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distuff · 1 day ago

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How about ‘would they be jealous if you were talking to/hanging out with someone for a long time’? Just how would they act with jealousy for all the saja boys, or baby and mystery if u don’t want to do all of the saja boys

Answer: Hello my dear readershi! Thank you for the prompt. As it gives me a tOn of creative freedom lol I hope you'll enjoy what I've created for ya ( ´ ꒳ ` ) Also! arigatou for givin mhe a choice, bUt I'll happily do all of 'em for ya. Note. The person who asked for another jealousy troupe, as well, please note that yours will be posted tomorrow if nothing major comes in between🙌

📍Requests: Please, check my Bio.

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦

Demon Boys' And Others With You

Featuring: Jinu Saja, Abs Saja, Mystery Saja, Romance Saja, Baby Saja Reader: Gender neutral

<><><>

Jinu Saja

🐦‍⬛ So. Let’s get one thing straight. Jinu was not the jealous type. Why bother? I mean really! He’s a demon for crying out loud! He can shift into the most handsome being, conjure up anything he wants with a snap of his fingers if he so much as wished to. He had no reason to be jealous of others - if anything, others should be jealous of him.

🐦‍⬛ So why is it that when you tell him you’ll have to cancel your date because of this “other person”, he feels like… he doesn’t have everything? His silence must have been confirmation for you. Or maybe it was the call from that other person in the background that made you hang up with a quick, “Love you!”

🐦‍⬛ Jinu doesn’t know - nor does he care as much as he cares about the setup in front of him. It took effort to kick the other guys out and get the living room to look the way it did now: pillows spread on the floor, fluffy blankets tossed around, and a perfect mix of warm and cold snacks for your lazy night together. Some random movie was already playing quietly in the background.

🐦‍⬛ It took considerable self-restraint not to set the calling device - “phone,” as humans called it - on fire, or smash it to bits. Instead, he threw it onto the couch with a dramatic groan, scowling at the feeling curling tight in his chest. It felt far too familiar for his liking - a reminder of his pathetic past.

🐦‍⬛ Jinu brushed it off the first time. Whatever. Fine. You had a life outside of him. Who cares! Not him! ... The Tiger and the Magpie gave him unimpressed stares. Or at least, the bird did. Tiger - Jinu hoped - was trying to console him, especially when he slowly walked over… only to pass him without pause and disappear into Jinu’s room. “Ungrateful cat…” Jinu muttered.

🐦‍⬛ The second time? It wasn’t even supposed to be just the two of you. The guys were also there to hang out with the two of you. Jinu refused to acknowledge the tick in his brow when you told him over the “phone” that you’d unexpectedly had to meet up with someone else.

🐦‍⬛ Jinu also pointedly ignored the sidelong glances the others were giving him. Baby looked utterly disinterested in this matter, while the rest tried to hype him up in their own... unique and completely unnecessary ways- Jinu takes it back. Baby wasn’t the asshole this time. Safe to say, when it kept happening, Jinu was starting to seriously consider binding you to him with a demonic contract.

Jinu would’ve congratulated you - for managing to make him think about anything other than his mission or his desire to reclaim his soul. But you weren’t here. Again. It wasn’t like you two didn’t hang out at all anymore... but it was less than what Jinu was used to. With a heavy sigh, Jinu closed his eyes, pressing his forearm against them as he lay sprawled in bed. Who knew what hour it was? Judging from the low hum of the honmoon barrier mingling with the underlying energy of the others, it wasn’t late enough for them to rest. Not that they needed to - but it helped pass the time when there was nothing else to do. Like right now. Right now, when Jinu could - should - be focusing on the reason he was even in the human world to begin with. But he couldn’t. Because every time he tried, his mind circled back to you. To the thought that maybe you’d figured out who - what - he was. That maybe he didn’t have whatever it was you were looking for... and you were seeking it in someone else. “Ridiculous...” he muttered. Unsure if it was aimed at himself or the situation. His thoughts betrayed him, replaying moment after moment with you. His hand reached automatically for Tiger, who had curled up on his stomach and was now purring softly. Comforting. He thought of your first meeting. The first time you went out to dinner and actually made him laugh - really laugh, not the practised kind he’d perfected over centuries. The way you smiled when you were just being you, and how that let him ease into showing bits of himself - shifting between disguise and truth. He remembered introducing you to the others. The way you slowly, but surely easier into his life more. You even hung out with th—

Jinu's eyes snapped open. He shot upright so suddenly that Tiger had to duck off the bed to avoid being smacked in the face. Jinu sat there, eyes blown wide, as a memory slammed into him like a newly turned demon. He hadn’t corrected either of them. You hadn’t been with them at the time - but knowing those idiots? There was no telling when they might’ve run into you without mentioning it and just blurring the same words in front of you. Teasingly or not, Jinu could easily imagine you not taking it well. Could it be…? His eyes narrowed, glowing gold for a brief second before flicking back to black as his ears strained, hearing the phone on his nightstand vibrate seconds before ringing. He glanced at the screen - then instantly answered it, pressing the phone to his ear. Your voice, as beautiful and soothing as always, spilled into the quiet and Jinu felt tension he didn’t even know he was holding unravel inside him. “Jinu~ Why aren’t you sleeping?” He pulled one knee up to rest his elbow on it, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he answered just as gently, “Who says you didn’t wake me up, hmm?” It seemed it was late for a human then. Hearing you laugh and shifting around in the background, Jinu zeroed his attention on you. “Because when you sleep, you sleep, hahaha!” Not true, Jinu thought - but didn’t say. He was wide awake plenty of times. But if pretending to be asleep meant you’d play with his hair longer, he’d do it every time. There was a pause. He could only hear your breathing. And usually, that was enough. It brought him peace. But even across the distance, he could feel your hesitance. A subtle uncertainty within your honmoon signature that made something twist in his chest.

Why are you hesitating… with me?

He pressed the phone tighter to his ear, fingers twitching with the urge to reach for your wavelength through the barrier as the hollowness in his chest thrummed with quiet ache. Before he met you, the void was easier to ignore - insatiable, familiar. But now… even if it wasn’t full, you brought warmth. A soft light that flickered in the emptiness where a soul should have been.

He didn’t want to go back to that empty place. He didn’t want to go back to before you. “Jinu?” you finally said his name, and the hesitation in it made him tense again. He wanted to ask, What is it? He wanted to ask, Are you going to end this? But his thoughts spiralled too fast to settle on just one question. Which was ridiculous. He had nothing to lose and nothing to give you. This whole... arrangement wasn't even there to last... That should’ve made it easier. Should’ve. But did not. Jinu let out a deep breath, realising you wouldn’t continue unless he showed he was listening. Shifting, he lay back on the pillow, gripping the phone tightly. “Yeah?” he finally breathed, ignoring Tiger’s piercing gaze and Magpie’s scrutinising stare from across the room. He expected a lot. Maybe an awkward apology - not that you needed to apologise. He’d never outright said anything was wrong. Maybe you’d tell him you weren’t comfortable anymore. Maybe— That’s why, when your next words came, his eyes widened, and he blurted the first thing that came to mind. “Is something wrong?” you asked, unsure and worried. “No—No. Pffft. Nooo—why would you think that?” he said, way too quickly. Even a blind human would’ve known something was off. Another pause. Then a sigh. “Jinu…” you said his name with a tired, warning tone. He grinned shakily, even though you couldn’t see it. “Yeeees?” he drawled, teasing - but you huffed. He could almost see your expression: the smile tugging at your lips, the brow you always raised when he was clearly bullshitting. Then there was silence again. This time, Jinu broke it. With a heavy sigh, his shoulders sagged. Under Tiger’s drilling gaze, Magpie’s quiet judgement, and your pressing silence he finally admitted what had been weighing him down. “You never—” No, that wasn’t right. He inhaled and tried again. “We don’t spend as much time as we used to and I - I can’t help but wonder if… the person you always seem to prefer has something I… don’t.” He couldn’t hide the flush in his cheeks. Embarrassed. But it was either say it or let it rot the short-lived connection that brought him comfort. Thankfully, you didn’t let him stew for long. “Baboya~” you said fondly, and Jinu could hear your smile. “These people are just part of the project I was assigned to.” Jinu blinked. Speechless. “…Project?” he echoed. Barely registering this "person" were "people". You laughed gently. “Yes! Hahaha! I really do apologise. Looks like I forgot to tell you… It’s just hard to focus on all my responsibilities when I’m with you, Jinu. I promise! This time, I won’t bail on you, ’kay?” He felt his face soften into a grin. Something in his chest buzzed - there may be no heart in his core, but he could still feel the growing warmth. He bent forward, clutching his shirt with his free hand, grinning like an idiot. “You better… You don’t want me to steal you right in front of them, do you?” You laughed, probably thinking he was joking. But Jinu wasn’t. Not even a little. Your words reassured him that he was enough - but after everything he’d experienced, he wasn’t going to let anyone take your time meant for him. He wasn’t that reasonable of a “man.”

<><><>

Abs Saja

💪 Abby had no issue with you hanging out with others. He trusted that you had eyes and knew he was a catch - and that you’d tell him if something wasn’t right, just like he bluntly did to you.

💪 Family hangouts? Easy. Abby had no problem showing up and showing off to your relatives even when he was not invited. Friends? Peers? All of that was just background noise - opportunities, really - for him to flex as your partner while the cute little rats around the two of you squealed his praises. It was a win-win.

💪 His eagerness and chill attitude about you being around others, however, was not a green light for you to pull a: “Me and the others are having a slumber party!” - followed by a kiss on the cheek and a swift sprint out of the apartment he shared with the guys.

💪 Abby respected your clever escape, because he knew if you didn’t plan it like a prison break, he would’ve already had you trapped in his arms, hoisted over his shoulder, and dragged off to his room for his required daily dose of nightly cuddles - unbothered by your flailing attempts to escape.

💪 Abby was a demon who couldn't hide his reactions. So when the door shut behind you, his brain was still buffering - trying to piece together what the hell just happened - before his lips pulled into a dramatic pout. He turned to his brothers lounging in the living room and pointed at the door with his thumb in a wordless: Can you believe that?!

💪 Jinu and Romance exchanged a glance while Mystery just shook his head - less in understanding and more in quiet pity. Baby released his lollipop with a loud pop as he looked him over with drooped eyes. “Pathetic.” Then he put his lollipop back and went right back to scribbling in a notebook, no doubt perfecting Jinu’s lyrics again.

It was safe to say Abby didn’t require rest. He didn’t have a heart like humans, meaning he didn’t need rest to produce whatever the blood was formed from for it to function. For demons, sleep was more of a pastime - something to do when there was nothing else going on. But for Abby? There was always something going on. He wasn’t the structured type - he always went with whatever caught his attention or he thought was a great idea to do. However, ever since you entered his life, Abby had developed one routine. You, in his bed, sleeping next to him every night. No exceptions. Until today. Because today, you decided a bunch of squealing meat sticks were more important than him and your shared cuddles. And for what, exactly? A slumber party? What the fuck even was that? Well, he knew now - thanks to Mystery, who had flipped through one of his human books and casually explained that slumber parties were events where humans “bonded” by staying up late, talking… and summoning demons. Which - hello? You already had a demon. Him. Or were you trying to tell him he was supposed to go to that party and fight off some pathetic, low-ranking worm of a demon to prove himself to you? That theory was quickly shut down by Juni, who waved his arms frantically and made a big “X” with his hands. “No, no,” Juni said, exasperated. “It’s not that kind of slumber party.” Yes, it was about bonding and talking, he explained - but mostly it was eating snacks, playing games, and then cuddling together before falling asleep. Abby did not like that. Were you saying he wasn’t good enough to cuddle? Not warm enough? Not sturdy enough? He could change forms if you needed him to! All you had to do was say the word - he could be anything for you. All he needed to do was tell you that he was a demon who could- Abby let out a frustrated growl into his pillow, which was currently trapped in a suffocating death grip. The others - excluding Romance, who had flashed him an enthusiastic thumbs-up - had shot him sharp, warning glares the moment he suggested it. Their not-so-subtle way of saying: fucking try it.

He huffed, burying his chin into the pillow that still smelled like both of you. His bored eyes drifted toward the glittering honmoon barrier, pulsing in slow, even waves on the bed. He hated how badly he wanted to devour you - to keep you with him at all times. The craving swelled in his chest as he hugged the pillow tighter. A glimmer of your energy flickered inside the honmoon. Abby’s eyes sharpened. Without realising it, he reached out - his clawed finger sinking into the mattress just inches from the glowing thread of your wavelength. That glimmering crimson pulsed over the faint blue. He grinned. Leaning forward, he easily cast your line into his shadow, the dying blue and vibrant red of your link illuminating his face. His sharper teeth gleamed. Abby growled in approval, "My small, precious human..." he murmured, nuzzling his nose into the line, pressing his cheek against it as your wavelength trembled. Seconds later, the device Juni called a “phone” began ringing on his nightstand. Lazily rising, Abby leaned over, using one hand to balance himself while the other reached for the phone. The moment he saw your name on the screen, his grin deepened. Satisfaction pulsed through him as he accepted the call. He purposely lowered his voice, making it gravelly - like he’d just woken up. “What’s up...” “Abby?” Your voice was soft, startled, like you were rudely awakened by something. He hummed deeply in response, shifting on the bed so his feet touched the floor. He could hear you moving around in the background too, still disoriented. “Ah—sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you…” “No, no,” he replied gently. “You called. Did something happen?” He added a slight rasp, pretending to wake himself up for you. You yawned, which made him chuckle as he stood and stretched his shoulders, muscles flexing. “No, nothing really. Just… do you think I—” He cut you off smoothly, already halfway to his closet. “Want me to come get you, sweet thing?” There was a pause on your end as he pulled on a random shirt. As soon as he put the phone back to his ear, your answer poured out, soft and almost drowsy. “…Please.” That one word was all he needed. Abby's grin stretched wider. Your voice sounded fuzzy, affected by the pull of the honmoon - probably a side effect of him tampering with it earlier. Nothing dangerous. Just made it a little easier for him. Especially if your wavelength was already weakened by their influence on you.

<><><>

Mystery Saja

🐶 Mystery was the only one among the others who was genuinely curious about the human world - in the way a scientist might be fascinated by their test subjects. A curiosity that wasn’t driven by affection or sentimentality, but by the cold, sharp edge of analysis.

🐶 That same curiosity had granted him rare insight into human behaviour. And comparing it to the era he hailed from? Mystery often wondered if he’d been born on an entirely different planet.

🐶 One of the more puzzling subjects he studied was the human desire to bond. Or more accurately - the innate need to form multiple, meaningful connections with others.

🐶 Okay… but so what? You already had Romance, with whom you could talk endlessly about new trends. Abby, who behaved like an oversized golden retriever, constantly dragging you around the city and showing you places even you - a human who lived around here - didn’t know existed. You had Juni, who could pass as the most "normal" out of all of them and offered you the kind of grounded interaction humans seemed to crave. And Baby, who teased you endlessly until you smacked him with a pillow and he cackled like it was his reward.

🐶 You even had a good rapport with Tiger and Magpie, who you adored taking on nightly walks on which Mystery tended to tag along.

🐶 And he had given you everything a human partner could possibly want. Warm meals, stimulating conversation, the kind of scorching pleasure that left you trembling - your pleas for more eventually turning into breathless gasps begging him to slow down before you could faint.

🐶 So please. Enlighten him again how meeting these random strays was more important than spending time with him, while he read, and you used him like your personal massage therapist for your feet.

“There are not strays, 'Tery,” you sighed, arms crossed, standing your ground before him. He stood perfectly still, blocking the front door of the apartment he shared with the others. “They’re my cousins.” Mystery blinked once - not that you could see it with his fringe in the way - so he tilted his head slightly instead, the silver earrings on his left ear swaying. “What’s the difference?” You let out a short snort, stepping forward to playfully shove his chest. But Mystery remained unmoved. He couldn’t comprehend how being blood-related made a difference. Related or not, they were still doing the same thing. Taking you away from him. Having to realise that was not a joke, you straightened your posture, running a hand through your hair and said, “Mystery—” Oh no. You said his full name. It wasn't even the real one. It was the name Juni had given him. And yet, somewhere along the way, it had rooted itself into his core so deeply that hearing it from your lips had a startling effect.

Your closeness was even worse. The way you stood there, just a breath away. The possibility of closing that distance— It made shivers spread under his skin. The corners of his mouth twitched, ears straining to catch each syllable that left your lips. “I’ll be back by 5:20,” you said, voice calm, trying to sound reasonable. “Maybe earlier. I don’t know how long they’ll keep me.” You really were sounding logical. But not to him. Mystery didn’t move. A thick silence settled between you as you stared him down, and he stared back through the veil of hair over his eyes. He relished the way your gaze roamed over him, your brows furrowed with concern. Without saying a word, Mystery reached up and gently smoothed the crease between them with his thumb. Your shoulders dropped. You exhaled. “Fiiine,” you groaned, giving him a look. “You can come with.” Good human, he thought, stepping aside and offering his arm. You looped yours through it without protest, and together you left for the café where your strays - your cousins - were waiting. At the café, Mystery immediately picked up on the subtle awkwardness between the strangers and himself. The two you’d introduced as your cousins kept glancing between him and the curious patrons nearby, who were clearly trying to place his face. Hmm. Maybe this wasn’t about you wanting to get away from him. Maybe you were trying to avoid drawing attention? Not that he cared. He adjusted the cap you'd jammed onto his head before leaving the apartment and relaxed into the chair. Now he could casually tell the others that he’d simply taken the opportunity to do “fan outreach.” Humans adored that kind of thing, didn’t they? Idols doing normal things. Going out for disgusting oil-water - what was it called again? Coffee. Romance had explained it to him once with a flair. Something about chic trend and university aesthetic... Whatever.

Mystery barely stifled a sigh when your male cousin awkwardly introduced himself, followed by your female cousin. After that, the conversation mostly flowed between you and them. Meanwhile, Mystery was simply trying not to spit out the moldy tar water in front of him and onto your cousin’s face. You said it wouldn’t take long - and thankfully, it didn’t. The two cousins had places to be. Finally outside in the fresh air, Mystery nodded at the male who returned it, a polite bow exchange with the female - and then they hugged you one by one, flashing bright smiles as they said goodbye and left behind their stench on your clothes. Mystery watched with idle disinterest… until you turned toward him with a bright smile and started walking. Without missing a beat, he fell into step beside you, his movements effortless. A faint smile tugged at his lips as he slid his arm around your waist, drawing you closer with practiced ease. “'Tery,” you hissed, startled, your head twisting as if to check whether your cousins were still nearby. “What if they—?” Before you could finish, his hand slid up from your waist to your back and finally settled on the back of your neck. He gently tilted your head forward, voice soft and steady, “No worries. They’re already gone.” You checked him for reassurance, and upon seeing his relaxed smile, you finally eased up, trusting him entirely. As you leaned into his side, Mystery kept his hand on the back of your neck - his fingers slowly kneading the base. Casually, he lifted his other hand to fix his hair, as he hooked few fingers under the strands of his fringe, letting them part as he subtly turned his head to the side, revealing one of his eyes. Sky blue, rimmed with glowing gold - until, in a blink, the gold swallowed the colour whole. His pupil narrowed into a sharp horizontal slit as his gaze locked onto your cousins. They were now frozen in place, lingering by the café entrance. He let them see it. The flash of inhuman sharpness in his smile. The knowing glint. He let it linger just long enough for their wavelengths in the honmoon to spike in alarm before he blinked, his eyes returning to their human form as he turned, letting his fringe fall back into place, Without another glance back, he walked leisurely beside you, pleased with the phantom of their fear still dancing at the edge of his senses like static. Mystery drank it all. And oh, how sweet it was.

<><><>

Romance Saja

🌹 Romance would proudly say it aloud: he didn’t understand the word jealousy.

🌹 He’d only first heard of it when he’d tagged along to the human world with the others. Baby had been grumbling about how absurdly jealous their fans could get, muttering it with a dramatic eye-roll. When Romance asked what the word meant, the younger demon had stared at him flatly, gave a shrug, and went back to chewing his gum. He waved him off lazily with, “Ask Fringy, I heard it from those shitty movies he watches. ” That word had piqued Romance’s interest. So, naturally, he went to Mystery as Baby had advised him.

🌹 Mystery didn’t bother answering directly. He simply set aside the book he’d been obsessing over, rising from the couch in one slow, fluid motion. Without a word, he drifted over to his beloved bookshelf - the one Romance secretly admired for its intricate, hand-carved detailing - and retrieved a hefty, leather-bound volume. Returning to him, Mystery opened it on some page, tapped a single word with one painted finger, and said coolly, “Read.”

🌹 Romance blinked at him, raised a brow at the demon's tone, then shrugged and did as told. A moment passed - and then he wheezed out a sudden burst of laughter, clutching his stomach as he tried not to choke on how own spit. Mystery, unfazed, simply straightened. With his usual calmness, he closed the book, returned it to its shelf, and without a single glance back, strolled wordlessly to his room, shutting the door with a soft but final click - leaving Romance in the midst of his hysterical laughter.

🌹 What a ridiculous term! Only self-pitying, bone-dry beings with not an ounce of self-respect could feel "angwy" over something they didn’t have and wished to possess. For what? To feel better?

🌹 Oh, honey~ If you feel miserable without it, you’ll still feel miserable even with it. To Romance, jealousy became just another made-up human excuse - an elegant little lie to mask their fear of revealing their true beauty. Easier to envy others than to honour one’s own shine he guessed.

🌹 He shook his head, the corners of his lips lifting into a pitying smile. Truly pitiful. And that’s exactly what made humans so very entertaining.

It was late into the night, and with nothing better to do - everything already set and ready - Abs had declared a Monopoly match. Now, they were all gathered around the coffee table in the living room. Juni was subtly stealing from the "bank," deep in debt to Abby, who was somehow winning - though even the big guy himself didn’t seem to realise it. Mystery’s section was the most organised; he had to keep pushing up his fringe, revealing glimpses of his sculpted face and paralysing eyes - eyes Romance often claimed were more brilliant than diamonds - as he squinted at the fine print on the cards, just in case. He didn’t seem to notice Baby quietly stealing from him… again. The youngest demon among them always somehow landing in jail. Romance hoped it wasn't some future sign. He, on the other hand, was also losing, apparently. But he didn’t care. He was far more invested in choosing the more aesthetically pleasing structures on the board that he could buy. They were waiting for Mystery to roll the dice when Romance’s ears twitched at the soft sound of his door opening. He looked up just as you stepped out, dressed in an eye-catching outfit - comfortably casual, yet still striking enough to turn heads and leave people wondering if you were even real. Pride swelled in Romance’s chest. The entire ensemble was one he’d picked out for you. With an approving nod, he turned back to the board. Mystery seemed to be deciding whether to use the card in his hand now or later, causing everyone except Romance to glare at him impatiently. Naturally, the demon was unbothered. Romance heard your footsteps approach and, knowing exactly why, he straightened. Tipping his head back, he smiled just as your gentle fingers lifted his chin and your lips brushed the corner of his mouth. Neither of you paid any mind to the eyes now locked on you - nor to Juni’s dramatic gagging, which earned him a shove from Abby - or the loud pop of gum before Baby scoffed, “Disgusting,” and turned back to the board. Romance wasn’t even sure Mystery could see - his fringe was so rich it was practically a curtain. Not that Romance cared; all his attention was on the angel standing above him.

You smiled softly down at him. “I’ll be out with some of my friends and their acquaintances. Should be back around eleven.” Romance hummed, flashing a dazzling smile. “Enjoy the night, darling. Don’t be cheap on yourself,” he said with a lilting, playful tone, then turned back to the game, perfectly content - though he noted your gaze lingered. When it didn’t shift, and neither did you, he eventually looked up. The other guys had stared at him too - besides Mystery who finally rolled the dice. Romance tilted his head at you, curious. “Yes, love? Something the matter? Do you want to borrow one of my pieces of jewellery, is that it?” he asked earnestly, clearly confused by your startled expression. There was a pause - just the two of you in your own pocket of silence - before you shook your head quickly and gave a hesitant smile. “N-No! No need. Thank you for the offer though,” you said, bowing gratefully before flashing him a radiant grin. “Enjoy your night!” Romance returned it with one of his own, lifting his hand to wave as he watched you leave. “You shall too, my lovely darling!”

<><><>

Baby Saja

🍼 Baby never understood the whole concept of jealousy. He always squinted suspiciously whenever he saw one of those people inside the magic box Juni told them humans called the “TV.” A box Mystery had grown as attached to as he was to his stupid books.

🍼 With nothing else to do today, Baby had two equally terrible options: Be dragged to some human food chain by Romance and Abby like Juni had - relegated to “human translator” duty for demons - or sit in his room while Mystery sat through one of him movie marathons on that box, volume turned low... which, for Baby’s hearing, may as well have been blaring at full blast.

🍼 He had zero intention of venturing out alone. No need to provoke the huntresses any more than they already had. They knew what he and the others were, and Baby didn’t feel like fighting - not with his brain still aching from today’s string of stupid shows designed to entertain the masses like they were circus animals. Baby swore Gwi-Ma was punishing him twice for his human sins.

🍼 So, he ended up sitting on the floor with his back to the couch, arms loosely draped over his knees, while Mystery’s attention remained glued to the humans on-screen. The female protagonist had just spotted the male lead talking - laughing, even - with another woman after getting a message from the male that morning that he would be busy. The girl’s face twisted. She marched into the café, called him a player, and dumped his own drink over his head.

🍼 Baby narrowed his eyes, unimpressed, and bit into the lollipop in his mouth. “What the shit...” he muttered, gesturing vaguely at the screen. “Why not just talk to the guy instead of pulling a tantrum like a brat?”

🍼 He leaned back with a grimace. Even as a demon, he was rooting for the male lead to ditch her. “Man... just give up and take the other chick,” he muttered, rotating the lollipop stick slowly between his fingers. “Humans are fascinating...” Mystery said, voice flat and unreadable. Baby snorted, smirking. “Sure they are. Can’t even think rationally.”

🍼 The hair on the back of his neck suddenly stood up - his instincts prickling. He could feel Mystery’s gaze drilling into him. Unable to ignore it, Baby snapped his head around and glared up at his senior. “What?”. Mystery tilted his head slightly. “We were once humans, too.” Baby scoffed, turning back to the screen. “Yeah, and? Look where our rationality got us,” he muttered, biting down sarcastically on the word.

🍼 With nothing else to add, the two demons lapsed into companionable silence, watching as the male protagonist ran after the girl with the temper tantrum. Baby’s canines lengthened unconsciously, piercing through the candy in his mouth. Pathetic, he thought.

Baby didn’t even know how the fuck he got here. It started with Abby hyping up some “amazing BBQ chain” on the outskirts of the city - and ended with all five of them sitting in one of the private cars, courtesy of the industry that scouted them after that godawful “Soda Pop” song. Baby still shuddered at the memory. That song was a fucking curse. If any lesser demon so much as whispered it near him- He huffed and slouched deeper into his seat, pulling out the "phone". Your chat log stared back at him: a single cat sticker, a cheery “Good morning!” and a short I’ll be busy today. That same moment, Baby had immediately messaged back asking, Busy with what?, reacting to the sticker with a sun emoji. You hadn’t read it yet. “Tch.” Whatever. Baby brushed it off like he brushed off the growing void in his chest - and the saliva pooling in his mouth. The urge to devour your soul was stronger than usual. He figured even his demon body was getting impatient to blend with you already. Soon, he thought, lips quirking into a smile. That was enough to earn a suspicious glance from Abby, who immediately commented that he looked “creepy.” So Baby chucked his phone at his face. It nearly escalated into a full-blown brawl, if not for Mystery and Juni unleashing just enough demonic aura to force the two of them to sit back down. Baby hated that he couldn’t fight back properly without risking his head getting sliced off. His body would regenerate - eventually -but sitting around bodyless for hours was a major buzzkill. Now, they were trailing behind Mystery, who’d been told to “smell out” the BBQ spot since none of them knew how to use phones beyond the bare minimum. And even that had taken months of trial and error. Romance was banned from dialling the emergency number after he’d used it for every minor inconvenience, so they wouldn't get locked up even before the mission could start. So as they followed the demon bloodhound through the streets, Baby came to a sudden stop. His droopy eyes, widened. He felt it - a faint tremble in the air. Your wavelength. His skin buzzed. Instinctively, his hand reached out to grasp it, only to recoil with a snarl as the huntresses' protection burned his palm.

Fucking nuisance. The fact that you were still untouched by demonic influence - still holding strong even after getting closer to him - set Baby’s teeth on edge. It made him boil. He wanted nothing more than to go head-to-head with those three bitches and rip apart whatever invisible leash was tied around you. All so he could feel your line clinging to him without restraint. While the others continued walking, Baby peeled away from the group, scanning his surroundings. The honeymoon wave meant you were either nearby or you lived on this specific street. And no - he was pretty sure you didn’t live out here. He followed the trace across the road, dodging pedestrians, until he came to a halt. There you were. Sitting inside a café. Laughing. With some rando. You were perched on a bar stool beside them, hands cradling a cup as you spoke, giggled, playfully nudged the other - and received a shove back followed by more laughter. Baby’s lip curled, a low growl escaping him. His eyes narrowed. Is this what that female protagonist felt? Fuck no. He didn’t have pathetic self-pitying thoughts. He was untouchable. He didn’t need validation. He knew he was great. No, what Baby felt wasn’t that flimsy human brand of jealousy. This was something far more primal. An urge. To walk straight through the café doors, wedge himself between you and that leech, threaten them without saying a word, and drag you out of there. Just because your time - your presence - belonged to him. Relaxing into the sensation, Baby smirked to himself. Adjusting the bucket hat shielding some of his features from rabid fans, he casually strolled toward the café. The cashier greeted him. He ignored it. Each step he took was precise. Measured. Confident in a predatory grace wrapped in an attractive human shell. His boots clacked sharply against the wood flooring, but you didn’t hear him. The ambient café noise covered his approach, and your back was turned - attention fully on the leech across from you. The leech, however, did see him. And instead of meeting ordinary human eyes like they had to expect, they met glowing gold, shadowed under the brim of his hat. Pupils slitted in sharp attention. Baby tilted his head, lips peeling into a smile far too wide, sharp canines flashing. The leech flinched hard, nearly falling off the stool. That finally got your attention. You whipped around with an adorable little glare, ready to scold whoever scared your friend- Only to find yourself face to face with Baby. Silver-blue eyes blinked innocently. Calm expression. Head tilted owlishly as if he were the one surprised to see you.

405 notes · View notes

cheftsunoda · 8 hours ago

Note

Okay hear me out: we have a Leclerc reader who is a teenage (15 or 16) and she's always struggled with mental health with the pressure of school and being charles's little sister so she thinks she has to be up to his level and he finds out? like he see's the I am sober app on her phone or see's the s-h scars on her wrists??

i got you— cl16

charles leclerc x !younger sister reader

written blurbs

being charles leclerc’s little sister was never easy. not because he made it hard — he never did. charles loved you like the sun loved the sea—endlessly, naturally, without question. but the world… the world had its expectations. and they pressed down on you like gravity. at sixteen, you were already tired. of school, of whispers, of always being almost enough. the grief for your father sat heavy in your chest, a quiet echo no one talked about anymore. and while charles raced across continents, worshipped by millions, you were quietly falling apart. this is the story of how he came home. how you broke. and how, piece by piece, he helped you find your way back. not to perfection. not to the old you. but to something softer. something true. to the version of yourself that still wanted to live.

(a/n) : hi my love. i hope you are doing okay. if anyone out there is struggling, just know that you are not alone. i am here and as long as i am here — each and everyone of you will have someone who loves and cares for you. reach out if you need, my messages are always open:)

obvious warnings of sh (not explicit), grief and depression.

—

You knew the moment you stepped into school this morning that it was going to be a hard day. You could feel it in the way your limbs dragged, like gravity had grown stronger overnight just to pull you under. The halls felt too loud, every laugh a little too sharp, every glance a little too lingering. You kept your head down.

It’s always the same, isn’t it? You walk through the corridors like a ghost, existing more in other people’s whispers than in your own skin.

“Charles Leclerc’s sister.”

“Bet she thinks she’s better than everyone.”

“You’d think she’d be prettier. Or smarter.”

They don’t even try to be quiet anymore. You’re used to the weight of expectation — not just theirs, but your own. The constant, impossible pressure to be enough. To live up to a name that feels too big for you. You’re sixteen and already tired of trying to be someone you’re not sure you ever could be.

You get a math test back in second period. 72%. The number circles your mind like a shark. You can barely focus on the rest of the class because all you can hear is the dull throb of failure. You should have done better. You should always do better. Because if you don’t, then who are you, really?

Not him. Not Charles. He wins Grand Prix. He speaks five languages. He makes people cry with national anthems and overtakes. You just… exist. Quietly. An echo of someone more important.

By the time you make it home, the house is too silent. It’s always silent lately. Maman is keeping her salon open late. Arthur’s busy. Charles is—well, he’s somewhere on the other side of the world, racing. Smiling for cameras. Waving to crowds. And you want to be happy for him, you really do, but sometimes you wish he’d see you.

Just once. See how much you’re slipping.

You drop your backpack at the door and collapse onto the couch for a moment before dragging yourself to your room. You sit at your desk and pull out your journal. It’s the one Charles gave you when you turned fifteen, with soft leather and your initials stamped into the cover. He said you had too many thoughts to keep inside. Said writing might help. You try. You write a sentence. Then cross it out. Then another. Rip out the page.

You can’t get it right. The words won’t come the way you feel them, and even your sadness feels like a failure.

The walls start to press in, then.

A thick kind of loneliness settles over you — the kind that feels like it could swallow you whole and no one would even notice. You press your hands into your lap, try to breathe. Try to be strong.

But you don’t feel strong. You feel like glass. You get up quietly, like you’re underwater. Like you already know where this is going. The drawer slides open with a soft hiss. You hesitate. Just for a second.

But then the noise in your mind wins out.

You just want it to stop — the pressure, the noise, the constant sense that no matter what you do, it’s not enough. You’re not enough. You’re the girl behind the driver, the afterthought, the kid sister who smiles in photos and disappears afterward.

It’s not about pain. It’s about silence. About needing something real to remind yourself that you’re still here. That you’re not completely invisible.

Afterward, you sit curled on the bathroom floor, your sleeves pulled back down, your journal beside you like a witness you never wanted.

You want to tell someone. You want someone to see you. But you don’t know how to ask. So instead, you cry quietly into the crook of your arm, trying not to make a sound. As if even now, you’re trying not to be a burden. And outside your window, the sun sets softly over Monaco, like it doesn’t even know you’re breaking.

—

You must have fallen asleep at some point, head resting against the wall, the journal open but blank on your lap. But when the door clicks open downstairs, your heart stutters. Maman.

You wipe your face quickly, instinctively, as if you haven’t been crying for the past hour in silence. As if she won’t know the moment she sees you. You’ve always been soft in her hands — too transparent to hide anything for long.

You hear her heels on the floorboards, her purse dropping onto the kitchen counter, keys jangling against the door. Then quiet. You hold your breath. But then, soft footsteps on the stairs. Not rushed. Not loud. Just… steady. Measured. Like she knows.

Your door opens without a knock. And she stands there — tired eyes, hair pinned back messily. She doesn’t say anything, but her eyes flick over you quickly. The red around your eyes. The tremble in your shoulders. The way you’re still trying to pretend you’re fine.

“Ma chérie,” she says, voice a whisper.

You look away. Your throat burns. It would be easier if she was angry. If she demanded answers or told you you were being dramatic. But she doesn’t. She just kneels beside your bed and reaches out.

You let her take your hand.

“I didn’t mean to—” you start, but your voice breaks, and the tears come again — hot and slow, running down your cheeks like they’ve been waiting for this moment to fall.

“I know,” she says gently, brushing hair back from your face. “You don’t have to explain right now.”

She guides you up with a soft tug, and you follow her without thinking. The hallway is dark, the house quiet. You pass Charles’ empty room — the door still open from the last time he stayed — and then you’re in her bedroom.

She helps you into bed like she did when you were little, like you were six years old with a fever and needed her there just to breathe right. She doesn’t ask about the journal. She doesn’t ask why your sleeves are so long. She just lies down beside you, pulling you close with one arm wrapped firmly around your shoulders.

Her heartbeat becomes your rhythm. Steady. Unmoving.

“You don’t have to be anything more than who you are,” she whispers against your hair. “And you are enough, ma petite. Even when it doesn’t feel like it.”

You don’t answer, but your hand curls into the fabric of her blouse, clutching it like a lifeline.There’s a silence between you, but it’s not heavy this time. Not full of guilt or shame. Just quiet. Gentle. And after a while, your breathing slows. Your muscles ease. The tears stop.

You fall asleep to the sound of her humming a lullaby you haven’t heard in years — something she used to sing to Charles when he couldn’t sleep before races. Tonight, it’s for you. And for the first time in days, you don’t feel so alone.

—

The light filters in through the pale curtains, casting a soft glow over your mother’s bedroom. For a moment, you’re not sure where you are. You blink up at the ceiling, unfamiliar and familiar all at once — the scent of lavender, the quiet hum of traffic outside, the weight of warmth beside you.

Then you feel it. Fingers in your hair. Gentle, looping around strands and brushing them back.

You turn your head slowly and find Arthur lying on top of the covers next to you, sideways, his cheek resting on a pillow, his hand still tangled in your hair.

He offers a crooked little smile. His eyes are tired too, but kind. Always kind.

“Maman had some errands,” he murmurs. “She asked me to stay with you. So I did.”

You swallow, throat dry, blinking the sleep from your eyes. Your body feels heavy, like it’s been fighting all night in your dreams.

Arthur lets his fingers fall away, folding his hands beneath his chin.

“Did you sleep okay?” he asks gently.

You nod before you can stop yourself. “Yeah. Fine.”

His brows lift just slightly, the way they always do when he knows you’re not being honest.

“Really?”

You force a smile. “I’m just tired. That’s all.”

He doesn’t answer at first. Just watches you for a long moment, his eyes searching your face. He’s always been quiet, always the observer — the one who notices even when you think no one’s looking. Maybe it’s a Leclerc thing, you think. The ability to see too much.

“You don’t have to say you’re fine if you’re not,” he says softly. “Not to me.”

Your chest tightens. You look up at the ceiling again, the morning light suddenly feeling too bright.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

You hear the slight shift of the mattress as he turns onto his back, lying beside you the way he did when you were younger and afraid of thunderstorms. He doesn’t push.

Instead, he says quietly, “I used to lie too, you know. When I was your age. When Papa died.”

You blink hard.

“I told everyone I was okay because Charles was already holding too much. And Maman cried every night. I thought if I just smiled through it, maybe it would go away.”

Your breath catches.

“It doesn’t,” he continues. “But it gets lighter when you let someone carry it with you.”

You turn your head to face him again. His eyes are on the ceiling now, fingers resting between you, not quite touching but close enough that all you’d have to do is reach.

“I’m scared,” you whisper, before you can take it back. It slips out like a secret that’s been clawing at your throat for days.

Arthur finally looks at you again. “I know.”

He doesn’t ask what you’re scared of. He doesn’t need to. He just shifts closer and tugs the blanket higher over both of you. Then he links your pinkies together under the covers, like a silent promise.

“I’ll stay as long as you need,” he murmurs.

And for the first time that morning, you let yourself breathe.

—

You hear the front door open before you even leave your room. The unmistakable thump of Charles’ suitcase being dragged inside, the jingle of keys, and then his voice — soft, lighter than usual.

“Bonjour?” he calls out into the quiet house.

Your heart lurches.

You haven’t seen him in almost three weeks. Three weeks of pretending you were okay through texts and rushed phone calls, of sending him little thumbs-up emojis when he asked how school was going. Of telling him you were “tired” and “just busy.” Of lying — not because you wanted to, but because you didn’t know how to let him see the truth.

Now he’s here. And suddenly, you don’t know where to put your hands.

You step out into the hallway slowly, pulling the sleeves of your jumper down further even though the air in the apartment is warm. Too warm. Your palms feel damp.

Charles rounds the corner just as you reach the top of the stairs, a soft smile already on his face. He opens his arms immediately.

“Ma petite.”

You let him hug you, burying your face into his shoulder. He smells like travel — cologne and airport air — but under it is something familiar. Something safe.

He holds you for longer than usual.

“I missed you,” he says into your hair, voice low.

You nod against him. You don’t trust your voice not to crack.

When he finally pulls back, he holds you at arm’s length. His eyes scan your face — the quiet exhaustion around your eyes, the stiffness in your shoulders. You’re still smiling. You think it looks convincing enough. It usually is.

But his gaze flickers down to your sleeves.

He doesn’t say anything.

Not yet.

Instead, he gives you a soft nudge toward the kitchen. “Come on. I brought croissants. The good kind. Not the sad airport ones.”

You follow him, trying to push down the anxiety bubbling in your chest.

The kitchen smells like orange peel and sunlight, like Maman had been burning a candle again. Arthur’s gone — probably out running errands or giving you space. Charles sets the bag of pastries on the counter and opens the fridge.

“Want juice?” he asks casually.

You nod.

He pours two glasses, then hands you one and leans against the counter across from you. For a moment, you both just eat in silence. The kind of silence that feels full — not awkward, not rushed. But you know Charles. You know when he’s watching.

When you glance up, he’s already looking at you.

“You’re quiet,” he says gently.

You shrug. “Just tired.”

He nods. But his eyes don’t leave yours. There’s something different in them now. Something cautious. Careful. Like he’s trying not to startle you.

“I saw Maman this morning,” he says. “She looked worried.”

You take another bite of croissant to avoid responding. Your hands tremble slightly as you set it down.

“She didn’t say much,” he continues. “Just asked me to spend time with you today. Said you could use your big brother.”

He’s fishing — but gently. Not accusing. Not pushing.

You offer a small smile. “I always need my big brother.”

Charles smiles back, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He’s quiet for a long moment before speaking again, voice low.

“You know I’ll always be here, right?” he says. “Even if I’m not always… here.”

Your chest tightens. The words are too kind. Too understanding.

“I know,” you whisper.

His eyes flicker once more to your sleeves, but he still doesn’t say anything. Instead, he reaches out, gently resting a hand over yours on the table.

“I’m not going anywhere today,” he says. “Just you and me.”

And for the first time in a while, you feel like maybe you don’t have to hold it all in forever.

—

third person pov

Charles closes the door to his apartment with a quiet click, exhaling slowly as he drops his keys in the bowl near the entryway. The weight of the day settles into his shoulders — not from the flight, or the media duties, or the late night debriefs from earlier in the week, but from something heavier. Something more complicated.

Something he doesn’t yet know how to name.

“Mon cœur?” Alexandra’s voice calls from the living room, light and expectant.

He finds her curled up on the couch with a blanket over her legs, glasses perched on her nose and a book open in her lap. Her face softens when she sees him. She sets the book down immediately.

“You’re back early,” she says, rising to her feet. “Everything okay?”

Charles nods, but the gesture lacks conviction. He steps forward and wraps his arms around her waist, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“I saw her,” he says quietly.

Alexandra’s hands move to his chest instinctively. She doesn’t need to ask who he means. “How is she?”

Charles exhales again — slower this time. “I don’t know.”

He pulls away slightly, just enough to look her in the eye. His voice drops, heavy with something tight and aching.

“She’s not herself. Quiet. Closed off. Wearing long sleeves even though it’s twenty-six degrees.” He runs a hand through his hair. “She smiled, but it didn’t feel real. You know when someone’s smiling just so you won’t ask questions?”

Alexandra nods, the crease between her brows deepening.

“I offered her croissants,” he continues, trying to chuckle but failing. “She barely ate half of one. She kept looking at the table like she didn’t want to be there.”

Alexandra leans against the arm of the couch, crossing her arms over her chest. “She’s been distant with me too,” she admits quietly. “I thought maybe it was just me. I texted her a few days ago to come shopping — you know, our usual little girls’ day — and she turned me down.”

Charles looks up sharply. “She never turns you down.”

“I know.” Alexandra swallows, her voice suddenly softer. “She said she wasn’t feeling well. That she had schoolwork. But it didn’t sound like her. She didn’t even use emojis.”

Charles lets out a low breath, sinking onto the couch beside her. “I hate this.”

“She loves you, Charles,” Alexandra says gently. “She’s just hurting. And whatever it is… she doesn’t know how to bring it to you yet.”

He nods slowly, staring ahead at nothing. “I keep thinking—what if I missed something earlier? What if she’s been like this for months and I’ve been too busy giving interviews and chasing podiums to notice?”

“You’re doing your best,” Alexandra says firmly, reaching for his hand. “You’ve always loved her more than anything. That’s never been the problem.”

Charles finally looks at her, eyes a little glassy now. “She’s my little sister. I’m supposed to protect her.”

“And you still can,” Alexandra whispers. “You still will. But you can’t fix something she hasn’t shown you yet. You just need to keep showing up.”

Charles swallows hard and nods, squeezing her hand.

“I’ll try,” he murmurs. “I’ll keep trying until she lets me in.”

And Alexandra leans her head on his shoulder, heart breaking a little — for him, for YN, for the weight she’s carrying in silence.

They sit there quietly, wrapped in the kind of love that doesn’t fix things right away — but waits patiently outside the door, hoping it will be opened.

—

back to 2nd

It’s just past noon when your name is called over the classroom speaker. Heads turn. You keep yours down as you pack your bag, already bracing for the whispers and stares. Your stomach twists — no one said you were being picked up early. No one tells you why. You step out into the sun and blink against the brightness. And then you see her.

Leaning against the school’s front gate, sunglasses perched in her hair, arms crossed casually — Alexandra. Smiling like this is the most normal thing in the world.

“Hi, love,” she says, voice soft, like she already knows to be gentle with you. “Hope I’m not pulling you out of anything too thrilling.”

You blink in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

She shrugs like it’s nothing. “I called Maman this morning. Got permission to borrow you for the afternoon. Thought we could use a little break.”

Her eyes scan you quickly. Noticing the sleeves. The weight in your shoulders.

“Nails?” she offers. “And pastries after?”

You almost say no. The idea of trying to hold a conversation, of pretending you’re okay for hours — it feels like too much. But then there’s something in her face. Something quiet and kind. She’s not asking for smiles. She’s just… here.

You nod, barely. “Okay.”

The nail salon she takes you to is tucked into a quiet side street. It smells like citrus and lavender and something clean. The chairs are soft and the lights are warm and low, not too harsh.

Alexandra picks a pale lavender shade for herself. You scan the shelves and choose a soft, muted blue. Something calm.

“Good choice,” she says. “It reminds me of that cardigan you wore in Milan. You remember? The one Charles hated because it had tiny clouds on the buttons?”

You almost smile. Almost.

You sit side by side in silence while the technicians begin. She talks a little — about one of her heels snapping mid paddock walk, about a stray cat that keeps showing up on her terrace, about how Charles nearly fell asleep standing up at a media day.

She doesn’t ask anything heavy. Just lets the air fill with soft things. You don’t say much, but you don’t pull away either. Your shoulders loosen, barely, and you rest your hands in the warm water when she motions for you to relax.

It’s not peace, but it’s close.

Afterward, she drives you to a little patisserie near the harbor. You’ve been here before, but today it feels different — quieter, like the world has been turned down a few notches just for you.

You choose a raspberry tart. Alexandra gets two madeleines and a tiny espresso. You sit by the window, watching people pass with their sunglasses and shopping bags and lives that seem light.

She doesn’t say anything at first. Just breaks off a piece of her pastry and nudges the plate toward you, even though you have your own.

Then, finally, her voice comes — soft, like it doesn’t want to spook whatever part of you is barely holding it together.

“You doing okay, sweetheart?”

You stare at the spoon in your hand. You want to lie — it’s easier. You’ve done it a hundred times already. But the way she says it — sweetheart — makes your chest ache.

You nod slowly. “Yeah. Just tired.”

She hums, stirring her espresso with one of those tiny spoons you’ve always liked. She doesn’t push. Doesn’t prod. She just lets the silence be soft.

“I miss you,” she says, after a moment. “The real you. Haven’t seen her in a little while.”

You swallow hard. Your eyes sting a little, but you blink it away.

“I’m still here,” you whisper.

“I know,” she replies. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And you believe her. Even if you don’t say everything — even if the hurt is still sitting heavy in your chest — for a little while, sitting across from her with raspberry on your tongue and sunlight on your hands, you feel like maybe you’re still reachable. Like maybe someone is holding a light for you. Just until you can find your way back.

—

The air is too heavy in your bedroom. Too still.

Even with the window cracked and your favorite playlist humming quietly in the background, the walls feel like they’re pressing in, like they know all your secrets and they’re tired of holding them.

So you slip on your sneakers, grab a hoodie, and step outside without telling anyone.

Monaco at night is quieter than people expect — empty streets lit by golden lamps, a kind of soft glamour lingering in the rain-washed pavement. You walk without thinking. Past shuttered cafés and quiet fountains, past the old bookstore where Charles used to buy your Christmas gifts. Your sleeves are pulled over your hands, head down. The hood shadows your face.

It starts to rain slowly. First just mist, then light droplets that cling to your eyelashes and dampen your sweater. You don’t turn back.

Some part of you thinks: Maybe this is what I deserve.

Another part whispers: No. You’re just tired.

The sky is dark, the kind of navy that swallows stars. A car turns the corner down the street — quiet, expensive, too familiar.

You barely glance up until the headlights flicker, and then a familiar voice cuts through the silence.

“YN?”

You freeze.

The car pulls over fast. The window rolls down. It’s Charles.

He’s in a hoodie, hair messy like he’s been running his hand through it, worry written all over his face. His eyes are wide when they meet yours.

“What are you doing?” he says — not harsh, not angry. Just… scared.

You don’t answer. You don’t know how to. The rain picks up, drizzling down the back of your neck, cold against your skin. You feel your breath hitch, your throat tighten.

Charles is already out of the car.

He doesn’t yell. He doesn’t scold.

He just moves to you, quick but careful, and holds his hand out. Palm up. Open.

“Come on,” he says gently. “Let’s go home.”

You stand there for a second, rain dripping off your sleeves, chest full of something tangled and aching. But then — you take his hand.

He wraps his arm around your shoulders instantly, like he’s afraid you might vanish if he doesn’t hold on.

The passenger door swings open and you slide inside, shivering.

Back behind the wheel, Charles glances at you. The rain is tapping on the windshield, steady and slow.

“I couldn’t find you earlier,” he says quietly. “Maman said you went for a walk. But it was dark. I just… I had this feeling.”

You stare down at your hands.

“I wasn’t running away,” you whisper. “I just needed to breathe.”

He nods slowly. “I get that.”

Neither of you says anything for a long time. The sound of the engine hums beneath the storm, the city lights painting golden streaks across the wet roads.

Then, just before he pulls back onto the street, Charles speaks again — barely louder than the rain.

“You can always come to me, you know.”

You don’t respond. But you reach over, just slightly, and your pinky brushes against his on the center console. He doesn’t move, doesn’t say another word — but he lets it stay there. And somehow, even in silence, you feel like you’re not so alone anymore.

—

By the time Charles pulls into the underground garage, the rain has slowed to a mist. It still clings to your sleeves, your hair, the corners of your thoughts. You don’t say much as he walks beside you, but he keeps a hand lightly on your back — not to push, not to control. Just to remind you…I’m here.

You expected him to take you home. But instead, he swipes his key card and leads you into his building.

“I thought… maybe a change of scenery would help,” he says, voice hesitant. “Somewhere quieter. Somewhere safe.”

You blink at him, unsure of what to say, but you nod. You’re too tired to protest. Too tired to fight the softness he’s offering you. When the elevator doors open, the smell of cinnamon and chamomile greets you first.

Then Alexandra — standing just inside the apartment, barefoot in one of Charles’ hoodies, her hair tied loosely back. The moment she sees you, something in her face melts with quiet relief.

“Hi, sweetheart,” she says gently, stepping forward.

You shift awkwardly, rain still dripping off your sleeves, chilled to the bone — but she doesn’t hesitate. She wraps her arms around you, warm and steady.

“I made you some tea,” she murmurs against your damp shoulder. “And I laid out some clothes for you. I didn’t know what you’d want, so I put options.”

Her kindness wraps around you like the blanket you didn’t know you needed.

You nod into her. “Thank you.”

Charles disappears into the kitchen, giving the two of you space as Alexandra guides you down the hallway, her hand gentle at the small of your back.

“I put everything in the guest room,” she says, her voice light but careful. “You can shower, or just change if you want. No pressure.”

The room smells like lavender and clean cotton. On the bed lies an oversized sweater, a pair of leggings, fuzzy socks, and a folded towel. Your favorite tea sits on the nightstand, still steaming.

You swallow the lump in your throat.

“Take your time,” Alexandra says. “We’re just out here. No questions, okay?”

You nod again. And this time, you mean it. When you re-emerge twenty minutes later, dry and warm and tucked into her clothes, you find them both on the couch. Alexandra looks up first and smiles. She pats the space between her and Charles. You sit. Not quite leaning into him. Not quite pulling away.

“Better?” he asks softly.

You give the smallest shrug.

“Different.”

He smiles faintly. “Different is a start.”

Alexandra tucks her legs beneath her, watching you both with eyes full of something quiet and protective.

“We can just sit,” she says. “You don’t have to talk. Not unless you want to.”

And so you sit. The tea is warm. The lights are low. Charles stays close enough that you can feel the steady rhythm of his breathing beside you, and Alexandra’s hand rests near yours on the blanket — not touching, just there. And for the first time in a long time, you feel like you don’t have to carry everything alone. Just for tonight, it’s okay to rest.

—

The next night, Charles wakes you gently just after dinner, voice quiet and warm.

“Come with me,” he says. “I want to show you something.”

You don’t ask where. You just nod, pull on a hoodie and sneakers, and follow him out into the Monaco evening. The rain has passed, leaving the streets damp and glimmering beneath the streetlights. The air smells like salt and stone.

You drive for a while in silence. He plays soft music — nothing distracting, just background to the hum of the tires and the thoughts neither of you say out loud. When he turns off onto an old road near the cliffs, you know where you’re going before he even parks.

You haven’t been here in years.

The overlook isn’t anything special to anyone else — just a narrow gravel path with a wooden bench, half-overgrown with ivy. But to you and Charles, it’s sacred. The place Papa used to take you both on Sunday mornings. Where he’d sit with a thermos of coffee and hum old songs, pointing out boats and clouds and the kinds of things that don’t matter to most people but meant everything to him.

And to you.

Charles kills the engine. He doesn’t move to get out right away.

“I come here sometimes,” he says, still staring out the windshield. “When I feel like I’m losing him.”

You look at him — really look at him — and something in your chest cracks.

“I feel like he’s already gone,” you whisper. “More and more every year. Like I forget what he sounded like. Or how his hands felt.”

Charles doesn’t say anything. He just reaches for your hand.

You sit on the bench together, wind cool on your face. The sea stretches endlessly below, dark and alive. Monaco twinkles behind you, but it feels far away here. Safe. Still.

“I’m not okay,” you say suddenly, voice sharp in the quiet.

He turns toward you, brows drawing together — not in confusion, but readiness. He’s been waiting for this. Letting you come to it yourself. You take a shaky breath.

“I miss him so much, Charles. I still can’t believe he’s gone. I think about him all the time and no one talks about it anymore, and I’m still stuck there. I feel like I’ve been frozen since he died.”

Tears start to fall, quiet at first.

“And then there’s you,” you go on, a sob catching in your throat. “You’re so good. Everyone loves you. Everyone expects you to win, and you do. You’re everything they want, and I’m just—”

You stop. Gasp a breath. The words press harder now, rising to your lips like they’ve waited long enough.

“I hurt myself,” you say suddenly. “I didn’t even mean for it to happen at first. I just… I needed something. Something I could control.”

Charles stills. His entire body goes quiet beside you, like the wind itself has paused to listen. But his hand doesn’t let go of yours. He just tightens his grip.

“I thought maybe if I could feel something else, I could stop feeling everything,” you whisper. “It’s not… it’s not a cry for attention. I don’t even want anyone to see. That’s why I hide it. I hate that I even did it.”

Your voice breaks. “But I did. I did. And I hate myself for it.”

Charles doesn’t speak for a moment. You think maybe he’s frozen. Maybe you’ve ruined everything. But then— He pulls you into his arms. And you break.

You scream into his chest. Loud, guttural, the kind of sound that doesn’t care who hears. It’s not graceful or controlled. It’s rage and grief and heartbreak. You feel your whole body shake, your fists gripping his hoodie like it’s the only thing tethering you to earth. He holds you tighter.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers over and over again. “Let it out. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

You don’t know how long you cry. It feels endless. Like years of pain pouring out of you, all at once. Your throat is raw, your lungs burn, your hands ache from clenching. And still — Charles holds you.

When you finally go quiet, chest hiccupping with shallow breaths, he leans back just enough to brush your hair out of your eyes. His own are shining with tears, but he doesn’t let them fall.

“You are not a failure,” he says firmly. “And you are not ruining anything. Do you hear me?”

You nod, barely.

“You’re allowed to feel this way. You’re allowed to grieve. You’re allowed to not have it all figured out. You’re sixteen, YN. You don’t have to be perfect.”

You look at him through blurry eyes. “But everyone expects me to be.”

“Well,” he says, voice soft and sure, “they’re wrong.”

He rests his forehead against yours. “You’re the bravest person I know. And you don’t have to carry this alone anymore. Not the grief. Not the pain. Not the scars.”

You shake your head, tears falling again, softer now. “I don’t know how to fix it.”

“You don’t have to,” he says. “You just have to let us help.”

And in that moment — on a quiet cliffside, above the sleeping sea and under a wide-open sky — you believe him. For the first time in a long time, you believe him.

—

It still feels strange, sometimes — walking into that softly lit room, sitting on the couch with the box of tissues always slightly too close, and knowing you’re supposed to talk about the hardest parts of yourself. But lately… it’s been getting easier. You don’t cry every time. You don’t flinch when you speak your truth. You don’t hide your hands anymore.

The weight’s still there, but it doesn’t crush you the way it used to. It sits beside you now. Familiar, but manageable. And that — that’s progress.

Today, you arrive a little early. You know Charles will call in any minute. Even with it being a race weekend, even with his schedule bursting at the seams, he hasn’t missed a single session since you asked him to come.

The first time you whispered, “Will you be there?” he said yes so fast it nearly knocked the breath out of you.

And he’s kept that promise every single time. Your therapist smiles at you gently as she sets her notepad down, just as the screen of her tablet lights up.

Your heart softens at the sight of it.

When his face appears, he’s wearing his race suit, zipped down just a little, his hair damp like he’s just come from a meeting or a track walk. His background is chaotic — PR people walking behind him, someone calling his name — but his eyes are only on you.

“Salut, ma fille,” he says, that gentle voice that always feels like home. “You okay?”

You nod, tucking your legs up on the couch. “Yeah. I think I am.”

He smiles — a real one. The kind that reaches all the way to his eyes.

Your therapist asks how the past week has been, and you talk. Not because you feel like you have to, but because you want to. Because little by little, you’re starting to understand yourself. Starting to forgive yourself. Starting to heal.

You talk about sleeping better. About journaling again. About the day Alexandra took you shopping and you didn’t feel like a burden. About how you caught yourself smiling in the mirror and didn’t immediately look away.

Charles doesn’t interrupt. He just listens, his image flickering a little on the screen but his focus never shifting.

When the session ends, your therapist thanks you both and signs off, but Charles stays on for a moment longer.

“You’re doing so well,” he says softly. “I’m so proud of you, YN.”

You swallow hard, blinking back tears — the good kind, the kind that come from being seen.

“I’m starting to feel better,” you whisper. “Not all the way. But… I don’t hate being here anymore. I don’t hate being me so much.”

Charles presses a hand to his heart on the screen.

“I’ve missed you,” he says. “Not just being around you. You. The real you.”

And you smile — small, a little shaky, but real. “She’s coming back.”

He nods, eyes a little glassy now. “Tell her I said welcome home.”

You laugh under your breath, and for the first time in months, you believe the worst may truly be behind you.

—

You haven’t been to a race weekend since before everything broke. Back when you were still pretending well enough for it to fool people. Before the long sleeves. Before the silence. Before the weight in your chest made the world feel like it was closing in.

But now—now it’s different. It’s not perfect. You’re not cured, or whatever people like to think when the crying stops. But your feet feel steadier. Your breath comes easier. Your thoughts are quieter.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you want to show up for someone else. You want to show up for him.

So when Alexandra asks gently, “Would you want to come with me to Austria this weekend?” you don’t hesitate.

You say yes. Not because you owe him anything. But because you remember the way he held you at the cliff. The way he sat through every therapy session — even if he was halfway across the world, squeezed into a media pen with earbuds tucked beneath his race suit. The way he never once made you feel like you were too much.

He was there. Always. And now, you want to be too.

The paddock is loud, alive with color and movement. Engines rumble in the distance. Journalists, engineers, VIPs — all buzzing around like clockwork. You grip Alexandra’s hand a little tighter as you walk through the gates, your badge swinging gently from your lanyard.

No one really notices you — you’ve made sure of that. Hat low, hoodie up, sleeves pushed up now without fear. You didn’t want the cameras, the noise. Just him. Just Charles. He doesn’t know you’re here.

You’re tucked behind one of the hospitality walls when he walks by — completely in race mode, jaw set, focused. Alexandra nudges you gently.

“Go,” she whispers. “He’s going to lose his mind.”

Your heart pounds. You take a few steps forward, just past the edge of the McLaren garage, and call out —

“Charles?”

He turns immediately. And freezes. His face goes still in a way that almost breaks you. His eyes widen, disbelieving. He doesn’t move for a second, like he’s afraid he imagined you. Then he’s running. Straight to you.

He pulls you into a hug so tight you almost lose your breath, your face buried into his chest, his hands trembling slightly where they hold the back of your head.

“You’re here,” he says, voice already thick with emotion. “You’re really here.”

You nod, tears already burning behind your eyes. “I wanted to surprise you. And to say… thank you. For everything.”

He pulls back, but only just — enough to look you in the face, his thumb brushing a tear from your cheek.

“I didn’t do anything,” he whispers.

“Yes, you did,” you breathe. “You stayed. You listened. You held me when I couldn’t hold myself. You sat through every session, even when you were in a different country. You never made me feel like I was a burden. You made me believe I could come back.”

His eyes shimmer. He’s not trying to hide it.

“I meant it,” he says. “Every word. I’d do it all again.”

You manage a shaky smile. “I’m doing better. I promise.”

He hugs you again, even tighter. “You’re not just doing better. You’re incredible.”

You laugh against him. “You’re going to mess up your suit before quali.”

“I don’t care,” he says immediately. “Let it wrinkle. Let them fine me. This—” He pulls back to look at you again. “This is everything.”

Alexandra snaps a quiet photo behind you — the two of you wrapped up in each other, tears on your cheeks, Charles’ smile cracked wide with love and pride. Later, after qualifying, he’ll post it. And the world will love it. But this moment — this one right now — is just for you. For the sibling who never stopped loving you, even when you couldn’t love yourself. For the girl who almost didn’t make it — and now stands, whole and healing, at the edge of the grid.

—

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mona-risms · 2 days ago

Note

hear me out.. polytrix x reader where fem!reader doesn't know about the whole demon hunter thing and is still under the hypnosis from the saja boys and the girls try their hardest to snap her out of it. 🫦

◆ MAIN COURSE: poly!HUNTR/X x fem!Reader

◆ TYPE: SFW, romantic

◆ ALLERGEN WARNINGS: None

◆ NOTES: This might've SLIGHTLY teeny tinily missed the point but I hope you still like it!! I can't make a full-blown fic without getting paid bc I'm broke as hell and I'm lazy so the most you're getting is the usual hcs and snippets I fear 💔. But anyway I LOVELOVELOVE POLYTRIX 😩😩😩😩😩 I think they should all kiss together and kiss me too

This is the funniest shit ever and no one can tell me otherwise bc you've got three ninja popstars and one perfectly normal human being who just really really loves K-Pop. And you all LOVE each other????? #holyfcknairball no one would believe you until you show full proof that yes you do in fact kiss those celebrities on the mouth! Every day actually! Unless they're on tour but still! Yes you are a girls only poly couple! You couldn't be happier!

Unfortunately bc of the fact that you're normal, you won't even know that the hot new boy band, Saja Boys, are all drawing people in via brainwashing to sacrifice your souls to a Demon King named Gwi-Ma that looks like an oversized wildfire. Said people includes you I fear 💔💔. Imagine you were out coincidentally and you got to witness their debut performance and you were so drawn to them!! Why wouldn't you be??

They hear your voice before they see you—right there, right near the front row, right in front of them.

"What's she doing here?" Mira hissed, though despite her tone, the concern was glaringly obvious.

"I think she wanted to buy something? She said about baking," Zoey answered, her own concern matching up with Mira as she bounced on the balls of her feet in an attempt to both alleviate her sudden restlessness and to see you from the crowd. "But-- But what if they try to grab her? [Y/N]'s at a very grabbable distance! And the worst thing is I won't even blame them—she's really grabbable in general!"

Zoey doesn't even finish before Rumi's weaving through the crowd in an attempt to reach you, "Either way, no one is getting grabbed, least of all our girlfriend."

When Rumi does reach you, she taps your shoulder to gain your attention. Without fail, you turn around and smile widely in recognition, "Ru-- Ahem, babe! Did you see how good this new band was? They're called the Saja Boys!"

"Yeah. I heard."

Usually, you would've noticed her sudden deadpan, but you were buzzing too much under your skin from the sudden excitement of this new debut so you barrelled on, "Maybe you and them'll even collab one day! Wouldn't that be awesome?!"

"Yeah, awesome, now c'mon, we need to get out of the crowd," she effortlessly twines her fingers in yours, which you reciprocate happily as you follow her while still going on about the Saja Boys. But when she dares to look back at the boy band, she noticed the black-haired demon in disguise's eyes on you.. and then on her, as if he knew very well what was going on.

When you finally get out of the crowd, you rejoin your other two loves of your life with a cheek kiss for Mira and then a squealing hug with Zoey.

Mira doesn't hesitate to ask as you and the shortest HUNTR/X member basically wrapped yourselves on each other, "Are you okay? They didn't do anything to you, did they?"

"Yeah, like, did they ever, I dunno.. suck your soul out or something?" Zoey asked, and then quietly winced as Mira and Rumi both signalled not to say anything with exaggerated expressions and hand gestures behind you.

You giggled at the line of questioning, "What? No? My soul definitely felt like it ascended while watching them, though! You guys are funny."

While you and Zoey were busy clinging onto each other, Rumi pulled Mira in to whisper to her, "They know."

"Know what?"

"That we're linked together in some way? That she's a normal human? I don't know, but they know and I don't want to risk her to find out. Do you?"

And their gazes drift to you as you spoke animatedly with Zoey, equally rambling to you and matching your energy in turn—probably both invested in the situation and also well-aware of the much-needed secret debriefing.

And Mira shook her head with furrowed brows, "Absolutely not."

"Good."

Whenever the girls are all "DON'T FALL FOR THEM" you're so confused bc like. Why?? What's up with them recently???? Ever since the Saja Boys popped up, they've been so weirdly pressed about them every time you brought them up. Like, sure, rivalry's one thing, but you've seen them with rivalries before!!!!! It's not like the Saja Boys have like killed people or smth lmfao it's okay the world's not gonna end if you stan them too (cue the scene with them and Bobby looking at the same city and seeing Two Completely Different Views)

Every time you're ever with them one way or another and the Saja Boys are around/involved they are LOCKING THE FUCK IN. Constantly trying to redirect your attention and theirs like "Do Not Look At Her" and if you ever get too close they'll be all "back the FUCK up actually". And whenever thry try to pull all that hypnotising shit on you they are DRAGGING YOU AWAY and kissing you until you run out of air and forget what you were even thinking about like a min ago 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

They're so much more attentive towards you, and during the two weeks of the Saja Boys being there, you are NOT allowed to be without at LEAST one of them. Why?? Ohhhh yk cuz they just really really miss you, that's all!!!!! They did just come out of a world tour so like they wanna be with you for as much as possible ahahahaha definitely bc the boy band you're fawning over rn are actually demons that want to consume your soul!!! Especially yours!!!!!! Bc they know you're special to them all ahahahahaahahahahahahaahahhaa

Oh but it'd be devastating if Mira and Zoey saw you with the crowd after Rumi's breakdown. Not only Bobby was brainwashed, but so are you, mindlessly following the masses. And as much as they want you to fight it, to remember, they can't even blame you or find the strength; they failed, Rumi hid she was part-demon the entire time, it's over

You'd be one of the people closest to Gwi-Ma's flames on purpose I think—a twisted way for Jinu to make your sacrifice quick and painless. But when Rumi and then Zoey and Mira both clock it? Absolutely the fuck not dude Gwi-Ma just made them even fucking MADDER

At the end of it they know they'll definitely have to explain everything to you, considering. From the Saja boys to Rumi explaining herself properly ALLLLL the way to how they're Hunters and what they do. But at the very least you're not dead thank GOD

"You guys know I don't actually know how to feel right now, right? Finding out that my girlfriends have been constantly getting into near-death experiences as, like, idol ninjas with magic weapons isn't really for the faint of heart—let alone finding out demons and supernatural whatevers are real."

The four of you migrated to Rumi's bed after that whole ordeal at the Tower, tired and exhausted and in need of a good cuddle pile. Right now, you and Rumi were cuddled up against each other, her patterns casting a soft glow on your skin, while Mira was spooning you with her tall frame and Zoey clung onto Rumi like a koala.

The trio had the decency to wince a little, and Mira spoke first in defence, "To be fair, we did get trained for, like, years not to give anything away, including our Hunter profession."

"And I'm your girlfriend," you sighed as your hand traced the jagged glowing lines across Rumi's skin, "I thought we weren't going to hide anything. No wonder sometimes you lot disappear without any explanation—this whole time, you've been.. slaying demons?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

You hummed.. before putting your attention on Rumi, "And you. You really think we were going to love you any less because of what you're mixed with?"

"Um. Kinda?" Rumi looked to the side, averting your gazes, "It's-- I was raised to think that I should be ashamed of it, that I need to hide. It's--"

"Why you always have a separate green room?"

"Why you don't go into the batthouse with us?"

Rumi nodded, though not without a flush on her cheeks, "..yeah."

Your gaze softened as you lightly bit your lip before cupping her face for a short but tender kiss, "You think that's gonna really scare me—us—away? Mira and Zoey came back to you after the shock, and I sure as hell don't care if you were part-turtle or whatever--"

"Being part-turtle would be cool! ..Or super slow, depends--"

"My point being," you interrupted Zoey with an affectionate chuckle, "we love you because you're our Rumi. Not an idol, not a demon, just our Rumi—the one that overthinks, overworks and gets so into her head that we'd have to shut it for her. ..No more hiding, yeah?"

Rumi doesn't respond, not for a long while, and thre three of you are content in just laying there in silence, with her patterns casting a brighter yet softer glow on all of you. But eventually she buries her head in your chest, muffling her eventual answer, "..Mhm. Thank you."

Zoey's hold on Rumi tightened as she practically nuzzled into the latter's back, all while Mira reached over to hold Rumi's hand, now back to its human shape compared to the claws she had briefly before. No one else says anything, and that's perfectly fine for the four of you.

"..So I guess I'm retiring from stanning anyone but you guys."

"Obviously!" "Duh." "You are."

#mona's main course...#rumi x reader #kdh rumi x reader #mira x reader #kdh mira x reader #zoey x reader #kdh zoey x reader #kpop demon hunters x reader #kpop demon hunters imagines #kdh x reader #kdh imagines #huntrix x reader #huntrix imagines #huntr/x x reader #huntr/x imagines

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sarahroutldge · 2 days ago

Text

caveman.

a/n: I wrote this for the brilliant 'make rafe great again' campaign by @zyafics!! It's a bit of a mess and unedited but I hope someone enjoys it!

summary: you may love rafe cameron, but that doesn't mean you have to love his borderline toxic possessiveness and jealousy.

word count: 4k

warnings: angst, fluff, creepy guy behaving creepily (nothing graphic), violent rage on rafe's part (what else is new), alcohol, weed, smoking, mentions of past messy relationships, I'm lazy so I didn't proofread this... uh I think that's it. lmk if I forgot anything!

Parties at the Boneyard are practically rites of passage for the kids who grow up there; whether you’re a kid from the cut or the heir to a multi-million-dollar fortune on Figure Eight, you’re probably spending those summer Friday nights getting drunk or high—most likely both—at the Boneyard. In high school and college, those nights are treasured, rare moments where the parents and grandparents aren’t eyeing their kids, waiting to see them fail.

And sure, maybe, on occasion, things get messy. The Pogues and the Kooks are never quite at peace for long, but usually it blows over before anything truly terrible can happen, as the Kooks involved know that once Deputy Shoupe gets notified, so will their parents. And for the Pogues, one run-in with the police is a future discarded—a scholarship taken away, a college acceptance thrown out, a job opportunity lost.

But it’s hard to care so much about that when you’re a bit tipsy, a bit high, and dancing with your friends under the moonlight. Your boyfriend is just across the beach, drinking with his friends, and you can almost swear that the winks he sends you every once in a while feel like a jolt of electricity. Truly, they’re almost as intoxicating as the weed and the alcohol.

Kiara spins you around, and the two of you twirl across the makeshift dancefloor (which is really just sand), as you enjoy a drama-free night. The wind is just strong enough to provide an extra breeze to what would usually be a much hotter, much more humid Outer Banks night. And the music has mellowed from Top 40 hits to some softer, bedroom pop. You don’t know the words, but you’re having too much fun to care.

Unfortunately, though, nothing in the Outer Banks is ever truly uneventful. The bliss you’ve taken for granted is shattered without warning, when you feel a sweaty, unfamiliar hand grasping at your midsection. Immediately turning around, your hand drops from Kiara’s, and you make eye contact with the tall, unfamiliar man before you (a Touron, if you had to guess). Not wanting to make that much of a fuss, you simply shake your head, hoping he’ll get the message. But he’s either too wasted or simply doesn’t care, and he reaches for your waist again, and this time his grip is strong enough to pull you back into his chest.

“What the hell, dude?” Kiara bites, before pushing him off of you. “Get off our beach if all you’re planning on doing is acting like a perv,” she adds. You grab her hand, squeezing it in thanks.

The man raises his hands up as if he’s totally innocent, and you just scoff. Thankfully, though, he seems to finally take a hint, as he turns around. Kiara looks up at you, and opens her mouth as if to speak. But unfortunately, before she can, you hear the familiar but worrying shout of your boyfriend, Rafe Cameron, from behind you.

“Hey, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Rafe starts, before shoving the man’s back.

You can immediately sense where this is going, and frankly, you’re not up for it. “Rafe, it’s fine. Let’s just go.”

Rafe turns around. “It’s not fucking fine. He’s scum.”

And just as you’re about to grab your boyfriend’s hand and pull him away, the stranger turns around. “Hey man, it was an honest mistake.”

“Yeah? Well, next time, ask a girl before you put your fucking hands on her, especially when that girl is my girlfriend.”

“Rafe, please, let’s not do this. I just wanna go home,” you chime in, hoping that you’re loud enough for him to hear over his rage.

“You didn’t want to go home until this prick put his hands on you,” Rafe argues.

And while you were annoyed before, now you’re irritated. “Rafe, let’s go,” you say, colder.

He stares at you for a minute, and then looks around, noticing that the man who touched you has walked away. He huffs, his fists balled in anger, and then he walks away from you. You watch as Rafe walks across the sand, away from the crowd.

“Do you want to go after him?” Kiara asks, feeling awkward about the obvious tension between you and your boyfriend.

“No. He just needs to blow off some steam.”

Kiara nods. “Are… are you okay?” she asks, seeming genuinely concerned.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just… That was gross. And I’m mad at that guy, but unfortunately, shit like this happens. And I’m tired of having to deal with Rafe’s temper tantrums every time we go out.”

“Any other time, I’d get it. Believe me. But this wasn’t just a guy getting too close—he wouldn’t back off. That piece of shit deserved whatever punch Rafe was gonna give him.”

“It’s not about what the guy did. Trust me, I’d be happy to see him get punched. It’s the possessiveness that bothers me. It’s like Rafe thinks I’m helpless without him,” you explain.

“I promise that’s not true,” Kiara assures you, but even she seems a little unsure of the words she’s saying. “Look, I’m not Cameron’s biggest fan—”

“I’m aware,” you interrupt, rolling your eyes.

Kiara chuckles. “But this time, I think that guy deserved what was coming to him. And it’s so obvious that Rafe loves you. Maybe your anger is a bit misplaced.”

You shake your head, trying to get her to understand your point of view. “Shit like this has happened before, Kie. And with guys that were way less upfront than that one. It’s not that I’m mad he defended me; I’m mad that he sees me as some damsel in distress, someone who can’t function without him as a bodyguard. I just wish he’d have a bit more faith in me.”

Your friend considers your words for a minute, ultimately giving you a tight smile. “C’mon, let’s get out of here. You can hang with us at the Chateau while your man figures his shit out.”

She tosses her arm around your shoulder, and your mouth curves into a reluctant smile. As the two of you make your way off the beach, your head turns behind you, looking out for your troublesome but usually well-meaning boyfriend. He’s far away now, but you can still sense the frustration radiating from him in waves.

A few days pass before you see Rafe again. You’ve texted a bit back and forth, putting some space between the two of you. You know you’ll forgive him eventually, but you need time to consider how to move forward. Rafe’s issues with anger and jealousy span far back into his childhood. And it might not be your job to “fix” them, but you can’t help but want to.

Rafe is complicated, always has been. From his issues with his father to his struggles with hard drugs and history of getting into fights, there’s a lot of darkness swirling around in that brain of his. For the longest time, he struggled with asking for help, lacking the attention and care of a parent who could teach their child how to deal with the toughest emotions. But you won’t deny that he’s gotten better at it. He’s matured in a way that his younger teenage self would never have imagined, and the responsibilities of adulthood combined with the weekly therapy appointments (that only you and his sisters know about) have helped to mellow him, giving him the tools with which to face his demons.

And that’s why you won’t give up on him.

Midsummer’s is just around the corner. Though balls and galas in the name of “charity” are certainly not rare on Figure Eight, Midsummer’s is always one of the grandest and most important (at least in the minds of the Eight’s parents and authority figures). For the teenagers, it’s a time to converse with adults about the future, hopefully landing connections that will help with the process of college applications and even internships later on. For the parents and grandparents, it’s the perfect time to show off the family unit; those who live on the island year-round and the families that stay just for the summer all come together to brag about the past year’s “achievements.” For those in their early twenties like you and Rafe, it’s a time to take advantage of the open bar and see the friends from high school that you haven’t seen in a while.

This year, however, is the first year that Rafe and you are attending as a couple. Your table is a mix of the Cameron family (plus Sarah’s boyfriend John B. who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else), your own family, and a few singles. Normally, this would be an occasion for pressure, but your families have known each other throughout the years, as the Figure Eight scene has always been a tight circle.

After the main courses have been served and the parents have swapped conversations about business for the latest gossip, the band’s music starts to slow. The sun has set and the moon looks stunning over the country club, reminding you of just how lucky you’ve been to grow up in a place so beautiful. And even though you and Rafe are a bit rocky, you almost forget it. The tipsiness from a few too many unclassy shots behind the bar with your friends has set in, and Rafe’s hand on your thigh feels almost too hot for a night like this. He squeezes the bare thigh uncovered by the slit in your dress every once in a while, as the two of you shift in and out of conversations with your family. It’s almost going too well.

That is, until your father mentions your cousin’s upcoming marriage when he speaks to Ward.

“She’s the first of my nieces to get married. We’re all thrilled, and the wedding is only two months away.” He shifts a bit, seeking your attention. “Y/N, honey,” he says, and you turn your head to face your father, away from the pleasant and lighthearted conversation you’ve been having with Sarah and her boyfriend.

“Yes, Dad?”

“I still need to book the tickets for your trip with your cousin, so please send me the dates tomorrow at the latest. Or else you’re going to have to find your own way to pay for them,” he adds, laughing at himself like it’s the most ludicrous thing in the world.

“Will do, Dad,” you add, and as soon as the words have left your mouth you go back to the conversation with your friends.

But before you can speak, you feel the hand that’s been on your thigh move to your hand, squeezing to get your attention.

“What trip was your dad talking about?” Rafe asks, unsure of why this hasn’t been mentioned before.

“Oh, Rafe, I’ve told you about this. I’m going away with my cousin and a few other girls in a few weeks for her bachelorette party.”

Rafe considers this. He knew you’d mentioned a vacation, but he could’ve sworn it was a family trip up to visit your grandparents. His jaw clenches, though his tone remains the same. “Where is it?”

“Miami. We’re all staying in one large suite at a beach resort that I can’t remember the name of.”

He nods. “Why can’t I come?”

You hesitate. He did hear the word bachelorette, right? “Rafe, it’s a bachelorette party. You’d be the only guy there.”

And yet he doesn’t seem to get it. “Exactly. Babe, you’ll be going to bars in Miami without me or any other guys. And as much as I love you, you’re the clumsiest drunk I know,” he adds, with a smirk. Clearly, he thinks you’ll find his comment funny. Though you normally would, he says it with a condescending tone that makes you drop the hand you’ve been holding.

“I can take care of myself, Rafe.”

“Can you?” he asks, not yet sensing the change in mood.

“Yes!” you respond, more sternly but without raising your voice. “I’ve taken care of myself drunk way longer than you and I have been together. I think I can manage a few days in Miami with my cousin and her friends.” His eyebrows furrow in confusion, not understanding where your anger is coming from.

“I know you can take care of yourself, babe, but you shouldn’t have to. I’m a guy—I know how guys behave. And you’re nice—sometimes too nice—and it makes me worry about you.”

“I am a grown woman, Rafe. I’m not helpless.”

“I never said you were helpless, and you know it. Why are you fighting with me over this? It’s like you think I’m the bad guy, and not whatever perv is gonna start groping you in a sticky Miami bar.”

Frankly, you’re stunned, and a thought comes to your head. Is he really worried for me—or does he not trust me? But you don’t feel like voicing your opinion out loud, and you need to cool off. You stand up out of your seat, and shove your chair in. The action draws the eyes of your family, but you ignore your mother asking where you disappeared to. You need fresh air.

Taking the path you and every other Figure Eight kid knows from the time they’re fifteen years old, you follow through the winding hallway of the club that leads out back, to where the waiters and other club employees take their breaks. The immediate gust of wind feels refreshing on your face, and you walk to the edge of the parking lot.

Your feet take you to the abandoned dock that, for whatever reason, was never taken down when the country club was renovated a few decades ago. It’s hidden behind overgrown trees and weeds, and you breathe in relief at the absence of anyone else there. Though from here you can still faintly hear the sounds of the event behind you, it’s quiet enough to where you can also hear the swamp waters crash against the dock, and the night bugs buzzing around you.

The edge of the dock is too dirty for you to sit down on—your eagle-eyed mother would immediately notice any stain on your dress and berate you for it—so you simply stand there, thinking about the boyfriend you left at the table. The look on Rafe’s face just makes you let out a harsh chuckle. It occurs to you at that moment that your boyfriend is either an idiot or really entitled. Maybe he’s both.

You’ve dealt with this shit before, and Rafe knows that. He knows that your most recent boyfriend before him was controlling and overprotective in a way that made you feel uncomfortable. It’s why you broke up in the first place.

Does he not even listen to me?

The small but effective cardigan that covers your shoulders begins to itch, and you reach to take it off, only to stumble upon something in the left pocket. When your hands grasp the item, you immediately sigh in relief, pulling it out.

The pack of cigarettes is old, of course; you haven’t worn this sweater since high school, but it was the only one that even somewhat went with your dress tonight. And Outer Banks summer nights have always had a bit of a chill to them. Your fingers carefully open the pack, pulling out one of three cigarettes left, before setting the pack down next to your feet. You drag it to your lips, holding it there as your fingers naturally reach for the lighter in the opposite pocket.

It takes a few flicks before a flame is successfully lit. You draw it to the end of the cigarette, an inhale.

About halfway into your second cigarette, you hear the sounds of footsteps on the creaking dock.

“You hate when I smoke,” he says, and though the immediately recognizable voice of Rafe Cameron should be comforting, in the aftermath of the argument it’s only agitating.

“I don’t want to do this now,” you say without turning around to face him. He nods, though you don’t see, before walking a few more steps.

He’s about a foot away from you, and you still haven’t turned. “Look, Y/N, I only—”

And his insistence on talking only adds to your irritation. Turning around your heel, you look him right in the eyes, meeting his blank face. “No, Rafe, you don’t get to speak.”

“But I—”

“No,” you say, and he finally seems to understand.

A beat passes, and he nods, encouraging you.

“Rafe, I love you. I really love you. But I don’t love you enough to deal with distrust that clearly comes from a place of insecurity rather than genuine concern. I’m not saying that you don’t have any concern for me; I’m saying that whatever your little interrogation was back at the table felt more like an insult than anything else. And you know the shit I went through with Noah. So don’t act as if my rage is misplaced or coming out of nowhere. I’ve done this shit before and I know I deserve better, Rafe.”

You take an inhale of the cigarette, before exhaling right in his face. He rolls his eyes at the action, but you remain unbothered. “Can I say something now?” he asks.

“Sure.”

He looks hesitant, but he proceeds anyway. “I’m not great with words—you know this. I’m not good at expressing myself eloquently, and one of the things I like so much about you is that I don’t ever feel like I need to. You know what I’m feeling even when I can’t find the words to describe it, and you don’t push me to.”

He waits a bit, eyes searching your face to ensure that you’re paying attention. When he finds at least a bit of interest in your eyes, he continues.

“I’ll be honest. I didn’t get why you ran off before.”

“I can tell.”

He ignores the snark in your comment. “But it doesn’t matter whether I get it or not. What matters is that I love you and I trust you. And I did sound a bit like a dick.”

“Just a bit?” you ask, and he tries not to smile at your question. Clearly, he’s headed in the right direction with his speech if you’re willing to even joke with him.

“Fine, I deserve that,” he accepts. “I mess up a lot. Like a lot. I don’t always say the right things and I don’t always express my feelings in the most polite way, but I’m working on it. I promise.”

“Rafe, that’s just the problem. I’m tired of hearing you say that you’re working on it—I want to actually see the change. I can’t do the possessive caveman shit again, I can’t. And I don’t like feeling like your teacher. I’m your girlfriend; as much as I care about you and want to help you with shit like this, it can’t be all our relationship is.”

He nods. “I know, babe. You deserve better than that.” And something in his tone makes you want to lean into his sincerity, trusting that he actually gets how you feel. You drop the butt of the cigarette, and he stomps it out with his foot. “Your mom would go insane if you ruined those heels.”

You smile… just a bit. Testing the waters, he brings a hand up to your face, and your body reacts by leaning in, craving his touch. Even when you’re mad at him, he’s the one you yearn for. But before you can get swept away in the magic, you need to make sure that he gets your point. Your hand reaches up to his and pulls it down. He immediately frowns at the action, and it takes all the willpower you possess to not abandon your speech when his lips pout in that adorable way that they do.

Instead, you squeeze his hand in assurance, and his pout morphs into something less worrying, more hopeful.

“Rafe, I don’t mind that you get worried sometimes. I don’t even mind that you get a little jealous. They’re your feelings and you’re entitled to them. But you’re not entitled to talk to me the way that you just did. I love you and I would never, ever do anything to risk that.” You punctuate your declaration by bringing your hands to his face, pulling him down to meet you. He settles into the familiar action, and leans in.

“I’ll work on it, I promise,” he says, only an inch away from your lips.

You nod, sensing the truth in his words. “Thank you.”

His blue eyes look into yours with a gleam of hope. With the natural habit that comes with almost a year of dating, his lips come to press against yours, as his hands fall to your hips. The moment is picture perfect, and your hands run down his tux-covered chest. It’s gentle at first, almost hesitant—just like when you first started dating. But then it moves into something deeper, as you feel his hands squeeze at your hips and his lips move against yours, his tongue finding its way into your mouth. What started out as something soft and romantic quickly becomes something much more crazed and heated, with whines and sloppy kisses drowning out the noise of the waters behind you and the country club in the distance.

You make out like teenagers, hidden away from everyone else as if you’re not both grown adults in a serious committed relationship. It’s thrilling and messy, filled with passion and earnestness, as if he’s trying to convince you of his promise with the kiss. And you love it.

But unfortunately, the fog of youth can only last for so long. Your immature but intoxicating makeout session is too-soon interrupted by the sounds of your boyfriend’s closest friends, Kelce and Topper.

“I told you they’d be making out,” Topper says, and you and Rafe immediately jump apart as if your parents have caught you. But he refuses to drop you entirely, instead pulling you with him as he turns to face his friends.

His mood quickly shifts from slightly annoyed to severely unimpressed when he sees Topper take a twenty dollar bill out of his wallet, passing it to Kelce. “Really?” he asks. You roll your eyes at the juvenile bet. He pulls you in front of him, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Hey, you have no reason to be mad, Cameron. You’re not the one with twenty dollars less in their pocket,” Kelce bites back, and Topper just snickers.

“Not really my problem and also not my fault,” Rafe retorts. You can’t help but giggle at the petty argument, and Rafe’s heart swells knowing that your argument has been resolved. Maybe not completely, but he knows the two of you will move forward. You always do.

As the two boys in front of you begin to bicker more about God-knows-what, Rafe leans down to your ear. “You reek of cigarettes by the way.”

“And since when does that bother you?”

“Oh, I couldn’t care less. But your mother—”

You huff, not letting him finish. “Don’t even go there. Let’s sneak out through the back parking lot.”

“You took the words right out of my mouth. Come on.” He grabs your hand, tugging you forwards. The two of you shove through Topper and Kelce, but Rafe couldn’t care less. You quickly make your way across the parking lot, hand-in-hand.

“And maybe since I won’t be joining you on the Miami trip, you could give me a little show of all the bikinis I won’t get to see,” he adds with a smirk.

You gasp in mock agitation, but the mischievous glint in your eyes tells him that you’re back in tune with him. “Only if you’re on your best behavior,” you tease back.

I'm soooo bad at endings so apologies for that - but otherwise hope y'all enjoyed!! and here's a reminder that requests are very much open :)

also again - shoutout to zyafics for this clever campaign!! I loved participating and I encourage y'all to read the other great fics written for it <3

#zyafics-mrgacampaign #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron one shot #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron reader insert #obx fanfiction #obx x reader #she writes

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glitterfingers · 3 days ago

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Started as a silly crush from twelve? Thirteen? years ago. These feelings have existed for more than a decade. I live a quick jeep away from where i last saw you. I still recall your face between my legs in the blue room that December morning. I'm not sorry I didn't stay when you asked, but I regret being scared out of my mind when you requested tulog muna tayo, huwag ka munang umalis. My regrets are few and far between but I'll admit i regret not staying. For you I admit I remain a staunch defender of being absolutely selfish with my heart. I would not have survived you if you lied and pretended to want me when you didn't. But i can live through this pining. Thanks for rejecting the hypothetical but sincere request, for not being an asshole and using me for your ego (the bar is in the lowest circle of hell). After all those years of denying it to myself, you remain a constant ache in my chest. I still dream about you once a year and am hit with obscene longing every time. It would be comical if I weren't so disgusted at how much i want. And I'm so frustrated because it's been four years since I've last talked to you and it's you that i want specifically and only you. The blue room is long gone. That morning exists only in my memories. I've known no peace since. Thought time away would make the desire fade but it only gave the yearning depth. I've tried I've been trying i continue to try to let it go, let the wanting of you go. I endure raw desperation and this version is somehow the most amusing to my other friends, but the worst to you and you're not the cause, i just wish it were easier for me to have been your friend without simultaneously craving you.

But my long term longing is in your shape and the color of your skin and the tattoos you let me bite and how the morning sun hit your eyes and how we made each other laugh and i miss you all the time. How are your parents. What did you think about Senshi's story from Dungeon Meshi. What obscure movie are you going to recommend me now. Let's debate on why you said Junji Ito was for normies. I'll give you some of my tea and you'll thank me. Your friends probably still love you, even though your lives have all evolved, just talk to them. Will you let me kiss you properly just one last time? Don't let me kiss you, i'll probably never want to let go. I still haven't, but I swear I've tried everything I know though. Or do let me. I dont know. I've loved a couple people since the last time i thought i was in love with you. Apparently i cannot framework myself out of desire (who knew), but I've pried away the excess. I can love people without wanting them in my life anymore. Tell your parents you love them before it's too late.

I send a quick prayer for you every year on your birthday, i stopped greeting you because you never sounded like you enjoyed any of it, but it doesn't matter, the prayer is for my benefit, i never forget. I wish i could.

I wanted you before I knew how to be your friend. Maybe now I am paying that price. I like to believe I'm a better friend and lover now too, but we owe each other nothing. I love you anyway. I know you're not happy, but I hope you're content. I hope one day I'll see you out and about and my heart will stop feeling like it'll explode at the sight of your face. I'm a good liar but i know i can't help but look at you with reverence. Is that why you always looked like you knew something i didn't? I wonder what you saw on my face those last few times. I never did know how to covet without sacrificing and carving out a part of myself, but whatever spell you have me on means I've gotten better at loving myself too. I am no longer unhinged by longing and regret and aching. Time and space away from you (and everyone else really) has taught me that i dont need to bleed to prove my capacity to love. That sometimes the best way to love someone is to leave them the fuck alone because it'll be the best for everyone involved.

I'll see you. Probably next year in my dreams again.

Dedicated to the girl who continues to haunt my dreams even though it's been years since we spoke.

erin morgenstern/richard siken/stick season - noah kahan/not a muse: the inner lives of women: a world poetru anthology; "mountain nights" - rati saxena, edited by kate rogers and viki holmes/unknown/ @2j/unknown/do I wanna know - arctic monkeys/dear friend, - dayglow/ @etherealarte/we should be well prepared - mary oliver

#personal

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bratbarzal · 1 day ago

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Oh I would kill to see luke and his lover travelling europe idk :’)

I sort of have a ~vacation thing in the pipeline for them so I'm gonna bullet point some random thoughts on this while they're fresh in my brain bc I love the idea of them having a little european trip together and doing it the authentic way bc they're just two kids in love and exploring the world!! not super in depth bc like I said there's something else in the works but I am really enjoying doing these extended thoughts!!

luke is the ultimate airport boyfriend no one can change my mind!! like standing in the check in queue with his arm slung over your shoulders or you're in front of him and his chin is resting on your head as he watches the boards to figure out where your gate is!! and he's hauling both of your cases around even though you say you're fine to wheel them, but you like watching as he lifts them onto the belt, and you like eyeing up the way his sleeves cling to his muscles when he's leaning on the desk and going through all the information with the guy behind it!!

and obviously his first thought when you're through security is food, so you're walking hand in hand and he's pretending like he's giving you the choice but he's lowkey dragging you to wherever he wants to go, and you both end up getting burgers and he steals your fries when he's done with his, but you're used to his crappy distraction techniques by now so you just let him do it!! and the two of you have a whole thing where you're swapping parts of your burgers like he'll take your pickles and you'll take his tomato and you just do it without asking because you guys eat so often together that it's just normal!!

and he'll smell all the perfume testers with you in the duty free store!! and try on a bunch of sunglasses and you're taking a bunch of pictures of him in shades that make him look like a bug or an alien hahaha!! but he buys some unisex fragrance you can share and it's that thing where it's the only thing the two of you will spray while you're away so that it will always remind you of that vacation!! and it ends up being a cute tradition every time you leave the country!!

the only thing you'd let him splurge on for the whole trip is the extra leg room seats, and he just about convinces you that premium economy is the way to go, so he gets to stretch out his legs and you get to cuddle into his side with the arm rest raised and you share a set of earphones to watch some random movie on the flight together 🥺 like you don't even bother syncing screens you'll just lay your head on his shoulder and snuggle his bicep and probably fall asleep on him while he's watching conclave or smth

and the two of you aren't exactly hostel hopping but you really wanted a lowkey trip so the hotels you stay in are all super cosy and small, because you're spending most of your time out and exploring anyway, so when you're in your room you're constantly all up in each other's space, and he's always bumping into you and grabbing at you to move you out of the way, and it's all just super intimate and precious to you that you get to be a normal young couple doing normal things away from like him being recognised all the time back home, or not being entirely secure in such a random hotel - when you're away, it's a bit like the bubble you get at the lake house, where he's just Luke, your boyfriend, not Luke Hughes.

and he's been to Europe on tournaments before but he's never been able to properly explore, so you do all this touristy coupley stuff together!! and Luke very much gives goofball energy like if he was in a relationship I don't think he'd be all mr cool I think he'd embrace getting to do dorky shit so like he's eating food from street vendors with absolutely no etiquette, and he's making wishes throwing coins in fountains and taking pictures "resting on" the leaning tower of pisa or pinching at the Eiffel Tower - speaking of have you ever seen those videos of dua lipa and Callum turner dancing near the Eiffel Tower???? they give me Luke and lih!reader vibes all the time they're so cute!!

and Luke is the perfect victim of a tourist trap so he's getting his portrait done by those whacky artists who draw your mouth about half the size of your face and they make his curls all crazy and his neck super long lmao!! and he's getting suckered into buying you flowers all the time off of the ladies who say it's romantic - and yeah, even if the roses aren't real, it is romantic because he gets all blushy and bashful about it!! and he says you have to collect fridge magnets for everywhere you go as a memento because you're not bulking up your luggage but it's cute to have something back home that reminds you of being away together!! and he's super serious about his fridge magnet criteria so you let him have the last say even if they're going on your fridge.

also he's clinging onto you for dear life everywhere you go. your hand doesn't leave his in public, and he's cuddling you in the back of taxis, and standing behind you with his arms draped over you in museums, you're tangling legs under the tables in restaurants, and falling asleep on his shoulder on trains!! bc physical touch Luke is the realest thing to me!!

and one more thing bc I love this concept is he's obviously way quicker at getting ready than you so he'll always sit by you while you're getting ready and just watch and talk to you like you curling your hair is the most interesting thing in the world!! and he's weirdly intimidated by a curling iron but one time he offers to do it for you and he doesn't burn you by some miracle so he's always doing the back of your head while he yaps lmao!! he's always zipping the back of your dresses, and untying your shoes when you finally get back to the hotel room!! and he's watching you put on moisturiser before bed and he always likes when you spread the excess onto his skin 😭😭 he's such a little obsessed lover boy I adore him!!

#sorry this isn't super long but I LOVE THIS CONCEPT #luke hughes #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes blurb #luke hughes headcanons #💌.tsou #💌.lih #*writing

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hellspawnmotel · 3 days ago

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you've been saying your analysis about ralsei has gotten disproven/become irrelevant after the new chapters - im curious as to why you think that cause personally i still think everything you've said holds up (esp since we still havent gotten to the reveal of ralsei knowing about the player or his origins)

it’s mostly to do with the fact that I was ascribing a high level of intent to ralsei’s actions that further the romantic coding between him and kris, which to me seems pretty disproven at this point. based on his insistence that he doesn’t deserve to be loved or cared for, and how guilty he feels for making kris and susie get attached to him, it seems really unlikely that his goal is to get the player to fall in love with him, unless he’s playing a really long game.

there’s also the fact that kris seems much more open to giving or receiving affection from ralsei- it feels like kris really does like him. maybe not romantically, but there’s a level of care that felt forced before but now seems genuine. kris is the one who chose to hug and comfort ralsei at the end of chapter 4, we didn’t tell them to make that action. and kris is repeatedly insistent that ralsei does NOT look like asriel, to the point they seem pretty uncomfortable with the idea. there’s a lot of ways you can interpret that, but if they were trying to keep the player from shipping them with ralsei it would be counterproductive.

also there’s this

pretty inconsistent if kris and ralsei are the “intended” couple!

I still have a lot of questions too of course. ralsei without a doubt knows about the player, which colors his relationship with kris in a shady light no matter what. he knows most of kris’s choices are ours, not theirs, and idk if he can tell which are which. but ralsei reacting by being bashful and cute now reads much more as him experiencing real joy and desire rather than as any kind of manipulation tactic, so it’s probably just something he guiltily indulges in.

with all that, I no longer think the prophecy dictates that ralsei and kris, or ralsei and the player, have to end up together. ralsei seems to hate the prophecy anyway and is just resigned to his fate, and trying to make it easier for everyone else. if there’s any kind of influence on the romantic angle with him, it’s something that’s coming from an even further outside layer, and it seems like ralsei is totally unaware of it. I think parts of my analysis still apply on a strictly metatextual level but I doubt that it will become textual in the way I predicted.

#ralsei has also been just as affectionate with susie as he is with kris if not more so. so I don’t think he’s singling out kris for that #he just really wants love but thinks that’s a bad thing lmao #asks #analysis #deltarune spoilers

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earthsparked · 2 days ago

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Although it's not really focused on, I do wonder what the bots would feel like when we touch them (physical affection). Sometimes they're portrayed as being cold to the touch, sometimes they're warm like a computer, but I personally think that Cybertronians are more in-between, just like how humans are—the extremities tend to be cooler than the body itself, although they can still be pretty warm.

For example, Optimus has warm hands, perfect for holding cold humans, but if it's frigid outside? Lay on his chassis, that's where you go to defrost from the cold.

A bot like Ultra Magnus has even warmer hands, a warmer chassis, and woah, even his shoulder pauldrons are warm! I would love to sit on his shoulders, but would I accidentally fall asleep and fall off? Yes. Yes I would.

Smaller bots are the best for cuddling though, even with the size difference. Watching a movie with Bumblebee? Welp, now he's watching a movie with his human, who's fast asleep. He wouldn't mind.

Gah, physical affection with the bots (any bot) is my favorite! Let me hug them!

Oh you've hit on one of the things I can't quite decide (in a good way!)

You're so right. If I had a mech friend, I'd be all over them. Cat on a warm car hood. Chilling on their knee. Sprawled over their shoulder.

What I can't quite decide is, I go back and forth on how a mechanical being would register physical touch. It seems intuitive that they'd have to have some sensory input from their exterior. To what degree can they feel their armor, though? And does touch, for them, tie into emotion and pleasure the way it does for us? It's hard to even consider what it might mean if it didn't.

You're very right that this isn't really focused on much. I think one of the biggest differences between humans and Cybertronians, and yet one of the most unexplored, is that they can in all likelihood turn off their physical pain. At least to some degree. They can probably alter their sensory capacities to a much, much greater extent than we can. What's life like when you can decide how much or how little you want to feel? And how is that sensation processed?

In humans, there's a rare condition of being unable to feel pain and it's considered extremely dangerous. Because pain is a warning that something is wrong. If you can't feel pain, how do you know you've broken your ankle? You could just keep walking on it, doing more and more structural damage, until you've become permanently injured. Being able to turn your pain on and off, while something I'd be very envious of, would make us so, so fundamentally different as a species. It would change our medical field, our wars, our laws, our relationships, our art.

Touch is such an inherent part of any kind of close relationship for us. We're born with a need for it. Babies literally die without it. Of course we'd want to touch our new friends. To bond with them, to feel close to them, for reassurance and mutual enjoyment of their presence. Doubtless we could and would do that.

But would they view touch the same way? Would they need it? I know we see mechs hugging and touching, but..they're metal. That's kind of a lot of clanging. What sensation would they get out of it? What use would it have for them? What role would touch have played in their development – when they're not really a species that evolved, at all?

I know I go back to this a lot, but Therrae's Xenoethnography really was formative to me in a number of ways, and the mechs there just don't use touch, natively, in the way humans do. And they have to adapt to our ways, even as the human main character tries to adapt to theirs. That would include finding ways to bridge that gap and really communicate what we're trying to communicate in ways that make sense to us both, when we're trying to be physically close or vulnerable to foster those emotional bonds.

The real challenge, and the real crux of it all, is that. That we're both willing to try, to take risks. It takes courage to look at a being you're so different from, and be willing to climb in their hand or sit on their shoulder. It takes courage to engage in whatever alien means of physical communication they would use. It's also what's so beautiful about first contact. Not the failures, or the misunderstandings, or the differences, but the willingness to try and keep trying to build a third language we can both speak.

And then, to use that third language to say I love you, I trust you, I want to be with you.

#earthsparked asks #transformers x human #transformers x reader #transformers first contact au

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kiame-sama · 2 days ago

Note

It's been as hot as hell these past few days in America. My AC units are having to go on seperate plugs just because they're getting overworked and overheated. I've heard that some people's AC is shutting off entirely.

How do the boys react to an overheated Darling or kiddies? I feel like Jamil would love the humidity and all, but someone like Ace or Deuce would be unable to function in this weather.

Also, for those who have pets, keep an eye on them during this weather! Don't leave them alone outside without supervision! There's been reports of animals being left out and dying! Take care of yourself and your animals, please and thank you!

Warnings; yandere behavior, Human= Reader, gender neutral reader, multiple yandere monsters, Monster TWST AU,

Rollo is panicking and unsure how to help. He can only heat things up, not cool them down. He will try to find a shaded area for you and will be willing to fan you, but he lets out constant heat, so he may overwhelm and warm you on accident.

Jamil LOVES the heat. He enjoys laying in the sun and warming his scales under the light. Dry heat or wet heat, he doesn't care, it feels nice to him either way. if he notices you are uncomfortable or heating up too much, he can actually lay his coils on top of you or wrap you in them. Because he is Naga, his body is naturally colder than most other species, so being under his scales while he moves them every few minutes would actually mean he constantly has a cold spot to help cool you down while you in turn warm him up. He can even find something to fan you with using his tail.

The Dragon can easily shield you with his wings as well as use his magic to create a breeze for you to keep you cool on the unbearably hot days. Malleus is unbothered by the heat most of the time and is happy to do what he needs to so you are comfortable, but if he genuinely thinks you are overheating or in extreme discomfort from the heat, he will begin to get upset. Malleus' sorrow beings about a blizzard, so you may long for the heat once he actually gets in his emotions. For the most part, Malleus is good at keeping you cool before it gets to that point.

Idia is technically considered to be as cold as the grave despite his flame hair. As a creature from Tartarus- the Land of the Dead- Idia is cold enough to chill others to the bone. He isn't often one to soak up the sunlight, more a creature of shadows and darkness. If you are too warm and hug onto the Shinigami, you may actually start to shiver because of how cold Idia can be to the touch. Lay on top of him wrapped in a blanket and he will keep you at a nice chilly temp. You may even long for your heated blanket if you snuggle Idia long enough. He is quite cold and that chill can be felt by touching him.

Kida is an Air Nymph and can easily create a breeze to cool you down. Due to his natural affinity for air, if you mention to him that you are feeling too warm, he will happily make a chilly breeze that cools you down in the heat of the day. Let him know if the wind is too cold and he will adjust as needed.

Neige is eager to try and keep you comfortable, going as far as fanning you with his wings to help you cool off. Neige will happily do whatever he can to make sure you are comfortable and cool on event he hottest of days. Do you need a cold drink? He can get that for you! Do you need shade? Well, he can happily use his wings to shield you. Just communicate with him and he will do what he can to keep you comfortable and at peace.

If it is getting too warm for you to stay comfortable, go swimming with him. He can hold you right along the waterline on his back, letting you longue across his equine figure as he swims lazy circles through the water. If you really want, he can cast a spell so you can safely submerge completely under the water and chill out in the lake with him. He will ensure you are comfortable and safe regardless while you spend time in the lake with him.

Sounds like you could use some time beneath the waves with him. Azul promises that you will be comfortable and safe while you are by his side. He will give you a potion that allows you to breathe under the water and he will happily swim with you while the two of you escape the heat of the day. Just let him know and he will move his schedule around to accommodate your needs.

#kiame-sama #humans are extinct twst au #yandere #tw yandere #yandere x reader #monster au #yandere twst

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itsblueflamebae · 12 hours ago

Text

Hotspot

synopsis: did you just find mac’s hot spot?

wc: 624, without actual programming stuff

cw: suggestive, double-clicking (oh!), mac receiving

notes: read with caution! gender neutral reader. extremely sensitive mac (which is canon, right?). mac x programmer!3dmodeler!reader. yes, i included some 3d modeling shenanigans in text because it’s funnier that way. ignore how bad and inaccurate it is please, and please tell me you understand the word pun with hotspot. potential part 2? not beta-read.

You double-click on the Python tab because… Well, it’s better that way, is it not?

You mostly did your work quickly, in silence of your house, so you could hear the thoughts of quitting and the persuasion to stay for the sake of your salary. But today, your precious glasses rest on the bridge of your nose, and your non-dominant hand is held by Mac. Your fingers are intertwined and their thumb gently glides over your skin.

"Are you sure you don't need the help of a professional?" They asks, peering into your face.

Your fingers tap on the keyboard, and Mac feels it like a dance of your fingertips on their skin. It's so fleeting that it even tickles.

“I am professional, my love. Just sit back and relax," you reply to Mac, smiling contentedly.

hotspot = {

“side”: “right”,

“x”: 50,

“y”: 70,

“icon”: “a”,

“alpha_out”:65

You stop, trying to figure out what's wrong. Your eyes scan the screen once, twice, as your hand reaches for the mouse.

"What are you—" Mac is about to ask, when they feel a new wave of electricity running down their spine.

Of course, you move the mouse so slowly that it's almost painful. Mac bites the inside of their cheek — you're not doing it on purpose, they think, but they're enjoying it. There was a sheen of sweat on their forehead – not enough to wipe off, but it tickled their skin. Just a little more, they thought, if you touched the mouse again, if you clicked the left button twice, their shirt would stick uncomfortably to their back. The skin of their palms was warming.

"I can see you fidgeting," you tell them as soon as you cast a curious glance.

“Have I ever told you how fitting and delightful your glasses look on your face?” They asks, translating the question. “You should wear them more often.”

“So should you,” you say, pointing my finger at their nose.

Ah, that's where you made a mistake.

“alpha_out”: 65,

You didn't put a space, silly.

“MC,” Mac calls you by your name.

“You know, I don't understand why my company needs a hotspot right now. It’s so strange. I'm thinking about adjusting the transparency here, and I'll change the position and depth.”

Mac listened and thought that it wouldn't hurt to change the position, and you could change the depth of where your fingers are. Damn it, do you really not understand what you're doing to their system, or are you pretending? You start typing again. They felt more than a pack of numbers, the order of energies increasing to a gram of staticity, the final dilemma and drama, the output of the reaction percentage, which is akin to zero. Oh, Mac felt something more than just numbers of your code, and craved more, so much more that it was barely balancing on the desire to devour and be devoured.

“alpha_down”: 100,

“alpha_over”: 85,

“action_up”: “script_scenel”,

“z_index”: 10

}

“MC,” they call you again, because you've never looked so hot, all engrossed in your work, explaining something that only the two of you can talk about.

Oh, Mac will overheat soon, and it will be your fault.

You chuckle and wipe your forehead with the back of your forearm.

“Oh, I know,” you smile. “But you'll be patient, won't you?” You stroke your finger up and down, up and down.

Of course they'll wait. Just promise to finish what exactly you’ve done, alright?

#date everything #date everything x you #mac date everything x reader #mac date everything #x reader #date everything x reader #date everything!#suggestive #omg i struggled with that coding stuff #mac date everything x you #get it? hotspot #as in hot spot haha #Spotify

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comicnerd557 · 1 day ago

Text

The one where Jake tells the squad how he met his wife

Jake Seresin x reader

A/N: Sooooo, this was supposed to be a blurb and it's almost 6k words. It's fine. Enjoy! There may be a part two if there's interest, just let me know!

Warnings: Jake is accidentally an asshole, plus sized!reader, reader is a female, cursing, sexual innuendos and dirty thoughts but no smut, even then, MDNI!!!

as always, a thanks to my bestie @dalamjisung who introduced me to Top Gun Maverick in the first place. Love you boo!!

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Okay but like, imagine Hangman, cocky, badass, can’t-wipe-the-smirk-off-his-face, Hangman, married

Most would probably picture a woman equally as badass as he is, tough as nails, spits literal fire and can’t go an hour without jumping her hubby’s bones

That’s certainly what the rest of the Dagger Squad thought when Hangman let it slip he was married

“Someone married you, Seresin?” Payback was both shocked and horrified. Shocked someone accepted his proposal, horrified they hadn’t changed their fucking mind yet

It was no secret Hangman was a lot to be around, and while, yes, he had relaxed a bit with age, he was still a goddamn handful. He had stopped flirting with every skirt he saw about three years back, but….the squad just assumed he got tired of the playboy life and decided to go bachelor

“You don’t wear a ring.” Phoenix was skeptical, as usual, sipping her beer with narrowed, observant eyes. Without wasting a beat, Jake reached under the collar of his shirt, grabbed his dog tags, and held them up

Sure enough, in between the tags sat a simple silver band. “I wanted gold, but, the Mrs said she would sooner rip her finger off than wear gold. Clashes with her skin tone apparently.” He snorted

More shocked silence. It was all true. Jake Seresin was married. “How long?” Bob questioned. He hid his shock much better than the others, something Jake was thankful for

Hangman paused to think. “It’ll be 11 months in two weeks.” Jaws dropped. Jake’s ego took a hit. He laughed, a bit awkward. “I’m a bit offended, y'all are so surprised. I took a month off for the honeymoon…You guys didn’t think anything of it?”

“Honestly, thought you were on a mission, I swear to go-Wait, hang on, why the hell didn’t we get invites?!” Coyote’s protest was met with rallied cries of confusion. The entire squad was upset. “It was just me, her, and our folks. Private, small, quiet.”

Hangman? Quiet? Private? The man was like a walking disco ball. He fucking loved attention. Whenever the thought of Jake getting married crossed through heads, it was always assumed it would be a huge spectacle with fireworks and maybe a dance crew

The squad was silent for a full minute, processing the information they had just learned. It was a quiet night at the Hard Deck too, meaning there wasn’t even the chatter of strangers to fill the void. “Oh my god, someone say something! It’s not that big of a deal! I’m fucking 34, none of you expected me to be married? Really?!” Jake threw his hands up, laughing

Finally, shockingly, Rooster spoke. “We’re happy for you, really bro, just…What’s she like? How’d you guys meet? Name, age, job, we wanna know.”

How did they meet? A smile spread across Jake’s face before he could stop it. It wasn’t Jake Seresin’s usual cocky, condescending smirk. It was a genuine smile, sappy, sweet…and weirdly soft. None of them had ever seen anything like it

“Alright little ones,” Jake teased, sitting down across from the squad. Part of him worshiped the attention. “Gather around and Papa Jake will spill the beans.” Dramatically clearing his throat, Hangman started his story. “It all started three years ago…”

Jake had been absolutely fucking beat. The San Francisco sun was nothing to laugh about, and Maverick had, once again, kicked their ass in training. Hangman only added fuel to the fire, running his mouth, and as a consequence, he had to do double the amount of pushups the others did

“Fuckin’ ridiculous.” He grumbled, slamming the door of his truck shut with a huff, head falling forward onto the steering wheel dramatically. He had spent the entire day working his ass off, didn’t even have time to eat. Jake was fucking starving

Too lazy to cook, the pilot grabbed his phone, googled ‘food near me’, and clicked on the very first one, allowing the directions to guide him without even check where the hell he was going

Imagine his delight, then, when GPS led him to a quaint, soft looking bakery. The parking lot was empty, causing Jake to mumble a quiet thanks to the Big Guy upstairs before hopping out of his truck, making his way inside

The bell on the door jingled as he pushed it open, and the rush of ice cold air conditioning felt like the sweetest relief hitting him square in the face. He groaned aloud, content, tense muscles slowly relaxing the more the scent of baked goods invaded his nose

It wasn’t overly sweet, thank god, but just sweet enough to lure even the pickiest eater through those doors. Why this place wasn’t crowded, Jake didn’t know. Were the workers rude? Ugly? Maybe the food was unsafe to eat, leaving people glued to their toilets for hours on end

“Hi there!” A voice chirped from behind the counter, causing Jake to finally reopen his eyes after closing them in bliss. Like Cupid’s arrow had struck him, Hangman froze in place. Fuck. Fuck, fuck fuck fuck.

Never before had Jake Seresin, Hangman himself, been rendered speechless by a woman. Until now. “....Are you okay sir?” The heat had been especially brutal today…Maybe this guy had heat stroke and was just wandering, confused?

Jake managed to put one foot in front of the other and make his way up to the register. Thank fucking god he didn’t trip. Now, it was time to flirt. “....Doughnut.” His brain had been left at the base, clearly, cause that was the only fucking word Jake managed to squeeze out

You smiled, barely biting back a giggle. “Did you want a doughnut or…?” Jake blinked, forcing himself to fucking think. “Your dress. It has doughnuts. It’s cute, very fitting. Are you the owner or just a really dedicated employee?” Yes. Yes! The AC had finally cooled his head enough to think straight

“The owner.” You answered, smile turning a bit shy, hands soothing down the front of your dress. “It’s actually one of many pastry themed dresses I own. Today we have a special on doughnuts, so I figured my doughnut dress would be a good way to advertise that.”

“I’ll take 'em all.” Excuse you? Huh? Jake’s brain was screaming at his mouth for moving too quick. It seemed you were just as shocked, eyes going wide like dinner plates, and fuck, Jake’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of your visible excitement. “Really?! You haven’t even tried them yet!” You had fussed over him in a way that had Jake making up his mind. He would buy every single fucking doughnut if it kept that smile on your face

He just nodded. “Yes ma’am. I’m actually a Navy Pilot, and my squad just got back from a highly classified, super dangerous mission, so, we’re celebrating.” He explained, taking the chance to brag about how super cool awesome brave he was. “Feeding soldiers is like feeding a damn zoo. It’ll take all these doughnuts and more to fill ‘em.” Again, your smile grew, now fully beaming

“Take a seat! Here, you can have this one on the house while you wait. I’ll get everything packed up and I can help you carry them out to your ca-Oh i’m gonna need to build more boxes.” Now a busy bee, Jake watched as you hurried around behind the counter, packing up every single doughnut you had in the store, including some fresh from the oven. By the time you finished the pile of boxes was almost as tall as you

His wallet would hate him for a while, but the crew would be eternally grateful, especially if the rest of the doughnuts were as good as the one you had given him to munch on while he waited. “I knew this area was filled with pilots, but I hadn’t had any visit yet. Thank you for your service!” You giggled, grinning ear to ear. “I added a military discount, and combined with our sale, you saved a lot of money! Your total is…” The number was in the triple digits. Jake still didn’t hesitate as he tapped his card. After the beep, he reached into his wallet, pulled out a stack of cash, and dumped it into the tip jar

“Oh, oh no!” You immediately protested. “I can’t accept that! You’re really saving me, if the doughnuts don’t sell, they get tossed and it’s a really big waste. Honestly, I can’t take th-” You reached into the jar to take the cash out. Jake reached out, grabbing your wrist, and fuck, the instant zap was felt by the both of you

He smiled, sweet, calm. “Keep it. These are the best damn doughnuts I’ve had in my life. I owe it to ya.” Hangman managed to wink before grabbing half the pile of boxes, promising to come back for the second half after he loaded them up

The next day, when he showed up to work, he made the new trainees carry the doughnuts into the break room. Why the hell should he do the work? He bought the damn things after all

“Is it someone’s birthday or something? Someone die?” Rooster asked, pink sprinkles falling from his frosting covered mustache. “Whatever it is, I hope it happens again. These fucking rock.” Fanboy groaned, mouth full. Jake just smirked. “You’re welcome. I was feeling generous, figured I would remind all of you why you love me so much.” He mused. Everyone stopped chewing

“...They’re poisoned. Everyone go throw up.” Phoenix, despite her words, finished the doughnut she had in hand

Jake just rolled his eyes. “I think you mean “Thank you Jake, you’re so handsome and kind and funny and smart, oh my god any girl would be lucky to have you!” Right?” Maverick saved her from having to respond, calling for the team to gather up for a meeting

That afternoon, Jake returned to the little bake shop on the corner, prepared to ask for Doughnut Girl’s number…Except she wasn’t there. Someone else was behind the counter. Jake ended up just buying a single cookie before leaving, head hung low

The routine continued for a week straight. It got to the point where Jake asked about the owner. The teenage employee behind the counter just grinned. “Oh she works morning shift most of the time! Usually gets off by three.” Fuck. Jake almost never got off before six. Another cookie bought, another disappointed look as he walked out

For a few days, Hangman tried to move on. He really did. After picking up three skirts in three days, he still had you on his mind. The girls moaning obnoxiously under him looked nothing like you. They were tiny, practically toothpicks. You filled out your dress, body soft and curved. They had a thigh gap. Yours jiggled with every step in a way that hypnotized Jake. He gave up after the third night

He woke up extra early the next morning and set out, determined to complete his mission. He was gonna get your number, take you out, and fuck, maybe even marry you one day, who knew? He was feeling a little crazy

So, at 5:45 the next morning, Jake pulled into the parking lot of your bakery, turned off the engine of his truck, fixed his hair, and walked inside. “Welcome to The Cozy Oven!” Your voice was like music to his ears. No more bored teens or sweet but confused old ladies. Finally, he was reunited with his baker

“Oh it’s you! Mira said you came looking for me.” Was he delusional or were you teasing him? There was a glint in your eyes Jake couldn’t quite place, and the way you leaned over the counter seemed to prove his theory. You were so teasing him. Oh it was on. “You got me hooked on your sweets then disappeared on me.” He mused, smirking, palms flat against the counter. “The sweets have still been here.” You point out, giggling

Again. Fucking music his ears. “Tastes a bit sweeter when I’m looking at you.” Jake’s voice dipped low, leaning in a little closer. In an instant, your cheeks went hot, the tips of your ears darker in color from all the blood rushing to your face at once. “O-oh, you think so?” No longer could you meet Jake’s eyes, though, the smile didn’t leave your face. “Don’t tell me you’re a shy thing. Guys must come in every hour to beg for your number.”

At first, you laughed, like Jake had just told a super funny joke. When you noticed he wasn’t laughing, you stopped. “Oh, you were serious?” You weren’t being sarcastic or rude. Just genuinely confused. “I can count the times I’ve been hit on by strangers on one hand. I mean, my best friend calls me her wife, but, that’s just her thing. She’s married.”

Now, it was Jake’s turn to be confused. How the hell were you not married with three kids and another on the way? He wouldn’t say it aloud (yet) but fuck, you were like, ideal wife material. He had only recently started thinking about settling down and getting married and you checked off his checklist fucking perfectly

And god those hips were down right sinful, and fucking meant for holding and having babies. Not that Jake’s head was filled with thoughts of bending you over the counter and stuffing you full of cream instead of you stuffing the doughnuts. Definitely not

If his standard issue pants were a little tighter than usual, that’s not his fault

“Are they blind, or am I the first single man to walk into this bakery?” This man was single? Fucking. How. He had made your entire month buying every doughnut in the bakery and had done so with a grin and a sweet, somehow not creepy, wink. The bakery was doing…okay. You had just opened your doors a few months ago, and while your head was still above water, you were getting tired of treading really quickly

The pilot had the biggest order you had received so far, and holy hell that tip was enough to even buy that new super fancy cat food for your cat. Sniffles had been almost as grateful as you had. Almost. She never said as much, obviously

“Well, single men walk into this bakery often, so…You must be blind.” You giggled again. Jake laughed, tossing his head back. “I assure you, sweets, my eyes are just fine. They wouldn’t let me fly if they weren’t. I’d be stuck on the ground, or worse, the backseat.” He shuttered with over exaggerated disgust, playing it up to hear you laugh again

It worked. He beamed. “At the risk of making myself look like a complete jackass…” Jake leaned in, dramatically serious. “Can I have your number? I’d like to prove to you exactly why those men are blind as bats.” Jake let his eyes wander, slow, drinking in your frame like he was sipping the finest whiskey in the world. Just as slow, your smile dropped

As sweet as he seemed, the way he stared…Men usually wanted one thing. “I don’t even know your name.” You responded, voice quieter than he had heard it before. Jake, being Jake, chalked it up to your close proximity, so distracted by those pretty lips moving he failed to hear the cautious, almost anxious tone in your voice. “Lieutenant Jake Seresin. At your service.” There it was. His secret weapon. Every woman he ever met (Phoenix didn’t count she’s weird) had practically tossed their panties at him whenever he dropped that line

Women went nuts for men in uniform. One mention of his rank and they would fall to their knees. “I fly for Top Gun. Have you heard of it?” Everyone had. Jake was really pulling out the big guns now, but if he went to work without your number, he may just fly into the mountains for fun. Much to his shock, and dismay, you shook your head. Gone was that cute, sunny smile from before. Now, you just seemed…withdrawn

“I thank you again for your service, Lieutenant, but I’m afraid I don’t give out my personal number to customers.” A fatal shot. You went for the kill by reaching for the business card on the counter. “But if you ever need catering, please don’t hesitate to call the shop and put in your order. Would you like to buy something? I’m afraid I don’t have time to chat.”

A lie. You had all the time in the world. Mornings were always a bit slow. But with Jake’s intentions clear, you weren’t interested in entertaining his chubby chaser fantasies anymore. What other reason would he have for asking you out? Most girls around this area were tiny gym babes the size of twigs. While many preferred that, there were always men out there who thought you’d be a nice easy lay due to your size. They didn’t have to put in effort, clearly you would be desperate enough

Though you didn’t get hit on often, a blind person could see the hunger in Jake’s eyes as he stared at your body. In his eyes, he was admiring fine art. In yours, he was thinking of how easy it would be to hit and quit. Besides, he had another thing working against him. Military men never really wanted a relationship. They wanted a fuck, a stress reliever

Admittedly, it was a little upsetting. Jake had seemed so kind, but, the more you thought about it, the more you realized how his pretty face and sweet words had tricked you into assuming his entire personality after one fucking meeting. Pathetic. Maybe you did need to get laid. How long had it been since you pulled that little box out from under your bed again?

Jake’s grin dropped. He hadn’t been turned down in….well, ever. Honestly. Maybe when he was freshly twenty and still learning how to flirt? What had he done wrong? “Oh yeah, of course.” He stood up straight, smile now much less flirty and much more polite. “Uh, I’ll just…Take one of those.” He pointed to a random pastry in the case, tapping his card before, once again, leaving a hefty tip in the jar

“Have a good one, miss.” Jake walked out of the bakery in a daze, a frown tugging at his lips. He knew you were different, he knew that the minute your hand grazed his and pure electricity filled the air, but not even a number? Really? He wasn’t upset with you, of course, just confused and disappointed in himself

Maybe it was delusional, maybe the lack of oxygen to his brain had gotten to him, but Jake had already been imagining the second, third, and fourth date before the first one had even taken place. He made it to work ten minutes early with an uneaten cookie in hand. He passed it to Coyote the moment he asked about it, claiming he wasn’t that hungry anymore

Everyone noticed Jake was a little quieter that day. He wasn’t as cocky or boisterous, keeping his comments to a minimum, not even complaining when Maverick had him with a tone within the first half hour of their dog fight, didn’t push back when Phoenix made fun of him

“Alright what the hell is wrong with you?” Bradley had been trying to rile Jake up all day. Jake hadn’t indulged the man once. They were in the shower room now, Maverick having ordered them all to hose off after they had spent nearly an hour running through a mud soaked obstacle course, part of a new training program meant to help agility just in case they were out of their planes and behind enemy lines

Payback shut his locker, towel wrapped around his waist. “You didn’t even take the bait when Bob tripped over his own feet. Bob. You love teasing Bob!” Jake just sighed, head leaned back against his locker, annoyance clear on his face. “What’d you strike out or something? Get shot down?” Rooster had, unknowingly, hit the nail on the head. He realized as much as soon as the look in Hangman’s eyes turned murderous

“Oh my god he did. Our Hangman is heartbroken. He’s grown up so much.” Bradley sniffled dramatically. “Remember when a rejection just meant he moved on to the next girl?”

“I don’t get rejected.” Jake huffed, slamming open his locker, grabbing his comb to fix his hair, not because it needed fixing, but because he couldn’t look at that stupid smug look on Rooster’s face anymore. “Bradley,” Javy, his best friend of over ten years, finally spoke up. “Leave him be. Clearly this girl isn’t just a girl. Wanna tell us about it bro?”

Not really, if he were being honest. Jake kept his mouth closed, weighing the pros and cons of telling the truth versus denying everything. On one hand, the guys on his squad lived for teasing each other, digging under the others skin with glee. On the other, there was no one on earth Jake trusted more than the men in the locker room with him. They had saved his ass time and time again, and he had done the same for them. Maybe, just maybe, they could offer some solid advice

“There’s this woman, she ain’t no girl, this is a full bodied, grown woman, and she’s nothing like the skirts I usually chase. But she’s in my fuckin’ head and I asked for her number this morning. She turned me down. Turned me down cold.” He huffed, tossing his comb back into his locker with a frown. “And I ain’t mad at her. It’s my own fault, I think I came across a bit…”

“Pervy?”

“Sex addicted?”

“Menacing?”

“Okay everyone but Bob can go fuck themselves.” Jake scowled. “But, yeah. I guess. I don’t know. I gave her the line that usually makes panties fly off and she just shut down.” Bradley snorted, rolling his eyes. “The Lieutenant line? Really? Look man, we all use our uniforms to get into beds, but if you want something more you’re gonna have to actually work for it. Flowers, chocolates, sweet talk about something other than her ass. That sort of shit.”

Jake had never felt so fucking old. He had to learn how to pitch woo now? Really? “She worth the effort?” Bob asked quietly. Jake paused before shrugging. “My heart gets funny around her. Yeah, she makes me hard in my fuckin’ cargo pants,” Payback groaned in disgust. “But it’s more than that.” Silence took over the room. Once again, Jake was left with his thoughts

“We’ll help.” Reuben nodded, determined. Jake let out a loud groan. “Oh my god, I cannot get help picking up a woman from you guys, you’re supposed to come to me for that.” His ego would never recover from this. Ever. “We come to you for help getting laid, you come to us for help getting a date. Seems fair to me.”

And so, Operation Get-Hangman-His-Date started. They looped Phoenix in almost immediately, rightly deciding her female perspective might just be useful. They spent the night at the Hard Deck coaching Hangman on how to be a true gentleman. Bob got the honor of spraying him with a spray bottle every time he so much as glanced away from a woman’s face after winning a game of pool

The next morning, Jake was ready. He had the day off from training, his only commitment was a beach day with the squad around two, but until then, he was free to charm his way into your heart. He was dressed in his civilian clothes, his hair styled to look like he had just rolled out of bed despite having worked on it for nearly half an hour

In his hand, there was a bouquet of flowers, small, just five or so. Natasha suggested they start simple. “She’s gonna think you’re a stalker otherwise.” She explained. “Or some majorly obsessed creep, which, you are, but, at least you’re not the murder and dump the body type.”

The bell jingled as he stepped inside. Today’s dress was pie themed, and in the display counter were a handful of different flavored pies. The flavor of the day was apple, apparently. You were in the middle of bringing out new product, making everything neat and perfect. When you locked eyes with Lieutenant Jake Seresin, your sweet, cheery smile turned awkward. Great. He was back

“Ma’am,” He greeted, the southern drawl more obvious in his words. “Women love a southern accent.” Javy had explained. “Use it.” So he did. Jake didn’t work to hide the Texas drawl. “I think I maybe came off a bit strong yesterday.” You snorted quietly, amused. A bit? The guy was practically making eye contact with your nipples

Still, you let him continue…Mainly because he was a good customer who could bring a whole lot of business if he ever decided to order catering. “I wanted to apologize.” Jake paused, trying to remember what he had been instructed to say last night. “You’re very, very attractive, and god knows I would love to take you back to my place and-”

He was losing you again. Jake stopped himself, clearing his throat with a bashful smile. “Anyway, that’s not why I asked for your number.” You looked at him skeptically, cautious. “You wouldn’t look at my eyes, just my body.” Though your words cut deep, mainly because of the truth behind them, your voice was soft like a cloud

No matter how nervous or upset you were, you spoke to Jake like he would cry if you yelled. He had never been approached so….softly before. “I know, I know, I’m sorry. I just, I ain’t ever been interested in a woman like you before and-” Immediately, your face dropped into a sharp scowl. No more soft. No more gentle. “A woman like me?”

Jake knew that tone. That was the tone of an angry woman. Alarm bells went off in his head. “T-that’s not how I meant to say it. I just meant you’re not my usual type.”

Fuck

Oh my god

Did he just say that?

You looked…irate. To say the very least

“Okay mr, I can tolerate you staring at my tits, I can tolerate you coming back in here sniffling with flowers in hand trying to make up for staring, but I won’t tolerate this. I get it, you’ve never been with a fat chick before, not used to putting in all this effort for a lay. You will not come into my bakery, my business, and tell me you’re acting like this because you don’t know how to handle a woman my size. I’m gonna respectfully ask you to leave.”

Somehow, in the span of just mere moments, Jake had fucked everything up. Now, as he sat on the beach, beer in hand, he did everything he could to ignore the scolding from Phoenix. He had told Javy what happened in private, but, of course, Payback had overheard everything, and within minutes, news had spread to the whole goddamn squad

“I cannot believe you, Hangman! You basically just admitted you’d never usually go for her! I mean, I knew you could say some dumb shit but you’re not a dumb guy, so why the hell did you act like a fucking Florida frat boy?”

Why did he? Jake didn’t know. The look of hurt that had flashed over your face before the anger set in had been haunting him since this morning

Jake stood, mumbled something about grabbing another beer, before taking a walk down the beach. He needed some time by himself, some time to think, to breathe without the squad shaming him for his fuck up. It was the third drink in that an idea hit him square in the face…Right as he walked into a sign advertising the 50th anniversary of the Hard Deck

Vaguely, he remembered Penny mentioning that she needed to find a good bakery to make a cake and enough cupcakes to feed an army. He stood, shaking the sand off, and ran top speed into the Hard Deck. “Penny! My favorite bartender!” He beamed, tossing an arm over her shoulders. “Hangman, my favorite headache. Why are you here? We aren’t technically open, you know.”

That never mattered. The Dagger Squad was always welcome, they knew that. Penny had an open door policy when it came to her team. “You still looking for a caterer?” He asked, smile wide and confident. Penny nodded. “Yeah, I’m having a hell of a time finding someone willing and able to make so much on my budget. I can’t afford to break the bank.” Hangman’s grin grew wider

“What if I told you, I know a place?”

It was almost 6 pm when you got the call. Eight dozen cupcakes, and a two tiered cake celebrating the anniversary of the most popular Navy bar in Cali. Their budget was low, but the woman on the phone was just too sweet to turn down, and this was the perfect chance to get the Cozy Oven’s name out there and known

A deal was made, the money was sent over, and two days later, you and your entire team were baking like mad men, scrambling around to get everything ready and fresh for the hungry customers at the Hard Deck. At the same time, the Dagger Squad was running around getting the bar ready. Maverick had asked them to help, and none of them even considered refusing

An hour before opening, the Cozy Oven delivery van pulled up in front of the hard deck. Jake, Javy and Bradley had all gone on a run for the last bit of party supplies they needed, leaving Bob, Reuben, Natasha and Mickey to finish setting up what they could. Penny had told you not to worry about bringing a team to carry all the sweets in. She had her own.

Within minutes, everything was carried in, and while you knew there were dozens of Navy bars around, part of you was still nervous Jake would show up. “I can’t thank you enough.” Penny had trapped you in a conversation, seemingly unaware of how eager you were to leave

“Honestly, when Jake recommended you, I wasn’t sure but then he went on ranting and raving about your food and-” You stopped her, confused. “Jake…Recommended my bakery?” You had honestly figured he wouldn’t ever bring up the bakery again after how harsh you had turned him down. Penny nodded. “Oh yeah, he loves your doughnuts, says he’s put on ten pounds since finding you. Does him some good, I think.”

You left a few minutes later, confused, and very, very conflicted. Had you misjudged the whole situation? Had you misjudged Jake entirely? Why the hell would he recommend you for catering after everything?

The rest of your night was spent cleaning the bakery top to bottom. You couldn’t sleep when your head was so full of thoughts and when you couldn’t sleep, you needed to do something productive, or you would loose your fucking mind

By opening the next morning, you still hadn’t slept. Your hands were raw from scrubbing, back sore from mopping, but you still opened the bakery with a smile on your face, no matter how painted on that smile was

For a fourth time, Jake Seresin walked into the Cozy Oven. This time, he had no flowers, no styled hair and no practiced words. He approached the counter calmly. “Can I have a dozen doughnuts please?” He requested, perfectly polite

This could have been a perfectly normal customer interaction, an average experience…But there was one question burning the tip of your tongue. “Why did you tell Penny to cater from my bakery?” Half way through loading the doughnuts, you blurted it out

Jake paused, blinking rapidly before furrowing his brows. “Why wouldn’t I? You’re an amazing baker. I was the idiot. My friend needed a good baker and I knew one. Just cause I got rejected don’t mean I’m gonna go around bad mouthing the best bakery in California.”

The look on your face softened. Fuck. Stupid Jake and his stupid effect on your stupid heart. “And I am really, really sorry for what I said the other day. I uh…My friends tried to coach me on how to romance a woman instead of seduce. Guess I’m not a very good student.”

“You wanted to romance me?” The thought seemed shocking to you. Jake nodded. “I wasn’t lying when I told you, you’re damn beautiful. I’m just an idiot who never even thought about how to ask a lady on a date. I didn’t mean it in a bad way, when I told you I’d never gone after a woman like you before. I haven’t, and yet, you’re the only damn woman that’s been stuck in my mind this long.”

Jake hadn’t come here to bear his soul, but here he was, unable to stop talking, rambling like some nervous teenager all over again. He was stopped by a soft hand over his mouth. “Jake,” Slowly, your smile grew. “Ask me for my number again.”

His eyes went wide. Your hand moved away, allowing him to speak again. Heart racing like a horse in the Kentucky Derby, Jake did as asked. “Can I have your number, sweets?”

You reached behind the counter, grabbed that same business card that had shut him down so harshly before, and scribbled something on the back. “Ask me on a date.” You instructed him again. Hangman smirked. “You’re certainly a bossy thing, aren’t you?” He teased lightly

“Would you like to go on a real, romantic date with me, Sweetheart?” Your heart melted. Fuck. That accent really did something. Combined with those soft green eyes and there was no way you could deny him again. “Give me an hour notice before you pick me up, and I’ll be there.”

Jake leaned back in his chair, smiling. He had finished his story, and now, the Dagger’s knew exactly how he had met his wife. Three beats of silence passed before chaos exploded.

“THE GIRL YOU NEEDED ADVICE ON IS YOUR WIFE?!”

“I DIDN’T THINK ANYTHING CAME FROM THAT MAN YOU NEVER SAID ANYTHING.”

“How the fuck did he get married before Bob? Bob is prime husband material.”

Jake just smirked, finishing his drink. “Sorry boys, Phoenix, but I gotta get home. The Mrs gets real grumpy if she falls asleep alone, and I’m too good of a husband to make my wife unhappy.”

#Jake Seresin x reader #Hangman x reader #Top Gun Maverick #Hangman #Jake Seresin #top gun maverick fic #Top Gun Maverick X reader

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hazard-haze · 2 days ago

Text

Eddie and Volt headcanons (no player)

Soooooo

My brain has decided this shit is my new hyperifxation

And that these are my new comfort characters

But I heard that everyone was getting a hate ending with them and guess who got friendship with them first tryyyyyy! So uh, skill issue/j heres some headcanons for ya'll :)

-He doesn't do it often because he knows Eddie hates it, but Volt can 110% pick up Eddie and will abuse this power if he needs to

-Eddie is Volt's anger translator. It usually goes something like this:

Volt: "We are sorry you weren't satisfied with our service, but this is the best we can do and I'm going to have to ask you to leave now."

Eddie *passing by behind him*: "Pay your fucking tab and get out!"

-Volt cannot keep his hands still, he tries to play it off suave-ly (?) by just tapping his fingers and running his hand through his hair repeatedly but when he gets really excited or angry about something he will wave his hands with big, fast, eccentric gestures.

-Volt wears eyeliner, sometimes Eddie helps him put it on.

-Eddie is very talented at most things he does, fixing, building, mixing drinks (he can even do some tricks with shakers), and there's a plethora of odd things he's picked up throughout the years. However this makes him get pretty frustrated when things don't work out the first couple times he attempts something. While not the main reason, this is part of why he was so frustrated and irritable during most of his main plot. Volt sometimes has to remind him that it's okay to not have everything figured out immediately, or pull him from his work if he's starting to stress out or exhaust himself too much.

-On the topic of pulling Eddie from his work, that is a feat. Volt full well knows he can't just ask Eddie to take a break, usually he has to either ask him to do something easier as a favor, or blame the break on himself.

"Oh Eddie, I know your in the middle of something but could you wipe the bar down? I have no time before we open."

"Eddieeeee, I have no one to watch the new season of Cougar vs Cougar with! Would you take a break to and come watch it with me? Please! Just for a little bit! Just one episode!" (They got through like 2 1/2 before Eddie passed tf out)

-Oh yeah, Volt loves reality TV and Eddie pretends to not be at least a little invested.

-Eddie can draw. Volt cannot. Volt is very jealous of Eddie in this regard.

-Infodumpingggggggg. They infodump to one another without even realizing it, it is so much of how they communicate. They will ramble and bounce ideas off each other, mostly about the club but about other stuff too.

-On the flip side. They can also communicate by saying pretty much nothing, just through brief glances. I think it would partly be because they are literally split from the same thing but it's more in that way when you widen your eyes slightly at your bestie and that equates to like a full paragraph of text.

-Eddie is short af, Volt is tall af.

-Volt makes fun of Eddie for being short

-Like seriously ya know that audio that's like "I know we don't always see eye to eye" "that because your too short to do so"

-Eddie will get revenge. He can kick/punch really hard but he can also come up with some other very clever ways of revenge. Do not mess with the guy who has access to the tools.

-Neither of them really like just hard liquor. Volt likes sweeter drinks and Eddie likes quality craft beers. If either sees the other drinking something like scotch/whiskey they can usually assume somethings wrong.

-Volt has sooooo many ideas for the club, several of which are not exactly... possible. Eddie has to be the one to break the news to him that No Volt we can't break down the retaining wall of the bar and turn it into an inanimal fish tank. Why? Because without it the roof would collapse!

-Volt's love languages are physical touch and words of affirmation

-Eddie's love language is acts of service.

-Going deeper into that, Volt loves physical touch, as previously mentioned. Eddie however does not. But they make it work, Eddie can tell when Volt needs a hug or just to have someone next to him, Volt can tell when Eddie is getting overstimulated or just needs space.

-They both have their ears pierced. Volt did it for both of them.

-Eddie actually quite likes talking to people, I mean he's definitely tended the bar at some point, he just doesn't like talking to annoying people. He's sarcastic and his humor is a bit deadpan and he's more reserved, but he 100% can be very funny and hold conversations very well with patrons and even better with friends.

-That being said, bro does not chat while he works on maintenance. If anyone, including Volt, is working with him, he isn't saying shit unless its telling them what to do, or looking over their work. If someones lucky they get a "Good job."

-Neither have ever been a fan of the dark, but they especially would not be after the black out.

-They both hate silence, I mean they work in a night club, at this point it just feels unnatural.

-Kinda already mentioned this but Volt gets quiet angry and Eddie gets loud angry. If Volt goes silent, you know you fucked up. On the opposite end, it will sometimes be assumed that Eddie is mad because he's being quiet but that just how he is, if Eddie actually is properly yelling you know he's upset.

-Nerve damage babyyyyyy. It is all up Eddie's arms, contributes to why he's not super touchy because his arms get that awful pulling, itchy, pain when something touches them.

-Volt can get some nasty fatigue. The electricity fluctuates? Bro is immediately drained, head rush, migraine, the whole shabang.

-Not really headcanon but neither of them are good at admitting they need help or at accepting it when its offered.

-They both know each others triggers tho, and make sure to tell the other to rest when they need to. Neither take their own advice.

-Eddie hyperfocuses like crazy. If he sits down with his tools, something to fix and no one around he will not move from that spot for hours.

-Volt is always jumping from project to project, person to person, never slowing down. There's a lot to do in the breaker box and he is more than happy to juggle all of it.

-Both of them forget to sleep because of these facts. and eat (do they eat?). and talk to other things. and talk to each other. and-

-They would be cat people. Volt has definitely brought up getting an inanimal from Mateo but Eddie is always hesitant (even though he would 100% end up loving it to bits if they got one)

----

Ya'll I think I'm a loser. Instead of being out on a night off I am sitting in my bedroom writing headcanons about an actual breaker box in a dating sim that I'm not even attracted to, I just think their silly. What is my life T-T

#date everything #eddison watts #eddie #volt #volt and eddie #gang i'm aro/ace #i just think they're neat #headcanon #platonic #or not idk #I wrote it pretty platonically but its up for interpretation #eddie and volt #did I just realize that these guys are a metaphor for chronic illness?#maybe #is this why I like them so much?#...maybe

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bokettochild · 1 day ago

Note

Do you have some hcs for Legend? I'd love to hear your thoughts on him :)

So, so many of them!

he's far-sighted! Due to a lot of adventuring and focusing on the far away stuff, he's actually trained his eyes to always be focused on far away things, and so now he struggles to see things clearly close up. he has specticals for it (Impa took him to get some when they were in Labrynna together) but he rarely remembers to wear them, and doesn't like to out on the road to begin with, as he's worried they'll break. he tends to forget he's wearing them when at his house though, so Ravio's really the only one who sees him wear them more than he sees him without them.

he's totally a bit of a history nerd, because I said so. It was more just stories when he was little, but between frequently interacting with ancient artifacts and architecture, as well as time traveling himself, Legend's become somewhat fascinated with history. he likes having all the answers (as most Links do) but for him, that includes knowing where things came from, why they were made, and so on

he's also a horse girl, much like Twilight and Warriors, but doesn't travel with a mount because it's less convenient. While having a mount in a Zelda game DOES make avoiding foes much easier, it also gets frustrating when you have to go find them again after doing however many things (point in case, my BotW horses are scattered to the four winds All The Time). Legend, who frequently is getting up and dropped in random places, doesn't like that this would leave any of his mounts alone in the middle of nowhere and thus doesn't take his own horse many places as a result. Said horse is Puini (OoA manga) and is currently housed either at the castle or with his grandparents (OoS manga). He dotes on her exceedingly, and being around Epona now reminds him of her a lot. Being as she's a literal war horse though (trained for battle with a knight) he has an inkling she would't quite like the mares of the rest of his brothers and leaves her out of the conversation when they bring up mounts

he's the OPPOSITE of someone with claustephobia! I have this fic I'm writing in my head right now where the boys finish their adventure just to get collectively dropped at Lon Lon with no way home, and have to adapt to "normal" life. A chapter of said fic (if I write it) would likely focus on the fact that Legend literally grew up in dungeons, like, his games have the most dungeons of all the Zelda games, as well as some of the biggest focus on dungeons, and as a result, they likely feel more familiar to him than the open world (and oddly safer, since they're predictable and follow Rules that the outside world doesn't have). I like to think that small, narrow, dark places would actually be soothing for him, to the point that, in the theoretical fic, it freaks the rest out when they find out he keeps purposefully climbing into dried up wells for some space when he's homesick. Maybe it's the inner bunny instincts, maybe it's a pre-existing trait that influenced the magic that made him a bunny to begin with, but Legend tends to burrow, and feels safest when he's in smaller, darker places.

He loves puzzles. I think it was Squido who said that we should let the boys enjoy their adventures, no? Let them look back fondly and smile at some things? For Legend, I think the thing he loved most about adventures with the problem solving, and puzzles are the best sorts of problems because you're guaranteed that there IS an answer. So, for someone who grew up doing puzzles most of his life (dungeons), they're a familiar thing for him and a challenge for him to face without actually endangering himself. he likes mind puzzles and logic puzzles mainly, but picture puzzles are fun too for him

Apple snob. He knows all the apple types, probably bred two of his own apple breeds somewhere in his life, and he has opinions on all of them

Nature boy. Not like Wild and Hyrule who like to get lost in it, no, Legend just likes existing in nature. He grew up on Orchard Hill, so gardening and husbandry are something he was raised to before the hero shtick, and he finds a certain sort of peace in gardening/plants. Also, he travels a lot, so he spends a lot of time by himself out of doors. Granted, that's also where a lot of the bad stuff happens to him, but the good outweighs the bad and I think he genuinely would love to go hiking or do nature walk sorts of things if adventure didn't scoop him up every time he left the house

Really big dancer. Mostly because of Din, partially because of Marin, and Cadence definitely had an influence too. Unfortunately, his mental metronome is set to the music pulse of Octavio's magic so he sort of just...can't keep a beat well without a lot of time to adjust. Once he's got it though he's killer

He can play a lot of instruments, but I really like the idea that the violin is his favorite. yes, he's got that precious ocarina from the dream world, and he learned to play one of those first, but like the idea that Uncle Aflon or maybe one of his friends was a violinist, and Legend just got dead set as a kid on that particular instrument. It's also a very diverse and emotional instrument, which grants him a lot of freedom of expression he'd usually not allow himself

He didn't speak his first word until he was four. Uncle Aflon kind of accepted early on that he might be mute, but as it happened, he just didn't feel the need to use words to communicate, since what he wanted was either always evident or could be figured out without him having to speak much. I think he was likely either mostly silent as a child, using mainly sign or other nonverbal communications, but if you want to make it angsty, I also like to say that it could be because his throat got messed up by an illness he had when he was very small so talking was painful for him. I HC that that changed after he traveled to Labrynna, because the memaid's curse didn't just give him a tail, but also effected/altered his voice, making speech easier for him but also making it to where he can actually cham people with his voice if he's not careful (which perhaps contributed to him becoming a harsher spoken person because then the charm is less likely to slip through on accident if he's being a jerk)

Continuing the speech HCs, I think Legend's tendency towards speech is impacted heavily by wo he's around. if it's anyone he met prior to Labrynna, or in Labrynna, he defaults to mostly sign, whereas if he met them after, he tends to usually use spoken words

Legend' far more expressive and open with sign language, as tone is very important and easier to navigate for him. In essence, it is his first language and the one he's most comfortable with

That said, with people he's truly comfortable with, legend's just straight up non-verbal. he doesn't feel the need to speak and usually just uses facial expressions and exaggerated motions to express himself. Being able to shut down the speech center of his brain for a bit is a huge relief and since those he knows well know how to read him just fine like that, it doesn't make much of a difference either way

As y'all know, I champion the Fable and Legend are siblings HC, though I know it's neither cannon, nor likely to be cannon in LU (pretty sure JoJo confirmed it's not true). Still, I really really like the twins thing!

On the note of being twins! You know how sometimes, with twins, one comes out stronger than the other? Yeah, that was Fable. Legend's actually the smaller/weaker twin, though not by much. he was a very sickly baby though. Oddly enough though, despite being physically weaker than his sister, he actually got the stronger of the magic between the two of them! It might even be possible that the strength of his magic might have been the reason his body is weaker; because housing that much power can put a significant strain on a body. Either way, Fable and he joke about it frequently, saying that as he's got stronger Holy magic, he should have been the princess, and since she's physically stronger, she should be the one with the sword. He doesn't mean it though, and is only playing along. Fable kinda sorta really does mean it though)

It's less focused on by the fandom as a whole, but in case you didn't know: Legend is more than just a polyglot! In his games alone, we see that he can hear and understand not only most trees (not just guardian trees like the Deku and Maku trees, but the normal ones around Kakariko too), but also animals, spirits, and literally forces of nature! Heck, the literal SEASONS coo about how adorable he is when you meet them in OoS! That said, I think he learned pretty early on that this isn't normal. Uncle started getting really worried when he saw and heard Legend speaking to what seemed to be thin air on multiple occasions, so he learned to just not answer unless there aren't other humans/hylians around

Continuing the previous one, this does mean that Legend has to frequently resist asking for directions from various passing by birds and animals, and instead just bites his tongue and lets Twilight go off scouting because explaining that he can hear voices no one else can hear is just....ot the best of ideas

Despite the rest of the heroes' being under the impression that Legend was an only child, he actually has Middle Child energy. this is because he grew up with Fable, Ralph, the Oracles, and Ghanti bossing him around/messing with him, but he also helps look after his neighbor Gully, who I fully believe he loves the same way that Wind loves Aryll.

While I have Gully on the mind, I think Smith and his wife have mentally adopted Legend and all but see him as their eldest, since Bertha (Smith's wife), also had a hand in helping Aflon, newly appointed caretaker to an infant he knows nothing about minding, with learning about babies. Legend however, dense as he is, still fully believes they just put up with him for their actual son's sake, since Gully clearly adores him so much

This shows up a lot in my fics, but I like the idea that Legend loves the stars. Like, tehy're the same, always there, no matter where you go. he's traveled a lot and been tossed into random locations where everything is different, yet whenever he looks up, there the stars are, the same as always, just from a different angle. I think Uncle Aflon taught him the various constellations when he was small, and maybe when Legend was lonely in his adventures he started talking to them like they could hear them (and heck, if the seasons can hold a conversation, then why couldn't the stars?). Also, you know the thing about how if you're deep enough underground and you look up through a hole you can see the sky? Yeah, he's more used to night skies and stars than sunlight

Despite being a traveler, he's actually got a palish complexion for his skin tone, since he spends most of his time underground. He's also a bit sensitive to sunlight all around and gets a headache fairly quickly when he's out in it. He hates noon time and would rather be sleeping than awake when the suns at its zenith

I've seen this one around a bit, but I really love the idea that legend enjoys wearing his uncle's old clothes around the house when he's between adventures. he probably keeps Uncle's pipe tobacco and other things stored with the clothes so they still smell like him even after all these years

He's entirely unaware of the fact that being on regular speaking terms with the Golden Goddesses, the Fates, the Seasons, the freaking Triforce, and most royalty is uncommon for a hero. He's aware most people don't do it, but it's sort of jarring for him when he realizes that the other heroes' dealings are limited to mostly mortals, and lowly ones at that, and that when they do speak of the goddesses, it's usually with some sort of reverence. Meanwhile Legend will and has insulted Din to her face for picking on him about his height, gossips with Farore whenever they run into each other, and the only one he kinda treats with reservation/respect is Nayru because they sort of faught each other that one time and while it wasn't her faught, it still makes things a bit awkward at times

He tends to chew on things when he's restless/agitated. He's not even aware he's doing it half the time, and has chewed his sleeves, hair, and various tools at different times. The Chain have designated bowls (Sky got bored) and his has very clear signs of gnawing around the edges. Same with any wooden spoons he's given (although, being as Uncle raised him with manners, Legend does carry his own silverware at all times, and thus rarely needs to borrow from others (it's a medieval manners thing))

Unlike the stereotype of men when they're sick, Legend actually gets really quiet when he's sick. Hyrule's the same way and it's mostly to draw the least attention to themselves when they're not in fighting condition. Usually though, he tends to take the 'sleep through it' approach, which is really a very poor choice, but as far as he's concerned, it's worked until now so he's not changing it

I think Legend's a very physical person, someone who likes to be able to touch and feel various things, and generally enjoys the idea of physical affection, but in reality balks at it because it usually catches him off guard. That said, he do be touching all the stuff and animals.

Gets weird about dodongos. he knows that the majority of them are threats, but there's always a part of him that wonders if some of them are like Dimitri, and it can be tricky for him to fight them at times

The early Zelda games are sort of wack honestly, but the fact that he's technically a telepath gets brushed aside way too much, y'know? Like, Legend regularly has conversations with Zelda and Sahasralah from miles away, IN HIS HEAD, and only uses certain stones to strengthen that connection, not forge it to begin with! Now, he might just be receptive to telepathy, maybe it's a twin thing (I have a WIP about that) but I think it'd be really funny if he's just sitting on that little skill and never brings it up because linking up (lol) thoughts with someone can be very overwhelming when your brain is already moving a thousand miles a minute, and trying to process thoughts and feelings that aren't his own gives him a migraine. So he just.... doesn't. Unless Zelda reaches out first or he needs to tell her something important.

He's terrible about self care and remembering his own needs, but will, can, and does scold others for doing the same. He doesn't even care that he's a huge hypocrite, not much anyway

Magpie. Boy loves his shiny things. Like, he doesn't technically need everything he has, and he knows most of it will never be used, but if it's pretty he keeps it anyway

I feel like Legend'a also got a bit of food insecurity. When he was a kid, freshly thrust into his first adventure and with the kingdom turned against him, he didn't actually know how to find his own food and ended up going hungry a LOT during that first adventure (which might have stunted his growth a bit). Since then, he's made a point to not only educate himself on what's safe to eat and what's not, but he also taught himself how to preserve and prepare long lasting foods, which he keeps a huge stockpile of. He also doesn't trust any food he hasn't watched be prepared unless it's made by someone he trusts, and even then sometimes his anxiety/paranoia gets the better of him. There were a few neighbors who tried slipping something in the meals they gave him under the pretense of taking pity, when in reality they planned to turn him over to the knights, so he's always cautious now

He's actually less wary and guarded outside of Hyrule than he is inside of it. Lorule is an exception because it's a version of Hyrule, but any other country is used to a very different version of him because Legend isn't always suspecting foul play in other kingdoms who have nothing to gain from his death.

He cannot handle blood well. Yeah, he's a hero, yeah, he fights a lot, and yes, he's frequently injured in battle or dungeons, but watching his Uncle bleed to death left him with a kind of hemophobia and he tends to have mini panic attacks/breakdowns when exposed to large amounts of blood. He hates it, but can't control it, and hasn't found a way to overcome it at all

After spending a long time at sea after Koholint, trying to find his way home, Legend actually really dislikes the taste of fish. He had to rely on his mer form a lot getting home, and fish has been ruined forever because it was his only choice for food, and eating it raw (mer) did make him sick a few times (he's still hylian at his core) so now he tends to get queasy when eating fish, just on reflex

He's a dead ringer for his late mother, to the point where people who knew her sometimes double take

I know Warriors is supposed to be the pretty one, but considering Legend's canonically had forces of nature comment on how pretty he is (I think it was Summer specifically, but it could have been one of the other Seasons), I think he's got a type of beauty that, at the least, appeals to the supernatural/magical beings. He's unaware of this though, although he'll always say Fable is one of the most beautiful people in the world, all while unawares of the fact that they're nearly identical looks-ways

He likes to doodle. Drawing more so, but e enjoys both depending on what mood he's in

Logically and artistically minded. Numbers bother him though (something Ravio, who is the reverse, definitely abuses)

He's one of those people who genuinely will be happy if you get him a candle. He's got everything anyone could need, but something that smells nice, offers minimal light, and he;s always running out of? Oh he loves them. He's very picky about what scents he'll accent though because his nose is very sensitive

He cracks his knuckles and rolls his shoulders a lot when he's bored/tense/stressed- basically all the time LOL

he uses sewing/stitchwork as a way to try and relax himself after a long day. it works half the time. the other half his thread gets tangled and he gets very worked up LOL

Secretly admired Sky's skills in embroidery, but doesn't have the patience to practice anything complicated

he loves to teach people things, but constantly assumes people won't listen, so he tends to break things down to bare basics rather than going into the nitty gritty like he enjoys.

Such a big sweet tooth

Genuinely hates the feeling of fur. Twilight's pelt bothers him, not just because the guy who turns into a wolf is literally wearing a wolf's skin, but also because the feeling of fur, treated or no, displeases him most of the time. He only likes fur when it's on something alive and moving, and even then, he's picky about it

Has a extreme fear of dogs. It's both from being chased by the soldiers' dogs, but also various dog-like things in the Dark World. Wolfie used to make him very uncomfortable before he realized it was Twilight

Fall boy. The other seasons would be offended if they knew he had a favorite, but I think his little apple farming, leaf crunching, bright color enjoying self would just adore the fall.

he LOVES the rain. His arthritis acts up something awful when it rains, but when it's not too bad he enjoys being out in the rain. That said, he HATES thunderstorms, less because of being struck by lightning (LA) and more because of the storm the night that his Uncle died

He's actually not fond of heights. He doesn't panic, but he's used to being very low, or even below the ground, so being very high above it unsettles him.

He tends to sleep curled up, he's not sure why, he just does

He's got VERY sensitive ears, both to touch and sound

Buck teeth <3

Also, freckles. He doesn't spend much time in the sun, but he does tend to freckle when he has. It also brings out some natural highlights in his hair, but he's not aware of that because it's not happened since he was small

Tends to sound like he's talking down to everyone, but in reality he's just never sure what all most people know about any given subject

Has such a soft spot for kids

He's a god-father to Bippin and Blossom's kid, and he adores that little munchkin, bordering on spoiling them.

Imma end it there because it's late and I need to be up early, but I hope this satisfied your curiosity a bit!

Thanks for the ask! I appreciate the chance to talk about all these ideas!

#asks and answers #linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu legend #ketto's brainfarts

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carry-the-sky · 2 days ago

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gold rush

Soho, 1800.

“Did they say why?” said Crowley.

“Change of plans,” Aziraphale replied around a mouthful of chocolate. “I’m apparently needed here, in the bookshop. Battling the, ah.” He swallowed, looking away. “The forces of evil, and what have you.”

“Hungry work,” Crowley said solemnly, offering up the chocolate tin again.

Aziraphale feigned indecision for only a moment, practically wiggling as he leaned in to inspect the array of sweet morsels. “I really shouldn’t,” he said, selecting one from the middle. Crowley watched from behind the relative safety of his glasses, unblinking, as the angel took a bite.

“Mm.” Aziraphale tipped his head back, eyes fluttering half-shut. “Oh, that’s divine. I could eat every last one of those, right here.”

Crowley made a mental note to thank his friends at Debauve & Gallais for their suggestion to present the sweets in alluring little rows. “Well, don’t stand on ceremony,” he said, giving the tin a shake. “Lots to celebrate. It’s not every day you dodge a promotion at work.”

“They would’ve given me Sandalphon’s old office, I’m sure of it,” Aziraphale muttered darkly, and he plucked another chocolate from the tin with even less hesitation than before.

Crowley sat back and let himself stare. Sugar and cocoa gave way between Aziraphale’s teeth; his tongue flashed pink, licking any remnants clean away.

So he’d indulged a bit of skullduggery. Pulled a few demonic strings. What was the alternative? Crawling back to his lodgings, sleeping off the reality of the situation for the next six months or so, waking up to find an angel who wasn’t Aziraphale installed here instead? They'd gone years without crossing paths before, decades. Longer, even. Somewhere in there, Crowley had gotten a bit too comfortable. Upper management checking in from time to time was one thing; being whisked Upstairs or Down with nothing but a ‘You’re being promoted, indefinitely!’ for warning was another box of snuff entirely.

“You’re really doing it, then,” Crowley said, halfway between a question and a statement of pure fact. Aziraphale was here; Aziraphale was staying. “Selling your books to the humans.”

Aziraphale drew himself up slightly. “Certainly.” There was a brief pause. “Or at the very least, letting them look at the books.”

“Ah.”

“Oh, don’t you start.”

Crowley felt the stirrings of a smile tug at his lips. “I’m all for it, angel. People wanting what they can’t have? Coveting? You’ll be doing my job for me.”

“Yes, well—” Aziraphale’s eyes flicked upward. “The shop isn’t officially open yet, so if you could sheath your fangs until then, it would be much appreciated.”

“Sorry, sheath my—”

“And besides,” Aziraphale plowed on, “I still haven’t decided on a color for the backroom. I was rather hoping I might get your opinion on the matter, if you can spare a moment from delighting in the prospect of tempting my future patrons down a path of sin.”

Crowley made a show of pondering this. “No promises, but I’ll give it an honest go.”

“Good,” Aziraphale said, all too proud of himself, and Crowley’s insides did something vaguely acrobatic in response. Keep him here. Keep him looking at you like that. An old mantra, the only one he lived by these days.

“What do you think of yellow?” said Aziraphale. “For the walls?”

“Yellow,” Crowley echoed, nose wrinkling. “No, it’s fine,” he amended as Aziraphale gave a weary sigh. “Brings to mind all things pestilent and diseased, but what bookshop doesn’t?”

“Horrid serpent. I should’ve known you’d be of no help.”

“And yet you asked anyway,” Crowley sing-songed.

“Yellow,” Aziraphale said, ignoring this, “is a perfectly lovely color. Cheerful, warm.” He surveyed the room, face softening as he did so. “All the things a home should be.”

Home. Not Heaven, but here, the backroom of an unfinished bookshop, this dusty, dirty sphere of a planet, a speck in the grand cosmic backdrop. The perfect absurdity of it struck Crowley between the ribs.

He played it off with a shrug. “On your head, then.”

“You’ll come around,” said Aziraphale. His lips pursed, a not-quite smile. The pressure in Crowley’s chest swelled to a degree that would have warranted a trip to St. Bart’s, were he human. “You always do. And in the meantime—” With a small flourish, a sleek bottle of something red and expensive-looking appeared alongside the chocolate tin. “You might take those glasses off and stay awhile.”

“Twist my wing, why don't you,” said Crowley, and did.

#ineffable husbands #ineffable husbands fic #good omens #good omens fic #aziracrow #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #tn&aa show your colors #the nice and accurate atelier

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star-mum · 3 days ago

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hello lovelies, I'm finally free : D

Once again, I'll read it without checking the tags, I'm in the mood for surprises :3

"Isaac Lahey pulled you far away to somewhere secluded" we're starting with SEX !!! pwp? maybe (well not without completely cause i know you, but little plot?)

"which would soon be filled with sweaty assholes" usually it's the other way around

"11. McCall" : O

oh okay not cheating... (said dejectedly)

"his eyes flashing that glowing golden yellow" JAOAOWIAJA W AAAAHH I'VE MISSED WOLF SHENANIGANS (literally giggling and kicking my feet)

"and fuck you senseless, feeling like an overeager dog" derek is an idiot cause this FUCKING RULES !!!!!

"Your gut had shriveled up when you saw that it was one with Scott’s name and lacrosse number on it" Lydia knows EXACTLY what she's doing, don't be fooled

"if it meant that you had been misleading him or leading him on" I think he knows, yes Scott is stupid but he can smell Isaac on us afterwards

(you have no idea how much I've missed these dumb dogs and their dumb abo dynamics)

(I'm also on my ovulation period so very horny) (sorry if tmi)

(if youre not sunny and you're reading this, I am not sorry actually, you chose this)

"She was excited that the two of you would look ‘coordinated’ cheering for your ‘boyfriends’" this was calculated, don't fall for her lies !!!!

"weird spiritual sexual codependency" delicious

"All of it was to make Isaac jealous - to get some kind of a rise out of him" terrible for Scott but he'll live... not the first time this has happened to him

"feeling of his teeth digging into your neck" hihi 🫣🤭🤭

"the first small indicator of his facade cracking" he's the pathetic pussy

"Was supposed to be treasured as yours" 🥺

"knowing that those tights emphasized your thick thighs" FAT READER !!!!!!

"he slashed his claws across your chest, shredding the fabric to pieces" scared is the best way to be horny, Eleanor Shellstrop always right

"you would have been angrier about if not for the very pretty boy currently sucking on your face" sacrifices must be made...

"You have to ‘take it off’ too" please for the love of god, I am NOT fucking you in this dumbass get up, Isaac

"You act like a dumb slut all the time.” SKSKKSKS YEEEEAAAHHH (I love all your readers so much, they're so fun)

"You don’t have to be so mean" QOAJAIAKAN he is SO cute tho

"He wouldn’t take a step in any direction if it wasn’t to stand in your shadow. He didn’t worship anywhere if it wasn’t at your altar" WOWOWOWOWOWOWOW

"Owning a pet meant that sometimes you came off with a few tiny wounds" i love this so much

"cooling the salvia he had left there" this is always my favorite typo in ANY smut fic ever cause it's just proof the writer was going at the speed of light to bring the vision to life (i can fear the frantic typing)

"Get on your knees for me like a good dog" hell yeah

"more than eager to shove his face into the folds of your perfect pussy" every single guy in this show has this energy, they all eat pussy like they're starved

"There was no skill to it" but damn it if he's not giving it his all

"Behave.” “I wasn’t done.” i love them

"beyond human strength helping him to easily lift you" one of my FAVORITE things in this show

"Such a sweet little puppy. Good fucking dog" LOVE IT HERE

"the metal started to crumble beneath his fist" ‼️‼️OJNANAOAKANA HIHI 🫣

"Especially knowing that he would be able to smell that cum on you for hours" another one of my favorite things about this show :3

"Somehow, at six-foot-one, he looked so terribly small" he just has that pathetic sad vibe to him

"I’ll even get you a dog collar with my name on it so that everyone can know you’re mine" HE'D WEAR IT !!!!!!

I LOVED THIS !!! I LOVE IT HERE !!! this felt like coming home, I've missed this

seriously the ending of this semester was so fucking stressful (for a myriad of reasons) I REALLY NEEDED SOMETHING NICE LIKE THIS !!!!

The Good, The Bad, and The Dirty

If you wanna start a fight,

You better throw the first punch - make it a good one.

And if you wanna make it through the night,

You better say my name like:

The Good, The Bad, and The Dirty.

Sub!Isaac Lahey x Dom!Fem!Reader

Summary:

What you and Isaac had going on wasn't exactly public - and whatever it was didn't have a title. Sexual, friendship, two souls entwined and bound to each other in an utterly complicated way.

Whatever. It didn't have a label. The two of you didn't need one.

But Isaac definitely didn't expect to see you showing up to a lacrosse game wearing Scott's number with the name McCall boldly across your chest. All he knew from the moment he saw that stupid shirt on your chest was that the night was going to end with it shredded to pieces.

(He had no clue that was precisely your plan from the start, because you knew how to guide him exactly where you wanted him - every. Single. Time.)

Sub!Isaac Lahey x Dom!Fem!Reader. Best Friends with Benefits (Secret Relationship) to Lovers. Smut/PWP. Set during Season 3.

Word Count: 7,200

Teen Wolf Masterlist | AO3 Link

Full list of warnings and author's notes below.

Warnings: this is primarily a smut fic - there is some slight plot; this does take place in a high school setting, but just for the sake of clarity/for the sake of argument, the characters are eighteen or older; the reader uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina and breasts (but as with all my fics, the primary pronouns used are you/yours); mention of the reader wearing a skirt;there is some descriptions of the reader being curvy/plus sized (as with many of my fics - and I always just picture Isaac with a plus sized girl) (absolutely no bias there), and there is mentions of Isaac being taller than the reader, but that is based on the assumption that at 6.1, he would be taller than most people; there is also mentions of Isaac lifting the reader due to his supernatural strength, but her back is also supported by a wall so it’s not wholly unrealistic; mentions of background Scott x reader (mostly the reader using Scott to make Isaac jealous and Scott having feelings for the reader that she does not return), and this would have been when Scott and Allison were broken up because I would not do my girl wrong like that (you can even interpret this as Scott using the reader to help ‘get over’ Allison if you want); some non-detailed mentions of the abuse Isaac received from his father (which is pretty difficult not to mention in an Isaac fic); there is some dom/sub themes - Isaac is submissive and the reader is more dominant; Isaac is jealous and possessive - very slight angst because it discusses Isaac’s jealousy coming from a place of being hurt; this is not the first time that Isaac and the reader have had sex with each other; Isaac and the reader have been best friends since before his father’s death (and his werewolfism) and they recently started having sex, and they have a murky situationship; the reader clearly knows that Isaac is a werewolf; mention of Isaac ‘pinning the reader down’ and fucking her (in a memory) (and she loved it); Isaac calls the reader a ‘slut’ and a ‘whore’ - not in a kinky way, but over the fact that he is deeply offended that she was flirting with Scott and pretending to like him; in turn, the reader calls Isaac a slut in a kinky way; the reader also calls Isaac ‘puppy’ and ‘good boy’; hair pulling - Isaac receiving; something like subspace is described (regarding what Isaac is feeling) but the word ‘subspace’ is never used during the fic; the characters do not discuss having a safe word in place, but they trust each other due to their history and know how to nonverbally balance each other’s needs; Isaac using his claws to shred a shirt that the reader wears with Scott’s numbers on it, and in the process he accidentally scratches her chest slightly (but she likes she slight pain); very slight blood kink - Isaac licks up the blood from these small cuts; I feel like there should be a warning for the endless amounts of dog imagery because I cannot stop comparing Isaac to a kicked dog because it works to well; lacrosse pads being used for slut activities; oral sex - reader receiving; Isaac has an extreme scent kink (he loves the way the reader smells); praise kink - Isaac loves being praised by the reader; penis in vagina sex; unprotected sex; (surprisingly, there’s no breeding kink in this); I think that’s actually it for this - one stray joke about the reader getting Isaac a dog dollar.

A/N: I had so much fun writing this. As soon as the request hit my inbox, I knew I was going to write it at some point. Part of me kind of feels bad that I didn't write the expected jealousy = dominance - you may notice when you read the fic, I started out writing Isaac as dominant, but I cannot help writing him as submissive, and it turned into this interesting painting of 'his dominance is a performed act, and submissiveness is his true self' and 'his jealousy is possessiveness, not dominance' and possessiveness is a very submissive trait. (I could go more into depth about this in another post, and I probably will.) People often associate possessiveness with Doms, but I see Isaac as the most possessive Sub ever because he's a wolf. Anyway - I am really happy with how this turned out, and even if it's not what the original requester intended, I think the point of a request is that the author gets to interpret it and write it in their own style. And this is definitely how I would write it most true to my style. Also this has references to Season 3 - like Lydia dating Aiden and Isaac fighting the Alpha pack, but this is set after a lacrosse game, and in S3, they were in the off season of lacrosse. and I can guarantee you my autistic ass is the only one who cares about that and you didn't even notice until I pointed it out. So please - carry on.

...

The lacrosse field of Beacon Hills High School was absolutely buzzing.

The night air was filled with cheers as the team and many fans were celebrating another win, while the opposing team sulked in disappointment as they packed onto their bus with their heads hung low, their coach screaming at them for the loss. Chatter and celebration filled the air - but you didn’t get a single moment to be a part of it as Isaac Lahey pulled you far away to somewhere secluded. Somewhere only he could get to have you.

He currently had you pinned up against one of the lockers in the girls’ locker room. It was a place that nobody would think to look for the two of you - a place that wouldn’t be entered for the rest of the night, unlike the boys’, which would soon be filled with sweaty assholes shedding their kits and getting a shower before they went off to some party to celebrate their victory. Isaac had locked the door to make sure that the two of you would be left alone, and left the lights off so that nobody would be suspicious of any light coming from the crack beneath the door.

But right now, none of those details mattered.

All that mattered was that stupid number in the middle of your chest. That stupid block lettering sitting across your perfect round breasts.

11. McCall.

You could claim that you had worn it as a joke. But as Isaac locked his jaw stiffly, staring you down - you didn’t think that you would be getting away with that claim.

“Take it off.” Isaac growled at you, his eyes flashing that glowing golden yellow, a visual that made your breath tight in your chest and made your cunt quiver.

You remembered the first time you had seen that glow coming from his eyes - the first night he had found you after he received The Bite, when he was still high on adrenaline and warned by Derek not to do anything ‘stupid’. And the stupid thing he had done was climb up the side of your house, claw in through your bedroom window with the clumsy hands he barely knew how to use, and pin you down to your bed and fuck you senseless, feeling like an overeager dog with intensely swollen balls, feeling like he was too strong and going through puberty all over again.

It had been one of the best nights of your life.

“What?” You said, your voice even, calm, not even close to mocking dubious. “Take what off?”

You were faking confusion - faking it poorly, easily signaling to him that you knew exactly what he was talking about.

It was a dare. You were egging him on purposefully. The two of you always had the best sex when you did. That’s what the whole night was about, after all.

Lydia had gotten the shirts made - she had gotten one for herself with Aiden’s name and lacrosse number on it, and she had told you that it was cheaper to ‘order multiple at a time’, and then she had pulled out one in your size. Your gut had shriveled up when you saw that it was one with Scott’s name and lacrosse number on it.

A plain white tee shirt in a feminine, tight fit with burgundy vinyl lettering to match the school’s colours. Lydia had ordered them in white because she said it would be easier to make into an outfit, and she didn’t want to ‘wear that god awful colour’ with her nice coats.

You had gone on one single date with Scott. He asked you out, you said yes. It had been a pleasant, average evening that ended with a bit of kissing. It was nice - Scott was a great guy. But it definitely hadn’t been anything special. It had only driven home in your mind that you definitely didn’t have those feelings for Scott. And you felt guilty for every single time you had flirted with him in Isaac’s presence just to make Isaac jealous, if it meant that you had been misleading him or leading him on.

A while ago, Lydia had been talking about guys, and she said something about ‘you and Scott’ and not even fully paying attention, you agreed with her. And then she cheered, and you realized that she had been talking about romantic couplings among your friend group. She thought that your flirting with Scott and the one single date meant that the two of you were dating - so she took this as a greenlight to order you the shirt. She was excited that the two of you would look ‘coordinated’ cheering for your ‘boyfriends’ in the stands.

But more than anything, you felt awkward correcting her because you couldn’t exactly tell her about the thing that you and Isaac had going on.

Mostly because you had no clue what to call it.

The two of you had been best friends for years, and you had been his rock and his confidant before anybody else knew what was going on with his father. And then, shortly after he had made the grand transformation from abused introvert to powerful (hot) werewolf, the two of you had started… this.

Some might call it ‘friends with benefits’, some might call it a weird spiritual sexual codependency that had truly begun with you patching up his wounds from the beatings his father had given him. Either way, the slight flirting of your normal friendship ramped up tenfold, and now, every single time the two of you were behind closed doors together, the intense sexual tension in the air built until you were both partially unclothed and moaning.

And in the outside world, the two of you were constantly at war. You were constantly in the throes of a game that nobody else knew was going on. You both refused to name each other as a romantic partner, but you were constantly in some kind of effort to get the other’s attention or make the other person jealous. He flirted with Allison and Erica, and… that stupid game was the only reason you had gone on a date with Scott. It had been a relatively nice date, but you hadn’t felt a single sense of the spark with Scott that you did with Isaac.

And it was the only reason that you were wearing the stupid shirt that Lydia had given to you. It was the only reason you had sat in the stands beside Lydia with your jacket unzipped and even taken off all night in the cold, showing off that shirt, loudly cheering for Scott, putting on a show.

All of it was to make Isaac jealous - to get some kind of a rise out of him.

And it had worked so damn well. Seeing his clenched jaw, his flared nostrils… seeing the way his sharp fangs extended out over his lips as if he couldn’t control them while he looked at you with hellish lust in his eyes… you were almost terrified by how well you had succeeded. Almost.

“Take. It. Off.” He growled, grinding on each word, his chest now heaving with the effort.

“Make me.” You mumbled in reply, entirely confident, hoping that further teasing would only wind him up more. Hoping that it would only beautifully play into your game.

He stepped closer to you and when you instinctively took a step back, your body hit the cold metal of the lockers, and you swallowed harshly as your body pumped with more lust. It was oddly thrilling to be so trapped - only because it was Isaac. And because you knew there was only one way this could end.

Because your body was preparing for the sensations you knew came next - the ghost of his touch already lingering on you, your mind replaying those past events like grooves in a record. It caused you to become wetter and wetter just thinking about the feeling of his teeth digging into your neck, the feeling of his hands possessively gripping your hips, the feeling of his cock splitting you open.

His breath ghosted over your forehead, his height towering over you somehow not intimidating at all as he pressed his hard body (disappointingly still clad in lacrosse pads, keeping you from feeling the true ridges of his muscles) up against you, truly ensuring that you could not escape. Not that you would want to escape from him.

He took a thick sniff into the air, his nostrils flaring widely, and you knew he could smell it on you - the lust, the pure attraction you felt toward him, the adrenaline. Or maybe it was just the pure smell of your pussy pathetically leaking into your underwear that he was picking up on. Either way, he let out a whine, the first small indicator of his facade cracking, and you felt his hips jolt toward you, instinctively seeking friction.

“Why the fuck are you doing this to me?”

Isaac growled, still trying to sound tough, the words bordering on a pained howl. There was a unique agony in his voice as he stared down the length of your body and continued to fixate on those numbers on your chest, true haunting dancing in his pretty baby blues.

Your gut twisted horribly as you realized it. This wasn’t just something he could brush off in the name of sex. You had really hurt him this time. Perhaps you had gone too far this time. Something that had started out as a well-meaning game of cat and mouse had turned into truly taunting a wolf - and unintentionally, you had wounded that wolf.

That wolf that, even if it was never spoken, was supposed to be yours. Was supposed to be treasured as yours.

You had gotten so caught up in playing the stupid game that you had made a terrible mistake.

But you needed to see it through now.

You reached up and grabbed both sides of his face, forcing him to look you in the eyes.

“Make me.” You repeated the words, and Isaac let out another huff. “Make me take it off, Isaac.” He replied to this with a growl from deep in his chest, a sound that vibrated through your hands on his delicate, angelic face. “Make me yours.”

He reached up with one hand in the middle of your chest and gently pushed you back, making sure your body was stiff and firm against the metal of the lockers, propping you there like hanging art on a wall. And then he took a small step to distance himself, his eyes flickering up and down your body sharply, drinking you in even though he had seen you thousands of times before.

It had been torture - pure torture all night. From the moment he had seen you unzip your jacket, revealing that fucking shirt with Scott’s name on it (and the fact that you had paired it with a tiny little skirt and a pair of sheer tights… knowing that those tights emphasized your thick thighs, his favourite part of your body… just to torture him…) - he had been tempted to ditch off the field completely and run up into the stands just to tear it off you. Just to prove a fucking point.

But that hadn’t even been the worst part of it. No. One of the words parts had been the fact that he was forced to stay on the field all night listening. Over-hearing you chatting it up with Lydia and Allison about your ‘date’ with Scott, talking about kissing him, theorizing about what having sex with him might be like. You had known he was listening the whole time. You knew his hearing was enhanced enough, and you knew that he had a special knack for picking up on your voice in a crowd. You had been doing it on purpose.

And every time he glanced over between goals and saw Scott’s name stretched across your perfect tits… it killed him a little more inside.

While thinking about all this, while thinking about the fact that he had been waiting to do this all night -

Isaac raised up his hand, very intentionally flaring his claws, bold enough for you to see what his next move would be so that you could anticipate it and wouldn’t be afraid. And his cock began to throb almost painfully between his legs when he saw you push your chest out, arching your back against the lockers as you licked your lips, silently begging for it.

Clearly, you didn’t wear Scott’s name proudly. You were aching him to tear the shirt off you, downright lustful at the thought - biting your lip, batting your eyelashes at him, the scent of your lust even more potent in the air down.

Such a beautiful fucking tease.

With delicate precision, he slashed his claws across your chest, shredding the fabric to pieces and feeling a cathartic vindication as the name and number of another guy fell apart and began to fall off you.

A twinge of guilt nearly ruined the moment as he saw the slightest bit of blood glinting across your perfect skin, gathering in your cleavage along your gorgeous stretch marks, but you didn’t seem to care, and you didn’t seem to be in the slightest bit of pain. In fact, you let out a purely lustful moan and arched your back even more, pushing your chest toward him more - making you look like a perfect porno in your shredded clothing with your red lace bra now revealed underneath.

Though in a moment, you reached up, pulling the scraps of the fabric away and shucking off the useless remains of the shirt, throwing it to the ground like the garbage that it now was. In the back of your mind, you guessed that now you would have to put on your jacket - which you had been carrying in your hand and tossed off to the side earlier, and zip it up completely to cover yourself in order to leave. But that didn’t matter now. You didn’t care if you would have to leave here in just your bra if you meant you got to have what would likely come next.

Isaac indulged in the sound of your pretty panting, the way you licked your lips, and the perfect, accelerated thumping of your heartbeat in his ears.

“Better.” He sighed in relief, much preferring the sight of your chest heaving, nearly bare in front of him than the visual of Scott’s fucking name plastered across you like he owned you. He never did, he never would -

You let out another hot moan in response, and Isaac found himself licking his lips.

While he stood there, frozen with his lust, too busy visually admiring you, you were driven forward by your maddening need. You grabbed the front of his jersey and yanked him forward into a heated kiss. It was a mouth that you knew well from experience by now, and it was only a second before the two of you were exchanging moans and a clash of tongues.

He craned down, his hands possessively grappled for your thighs, those claws making quick work of your tights, putting runs and even huge holes in the sheer material, quickly exposing your skin to the cool air of the room. It was something you would have been angrier about if not for the very pretty boy currently sucking on your face.

One of his hands moved to claw at the seam of your tights, but you quickly clamped your legs shut, trapping his wrist from moving any further, much to his whiny disappointment. You used your hold on the front of his jersey to push him away, and you were met with the most sweetly crestfallen expression - wide, glossy, sad eyes staring you down while he curled his lip, clearly wondering what he had done wrong. Wondering what he had done to be denied.

“Not so fast.” You scolded him gently. “You have to ‘take it off’ too.” You told him, running your fingers down the front of his chest, more than offended by all the padding he was wearing in addition to the clothing. Far too much coverage.

“I’m not the one who was acting like a whore.” Isaac huffed, clearly still wounded from the fact that you had worn Scott’s numbers. The word sounded strangely good on his lips, but still, you rolled your eyes. From him, it wasn’t dominance or power. It was slowly turning into bratty defiance in your little game. “I wasn’t out there shaking my ass in front of the crowd while wearing some other guy’s fucking number, acting like a dumb slut-”

“Oh, please.” You let out a dark laugh, and Isaac swallowed thickly, knowing that you had truly arrived. After all the winding up - the main event had finally started. “You act like a dumb slut all the time.”

Isaac let out a sharp breath at your words, loving how easily you tossed the words back at him. Something inside of him was absolutely purring at the harsh title that was now freshly branded into his skin. This was the moment that his brain began to melt between his ears, and any sense of the ‘tough guy’ act that he put on for the rest of the world was completely gone.

From this point on, he was dissolving into the sweet puppy that only you were allowed to know.

“Like now, for example.” You continued on, more venom lacing through your lips. You put on your most threatening voice, hating to get firm with him, but knowing it was necessary. “So you can strip down, and fucking behave yourself, or I can get dressed and go find Scott and see what fucking him would be like instead.”

Isaac glared at you, and you saw that horrible quiver come across his lip again. Before you could worry that you had gone too far, he reached up and began pulling off his gear, and you heard a few muffled complaints as his pads hit the floor.

“You don’t have to be so mean,” He told you, nothing more than a petulant whine at this point.

He was ready to be compliant with you - ready to do whatever you said because he needed it just as much as you did.

When he was shirtless, you didn’t wait for him to ditch his bottoms before you leaped into action once again. You reached out and tucked your fingers into the waistband of his shorts, hauling him toward you - and much like a loyal dog tight on a leash, he let himself be so easily pulled, even though he was much stronger than you and he could have overpowered you if he wanted to.

But that was the glory of it. He was a statue of might, standing over six feet tall, shredded with muscles that were enhanced with supernatural strength, and yet - he wouldn’t hurt a fly without your permission. He wouldn’t take a step in any direction if it wasn’t to stand in your shadow.

He didn’t worship anywhere if it wasn’t at your altar.

He had sought out guidance anywhere and everywhere since his father had died - Derek, Scott, Deaton, even Erica. But he had only found sanity and solace at the palace of your lips.

Which was why he moaned into your mouth as you kissed him again, quickly shoving your tongue past his teeth to remind him of why he was here. He belonged to you, and he shouldn’t do anything without your sacred permission.

You got a firm grip on his hair and caused a sting across his scalp with how possessively you were holding onto him, causing pleasant tingles through his whole body as he was reminded of that lovely feeling of being held by you, being owned by you. You used the hold to force him tighter into your mouth, angling his head just the way you needed to kiss him firmer, deeper, controlling every single aspect of it - causing a sweet whimper out of him as he was guided like a puppet on a string.

He had been the one to drag you here with a demanding, tight grip on your wrist - he had been the one to practically throw you up against the lockers in anger. He thought this whole thing had been his idea.

But this had never been his game.

Any tough moves he made out on the lacrosse field, any intimidation he managed with people like Stiles or the Alphas he had battled during the summer - it was all a farce. You were the only person that knew deep down, he was a puppy, just looking for guidance. At the end of the day, after everything he had been through in life - he was just looking for somewhere soft to lay his pretty head.

Isaac let out a whine as you pulled away from the kiss to take a breath. He instantly wanted to protest, instantly began chasing your mouth. He didn’t care if he drowned in your mouth, if he died due to lack of oxygen.

But of course, he didn’t settle for a lack of contact.

While you combed your fingers through his hair and used the other hand to start untying the knot of his shorts, he immediately dipped his head down, seeking more of your precious skin. His neck almost became pained from the awkward angle, having to lean so far down due to his height - but he didn’t care. He dipped his head between your breasts and immediately began laving his tongue over the small cuts he had unintentionally left there. From him, it was a wordless apology, hanging his head in shame at the fact that he could ever hurt you, no matter how small, no matter how meaningless the tiny scratches were to you.

In your mind, it didn’t matter. Owning a pet meant that sometimes you came off with a few tiny wounds. You would end up loving the scars. You let out small hiss at the sting of saliva, and then began moaning, and he was quickly driven mad by the twang of your blood on his tongue.

“Isaac-” You moaned out hotly.

He believed that he was a beast being fed by you, bound to devour you disastrously sooner or later - but you knew not to be afraid. He could do you no real harm. You could never truly be afraid of someone with such delicate sadness in his eyes.

Especially not when he humped your hip like a lost puppy and whined against your skin like he had been kicked in the gut. His cock throbbed painfully inside his athletic cup, far too fucking restricted, crying out for your touch. He was grateful when you pushed down his shorts and his thin athletic pants underneath, and then took care to strip off his underwear and cup without hurting his sensitive, now very hard cock.

“Aww, puppy.” You cooed - it was a playful pet name that you had used with him many times before, but for some reason, it practically punched him in the gut, easily forcing the air out of his lungs when he heard it.

His responsive moan crescendoed into a harsh growl between his teeth when you reached out and grabbed his cock with a cool hand - it was an immediate contrast, his skin boiling hot with blood thumping so hard underneath, making his cock so rigid that it practically vibrated under your touch. The tip of his dick leaked furiously into your hand as you began casually pumping him, no distinct rhythm or precision in your movements, purposefully teasing him.

“You need this, don’t you?” You purred, voice purposefully honey-sweet as you lapped up his reactions. “You need me.”

“I need you.” Isaac panted in return without hesitation. “I need you, please.”

You ran your thumb over the leaking slit of his cock, indulging in just how wet he was, loving how it showed his desperation, plain and clear. You also couldn’t help but to love the beautiful little whimper he let out from the back of his throat, the way his breath puffed across the exposed skin of your breasts, cooling the salvia he had left there. Your skin becoming more exposed as he reached a hand up and yanked down your bra, putting strain on the straps where they sat on your shoulders.

“You gonna earn it?” You posed, feeling the devil on your shoulder, unable to resist. Isaac only whined in response. “Get on your knees for me like a good dog.”

Isaac’s breath caught in his throat.

When he had first become a werewolf and you had found out about it, you had made a good many ‘dog’ jokes about him. And he used to hate them. But over time, he had come to love the comparison because he loved being your dog. (It’s why the nickname ‘puppy’ put a warm fondness in his gut rather than making him feel humiliated.)

He knew, at the end of the day, that it was true. He needed to be owned by you, he needed a damn leash. He was intensely loyal, despite himself. And no matter what, at the end of the day, he would always return to you, head down, looking for praise, looking to be fed - whether that was a feeding of the soul, or stupidly literal, who knows.

Any other time, the words would have been embarrassing - it would have been something he argued against. But this time - he practically let out a bark to demonstrate his pure loyalty to you, and he rushed to follow the simple order. Even though he hated your touch leaving his cock as he dropped to his knees on the cold tiled floor (thankful that he was still wearing his knee pads where his clothing was caught in a tangle just above them), he was more than eager to serve you. He used a careful, precise claw to reach up and shred a hole in the crotch of your tights, quick to destroy your underwear as well when he found them in his way.

“Good boy.” You easily praised him, and he found his brain once again delightfully fuzzy at the simple words.

Your fingers were in his hair again, but he didn’t even need your touch driving him forward. He was drawn to your exposed cunt like a madman, more than eager to shove his face into the folds of your perfect pussy. He used a hand to lift your perfect plump thigh and pull it up over his shoulder, inviting you to sit some of your weight on him so that he could be closer to you, ever closer, closer. He shoved his tongue deep into your hot, wet hole and shoved his nose between your folds, unintentionally bumping against your clit, just hungry to taste and smell as much of you as he possibly could.

“Isaac!” You moaned out, using your hold on his hair to try and keep him in place while you humped against his face, causing him to moan enthusiastically into your pussy. “Oh fuck, puppy! You’re so good.”

The combination of the praise and the nickname was absolutely dizzying, and along with your wetness on his tongue, your smell so potent and perfect surrounding him - he felt as though he didn’t deserve something this good. But he didn’t care. He quickly became obsessed with drowning himself in you - with one hand possessively gripping your thigh beside his head and the other gripping the edge of your skirt, moaning frantically into you while he fucked his tongue in and out of you, lapping up as much of your taste as he could.

“Oh fuck - such a sweet puppy, so good for me.”

There was no skill to it.

He was growing dumb between the ears, becoming more and more of the dog that you accused him of being - nothing but animal instincts and the loyal need to please you. He humped his hips into the air and his cock began leaking openly onto the floor, leaving a pathetic puddle of precum there that neither of you would notice, something that would have the janitor questioning later.

Currently, all Isaac cared about was the taste of your pussy on his tongue, the wonderful essence of you that reminded him he was home. All he cared about was being good for you while getting a reward that he barely deserved; all he cared about was the wonderful heat of your pulsing cunt under his lips with your vibrating little button bouncing on his nose, getting to smother himself in your perfect scent.

“Yes baby, so fucking good-”

All of his moaning and insistent tongue-fucking meant that you were drawing close to your orgasm very quickly.

Your thighs began to shake, your muscles jolting beside his head and he continued to lap it right up. He moaned even harder, angling his head to drive his tongue deeper into you as you became wetter, and he only basked as there was more for him to consume. You panted in harsh gasps as beautiful jolts of pleasure rang through your cunt while his tongue pierced you again, and again, and again, fucking you in the most perfectly thoughtless way.

Your fingers dug into his scalp and he didn’t even care that you used the touch to drive him further to smothering while you rubbed your pussy across his face, smearing your wetness all over his cheeks and his chin, coating him so perfectly in your smell. He could only enjoy it as you came all over him and tipped your head back against the lockers behind you, your moans echoing against the walls like a perfect concert while the boys in the locker room across the hall were none the wiser. (The chatter of their conversations and the sound of their showers completely muting out the sound of your moans from reaching their ears.)

“Fuck, Isaac! Oh, puppy! Such a good boy!”

Isaac moaned at your words and his cock was downright throbbing now.

But even though, in the back of his mind, his dick was cold in the air of the room and he wanted nothing more than to sink into your perfect pussy, he still felt a deep pang of disappointment when you used your grip on his hair to pull him away from your perfect, wet cunt. He let out a whine showing that disappointment, and fought to keep your leg on his shoulder as you moved to pull away. But still, he ultimately conceded to you when you patted his hand off your thigh and scolded him with a glare and a quiet warning of:

“Behave.”

“I wasn’t done.” He complained, his voice small.

But still, he settled for licking your taste off his lips, looking up at you through his lashes from down on his knees. You combed your finger through his hair again, unable to stop yourself from admiring him, even if he was being a bit of a selfish brat.

He was just so damn pretty.

Porcelain skin stretched over perfect muscles, big pretty blue eyes staring up at you, his cock out and still leaking, bright red now due to being neglected by you. You couldn’t have imagined a more perfect sight. You couldn’t help but to reach down and drag your thumb through some of the lingering wetness on his chin and feed it to him - and of course, he ate it right up, sucking the digit eagerly into his mouth and moaning around it.

“Oh? So you don’t want to fuck me then?” You posed, playing off his words with a teasing statement that easily drove him mad.

These words quickly sparked him to action.

He jumped up off his knees, rising to his tall height once again, somehow so unintimidating. Such a sweet little wolf.

With your back pinned up against the lockers for support, he grabbed your legs and pulled you up off the ground, his beyond human strength helping him to easily lift you so that you could wrap your legs around his waist - and just a moment later, as his cock perfectly lined up with your soaked entrance, you easily fell onto that perfect, stiff shaft.

He didn’t hesitate to fuck up into you. He knew you didn’t need soft and you definitely weren’t expecting it, and any sense of patience he might have had was long gone. There was no sweetness, no slowness - all that was left was his pure possessive need to be close to you and your guiding hand driving him on, encouraging him as you dug your nails into his shoulders, leaving marks that would never last with his werewolf healing.

“Good boy.” You told him, your breath slipping away for a moment as you were reminded of just how perfectly his cock could split you open. “Fuck, Isaac.”

He kept one hand tight on your hip and the other went above your head, hanging onto the top of the lockers, desperate to hold on to something as he felt your perfect, hot wetness gripping his cock. Following his instincts, he fucked forward, slamming his hips into you, needing to feel more, needing to be closer to your warmth - needing more of you.

“Need you.” He panted, his head falling to press his forehead close to yours, something that felt sweetly intimate for the situation, his eyes squinted tightly as he became overwhelmed by the sensations. “Fuck - need you, need you so much.”

“Come on, puppy.” You encouraged him. “Come on, take what you need.”

You tightened your legs around his waist, his movements nearly threatening to buck you off as he moved his hips so wildly - sheer need absolutely tight in every muscle as thick whines poured from his lips. You were eager to soothe him, your hands running up and down his sweaty back - some of it lingering from the hard work he had done during the game and some of new from how hard he was fucking you now, lighting up all the nerve endings inside your pussy, making you feel so perfect.

“Such a good boy.” You moaned, your breath brushing against his lips - his mouth open as he struggled for air and continued to whimper sweetly for you. “Such a sweet little puppy. Good fucking dog.”

Isaac let out a growl, fucking into you harder, his brain pure static at this point.

Yes - he was a good dog. He was your good dog.

He couldn’t help it when the pleasure surged through him, the pure energy, and his grip on the lockers above your head tightened so much that the metal started to crumble beneath his fist as if it was nothing more than a piece of paper. You heard the terrible shrieking groan of the metal, but you didn’t even bother to look up - you couldn’t have taken your eyes off Isaac in those moments. You were far too enraptured by your puppy in front of you, by the nearly pained look on his face, by the feeling of his perfect cock splitting you open as he faithfully fucked up into your pussy, not stopping for even a moment.

You brought a hand to his face, grasping his jaw between your thumb and forefinger, digging the touch in - just a twinge of pain to get his attention, a firm grip to remind him that he was yours.

“Look at me.” You demanded, your breath hot, your voice shaking slightly as the pleasure shook your body. “Come on, puppy - look at me.”

He forced his eyes open, eager to be good for you, eager to do as you said. He gulped air in as he continued to grip onto your hip, the locker crumbling even more into a mess as the tension in his muscles was wrought into it, forced there rather than ever be taken out on you - even unconsciously, he could never use too much force on you.

The silken blue that looked at you was a sight so beautiful that you couldn’t bear to look away, a mess of lust and ravenous madness, a prayer of devotion to you that was far too complex for words. You gave him a small, sweet kiss on the lips that he moaned so deeply at, his hips stuttering terribly as his balls downright ached -

“Cum for me.” You demanded, the words a firm smack against his mouth, a punch to his gut that made him cry out. “Cum for me, puppy, be a good boy, come on-”

He let out a strangled moan that dissolved into a downright filthy whimper from the back of his throat as his hips sped up, his skin practically blurring as he was now given precious permission from you. Your cunt became utterly sore with the speed and pressure his pelvis kept hitting you with, continually pounding into you with that impossible strength, the sound resonating harshly through the room, nearly threatening to break you.

But it was only a few breathless moments later that a moan punched through his gut and you heard something that resembled your name choked through his throat - and then he fucked into you one last time, his hips then becoming glued to yours, almost entirely still in contrast to moments before. He ground against you sharply, overstimulating your swollen clit with the stiffness of his pelvis as he seemingly tried to merge with you through persistent will alone as he pumped his cum inside of you in warm spurts.

“Good puppy,” You hummed, continuing to run your hands up and down his back and through his hair. You kissed down his cheek and his neck and along his shoulder, praising him, soothing him, worshipping him just like he deserved while his cock throbbed inside of you. “Good boy. So fucking good for me.”

He moaned in return, words lost to the stupidly thick tongue inside of his mouth - one that was only capable of licking up and down your neck while he humped his cock inside of you for a few more moments, enjoying your soothing words and the warmth of your pussy around him as his orgasm ebbed away.

Unfortunately, it couldn’t last forever like that.

You pulled him in for one last kiss - one that the two of you savoured with a moan and a dip of tongues into each other’s mouths as he pulled his cock out of you.

(Distantly, you had a thought about how you would have to walk out of here with no underwear - because you definitely weren’t going to keep on the scraps that he had left you, gaping with remnants of his cum inside of you. And you did feel a strange sense of satisfaction in that. Especially knowing that he would be able to smell that cum on you for hours with his werewolf nose, even if you went home and changed your clothes before Lydia’s mandatory ‘Lacrosse Team Win’ celebration party - and that was enough of a reason not to take a shower and scrub the scent off.)

He let you down and you were unsteady on your legs, much like a baby deer, still having to lean on the lockers for support while he moved to grab some toilet paper from one of the stalls to help clean you both up.

A heavy silence fell over the two of you, unlike any other time that you had sex with Isaac.

While you righted your clothes (prying what was left of your underwear out from underneath your tights and throwing them away, along with the scraps of the shirt that had started this all, fixing your skirt, and putting your jacket on over your bra for some coverage) - and Isaac got dressed, you wondered what would happen next. Your eyes landed on the huge dent that was now in the top of the row of lockers, and you genuinely weren’t sure if you should ask him to try and fix it, or if it would just be better to leave it like that and let people wonder.

“Please…”

Isaac mumbled out, his voice so quiet, raspy around the edges due to the moaning he had just done. When you whipped your head toward him, he worked up the courage to finish the sentence.

“Please… don’t talk about Scott anymore.”

You stared at him, puzzled, as he put on his jersey (his pads still left on the floor, seeing as he didn’t need them anymore). Clearly, his mind had been on a completely different track. He was staring you down with those sad, glassy eyes once again, and you felt a terrible twinge of guilt tighten in your gut.

You knew that he was the jealous type. That was why you had done all this. But you couldn’t go on being his secret fling, his secret fuck. His perfect confidant with no public title.

So you prodded that wound one last time.

“Why not?” You asked, risking it all.

You would either leave this losing your best friend, the best sex of your life, and the person you loved most in the whole world - or you would leave this as a whole, better person.

Isaac swallowed, and bowed his head, unable to look you in the eyes. Somehow, at six-foot-one, he looked so terribly small. He might not be able to do this. He might be too broken to live up to it. But you hoped, you prayed that he would -

“Because I-” He shuddered, verging on tears. And somehow, he was able to get the words out. “Because I’m in love with you.”

Everything inside of you lit up. More perfect than any orgasm, better than the feeling of his cock inside of you - this was what you had been missing the whole time.

“And look, I understand that you might have just been playing around,” He continued, his words having a terrible meaning - acknowledging your game in wearing Scott’s numbers, and voicing his insecurities in your relationship, believing that you had been unserious with him because you had never loved him at all. “But it kills me to see you with other guys. I can’t-”

You stepped forward, using a hand on the side of his jaw to pull him into another kiss. In a moment, he understood the passion, the warmth - something that went far beyond sexual needs. The way you guided him because you knew exactly what he needed. The unspoken connection the two of you always had that now needed those words.

“Isaac, you should know I love you too.” You told him. “That I’ve been in love with you - since forever.”

He let out a tense breath of relief.

“I won’t talk about anyone else like that, or flirt with anyone, or anything along those lines, if that’s what you want.” You assured him. “You are mine, and I’m yours. Okay, pup?”

He flushed at the nickname, and nodded, and you smiled brightly.

“I’ll even get you a dog collar with my name on it so that everyone can know you’re mine.” You said - your tone was distinctly joking, but you didn’t miss the way he bit his lip, and the lustful light that grew in his eyes.

“Shut up.” He laughed, shaking his head.

(He definitely wouldn’t end up masturbating to thoughts of that later. Definitely not.)

...

Please keep in mind, there will not be a continuation or a 'part 2'. This is a oneshot, meaning that it is a complete story on its own and I do not feel the need to continue it. If you comment asking for a Part 2 or asking for a continuation after I have written this ending message, I consider that to be extremely rude and unkind.

If you are going to comment, please comment about the content of the fic that has been written. I love discussing the characters that I write about with other people in the comments and connecting with fellow fans. I work very hard on my fics and I always appreciate comments, but I do not appreciate when people only comment asking for more rather than wanting to discuss what I have already worked hard on.

Even if you don't comment, I hope you enjoyed, and if you want more from me because you enjoyed this fanfic a lot, you should definitely check out my Teen Wolf Masterlist, which has a lot of similar fics!

Happy Reading,

Sunny ☀️

#star squared

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