#and the next chapters will be like ALL game plot

[ao3commentoftheday]

hi! I know you've talked before about writing oneshots/writing only the scenes you're interested in, however, at this point in my life, I have a bunch of incomplete wips that I've posted only one chapter for, even if I've written more but not a full next chapter for, and I do want to finish these! and a few oneshots which have been rather lightning-in-a-bottleish as in the process of getting the idea to writing it all down in one session happens over the course of one day. How do I shift my 1/2

thinking so that I don't create new multiple chapter projects but also work on my prior long projects and figure out how to do oneshots that aren't waiting for inspiration to strike? 2/2

---

So on the one hand, writing oneshots and multichaps at the same time is kind of how I roll? But I also don't really know "how" I do it. I'll share my process, and maybe that will help?

Basically, I love a oneshot. Short fics, my beloved. I can write 800-1500 words in an hour or less, and that's honestly my favourite way to do it.

I write my multichap chapters in a way that's very similar to how I write oneshots. I go into the chapter with a goal of hitting the next plot beat in there somewhere. I start close enough to it that I know it won't take me long to get there, and I end the chapter almost as soon as that beat has been hit. That means that every chapter of a multichap work still gives me that rush of feeling like I've finished something.

I usually only have my story planned two or three beats ahead of time, so I also get to keep the inspiration going - so long as I know what my end game is. I'm always writing to that end point, but I leave my options open for how I get there. If I plan too much, it feels like the story has already been written. That's when I lose interest and give up.

Writing this way means that I'm always writing oneshots. It's just that some of them are closely connected to each other and the rest aren't. Slotting another oneshot in is easy enough between chapters because everything I'm writing has a similar workflow to it.

I don't know if that process sounds appealing or not anon, but if you get desperate enough maybe you'll give it a shot.

Otherwise, let's open this up to others. How do you keep up with multichapter works while also giving yourself room to write oneshots?

[ranticore]

how did you start writing books that had themes? i’ve been writing since i was 7 years old and i’ve always wanted to write a whole book one day, but i don’t feel like i write with enough intention for any of my stories to keep my interest long enough to write a novel. i love building worlds and characters, and i often understand the themes that i want to explore in a given piece, but i always feel like worldbuilding gets in the way of actually writing a plot or having something to say, or that i’m too interested in stuff that doesn’t matter as opposed to actually telling a story. that or i feel like my stuff is too derivative.

So I did the same as you from a very early age, a lot of writing that was kind of directionless, lacking overarching structures. I don't want to say it was immature but in the way of kids playing imagination games, it just kinda.. went on and on with no resolution just pure interaction where any random thing could happen because it seemed like the next step. But for that kind of writing, "the next step" was based off the one directly previous to it. To make the jump to what you describe as books with themes, "the next step" can't be based off the one directly previous to it. "The next step" has to be the extension of every single previous step, including the very first, because the entire story is built from the ground up to be a single unified whole.

I think the jump from the directionless writing to writing A Novel (with all attendant structural conventions - different to fanfic, tv writing, screenplays etc) is that the novel is approached holistically with every single event considered at the same time, instead of each little part examined as a discrete unit that links to the next at the end of the chapter/scene/etc.

What I did was write my entire series out - all three books - in rough draft format, changing it and retconning it freely as I went. the continuity in these drafts sucked and the themes are all over the place but when I was finished with these three book drafts I had every tool at my disposal. at the end of my book 3 rough draft I had worked out all my themes and my events sequence etc. which meant that when I went on to start writing what would become the final draft of stbh (complete rewrites from the ground up, no reusing rough draft prose), I knew from the very beginning exactly how the story would end and it gave me so much freedom and space to approach the full story as a whole, add foreshadowing that wasn't there before, coded hints to how the last book would end (nobody's spotted them yet... as far as I know), and so on

As for themes vs worldbuilding, and what details matter more, ultimately it's for you to decide what you want to focus on. But you also need to understand when a particular element needs to be cut to serve the narrative. If it's something you really really need to include, then you need to restructure the narrative around it (the rough draft -> rewritten first draft method helps a lot with this). There's plenty of plotlines I really liked which I axed in the end because, cool as they were, they broke the causal chain and therefore had to go.

When choosing themes you can approach it not as "what do I like" but "what do I want to say". This should clarify a lot of things. Sometimes what you want to say is "wouldn't that be fucked up or what", it isn't always some deep commentary on the world. For the imimata story I went at it with the initial core of "I am talking about dehumanisation, abuse, and celebrity culture". So I have to wrap my worldbuilding around that, rather than start without direction. The fact that the situation for imimata is so dire is a result of this theme. And so on.

Finally for worldbuilding it is possible to overdo it. I personally get turned off a story very quickly if I'm hit with eighteen walls of exposition and detail unrelated to characters, because I only want one thing and it's disgusting (character interaction), so I'm happy with a very loose canon setting. Not everyone's the same. When you do reveal world building details, link them to your theme. Let's say in Inver my theme was poverty and I want to talk about my worldbuilding around diets. I narrate that through a character who grew up in poverty reminiscing about having to go collect whelks in the bay mud. That teaches us about the physical geography of the city, what the view out to sea looks like, the coastal habitats, the types of food gathered by the poor, and also something about that character as well. Additionally, you might know one billion facts and figures about your setting but do your characters have that knowledge?

Also your own interests vs others' - write for yourself first or you'll be miserable. And if it's derivative or not - idk I mean I just avoid pulling inspiration without twisting it into what I want (and I also avoid pulling inspiration from ppl on my tumblr dash because that's how things get stale). I am a contrary bitch first and foremost and I approach a lot of stuff like "everyone's doing this? well I'm doing the opposite" ... ymmv

[kjiscrawlingbackformore]

Peace - Act III : Chapter seven

Lottie Matthews x fem!reader

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: Reader comes back to her hometown and transfers to Wiskayok High School after getting expelled from her previous high school. Follows Junior year into Senior year, all the way up to the crash. (Eventual NSFW mdni)

Warnings: None

The sun was sinking low over the field, casting long golden shadows across the turf. You moved along the sidelines, camera pressed to your face, the familiar click of the shutter echoing softly under the sounds of whistles and yelling.

Jackie looked pristine as always, ponytail bouncing, uniform spotless, calling out instructions like a born leader. Beautiful even when she wasn’t trying to be. It made you roll your eyes.

Van was in rare form, half-serious and half goofball, pretending to strike superhero poses mid-drill just to mess with Coach Martinez. Mari and Laura Lee flanked Lottie as they weaved through cones, their laughter carrying lightly through the air.

Tai jogged up to Coach mid-drill. “Come on, just one hint. Give me initials. Shirt color. Something.”

Coach Martinez didn’t even blink. “You want to impress scouts? Play like every game is their game.”

Tai groaned. “That’s not an answer, that’s propaganda.”

You lowered your camera, snorting quietly. On the far side of the field, Shauna was running paired drills with Allie, barking corrections and encouragements like a pro.

It all looked so alive, really sweaty, even more chaotic, warm, and you realized just how much you’d missed being here. The familiar buzz of cleats against turf, the mix of sweat and sunblock in the air, the click of the shutter syncing with laughter and shouts.

During water break, Lottie jogged toward the sidelines and peeled off her headband, sweat dotting her brow. She kept her voice low as she leaned close to you, barely audible under the chatter around them.

“So… Ben Grimes,” she said casually. Too casually. “Has he been flirting with you?”

You raised an eyebrow, fighting the smug grin, wanting to make an appearance. “You’re still thinking about that?”

Lottie rolled her eyes. “Um, no.”

You gave her a look that said liar. “Well,” you added with a shrug, “he did bring flowers to my desk in mixed media an hour ago.”

Lottie froze mid-sip of her water, expression unreadable for a second, cheeks flushed either from practice or something else entirely. “Are you serious? What kind?”

The way she said it, like it was a challenge, like she was already plotting how to one-up him, made you laugh, full and warm.

“No,” you said, amused. “But if he did, I’d tell him to piss off. The Yellowjackets got me booked all season long.”

That did it. Lottie relaxed, her mouth pulling into a grin that was far too pleased.

You glanced over Lottie’s shoulder. “Water break’s almost up.”

Reaching up and brushing a stray piece of turf out of Lottie’s hair without thinking. “Focus up, Matthews,” you said, smirking. “You gotta lock in if you want to make it to nationals this year.”

Lottie grinned so hard her cheeks hurt. “Yes, ma’am.” And for a second, standing there in the middle of the field, your eyes still on her, Lottie almost forgot they weren’t allowed to kiss in public.

Almost.

Your eyes lingered on her face before you motioned for her to head back. She pouted and gave a sigh before jogging back to the field. You watched her go, your heart clenching within your chest.

Your fingertips drumming on your leg, feeling a burst of energy buzz within you. Having no place to go. You turned your back to the field and focused on your job.

The next night, Mari’s party had bloomed in the backyard like it always did, too many folding chairs, too many voices, too many barely-legal bottles passed hand to hand. Someone had strung fairy lights across the fence, and they flickered every time the music swelled. It was the night before the first game of the season, and no one wanted to think about cleats or drills or Coach Martinez’s whistle.

You were leaning against the deck rail, the cheap lighter in your hand flickering as you lit the blunt Natalie had pressed into your palm fifteen minutes ago with a sly, “Don’t say I never gave you anything.”

She watched you with a wide grin, and a deep look in her eyes. Like she was excited to see your reaction. Before you pressed it to your lips you narrowed your eyes at Nat.

“Promise this isn’t laced with anything insane?”

She chuckled, “Scouts honor.” she promised holding up crossed fingers like it was sacred.

You nod, and bring the blunt to your lips, eyes still on Natalie as you took a deep inhale. She look held your gaze with an intensity that seemed to soften around the edges in the haze of the blunt in your mouth.

It tasted like pine needles and ash. You exhaled slowly, letting the sound of bickering and laughter blur into white noise. Nat plucked the blunt from your lips and took a hit of the same bud. She exhaled smoke into your face.

“Rude.” You mumble, waiting for her to give it back.

She smiles, “Consider it the dealers tax. Besides wanted to taste it.”

You motioned for it back, and she rolled her eyes, “Not even a please?” she teased.

You scoffed, “Didn’t realize the badass Natalie Scatorccio would demand manners.”

“Hmm well as an ex girl scout, manners will always be a big deal for me.” She deadpan, but after a minute she cracked a smile and giggled.

Natalie fucking giggled.

You’ve never heard her do that. Or seen her looks so soft and…cute? Your eyes widen and lips crack into a smile. “You are soooo fucking high. How much have you smoked???” You ask, reaching for the blunt.

Natalie giggles, and moves her hand away from your reach. “Awww do you care? Don’t worry I’m a big girl I can handle it. Besides I’m not the one we should be worried about.” She motions to past you, and turn your gaze to the direction.

Across the yard, Tai was in a full-on debate with Allie about defensive positioning, her hands flailing dramatically while Allie rolled her eyes and mimed throwing herself into a bush.

You laughed, not just at them, but maybe too hard at something Ben Grimes had just muttered under his breath beside her. Something about Tai being one bad call away from biting someone.

Where Ben came from you had no idea. He seemed to manifest out of nowhere. And in this appearance, Natalie seemed to disappear. He has a shy grin as he says something else, clever, a little funny. And you can’t help the chuckle that slips from you.

Van caught it. But more importantly, so did Lottie.

Lottie, sitting on the back steps with a red Solo cup in one hand and Mari’s voice still buzzing in her ear. She'd taken two sips too many, half a hit from Van’s joint, and now the edges of the world were a little too soft. Her jaw tightened when she saw Ben lean closer toward you, like he was about to make a third joke. She didn’t even hear it. Didn’t need to.

Van nudged her shoulder. “Yo. Chill.”

Lottie didn’t. She snatched the joint from Van’s fingers with more force than necessary, took a quick inhale, then pushed herself up.

“I’m getting another drink,” she said, not really looking at anyone.

Van leaned back, grinning. “Touchy.”

Lottie didn’t respond, just headed inside, the hem of her denim jacket brushing against the screen door as it slammed behind her. Your eyes caught Lottie’s escape back inside.

You frowned, your stomached dipped at the harshness of her exit. You sigh, turning your head to see Nat talking to a boy. You grabbed her shoulder, Nat’s eyes widened at the sight of you. But she smiled when you handed the blunt back to her in passing.

You then murmured something to Ben that sounded like a laugh and an apology but didn’t reach your eyes. Then you followed Lottie back inside.

You found her in the kitchen, staring at a shelf of mismatched cups like they were judging her. The music was muffled here, replaced by the hum of the fridge and the buzz of the overhead light.

“Hey,” you said, stepping in close. “You good?”

Lottie didn’t answer right away. Just filled her cup with something orange and carbonated, then took a sip and made a face. “Why does this taste like cough syrup and poor decisions?”

You smirked, a chuckle bubbling up. “Because it is.”

Lottie set the cup down a little too hard. “Can we leave?”

You raised a brow. “We haven’t even been here an hour.”

“Yeah, well,” Lottie said, her voice lower now, close to a whisper, “I’m done here. Let’s go do anything else. Please.”

You studied her for a second. The smudged mascara, the twitch of her hand near her mouth, the tiny crack in her bravado.

“Ben is harmless,” You said gently. “And you really need to stop mixing alcohol and weed together to numb out your frustration. It’s not a cute cocktail.”

You don’t mention her meds. How she shouldn’t be drinking so much while on them. How you’ve seen how it makes her hangover worse when she drinks too much. And normally you don’t have to. Lottie will normally nurse a single drink all night.

Tonight seemed to be an exception.

Lottie gave a breathless laugh and leaned against the counter, her eyes a little glassy. “Says the girl who literally took a hit from Nat and ran inside here.”

You reached out and brushed your thumb along the edge of Lottie’s sleeve. “Someone’s been watching me.” You teased.

Lottie rolled her eyes, no crack of a smile on the horizon. You sighed, your head tilted to study her. She wouldn’t meet your eyes, and so you let your hand rest on top of hers in a gentle featherlight touch. “Fine. We can go.” You relented.

Lottie blinked at you. “Really?”

You nod, a small smile dancing on your lips. “Really.”

And in that moment, Lottie felt like she won something. Maybe everything. Because you chose her. Again. Without asking why. Without needing to. You both left out the back door with no goodbyes.

Van watched you both go, sipping from her drink, shaking her head with a grin. “Called it,” she muttered to no one in particular.

[cramberry24]

I Am No Mother, I Am No Bride, I Am King

BACK ON SCHEDULE hope ppl reading this enjoy long, looooong fics bc this babey is gonna be huge

Chapter 13: Feed Me Promises, Keep My Heart Well, I'll Sing You Songs Until The Darkness Does Recede

Pairing: Robert Zussman/OFC

Tags: 18+ Minors DNI, Explicit Language, Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Period Typical Attitudes, Historical References, Historical Inaccuracy, War, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Medical Inaccuracies, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Friendship, Period-Typical Sexism, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Homophobia, Feminist Themes, Queer Themes, Survivor Guilt, Self-Esteem Issues, Blood and Gore, Graphic Description of Corpses, Protective Robert Zussman, Trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Choking, Buried Alive, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Denial of Feelings, Misunderstandings, Yearning, Mutual Pining, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, no beta we die like, well you know, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Panic Attacks, Anxiety Attacks

Summary: Eve is superstitious. First platoon meets an oddball. Dellucci experiences karma. Pierson is...nice? With special guest Boris Karloff!

Snippet as always under the cut!

The next few days are just travelling, patrolling, and exploring.  They run into a few platoons of Germans early on, getting stuck in those pesky hedgerows, but the attack doesn’t last very long and there’s practically no casualties.  The city is far behind them now, and instead there’s more and more farmlands, fields, forests.  Some of the land has been scorched, destroyed as the Germans left, but some of it is untouched.  The rolling green fields are a breath of fresh air - literally - but Eve loves the forests the most.  Unfortunately, they stick to the farmlands and fields, which is better, she supposes, and everyone settles into the monotony of their travels.

Eve is just starting to settle, finally letting go of the stress of the city, when she hears it.  It’s late at night, actually early in the morning, during the witching hours, and Eve’s on watch while everyone else sleeps.  Lowe is the only other person awake, on the other side of their little camp.  She can’t see or hear him, not unless he yells, and so she’s practically by herself.  The rest of the men are sleeping close by, and mist swirls around their still bodies, Eve’s boots, nearby tree stumps.  She hums under her breath, tapping her foot softly as her eyes lazily scan their surroundings.

She may be bored, but she’s still alert, but only for any signs of German soldiers.  As such, when the demonic, grieving, screeching wail cuts through the air, Eve’s heart just about gives out right then and there.  She jumps, lifting her rifle up and putting her finger on the trigger as she staggers a few steps forward, the rabbit thumping hard in her ribcage with every thundering beat of her heart.  The shriek rises in pitch and Eve blinks in the inky darkness, her shoulders tense and mouth thick and dry with terror.  Then, abruptly as it started, the keening cry vanishes, leaving only the rustling of the men and trees and the pounding of her heart.

No man could make that sound, Eve’s certain.  She’s heard men scream, in fear, desperation, pain, grief, and she knows there is no way on Earth that a man could scream like that, with such volume and horror.

A woman, maybe?  Had a woman just been attacked?  No, no, that scream was not made by a person.  It had been too…not of this world.

Foxes make unholy noises.  Maybe a fox?  There had been that time when she was a kid, clinging to her momma and listening in horror to two foxes shrieking and fighting over a kill.  But as unholy as those foxes had sounded, they were still nothing compared to this wail, now.  A chill runs up her spine, and she spins to see if anyone else has heard the terrifying scream, becoming more unsettled when she sees no one has stirred.  How has no one reacted, woken up?  It had been so loud, left her ears ringing.  She checks with Lowe, but he just gives her an odd look, and she sinks into her thoughts, unease swirling in her gut.

It’s Zuss she goes to a day later, when she’s checked that no one else had heard it, when she’s had time to think about it.  She’s convinced, stubborn in her belief, and Zuss watches her with an amused expression on her face as they tramp through more fields.

“It was the goddamn Hag of the Mist.”

Robbie huffs out a laugh. “Who?” he asks. “Listen, if it was as loud as you say it was, why didn’t anyone else hear it?  Or her?”

“That’s why it’s the Bean-Sidhe !”

Zuss blinks, frowning in confusion, and stumbles as he trips over a hidden dip in the ground.  He mutters a curse under his breath and Eve smiles fondly.  The tables have turned, now.  In the city, Eve had felt off-kilter and Zuss had been perfectly at ease, but now, out in nature with not a single building in sight and nothing but land, it’s Eve who’s sure-footed and Robbie who’s unsteady.

“What did you just say?”

“It’s Irish,” Eve explains. “A banshee!”

“I thought you said it was a hag?”

A groan and a roll of her eyes. “The banshee is the Hag of the Mist!  My mam told me about them, from back in Ireland.”

Zuss’s forehead is still creased as he frowns.

“A banshee is a Faerie Woman,” Eve continues. “She comes at night, and she lets out the most unholy wail you could possibly imagine.  She screams as a warning, or an omen, or something.  My momma told me that the banshee waits outside a family’s home and screams to let them know a loved one is about to die.”

Zuss hums. “Have you ever heard a banshee before?”

“No.  My mom hadn’t either, but she said her mother heard one the night before her brother died.”

Zuss cracks a small grin. “So it’s not real.  Just a made up scary story, then.”

“It’s not made up!  I heard it that night, I swear!”

“I thought you said it appears outside people’s houses?”

She purses her lips. “Well, I don’t exactly have a house right now, do I?  But I’ve heard people scream, I’ve heard animals cry, and I know that was something not of this world.”

Zuss outright laughs at that, and Eve flushes with embarassment.

“Fuck you!” she snaps, but she’s not really mad, even though she does stretch out her stride to move ahead of him.

“Oh, c’mon, angel!” He’s still grinning as he hurries to catch up with her again. “I just didn’t think you believed in all that kinda stuff!”

“What kinda stuff?”

Robbie waves a hand in the air in front of them. “I don’t know, all that stuff!  Ghosts, and goblins.  Should I warn you the next time I see a black cat?”

“Shut up, will you?  So what if I’m superstitious?  Ugh, you’re just like Nora.”

“Oh, Nora doesn’t believe in all that either?  Consider me shocked .”

Eve snorts, turning her face away and lifting a hand, pretending to itch at her nose to hide her smile.

“It was probably just someone screaming.  Maybe artillery?”

“I’ve heard more artillery than you, I’d recognize it in my sleep.”

“Maybe you actually fell asleep standing up-?”

“It was a Bean-Sidhe, I know it!  If you’re just gonna make fun of me, I’ll go back to my own squad.”

“Oh, come on, angel!” Zuss bumps her shoulder. “I won’t laugh anymore.  I swear.  Cross my heart.” And he does, pulling his face into a somber expression, lips turned down and eyes wide.

“Whatever.”

He drops it, back to casual. “So, why’d you say they scream again?  A warning?  Coulda used that before the train, I’ll tell you that-”

Eve’s lips twitch as she fights a grin. “No, it’s not that kind of warning.  It’s an omen, that someone in your family is gonna…”

She trails off, chewing on the inside of her cheek.  She tries to be optimistic, especially about Emma.  She’s heard rumours that the Airborne have gone back to England, have a break before they have to go back into combat again.  So she should be fine.  As far as she knows, everyone else in her family is doing well, except her grandfather.

She hasn’t gotten any letters from home since her stay in the hospital.

“Could it be, like, any of the soldiers?  Since it appeared here?”

Robbie’s voice is softer than before, and she appreciates it.

Eve considers his words for a few seconds. “I don’t think so.  It’s always a family member who passes.”  Her fingers flex on her rifle and she takes a shaky breath in. “I mean, my grandfather is sick, and Emma…”

She doesn’t want to think about that.  Her father’s been having those back issues again - what if they got worse, or something went wrong?

“Hey, I’m sure everything’s fine.  Besides, maybe banshees aren’t right all the time.  You know, like those near death experiences!  You said she’s supposed to show up outside a house, but she didn’t here.  So maybe there’s some give and take here, some room for interpretation, if you will.”

Eve hums, but she doesn’t say anything, worrying her lip.  Would she get a telegram if Emma was killed in action?  Or would she have to wait for her parents to receive it and then send a letter to her?

“So, you didn’t see her at all?”

He’s trying to distract her from thinking about death and instead focus back on this creature, and she takes the bait easily.

“No.  I don’t think you’re supposed to.  All you hear is the scream.”  She shudders again, the wail echoing in her mind. “The caoine .”

“Damn.”

There’s still a tingling in the back of her mind, a worry and dread that someone she loves is dead and she’s just left in a state of unawareness.

“Well, what do you think she looks like?  I’m picturing some old, hunched over old woman, covered in warts!  She’s mean, and she’s got ugly, gnarled teeth-”

Robbie bumps her again as he holds up a hand as if to show gnarled teeth, grinning at her, and she shakes her head with a smile.

“No, no, I think she’s tall, and young, and-”

“No, she has to be short-”

“You’d never even heard of her until five minutes ago!"

[ibblescribbles]

Do you think you will ever check out Raincode? It's made by the same people who made DR but with a more focus on mystery. (It has the same vibes and stuff, I feel like you would like it a lot) another thing, the writing is so banger

Yes, I've already played Raincode!! Really enjoyed it, especially for the DR-like vibe and I actually made charms of the main cast:

I have sketches of Yomi and Yakou that I've been meaning to add to this set for ages but haven't been able to bring myself to refine them ;v; Makes me happy when people recognize the Raincode merch at cons tho! I'm really excited for Kodaka's new game too, I haven't played the demo yet!

[hbmmaster]

I love the genre of youtube video that exists right now where people talk about everything you "need to know" before deltarune chapters 3 & 4 are released but like they all take it for granted that the easter egg and arg stuff that the fandom has been making theories about for the past few years will definitely 1) be plot relevant in the next two chapters and 2) when it is plot relevant the game will be written in such a way that if you hadn't been keeping up with the easter eggs you would not understand what's happening

[ariestrxsh]

olderbrothersbsf!matt x innocent!reader

જ⁀➴ ♡ content warning: smut, innocence corruption, masturbation, public fingering, praise, sneaking around, mentions of sex and virginity loss, small age gap (both characters are adults)

જ⁀➴ ♡ summary: your brother's childhood best friend, matt sturniolo, takes your virginity, and the two of you begin sneaking around in plain sight.

dividers by @/roseraris

Young God

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 |

Matt woke up in a cold sweat, his chest covered in a thick layer of perspiration, laying on the floor next to your brother's bed in his dark room. He had heard your brother's voice so clearly in his dream that he was sure it was real while it was happening.

He had taken your virginity earlier in the night, and his conscience was already nagging at him in the form of vivid nightmares that the interaction had ended in your brother walking in on the two of you.

In reality, he was thankfully a heavy sleeper, and it was a running joke in the family that he could sleep through a car accident, and he actually had once. It was a minor fender bender, but still. So even as Matt woke up in a panic, gasping for air, your brother was snoring loudly, the same way he was when Matt had snuck back into the room after he'd cleaned you up.

It's not that Matt regretted having sex with you. In fact, he was already plotting how he could get you alone again. But he knew he was playing a dangerous game. Your brother was bigger than he was, stronger than he was, and he'd seen him beat the shit out of people for less. Matt really believed him when he told him he'd kill him if he had sex with you.

But how could he have walked away from you after finding you like that, pleasuring yourself and moaning his name? He really thought it would have been more cruel to have left you all alone to your own devices when he knew that what you really wanted was between his legs, and he knew he could make you feel better than any toy could.

He started pawing at himself through the soft fabric of his underwear while he replayed the encounter in his head. He recalled the way he had stumbled upon you with your vibrator, softly moaning his name from one room over. He remembered how vulnerable and fuckable you'd looked.

His curious hand wandered into his waistband, and he wrapped his fingers around his thick shaft, fervently tugging at his cock while he recounted the shocked expression on your pretty face while he'd breached your entrance. He couldn't stop thinking about all the lovely sounds you'd made while he'd deflowered you, stretching you out for the very first time.

He started pumping faster, his mind flooded with images of you, getting closer and closer to the finale. He remembered how you'd clenched around him while he played with you and the way your breasts had jiggled while he had pounded into your sweet little cunt.

You were no longer pure and virginal, and it was all thanks to him. He had tainted your innocence with his dark desires.

He threw his head back and shut his eyes as a few strangled moans filled the room. His stomach dropped, and his muscles tightened as he finished himself off, milking his throbbing cock for all of its worth. He came all over his hand while he pictured your hole dripping with his seed after he'd filled you up.

He remembered the way you had softly begged him, "Please, don't tell my brother," while peering up at him with your big eyes, your lip caught between your teeth as his cum was still dribbling out of you. "I wouldn't dream of it," he had panted in response before leaning down and pulling you into a deep kiss.

A satisfied smile formed on Matt's face as he slowly brought his strokes to a halt, and a soft chuckle escaped his lips. He couldn't wait until the next time he got to have his way with you.

Finally, Matt was able to drift off again and sneak in a few more hours of uninterrupted sleep before the sun began to rise.

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The next morning, you woke up smiling and satisfied from what Matt had done to you the previous night. You galavanted into the long hallway, tiptoeing past your brother's door. You floated down the staircase, running your hand along the smooth banister like you did every morning on your way to the kitchen.

"Morning Boots!" You greeted the family dog, ruffling his fur, and he wagged his tail in response. You let him out the back door to do his morning business.

You were humming to yourself, rifling through the fridge, pulling out a carton of eggs when Matt appeared out of the corner of your eye at the bottom of the steps. "Shit," you muttered as you lost your grip on the carton of eggs, sending the last six in the container crashing to the floor about your feet.

"Sorry, sweet thing. I didn't mean to startle you," Matt chuckled, watching you forget how your motor skills worked just because he was in your presence. "Hi, Matt," you timidly greeted him.

For a moment, you glanced up at him and then back down at the shattered eggs beneath you as you remembered the vulnerable position he'd seen you in the night before. You knelt down on the ground and started scooping up the broken shells.

"I make you nervous, don't I?" Matt smirked, slowly walking towards you. You innocently looked up at him with a flushed expression and your big, doe eyes. You didn't have to respond for him to know he was right. "Has anyone ever told you how pretty you look on your knees?" Matt cooed quietly, bending down and softly brushing his thumb against your smooth, pink cheek.

You felt your stomach drop as Matt looked into your eyes, caressing your face and saying all the right things to you. "You were such a good girl for me last night," Matt whispered, smiling deviously and running the pad of his thumb along your plump bottom lip.

Suddenly, you heard heavy foot steps descending the stairs, and Matt quickly pulled his hand away as your brother materialized at the bottom of the staircase. Matt started to help you pick up the broken egg shells, but you couldn't will away the pink shade your face took on after Matt had spoken so sweetly to you.

"That's okay. I'll just have cereal for breakfast," your brother rolled his eyes, approaching the pantry after witnessing the mess. "It's my fault," Matt said, winking at you as he stood up, disposing of the eggs shells and rinsing off his hand. You avoided eye contact with them both, cleaning the rest of the egg off the tile.

You appreciated that Matt took the attention off you by taking the blame. You were paranoid that if your brother looked at you for too long that he could see it written on your face that you weren't a virgin anymore.

"You know, why don't we all go out for breakfast?" Matt suggested, smirking over at you once he picked up the nearly empty carton of milk out of the fridge.

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You, Matt, and your brother found yourselves at a nearby local diner with a bit of a 50's vibe to it - classic checkerboard floor, a vintage jukebox, and vinyl pink booths. I Only Have Eyes For You by The Flamingo's played quietly through the speakers as a woman in bright red lipstick and a poodle skirt greeted the three of you and led you towards your table in the back of the empty restaurant.

Both you and your brother sat down across from each other, and Matt made the bold move of taking a seat next to you, earning a curious look from your brother that Matt quickly brushed off.

The waitress poured fresh, hot coffee into each of your ceramic mugs and set off in another direction to give you all a few minutes with your menus.

You decided on French toast, scrambled eggs, and bacon. Matt got the biscuits and gravy combo, and your brother got steak and eggs. Shortly after ordering, the server came back around to top off everyone's coffee.

"So what do you guys like the most about being away at college?" You asked Matt and your brother as you stirred a couple sugars and cream into your mug. "Definitely the fact that our overprotective mother isn't always asking where I'm going," your brother chuckled, taking a sip of coffee.

"How about you, Matt? What do you like the most about college?" You asked, batting your lashes at him. "Probably how loud I can fuck now that I don't live at home with my parents," Matt said, smirking over at you.

"Wow. How inspirational. Maybe tone done the sex talk in front of my little sister, huh?" Your brother snorted, dipping his fingers into his water and flicking it at Matt. Matt did the same in return. You blushed and giggled at their rapport.

"What have you guys missed the most about being home?" You wondered, glancing between the two boys. "I missed Boots the most. We can't keep pets in our dorm rooms," your brother stated, excited to be around the family dog again.

You turned your attention towards the boy to your left to hear his response. "I missed you the most," Matt said in a seductive voice, staring into your eyes, nudging you in the knee with his, and secretly placing his hand on your thigh. You smiled and blushed at him.

"Did you miss me as much as I missed you?" He cooed, gently drawing circles with his fingers just inches from your heat. You bit your lip and nodded. "Hey, Matt. Could you stop hitting on my little sister in front of me?" Your brother asked nonchalantly. "No. Look at how much she likes it," Matt sneered at him, and your brother kicked him under the table.

It was a small price to pay in order to watch how embarrassed and flustered you'd get around him.

It was around this time that the waitress returned with your steaming hot breakfast. The smell of maple syrup and bacon wafted through the air, and you each thanked her as she placed your plates in front of you all. There were a few moments of silence while everyone dug into their meals.

You felt Matt's hand that was resting on the inside of your thigh as he started hiking up your sparkly pink dress and inching towards your pussy. Your eyes widened, and you slowly looked over towards Matt as he casually pulled your panties to the side.

He shot a subtle smirk in your direction as he slipped a finger between your folds, gently stroking up and down and just barely grazing your clit. You bit down on your lip to suppress a whimper. With one hand between your legs and the other gripping his fork, he nodded at your brother while he recounted his least favorite teacher his first semester of his freshman year of college.

"Hopefully, you don't get him next year, sis. Basically had to teach myself trigonometry because he refused to dumb down the information. Pretentious bastard," your brother mumbled under his breath. "Yeah, and he was a real hard-ass for no reason," Matt added, gesturing with his fork while he rubbed your sensitive button underneath the table.

"Just because you never showed up to class doesn't mean every single one of your teachers is a hard-ass, Matt," your brother snarked at him. Matt chuckled at your brother's comment while he inserted a finger into your drooling hole as you were taking a sip of your coffee.

You inhaled sharply, sputtering on your hot drink and nearly spitting it out onto the table. "You good?" Your brother asked you, and you nodded while you placed your mug back down with a trembling hand. "Lay off the coffee. You're shaking," he pointed out before cutting into his steak.

Matt slowly thrust his finger into you while you tried to remain as composed as possible. You loved the feeling of him moving in and out of you while your brother was across from you, unaware of what the two of you were up to on the other side of the booth.

Thankfully, after a few more minutes, your brother excused himself to use the bathroom, and he walked away without paying any mind to what Matt's fingers were doing under the table.

The second he disappeared around the corner, Matt grabbed ahold of your leg and rested it on his knee to open you up further. He spread your lips and stared down at your wet, juicy cunt. "Such a pretty pink pussy you have," Matt admired, hungrily wetting his lips.

He lined two of his fingers up with your entrance and started fucking you hard and fast with them under the table. "If the waitress or your brother start coming this way, be a good girl and let me know. I don't think this will take very long, though," he whispered, seductively smiling at you.

A few strangled moans escaped your lips as you gripped the edge of the table. "Good girl. You're so wet," Matt softly commented as his digits slipped in and out of you with ease. You could feel your stomach dropping, your core tightening, and your whole body quivering as Matt brought you to the quickest climax you'd had in your life.

There was something about the risky factor and the publicity of it all that sent you plummeting over the edge while Matt passionately finger-fucked you.

"That's it. Cum all over my fingers. Come on, sweet thing. I know you can do it," he urged you. His praise sent a current of pleasure through you while you started rhythmically clenching around his digits, your hips bucking as he finished you off.

"Good girl," he lustfully commended you as your jaw fell open and your eyes rolled to the back of your head. He pumped in and out, slowing down his pace as your orgasm concluded. A wave of tranquility washed over you, and Matt gave you a mischevious smile as he pulled his fingers from your slick hole that were covered in shiny layer of your juices.

"Mmm," he hummed as he stuck them in his mouth and licked them clean, cherishing your flavor. "I can't get enough of you," he whispered as you pulled your legs shut again, smoothing out your dress, and going back to eating your food as your brother came into view from around the corner on his way back from the bathroom.

You almost couldn't believe you'd let Matt do that to you in such a high-risk situation, but you fucking loved the rush you got from it, and Matt could tell due to how quickly you came.

When your brother returned to the table, you could feel how flushed your face must have looked as your brother's eyes traveled between you and his best friend. Matt couldn't hide the guilty smirk from his face, but he tried to cover it with his hand as he propped his elbow up on the table.

He got a sort of sick satisfaction out of sneaking around with his best friend's little sister right in front of his face. The only problem was that he was too smug and arrogant for his own good, and his God complex would quickly have him falling from good graces if he wasn't careful.

"You guys are acting weird today," he commented, narrowing his gaze. "If one of you did something to my food while I was gone, you're both dead," he laughed, skeptically looking at you and the boy beside you.

"Nah, nothing like that. Don't worry about it," Matt replied in a conceited tone. "If you're playing some kind of prank on me, I'm gonna figure it out, Sturniolo," your brother responded, laughing and pointing at him with his fork.

You sat uncomfortably in your soaking wet panties, silently finishing your coffee, unable to look at either one of them. Your heart was still beating quickly, and you were still trying to subtly call your breath back to you. Luckily, the subject changed, and the boys started talking about something unrelated.

You couldn't bring yourself to add to the conversation, so you listened quietly while you picked at your french toast and eggs, trying to draw as little attention to yourself as possible.

You couldn't keep your eyes off Matt the whole ride home, studying his profile and swooning every time he turned around to wink at you or lick his lips while he peered between your legs. Every silent exchange between the two of you felt like a little secret that only the two of you were privy to.

You liked concealing the sexual nature of your relationship with Matt. As far as everyone else around you knew, he was just your brother's best friend. However, behind closed doors (and under the table in empty diners), he was the manifestation of your fantasies, the embodiment of your wildest wet dream, and the boy who had popped your cherry.

All you could think about was the next time you'd get to be alone with him. Behind his hauntingly beautiful blue eyes, he was wondering the same about you, daydreaming about the next time he could fill you with his cock.

part three here ❣️

taglist: @thepubeburgler @realqueenofpepsi @mattsredgaphoodie @purpledreamertyphoon @moosegirl96 @bsturnzmtts @sturniolo-girl @theyluvme-2315 @jassturn @brookiecookie-18 @maggot3647 @slut4chriztopher @strnlslvr @sleepysturniolo @lvrsturniolo @sofieeeeex @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @matts-myloverboy @witchofthehour @slutforsturniolosss @jaysturniolo @sturniolosweetheart33 @whoahoahoahoahoa @ilovechrissturniolosposts @smt-obsessed @sturnioloxlver @that1fangirll @hrtz4alex2211 @luvhsien @sp3ncerslvt @sturniolo-munch44 @jakewebberswifee @ssturniolooss @thenickgurl @sturniolo-fann @sst7niolo @babysturniolo @chestersturniolo @riowritesitall @camzeecorner @mattsturnixlo @annedebeijer @scorpioosworld @mattlover-00 @sweetlikesug4rvenom @m11rx @sturniolocharms @mickelodeon-2003 @sigmarizzler1 @chrislova

[cas-backwards-tie]

Chapter One: News Crashing

Poly!TaskForce 141 x Omega!Reader

The Omega Pack Plan Masterlist

Summary: A change in procedure around base causes you to spiral as your world comes crashing down. There's only one way out of this and it starts with telling the truth.

Words: 4.4k

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anxiety, Existentialism, Misogyny, Dismissive Attitudes, Angst, Rage

Mentions of: Medication,

A/N: Honestly, I'd been inspired by a few series (Standard Emergency Protocol and Pantry Solutions) I've read those and it caused me to want to write my own A/B/O COD AU, so I started this as a sort of funny fic awhile ago. I'm haven't entirely plotted out the whole story, but I have some ideas for the first few chapters. I was finally inspired to finish and post it because @cringeycookies liked the snippet I posted in a wip tag game. So thanks to everyone who inspired me, and a special thank you to @penelopepine for helping me with the dialogue and Price's reaction as I try to begin writing for them.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am," the nurse responds, "we're no longer authorized to refill suppressants of any kinds for any purpose." With a push of the empty orange pill bottle back across the counter in your direction, she offers you an ugly forced smile.

"Is there really nothing we can do?!" You complain incredulously, "Nothing at all? What am I supposed to do with this?!" Taking the emptied bottle into your hands, you stare at the nurse with widened eyes and a wild look.

"There is no 'we'..." she rolls her eyes in response, focus returning to the papers before her. "But if you insist, you can always bring it up with your CO, or the Base Commander." She scribbles something out on the page, but you can hardly focus when your world is virtually crumbling apart around you. "Now if you don't mind, some of us actually have work to do around here."

Still stunned, you can't help the way your breathing picks up as your heart begins to race. About a month ago now there was a base-wide meeting where they'd finally cracked down and implemented a new program the government is trying out: OPP. The Omega Pack Plan. While it's uncommon for Omegas to even be recruited into the military to begin with, such a thing does exist. Regardless, the Base Commander gathered everyone in the Auditorium for a presentation to talk about the new program and how the army would implement it into the troops. Luckily, considering you're on an elite Task Force, it doesn't apply to you. At least... it didn't.

"What the hell is this?!" You yell, tossing the orange bottle in his direction.

He'd heard the stomps all the way down the hall and smelled you coming, so he's neither surprised by your appearance, nor startled by the toss of the bottle. John swiftly catches it in his hand as he looks up at you. "What?" He inquires, finally glancing down to examine what he's caught. "A pill bottle?"

"Captain, it's empty! They won't refill it- I can-"

A groan tumbles past his lips as he drags a hand down his beard. "Look, Panther-" referring to you by your callsign, interesting move. "There's nothing I can do, it's over my head now. I wish I could do something, but I can't." Sitting back in his leather chair, Price places the bottle on the desk; a faint rap of the plastic hitting the wood is the only sound between you momentarily before you hurriedly shut the door.

Panic begins to flood your system as you're not sure how to handle this. It's your turn to freak out. You know how this goes, you know the story now; ever since they'd implemented and dispersed the Omegas into the troops, they'd started implementing them into the Task Forces, and now they have to do so with the One Four One. Fingers curling in and out of shapes as you try to process your next move, you speak before you can even begin to plan what you're going to tell him.

"I- I'm- I..." You're pacing his office now, the heavy gaze of your Captain upon you as you try to prevent yourself from hyperventilating. The thing is, you're usually good with pressure- really good. It's your job to be good. It's just... this is different. This is your life, your livelihood at stake, the livelihood of all your future generations to come.

A sigh resounds throughout the office before you hear the low timbre of his voice. "Dove," he calls out with a gentle tone, "I want you to take a deep breath for me. Alright?" With the calm and even sound of your Captain's voice and the assured look on his face, you comply. Exhaling the last of your breath, you close your eyes and focus in on the deep intake of air through your nose. With the parting of your lips you slowly release it before giving yourself a moment.

When you open your eyes he gestures to the seat before his desk, though you know he won't take offense if you decline. Hesitant, one hand finds its way to the other, wrapping around your arm as you listen to him speak. "Now, can you explain what has you in this state? I assure you that there's nothing that can't be dealt with." You want to trust him, you know him--John Price--your Captain. He's always had your back, always made sure you felt comfortable in the Taskforce, always made an effort to check on you after things got rough.

You nod. Licking your lips, you search his blue eyes as you tentatively take the seat across him.

"Whatever it is, we'll deal with it, alright? I can guarantee you that unless you're trying to tell me you're an Omega, nothing you say is going to shock me that warrants the amount of panic you're putting yourself through," Price chuckles. He's obviously joking, trying to break the tension with humor. Lips drawn upward into a small smile, the Captain stares at you expectantly.

"What if I am?" You whisper, eyes unable to tear from his visage as you try and gauge his reaction. Unexpectedly, silence fills the space between you and feels deafening in the small space. The growing comfort of his office these couple of months now feels like a cage you're forced to stay in, under watch, as you stare down your superior on the brink of a battle to the death. And that's what you do. His blue eyes bore into yours, skeptically shifting between your left and right as he seems to try and get a read on you.

All of the sudden you jump at the smack of his hands hitting the desk in front of him. He laughs at you.

He's laughing at you.

And you're sitting there with your guts spilled out, dread eating away at the pit in your stomach... and he's laughing. It feels like forever is passing you by as you stare at him in shock, this moment between the two of you frozen in time as nothing else persists.

"I understand what this was now," Price explains, still chuckling to himself as he shakes his head. There's a warm smile on his face that feels eerie considering the dire context of the situation at hand. "You got me! I fully believed you for a second there, too."

Eyebrows furrowing in dark realization, you can't help but stare at him wildly. "Wha-" You begin to question him and his line of thinking, but he cuts you off.

"This was all a prank, right? The bottle, the hysterics- you really outdid yourself, Sergeant." Leaning back in his chair, he props his ankle up on his other knee. "Because let me tell you, this was good. Better than anything Soap's cooked up in awhile. Did you come up with it yourself?" There's a cheeky grin on his lips. "Ah, I know you did."

Lips opening and closing like a fish out of water, you sit in the armchair across from him pale with a dazed look across your face. He doesn't actually think that this was...

"Well, with your little triumph in your pocket, I say we get back to work, yeah? I've got some new leads from MI6 that've just popped in." With that, the man stands from his desk and rounds it. "Garrick should be back around Tea. I'll see you in the Command Station then," he informs you. It's then that he passes by, a genial clap on your shoulder while he's at it.

Left stunned in silence, you can't help but grit your teeth, consequentially pronouncing your jaw as anger ebbs through your bloodstream. Breath getting heavier, you can't help but loathe the meeting tonight. Your Captain might be satisfied with the conversation, but all you feel is discouraged. He's abandoned you, left you alone in his office with a humiliating sense of betrayal and shattered trust. Almost like you hadn't just told him your biggest secret at all.

Punching the standard heavy punching bag hanging in front of you, you grunt, ignoring the pain that gnaws at your knuckles underneath the reusable hand wraps. Sweat builds on your brow as you continue to unleash your pent up anger on the gym’s equipment. How could he?! When had you ever pulled anything even similar to this? Never! And the fact that you’ve only been on the team for a handful of months only exacerbates the abandonment you’re feeling right now. He’s your Captain! Regardless of your feelings or the situation at hand, isn’t he supposed to be there for you? He’d promised from the get go to help you with whatever you need, and now the one time you go to him for aid it backfires in your face and leaves you without any sort of solution going forward aside from straight up telling the whole team the flat out truth, and God forbid! You can’t even begin to fathom how that’d go.

A pent up and frustrated yell almost akin to something of a growl emanates from you as you tear into another round of swift jabs and punches. Regardless of the situation at hand, you’ve been trying to build up your upper body’s strength and letting out the anger you’d accumulated over this morning’s events seemed like a perfect opportunity to let loose.

The stretches and treadmill routine didn’t take a lot out of you, but the weights, and now the punching bag definitely is starting to take its toll. Sweat beads at your forehead in rivulets that drip down the sides of your neck, down your scalp past your neck and between your shoulder blades. Tank top soaked in sweat, you breathe hard as your heart pumps rapidly in your chest. You would’ve wound up here at some point or another tonight, but the Captain’s discourteous response certainly led to an earlier workout time.

While others sparsely litter the gym’s floor, you pay them no mind and vice versa. It’s not uncommon for soldiers to be found blowing off steam or aiming to beat their highest reps on the weights. Yet, this gym is reserved for higher standing members of the Force, the gym on the far side of the base where there are less people, offices, and considering the regular army men train in the bigger gym closer to their quarters, it’s mostly other higher ranked officers in here.

“Captain’s lookin’ for ya,” Markowski, another Sergeant that you’d come to befriend on base announces from the doorway, having poked his head in after leaving a few minutes earlier. He belongs to a different Task Force.

A groan tumbles out of you as you realize it’s already that time. Just as the door clicks shut, your phone chimes loudly with the alarm you’d set earlier going off. A few quick swipes of your fingers, you turn the alarm off and unlock the device, seeing a number of messages flood your notifications.

Kyle: You hear they’ve bumped up the timeline? 😯

Johnny: “ https://Tiktok/Shattered.Rat567 ” Had me rollin’ 🤣👏🏻 Gotta check it, Bonnie

Simon: You coming to the meeting or not? 🤨

Johnny: Where r u? You’re usually first here 👀 Cap’s getting peeved, watch out

Not looking forward to the inevitable mess of a meeting before you, you don’t bother rushing to join the men. With a wash of your face in the women’s locker room, a speedy bathroom break, and a grab of the items you’d brought with you, you’re heading for the Command Station.

With the time Price set the meeting, you won't get to eat dinner till afterward. You'd be lying if you said you weren't annoyed by this entire situation, your agitation from neglecting your hunger earlier has certainly come to bite you in the backside.

While you don’t have time to respond to their texts, having set the alarm with only enough time to get back to your team’s Command ‘station’ albeit more like your headquarters before heading out. Speed-walking through the orderly halls with a haste perfectly common around here, you navigate with a well practiced knowledge. Though you’ve only been here coming up on six months soon, you’re well acquainted with this part of the base.

Rounding the corner, you’re in the hall, close. Yet, the worry of being late lingers in the back of your mind and adds another layer of annoyance on top of your residual anger buried deep down from this morning’s situation. You’d inevitably come up with your solution. It’s not one you like… but it’s the only logical option. Another turn and you’re striding into the big garage-like room.

“Nice of you to finally join us, Sergeant,” Price calls out to you. Lifting his eyes from the map laid out across your station's table, he glares in your direction.

“What took you so long?” Soap snaps, his brows slightly furrowed as he stares at you from the opposite side of the table, hands lazily wrapped around his vest’s straps.

A look at your watch tells you that you’re not even late, the meeting doesn’t officially start for another minute! But you are usually waiting on them. He’s got you there.

“Yeah, you’re usually the first one here. It’s not like you,” Gaz whispers under his breath as you sidle up alongside Ghost, Gaz standing diagonal to you right beside Price at the head of the table.

“Focus,” Ghost orders the men, his hands tucked in his hoodie’s pocket. You don’t fail to notice the way he subtly takes a step further away from you as soon as they start talking again. Price goes back to talking plans as Gaz is questioning the circumstances of the information the Captain had acquired earlier when he’d had to leave the office.

“Which is exactly why-”

A heavy exhale on your behalf leaves the men frozen as their eyes drift back to you. “Do you have something you’d like to say, Panther?” The Captain questions. Jaw clenched, you tear your eyes from the map they’d settled on.

“We’ve got a big problem,” you announce, cutting off the Captain as you finally raise your gaze to meet Price’s slightly widened blue eyes.

“Well, if you see something that needs changin’ then let’s hear it,” he responds. A ‘hmph’ follows as he crosses his arms over his chest and sits his weight back onto his heels.

“It’s not about the op,” you correct him. Tilting your head side to side you attempt to crack the kinks in your neck while standing a little straighter to appear more engaged and serious.

“And it’s more important than this? What we’re doin’ right now?” Soap questions, his hands dropping to rest on the table as he looms over it, eyeing you with frustration obvious in his irises.

“What is it?” Gaz asks, a quirk of his eyebrow garnering your attention for a split-second. He’s genuinely asking, and there doesn’t seem to be a hostility in his scent as he turns his attention to you. Then there’s Ghost, who you don’t even need to look at to feel his heavy gaze on you, waiting expectantly.

“Actually, it is,” you argue with Soap, anger beginning to boil in your belly, the frustration and angst having been left to simmer all afternoon. “I can’t believe you didn’t take me seriously when I came to you earlier,” you turn your anger on Price. He looks taken aback by the outburst, something you’re not known for.

“Dove,” he calls calmly, hands out in an attempt to pacify.

“Don’t-” you bark, starting to raise your voice without realizing it. “I came to you in confidance! Trusting you when you said you’d be there to help me if I ever needed it! How could you?” Gritting your teeth, you don’t realize how hard you’re breathing as your chest heaves with anger.

“Woah, woah-” Gaz sputters, “What-” holding his hands out to try and diffuse the argument.

“I let myself be vulnerable-” You continue to shout.

“Isn’t this something that shoul-” Soap attempts to dissuade, backing down as he puts his hands out.

“-and tell you the truth, and-” you’re lunging for him across the table. You’re held back by a massive hand on your shoulder. “You laugh in my face?! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

You're suddenly pulled back, off your feet, and shoved into a metal chair that'd been nearby. Your Lieutenant is hovering over you, his cold eyes now tinged with a spark of anger as they bore into you scrutinizingly. There's the sound of commotion behind him, multiple voices overlapping, yet you can't see anything with that utter giant in front of you!

“Does anyone wanna explain what the bloody hell is goin’ on here?” Ghost snaps. It's only then when the man steps aside that you can see where everyone is. With both of you in your respective corners, you simply glare at the Captain from over your crossed arms out in front of you.

“Are you bleedin’ kidding me, ya Scally?” Price grunts as he shrugs Gaz’ hand off his shoulder. “You’re still on about it! When w-"

"That doesn't explain what happened, Cap," Gaz interrupts, stopping him from going off and getting them nowhere.

He groans, running a hand over his face once more before composing himself. Everyone waits for an explanation—you too—he’d been the first to speak, and you’re curious to hear what he comes up with. “She came into my office, bloody cryin’, tossing me a pill bottle, muttering about, saying she’s a-”

You don’t dare let him finish, not wanting him to be the one to finally say it, exposing your truth to the team. "Omega. I’m an Omega, ” you finish his sentence. While you’re scared to meet their faces, you take a deep breath and force yourself to do so.

"Christ," Price curses, fingers coming up to pinch the skin between his brows as he hangs his head.

Ghost's stoicism is nothing unordinary, and in fact, is somewhat a comfort considering you'd expected nothing less from him.

Gaz looks stunned for a moment, eyes flitting about the other’s faces before the serious look on his face morphs. Lips slowly drawing upward, you shouldn’t be surprised when he starts laughing. "Yeah right," Garrick teases, "and I'm actually the Prime Minister."

Yet, it's not just him. The uproarious laughter from your right only adds fuel to the already burning flame as the two other Sergeants laugh like idiots. All as if it's some poor joke with no consequences to anyone's life, and yet... it's the truth. At the end of the day, it doesn't change anything. At the end of the day, your life is still in jeopardy and they're treating it like some joke. Unable to form any sort of retort, you simply blink; stuck in a stupor raw, stung, and with a dumb look on your face.

Soap, rounding the table slaps Gaz on the back, his face flushed red from laughing so hard. "Yer makin' my stomach hurt. God," he eggs the other on between his dying chuckles and attempting to catch his breath.

"You're really just gonna stand there and laugh?!" You finally burst. Anger surely must be coming off your scent in waves, but you don't care. Standing from the chair, you don't flinch as Ghost swipes his arm out in front of you in case you were going for the Captain again. There will be no physical altercation on his watch.

"She already pulled this on me earlier, mind you, and now what? You're trying to pull it over on the lads' too, eh?" Price goads you.

"And I was telling the truth! You're the one who said I was joking," you point out. The volume of your voice is lost on you, partially blinded by the fury bleeding out.

"I suppose you never did admit to it being a prank," Price reasons, fingers grazing his beard as he runs them over it repeatedly in thought. "But how do you expect us to believe that when you clearly smell of a Beta?"

"Even on the battlefield, after everything we've been through-" Gaz starts.

"After yer all sweaty from a workout, too. I think we'd notice, Pan," Johnny argues, illuminating a legitimate point of consideration.

"Oh please," you mutter quietly to yourself. Shaking your head, you can't believe they're really all being this daft right now. "Like you have heard of those Scent Spritzers.”

There are various perfumes on the market specifically designed to alter one’s scent. Most use it smell like an Alpha when they’re not, or an Omega when they’re wanting to seduce an Alpha when going out. But Omegas posing as Betas was rarely heard of. You’re more than sure it happens more frequently than people know of, they just haven’t been caught. And in your line of work? It’s scarce. People are thoroughly vetted, but… you’d been on suppressants for a long, long time. And a Beta perfume only perfected your hiding.

“Did you forget we’re Alphas, love? We’d be able to smell you across the room if you were,” Gaz taunts. There’s a puff of his chest that makes his cockiness even more annoying than usual.

"You really want to be an Omega? Dumb yourself down to some weak fragile thing?” Johnny jokes, nudging Gaz’ arm as he shakes his head.

“A doll who can get whoever she wants? Want to be nothing more than good for knockin' up and popping out pups?” Gaz adds on.

“Are you serious right now?” You test, seething under your skin as your hands ball up into fists. “How could you say that?!”

“It’s what people say,” Ghost comments.

“Nobody would want that and you’re out here lying about it,” Johnny pokes.

“We’re only trying to point out the flaws in your little rouse, Pan,” Gaz says, a smile lighting up his features as he crosses his arms over his chest.

"And what if I was lying, hm? Would that change anything you just said to me? How you feel about Omegas?" You scoff.

“This isn’t about your designation,” Price finally speaks. Fingers still weaved into his beard, his blue eyes lift to meet yours. “I see what this is about now, but there's nothin' to worry about, Dove.” Your Captain takes on a softer tone and all of the sudden you feel yourself start to get emotional as a twinge of sadness, of the hurt bleeding through upon understanding makes you feel seen.

“I know it's intimidating, the thought of having your first unmedicated heat, but we have medics here. It's natural. Heats, ruts, we all have them. And, hey... at least you're not an Omega, right?" Whatever relief you’d momentarily experienced sinks back down in your gut with the speed of a rollercoaster drop. It’s as silent as a stakeout, the only sound being people’s breathing. And the lack of yours.

It takes a moment to gather yourself, everyone’s eyes on you with the serious topic change. While sex and the downsides to a designation are something discussed with the boys, you’d often been left out. And to your comfort. "You know what? I can’t do this,” you retort. Backing from the group, you toss your hands up. “I guess you'll just have to wait and see," you bite back. With a whip of your hair over your shoulder, you head for the door.

The room is silent once more as everyone gawks. You’d never reacted in such a manner, had an outburst like that… this is… certainly different, and something they’re not at all used to.

“It’s because they took away her suppressants today,” Price explains. It might not have been something the group should be privileged to know. A private matter, really… but with the way you acted? He felt the men deserve an explanation, at least.

“That makes sense,” Gaz responds quietly, eyes still on the door you’d gone through.

“That’s no excuse,” Johnny counters, arms crossing over his chest with a scowl on his lips.

"Well... that went better than I thought,” Ghost comments with a shrug. “Back to the plan? We can fill her in later.”

[duskidolsmut]

Karina X Male Reader - "Fucking the Dirty Neighbor"

"You live on a quiet street, but everything changes when you start spying on Karina, the hot Korean neighbor who lives next door. She has a habit of taking showers and rubbing herself with cream naked, with the window open, driving you crazy with desire. What starts as a secret dirty act turns into a hardcore whoredom, with her calling you inside and involving you in a game of rough sex, provocations and some bullies that will make you go crazy."

Tags: Voyeur, Hot Neighbor, Brutal Blowjob, Hardcore Sex, Domination, Submission, Throat Fuck, Forced Orgasm, Spitting, Slapping, Humiliation, Sexual Blackmail, Open Window, Pervert, Plot Twist

W: 5.236

The summer air on that quiet street was thick, and the open windows were an invitation—both to the breeze and to the secrets of others. You never planned to become a voyeur, but she made it impossible to resist. Karina, the Korean neighbor in the house next door, was an irresistible mystery: a woman in her early twenties, tall, with curves that looked sculpted and an air of confidence you only admired from afar. Her bedroom was just a few meters from your window, and the thin curtain she never closed was like a private movie screen.

It all started by accident on a sweltering July night. You saw her come home at 10 PM, her hair tied in a messy bun, her body exhausted from work—maybe as a model or dancer, you guessed, judging by the way she moved. She stepped into her room, turned on the lamp, and began her ritual: a long shower, steam escaping through the slightly open window, the sound of water falling like a whisper pulling you closer. When she returned, wrapped in a white towel that barely contained her curves, you swore you’d look away. But then the towel slipped, pooling at her feet, and her golden skin glowed under the soft light—round breasts, a narrow waist, toned thighs. Your pulse spiked, and you froze as she grabbed a jar of lotion and began massaging herself: her fingers gliding slowly up her thighs, rising to her breasts, squeezing them lightly as if she knew she was being watched, then tracing her neck with an almost erotic delicacy.

In the days that followed, it became an addiction. Each night brought something new: On Monday, she let her damp hair down and dropped the towel on purpose, staying naked longer as she stretched on the bed, her hands roaming her body as if testing her own allure. On Wednesday, she swapped the towel for a sheer black nightgown, the fabric clinging to her damp skin as she danced alone to muted R&B. On Friday, she opened the window wider, the heat making her sigh as she sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing oil into her legs, eyes closed and head tilted back in what felt like an unspoken invitation. You caught yourself holding your breath, the summer heat blending with the fire building inside you, your heart pounding so loud you feared she’d hear it.

Weeks passed like this, each night a chapter in a silent obsession. You noticed details: the small tattoo on her ribcage that only appeared when she turned, the way she bit her lip while checking herself in the mirror, the low laugh she let out when reading something on her phone. She never seemed to see you—until that night. The air was heavier than ever, and Karina, post-shower, let the towel drop as usual. Only this time, as she massaged her breasts with lotion, she paused. Her eyes locked onto yours through the window, sharp and penetrating, as if she’d known all along. Your stomach dropped, but before you could hide, she smiled—a slow, dangerous, almost predatory grin. She stood, still naked, and walked to the window, her body lit up like a promise. With a single gesture, a curl of her finger, she beckoned you. "Come here," she mouthed, soundlessly, and you knew there was no turning back.

On the way to her place, your legs trembled, sweat trickling down your neck. She opened the door wearing only that black nightgown, the fabric sticking to her still-damp skin. "Enjoy the show, little spy?" she asked, her voice husky and teasing, as she pulled you inside and locked the door. Her eyes devoured you, and she stepped closer, the scent of vanilla and warm skin enveloping you. Her fingers grazed your chest, trailing down to the waistband of your pants, and she laughed softly. "You watched me for days… now you owe me something in return." She pushed you against the wall, her body pressed to yours, her lips inches from yours, breathing heavily as her hands gripped you with a mix of punishment and desire.

The hallway’s dim light sharpened the shadows of Karina’s sharp collarbones, the elegant curve of her neck, the tantalizing valley between her breasts as they rose and fell under the sheer black camisole. Her scent—vanilla lotion mixed with the damp heat of her post-shower skin—wrapped around you like a drug. Her hands were already in command: one undid your belt with deft fingers, the other pinned your wrist above your head against the wall with a force that made you swallow hard.

“You stood there so long, watching my every move…” Her voice was a rough whisper, laced with sarcasm and desire. “Did you think I didn’t notice?” Her knee pressed against your groin, firm and deliberate, wrenching a moan you tried to stifle. She smiled—slow, dangerous—and closed the distance with a cruel kiss, her tongue exploring your mouth with a slowness that drove you wild, a thread of saliva connecting you when she pulled away.

“Let’s see if you can handle this,” she taunted, peeling off the camisole in one fluid motion. The fabric pooled at her feet, revealing pert breasts, hard nipples, the narrow waist and hips you’d fantasized about for weeks. Your hands reached for her, but she shoved them back against the wall. “Not yet,” she growled, biting your lower lip until it stung. “You owe me.”

She sank to her knees, her gaze daring you to look away. Her fingers dragged your zipper down slowly, freeing you, the cold air a stark contrast to the heat of her breath. “Hmm,” she hummed, eyes widening for a split second as she gripped you, feeling you harden under her touch. “Bigger than I imagined… and I did see you trying to hide it.” A low laugh vibrated against your skin as her lips closed around you, starting with a slow, deep suck that made your muscles tense.

Karina was in absolute control. One hand tightened around the base of your cock, guiding it as she took you in a hypnotic rhythm—now slow, her tongue swirling the tip, now fast, swallowing you to the back of her throat just to hear you choke. Her other hand slid between her own thighs, fingers moving rapidly as she touched herself, muffled moans buzzing against your skin.

“Rock fucking hard,” she said, pulling off just to smirk up at you, spit glistening on her chin. “Almost impressive.” She took you again, hungrier now, eyes half-lidded with pleasure as she fucked herself with her fingers, the wet sounds mixing with your groans. You grabbed for her hair, but she pinned your wrists to the wall, iron grip unyielding. “I’m* in charge here,”* she whispered before speeding up, her hot, slick mouth pushing you to the edge.

You felt your climax building—and so did she. Her movements turned frantic, fingers plunging deeper as she moaned around you. When you came, she swallowed every drop with a guttural sound of satisfaction, her body trembling as she came at the same time, hips jerking. A trickle of cum escaped the corner of her mouth; she wiped it with her finger, licking it away with a smug grin.

She rose slowly, her breasts brushing your chest as she stared you down, still breathless. “Good boy,” she purred, voice thick with sarcasm. Then, icy cold: “But I don’t need you anymore.”

Without warning, she shoved you toward the door, your clothes still tangled on the floor. “Out,” she ordered, yanking it open. Dazed and weak-kneed, you tried to protest, but she cut you off: “I got what I wanted. Don’t make me repeat myself.” She pushed you into the dark hallway, tossing your shirt after you, and slammed the door with a bang. The night’s silence swallowed you whole, her taste still on your lips, your body throbbing with a pleasure she’d given and taken with equal ease.

After that night—after Karina kicked you out with a frosty smile and a “don’t need you anymore”—something shifted. The curtains of her bedroom, once a portal to her nightly rituals, stayed shut. Night after night, you tried to peek, but all you saw was thick fabric barring any glimpse of her. The lamp still flicked on at 10 PM, the muffled sound of the shower still seeped through the cracked window, but Karina had locked you out of her world. As if she knew you were there, waiting… and this silence was your punishment.

The obsession grew like a fever. During the day, you’d see her leaving the house—tight jeans, a loose blouse, her hair tossed to the side as if nothing had happened—and she wouldn’t even glance your way, passing you on the street with a disdain that burned. At night, trapped in your room, you’d try to dull the craving with feverish jerking off, replaying the heat of her mouth, the way she’d dominated you, the sound of her moans as she touched herself. But it wasn’t enough. Every attempt only fed the hunger for more—more of her, of her control, of the pleasure she’d given you before ripping it away without mercy. You started losing sleep, eyes aching from staring at her closed window, wondering what she was doing inside.

Weeks bled together, frustration twisting into a knot in your chest. You needed her, needed to prove you could have her again, that you weren’t just some disposable toy. Then, on a sweltering August night, something shifted. After days of drawn curtains, you looked out and saw—hers were open, just a crack, enough to give you a sliver of her room. Your heart hammered as you crept closer, starving for even a glimpse.

There she was. Karina, on her knees—but not alone. An older man, maybe 40, salt-and-pepper hair, athletic build, stood over her, pants open, fists tangled in her hair as she sucked him with the same fierceness she’d once used on you. You’d seen his sleek black Mercedes parked outside earlier. Now here he was, groaning low as Karina worked him, lips slick, eyes lifted in devotion—a look that made your hands clench.

You watched, blood roaring in your ears. She took him slow, then fast, pausing to tease him with lazy licks, and the man threw his head back, lost in it. Like she was performing for you, knowing you were there, powerless behind the glass. Rage swallowed you—at her for shutting you out, at him for being where you craved to be, at yourself for still wanting her so badly. When he came with a grunt, her swallowing every drop before wiping her lips with a smirk, you nearly shattered the window with your fists. He straightened his clothes, patted her cheek like she’d done a good job, and left, the Mercedes purring into the night.

You snapped.

Down the stairs in a frenzy, across the street, pounding on her door hard enough to rattle the frame. Karina opened it slowly, still in that black camisole, hair messy, lips swollen from what she’d just done. She blinked at you—surprised for half a second—before that mocking smile curled her mouth. “What do you want, little peeper?” she asked, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed like you were an inconvenience. “I told you it was over.” Her voice was poison, but her eyes glittered with something you couldn’t name—challenge, maybe, or pleasure at seeing you so wrecked.

You opened your mouth, anger and lust tangling your words. “You think you can use me and toss me out like that? I saw you with him. I know what you are.” Your voice shook but carried weight. She laughed, low and sharp, stepping closer until her perfume hit you like a punch. “And what am I, huh? A slut who gave you the best head of your life and left you begging for more?” Her head tilted, studying you. “You’re obsessed. Pathetic.”

Karina’s sharp laugh still echoed in your ears, her words—"Pathetic"—burning like acid. The rage, mixed with weeks of pent-up desire, exploded. Suddenly, you grabbed her hair, the silky strands slipping between your fingers as you yanked hard, pulling her face close to yours. "I’ll show you who’s pathetic!" you growled, voice ragged with fury, eyes locked onto hers. Her eyes widened for a split second—surprised by your audacity—before she tried to wrench free, hands shoving against your chest. "What the hell do you think you’re doing?" she spat, voice dripping with disdain, but there was a tremor there, a crack in her armor.

You didn’t back down. Still gripping her hair with one hand, you slammed her against the hallway wall, the impact wrenching a grunt from her. With your other hand, you tore down your pants and boxers in one rough motion, freeing your already half-hard cock from its prison of frustration and obsession. Before she could react, you shoved her face downward, the vanilla scent of her skin mixing with the sweat of your anger. Instinctively, her mouth opened—maybe from shock, maybe from hidden desire—and you thrust your cock inside, straight down her throat. Karina gagged, eyes watering, but she didn’t pull away; instead, a wicked glint flashed through them, as if this were a game she already knew.

You started fucking her throat, violent and unhesitating, as if you could erase every taunt she’d ever thrown at you. The sounds were brutal—wet gags, choked breaths, the slap of your hips against her face. This was a twisted game, and you felt it: she wanted to be used like this, like a filthy whore, but was too proud to beg. Her hands clawed at your ass, fingers digging in as she tried to pull you deeper, to set the pace. But you resisted, tightening your grip on her hair, pinning her head to the wall. "You don’t get what you want, you bitch," you snarled through clenched teeth. "Not unless you ask for it."

Her frustration burned hotter—you saw it in her glassy eyes, the way her body writhed against the wall. You yanked your cock from her mouth suddenly, thick strands of saliva stringing from her chin onto her designer camisole. Pulling her head back by the hair, you spat in her face, the glob hitting her cheek and sliding down her neck. "You’re a fucking slut," you said, voice shaking with rage and lust. "All that talk, but what you really want is for me to choke you on my cock, isn’t it? Too scared to admit it. Say I’m right."

She took a shaky breath, lips trembling, face flushed with humiliation and need. Then, in a broken whisper: "Yes… you’re right. I’m a slut. Please—fuck my throat. I need it so bad. Please." It was a genuine plea, and for a second, you almost pitied her—all those hungry, hidden needs masked by her act of control. But pity didn’t last. You shoved your cock back into her mouth, thrusting deep, and gave her exactly what she’d begged for: a brutal face-fucking. She gagged, body jerking with each snap of your hips, spit and mucus dripping onto her thousand-dollar camisole, pooling on the polished hardwood. You didn’t stop, abusing her throat like punishment for every night she’d teased and denied you.

Karina tried to look up at you, but you spat in her face again, the fluid streaking down her lashes. "Don’t fucking look at me unless I say so," you ordered, and she obeyed, eyes downcast as you kept going. A minute later, heat coiled in your legs, cum boiling in your balls. You slowed slightly, just enough to growl, "Look at me now." Her tear-streaked, red-rimmed eyes lifted, your cock buried to the hilt. "I’m gonna come soon," you warned, voice rough. "And it’s a lot. Better be ready."

She didn’t have time to react. You pistoned into her again, hips slamming against her face. Twenty seconds later, you shoved in one last time, cum erupting straight down her esophagus. She convulsed, choking violently, body shaking as spit and semen spilled from her lips, splattering the floor. When you finally pulled your softening cock free, she gasped, chest heaving, a wet burble of cum and air escaping her lips. Karina collapsed to her knees, face a wreck—spit, tears, and cum smeared together, camisole ruined, eyes glazed with exhaustion and something else. Satisfaction, maybe.

You stared down at her, the hallway silent except for her ragged breaths. For the first time since you’d met her, she was wordless, her pride left in the puddle of filth on the floor.

Karina was still on her knees, face a mess, chest rising and falling as she tried to recover. But you weren’t done. The fury and lust she’d stoked in you for weeks still burned, and now that she was broken, you wanted more—to shatter her completely. You grabbed her hair again, yanking her upright, ignoring her weak whimper. "Get up," you commanded, and she staggered to her feet, eyes wet but with a flicker of anticipation beneath the shattered pride.

You landed a sharp smack on her ass, the sound echoing, then shoved her camisole up, revealing black lace panties clinging to her round cheeks. Dragging a finger along her slit, you felt the fabric soaked through, hot and slick. She let out a shaky breath, her body betraying her again as wetness dripped down her thighs. With one rough tug, you ripped the panties off, her half-hearted "Stop…" only making you laugh before you spanked her again—harder—leaving red handprints on her golden skin. "Time to shut that pretty mouth for good," you muttered, shoving the torn lace into her mouth like a gag.

Now she was fully exposed—smooth, hairless, glistening. You threw her onto her back, burying your face between her legs before she could protest. Your tongue circled her swollen clit slowly, her taste flooding your senses as she writhed. You pinned her hips down, relentless, the circles tightening until her thighs trembled. Then—without warning—you clamped your teeth around her clit and bit down. Just enough.

Karina shattered.

Her back arched off the floor, a raw, animal scream muffled by the gag as the orgasm ripped through her. "FUCK!" Her voice was wrecked, tears streaming, body thrashing like she wanted to escape the pleasure. You didn’t let up, licking through her climax until she collapsed, boneless and gasping.

You kept nipping, sucking, grinding, dragging out every spasm until she didn’t know whether she was moaning from pain or pleasure. Her face twisted, shame dripping down with the sweat, her body trembling—utterly conquered.

You lifted your face, lips glistening with her, and took in the scene:

Karina was wrecked.

Hair wild, face streaked with tears and spit, the camisole tangled around her waist, her ass still red from the spanking.

“Look at you,” you spat, voice thick with disdain. “All tough, but deep down… you just wanted to be used until you couldn’t take it anymore, huh?”

She tried to speak, but only a whimper escaped, her body still shaking.

You stood up, wiped your mouth with a cruel smirk, and slapped her ass just to hear her scream again. Then, with a sharp yank of her silky black hair, you hauled Karina off the floor, the strands slipping through your fingers as she stumbled—weak from the aftershocks. You dragged her to the bedroom and threw her face-down onto the mattress, the bed dipping under her weight, her ass still throbbing from the spanks, red against her golden skin.

Karina’s room was a messy reflection of the perfect persona she sold to the world. The huge bed, its white sheets twisted from being clawed at, dominated the space. The dim lamp cast shadows on the walls, while the sweet scent of her lotion fought with the thick musk of sex. The half-open window let in just a sliver of the night’s heat—and the muffled moans she couldn’t hold back.

She tried to push up on her elbows, her hair falling over her face like a tangled curtain, but you didn’t let her. A sharp smack to the back of her neck echoed through the room as you shoved her face into the sheets, the fabric stifling her broken moan. “You think we’re done?” you growled in her ear, breath hot against her oversensitive skin, your hand sliding down her back, fingers tracing the curve of her spine to her marked waist. “You haven’t even begun to pay yet.”

Karina moaned—a ragged, shattered sound—as you yanked the bunched-up camisole to her knees, ripping what was left of the expensive fabric with a satisfying tear. Now she was fully exposed: her ass flushed and hot to the touch, thighs trembling from exhaustion and need, her pussy swollen and glistening, still dripping from your earlier attention. You spat between her legs, the liquid sliding slowly down her slit, mixing with her wetness as she twitched—too sensitive to hide how much she still craved you. “Please—” she started, voice muffled against the mattress, but you were already positioned behind her, the head of your cock dragging against her, pressing just enough to make her breath hitch and her hips arch in reflex.

And then you took her.

One brutal thrust. No mercy. Sheathing yourself to the hilt in a single motion, the tight heat of her swallowing you whole as she screamed, her body bowing violently against the bed. Her fingers tore at the sheets, fabric ripping as she tried to anchor herself, the sound of her cries bouncing off the walls. She was hot, soaked, still shaking from her last climax—and you showed no pity. You fucked her hard, each slam wrenching out a raw moan, every impact making her ass jolt and the headboard slam against the wall in a frantic rhythm. “Take it, you slut,” you snarled, hands gripping her hips hard enough to leave bruises, pulling her back onto you with every thrust.

“Ah—fuck… it hurts!” she whimpered, her voice broken—but her body told a different story. The way she clenched around you, the wetness dripping down her thighs, her hips arching to meet every thrust. You chuckled, low and cruel, fisting a hand in her hair and yanking her head back until her neck formed a taut bow. “Bullshit. You love it,” you growled, teeth grazing her ear before biting down on the lobe, ripping another moan from her. “Every time you spread your legs, this is what you beg for, huh? To get fucked until you can’t take it?”

“Fuck you—” she spat, voice shaky but laced with defiance, even as her body betrayed every word. “Do it harder then, asshole, if you’re so fucking tough!” You grinned, her fire only stoking yours, and picked up the pace—thrusts turning brutal, the slap of skin on skin mixing with her cries until the room drowned in it. “Filthy slut,” you shot back, landing a sharp smack on her ass that made her shriek. “Talk all that shit, but look at you—begging for my cock to wreck you.”

Karina moaned, the sound pitching higher, sharper, and you felt her tighten around you, body trembling as she teetered on the edge. “Yeah—fuck, tear me apart!” she screamed, the filthy words fracturing into gasps, her pride unraveling with every drive of your hips. “Make me forget my fucking name!” You knew she was close—the way her legs started to shake, her clit throbbing against you, slick soaking the sheets. But this time, you wouldn’t make it easy.

You stopped dead, pulling out in one rough motion—the emptiness wrenching a frustrated scream from Karina. She writhed on the bed, desperate, thighs trembling as she ground against the sheets for relief. “No—no, goddamn it, PUT IT BACK!” she roared, voice ragged with need, wet eyes glaring up at you in a mix of fury and plea. You watched her clit pulse, red and swollen, her orgasm trapped seconds from exploding—and smirked, leaning down to hiss in her ear: “Beg.”

The amber lamp light gilded her back in gold, highlighting the fingerprints on her hips, the reddened swell of her ass, the tremble of her spine.

“Please—fuck me—I NEED to come, you bastard!”

Her voice cracked—a cornered animal’s snarl. You smiled. It was beautiful.

The untouchable Noona was just this now: black hair stuck to her face, eyes glazed with tears and lust, mouth open in a ceaseless moan.

“You wanna come?” you taunted, hand closing around her throat as your cock teased her entrance. “Then come how I fucking want you to, whore.”

And then—

You slammed into her to the hilt, balls-deep, her scream hitting the walls like a gunshot.

Karina arched, fingers shredding the sheets, body trying to flee the pleasure it couldn’t control.

No mercy. Every thrust was punishment. Every impact rocked the bed. Every tug of her hair ripped out a dirtier moan.

“Yes—YES—FUCK, RIGHT THERE—!”

She screamed, begged, her words fracturing between the thrusts that pinned her into the pillows. You laughed—low and cruel—your hand smacking her ass just to watch the flesh jolt and hear her shriek louder.

“Look at you,” you spat, sweat slicking your chest. “All tough… now just a sobbing mess, begging for cock.”

She tried to reply, but you sped up—

Harder. Deeper. Until she trembled like a leaf in a hurricane.

“I— I’M GONNA—!”

You knew. Felt her clench, her sex pulsing, legs locking in spasms.

Then it hit. The orgasm tore through her like a riptide, wrenched out before she could resist. Karina screamed—a guttural, animal sound shredding her throat—her entire body convulsing as she squirted, hot liquid gushing down her thighs and soaking the mattress.

You felt her grip you so tight it nearly dragged you under, inner muscles fluttering in wild spasms, her legs giving out as she collapsed face-first into the sheets. “God, god, I can’t—!” she sobbed, tears streaking her face, body shaking as if electrocuted, her clit so sensitive every movement now blurred pleasure and pain.

But you didn’t stop. “You come when I say. And I’m not done with you,” you growled, yanking her hips back and pounding into her with the same brutality, ignoring her cries dissolving into whimpers. Her body was a spectacle of surrender—ass bouncing with every thrust, breasts crushed against the mattress, fingers clawing the sheets like they could escape. “Pathetic slut. Look how you gush for me,” you snarled, heat coiling in your gut as she unraveled. She tried to speak, but only incoherent moans spilled out, her brain short-circuited by forced pleasure.

You felt your climax building and, with one final deep thrust, emptied into her, cum filling her as she shuddered, still trapped in the aftershocks. “Take it all, you filthy thing,” you hissed, locking her hips in place until you were spent, liquid dripping down her thighs when you finally pulled out.

Karina lay wrecked—body limp, breath ragged, the sheets soaked beneath her. She couldn’t even lift her head, just whimpered weakly, face streaked with tears, saliva, and humiliation, hair plastered to her sweat-slicked skin.

The room fell silent save for the heavy sound of your breathing. You and Karina lay tangled in the damp, wrecked bed, the satin sheets now a soggy tangle of sweat, spit, and fluids. The lamp cast weak amber light over her body: black hair stuck to her forehead, thighs still twitching, ass marked by spanks and scratches. You lounged beside her, chest rising and falling as the heat of brutal sex slowly faded, the night air drifting through the cracked window, thick with the musk of sex.

Karina looked broken—eyes half-lidded, body slack against the mattress, soft moans escaping like echoes of the orgasm you’d wrung from her.

For minutes, you stayed there, resting in the wreckage, the silence almost comforting after the chaos.

Until a sound cut through the air—a deep voice echoing from the living room.

She froze, eyes widening in pure panic. Before you could react, she sat up fast, her body still trembling, and shoved you hard.

"Get out. Now!" she whispered, her voice hoarse and urgent, pointing to the window. "Go out the window—quick, he can’t see you!"

Dazed, you grabbed your clothes tangled on the floor, heart hammering as she practically threw you out. You scrambled over the sill, bare feet hitting the damp grass outside, and ducked behind a bush, peering through the cracked window—your voyeuristic instincts flaring back to life.

Karina barely had time to yank a short robe over her naked body when the bedroom door swung open. It was him: the older man you’d seen earlier, the silver-haired Mercedes driver, the one she’d sucked off hours ago. Only now, she called him "Dad."

"Forgot my wallet," he said, voice steady as he stepped in, dark eyes scanning the room. He stopped, face hardening at the scene—Karina naked under the loosely tied robe, the bed wrecked, sheets stained, the unmistakable scent of sex hanging thick in the air.

"What the hell is this?" he demanded, voice dripping with a rage that made her shoulders hunch.

"Dad, I… it’s not what it looks like. I was just—just having fun after what I did with you," she stammered, tugging the robe tighter, face flushed with shame and fear. But the lie was weak, and he knew it.

The man stepped closer, eyes blazing, and before she could retreat, he slid a hand between her legs with a roughness that made her gasp. His fingers came away glistening, slick with the cum still dripping from her—your cum.

"Who was here?" he snarled, gripping her wrist with his free hand, eyes locked on hers. "Who fucked my little girl, Karina? Tell me. Now."

She shook, lips parted, fear plastered across her face as she struggled for words. "I… I didn’t—"

Outside, hidden in the dark, you felt your pulse in your throat, adrenaline laced with a perverse thrill at seeing her cornered. The man looked ready to explode, his soiled hand raised as if to strike, when his pocket buzzed—a shrill ringtone slicing through the tension. He cursed low, releasing her to answer, his expression stone-cold as he listened.

"Fine. On my way," he barked into the phone, eyes never leaving hers.

He stuffed the phone back, jabbing a trembling finger at her. "This isn’t over, Karina. When I get back, you’ll tell me who did this—and he’s fucked."

Without another word, he snatched the black leather wallet off the dresser, turned on his heel, and left, heavy footsteps fading until the front door slammed. Karina stood motionless, arms wrapped around herself, hands covering her face as she breathed fast, the robe slipping to reveal the marks you’d left. Outside, you crouched in the shadows, cold sweat trickling down your neck, mind reeling at the twist—her, the dominatrix now a daughter caught red-handed, and you, the dirty secret she couldn’t name.

"Enjoying my stories? Support me on Ko-fi and help me keep creating the kind of tales that make your heart (and maybe more) race."

[bruhstories]

Bet II

p.1 here & p3. here & p.4 here & p.5 here & p.6 here

summary: it's your first day as a cat sitter and things are going more than well. but will they stay that way? pairing: hwang in-ho/the front man x civilian!reader warnings & content: age gap, afab!reader, slightly detailed descriptions of reader’s background for plot purposes, red text for in-ho, purple for reader, pre 33rd squid game, canon divergent, mentions of domestic violence, veeeery slow burn, reader is an orphan w/c: 2.2k

a/n: hiii, this is pretty much reader's pov, but don't worry, we'll see things through in-ho's eyes in chapter 3! if you would like to be tagged for the next part, please check this post.

You woke up at five in the morning on the first day of your temporary job. It took you about fifteen minutes to walk to the bus stop, and another fifteen to get to Gangnam-gu by bus, but you needed to prepare breakfast for your uncle first. The last thing you wanted was to anger him. You washed a cup of rice and tossed it in the rice cooker before slicing some pickled radish and a fresh cucumber and carrot. While waiting for the rice to cook, you fried some tofu that you had marinated in gochujang the night before.

Around six you woke your uncle up with the bowl of bibimbap and a cup of freshly brewed coffee, but didn't stay long enough to hear him tell you off about how bad his coffee tasted, or how cold the rice was, all completely false statements. It was just the way your life was since your father passed away and your mother left the country. But you couldn't afford your own place, and you probably wouldn't any time soon, so you took odd jobs to stay away from him and pay his stupid debts.

You made it just in time for Eunjoo's breakfast, stepping through the door at 6:50. There was no cat in sight yet, but the moment you opened the food can, Eunjoo peeked from around the sofa, silently sneaking behind you, apprehensive about rubbing against your leg. She waited next to the water bowl as you scooped the food out and mashed it with the spoon, then bent down to place her plate on the silicone mat on the floor. 

It was only after you got back up that you noticed the mess in Mr. Hwang's penthouse. There were so many dishes in the sink, empty bottles of beer scattered on the dining table, an ashtray full of cigarette butts, takeaway boxes stacked on the countertop, a half-full coffee cup, tissues on the floor. You definitely remembered that his house was clean when you first visited him. Too clean, even, like he suffered from mysophobia. You had a lot to do in that house. And then there was Eunjoo, who, for some reason, refused to eat her breakfast despite sitting patiently next to her ceramic plate, tail curled around her paws.

Panic seeped into your veins as you urged the cat to eat, crouching next to her in hopes that she only needed a little encouragement, but Eunjoo stood her ground. You didn't know what to do, the mess was overwhelming and you frantically paced around the kitchen like a headless hen, not knowing what to do first — wash the dishes, take out the trash, force feed the cat. As though Mr. Hwang could see you, your phone vibrated with a text from him.

Good morning. Sorry about the mess, I had a little gathering last night before my trip. Is everything alright? In-ho 

A little gathering? He had a full-blown party! Maybe it was his birthday, or he had a bachelor party. But the mess wasn't important, Eunjoo was. You quickly saved his number in your contacts list and typed a reply.

Morning! Don't worry about the mess, I'll deal with it later. Eunjoo's not eating, though. Should I take her to the vet? She seems healthy, but I’m worrying.

You waited for his text while sitting on the floor, one hand extended for the cat to sniff it. She did, then went back to her plate, simply looking at you, staring directly into your soul with bright green eyes.

Ding!

Oh, I forgot to mention that she only eats breakfast and dinner when I do. You're going to have to eat something. There's plenty of food in the fridge. 

Well, that changed things. You typically had one meal a day since most of the food back home was eaten by your uncle, and you didn't want to pry into Mr. Hwang's fridge and pantry. Rummaging through your backpack, you found a half-eaten bag of shrimp crackers and shrugged. It was good enough for you if it meant she ate.

"My food." You told Eunjoo while holding the bag, giving it a small shake. "Your food." You pointed at her plate.

As if she could understand your words, Eunjoo turned to her breakfast while you munched on the crackers, nibbling on them slowly to save some for later. God only knew when you could have some more food. When her plate was empty, you twisted the bag of remaining snacks and put it back into your backpack before getting up from the tiled floor. 

"Okay." You told yourself. "First thing's first — scoop the poop."

There were two litter boxes in the penthouse, one in the guest bathroom and one in the en-suite. You checked both without paying much attention to your surroundings, and threw away all the clumps of pee and litter, then turned the TV on to play some music. You started off strong with some upbeat songs, a little rock, a bit of pop. Your father raised you on international music. Queen, in particular, was his favourite band, and so your playlist was full of their songs.

Don't Stop Me Now was perfect for doing the dishes. First, you put away all the dry plates and cutlery before emptying the sink. You didn't even bother trying to turn on the dishwasher, your hands worked better and faster, and with the speed of light, like Freddie Mercury sang, you finished washing all the dishes. Each time you rinsed a plate, you turned the tap off, careful not to waste any water. If there was one good thing about not being rich, it was that you learned to truly care about the environment, and tried your best to fight climate change. But you weren’t perfect. No one was. There were skeletons in your closet.

As the song came to an end, you tackled the takeaway boxes. You found the bin and threw away any leftover bits of food that were inedible, saving the cardboard boxes for recycling, along with the beer bottles. The penthouse was looking better by the minute, and after wiping the table and countertop, vacuuming and mopping the floor, you took your phone out and snapped a picture for Mr. Hwang. 

Kitchen and dining room done!

You pressed send and checked the time — 9:00. Shit, your other job was starting soon. Hastily, you turned the TV off, rinsed Eunjoo's water bowl and filled it with fresh water before checking the automatic feeder. It was still half-full, so you put your shoes on and left with the recyclables and trash bag.

"I'll be back tonight, kitty!"

The bin room was easy to find, and satisfied with the work you did, you went back to Guryong Village, where you taught Ali Abdul and his wife Korean. They couldn't afford to pay you, but when they could, they fed you, and that was all that mattered. It was the only meal you didn't need to share with your uncle, and it was more than enough to keep you going through the day. 

At 12:00 you took two buses to Lotte World, where you worked part-time as a mascot, from one to seven, boiling in the purple bear suit. You didn't mind it when you saw how happy the children were, though. Their smiles and happiness mattered more than how uncomfortable you felt, and on the bright side, it kept you very warm in winter. You had to look for positives, didn't you? Life wouldn't be enjoyable if all you did was focus on the negativity and unfairness of it. And life had been nothing but cruel to you. Yet, you persevered. 

You left the theme park at 7:15 and took the bus back to Gangnam-gu, drenched in sweat. The cold November air made you shiver under the coat as you stepped down the street, making your way to Mr. Hwang's penthouse for the second time that day. Kicking your shoes off, you kept the coat, because the apartment was chilly, and you tried to find the thermostat before feeding Eunjoo. 

Good evening! I hope your trip is going well! It's getting quite cold and I was wondering if I could turn the heating on, more for Eunjoo than for me. 

When there was no reply, you shrugged and opened a can of food, placing the plate on the mat, like you did in the morning, then took out a food container from your bag with leftover chicken karahi from Mrs. Abdul. She was kind enough to give you more, and you took out a plate from Mr. Hwang's kitchen to heat it in the microwave.

Eunjoo ate when you did, as she did in the morning, and you found it interesting that she didn't immediately dig in like your cousin's cat used to do. She had good manners, you thought with a smile. The food warmed you up a bit, and you washed the plate and chopsticks after you were done, but the warmth was soon replaced by a chill running down your spine. You had to start layering up for winter.

Ding!

Good evening, miss. My apologies for not replying quicker, work is hectic. Please turn the heating on and stay the night to make sure Eunjoo is warm.

Oh, that was straightforward. You chuckled at the text, but you couldn't stay the night. Instead, you walked back to the thermostat and searched the brand online to set a timer. You tested it first to make sure it worked, and when it did, you set the heating on every 3 hours. It should be enough for Eunjoo to stay warm. 

I appreciate it, sir, but I can't stay over. My uncle would be upset. I put the timer on and it works, I checked. I'll send you a picture after I scoop the poop and tidy up.

You sent the text and inspected the litter boxes. Eunjoo had the stinkiest poops you had ever sniffed, and as you scooped it out of the box, you couldn't help but talk to her. She was watching you from the corner of the guest bathroom, pupils blown at every movement you made, studying you.

"Girl, this is foul." You laughed, tying up the small bin bag. "Is it even normal for your shit to reek like this?" 

Eunjoo lost interest in you when you were done with her box and ran under the bed in Mr. Hwang's bedroom, while you walked back into the kitchen, dropping the bin bag next to your shoes. You filled a tall glass with water and searched for all the plants in the house, stopping at a small cactus in the living room.

When was the last time you watered the cactus?

Ding!

You got the reply quicker than you expected. It usually took In-ho a few minutes to get back to you, but you read it and laughed.

I don't remember. 

Typical for men to forget, you thought as you watered the plant. 

Ding!

Another text? You took your phone out and read it.

Why would your uncle be upset?

The question soured your mood, and you took a few steps back to sit on the edge of the sofa. It wasn't a subject you liked to talk about. In fact, it was a subject you refused to talk about, but Mr. Hwang had been nothing but kind to you, and you felt like you owed him an explanation. No, you felt compelled to give him an explanation, as though you couldn’t just tell him to mind his business.

He took me in after my dad died. He can be quite strict. It's not that I have to go back home, but if he doesn't have breakfast and a coffee when he wakes up, he'll tell me off.

Okay, so you didn't exactly explain your situation. Mr. Hwang didn't need to know all the details, all the beatings and all the insults, all the money he took from you to pay his debts. But hey, at least you had a roof over your head, right?

You washed Eunjoo's plate and water bowl and left them to dry while sorting out In-ho's laundry — whites with whites, blacks with blacks. There weren’t many colourful clothes, which you thought was normal for a man his age.  You were going to wash them in the morning, but you worked smart and hard, and so you wanted them to be ready for the next day. Loading the machine with the whites, you made sure Eunjoo didn't sneak in it and closed the door, then took a shower in the guest bathroom. 

Just as you promised, you brought your own soap and towel, and let the hot water wash away the dirt and dust accumulated throughout the day. It felt good not having to boil water to wash yourself, and you made a mental note to thank Mr. Hwang somehow when he returned from his trip. Perhaps you could cook him a meal and buy a new toy for Eunjoo, although she didn’t seem very playful, at least not when you were around. Stepping out of the bathroom with the towel wrapped around your body, you took a moment to enjoy being able to walk around half-naked with no one to disturb you. 

Thank you for letting me take a shower. Eunjoo is sleeping, the plants have been watered, and I’m ready to go home. Good night, Mr. Hwang!

tagging: @ri1liane @anmert1 @syraxnyra @frshluvcats @lanyia @mettreads @nightdark-dreamdark @bridge-always @nomugglesallowed @awekbachira @hobiesbrowngf @lovekm @audrey223 @ririgy @starkeyszn @thoughtfulbelieverstrawberry @maria-trisha @akiqvq @10hrs26mn @tenzko @okaycharr @politicstanner @moonxknightx @googie-jeon @swthrtbyeol @mariiestfu @ratsnestinmyhair

i hope i didn't miss anyone or tagged the wrong people lmaooo

[winterarmyy]

Against All Odds | Part I

An arranged marriage with the duke's illegitimate son!bucky.

Summary: In a medieval kingdom where magic and political intrigue are woven into the fabric of society, Y/N, the youngest daughter of a noble Earl family, finds herself in an arranged marriage to James Buchanan Barnes, the illegitimate son of the Duke. Known as the Winter Soldier, Bucky's reputation as a monster in war had instilled anxiety into Y/N's heart. But that fear quickly begins to crumble when she discovers that her husband is not the brutal figure society depicts him to be.

Navigation: Part I | Part II | Part III (end)

Words: 8.1k++

Pairing: duke's illegitimate son!bucky x noble!female!reader

Warnings: fantasy/medieval au, i did not write this with much knowledge of fantasy nor medieval lore. I write it solely for plot and the couple dynamic lmao. if you're expecting full blown fantasy novel; this ain't it, man. anyways, 18+ contents, no minors allowed, nsfw, cunnilingus, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, loss of virginity, praise kink, breeding kink (if you squint), marking kink (i think), soft fluffy smut, a wee bit of dirty talk. soft!reader and even softer!bucky. (idk what else, so tell me if there's something i miss.)

P/S: This is the fic for an idea I had earlier this year. The first chapter will only cover the original post but what happens next is something you will need to look forward on the upcoming chapters. Enjoy your read!

Read my other works here: Masterlist

Y/N stood in front of the grand mirror in her chamber, her reflection staring back at her with wide, fearful eyes. The delicate lace of her wedding dress was the opposite of the twisting anxiety in her stomach. Today, she was to marry James Buchanan Barnes, the illegitimate son of the Duke of the kingdom, a man labelled to be more beast than human.

He was known as the Winter Soldier, a title whispered with both fear and awe. Tales of his gruesome feats in battle, his merciless brutality, and his cold, metal arm was deemed as a horror story for the children in the kingdom. People spoke of him as a monstrous weapon, a beast moulded by the Emperor to do his bidding without question or hesitation. 

Y/N had heard the stories many times before; and it has always been a hushed conversation that floats around whether a ballroom of a gala, or at the tables of the garden parties, sometimes even in between the racks of books in the library.

They always painted a picture of a man who lived only for war, devoid of humanity.

She couldn't help but let these tales feed her imagination. What kind of man was he truly? Did he revel in the violence, or was he a prisoner to his fate? Y/N shuddered at the thought, her heart heavy with fear and uncertainty.

Her father, the Earl, had made it clear why she needed to marry him. It was a political manoeuvre, a strategic alliance to strengthen their family's position. The duke, Bucky's father, wielded considerable power, and their union would bring the Earl closer to the heart of the kingdom's influence. 

And when he heard that the duke was looking for a wife for his bastard son, he knew that she would be perfect. That was when Y/N, the youngest daughter, became the pawn in this game. Her father's ambitions certainly outweighed any consideration for her feelings or desires.

Y/N had always longed for a marriage of love, a dream she clung to despite her circumstances. She was a hopeless romantic through and through; much like her late mother. She remembered the nights when her mother would read to her and her siblings, spinning tales of prince charming and valiant heroes.

The fire crackled warmly in the hearth as her mother’s soothing voice filled the room. Y/N and her siblings, her older brother Eric and sister Clara, lay tucked under blankets, their eyes wide with wonder.

"And then the prince, with a heart full of love, swept the princess into his arms, vowing to protect her forever," her mother read, her voice a melodic whisper.

Y/N, her eyes sparkling with innocence, declared, "When I grow up, I want to marry a prince charming too!"

Clara, ever the practical one, nodded in agreement. "Me too! He has to be brave and kind."

Eric, being a little boy, scrunched his nose in distaste. "I don’t want to get married. I want to be a knight!"

Their mother chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair from Y/N’s forehead. "It does not matter if he is a prince charming or a humble knight. As long as you marry the one you love, that is what truly matters."

Y/N's heart ached at the memory. How she wished her mother were still here to guide her through this terrifying day. The gentle knock on the door brought her back to the present.

"Lady Y/N, it’s time," one of the maids said softly.

Y/N took a long and deep breath, smoothing down the fabric of her dress. She followed the maid down the corridor, her mind a swirl of emotions. Reaching the grand doors of the church, her father waited for her.

"Remember, Y/N," he said, his voice stern. "Do not mess this up. Just endure it. And you'll be fine. This is the most useful you can be to our family."

Her heart sank further; yet she nodded obediently.

Compared to Y/N, her elder brother, a celebrated swordsman, and her sister, a master in the art of business, had always outshone her in their father's eyes. Y/N's talent with languages; ancient and modern – was seen as a useless skill, something that brought no tangible benefit to the family. 

Her father had never been cruel when she was younger but everything changed when her mother died. In fact, everyone in the family had lost a piece of their soul when she left. Now, his lack of affection only increases the number of scars on her heart.

The doors opened, revealing the crowds of high-ranking nobles; who were mostly strangers – staring at her. Some were judging her; some pitied her. She reminded herself that she was doing this for her family, for the greater good. But the little girl inside her who dreamed of prince charming certainly felt a pang of sorrow.

As she walked down the aisle, her legs trembled, and her hands shook so violently that she had to clasp them together to steady herself. From afar, she saw the silhouette of the man she was destined to marry. His tall and huge figure stood out compared to anyone in the hall. As she got closer, she kept her gaze fixed on the floor, too afraid to look up at her husband-to-be.

When she finally reached the altar, the priest began the ceremony. His speech was long and dragging, giving Y/N too much time to entertain her growing curiosity that she dared to glance up at the man next to her. Even from behind the veil, she could see his towering and broad-shouldered build, his presence commanding the room. His long hair was slightly untamed, and a scruffy beard framed his face. His metal hand, glinting in the sun that leaked through the church’s windows, was a jarring reminder of the rumors that surrounded him.

There were no heartfelt vows to recite to each other; only their promise of "I do" was exchanged. And that was the first time Y/N heard his voice. It was deep and resonant, sending a shiver down her spine; but there was a certain warmth in it that contrasted sharply with his fearsome reputation.

When the priest announced their union and Bucky lifted her veil, Y/N was struck by the unexpected gentleness in his eyes. They were a brilliant, mesmerizing blue, and for a moment, she forgot to breathe. Bucky's eyes softened as he looked at her, his gaze tender and almost reverent. Slowly, he placed one hand gently around her waist, pulling her slightly closer. His other hand came up to cup her cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle against her skin.

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest as he leaned in, her breath catching in her throat. When his lips met hers, they were soft, warm, and so unexpected. She could smell his cologne; an earthy, woodsy scent mixed with a hint of something fruity; like peaches or tangerines. It made her head spin and her heart jumped all at the same time. 

The kiss was gentle and unhurried, very much differs to the forceful gesture she had feared. As he pulled away, Y/N found herself blinking slowly, her cheeks flushed and her fear momentarily replaced by confusion and a surprising awe. She was caught off guard by the tenderness of his touch, the way his lips had brushed against hers so gently.

Could the rumors about him be wrong?

"I’m sorry if I startled you," he said, his voice low and gentle. "I hope I didn’t scare you, my dear."

Y/N blinked slowly, trying to process the sudden shift in her emotions. The fear that had gripped her so tightly seemed to dissipate, replaced by a confusing mix of relief and intrigue. Her hands, which had been trembling, now rested at her sides, feeling strangely steady. Her eyes met his, and she could see softness in his gaze that contradicted the harsh rumors she had heard.

“I—no, you didn’t scare me,” she managed to say; her voice barely more than a whisper. She took a deep breath, her cheeks getting warmer as she processed the endearment he just called her. On the other hand, her mind was racing as she tried to reconcile the man in front of her with the fearsome figure of the Winter Soldier.

Bucky’s eyes mellowed even further, his gaze glazed with a tenderness that seemed to pierce through the weight of the room. A warm smile spread across his face, and he held her gaze with a comforting assurance.

“Good,” he said, his voice carrying a gentle affection. “I’m glad to hear that.”

The reception that followed was a blur of faces and polite conversation. Y/N moved through the crowd, accepting congratulations and well-wishes, but her mind was elsewhere. She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Bucky than the rumors suggested. Every time she caught his eye, he gave her a small, reassuring smile that made the butterflies inside of her go wild.

As the evening drew to a close, they were escorted to one of the Emperor’s palaces, a grand and opulent residence that was to serve as their temporary home before they traveled north to Bucky’s territory. The palace, with its lavish furnishings and golden accents, seemed to mock the uncertainty Y/N felt. She had been assigned a chamber to prepare for the night, and the palace maids were bustling around her, helping her into a set of elaborate, far-from-modest lingerie.

The palace’s maids’ whispers and side glances did nothing to ease her growing anxiety. Their condescending tones and occasional snickers were laced with cruel speculation about how roughly Bucky would treat her. The more Y/N overheard, the more her apprehension grew. Despite the gentleness Bucky had shown her earlier, she found herself doubting its sincerity.

Could he really be the caring husband he appeared to be, or was it all just an elaborate show?

The maids finally left, their laughter fading down the hallway, leaving Y/N alone in the grand chamber. Her heart raced, and cold sweat formed at her brow as she sat quietly on the edge of the ornate bed. She kept her gaze firmly on the floor, her hands fidgeting in her lap. The room felt enormous, its sheer size heightening her sense of isolation and dread.

The door creaked open, and Bucky entered the room. Y/N’s heart nearly stopped as she heard the heavy, measured footsteps approaching. She couldn’t bring herself to look up, her body tense and her mind a swirl of panic and unease. She almost held her breath entire when she felt the slight indentation of the mattress beside her.

“Y/N,” Bucky’s voice was soft and coaxing, a distinct difference to the coldness she was expecting. “Look at me.” He continued. She hesitated momentarily; torn between obeying and disobeying but ultimately decided to raise her eyes to meet his.

The sight of him; his upper body bare, revealing a tapestry of scars and the stark metal of his prosthetic arm; made her breath hitch. Her eyes traced the lines of his faded wound, particularly the jagged marks where his shoulder met his metal arm. She couldn’t help but feel a pang of sorrow and concern. Her fingers, almost of their own accord, reached out to trace the contours of his chest and shoulder.

Bucky let the innocence of her touch to trace the most tainted parts of him; however noting her trembling eyes, he misunderstood her apprehension. “I want you to know, Y/N,” he said, his voice firm yet gentle, “that I will never hurt you. You are safe with me.”

Y/N shook her head, her heart aching. She felt an unexplainable pain growing in her chest as she gazed at him. Her fingers still lightly touching his scars; her eyes, full of unshed tears, silently asked a question she was too afraid to voice. “Does it still hurt?” she wanted to ask, her expression betraying her concern.

Bucky’s eyes sparkled with affection, and he took her hand in his, holding it tenderly against his chest. “Don't worry. It does not hurt anymore,” he said with a reassuring smile. 

The connection between them was electric, charged with a deep, unspoken understanding. Bucky’s gaze was steady and filled with a depth of unspoken emotion that took Y/N’s breath away. “I know this is difficult for you, Y/N,” he said, his voice laden with sincerity. “But I promise, I will do everything in my power to make you happy.”

His words and the way he looked at her left Y/N feeling both comforted and overwhelmed. For the first time since their wedding, she felt a genuine, flickering hope that maybe, just maybe, their marriage could become something more than a mere political arrangement. Bucky’s assurances, his gentleness, and the tenderness in his eyes began to dissolve the fears she had harboured since the beginning of their union.

As they sat there, the weight of the night’s expectations seemed to lift, replaced by a fragile but growing trust. Y/N had entered this marriage with a sense of duty, convinced that she would have to endure the consummation of their union as a matter of obligation. But Bucky’s tenderness, his understanding, and the sincere reassurance he had given her began to change her perspective.

The idea of fulfilling her marital duty had initially felt like a burden she had to bear. She had steeled herself to face it with resignation, convinced that it was merely another part of her role in this arranged marriage. But now, she found herself reconsidering. The idea of being with him no longer felt like an obligation but a possibility of something more profound and intimate.

Y/N hands softly toyed with the delicate strings of her sheer lingerie, pulling it softly as her doe eyes signalled her husband of her intention. Bucky, sensing the shift in her demeanor, looked into her eyes with a mixture of concern and affection. “Are you sure, my dear?” he asked softly. “I want you to feel safe with me and not afraid of me.”

Y/N’s heart fluttered as she met his gaze, her own eyes reflecting the depth of her emotions. “I am,” she said with quiet conviction. “I feel safe with you, James”

Bucky's hand naturally went to brush her hair behind her ear, “It’s Bucky, my dear,” he corrected softly.

“Hmm?” she asked, slightly puzzled.

He chuckled warmly. “You can call me Bucky from now on. It’s a nickname only a selected few who I trust and love knows.” Her eyes sparkled at his choice words; trust and love.

“Bucky…” she tested the name on her tongue, the syllables feeling strangely intimate. Upon hearing his name from her lips, Bucky’s heart swelled, almost bursting from his ribcage. He hummed in approval, “That's right, my dear. I’m your Bucky.” 

His reassuring smile grew wider, his calloused thumb gently stroke her cheek causing a shiver to strum all over her nerves; sending an emerging desire. One she had not fully acknowledged until now. The way he looked at her, the pure and raw endearment in his eyes, and the softness of his touch stirred something deep within her.

As the moments passed, Y/N realised she wanted this. She wanted to feel his lips on hers, to explore the warmth of his hands, to connect with him on a level she had longed for. The yearning for his touch, which had been dormant under layers of fear and uncertainty, now surged forward with undeniable intensity.

Without fully understanding why, Y/N found herself leaning closer to him, her breath coming in soft, eager gasps. She whispered, her voice barely audible but full of longing, “Bucky, please.”

Bucky’s expression softened, and a tender light filled his blue eyes, “May I?” he asked, his voice low and gentle as he held out his hand. There a shy hesitation before she finally placed her hand in his.

With a gentle but firm pull, Bucky lifted her onto his lap, his careful hands beginning the process of undressing her. Each movement was full of care, yet almost deliberate, as he slowly removed her dress, leaving her in nothing but the flimsy lace piece covering the sacred area between her thighs.

Bucky's eyes roamed over her bare skin, admiration clear in his gaze. Y/N could feel the heat of his gaze, the way his eyes traced every curve and contour of her body. The intensity of it made her feel both vulnerable and cherished, a potent combination that sent pleasurable shivers all over her body.

Seeing the hunger in his blue eyes, she felt the warmth of his body and caught the scent of him; the same once she noticed at the church; warm and comforting. Her breath quickened, and she found herself unsure of what to do or where to place her hands, feeling like a deer caught in headlights.

Noticing the subtle panic, Bucky reached for her hands and guided them through the thick strands of his long hair. “You can touch me as you please, my dear,” he whispered, his voice soothing as he reassured her. He leaned in to kiss her bare shoulder, then moved up to her neck, along her jaw, leaving a trail of warmth on her skin.

Y/N’s fingers tangled in his hair, the softness surprising her. The intimacy of the moment, combined with his gentle kisses, began to dissolve the last remnants of her anxiety. The feel of his lips on her skin was electrifying, each kiss sending waves of sensation she never felt before.

Bucky’s hands, still careful and tender, caressed her back, drawing her closer to him. Her breath hitched as he kissed the valley of her breasts; soft gasps escaping her lips as Bucky begins to lick and sucked on her delicate skin; likely trying to mark his claim on her. 

Every touch and little kisses he left sent shivers straight to her already dripping core. And by the time his lips grazed her nipple, her body jerked forward; in response, unintentionally dragging her aching pussy against his thick thigh.

His lips latched around her right nipples as he licks and sucks the hardening skin; lapping at it as if he was feeding from her. The sensation was overwhelming, yet she found herself leaning into his touch, her body responding to his gentle ministrations. The grip on his hair grew tighter as the strings of moans poured out her lips.

Bucky’s large hands find their place on her hips, guiding her to gently rut on his thigh. Trusting him, she followed his lead as he continue to grind her clit through the thin fabric she was wearing; introducing the sweet friction in on her core. Bucky pulled back slightly to look into her eyes, his expression filled with a mixture of subtle affection and desire. “You’re doing wonderfully, my dear. Can feel your pussy leaking on me. Do you feel good?” he murmured as he dipped back to kiss her neck.

Oh, he was filthy with his choice of words but surprisingly she was not mad about it. In fact she didn’t even notice the whimpers purring in her throat upon hearing those sinful words.

It was as if Bucky recognized that needy sound she made; it caused a smile to spread on his lips. She can feel it grow against the skin in between her breasts, “My my, is my sweet wife feeling needy right now?” he teased playfully as he effortlessly lifted her up and laid her down on their bed. 

Placing himself in between her soft thighs, his lustful gaze trained on her naked body; he admired the marks he has left on her breasts, the wet patch on the flimsy fabric covering her cunt, and the way her breath shuddered when he teasingly grind his harden cock against her.

Y/N can feel the contrast of his hands on her thigh, one warm, one cold. Her eyes drew her attention from his hands to his gorgeous face. Oh, the pure unfiltered lust in his eyes was pulling her in so effortlessly; seducing her to submit her body and soul to him completely. Shying away from his stare, she dragged her view down to his chiselled jaw, his broad chest then slowly to his beautiful abs. 

She admired his body as much as he did of hers.

But what was more prominent out of all, was the way she could feel his erection throbbing against her heat. Blood went rushing towards her face when Bucky guided her hips against the confinement of his cock, which in response; causing her hands naturally found their way to cover her face in embarrassment.

A deep chuckle bubbled from Bucky’s throat; he found her reaction to be absolutely endearing. He leaned down towards her, one hand holding himself up and another tenderly pulling her hands away, then drawing it close to his chest, right against his beating heart. 

Having nowhere to run, Y/N’s teary eyes drowned in his ocean blues, “Don’t hide from me, dearest.” He peppered a delicate kiss on her forehead, then on her nose, then on her cheek. She could feel the prickly sensation of his beard grazing on her skin. It was ticklish and a little bit painful and yet weirdly enough, it felt good that it naturally made her want to nuzzle it more.

But before she could, Bucky’s lips were already making their way down to her stomach. Her body responds to how soft his lips trailing down; and further down until she could feel them on her clothed core. A surprised yelp fell from her lips as he tore the last piece of clothing from her.

“Now, hands away from your face, my dear. I want to see that beautiful eyes of yours when I eat your sweet pussy.” his voice was honeyed when he made himself comfortable in between her thighs. His hands reached upwards to intertwine both of her hands with his own; acting as a restraint to restrict her from covering her face.

Y/N almost sat up upon hearing his words, “Eat what now?”, the question she had in mind was unable to be vocalised; due to her confusion. Prior to marriage, she had learned about sex and its purpose in her marital studies. Unbeknownst to her, the knowledge she had was few and limited for academic purposes only. Which means there were only the few illustrations of penetration depicted in books and the process of how children are bred as a result of it.

So what does he mean when he said those words? While she was still lost and confused, Bucky on the other hand was in his own world; completely and utterly transfixed on the glistening need of her cunt. She was dripping wet; the juices covering her slits perfectly; her scent was intoxicating and if it weren’t for the fact that this is her first time, Bucky would’ve ate her like a man starved of touch. But, he can’t do that. Not tonight. He wanted to be gentle; to cherish her, to love on her.

Seeing the darkened clouds in his eyes as he stared at her private, Y/N braved herself to ask, “What are you– ohh hmmm” her sentence ended up transforming into a toe curling moan as she felt Bucky’s wet tongue flattened across her weeping core. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as he dragged her clit into his mouth and sucked. He strummed her clit with his tongue, causing her to arch her back and he took the opportunity to push his face further into her cunt; licking and sucking quite the literal soul out her.

It felt amazing but her self-consciousness won the battle in her head, she let out a whimpering plea, “Buc--bucky st-stop. That’s dirty.” as she gripped on his hands, trying to escape from his grip. Bucky growled against her in response to her futile protest. The sweet vibration only caused her pleasure all over her fluttering core. 

When Bucky pulled away for a moment; it caused her to feel a sense of loss. “It’s not dirty, my dear. In fact, it’s so sweet.” His lips moved to kiss on her inner thigh, murmuring against her skin as he left yet more of his marks on her, “So fucking sweet.” He releases his right hand from hers, just to rub his thumb on her clit, slowly dragging it in between her slit; smearing her wetness all around her throbbing bundle of nerves. Her thighs trembled to the sensation of his rough movement of his thumb and a string of shaky mewls fell out of her.

“But..” she tried to protest but immediately stopped when Bucky brought his soaked thumb to her mouth. Her lips were wet from how he gently smeared the juices on her, “Taste yourself.” He lured her softly. Hesitation glints in her eyes as her cheeks redden. Bucky’s eyes grew tender at her watery ones, he whispered lowly, “Sweetheart, do you trust me?” 

She does; but she does not trust her own voice to not come out sounding like a needy moan, so she simply nodded. Bucky’s pink lips spread into a smile, “Good girl. Now, open up.” he coaxed lovingly.

Y/N opened her mouth as she was told and let Bucky slip his thumb inside; he was not shy to smother her juices across her tongue, coaxing her to suck on it. To get a taste of what he was having. “It’s sweet”, she thought to herself. A muffled moan purred in her throat at the thought of her husband enjoying the taste of her.

Bucky smirk grew at her reaction, “Tastes good huh, sweetheart?” he pulled his thumb away, leaving her nodding to his question. “Now are you going to let me enjoy your pussy?” his brow quirked when he tilted his head to the side. How can she deny him now? Her eyes glazed with need as she replied,  “Yes, please”.

Her mouth falls open in anticipation as a low moan creeps up her throat. Bucky’s tongue slips past her folds, she watched him between her legs, savouring her pussy with his unfiltered groans vibrating against her sensitive spot. Breathless moans and incoherent pleads fall from her mouth as the soft and firm tip of his tongue circled her swollen pearl and flicked it. Bucky’s hands went to her hips, guiding it in time with her own movements, giving her partial control to set the pace.

“Buckyyyy.” She gasped as she alternated between wanting to push his head away or keep him in place. Meanwhile, the man in between her thighs had lost himself; consumed by pure desire the more he drank from her cunt. His tongue moved faster against her clit when he noticed the beat of her throbbing cunt increased. She was going to come. He was sure of it.

The way that she was practically creaming on his tongue drove him near feral. He kept lapping at her juices as if it was the sweetest honey he ever tasted; fuck he even sucked her clit in hopes to force out more of her nectar to leak; then he’d lap on it again. 

The sweet cycle had pushed Y/N over the edge, her eyes rolling back as pleasure and her hips slightly lifted as pleasure surges through her veins.“Oh oh Bucky please please.” She didn’t what she was begging for as she chanted his name. “I’m gonna, ‘m gonna–“ her words died as she squealed; her body trembling in pleasure. 

His tongue moved faster against her clit; her cum was dripping out of her; coating his beard but his frantic licks didn’t stop even when she continue to gush on his tongue. 

“Bucky please, sensitive..” It was too much; her orgasm, her swollen clit, his tongue. Everything. 

Unfortunately for her, Bucky was far gone to stop now. He had the taste of her cum, now he wants nothing more than to have it again. Despite her protest, Bucky held her hip down, interlocking his hands across her stomach to keep her in place and continue to lick and suck on her overstimulated cunt.

Her whiny pleas didn’t come across as a sign for him to stop; instead it kept him going causing him to bury his face further in between her legs. His cock continued to throb in his pants, probably leaking with so much pre-cum and in need of some sort of relief but he ignored it. He wants nothing more than for Y/N to cum on his tongue again.

And that is exactly what happened next.

The moment she fell over the edge, Bucky pushed her even harder against him as her whole body spasmed. He maintained his pace on lapping up at her all throughout her high as her hands went from his hair to the headboard, trying to hold her limp body upright. Y/N took a moment to gather herself together, panting heavily as she regained their senses; while Bucky was swift to pull his pants off and throw it to the side.

He grabbed on her hips, holding her firmly in place as his heavy leaking cock nestled between her aching pussy. “Are you sure about this, my dear?” his hot breath fanning against her neck as he gently ruts into her heat. Even though Bucky can see the darken lust in her eyes, he still wanted to make sure that she was sure of her decision.

Y/N’s heart swelled at his concern, and she found herself smiling, a genuine smile that reflected the warmth she felt inside. She pulled him closer and kissed him, pouring all her newfound trust and affection into the kiss. “Yes, Bucky. I am very sure. ”

Bucky quickly responded with equal passion, his tongue slipped in between her lips; exploring the warmness of her mouth, the softness of her tongue. Their muffled moans filled the silenced room, his hands moved to caress her sides, drawing her even closer before breaking away from the heated kiss.

Resting his forehead on hers, his eyes trained on her beautiful face; not wanting to miss his chance to witness the pleasure contorting on her expression. He nudges her clit first, rubbing it slow and sensual before trailing down to her entrance. Gradually, he inches closer, he pushes in and through the tightness of her sacred channel.

Delving impossibly deep, her tightness wrapped around his thick cock until the tip of him reached the deepest parts of her. The sudden feeling of fullness on her untainted pussy caused her to experience both pain and the delightful sensation inside her. The ecstasy of being so knitly connected to each other caused both of them to simultaneously let out moans and groans of raw pleasure.

Bucky waited for her to adjust to his size; leaning down to pamper her with the softest kisses and praises that tears started to swell in her eyes. It was as if Bucky knew exactly what she wanted to hear, how she wanted to be treated and what makes her feel good.

“You’re doing so good, my dear.”

“Look at how perfect your pussy’s taking my cock. So perfect.”

“Made for me aren’t you, sweetheart?. Made to be loved by me, made to be stuffed full of my cock.”

“I promise you’ll be safe with me, Y/N. Always.”

When Y/N finally gave him the permission to move, Bucky kissed her pouty lips and murmured sweetly, “Thank you, my dear.” His hands travelled to find her ankle; which he then gently prop her calf over his broad shoulder. He started pumping in and out slowly, letting her get used to the friction. 

Bucky couldn’t help but to groan out to the feeling of her wet hole gripping his cock ever-so-tightly. It was slippery and dripping, that he almost completely slid out of her. Gripping her closer he continue ramming himself back in, deeper, harder; sliding in and out of her at an even pace. Each force of his cock causing her body to jerk in ecstasy; hitting that good spot in her so perfectly.

“S-shit, sweetheart,” he moans deep and heavy as he felt her pussy tightening around him. His metal hand slid in between them and his thumb hones in on her clit. The coldness of his finger made her jolt at first but when he proceeded to rub and pinch on it, everything suddenly started to feel too intense; so incredibly good.

With his fingers assaulting her clit, each thrust of his cock and every deep guttural moan and groan coming from Bucky, she felt her release was growing closer. Bucky also started thrusting faster and harder; he knew he was about to come. Especially when he can feel how much pre-cum has been leaking inside her.

He leaned and rested his forehead on hers, his needy ruts became more and more irregular when her pretty doe eyes looked up at him, “Cum for me, my dear.” his lips brushed against Y/N’s as he coaxed her to her sweet release. His thrusts got harsher and deeper and the friction of his metal finger working on her clit got her cunt to frantically tremble around him, “I wanna feel you milk my cock, sweetheart. Then, I’m gonna my pump cum inside you until you’re leaking.”

Although his words were debauched to no end, however Y/N could sense his genuine affection for her. She felt his sincerity in the way he looked at her, in the way he held her, in the silenced gaze they shared. Overwhelmed with pleasure, her nails dragged across Bucky’s back as she moaned and screamed out his name; letting the high took over her body.

“Fuck,, sweetheart. I’m gonna cum!” groaned as he took in the sound of her pleasured mewls. He ruthlessly grinds into her, savouring the feeling of her cunt tightened around him. With one last rut, he thrust his cock, balls deep inside and let his warm white strings filling her up to the brim. His cock twitches in her fluttering cunt, his legs tensing with every small grind he makes, groaning lowly at her as he bites down on her shoulder, almost drooling on her as he emptied himself completely into her.

Y/N continued to let out strings of soft moans as he pulled out from her leaking cunt; all swollen and sensitive. While she thought she could finally catch some breaths, she didn’t notice the way Bucky was biting on his lip at the sight of his cum dripping out of her, or how his hands lazily tugging on his now hardened cock.

“Dearest?” Bucky hovered above her as he cradled her by her flushed cheeks. She smiled sweetly as she leaned to his touch, “Yes, Bucky?”, she was anticipating him to utter more of those soft words and praises to her; but instead his lips curled into a devilish grin when he slid his cock back into her, immediately pulling a long sinful mewl of his name from her. Bucky hummed approvingly in response; he gently brushed his lips against hers, “May I fill you up again?”

As the morning sun streamed through the windows, Y/N slowly stirred awake. She reached out, instinctively searching for the warmth of her husband beside her, but found the space empty. A pang of loneliness touched her heart, but it was quickly replaced by curiosity when she saw a bouquet of bluebells, her favourite flower, placed delicately on the bedside table.

Next to the bouquet was a note. With a small smile, she picked it up and began to read.

"My Dearest Y/N,

I hate to leave you alone this morning, but I must ensure our journey home is smooth and safe. I trust you slept well, and I promise to return to your side as soon as I can.

Yours always,

Bucky"

The words written on the note were filled with sincerity and reassurance that made her heart flutter. She smiled, a blush creeping across her cheeks as she wondered how he knew bluebells were her favourite.

Just as she was lost in thought, the door opened, and the palace’s maids entered the room. Their faces were a mixture of curiosity and impatience, clearly expecting to see a frightened and bruised young bride.

However, when they saw Y/N's skin, they temporarily froze in their spots. Her skin was indeed bruised, but each one of them recognized the marks for what they were: love marks, not signs of harsh abuse that they were expecting. The traces of Bucky's possessive love were prominent all over her neck, chest, and inner thighs, leaving Y/N blushing as the maids, too, found themselves flushed with embarrassment.

“Well, isn’t this a surprise,” one of the older maids muttered under her breath, her tone laced with irritation. Another maid, with a more condescending sneer, huffed. “Looks like we lost the bet, ladies. Who would have thought the beast could be so... tender?”

Y/N’s cheeks burned with a mix of embarrassment and pride. She could feel their resentful glances and knew they were not pleased with the outcome. The marks on her body were a testament to the affection and desire Bucky had shown her, and despite the initial fear, she now wore them as symbols of the unexpected bond they had begun to forge.

The head maid, who had been the most vocal the night before, now seemed to handle her with an edge of bitterness. The other maids, who had been so quick to judge, were now silent, their eyes wide with resentment.One of the younger maids, braver than the rest, couldn’t hide her frustration. “Well, my lady, I suppose you’re alright, then?” she asked, her voice barely masking her disappointment.

Y/N looked at her, considering the appropriate response. If it was up to her, she ought to punish every single one of them for not knowing their place. Unfortunately, they were not her maids to begin with, but the palace's staff. Otherwise, she would likely fire each one of them. 

The memory of Bucky’s affection and care filled her heart, leaving no room for anger or resentment. The warmth of his embrace and the gentle way he had treated her made the maids' behaviour seem petty and insignificant.

She could still feel the lingering touch of his lips on her skin, the way his hands had caressed her so delicately, and the sound of his reassuring voice. Her body was still tingling with the remnants of the previous night's intimacy. Her skin bore the marks of his love, not of brutality, and each bruise was a testament to the passion they had shared. It was completely different to the vile expectations of the maids.

A small smile playing on her lips despite the blush that still coloured her cheeks. "Yes," she said softly, "I am quite alright."

The maids exchanged annoyed glances, their expressions a mix of frustration and disbelief. Their muttered disappointments were tuned out as Y/N focused on the lingering warmth from the night before.

She couldn't hear a single thing except her heart beating to the thought of her husband. She missed him already. Who would’ve thought she’d be swooning for him so soon?

She found herself yearning for his presence, the comfort of his touch, and the sound of his reassuring voice. The memory of his gentle kiss and tender words lingered in her mind yet again, making her heart flutter.

As the maids continued their work, Y/N hoped they would at least perform their duties well enough to cover up for their childish behaviour. She wanted to be ready to see Bucky, to greet him with the same warmth and affection he had shown her. Despite their rudeness, she resolved to focus on the positive, cherishing the newfound bond with her husband.

Bucky stood at the head of the table, his stern expression and commanding presence filling the room. He was reviewing the logistics of their journey home, his voice cold and decisive as he issued instructions to his knights. His trusted knight, Sam, was detailing the possible hotspots for bandits they might encounter along the way.

"We'll likely face trouble here," Sam said, pointing to a spot on the map. "We should send some of our best men ahead to clear the path."

"Agreed," Bucky responded, his tone unyielding. "Deploy the knights in advance. Ensure the path is secure before we proceed."

Sam nodded and continued outlining the plan. He paused, expecting Bucky to reconfirm, but noticed a change in his leader's face. The harsh lines softened, his eyes filled with a tender warmth, as he stared intently at something across the room. Before Sam could look or utter a word, Bucky turned and walked away with determination.

Sam followed Bucky's gaze and understood immediately. "Ah, that's why," he muttered to himself as he watched Bucky approach Y/N. The change in Bucky’s demeanour was striking. He moved with a grace and warmth that was at odds with his usual stern and imposing presence.

Bucky’s eyes softened as he took in the sight of Y/N. He admired her beauty with a gaze filled with awe and adoration. The way he looked at her was as if he was seeing a vision he had longed for, a rare and precious gem that had finally come into his life.

As he extended his hand toward her, a gesture usually seen as etiquette but now entirely with different meaning, especially with the hearts bursting our of his blue eyes. Y/N’s face lighting up with a shy smile, took his hand; almost too eagerly. Bucky's fingers closed gently around hers, his touch tender and reassuring. The contrast between his usual, fearsome reputation and the gentle way he interacted with her was profound, making it clear that his feelings for Y/N were deeply genuine.

Bucky kissed the back of her hand, his lips softly caressing her knuckles. "My dear," he greeted her, using the endearment he had chosen when they first met at the altar. 

The scene seemed like it was pulled raw from a romance novel that the surrounding staff and knights simply watched in shock and awe. "Did he just..." one knight whispered, eyes wide. "Called her 'my dear'?" another finished, equally stunned.

Sam, who had witnessed firsthand the monstrous side of Bucky in war, found himself in a state of utter disbelief, jaw dropped loose. He had seen Bucky’s sword painted blood-red, his face splattered with the gore of countless enemies. The Winter Soldier was a force of nature on the battlefield, his brutal efficiency leaving a trail of carnage in his wake. Sam recalled the sight of Bucky’s cold, unyielding eyes as he cut through foes without hesitation, his armor and weaponry gleaming with the blood of those who dared oppose him.

And yet, here he was, the same man who had struck terror into the hearts of many, now standing before Y/N with a tenderness that seemed unimaginable. Sam could hardly believe his eyes. The disparity was pronounced and bewildering. Bucky’s expression was soft, his movements gentle as he held Y/N’s hand in his.

“I’ve missed you,” Y/N said softly, her eyes shining with affection. She truly did, it would be a lie that she didn’t felt the ache in her heart when she woke up alone that morning. The emptiness beside her had felt profound. The bed still carried his scent, a lingering warmth that whispered of his recent presence. Even though the separation had been brief, as evidenced by the thoughtful note and the bouquet of her favourite flowers he had left behind, the loneliness she felt was palpable. His absence, however fleeting, had created a void that left her feeling incomplete.

Bucky’s heart seemed to burst with emotion. He couldn't care less about the gawking staff surrounding them as he pulled her close and kissed her deeply. She initially froze, caught off guard and embarrassed, but soon melted into his kiss with a blossoming confidence.

As their lips met, memories of their tender and passionate night together surged through Bucky's mind. The way she moan his name, the taste of her cum, the tightness of her pussy gripping on his cock, the way his cum leaked out of her, every single sinful scene replayed in head; infinitely. The intensity of the moment was overwhelming, and he found himself nearly losing control. Reluctantly, he pulled back from the kiss, his breath uneven and his gaze filled with an unspoken hunger.

"God, what should I do with you, hmm, sweetheart?" Bucky whispered, his voice laced with seduction as he continued to place gentle kisses along her cheeks and jaw. His lips brushed softly against her skin, whispering how much he had missed her and expressing a wistful desire to stay wrapped in the warmth of their shared bed just a little longer.

Y/N’s soft giggle rang out as she felt the roughness of his stubble against her delicate skin. The sound was like music to Bucky's ears, brightening his mood and filling him with a profound sense of joy. Despite the joyful exchange, he reluctantly ended the sweet torment, his kisses lingering just a moment longer before he pulled away.

“We should be ready to begin our journey shortly,” Bucky said, his tone shifting to a more practical note when e turned to Sam, who had approached during their moment of intimacy.

“Y/N, this is Sam Wilson, he is one of my trusted knights.” Bucky introduced, his gaze shifting to his wife. Sam gave a respectful nod to Y/N, a hint of surprise still evident in his expression from witnessing Bucky's affectionate display. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Y/N.”

Y/N smiled warmly at Sam, appreciating the introduction. “The pleasure is mine, Sir Wilson.”

Sam, sensing that the formality was unnecessary given their imminent interactions, decided to ease the situation. “Just Sam, my lady,” he said with a friendly tone. Y/N repeated his name with a touch of amusement. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Sam.”

Bucky, observing the growing camaraderie between his wife and his trusted knight, couldn’t help but feel a twinge of protectiveness. The easy familiarity between them seemed a bit too casual for his liking. His eyes narrowed slightly as he gave Sam a warning look. “Watch it, Wilson.”

Sam, not missing a beat, chuckled at Bucky’s protective demeanour. “What’s the matter, my lord? Can’t handle a bit of friendly conversation?”

Y/N, noticing the playful tension and Bucky’s slight irritation, couldn’t help but laugh. The contrast between Bucky’s usually soft demeanour that Y/N had witnessed and his current protective stance were both endearing and amusing. Her laughter lightened the mood, making Sam’s teasing even more enjoyable.

Bucky's stern gaze softened as he watched Y/N’s laughter, though his protective instinct remained palpable. Steering the conversion back to the preparations, he allowed a faint smile to tug at the corners of his mouth despite his earlier warning.

“I trust you can escort my wife to the carriage,” Bucky said, his voice serious but tinged with a hint of a smile. “However, I expect you to maintain proper distance and adhere to these additional guidelines.” He paused, ensuring his words were clear. “No unnecessary physical contact or overly familiar behaviour. And if you could, avoid any casual conversations that might be misinterpreted.”

Sam looked at Bucky in disbelief, shaking his head with a bemused expression. “Seriously, Barnes? You’re laying down rules for me to keep my distance from your wife now?”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed playfully. “Consider it a precaution. I’d rather not have any misunderstandings.” Sam chuckled, rolling his eyes as he complied. “Understood. I’ll make sure to follow your... guidelines.”

Y/N watched the exchange with amusement, her earlier shyness melting away into a warm appreciation for Bucky’s protectiveness. The scene, tinged with a touch of comedy, only deepened the connection between them.

Bucky, intent on making a point to Sam while expressing his affection, pulled Y/N close and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. The gesture was both intimate and deliberate, a subtle yet clear indication to Sam that she belongs to Bucky. “I’ll join you shortly, my dear,” Bucky said softly, his voice filled with warmth as he gazed into her eyes.

Sam, unimpressed by Bucky’s display, rolled his eyes at the seemingly childish antics. “This way, my lady,” he said with a hint of impatience. Y/N nodded in agreement but paused before turning her back on Bucky. With a loving smile, she whispered, “I’ll see you later,” before following Sam.

Bucky watched as Sam guided Y/N away, his gaze lingered with a mix of affection and something much deeper; an unspoken sadness. As their silhouettes walked further and further away from his sight, a sombre glaze settled over his eyes.

Beneath the surface of his composed exterior, his heart ached; the was a silent reflection of a pain he had hidden deep within his heart. It was a lingering sorrow that had shadowed him ever since he stood at the altar, the weight of unvoiced grief clinging to him as he gazed at his future bride.

Part II >>

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: Wondering why he was in the feels at the end? We’ll know it soon enough. I’ll see you in the next parts! Thank you for reading!

[starkeymeow]

❛ we make each other alive . .

does it matter if it hurts? ❜

I’M COMING, WAIT FOR ME.

PLOT you enter the hunger games a proud weapon of your district, only to find your sharpest blade is the boy beside you, and you’re not sure which one of you the capitol wants to break first.

CONTENT chapter one, best read in dark mode, rafe cameron x reader au, blood, meeting the mentors, tribute parade, not too much rafe and reader interaction YET but it’ll come sooner than you think.

main masterlist | tag list | previous next

you’ve been on trains before. nothing like this one.

this one is too smooth, too fast. you barely feel it move. the windows blur with tunnels and sleek, metallic walls outside, sometimes breaking into vast stretches of nothing but gray-blue light and darkness blinking like a heartbeat.

you sit alone in a chair that could probably buy someone a house. everything is red velvet and gold trim, like the whole train was stitched together from the capitol’s pocket change. it smells expensive, too, like citrus and fake flowers.

you’re still in your reaping dress. someone said they’d bring you new clothes soon. someone else took your measurements. you don’t remember who. your ears have been ringing since your name was called.

rafe’s across the room, stretched out on the other side of the glass table, one leg over the other like he’s posing for a photo. he hasn’t said much. his face is unreadable, blank, but not stupid, like he’s already memorizing escape routes. or maybe he’s memorizing the names of every other tribute so he can picture them all dead.

his jaw clenches when the train shifts again, barely noticeable unless you’re looking.

you are.

the tv flickers on in the far wall. someone’s playing back the reapings.

district 1’s girl looked dangerous. all eyes and confidence. her male counterpart practically flexed his way down the stage. typical.

2 is you and rafe. 3, 4, and so on.

none of them look particularly terrifying. not yet. they will, once they’re all cleaned up and shoved into costume and trained to kill. but right now most of them look like scared kids in too-big shoes. even the ones who try to smile.

you both just watch the reapings on the screen to fill the silence, but nothing sticks. no one looks that threatening. yet.

then the door hisses open. enobaria, one of the few living victors in two, steps in first. she’s tall, composed, her glossy dark hair pulled back in a ponytail that looks too tight to be comfortable. she’s dressed sharp, tailored, like someone with nothing left to prove. and her teeth . . . they catch the light when she smiles. pointed. sharpened. but she doesn’t bare them unless she wants to.

she gives you both a once-over. “stand up,” she says. her voice is calm, but still firm. rafe stands first, slow but steady. you follow, legs stiff from sitting so long. your stomach turns with the train, or maybe it’s her.

behind her comes brutus. he’s massive, silent, and broad-shouldered like a living wall. he doesn’t bother with a greeting. just closes the door behind them and lets the quiet settle.

“so,” enobaria says, crossing her arms loosely. “you’re the ones we’re working with this year.”

brutus grunts. it might be agreement.

“you look the part,” she adds, tilting her head. “though i heard someone got a little messy getting here.”

her gaze slides to rafe. not judgmental, just amused. rafe shrugs, unbothered.

“he shoved me first.”

brutus narrows his eyes. “you still broke his nose.”

“he was weak,” rafe says. “he would’ve died in the first five minutes.”

you glance between them, curious how this will go.

enobaria lets out a short laugh. “well, he’s not wrong.”

brutus doesn’t laugh. but he doesn’t press, either. “next time, control the impulse,” he says. “you’re a tribute. not a brawler in the street.”

rafe gives the smallest nod, jaw tight.

enobaria moves closer, nodding toward the door. “come on. let’s talk where it matters.”

they lead you down the corridor to the next train car. it’s some strategy room, clearly. it’s darker, more utilitarian. the walls are lined with screens, a long table set in the center surrounded by deep leather chairs. maps of the arena’s past years flicker faintly, and files are stacked at brutus’s side.

you sit beside rafe. he leans forward with his elbows on his knees. you sit straighter, eyes flicking across the maps, learning. everything matters now.

“this is where we get to know what we’re working with,” brutus says, finally breaking the silence. “we’ll go over schedules soon. training days, interviews, assessments. but first—we need to know you.”

“what’d they teach you in the academy?” enobaria asks, sitting across from you. her eyes land on you first. “what’s your strength?”

you don’t hesitate. “blades. close-range combat. throwing knives too.”

“accuracy?” she asks.

you nod. “tight grouping. fast recovery. high hit rate.”

she lifts an eyebrow. “mental?”

you pause. then, “i don’t freeze, i think under pressure. i read people.”

“hm.” she taps her nails against the table once. satisfied.

“you?” brutus turns to rafe.

“hand-to-hand,” rafe says. “blunt weapons. axe, mace, staff. trained in a few chokeholds.”

brutus nods slightly. “pain tolerance?”

rafe’s mouth quirks at the edge. “pretty high.”

enobaria hums. “good. we can work with that.”

that makes brutus look at him a little longer. not smiling. but almost pleased. “you’ve got potential,” brutus says simply.

“both of you,” enobaria agrees. “we’ve seen enough tributes over the years to know who’s dead the second they get off the train. you two—”

“they might have a shot,” brutus finishes.

you glance at rafe. for the first time, he’s looking at you too.

“now,” brutus says, dragging a folder closer. “you’ll have three days in the training center before assessments. we need to talk presentation. strategy. we want sponsors watching you from day one.”

“confidence,” enobaria says, pointing at you. “you’ve got that, i can tell. play it up. don’t act like a victim. victors don’t come from people who want to be liked.”

you lean back a little, arms crossed.

“this year’s tributes look soft,” brutus says. “a few big ones from four and eleven, but no real killers. not yet.”

“that gives you an advantage,” enobaria says, gesturing lazily. “you walk into training like you’re already the ones to beat. let them know you’re district two. let them fear you.”

rafe leans forward slightly. “what about other strategy?” he asks. “like alliances?”

brutus smiles for the first time. it’s not kind. “you make them. you break them. that’s up to you.”

“but don’t expect loyalty,” enobaria adds. “only one of you walks out. remember that.”

her eyes slide to yours, thoughtful. “are you planning to be the one?”

you answer before you can think, “i don’t plan to die.”

brutus lets out a short, sharp laugh. it’s not mocking, it’s approval. “good. that’s the attitude.”

you feel your pulse steady a little. faster than it should be, but controlled.

you don’t know what’s coming exactly, but it’s war. and at least now, you know who’s on your side.

brutus stands then, massive and silent, nodding toward the door. “we’ll regroup before we reach the capitol.”

enobaria follows, pausing in the doorway.

“get some rest,” she says. “you’ve got a lot of blood to spill.”

you see the capitol from the train window as it pulls into the platform, and for a second, it feels like something’s crawling beneath your skin. there’s a quiet itch that tells you this is not your home. this is the center of the world that wants you dead, but dressed up pretty when it does it.

they lead you through long marble corridors, ceilings stretched so high it hurts your neck to look. peacekeepers flank every corner, faceless in their stark white armor. everything smells sterile and expensive.

you’re taken to the third floor. district 2’s floor. brutus tells you it’s yours now, until you’re dead or crowned.

your apartment is bigger than any home you’ve ever lived in. warm lighting, silver walls. there's fruit in glass bowls, too, and a view that wraps around the city like a threat.

but there’s no time to rest. your prep team is waiting.

they descend on you like insects, swarming with excitement and thin, practiced hands. you lose count of how many of them there are—two? three? one has pink hair styled in loops, another wears latex gloves and talks only in hums. they’re gentle, mostly. methodical.

they strip you down to nothing and pretend not to notice the bruises on your ribs, the dried blood under your nails, the way your lip is still swollen from the reaping.

you sit still through the scalding bath, the scrubbing, the waxing. they touch every part of you like you’re a project, like you’re not a person. they remove every piece of you that looks too human, like body hair, scars, dirt, blood, pride.

when they finish, you feel hollowed out. but also . . . polished. like a weapon pulled clean from the forge.

they leave, giggling, promising to return. and then the door clicks open again, and in walks your stylist.

her name is valis.

she’s tall, not much older than you, with skin like obsidian and eyes rimmed in silver liner that somehow makes her look even sharper. her hair is shaved close on one side, the rest pulled back into a thick braid wrapped in gold wire. she wears all black, all angles. she looks at you the way someone looks at a blueprint, deciding how best to make it a masterpiece.

she doesn’t smile.

instead, she steps closer, circles you once, and says only: “you’ll be unforgettable.”

you believe her.

valis doesn’t ask you many questions. she tells you how it’s going to be.

“district two is masonry, strength, legacy. they expect you to look like gladiators, yes, but that’s easy. what they won’t expect is how we make you divine. not just killers, but symbols.”

you’re fitted into a bodysuit made of something metallic and matte, like iron but soft to the touch. dark, gunmetal gray that catches the light and splits it. sculpted pieces of armor are fitted onto your shoulders, chest, arms. not bulky. sleek. molded to your frame like it belongs to you, like it was always yours, waiting.

etched into the armor are fine lines, maps of old battlegrounds, wars lost and won, mountains cracked open for stone. the designs shimmer faintly when you move.

your hair is pulled back, tight and regal. your face is left mostly bare, just sharp contouring, metallic powder across your cheekbones and down your collarbone.

valis places a final piece on you: a headpiece like a crown, low and fierce. a brutal, elegant circlet of dark steel or iron, shaped like a blooming crown with jagged upward spikes, mimicking both a rose’s thorns and the carved stonework of district two.

“you’re not just from district two,” she says, fastening it. “you are district two. they’ll see you and remember why they’ll root for you.”

when you step out of the prep room, you see rafe across the hall. he looks like he’s been carved out of stone.

his stylist’s clearly coordinated with valis. the look is sharp, sculptural. thick, slate-gray armor plates molded over a fitted black base layer, like cracked stone pulled from a mountainside and reforged around his body. there's silver powder dusted into the creases, like light catching between bricks. his shoulders are draped with some idiotic black cape lined with marble-patterned fabric that sways just slightly when he moves.

he looks less like a boy and more like a statue brought to life.

your lips twitch, and he notices, takes his time dragging his eyes from your war crown down to the laced boots hugging your calves.

“nice crown,” he says, like he’s trying not to smile. “very queen-of-the-quarry.”

you arch an eyebrow. “nice cape. looks like something they pulled off an old memorial statue.”

“i was going for intimidating,” he deadpans. “you know, before we get turned into national entertainment.”

“i think we’re already that.”

he glances at the armor shaped tight to your ribs. “yours actually fits,” he mutters. “mine’s like walking around in a coffin.”

you tilt your head. “that’s because mine was made for a victor.”

he gives you a look for that. flat, unreadable. but there’s a glint in his eye you’re starting to recognize.

the dry amusement. the you’re just as annoying as i am, and i hate that i like it kind of look.

“you look like a funeral,” you say, nodding at his costume.

“you look like the reason there is one.”

you pause, slow grin. he breaks first, just a small exhale, a breath of something close to laughter. it's sharp and quiet and it doesn't last. but it’s there.

and that’s the problem. you don’t want to laugh with him. you don’t want to see him like this. not when you're both dressed like weapons, walking toward your own slaughter. and yet, you like it. more than you should.

valis claps once behind you, sharp like a whip crack. “positions!”

you climb into the chariot first. rafe follows.

your mentors are waiting nearby. brutus doesn’t say anything for a long time. just looks at the two of you like he’s seeing a dream come to life.

then finally: “if you die dressed like this, it’ll be the most expensive mistake the capitol’s ever made.”

enobaria grins wide, fangs flashing. “you’ll burn them down,” she says. “and look beautiful doing it.”

district 1 steps out before you, draped in diamonds, glinting like fire. they’re tall. smug. perfect.

but when you and rafe mount your chariot and the horses start to move, you can feel it already. there’s this roar rising before you even reach the avenue.

the horses pull forward, muscles rippling beneath their sleek coats, hooves clacking steady against the marble-like ground. you’ve seen this parade before, sure, through a screen. but nothing prepares you for the real thing.

the crowd is massive. oceans of color and sound. glittering costumes, faces painted in horrifying beauty, hands reaching up, voices screaming for names they don’t even know yet. and you, you're on that screen now. you’re one of them. you’re the face they’ll remember.

and you’ll give them something worth remembering.

you stand tall, head high. your shoulders are pushed back, chin lifted like you were born to be here. and in a way . . . maybe you were, born to bleed in front of them, born to make it look good.

rafe doesn’t say a word beside you. you don’t need him to. he stands just as tall, just as cold. the two of you balance the chariot like matching statues—his side, your side. equal presence, equal pride. he doesn’t lean in, doesn’t try to whisper. he knows better. right now, this is a game of image, and you both know how to play.

you see district one’s chariot just ahead, gold and jewels and arrogance, but hear the pitch of the crowd shift when yours rolls out. louder. more excited. more curious because there’s a kind of danger to the two of you that can’t be replicated with glitter.

district two doesn’t come to entertain. you’re here to conquer.

your costume shifts when you move, metal and leather catching the overhead lights. your headpiece is heavy, it presses down on your skull like a threat. but you keep it there like it’s second nature.

when the chariot turns the corner and the path begins to narrow, your gaze lifts, and there he is.

president snow.

standing tall atop his ivory platform, hands folded neatly in front of him, white rose pinned to his chest like an omen. he watches like a god. and you hate the way your chest tightens just looking at him.

it’s not awe. not fear, exactly. just that reminder that no matter how tall you stand, he still sees you as small.

your eyes flick sideways. rafe’s jaw is tight. his brows pulled just slightly, just enough for you to see it. he feels it too. but he doesn’t waver. and neither do you.

you nod, just once. it’s not warm. it’s not for comfort. it’s strategy. we don’t falter. not here. not in front of him.

and then, you feel it.

the shift. the slip.

a slight release of pressure from your crown before it clatters, sharp and metallic, against the chariot floor. it bounces once, then rolls to the edge. off. gone.

you don’t move. rafe doesn’t either, his posture iron beside you.

you don’t even look down. not a twitch. the crowd hasn’t noticed, not really. the cheers are too loud, the cameras too high up. but you saw the way the district three tributes flinched behind you, their eyes darting to the fallen headpiece like it was the first drop of blood in the arena.

they’re worried for you. maybe even pitying.

you feel heat crawl up your neck. not from shame. from rage.

you hate when people assume they should be afraid for you. like you can’t handle the weight of a crown. or a mistake. or a punishment.

you meet their gaze over your shoulder, cold, sharp, unblinking. mind your business.

and then you turn back to face the capitol like nothing ever happened. spine straight. chin high. head bare, but proud. the spiked crown left behind like a piece of armor you never needed in the first place.

the parade ends in a slow blur of heat and noise.

hands reach for you and rafe immediately, belonging to security, staff, some faceless intern pulling you both down from the chariot with quick, trained motions. the horses are led off. the chariot’s rolled away.

you’re still standing tall, armor stiff, head bare, skin humming with leftover adrenaline when you’re guided toward the group already waiting near the edge of the staging area.

valis stands front and center, perfectly composed. she spots you both, gaze flitting briefly to the empty space where your crown once sat, but she doesn’t say it. not directly.

“i’m sure someone’s already picked it up,” valis offers instead, her voice light, easy, like she’s talking about a misplaced bracelet instead of a political symbol. “it’ll be returned to your suite. no need to worry.”

you don’t answer. just raise a brow, lips parting slightly in that resting expression of yours that always seems like a threat in disguise.

beside her, enobaria steps forward, more practical in her approach, arms crossed but face impressed.

“you stood like killers,” she says, nodding with approval. “not scared. not too smug. like you belong in the arena already. the way you claimed your space . . . people will remember that.”

you glance briefly at rafe, who looks equally unimpressed. good.

“i told you they’d pull it off,” valis adds, half to enobaria, half to herself. “i knew they would.”

their escort pipes in with a sudden clap of her jeweled hands. she’s tall, with pale pink skin painted in shimmery swirls, lashes curled up like petals, and an updo stacked so high it nearly brushes the overhead lights. her name is cassaline, and she literally sparkles when she talks.

“this is so thrilling,” cassaline squeals, already guiding you both toward the elevators with her arms open like she might actually try to hug one of you. “i cannot wait to show you your floor! i know you’ve already seen the dining room but your bedrooms are simply to die for! and i know you’ve had such a long day but—oh—it’ll be quick, i promise! just a little peek and then you can sleep like champions.”

you almost laugh. like champions.

rafe walks beside you, quiet, his shoulder bumping yours lightly as you’re led further into the hall.

you feel brutus’s presence more than you see it. he’s behind you both, a wall of silence. but something makes you glance over your shoulder. and you catch it.

he’s not looking at you. he’s watching something over your shoulder, just past your line of sight.

your eyes flick past him, slow and casual, until you spot them. there are clumps of tributes lingering in small groups. district four, five, six. stylists, prep teams, mentors. they're laughing, murmuring, adjusting costumes. but their eyes?

their eyes are on you. not just glancing, but watching. a few lower their heads quickly, whispering. a few don’t even try to hide it. like maybe they expected something out of district two. and maybe now they know they were right to.

you hold their gaze for just long enough to make them uncomfortable. good.

then you look back at brutus. and finally up at rafe, who meets your glance like he’s been expecting it. like he saw it all, too.

“get me out of this,” you mutter, your voice low, clipped, directed at valis without even turning her way. “i want to lay down.”

@nicholaschavezslut69 @iissza @snowtargaryen @yootvi @ariiwritess @spideysimpossiblegirl @skyslowalking @adribarbie @obsessionsarenotfortheweak @0-tatiana-0 @beebeerockknot @rafestar @drewstarkeyzwhore @drewsephrry @annaconscience @writtenbyhollywood @yourtypicalteenagegirl @daisydark @v4mpscrms @issahruiz @ilovefictionallmenn @derpjungkook @vanessa-rafesgirl @sunny1616 @alphabetically-deranged @nrmlgirl @supercxnt @xoxosblogsblog @rafegetinmybed @siyahmoonlight @livie4lifestarkeyblyth

[jhyoos]

Idk why but I’m really feeling a streamer!vi x fem reader smut 🤨 .

i haven’t really done smut before but i can try!

streamer vi! x streamer! reader

summary : vi fingers you while she lets you play on stream.

mentions : smut with a lil plot, modern au, fame au, plot twist, lowkey loser! vi

Vi had been a well-known name in the streaming world for a while, skyrocketing to fame after her The Last of Us playthrough went viral. Her genuine reactions, quick wit, and undeniable charm—along with the fact that she was, undeniably, hot—made her an internet sensation. Meanwhile, you had carved out your own space in the streaming community, building a dedicated following through your high-energy Roblox horror game playthroughs. People loved watching you scream at pixelated jumpscares, and your frequent collaborations with other big-name streamers only expanded your reach.

Your paths crossed during a crossover event that neither of you expected to lead anywhere—but after that first collaboration, you never stopped talking. Texting turned into late-night calls, which turned into video chats, and before you knew it, months had passed, and you'd both fallen hard. Moving in together felt like the natural next step, and soon, you found yourselves in a shared apartment with two separate, decked-out streaming rooms.

It was Vi who first suggested the idea of a joint stream. Just one game, babe. The internet’s gonna lose its mind. You didn’t need much convincing, and the next thing you knew, you were live on her channel, settled comfortably on her lap as you navigated the latest chapter of Poppy’s Playtime. Vi, however, wasn’t nearly as focused on the game as she was on you. Every time you hit a checkpoint, she pressed a slow, teasing kiss to your shoulder, her smirk widening at the way your concentration wavered. When you struggled with a puzzle, her hand slid over yours, guiding your movements effortlessly—but she didn’t pull away after helping. Instead, her fingers intertwined with yours, her chin resting on your shoulder as she murmured a low, “You got this, babe,” just for you.

The chat went absolutely feral.

The teasing started slow—just little touches that could’ve been innocent if not for the way Vi’s fingers lingered a little too long. At first, it was just her hands resting on your thighs, a casual, almost absentminded gesture as she watched you play. But then her fingers started tracing slow, deliberate patterns against your skin, inching higher with every passing minute.

You swallowed hard, your focus wavering as she casually slipped her fingers between your thighs, applying the slightest bit of pressure. Instinctively, you parted your legs just a little, the movement barely noticeable—but Vi noticed. Of course, she did.

Your breathing grew heavier, the game on the screen blurring in and out of focus as her fingertips skimmed dangerously close to where you were beginning to ache for more. But when you flicked your gaze toward her, expecting to find her watching you with that signature smirk, she wasn’t even looking at you.

Her face was the picture of nonchalance, her eyes glued to the computer screen as if she weren’t doing anything at all. As if she weren’t driving you absolutely insane.

You continued to focus on the game, looking at the chat every now and then and interacting with them. “Yeah I’ve never played this game before. Vi did the other ch—ah!,” you gasped as you felt Vi’s hand go into your panties.

Thankfully, something that was jumpscare worthy popped up on the screen covering up your gasp. Vi looked at you “You okay?,” she says innocently. You looked at her with a nod “Y-yeah,” you say. She took that as a sign to continue as she rubbed circles onto your clit, kissing your shoulder. You cleared your throat, trying to cover up the moan that almost escaped as you continued to play the game.

Your walls clenched around nothing as you tried your best to focus on the game as Vi continued to play with your bundle of nerves, creating a pool in your panties. “Fuck…,” you let out a moan, trying to cover it up as a sigh of frustration. “Just focus, baby. You got this,” she says.

She getting off on this as much as you were, grinding up against your ass slightly trying not to let the viewers see. The feeling soon stop, relief rushed over you but it was soon short lived when two fingers went inside of you. You bit your lip as you tried not to moan.

“Vi…,” you say shakily as she starts to pump her fingers in and out of you slowly. There were faint sounds of wetness from your arousal bring swished around with her fingers. It couldn’t be heard because of the game sounds. Vi used her other hand to help you with the game, putting her hand on top of yours. “There you go,” she says.

You didn’t know if she was talking about the game or you.

You continued to play the game as she slowly pumped in and out of your cunt. You leaned over slightly which made her fingers reach the spongy part of your insides, you unexpectedly let out a moan.

The chat started to explode wondering why you moaned. “I…hit my toe on the monitor,” you said. You bite your lip as you continued the game, this time Vi’s fingers didn’t move.

You needed them to move.

You took a quick peek at her and she only gave you a smile, a knowing one.

Suddenly, her fingers started to move faster than what they did before. You automatically clenched against them, but that didn’t stop the pace of her fingers.

You bite your lip as you try to focus on the game but then Vi spoke up. “We’re gonna continue this later tonight, you guys. Thank you for watching and remember to turn on your notifications for when I go live again,” she says before pulling her hand out of your shorts and ending the live.

She immediately attacked your lips with hers as she wrapped her hand around your neck, pulling you closer than what you already were. “Fuck. You’re so hot,” she says in between the kisses.

You thought she was going to go in for another kiss until she moved her hand from your neck and started to kiss your neck, leaving marks.

Her fingers made its way back into your cunt as she started to finger you at a fast pace, her thumb rubbing your clit. You moan loudly, it almost sounded pornographic as you put both of your legs on the desk, spreading them wider for her.

“You’re such a slut. Letting me finger you while we’re live. You enjoyed it didn’t you?,” she teased.

“Vi!,” you managed to get out. It was the only thing you could respond with besides your whines and moans. You were getting close and Vi knew from how tightly you were clenching to her fingers.

“Come on. Cum for me, pretty girl,” she says in your ear before harshly biting it. It only sent you over the edge.

“Fuck!,” you moaned out loudly as you came around her fingers. Vi’s pace slowed down as she helped you calm down from your high.

You whined when she finally pulled her fingers out, putting them in her mouth as she sucked your arousal off her fingers. When she was done, she grabbed your face and kissed you deeply. You kissed her back.

ping!

The sound made you guys both stop in your actions. You looked over at the computer. The camera was off, but the audio was still going.

The stream was still on.

Fuck.

“Vi! I thought you said you ended it!,” you said hitting her in the chest.

if you don’t like it…you can punch me in the tit.

REQUEST ARE OPEN !!

[bonus-links]

Ahem, if I may impose.... Directors commentary?? 😁😁

YEAHHH lots to say abt this one

i know rule number one is don't point out the flaws in ur own work but i have to confess. i forgot to add hair highlights to this entire update. i didn't realize until i had already queued up the posts and i could not bear re-exporting and color correcting every page again. so i just let it be. it only kills me a little bit. they rlly add something y'know

i haven't seen a whole lot of comments about this to the point i worry i didn't do a good job of conveying it so: Loft's dream at the beginning is about ganondorf.

Loft has, in fact, chewed his nails to bits.

i'm gonna be so real, part of the delay for this update was bc my brain got so stuck on the logistics of where that damn bookshelf would go

korok bookends :D

i like to think the story of the hero of time is actually mostly an oral tradition on Outset, or at least that's how Gran Gran first told Link and Aryll the stories when they were children.

i worry a little bit about these 'lore recap" updates, bc like. I'm assuming you've played the games, or at least know the gist. but I feel like there's a few stories it's important for us to see Loft's direct reactions to, and the conclusions he draws from them, because it'll be important to his actions later. I try to make up for it by at least making these sections visually interesting HAHA i think this is the last major one though

on that note: I hope this comes across on its own, but Loft finishes Gran Gran's story himself because he's just realized the flood was sent by the gods, and not some external force of evil. he's also realizing that this is not the first time the gods have been willing to wipe the slate clean in the absence of a hero, and that it's actually something of a pattern. it runs up against his idea of how Demise's curse is meant to work. this is one such mystery mouseketool we'll use later.

also on that note: regardless of ganondorf's actions, i find it significant that the gods chose to destroy a man whose people suffered in a droughted desert with,,,,a flood. that thought was the conceit for this update

Loft has seen this play out in his dreams, but obviously doesn't fully know the context. also I'm gonna refer to this version of zelda as Sheik. he uses he/him pronouns thank you :-)

just wanted to show some closeups of the stained glass bc. i worked hard on them HAHA + the grayscale wip

i was really hoping this chapter would be done. last year. it was meant to be a chance to slow down for a second before the plot speeds up 😅 but we're nearing the last few updates!! thank you all for bearing with me <3 life has been kind of insane and extremely discouraging irl, so getting to post these updates and seeing you all enjoy them has been a real bright spot <333 special thank you to my patreon supporters bc. seriously it has helped more than you know.

i think that's all ive got for now! see you next time, hopefully sooner than 4-5 business months

[7-deadly-cats]

killing me softly | 15

K M S M A S T E R L I S T | <- P R E V I O U S | N E X T ->

✿ G E N R E ✿ she fell first, he fell harder | slice of life | drama

✿ P A I R I N G ✿ s1!rafe cameron x overthinking!reader (f)

✿ C O N T E N T W A R N I N G ✿ swearing, suggestive language & themes (especially coming from rafe), vomiting (non-graphic), description of a hangover, chat containing a poorly photoshopped pic of rafe's bruise, hints at reader thinking of rafe in a suggestive way (non-graphic), chat containing a thirst trap of kelce lmao (only upper body), slight homophobic remark made by rafe (character voice, not endorsed), poor reader putting herself in an awkward situation

✿ S U M M A R Y O F L A S T P A R T ✿ during a suggestive version of truth or dare, rafe stepped up for you, saving you from playing 7 minutes in heaven with the jock-asshole/perv chris reid. the game ended with rafe storming off after being punched in the face by chris. at 12am cara finally arrived, and you are chilling at the bar with topper, molly and rob (which you've lost interest in bc he kissed ruthie for her dare). kelce who'd been looking after rafe, called topper to bring some ice but cara suggested to send you instead. kelce accidentally locked you and rafe outside after he left to check on molly. you and rafe got into a heated argument but you both apologized to each other afterward. there's a seemingly close moment with you taking care of rafe's bruise and an maybe-almost-kiss that got interrupted by kelce and molly making out. you and rafe chilled the next few hours with cara and topper in the living room, and at 4am, you and cara decided to dip. you four hugged each other goodbye, and afterward, rafe found your forgotten bag. he thinks you left it on purpose for him to bring it to you the next day.

✿ W O R D C O U N T ✿ 7.2k+ (you guys said you liked longer chapters lolz)

✿ A / N ✿ first of all: i changed the pairing tag from introverted!reader to overthinking!reader because overthinking plays a much bigger role in the plot and her struggles. next: so thankful for all the sweet and supportive comments on the two party chapters, like i was so anxious about them but you guys made me feel like i chose the right direction for reader and rafe. and after this crazy-ass party, i felt like a little breather chapter was needed. well, not for reader exactly, bc this chapter’s slightly more suggestive than the others lolz. i tried to do my best considering i wrote this shit within two days lmao and the ending feels kinda sloppy but hope you guys enjoy anyway and pls lmk what you think <33

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W E E K O N E // S A T U R D A Y

Sweat, heat, and a pounding headache greeted you on this wonderful morning. The sun rays stabbed through your eyelids like little knives, and instead of birds chirping, there was just this obnoxious screeching noise outside. Your blanket was somehow twisted around your body like a boa constrictor getting ready to digest its prey.

In short: you felt absolutely miserable.

Great. I've got a fucking hangover.

With a heavy groan, you rolled over to escape the sunlight, but the movement stirred something awful in your stomach. You shot upright, hand flying to your buzzing skull, and stumbled out of bed while wrestling your way out of the blanket trap.

Eyes half-shut, you searched blindly for your door, using the doorframe for balance and the wall as your guide through the hallway. You tried your best to suppress the storm in your stomach, but just in time, you managed to flip the toilet lid open and basically threw yourself at it before puking your guts out.

Fuckkkk. No way you had gone that hard yesterday—wait no, today? Ugh, didn’t matter.

Oh wait, you had gone that hard.

You'd kicked the night off with some fat hits on Kelce’s strong-ass joint, then downed a bunch of beer pong cups, sipped on Rafe’s cursed JägerBull mix on the side, and later Topper’s shots and some sort of cocktails and just… shit.

Way too much, way too fast, way too mixed.

Still, you were pretty sure the real killer had been Rafe’s fucking insane JägerBull combo that had definitely been mixed like 60/40. Heavy on the Jäger.

My fucking fault for drinking that bitch in the first place.

Then again, how the fuck did Rafe even survive parties like this? Weed, coke, and alcohol? That sounded like a literal death wish.

But even trying to hold on to a thought hurt like hell. Your skull felt like it was vibrating in two directions at once.

Weakly, you finally managed to sit back, flushed the toilet (grimacing at how loud it sounded), and splashed some cold water on your face. It did something, at least. You didn’t feel quite as much like a dead fish anymore.

After a few silent minutes at the sink, you gathered enough strength to shuffle back into your room. Thankfully, your parents were already downstairs, so you didn’t have to face them like this.

You shut the door quietly behind you, opened every window to get rid of the suffocating air, and downed nearly the entire liter bottle of water from your nightstand in one go.

At least that took care of the fire in your throat.

Carefully, you laid back down, but the second you were flat on your back, your stomach protested again. Groaning, you sat up and leaned against the bed frame.

You tried to think about anything but the trainwreck your body was currently experiencing. So naturally, your thoughts went straight to the one topic that had been haunting you for years.

Rafe.

Images, moments, conversations—everything from last night, or maybe early this morning (whatever, who even knew), swirled around in your aching head.

How good he’d looked when he'd picked you up, his aquatic cologne that was just always lingering in the air around him, his boyish little chuckles whenever some stupid shit happened, that fucking HUG when you two had said goodbye.

Fuck. His warm body pressed against yours, arms wrapped around you exactly like you’d always imagined in your pre-bedtime scenarios, his scent a mix of weed, booze, and him, and JUST AHHHHHHHHHHH.

You couldn’t even process all that had gone down yesterday. Even if you wanted to, it was impossible. Way too much had happened. Too many highs and lows and crazy-ass moments. Ruthie, Chris, Rob, Molly and Kelce—MOLLY AND KELCE, HOLY SHIT—

I ACTUALLY DID IT.

You'd actually managed to match them up. Or, well, at the very least, they’d had a very fun night in Kelce’s room, soooo .... win?

And that wasn’t even the only duo you’d noticed. Topper and Cara too, like omgmgmgm, something was definitely going on between them. Their energy was so opposite: Cara had that bold, flirty, zero-fucks, ADHD vibe, and Topper was this thoughtful, sweet guy who weirdly balanced her out. And somehow... it worked.

Oh god, and then somehow Rob’s face popped into your head and your stomach flipped again. Not because of him, no—Rob was honestly a total sweetheart. Chill vibe, golden retriever energy, super respectful, and charming in the best way.

You’d definitely been into him. And maybe something could’ve happened, too. You'd been drunk enough, he'd been clearly giving you green lights, and for the first time ever, you'd actually felt comfortable enough around a guy for something to happen. Like you could've let your guard down with Rob and just go for it.

Maybe even something more than just a makeout hahaahah.

Yeah, maybe.

If it hadn’t been for Ruthie’s stupid-ass dare.

Like, sureee, everyone else had received wild dares but of course, she got the sweet little “kiss the perfect guy” assignment. That bitch 100% made that up.

But whatever. You couldn’t change any of it now (wow, did your brain just actually spit that thought out?). And honestly? You were lowkey glad things had gone down the way they had.

Because even if that brief setback had seemed like the universe playing a cruel joke on you, everything after had felt like an actual dream.

Still did.

That close moment with Rafe on the balcony—LIKE GIRL HOLY SHIT YOU’D ACTUALLY MADE A MOVE ON HIM. Okay, not like a move move, but like... stepping-out-of-your-bubble move.

Calling him out on his bullshit? Iconic. Delicious. But then you had the guts to go sit next to him, AND THEN YOU’D BASICALLY NURSED HIM.

AHHDJKWSNHFZIUFHVIJRVFDKUJGCHIF.

It all felt so fucking surreal, so fucking dreamlike and insane. And—

The biggest bomb just dropped in your brain: his almost-maybe-kiss.

That thing he'd done—that little look at your lips, that tiny lean-in, that moment of tension—LIKE WHAT.

Okay sure, you could argue that he'd just got distracted by Kelce and Molly practically going at it behind you and that’s why his body shifted a little bit. Made sense. But like, come on—it was the vibe. The moment. The close proximity.

AM I JUST BEING DELUSIONAL????!?!?

You had to text Cara. Like, right now (calling? absolutely not. Talking would probably explode your brain at this point).

Also, it was already almost noon, according to your phone screen. Damn.

And the first thing you saw?

Your open chat with Rafe.

!!! picture of reader just depicting a mood, not her actual appearance

WHAT. THE. ACTUAL. FUCK.

You stared at the chat with wide eyes, completely speechless and bewildered. Because guess what? Funny thing: you had zero memory of this.

Not of Rafe texting you, not of you apparently changing his saved name. Not of you sending him a FUCKING DRUNK SELFIE (like what the hell was drunk-you even on??). Not of him sending one BACK??? Or—holy shit—of Rafe being that cheeky.

Seriously, what the fuck.

Why would he say he'd use your pic to—HELL NO.

Okay, sure. It had been obviously just some stupid nasty-ass joke on his part. You were used to that by now. But the thought that he might’ve actually did it to—NOPE. ABSOLUTELY NOT. HOLY SHIT.

He was just a dumbass who thought he was being funny and also he'd crashed with Topper at Kelce's, THERE’S NO WAY HE EVEN HAD THE CHANCE TO—NO, GIRL, STOP THINKING ABOUT THAT. OMGGGG.

You shook your head, eyes squinting shut in pain at your own thoughts, cheeks burning with the shame of even thinking in that direction.

The worst part? You should be weirded out by him saying stuff like this. If any other guy joked about getting off to a selfie of you? Immediate no. Just—ew, absolutely not. But coming from Rafe… shit, it made your heart race in a way that was seriously questionable and it just fueled your delusions (i need serious help).

Forcing yourself to look away from his pic—his poor face now branded with that awful bruise for the next few days or even weeks—you focused on his last messages.

Because HOW THE FUCK HAD HE TURNED SO SUGGESTIVE ALL OF A SUDDEN?

Sure, he'd made lots of sexual and suggestive remarks before but THIS? This clearly centered around you in a way that implied he would've been down to ... do stuff AND WHATTHEFUCK.

He'd probably been just too wasted and didn't notice what the fuck he'd been writing. But then again his spelling was completely fine OH GOD.

You sighed and stared at your screen, wondering if you should reply anything at all to these crazy last two messages. Timestamp said 4:30am. That was almost eight hours ago.

He was probably sitting on Kelce’s porch right now with Topper and Kelce—and maybe Molly (you were fully rooting for that Kelce x Molly ship, so fingers crossed)—nursing the hangover. Or maybe he’d already gone home. Or maybe he was still passed the hell out.

Who knew what kind of person Rafe Cameron was after a party.

Either he was completely wrecked and barely clinging to life, or he was one of those insufferable people who went on early morning jogs after a wild party and followed it up with a super nutritious breakfast.

No in-between.

Okay, whatever state he was in or wherever he was now, it still left you with the question: Leave the message on read or reply something?

You were kinda scared to do the latter, honestly. Because you were still clinging to the memory of last night—how you’d sat with him on the couch, him listening to you ramble about stuff you didn’t even remember anymore, and... god, his arms around you when you’d said goodbye, the warmth of his body.

IT STILL FELT LIKE SOME DISTANT DREAM.

And well, you didn’t wanna ruin that illusion with some stupid reply (aside from the fact that you didn't fucking know what one should reply to such messages in the first place).

Ugh. All of this was so... You didn’t even have words for it.

The party had shifted your entire dynamic somehow, and you had no idea what that meant. If it meant anything at all.

The worst part? Some part of you genuinely believed that last night had built a foundation. A little piece of something you could build on. For... whatever. Maybe a friendship, maybe—fuck, who knew.

It just didn’t feel like you were just project partners anymore. Not the kind of random school pair-up that’d be over next week with no strings attached.

You’d genuinely grown to like Kelce and Topper too—somehow they’d carved out a place in your heart. And Cara fit right into that little bubble as well. And—no, girl, don’t jinx it.

It is what it is, and right now it’s good. No thinking about what could be. Just be happy with how things are.

Whew.

This week... holy hell.

So much had happened in just five days. Emotionally exhausting, mentally draining. Your brain still hadn’t caught up with the fact that you’d somehow gotten this close to Rafe Cameron in such a short time.

Okay, not close close. But compared to doing absolutely NOTHING for seven years to get anywhere near your crush, this felt like a damn leap to Mars.

And right now? You should probably leap into the shower.

You were finally awake enough to notice the lovely scent of beer, weed, and sweat that had settled into your blanket. That thing definitely needed a wash.

But first, there was something more urgent:

You didn’t give your brain enough time to process what your drunk self had actually got up to last night—aside from having zero shame, sending out random selfies, and apparently being tragically down bad for Rafe.

Nope. You just laid out some fresh clothes and slipped straight into the shower.

And not even a freezing McDonald’s Sprite or the first breeze of summer felt as good as that cleansing shower after such a crazy night.

Your hangover was still very much present, but at least you didn’t feel like a miserable hobo who’d passed out on empty beer bottles by the beach anymore.

The smell of lunch lingering in the hallway made your stomach grumble, and you were already looking forward to one of Mary’s delicious meals. She was such a sweetheart—sometimes it felt like her presence was more motherly than just a housekeeper’s.

The doorbell rang just as you were slipping into your underwear. Probably one of your dad’s private orders for his office.

You tossed the used bedsheets into the laundry basket, slid on your slippers, grabbed your phone, and padded down the stairs.

When you heard muffled voices coming from the living room, you didn’t think much of it. Maybe a colleague of your mom’s.

But when you reached the kitchen and realized who was actually in your house, every part of you froze. Even your heart seemed to stop for a second.

You stood still, not daring to move or make a sound, because apparently, Rafe fucking Cameron had decided to show up at your house on a Saturday afternoon. UNANNOUNCED. And apparently one of your parents had let him in—your dad, probably, since that’s who he seemed to be talking to.

Again. UNANNOUNCED.

You weren’t sure whether to be pissed off, overwhelmed, or excited because WHAT.

Very quietly, you moved toward the edge of the doorway, not daring to look into the living room—just listening.

“…that’s why warmth is better than a cold compress now. Helps with the hemorrhage,” your dad explained. “I’d offer you something for the pain, but I assume you drank last night?”

Seriously? Was your dad actually checking out Rafe’s bruise? Even on a day off from his doctor's office, the man worked.

AND THE CRAZY PART: It sounded like Rafe had actually let him.

“I did,” Rafe replied in a tone you’d never heard before.

“A beer to counter the hangover this morning?”

“Just water, sir.” SIR???

A quiet chuckle from your dad. “Responsible. Well, wait until the alcohol’s out of your system, then you can take an Ibuprofen. Eat something first and keep treating it with warmth over the next few days.”

“I will. Thank you.” Who the fuck was this polite guy?

“You’re welcome to join us for lunch,” your mom’s voice called out, and HELL NO, WHAT. “Mary cooked plenty.”

NONONONONONONONONONO.

You forced your feet to move and stepped casually into the living room (or at least you tried), immediately locking eyes with Rafe.

He was sitting in one of the armchairs, your dad on a stool next to him, a medical kit open on the coffee table. And your mom looked like she’d just gotten back from a business deal, still dressed in full professional attire.

The whole scene was so fucking weird. All of it.

“Oh, hi sweetheart, finally awake?” your mom greeted you with a warm smile. “I let Rafe in when I saw him at the door.”

SURE, MOM.

Rafe nodded with that charming smile of his (the bastard clearly spared from any hangover, of course). “Yeah, I was on my way home and thought I’d drop your bag off.”

MY—SHIT.

That hadn’t even occurred to you on the ride home with Cara. AND OF COURSE, out of all the shitty people at that crazy party, Rafe had found it. Now he probably really believed you left stuff around just so he’d chase after you.

It was the goddamn forgotten Apple Pencil all over again.

“I put it on the dresser in the hallway,” your mom added.

You gave a tight smile, feeling dumb in your stupid little outfit, still probably looking like hell despite your shower. “Thanks,” was all you managed to say, holding Rafe’s smug gaze with barely restrained inner chaos.

Somehow you felt cramped in your personal space, but somehow you didn’t even care because part of you was way too happy to see him again. Like, girl, chill out, it hadn’t even been ten hours since you’d last seen each other, BUT THEN AGAIN, NOT EVEN TEN HOURS AND HE’D DECIDED TO DROP BY.

He could’ve brought it tomorrow. Or on Monday. Or made you come pick it up.

But he hadn’t.

He came here of his own free will, and your brain didn’t dare to figure out why.

“Lunch is ready." Mary peeked in from the dining room with a sweet smile.

“Thank you, Mary. Take a break,” your mom replied before turning back to Rafe. “The offer still stands. You’re welcome to join us.”

NO HE ISN’T.

And this bastard had the audacity to flash a polite smile, all charm and sunshine. “That’s really kind of you, Mrs. Y/L/N, thank you, but I don't wanna bother you more than necessary .”

EXACTLY.

“You need a proper meal, boy,” your dad chimed in as he packed up his medical kit. “Your body needs electrolytes and vitamins after a night of drinking and a hit to the face like that. Didn’t your father teach you that?”

You expected Rafe to get all defensive at the mention of his dad like he always did, but all you saw was the slight tension in his jaw, the way his smile tightened for just a second before he replied, “Guess he never had to. I usually feel pretty good the next day.”

Your dad chuckled and snapped the case shut with a click, turning to Rafe. “Well, at least he taught you never to turn down a woman’s invitation, right?”

Rafe’s brows twitched, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes before he turned to your mom, a boyish smile forming on his face (there's no way that was actually Rafe).

“I guess lunch sounds great.”

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Gripping your fork, trying not to frown, you poked at your food. You could barely get the bites down, your stomach still on high alert, and you really didn’t want to bolt to the bathroom in front of everyone.

Well, maybe you did need to because fucking Rafe was having lunch with your parents. At your table. Like it was the most casual thing in the world FOR EVERYONE EXCEPT YOU APPARENTLY??!

Your parents had settled into their usual side of the table, and well, due to logical and spatial reasons, Rafe had taken the seat next to you and HNDJEWKBCHSKBCHSA IT WAS SO FUCKING WEIRD LIKE YOU COULDN’T EVEN PUT IT INTO WORDS.

It felt like a fucking alien was sitting at the table, but only you were aware of it, and it was just NO. You had honestly thought that after last night, being around Rafe wouldn't throw you off anymore, but this? THIS WAS WEIRD. JUST FUCKING WEIRD.

While your parents asked Rafe about his family, school, blah blah blah, there was this heavy, unspoken thing hanging in the air.

You NEVER brought boys home. You’d never even dated anyone before. And now suddenly some dude was sitting at the table with your family?!

And it was obvious what your parents were thinking. They knew you’d spent the last few days with Rafe, even if it was just for a school project. They knew he’d picked you up last night and that you'd come home late and JUST UGHHHHHHHH.

Let’s just face it: They probably thought something was going on between you and him. And the worst part? Judging by how smug and charming Rafe was acting, he was probably aware of it too.

You just wanted to crawl back upstairs and sleep off your hangover and wake up to find this was all just a stupid dream.

Everything about this was so embarrassing and uncomfortable. AND WHY DID YOUR PARENTS JUST WELCOME A BOY WITH A PALM-SIZED BRUISE ON HIS FACE LIKE IT WAS NOTHING???

Apparently YOU were the crazy one for freaking out.

“…so yeah, he seems pretty happy with his choice despite not being able to take it out properly yet,” Rafe finished telling your mom about his dad's opinion on the Grady White he’d bought from her.

Your mom nodded, smiling. "I’m glad to hear that. I assume business is going well, then, if he’s been that busy?"

"Yeah, he’s had a lot of meetings lately," Rafe said, pride in his voice. "Him and the mayor are working on a bunch of projects. Especially with the Gloaming right around the corner."

Ugh, please don't remind me of it.

The Gloaming was basically the fall version of Midsummers, introducing the new school year and celebrating the beauty of the season or some shit. Basically, another opportunity for Kooks to show off.

"Is that what you’re aiming for too?" your dad asked as he helped himself with another scoop of potatoes. "Real estate industry? Taking over Cameron Developments?"

Rafe lifted his chin and nodded. "It’s my dad’s legacy. Gotta keep that going."

Your dad chuckled softly. "Yeah, that’s true. Ward’s built something really big but I meant, is that what you want?"

That question seemed to throw Rafe off like he didn’t quite understand the question. You could see it in his profile—the slight shift in expression, unsure whether he should be defensive or play it cool.

Your mom seemed to notice it too, thank god. "It’s always just interesting to see the path kids choose," she said. "There’s nothing wrong with wanting to follow in your parents’ footsteps. I mean, I’d be thrilled if Y/N took over Y/L/N Yacht Sales someday," she added with a quick glance at you, chuckling, "but of course, I’d be just as happy if she found her own way, as long as it makes her happy."

Poor Rafe looked like he had a mini brain freeze. The overwhelm was written all over his face. Why? You had no clue. Maybe he really believed legacy was everything or some shit, and your mom had just casually called his whole existence into question.

Which, honestly? Made you suppress a smile. Because at least one woman had managed to shut him down.

If you’d said that to him, he probably would’ve snapped back, but here? In your family home? Talking to your parents? He kept it together. Even the dumbest guy on earth knew when to behave.

"Yeah, I guess," Rafe said at last, his voice a bit more distant now. "But this is the path I wanna choose. It’s what my dad always envisioned for me, and it’s what I want too. I’ve always been interested in finance and management stuff."

Boy, you’ve been dealing drugs, not running a corporate empire.

Your dad nodded, amused. "Then maybe you could help this one out a bit," he said, nodding toward you with a smile. "Her math and econ grades could use a bit of support."

Seriously?

You frowned, cheeks burning, and your heart skipped a beat as Rafe turned to you, his blue eyes locking onto yours with that teasing glint and a cocky smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, I noticed that too."

SOMEONE GET ME OUT OF HERE.

Thankfully, you didn’t have to endure this much longer, because your mom had an upcoming client meeting, and with that, the world’s most uncomfortable lunch finally started to break apart.

"Alright, I have to get going," your mom said as everyone got up from the table. "It was lovely having you over, Rafe," she added while slinging her purse over her shoulder. "Are you staying a little longer or do you need to head out as well?"

PLEASE. OH MY HOLY FUCKING GOD.

Even Rafe seemed momentarily thrown. "I dunno, I—"

"None of my business," your mom said with a smile. "Say hi to Ward and Rose for me, okay? You’re always welcome here, by the way." CHILL THE FUCK OUT, MOM, OMG. "Have fun, you two."

And with that, she FINALLY left. Fucking hell.

Your dad left not long after too, off to meet some friends at the country club. He gave Rafe a handshake and a nod. "Like I said, warm compresses, drink plenty of water, maybe throw back an Ibuprofen if it gets too bad. Oh, and if it looks worse tomorrow or your jaw starts hurting, you should probably get it checked out. I’m off Sundays, but if you want to stop by, I’ll take another look.” He laughed. "Just… maybe pick a different kind of game next time."

Rafe just nodded with a smile. "Yes, thank you, sir."

And with that, your dad left you two standing alone in the hallway. The only sound left in the house was Mary clattering dishes in the kitchen.

Before Rafe could say anything stupid, or the two of you could fall into whatever weird post-lunch limbo this was, you looked him dead in the eye and said, “What the fuck did you tell him about your bruise?”

Rafe let out a surprised laugh. “What?”

“Yeah, I mean my dad’s chill, but he’s not that chill. He definitely asks questions,” you said, frowning. Because Rafe definitely looked like he’d been in a fight, and there’s no way your dad would just let a boy looking like that into his house without asking.

Rafe shrugged. “Told him some dudes wanted to play golf in Kelce’s backyard and one of them accidentally hit me in the face mid-swing.” Then this little shit grinned with the cockiest smirk on his dumb face. “Saw the golf bags in the garage and figured your dad would see a kindred spirit in me.”

That lying little motherfucker.

“So not only do you show up unannounced here, you also lie to my dad,” you said dryly. However, you were kinda impressed with how smooth that lie was.

Rafe raised his brows, clearly amused. “You’re pissed.”

Your brows twitched. “Well yeah, I don’t like it when people just show up without a heads-up.”

“Why? Did you need time to get dressed or something?” he shot back with a boyish smile, his gaze briefly flicking over you.

JESUS CHRIST.

“I feel like you actually want to get hit with a golf club,” you said.

Rafe chuckled. “Shit, no thanks. You already hit me twice last night.”

That pulled a smile from you. “Not sorry about that.”

“No, but you could at least thank me for bringing your bag,” he replied. “Drove all the way from Kelce’s just because you keep forgetting your stuff.”

Haha. So funny. Yes, we get it. Kelce lived basically next door and once again, Rafe had to run after you. This guy’s humor needed to be studied.

You frowned. “You had the privilege of eating dinner with us. I think that balances things out.”

That boyish little chuckle escaped his lips again. “Shit, you really don’t seem thrilled to have me here. Guess I must’ve misread your drunk little selfie.”

OKAY WHAT. BRO IS FLIRTING. LIKE 100%.

And the memory of you just earlier imagining him doing… things using your picture came back full force and OH MY GOD, NO NO NO STOP.

Your cheeks instantly warmed up, but you just stared at him, deadpan, refusing to think of him like that again. “I just would've appreciated it if you'd texted me you were coming. That’s all.”

“Of course,” he said, a little too innocently. “Just to be clear: you’re talking about me coming over, right?”

THIS NASTY GUY. WHAT EVEN.

You blinked at him with parted lips, absolutely in disbelief, and EMBARRASSED TO HELL LIKE WHAT WAS UP WITH HIM ALL OF A SUDDEN.

“What are you, twelve?” you asked, frowning and doing your best not to sound like an awkward gremlin.

But this guy was clearly in the best mood, and judging by his pupils, he wasn’t even high. “Shit, I’m not the one getting flustered over adult stuff.”

Nope. You’d had enough of him thinking you were some awkward virgin in need of "getting laid" or whatever late-puberty nonsense was happening in his head.

“Okay, so did you just come here to throw around immature jokes or…?”

Rafe chuckled and scratched his chin. “I don’t know. I mean, I’m already here, so… maybe we could finally finish that project?”

HUH.

Okay, the universe had to have shifted, because Rafe Cameron suggesting to do SCHOOL WORK on a SATURDAY?

The end was near.

“What?” Rafe asked, clearly amused by the way you were staring at him like he just announced aliens had invaded Earth.

You shook your head, a little thrown off. “I—nothing. It’s just, we can’t really keep working without the copies of the collage cutouts.”

“My dad’s got a huge printer in his office,” Rafe said with a shrug. “Or we could stop by a copy shop if you’re too scared to face my family.”

Somehow that felt like an attack. Somehow it also felt like he was saying, “I know you’d be uncomfortable coming over to my place with everyone home, so here’s another option.”

Yeah, sure. Probably just being considerate. HAHAHAHA. Sure.

“Or… maybe we just don’t,” you said with a sheepish smile. “I’m actually too hungover for this right now.”

For a second, Rafe’s brows twitched like he hadn’t expected you to decline. But then he just raised his chin with a crooked smile. "So what? Your plan's to crawl into bed and suffer in the dark?"

"Yes, we normal people usually do that," you replied dryly, annoyed that he somehow wasn’t feeling like total shit. The guy had mixed god knows how many drugs and taken a full-on punch to the face. How was he even still alive?

Rafe scoffed, amused, and motioned toward your bag on the dresser. “Nah, fuck that loser mindset. Grab your stuff and let's go.”

Loser—Seriously, this guy deserved two of Chris’s punches.

"I wasn’t joking when I said I’m not in any shape to work on the project right now," you said.

Rafe tilted his head like you were talking nonsense. “Shit, I’m not deaf. I’m dragging you outside so you can sober up properly.”

OH.

...what?

This week was getting more insane by the fucking day. Because Rafe wanting to spend time with you outside of school-related obligations—EXCUSE ME, WHAT THE FUCK.

No, seriously, you were too stunned to process that, so you had to double-check: “You serious?”

Rafe’s face twisted in irritation, but then he nodded like he’d had a sudden revelation, tapping his temple. “Your brain feeding you bullshit again?”

“What? No, I just—”

“I’m not trying to get you laid at some shady-ass place if that’s what you thought,” he said, a crooked grin tugging at his lips. “Though honestly, sex might help. Gets your blood flowing and all.”

SOMEONE HELP ME OR WAKE ME UP BECAUSE WHAT THE FUCK IS EVEN HAPPENING?!

You blinked, gathered every ounce of strength in your body, and nodded slowly. “Well, thanks for the clarification, I guess, but that didn't even cross my mind. I’m just…” you let out a nervous little laugh. “Don’t you have plans today?”

Rafe shrugged. “It's either this or going to the gym with Kelce, and I’ve already heard more than enough of his lovesick bullshit about Molly and their magical night. So unless you’re planning to gush about some guy from last night too, you can tag along. I’ve got some stuff to take care of anyway.”

The only guy you’d love to gush about was Rafe himself—but yeah, that would only inflate his ego, and the last thing that guy needed was more of that.

“I’m not coming along to a drug deal,” you said, amused, because “stuff” could literally mean anything from getting gas to selling a baggie to some twitchy rando.

Rafe raised a brow and scoffed. “Cute that you think I’d actually bring you along to something like that. Don’t need some chick snitching on me.”

Okay, cool. So you were just some chick again.

No girl, don’t let that get to you, this is just how he is.

“Bold of you to assume I give a damn about what you do in your free time,” you shot back, and Rafe’s lips curled into that signature cocky grin.

He waved lazily toward the stairs. “Shit, shut your bratty mouth and get your ass ready. You’ve got ten minutes.”

You hated being ordered around, but somehow, when it came from Rafe… yeah, you kinda liked it. And unfortunately, him acting like this only made it worse.

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“So where exactly are we going?” you asked, clutching your bag in your lap, stealing a glance at Rafe’s focused profile behind your sunglasses.

It felt weird sitting here in his car again. Familiar, but also different. Hard to put into words. Your head was still buzzing, your stomach still doing flips, and your brain couldn’t even keep up enough to overthink any of this.

Rafe wanting you to tag along with him after literally visiting your house and having lunch with your parents? Yeah, no energy left to spiral about that.

He kept his eyes on the road. “There’s this bio-gym-luxury-nutrition-whatever store Kelce won’t shut up about. They sell weird shit you probably don’t even wanna know the ingredients of, but he gave some to Topper once when he was super hungover and the guy bounced back right after.”

You glanced at him, unimpressed. Probably just some sketchy blend of keratin and caffeine or who knows what.

“I’m not downing some random-ass pills,” you said.

Rafe chuckled. “Figured as much.” He looked at you for a moment. “Nah, I was actually thinking about the smoothies they make. I’ve been there once. Seems pretty legit. Kelce is picky as fuck when it comes to that kind of stuff.”

“Doesn’t every local health shop claim to be legit?” you replied with a raised brow.

“Shit, you wanna get rid of that hangover or not?”

You chuckled and mumbled under your breath, “If you also get rid of that temper.”

“Say that again.” Rafe turned his head slightly.

“Nothing,” you said with a cheeky smile, shifting your gaze out the window at the passing streets.

Your little argument on Kelce’s balcony last night really had done wonders. Finally, you didn’t feel intimidated by Rafe's presence AND your own feelings. You didn’t feel like you had to act a certain way for him to like you.

Because the craziest part? Somehow you'd come to the conclusion that he must like you at least a little. Otherwise, why would he be spending his free time with you? Why would he have stayed on that couch with you last night? Why would he give you any attention at all?

And honestly, you hadn’t even had time to fully process that or what it meant, so all you could do was cling to the moment, and the warm feeling in your chest when you were near him.

A part of you also believed that little balcony moment had helped him too. Or at least opened his eyes a bit. He didn’t seem to get defensive as quickly today.

It felt like… you were finally starting to understand each other. (Or, well, maybe he also saw another chance for a friends-with-benefits-situation in you and that's why he was suddenly acting so openly flirty hahaahhahfuck).

“Shit, who the fuck's annoying me now?” Rafe muttered, snapping you out of your thoughts as his phone started buzzing nonstop in the center console.

He picked it up with a scowl, switching his gaze between the screen and the road.

“Maybe keep your eyes on the road instead of your phone?” you said dryly.

Yeah, it was just a 20 mph zone, but still. No need to tempt fate.

Rafe scoffed and tossed the phone into your lap. “He’s not gonna stop spamming until I answer. Tell that idiot I’ll hit him back later. He needs to stop blowing up my phone.”

You looked at him, startled.

Was he serious? Sure, he'd made it very clear that he didn’t give a shit about privacy a few days ago during that whole Wheezie's sketchbook discussion, but—him trusting you with his actual phone?

Guess he just doesn’t care about that stuff.

You picked up the phone, looked at the unlocked screen—

And your whole body and brain shut down. Because:

WHAT. THE. HELL.

You felt like you’d just seen something you definitely weren’t supposed to see and—WHAT EVEN.

Like okay, you’d seen Kelce’s ripped body just yesterday during that ruthless game of truth or dare, but this? This felt… a little too intimate for some reason. And the fact that Molly got to spend the night with that? Okay, girl. Good for you. Damn.

Also, why the fuck was Kelce saved as Bottom in Rafe’s phone?! You had so many questions. About the pic, about the weird bully-friends-dynamic between Rafe and Kelce, about everything.

“I…” You didn’t even know what to say, your brain short-circuiting. Somehow, the only words that made it out were: “Why is Kelce sending you thirst traps?”

Rafe immediately turned his head toward you as you held the phone up. He relaxed once he saw the pic—which honestly made you wonder what the fuck he’d expected to see.

He turned his focus back to the road. “He’s tracking his gym progress.”

“Clearly taking the grind very seriously,” you muttered, staring at Kelce’s pic.

Okay. Objectively? Those abs were kind of insane.

Rafe scoffed. “Give that shit to me,” he said, reaching for the phone.

You pulled it out of reach, smiling (OKAY GIRL).

“You keep your eyes on the road,” you said with a chuckle.

He shot you a frown. “If I wanted someone drooling over Kelce, I'd have asked him to come along."

But you hadn't, you wanted to say, suddenly feeling very cocky.

“Jealous of his form?” you asked, amused—and a little shocked at your own boldness.

And oh, he was, judging by the way he looked at you like you just insulted his entire existence. But little Mister Ego played it off with another scoff, eyes snapping back to the road.

“Nah. That fucker’s all looks but no real strength behind it.”

“Sure,” you laughed, turning your attention back to the chat. “So what do you want me to reply?”

Rafe shrugged. “Just tell him to shut the fuck up, I’ll text him later.”

Yeah… maybe how about we don't type that in. A little bromance never hurt anybody.

So you decided to come up with your own version of Rafe’s message.

Rafe was definitely going to kill you the moment he saw what you’d just done but honestly? Your head was still too dizzy to care.

Also, it was kinda funny to rile him up because, well, he was a fucking idiot.

And somehow, you found yourself getting... curious. A little too confident, considering the opportunity at hand. And oh no, look at that, your fingers were moving completely on their own.

Oops. Didn’t mean to scroll up and see all those weirdly motivating, bro-y messages between the two of them. Like—how did Rafe publicly bully this guy, but secretly turn around and be weirdly supportive?

And also—

HOLY SHIT.

You just stared. You didn’t even register the messages in the chat at first because OH. MY. GOD.

All of heaven and hell combined couldn’t have prepared you for that photo.

Suddenly, that smoothie Rafe had suggested didn’t seem necessary anymore because this absolute goldmine of a photo had just instantly sobered you up.

Because HOLYMOLYTHOSEARMS.

Sure, you’d seen them—HE WAS SITTING RIGHT BESIDE YOU—and they looked great. But this post-pump version? With the veins and everything, the shirt clinging to his waist, and… let’s just say some very unholy thoughts had hijacked your brain.

He'd been worried about you drooling over Kelce? HAHAHAHA, my guy, with those arms? You could gladly ch—

“Learn to be more subtle if you trynna be nosy.” Rafe’s voice ripped you straight out of your thirst-trap-induced trance.

SHIT.

You immediately looked up, cheeks burning hotter than the actual sun, and locked the phone screen. You hadn’t even realized he’d stopped at a red light, gazing over at you.

The look on his face? The smuggest motherfucking grin you'd ever seen.

Your whole body buzzed with adrenaline, heart rate skyrocketing like a rocket launch.

“I was just…,” you stammered, absolutely mortified, completely failing to find a way to talk your way out of this awkward mess. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be—I just—”

“Shit, just say you were curious and be done with it,” Rafe said, amused, eyes flicking back to the traffic light.

You wanted to evaporate. Just disappear.

“I—no. I mean, yeah. But I didn’t mean to—”

“Jesus Christ, relax.” He chuckled as the light turned green and the car started moving again. “I probably would've done the same. Only difference is, I’d probably find some weird-ass cursed pictures or whatever random shit you keep.”

Strangely, that made you feel a little better. His ability to not make a big deal out of stuff—that was probably what made being around him bearable in the first place, right?

You shook your head with a sheepish smile and placed the phone back into the console. “Still. I’m sorry. It was none of my business.”

“I’m just offended you were drooling over a photo on my phone when I’m literally sitting right here,” Rafe said with a cheeky smile as he pulled into a beachside store parking lot.

DUDE.

Instinctively, your eyes flicked to his arms, but you looked away immediately before he could catch you staring. Again.

“Guess I was too distracted by the fact that you and Kelce send each other thirst traps,” you replied because your brain was fried and you couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Rafe scoffed, bringing the engine to a halt as he parked. Then he turned toward you, brows raised. “You think this is some gay shit or what?”

Ugh. Back to being a dumbass.

“Sure,” you said dryly. “Because being comfortable enough with your male friend automatically makes you gay.” You shot him a look. “It's actually sweet that you two are so supportive of each other. And for the record, that stupid remark was unnecessary.”

Rafe’s brow twitched, and he made the dumbest face like his brain was buffering, probably trying to cook up another smart-ass response. But in the end, he just unbuckled his seatbelt, grabbed his phone, keys, and wallet, and grumbled, “Yeah, yeah, chill out. Now get your ass out of the car.”

This guy was eating at your last nerve. And honestly? You weren’t surprised he’d never had a girlfriend. This dude couldn’t even grasp basic human interaction, how the fuck was he supposed to keep a girl?

But unfortunately, this didn't stop your own feelings from disappearing and you still had the biggest crush on this absolute idiot. And by now, you’d learned not to take his shit too seriously.

You got out of the car, slung your bag over your shoulder, and raised your brows at him. “Just so you know: ‘yeah, yeah’ basically translates to ‘kiss my ass.’”

“Just so you know,” he said, tapping his fingers against his temples, keys chiming with this motion, “you drive me fucking insane.”

Most mature guy on the planet.

That didn't stop your lips from curling into a smile.

Maybe it was just your hungover head finding his dumb behavior amusing. Maybe it was the fact that you could actually get to him like this—that you could make Rafe Cameron lose composure without even trying.

Or maybe… it was that one little line you’d caught earlier in Kelce’s messages. The one where he'd said a chick was driving Rafe crazy? Of course, we don't wanna get ahead of ourselves here, but the voices in your head told you this chick was you (let’s be egocentric for once lolzzzz).

And the fact that you were a potential topic between them in the first place? Made the butterflies in your stomach screech out loud.

But the most scary part of all the recent events and crazy moments, of Rafe’s sudden shift in demeanor toward you: Your delusions slowly started feeling less delusional, and more like ... reasonable assumptions.

Which, in turn, was starting to drive you insane.

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K M S M A S T E R L I S T | <- P R E V I O U S | N E X T ->

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T A G L I S T F O R M (taglist for this series is CLOSED but you can sign up for my other stuff through this link)

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[anisespice]

“ the fuck-it list ” || hq! pt. 4

one || two || three || five

synopsis: there’s a list going around consisting of hot guys on campus that are deemed “fuckable” with theories as to what they’d be like in bed. it’s all fun and games until somehow your boyfriend ends up on this list. 

pairing: seijoh4 x gn!reader [ oikawa, iwaizumi, mattsun, maki ]

warnings: mature content. MDI. cursing, suggestive language, mild objectification, the word “dick” said over a million times lol this chapter is basically bigdick!4 supremacy, corny behavior, camboy!maki, slight mentions of degradation, iwa’s is the shortest (I’M SORRY), some minor errors probably and i think that’s it :] !!

notes: I AM SO SORRY FOR THE WAIT :'))) life was kicking my ass and the last thing i could think about was getting metaphorically dicked down lol but hope you enjoy, thank y'all so much for your patience, and the last couple parts coming soon!

tagged: @daedaep69 , @ahahadumbo , @viktoryn , @mdsb , @ourgoddessathena , @ushygushybaby , @hyori2 , @lumpywolf , @fantasycantasy, @captaincyberqueen , @tsukiran

OIKAWA would be the reason the list even exists, let’s be honest. 

But, for the sake of the plot, we’ll pretend otherwise.

Once again, without fail, after another grand win for the great king, he’s swarmed by his devoted groupies—Shoving their phones, gifts, and themselves in his face hoping to catch even a sliver of his attention.

And once again, you stood on the sidelines, impatiently waiting for him to leave the spotlight; irked your soul sometimes.

It’s not that you were against him being praised or anything, even though his head was fat enough to begin with, you loved the admiration people had for him. But there’s a fine line between being a fan and being a straight-up weirdo. 

And right now, they’re tap-dancing on that line something fierce. 

“Tooru!~ will you sign right here?” 

One pulled down the collar of her shirt, exposing more of her breasts that were pushed up damn-near to her chin whilst wearing a sultry smile. You caught a small glimpse of panic flash across his features before he covered it with a nervous laugh, eyes subtly shifting over to you as he replied. “..How 'bout a photo instead?” 

Things went on like that for the next few minutes. Someone would even take it a step further by flat out asking for his number, or if he was single. They already knew the answer to that, it was the same every time, yet they continuously tried their luck as if someday, through the power of delusion and manifestation, his answer would miraculously change despite you always attending his practices and his games, wearing his spare jersey, holding his hand, shoving your tongue down his throat, didn’t matter—Them hoes were relentless.

But, so were you. 

“Oh, Tooru!~ If you don’t wrap this up, you’ll be walking home!~” You sang, mirroring the tone of the girl from earlier. The semi-empty threat made the setter perk up like a hound, eyes wide as that same panic returned as well.

Although this time, he wasn’t so quick to play it off. 

“U-Uh,” he squeaked, then immediately covered by clearing his throat. “Yes, uh, well, it’s been great chatting with you all tonight. Thank you again for your love and support for the team, it's always appreciated. I hope you’ll continue to cheer us and myself oninthefuture—WAIT! [____]-chan! Don’t leave, y’know my poor legs won’t survive the walk back! Baby, c'mon, wait up!” 

Oikawa whined as he scrambled to catch up to your retreating form, no longer concerned with the crowd of disgruntled faces he left behind as they watched their object of affection slip away yet again. A small part of you wanted to turn back and stick your tongue out at them in petty victory, but you refrained. The sound of their great king pleading for your attention was satisfactory enough.

You barely made it outside before his long arms wrapped around your front, locking you to his chest as he leaned almost his entire weight on you. You could feel his heart thrumming against your head as he panted. Eventually, he huffed, no doubt pouting as he gently swayed you in his arms. “You’re mean.” 

Keeping your gaze forward, you frowned. “And I have the right to be. You said you’d tell some of those ‘fans’ of yours to chill out—it’s getting way out of hand, Tooru. That one girl practically flashed her damn tits at you, and you gawked like a virgin.” 

He chortled, incredulously, “I did not! She caught me off guard..!” 

“And yet, you rewarded her with a photo instead of calling out her inappropriate behavior. Make it make sense.” 

You attempted to shrug him off only for his hold to tighten, spinning you around to gaze at you with chocolate brown eyes resembling that of a puppy out in the rain—One of the unfair tactics of Tooru Oikawa to get back on your good side. You had full intent of ignoring him, standing your ground…but how could you possibly stay mad at that adorable face? 

Easy. By not looking directly at it. 

“Nuh uh. I don’t think so,” you gently pushed away the setter’s face, earning another whine in protest. “You’re not getting off the hook that easily. I’m really upset with you.” 

“Buh I dinit do anyfing,” he said through smooshed lips. 

“And that’s the problem. You need to set boundaries with them, Tooru. Things’ll only continue to get out of hand the longer you enable it. Next thing you know they’re clawing and biting at your flesh so they can take a piece of you home with them under their nails and in their teeth.”

Oikawa grimaced, leaning back. “Ew. Graphic. They’re fans, baby, not rabid animals. I think you may be exaggerating.”

You cocked a brow. “Am I now? Well. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

—

The team had never seen their captain move so fast in their entire season. This was the first time he’d just straight up avoided his entourage and head straight for the showers after practice, scurrying off like his ass was on fire. Questions would spark around the gym about this drastic shift in behavior.

“What’s his deal?” One player voiced. “Usually he sticks around at least another hour to entertain his cult.”

“Not sure. After our last game, he’s been skittish.” Another replied.

A third jumped in after taking a swig of his water. “Think it’s got something to do with that..thing we saw the other night?”

The small group thought back to when all of their phones went off at the same time, social medias in a frenzy about their very own star player. At first glance, they figured it was just highlights of their game, specifically highlighting Oikawa. But, upon further inspection…it was something else entirely.

'Tooru Oikawa. 6’3ft King of the Court, and also our hearts. Being notoriously known as the campus pretty boy, loved by many and envied by the rest, it wouldn’t be far-fetched to consider him the blueprint—The default setting of everyone’s wet dream. He’s a tall, talented, smooth-talker with playful eyes and a panty-dropping smile, a textbook definition of  ‘Prince Charming’. Everybody and they mama, daddy, even bald-headed granny would kill to jump this man’s bones. Many would see him as the romantic type, but there’s something more…unhinged hidden beneath the pretty-boy persona. After much debate, our beloved setter is to be dubbed a whole SWITCH, no nintendo. At first he’ll play the dominant role, but edge him long enough and you’ll bring the Great King to his knees, quivering, drooling, you name it. He’s shameless. 9.5/10 - half a point deducted for his inferiority/superiority complex. Get some therapy, babe. ♡’

They didn’t think much of it at the time, when it came to their attention whore of a captain, it wasn’t completely unexpected, especially if his groupies had anything to do with it. The players looked at one another, then back at the gaggle of hormones waiting for the brunette in question by the doors. It was unanimous.

“Yep.” “Uh-huh.”

The third player snorts. “‘bout time it sucked to be him for once.”

When Oikawa eventually exited the locker room, he did everything in his power to appear small, tip-toeing across the floor with his head down and shoulders hunched in crouching tiger-like fashion. He would’ve gotten away scott-free…if not for his petty teammates.

“See ya tomorrow, captain!”

It bounced off the gym walls, the setter grimacing as his devoted followers instantly looked in his direction, predatory gazes stunning him like a deer caught in headlights. Oikawa shot the players a nasty glare over his shoulder, flipping them off and continuing for the exit. He attempted to stiff-arm his way through the hoard, ducking and dodging their grabby hands and shutting down their…bolder advances.

“Tooru-chan!~ Let me show you what I’m capable of, I’ll have you begging in no time, just say the word!~”

“Unhinged men are so my type—Step on me, spit on me, call me names until I cry, I want it all!~”

“I bet it’s bubblegum pink, right? Does it curve to the left or right?”

Oikawa blanched. “Ladies, please, this is ridiculous! You all know I’m in a relationship with-”

“They don’t have to know.”

One had tried reaching out to touch him, but was quickly thwarted when the setter grabbed her wrist. Not tight enough to hurt, but enough to get the message across—Too far. Everyone came to a hush at the sudden display, cowering slightly at the intensity that pooled in his eyes, dark and cold as he fixed the whole group with a stern expression. You were right (obviously). Things escalated the second they were given an inch, with complete disregard to his boundaries and what you meant to him.

These weren’t fans. Not real ones, at least.

Oikawa deeply exhaled through his nose, calming himself down to keep from saying something he’d regret. Releasing the girl’s wrist, the setter gently moved her out of his personal space, resadjusting his bag and sporting a rather disinterested expression.

“It appears you all have misunderstood your place. I’ll forgive that disgusting comment only once. But, if this obscene, rude, and down right shameful behavior continues, I’ll have no choice but to inform the coach of your harassment and have you banned from future practices and games. Do I make myself clear?”

When you arrived to pick up Oikawa per usual, you were surprised to see that he was already waiting for you, not a single group ie in sight.

Skeptical, you looked around as you approached him, thinking those buzzards were still in listening distance, just waiting to pounce. But, when all you’re welcomed with was a big hug and kiss, you relaxed. Oikawa pulled back and gave you a sheepish smile. He explained everything that had happened, rubbing his the back of his neck in embarrassment. When he finished, he looked down at you with those same puppy eyes he gave you the other day.

“Please don’t say I told you so?”

You cooed, reaching up to fiddle with his hair at his nape. He leaned into your touch, content. Until you said, “I told you so.”

He frowned. “You’re MEAN.”

Once IWAIZUMI learned it involved Oikawa in any way, that’s all he needed to know to have no interest in the list. Sort of like Sakusa, if the topic gets brought up, he finds himself tuning out. The last thing he needed was to get dragged into whatever mess his dumbass best friend got himself involved with. But, unfortunately for him, one doesn’t simply choose to be on the list…the list chooses you.

And one afternoon, the former ace was the unlucky winner.

‘Hajime Iwaizumi. 5’10ft hunk made of pure Husband Material. We’re talking the man who’ll open doors for you, pull out chairs, hold your bags without fuss, give you massages, cook you hearty meals, the whole nine yards. With that information in mind, you can’t tell me he’s not an absolute DOG in the bedroom. I’m talking about a man who’ll bully your insides, manhandle you and call you his “favorite cocksleave” or his “pretty little whore”. He’s the type to say the nastiest shit in your ear and tease you for the cute reactions you’d give him before shoving his tongue down your throat, while his dick kisses your appendix. Definitely a Hard Dom who only rewards good behavior, so if you plan to be a brat to this man—Good luck. But, as soon as he’s fucked that attitude outta you he’s back to being such a sweetheart! So so so attentive, so devoted, and will do anything for you. He’s God’s favorite. 1000000/10.’

“Oh? .. Hey, babe.” You said, curiously. Iwa grunted in response. “You know that list thingy Oikawa-?”

“Nope.” He easily answered, eyes focused ahead and he continued bench pressing the heavy bar.

You slap his chest. “You didn’t even let me finish!” He responded with a playful smirk, making you lightly slap him again.

Straddling his lap while he pumped iron was routine. It consisted of him doing what he does and you keeping him company, soaking up his presence until you inevitably left for your next lecture. Sometimes you kept count for him, other times you’d happily just be a distraction; today you did both.

“Haji,” you whined, wiggling a little. He ignored you on purpose, stubbornly refusing to indulge the topic. But that didn’t deter you from pestering him. “Ha-ji-me!”

“Ba-by-doll,” he echoed, grunting shortly after when he placed the heavy weight back on the rack, finished with the set. Panting, he sat up and readjusted you in his lap, hands resting on your thighs as he finally looked at you, amused at your scowl. “I don’t get why you’re so interested in that shitty list.”

“I’m not…until now.”

“Why?”

Turning your phone screen to show him the updated post, Iwa’s eyes scanned it before his brows furrowed in confusion, then tightened with irritation, jaw clenched and annoyance clear on his face. He let out a heavy sigh, closing his eyes to unsee it and merely laying back down on the bench. “Block them.”

You gaped. “What? No way!”

“It’s nothing but perverts with too much time on their hands,” he grunted, lifting up the bar and beginning his set. “It’ll rot your brain. Or what’s left of it, anyways.”

With a dramatic gasp, you retorted with, “Jerk. I’ll retweet and tell them you also love sucking on toes, how ‘bout that?”

Iwa paused mid-push. He eyed you from his laying position, voice dangerously low as he said, “Try it and I’ll bench press you next.”

“Hm.”

Through squinted eyes, MATTSUN briefly scanned the bright screen of Maki’s phone displaying the updated post that started circulating around their group for the past few minutes. Without much reaction, one would think he was too buzzed to be able to even comprehend it.

But he understood all too well.

‘Issei Matsukawa. 6’2ft lazy ass with a third leg. Doesn’t matter if he looks like he uses 5-and-1 body wash, he smells DELECTABLE. And don’t get me started on the gray, low-hanging joggers he usually wears around campus—He needs to be arrested walking around with a concealed weapon in those sweats—sir, put it in me AWAY. The literal embodiment of “If it slaps his thigh when he walk, I’ll listen when he talk.” The ultimate brat-tamer tbh. You can’t get under his skin, he’s so nonchalant and laid back, your attitude would just be foreplay for him (HIS FREAKY ASS). And if you think he’s already big on soft??? Bitch. Gon head and call outta work for tomorrow. 50/10.’

“Uh..congrats?” Kindaichi gave an awkward thumbs up.

Maki snickered, tongue in cheek. “Yeah, man, how’s it feel being ‘dick of the week’? They’re even givin’ it nicknames ‘nd shit.” He scrolled further into the depths of debauchery. Peering from over his shoulder to see for himself, Kunimi‘s face scrunched in mild disgust.

“Someone called it ‘The Door-Knocker’? Fucking cringe.”

“Fucking retweet.” The strawberry blonde hummed in approval. “Oo, I like this one—‘The Punisher’. That’s badass.”

Yahaba snickered only to then start choking on his drink, snatching Kyotani by the front of his shirt for support as he hacked for air. The wing-spiker merely glared, winding his hand back to beat the shit out of his back. “Ack! Kyo—fuc-! BRO STOP.”

“I’m helping.”

“You’re killing me!”

“Same thing,” he grunted.

Mattsun snorted, taking another swig of beer. After skimming through the thread, he lowly drawled out, “Cool, I guess. No big deal.”

He didn’t know much about the list, only that if you ended up on it you were pretty much an ace in the game of dick-slanging. But, he didn’t need some thirsty randoms on the internet telling him that he fucks. He had you to attest to all that, and your opinion was the only one that truly mattered. Not that either of you would kiss and tell.

His friends, on the other hand, felt otherwise. As far as they were concerned, Mattsun was a single man. And right now, he was shitting on a blessing sent from the gods. Maki halted his sip to eye his best friend, beer can lowering suspiciously. “No big deal?”

Mattsun shrugged. “t’s what I said.”

Yahaba finally caught his breath, chiming in with a winded, “Yeah right…you’re probably itching to check your DMs. Tell me ‘m wrong.”

“Ok. You’re wrong,” he replied, chugging the remainder of his beer can before crushing it. Yahaba went to argue, but Mattsun cut him off by speaking through a burp. “Don’t got the energy…to entertain someone who just wants my dick.”

“Don’t you mean, ‘Door-knocker’?” Kunimi teased.

“I thought it was ‘The Punisher’..?” Watari asked, uncertain.

“I saw ‘Horse Cock’ on there.” Kindaichi grimaced.

Mattsun shook his head. “Whatever. Point is, ‘m not interested in racking up my body count anytime soon, so those DMs will just go unanswered. Hell, maybe even deleted.”

“Bullshit,” Maki challenged. He points an accusing finger. “There’s another reason. It’s ‘cause you’re already screwing around with someone, aren’t ya?”

A silence fell upon the group, all eyes instantly honing in on the taller male with metaphorical ears raised high in scandalized curiosity, some (read: Kindaichi and Yahaba) more obvious about it than others. Mattsun merely gave a halfhearted shrug, neither denying nor confirming the information. “Aha! See, see, look at ‘em, dodging the question! He’s so cuffed.”

“No shot,” Yahaba deadpanned, “mister ‘Noncommittal’ himself?”

Mattsun glared. “Oi. I commit to stuff.”

“He’s gettin’ defensive.” Kunimi pointed out with a wry grin.

“Must be true, then.” Kyotani nodded, mischievous glint in his eye.

The others hummed in agreement, theorizing about his type in partners and how there could be a potential special someone in their senior’s life, while the bastard behind it all watched smugly on the couch, sipping his drink like a gossiping old biddy. Mattsun squinted in annoyance at his best friend. “Et tu, dumbass?”

Maki raised his hands, “Hey, don’t get mad at me. You basically told on yourself. No guy in their right mind would ever pass up on that many opportunities unless he’s A) Stupid, B) Aro/Ace, or C) Spoken for. Now, my vote’s between A and C, but feel free to update me on your sexual orientation.”

Mattsun flipped him off, sporting a sarcastic expression.

His phone then began to vibrate on the table. As quickly as they looked at the former middle blocker, everyone’s gaze shot toward the offending device, then back on him; expectantly. Despite his calm exterior the brunette felt his heart-rate spike, brow twitching at the childish looks and jeers he started getting, borderline peer-pressuring him to pick it up.

After a few seconds of continuous ringing, Kunimi huffed in mild annoyance for him to, “Answer it, already.”

Maki added fuel to fire by saying, “Unless you want one of us to answer for you-” Mattsun snatched the phone off the table.

With the grace of a gorilla, he stood from the couch and quickly shuffled to the corner of the room. Answering it, he cleared his throat, face flushing at the chorus of snickers coming from behind him as he greeted you with a simple, but elated, “Hey.”

“Hey, ‘sei!”

“Hey,” he said again, breathing out a small chuckle. “Can’t sleep?”

You responded with your own chuckle. “Yeah, actually. I was wondering if you’d wanna maybe…ride around with me? I’m thinking McDonald’s. Oo! Or that wing place by campus, y’know, the one with the teriyaki flavor you liked? I think they don’t close until, like, 2am. Or…was it 1am?”

Mattsun snorted at your rambles, leaning against the wall as he let you continue. Unbeknownst to him, the guys were practically stacked on top of each other, stretching their ears to hear your voice. From what they could pick up, you sounded so upbeat, animated as you spoke. They watched in awe as their senior barely spoke but was engaged in whatever you were saying, nodding along and humming to let you know he was still listening. If he wasn’t faced the other way, they were certain they’d see a smitten expression on his face.

“Mhm.. mhm. Yeah, ‘m sure that squirrel really appreciated you sharing your almonds, baby.”

“BABY???” The group exclaimed.

The brunette jumped slightly, completely forgetting where he was for a moment there. He briefly looked over his shoulder before turning back towards the wall with a groan—Every single one of those bastards were either grinning or gaping in shock. Mattsun cursed under his breath. You made a noise of confusion.

“Are you with the guys? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt! We can totally chill another night if you-”

“Nah, was just about to leave. Think I’ve entertained these assholes long enough.” He grumbled, walking over to grab his jacket, but not before thumping Maki on the head; the latter hissed through his teeth in pain as he held the throbbing spot. “Rather be with you anyways. I’ll send the address, lemme know when you’re outside.”

“O-Oh, okay then!” You giggled, flattered. “I’ll see you soon. Love you!”

He turned back to look at the group, smug as they still watched him with disbelief painted on their faces as Mr. Non-committal was ditching them to hang with his commitment. Like he tried to tell them before, he didn’t need some thirsty randoms on the internet. He had you, and that’s more than enough.

“Love you too, [_____].” Then, he walks out. Leaving the room in even more chaos compared to when he first answered the phone, immediately on his ass as the scrambled after him for answers.

“[______]?????”

Who would’ve guessed their sweet, beloved volleyball manager from high school was the one getting visits from “The Punisher”.

Within his inner circle, MAKI is usually overlooked. He’s not popular like Oikawa, nor jacked like Iwa, and he’s doesn’t have the whole ‘sexy aloof’ vibe like Mattsun. He’s just…tall. And funny—The ‘Pete Davidson’ of the group. At least, that’s what your friends called him. Somehow, once again during your outing with them at the mall the topic of your relationship became the focal point of the conversation, stretching their brains for why you were so enamored with a guy like him.

“He gotta be packin’. Like, I’m talking anaconda.”

“Type shit. Y’know what they say about them tall and skinny ones.”

You rolled your eyes, wry smirk spreading across your face as you busied yourself sifting through a clothes rack. The conspiratorial discussion had been going on for the past ten minutes, throwing anything and everything at the wall until something stuck—Meaning, waiting for you to confirm. “[_____]. Be honest. It’s ‘cause of his dick, right?”

A lady standing on the other side of the rack gasped in shock, face twisting up in revulsion as she clutched her purse before stomping away, scandalized. You snorted, peeking over your shoulder to raise an eyebrow at them while they struggled to suppress their childish merriment at the poor woman’s embarrassment.

“Quit it before they kick us out.” You attempted to sound stern, but there was no hiding your own amusement. One friend playfully nudged you while the other began to snicker. “And no, it’s not because of that. It’s a bonus, though.”

The first gasped, then exclaimed, “So it is big!”

“’m not finna start with you,” you replied looking back at the clothes, pretending not to know them as nearby customers gave the side-eye. Neither one paid any mind as they continued to gossip. “We have this conversation every time we go out. Give it a rest.”

“Not until you tell us what you see in him.”

“I mean, I get it, but then I look at his friends and…” she hissed through her teeth, shaking her head. “I’m just saying. You fumbled.”

“I’m not taking that from someone who slept with a door dasher just because they got the restaurant to put extra sauce in your bag.”

The guilty party gaped, “It wasn’t included in their instructions, they were a real one for that!”

“Still don’t know why you did it,” the other friend sighed. “The food was cold, and I’m certain they took some of my fries.”

“Shut up, we’re not talking about my poor life choices, we’re talking about [_____]’s.”

“Fuck you,” you laughed. “You two need to get off my man. You haven’t even properly met him yet. He’s a sweetheart, he treats me like royalty, and I don’t care what y’all say, that man is fine.”

“Please. You’re just dickmatized.”

“Enough about his dick already!”

Your outburst drew the attention of a nearby employee; the store manager. Even though she wore a professional smile, you could see death in her eyes. With a nervous smile, you gave an apologetic wave before quickly grabbing your friends by their arms and escorting yourselves out before you got banned. Your closet was getting full, anyways.

“Look…I know the guys I’ve dated in the past were…questionable. But, I really like this one. And I swear the pictures I showed you don’t do him justice, his goofy ass just never sits still.”

They looked skeptical, having heard that one before. You huffed.

“Alright. How about I invite him over tonight? That way you have a chance to get to know him better. And if you’re still iffy, then…then you’ll have to get over it because you love me dearly and want me to be happy and just because you don’t think he’s attractive doesn’t mean I don’t, he is very gorgeous to me-!”

“[_____], honey, breathe.”

You stopped to inhale, then concluded with a small, “Please?”

They exchanged another look of skepticism, until the second added one condition. “He better not show up empty-handed.”

—

When the doorbell rang, the mood instantly shifted in the room, your friends going silent and gazes sharp as they looked at your door. Unbeknownst to all of you, on the other side of the door, Maki shivered, confused where that sudden chill came from. You gave them an eager, though strained, smile before scampering over to greet your awaiting guest. Upon opening the door, your smile slowly dropped at the sight of Maki sipping out of a large styrofoam cup with the words 'Big Gulp' written on it, dressed casually in sweats and a beanie, appearing very empty-handed.

After he swallowed, he gave a drawled, "Yo."

Your eye twitched. "Takehiro." He hummed, taking another sip of his drink. "Remember that important thing we discussed over the phone? Literally the only thing I asked you not to be when you got here?"

He thought about it, taking note of the daggers you were shooting at his cup. Maki made a noise of realization. "Oh, right. I bought snacks too, buuut I accidentally ate ‘em all on the way. My bad. But, look," he shook the cup, "technically still not empty-handed."

A small part of you wanted to be mad, frustrated at the least...but there was no hiding the giggle you rewarded him with, of which turned into more giggles. With sigh, you stepped forward to wrap your arms around his middle in a hug. "You’re so dumb."

"Missed you, too." He playfully rolled his eyes, returning the hug and craning his neck to kiss your forehead. The two of you stood there for a moment, just basking in each other's warmth. But, the moment was short-lived when he gave a long, exaggerated exhale through his nose before murmuring, "Ready?"

"...No." You groaned.

"Damn, do they bite or something?"

"No, they’re just...unfiltered. I love them, don't get me wrong, but they can work on your nerves to an olympic degree. You'll see once we get inside...They're gonna ask about your dick, by the way. Just ignore it."

Maki snorted, bewildered. "I'll try my best."

"Also...try not to mention that...other thing."

"What other thing?"

"You know," you raised your brows, looking over your shoulder in case they were eavesdropping before softly continuing, "that post."

It took a second, but he eventually caught on to what you meant.

‘Takehiro Hanamaki. 6’0ft shameless manslut (affectionately) who’s taken the campus by storm with his rather...interesting side hobby that pretty much has every student reaching for their wallets and switching to incognito mode on their browsers. Who would’ve guessed that lanky, low-eyed beanpole had the talent to film such erotic content and put a whole industry to shame with just his smartphone and a couple LED lights? After getting past the paywall and binging his videos (for research) it’s safe to say this man is very much a power bottom, maybe even a top depending on his mood, with a fowl mouth that’s not afraid to moan like a porn star. Best $200 I’ve ever spent (FOR RESEARCH). Highly recommend if you’re interested in having the best guided orgasm of your life—Link is in the thread! Get that bag, king. 10/10.’

A shit-eating grin stretched across his face instantly. He bounced his eyebrows, leaning down to teasingly say, "Ohh. That post. What? Don't want 'em to know how I make my living? Or, you scared they'll find out you're my number one supporter, always touching themselves just behind the camera-"

"Hiro!" You hissed, face set ablaze as you looked over your shoulder again, anxious. He found your reaction cute, using the straw in his cup to poke your cheek. You huffed at him. "I don't want them to pry. I doubt they've seen it since they go to a different uni, and I'd like to keep it that way. Okay?"

He easily shrugged. “You’re the boss.”

You exhaled, relieved. “Thank you.” You turned to head back inside, knowing your friends were just itching to bombard Maki, however you were stopped when he grabbed your arm.

“But.”

“…But?”

“I’ll let the dick-related questions slide and keep my side hustle under wraps, but you have to do something for me in exchange for my good behavior.”

You tilted your head, nervous. “Like what?”

His grinned mischievously, eyes half-mast as he used his free hand to hold your jaw, making you gasp softly when he tilted your head back. “Instead of being behind the camera in my next video…my number one supporter has to be the star.”

You rapidly blinked, heat traveling throughout your body once you registered his words. Fumbling over your own, you didn’t have time to protest when the door behind you opens wide, revealing your impatient friends. Maki let go of your jaw and settled for wrapping his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close as he waved at them with the hand that still had the large cup in it.

“‘sup.” He flashed them a sly grin. Maki took in their shocked faces, hoping they were a good sign as he introduced himself. “[_____]’s told me a lot about you guys. Hope you didn’t mind me crashing your get together.”

They absolutely did not mind.

You weren’t lying—Those pictures you showed did him dirty. Nothing could’ve prepared them for the uno reverse that was Takehiro Hanamaki. From his lax posture and cozy demeanor, sleepers build and cute smile, it’s no wonder you were drawn to him. Plus he’s funny with a big dick (allegedly)?????

After you composed yourself, still reeling from your conversation earlier, you eventually mustered up a triumphant smile at your friends as they gaped up at Maki, speechless. “So? You guys still think I fumbled?”

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