#the final part of Compare and Contrast

[unproduciblesmackdown]

one gets fucked up remembering there'd also be a visual component to Banana's [Touches Immeasurably] Prayer like oh god the audio kills me enough such as it is, our Music, our Performance....and you're me

[highdefhoetry]

in his hands.

cw: nsfw!! female reader, hand kink, cnc-ish, fingering, G-spot stimulation, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, verbal teasing, praise, use of term "babygirl", aftercare, some mild possessiveness, caleb is a meaniehead

word count: 1760

Caleb sits across the table from you, completely oblivious to your stolen glances as he twirls the pen between his fingers. He follows a strange pattern where he spins it once, twice, then lays the tip back onto the blank sheet of paper in front of him. His fingers tap, tap, tap on the edge, clicking the pen open and closed. The black beads on his bracelet clink against each other with every movement, the perfect accessory to the thick ring on his index finger. You find yourself unable to look away, despite knowing what would happen if you were noticed.

You’ve always liked his hands. To you they were perfect, lovely to look at and even better to hold. The length of his fingers. The large size of his palm. The chapped skin on his knuckles. The warmth you felt whenever thw two of you held hands. They were a comforting familiarity, one part of him that remained unchanged yet had grown with him as he matured.

You understood why he still called you pipsqueak. With palms pressed against one another, yours still looked tiny compared to his.

While you're busy daydreaming, he plays with his pen a few more times, seemingly lost in thought, before he suddenly looks up and meets your eyes. When he notices you staring back, a little smirk creeps up his face, one you know will be followed by playful teasing. You quickly turn your head away.

You’ve been caught. And when you glance back at him and see the cocky look in his eye, you know that he’s not going to let it go until he’s teased you to hell and back.

“What’s up, pipsqueak?” he teases. “See somethin’ you like?”

You shake your head and bury your face back into your work, trying to ignore his quiet chuckles. 

“Don’t get all shy now,” he cocks his head to one side to better see your face, seeking out the flustered expression you’re trying so desperately to hide. “Fess up. Why were you starin’ at me?”

You stay silent, mumbling some half-assed excuse about not being able to focus. He laughs at your poor attempt to change the subject. A sudden warmth covers your hand, followed by soft strokes from calloused fingertips. When you turn your face away to hide the heat rising in your cheeks, he takes your hand and holds it gently.

“Come on, now. You can tell me anything. You know that, right?”

He rubs his thumb across your knuckles, slipping it in the spaces between each finger. You eventually succumb to his gentle touch, intertwining your fingers in his. You toy with the ring on his index finger, poke at the black beads on his bracelet, trace the patches of flushed red on his knuckles that contrasts the paleness of his skin. You stroke each one with your thumb and index finger, feeling the dry, cracked skin beneath your hands.

A good deal of time passes before you finally snap out of it. When you meet Caleb’s gaze once again, you find him grinning victoriously, as if he’s just won some unspoken contest you never agreed to enter.

“You…!” is all you manage to stutter out.

“Me?” he smiles innocently. “What did I do?”

“...”

He lifts your hand to his lips and gives it a small peck in an attempt to softly coax you out of your shell. It makes you melt from the inside out, but still, you refuse to admit defeat. He watches you carefully for a few more seconds, giving you one last chance to come clean. When you don’t, he gets up from his seat across the table and circles around to your side. Before you can get a word of protest out, he picks you up and tosses you over his shoulder, carrying you straight to the bedroom.

He plops you down on the soft comforter, trapping you in place with both hands at either side of your body. You try struggling, but he simply pins you down by straddling your waist, making it so that all you can do is wriggle slightly beneath him. He leers down at you with a wild, uncouth grin, like a wild beast about to consume its prey. 

The sweet, honey-eyed Caleb is gone. You realize a little too late that you are totally, completely, undeniably fucked.

“I won’t let you run away, from this” he growls, with one hand on your thigh and the other gripping your arm, holding you firmly in place.

“Caleb…!”

“I saw you staring at my hands,” he gives your thigh a squeeze, smirking when he hears your muted squeal. “What do you want me to do with them? Hmm?”

You put up a half-assed fight, pretending to hate how he’s cornered you despite your growing wetness. He quickly picks up on this after slipping his hand under your panties. His fingertips brush against the entrance of your hole, circling it for a moment before sliding towards your swollen bud. He smiles when you let out a small moan.

“Tell me what you want, babygirl.”

His voice is gentle and low, but his touch is firm. He rubs your clit in a slow, deliberate motion, with just enough pressure to build you up but not enough to push you over. You arch your back and press your mound further into his palm, begging him without words. 

“Say it,” he leans forward, mumbling in your ear. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

You start to whine, unable to handle the way he’s teasing you. He’s being extra mean tonight, barely flicking your throbbing bud and ignoring the attempts you’re making to guide his fingers into your hole. You know he won’t comply until you give him what he wants. Which is the last thing you want to do.

“Mmm… Caleb…” you whimper cutely, hoping to appeal to his sense of mercy. He chuckles darkly, his once friendly eyes filled with sadistic glee.

“What are the magic words?”

“Nghhh… Caleb, please!”

“Please, what? I’m pleasing you right now, aren’t I?” 

He sticks one finger into your pussy, just for a moment. When he pulls it out, he slaps your mound hard just to throw you off. The tiny, surprised shriek you let out is met with a mean-spirited laugh. 

“Okay!!” You cry out, unable to hold back any longer. “Finger me, please!”

“Yeah? You want my hands inside you?”

“Yes! I want them inside me, please…”

A wicked grin stretches across his face as he savors his victory. Satisfied with your pathetic pleas, he finally yanks down your panties and gives you what you want.

First one finger pushes itself into your hole. He pumps it in and out, making sure to caress that sweet, sweet spot inside of your walls. You’re singing like a bird within seconds. Another finger is added, easing in gently so as not to hurt you. He finds his rhythm and uses your moans as his guide, focusing on your G-spot to build you up to the biggest orgasm possible. He presses his thumb against your clit, massaging it in tandem with his rapid fingering, and soon you’re squirting all over his hand. He pulls out momentarily to lick his fingers, savoring the taste of you on his skin. His amethyst eyes lock onto yours, feasting on the desperation permeating your gaze. Distracted, you cry out when he shoves his fingers back inside.

This time, he’s a bit more forceful. That first little orgasm was just a warm up. When he gets like this, one is never enough, and he won’t stop until he’s brought you to tears. With his swift fingers curled inside you, he pumps in and out at such a fast pace that you begin to see stars. That one little spot inside of you becomes his target, a button he presses over and over again until you reach climax once again. The second time is much more intense than the first; you can feel the soaking wet bed sheets underneath you, along with the slick fluid covering his fingers. 

Still not enough. He wants more.

He fingerfucks you again and again, forcing out countless orgasms that shoot through your body like hot lightning bolts. Your voice starts to feel hoarse from the screaming and shrieking, sounds that only seem to spur him on. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve cum, having given up on keeping track long after the third or fourth. And Caleb shows no signs of stopping. 

He whispers his affection into your ear while he plays with your pussy, telling you how beautiful you look as he makes a mess of you and how lovely your voice sounds when you make those cute noises for him. He fills your head with sweet praise, his words worshipping your form and beauty, weakening you with every syllable.

“That’s it,” he coos while coaxing the last orgasm from you. “That look on your face… that’s mine. Only make that face for me.”

You mumble something in agreement, barely able to form coherent words as you cum one more time. Inexplicable pleasure ripples through your body, setting ablaze every last nerve ending from head to toe. You go limp, covered in sweat and completely worn out from his torment. Caleb pulls out his fingers, licks your fluids off his skin one last time before he switches gears. He grabs a towel from the dresser and gently pats your face dry, pushing some of your tangled hair away from your face. That crazed look in his eyes is now gone, and once again he admires you with utmost affection. He asks if you need water, if you want a warm blanket, if you wanted to be held or left alone. You say yes to the first two, and cling to him when he asks the third. 

After you finish drinking a full glass of water, he wraps you up in the warmest blanket on the bed and cuddles up next to you, playing with your hair in a soothing, gentle manner.

“Soooo,” the teasing tone returns to his voice. “When were you gonna tell me you had a thing for my hands?"

You pout at him, feigning annoyance, but he just laughs and hugs you tighter. 

“I’m definitely going to use this against you, by the way.”

You don’t have the energy to argue back. Exhausted, your heavy eyelids shutter closed, and soon you drift into a peaceful slumber, which Caleb’s arms still wrapped snugly around you.

[lackadaisycats]

Mitzi's costume design for "Ingenue", and some of the ~1919-1921 catalog fashions that inspired it. Everything is always in transition fashion-wise, but it's interesting to see the very defining rectangular shape of the 1920s start to emerge from post-Edwardian/WWI era style. (The contrast in how comparatively modern things looked by the latter part of the 20s is pretty striking.) Design by me and L. Frostad, who did the finalized character sheet! ------------------------

Lots of character designs, extras, and other behind the scenes stuff are on the Lackadaisy Patreon!

[1nk20ul]

Jonathan Sims ALIVE?? I Believe I Have Proof.

(Spoilers for The Magnus Protocol!)

You heard that right. And if you've listened to TMP 39 - Dependents, you've heard it too. Not only can I prove without the shadow of a doubt that not one, but two Archivists are roaming TMA's London, but I can also prove with spectrogram + phonetical analysis exactly what Jon is saying.

Let me prove it to you.

First, let's start with an unedited audio sample, taken at 16:30:

Did you catch it? If you didn't, I don't blame you. There's a lot happening here. Let's check the official transcript for more context about what we're hearing.

So, what we're hearing is definitely the Archivist. It's evident that it's whispering something, but the specifics are currently hidden under layers of reverb, static, and tape winding. Let's clean it up a bit to get a better listen. I pitched the audio down 30%, reduced the background noise, and ran it through a few frequency filters to make the speech more prominent.

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Yeah, that's definitely Jon.

At the very least, we know this is obviously not Beth Eyre, who voices [ERROR]. Since the transcript states that this audio has to come from an Archivist, that really only leaves us with one other possibility.

But let's assume you still don't believe me. I took the liberty of isolating the vocals entirely and running them through a linguistics analysis programme called Praat (which is fantastic + free by the way!). This way, we can analyse the speech all the way down to the position of the Archivist's mouth when speaking.

Here's the new sample we're working with:

I admit, the speech is a tad more muffled in this version. However, the lack of background noise makes the spectrogram much easier to read, which is what we are aiming for here. We're far past the point of just using our ears.

Behold the Spectrogram:

Looking at this diagram, we can conclude that there are four words being spoken here. (The second word is the gap in the middle part. Note the density shift at around 1000Hz. We know this word must be free of any sharp consonants.) More importantly, the formants provided can be compared to samples of Jon's RP dialect to determine if there's a match. If the frequencies match, it's the same voice. If we get the wavelengths to match, it's the same word.

Let's start with the first word. I'll skip the specifics, as explaining every minute detail would take forever and bore everyone to death. The left image was extracted from the spectrogram above. The right photo? That's Jon saying the word "this."

Note how both waveforms are split into two halves, low then high. Note how the high half trails off at the end. Take into account the similar placement of the red formants. This is the same word, pronounced in the exact same dialect, with the exact same frequency. It is Jon.

Let's do that again with the second word.

Again, the formants line up in the exact same order. The audio on the right is a bit louder, which is why the waveforms have a higher contrast.

What did this word happen to be? World.

Here is the original spectrogram in Audacity. The two bright spots on the right-hand side are easy. It's the same sound as the end of the first word as well. (Notice the frequencies are the same.) These are an easy Letter S. I then fact-checked this using methods like before.

Finally, we have clear, undeniable proof:

"This world isn’t yours."

Edit: thank you to @thestrangepoet for correcting “is” to “isn’t!” The presence of the letter T was a bit inconclusive, but it makes so much more sense in this context.

Now, what does that actually mean? Well, he’s likely referring to Sam. The extent of what he actually knows I’m uncertain of. Feel free to theorise and let me know! I have an idea about how this affects the overall story, but that's a post for another day.

I furthermore checked every single instance [ERROR] spoke for occurrences like this, and what did I find? Nothing. There was a bit of whispering in TMP 10 that I couldn't manage to isolate, but the voice was definitely Beth Eyre's. The only other time an Archivist audibly appeared in this fashion was... Oh, Hello. The TMP series teaser with Jon and Martin. Brilliant.

Now I just have to hope that nothing gets debunked by tomorrow. I'm crossing my fingers, TMP 40.

Thank you to Rusty Quill for sending me down this rabbit hole! The details added to all corners of the production bring so much life to the Magnus mystery. I'm glad I could dig deep and analyse this - We love you!

[dark-moonlust]

Orc King x Elf Princess PART 1: The union

Pairing: Orc monster x elf princess reader

Summary: the elven and orc kingdoms are at odds and in a desperate attempt to keep the peace, the elder rulers decide to marry you, an elf princess to the King of the Orcs.

Warnings: minors don't interact, 18+!!!!, monster smut, virgin reader, dub consent, orc huge 🍆, buckets of come. Don’t like, don’t read please.

Find PART 2 here.

I hope you like how juicy it came out *wink, wink*.

It was no secret that the elven and orc kingdoms were at odds for centuries.

But lately, the shimmering tension was at its worst, the two races threatening to start a war.

In a desperate attempt to keep the peace, the two elder rulers of both lands decided on a political marriage to unite their kingdoms.

You, the only princess of the elves was chosen by your father to be the bride of the King of the Orcs.

The decision had stunned you, made you want to flee from the palace and seek a life away from politics. But no matter how much you craved to be free, no matter your dread and repulsion at the match, you decided to marry the orc King. You had your people to protect and as their princess you had a great burden to bear. You were willing to sacrifice your happiness for the greater good.

The day you met your orc husband would be forever seared in your mind. You met him at the wedding ceremony, he stood proudly in the grand hall, an imposing figure dressed in leather armor and a long black cape. A towering, brutish form. The Orc King was terrifyingly big, two heads taller than you. He was muscular all over, his green skin marred with scars and his mouth twisted into a sneer, revealing sharp teeth.

The wedding ceremony was grand, filled with cheers and hopes for the future for both kingdoms.

A chill of fear ran through you when the time came to bed your husband and seal the union. As you looked up at him, you met his eyes, dark and predatory. He grabbed your arm, his grip ironclad, lifted you over his shoulder and carried you to the royal chambers. You protested but he ignored your wild thrashing, and before you could gather yourself, he plopped you down the bed, his massive body pinning you in place.

His hands, huge and calloused from years of battle, roamed over your delicate body. “Pretty wife.”

“Hn… wait—I do not want this,” you said, trying to push him away, even if your strength was nothing compared to his.

“I understand this is a fate you dislike, but it is one you can’t escape.”

You grimaced at him. “You brutish orc. At least give me some time—”

“To escape?” he filled your sentence, his face hard.

“Never, I’d never risk the safety of my people.”

“Then stay here. In my bed. Be mine,” he growled, his voice deep and menacing. “My Queen to fuck and use over and over.”

“I’m not a piece of meat—mph!”

His mouth claimed yours, his tongue pushing past your parted lips, thrusting deep in your throat. You groaned when huge hands cupped your neck, keeping you in place to take his feral kiss. Your eyes started to roll back, chest heaving, gagging a little on the appendage long appendage shoved down your throat.

At the same time, you felt him tearing at your clothes. The satin fabric of your wedding dress was ripped and tossed away, your underwear following until you were fully exposed to him. You shivered and gasped when his tongue finally left your mouth. His eyes devoured your naked form and you felt goosebumps awakening under his gaze.

He was also naked, you noticed, the contrast between your bodies striking. You were small and soft, and he was hulking and muscled, his massive frame filled with scars. His green skin glistened in the dimly lit room, his eyes locked onto yours with a raw hunger that made your breath hitch. And between his legs… you closed your eyes. You didn’t want this thing inside you.

“Such pretty breasts,” he said roughly, his hands cupping both breasts and jutting them up in his mouth. He captured one pert nipple in the warmth of mouth and flicked it hard. You gasped, pushing him away but he turned to the other bud, giving it the same attention. The unwanted pleasure was too much, you hated him, oh you hated him, but his touch sent jolts of goosebumps through your body.

“Gentle…hmnn,” you bit your lip, struggling to stifle your reactions. “Be gentle.”

“If I’m be gentle, will you let me fuck you, my bride?”

“Hmmm…” you muttered, your treacherous pussy pooling with heat.

“Say it,” he said, finding your neck, kissing and nipping at your skin. “Say that you want me to fuck you.”

You grumbled. “Just do it.”

“Say it.” He looked at you straight in the eye.

“Fine! I want you to f-f-uck me,” you muttered incredulously.

Satisfied, he moved his massive hands down your body, clutched your knees and spread them apart. He slipped between them, his eyes drawn to your creamy thighs and the pretty glistening pussy with the plump folds. Rough fingers trailed over your mound and you whimpered, fear and arousal clouding your thoughts. He found your entrance, it was pooling with slick and he thrust a thick finger inside. The wet squelch echoed in your ears as that wicked finger delved deep inside until it met with resistance.

“Hnn—”

“Tight little cunny,” he said in a sultry voice, “my bride is a virgin. I am honored.”

With surprising gentleness, he changed your positions and flipped you to ride him, your face level with his groin. His cock jutted up in front of your face, a monstrous green shaft with veins traveling from base to the flared tip. The thing was huge, throbbing and pulsing with pre-cum and under it were the biggest balls you’d ever seen, swollen and angry red.

“Touch,” he ordered, thrusting his hips against your mouth.

Strangely attracted to his cock, you guided fingers to him, tracing the massive length of him. He was impossibly hard yet soft, thick and heavy in your hand. You cupped his hardness but your small hands couldn’t wrap entirely around him. But your orc husband seemed to like it because he let out a low, approving growl.

“Good. Now put me in your warm mouth. Use your little hands for what you can’t fit.”

You glanced back at him, enraged at his request. How dare he! His eyes flashed with challenge and cupping your nape, he turned your head and slammed you down onto his shaft. The throbbing head pushed past your lips, stretching them wide. You let out a sharp hiss and gurgled when the tip kissed the back of your throat.

“Suck me good, wife. I want my dick to glisten with your spit,” he said while he gripped your hips, pulling your cunt to his eager mouth. You protested but he jerked up his hips again, forcing you to take his cock deeper. You gagged, your lips stretched and filled with massive orc cock.

Gluck, gluck, gluck… the sounds of you sucking him echoed all over the chamber, along with his vibrating growls of approval. He taught you how to please him, pulling your head back enough for you to breathe before swallowing his dick down again, his thick shaft molding in your throat. Amidst slurps and moans around his dick, he cupped your ass and spread your cheeks apart.

How thumbs drew your pussy folds apart, exposing your little slit. “Pretty pussy.”

“Hmph—ple… glglhh… ease,” you tried to talk but his cock made it difficult.

“You are mine,” he said, lightly slapping your pussy. “My wife, my Queen, my mate to fuck and please. And I am yours. Your husband, your King, your mate to fuck and please.”

His words empowered you, made you worship his dick anew. He, in turn, feasted on your cunt, teasing your dripping folds with his mouth. You were more aroused than ever and he easily slid a finger inside you, stretching your walls and curling it just right. You whimpered around the girth of his orc cock. He added a second finger, a rough groan escaping him when he saw your cunt clenching tightly around it. His mouth found your clit, his agile tongue swirling round and round.

The sensations were too much that forced you to leave his cock and let out a hoarse cry.

You came, thrashing violently.

Clutching his hard cock with both hands, your fingers wrapping around it like a lifeline, you rocked your hips against his face and came wildly, explosively. But he didn’t stop. He kept going, his fingers thrusting deeper, his mouth working your clit shamelessly. Slurps and growls filled your ears as he devoured your pussy, lapping up your juices as if they were ambrosia.

Then the world around you tilted on its axis and you found yourself in his powerful arms. He held you against his chest, your legs spread on either side of his thighs. His panting chest rubbed against your breasts, his cock wet with your saliva and pulsing against your bellybutton.

“And now, Queen of mine, you shall take your King’s cock.”

Carefully, very carefully, he lifted you and lowered you down onto his cock, the flared head spreading your pussy lips and surging up your virgin entrance. You winched a little as he filled you, inch by delectable inch and you clutched him tighter against you, your breath hitching when he bottomed out.

He was inside you, his cock balls deep and it even made your stomach bulge. He seems fascinated at the sight of it.

No longer a virgin.

“Beautiful. My beautiful Queen,” he purred, kissing you passionately. “Made to take orc dick.“

“Mmph… m-more, please, ahhhh…"

Hands on your waist, he lifted you off his cock, his length coming out glistening with your juices and a trace of virgin blood. He growled, deeply and primitively and then thrust you down, his shaft disappearing inside you. He pounded you to the edge of ecstasy and you came hard around him, sweet climax rolling through you. Your contractions triggered his own release, and with a defeating roar, he spurted inside you, his cock pulsing so strongly that you came again with frantic aftershocks. Thick streams of cum filled you up, overflowing and trickling down your shaking thighs and making a mess.

You collapsed on his broad chest, feeling his solid warmth and inhaling his masculine scent. Your husband rubbed your spine, kissed your forehead and whispered praises about how good you were to him and how proud he was to have you as his Queen. You felt a glimmer of hope, but you were too tired to ponder over it so with a soft smile you fell asleep in his embrace.

Did you enjoy? Hit me up with your thoughts! Inbox is also open 🖤

[sunny-knight]

Who am I now?

@forgettable-au Fan animation :3

Papyrus has got a lot to think about, now that he remembers the other half of his life

Song: Flower (feat Haien Qiu) by Christian Basso

WHAT DO THE BUTTERFLIES MEAN??!?!?!!?!? WHAT DO THEY MEAN WHAT DO THEY MEAN

But nevermind that, loveeed making this loooved thinking about it looved the torment it put me through thinking of how on earth itll go when/if Papyrus ever remembers who he used to beee :3

In the beginning- I remember seeing at least 2 drawings of Sans and Alphys sleeping while Wingdings is wide awake. I wanted to make a little somethin different and play with that. His eyes also being closed is supposed to communicate a sort of happy moment where they’re finally all on the same page. It also makes it more “hehe that TECHNICALLY could still be papyrus ☝️” its not.

…

but TECHNICALLY- ☝️

The reason behind that shot though is I that I feel like good memories would make it harder for Papyrus to disconnect entirely from that part of his life. There were SOME GOOD THINGS and its just like…ugh. Its hard to put this part into words, but you get me. ITS VISUALIZED THERE AND THATS ALL YOURE GONNA GET OUT OF ME

(I tried really hard to work Flowey somewhere in this, but that never worked in the end- so whoopsies to all the Flowey fan club members)

The hands holding the star, then having a butterfly coming out- I’m actually obsessed with that shot cause theres a lot of things I can say about it.

Its intended to be ambiguous on exactly who’s hands they are cause the type of holes in them are just scribbles-

But thats just because transitioning between Gaster and Papyrus’ hands looks bad and also skeleton hands are really hard- SO!!! its an in-between thing. Its supposed to go from Gaster being obsessed with the star, GRABBIN IT, then a butterfly comes out of Papyrus’ hands. We’re comparing and contrasting the difference between how they handled their own traumas, and their view on life as a whole.

Again, im assuming a lot about Gaster in this cause we still don’t know how he’s gonna be characterized in this comic, but in this animation we’re gonna say he deals with life and his trauma by obsession and all that jazz, while Papyrus makes something new with it.

The fact that they’re trying to trap something in their hands WHICH HAVE HOLES IN THEM is also a part of this meaning. I feel something that has remained true for Wingdings, Papyrus, and supposedly Gaster, is they persevere despite any circumstances. Of course they don’t go in without thinking, but when they want something they are GOING to get it no matter how ridiculous or impossible their chances of success are.

SO YA THATS THE ANIMATION :D

Programs used: Procreate for the art, Toonsquid for the editing, plus a wip :3

originally I was gonna have Wingdings being happy, then Papyrus being sad to show that same “happy memories” thing, but the transition never looked quite right, and something simpler just looked better

[crustyfloor]

A new pop-up store dropped for ALIEN STAGE's 2nd anniversary and wow. It's so sick.

It's Interesting what exactly these experiments are focusing on and monitoring.

Instrument practice

I found it interesting earlier that Till was so tame, more so than he usually is when he's going through experiments, but music, and making music is what he loves doing, So he was fully in his element here. This was probably the only thing he was made to do by the aliens that he at least tolerated.

(Additionally, judging by his collar (orange), he was at least calm. maybe he just isn't fazed anymore.)

//Side note, that head contraption looks familiar BUT this most likely isn't related at least i hope

(It puts me at ease, at least..)

Dance practice

This surprised me, but I suppose Mizi needed more skills.

She looks very startled here, and nervous(?) +It looks like she's doing this while singing. And with that face covering I assume this was a test monitoring her dance balance, precision, etc. At first, I did think it was odd, "Why would Shine put her through that" But alas I was reminded that even though Mizi is the flower of the group she was never untouchable, to Shine, this was the equivalent of teaching your dog to sit and stay.

(seeing this it reminded me of those scenes in movies where the people are dancing, and the music gets faster and faster until they fall. I wonder if she was doing through something similar to that)

Singing practice (?)

Similar to Till she also looks quite calm outwardly, if the machine around her neck is an iteration of the collars they have, then this process wasn't something she liked, or given how intense this experiment looks, this was a test of high-pressure to ensure she always stayed calm during performances (?). Then again this could also be a posture practice given all the structure focused on maintaining her position.

(What I believe was another form of this test was shown before so I think so)

(With her hands in a praying stance I wonder if she was praying to herself or singing a religious song (sweet dream?) It's also interesting that the machinery around her looks like a halo, and she looks so...angelic? holy?)

Image making practice

By image making, I think they made Ivan replicate expressions with his face. Whether this process was painful for him or not...I'm not sure. But it looked visibly uncomfortable, maybe that was the point. (His expression, even in this circumstance is so dubious..)

Ivan, among other things, needed to have a spotless appearance to be successful, his image was a priority given his skills were certainly guaranteed.

I assume the aliens eventually took note of his lack of expression, in the real world this can be a detriment to one's career, so the Aliens had to ensure quality was perfect. (To a more...dedicated level)

Superiority test

'Superiority test' Is very vague.

HyunA is very calm here too, likely sedated in that water with all the tablets on her. I guess this was a test to get an idea of a pet human's strengths and weaknesses, endurance, and temperament to compare and contrast them with others, testing who is more viable for Alien stage?

Another interesting, and sad part about this is that HyunWoo was there, watching his sister through her experiments.

(Also, it looks like both of her legs are normal, no alien leg yet.)

Heart rate variability

And finally, the most visceral of them all. The wording 'variability' makes this all the more sickening, the Aliens were testing his heart hours, testing it at different rates, speeds, and states. And he was in agony the entire time. Even the way he's clutching his chest, it gives me chills. This would've been a completely harmless test in a normal setting, as something quite similar to this can be performed efficiently in real life. But he's being tortured in the process.

This is one of the first times we've ever seen Luka's face so truly clear and unprotected, (understandably so.) He's even crying.

[itelya]

synopsis: the difference in size between your hand and your bf/husband's hand.

character [separate]: Nanami Kento x reader, Gojo Satoru x reader, Suguru Geto x reader, Toji Fushiguro x reader, Sukuna Ryomen x reader, Choso Kamo x reader.

warning: cute, adorable, humor and love love loveeee

words: 2780.

Kento N.

The kitchen is silent, animated only by the rattle of utensils and the sweet scent of vanilla floating in the air. Nanami is focused, his large, precise hands kneading the dough with controlled fluidity.

For your part, you try to keep up with him, but one thing distracts you: the glaring difference between your hands.

You've always known this, of course. Nanami is a tall, firm man, and his hands reflect his. They're wide, with long, strong, and thick fingers. Only you know how effective they are in certain situations.

Besides, your hands seem almost fragile. You observe the contrast: his palm almost entirely covering yours, the difference in width between your fingers, the way your wedding band looks delicate where his feels massive on his hand.

Suddenly, he notices your gaze fixed on your hands and raises an eyebrow. "What is it?" he asks calmly. His gaze is soft on you. You shake your head, an amused smile playing on your lips. "Nothing, it's just... I feel like I have doll hands compared to yours."

Nanami looks down at your clasped hands on the counter. He studies them for a moment, then gently places his palm against yours. As expected, his own almost entirely encompasses it. He lightly presses his fingers against yours, curiously testing the difference.

"It's true, it's quite striking," he admits. He gently turns your hand, examining a precious object. "They're small... but agile."

You smile, rolling your eyes. "You make me feel tiny." He runs his thumb over your ring, an unconscious gesture that sends a shiver down your spine. His fingers, though larger and rougher, are surprisingly soft as they brush against your skin.

"Maybe I like the difference," he says finally. "It reminds me to always look out for you."

You sigh, crossing your arms. "You know, I'm not as fragile as you think."

A small smile tugs at his lips as he takes your hand and places it against his once more. He gently intertwines your fingers, the size difference even more pronounced.

"I never said you were fragile," he murmurs. "I just like knowing my hand is there to wrap around yours."

He finally lets go of your hand to return to the dough, but the contact remains imprinted on your skin. Even without his fingers wrapped around yours, the sensation remains.

You look at your hands side by side again, fascinated by the difference. And even though Nanami doesn't say it directly, you understand that for him, this difference is not insignificant.

Gojo S.

You sit next to Gojo on the couch, a little tired after a busy day, your legs tucked under you, trying to find a comfortable position. But before you can truly relax, you feel a gentle but firm pressure on your hand.

Surprised, you turn your head to see Gojo looking at you with a playful smile. He just had his hand extended, taking yours. "Hey! Let go of my hand."

He looks at you with a mockingly innocent expression, but you immediately notice the amusement in his sky-blue eyes. "Are you serious? Your hands are so small, I could lose them in mine. It's cute."

You frown, a little embarrassed by the remark, but he continues to look at you with a mischievous smile. You try to pull your hand away, but he keeps it firmly intertwined in his. "Gojo, seriously?..."

He leans slightly towards you, bringing your hands together to show you the difference. Your hand seems to almost disappear into his, and you find yourself, once again, facing this obvious reality.

"See? It's crazy how tiny your fingers are next to mine. It almost makes me feel sorry for you, babe."

You gently push him away, a little exasperated, but despite your attitude, you feel a slight shiver run down your arm with each movement of his fingers.

"I'm not a kid, Gojo."

"I know, I know, I'm joking, babe... But you have to admit, it's cute. And besides, that means I can protect you, right? I can hide you behind me if you ever get scared."

He squeezes your hand a little tighter, not forcing you, but enough to make you feel the warmth of his palm. You look up at him, a hint of red on your cheeks, but this time, you don't push him away. He leans a little closer to you, his voice becoming softer.

"I like holding your hand... I really do. It feels good."

Your heart skips a beat at his words. He's speaking simply to you, and you sense the sincerity in his words.

"It's true... It feels good."

"Yeah? That's what I thought. So I'll hold your hand, okay? No running away this time."

You look up at him, almost surprised by the softness beneath his playful demeanor. He squeezes your hand a little tighter, and this time, you let him, feeling a little calmer and more protected by his side. "You're insufferable."

He bursts out laughing, but you can see in his eyes that he's never been more serious. He really enjoys this silent connection between you, this simple act of holding your hand. And, oddly enough, you enjoy it too.

"I know, I know... But admit it, you like having a big hand to hold you, don't you?"

You look at him silently for a few seconds, and before answering, you gently tighten your grip. "Yes... maybe."

Geto S.

The first time you really noticed the difference in size between your hand and Geto's was one day when you were walking quietly together. It was a bit chilly, and without even thinking, you slipped your hand into his.

Immediately, his long, warm fingers closed their grip on yours, and that's when it hit you: your hand felt tiny in his.

Geto has slender but strong hands. His fingers are long and elegant, and when he squeezes your hand, he does so with obvious tenderness, as if he were holding something precious.

“Hmm… your hand is really small,” he murmurs with an amused smile, comparing your palms.

He spreads his fingers, inviting you to do the same. You place your palm against his, and the difference is striking: his fingers extend well beyond yours, his hand almost seeming to encompass yours entirely.

“It's cute,” he adds, slowly intertwining your fingers and looking at you with a glow of infinite love.

You look at him, raising an eyebrow. “Do you think it's cute?” A slight blush appears on your cheeks, a little embarrassed.

“Of course,” he says with a small smile, tilting his head slightly. “It reminds me how cute I think you are.”

His tone is light, but there's an undeniable sincerity in his words. You feel the warmth emanating from his hand, the contrast between the imposing size of his and yours.

He looks down at your fingers trapped in his and gently squeezes your hand. “I like holding your hand like this,” he continues in a softer voice. “It makes me feel safe. You're always next to me.”

You smile a little before squeezing his hand a little tighter in return. “Me too.”

Geto looks at you for a moment before lifting your intertwined hand to his lips, placing a tender kiss on your fingers. He doesn't need to say more. Through this simple contact, he lets you know everything he feels for you.

And you let yourself be enveloped by this gentle warmth, appreciating the difference in size between your hands. You find it cute too, to be honest.

Toji F.

It's evening, and after a long week, you're comfortably settled on the couch with a bucket of tenders. The enticing aroma fills the room, and there's only one last piece left, sitting innocently in the center of the coffee table.

You glance furtively at Toji, who seems to have spotted it as well. A smirk forms on his lips, and you know this battle is going to be about more than just food.

"I think this chicken belongs to me," he says in a low, amused voice, his eyes challenging you from across the table.

You raise an eyebrow in amusement. "Oh, really? I thought I was the one who called the shots tonight. I did order, after all."

Toji bursts out laughing, a deep, seductive sound. He reaches for the piece of chicken. "You know, I think we're not on the same page when it comes to chicken."

Before you can even answer, you reach out as well, trying to grab the last piece of chicken at the same time as him. But, of course, Toji doesn't budge. He grabs your hand with a jerk, and you feel the difference in strength in his grip.

His hands are large, his fingers long and firm. His almost completely envelops yours, making your hand seem so small in comparison. His thumb rests on the top of your hand, restraining you slightly, but not aggressively. It's just... his natural power, the way he effortlessly dominates.

"Your hand is far too small to compete with mine," he says, grinning, his eyes shining with mischief.

You frown and try to pull at the piece of chicken. "You underestimate my determination, Toji."

But the more you pull, the more you feel the difference in size and strength between the two of you. He doesn't have to force you to hold on, and you're well aware that even if you really want that piece of chicken, you can't fight his grip.

"Okay, okay," you finally say, smiling. "You can have that last piece. But you won't get away with it so easily next time, T-O-J-I, and I don't have a small hand."

Toji laughs again, but instead of simply keeping the piece for himself, he holds it out to you, a softer smile on his face. "You're even cuter when you fight over chicken with your little baby hand."

He watches you for a moment, and you feel his gaze slide down to your hand still resting on his. "Shut up. You're annoying me, Toji." Your cheeks turn slightly red.

With a certain gentleness, he drops the piece onto your plate, without any sign of dominance this time. You're cute when you pout, especially over chicken, Toji thinks.

Toji flops onto the couch, a satisfied smile on his lips. “It was fun, but we both know I’m the fastest.”

You laugh, taking a bite of the chicken he’d 'left' for you. “Yes. I can confirm… even in bed, Toji.”

He stares at you intensely, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. “Say that again, princess?” You knew he’d make you regret it.

Sukuna R.

Sukuna's hands are imposing, inhuman in their size and power. When he takes your hand, it's as if the universe around you shrinks. His hand, much larger than yours, envelops yours with a quiet mastery, a natural dominance.

His skin is warm, and the texture of his fingers, rough, contrasts with the softness of yours. But it's not unpleasant. Rather, it's pleasant, a mixture of respect and adoration.

He is your king, and you, his queen.

You feel small next to him, but it's a feeling you've learned to appreciate. In his hand, you find a protection that requires no words. Sukuna doesn't need to tell you he'll protect you; he proves it every day with his gestures.

He squeezes your hand in a possessive yet tender way, as if he wants to mark you with his presence. Even his presence can be felt from afar. “Your hand… It’s so small compared to mine,” he murmurs, his deep voice echoing in the air. His eyes fix on you, a glint of amusement in yours.

“But I don’t need a hand that big,” you reply, looking him straight in the eye. “As long as you’re holding it.” A smile forms on your lips.

Sukuna lets a faint smile play on his lips, a loving smile that sends shivers down your spine.

“You are mine. Even though your hands are small, they are more powerful than any other. For they belong to me.”

He squeezes a little tighter, and you feel no pain, just an overwhelming presence. Your hand is completely engulfed in his. You’ve never been so sure of your love for him.

He is your king, but in his gestures, you see the man behind the crown. The one who cares for you, even with his sovereign nature. Others might fear his hand, but you see it as a symbol of his strength and love for you.

“Sukuna…” you whisper, your heart beating a little faster.

“I know,” he says with a teasing smile, his fingers tightening around yours once more. “I am your king, but also… I am your husband. I must fulfill my duties as your husband now.”

“Sukuna!”

Choso K.

Choso smiles at you tenderly as he takes your hand in his. His long, slender fingers gently envelop yours. He watches you with gentle eyes, as if making sure you're comfortable, and a small smile forms on his lips.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asks softly, his voice low and reassuring. He frowns slightly, worried about any pain or discomfort you might feel.

You lift your head and meet his gaze. The size difference between your hands is striking, your hand seeming so small and fragile compared to his. But Choso never makes you feel inferior or vulnerable.

On the contrary, he squeezes your hand even more gently, as if to protect you, to show you that he's there for you, without ever making you feel his strength in a threatening way.

“I'm okay, baby,” you say with a reassuring smile, giving your hand a little squeeze in his. “You know I love it when you hold my hand.”

He blushes slightly at your words, and you see his gaze soften even more. It's moments like these when his adorably shy side resurfaces, even though he's usually pretty quiet and reserved.

“You really are the most important person to me,” he murmurs then, looking down. “I always want to protect you. Even if it's just for a moment like this.”

The warmth of his skin against yours is comforting, reminding you how much he cares, even in the simplest of moments. He takes a moment to gently stroke the back of your hand with his thumb, creating a pleasantly soft sensation.

“I love the way you look at me,” you whisper back, your heart beating a little faster. “It makes me feel… special.”

Choso looks up at you, a shy but genuine smile playing on his lips. He's truly adorable, even when he tries to hide the depth of his feelings.

"You are," he says, his voice filled with tenderness. "You're special to me."

There's no doubt in your mind: Choso is, without a doubt, the sweetest man you know.

masterlist

requests: OPEN.

© 2025 itelya. All work belongs to @itelya. Do NOT repost, modify, translate or plagiarize in any way on ANY platforms.

[snoopyhq]

Can I request smut headcanons where his gn s/o worships Jayce, Viktor, Steb, Vander, Silco, and Ekko's bodies please?

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ the altar is my hips, even if it's a false god

type: misc. arcane characters x gn reader

summary: different body worship with different arcane men

warning: explicit content, mentions of restraints (silk), guided masturbation, mirror play (i think?? idk the name. uh, involves mirrors. viktor's part), implied sex positions, etc. i don't think i can write full blown smut, mainly because i'm not practiced, so i'll try to make it as romantic as i can with extra zealous passion

minors dni, thank you !!!

word count: 1555

a/n: false god is objectively a banger and is one of lover's most underrated tracks.

dividers used made by @/diviniyae

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ JAYCE

he's getting tied to the bedposts

no rope, no handcuffs, no nylon

red silk ribbons adorn his wrists and ankles, contrasting the warm brown of his skin like a trail of your freshly applied lipstick

which is now making its way down the column of his throat

he needs the stability and reassurance

you're restraining his limbs, not to hinder his movement, or as a play on his autonomy, but to hold him down so you could hold him close to you and dote on him like he deserves

he's completely shameless his breathy whimpers and gasps

which is great! it's exactly what you want

you want him to feel safe enough to express himself with you, especially during such an intimate setting

he's the most beautiful canvas in the world, and you're going to turn him into your next masterpiece

he's a marked up mess by the end. lovebites litter his inner thighs and upper body, and god forbid you's skimp out on his neck

each one is a physical reminder of the message you want him to carry with him everyday

i love you, jayce talis. don't you ever forget that

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ VIKTOR

mirror, mirror on the wall. who's the fairest of them all?

it's viktor

this man would be living off work if he could. he doesn't take the time necessary to just spoil himself, so you're taking matters into your own hands

quite literally

after weeks of contradicting schedules, you both have a couple nights completely free

the floor length mirror had its cloth taken off and now stands opposite your shared bed, gleaming faintly in the dim light

you'd taken off his clothes too, slowly, murmuring praises about each newly revealed part of his body

viktor isn't one to blush, but your words always make a softie out of him

you sit behind him, your legs on either side of his as you two look at your reflections. he wants to look away, but your encouragement keeps him from shying away from the revelation of his naked form

your hands find his, and as the jazz music continues its sensual crescendo, you trail them down down down, letting the tips of his fingers ghost over his skin in a featherlight caress

you're kissing his neck and telling him just how great he's doing and how gorgeous he is, and how much he deserves to see himself from your point of view (i love you chappell roan)

his head is thrown back. his soft brown locks are on your shoulders, shifting slightly with his labored breaths as he finally takes the time to love his body the way you always have, with your steady hands over his, guiding his motions and coaxing him to climax

you see now, viktor? can you see just how beautiful you are to me?

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ STEB

i'm sitting here cycling through a myriad of options for him

my first thought was hot springs, but then hmm. gross lowkey. i am a hot springs enjoyer, leave the scenic nature place alone! i berated myself

and then i moved on to a luxury bath

but then i remembered outdoor jacuzzis are a thing, and baths inside in like a house or apartment kind of became boring compared to this

so picture this: outdoor jacuzzi, secluded in the shade of your guys' garden

the giant trees sway in the wind and the sunlight filter through the leaves to create dapples that dance on both your slick skin, your hands on either side of his face as you two move in sync to the slow lapping of the water

he isn't a vocal one, but he has his tells

the way his breath hitches, the half closed eyes, the fluttering his gills when you add extra emphasis on the next roll of your hips

this man's an enforcer (unfortunate)

the stress of work often carries over to other aspects of his life, but he's been trained to remain stoic in the face of adversary

these stolen moments of intimacy are the few times he truly relaxes. be gentle and patient with him, and you'll have him beyond whipped

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ VANDER

the only vanderbilt i know is vander built like the man of mine and sza's dreams

more surface area = more space to love on. btw

being a single dad most of his life is stressful, even more so when you combine it with the leadership needed to keep the lanes in order

the worship you bring him is akin to one for a wine god

you're both getting blacked out wasted

it sounds irresponsible, but hear me out

a space where he doesn't have to be the responsible, upstanding adult in the room, where he can just go buck wild and release his inhibitions? that would fuck so hard, ok

especially having you as his drinking/party buddy

the amount of dirty dancing you'd be getting into with the drinking games available would make a sailor blush

the bedroom is empty, and the commodities of the bar have found their way to this little haven

pour out a cup for this much needed reprieve

maybe upon him too while your clever tongue provides the drunken declarations of love

the only vanderbilt i know is vander built like a fucking snorlax

more surface area = more space to love on. btw

being a single dad most of his life is stressful, even more so when you combine it with the leadership needed to keep the lanes in order

the worship you bring him is akin to one for a wine god

you're both getting blacked out wasted

it sounds irresponsible, but hear me out

a space where he doesn't have to be the responsible, upstanding adult in the room, where he can just go buck wild and release his inhibitions? that would fuck so hard, ok

especially having you as his drinking/party buddy

the amount of dirty dancing you'd be getting into with the drinking games available would make a sailor blush

the bedroom is empty, and the commodities of the bar have found their way to this little haven

pour out a cup for this much needed reprieve

maybe upon him too while your clever tongue provides the drunken declarations of love

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ SILCO

it's a game of tug-of-war

silco is a drug lord and basically rules the underground. he's not relinquishing power without a fight

crafty wit? physical passion? maybe even a game of chess. you choose

the game changes every time, which he finds refreshing and mentally stimulating

it eventually gets to a point where you're finally given the reins

your neck is covered in hickeys and there are scratches down your back by the time it gets there, but they're routine by then

you didn't leave him unharmed either

you may both be panting from the adrenaline and exhilaration, but the true reward comes from the deprivation of senses you love so much

the blindfold goes over, and silco's yours for however long you want to go tonight

you worship him the same way a feral animal would

it's pure instinct and desperation and hurts so good

the consequences can be felt in full later

when you've had enough of your fun, you finally remove the blindfold and let him see the wreck he's made of you, and you of him

make sure to remind him with extra kisses to the left one that he's the apple of your eye, no matter how rotten

aftercare. duh.

he's gotten his hands on the finest creams and bath oils, so you get cleaned and patched up in luxury. rivals a piltovan spa, really

the settle down from such ferocity to something so tame is the perfect balance for your stormy relationship

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ EKKO

worshipping ekko is an event that takes place over the course of the entire day

you've planned it down to the letter

similar to vander, he's in charge of so much and takes care of so many people, so you wanted to be the one pampering him for once

breakfast is brought to him in bed, and the watching the sunrise is a relaxing start to the day

here comes a medley of dates

a walk down his favorite street and hitting the shopping district

you insist he get himself something from at least three different stores

then treating him to lunch before heading off on your hoverboards as you guys race through the sky

back home, you'd put together a skincare basket to do together. the whole routine of exfoliate, moisturize, and then the face masks

you talk about the exciting day you just had, fingers intertwined the whole time until it's time to take the masks-and clothes-off

he doesn't let himself relax often, but around you?

completely gone

you make slow, leisurely love, taking every second as a chance to appreciate him, his body, his voice and that brilliant mind of his

everything about him really

as for aftercare, you'd go to the kitchen, and cook a simple meal to enjoy together before falling asleep right in the living room, too tired to trek back to the bedroom

he's the little spoon tonight

you left no room for argument, wanting to be the one to cradle him close to you and make him feel just as safe and protected as he makes you everyday

[nadvs]

home before dark (part eight) (end)

pairing rafe cameron x kook! female reader

rating mature 18+

summary as children, you and rafe were best friends, but then tragedy suddenly struck his family and he shut everybody out. years later, you need his help when a pushy ex-boyfriend won’t leave you alone. rafe is perfect for the job because everybody’s afraid of him. except for you.

content warnings stalker ex, violence, smut, substance abuse, death and mourning of parent

» masterlist

· · ── ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ── · ·

You can hear gentle taps on the window behind you. At some point since you got back from the marina, it must’ve started raining. You’ve been too absorbed in your time with Rafe to notice until now.

Even though you’re trying to process what he just said, your instinct is to hope for his sake that it doesn’t storm. Because your instinct has always been to worry about him. His was always to avoid you. And now, if you actually heard him right, you know the real reason why.

You’re suspended in time as you stand in front of him in your kitchen, trying to silently compel him to look at you again. But his eyes are focused on the floor.

You were just upstairs, touching in the most intimate way, giving each other the best kind of pleasure. Now, in a matter of a minute, a chasm has opened up between you again. Rafe’s chest is rising and falling faster with every second that passes.

“What’d you just say?” you ask.

“I was…” Rafe shuffles in place, his temples beginning to throb. “Fuck. I was never going to tell you.”

“What do you mean because of me?” you echo his words, your legs weakening.

Hearing your voice sound so faint, a harsh contrast from the soothing, careful way you always speak to him, makes his chest tighten.

“Goddamn it,” Rafe mutters. “Why’d you have to push me to talk when I - I said I didn’t want to talk?”

His feet carry him to the other end of the counter just to create some distance. He figures it should be easy because for so long, it’s been second nature for him stay away from you. But he hates that he can’t touch you right now. This moment is too tense, the words he said too ugly.

Rafe finally meets your gaze. Every other time he thought you looked sad or scared or broken is nothing compared to the way your face is knitted in misery right now.

His darkest secret is out. He told himself he’d take it to the grave. But he just changed everything. He shoved a dagger into the heart of the only person who truly cares about him. And there’s no undoing it.

“What do you mean because of me?” you repeat.

Rafe swallows the lump in his throat. He knew you were wrong; he’s not good like you said he is. This proves it. He’s sick. There’s something wrong with him because a good person wouldn’t blurt what he just said out, no matter how much pressure they were under.

He nervously grips the edge of the counter.

“Rafe,” you urge. His head hangs low.

“It was right before your birthday,” he mutters. “Do you remember?”

“Of course I-” You inhale a sharp breath. “Of course I remember.”

After what happened, you cancelled your eleventh birthday party. You didn’t want to celebrate anything for years afterwards.

“Did that have… something to do with it?” you ask.

Rafe’s body goes cold. It had everything to do with it.

He begged his mother to go. She told him there were warnings on tv about a storm and that they could go the next day, that there was time, but he had to be such a brat about it that she finally agreed. She always gave into him.

“You never stopped talking about how excited you were for it,” he says, “and I wanted to get you something great and I made her take me. And you…”

His gaze hardens. This was supposed to stay locked inside him forever. At some point, behind his back, you got the key.

Your heart is in a vice. You’re waiting for him to say this is a cruel joke.

“You know what?” he huffs. “I don’t even remember what I was so determined to get you. I just remember…”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, a short, boyish whine escaping his mouth as he hears the sound of the tires skidding in his mind, over and over again. They didn’t even make it to the store.

You want to rush to him. To hold him. To let him dampen your shirt with his tears again. But you can’t. You’re frozen.

This is why Rafe never wanted you in his life. You’re not just a reminder. It was never that simple. You’re the reason for his suffering. And you can touch him and laugh with him and kiss him as many times as you want, but you’re sure he’ll never see past it.

He doesn’t have to tell you why he kept this from you. It’s clear. He didn’t want to hurt you. You thought he was being cruel all these years, but he was protecting both of you from this very moment.

You imagine the boy you knew, in the car, watching his world end because he wanted to be a good best friend to you. He was always sweet. Always doing what he could to show the people he loved that he loved them. And he paid for it in the worst way.

You’re crashing into a painful realization, as if the lights were just turned on, burning your eyes after you’d been sitting in the dark for years.

“I…” you begin. But you’re weak. Speechless. You hold the back of a chair at the kitchen table for stability.

For once, you’re not touching Rafe to comfort him as he cries. On top of the shame and frustration and guilt he’s feeling, a sense of loneliness sinks into him. He doesn’t know if he’d push you away if you came to him. But you’re not even going to try?

The sharp, comfortable feeling of anger overshadows it all. Like always. Being mad is the most familiar state for him to be in. Especially when it’s himself he’s angry at.

“And I just kept asking until she agreed to take me,” he mutters.

You can hear it in his voice that he blames himself, too. And if there’s anything you can do for him, it’s take away his pain. It’s what you’ve wanted to do for him for so long.

Guilt rips you into you. A hot tear rolls over your cheek. If Rafe has to blame you, if it’s defence mechanism, his way to cope, you can live with being the bad guy in his story. Because you love him. You’re afraid you always will.

Your phone rings in your pocket, blaring in your kitchen. You’ve had it on loud so you couldn’t miss a call from your parents just in case.

You clumsily rush to grab it and turn the sound off. You hang up before even looking at who’s calling.

“Who is it?” he asks.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say.

“Who is it?” he says more sternly.

You look at the notification. Your lawyer. You called her after the cops found the tracker on your car to update her. You’re sure you discussed everything you needed to. What’s she doing calling at almost nine at night?

“My lawyer,” you say.

“Call her back,” he orders.

“I can do it later.”

Rafe only says your name, his mouth a firm line. You hate that he’s talking to you like this again, as if he’s mad at you for existing around him.

But he’s right. She might have some important news. Your hands are shaking as you tap on your screen to call your lawyer back on speakerphone. She answers after the first ring.

“Sorry I called so late, but I wanted to let you know,” she says, “I hounded the police and I finally just got confirmation that they took Ty into custody.”

“He was arrested?” you say. You meet Rafe’s eyes. In the midst of all this, for a second, he forgot you’ve been living in your own horror.

“Yes,” she replies. “He’s been charged with the unlawful installation of a tracking device. They traced it back to him. They don’t always arrest for a misdemeanor, but I think the fact that you already had an order out against him helped.”

“Okay,” you breathe. “Thank you.”

“Again, I’m so sorry you’re going through this,” she says. “You did the right thing fighting back. I wanted to keep you updated. Call me if you have any questions. Have a good night.”

“Thank you,” you say. “You, too.”

You hang up the phone and realize you don’t even feel a morsel of relief that Ty has been arrested. Because Rafe just dropped something so earth-shattering on you that you’re not sure you’ll ever be the same again.

You don’t even discuss the call you both just heard. You stick to your private vow. You have to. He can blame you. He can hate you. He can feel whatever he wants if it’ll ease his suffering.

“You’re right,” you say quietly. You sit down, unable to hold yourself up any longer. “You’re right. You just wanted to be a good friend. It’s my fault. I’m so sorry.”

It doesn’t feel entirely dishonest taking the blame. They were on the freeway because of you. If you and Rafe never became friends, if you never fell into his life, he’d still have a mother.

His words from earlier when this all started ring in your head. We can’t do this. This conversation? Or everything?

“It’s always going to be hard for you to be around me, isn’t it?” you ask, desperate for the clarity. Because if it’s true, it’s better you know now.

Just this morning, he said you were friends again. Then in your room, you did something people who are much more than just friends do. And now, you might be doomed to going back to being nothing. Unless he denies it. Again, hope finds its way in your heart like it always does when it comes to him.

Rafe’s stare is distant. He grips the countertop even tighter.

“I don’t know,” he says. Truthfully, he exists in two places at once when he’s with you. He feels both peace and disarray. Both bitter and sweet.

You nod slowly, standing on wobbly knees to find a paper towel to wipe your tears away with. You stand by the sink with your back to him, rubbing it beneath your eyes.

I don’t know. It’s the worst answer he could give you. At least if he gave a definitive yes or no, you’d know what the future will look like. But I don’t know is what keeps hope alive, and you know by now the pain that hope can bring.

“I’m so sorry,” you repeat, muffled. “If you never met me…”

You think back to sitting next to him in the police station waiting room. He wrote in your birthday on that form without hesitation. He didn’t even need to think about it. And you know now it’s because he’s doomed to remember that date forever.

“You don’t have to stay here,” you finally say. “You can go home. I get it. I get why you never wanted to talk to me.”

You let out a shaky sigh, regretting the years you spent trying to reconnect with him. You were unknowingly hurting him every time.

The guilt sitting on your heart is so heavy that you’re sure it’ll never leave you. While you thought he kept you at a distance because of grief, because of the role you played in reminding him, you realize that was only scratching the surface.

Rafe’s eyes are trained on you on the other side of the room, watching your body tremble.

“I’m staying,” he says resolutely. You turn to look at him from across the kitchen. His eyes gleam with tears.

“He was arrested,” you reply. “He can’t hurt me.”

Rafe studies you. You look how you did the night this all started, when you rushed to him, asking him to pretend to be your boyfriend.

“But you’re still scared,” he says.

“I think I’ll be scared for a while,” you admit. Ty is still out there. Even behind bars, he’s someone plotting to own you. You try to push past the fear for Rafe’s sake. “But he can’t hurt me.”

“I told you that I’m staying with you until your parents get back,” Rafe says.

You feel like you’re spiralling. You know he kept this from you for a noble reason, but the realization that he always blamed you feels like it’s chipping away at you by the second.

“It’s okay,” you say. “Your job is done. You don’t have to do this anymore.”

“Yes, I do,” Rafe counters. You grimace. He’s being so stubborn. The rack of guilt, shock, and confusion has your mind racing.

“Why did we do… what we did upstairs?” you ask. “Why did you say you felt something for me?”

Rafe exhales slowly. Kissing and touching you like that was euphoric. He wants that feeling, again and again, without the ugliness of your shared history following both of you.

“Because I do,” he answers honestly. You twist your lips in sadness.

“You do,” you say, “but you don’t want me in your life?”

Rafe’s quiet, his expression unreadable. Suddenly, you feel selfish and ashamed to be confronting him about this after he revealed something so painful.

“Forget it. I’m sorry,” you say. You toss the damp paper towel in the trash. “If you want to stay, you can. But if you want to go, I get it. I’ll be in my room.”

You start to tread out of the kitchen, a sniffling mess at this point. You feel worse than ever for pestering him with your questions after he opened up to you.

You’re sure you’ve both spent more time crying than smiling since you tumbled into each other’s lives again. Maybe it’s best for both of you to be nothing. It’s not what your heart wants, but being together seems to bring you both more pain than happiness.

You turn, figuring this may be your only chance to tell him how sorry you are. If tonight’s your last night together and you go back to being strangers after this, you need him to know.

“I know nothing I say or do can make it better, but I’m so sorry for everything you went through. And I’m so sorry I was the reason for it,” you say, meeting his gaze from across the room. “I never stopped missing you. But I get it. We don’t have to be friends or… be anything. We’ll go back to how it was. This time, I won’t keep bothering you.”

Rafe watches you leave. The weight in the pit of his stomach gets a million times heavier. He would do anything to take back telling you the truth.

You’re curled up in a ball under your blanket, your throat growing sore from crying. You tried to break this arrangement with Rafe off the day he told you that you were always going to remind him of what happened. You told him all you do is hurt each other.

But he pushed. He said he wanted to take care of you. You’re almost angry at him for not letting you end it then. But as painful as the truth he dropped on you tonight is, you’re glad you know.

You’d rather take the blame for him. You’d rather never have to wonder what he meant when he said you did do something wrong, but not on purpose.

But you are angry at him for kissing you. For touching you. It gave him another piece of your heart that you can never get back.

Rafe is still hunched over in the kitchen. He fucked up. You’re upstairs, devastated, because of him. Since this started, you’ve been so worried about bothering him. You said he tolerates you. And he put so much effort into making sure you didn’t feel like a burden, but he just undid it all.

The way you apologized was like you were saying sorry for existing. Whatever he had left of a heart had been wrung out. He needs a distraction. But you can’t give it to him, because it’s you he needs the distraction from.

You eventually get to a point where you can’t cry anymore. You’re numb. You spend every passing minute hoping Rafe will come into your room to try to convince you that you can make each other happy.

But he doesn’t. You fall asleep alone.

A loud bang wakes you up. Your instinct tells you it’s Ty. A few seconds later, consciousness gets a hold of you and you remember your phone call. He’s in police custody. He can’t be here.

You sit up in the dark. Another bang outside. It’s still raining but the noises aren’t rolls of thunder like a few nights ago.

Rafe didn’t leave. If he did, he would’ve needed you to disarm the security system. You check the time. It’s nearing three in the morning.

Another thud. At this point, you’re scared. You need to find him.

You’re already panting when you reach the guest room. You knock on the ajar door.

“Rafe?” you mumble.

To your relief, you hear his tired hmm? from the other side of the door.

“I keep hearing noises from outside,” you say. “I think someone might be out there.”

The bed squeaks with his weight shifting and a moment later, you hear the unmistakable sound of him pulling out and pushing in the magazine of his gun. It adds yet another layer of fear onto you.

“Where?” Rafe asks as he steps out of the room.

You guide him in the dark to the window by your bed. You watch him lean to look out the glass, the gun in his hand.

“It can’t be him, right?” you finally say with a thin voice.

Rafe’s jaw tightens. He doesn’t want to say what’s been turning in his head since you got the call from the lawyer. He didn’t want to scare you. But it’s exactly why he stayed.

“Rafe?” you say.

“Someone could’ve bailed him out,” he finally replies.

Your heart is in your throat. The stress of tonight made you completely forget about that possibility. If Ty got bail, of course his wealthy family would pay it. You feel stupid for urging Rafe to leave. And grateful that he didn’t.

“Well, if he - if he did, wouldn’t the police make sure he doesn’t try to get to me?” you ask.

“The police are idiots,” Rafe says flatly, still angry over how passively they treated you when you filed the restraining order, how thoughtless they were to not check your belongings.

“If he’s trying to get in,” you say shakily, “the alarm will go off. It automatically alerts the cops if it isn’t turned off within a minute. Please, if you… have to shoot, do it just to stop him. Don’t kill him.”

The thought of putting Rafe through watching someone else lose their life is too much for you.

He turns to look at you, barely making out your features in the moonlight shining into your room. How could possibly want to spare the life of someone so evil?

“He’s not worth it,” you say. “I don’t want it weighing on you for the rest of your life.”

Rafe looks at you in awe. Again, you put him first. In this moment, where you’re surely terrified, you’re worrying about him carrying the weight of taking someone’s life. Because he already carries that weight for his mother. And tonight, he put that weight on you, too.

“Okay,” he says. “But if he tries to hurt you, I don’t know how I’ll control myself.”

A deafening, chilling smash of glass echoes from downstairs. The shrill security alarm starts blaring. Your hand finds the crook of Rafe’s elbow as your entire body stiffens.

“Stay here,” Rafe says. “Don’t come out.”

“Be careful,” you stammer. “I’m calling 911 just to be sure.” You watch him leave as you grab your phone to report a break-in, giving the operator your address.

A few seconds later, the security system stops ringing. It’s been shut off. And you know it wasn’t Rafe who did it.

Rafe reaches the bottom of the stairs, gun pointed ahead in the dark. His eyes land on Ty, standing by the door, his hand on the security panel.

“Get the fuck out or I swear to God, I’ll shoot you,” Rafe threatens.

“I just want to talk to her,” he replies tersely.

“Get out,” Rafe repeats.

You can make out muffled conversation. You stand by your door, opening it an inch to hear what’s happening downstairs.

“Do you have any idea what I’ve been through for her? Where is she?”

It’s Ty. He actually did it. He actually found a way to get to you again. Rafe is the only thing keeping him from you right now. You feel like you could throw up from how scared you are.

“You have five seconds to leave,” Rafe says. Your ex sputters a laugh.

“Or what?” Ty reaches below the hem of his shirt. “You think you’re the only one with a gun?”

Your blood runs cold. Rafe is facing a maniac you’re sure wouldn’t hesitate to kill him. This could end in someone getting shot. Someone could die here tonight. And if it’s Rafe, you won’t be able to live with yourself.

It’s a crazy, desperate idea, but you’re confident you can manipulate Ty. You know him well. You know what he wants to hear. He’d do anything to think he can have you again. And you need to buy time before the police get here.

“Put it down,” Rafe warns.

“Is this gonna be a game of chicken?” Ty laughs again, his gun gleaming in his hand.

Your entire body is tense as you step out of your room.

“Ty?” you call out, slowly coming down the stairs. Rafe stiffens.

“I told you to not to come out,” Rafe says sternly, his eyes still on your ex.

“These are the lengths I have to go to for you, huh?” Ty calls up to you. “Just to get you to talk to me?”

It’s still dark in your home, both men just murky figures.

“I’m turning on the light,” you say, knowing that surprising Ty won’t do any good.

You reach the bottom of the staircase, standing behind Rafe, and flip the switch, washing the entrance of your home in bright lighting.

You have to stifle your gasp when you see Ty. His face is swollen from Rafe beating him up last night. His clothes are muddy from creeping around your home in the rain, finding a way in. He must have jumped the gate.

The realization that he knows the security code crashes into you. He’s surely seen you punch it in from his visits back when he was your boyfriend. You never thought he’d be committing it to memory.

This whole time, he knew it. Something you thought was protecting you wasn’t. You wish you’d thought to change the code after the break-up.

“Go back upstairs,” Rafe says, his teeth gritted.

You place a hand on Rafe’s back, out of Ty’s sight.

“Let’s talk,” you say to Ty. “Put the gun down and let’s talk.”

“You know the cops came to my house and arrested me in front of my parents?” Ty says, looking utterly unhinged. “Why the fuck did you do that to me?“

His gun is still aimed in your direction, but it’s a little lower in his shaky hand. You’re getting somewhere.

“I’m so sorry. I was scared,” you tell him.

“And you let this asshole,” Ty says, eyes darting to Rafe, “hurt me. You just fucking watched him punch me and punch me over and over and then you left. You left with him.”

“I’d do it again,” Rafe mutters. He sees pure red.

“Hey,” you whisper to him. You force your anxiety away, knowing you need to calm Ty down, not provoke him.

You drop your hand and walk past Rafe, who harshly says your name. His fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling you back. You look at him.

“Stop,” Rafe mutters to you, still holding out his gun at Ty. “Go upstairs. I’m handling this.”

“I won’t let you hurt him,” you say, loud for Ty to hear. “I don’t want you anymore.”

Rafe knows you’re trying to trick Ty to avoid anything horrible happening here tonight, but your words make everything in him twist in pain.

You pull away and approach Ty, your heart drumming against your chest. You meet his wide, frantic eyes.

“Hey,” you say softly, walking towards him. “You were right. He was just a rebound. You know me better than anybody.”

“You’re lying,” Ty mutters. But he’s lowering his gun. “You’re just a liar.”

“Ty,” you say, mustering up forced affection. You reach him, standing mere inches away. His gun is at his side now. The thought of him raising his hand again is petrifying.

“I was scared,” you continue, “but now I can see how much you care about me. It’s why I came downstairs. I heard your voice and I realized how much I miss you.”

“I just wanted to talk to you,” he says. “This whole time. And what’d you do? You got a new boyfriend. You called the cops. I - I love you. I gave you everything.”

His eyes are sharp. Poisonous. He genuinely thinks he’s done nothing wrong. To him, tracking you and taking photos of you and forcing contact with you was okay. He wants you as an object to possess. Not as a person.

“I know. Nobody can love me like you do,” you whisper, echoing the words he screamed at you when you broke up with him. “I love you. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize it. I’ve always been stupid, right?”

It’s taking everything in Rafe not to charge at Ty. If he makes one wrong move, he doesn’t think he can restrain himself from putting a bullet through his chest.

Rafe watches your hand drag down Ty’s arm and he grimaces, sure you’re rattled with fear.

“Can you put this down?” you ask, your hand stopping at his, cupping the gun. “I want you to hold me like you used to.”

“You do?” Ty says, his anger slowly disappearing from his face. Relief pools through you.

“Of course,” you reply. Your hand is shaking as you find the barrel of his gun, slowly pulling at it. “I need you. I make bad decisions when I’m not with you.”

“Yeah, you do,” Ty says, a desperate grin spreading on his face. “You finally fucking get it.”

You force a smile at him, breathing out slowly as you take the gun out of his grip.

Rafe watches with relief when he sees you holding Ty’s gun at your back.

It’s terrifying facing him, but at least there’s no gun pointed at Rafe right now. It dawns on you just how much you love him. You came down here simply to try to keep him safe. To keep him from having someone’s blood on his hands. You approached someone you’ve been running from. You put your own life in danger. Willingly.

You pull back, forcing another smile as you gaze up at Ty.

“We’re getting out of here,” Ty orders.

You look up at him, hoping he doesn’t see the fear in your eyes. There’s no way you’re going anywhere with him. You know you have a second, maybe two, to get away from him. And you can only hope it’s enough.

“Let me get my shoes,” you say, trying to laugh as if you’re excited, as if you’re endeared by him.

You move as fast as you can, kneeling to pick the gun up off the floor and rushing back towards Rafe.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Ty spits behind you.

Rafe has never been more relieved in his life than when you reach him, cowering behind him, Ty’s gun in your hands.

Maybe you should use it, but you can’t fathom trusting your aim when you’re shaking like this.

“You lying bitch!” Ty shouts, striding forward.

“One more step!” Rafe warns louder.

Ty doesn’t listen.

“Look away,” Rafe mutters to you. You curl up behind him, making yourself small, shutting your eyes.

The gunshot pierces the air, echoing through the foyer, making you quiver. You want to wake up. Because this has to be a nightmare. This can’t be real.

You hear Ty moaning in pain. Your eyes are still shut when sirens blare in the distance.

It’s a blur. People rush in. The door is left open, rain drumming on the pavement. You hear another hard thud and you realize you dropped the gun that was in your hands.

You feel Rafe turn and he’s saying something to you, but you can’t understand it. A shiny, yellow badge gleams in the light.

“…happened tonight?” a stranger asks.

“Can’t you do this another time?” Rafe mutters, irritated.

“We need a statement.” You realize the police officer is talking to you, a notepad in his hand. You meet his eyes.

“What?” you breathe.

Rafe looks down at you with furrowed brows, worried about you and pissed off that you’re being questioned.

“Can you tell me what happened tonight?” the cop says.

“Her ex broke in,” Rafe says. “He had a gun. You guys arrested him, then let him go. There’s your statement.”

The police officer sighs, keeping his eye on you.

“Have you been physically harmed?” the cops says.

You find the strength to shake your head no.

“Do you have somewhere else to sleep tonight?” he asks.

“Yes,” Rafe answers for you. “It’s better she’s not here in case you morons let him out again, right?”

The cop shakes his head in frustration, but seems to decide that not engaging with Rafe’s angry sarcasm is the better choice.

“We’ll be in touch, miss,” he says. He turns all his attention to Rafe. “Can you answer some questions?”

“Fine,” he mutters, then looks to you. “You wanna go pack?”

All you can hear is your own quick breathing as you pack an overnight bag. You’re trembling, dropping things, moving as if you’re going to be late for something.

Your house is a crime scene now. You still don’t know what happened with Ty. You couldn’t look.

It’s a few minutes past four a.m. when you reach Tannyhill. You and Rafe haven’t said anything to each other since the cops left.

The enormous house is dark and quiet as you trail him up the stairs. You know it’s irrational, but still, you fear Ty will pop out from behind a corner and try to finish the job.

Even after your harsh conversation earlier tonight, you hope Rafe will let you sleep in his bedroom. You stop in the upstairs hallway, unsure of what to do next, but his hand finds yours, leading you, making the decision for you.

Rafe’s bedsheets smells just like him, warm and strong and comforting. You’re turned on your side, your back to him, as he settles behind you.

Now that you’re lying down, you realize just how hard you’re shaking. Your body is still trying to catch up with your mind.

Rafe notices.

“It’s over,” he says, voice low. “You’re alright.”

You nod, exhaling once you feel his hand rest on your back. His fingers gently run back and forth between your shoulder blades. You find your words, finally.

“I know you had it under control,” you whisper, “but I couldn’t just sit in my room and do nothing. I was scared of him but I was more scared he’d hurt you and I knew I could trick him and I know you’re mad at me-”

“I’m not…” Rafe interrupts with a sigh. “I’m not mad at you.”

He’s mad at how unfair everything is. And at himself. He should have never told you they were in the car because of you. The conversation with you in your kitchen is another memory he knows will haunt him.

You nuzzle into Rafe’s pillow. He’s still slowly stroking your back, granting you a sense of safety.

“Listen, I won’t lie. I wish you never came downstairs,” he admits. It killed him seeing you face someone who’s been torturing you. “I didn’t know what he was gonna do. But you… you knew how to deal with him. I… Thank you. You didn’t have to do it for me.”

Your heart is still pounding. Of course you had to do it for him. You’d do anything for him.

“You’ve been looking out for me,” you say quietly. “I wanted to finally return the favor.”

Rafe chews on his lip. He’s pretty sure you take care of him more than he does you.

“What happened?” you ask. “Did you…”

“Got him in the leg,” Rafe says. “They arrested him. Again.” He would’ve killed him if you gave him your blessing to. He knows that for sure.

You nod. Your eyelids start to flutter shut. He keeps rubbing your back until he’s sure you’re asleep.

For once, you start your day next to Rafe. He didn’t leave you to wake up alone this time. He’s pressed up behind you, his arm draped over you, his hand over yours. You feel his chest rising and falling against your back.

The room is washed in orange sunlight. The clock on his nightstand tells you it’s almost noon.

You don’t know what to do from here. You promised Rafe that after this ended, you’d stop bothering him. And he didn’t tell you not to.

You look down at his hand on top of yours. Your eyes trail over his fingers, once again thinking about everything he’s done for you. He’s kept you safe, taken on responsibilities for you, given you pleasure.

Minutes later, Rafe shuffles behind you, slowly waking up. Once he realizes he’s holding you, he pulls away, clearing his throat.

You sit up and collect your bag before you go to his ensuite bathroom, not making eye contact. After texting a friend to ask if you can come over, you mentally rehearse what you’ll say to Rafe as you brush your teeth.

He’s sitting up in bed when you come out. He can see how tired you are, but you still manage to be so breathtakingly beautiful.

“Hi,” you say. You take a breath, standing over him, your bag at your chest. “There’s no way I can thank you enough. You saved my life. If I was home alone, he would’ve taken me somewhere and…”

You look down, knowing you shouldn’t spiral into the what if’s.

“After what I did to you, you still helped me,” you say, quieter now. “I know you think low of yourself, but you shouldn’t. Because of you, I’m alive right now.”

Rafe stares up at you, his hair tousled over his forehead. Only you can give him this feeling of pride in himself. This feeling that maybe he has a reason to exist other than getting wasted and taking out his anger in every way he can.

“It wasn’t all me,” he replies. “You’re tougher than you know.” You offer him a small, thankful smile.

“I’ll get Sarah to drive me to a friend’s,” you say. “And I’ll stay there until my parents get back tonight.”

You start to walk towards the door, but his words stop you.

“I never stopped missing you, either,” he says tensely, remembering your words from last night. “Just so you know.”

You look at him with doleful eyes. Rafe’s heart pounds faster when you drop your bag and approach him. You duck, pressing your cheek against his shoulder, hugging him.

He wraps his arms around you and closes his eyes until you pull back and take your warmth with you. You can both feel that this is goodbye.

You’re grateful not only because he kept you safe from Ty, but because he allowed this arrangement between you to end cordially. He opened up one last time, giving you the comfort of knowing that he still cared about you even after the accident he blames you for.

He missed you, too. It gives you a reprieve from the pain, even just for a second.

You have a long phone conversation with your lawyer when you arrive at your friend’s house. Ty’s back in custody. There’s no option for bail now. He’ll be incarcerated until the trial. Your original court date has been nullified, as a judge has granted you the permanent protective order given the circumstances.

You give your official police statement, emphasizing as many times as you can that Rafe acted in self-defence and protected you. When your lawyer confirms he isn’t being charged with anything, you’re more relieved than ever.

You’re in a haze when you finally see your parents again. Telling them everything feels like you’re recounting a horror movie.

Your home is still deemed a crime scene, so your parents book a hotel room. You’re lying in the firm, cold hotel bed when your phone buzzes with a text.

It’s from Rafe. It’s almost midnight and you saw him this morning, but it feels like it’s been weeks. You doing ok?

You reply: yes. my parents got back and we’re at a hotel. are you ok?

He doesn’t text back. You take that as a response in itself. Whatever you had is officially over.

The next afternoon, you can finally go home. The window Ty broke is repaired. You have an irrational fear of seeing his blood on the foyer floor when you walk back into your house, even after your parents confirmed with the cops that the scene has been cleaned up.

Rafe is trying to get used to the way life is now. It feels wrong not being around you. You’re all he thinks about. When he wakes up. As he goes to sleep.

He should have replied to your text. But how can he put into words just how not okay he is? He kept it under wraps for years, then opened up to you just to ruin things between you all over again.

It’s been almost a week since he’s seen you. Other Kooks are gossiping about what happened, spreading theories and lies. They know to quiet down when they realize Rafe is in earshot.

He’s not sure if people think you’re still together or not, but they seem to know better than to blabber about it when he’s around.

It’s Saturday night and people are scattered across the massive wraparound balcony facing the beach behind Tannyhill. Rafe’s preparing a line of coke, falling into his old escapist habits.

He misses you. He’s afraid things really are back to how they were. He wants to see you. He just needs to figure out how to make it happen.

It’s loud and crowded. You haven’t left your bedroom in days, but finally, you’ve stepped outside after your friends encouraged you to come to a party. It made it easier to accept the invite when you heard it was at Rafe’s house. You want to check on him, even if it’s from a distance.

You can feel people’s eyes on you when you enter the party. It’s uncomfortable, knowing your trauma is being gossiped about and picked apart.

Ty’s in jail, but sometimes that isn’t enough. You can’t get it out of your head, the way he looked when he broke in, frantic as he waved his gun around.

You’re gazing out at the setting sun as you stand on the balcony, slipping into your thoughts as your friends chatter around you.

You’re worried you’ll be afraid of your ex forever. The safest you’ve ever felt was with Rafe and that was temporary.

You instinctually look around for him. You don’t see him, but then there’s a break in the crowd, and you spot him sitting at a table, hunched over, ready to do a line.

It’s like nothing has changed. You see Rafe the way you’ve seen him throughout your adolescence, chasing a high and acting like you don’t exist. Even after everything that happened between you.

Rafe’s about to breathe in his first line of the night. Until his eyes meet yours. And then everything goes quiet.

His fear that things are how they were before is shattered. They can’t be. Because instead of looking away, he doesn’t want to tear his eyes off of you.

You think you’re giving something to him by giving him space, but you’re not. You’re taking happiness and peace and love away from him.

Your breath catches when you feel a rush of tears thickening in your throat. Your heart is broken from so many things, but it’s mostly from the role you played in breaking his.

You excuse yourself and rush into the house, hopeful nobody will see you cry. You’re not even sure where you’re going. You just know you want to be alone.

You end up in Rafe’s room, simply because it’s the only room in the house that gives you the level of comfort you’re craving. You gaze out of one of the windows as you try to calm yourself down.

You remember entering this house for the first time. His father and yours fell into conversation like old friends do and Rafe was at his mother’s side, just barely leaning on her, enough for comfort but not so much that he looked like he needed the crutch.

You kept glancing at each other while the adults talked and when he finally offered you a shy smile, you smiled back, and you don’t know if he felt it, too, but at that moment, you knew you were going to be friends.

You sit on his bed, hands on your knees as you breathe through the hurt.

The doorknob turns. Rafe flips on the light when he comes in, his eyes boring into you. You quickly wipe away your tears. He was the last person you expected to follow you.

“Hey,” he says, shutting the door. “What’s wrong?”

“Sorry,” you say. “I can go.”

“No,” Rafe says. “What is it?”

You can’t put him through the honest answer.

“Sucks how everyone’s talking about it,” you say. Truthfully, you couldn’t care less about the gossip.

Rafe squints for a moment, slowly making his way to you, settling on the bed an inch away from you, his cologne drifting in the air.

“Is that really it?” he asks. You nervously clasp your hands, looking down. He knows that’s not really it. You can see from the corner of his eye that he’s still watching you.

You don’t answer.

“I hate myself for telling you,” Rafe mumbles. You wince at his words.

“You shouldn’t. It’s better that I know.”

“It’s not.” Rafe anxiously rubs his forehead. “It sounded so fucking wrong when you said it’s your fault. When I heard you say it out loud, it…”

It turned everything inside out. All he’s been thinking about these past few days is how and when to tell you this.

“You know when you said maybe it was your fault he wouldn’t leave you alone?” he asks.

You think back to that night when you confessed how terrible your relationship with Ty had been. You had told Rafe it’s easier for you to take responsibility because then you’re not just a victim.

“I can’t let you blame yourself like that again,” Rafe says. “You were a kid.”

“You really don’t blame me?” you ask.

“I don’t.” His words take a weight off of your shoulders.

“You were a kid, too, Rafe. You can’t blame yourself, either,” you say softly. “And if anyone else does, they’re wrong.”

You can tell by the way he grimaces that he’s been made to feel guilty for it by someone else. His father. You have no doubt about it.

“It’s different,” Rafe mutters.

“It’s not,” you reply. “You’re just as innocent as I am.”

Rafe knew his mother well. He knows she spent her last moments worrying about him, regretting that she made the decision to leave the house with him. She was an amazing mother. He’s sure she died thinking she wasn’t.

“I didn’t tell her I loved her,” he says, voice starting to falter. “The last chance I had.”

Your chest tightens.

“You know how you always picked flowers for her on our way up to the house?” you say. “And how she was so happy every time you gave them to her?”

The memory makes the corners of Rafe’s lips turn up in a smile. He didn’t know you remembered that.

“You spent time getting her flowers just to make her day, over and over,” you say. “You don’t have to tell someone you love them for them to know. You showed her in a million ways. She knew. I promise.”

Rafe’s been living in an unforgiving cycle of hating the world, looking for blame, all to keep from accepting the truth that there was no sense to what happened. No reason. It just happened. And it left him in pieces.

Your words give him a quiet feeling of freedom that he hasn’t felt in a long time. The cycle is addictive and comfortable, but it keeps him moving in circles. Getting him nowhere.

Talking about his mother doesn’t hurt as bad this time. Because you brought up a good memory, and he doesn’t picture her in the car like he always does, but he sees her downstairs, pinching his cheek, smiling, putting wildflowers in a small vase.

Rafe’s eyes find yours again. All he can feel is a warm, stirring gratitude sinking into him. His lips part for a second before he can reach for the words.

“Thank you,” he says. “How’ve you been?”

“It’s hard,” you admit. “I keep thinking I’m going to run into him. We’re just waiting on the trial to start and I wish I knew what’s going to happen.”

Rafe takes a deep breath. He’s terrified of letting you hear how dark his thoughts get, but right now, he’s as sure as he can be that you’re the one person in the world who wouldn’t look at him with judgement.

“I wanted to kill him,” Rafe mutters. “I would right now if I had the chance.”

He looks at you, scared as he awaits your response. You tilt your head and gaze at him with sorrowful eyes.

“I think if someone was doing something like that to you,” you say, “I’d feel the same way.”

Rafe knew you cared about him, but to know you feel just as intensely for him as he does for you is a relief. He’s still not sure he deserves it.

“How have you been after everything?” you ask.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he says, his words rushed. “I keep wanting to text or call but I don’t know how to say it.”

“How to say what?”

“How much I regret it all,” he says. Rafe combs a hand through his hair, heeling forward, his elbows resting on his thighs. “Every single time you tried to talk to me, I was such a dick to you. I’m sorry.”

You’ve imagined him saying this, but you thought it’d always stay a daydream. As you think about everything he’s told you, about how uncontrollable his thoughts can be and how badly he needs distractions and how utterly lonely he’s been, you feel nothing but forgiveness for him.

“You know that photo I took down?” you say. He nods, picturing the image of the four of you on the beach. “What happened, happened to that little kid. I think he handled things the only way he knew how.”

Rafe sits straight, tears threatening to form. You never run out of compassion for him. You’ve always been here, reminding him he’s human and that it’s okay to hurt and to need help.

His eyes are on yours again, and this time, he’s looking at you like he did the night before he kissed you. It’s like life is returning to his features, a pink hue blooming across his cheeks.

He recalls your words from your last night together. But you don’t want me in your life?

“I want you in my life, alright?” he says. He ducks his head just a bit, looking at you with a mix of infatuation and nerves. “If you still want to be in it.”

Your lips quiver with an endeared frown as you gaze at the multifaceted, complex, passionate man sitting in front of you.

“I do,” you say. Because the past few weeks have been so stressful, all you want right now is clarity. “You mean as a friend?”

“No,” Rafe scoffs, a smile quirking on his face again. “No. If you want that, we’ll do that. But I want more. Please tell me I didn’t fuck this up.”

You gaze at him through your lashes, feeling like you might just melt at the soft way he’s looking at you and speaking to you.

“Believe me,” Rafe says, “that I’ll be different. For real, this time. I don’t…” He sighs. “I never want you feeling like you’re bothering me. It’s the opposite. Every minute I’m not with you is just… it’s hell.”

He licks his lips from nervousness. He doesn’t like that you haven’t said anything yet.

“What are you thinking?” he asks.

You smile at him, bringing your hand to his, feeling that his knuckles have completely healed now. This right here is the moment you think you might be able to let go of the fear and instability and pain that’s existed between you for so long.

“I want more, too,” you tell him. He looks at you with furrowed brows almost like he’s in pain, like waiting for this has actually been hurting him.

Rafe hopes his impatience to kiss you isn’t too much for you when he leans forward, laying his lips to yours, but you meet him with the same hunger.

He holds you, cupping your cheek, stroking your skin with his thumb as your lips weave together. His tongue runs against yours and you raise your hands, one resting on the crook of his neck while the other runs over his hair.

With a quiet moan of pure desire, Rafe kisses harder, moving even closer to you so that your eyelashes overlap.

He separates to close his lips on your neck, trailing hot, desperate kisses over your throat. Then, Rafe’s fingers rest on your hips, fingertips dipping under your shirt.

“Can I take this off?” he asks huskily.

“Yes,” you breathe.

The slowly burning flame between you has sparked into a wildfire now. You feel the fabric of your top slowly dragging up your body, making you dizzy.

Rafe watches in awe as he pulls your shirt off you, all of his senses going hot when he watches the way your chest is rising and falling, the way your bra looks pushed against your body. He dips to kiss your neck again as he holds you at your waist.

“Tell me if I’m going too fast,” he whispers, “or if I need to stop.”

“Don’t stop,” you whisper back. Your hand drags over his hard jaw to pull him up to your lips again. Rafe is intoxicated by this feeling, by the promise of pleasure, by the pure joy of being wanted.

Your lips quietly smack together as his fingers skim up the side of your body, over your shoulder, down the line of your bra strap, finally wandering over your chest.

He massages you gently, earning breathy moans from you. With eyes still shut, you find the top button of his shirt, pulling it out of its loop slowly.

Your kisses grow even more impatient as you unbutton his shirt, moving down his chest, finally reaching the bottom. Your fingers slip under his collar, pushing his shirt down his shoulders.

Once Rafe’s shirt is on the floor, he leans against you, gently guiding you onto your back on his soft bed, still kissing you. You run your hands down the firm curve of his back, making him shudder into your mouth.

His fingers dip under your bra strap, feeling desperate to see you. His forehead presses against yours as he pulls back.

“Is this okay?” he rasps.

You nod and your breath hitches when he pulls the strap down over your shoulder and dips to kiss where it sat. His groin already feels so tight that it hurts.

Slowly, he lowers to kiss the valley between your breasts, making your heart pound even harder. When he finally pulls down the cup of your bra, seeing you bare draws a stunned, sharp intake of breath from him.

You rake your hand through his hair when you feel his hot mouth on you. You moan softly and the sound of you revelling in the pleasure he’s giving you puts him in an even deeper daze.

Rafe cups your waist and drags his hands to your back. You arch to give him just enough space to unhook your bra, and once he has full access to your chest, you shut your eyes as his tongue and hands roam over you.

He leaves wet kisses all over your chest and comes back up to capture your lips again. His movements are languid as he rests his hand between your legs and suddenly, your clothes feel suffocating. You’ve never needed someone more.

Rafe drags his fingers over you, pressing in gentle circles. You spread your legs wide as he hovers over you, holding himself up on his elbow.

His eyes are on you, full of lust and want, imagining how you’ll taste if you let him go that far. He sinks to dip his fingers beneath the band at your hips, pulling the clothing down your legs, taking his time.

He settles over you again, putting his hand back where it was, and even though there’s still one more layer of fabric to strip, he can feel you so much better.

You whimper as he drags his fingers over you, and then he lowers again, his head between your legs.

You meet Rafe’s gaze when he kisses you right over your panties, and the intimacy, the pure vulnerability thickens the air even more.

“Can I?” he mumbles, his breath warm. You nod in desperation.

He slides the last piece of clothing you have on off of you, and when his eyes drink you in, his heart pounds loud in his ears.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, dipping to kiss your inner thighs before finally tasting you. You breathe out shakily as his tongue curls against you, as his hands hook around the tops of your thighs, resting on your hips.

Your whole body is hot and trembling as he kisses and sucks and licks, worshipping every bit of you.

Rafe can’t get enough of you. He just started and he already dreads the thought of stopping.

Your hands sit on his and he squeezes your fingers as he buries his face against you, holding both your hands, gazing up to see the bliss written in your pretty features.

He shifts to bring one of his hands where his mouth is, gliding over you, working both on you to bring you to a mind-blowing climax that leaves you moaning.

Rafe holds himself up over you again, kissing you, letting you taste yourself, as you eagerly unbutton his jeans. He helps you pull his pants down and when you grip him over his boxers, he nearly whimpers in need.

You stroke slowly, your hand wrapped around him, the other pushing against his bare chest to gently lead him to lie on his back.

You drag his boxers down, looking at him with pure arousal. His face is twisted in pleasure when you put your mouth on him, tasting him, taking him in completely.

He couldn’t take his eyes off you if he tried. You slowly pick up your pace and he knows if you go any longer, he won’t last.

“Can we…” he rasps. You’re trembling in anticipation, already knowing what he’s asking.

You shift higher, resting on your knees, your bare bodies pressed together as you kiss him.

You lower your hand, holding him, dipping against him to just barely meet each other. It’d take just one buck of your hips to feel him inside you.

“You sure?” he asks.

“Yes. Are you?”

“Yes,” he groans. “Go as slow as you need to.”

You nod, shuddering as you position yourself and slowly sink onto him. You moan in unison at the sensation of your bodies meeting this way.

When you finally take all of him in, you pause to revel in the feeling, breathing heavily, your cheeks brushing.

“I love you,” Rafe says, his deep voice weaved with awe.

You pull back to look at him, not sure if you heard him right. You take in the color of his eyes and the beauty of his edges and your heart has never felt like it was glowing until this very moment.

“I love you, too,” you half-whisper. He almost can’t come to grips with the fact that you said it back with such certainty. Like you have no doubt that he has a place in your heart.

You roll your hips, taking your time to adjust to him. His hands are at your waist as he enjoys the slow ecstasy of your warmth.

You hug him tightly as you slowly move up and down. Eventually, you can feel him tensing beneath you, and you want to give him the control to reach the pace he needs.

You lift off of him, kissing him before you shift onto your back. He doesn’t waste any time to settle over you, slowly pushing into you again.

You’ve always worn your heart on your sleeve for Rafe, while he’s kept his caged. He thought he didn’t even have one anymore. But you remind him that he does have this side of him, that it still exists, that he wants to give all of it you.

“I love you,” he rasps again. “I love you. I love you.”

Bliss overwhelms you as you tenderly kiss his forehead. He gently rocks forward and back, filling you perfectly as his thrusts slowly quicken.

“You’re everything to me,” he whispers into your ear. “I love you.”

“I love you,” you say, wrapping your legs around him. His breaths quicken as he moves faster, writhing over you into a climax that makes him groan.

Your bodies are glistening with sweat, your breaths heavy. Rafe’s weight doesn’t leave you as he collapses in pleasure.

“Is it okay if I stay like this?” he asks.

“Yes,” you breathe. His face is nuzzled into your neck, panting as he breathes you in, still inside you, living in this perfect moment with you.

Rafe has felt homesick since he can remember. Even within the walls of his own bedroom. But you and the feeling you give him are home. Safety with no exceptions, love with no conditions.

“What’d I do to deserve you?” he mumbles against your skin.

“Exist,” you say with a gentle laugh.

Rafe plants lazy kisses against your neck as you hold him, slowly coming back to reality. There’s a whole party happening in his house, but in his world, it’s only you and him.

When he gets up, he isn’t prepared for how empty he feels when he loses the feeling of you wrapped around him. You lie next to him, facing each other with tired smiles.

“How was it?” he asks. The question sends you into a fit of laughter.

“You heard me, right?” you say, almost embarrassed from the sounds you made.

Rafe smirks and moves even closer to you, kissing you as you both lie on his pillow. You rest your palm on his face, gently tapping at the deep dimple in his cheek with your finger.

“You should show these more often,” you say.

“What?”

“Your dimples.”

He laughs, thinking to himself that he’ll do anything you want him to if you’ll keep loving him. He’s drunk on the feeling of the simplicity of being with you. It’s easy and pure.

Rafe asks if you want to shower together, and soon, you’re in his ensuite, standing under hot water ebbing over your skin.

Every movement between you is a slow expression of love, your bodies curved together as you share kisses and hold each other.

At one point, he’s clinging onto you, his lips pressed on your shoulder, and you’re holding him like you did the night in your house when he finally opened up completely.

Rafe is overcome by every emotion he’s feeling and it’s the first time in years that he cries without urging himself to stop. Because you’re here and you know everything and you still don’t want to leave.

You hold each other in bed wearing nothing but towels. He asks you if you want to go back out to the party and is relieved when you tell him you don’t.

“I’m falling asleep,” you eventually say, your legs tangled with his as he holds you. “I should go home.”

“No,” he says. “Why? Stay. Sleep here.”

You text your parents that you’re sleeping over. You know they’ll assume you’re staying in Sarah’s room, since you’ve done it so many times.

After you put your phone on Rafe’s nightstand, you snuggle into him, your head resting on his shoulder. You yawn, getting goosebumps from the way his fingers trail up and down your arm.

“Need a distraction?” you ask.

“No,” Rafe replies tiredly. For once, his mind isn’t racing. The mix of chaos and calm he thought he felt with you is no longer a mix at all. It’s just calm. It’s just peace.

You wake up in Rafe’s arms, feeling his heartbeat against your cheek and his breaths on the top of your head. It feels unreal recounting last night, remembering the amount of times he told you he loves you.

You shift slowly to get out of bed, putting on your bra and underwear and slipping into his bathroom. He’s sitting up in bed when you come back out. His eyes immediately trail down your body, a smile growing on his face.

“What?” you ask.

“You’re just…” Rafe exhales, resting his arm out on the bed in a way to beckon you to come back. “Perfect.”

“You mean as a friend?” you joke. You settle back into bed on your knees as he chuckles.

“Fuck no,” he answers, making you laugh. “Do you have to leave?”

“I don’t,” you say. Your body warms when you see the relief on his face. Now that you’ve sealed the rift that lived between you for so long, you can see just how badly Rafe wants you around.

But it doesn’t feel like a dream anymore. This feels right. Like you were meant to be with him all along.

“Would you wanna go down to the water?” you ask.

He nods. It’s like your kids again; he’d go anywhere you want just to see you smile.

It’s a windy morning by the sea. The sun is covered by clouds as you sit on the private beach next to Rafe. He drapes an arm around you, rubbing your arm to keep you warm. He feels like now that he’s been given permission to touch you, he can’t stop.

“The hours we spent out here,” you mumble. Rafe gazes at your profile as you look out at the horizon.

The dark blue sea makes you think of all the possibilities, of everything to come. You turn to catch him staring.

“I didn’t…” Rafe gently shakes his head. He didn’t know this was possible. “You know how people say they can feel someone around them after they… after they die?”

You nod. He feels guilty as hell with what he’s about to say.

“I never did,” he admits. Your face drops in shock and sadness. You can’t imagine how lonely he’s felt. “But right now, it’s like… it’s like she’s about to call us up to eat. I can feel her here.”

You feel like your heart is whole and broken at the same time. You lean to kiss his cheek over and over, the waves crashing in the distance.

“I need to stop trying to forget her,” Rafe says sadly.

He glances down at the sand, and you can tell anxiety is starting to grip him. You take a deep breath before you speak.

“I think she’d understand why you did,” you say. “What do you think about getting her flowers?”

Blue eyes find yours. He hasn’t visited her grave in years. If he does today, he’ll need you with him.

“Yeah,” he says simply, dusting the sand off his jeans as he heads to the patch of grass by the boardwalk.

The cemetery is quiet and tranquil. You drove over on his motorcycle, holding onto him tighter than you needed to. Your shoes pad over the paved walkway, feeling more and more nervous as you approach where she rests.

The headstone isn’t as big as Rafe remembers, but he figures it’s because he was much smaller when he visited last. He starts to cry as soon as he sees the photo of her in the center of the plaque. He forgot that was there.

Tears burn your eyes when you watch him slowly drop to his knees, his hands splayed on the lush grass.

You read the epitaph over and over again. When love is eternal, life cannot die.

Rafe forgot that he was holding the flowers he picked and he realizes he broke some stems, but when he looks at her photo again, he puts the flowers right at the corner of the headstone, knowing she was always happy with any bouquet he gave her, no matter the condition.

You sink beside him, resting a hand on his back.

“Should I talk?” he stammers. “I don’t know what to do.”

“You do whatever feels right,” you reply.

“Can you talk?” he asks.

“Yes,” you say. You’ve been yearning to talk like this with him for years. “You know you have her smile?”

“Really?”

“Yes,” you say. “It’s one of the reasons I love seeing you happy.”

Rafe nods, a tear dripping off his chin. He needs you to keep talking.

“And I remember she was always winking at me,” you say. “I don’t know if you saw.”

“She did that because she knew I had a crush on you,” Rafe mumbles. You smile sadly, rubbing his back.

“I’m pretty sure she knew I had one on you, too,” you say. “She was so smart and so sweet. Everyone could see how much she loved being your mom.”

Rafe offers you a grateful smile.

“I miss her,” he says, his voice brittle.

“Me, too,” you reply. “I’m sorry. I can go back to the parking lot if you want?”

You’re offering to give him time alone here. And to his surprise, he nods. He can do this. You kiss his temple and give him the moment he needs.

Rafe is sitting in silence for a minute before he finds the words. He stares at her photo.

“I’m sorry I made you drive that night,” he mumbles. “I’m sorry I always got mad at you when you called me your baby. I just wanted to grow up and you told me to enjoy being young and you were right.”

He clears his throat.

“I’m sorry I dug myself into a hole and tried to forget you. But I think she’s right. You’d understand.”

He cracks a small smile, remembering when he first told his mom he liked you, how nervous and giddy he felt.

“Still want to marry her,” he says. He can hear the way she laughed when her ten-year-old son told her he hoped you’d be his wife one day, but he’d still want to live at home so he’d beg for you to move in. “She never left my side, mom. I gave her every reason to but I think she saw how much I was hurting.”

Rafe promises her he won’t let so much time pass before he visits again. And when he finds you standing by his bike, he holds you so tightly that he feels your heart beating against his.

Everything is different for him now. He hasn’t had the comfort of permanence in his life for a long time. He can’t believe you want him, even after you’ve seen the worst of him.

Rafe never takes his hands off of you. At every party, on every date, he always has to be touching you in some way to remind himself that he has you for real.

It takes a few tries, but he manages to quit coke. And eventually, he quits waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for you to decide he isn’t worth the effort.

He’s with you every step of the trial. The lawyer says Ty getting five years in prison is a win, but he thinks the only win would be a life sentence.

Eventually, the trauma loses its power over you. You feel safe. Not because your ex is locked up, but because Rafe is with you.

You stand by him for everything. Every breakdown he has, every time he sinks into his grief, every storm that reminds him of the worst night of his life. You never leave.

You love him for long enough that he finally believes if someone as amazing as you can see something in him, it must be there.

Epilogue

You didn’t ask for much for the wedding. One thing that you were sure about was that you wanted an event artist, someone to paint the day on a canvas to capture it in a unique way.

Rafe is happy to to along with it, but then again, he’s like that with everything when it comes to you. You could never ask too much from him. He’ll forever feel like he owes you for never giving up on him.

The banquet hall is massive and beautifully decorated, and you can hardly hear your own thoughts over the crowd’s chatter and elegant music. The day has been a whirlwind.

When the artist waves you over, you take Rafe’s hand.

“Want to see the painting?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he says, beaming at you simply because of how excited you are.

You had secretly asked the artist to include Anne in the painting. When your eyes land on the canvas, seeing her drawn in with everyone else who stood at the altar warms your heart.

You look up at Rafe, whose mouth is just slightly agape. He stares at his mother’s image, smiling behind him, then looks down, scratching the back of his neck and finding your hand before he leads you away.

“Just a second,” you say to the artist before you let Rafe take you to a dressing room past the hallway.

He shuts the door behind you, facing you with glossy eyes.

“Did I mess up?” you say worryingly. “I’m so sorry. I wanted to surprise you. I thought you’d like it.”

“Hey,” Rafe says softly, hands on your cheeks. “I love it. I just didn’t want to cry in front of everyone. I’ve been barely keeping it together today.”

You laugh in relief, tipping your chin so he’ll kiss you. His lips meet yours. You’re pretty sure your guests could tell he got teary-eyed when he watched you walk down the aisle, but you’ll spare him that detail.

Rafe finds relief from your touch, like always. His mom was here today. He felt it. He feels her all the time now. And you’re still a reminder, but in the best possible way, because you show him that he can remember the good parts. That he can feel love even after someone’s left. That he doesn’t need to carry guilt. That he can look forward to the future.

Apart from the second he became your husband, this is the best moment you’ve had today, because it’s just you two, just like it was when you were kids on the beach, enjoying each other’s company, never wanting to part.

(the end) (continuation blurbs)

author’s note thank you to everyone who stuck with this series 💘 ps did you know tumblr has a text block limit? learned that the hard way lmao. so i’m sorry that some paragraphs got long! hated to sacrifice my structure but had to do it to keep all 10k+ words in 😋

[imaginespazzi]

I Get You Forever

Hey baby, I think I wanna marry you

(In which this current writer would like to thank her past self for having written this months ago so she can still give her beloved readers something tonight)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Fluff

Words: 2.4K (I guess you could call it a drabble)

A/N: Happy Valentine's my lovelies <3 So the plan really was to write an actual Valentine's day fic but well life got in the way and time is not my friend. However, y'all still deserve a little Valentine's treat and so I figured I'd let this out of the vault even though it's not my favorite and it wasn't initially ever intended to leave my drafts. This can also technically be read as a part of eternity-verse if y'all would like. I hope y'all have had a wonderful love day!

Paige’s world changes on a bright and sunny Saturday afternoon, on a riverside court with all her favorite people in attendance. But really, nothing changes at all. Because at the end of the day, she’s still Paige Bueckers, basketball is still her life and she’s still hopelessly and utterly in love with Azzi Fudd. 

If there weren’t cameras videoing every second of it- Paige would lie and say that she hasn’t shed a single tear today. But her eyes have been watery from the minute she’d stepped into the wedding venue, fidgeting with the sleeves of her all white suit. It’s been years in the making, the Paige and Azzi story, even if the soon-to-be wife title still feels a little too mundane for their relationship. Because Azzi has always been more than a best friend or girlfriend or fiancé; she’s Paige’s everything. 

They’d decided to both walk down the aisle at the same time, meeting at the altar set up in the middle of the basketball court. In true Paige and Azzi fashion, the journey down the aisle is decorated with arrangements of pink lilies and purple hydrangeas, contrasted against the otherwise white and blue decór -an ode to UConn- of the rest of the wedding venue. The altar arch itself is canvassed with photos of them, milestones of every second they’d spent learning and loving each other. 

It had taken a fair amount of begging to get Geno Auriemma to say yes to marrying them. Well no, that’s not quite right. Paige had begged for ten minutes and then given the phone to Azzi who had immediately gotten their former coach to agree. Nobody could accuse the old man -who’s now standing right in front of the altar, a scroll in his hands- of not playing favorites. 

The tears from the rest of the day are nothing compared to when the music starts up and Paige finally sees Azzi on the other side of the court. The girl dressed in a simple white off the shoulder dress had been the prettiest girl Paige had ever seen at fifteen, and is still the most gorgeous woman in the world now. She smiles and Paige swears the sun would be jealous of the way Azzi lights up a room. And suddenly all the nerves are gone, everybody else disappears and it’s just Paige and her future. She’s been through a lot in her life, the epic highs, the tragic lows, the boring in between, and through all of it, there’s always been Azzi’s hand firmly grasped in her own, rubbing light patterns against her skin and promising everything gonna be just alright P. And it was. It always would be. As long as Paige gets to hold Azzi’s hand forever. 

It’s a miracle that Paige doesn’t trip on her way down the aisle with the way her eyesight is completely blurry from tears cascading down her face. Thank god for waterproof makeup. Azzi fares just a little bit better, tears brimming but not falling as she continues to smile at Paige, that smile that’s just for her. They’re a little overeager to hold hands by the time they finally meet in the middle and the entire crowd, filled with people who know their ways -know how desperate they are to always be with each other- just a little t00 well and have probably rolled their eyes at their antiques one too many times, laughs. 

“You-holy shit-,” Paige manages to bumble out, “you look really fucking beautiful.”

Azzi laughs, lightly squeezing Paige’s hands, “you don’t look too bad yourself Bueckers.”

“I look fantastic,” Paige scoffs, familiar arrogance intact as always. 

“You look gorgeous,” Azzi corrects and it’s enough to make Paige’s natural blush override the artificial pink that had been put on there by her makeup artist. 

They grin goofily at each other and Paige is just about to lean in for a kiss, forgetting her whereabouts when Coach coughs loudly. 

“You wouldn’t know it from the way these fools are behaving,” he begins and another round of laughter rings out through the crowd, “but we’re here today to marry these two idiots.”

“You’re only talking about Paige right Coach?”

“HEY.”

“Well you’re the one marrying her so you’ve got to be a bit of an idiot too,” Coach says pointedly, “now shut up and let me marry you.”

“Yes sir,” both Paige and Azzi say, sharing a commiserating grin between the two of them. 

“For those of you who don’t know me a) you should and b) my name’s Geno Auriemma and I am the poor Coach who had the misfortune of watching these two fuck up play after play. That is, when they weren’t being idiots on the bench because that’s where they spent half their UConn careers- oh we can laugh about that now,” he says with a smirk when the crowd chuckles, “but it was like the world was ending back then. But somehow these two still managed to keep a smile on their faces. And a part of that is a credit to their own characters, but a lot of it is because they had each other.”

Paige uses her thumb to write I love you against the back of Azzi’s hand as the other girl finally lets a tear fall from her eyes. 

“You know when Paige first told me she was gonna help recruit Azzi, I thought ‘like hell she is’. Except I forgot that if there’s one person more stubborn and persistent than me in this world, it’s probably Paige. And as I watched her recruit Azzi, I knew it was a done deal. And no, I’m not talking about Azzi’s commitment. I knew they were a done deal and I knew that this moment was not a if but a when. And I can’t lie, it took these dumbasses some time, way too much time if we’re being honest but-” the entire crowd nods in agreement as Paige and Azzi let out identically watery laughs, “they figured it out. When it comes to each other, they always figure it out.”

And then Coach’s face morphs into something serious, the amused smile on his face turning into a more sincere one, “I have watched a lot of wonderful things happen at UConn. I have watched my players chase perfection on and off the court and I’ve always said that the thing about perfection is that it’s unattainable. Well unless you’re UConn, then a perfect season is pretty easy. That’s one exception. And the other exception,” he smiles at his former star players, “is Paige and Azzi. I have never met two people more perfect for each other and I am so incredibly honored to be the one to marry them today.”

“Damn Coach,” Paige teases, still sniffling, “you getting soft on us?”

“Shut up and say your damn vows Bueckers,” Coach snaps but there’s no denying the proud smile on his face or the slight tremble in his voice. 

Paige smiles nervously, anchored only by the way Azzi’s tracing a pattern on her palms. She’d written and deleted and then re-written them multiple times; no word, no sentence seemed to convey just how much she loved the woman in front of us. 

“Everybody knows that I don’t really shut up,” she begins, eliciting giggles from her enamored audience, “but today I really am at a loss for words. And that’s okay. Because Azzi, you’ve always known how to listen for the words I’ve never been able to say out loud- ah shit-” she curses as the avalanche of tears hits immediately, “excuse me- the first thing I noticed about Azzi was how perfect her three pointer was. And then I quickly realized that actually, there wasn’t a thing about Azzi that wasn’t perfect. Well except for her cooking but that’s okay baby, thankfully we can afford a chef,” that earns her a little nudge in the stomach- “y’all see how she bullies me?-” and another, “okay okay aight I’m sorry.”

Paige sucks in a deep breath before she starts to speak again. 

“Before I met you Az, I used to feel so fucking heavy all the time. And I didn’t even realize that not feeling that way was a possibility until our trip home from Argentina. I didn’t know that I could feel all light and floaty inside, I didn’t know that I could feel free,” Paige chokes up at the last word, “baby you have taught me so many things, but more than anything you’ve taught me the meaning of the word unconditional. You’ve taught me how to love unconditionally and you’ve taught me how to be loved unconditionally. I don’t know if there’s a word invented yet for just how secure you make me feel but I wake up every damn day knowing without a doubt that however my day goes, it’ll always be you and me at the end,” Paige takes in another shaky breath, “I am a lot of things. A basketball player, a teammate, a daughter, a sister, a friend, the ultimate rizzler,” she winks at the crowd before looking at the love of her life, “but more than anything, baby I am yours. Your best friend, your soulmate, your ride or die and soon I’ll be your wife. All yours. Only yours. I have been since the moment I met you and if you’ll deal with me for that long, then till the day I die. I’m yours Azzi. And every day, I’m glad that you choose to be mine.”

The crowd is clapping and from her peripheral vision, Paige can tell that both sets of parents are in tears. Hell, there’s barely a dry eye in the audience. But all Paige really cares about is the woman in front of her, the woman who still looks at her like she wants to memorize every little bit of her, the woman who’s mouthing i love you through her tears and Paige knows she means it, knows beyond a doubt that she’ll always mean it. 

“Did I do good?” the blonde can’t help but smirk. 

Azzi laughs waterily, “fuck off Bueckers, you know you did good.”

“You gonna beat me?”

Azzi doesn’t answer, shaking her head fondly as their family and fans begin to calm down in anticipation of the other bride’s speech. 

“When I first met Paige,” Azzi begins, a smirk playing on her lips, “my first thought was that there’s no way this white girl’s gonna be any good at playing basketball. I quickly realized I was wrong. When I first kissed Paige, I thought, there’s no way this white girl’s gonna be my forever-”

“Hey-”

“As y’all can tell, I was wrong that time too. It’s a good thing that I’m not the one making these decisions about love and life. First of all because I can’t make a decision for shit as we all know. And second of all because I think God knew. He knew there was never gonna be anyone who could protect me harder, hold me tighter or love me any more than you do,” Azzi’s voice cracks, and Paige instinctively reaches out to wipe away her tears, “unlike Paige. I don’t really like to talk that much,” the audience laughs, “but I like to talk to Paige. My favorite part of my day is when I get to talk to her. Not because I’m dying to say something but because I like the way she looks at me when I talk, like she’s memorizing every sentence I say, like every word out my mouth is the most important one she’ll ever hear. Baby,” she smiles at Paige, “you make me feel seen. I like to hide from the spotlight but I never, ever want to hide from you.”

Azzi pauses, letting out a breath as she tightens her grip on Paige’s hand. 

“I was a big disney kid but despite that, I was always a bit of a skeptic. I wasn't really the kind of person who believed in fairytales or magic or all of that. But you- you turned me into a believer and the thing I believe in the most is you. Paige Bueckers you are my magic, you are my fairytale and you are my happily ever after,” Azzi presses a kiss to Paige’s knuckles, “I’m not much of a talker but every damn day I thank fourteen year old me for getting over her nerves and talking to you on that plane even if she didn’t know that, that white girl was gonna change her life then,” she swallows back her tears, “because you did. And now there’s one thing in my life that will never change, and that’s you. You are my constant, my anchor. Paige Madison Bueckers you are my whole world. and you always will be.”

And Paige knows there are traditions, but that doesn’t stop her from pulling Azzi into a kiss that she hopes encapsulates everything she’s feeling. They’ve never been one for rules anyways. 

“If the two of you are done,” Coach says slyly as they break apart, “can we do the rings?”

Paige and Azzi nod as Drew brings them two silver wedding bands, each engraved on the inside with the other’s name. They giddily repeat the with this ring I thee wed statements, delicately placing the rings on each other’s fingers. 

“Do you, Paige Madison Bueckers take this-”

“I do,” Paige says hurriedly, earning her a bunch of chuckles. 

“This is why Azzi’s my favorite. She’ll let me finish,” Coach says with a sigh before turning to the brunette, “do you Azzi Jazlyn Fudd, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife.”

“Yeah, yeah I do.”

“You may now-”

They don’t wait for Coach to finish the sentences, both of them surging forward at the same time, eager to finally kiss each other as wives. And it isn’t that different from when they were best friends or girlfriends or fiancés. They’re still Paige and Azzi and they’re still completely and utterly in love with each other. From now, and until eternity.

“So who won the vows?” Paige whispers against Azzi’s lip, her wife’s lip. 

Azzi smiles, pressing their foreheads together,  “I won, because I get you forever now.”

“And I get you forever.”

[euon111a]

SmokeStack Blues: Another Alphabet

summary: the other half of the Smokestack abc’s

warnings: again, obvious NSFW themes, relatively tame

notes: so I made this version significantly shorter compared to the stack alphabet, I was a little extra for the other one, so I tried to keep this version within like two paragraphs. all of my work so far is in second pov for afab, so this is too. this also isn’t proofread, and i actually hate this but i kinda had to have this part out, so let’s pretend it doesn’t exist.

A is for Aftercare:

Elijah is big with aftercare, he’s awfully quiet when he’s taking care of you, sometimes won’t even speak until he’s regained his breathing and you’ve stopped panting.

He likes the silence, not that uncomfortable kind but the peaceful kind. He’ll keep one arm wrapped around you, running his fingers up and down your arm, tracing small patterns before the silence gets too loud. He’ll fetch you anything you’ll need without you having to ask; get you a glass of water, draw you a warm bath, fetch you a blanket. Anything you can think of, he’ll make sure he’s gotten on top of. He’ll never leave your side, make sure you’re scrubbed clean and taken care of before finally saying something. “You feel alright, mama? D’you want more bubbles?”

B is for Body:

He secretly likes every part of you, and it shows. He can’t choose one part that he favors the most, but he loves you from top to bottom.

He loves your thighs. He loves the way they look, the way they feel, and the way they’ll rest against his shoulders when he’s eating you out. He likes grabbing them, squeezing them, kissing the inside of your thighs when he’s in between them. He likes the way they quiver and tremble against him when he’s stroking deep into you.

He likes his hands the most out of his body. It’s a basic answer, but he likes being able to touch you, being able to feel the softness of your skin against the callous of his hands. Likes the feeling of those fancy bedsheets you got, likes the feeling of silk against his hands, and especially likes the feeling of your hands in his. It’s a nice contrast.

C is for Cum:

He gets off on using your thighs in a way that's all about pushing boundaries. For him, they're a tool to use when it’s late at night. He loves the way the warm skin feels against him, likes watching the way they engulf his dick.

He’s softer when he’s sliding his cock up and down the slick skin, relishing the way your thighs would squeeze and massage his dick. Maybe it’s the filthiness of it, the sight of it, the feel of it, but it always gets him gripping onto your hips, grunting and letting out labored breaths.

D is for Dirty:

He hates pulling out. Doesn’t like it. Once he got that confirmation that he didn’t have to pull out anymore, he was quick to fuck into you and let himself cum deep.

He loves nothing more than to see his cum leaking outta you. The sight of it dripping down sets something off in him. Likes the look of when you clench around nothing after he’s pulled out just to have his cum seeping out.

He loves to scoop up the mess with his fingers, and offer it to you. Watches you with a little groan when you lick his fingers clean, immediately leaning in for a kiss.

E is for Experience:

He’s the image of experience. He knows your likes, your dislikes, your comforts, what makes you tick, that spot that makes your eyes roll back.

He’s good at reading your body language. Has this talent of knowing where to keep fucking into, of where to keep pressing and kissing against. Uses those telltale signs; the way you’d clench around him, that change in your expression, the shaky breathing. “Mmm, I know, I know, taking me so well.”

F is for Favorite position:

He needs some variation, doesn’t like the idea of always having you on your back or always having you on all fours. Wants to do what’ll make you feel good, no matter what.

Reverse cowgirl: Likes the feeling of resting his hands against your stomach to pull you closer, gives him a better feel of your breasts, and a better view of your ass moving. Plus it’s easier for him to pull you back and rock his hips up against yours.

Spooning: Loves cuddling you from behind, kissing your shoulder as he’s got one hand beneath your thigh, gently spreading your legs apart just enough to sloppily fuck into you.

Doggy style: Likes the opportunity of pinning you down against the mattress, guiding your hips back against him as he rocks himself into you. Gives him a better reach of your clit, to see the way you wrap and clench around him.

G is for Goofy:

When he’s in there, he’s focused. Views being with you during intimate situations serious and passionate, and strides away from humor, but he will be playful if he feels like it.

He’s got this natural, almost instinctive dominance to him, and it bleeds through to how he is in bed. He tells you how it is, openly and honestly. He’ll be honest about what he wants, what he needs, and what he craves. Sometimes, he’ll make a teasing comment on how worked up and wet you are or some mocking/playful joke on how loud you are; “Look at you, leaking like a faucet,” or “Shhh, gonna scream your throat raw.”

H is for Hair:

He’s got this (almost) obsessive attention to detail and that goes with his looks. Safe to assume that he would be well-groomed and put-together in all aspects. Including his intimate areas.

His hair is tidy, well-kept and always groomed. He doesn’t shave, doesn’t like the feeling, but he’s thoroughly trimmed. He doesn’t let himself get too wild down there, strives for cleanliness.

I is for Intimacy:

He needs eye contact when he’s alone with you, even if it’s just for two seconds, cause Lord knows you get all shy about it. He likes that connection there, being able to see and feel you, and eye contact is that first step.

He likes watching every flicker of emotion and feeling on your face, those subtle shifts in your eyes. He’s got his hands and his lips all over you, rubbing the sides of your ribs, kissing you soft and messy. “So fucking gorgeous, so so pretty.” He’s especially selfless, prioritizes you over him all the time, especially when it comes to your pleasure. He’s watching you, kissing you, holding you, adjusting his thrusts to be slower and faster just from the look on your face.

J is for Jack off:

He’s only ever jerked off by himself a few times; when he was away, and when it’s too late at night and you’re already sleeping. Hates doing it without you watching, doesn’t give him that same satisfaction, but he’s not a very patient person when it comes to masturbating.

He’s not sure what it is about having you watch that makes it so much easier, feels better than hiding off in some bathroom to fuck into his fist when all he’s thinking about is you. He likes the encouragement from you, the feeling of your hands on his knees, that look in your eyes. “Keep looking—keep them pretty eyes on me.”

K is for Kink:

He’s relatively tame, isn’t too vanilla but isn’t too much of a freak to put you off. He finds that perfect balance between being safe and being reckless.

Sensory deprivation: He fucking loves it, both giving and receiving. He likes the way you’ll lean forward when he’s got your eyes covered by some makeshift blindfold, the way you’ll call out for him when he takes too long to touch you. He gets impatient when you do it, says up and down that he hates it, but he’s literally leaking through his pants. “Baby, c’mon now, stop teasing and sit on my face.”

Breath play: Now he’s gentle with it, won’t be too hard, won’t hold his hand around your throat for too long or press too heavy. He won’t risk that. He loves sliding his hand around your throat and squeezing right in the middle of a moan, just to hear the way the moan would trail off into this whiny gasp. But then he’d kiss the shock away, tonguing your neck all slowly.

Messy sex & kissing: Messy kissing is something he can never get enough of. Makes things feel more raw and hungry when it’s all tongue and breathless sighs against each other. Face fucking, sloppy blow jobs, messy hair and creampies are something he’ll go all out for.

L is for Location:

He prefers somewhere secluded, and private. Wants to make sure you feel respected but somewhere different enough that it feels new. The three B’s are important to him.

Balcony: He’s extra fucking careful when he’s got you against the railings, doesn’t want you to get scratched up by the material. He’s thrusting all too slow, all too deep and all too rough, rubbing small circles against your clit. He’d pull out if you get too loud, gently resting his hand over your mouth just to slide into you again. “C’mon mama, gotta be quiet this time.”

Bathtub: The water always made it easier for you to rub up against his dick, coating it in the fragrant, bubbly suds and the slick of you. He’d guide you with a gentle lift of his hips, resting his hand on your back as you grind yourself back and forth on his lap. He was quicker to guide his dick into you, slipping in and out with each wave of the steamy water.

Bedroom: It’s the choice. Wants you to be comfortable, and relaxed. Fully exposed to him when you’re lying on your back. He’ll bear hug you, kissing and biting at your neck, gently wiping damp strands of hair from your face. If he’s not bucking up into you when you’re both in bed, then he’s doing it when you’re bent over the kitchen counter, guiding you down to ride him when he’s laying down on the couch or fisting your hair and fucking your face in the hallway.

M is for Motivation:

Literally everything about you. The way you look, the way you speak, the way you walk, the way you smell. He likes that emotion there, the way you match him so perfectly, the way you say what you want, how you feel.

He loves the passion, likes seeing your eyebrows come together when you’re annoyed, likes when you’d get angry and ignore him just to have him apologizing with his head between your legs. Liked feeling the way you arch up into his hand when he’s feeling all up on you, likes the way you’d scratch at his back when he’s rough, loved when you’d get all teary eyed from over stimulation just so he can kiss them away.

N is for No:

He loves you with all his soul, and he’d never put you in a position where you questioned that, where you were uncomfortable and felt uneasy in any way.

He’d never hurt you, physically, emotionally, mentally. He’d do his best to keep you happy, to make sure your needs and wants were always fulfilled. He’d never force any ideas or thoughts on you, would need for you to be comfortable, for some verbal communication before doing things. He’d want you to feel safe and for there to be mutual understanding.

Now since he’s direct, and open with whatever he wants, he’d want the same thing. He doesn’t like the whole second guessing bullshit, he needs you to know what you want and what you need.

O is for Oral:

He’s a sloppy eater. Doesn’t care about the mess, just likes the feel of your thighs tryna clench shut and the grip of your hands on his shoulders and tugging at his hair.

He might start off slow, soft licks, gentle kisses, slight sucks, but the more you squirm the further things progress. He’ll let you buck your hips down against his mouth if you’re sitting on his face, lets you wiggle all you want when he’s in between your legs. He’s got his entire attention on you solely, watching your face, resting one hand on the side of your thigh as the other gently runs up along the slick mess you’ve both made just to press another sloppy kiss on your clit.

He’s a groaner when you’ve got him in your mouth. He’s got his head hung back against the head of the couch, one hand firmly rested against the back of your head as the other is clutching onto the couch cushions to keep himself from fucking your throat. “Jus’ like that, baby,” he’ll get a bit sensitive, buck his hips up against your face, sucking in heavy breaths, tangling his hand into your hair to guide you further down his dick. “Don’t be shy, go’n—fuck—goood girl.”

P is for Pace:

He craves that slow sexual intimacy. Wants to spend as much time as possible strictly feeling you, soaking in the feeling of your lips on his, the warmth of your body under his hands. He likes to keep building that energy and that need until he’s decided of how hard he’s gonna be.

He’ll like it rough and long, he’ll slow down a bit, just to prolong the moment. When he wants to savor and draw out every moment of the intimacy, he’ll take a slower, more sensual approach, massaging your skin, kissing your face, working away any tension. When he’s fucking you, he’ll thrust deep and hard, grabbing your thighs to bring them around his hips to give him a better angle.

Q is for Quickie:

He sees quickies as a something for immediate relief, something needed when he’s real wound up and doesn’t want to take the time like he usually does. Helps him get rid of stress, that momentary annoyance and the pent up frustration of life.

He had you bent over the counter, resting his hand on the side of your face to keep you from leaning too closely to the cold counter. He wasn’t sure what he was angry at, not sure it even mattered now with the way you was clenching around him. He was quick with it, kissing the back of your head and reaching down to rub your clit as he bucked messy into you.

R is for Risk:

He’s open minded to exploring, but it’d have to be talked about or something that he knows would make you comfortable not uncomfortable.

He’s probably always down for new things just for some change and to avoid the same things. He won’t do anything crazy that would hurt you in any way. Maybe a few new sex toys or stuff to bind you up, but nothing outside of that.

S is for Stamina:

He’s good at pacing himself and paying attention to your needs, desires, and comfort. But he also recovers very quickly.

At his best, he can go 5 rounds of 25 before needing a more substantial break, which only depends on his mood, your preferences and your comfort. He’s never once gone over 5, but certain times he’ll make certain rounds longer than the others, whether for your or his pleasure.

T is for Toys:

He’s open minded to them, but he’s probably only exploring or owning them specifically for you.

He’ll look for things like restraints, blindfolds, or spanking toys. He’s got a clit vibrator to stimulate you better if he’s fingering you, maybe one of those dual sided ones just so he can see how it feels.

U is for Unfair:

He loves teasing, like when you do it and especially likes your reaction to when he teases you.

He loves to use suggestive language and dirty talk, and he loves that you don’t shy away from it. He likes to play, and likes to purposefully draw things out just to build it up. He’ll start with slow, sensual touches before speeding up and then completely stopping just to hear you get all riled up.

V is for Volume:

He’s never quiet, he’s extremely vocal. If he’s not grunting or cursing under his breath, he’s talking to you, praising you or telling you how good you’re being.

He’s a panter. They’re often interrupted by his own groans when he’s in you, letting out low gasps and drawn out groans when he’s leaning against you. He’s louder when he’s about to cum, grunting and groaning all breathlessly; “Mmmffuck”, “Ohh shit”.

W is for Wildcard:

If he gets too focused, he’ll get real quiet and completely tune out everything and everyone around him. He’s laser focused on whatever task it is and won’t snap out of the trance until he’s finished it.

Sometimes he’ll tap his fingers on the surface of a counter if he’s out, or he’ll tap the side of his hip when he’s focused. His eyebrows will be furrowed together in a way that makes him intimidating but not unapproachable. He’ll hum to himself like he’s agreeing or disagreeing with whatever thoughts he’s got going on in his head, and he hates to be interrupted when he’s in the middle of it.

X is for X-ray:

He’s more muscular than his brother. He’s got it where he needs it. He likes the look, he needed the build when he was a soldier, and after he left he kept his build by working out more often.

His skin is tan and coarse from all his time outside. His skin is smooth and relatively hairless, save for a trail of fine, dark hair that runs down his abdomen and disappears beneath his waistband. His dick is a little more thick than it is long, has a vein on the left side that shows even when he’s soft. His tip’s a deep caramel, but the slit reaches a red color when he’s overstimulated. He’s a grower, reaching about 8 when he’s hard, with a little upward left curve to it.

Y is for Yearning:

He needs you. Needs everything about you. He’s not shy about his reactions, how he responds, how he’s open with how he is towards you. He’ll always come to you and ask you first about your availability and willingness.

He has a deep appreciation for the full spectrum of intimate acts, kissing, caressing, teasing, and touch. He sees these acts as essential components of sex, and uses them to his advantage. He is always thinking of new ways to surprise, and satisfy you. Because he is willing to discuss his needs with you, he wants to ensure that you can do the same, that you’re on the same page and both enjoying things, not just the sex. “This pussy was made for me, ain’t that right, baby?”

Z is for Zzz:

He's a restless sleeper at the best of times, so he likes to stay up and just talk. He says he’s not much of a cuddler, but he’ll keep you close to him either way.

He’ll wait for you to yawn or for you to lay on your side before mentioning sleep. He takes great pleasure in savoring the afterglow. He’ll stroke your hair, gently tracing the curves of your face and body with his fingertips, committing every detail to memory. Once you’re asleep, he’ll shift into a more comfortable position, either spooning you or pulling you in close so that your back is pressed against his chest. Ensuring that you’ll remain close and safe in his embrace as you sleep, he’ll finally close his eyes (and attempt to fall asleep).

[rinnstars]

good luck charm!

things they do before a (winning) match

bllk boys x reader (reo, rin, sae): fluff, drabbles, pro!player, not proofread + likes n reblogs are appreciated!

reo mikage:

reo’s always thought of superstitions stupid: the way his parents ask fortune tellers about specific dates and time for certain events from business investment to even when to host meetings, the way his friends would follow superstitions told by their parents from crossing their fingers before receiving their results to avoiding cracks at the pathways in school, the way he recluntantly follow them because its “tradition”. but maybe he’s no different from them, he thinks. its the big match: one that will decide whether he’ll prove his father wrong - the world cup finale. he’s anxious: his hands are all sweaty and shaky as he puts down his water bottle, water still dripping from it from the mouth of it, his heart is beating the fastest its ever had as though he’s about to have a heart attack, and his mind is hazy with self-deprecating thoughts that practically chain him to the seats. he closes his eyes and tries to slow his breathing, he has only a few more minutes left before he has to get on field, a few more minutes before he either makes it and becomes a professional footballer or break it and be enchained to his family company for the rest of his life.

superstition. good luck charms. reo’s getting desperate, he’ll take whatever at this point. whether its removing that polaroid of you from the back of his phone to trace with his shaky fingers and press his lips against, or placing the cold matching necklace with you against his palm to cool his nerve down to focus onto the freezing sensation over the beating o his heart, or even taking your spare candies from his bag to chew on one or two. and he’ll let the sweetness burst in his mouth: ignore the drying of his mouth as he walks out on field, ignore shakiness of his entire being, ignore his heart failing him.

and when reo kicks the last goal, his eyes instantly search for yours in the crowd of people, recognising you within a few seconds amongst the millions cheering. and he thinks: you might just be his guardian angel, after all its with you that hes able to win. and perhaps, that cold necklace might calm him down more if it was a ring on his fingers, he gets real fidgetive before a match after all.

itoshi rin

in contrast to what others think, rin’s a nervous wreck before a match, especially one where hes now competing against his brother: no longer part of blue lock, but in a team, on the global stage. hes insecure, he knows he’ll never compare to sae, hes aware of that since he was a little kid he thinks by the countless of golden awards that people credit sae for rather him, countless of opportunities only given to sae and never to him. and his usual routine is thrown out of the window: he cant just rely on just motivsting himself to perform by thinking of those burning feelings im his chest, cant just rely on pure instincts he thinks as his legs turn into jelly, cant rely on himself solely. its not the first time either he feels like this: in his first match thst he won the night sae came back home for the first time, in his match at blue lock against u20 japan team, and now in his match against real madrid in the world cup finale. proving sae wrong: thats what hes been working on for the entirety of his teensge life, but for once, hes not so certain anymore. rin feels like a little kid, he feels lost, and he could run away: the door has always been open, and its not as though sae hasnt cursed him to this.

and rin’s spiralling again, the ring of his braclet that he bought with you the day before he first ever entered blue lock brings him back to reality: sitting on the bench in the locker room all alone when his other teammates are all chatting amongst themself a little further away from him. rin should go soon, he looks up at the clock, a few more minutes before showtime. and as always, like clockwork, he opens his phone and plays his favourite voice memo: one where you simply wish him good luck, telling him you believe he’ll win in that same cheery tune that he misses.

and when rin kicks the final goal, the world stops. silence, before the chant of the crowd overwhelms his ears and his teammate throw him on his shoulders: he made it. and yet, for the first time, instead of looking at his brother for validation, for his praise, for his reassurance: he finds you in the crowd and all he can think is now hoping you can rerecord that good luck message, maybe a video this time. after all, if your voice recording can help him to score two goals, he might just ace his next match with a personalised video from you: but for now, he’ll dedicate this win to you with a kiss to yours and his necklace.

itoshi sae

its just another match for sae: and yet he feels totally drained out compared to usual. no doubt, he’s lost his spark and passion that he used to hold on to tightly when he was a teenager, and he’s been playing simply for the sake of it. and maybe its tthe back to back matches that weighs him down like stones, or maybe its homesickness, missing everything he wants to chase back now that hes all grown, or maybe its simply the usual nervousness before a match. deep down, depsite his ambitions, hes insecure: hes no genius, he knows, it was a bitter revelation he finds out when he leaves, crying silently in the bathroom with no one around him but geniuses, and maybe it lingers in him: that hes never truly accepted his mediocrity. yet, he knows every and any match matters: he should get up now, join his teammates in those cheers, or at least get himself ready for the match starting in a few minutes instead of wallowing in his own misery, hogging the seats in the locker room. hes got all his usual routine done too: wearing the socks you bought him when he first came back from spain, stretched the way he was taught to, drank the water he needed to in the cute little water bottle he matches with you — but hes still missing something.

sae thinks its silly, he only does this ritual whenever its a big match, and this match is nothing special. logically, the opponents are much weaker and even at his current state, he’ll likely win them still. but he supposes he can indulge a little, after all its almost 6 months since hes seen you: with the season having started at the start of your internship. a minute before the match begins, and he hurriedly presses yours and his promise necklace onto his forehead as though a prayer and he walks with his teammates onto the field.

and when sae assists in the final goal, he smiles unconsciously in contrast to his usual self: he wonders if youre watching and he knows the answer when he opens his phone and sees you send a photo of news article speculating of his and yours promise necklace debut to the football world. he looks at the date, one more week, one more match until he gets to see you again — he cant wait already, but maybe while hes here in spain, maybe he should get you something special.

[thewinter-eden]

You Live Like This? - PT IV

Series master list PART 2 INFO

pairing: Bang Chan x fem!reader rating: mature, dark themes summary: home invader!Chris makes good on his promise to rob your ex to avenge your painful breakup, only to find that you're already there trying to collect your belongings. In order to keep your ex-bf from including you as an accomplice in his inevitable police report, you have to pretend you don't know the robber who keeps flirting with you. (plus like a lot more)

warnings: camping, murder, Ateez mentioned, mature

word count: ~7k

The second campground is bigger, more wooded, and far more secluded than the first one. After spending the whole day finding familiar faces nearly every time you stop for gas, you’ve finally adjusted to the idea of losing the solitude of your journey.

The people in the campsites on either side of yours are strangers, which supplies you with some comfort as you set up your gear and get a fire started.

Every time you find yourself getting lost in your routine, you realize how much you’ve been enjoying this experience. depending on yourself for your own place to sleep and a place to rest, trusting in yourself to see that you have food to eat—it’s such a stark contrast from the way you lived with so much doubt and worry so many months ago, that you can now rely on yourself and see that you are taken care of.

You’re proud as you put your tent together. The heat of the summer hits your skin harshly but you take it in peace. You will have shade. When your work is done, you will be fed and satisfied, you’ll have something to drink, you’ll have a book to read, you’ll have the sunset to watch.

When your equipment is all up and ready, you stand back with a glad smile. This is the work of your hands and the product of your own financial effort.

While your spirits are high, your energy has diminished quite a bit since yesterday, a second full day of driving wearing on you. This time, you plan to get dinner out of the way first thing and then head straight to bed. You’ll need to get as many hours of sleep as possible for the rest of the trip to be able to keep yourself alive on the road, and the necessity of stopping for the night during daylight hours should afford that without issue.

“You’re Chan’s friend, right?”

Or so you thought.

You’re in the middle of dumping a can of soup into a sauce pan when someone scurries into your campsite. He’s not exceptionally tall, but he has a muscular build and a full face with soft features that stand out against the thick biceps that strain the sleeves of his black t-shirt.

You lift an eyebrow, setting the pan on the grill. You don’t actually mind the intrusion, now that you’re comfortable with your routine and confident in the face of being somewhere so far from home. “Yeah, I guess? And you are?”

“Jisung,” he supplies with a cute smile. “Channie Hyung sent me to make sure you’re not being bothered by an annoying ex boyfriend?”

Huffing a short laugh, resentfully touched by Chan’s thoughtfulness, you spread your arms indicatively. “I’m good, thanks. You can report back the all clear.”

He laughs politely and takes in your humble camp. “I like your setup. I bet it takes you, what, ten minutes to unpack?”

“Twenty,” you say. “I’m getting faster though.”

He nods appreciatively. “Our mega camp takes like an hour. Minho is our camping enthusiast and he has all this bougie gear. A ton of tables and shelves and a portable shower stall and shit. It’s crazy.”

Despite his intrusion on your peace, you find that you don’t feel stressed by his friendly company.

He’s polite and respectful, and doesn’t come with a shared ton of baggage. Compared to finding Chan or Woosung suddenly in your personal space, this new guy is like a breath of fresh air.

“That sounds nice, though,” you comment kindly. “I rely on the public campground showers.”

Jisung shrugs. “I usually do too. There are eight of us and it takes too much time and too much water to wait around and take turns.” He shoots you another sweet smile. “I’ll go report back to my benevolent leader now, so he can come say hi. He said he had some caustic experiences with the guy that he doesn’t want to exacerbate.”

That’s nice.

It’s thoughtful of him.

Even going so far as to send a friend ahead of him to keep from causing problems with Woosung.

“Before I go, do you want any help with anything? The guys over there have our camp handled, so I really don’t have anything to do until dinner.” The man rubs his hands together in anticipation, but you just shrug.

“I really don’t have much to do. I pretty much just have to get my fire going, that’s it. But thank you, you’re very kind.”

Your compliment, though nothing short of polite, seems to go straight to his head. He grins, cheeks flushing pink. “I can help you get it going? Unless you’d rather me get out of your hair, then I’ll scoot—no worries.”

He’s not overly intrusive, and he seems genuinely willing to back out of your space if you want him to, which puts your mind at ease about a complete stranger suddenly appearing in your area. If you’re totally honest with yourself, he’s kind of adorable, and it’s not at all an imposition to spend a few more minutes chatting with him.

“Actually, if you have any idea how to do this properly, I’ll let you give it a go. I’m still learning the camping thing.” You gesture to the fire pit almost bashfully. You can start a fire on your own, of course, but if he has any tips from experience, you’re happy to take them.

Jisung’s face transforms into an expression of dutiful focus, his entire body jumping forward with a start to take on his new task. “Oh, for sure, I got you.”

The burst of energy amuses you, but you just stand back and let him go.

He crouches next to your pile of wood and kindling, confident movements arranging some of the pieces into the fire pit. “Have you been camping before?” He asks conversationally.

You try to stay out of his way, pulling up your chair to sit a few feet to the side instead of kneeling down where he’s working. “I’ve done a few single nighters just to introduce myself to things. It was so new to me that I actually went to a couple of classes to learn the basics.”

He chuckles with you, but doesn’t make fun of you like you halfway expected. “Oh, so you’ve been doing this on your own the whole time?” When you nod, he looks impressed. “Wow, it’s so cool that you jumped into something like this by yourself. I’ve only ever gone camping with friends, usually the whole group of eight. This is your first long trip then?”

You chat easily for a few minutes while he gets a good blaze going, and then smile gratefully as he steps back with a grin.

“There. You can put more on once this starts to go down. When the bigger pieces of wood burn most of the way up, that’s the best time to start cooking. You’ll get more control and consistent heat that way.”

You make a mental note of the information, reminding yourself to write it down in your binder after he leaves. “Thank you, I appreciate it.”

He dusts his hands off and shrugs cheerfully. “No problem, happy to help.”

Before you can decide if you should politely offer for him to stick around or just wait for him to excuse himself, he rubs a hand over his arm and turns to you with a sheepish upturn of his lips. “So, apparently there are some cool ruins here.”

You’re reminded of the gas station cashier and the obnoxious interaction with Chan, your face immediately heating. “Oh, yeah, I heard that. Some famous ghost story or something.”

Jisung’s expression brightens at your recognition. “Yeah! The Kingston Steps. None of us are really followers of that sort of thing, but a few of us were gonna go check it out after dinner, since we’re here anyway. Do you want to come with us? We were just gonna go see it and come back, no big deal. I think it’s by the lake.”

The self-isolating part of you reflexively stirs up a number of excuses for not going, but you stop yourself before you can refuse the invitation. You are already here, and while you’re not invested in the merit of any ghost stories, you would value having photos of the experience to go in your collection.

Going with him and his group is a good way to keep yourself from psyching yourself out about going alone and feeling ridiculous about it, the way you always do when you convince yourself to try something new.

“Yeah, that would be great, if you guys don’t mind. I can always go by myself, though. I’m not all that cut up about my ex, you don’t have to babysit me.” You shoot him an awkward chuckle, carefully delivering the response in a tone that should allow him to rescind his offer without any discomfort.

But he just shakes his head quickly, eyes widening in earnest. “No, not at all. You should come with us, it’ll be fun. You can meet the guys. Show Chan we’re not all heathens.”

You blink. “What?”

He rolls his eyes with a snort. “Channie hyung just spent like the last half hour telling us not to bother you. Like we would trample all over your camp or something. He’s protective, but he warned us off like we were gonna embarrass him.” Jisung seems to realize what he’s telling you, and abruptly puts his hands up reassuringly. “My point is, if you want to be left alone, we’ll respect that. Just kick me outta here and I’m gone.”

Squinting in confusion but not at all concerned about Jisung or his friends approaching you, you struggle to connect the dots. “But he sent you to check on me?”

Jisung’s hands drop to his sides, eyebrows lifting in an attempt to appear casual. “He thought we would get along.” His tone hitched slightly, like that’s not the whole story. “He said you and I are pretty similar, and would probably click quickly.”

You watch a redness rise in his ears, and suddenly you’re remembering this morning—Chan’s voice telling you he’s not good for you.

Realization of the situation settles in with a trace of disappointment. He still thinks he’s not good for you, and he’s pushing Jisung in as a replacement.

Your smile falls, but not enough for Jisung to notice. “He’s right,” you say quietly, politely. “It’s good to meet you, Jisung.”

His cheeks flush to match his ears. “Yeah, you too.”

You don’t want to accept this newly arranged replacement, no matter how kind he is. It feels like being shoved along the line, pushed on to be someone else’s problem.

Like he won’t feel bad about not returning your texts or reaching out to you if he hands you Jisung as your consolation prize.

But if he’s going to play this game, seeing if he can just pass you off like it means nothing, it gives you a chance to read him from a new perspective.

If he really doesn’t return your interest, you’ll find out while you’re spending time with Jisung.

You can play this game.

Pulling yourself together, you shoot Jisung a friendly smile. “See you after dinner then.”

Your acceptance pulls his posture high instantly. The excitement on his face is contagious, and your shoulders relax with an easy breath.

Before he leaves, he spins back with a start. “Oh, and if you want one of us to walk you to the restrooms after dark, just in case, we’d be happy to lend an escort. You’re like all the way across the grounds from them. If you don’t want to risk running into your ex alone, we’ve got you.”

You’re surprised by his offer, but touched. “Why?”

He shrugs, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re hyung’s friend.”

Blinking slowly, you can only nod and mutter a soft thanks.

He tips a playful salute and disappears down a path that cuts through the trees.

Maybe there are benefits to traveling with a few extra people. You hadn’t realized that you were so far away from the camp restrooms, and the thought of trying to find them in the dark by yourself doesn’t comfort you.

By the time Chan meanders over to your campsite, you’ve run into another problem. Your fire has burned through all of your wood, and your soup isn’t warm yet.

You’re standing at the side of your car, peering inside at the stack of books you keep in the floorboard, wondering which of them you can bear to sacrifice to your cook fire when he appears next to you.

“Oh, your fire’s gone out.” Chan mutters, picking up a stick and poking through the ashes. “You got more wood?”

You shake your head, embarrassed. You have a system of buying a bundle of wood at a gas station every day, along with a fresh gallon of water and a new canned option for dinner. “One has always been enough before. That’s all I bought.”

He straightens, turning to you. “Do you camp a lot?”

When you don’t answer, Chan chuckles under his breath. “Okay, look, this happens. You should always get a little more than you think you need, just in case.” He notices you poking through your book collection, and makes a noise of surprise, pulling your head out of your car with a hand on your arm. “No, no, no, burning your books is a medieval and inefficient way of salvaging a fire.”

The smirk he hits you with makes your cheeks heat with embarrassment. “I don’t have more wood.”

He closes your car door before you can set your library on fire. “There’s a camp host around here somewhere, he’ll have firewood for sale. Sit tight, I’ll be right back.” He leaves you with a reassuring squeeze to your shoulder.

You slump down on the picnic table bench, mood effectively dampened. Obviously there’s a learning curve to trying something new for the first time, but you hadn’t wanted to be witnessed while you worked out the kinks. It’s good for you, you suppose—and better to be in the company of people who are willing to help you than completely stranded by yourself.

You pick up your trusty film camera and snap a demoralizing shot of your dead fire.

If you’re going to make a fool of yourself in front of people, you might as well keep a momento to remind you to buy more fucking firewood.

The next person to invade what little peace you have left is Woosung.

Because of course it is.

“Having trouble with your fire?” He snorts, sitting himself at your table.

You scowl. “Go away, Woosung.”

“My girlfriend and I use a camp stove. Propane. Works on a dial. Never fails. You’d know that if you had any idea how to run a basic campsite.”

You fight the urge to defend yourself. You’d chosen not to dole out money for an expensive camp stove, or even a cheap single burner, when you could expand your repertoire of skills and learn how to cook over a fire.

Trying to make a stand for yourself to him is a waste of breath. You have nothing more to invest in him or his opinion of you. “That’s nice.”

“Who are you kidding? You live on your couch. You eat instant ramen. It’s not like you can cook on a regular stove. And what’s that? Progresso? Why am I not surprised?”

Not bothering to answer, knowing you only have nasty things to say to him, you turn away and focus on stirring the tepid pot of soup as though it’s still cooking. You want to make a snarky comment about how if his girlfriend is so inspiring, she must be missing him back at his camp, but you don’t want to give him any invitation to rib you about being bitter about him being in a new relationship.

Especially when you couldn’t care less.

In fact, you’re hoping his new girlfriend will distract him from seeking you out.

But alas.

He remains.

“What have you been up to all these months? I haven’t heard from you since that crazy burglary.” His voice hits you with an odd edge that tenses your shoulders.

The last time you’d seen him, you’d been running out of his apartment under the pretense of sheer terror. You hadn’t prepared yourself for discussing the incident so long after it happened, when you’re not actually as shaken up about it as you acted.

This is delicate territory.

“This and that,” you say vaguely.

“You meet anyone? Reconnect with any old friends? Got any fun stories to share?”

You glance at him over your shoulder, watching him trace the grain of the picnic table nonchalantly. You’re paranoid.

He’s not fishing for a confession, he’s just being a dick.

“That’s none of your business. Please go.”

He snorts, shoes scuffing as he leans forward. “I just keep thinking about that day, you know? How crazy it is that some whacko broke into my apartment in broad daylight.”

You turn on him sharply, face burning with anger. “I don’t feel like reminiscing with you. I want you to go. Just leave me alone.” You have to get him out of here before you let yourself act guilty, before you give yourself away when he’s just trying to make you uncomfortable.

Chan chooses that moment to appear with an armload of firewood, wide gaze flashing between you and Woosung.

Your ex clocks him instantly, twisting himself to assess the man. “So this is the guy. Good for you, finding a new boyfriend.” He says with a sneer, like he hasn’t brought up his yet unseen girlfriend every chance he gets. “I hope he can cook. This is what you’re feeding him?”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” You say abruptly, snatching Woosung’s attention back to you. Even if he doesn’t suspect your involvement in the robbery, you don’t need him discovering Chan’s. “Please leave, Woosung.”

Chan puts his head down and moves to your fire pit, arranging some of the wood in a log cabin formation.

“You know she’s helpless with all this, right?” Woosung directs this to Chan. “I’ve never seen anyone less suited for the outdoors.”

That stings, especially considering you’ve been enjoying your new hobby.

He’s trying to hurt you.

He doesn’t know whether or not you’re capable of camping.

It’s just bullshitting to get a reaction.

Chan doesn’t answer, busily pushing some small kindling into the open spaces between the wood. His eyes flick to you, assessing your reaction, and when you lift your chin reassuringly, he angles himself away again.

You don’t need rescuing.

But you get the distinct impression that the moment you do, Chan would be on his feet in the blink of an eye.

Woosung glances at you. “Is he deaf? Dumb?”

“Fuck off.” You snap instantly, appalled by his behavior—by the question. You know why Chan isn’t talking. He’d been wearing a mask in front of Woosung all those months ago, but his voice could be recognized.

He won’t speak, not when it puts both you and himself at risk.

You have no intention of making that a difficult task for him. “Don’t talk to him. Get away from my camp.” Your words are delivered quietly, dangerously low. “Unless you want to be kicked out by the park rangers, you can get lost.”

He shrugs and lifts himself from your picnic table. “Whatever. Enjoy your Progresso.” He shoots another rude laugh at Chan and shuffles away, hands tucked carelessly in his pockets.

Like an afterthought, he pauses and turns back to you. “I’m so glad that lunatic didn’t hurt you that day.” His eyes flash from you to the man crouching by your fire pit, lips curling in a smirk, and then he spins on his heel and saunters on down the road.

Chan rises, watching him leave until he’s out of sight. When he’s sure that your ex is gone, he turns to you. “I’m sorry, I just—”

“I know.” You cut him off, sliding your legs out from the bench and joining him at the fire pit, trying to put the odd interaction out of your mind. “Thanks for getting this for me. I’ve got matches, I can light it from here.”

He steps back, standing silently until you crouch and reach for the rest of the wood that he’s acquired for you.

“Wait, hold on.” He blocks your hand. “That’s why you burned through your supply the first time. You wanna get your fire started first with a few small logs, and then throw the biggest pieces on once you got some good heat. It will burn longer.”

He takes your matches from you and lights the kindling, talking the whole time, showing you how to efficiently get a hot flame burning. It’s the same way Jisung did it, but he takes care to warn you to burn your supply more gradually.

When you once again have a roaring cook fire and a few extra logs to keep it going later, you focus on stirring your soup. “Thanks for this,” you utter quietly, still embarrassed. “I’m still learning. Like he said, I’m not experienced with any of this.”

He squats next to you in the dirt and plays with a few twigs. “The guy’s a jerk. You’re doing great. Don’t let him rattle you.” He touches a hand to your shoulder and then points at your soup. “If you really want to blow some smoke in his eye, so to speak, I can show you a staple camp breakfast. Once you master that, no one can question your camping skills.”

You stare at him blankly, trying to reconcile the apparent agreement he has with Jisung with this extraordinary effort to help you. “All I have is hash.”

He shakes his head with a quick smile. “I’ll bring you the stuff. You’ve gotta get away from the canned crap. Trust me. It elevates your whole experience.”

“I only buy canned food so I don’t have to mess with fresh ingredients. I can’t keep them cold driving all day anyway.”

“A cooler and a bag of ice fixes that. Seriously, it’s worth the cost of groceries. I can have you going tomorrow morning. Don’t you want to see the look on his face when he walks by and you’ve got a feast of bacon and eggs? Also, if you haven’t eaten bacon and eggs that are infuse with woodsmoke, you haven’t truly camped.”

The only egg you can imagine is the one that’s gonna be on Woosung’s face, and it’s enough to convince you. Plus, Chan is offering you a valuable wilderness skill. You’d be foolish to turn him down. “I’ll pay you for the groceries and the wood.”

He waves you off. “First lesson is free. Don’t worry about it.”

You’re already feeling better about the whole trainwreck of your first solo roadtrip. “Thank you.”

Chan grins at you, rising to his feet. “And the firewood was free. Woosung said they have a propane stove, so they didn’t need it anyway. Don’t give me that look, you already gave me permission to rob him.”

You just stare at him in dumb silence.

How long had he been listening to your conversation before he revealed himself?

He surveys your site with hesitation before glancing back at you. “I really don’t like that he found your camp. You sure you don’t want to squeeze into ours for the night?”

Your response is a hard frown.

“No, I’m serious. You’re all the way over here alone and he knows it.”

His concern is touching, but you have to be able to overcome this obstacle on your own. Chan won’t be there for you forever. “I’ll be fine, Chan. Your friend already invited me to see those ruins. We’ll go explore, then I’m gonna wash up, and go to bed. Just come back in the morning.”

He pauses, watching you thoughtfully. “I’ll send someone to walk you over there.” He says. “Sun’s going down and you’re like five minutes from the showers.”

You try to protest, but he just zips up his jacket with finality and gives your arm another squeeze. “I’d do it myself, but I’m trying not to make trouble for you with that asshole. See you after dinner, okay?”

All you can do is nod as he leaves you to your dinner. Heart uncomfortably confused, you settle in to eat your sad little bowl of soup and watch the sun begin to go down.

The whole group appears as soon as you’ve finished washing out your pan and stirring up your embers to let them burn out on their own.

Jisung approaches you first, Chan lingering behind him with the others. “The explorers have arrived!” Jisung announces. “Ready to see if we can get ourselves cursed?”

Chan smiles at you, a tempered, detached expression that sends a jolt of insult through your blood.

You look away and focus on Jisung. “I want to get my camera, and then I’m ready.” He waits for you while you get into your car and loop the strap of your film camera around your neck, and then you’re off.

“What do you think of your trip so far?” Jisung asks you as you walk the campground road towards the lake. The group is loud and rowdy behind you, the friends joking and picking on each other to pass the time. “Are you enjoying camping?”

“I am,” you say honestly. “There have been quite a few surprises along the way, but it’s been fun. I like the peace of it.” You glance back at Chan, only to see his eyes dart away from you.

“Channie hyung said he didn’t know you were gonna be here. It’s crazy that you just ran into us like that.”

“Yeah. Crazy.” It bothers you more than it should that you’re getting this lukewarm shoulder from a guy you barely know, but clearly your feelings for him are stronger than you’d wanted to realize. Hadn’t he been sidled up next to you, only an hour ago, taking time away from his friends to help you? Is he still the guy who wants to be ‘good for you’? Or is he just being a friend taking pity on you?

Your mouth sets in a hard frown. “I didn’t know my ex was gonna be here either.”

Jisung continues talking, asking about the situation with Woosung, commenting appreciatively on your vintage camera, but your responses are halfhearted and distracted.

You’d hoped to be gauging Chan’s reaction to you interacting with his friend, but he’s ignoring you.

His apparent sudden disinterest disappoints you more than you thought it would, but you’re not discouraged. If he has no problem with you being close to Jisung, you can prepare yourself to get over him, once and for all.

And in the meantime, Jisung is nice. He’s kind, funny, not at all unattractive, and not in the slightest the consolation prize material you had initially accused him of being. You can be just as happy getting to know him as you were discovering Chan.

At least, you hope you can.

A few minutes of light hiking later, you come up on the ruins that you’d seen all over the postcards in the gas station this morning.

They’re beautiful in a nostalgic sort of way. A solid set carved in stone, standing alone among the over grown rubble of the mansion they once belonged to. Ivy clambers up the sides, moss ornamenting the outsides of each step but worn away from the centers where millions of tourists and campers have stepped.

Despite the obvious age of the ruins, the stairs stand strong, only crumbling at the edges with little affect to the integrity of the structure.

It’s amazing that every other part of the mansion has practically turned to gravel while the staircase remains proud and almost whimsical.

“Wow, cool!” One of the guys exclaims, rushing forward to hop onto the first step. “Who wants to go to the top?”

“No way.” One of them, you think his name is Felix, walks around the edges of the monument. “I don’t play with that shit.”

“You think you’re gonna be cursed for life?” Another, Minho, starts climbing the stairs with a grin. “Or death?”

“This is awesome.” Jisung runs up after him, clutching to the back of Minho’s shirt when he realizes there’s no railing to hold onto.

You lift your camera, peering through the viewfinder as you snap shot after shot.

The guys crawl all over the stairs, with the exception of two.

You realize Chan has come to stand next to you, watching his friends clamber over the stone and play like they’re going to push each other off. “It’s beautiful, right?” He says, taking a few pictures on his phone. “I’m glad we didn’t miss this.”

Your skin prickles where his arm brushes yours. “Glad that cashier gave us such a romantic spot for our honeymoon.” You quip smartly, catching his wide grin in your peripheral.

“Ah, he was just too much fun to play with.” Chan nudges you with an elbow, and then abruptly returns his arm to his side like you burned him. “So, what do you think of Jisung? He likes you.”

What the hell is wrong with this guy?

He’s going hot and cold on you, and it’s exhausting.

“Well, that was your plan, wasn’t it?” You return simply. “As far as stand-ins go, he’s an interesting choice.”

Chan blinks at you, wide eyed and stammering.

Shaking your head, you move away from him towards the stairs. “Jisung is great. I like him. Thanks for the introduction.”

He watches you go.

Jisung turns just in time to see you start up the steps, and hurries down with a beaming grin to extend a hand. “This is so cool—careful, though, the steps are worn super smooth. Hyunjin has already slipped like twice.”

You slap your hand into his and let him guide you up, pausing to take a few more pictures here and there, until you’re standing at the top with Minho and Hyunjin.

Chan remains at the bottom, staring up at you and Jisung with a tension in his jaw that fills you with satisfaction.

It’s his game.

You’re only playing by his rules.

“Come on, Jisung, let’s take a picture.” You slip your arm through his and let your camera hang against your chest, sliding your phone from your pocket and holding it up to catch both of you smiling widely over the abrupt drop off at the top of the stairs.

Jisung’s arm loops around your waist to keep you steady, his other hand throwing up a peace sign. “Let me get one too. Let’s all get in this.”

It’s a treacherous position to group all four of you in the narrow space to take the picture, so when you lean into Jisung, it’s not even an attempt to get under Chan’s skin.

But your eyes flick down to find him as you feel Jisung’s hand curl around your hip, and see fire flash in his expression.

Success.

You’ll have to apologize to Jisung later, but for now, the aggravation in Chan’s posture is exactly the result you wanted.

A figure in the background of Jisung’s picture catches your attention when he shows the selfie to you.

Woosung, standing in the rubble at the bottom, gazing up at you with irritation written all over his face.

You turn so suddenly that Jisung nearly drops his phone trying to catch you before you can trip over the edge.

The only people on the ground are Chan, Felix, and a few other random campers milling through the ruins.

No Woosung in sight.

“Alright, it’s getting late.” Chan’s voice calls up, beckoning for his friends to come back down. “Long day of driving tomorrow. We need to sleep.”

Jisung turns to you with a sweet smile. “Walk you back?”

Chan shoves his balled fists into his pockets and looks away, shaking his head with an inaudible mutter.

You slip your hand back into Jisung’s. “That would be great, thank you.”

He sticks around long enough for you to gather up your overnight bag and change of clothes, walks you to the restrooms as promised, and then leaves you to spend your second night alone.

It’s colder that night, and you have to dig your second sweater out of your car to add layers and flip the edge of your sleeping bag over your face to get warm enough to fall asleep. Your dreams are restless, riddled with charming robbers and cruel exes.

When morning comes, you unzip your tent to find your fire already started.

There’s no telling where the wood came from this time.

Chan’s head pops up from behind the picnic table at the sound of you stirring, and spreads his arms to gesture at the collection of ingredients and supplies on the surface. “Morning,” he says with a grin. “Sleep well?”

Is this ‘I want to be good for you’ Chan or pushing-you-at-Jisung Chan?

You decide not to fight it. You can spend this whole trip giving him terse responses and guarded glares, or you can save your energy and just pretend he’s a normal guy, a friend helping out.

It’s better than wasting your emotional energy on each confusion interaction.

“I slept okay.” You poke your legs through the door, setting your heels on your outdoor rug. “It got pretty cold last night.” Before you can ask him how he slept, the smell of coffee hits you, and your eyes flash to the cook fire. Your blue percolator is sitting on the grill, steaming and gurgling away. “You made coffee?”

The hard shell around your heart cracks.

You’re a goddamn sucker for coffee.

Damn you.

He rises to his feet, grabbing one of your cups off the table. “Yeah, I figured you’d want some. Thought I’d get it going for you to warm you up for sitting through a cooking lesson with me.” He pours you a rich, brown, insanely delicious smelling serving and brings it to you. “Careful, it’s hot.”

You cradle it in your hands, staring at him in bewilderment. “You don’t like coffee but you know how to make it? In a percolator?” It’s a bygone skill for most people, especially those who don’t drink coffee to begin with.

He shrugs. “My friends like it, so when it’s my turn to cook I make the coffee too. Is it good? I notice you drink it black so I tried to make it smooth, but I’m not sure how strong your roast is.”

The coffee hits your tongue with a scalding nutty richness that immediately warms you from the inside out. “God,” you mutter, sinking into the nest of your sleeping bag still bunched around you. “You gotta show me how you made this.”

Chan beams, flushed with your praise. “You like it?”

You nod, inhaling the steam like oxygen. “Mm-hmm.”

For a second he just stares down at you, your chill-blushed face surrounded by a thick cocoon of sweaters and sleeping bag, and the tips of his ears redden.

You scowl under his scrutiny. Him staring at you like he’s about to pinch your cheeks is not good for your plan to avoid catching feelings again. “What are you looking at?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. I just…” he pauses, head cocking to the side. “Nothing, you’re just cute.”

“You should see me in the mornings.” You shoot back automatically, an ironic grin spreading across your face—because you know you’re not cute. You know your hair is a rat’s nest, your face printed with pillow creases, eyes probably puffy.

Chan’s eyes flash, an expression you can’t interpret. He’s thinking, debating saying something, but eventually extends a hand to you. “You ready to get cookin’, master chef?”

You’re loath to escape your little huddle of warmth, but you don’t want to waste all of your morning hours before you even get on the road again, so you pry a hand off your cup and slap it into his.

He pulls you up, steady as a statue as you sway on legs that haven’t held your weight in nine hours. He keeps your hand firmly trapped, eyes fixed down on you.

You’re in dangerous territory.

Clearing your throat abruptly, you reclaim your hand and skirt around him to set your coffee down on the picnic table. “So, what’s first?” You feel his eyes on you as you stretch the tightness out of your back, but he just joins you and starts organizing the ingredients he’s brought.

As you watch him arrange a small carton of eggs, packet of cheese, package of bacon, and a number of small potatoes and seasoning bottles, your eyes catch on something red, half hidden by a dish towel.

It looks like broken ceramic.

You move the towel, and find a broken mug, shattered into pieces. Fragments of the words ‘downward spiral’ stare up at you.

And on top of the pile of ceramic, slightly crumpled from the weight of the towel, a blue sticky note, with the words ‘You should have just asked for it’ scrawled on top in Woosung’s handwriting.

Your heart thuds angrily in your chest. “Did you put this here?” Terse, vicious, accusing.

Chan leans over to see what you’re staring at. “No? What is that?”

It’s your favorite mug, the one you had gotten from Woosung’s apartment. The one you had left at home.

How the hell did Woosung get his hands on it?

Before you can fly off in a rage and storm your ex’s campsite, you throw the towel back over it and focus your attention on Chan, breathing forcefully through your nose to calm yourself. “Nothing. Go ahead.”

He’s wary of your sudden irritation, but he doesn’t push you, instead reaching for the ingredients again. “Alright, so basically, when you’re camping with an iron skillet like you’ve got here, you wanna keep bacon as a staple ingredient. The grease doubles as your cooking oil for everything else, and it keeps your pan conditioned and makes it easier to clean when you’re done.”

You follow him between the fire and the picnic table staging area and back again, listening intently as he walks you through the motions of breakfast, showing you how to wrap potatoes in tin foil and place them directly on the grill while the bacon cooks.

He never seems to stop talking, gesticulating minutely into the air every time he has to pause to think of a better way to explain what he’s doing or consider his next course of action, checking in with you every so often to make sure your eyes haven’t glazed over.

You’re concentrating, but more on trying to make sense of the shattered mug and the somewhat ominous message than on the recipe for eggs and bacon.

By the time he gingerly pulls the softened potatoes off the fire and cuts them into chunks, dumping them into the sizzling leftover bacon grease with a mess of eggs, Jisung has shuffled his way over to your campsite with another young man, both of them in thick, oversized hoodies and faces scrunched with sleep. They nod half-closed-eyed greetings to you, mumbling good mornings and sliding into one side of your bench.

Chan watches them, unimpressed, his spatula hovering in the air. “What are you guys doing here?” His eyes narrow at Jisung, like the intrusion is an unwelcome one.

“Minho hit the sauce pretty hard last night.” Jisung mumbles sleepily. “He’s not up yet. We’re hungry.”

Your eyes snap to the two potatoes and single package of bacon and only four eggs, and then flash to Chan in a panic. “If the rest of your cult club are gonna come over here we’re gonna be out of food.”

The second newcomer, Hyunjin, slides his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll text Changbin hyung to bring more food.” He slumps over the table, chin propped up on his forearms as he blearily shoots off a text message.

Chan turns to you, an annnoyed upturn to his lips. “Is that okay?”

You shrug. This is all his doing anyway. “Of course it’s okay, obviously they can’t fend for themselves.” You’re mostly teasing, just to get their reactions, but Jisung just gives a drunken-looking smile and closes his eyes blissfully, breathing in the appetizing smell of breakfast.

Back to playing into Chan’s schemes, you suppose.

“Do you guys drink coffee?” You ask, already rummaging through your boxes for the other two cups you keep in your set.

“Don’t give them your coffee.” Chan groans, watching you shake out the dust from your unused dishes. “They’ll drink you dry, please don’t offer them your stuff.” He plucks one of the mugs from you obstructively. “Let them wake up the old fashioned way—a good kick in the pants—”

You snatch the cup back from him. “Knock it off,” You shoulder past him and grab the oven mitt, picking up the percolator and pouring two cups. When you turn back to the two new guys, you set the cups before them with an apology. “I don’t have cream or sugar, but Chan made it really smooth, so it shouldn’t be too offensive to you if you don’t normally take it black.”

“Thank you!” Jisung leans back with an excited gasp, cradling the mug with the same thrill that you had done half an hour ago, and elbows his companion. “Hyunjin. Coffee. Say thank you.”

Hyunjin’s eyes pop open, sucking in a big whiff of the beverage. “Oh yes. Thank you.”

You can’t fight the warm flood of gratification as they both gaze at you like you’ve brought them out of the cold. Just when you thought the best thing about mornings while camping was basking in the comfort of your sleep-warmed clothes and sucking down a hot cup of coffee, you suddenly find yourself watching an attractive man with a pinked nose cooking for you while two of his friends huddle together in massive hoodies with sleepy eyes and pouty lips, inhaling your coffee like there’s no life without it, realizing it’s somehow even better like this.

Two more members of their group arrive soon, with more dishes and more ingredients, immediately putting it on to cook while Chan plates the first round of breakfast. “Sit here,” he puts you next to Jisung with a tight smile, sliding your blue enamel plate towards you. “Try that out,” He says with a tense pat to your shoulder. “See if you ever want to settle for corned beef hash out of a can again.”

There he goes again, pushing you off on his friend.

Jisung scoots over a little as you crawl into the bench next to him, offering a cute smile back when you give him an overly warm grin.

If Chan wants to watch you ignore him, you’re just petty enough to oblige.

Chan tops off your coffee while you give your meal a chance to cool, watching the two new guys prepare an army’s worth of food over your small cook fire. One of them, Changbin, mentions the insufficient amount of firewood, and the other, Seungmin, mentions texting another member of their group to bring some over.

Before you know it, there are eight hungry men milling around your campsite, introducing themselves to you over the sounds of their growling stomachs, squeezing onto the benches all around you. You find yourself pushed against Jisung’s beefy shoulder on one side and Felix’s more angular one on the other.

Instead of feeling invaded and suffocated, you eat your unfairly delicious smoky breakfast with a happy glow, merely listening to the mindless chatter of the young men around you.

The muscular one across from you leans forward, sniffing at Jisung’s mug. “Why does your coffee smell better than mine?”

Jisung shrugs and gestures at you. “Don’t ask me, it’s her coffee.”

“We ran her out of coffee, you assholes.” Chan mutters from somewhere further down the bench. “Most of you are drinking our coffee.”

Before the man next to you, Changbin, you think someone said, can ask you what kind of coffee you buy, a line of police cars drive by your campsite in a rush of whooping sirens. One of them is a truck, hauling a boat on a trailer, kicking up dust all the way down the forest road.

“I wonder what’s happening.” Hyunjin mutters.

It’s only later, when you’ve just finished packing your camp back into your car, that a police vehicle pulls up behind you and you find out what happened.

The officer who steps out of the car calls you by name. He holds out his phone to you, a picture of a familiar face on the screen. “I understand you know this man?”

You glance at the device, expression twisting in unrestrained disgust at a selfie of Woosung. “Yeah, that’s my ex boyfriend. Why?”

A number of possibilities cross your mind, and you wonder how sunk you are. Had he recognized Chan? He’d called the police to arrest the man who robbed him, and informed them that you had been an accomplice?

On top of everything else screwing with your trip, now you’re going to miss Ateez because you’re locked up in a jail seven hundred miles from home.

“He was found murdered this morning. We just pulled his body out of the lake.”

< last part | next part >

tag list : @whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @estella-novella @babyphotos0325 @softfor-svtptg @furfoxsake22 @tubelightanyaa @kayleefriedchicken @rockstarkkami @sp1derst0rrr @eastjonowhere @its-stayville-forever @allenajade-ite @naraportokala @jinniejjam @blackberryrains @feetoffthemalfoy @highandalive @scarlet789 @ramadiiiisme @thecutiepieme @lemonn015 @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts @dreamingartist13 @ebnabi @bangtan-sonyeondamn8 @lemonn015 @thepoeticpurplepotato @brbwritingfanfic @skzlover24 @stephanieeeyang @my-neurodivergent-world @xgridx @igotajuicyass @annovaz @robinnotgood24 @butterflybananabread @tirena1 @nougatjade @wickedbutlovely @justiceforvillains @beewilko @nougatjade @ellelabelle @qwonyoung23 @hwangjoanna @akindaflora @uhnanix @staylovesmiley @skzittomebabyuhhuhx3 @ateez-atiny380

[fluffylino]

Strawberry Cow ! Chan 🌸🍓🌸

he's not just any kind of hybrid...he's the first ever 'male' cow you've ever met. chan's a sweetheart, even more so when he's milked...

(i was suppozed to write this a year ago and finally here it is, enjoy lovelies <333)

reblogging > liking

part two

-contains mildly suggestive themes

Hybrids were pretty much accepted into this world of ours. they were treated like humans, with respect (most of the time) and accepted into society quite easily.

And somehow you found yourself accidently conversing with one particular male hybrid.

he was handsome.

so incredibly beautiful, it made you question if he was even real.

two horns on either side of his head and a pair of fluffy white ears twitched beneath them. it wasn't a white that hits the eye, it was a white that looked like freshly whipped cream. with soft fur that was slightly longer than usual.

you weren't quite sure what species he was. it was difficult to make out and honestly nervewracking to ask a hybrid that kind of question.

it was almost the same as asking a human if they were a person of colour, as if they were of ethnic descent.

he could be a gazelle? maybe a buck?

but his horns weren't so sleek and thin. they were neither black in colour.

instead his thicker horns were a complete contrast to his dark hair.

a bull, maybe? or did he dye his hair?

you were about to lose your mind.

"I'm actually a cow hybrid..." he let out so quietly, with a nervous smile. Damn, he was too beautiful for his own good.

"I've never seen a cow hybrid" you mutter without much thought.

instantly regretting your statement upon seeing his awkward stance.

"no no i meant i've never seen a cow hybrid as handsome as you" waving your hands dramatically to clear the tense air.

"as...handsome as..me?" he mumbles and you were sure your heart stopped beating.

"oh god it was wrong of me to assume what you are and how you'd prefer to be addressed-"

your voice dying down as you hear him laugh.

its such a soft laugh, it goes straight to your heart. neither mocking nor a loud one. soothing to the ears.

"i'm sorry if i'm so shaky...its been a long time since anyone has ever..complimented me..."

you sighed in relief, letting a smile creep up on your face. his cheeks dusted with a light shade of pink and you knew you looked as shy as him.

The small coffee joint was beginning to crowd and it seemed that neither of y'all liked crowded spaces.

the cow hybrid slowly stood up, straightening his posture and your eyes widened.

he was well built, a good height compared to yours and his muscles were defined enough to leave an imprint on the shirt he was wearing. loosely buttoned up and hanging low on his collar. Black really was his colour...

you mentioned his build, complimenting him to the point his ears were redder than ever. shy little giggles escaping his plush lips. gosh...

his lips made you want to kiss him senseless.

"could we..uhm...be friends or uh more...i mean-" he mumbles, stuttering so sweetly.

"of course, darling. but you never quite told me your name?" you coo.

"I'm chan or...you can..call me chris"

he smiled continously as you told him your name and how you come by here often.

his ear twitching excitedly when the two of y'all share phone numbers. promising to keep in touch in the days to come.

.

🌸

.

Chan was a lot different from your first meeting. considering the fact that nearly a month or more than a month had passed.

you happened to find out how much a hybrid like him had to go through. to you, he was an ordinary cow hybrid. but chan explained how the term 'ordinary' never existed in his vocabulary.

of course you knew he was a male but what did not strike you was the fact that he shouldve been called a bull.

Instead he was classified under cow, making him a proper cow hybrid.

Taking into consideration that he was also a male, made it difficult for him to lead his life as usual. bodily changes and phenomenon occurring during certain periods made the poor hybrid's life tougher.

Cases like him were rare, not exactly non existent.

.

.

His room was unimaginably aesthetic. changing colours that faded to pink and purple, sometimes gold.

one thing you realised was his love for the colour black. laughing when he opens his cupboard. it was a black hole in there with numerous clothes lined up.

making yourself comfortable on his bed, you noticed how on-edge he was. his behaviour much different, extra shy as he sheepishly sat beside you. your backs resting against the wooden headboard.

"why'd you call me here, channie?" you asked, smiling at the way his thin sleek tail swished around.

his eyes gaze at you with such pureness, you blurt out another statement.

"I mean, i'd spend my entire day or even week with you if you wanted! but i just got a bit worried because you called me here oit of the blue, baby"

reassuring him while patting his knee lovingly.

"I..I wanted to come c-clear about myself"

you nodded, urging him to go on. he pauses, looking at you for a few seconds. theres this nervousness in his energy and you scooch closer to him.

"I lactate...almost every four days, sometimes every two days depending on tge weather..." gazing at you sweetly.

"yes, im aware channie"

"you know about-" his eyes widen, surprise in his tone.

"of course I do, did you really think I wouldn't find ways to help you after you told me how hard your day to day life is"

you joked lightly.

"if i don't...milk myself every now and then, I feel full. like heavy.."

you squeeze his hand fondly, interlocking your fingers.

"do you do it manually? or do you use some kind of device?"

from his expression and body language, you could see him grow comfortable.

"manually...pumps are quite the price"

you gasp, wondering if you pried a little too deep. chan takes it as you being weirded out but you stop him before he starts overthinking.

"no no no sweerheart, i was just surprised that you did it manually for so many years"

"i've tried a pump once or twice...but i don't like the feeling...it made me feel like an object..." he pauses, cheeks turning pink as ever before he continues.

"whenever i...uhm my chest swells and gets really sensitive..."

well that was new info to you.

"like mine?" you let out, laughing as his ears twitch and he blinks furiously.

"w-what do you mean-"

"I meant like does your chest get to like my size? i'm pretty average but does yours get bigger?"

the strawberry cow hybrid blushed.

"it depends! on m-my mood and..uhm everything"

.

🍬

.

"Chris?! what's wrong?"

worry filling your mind. the hybrid looked distressed and out of his senses. sweating profusely.

"its n-nothing, I don't feel so good" he tried to reassure although it wasn't quite reassuring to you.

his fluffy ears were lopsided and his tail swished around desperately

you cupped his face gently. his reaction waw everything. nuzzling into your palm. it was obvious. it was happening.

"channie. baby look at me"

you urged, making him focus on you. and only you.

"do you want me to help you?"

"help...help with milking me? p-please?" his tone gentle and he uttered a small plea.

"just place your hand h-here and massage slowly"

his bigger hand held onto yours as he pressed your palm flat on his chest. he was right. his chest was swell and warmer than ever.

"do you mind, baby.."

obediently he held his shirt between his teeth. gnawing on the material. you let your hand run over his toned abdomen. feeling up his tense muscles.

"y-you're so fit, channie" he grunted softly.

his milk running down your fingers slowly. with every massage, more seeped out of his pretty nubs.

unconciously you stuck your tongue out, licking up the droplets that rolled down the expanse of his chest.

"ah don't let it g-go to waste p-please please"

begging you to drink more. his hands squeezing yours. whining so sweetly as you sucked his pumped up chest. his breathing quick and shaky.

god, you wanted to corrupt him...

.

.

.

.

.

.

fuck...part 2?

should i?!

this concept to me, is so hot!!!!!

i wrote a part two-

[moonsterus-burningmilklover]

Hello everyone^^, today I come to show you some Swap designs of the beasts, this is part of an AU that I have created, the story is somewhat long just telling the beasts, but here are the main ones (Something to clarify is that Silent Salt remains the beast of silence, its appearance only changed a little, but the time has not yet come to create it.

1: Deceit: Well, we start with Mystery Flour Cookie, she was the first to be created,And it's the beast of deception in this AU, her personality unlike Shadow Milk, is that she is very patient and quite a planner, she really likes tea and events of magic..

2 Apathy: Next up is Powder Milk Cookie,The second to be created, he is the beast of Apathy in this AU, his personality unlike Mystic Flour, is that he is very critical and severe with his adversaries, he takes his belief in futility to another level,He is very reserved and quiet, he only tolerates Sweet Spices and sometimes Mystery Flour

3 Sloth: Next up is Sweet Spices Cookie, being the beast of laziness in this AU, his personality compared to Burning Spice is noticeably different, as Sweet Spice is calmer and more relaxed.Although deep down, he possesses a strength quite comparable to that of his original version, he is deeply in love with Powder Milk, becoming very happy when he sees him, although he knows that Powder Milk He doesn't reciprocate her feelings due to his apathy, he hates his other half in this case GS in a certain way, for reasons that will be known in the future, I can only say that he is very jealous when it comes to from Powder Milk

4 Destruction: And finally we come to the most recent, Scorch Sugar Cookie, being the Beast of destruction in this AU, her personality contrasts a bit with that of Burning Spice but also possessing part of Her original version is very vain and somewhat arrogant on certain occasions. She loves to stay beautiful and only accepts going out of line when it comes to destroying things or having a battle to the death.The little imp helper at his side is named Chili, and will usually carry Scorch Sugar's Khadga, as he doesn't brandish his weapon unless it's to have a battle.

And that would be all, I appreciate you taking the time to read this, in the future we will meet the Swap Ancients, until next time^^