, grin widening.

Nodding with certainty and flexing your fingers to avoid picking at the skin again. “Yeah. I, uh, wanted something small. Hip area, maybe?”

Steve’s arm wraps around Eddie’s shoulder, casually leaning his weight against him as his hazel eyes drag down your body, lingering on how your skirt floats mid-thigh to the bare strip of skin between your skirt and knee-high socks.

He smiled slowly and warmly. “Cute spot,” he said. Eventually, his gaze met yours. “Do you want Eddie or me to do it?”

The air felt heavy suddenly. Eddie, you recognized and everyone in Hawkins knew of Steve Harrington - both slightly older and confident in ways that made your skin tingle and pussy squeeze with anticiipation.

“Could”. You swallowed hard to try and coat your dry throat in some spit so you didn’t choke. “Could you both do it?”

Silence was your initial answer. Thick and charged.

Eddie’s grin widened into something dangerous. “Fuck, Sweetheart. You sure?”

Steve’s chuckle had your eyes dancing between the two men. “She’s got good taste,” he seemingly answered.

~~~~~

Following the duo further into the shop, it was then that you realised that it was only the three of you in the building and no one else. A cosy room welcomed you, a black padded table in the centre with shelves lining the walls with tools and bottles. Art in different styles covered every inch of the remaining magnolia-coloured wall.

Eddie tapped his tattooed knuckles against the table, “Hop up, Peach. We need to see exactly where you want it”.

Trying to maintain composure, you casually walked to the table's side as both men snapped on a pair of black sterile gloves. With trembling fingers, you shimmied out of your skirt, leaving you in your pink panties and loose white T-shirt. Maybe it was the cool air against your thighs or the nerves that caused you to shiver, but with your head held high, you turned to face them both, standing to show them the left side of your hip.

Eddie’s touch was firm but careful as he tilted your hip. Steve crouched beside him, the head of his body right there, had you biting painfully on your lower lip to refrain from moaning.

“Here?” Steve asked, gently moving the pantie material that covered the curve of your hip so that he could stroke the area with his thumb in a feather-soft touch.

Finally, you risked glancing down at them, and it was then that you gasped, releasing your bottom lip and knees trembling at seeing both men on their knees, staring at the naked spot on your hip.

Steve and Eddie shared a look. Excited. Mischievous. Lustful.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty”, Eddie murmured, his voice thick. “Gonna look even better with our mark on you”.

You whimpered - barely - and they smiled like you’d just handed them the world.

~~~~

The machine buzzed to life, low and sinful. Steve perched beside you, holding your hand, his thumb stroking soothing circles over your skin. “You’re doing amazing, baby. So brave after everything you’d been through.”

That one sentence alone made you realise how much you wore your heart on your sleeve. It felt intimate, like they knew from just one look that you were healing something broken.

Meanwhile, Eddie worked with steady hands, the machine humming against your sensitive skin. He’d occasionally glance up at you, dark eyes hooded, mouth curled into a wicked smirk.

When Eddie finished the outline, he swapped with Steve. This was when Steve’s fingers accidentally skimmed the inside of your parted thigh as he adjusted your position, making you arch involuntarily.

“Sensitive, baby?” Steve teased softly.

You were more than sensitive. You were utterly soaked, your panties damp, and you knew it was visible, that both men could see it.

“You gotta use your words when you’re in this room, I’m afraid. I need to make sure our pretty girl is still coherent,” Eddie drawls as he takes your hand, much like Steve had been holding as he looked down at you.

“Ye-Yes.” You were unsure if you’d answered verbally or in your head because all you could hear were the words, “our girl.”

It sounded nice. More than nice. It sounded downright filthy coming from Eddie Munson.

“Do you mind? I just need to move your panties slightly to make more room for the tattoo”, Steve asked casually as his fingers grazed the edge of the material resting on your hip.

“That’s fine”, you answered in a whisper, still staring up at Eddie as a distraction.

A whimper rushes from your parted lips, thighs squeezing together as the adjusting of your underwear caused it to tighten against your labia and clit, applying pressure to the delicate area.

“You good?” Eddie asked as his thumb continued circling the skin on the back of your hand.

“Yes, sorry”. Attempting to relax your thighs again as Steve began his part of the tattoo.

“You’re doing so good, baby”, Steve murmured moments later, his tone soothing and drawing you out of the thoughts screaming in your head.

You tried to focus on your breathing and remain as still as possible. Still, every time Eddie shifted slightly at your side, the scent of his cologne, the heat of his body, and the roughness of the pads of his fingers had you shifting to try and control the feeling between your legs.

When Steve had moved your underwear, not only did you feel the tightness of the material against your sensitive pussy but the material was damp. More than damp, it was wet.

And they noticed. Oh, they definitely noticed.

Risking a glance down at the man tattooing your hip, you caught Steve’s gaze flicker across to where your thighs slightly quivered, to the darkening patch of your underwear.

Steve didn’t utter a word; he didn’t have to because you knew he had noticed your predicament from the slow and knowing smile that glowed on his face.

Eddie’s mouth curved up, too. A dark, wolfish grin that disappeared as he leaned close enough that his lips were only an inch from your ear. “You’re making a mess, sweetheart.”

Raging heat flooded your cheeks, your chest, your core. You couldn’t move or breathe, feeling like you’re the prey caught between two hungry wolves.

“She likes it”, Eddie admitted on your behalf as he sat back again, eyes flicking back to meet Steve’s momentarily.

“Oh, I know she likes it”, Steve chuckles lowly as his gloved hand slides ever so slightly to the left on your hip, nearing your pubic bone. Not quite touching where you wanted, but close enough to make your hips jerk. “Knew you were a good girl the second you walked in”, he muses whilst continuing with the tattoo. “Knew you’d let us care for you if we pushed just a little.”

Were you really this predictable?

You whimpered again, hips tilting helplessly towards him, towards them both. Moments later, Steve shuts off the tattoo machine - the sudden silence deafening - and sets it aside whilst carefully wiping down your tattoo.

“All done”, he said, voice rougher now. “Are you going to continue to be good for me whilst I carefully wrap it for you? Don’t want you to get an infection, baby”.

Nodding your head as an answer, you waited as Steve carefully applied the second skin wrapping to your new tattoo. All the whilst, Eddie’s fingers skillfully skimmed over the skin of your cheek and neck, a soothing stroke that left a wake of goosebumps over the path.

“Looking good, baby. Still need to reward you properly, thought, don’t we? For sitting so nicely for both of us.” Eddie drawls whilst standing where he was perched on the table's edge.

You barely had time to breathe before Eddie kissed you - rough and sweet and hungry - whilst Steve’s gloveless fingers slid beneath your soaked panties.

You gasped into Eddie’s mouth, giving him an open invitation for his tongue to delve deep whilst Steve’s fingers found how wet you were, teasing your labia, separating them so that he could circle your entrance slowly.

“You’re perfect”, Steve praises as he moves around the table, climbing on so that he's half lying now between your parted thighs. “Deserve better than what you had before. Gonna make you feel so fucking good, baby.”

Eddie kissed your jaw, your throat, your collarbone, leaving a trail of heat as his fingers quickly moved to shift the material of your shirt up and over your head, leaving your matching pink bra. “So fuckin’ pretty”, he muses, his thumbs brushing against the nipple poking through the thing material before his lips wraps around the sensitive area. 

“I love your sexy little moans, don’t hold them back for us”, Steve encouraged from between your legs as you feel the warmth of his breath against your now exposed cunt as he holds your panties to the side.

This was like nothing you’d ever experienced before. Your pleasure was being prioritised. They wanted to hear your verbal response to their touch. You’d always been told you’re too loud, too whiny, but with their encouragement, there was no way you were going to hold back.

It was Eddie moved your bra’s material aside and the soft wetness of his tongue stroked against your sensitive nipple and the stretch of Steve’s two fingers pressing into your cunt, that you lost all sort of control.

“Fuck!”, you scremed whilst your head tipped back, eyes closed as you savoured the sensations from both men.

Eddie laughed against your chest as his lips moved back up your neck, “I love hearing such filthy words coming from you, Sweetheart”.

“Oh god!” Your fingers trembled as you reached for Steve, whose fingers began to curl inside your wet warmth gently.

“Does he feel good? You like his fingers right there?” Eddie teases whilst biting your lower lip.

“Yes! Please-!”

“You want to cum for us?” Steve asks whilst leaving stinging bites on the inside of your trembling thighs.

“Yes! Don’t stop!”

“Oh, I’m not going too”, Steve drawls whilst using his thumb to apply soft pressure to your clit, circling in tight circles, matching the speed of his curling fingers.

Eddie’s fingers wrapped around your throat, the pressure grounding you to the spot and moment. “Let go, baby”, he encouraged whilst watching the pleasure dance across your features.

Your mouth drops open in a silent scream as you finally orgasm, hips rutting against Steve’s fingers as your inner walls pulsed in pleasure.

“Good girl. I knew you were special the second you walked through the door,” Eddie kissed your forehead while whispering those soft words to you.

And as you lay your back against the table, boneless and ruined, Steve grinned as he eased his fingers from inside you, “I hope you’re free next week, Sweetheart. We’ve got a few more ideas for that pretty body”.

[getouyuri]

every single song is about you!

pairing — gojo x reader x geto, poly satosugu x reader

summary — SPECIAL GRADE, a band consisting of four powerhouses, takes the world by storm. after geto quits, you, gojo and geto’s childhood friend, take his place— and their hearts.

content & warnings — sfw, suggestive at the end, m4a, gender neutral reader, gn!reader, angst, pining, normal modern au, band au (aka the SPECIAL GRADE au), frontman!gojo, rhythmist!reader, producer!geto, alcohol, cigarettes, eventual poly / eventual polyamorous relationship

author's note — thought about mari’s ask while I pondered this (this is your fault 🫵🏽🫵🏽 I heart you) but producer!geto x rhythmist!reader x frontman!gojo is on the mind. quick drabble to get this out of my headddd but i lowkey wanna write a long fic about this. this was proof read only Once so I hope there’s no mistakes 😭🙏🏽. full masterlist here.

writing © getouyuri. fanart © satosugu572. dividers © bernardsbendystraws. wc: 3k.

‘gojo and geto,’ two halves of the whole of SPECIAL GRADE.

there’s their killer bassist of course, yuki gold and glistening like the sun in the rearview mirror, adored by all but especially by the girls who love girls. she’s praised endlessly for her occasional bass solos that are as rare as they come and her background vocals that make gojo’s shine that much brighter. their drummer, sukuna, is in his own tier, heavy and loud, weighty boots announcing his presence if that cackle of his doesn’t broadcast it first. fawned over by the girls and guys who like ‘em mean, he beats his drums black and blue, all rough and tough and untouchable.

but it was always ‘gojo and geto’ in interviews following their big break. the two who started it all in geto’s garage with a rat trap in the corner, a worn-down karaoke machine that gojo wielded the plastic microphone of, garageband at geto’s fingertips and guitars in both of the boys’ hands. they could laugh it off as much as they wanted to, seamlessly interject that they’re four, not just two, yuki and sukuna deserving recognition as much as they do, but even the other band members credit everything to them and wait their turn for questions.

‘gojo and geto,’ the indomitable duo. calm and chaos that go hand in hand.

but before gojo and geto, it was always geto and gojo and you.

you, with your bright smile and encouraging words that pushed them to greater heights. you, who tried and failed to make sure gojo’s ego didn’t get too big for his britches (and giggled whenever gojo peacocked around, singing that he’d wave at you from the TV screen some day) and reasoned that geto’s reserved and calm nature could be harnessed for not just peacemaking, but glueing together a group of musicians and standing as a vision of dark, untouchable beauty that his future groupies would chomp at the bits for for years to come.

you, who laughed with geto and gojo, busted them out of trouble and shopped with them and tagged along to study at their sides over candy and soda, who carved your name into a tree in your neighborhood alongside theirs.

you, who buried yourself in high school and college textbooks as the boys threw themselves into making music with yuki and sukuna, becoming smaller and more distant but promising you’d always be there when it mattered. when they needed home and not a crowded venue.

geto thinks of you a month into his departure from SPECIAL GRADE. the internet was still in tears over the quote unquote breakup. everyone zoomed in on the grainy photos of geto’s smoothened brow and gojo’s twisted, hurt frown outside of the KFC they fought in front of, trying to read lips and find an explanation that wasn’t geto’s plain tweet of ‘i’m tired of it. i’m tired of it all.’

as if cutting out his piece of the pie from the whole of it would have a grander, more explosive reason than just… exhaustion. a healthy dose of paranoia and a bone-deep want to find himself outside of the glaring spotlight.

the industry and their record label fought to mold SPECIAL GRADE into something generic. a product to drain dry, pluck off the shelf and sell, exploit until there was nothing left. geto couldn’t take it— he wanted to make music from the heart, not because of some corporate bottom line. even worse, the attention from the media and fans made him feel like a mouse in the spotlight of a thousand cats’ eyes. the pressure closed in on him, fangs to his throat, until he squealed.

geto tried to drown it out, convince himself that everything else was just noise, but he knew he had to make a hard decision. to leave for his own sanity— so he did. breathing comes easier now that he’s sitting in his own corner out of the way without the shackles that used to tie him down.

geto texts you while drunk, eyes growing hot over your simple ‘u okay?’ instead of a ‘are u guys okay?’, your follow up of ‘ur still the greatest. don’t listen to anybody else but urself and everyone that cares for u. i’ve got ur back.’

gojo thinks of you, too, not even an hour after geto does— as if their brains are linked.

gojo still doesn’t get why geto walked off. like, he does, because even he gets fed up with all of it. but he pushes through it and ignores what people expect from him and the other members of SPECIAL GRADE.

music is a form of self-expression, an outlet to let oneself go and bare one’s soul through lyrics to the beat of the accompanying piece. a way to connect with others on a level deeper and more complex than the anatomy of a singular cell. the energy of the crowd that screams their songs back to them, the high of playing with the three people he considers his family, it’s all gojo’s ever wanted. everything is at his fingertips when he grabs his mic and presses his palm to the throat of the world in warning, reminding it that this? this is all his. he could never give it up.

music has always been their thing. geto’s and gojo’s, gojo’s and geto’s. watching his partner leave him felt akin to someone clawing gojo’s kidney out with their bare hands.

yuki’s been pushy in that caring way of hers and sukuna just grinds his jaw and stares him down, saying more with his eyes than that fiery mouth of his. their record label and manager demands he fix what gojo swears he didn’t break, his fans tweet at him constantly and chase him down in public for answers, the media is up his ass… but you’re not.

you’re patient and kind when he knocks on your door, feeling small on your doorstep without another shoulder brushing his and deep purple eyes flickering over at him as the boys share twin smiles. you let gojo in. you make him tea and set his head straight. you call them both idiots and gojo finally smiles.

“i’d die without you. really,” gojo tells you earnestly, fully convinced that it’s true.

you laugh it off. “you wouldn’t. now shut up and let me help you compose a text to geto,” you say, making grabby hands at him.

you’ve always been the one that glues the three together. you’re indispensable. a priceless treasure without a tag.

you were never one for stardom. you were content to follow your own path that lingered in the shadows. but a year after geto shakes off his woes and discards his cigarettes and bottles and becomes a producer, you visit his home studio with half-finished tracks downloaded onto your phone.

“can you help me out?” you ask from your spot on geto’s doorstep, scratching the back of your neck. “i know you’re super picky with your clientele and you’re probably gonna think this is ass— oh my god, wait, I didn’t even schedule an appointment with you—“

geto raises a hand and you quiet down. “come in,” he invites with a smile.

he helps you beat your songs into shape and properly walks you through music theory for months. you mess with his old rhythm guitar, the one he played in his parents’ garage until the neighbors would shout at him and gojo for the racket, and he finds you’re not half bad at thumbing the strings and learning rhythm guitar licks. so he opens up the glass case on the wall of his studio and hands you uzumaki— a beautiful, dark blue guitar with lazy swirls drawn into it— and lets you make magic.

you blow geto’s mind. and your debut single, produced by no one other than himself, blows up the internet.

it’s a little unusual for a newly fledged popstar like yourself to eventually go from manning the stage on your own to joining a goliath of a pop rock band, but it’s you. you’ve always been unpredictable, even if you hid it behind years of being a steady presence in geto and gojo’s lives. you hop in the deep end with SPECIAL GRADE, taking geto’s former spot that multiple contenders dipped in and out of because gojo, yuki, and sukuna could never find someone as good as geto.

you mesh with the band in a crazy way. you play rhythm guitar with the energy of a musical savant, graceful fingers darting up and down the fretboard like the devil itself is sitting in on your performance and you have something to prove. you press your back to gojo’s as he sings with the voice of an angel and brings entire stadiums to their knees, provide chord progressions and harmonic supports and rhythm that intertwines with yuki’s bassline, perfectly follow the beat and tempo that sukuna paves for you with his drumsticks.

it’s like you were meant to be part of SPECIAL GRADE.

the band seems so much brighter with you now in it. especially gojo himself— he turns into the summer sun incarnate when you smile at him and teasingly flutter your lashes mid-interview or during shows that are broadcasted to millions. people talk about their chemistry on and off stage as much as they did geto’s and gojo’s when geto was still in the limelight.

geto doesn’t necessarily feel left behind, per say, but he feels something akin to it watching you and gojo playfully squabble in the live room of geto’s home studio while geto sits at his soundboard in the control room. you bounce off of each other perfectly, complimenting one another like red and blue and shading in the spaces that the other doesn’t fill with different ideas for this song and that song, x and y. yuki beams, feeding off of yours and gojo’s energy as she tunes her bass, and sukuna hides a half smirk, half genuine grin when he barks at you to hush up and get to playing.

is this how you felt when you pursued your degree and watched geto and gojo’s backs get smaller and smaller as they ran off into the sunset, searching for their place in the world with gojo’s guitar on his hip and geto’s slung over his shoulder as their story unfurled? geto isn’t sure, so he sits back at SPECIAL GRADE’s third album release party with a red solo cup in hand, purple eyes trained on you and gojo as he tries to unravel what must’ve been on your mind all those years ago.

it plagues him. eats at him like maggots to a corpse.

one night, geto dreams of performing again.

he misses playing with the band, with gojo and off of gojo’s boundless energy, matching that mad genius stride for stride, even though geto’s never regretted taking a step back. they stand shoulder to shoulder before a sea of nothingness that drops off the stage, the frontman with his rhythmist and backup singer. the indomitable duo. uzumaki is warm and familiar beneath his fingertips as geto breathes life into the strings until they’re vibrating with kinetic energy. behind them, yuki wields her bass like a weapon. sukuna’s arms flex as he slams away at his drums.

inexplicably, you’re there too even though you joined long after geto exited stage left.

your rhythm guitar is no uzumaki. it’s beautiful and sleek but chaotic— frantic paint streaks racing along and around it, twisting and coiling. the color of it shines brightly. you take geto’s other side, sandwiching him between you and gojo, who happily hoots before throwing himself back into singing the lyrics that boom through the empty stadium.

it’s perfect.

geto’s left breathing heavily in the wake of the dream after waking up with a start, smiling stupidly in the dark and holding his heaving chest. his heart thrums beneath his palm.

that feeling that he felt before in the control room morphs into something else, a caterpillar formerly cocooned emerging as a butterfly, when he cracks on the last night of SPECIAL GRADE’s tour. the band spent the whole summer overseas, bouncing from city to city and performing with everything they’ve got— geto heard all the funny anecdotes and shit while on call with gojo, you chiming in from time to time in the background.

but he hadn’t actually seen concert clips until tonight— a quiet, lonely night that he spent on his couch answering emails on his laptop until he got bored and opened twitter. an app he never really checks unless he needs to retweet promotions that the many artists he produces music for post.

he hits the trending tab, fingers stalling when he sees rows upon rows of similar results that are up in flames. you and gojo. you. gojo. SPECIAL GRADE. #1 on the trending page is a quote: ‘i’m sorry, every single song is about you.’ when geto checks out the tag, briefly avoiding videos in favor of staring in befuddlement at all the fans tweeting out the quote like rabid dogs, he sees it. a name.

geto. geto suguru. suguru.

suguru.

suguru.

suguru.

he’s so distracted by his name that he doesn’t register the all-caps tweets saying ‘OH MY GOD THEY’RE DOING IT AGAINNNBTKAHRKSJQ’

(little does he know, you and gojo do this every show.)

heart in his throat, geto finally checks out the first video in the tag. it’s perfect quality, shot up close and personal from the VIP section. he can practically smell the sweat lathered on gojo’s face and neck and collarbones that makes him glisten beneath the wild lights, feel the raggedy gasps that puff out from your lips that are quirked up in a brilliant grin as if you’re breathing into geto’s neck. yuki’s waving at fans and blowing kisses to them. sukuna’s in the background spinning his drumsticks, keyed up and waiting for the next song. they all look perfect.

for some reason, though, yuki’s disassembling the formation, backing up until she’s near sukuna and leaving you and gojo center stage. that makes geto sit up a little straighter.

gojo turns as if searching for someone. his magnetic blue eyes land on the phone camera in the hands of the fan, and he’s laughing as he strides forward with a crooked finger before swiping up the phone with a promise to give it back. he holds it up high above his head as if readying himself for a selfie and ushers you into the frame. gojo squishes your sweaty cheek against his and holds the microphone between them.

yours and gojo’s voices paired together are devastatingly clear and rife with longing. “i’m sorry, every single song is about you.”

the responding roar of the fans nearly blows out his eardrums. they kick off their next song with that earth shattering bang as gojo relocates the fan and hands them their phone.

geto immediately knows what they’re talking about. who they’re talking about. and he spirals.

what songs are about geto?

all the ones that SPECIAL GRADE released after you joined them?

the ones released following geto leaving SPECIAL GRADE when it was just gojo, yuki, sukuna, and some unnamed rhythmist?

the first song that he and gojo ever constructed in geto’s garage, when gojo penned the lyrics with a hopelessly sweet smile on his face? “i guess you could call it a love song,” gojo mused at the time while tapping the eraser of his pencil against a stray piece of paper, blue eyes alight with something profound.

does geto have to go through their entire discography again and read further into the lyrics, seeking out which ones could be a call to him? yeah, yeah he will. geto’s already opening spotify, hitting the first SPECIAL GRADE song that pops up and reading the lyrics as gojo’s voice fills his living room.

fuck, did geto unknowingly produce any songs that you or gojo wrote about him?

geto doesn’t know.

he calls you. it goes to voicemail. he hangs up before he can hear the obnoxious beep that signals his time to speak. he hovers over gojo’s contact but doesn’t press it.

geto ends up leaving a few voicemails for you and for gojo respectively after a few drinks because he needs to get borderline shitfaced before he can speak his truth, desperate and shaky but gentle. reverent.

wine is good, he thinks as he drinks more of it. wine will make geto forget.

not that you let him. geto jolts awake at dawn to banging on his door, picks himself up from where he was curled up like a cat in his cool, lonely silk sheets, and stumbles to go answer it.

you and gojo are bright and alive on the other side of it. “took you long enough,” gojo sighs as if he’s been waiting for this, sweeping in with the self-importance of a storm that you can’t avoid, kicking his shoes off and carelessly tossing his jacket aside. an arm slings around geto’s shoulder, warm and welcoming, a sweet kiss pressed to his cheek.

you’re immediately at geto’s front, binding the three together with a hand on geto’s waist and your other arm atop gojo’s. “hush,” you click your tongue at gojo, but your eyes are full of adoration as you gaze at the grinning frontman. that adoration doesn’t leave as your gaze tilts up to meet geto’s star struck one. “it’s okay, though. we would’ve waited forever for you.”

“yeah. we would’ve,” gojo agrees. fully sincere.

eventually someone, and geto doesn’t remember who (maybe it was him. maybe it was you or gojo), murmurs, “we need to make up for all that lost time, though, don’t you think?”

“how many songs are actually about me? surely not all of them,” geto finds it in himself to say a few hours after he was pinned against his mattress, his hidden-away insecurities plucked apart by yours and gojo’s fingers. they replanted love deep into his marrow.

gojo, in all his naked, cat-like glory, is heavy atop geto’s prone form, snuggling into him. you’re glued to geto’s side, using his forearm as a pillow, one hand ghosting along gojo’s bare back and making his fine white hairs raise and the other tracing hearts into the centers of the hickeys dotted on geto’s skin like notes on sheet music.

you and gojo share a look. “all of them.”

author’s note: who up feeling insane (meeee)

tags: @libr4sonsa @spirit-kat @kaitospo @m1nrrva @enchantinghonymoon @exc3llentshot @dairyfaerie

i love u stsg poly i love u band aus. ARGH

how i felt writing this nonsense in less than 2 hours:

[dj-of-the-coven]

“Unable to slot Jews into a clearly defined role within their political agenda, most of the left tended historically to regard them with considerable ambivalence, and, in some cases, extreme hostility. While supporting universal human rights, the left never saw antisemitism as a primary concern. Instead, it was a secondary issue (if an issue at all) that would be resolved as a side effect of the general social liberation that the left was pursuing. Intrinsic to this approach is the view that Jewish particularity is, in itself, a defect to be remedied through assimilation and disappearance. […] Any attempt by Jews to make the struggle against antisemitism into a separate problem deserving of the same passion devoted to other progressive causes was rejected as a diversion from the main issues that animate the left.”

- The New Antisemitism, Shalom Lappin

On Antisemitism: An Open Plea.

Over the course of 2024, I was physically assaulted for being a Jew three times: once by a man waiting outside the JCC, and twice while working the desk at an anarchist bookstore.

All three of these attacks were done by men, all almost immediately after identifying me as a Jew. One of my assaulters, a white man with scruffy facial hair and a bucket hat, clearly identified as some kind of Christian—he wore three cross necklaces and a blue shirt with the Virgin Mary on the front. One man was black, wearing pressed slacks and dark leather dress shoes. One man was college-aged, white, wearing a band hoodie and jeans. Two of the encounters were one-off incidents, whereas the Christian man searched for me multiple times at the bookstore while I was not present. I am a fairly large person, and one with a lot of combat training, so I was lucky that none of these incidents resulted in the worst possible outcomes for an early-20s woman confronted alone after dark. Many people are not so lucky when they are put in my place. Particularly Jewish women.

And as a quick aside, people don’t tend to take the Jewish part of “Jewish woman” seriously. When I add this comment to the story, a lot of people scoff. I can somewhat understand why; despite the curls, if you were to look at me, you might think, “How did they even know you were Jewish?”. For two of these men (the ones who didn’t see me coming out of the Jewish Community Center), the answer is fairly simple. When they heard my name, they paused and asked. I don’t like to assume the worst in people, and thus I confirmed, though in the time since I have gotten much sparser with revealing that information to strangers. This is how I know they were attacking me for that reason. When you reveal yourself to be a Jew, or are recognized against the odds, things can often become unsavory quickly.

Any leftist worth their salt would call these attacks against me unconscionable—I doubt that most would be willing to defend this behavior—but make no mistake. None of the men who attacked me were acting out some kind of exception to a rule, nor was I particularly surprised that these incidents all occurred in or around spaces that should be safe for Jews. This is the reality that the Jewish people live in. Wherever we are, we can expect a roughly equal reaction from the population, left wing or right wing, and the largest point of difference between the two is whether they will call you “Zio” or “Kike” before grabbing you by the collar.

I was attacked only three times last year. Yet, countless more times I have watched the people in my communities ignore the rhetoric that led to these attacks, wave them off as radicals, as zealots unrepresentative of their peers, and continue to live their lives as if these incidents don’t happen regularly.

This is a major problem on the left.

Yes—the left.

The American right-wing is axiomatically predisposed to this type of behavior. If they aren’t the ones committingthe hate crimes, then they are often the ones most comforted by them, affirmed that their goal of a pure-white America is one step closer to being attained. It’s never surprising for a Jew to encounter a conservative with just one or two comments to make about us being “good with money”, “owning the banks”, “controlling the media”, and other examples of kindergarten-level political opinions. On the other hand, one wouldn’t automatically assume that a leftist would hold such opinions. Being opposed to race-based and religion-based discrimination, it would be a bit counter-intuitive for leftists to say such things about Jews. Wouldn’t it?

You would be surprised.

If there’s anything that the last year has taught me, it’s that the left is much more susceptible to antisemitism than ever previously understood, despite its long history within progressive social movements. So long as you stipulate “Israeli” and/or “Zionist” before saying the word “Jews”, any and all manner of violent hate speech can be considered revolutionary sentiment: I have seen fellow leftists call Jews, not just "Zionists", inhuman, bloodthirsty, real-life monsters, scum, vermin, pollutants; capitalist pigs and agents of genocide; a fake people with a fake identity and a fake claim to safety and dignity. And pointing this out will net you with a number of other responses, questions of whether you support the actions of the Israeli government, as if the point of the discussion was ever about that and not about the antisemitism being lobbed at you in broad daylight. Talks of antisemitism are always shafted into talks about Israel regardless of where in the diaspora you happen to be. Those of us who are staunch leftists, who want nothing but peace and solidarity with Arabs and Muslims—which is a majority of Jews—are pressured into remaining silent about our worsening mental health and safety for the sake of the cause. We’re told to speak later, when the most important voices have spoken first: every ethnic, gender, and sexuality minority first, then maybe the Jews. It was only recently that I realized this mythical “later” will never come.

Largely, Jews just want peace. Jews want safety. Jews want recognition of our suffering, regardless of the actions of a government that might not even be ours, depending on who you’re talking to—but Israeli Jews deserve these things as well. There is nothing wrong with criticizing the Israeli government, but when will goyische leftists realize that Israel’s government, like all governments, is not a true representation of its people? When will goyim realize that it’s not okay to dehumanize Jews, no matter what their political opinion is? When will they finally wake up embarrassed by their own behavior, realizing that my Jewish peers, my cousins, my extended family, my community—all of us are just people who are entitled to the same respect and empathy as any ethnic group in the world? Will they ever learn to recognize their own bigotry? Will they ever see the world from a pair of Jewish eyes?

The answer is, for all intents and purposes, no. But I don’t want to stop trying just because it feels hopeless.

If you are a leftist goy and you’re still reading this, I would like to ask of you only one thing: stop talking and start listening. If you don’t know anything about Jewish history, don’t talk about it. If you know less than four Jewish people, and you keep them at an arm’s length in case they turn out to be “evil baby-killers”, then you shouldn’t mention your Jewish friends. If you believe only Sephardi and Mizrahi Jews count as “real Jews”, you shouldn’t be weighing in on which Jews count as white. If you couldn’t name any Jewish holiday besides Chanukah, you shouldn’t bother to call yourself educated on my people and our traditions. If you believe that the Jewish people, alone among all peoples, deserve to be oppressed for the crimes of a vocal few, then frankly you should not consider yourself a human rights activist at all.

If you are a Jew, all I have to say to you is that I’m sorry. I’m sorry that it’s taken me so long to speak up on your behalf; on behalf of all of us. I’m so sorry that everyone is acting like this is fine. I’m sorry that our lives have been shrinking ever-smaller as we’ve been made unsafe in queer spaces, disabled spaces, online communities and real-life ones, spaces that should belong to everyone. I wish I could fix your pain. I hope you’ll accept my attempt to chip away at it.

This is not the first time a Jew has come forward to speak about this, but I hope that adding my voice to the conversation will help at least one more person realize that what has happened to us is wrong. There is no world in which the collective punishment of an entire ethnic group is justified. No matter what Israel has done, no matter what tragedies and injustices have been inflicted on Palestinians by the IDF, there is no world in which this mass-scale vilification of Jews can be called real justice. There is no world in which these means justify the ends. And what ends do you even want to this? For all Israelis to blow up and die? For all Jews to stop practicing our faith? Or do you want the long-proposed answer to the Jewish question—the total annihilation of all Jews from the planet Earth?

Of course not. But if you don’t make an effort to educate yourself on antisemitism, then the answer to that question will make itself known in your mind, and in your heart, before you even know it. There is no genetic difference between you and a Nazi.

[avocado-writing]

being the worst wolverine’s wife and one day you get zapped by the TVA for whatever reason, and it looks like you completely disappeared, this is what leads logan to become depressed, start drinking and ultimately ignore the x men when they die etc etc

he goes with wade purely bc he would if you were alive- he couldn’t give less of a shit about wade’s universe but he can feel you over his shoulder like an angel telling him he needs to do this (i imagine it’s like the jean hallucinations he had in the wolverine movie)

what if you’re in the void and he finds you with the rest of the group, like being unable to believe you’re really here?

hehe i love angst and ily avo <3

I already did a “Logan meets you in the void” fic here so I didn’t wanna make this too long or I’d just end up hitting the same beats!

1.4k. rated m for excessive use of the word “fuck”

The day you disappeared you took his fucking soul with him. 

You had been out shopping. Nothing weird about that, he wasn’t some overbearing husband who demanded to know your location every single hour. But then afternoon had turned into evening had turned into night and nobody had heard from you. The unfamiliar sensation of panic had risen, queasy, from his stomach into his chest. They sent out a search party and looked for days. Not a trace of you to be found. Logan couldn’t smell you. Fuck, he’d never not been able to smell you before.

He would hunt for you every day, hoping to find you alive but trying to level with the idea of you being cold and dead because at least then he’d have closure; he’d stay awake for hours on end until he collapsed from exhaustion… then he’d wake up and repeat the whole horrible affair. Nothing. After weeks of searching, Charles had laid a hand on his arm. Logan can still remember the look of pity on his face, like a bomb to the gut. 

“I’m so sorry, Logan.”

They had to assume you were abducted and killed. Your body never turned up. And Logan just had to… keep going. How was he meant to keep going? You were his entire fucking life and then you were just…

Gone. 

To say he was left empty was the biggest understatement of his fucking life. He was a shell of the man he once was. He never laughed any more, never smiled, always trying to plug the hole your absence left in him with whatever alcohol he could get his hands on. Drink himself to a place where he could forget you.

It never really worked. At least it made him numb to the pain though. 

When he staggers home one evening, eyes bleary and head spinning, and finds the whole mansion torched? Everyone left that he loved fucking dead? Well, it takes the last vestiges of his existence and crushes them into dust. 

Oh, Logan, he hears in the back of his mind. Your voice. It breaks him. He falls to his knees, hands buried in the burning timbers, and wails. 

He survives. He does not live. Thinking about everyone he’s lost, with you haunting the corners of his consciousness, always reaching out to comfort him - but when he goes to nuzzle into the warmth of your palm he is overcome with rage and bitterness to find it’s just his own imagination playing tricks on him. 

Then a fucking idiot in red dragged him away from the shambles which was his life and forced him to be functional again, if only barely. He’s angry, so angry all of the goddamn time, even when in the back of his mind he can hear you speaking sweet, calming words to him. 

And then he hears your voice for real. 

Sees you standing across the base this pathetic resistance has made. You look older, sure, he does too - but there’s no mistaking the fire in those eyes. You’re even wearing the same fucking shirt you went missing in, he remembers it, it has a picture of your favourite band. 

His heart stops dead in his chest as you whisper his name. 

“Logan?”

“Oh shit!” says Wade, and Logan has never wanted to kill him more, “Oh shit! Is this your refrigeratored wife, coming back to throw in a third act character arc?”

Logan finishes the bourbon bottle and throws the empty at Wade’s head, where it shatters and knocks him flat. You wince at the violence and he feels like pure shit. 

“I’m fine,” Wade calls from the ground, sticking a thumbs-up into the air. 

“Logan, I…” you clearly want to say something, but you have not been met with the Logan you knew. That Logan would have spent no time running to pick you up and hold you in his arms. This one half-snarls at the man he bloodied on the floor. 

There is an agonising silence, both of you wanting to speak but not being sure how. You take a hesitant step forward. 

“I never thought I’d…”

“How do I know it’s you?”

You recoil like he’s stabbed you with his claws, confusion and hurt flooding your face. Goddamn. He is the worst man alive. He’s not sure if he’s saying it because he just wants to lash out at the nearest person, or…

… or if, because he gets his hopes up, it might just kill him to have them crash down again. 

“What?”

“All these fuckin’ timelines. How do I know? How can I be sure that you’re you?”

The sadness in your face melts away into anger. When you step forward this time, you’re on the warpath. He sees the others in the room cringe, trapped now in this caustic reunion. 

“How can you be sure it’s me? Fuck, Logan, I knew it was you, didn’t I? What do you want? You want me to show you the shitty tattoo I got after we first started dating and we were both drunk?” You lift your sleeve to reveal a little design on your shoulder. “Want me to tell you how an eighteen-year-old Marie was my bridesmaid and she cried because she didn’t think anyone would ever be that kind to her after living as a mutant again? Want me to fucking remind you that in my vows I said I would be by your side, for fucking ever, no matter what - and how when that TVA agent zapped me when I was out for the day and I ended up here, it was only the thought of fulfilling those vows which kept me going? How about all that, or do I fucking need to humiliate myself more?” At this, you gesture to the others who have lined up at the side of the room, trying to look scarce but utterly failing. 

Your shoulders are heaving with emotions, tears hot and heavy in your eyes but not yet spilling over. Logan grits his jaw. Yeah. It’s you. 

“I…” he starts, but trails off when he realises there’s nothing he can say. You shake your head, numb. 

“Fuck you, Logan Howlett,” you spit, words you’ve never ever thrown his way before, and run out of the room. 

“Wow. Aced that one, peanut,” says Wade, and Logan rips off one of his legs. 

He finds you several hours later at a campfire outside the rundown building which makes up headquarters. LeBeau has clearly been kind enough to part with some of his liquor, because you’re gulping down whiskey like it’s air. You stare at him, embers dancing in bitter eyes. 

“What do you want?” you snap. He grunts as he sits down opposite you, either from age or exertion. Stares into the flames. 

“I never stopped looking,” he manages. 

You blink. 

“What?”

“I never…” he shifts uncomfortably. It’s been a long time since he bared this much of his soul. “I never stopped. Even when the others told me to give up, that I would only make it worse for myself, I’d still search. Couldn’t face the idea you weren’t there any more.”

It’s true. If he was twelve bottles deep he’d be looking, if he was hungover as a dog he’d be looking. When the rest of the X-Men were still there and even after they weren’t. If he wasn’t sitting at a bar he was on the streets, ever a bloodhound trying to catch your scent again. 

For the first time you soften. 

“Oh.”

“So… when I asked if it was you… ah, fuck. I didn’t mean to come off as an asshole. Just couldn’t live with it if it wasn't true. Wasn’t real.”

When you stand he expects a slap. He deserves it. What he doesn’t count on is you sitting down - not on the log next to him, but in his lap. He hasn’t felt you do that for so long, and it’s so good. Your warmth on his thigh. You grab one of his hands, still larger than yours, and press it to your chest so he can feel your beating heart. 

“I’m real, Logan. I’m right here, baby,” you whisper, eyes dewy. Fuck. His are as well; he can’t help it. He’s overwhelmed by you, your feel, your gaze, your smell. He’d forgotten how much he loved it. 

Logan noses upwards against you, searching for your lips, and you let him find them. When you stroke his hair he can feel the wedding ring on your left hand. The kiss is desperate, longing, and the best one he’s ever had. 

“Right here,” you repeat, forehead against his. He grips you so tightly that it’s possible he’ll never let go again. 

[dollfacefantasy]

Can't Help It

pairing: dbf!leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: your dad's coworker needs a housesitter, but the house isn't the only thing you'll be sitting on (haha pls laugh)

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, masturbation, oral (m receiving), age gap (i imagine early 20s/late 30s), both reader and leon are kinda pervy but not in a skeevy way <3

word count: 5.3k

a/n: hi hi i am back! this was such a pain to write for no reason, but as always, i hope people enjoy. i'm not sure what trope this really falls under, it's probably more accurate to say dcw (dad's coworker), but we'll go with dbf for convenience. i might make a part 2 of this idk. also, i know the header images are really giving graphic design is my passion but... it is what is lol. as before, thank you for all the support on my last fics. if you reblogged or commented, i'm giving you a smooch rn. and just wanna say that i do take requests. if anyone is interested, don't be shy ;) any who, feedback, reblogs, and comments are appreciated! <3

When your dad’s new coworker asked if you’d be interested in housesitting for some easy money, you couldn’t find a reason to say no. Agent Kennedy, like your father, traveled for work a lot. Often gone for weeks at a time, he needed someone to watch the place and take care of menial tasks like getting the mail and watering the plants. It paid well and all you had to do was basically live in his house.

You had met him several times in passing before he offered you this job, and he was always nice to you. He would say hi when you’d come down for a snack while he talked to your dad in the living room. He’d ask how college was and about the different classes you were taking. One time he even told you about some old band he liked that he thought you would too. And that was all great.

But what was even better was that he was fine as fuck.

You had a fat crush on him from the moment you were introduced. The way his eyes pierced right through you but in the softest way. How his lips curled into a knowing smile while his hand gripped yours in a firm shake. The way he said “pretty name for a pretty girl” when you told him your name. From any other middle-aged man, that would have been so corny and had you internally shriveling up. But from him… you had to fight the urge to get on your knees then and there.

He’d approached you about watching his house, saying something about how there had been some nearby break-ins in empty houses and it would be a good way for you to get some spending money and blah blah blah. You were on board as soon as the opportunity to have more of him in your life presented itself.

Unfortunately, it was the nature of housesitting that you rarely saw your employer. You would see him when you showed up and when he came home and that was it. But those moments were enough to sustain your delusion.

The first time you came over, you walked into the house, glancing around the den of the man who enraptured you. It was pretty basic, but you figured that not being home a lot would be the reason for that. When you were done trying to psychoanalyze him from looking around his house, he gave you your own set of keys with a wink that had you blushing an embarrassing amount.

“Thank you, Mr. Kennedy,” you said softly.

“Call me Leon, Sweetheart,” he replied.

You had to look away to conceal your giddy smile. You didn’t think he noticed the effect he had on you. Or if he did, he didn’t care about your pitiful infatuation. But other times, you could have sworn he did this kind of thing on purpose.

Your first stint in the house went smoothly. You made sure to do everything he asked and even cleaned up the place a little bit. When he returned from wherever his work had taken him that time, he seemed impressed to your delight. He looked around, making small talk with you before writing your check.

“You get up to anything crazy while I was gone?” he said, smirking as he scribbled his signature on the small rectangle.

“Yeah, I was real wild - I brought out your vacuum for probably the first time.”

He laughed, handed you the check, and teasingly purred “good girl.” 

Now, he may have been joking, but your panties nearly soaked through with arousal regardless. You yet again hid your revealing expression as you said a timid goodbye and headed out to your car. You were shifting your thighs together the whole ride home, fantasizing about being a good girl for Agent Kennedy so he would relieve that ache between your legs that clouded your thoughts.

Honestly, all of this made you feel pretty pathetic. Lusting after your father’s coworker, now technically your boss, who was a good fifteen years older than you. Blushing and squirming every time he said something more than ‘hi.’ Weren’t you better than this? But then you’d see those thick biceps and mysterious eyes, and the answer in your mind would be a resounding no.

Because honestly, you weren’t better than this, you were so much worse. After the good girl incident, you decided that if he didn’t want you yet, he would. You would make sure of it. From then on, every time you were housesitting, you wore your most revealing outfits, did your hair all pretty, and even tried special perfume so you’d smell extra nice.

But none of it seemed to work. He kept up his regular teasing and charm, but to your dismay, he hadn’t railed you on that sad leather couch in the living room. You tried to convince yourself that his gazes lingered longer and that his touches were more strategic, but that felt like reach even for you. 

It was so frustrating. What more could you do? You touched his arm while he spoke. You laughed harder at his corny jokes. You even hugged him once or twice when you could justify it. You tried to drop hints every way you could without literally just trying to seduce him, and he did not seem to care. You nearly gave up. You decided that maybe you should just cut your losses and spare yourself the humiliation. Leave yourself with some dignity and resign to just being his housesitter.

You would have done this if not for the fact that he lets you sleep in his bed while he’s gone.

His house was meant for one person. It didn’t have a guest room. He told you on your first gig that you were obviously allowed to sleep in his bed since the alternative was the aforementioned sad leather couch in the living room. He told you to bring whatever you needed to be comfortable - sheets, blankets, pillows - since you’d be there for weeks at a time.

At first, it was too weird. It made you feel dirty, sleeping in his bed while harboring your secret carnal desires. But goddamn, that couch in the living room was uncomfortable. You stuck it out for the first time, but the second time you housesat, you relented and dragged your belongings back to the room you’d forbidden yourself from knowing. 

His bedroom, like the rest of the house, is pretty blank, but there’s a little more personality here. It made you feel like such a stalker, but you couldn’t help making observations, right? You got to see the type of cologne he wore, the few dusty books he kept next to his bed, what kind of stuff he crammed in the nightstand drawers. It sounded creepy, but you just had curiosity, right?

You set yourself up in his queen size bed, draping the plush blanket you brought with you across the mattress. The bed was comfy enough, but the absolute best part, the part that kept your fantasies alive and well, was the way the sheets smelled like him.

You nearly moaned when you took a deep breath, filling your nose with that familiar scent. It gave you such a rush pushing your face into those smooth gray linens. It was so wrong, but you couldn’t help shamefully slipping your fingers beneath the waistband of your shorts to play with your swollen clit. You clutch the sheets in your fists as you writhe on the bed, whining as you fantasize about your special agent.

Leon had gone years leaving his house desolate without an issue. All that nonsense about potential burglaries and spending money for you had been total bullshit. It’s not like there was anything of value in his house anyway. Those excuses served only as a way to get more of you in his life. He thought housesitting was a happy middleground, a tether to you without being obvious about his motivations.

Ever since he saw you for the first time, heading out your front door, offering a timid ‘nice to meet you,’ he had been hooked. You bewitched him with your sweet temperament, that soft laugh when he told you bad jokes, those gorgeous eyes projecting all the emotions in that pretty head of yours. God, you were so fucking cute.

You made him feel like a dirty old man, sick and perverted for coveting his colleague’s daughter. The embarrassment he felt within himself when he’d notice he was staring at your tits or imagining how your soft lips would look wrapped around his cock was immeasurable. Even though the guilt boiled inside him, he couldn’t stop himself. He craved you. He started finding more opportunities to visit your house, hoping he could steal a few moments of your time. That’s when he knew enough was enough.

Having you as his house sitter worked perfectly. He could have his moments with you without feeling too disgusted with himself. Even though he liked to tease every so often, he kept it friendly. He noticed that you, on the other hand, seemed to be doing everything to change that.

He wasn’t a fool. He could see the changes in your appearance. Those skimpy outfits you’d flaunt yourself in drove him crazy. The way you’d playfully roll your eyes and brush his arm had his cock twitching in his pants. It was becoming all the more tempting to spread you out on the dining table and take what he wanted. But he still wrestled with that part of himself that said to not take it too far. That you deserved better.

That was until you started sleeping in his bed.

He had come home after your second gig, given you your check, and sent you on your way quickly because he was exhausted from his mission. He went straight to his room and collapsed on the bed. He could tell the sheets had been freshly washed by the soft feel, but also because you were always going above and beyond to please him. Despite the recent cleaning, he swore to himself he could smell some of your perfume on them.

He looked like a madman, smelling his bed sheets for the faintest hit of that scent. He groaned, picturing you lying here, your beautiful body sprawled out on his bed. He inhaled deeper while conjuring images of your unkempt hair and sleepy eyes. It wasn’t long until his dick sprung to life as he saw images of you with one of his pillows between your legs, whimpering as you drag your dripping cunt back and forth along the fabric. He couldn’t help the need to desperately pump his cock to sinful visions of his precious girl.

This morning it’s about six when Leon unlocks the front door and quietly walks inside. He completed his mission hours before. He was tired, but it had been short, only about a week, and relatively easy. He told you he would be home in the evening, but he’d finished earlier than expected.

He trudges through the house and down the hall to his bedroom, collapsing in bed at the forefront of his mind. It’s not until he reaches the door and hears your deep breathing that it occurs to him that his bed is currently occupied. He gently pushes the door open and walks in, planning on rousing you so you could get your money and be on your way. When he sees you though, that plan vanishes from his mind.

The sight of you nearly melts him into a puddle. He pads closer to the bed, careful not to disturb you. Your shiny hair is draped across the pillow as you lie on your stomach with one leg hiked up. Your arms rest close to your face, their raised position causing your t-shirt to ride up and allowing him to see your waist. The blanket was tangled between your legs, and his eyes are immediately drawn to the junction of your thighs covered only by those thin panties you wore.

Despite your beauty, he controls himself. He pulls the blanket over your lower body and sits beside you to contemplate his next move. He came up with a few different things he could do, but all he wanted right now was to watch you sleep. He felt like such a creep, but you looked heavenly in this state. His ears strained to hear those delicate exhales coming from your parted lips.

He could just go sleep on the couch until you woke up. He could just wake you up and offer to let you stay until you had your bearings. Or he could just let himself enjoy this a little more.

He wanted to wake you though. He wasn’t fully sure of what he was doing, but if there was any part of you that had reservations he wanted to know. It would rip his heart to shreds if he frightened you somehow. He begins rubbing your back in long soothing strokes. He makes small circles with his fingers every so often. You stir a little, but don’t wake.

He continues his ministrations, smiling at your sleeping form. He uses his other hand to brush your hair from your face. He strokes the locks away from your closed eyes before leaning closer to you. He can smell that familiar scent that had driven him to humping the sheets for the last few months.

“Hey Angel, need you to wake up for me,” he coos in your ear, his hot breath fanning across the side of your head.

It slowly registers inside your unconscious mind that you aren’t dreaming. Actual fingers are coasting along your back. An actual voice is coaxing you back to reality.

A low hum emits from your throat as you shift to face the source of your disturbance. Your eyes open, still heavy from sleep, and Leon enters your field of vision. For a second, you wonder if you’re still dreaming.

“There she is,” he whispers, giving you that charming smile. He runs his fingers along your jaw and tilts your chin to turn your face completely in his direction.

You feel your brain malfunctioning as he floods your senses. The morning light coming through the window illuminating him as he looks down at you. The deep timbre of his voice speaking to you. His rough fingertips dragging across the smooth expanse of your cheek.

Soon as your eyes come into focus and your mind clears the fog of sleep a little, you grasp enough of the situation to feel a jolt of panic. It felt like you woke up late for school. You shoot up in bed and look at him with wide, apologetic eyes.

“Oh my God, Leon, I’m so sorry. I thought you wouldn’t be back until tonight. I’ll be ready in a minute. Just-” you ramble. You go to fling the blanket off of you, but remember you didn’t wear shorts to bed. You have to sit there, looking at him as you feel heat creeping to your cheeks.

“Hey, it’s alright,” he cuts you off with a quiet chuckle, gently catching your arm when you sit up, “I finished a little early. You don’t need to rush out the door. I figured you’d still be asleep.”

The look in his eyes soothes you. He has that rugged, worn out look that he gets when he comes back from missions. Your heart rate falls back down to normal levels, but your eyes still cast downwards, a little embarrassed he’d caught you unprepared. His fingers trail up and down your arm, and you shift a little to try and hide the fact that your nipples are hardening beneath the flimsy fabric of your shirt.

“Thank you. I’ll be up in a few though. I know you’re probably tired,” you say, giving him a sheepish smile.

He moves so that he’s further on the bed with you. He lays back on the pillows and looks up at you, rubbing your back how he was before you woke up. 

“Mmmm, I am, but you still don’t need to rush. I’m not gonna complain about a sweet thing like you warming my bed,” he says, that teasing smile spreading across his face and his fingers starting to trace patterns exclusively on the small of your back.

Your eyes flit away as your own smile grows on your face. How were you supposed to be normal about this? You look down at your hands in your lap and mutter a thank you.

“Honey, you really don’t need to be so shy all of the sudden,” he says softly, but there’s a smug lilt to his voice as well. You bite your lip as his hand begins fidgeting with the hem of your shirt.

He can’t help the smirk and predator-like glint in his eyes that form at your reaction. This was it. That little smile and refusal to meet his eyes was all he could stand. He was closing in now. The flirtation between you two had gone on long enough. He wanted this, and if you wanted it too, his mind couldn’t find a reason to deny the two of you any longer.

“Sweetheart, if you have something to tell me, you can come out and say it. I don’t bite. Unless you want me to,” he says as he reaches up to pull your hair behind your shoulder and out of your face, “And, lately I’m starting to think that’s what you want.”

You look over to him now, your eyes staring into his. Your limbs feel weak, disbelief coursing through your veins. Your thoughts stampede through your mind, but you eventually force the words from your throat.

“I think I want that too,” you breathe. Your heart seizes at his brows playfully rising. You lay down on the bed, resting on your side so that you and Leon are face to face. Your pulse thunders in your ears while you try to conceal how shaky your breathing is.

He scooches over to you, pushing you on to your back and propping himself on his elbow so he’s positioned above you. He leans down and presses two faint kisses to your cheeks. Pulling back, he looks into your eyes and strokes your cheek again with the same soft and slow movements.

“Think, babydoll? I think you know what you want,” he whispers, dragging his thumb over your bottom lip, “I think you’ve known for a while. Wearing all those cute little outfits, prancing through my house and brushing against me like a kitten. You were just begging for my attention.”

You squirm slightly under the spotlight of his affection. Somehow, you maintain eye contact even though every cell in you feels the urge to look away. Part of your mind wonders if he’s still teasing. If he’s about to pull away and leave you wanting.

Before you could overthink anymore, his head lowers to the crook of your neck. He takes a deep breath of you as he moves himself further on top. 

“Now, you’ve got it, but all you had to do, sweet thing, was ask,” he says as his mouth ghosts over your neck, “That’s all you have to do right now. Just want to hear that you want me as bad as I want you.”

“Yes,” you whimper without a second thought, “Please touch me.”

“That’s my good girl,” he hums as he begins kissing your neck. The kisses are soft. They’re barely there, but they’re overwhelming to you. You can’t help the pathetic sound that leaves your lips as you tilt your head back. The hand that had been touching your face trails down to your waist and begins caressing your side under your shirt.

His tongue gently laps against the skin of your neck between kisses. Your whole body is starting to heat up while simultaneously getting chills. Every inch of you aches for his touch. Your thighs subconsciously spread as your breathing becomes heavier.

Leon lets out a small laugh at your display. “You must really want this Baby. Just a few kisses and rubs and you’re already mine,” he murmurs as his lips move up your neck and down your jaw. He kisses your lips next, giving your bottom lip a little nip.

Another needy sound escapes your mouth. You return the kiss and flick your tongue against his lips. “I do, wanted this since I met you,” you moan, your body writhing for more.

“Naughty girl,” he teases against your lips, “That’s okay though, Angel. I’m the same way. Wanted a handful of these pretty tits since I saw you.” His hand moves up and kneads your breast. His fingers massage the flesh before centering and pinching your nipple. 

You whine and arch into his touch. Your eyes flutter as your face contorts with desire. He slides over you, straddling your waist. He stares down at you and takes in what was finally in his grasp. He coos for you to sit up a little while he pulls your shirt off of you. You comply and then flop back against the pillows. Now exposed from the waist up, his eyes feel even more intense. He’s locked on to the view of your tits.

“Oh, Sweetheart,” he mutters, “Even better than I imagined.” His hands cup the sides of your breasts, groping them a bit. You can now see his cock beginning to strain against his jeans. Your mouth waters at the sight, but it’s gone when he leans down to take a nipple into his mouth.

His tongue circles the peak before lapping against it, drawing more whines from you. Your body arches into his touch while his hands never let up their fondling. You take your lip between your teeth again. He moves to give the other nipple the same treatment, leaving the other one cold as the air touches the saliva-coated skin.

He plays with your breasts for a while more before drifting down your abdomen, lavishing your stomach with kisses. He squeezes your waist as he playfully tugs the hem of your panties with his teeth. He looks up at you deviously. “Your nipples were so hard, I bet your pussy’s fucking soaked for me.”

All you can do is nod, any verbal response tangled up in your esophagus. He leans back on his knees and swiftly pulls the garment off. His pupils seem blown out as he gets a look at your cunt. He pushes your thighs to your stomach, spreading you out for his gaze. You felt so exposed, at his mercy as he held you there and just looked at you. Your arms reach down and pull at the hem of his shirt.

“Wanna see you too,” you whimper with pleading eyes.

“Yeah?” he says with a soft smile. He leans back and pulls his shirt off. It takes everything in you to hold back a gasp. “Been fantasizing about me, have you?”

Your eyes rake along his chiseled abdomen, drinking in every line and shadow of his muscular frame. You reach out and pull him back on top of you. His grin grows, and he indulges you. You connect your mouths again, this time sliding your tongue inside his. He groans at your sudden eagerness. He runs his hand through your hair while you feel up his back, exploring the definition there.

You give him a little push, signaling that you want to roll over. His body flips over and takes you with him so that you’re positioned how you wanted. You make out for a minute more until you pull back, looking at him with your lustful eyes and swollen lips.

“Wanna suck your cock,” you say simply, sliding down his body so that you’re lying between his legs. You nuzzle against the bulge in his pants before unzipping them and tugging them down.

His eyes follow your every movement. He pets your head as you rub your face against the outline of his dick. He tilts his head back and lets out a sigh. 

“That’s a good girl, just gotta give you some love and then you loosen up, don’t you?” he coos.

“Mhm,” you hum. You kiss his solid length over the cloth of his boxers. Then, finally, what you had been waiting for since meeting Leon. You loop your fingers over the waistband of his underwear and pull them down, unveiling his beautiful cock.

You wrap your fingers around it, just an exploratory touch. You feel the veins in your hold and the heat radiating from his shaft. You slowly bring your head to the tip to give him some tiny licks. Your eyes dart to his face, looking for approval.

Leon’s chest ached from the way you were looking at him like he was a god. When your tongue sticks out and your eyes return his stare, he nods at you and keeps stroking your hair. Your lips soon wrap around the tip, and you bob your head a little. He groans and his hips twitch.

“That’s a good girl, baby. Good fucking girl,” he moans as your head slides further down his member. His fingers lace through your hair, pulling a little.

The praise only makes you more enthusiastic. You move up and down with more speed, making lewd slurping noises as you work. His hand on your head and his sounds of pleasure has heat collecting in your belly, leaking out of your dripping pussy.

His head rests against the head board as he watches you with half-open eyes. His eyes squeeze shut and his body tenses as you push your head all the way down, taking him into your throat. Spit trickles from your mouth and drips on to his pelvis.

“Fuck, Sweetheart,” he whimpers, tugging on your hair a little. You taste his pre cum leaking on your tongue. A gagging noise comes from you and his hips twitch harder. He barely restrains himself from bucking up and lodging himself deeper in your throat. You moan around his cock, driving him even crazier. He feels the rush of an orgasm approaching and tugs your hair with more firmness, guiding your head up and off his lap. You whine softly as you lose the taste of him.

“Sorry, pretty girl, don’t wanna cum just yet,” he says.

You crawl back up his body, so you’re in his arms again. You kiss his cheeks and the corners of his mouth as he rolls the two of you over so he’s on top again. He connects your lips in a deep kiss, tasting himself on you as he drags the tip of his cock through your slippery folds.

He doesn’t tease for long though. Soon enough, he’s pushing himself into your tight cunt. You both let out a symphony of sinful noises. Leon watches as your face contorts with pleasure as he stretches you out. You both felt a budding sense of satisfaction after finally receiving what you craved for the last several months.

He bottoms out inside of you. His head falls forward against your neck. He pants as he holds himself together and lets you adjust, keeping an iron grip on your hips. Your fluttering around him as you accommodate his girth. Your nails lightly dig into his back while you cling to him.

He begins thrusting with slow and deep strokes. You moan out his name a few times with a variety of expletives. He keeps his face buried in your neck, grunting as he feels the velvety sensation of your walls around his length. His motions become more fluid as he finds a rhythm with you.

“That’s right Angel, better than your dreams?” he murmurs against your neck.

“Yes, fuck, yes,” you whimper, “So much better. Think your cock was made for me.”

“That so, Baby? I’m made to fill up a precious girl like you? Keep you happy and full of cum,” he growls into your neck, his thrusts gaining intensity.

You nod thoughtlessly as he continues battering your insides, gliding over your sweet spot repeatedly.Your arms wrap tighter around him as you feel yourself getting dragged closer and closer to the edge. Your noises become more strained as Leon lays sloppy kisses on the side of your head.

He hooks his arms underneath your knees and brings your thighs up to your abdomen again. His arm loops around and thumbs your clit as he slams himself in and out. Your back arches and you squirm from the rush of white hot pleasure. You’re right there, not able to hold on for much longer.

“I’m gonna have you so full of my cum today, it’s gonna be dripping out of you still the next time you’re here,” he grunts into your ear, “Make sure your pussy remembers me till I can fill her again.”

His vulgar words rip a high pitched moan from your throat and cause your eyes to roll back. “Fuck, Leon, I’m gonna cum,” you whimper.

“Go ahead, sweet girl. Squeeze me nice and tight,” he moans, his own voice getting strained.

You do as he says. The orgasm overtakes you. You release a strangled cry as your body rhythmically rolls into the feeling. Your pussy clamps around Leon tight, sucking him deep and keeping the attention on that blissful spot. The thrill of satisfaction rushing through your mind only works you further. Your eyes flutter and your lips part as you completely let go.

As he watches you cum, he notes that it might be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. The sight of your gorgeous body writhing and trembling because of him. The primal sounds of your moans and cries. It’s too much for him. He growls and grunts into your neck, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips. He snaps even harder into you and floods you with his sticky, hot cum.

You both ride the waves of euphoria together until you both start coming down. He basically collapses on you as he catches his breath and you wipe the sweat from your brow. After a minute, he pushes himself off of you and flat on to the bed next to you. He gazes at the ceiling as his chest continues to rise and fall with the need for more oxygen.

You sit up slowly, realizing he probably wants you gone now. Like he said, you feel his cum leaking out of you as you move to grab your panties from the corner of his bed. This is how you expected it to be, but it still hurt a little. Nothing you couldn’t handle though. Your pulling them back on when your snapped out of your thoughts by Leon’s arm around your waist, dragging you to him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks teasingly, spooning you and softly kissing beneath your ear, “You got what you wanted and now you’re running out?”

“Oh, uhhh… I thought you’d want me to leave,” you say quietly.

He guides your face so you’re looking at him. His eyes are still soft but more serious. “You think I would just fuck you and then throw you out on your ass? You’ve been sleeping in my bed for months, but you don’t know me as well as you think,” he says and kisses your nose, “You don’t have anywhere to be today, yeah? You thought you’d be here till later anyway.”

You nod in agreement, your eyes casting down with some embarrassment over your assumption.

“Hey, don’t get all shy on me now. There’s no reason for it,” he teases, “We have all day for me to show you how I want to take care of you. Just give me a moment, I’m not as young as I use to be.”

[hellfirenacht]

Anomaly Part 3

Summary: You can talk to anyone in school with no problem. At least, anyone who’s not named Eddie Munson.

Tags: Anxious-ish!Reader but not shy, one sided pining, no use of y/n, fem!reader, one sided enemies to lovers, fem!reader

2.4k Words

Part 1, Part 2, Master List

Miles Cooper was still at school the following week, which meant that he was given no consequences for what had happened to you or for blaming Eddie. 

Eddie couldn’t even say he was surprised by this point. If Eddie really had been the one to trip you up, he was sure he’d get suspended or even expelled. It was so close to the end of the year and he could feel that Higgins was looking for any reason to keep him from walking across that stage to get his diploma. 

You hadn’t shown up on Monday. Not that it mattered to Eddie either way, you two didn’t even know each other. But you had cleared his name. That was the thought that kept buzzing around his brain like a mosquito that he just couldn’t swat. Despite the glares and the snide remarks, you had gone out of your way to make sure that he didn’t get in trouble for something he didn’t do, which is more than what he could say for a lot of people at this school.

He had to give you credit for that at least. Not many people outside of his small friend circle would stick up for him like that. 

With work and band practice, it was easy to forget about you until Wednesday when you showed up to English class with a thick white cast around your wrist and arm. Shit, your fall really had done a number on you. You were struggling with juggling your books and they fell off your desk with a clatter, and you thanked the girl next to you for helping you pick them up. 

Eddie would like to think he was above eavesdropping and gossip, but he’d be wrong. 

“What happened?” The girl- Sarah- asked. 

“I face planted on the bleachers at the pep rally.” you said, taking your seat again. “One minute I was trying to get down, and the next I’m getting elbowed and my arm hurt.” 

“I heard someone pushed you” 

Eddie heard that emphasis on someone and gripped his pencil, hearing the subtle sound of wood splintering against his thumb. This was not the time to make a scene. 

“No one pushed me. Miles elbowed me and I fell.” you said firmly. 

You were still defending him, Eddie wasn’t sure how to feel. 

“If you’re gonna spread rumors, could you do me a favor and make it sound more interesting?” You continued, “Like, start telling people that I dived off the bleachers to distract everyone that Miles shit himself.”

Eddie snorted loudly before he could stop himself. He slammed his hand pencil down on the table and covered his mouth. Dammit, why did you have to be funny?

Sarah laughed, much less obnoxiously and agreed before asking to sign your cast. You must be covered in signatures now, as you seemed to be friends with everyone. 

Everyone except him. 

Not that it mattered. 

It was nice and all that you saved him from getting in trouble, but it’s not like you two were ever going to be friends, no matter how funny you were. 

Class started and Eddie spent the rest of class doodling and barely paying attention to the teacher. This was usually how his school days went. Yeah, he had been trying harder in the past two years to graduate and pass his classes but some days his brain just refused to focus on anything important. 

The bell rang and Eddie took his sweet time getting his things together. Next period was his favorite- lunch. 

“Shit.” He heard you mumble as you tried to wrangle your books with one arm. He knew there was a rule about not being allowed to carry around a backpack but, shit, Eddie would have thought you’d get some help. Shouldn’t one of those many signatures be offering to carry your books? 

Obviously not, as you finally managed to tuck your notebook under your arm. You looked flustered, and hot in the face. Your brows were furrowed in concentration and you finally let out a loud groan as your papers went flying everywhere as students for the next class started coming in. 

It was pathetic, and Eddie couldn’t exactly leave you stranded. You cleared his name, so at least he could try and help you out right now. Maybe he’d even figure out what your problem with him was. 

“Here.” Eddie said and grabbed the papers closest to him and picked up your binder before you could stop him. 

Normally when Eddie looked at you, you’d turn your nose up at him and look away. This time, he found himself giving you direct eye contact. Your eyes were wide with surprise that he had stepped in to help, followed by more frustration. 

“Thanks.” you said shortly. 

“Need help getting to the lunch room?” Eddie asked. He’d wait for you to say no, to tell him to get out of your face, and he can walk away with a clear conscience that at least he tried. 

You were staring at him as if he were some sort of alien who had just asked you why the sky wasn’t orange. Yeah ok, he could take the hint. 

“Yes.” 

The word sounded choked out, as if the single syllable was a struggle to say. But you had said it, and Eddie was a man of his word, even though he hadn’t promised you anything. 

Eddie stacked your notebook and binder on top of his. You were still staring at him as if you couldn’t believe he was talking to you. Eddie couldn’t really believe it himself. 

He’d do this small favor for you as a thanks, and then you two could go back to ignoring each other. 

“Lead the way.” He said, offering up his best impression of his dad’s smile. If he was lucky (which Eddie never was) then maybe some of his dad’s Munson Magic might rub off on him enough so that you’d at least relax a little. 

You only nodded and led him out of the classroom. 

You didn’t like the cast and it’s off-putting stark white bandages. You wanted to choose a different color- maybe red or black or even that weird obnoxious toxic green that was offered to you. But your mom decided that white would be better because it would make it easier to sign, so white it was. 

Your parents at least took pity on you Monday, letting you stay home to wallow in embarrassment that you had broken your wrist and fractured your arm in front of all of your classmates. Tuesday they released you back to school, but you had instead skipped getting on the bus (because you could not drive one-handed) and played hooky at the local library. It’s not like anyone would care that someone your age was skipping school. 

Wednesday came, and you forced yourself onto the bus, the first time you had used it since moving to Hawkins. The ride was bumpy and long, and your walkman ran out of batteries halfway to school. 

It wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be. A few people came up and signed your cast, some asking what happened. You just told them the same thing, that Miles elbowed you and you fell. It wasn’t as exciting as the idea of the school Freak attacking you, but you weren’t about to get Eddie involved in something that he had nothing to do with. You were just going to ignore the fact that Eddie had been the reason you were heading in that direction anyway. 

English class rolled around, and you spent most of it poking the inside of your cast with your pencil, trying to scratch an itch that just wouldn’t go away. It was bad enough that you had fucked up your dominant arm, but this was actually Hell. 

When the bell rang, everyone else seemed to be in a huge rush to get out of the classroom. Everyone but Eddie. Obviously. Because of course the one person you were trying to avoid was now slinking around you. 

Your long weekend, you had done your best to try and not think about him. You could handle falling in front of everyone else in school, but with Eddie it was different. Your stomach twisted as you remembered how he had yelled as you fell next to him and how he had looked at you as you had ignored your stinging arm as you ran out of the gym to clear his name. 

It was bad enough he had heard you make a poor joke out of context, you weren’t going to throw him under the bus either. 

“Need help getting to the lunch room?”

Your face was already hot with the embarrassment of not being able to carry your own books. Your backpack had ripped the second you got off the bus, and you lost your math homework to a puddle. You hated that he was still here to begin with, was breaking your wrist already not enough pain and suffering? 

You were staring at him. Fuck- dammit- shit say something back-

“Yes.” 

The word almost got stuck in your throat. The only reason it came out was that as painful and embarrassing as this moment was, what Stacy would do to you if she found out you said no would be far worse. 

Eddie dropped your books on top of his, and gave you a smile that looked so forced that you couldn’t stand to look at him. Was this being done just out of pity? You’d run for the hills if he wasn’t holding you binder hostage. 

You led him through the hallway, and towards your locker. “I need to put some things up.” you said, and he followed you. 

The hallway was already mostly clear, and so no one seemed to pay you much mind. You weren’t sure what the rumor mill would churn out with Eddie carrying your books, but did it even matter? Two more months and you’d be out of this school and none of these people would matter. 

No one except the young man following behind you. 

Eddie dutifully held your books as you put them away. The door to your locker stopped you from seeing his face, which seemed like the perfect time to take the foot out of your mouth that had been there since the pep rally. 

“...I’m... uh... I’m sorry for what I said on Friday.” you started, pretending to rifle through a folder. “About you being in a cult. It was a stupid joke and I shouldn’t have said it.”

Eddie was quiet for a moment, and you felt your whole body tense up as you waited for him to say anything. 

“Yeah we uh.. We aren’t big on sacrificing in Hellfire.” he said carefully. “Had to stop that with the club budget cuts.” 

You had to bite the inside of your cheek and close your eyes tight to keep from laughing. You covered it up with a cough. “Yeah uh... sounds like that’d be a lot of paperwork.” 

You took a slow and deep breath before closing your locker to look at him. He was smiling at you, a far less forced one than before. It was almost the same smile he gave his friends when he didn’t know you were looking. 

It wasn’t much, but it didn’t stop the butterflies from exploding in your chest. You should see a doctor about that. 

“Oh yeah, tons.” Eddie said. “And with all the letters we get about our club being associated with the Devil it was just a bureaucratic headache.”

I know that if I could just talk to him one then I’d be fine. You had told yourself that every single day since these pesky little feelings emerged. Maybe you had been right. The two of you made your way to the cafeteria. 

“You’re just some nerds playing with dice.” you said, and realize that could be taken the wrong way. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I’ve also... played board games.” 

God you were acting like a total airhead. Board games? Really? You were acting like your brain was broken rather than your wrist. 

You felt Eddie’s eyes on you, and saw how he also looked unsure about your answer. Whatever was going through his head, he brushed aside. 

“I should also thank you for clearing my name.” he said, changing the subject. “You came running out of the gym and saved my ass.” 

“I wasn’t going to let someone get in trouble just because I fell!” It was the most assured thing you had ever said to Eddie.

“Well, either way I’d say you’re my hero.” Eddie said. “I’m pretty sure if you hadn’t come running to my rescue I’d probably be expelled by now, and then who would be around to corrupt the youth of Hawkins?” 

Hero. Eddie called you his hero. You felt your body buzzing with an energy that you were not in a place to use. 

You two were in the cafeteria now, and you led Eddie over to where Stacy was sitting. Stacy, being the queen of subtlety that she was, was openly gawking at the sight of the two of you together. 

She was giving you a look, and that look said that the second that Eddie was out of earshot you would be giving her a play by play of every single second of this interaction. 

Eddie dropped your books on the table by Stacy.

“Hi, Eddie!” she said in a perky voice. You wanted to kick her, and shot her a warning look which she ignored. “Will you be dining with us today?” 

You wanted to rip your hair out. 

“As much as I would love to spend my lunch period with you two ladies, I’m afraid my freshmen wouldn’t survive out there in the wild without me.” Eddie gave a dramatic bow. 

“Thank you. For helping me.” you said stiffly. Being on the receiving end of Eddie’s theatrics was making your brain blow a fuse. 

Eddie gave you a nod and sauntered off to his usual table where he was immediately hounded by his friends for being seen with you. You wondered what they were thinking. Did you look weird next to Eddie? Were they judging you for not being part of their group?

“Stop drooling.” Stacy said. “Talk.”

I have never broken a bone and have done minimal googling.

Also these chapters are getting longer dammit. This is supposed to be the easy stuff to wright UGH. Also tell me if there's something you wanna see with this, because I'm winging it like I do with all my writing lol

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[cowboyemeritus]

“I don’t think I can do this.”

You look up from your phone. Perpetua is staring at himself in the bathroom mirror, inspecting his new purple, sequined jacket with a frown. His mask and pots of paint sit off to the side, waiting to be put on, but for now, he's bare-faced. You share his displeasure; the article reminds you far too much of his shithead brother, who needed three of them, for some reason. Marika had insisted that some continuity, something familiar for the fans, was necessary for the new tour cycle to affirm his role as the new Papa. He may not bear the Emeritus name, but Perpetua is still a member of the Bloodline, still one of the sons of Nihil, even if he didn’t know it until very recently.

You sigh, meeting his eyes in the mirror and giving him a sympathetic look.

“It’s okay to be nervous.”

He worries his bottom lip between his teeth. “This is more than nervous. This is…” The look of utter despair in his eyes makes your gut twist. Perpetua shakes his head. His breathing is starting to come faster, heavier. “I- I can’t do this. I can’t.” He’s trembling.

You rise from your seat on the edge of the bathtub. In an instant, your arms are around him, your chest flush with his back.

“You can’t back out now, babe.” The show is sold out, the buses already parked outside of the area and ready to unload for tomorrow’s ritual. Maybe it’s not the best thing to say, but you’ve come to learn that sometimes, all he needs is a little tough love. “But you’ve been rehearsing this thing for months. You’ve already done it.”

He swallows hard. “This is different. All those people-”

“Are going to love you. They already love you.” You plant a kiss between his shoulder blades, delighting in the way it makes him shudder. “Not more than me, though.” He lets out a little laugh through his nose, and you’re so relieved you could cry. It’s working; you just need to push a little harder.

“No, definitely not.”

You rest your chin on his shoulder, gazing at him in the mirror. Despite your dislike of the jacket, you can’t deny that he looks fucking amazing in it. With the paints and the mask, it’s a deadly combination. His heart is still hammering beneath your palm, and so you drag your fingertips up and down his chest, trying to soothe him.

“A year ago, you were a high school band teacher.” He gives you a pointed look. You know he loved that job. “Nothing wrong with that, but look at you now. You’re a rockstar. You’re Papa.” You lock eyes with him in the mirror. His cheeks are already flushed a beautiful pink. “You’re Him, babe. You’ve made it.”

Perpetua watches the movement of your hand closely. “They’ll be expecting someone like Copia,” he mumbles. “Someone loud. That’s just not who I am.” You glower, tasting the bile of your hatred for Frater Imperator, whose downfall has become a sort of maladaptive daydream of yours. He’s the only man alive to whom Perpetua could turn to for advice, for some reassurance about his new job, but he’s chosen to act like a spoiled child, rebuffing him every chance he gets. Your beloved doesn’t show it, but you know the incident with the Twitter banner, as ridiculous a stunt it was, shook him pretty badly. It hurts him, knowing his long-lost twin hates his guts for no good reason, for simply daring to exist in the same space as him. For that, you’ll make the old bastard suffer… one of these days.

“If you ask me, that guy is a little too loud.” Your hand starts to trail lower, dancing across the planes of his stomach. The muscles twitch, and you delight in it, always having loved how ticklish he is. “You, though? Very mindful. Very demure.” Perpetua rolls his eyes at this, but the corners of his mouth turn upwards a little. When your fingertips brush against the button of his pants, you glance back up in a silent petition to allow you to continue. He gives you the most minute nod of his head, something sparking in his eyes, and that’s all you need. “You’re you. And you’re going to be amazing.”

Finally, he gives you a sheepish smile, head tilting to the side to rest against yours. “I appreciate your confidence in me, dearest, but-” In a swift motion, you pop the button open, and he sucks in a harsh breath. You’re pleased to find him hardening up as you pull down the zipper and reach in, palming at him through his underwear. He groans, the sound rumbling against your chest.

“No buts.” You give him a little squeeze, reveling in the way his entire body tenses up. Sparing a look upwards, you see he has his eyes shut. “You need to see this,” you purr. “Open those pretty eyes for me.” Hesitantly, Perpetua complies. If it weren’t for all the blood rushing downstairs, you’re certain his face would be beet red by now; he gets so adorably shy sometimes. You smile devilishly, stroking him a few times before your fingers hook under the waistband of his briefs, tugging them down just enough to free him from their confines. Taking him in hand, you start jacking him at a leisurely pace, pulling back the foreskin to reveal the tip, glistening with precum and nearing purple already. Your mouth waters, yearning for a taste, but you have an agenda to fulfill.

“Look at this perfect cock,” you command. Biting his lip, he complies. “You have no idea how many people want it already. A few photos and music videos, and they’re gagging for you, babe.”

“I wouldn’t-” Your other hand comes down to cradle his balls, and through gritted teeth, he moans. “You’re the only one I want.” In spite of the circumstances, it makes your heart flutter, keeping you steady in your resolve. He’s far too sweet, far too good to you; it would be criminal to just let him wallow in his anxiety for the rest of the evening.

“Oh, baby. What did I ever do to deserve you?” You fondle his sac as you continue to stroke him, feeling its weight and the way it’s already tightening up for you. He must be really keyed up — it’s further proof that he needed this. “My perfect man.” Turning your head, you plant a kiss on his neck, then lean in to whisper in his ear. “Papa V Perpetua. First of his name. A frontman unlike any before him.” You nip at his earlobe playfully, snickering, and he jolts. “You’re gonna take the Project to new heights, your Unholiness.” Upping the ante, you pick up the pace of your strokes, twisting your wrist while your other hand gently squeezes him, just how you know he likes. “It’s going to be fucking incredible.”

“Okay, okay, okay.” Perpetua hisses, head falling back against his shoulder, and you know from experience that means he’s close. “Whatever you say. Just-” He has to bite down on his fist to stifle a moan. “Fuck, it’s going to get everywhere.” You just chuckle.

“You’re Papa now. Make a mess. It’s your birthright.”

He lets out a shaky breath, hips jerking with a few abortive thrusts. Encouraging him, you tighten your grip around his shaft until he’s fully fucking your fist, chest heaving and moaning softly, like he’s being touched for the first time. He’s beautiful like this, cheeks all rosy and his face contorted with pleasure. He is a vision, the spirit of Lilith incarnate. It makes your own neglected arousal pound between your legs, but this isn’t about you. This is about hyping him up.

With a final flick of your wrist, Perpetua comes undone, cock throbbing as it shoots a few ropes of spend across the counter and into the sink. He moans, groans, shakes like a leaf in the wind, and all the while you hold him close, keeping him steady through it. When his climax finally ebbs away you don’t let go, basking in the glory of the moment. Though you’re not still working him, overstimulation quickly sets in, and he begins to squirm uncomfortably, snapping you out of your reverie. With an apologetic look, you release him, and he steps aside, awkwardly maneuvering around you so that you can get to the sink and rinse your sticky hands.

“Feeling better?” Perpetua nods, tucking his softening cock away. There’s the smallest splotch of cum on his pants, and he stares at it with a worried expression. He reaches for a towel, but you stop him, gently grasping at his wrist. “I’ll take care of it.” Grabbing the waistband, you tug the garment down, prompting him to step out of them. He looks rather silly, in just his dress shirt, sparkly jacket, and undies, and you can’t help but huff out a little laugh. Then, you rise up on your tiptoes, planting a kiss on his forehead. “Go get ready for bed. You need to rest.”

“But-”

“No buts,” you exclaim, “except that sweet ass of yours wobbling on stage tomorrow!” You give him another kiss, this time on the lips. “I’ll join you soon, okay?” He nods again, and though there’s still a faraway look in his eyes, he smiles. Your heart swells, knowing he means it. 

“Okay, babe.” Then he shuffles past you, out of the bathroom and towards the bedroom. Before he’s completely out of sight, though, he pops back into the doorway. “I wouldn’t have made it this far without you, you know.” You wave him off, scoffing.

“Oh, please. I’d be dead in a ditch by now if it weren’t for you.” He just laughs, and then disappears.

He can do this. And if he won’t believe in himself, then you will. You always will.

[readychilledwine]

hii!! i’m in love w your writing!!❤️❤️❤️ can i please request one where it’s azriel x reader. Feyre sees azriel wearing a ring on his left finger and asks,

” i’ve seen you wear that ring forever azriel, what does it mean? ”

” it’s my wedding ring ”

and her jaw drops bc she didn’t know he even had a lover.

” who is she? do i know her? what is she like? ”

he smiles faintly and says

” her name is y/n, she’s my mate and wife and she isn’t a warrior like us, she works at a library downtown. you don’t know her, only rhys and cassian do. we have a house in the outskirts in velaris. she is very sweet and i love her more than anything, our daughter is- ”

” YOU HAVE A DAUGHTER ????? ”

he nods and tells them all about her, he asks if feyre wants to meet reader and their daughter and feyre smiles and nods. He asks reader in the mating bond if it’s okay to bring her, nyx, rhys and cassian to dinner. reader says yes and azriel tells feyre he’ll pick them all up tonight before leaving to help his wife prepare. Reader meets feyre and become friends instantly, nyx and their daughter become friends aswell.

” how did i not know this?? this makes so much sense now. How he never sleeps here and he’s gone for days sometimes but not on missions. ” feyre asks rhysand.

”don’t worry i didn’t know for a long time either, Az is a very private person, he is extremely protective of his family. i’m glad he told me at all. either way he’s still a mystery sometimes, i learn new things about him all the time and i’ve known him for over 500 years” rhys says and laughs knowing your perfect for his brother 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️😭🥹😍

Haven

Warnings - none

A/n - I played with this for a while, rewrote it several times, and then made something that met in the middle of what came to mind, but still stuck with the request. Hopefully, you love it, dear 💜

Feyre had been in Velaris for 5 years. 5 long years and she had yet to figure out why Azriel kept a simple black band on his left ring finger at all times.

The two of them were on the couch, Rhys across from them, as they looked over maps of a few of the Illyrian Camps that had been recently renovated. The new cabins, mess halls, and dorms were a huge success, and figuring out the same layout for the remaining few was a huge topic of interest for the three smaller camps.

She glanced at the ring one more time before tapping it. Rhys and Azriel both looked at her, brows raised. "So, not magic," she muttered to herself. She tried spell cleaving it, "And not a ward or shield."

Azriel blinked at her, brows knit in silent question. Rhys had his hand over his mouth, hiding his amusement. Leave it to his wife to provide entertainment without knowing it was needed. "I-" she sighed. "You wear this ring all the time. I'm trying to figure out why."

Both of the males chuckled. "Probably the same reason you wear your wedding ring, Feyre Darling."

The High Lady made face, tapping the ring again. "Don't be ridiculous, Rhys. I would know if Azriel was married."

"Evidently not, my love."

Feyre and Azriel held eye contact, the male then going back to the maps. "Since I have extensive time in Steppes Peak, I think it would be easiest to move the mess hall here, at the base of the mountain, maintain the warroom in the carved out cave, and build better dorms here," he pointed to an empty part of the map.

Rhys nodded, drawing it out on the empty map he had. "I'm sure y/n will agree with whatever you say."

"Okay, stop." Feyre crossed her arms, pouting slightly at the two of them. "Azriel isn't married, and making up some name to make me feel stupid isn't kind."

Azriel sighed. He leaned back while dropping the scent ward he kept on himself at all times. He watched as her face fell. He knew his scent, chilled air and cedar, was the predominant one in the mateship, but now a soft floral scent, something like lavender and warm honey clung there softly.

"I've been married for longer than you have been alive, Fey." Azriel patted her hand. "I have a daughter older than you and another younger than Nyx."

He watched as her face fell, a small amount of hurt flashing across it. "Why didn't you tell me?" She paused, looking at the sleeping heir in his craddle. "We could be having play dates. I could have a friend who understands."

Guilt settled into his face as he pulled her into him. "I torture people for living, sweet sister. I execute people on your orders. I imprison people with a flick of your wrist." He tilted Feyre's head up. "Y/n has no combat training and refused to learn. She likes to sit at home writing poetry, baking, and cuddling our children. I do not bring her around or introduce them to anyone to keep them safe." His face held the ghost of a rare smile. "I think I've brought her to meet Rhys and Cassian once."

Rhys nodded. "I've met her once here and several times behind your back in town. Especially after my first niece was born."

Feyre kept her gaze on Nyx. "He could have a friend," her voice was distant.

Azriel stood, placing a kiss on her forehead as he did. "I'll be right back." Rhysand's smile grew wide. Folding the maps and putting them away. He moved to the liquor cabinet, bringing down one of his more expensive wines.

Azriel reappeared with you and both daughters in tow. Your oldest ran to Rhys, jumping on him and holding him tightly, her wings fluttering with joy as she did. "Hello, Amara," he nuzzled into her hair. "Missed you so much, baby girl. Cassian is on his way."

He walked with her in his arms to the table, setting the wine down and then carried her over to Feyre. "Would you like to meet your aunt?" She allowed Rhys to set her down and turned toward Feyre.

There was little question she was Azriel's. She was the beautiful artists dreamed of painting. Soft classic features framed with inky black hair that fell in gorgeous curls. "Feyre, this is our niece Amara. She's 56. She was my favorite suprise when I got home from the mountain."

She smiled shyly, keeping close to Rhysand. "Hi."

"Hi," Feyre didn't know what came over her, pulling the Illyrian female close to her and holding her. "I'm so excited to meet you."

Amara wrapped her arms around Feyre, returning the gesture. "Me too. Mom and I have been BEGGING dad for a while. But you know how the bats are."

The door slammed open, rushed loud footsteps and a panting filling the hall. "Where's my baby?!"

Amara pulled away from Feyre, smiling softly before moving away from all of them. She was rushed by Cassian, lifted up into his arms as he spun her.

Feyre looked to her side, noticing Azriel next to her, holding a swaddled bundle. "This is Iris. She's a month younger than Nyx." Azriel wouldn't look away from his daughter and her peaceful sleeping face. "I fear the day she loses her chipmunk cheeks."

Feyre looked around the room, trying to find the reason this was happening and felt her heart shift when she saw you, arm wrapped around Rhysand's bicep, looking at Nyx.

You were wingless, long dark hair braided back. Soft leggings and a sweater that was a few sizes too big covering your frame. Cassian had moved next to you, bumping you with his arm and smiling down at you. "He's so beautiful," your voice was a melody, a soft echo that brought calm to the room. "And so sweet. Look at those rosy cheeks."

Rhysand pulled you away, moving you back to Feyre. He handed you to Azriel, arms out expectedly. "Don't make me command it."

The shadowsinger placed his youngest in Rhysand's arms, hands shaking despite the trust between them, "Be careful with her. Please." Rhys nodded, moving over to Cassian. "Feyre, this is y/n, my wife and mat-"

Feyre didn't allow him to finish, hugging you instantly, tears lining her eyes as she did. "Please tell me we can be friends and cry about our babies together."

"I didn't realize that would even be a question. Of course we will be friends, and of course we will cry about all of the things. Our mates don't get it. Cassian, though, Cassian will join us."

The warlord stuck one finger in your direction. "Let me love them in peace, y/n."

You leaned into Feyre, "Has he cried while holding Nyx yet?"

She nodded. "Oh yeah. Big illyrian baby."

"The worst, aren't they? Rhysand, did you want me to make dinner?"

The High lord looked at Azriel, a small look of guilt on his face, "Please."

You squeezed Feyre's arm, kissing Azriel as you moved towards the kitchen. "You know where to find me if she needs me." He nodded.

Azriel moved to Cassian, watching like a hawk as the general snuggled the small babe in his arms. Amara was sitting by Nyx a look of love and adoration on her face as she sighed.

"She's perfect for Azriel in every way," Rhys stroked Feyre's hand. "I was nervous at first too when he brought her home. I was even more nervous when his fears manifested in the form of being deeply private with her. But she is perfect for him."

Feyre nodded, watching as Azriel glared as Cassian due to the loud squeak his baby had just let out.

"His girls are beautiful." Rhys hummed in agreement. "Y/n is beautiful."

Feyre moved to Amara's side, sitting next to her and smiling as her niece started asking questions.

She didn't realize it until now, but this was the missing piece. The part of the puzzle that had sat empty despite every thing around it being done. You and your girls were that lost center.

Now she just had to convince Azriel to keep bringing you around.

General tag list:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers

[finelinevogue]

sad beginnings,

summary - everyone sees you as this weird and crazy ravenclaw. everyone except remus and sirius.

pairing - ravenclaw!reader x wolfstar

word count - ~2.5k

tw: angst | no happy ending (yet) | bullies | blood | fight | self deprecation | she pronouns used

You thought breakfast would be better than a bowl of porridge, but that’s what you get for waking up late.

You’d overslept on your alarm clock by 45 minutes and were now paying the consequences by eating disgusting gruel for breakfast. There wasn’t even any honey to drizzle on top, thanks to some older Ravenclaws hogging it for their pancakes.

Half the tables were empty, as people started to head off for their first lessons of the day.

You had potions in half an hour.

Potions was one of your favourite lessons of the day, not because you liked the subject - in fact you despised it - but because you got to secretly crush on two of the prettiest boys in school.

Remus Lupin and Sirius Black.

They were currently the only group of Gryffindors still at their table, making a rather loud ruckus as they stood up from the table to leave.

James was teasing Lily about something and Sirius and Remus couldn’t stop laughing over it. Lily pretended to be offended and fake punched Sirius for laughing at her, only to have Remus lean down only slightly and kiss Sirius’ clothed arm all better.

It didn’t help that the two boys you would of course have a heavy crush on would already be in a well established relationship.

I mean, they were the prettiest boys in the school and they were opposites to each other so their relationship made perfect sense.

You just wished you had gotten there with one of them first. But who? You admired them both the same.

Both of them had—

“Oi, Y/N!” A Ravenclaw in your year, named Philip, shouted from down the table, making your porridge slide off your spoon and splat against the table.

You looked towards where Philip and his band of quite mean friends sat.

“Daydreaming about boys you could never get, again?!” Philip laughed, causing others around him to as well.

You didn’t reply. You knew better than to reply. Just keep your head down and trouble should go away.

Your eyes drifted from Philip over to where the Gryffindors had nearly exited the Hall, only Sirius and Remus had stopped just shy of leaving.

They were stood talking to each other.

“Who is it this time Y/N? Hm?” Darcy, one of Philip’s friends teased.

“Remember when Y/N tried to date Isaac? As if she could ever date him.” Someone else joked.

You looked back down at your porridge, still listening to them but trying your best to block them out.

Looking at your breakfast made you think about Isaac. He was just as bland and boring. Until he wanted to have sex with you and you really didn’t want that, well then he became an absolute prick. Started spreading horrible rumours about you, showing his true colours.

Isaac started spreading stories about how you tried to come onto him, only to deny him. How you had been weird and crazy the entire night, when in fact it was the opposite.

Now everyone thinks you’re weird, a prude and a bitch.

One of the reasons you have no friends.

Isaac had managed to isolate you and Philip and his cronies had taken advantage of that.

“Think she was looking at Remus and Sirius.” Someone snickered, making you love uncomfortably.

“No way! Y/N has hots for the dogs,” They thought they were funny, “Is that true, Y/N? You want Remus and Sirius to be your little boyfriends?”

They all laughed, until they went silent.

“You alright, Phil? Can I call you Phil?”

Your head shot up to see Sirius leaning down over the bench next to Philip, resting his palms on the table and glaring him down. Remus stood right behind him.

Your heart rate increased at the sight of them magically appearing.

Did they hear? Did they know? Were they in on the sad and pathetic joke?

“It’s just Philip.” Philip gulped.

“Great, Phil.” Sirius smiled, but it definitely wasn’t genuine. “We heard your filthy mouth speak our names and, well, I for one don’t like pricks speaking about me or my boyfriend behind me back. So keep your goddamn mouth shut or I’ll hex you back to Year 1. Okay?”

“Uhhh…”

“I said, okay?” Sirius asked again.

“Yes, yes!” Philip stuttered.

“Good.” Sirius moved back to stand up.

It was lovely that Sirius had come over here to defend his boyfriend like that. You craved someone having the kindness, and definitely the courage, to stand up for you like that.

You watched as Sirius took Remus’ hand and you wondered what that felt like.

You could imagine Sirius’ hands being quite rough and Remus’ hands being calloused, but both still having a sense of softness to them. They’d both be very grounding and warm to hold on to.

Then they both walked your way.

You quickly started to eat your porridge again, keeping your head down. You don’t think either of them would make a scene with you, but maybe they’d caught on to your gazes and blushing and they’d had enough.

You thought you were subtle but maybe you’d been far more obvious than you intended. You cursed yourself, but only knew it was a matter of time before you made a fool of yourself.

Maybe they weren’t even walking towards you. Why would they? They didn’t know you, except for your name maybe.

But then you saw them stop in front of the bench on the other side of you.

You looked up to find them both smiling warmly down at you. You gulped, thinking the worst.

“You have potions next right, Y/N?” Remus asked kindly.

He did know your name…

And he knew your timetable…

“Yes?” You asked, cautiously.

“You want to walk over with us? We’re heading there now.” Remus asked.

You were a little gobsmacked that they were asking you to do something with them.

No one has asked you to do anything in a very long time, even something as simple as being asked to walk to class with them. So this was a huge deal to you.

“Really? I mean, sorry, I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“Intrude?” Sirius laughed, “Never. C’mon.” He kindly smiled and you nervously got up from the table.

You picked up your robe and wand.

“Are you sure?” You asked to make sure a second time.

“Y/N, if you don’t hurry up then Sirius is probably going to pick you up and carry you there himself and then I’m going to have to deal with him moaning about crippling back ache later on… Oh my God… That want be implying anything about your weight… Um… Should I just stop?” Remus rambled and looked to Sirius for help.

“You really should.”

And you smiled.

Genuinely smiled, for what felt like the first time in a long time.

•-•-•-•-•-•

The hallways were starting to become busy.

People moving from morning time to lesson time, especially the first years with their overpacked bags and reckless running through the corridors to get to their lessons on time.

One darted past you, causing you to wobble. Luckily Remus was behind you and he put his hand on the lower part of your back to balance you carefully.

“Thank you.” You said, whilst trying really hard not to blush.

You failed to notice Remus blushing too as you turned back around. You definitely didn’t fail to notice the way Remus kept his hand on your lower back, helping you weave through the halls.

With two of the most popular guys in school, you didn’t realise how easy it was to actually manoeuvre through the corridors.

You’d spent too much time being infatuated with the time that Remus and Sirius were giving you, though, that you’d forgotten your potions book.

You stopped short, feeling the boys bump into the back of you abruptly.

“Bloody… Are you alright Y/N?” Sirius asked.

“I’ve forgotten my potions book. I’ll catch up with you, I just need to run to get it.” You turned to say to them, feeling slightly small underneath both their pretty eyes looking at you.

“Here, just take mine.” Sirius offered.

“No.” Remus swatted his hands, “Another “forgotten” book and you are going to get detention.”

“Oh screw that.” Sirius rolled his eyes.

“Y/N, take mine instead.” Remus insisted.

“What?” This time Sirius hit Remus’ hands away, “And mess with your perfect record? I don’t think so. Y/N…”

“Hey, listen.” You chuckled at the sight of them arguing… over you. It felt like the most surreal situation. “I’m just going to get my book, okay? Then none of us will be in trouble. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

You smiled at them in thanks, before darting around and away from them.

After you’r turned the corner, Remus hit Sirius over the head with his textbook.

“Ow! What the…” Sirius rubbed the back of his head.

“Really? You were about to give yourself a detention?” Remus chuckled, knowing exactly that was what Sirius was about to do and why.

“For Y/N? Absolutely.” Sirius smirked.

Remus shook his head and kissed Sirius’ cheek in admiration, before taking his hand and leading him off to potions.

•-•-•-•-•-•

As you rooted through your belongings in your dorm, you hummed to yourself with content.

You felt ten times lighter than you ever had felt before and all because the two pretty boys you’ve been admiring for so long had looked right back at you. They’d even gone as far as walk with you to potions.

Sirius was willing to get a detention for you and Remus was willing to break his golden reputation. That was flattery of their highest form.

You finally found your book, before pivoting to leave your dorm.

Only to find Darcy standing there with a cat in her arms, looking malicious as ever.

“O-oh Darcy. Hello.” You said, losing your hum and your smile with one look at her.

“Cut the pleasantries. You made us look like fools at breakfast in front of Sirius and Remus, you foul witch.” Darcy spat at you.

“I’m sorry, I never meant for that to happen.”

You felt yourself caving in on yourself, becoming that shelter of a shy person that these horrible people made you.

“And you think an apology will make it all better?”

“I don’t know.” You lowered your head.

“Well it doesn’t.” She moved towards you and you gulped in fear of her. She’d pulled at your hair and enchanted curses on you before, so you were terrified of what she might do now. Especially when it was just you two here.

“I’m sorry.” You looked up at her, hating that she could probably see the fear in your eyes.

“Show us up like that again and you’ll leave with more than just a scratch.”

“A scratch?” You asked, but maybe you shouldn’t have.

Before you knew what was happening Darcy’s cat attacked your face, clawing at your cheek with one powerful hit. The cat screamed what sounded like a war cry and you screamed in pain.

Your head turned to the side, leaving the cat’s claws to drag slightly down your cheek before letting go. You didn’t reveal your face again until you heard the door slam shut.

It only took a minute for you to delicately touch your cheek and see the blood for the pain to come flying in. You cried as you sat on your bed, cupping your cheek from dripping blood everywhere with one hand and the other hand resting on your forehead as you came to terms with what just happened.

You’d just been attacked for trying to apologise for something you hadn’t been in control of.

Your tears ran down your cheek and stung as they ran into the cuts on your cheek.

Walking to the little mirror hanging up on the wall, you looked in to see yourself. There were three lines scraped down your once bare cheek, running from just under your eye to resting on your jawline.

You cried some more, completely getting lost in the self loathing, before rushing around the dorm to find some healing lotion and tissues.

It took you ten minutes to clean up the mess on your face, and another five for the bleeding to calm down. It was an angry red mess, but you had to get to potions before the class ended.

You breathed out through your mouth a shaky breath, dabbing under your eyes with the sleeve of your jumper to wipe away the tears.

“You’re okay.” You said to yourself in the mirror. “You’re okay.”

You found that talking moved the cuts on your face and they stung even worse. So no talking it was. Brilliant.

“You’re okay.” You reminded yourself one last time.

But your words felt far from convincing.

[ part 2 ]

[girliism]

punk!patrick x reader

-

the minute you and your friend walk up to the house it’s quite obvious there’s a party going on. from the people dry humping on the grass outside to the music pouring out the house. you wondered how the cops hadn’t been called yet.

inside smelt like weed, sweat and other bodily fluids. right off the bat you realize these aren’t the kinda people you’re used to partying with. they were all dressed in heavy black clothes and makeup with jewelry covering their faces.

you stuck out like sore thumb in your mini jean skirt and pink top.

“i can’t believe you talked me into this.” you were currently being squished between bodies of people in someones stuffy basement. “it’s gonna be totally worth it ok, the guys in this band are hot.” your friend yelled back in your ear. that’s honestly the real reason you even joined her.

the instant screams that erupted when five guys walked onto the makeshift stage cut you off from responding to her. and the second your eyes caught the drummer you were hooked.

he had mini spikes in his black hair, piercings studded out of his eyebrow, ears and lip. loud shitty punk rock music blared in your ears, but you were completely focused on the unnamed drummer who was twisting his drumsticks between his fingers before beating them down. banging his head in time to the beat. you eventually found yourself jumping and screaming along with everyone else.

by the time their set came to an end your throat was sore and you could feel sweat bedding on your hairline.

“thanks for that energy you guys we got another band coming up soon so either stick around or don’t.” and you didn’t. the second you saw the drummer getting up, making his way through the crowd and you perked up. “hey. i’m gonna go get a drink.” you absentmindedly patted your friends shoulder, following after the black haired boy.

-

you caught up with him in the kitchen. he was chugging back whatever was in his cup before pouring some more. you tried not to get distracted by his wife beater that seemed a size too small from the way the hemline sat cropped showing off his happy trail.

“your guys set was really good.”

the guy in front of you took one look up and down at you before scoffing into his cup. “really?” you hummed, nodding your head, and pouring yourself a drink. “i loved all the um— anti conformist lyrics.” he shook his head and laughed. “right right. listen don’t take offense but are you sure you’re at the right party?” he was totally right you were at the wrong party, but that didn’t mean he could call you on it.”

it was your turn to scoff. “and why wouldn’t i be right party?” he just shrugged. “doesn’t really seem like your speed.” “and how do you know what my speed is?” you cocked your head to the side. “didn’t your mother ever tell you to not judge based on the cover, huh?” he threw up his hands in defense. “you’re right, i’m sorry. thank you for enjoying the show.”

“you’re welcome.”

there was silence before he spoke again. “i’m patrick by the way.” you repeated his name, testing how it felt in your mouth then introducing yourself.

you watched him out the side of your eye chew on the rim of his solo cup. “so.” you cleared your throat. “do you guys always play basements?” the drummer, you now know as patrick shook his head. “sometimes we play dive bars and other parties. it’s just this is our bassist brothers house so lets he us play whenever.” you nodded, “that’s sweet”

“he’s an asshole.” you nearly choked on your drink at the abrupt answer. “but he lets us use his garage for practice so i guess he’s ok.”

it was patrick’s turn to ask you a question. “you play any instruments.” you tilted your head up thinking. patrick’s eyes immediately hone in on your neck thinking about how good it’d look decorated in the marks he wanted to leave behind. “piano in the fifth grade.” you reveal.

“cute.”

suddenly patrick was close to you. “come with me.” he abandons his drink to grab your wrist pulling you with him.

-

you got a semi bad feeling when you guys reached the destination. it was dark but you could tell it was also spacious. you could only hope your weren’t about to get murdered by a guy in eyeliner.

“tada.”

the lights came on and you let out a breath. it was just a garage.

“and why are we in here?” you turned around to look at him, your eyes catching his fingers moving to twist the lock.

patrick walked around you to the drumset that sat near a wall. “was just a little loud in there.” he took a seat on the stool in front of the drums. “how long have you been playing.” you asked, walking you fingers crossed that gold cymbals that’s dinged together softly. “since i was ten.”

“a real professional, huh.”

patrick laughed holding out the drumsticks in your direction. “wanna try?” you nodded

you sat in his lap with his big hands covering your as he guided them to drum a simple beat. “so, gonna tell me why you’re really here.” his voice was deep in your ear. “just wanted to see who was playing tonight.” you say sticking to your lie.

“bullshit.”

his hands leave yours and rest on your bare thighs. “come on just tell me. i know you don’t listen to this shit.” he referenced to the music that you could hear faintly. “fine, my friend is more into this stuff i only came because the band was supposedly hot.” you shrugged.

you felt the rumble of his laugh on your back and his fingers sliding up your thighs.

“and are they? hot, i mean.” patrick’s breath was hot against the back of your neck, his lips ghosting your skin. “mmm, the drummers pretty alright.” you tease. turning around to face him. “that right.” you nodded, making the first move to press your lips against his.

the kiss escalated quickly, you tugging on his bottom lip piercing with your teeth earning a groan from him. he slide his hand down the front of your skirt. “o-oh my god.” patrick easily slipped his middle finger into your wet heat. “you’re so wet.” he muttered against the skin of your neck that he was sucking marks into. “a-another.” you moaned and patrick’s pushed his ring finger in and pumped them both in and out at a fast pace, his palm hitting against your clit.

you abandoned the drumsticks on the floor grabbing on to patrick’s wrist. “oh fuck! right there.” your knee jerked up hitting the drum set causing the cymbals to bang together drowning out the obscene squelching noises, when patrick’s finger tips find your g spot.

“m’close.” you whine, throwing your head back on to his shoulder. “gonna cum all over my fingers,huh? ” he said in your ear. pressing kisses on your cheeks and jaw. you could only nod, your whimpering getting louder and breathing getting heavier. all it took was patrick’s thumb flicking at your clit to send you over.

“oh my god, u-uh!”

patrick let you ride out your high, grinding your hips down on his fingers. you slumped back into him, catching your breath. patrick pulled his hand and out you pants and turned your face towards him. you ignored the cringey feeling of your wet fingers against your cheek. he fitted his tongue into your mouth in a messy make out.

“fuck.” patrick pushing you to stand up before dragging you by your belt loop to the wall that was behind you. “need to be inside you.” he rushed out, pulling you in for another kiss that tasted like weed and fireball. “this wanted you wanted all along right? to get fucked.” he hiked up your skirt to your waist, pulling your panties out and disregarding them on the floor.

he unzipped his pants enough to pull his cock out. “wanted to come to the show and play groupie?” he traced the tip of his cock on your already sensitive cunt. “you can be my little groupie, follow me around.”

“yeah-yes!” you threw your head back hitting the wall when patrick pushed his full length into you. patrick held your legs around his waist, squeezing the fat of your ass between his calloused palms in a bruising grip.

“god, you’re tight.” patrick groaned, thrusting his hips up.

you didn’t know how long you’d last, your inner walls still sensitive and throbbing. the feeling of patrick’s cock dragging against them had your moans bouncing off the walls of the garage. “f-feels so good.”

patrick moaned, completely taken by the site of his dick disappearing in and out of your cunt, coming back wetter each time. “this perfect pussy.”

your guys moans mingled together in a mix of low and high pitched grunts and groans.

your nails embedded themselves in patrick’s shoulders. “gonna cum again.” you whined and patrick sped up. his cock head drilling into that soft spot inside you. patrick dropped his head into the crook of your neck grunting into it. “shit, do it. wanna feel you cum on around me.”

you took hold of patrick’s dark locks messing up his gelled spike. your walls got tighter around him. your head hitting the back of the wall, and a moan getting stuck in throat in the midst of your orgasm.

“f-fuck.”

patrick pulled out still hard and on the verge of cumming, jerking himself off in four hasty strokes before he released on your inner thighs and the wall.

“holy fuck.” patrick slotted his lips against your in a wet kiss.

you both silently got back dressed. you tugging your skirt back in place and patrick stuffing his dick back in his pants.

“here.” patrick picked a sharpie that was lying around, and grabbed hold of your arm. “my number.” he scribbled it in messy writing. “just in case you want these back.” he grabbed your lost underwear off the floor holding them up before tucking them into his back pocket. leaving you in the garage to collect yourself

-