#it could have if they had taken the time to build a better plot with less characters and more episodes

[heliads]

I love you writing and I was hoping you could write Ben Florian x VK!Reader the reader is Lefou's kid. A soulmate AU where the negative things you think about yourself are marked on your soulmate's skin. Reader only has one or two things because Ben is from Auradon and has a good life and family. While Ben has around half a dozen. Reader is the one who gives Ben the love potion. During the lake scene they notice Ben is their soulmate and tries (but fails) to hide it thinking he deserves better

masterlist

There really is no good place for a prince. They are political figureheads in every sense of the phrase— too young to actually rule, too old to be allowed to skip state functions. They sit in corners of expensive meetings and cut ribbons in front of newly opened buildings, but they can’t do a whole lot except smile and pose. 

Shame your friend seems so fixated on capturing one, then. It feels like you’ve just barely left the Isle of the Lost, only bid farewell to the entirety of your prior life experience hours ago, and yet already Mal is scheming about how to best tear down everything around you. If Prince Ben is the best way to fulfill her nefarious plans, then so be it.

The only problem is that you’re now involved in all of this, too. Mal wants a wand and so she’ll take a prince to get there, but as one of her best friends, you’ve been drafted into the plot to catch a prince. Ben won’t have any idea what’s coming. Shame, he would probably run if he had any clue.

Mal’s good at covering her tracks, though, she always has been. You can remember elaborate plans from when you were much younger to steal cookies or cloaks, spellbooks and shoes. At this point, hearing Mal tell you that she’s going to bewitch the crown prince of Auradon into falling in love with her shouldn’t surprise you, just the fact that she’s taken this long to come up with the idea.

Usually, you have no problem going along with Mal’s little adventures. They’re entertaining, at the least, a good way to pass a few days when you’ve already gone over every alleyway and hiding place on the Isle at least a dozen times in the last month. The issue is that you’re not on the Isle anymore, and maybe– just maybe– disrupting everything here isn’t entirely what you want to do.

Mal doesn’t know this, of course. None of your fellow VKs do. Every time they monologue and moan about how they can’t wait to get out of this place, you find yourself holding your tongue, biting back your real thoughts about how the school isn’t actually as bad as you feared. Sure, the constant judgment from the other children of princes and princesses isn’t all that fun, but Auradon Prep has its positives, too. For one thing, you think your soulmate might be here.

What a terrible thing for the child of a villain to prioritize. You’ve heard Mal scoff at the idea of a soulmate, and although Evie is certainly more interested in the idea than some of your other friends, you’re still not sure that you’d find a welcome audience amongst their ranks when it comes to tracking down your soulmate. After all, the odds of that soulmate being from Auradon and not the Isle are pretty high. They’ve all but told you that themselves.

All things considered, for a society with such control over magic and spells, it’s pretty difficult to find your soulmate. You’d always wondered why those in charge couldn’t shorten the whole affair to something more simple– a name on the wrist, perhaps, or an invisible string that only the two of you could see– but instead, soulmate magic went the complicated route. How lovely.

The story about the origin of the soulmate magic is convoluted and ancient, going back generations and changing with each family. The general consensus is that soulmates were created to preserve the sanctity of true love, with the idea that soulmates should be able to love each other entirely, flaws and all. So, when you think something negative about yourself, those very same thoughts will show up on the skin of your soulmate, something like a warning label for what they’re going to get themselves into.

This is all well and good for people with few negative thoughts, maybe they’ll have something here and there about a bad sports result or a poor test grade that their soulmate can chuckle over before meeting them. For you, though? You, the child of a villain, cursed to live forever on a too-small island with the other convicts and criminals, you have had more fears and hated things about yourself than most. Your soulmate must be covered in unhappy musings, which only makes you feel worse about yourself than before. A self-perpetuating cycle of the worst kind.

By contrast, the startling absence of your soulmate’s negative thoughts on your own skin makes you certain that they couldn’t be from the Isle of the Lost. There are only one or two fears on your skin, proof of loving parents and a stable home, and they’re minor things like a bad hair day or a fear of not doing their absolute best. These change, often leaving every few months to be replaced by something else insignificant.

What makes you most certain that your soulmate is the child of a royal is the one negative thought that has stayed on your skin since the very beginning. Your soulmate, whoever they are, is terrified that they will let down the king and queen. Only someone with close ties to the royalty could have such a fear, so it’s proof that your soulmate is somewhere here on Auradon.

So maybe you don’t want to leave this place, not yet. Not until you can learn who your soulmate is. It’ll be almost impossible to track them down on this information alone, but supposedly that’s how the whole thing is supposed to work. You learn about the worst parts of your soulmate, and then you get to love the best of them. The only problem is that you’re fairly sure that if your soulmate is a royal, they won’t want to love you at all.

It’s easier to ignore the whole affair. Easier to agree to Mal’s plan when she proposes enchanting Prince Ben. At least another one of your friend’s schemes will keep your mind off the soulmate affair.

That’s what you tell yourself, at least, but your conscience is starting to get steadily more vocal as the days go by. Ben is a nice guy, which hurts, surprisingly. Although the love spell may have been cast on Mal, as one of Mal’s closest friends, you’re around the two of them all the time. The boy you see is someone that you wish could be your soulmate. He may be a prince, and you may be a villain, but he makes you want to believe in love after all.

You certainly have the capacity for such musings. For some reason, the love spell didn’t take all that well, and although Ben is now compelled to stay with Mal more than he was before, it’s not like he’s totally obsessed with her as Mal had hoped. Mal claims it’s because love spells can never work fully due to the soulmate issue, like having a soulmate is a kind of shield to protect you against that sort of enchantment, but regardless, Ben has just enough independent thought that he can tell you jokes and try to make you smile like– well, like he tries to do with Mal.

The realization that Ben is a genuinely good person, and worse, someone you don’t want to trick, haunts you as you fall further into Mal’s scheme. You’ve been trying to push the whole thing from your mind, letting Ben join your soulmate in the depths of your mind you don’t want to touch, but your train of thought keeps circling back to him despite your best attempts otherwise.

Besides, it doesn’t help that Mal keeps trying to involve you in the plot. Right now, the two of them are at the Enchanted Lake, out on a cute little date. Mal had been making mock disgusted faces at you the whole time she was getting ready, but some part of yourself can’t stop whispering that this doesn’t seem so bad, actually, that the thought of being out here alone with Ben would make for a wonderful day instead of the tedious chore Mal is making it out to be.

Ben doesn���t know you’re here, though. Mal wanted backup in case something happened, so you’re lingering in the woods to keep anyone from stumbling upon the scene and also holding onto more magical baked goods in case Mal feels the need to renew the spell. It’s kind of like torture, strolling through this beautiful forest, knowing that Ben is so close and you are helping hold him under the thrall of this plot.

The storm in your mind must be thundering too loudly for you to think straight, because you lose track of yourself and accidentally walk too close to the lake. You weren’t supposed to be spotted, but before you can back away and melt back into the foliage, Ben looks up and sees you. You panic, immediately heading the way you’d come, but you hear footsteps after you moments later and Ben manages to track you down before you can go too far. Mal is so going to kill you for messing with her plan.

“Sorry,” you murmur, eyes wide when he finally catches up to you, “I didn’t realize the two of you were– I’ll go now.”

Ben shakes his head. “No, no, it’s alright. It’s not like we have a monopoly on the woods.”

He’s dripping water, most likely due to a recent dip in the lake, and you can’t seem to stop your gaze from following the path of the droplets as they cascade down his shoulders, across his hands, and, most importantly of all, over the swooping letters of the fears of his soulmates. 

Usually, Ben wears long sleeves or something else to hide them. You can see why now– there are many of them, many more than you, perhaps half a dozen in all. You can’t read all of them from where you’re standing, just snippets about how a villain’s kid shouldn’t have a soulmate, how they’ll never amount to much, things like that. Things like what you’ve been thinking recently.

Ben must catch on to your train of thought, because he smiles weakly, absentmindedly scratching at a sentence proclaiming that his soulmate isn’t worth the good luck they get. “Yeah, my soulmate’s a little stressed, I guess. Hopefully, I can talk about that with them soon. I want them to know that they’re worth it, wherever they are.”

It had never occurred to you that hating yourself would make your soulmate this obsessed. You have no proof that Ben is your soulmate but– 

But, as you watch, you can see a new fear appearing out of nowhere, wrapping itself around Ben’s left wrist. I’m not good enough for a soulmate this good. Just what you were thinking mere moments ago. It’s like proof.

Ben looks up slowly, and although you were never blessed with the ability to read minds, you swear you can tell exactly what he’s thinking right now. “Are you–” he starts, ends, tries again, “Do you know who your soulmate is?”

You can do several things at this moment. You can confirm what you’re mostly sure is true, you can lie, you can pretend you hadn’t heard him. You spot movement in the trees behind him, a flash of purple, and remember belatedly that Mal is still somewhere at the Enchanted Lake, waiting for Ben to come back and wondering why you’re holding him here for so long.

All of a sudden, the reality of the situation comes crashing down around your shoulders. This is not something that can happen. Ben is a prince. You are the child of a villain, and the friend of another VK who’s counting on you to continue fooling Ben so she can pursue her latest mad plan. There is no world in which this works out.

So, you force a smile, banishing all thoughts back into the deep recesses of your brain once more. “No,” you say, “I don’t know. I think they’re a VK, though.”

Ben’s face falls in a flash. “Really? Because I thought–”

You shake your head quickly. “I don’t– it’s not me. I think Mal is waiting for you, though. You shouldn’t keep her for long.”

Ben glances back over his shoulder in memory of the girl he’s left somewhere in the woods behind him, and when he looks back, you’re gone. You’re good at running. It’s a skill you’ve perfected over the years. You just never thought you’d have to use it now.

Prince Ben is your soulmate. Impossible. True. Mal comes back later that afternoon, tells you the date went splendidly despite your accidental intrusion. Ben must not have let the brief moment in the woods faze him for long. It hurts more than you care to admit.

There is only so much running a VK can do, try as they might to pretend otherwise. You avoid Ben at all costs, hoping that whatever foolish war is currently being fought inside your heart will come to a tolerable ceasefire if you just ignore it long enough. Mal tells you that the plan is going swimmingly, she’s never seen the prince more excited about the VKs and the upcoming coronation. You nod and smile and tell her that you’re glad everything is going to plan, but inside, you cannot seem to stop your mind from screaming. 

And then, all of a sudden, despite your best attempts to remain out of sight, Prince Ben finds you. It’s completely out of the blue, so casual that you almost don’t realize it’s happening until he’s sitting down at your table in the library and it’s too late to run. 

You feel like an animal caught in a trap. He’s just smiling like nothing is the matter. “I know it’s you,” he says by way of hello. 

Your heart is stuck in your throat. “What?”

“I know it’s you,” Ben repeats, “I know you’re my soulmate. I had the Fairy Godmother do a little spell so I could check for you, but I think I knew since that day at the lake.”

You frown. “You can do that?”

He shrugs, looking a little embarrassed. “Not everyone can, I think. But I, uh, insisted.”

You grin. “Prince privileges?”

“Something like that.” He’s smiling, though, maybe pleased that you’re not trying to run off this time. “But you knew even without the spell, didn’t you?”

That does shake your uncertain sense of calm. “Yes,” you admit, “but I didn’t think you— I didn’t think it would work out.”

The look on Ben’s face is genuinely heartbreaking. “What, just because I’m a prince?”

He says it so casually, it’s almost funny. “Yes, Ben, because you’re a prince and I’m a VK. I mean, my dad was Lefou. He literally tried to ruin the happy ever after of your parents, why would you want someone like me to be your soulmate?”

“Same reason you shouldn’t be afraid to want me. You’re not your father, Y/N, and I’m not my parents. We’re just us, and I know that I want you to be my soulmate. I have since the start. I was hoping you would tell me you knew, but after a few days went by and you still said nothing, I figured I had to take matters into my own hands. Even if that meant using a spell or two.”

You keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to laugh in your face and tell you it’s ridiculous to think that he would ever want a VK as a soulmate, but he doesn’t. In fact, you don’t think he ever will. As impossible as it seems, Ben wants someone who isn’t from a perfect fairy tale. He wants you. And that, lovely and wonderful and absolutely crazy, sounds like a fairly good happily ever after for you. 

disney tag list: @rogueanschel, @lovesanimals0000, @mayfieldss, @eclliipsed

[niki-phoria]

⋆｡°✩ YOU LOOK SO PRETTY / PRETTY LIKE THE SUN

sweet moments with fushiguro megumi, itadori yuuji, inumaki toge, okkotsu yuuta

notes: gn reader (no pronouns used), first jjk reaction post !! this was so hard to write ngl, header from pinterest, title from tom odell - black friday

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI is in love with you.

dusk is filled with golden rays and city lights. you walk side-by-side with megumi in a comfortable silence. these quiet moments with you had always been rare but cherished moments - a small amount of time when you both could finally breathe. 

years of fighting curses had taken its toll on you. with death always just one wrong move away, megumi had grown accustomed to cherishing the little moments with you: when you made him coffee in the morning before he woke up; when you waited at his bedside after he was injured in a fight; when you forcefully put some of your food on his plate after noticing that he wasn’t eating enough.

megumi had never grown up with a view of a real romantic relationship - all of his experience came from side plots in manga and being dragged into watching movies with yuuji - but he was smart enough to realize why his heart beat so fast around you. why he blushed so easily when your hand brushed against his. why he desperately wanted more.

megumi stops when you pause in your steps, stretching out your shoulders. a content sigh escapes you as you look out towards the shore. “the sunset is beautiful, isn’t it?” you say, your eyes trained on the hues of pink and blue filling the sky. 

megumi glances at the skyline, only taking in the sight momentarily before he turns back to you. all the beautiful things he’s heard about “golden hour” seem to come true. the sun peeks out from behind various buildings, illuminating your silhouette. you softly smile as you look up at the clouds above.

“yeah,” he smiles; his gaze remains trained on you. “beautiful.”

fushiguro megumi is in love with you. now, he just has to tell you.

ITADORI YUUJI is - surprisingly - not a bad cook. over his months at jujutsu high, he had become the unofficial chef in the dorms. so when you fell ill, it was no surprise when he took on the responsibility of nursing you back to health.

your body is little more than a mound of blankets when yuuji creeps into your room; a bowl of steaming soup in his hands. he moves with the utmost care as he makes his way across the room before setting the bowl down on your bedside table. despite your puffy eyes and red-tipped nose he smiles, reaching up to push a stray strand of hair away from your face.

you stir awake at his touch before slowly blinking up at him. “hi y/n,” yuuji whispers. “feeling any better?”

he receives a groan in response. “i feel like death,” you rasp out. 

yuuji reaches over, resting the back of his hand against your forehead. “you’re still really warm,” he mumbles. “i don’t think your fever has gone down at all.”

his cheeks flush slightly when you reach over, taking his hand into your own. your skin is overly warm and slightly clammy, but yuuji doesn’t mind. instead, he intertwines your hands together. 

“here,” he says, using his free hand to hold up a spoonful of the soup he made. “try it. maybe it’ll make you feel better.”

the metal spoon burns your tongue and the broth is a little too salty, but it soothes your throat all the same. “thank you,” you murmur. “it’s delicious.”

yuuji simply smiles brightly, holding out yet another spoonful for you. “of course.”

“do you know japanese sign language?”

INUMAKI TOGE stares at you with wide eyes, surprised by your sudden question. it shouldn’t have been all that surprising, but it was something no one had bothered to ask before. 

finally, after a short period of silence, he nods. “salmon.”

toge had grown accustomed to being left out. even while around the most supportive people, he often found himself struggling to be heard - both literally and metaphorically. after all, it was difficult to communicate with others through origini ingredients. 

that didn’t make it any less hurtful, though. 

you smile brightly, hesitantly signing along to your words as you speak. “i’ve been practicing a little. i wanted to surprise you.”

toge’s face flushes; his jacket does little to hide the way his blush spreads across his cheeks and up to the tips of his ears. your movements are a little sloppy and you’re clearly nervous, but he doesn’t comment on it. no one had ever put in this much effort to speak to him before. to not only listen, but understand what he means. 

“thank you,” he signs in return. he pauses for a second, hesitating slightly before he continues. “i love you.”

“i don’t think i know that one.” toge simply smiles, leaning in to pull you into a kiss. he’ll tell you what it means soon enough. but for now, his flushed cheeks and soft smile tell you everything he means to say.

the safest place in the world is within OKKOTSU YUUTA’S arms. you can’t remember when it became a routine for the two of you. he would return home and immediately seek you out; his fingers curl around your waist and tug you closer until your back reaches his chest. 

a soft sigh escapes his lips as he rests his chin against your shoulder. the pieces of your bodies fit together like a puzzle - from the way yuuta intertwines his fingers with your own to how seamlessly his arms wrap around you. 

messy strands of ink black hair brush against the side of your neck when yuuta nuzzles himself even closer against you. his breath ghosts against your shoulder as he leans down, pressing a few lazy kisses over the fabric of your shirt. “i missed you.”

“i missed you, too.” your fingertips trace along little cuts and deep bruises decorating yuuta’s hands. “do they hurt?”

he catches his bottom lip between his teeth. it feels trivial to be in pain over such minor injuries, but yuuta has never been the best liar. “only a little,” he murmurs.

you frown slightly, raising your intertwined hands up to your lips. the soft kisses you press against the fresh wounds leave him breathless. with a flushed face and a soft smile, yuuta presses a chaste kiss against your cheek in return. “thank you.”

taglist (open! send an ask/dm to be added): @sunoooism @vamxpi @sad-darksoul @kamote-kuneho

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[doumadono]

Congratulations! You desetrved every follower you have!

For the celebration I'd love to order:

Raspberry ice cream in a cup with Maple syrup and Cherries!

All of this for Kai Chisaki!!!

STAY AMAZING AND NEVER CHANGE! THANK YOU FOR ALL THE FICS THAT MADE MY LIFE A LITTLE BETTER.

Warnings: smut w/o plot, fem!reader, pussy fingering/eating, rough p in v, overstimulation, yandere Overhaul

Synopsis: after a fruitless meeting with Shigaraki, you're the only one who can help Overhaul cool down

A/N: thank you very much for your support, dear Nonnie!

5k FOLLOWERS EVENT MASTERLIST MY HERO ACADEMIA

Overhaul had an aura that was impossible to ignore. His obsessive nature and unwavering belief in his cause were both terrifying and captivating, a dangerous combination that drew you in like a moth to a flame. You were his girlfriend, a fact that both thrilled and terrified you.

One day, the meeting with Shigaraki Tomura hadn't gone as planned, and as you left, you could sense the simmering anger radiating from Overhaul. His jaw clenched tightly, and his usually composed demeanor was marred by frustration.

Despite the tension between Overhaul and Shigaraki, the latter was surprisingly kind to you during the meeting. In response, you maintained a polite demeanor, careful not to trigger any further conflict. Kai noticed Shigaraki's unexpected civility towards you and responded by acting even sweeter than usual. He gently brushed the top of your palm with his gloved fingers, and at times, he would possessively wrap his arm around your shoulders, particularly when he sensed Shigaraki's gaze lingering on your face for a little too long.

After the meeting, as you walked back to your flat, Kai remained silent, lost in his thoughts. You could feel the tension building between you, and you knew that it was only a matter of time before his anger would spill over.

Once you were home, Kai suddenly turned to you, his eyes flashing with intensity. "I can't believe that fool!" he spat, his voice laced with venom. "He thinks he can just walk all over us! "Did you see how he checked you out?" he asked bluntly.

You blinked, tilting your head in confusion, completely taken aback by the sudden question. "Who? Shigaraki? He wasn't."

"Of course he was. I'm sure his thoughts were damn dirty. What a pervert. But you're mine. Always been mine."

You reached out to him, placing a comforting hand on his arm. "Kai, please calm down," you urged softly, trying to soothe his agitation. "You'll figure something out. You always do. You need to cool down now."

Kai took a deep breath, visibly trying to rein in his emotions. "You're right," he conceded, his tone still edged with frustration. "Damn it!" Kai shouted, his fists clenched at his sides as he paced back and forth in your living room. "I won't stand for this disrespect!"

After watching you for a moment, he scoffed, realizing that he could easily unload his frustration on you and relieve himself of the burden. So he approached you, his steps slow and deliberate. He reached out, his fingers gently tracing the line of your jaw, his touch surprisingly tender. His eyes, however, were were dark, filled with a hunger that made your heart race. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "I need to relax a bit before I return to plotting more."

His words sent a jolt of electricity through your body. You nodded silently, understanding exactly what he meant. He gently took your hand and guided you to the bedroom without a word.

The room was dimly lit, the shadows dancing on the walls as Kai closed the door behind him. He turned to face you, his eyes never leaving yours as he began to undress.

You watched, feeling your breath catch in your throat, as he swiftly discarded his shirt and jeans, revealing his toned body. His cock stood erect, already hard and proud, leaving you unable to tear your eyes away.

Overhaul smirked, clearly enjoying your reaction. He moved towards you, his hands reaching for the hem of your dress. He pulled it off in one swift motion, leaving you standing in nothing but your lingerie. His eyes roamed over your body, appreciation clear in his gaze. He reached out, undone the clasp of your bra, and then his fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties. He pulled them down slowly, his eyes never leaving yours.

You stepped out of them, now completely naked before him.

Overhaul's gaze darkened, his cock twitching in response. He pushed you back onto the bed, his body covering yours as he kissed you deeply. His tongue invaded your mouth. He moved down your body, his lips trailing kisses along your warm skin. He reached your pussy, his tongue darting out to taste you. "Fuck."

You gasped, your hands fisting in the sheets as he licked and sucked on your clit.

He slid two fingers inside you, pumping them in and out as he continued to lick and suck on your sensitive folds, feasting on you. "Fuck, that's what I fucking needed," he groaned.

You moaned, your hips bucking against his face. "Kai," you gasped, "I'm close…"

He hummed in response, his fingers moving faster, penetrating your pussy and massaging that sweet spot inside.

You cried out, your orgasm hitting you like a wave as you arched your back, grinding your pussy against his lips.

Overhaul didn't stop however, drawing out all of your pleasure until you were begging him to stop.

"Kai, Kai, Kai! I can't! Please! I can't breathe!" You whined, suffocating yourself on your own moans and pants.

He moved back up your body, licking his way up, his cock nudging at your entrance shortly after.

You looked down at the right moment, watching as he quickly pushed inside you; his cock's red, mushroom tip disappeared into your warm, wet pussy. "Oh, fuck," you moaned, your eyes fluttering closed as he filled you completely. "O-Oh God!"

Chisaki groaned, his eyes glued to the spot where your bodies were joined. He pulled out almost completely, observing how his cock shimmered with your sweet juices, before plunging back in, his hips maintaining a relentless rhythm. "Fuck, yeah, yeah, you're so fucking good, bitch."

You cried out, your nails digging into his back as he fucked you. "Harder," you begged, "Fuck me harder, Kai."

He obliged, his thrusts becoming rougher.

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, along with your moans and Kai's grunts.

"Yes," you gasped, "Yes, yes, yes." You could feel another orgasm building, your body coiling tight.

As the overwhelming pleasure washed over you, causing your eyes to roll back into your skull, Kai didn't hesitate to slap your cheek a few times. "Look at me, bitch," he commanded, his voice low and demanding. "Look into my eyes as I fuck your stupid cunt senseless, you fucking bitch."

Kai reached between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit. He rubbed it in time with his thrusts, sending you over the edge.

You screamed, your body convulsing around his cock as you came. Your breath caught in your throat, stifled by your own moans and gasps, creating a quiet, wheezing sound.

Overhaul groaned, his thrusts becoming erratic before he stilled, his cock pulsing inside you as he came. "Fuuuuck." He thrust into you a few more times, ensuring every last drop of his cum was deeply embedded, before withdrawing and delivering a sharp slap to your pussy. "That's my good slut," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction.

You could feel his cum leaking out of your pussy, and you reached between your thighs, scooping some on your finger and bringing it to your mouth to taste it. You hummed in appreciation.

Kai rolled off you, pulling you into his arms. "Mine," Kai murmured, his lips pressing against your forehead. "You belong to me. You're fucking mine. Remember that."

[netegf]

So We Won't Forget

pairing: f!reader x rafe cameron

plot: you meet rafe cameron at a grief support group while he struggles with the loss of his father. he's trying to be a better man, and you can't help but love him for it.

warnings: 18+, sensitive topics such as death and mourning, use of Y/N, fluff and flirting, challenging sibling dynamics, smut (P in V, size kink, lots of praise, some teasing), mentions of past drug use, rafe is reforming (?) lol

word count: 7.7 k

Rafe didn’t know what he was thinking.

He knew Barry had given him the bright pink flier as a joke more than anything else. And he’d taken it as a joke, at least after the initial roll of his eyes, too. Ended up crumpling the sheet of paper and chucking it into the garbage can near his bedside, muttering some iteration of ‘yeah man, that’s real funny’.

His dad was dead. For real, this time. He didn’t need some corny grief support group where people sat in a circle and sang their sorrows.

He needed a fucking time machine.

Still, he had done it.

Sleep was getting harder and harder to find these nights. The temperature never felt right.

Too hot when he pulled white sheets up and over his bare hips and too cold when he let them slip down to his feet.

He rolled his body over to his side with the intention of scrolling through his phone which had become increasingly dry since his return from Guadeloupe.

But then his hand was reaching down into the garbage can and he was squinting in the dark to make out an address he’d never seen before.

It was no wonder why. The Church was so far in the outskirts of Figure 8, it might as well have been on the Cut. But it wasn't, and that was one of the only reasons why he'd reconciled with making the drive.

It was a shoddy building with peeling paint and a slanted roof, and it took him a whole twenty minutes to step outside of his truck and through the front doors.

The place gave him the chills. He felt better thinking it was because it was so run-down and he was a Kook through and through, but a part of him knew it was for a different reason entirely. He wasn’t completely sure he wouldn’t burst into flames upon entry. It wasn't long ago that he’d melted a fucking cross for Christ’s sake.

Like the man standing at the entry-way can read his mind, he claps a hand on Rafe’s shoulder and flashes him a reassuring smile. He must've been staring guardedly at the blocked off pew.  

“We just use the space on this side of the building.” The man says, gesturing to the large room with groups of scattered chairs and a long table at the back with pastries and refreshments. “There’s no, uh,” he clears his throat, then continues with a knowing glance, “religious affiliation.”

Rafe manages a nod, his fingers feeling numb and jittery all at once. His eyes rake over the room once more. More specifically, the people in it.

Some of them look like they’re itching to talk, while others look so boxed up it makes the silence in the room more chilling. Rafe decides he connects more with the latter, but there’s a spot he can’t quite reach at the swell of his shoulder blade that suddenly feels like it could use a good scratch.

“I’m Leon, by the way. The program manager.” The man, Leon, introduces himself. “Help yourself to some snacks, then grab a seat. We’ll start shortly.”

Leon shoots Rafe another smile, then saunters over to the front of the room where he sits down by a dingy whiteboard. 

Briefly, he wrestles the impulse to sprint out through the double-doors and scrub the very essence of the place off his body in a scalding shower. Sterile and dizzying, just how he likes them. 

But then his feet are trudging clumsily toward the snack table, and he downs a hot cup of coffee that splashes uncomfortably against the acid in his stomach before filling an empty chair at the back. 

"Let's see. As you take your seats and feel out the room, some of you might be asking yourselves why you even bothered to show up. Why don't we take a moment to remind ourselves why?"

To you, the introduction by the man you now know as Leon leaves something to be desired. A reminder wouldn't be necessary because forgetting wasn't the problem. 

The problem was your best friend was gone, and nothing in the world could get your mind off it. It was a strange kind of irony, really, talking about her so you could end up talking about her less. 

What better place and time was there to mourn than the beautiful Outer Banks in the summer?

At least, that's what your mother had said in a chipper tone as you rode the ferry off the mainland together.

Taking in the ambience of your surroundings, you seriously doubt she's right. The AC is blasting and you still feel sweat beading on your forehead. The place had the humidity of a greenhouse and none of the natural light. 

"We'll start our conversation small. With a partner." Leon says, breaking you out of your trance. "I'll walk around the room and pair you up."

The friendly man that Leon is, it takes him a while to get to the back of the room where he pauses in front of you.

"Alright, so that leaves... you two!"

Leon points vaguely to a figure sitting at the far corner, who lifts his head for a second to meet your eyes. A flash of blue before he looks back down again. You notice that he's not moving a muscle and probably doesn't intend to. 

"Guess I'll come to you." You mutter shortly under your breath, dragging your chair behind you as you move closer. 

Taking a seat in front of the quiet stranger, the first thing you notice is that the top of his head is pretty. Then he lifts his chin and you come to realize that the rest of him is even prettier. 

Dirty blonde hair that seems to be growing out after a cut sticks to his forehead, slightly damp with sweat. Angular jaw, beautiful blue eyes, soft pink lips pressed into a frown. He gazes at you suspiciously. 

"Rafe." 

Your eyebrows furrow, temporarily stalling your ogling. "What?"

"My name." He squints at you, pointing a slender finger to the whiteboard on which Leon has messily scrawled the words: 'introduce yourselves and explain why you're here'. 

"Rafe." You repeat, trying the name out in your mouth. It feels harsh but satisfying. Like a swear word. "I'm Y/N." 

He nods, but doesn't say anything else, his eyes flickering between the floor and a black truck you can make out through the window - like he's worried it might disappear. 

You steal a glance at the pairs around you who seem to be getting far deeper into conversation than the two of you. 

"I think we're supposed to talk." You mumble.

Rafe nods again, and his lips part for a moment, but then they close again. You fight the urge to glare at Leon for dooming your progress before it could even begin.

"I can go first." You offer with a shaky breath. "I'm here because my best friend, Stacy... died. It was, um, a car crash." 

Hating the way the silence intensifies between you, you continue. 

"I don't really know what to say. Just that she was kind of my favourite person. And she, uh... always made me feel like I was the only one in the room, you know? She just wanted to make you laugh and it was like nothing else mattered. Just us, living in our own little world."

Rafe feels a certain tightness in his chest, pressing down on his sternum.

"You're lucky." He scoffs.

It makes your face fall.

He'd tried to make it sound like a good thing, but it came out ugly, like it always seemed to. 

"I'm... lucky that my friend died in a violent car crash? Gee, Rafe. Your empathy has no bounds.” 

The turn of your voice makes Rafe's spine stiffen, his brows stiffly pinched together as he attempts to soothe over his words.

"No, I didn't mean it like that, okay?" 

You narrow your eyes at him, crossing your arms over your chest.

Suddenly, the lips that you once thought were pretty look more like what they really are. Annoying, when they move. His crisp blue polo and stupidly expensive watch are starting to get on your nerves.

"I just meant that you - look, at least you had her. That's more than a lot of people can say."

That was rich coming from a guy that looked like he had everything in the world at his disposal.

"Who'd you lose? Your gardener?" You quip. 

Rafe stares bitterly then looks down at his lap where his fingers are fidgeting.  

"My dad."

You feel your stomach churn with guilt, face getting hot.

It's the way he says it that pains you. Like it hurts him physically to get the words out. You know that feeling like the back of your hand. You wish you didn't, but you do.

Suddenly, Rafe's rigidity feels less abrasive and more heartbreaking. You wonder how long it's been, hesitant to ask because it might make you feel worse. Maybe you deserved it for leading with pettiness instead of compassion. You remind yourself that you're grieving and messy, too. 

"Oh." You choke out when an apology feels tight on your tongue.

He lifts his head up to meet your eyes, chewing on his bottom lip. "Yeah. Oh."

"I shouldn't have said that, Rafe. I'm sorry." 

"No, I get it. I shouldn't have said that either. That way, at least. I'm trying to be better at... not saying the wrong thing." He breathes, shoulders falling. "I fuck it up constantly."

"You're not, you didn't." You shake your head. "I'm just on edge. Plus, I get really cranky when I'm hot, and it's boiling in here. Promise." 

You feel a sense of relief when he cracks a smile at that, wanting to savour it. 

"And...," you trail off, catching his attention. 

"And?"

Your gaze runs over him, from the top of his handsome face, down to his shiny designer boots. 

"You're textbook Kook. I guess my whole 'eat the rich' thing got the best of me." 

Rafe laughs softly, feeling a rush in his chest. For a second, he's not thinking about a certain series of events that looms over him everywhere he goes like some sort of 'never off the clock' paralysis demon. Nor any of the bad decisions he made that led him up to that point and drove him deeper into the ground after the fact. He remembers back when he was just a regular asshole. An arrogant rich kid with poor impulse control and penchant for adrenaline. 

He's debated if he would choose to go back thousands of times. 

Part of him wants to.

He had a lot less to worry about. More parties to throw, more girls to take up to his bedroom after very little flirting on his part, more blow to keep him heady and distracted.

Help keep his mind off of the arguments with his dad.

His dad, who blew a hole in his life, and now, was gone... forever. It's something he'd imagined more times than he could count, but he would have never guessed this feeling. 

Nothing felt good anymore. Like he didn't deserve any release because his dad wasn't here to give him shit, so he'd endured nothing to warrant it. He'd started feeling guilty, more than usual, and in a more physical sense. He could feel it when he woke up. Maybe it was the guilt that woke him up every day, gasping for air and clutching his chest. It was starting to sink in and sometimes he spent the whole of the night crying. It was like his soul was being reformed. He drove to a Church, instead of calling Barry, to feel something again. 

He secretly hoped for a big, ambiguous power that would slap him awake and help him trek forward like a strong wind behind his back. But believing took a certain lack of resistance and if his father's eyes were anything to go by, Rafe was stubborn like a grease stain.

Then there was the risk of believing and still watching everything spin into chaos around you. Feeling stupid that you hoped for something different.

But things are different now. 

He's still an asshole, sure. But he's trying to work on that. 

"You're not wrong." He admits, grinning slightly. "You been to the island before?"

"Couple times. I know how you guys talk." You shrug, amused at how the jargon piqued his interest. "It's been a pretty long time, though. Don't think we've ever met."

He nods, like that makes sense to him. You shiver when his blue eyes run you up and down. 

"I would've remembered you."

Before you can respond, Leon makes his way over to the two of you, smiling to himself, mostly, because the conversation he'd manufactured appeared to be a success.

"You two look chatty." He says brightly, eyes flickering over Rafe's posture, far more laid-back than when he first walked in. 

"Just doing what you asked." Rafe replies shortly.  

"Yeah, 'course. Just that you two seemed quiet, but turns out, you're chatty. It's nice, that's all. Keep up the good work, folks!" Leon says the last part loud enough for the room to hear, enthusiastically clapping his hands together while he does it. 

"Dude's weird." 

You chuckle at Rafe's comment, watching as Leon eagerly prods at another pair. You turn back to him and shrug. 

"Definitely weird. Kinda sweet, though?"

The rest of the session continues with Leon speaking to the group, promising that next time, sharing would take place in a larger circle for deeper community. You don't miss the way Rafe's knee bounces up and down next to you. At one point, you gently put one of your palms on his knee to keep it still. You feel his stare burning a hole in the side of your face, but you don't look at him. Just a hint of a smile on your lips. 

It makes Rafe nervous. He feels something different, and he likes it, but it makes him nervous. 

"Hey... you gonna come next week?" You ask him as you sling your bag over your shoulder, trying to make sure your voice doesn't sound so hopeful. 

He pauses for a second. 

"Uh, maybe. Maybe, I'm going to have to check on a few things first." By a few things, he meant Barry. Though they'd unloaded most of the cross gold, they still worked together sometimes. Mostly because they wanted to.

He was an unlikely friend. Gruff and hard to control, but in his corner.

If Rafe was going to show up again, he didn't want Barry finding out. He'd never hear the end of it - 'you're getting soft on me, Country Club!'.

"Okay." You chirp, turning to leave and taking all of three steps before stopping again with your bottom lip wedged under your teeth.

Fuck it. 

"Hey Rafe?" You spin back, sounding hopeful and a little desperate, but honest, at least, because you are those things. 

"Yeah?" He breathes, eyes falling all around you. 

"I really hope you come."

Quickly, you turn back around and make your way to the door, hand barely gripping the knob when you finally hear his voice.

"Y/N."

You look over your shoulder to meet tender blue eyes. 

"I'll be there."

Turns out, sharing circles are harder than they look. For Rafe, at least. 

You spoke about Stacy so easily. You spoke well of her so easily.

When Rafe heard your shaky exhales next to him, he clamped his warm, calloused hand over yours on instinct, listening thoughtfully to the way you described her favourite hobbies. The ones you loved along with her, and the ones you loved to make fun of her for. It was a good reminder for him, that the fruits of his instincts could be tender. An animal with at least some softness. He wasn't always so sure.

He spent a fair amount of time comforting Sarah and Wheezie when they cried as kids, but he was also usually the reason they started crying in the first place. 

After that first meeting, you awkwardly made your way out of the Church and Rafe followed behind you shortly after. When he watched you undo your bike lock, he puffed his red cheeks out and approached you with a slight shake in his knees. He wasn't nervous, it was just hot out - is what he tried to convince himself. 

He offered you a ride back to the house you were staying at with your mom in exchange for your number. You strapped yourself in his passenger seat with a smile on your lips and a special kind of spark flared up in your chest, the kind that makes you acutely aware of the sweat coating the back of your neck, sticking the hair to the skin, when your eyes met his in the rearview mirror. 

Rafe didn't look like the kind of guy that seemed well-intentioned when he asked for a girl's number. But he surprised you when he texted you once he got home. Then again all through the evening. And, in the days that followed. 

Between the texts and the phone calls, you covered a lot of ground. Now, Rafe knew about the time you peed yourself at an elementary school book fair, and you knew that he slept with his first dog's collar months after she died. You gushed about your favourite kinds of junk food while he raved about the hand-spun milkshakes at the club. 

Rafe's turn to speak in the circle was a mess, to say the least. He could hardly spit a few words about Ward, too busy navigating pregnant pauses and his newfound habit of stuttering. He thinks he might've called Ward 'nice', then very quickly grimaced after. When he heard his own voice through the rush in his ears, he thought it sounded nothing like him. He could barely even feel your gentle hand rubbing at his back when his words broke and cracked, leaving his throat with a nasty burn. 

Though Rafe knew his relationship with his dad was strained, he loved him.

It wasn't a comforting feeling, but it was the truth, and all he had. They both could have done better, he reminds himself. God knew that was true.

But at one point, he'd just been a kid. He needed help. He needed his father who always seemed to find business elsewhere. It made sense that talking about Ward was hard.

It made mourning him harder.

A perpetual flurry of emotions that kept his mind up at night and his hands restless. Anger and sadness always dominating the rest, but fighting their own fight with each other.

Anger when he thought about the ways his dad favoured Sarah.

Sadness when he remembered those rare early mornings Ward woke Rafe up for a surprise boat trip, just the two of them.

Back then, Rafe used to stay up entire nights in excitement at the prospect of spending some time alone with his father. Eventually, he had to force himself to accept that their last trip together had long passed, and right under his nose.

"Was it bad?" He groans, eyes screwed shut as he rubs a hand over his taut jaw, working lazily on a piece of gum.

He's still sitting when the room clears out. You stand to haul your bag over your shoulder, giving him a reassuring smile that he absorbs fully. Bright blue eyes drinking you in. 

"No, Rafe. It was fine. Everyone's too busy focusing on their own shit. You got through it just fine."

He gives you an unconvinced look, quirking a brow. Then he tugs at your bag, holding it instead. 

"You're lying." He frowns. With a hint of amusement in his voice, "God, and you're a bad liar, too."

Biting your lip, you take Rafe's hand in yours and drag him towards the exit, giggling quietly to yourself. He trails behind you, slowly shaking his head. He grins when you skip past the metal rack at the front of the building and pull him into the parking lot. You didn't bring your bike today. 

"C'mon, big guy. Let's get you a milkshake." You tease. "I know a place."

He rolls his eyes and laughs, letting you lead him in the opposite direction of his truck.

"You're going the wrong way, dumbass."

"I don't know, Rafe. It tastes kinda funny."

"That's because you mixed chocolate, vanilla, and peach. Who the fuck does that?"

Rafe sips on his chocolate milkshake as he sits across from you in the booth, an amused smirk tugging at his pink lips. The Island Club is somehow nicer inside than it is outside. The cherry-wood of the tables shines under the mood lighting and even near capacity, there's enough room for decent conversation. 

You pout, stirring your paper straw around in the metal cup. You perk up with an idea. 

"Let me try yours."

Rafe starts to laugh, eyes widening in protest. You're sweet, he thinks. He'd probably give you anything if you asked.

But that didn't mean he'd do it. He liked to think he was a little more challenging than that. 

"No, you made your bed." He shakes his head, gulping down another sip. It makes his Adam's apple bob. You stare mostly unashamed and lick your lips without thinking. "Now lie in it."

He watches your eyes get big for all of three seconds before realizing he'd lie right beside you.  

"Fuck, fine." He relents, taking his lip under his teeth, pang in his chest. "Don't look at me like that."

With two fingers, he pushes his cup in your direction and you hum happily as you sip from it. A sort of warm feeling in your stomach as you realize Rafe's mouth was on the same straw you're sucking on just moments before. 

"Do you know that guy? He's staring at you really hard." You mumble through the milkshake, but Rafe's eyes are fixated on your saliva-coated lips. 

"Huh?"

You turn your gaze to a guy at the bar. He's been staring at the back of Rafe's head for the better part of five minutes, squinting his eyes every so often as if to confirm it's really Rafe he's looking at. As he starts to come closer, you begin to understand why - his button-up shirt is half undone, his tawny brown hair disheveled, a far-away look in his blue eyes - he's drunk off his ass. 

Rafe turns to look. 

"Shit. Yeah, he's my sister's... long story." He sighs, forcing a smile as the guy approaches your table. "Hey, Top. What's going on, man?"

"Rafe!" The guy, Top, slurs excitedly. "I never see you around anymore, man. Where you been?" 

Then his eyes run over you and he chuckles. "Maybe I should be asking who you been with." 

It was true, Rafe had been sort of MIA since Sarah had returned with the news about his dad.

Well, except for that one incident. He hoped Topper was too drunk to remember that. In any case, he hadn't felt that guilty about their fading friendship - Topper had been MIA, too, ever since he went 'Rafe-crazy' and lit up the Chateau. He supposes that was his fault, too. 

Maybe he was avoiding him on purpose.

Topper reminded him of all the skeletons in his closet. It was hard enough living with the shame without a walking, talking reminder of his past. A lot of bravado and hair gel, is what it was. He regretted nearly everything now but sometimes he worried that if he spent enough time in the same places he used to, with the same people he used to, he'd somehow switch back. 

Rafe stiffens a little, but he gazes at you warmly. "This is Y/N. We met at, uh... she's..." 

"New." You finish for him. "Rafe's been showing me around."

At that, Rafe gives you a look. It made it sound like...

"Ah, that famous Cameron hospitality." The guy snorts. "I'm Topper."

The words 'Nice to meet you, Topper' die on your lips when he rams a hand aggressively on Rafe's shoulder and starts to laugh to himself, as if recalling memories. "Me and this guy? We go way back, Y/N. Best of friends, really."

You nod half-heartedly, shifting awkwardly in your seat. The leather of the chair underneath your bare thighs is starting to stick to the skin uncomfortably. 

"Alright, man, well it was good seeing you-," Rafe attempts to wave him off, but Topper doesn't let up.

"Look, dude." He whispers, lowering his head to Rafe's ear. He's not being as quiet as he thinks he is, and the next part of what he says makes you shudder. "I heard about your dad."

Rafe feels a wave of defeat wash over him. So, Topper wasn't too drunk to remember. 

It was one of the first nights after he'd heard about his dad. He'd spent as long as he could in the Island Club, ordering drink after drink, until he stumbled outside and spent a good chunk of the night puking his guts out. Unfortunately, that wasn't before letting his tongue fall a little too loose, and explaining to Topper how his dad hadn't really died on My Druthers because he was in Guadeloupe swimming in gold. But now, now he was really dead. And he wasn't coming back. And he'd barely said goodbye. 

"I'm really sorry, man. I know things have been really fucking weird, to say the least. But I'm sorry you're going through that. Again." Topper spills, feeling completely uninhibited. "Well, I guess it's only real this time around. But... you wouldn't have known that at the time." 

Topper winces at himself. He rubs a hand down his red face and stumbles away from the table. "Shit. Sorry. I'm just gonna-,"

"See ya, Top." Rafe cuts him off dryly. 

You look at Rafe cautiously as Topper makes his way, albeit clumsily, back to the bar. He lets out a deep breath and then slowly starts to shake his head, lifting his chin to meet your eyes with a look that seems to say - 'are you seeing this shit?'. 

"That guy used to be your best friend?" You ask with a hint of a smile, trying to diffuse the tension. You spare a glance at Topper who's slurring through his order of another drink. 

Rafe shrugs, letting out a wispy laugh. "We had our moments."

Moments he wasn't particularly eager to tell you about, but moments, nonetheless. 

"Do you wanna talk about it?"  

"What, Topper? Fuck no." He laughs harder. 

"No, not Topper. The meeting." You say sincerely. "Why you feel like you can't talk about your dad."

You feel your heart race a little at the question, wondering if Rafe is going to use it to be vulnerable. His face falls for a moment, but then it recovers. For a second, he considered it. But there's something bigger that's been weighing on his mind. 

"I was kinda hoping we could do something else." He says softly and moves in closer, cupping your cheek.

"Yeah?" You whisper, meeting his intense gaze. Hot breath fanning over his face. "And what's that?"

He tenderly moves a strand of hair out of your eyes, trying so hard to be soft that his hand is shaking. His blue eyes have specks of something else at this distance. It's the best colour you've ever seen. 

"I really need to kiss you."

He nods while he says it, like he's giving himself an affirmation. Then he's closing the space between you and pressing his lips over yours with a controlled kind of pressure you're really tempted to see snap one day. The way your mouth opens for his tongue nearly immediately almost makes it happen right now. And that'd really be a shame, he thinks, because he wants to ruin you when he has time and space to play with. 

"Stay with me tonight?" He mumbles breathily as you pull apart, and you nod as his thumb cradles your cheek.

You think you can maybe make out Topper whistling, but it's hard with all the blood rushing to your ears.

Rafe kisses like affection has been missing from his life for a long time. 

His hands are almost frustratingly gentle as they caress your jaw, but his lips, which haven't detached from yours since you entered his bedroom, more than make up for it.

They're hungry and wet with spit, entirely unsatisfied until your panting underneath him and have to bury your face in his neck to take deep, deep breaths of oxygen and his fading cologne.

He bites at your mouth and neck in the meantime, then soothes over the tender spots with his tongue while you whine and claw at the silky material on his still-clothed back.  

"This. Off." You murmur throatily, parting from his lips to tug up on the hem of his shirt. You stare unabashedly at the defined v-line that peaks out from underneath, tongue darting out to wet your lips in anticipation.

Rafe laughs, but humours you, throwing the garment off over the side of the bed so that it hits the floor somewhere. 

Still hovering over you, he leans down to press several kisses to your lips, and you take the opportunity to run the flat of your hand down his warm and muscular chest, the other hand curling around the sweaty strands of his dirty blonde hair. 

Rafe actually moans out when you tug on his hair, and the pretty sound brings a rush of heat to your core.

You squeeze your thighs together and plant open-mouthed kisses along Rafe's jaw, when his phone starts to vibrate on his bedside table. 

You turn your head to glance at the bright screen and Rafe scrunches his eyebrows together, fingers pinching at your chin to turn your focus back on him.

"I don't give a fuck who it is." He laughs breathily. "I'm not picking up. I'll break the stupid thing if I have to." 

You playfully roll your eyes before Rafe's lips attach to yours again, and you hum happily against his lips as he works them raw. Then his phone starts buzzing again.

"You wanna reconsider?" You giggle. Rafe slumps his face into your chest and groans loudly, arm extending to the table to pick up the device. He lifts his head up and glances at the notification, face twisting in what looks like shock.

"It's my sister." He says, confusion evident in his tone. "My sister never calls me."

He moves to stand up and passes you an apologetic glance.

"Sorry, I gotta take this." He mumbles in a stray kiss to the crown of your head. "Gimme a sec." 

A few seconds turns into something much longer. 

It turned out that Rafe's sister, Sarah, was calling him because of some kind of commotion that was happening at a bonfire she and her friends were at.

Apparently, the person causing the commotion was someone Rafe knew.

Based on Rafe's initial surprise and the way he's been chewing through his bottom lip the whole way to the beach, you assumed Sarah calling was a last resort for her. You got the sense she and her brother didn't talk often.

"I'm gonna handle this, alright? I need you to stay right here." Rafe says sternly, nervously running a hand through his hair.

You sit in the passenger seat of his truck, which has quickly become one of your new favourite spots, with a frown on your pretty lips that makes Rafe's chest hurt. He reaches up to cup your cheek. 

He'd tried to convince you to stay in his room while he dealt with the situation, but you were adamant about coming with. You needed to make sure he was safe. It didn't feel like there were many people that had his best interests at heart. 

"If you think I'm going to let you go out there by yourself, you really don't know me, Rafe." 

His lips twitch at that, his thumb caressing the skin under your eye.

"You're infuriating, you know that?" He murmurs softly. "Fine. C'mon."

The beach is pretty at this hour, too. The sky is dark, but not completely so - an expansive dark blue that blankets the moon. In the distance, you can see the reddish-golden flames of a bonfire that illuminate a group of people. 

"You had the cross!" An exasperated voice yells. "How was that not enough for you?!"

"Yeah, I'm afraid that's old news." Another man with long dark hair retorts humourlessly. "I'mma need my fucking money. The money your punk asses stole from me, or did you forget that shit?!"

Getting closer, you can see that this group is separated from the much larger crowd behind them. Four guys, and two girls. One of the girls has shiny blond hair that glows under the light of the bonfire flames. Sarah, you guess. 

Three of the guys stand beside the girls. The other one stands opposite the rest of them, hands smoothing over something his pocket.

A soft gasp leaves your lips when you realize it's a gun.

Rafe stops suddenly. He turns to gaze at you with an intense look in his eyes, pupils hard as one of his hands grips your shoulder. The other reaches for your face, thumb brushing over your lip tenderly. 

"Don't move." He whispers. "Promise me." 

You feel your stomach churn at the request, wanting nothing more than to tug him by the hand all the way back to his truck. But you nod, hoping it helps alleviate the tension in his forehead. 

"Barry!" Rafe calls out as he turns around and approaches them. 

The man with the gun tucked in his jeans, Barry, looks over his shoulder and huffs. Rafe roughly pushes him away from the rest of the group and they divulge into a heated conversation. Rafe's jaw ticks as he listens to Barry and receives a firm shove to the chest. But he manages to placate the other man by whispering something into his ear. Barry ends up nodding, and he casts one more angry glance at the rest of the group then begins to retreat. 

"Y'all have a good night, now." He chuckles grudgingly before leaving. 

Rafe makes his way back to the rest of them, nodding at his sister. You slowly come up behind him. 

"Thanks." Sarah seems to hesitate to say. Her arms are crossed over her chest, and there are frustrated tears in her eyes.

The relationship between Rafe and Sarah has been strained for a long time. They seemed to fundamentally disagree with each other.

It wasn't always that way. Or at least, Rafe thinks, it wasn't always that way. One day, his sister upped and left it all - the big house, the fancy clothes, the nice cars - for 'Pogue life'. It still made his nose crinkle in disgust when he thought about it. But the truth was, he hadn't thought about it in a while... their dad dying worked to break them out of that feud. There were bigger things to worry about, and despite everything that went down in the last few years, they'd lived a whole life together before that.

That still meant something to Rafe. 

It meant something to Sarah, too, he thinks, because she'd been less appalled by him lately. She checked in every once in a while. A few months back, he'd formally apologized to her, and of course, it would never be enough, but he felt a weight off his shoulder when she accepted it. When he realized she wasn't scared of him anymore. 

Maybe they could move passed everything. It would take a long time, sure. But he could wait for family. The only family he has. 

One of the guys next to Sarah, wearing a backwards baseball cap, stiffens.

"Don't thank him. He's Barry's bitch." He bites like Sarah's words are absurd, then stares hard at Rafe. "In fact, he's probably just here to score some more coke."

Rafe's grits his teeth, eyes fluttering shut for a second. He opens them and shakily exhales. 

"I'm clean, now." 

Your heart clenches at how raw his voice sounds. You watch with wide eyes as the same guy scoffs at him.

"Yeah, like anybody believes that." He mumbles under his breath. Before you can try and defend him, Sarah steps in. 

"Guys, I called him." She admits, fatigue evident in her voice. It makes you wonder how long the confrontation between them had gone on before you and Rafe showed up. Another guy, one wearing a bandana across his forehead, casts Sarah a sour glance and she sighs. "You know I had to, John B. Did you want Barry to leave, or not?"

He didn't have anything to say to that. 

Sarah steps away from her friends in an attempt at some privacy. She approaches Rafe, and by extension, you, while the rest of the gang diffuses around the bonfire. Whatever had gone down in the past between these people, it was clear they wanted nothing to do with Rafe moving forward, and it was perhaps only because Sarah was family that she even entertained speaking to him. You appreciated her for that. 

"It's been a while." Sarah comments. "You've been... doing okay?"

Rafe shuffles nervously in front of her, nodding without meeting her eyes. 

"Yeah, I've been good. You?" 

Sarah nods and a silence falls between them. 

"You're still hanging around Barry?" She asks, raising an eyebrow in disapproval. 

"He's not that bad."

"Yeah, I'll try to remember that when he's not threatening me and my friends for 25 thousand dollars."

Rafe shakes his head with a new-found confidence, raising his chin to meet her stormy and inquisitive eyes. "Nah, I talked to him. He won't bother you guys anymore."

Sarah nods again, and another silence falls between them. 

"You're really doing good?" She asks again, bottom lip wedged beneath her teeth.

"Yeah, I am. I'm, uh, getting help. Got this... group thing."

At the mention of a 'group', Sarah's eyes sweep over to you, drinking in your slightly turned face and averted gaze as you try to give the siblings some space for their conversation. She feels her lips twitch a little. So much had happened. A lot she didn't think she would ever forgive, maybe should never forgive. But she couldn't deny that it was more complex than that, nor could she deny that she missed her older brother. The one from before. Who she'd make eye contact across the dinner table with when Rose waxed poetic about their new marble counters. If they could find their way back there, she'd be lying if she said the idea didn't make her happy. 

"I'm really happy to hear that, Rafe. Honestly." 

Rafe smiles weakly. They say their goodbyes and manage an awkward side-hug with each other. When he turns around, you silently take his hand in yours, and you walk along the roaring beach back to his truck. 

Back at the truck, you lay your head on Rafe's shoulder as he sits in the driver's seat, still parked at the side of the road. Rafe keeps his eyes closed, taking a deep breath before he starts to speak. 

"My dad scared me." 

Instinctively, you reach your hand over the console and tangle your fingers together. You give his hand a gentle squeeze. 

"I fucked up a lot, embarrassed him. And I, uh, I don't blame him for that. I was high all the time. Angry. Violent." He continues, sniffling slightly. "He wasn't scared of me, though. Never was."

"I guess I just wanted him to look at me and not be ashamed, you know?"

Rafe gulps, trying to let the sound of your soft hums and the warmth of your body keep him steady. 

"I did some really bad things to people. Things I'm not proud of." He whispers with his head hanging. "They didn't deserve it... and now, I have to live with that."

He shuts his eyes and exhales. 

"It's, uh... it's really hard living with that."

Lifting your head from his shoulder, you bite your lip as you take in Rafe's words, fingers reaching forward to brush away the spare tears that collect on his cheeks. He leans into your touch, finding comfort in it. 

"Hey." You say softly. "Look at you, talking about your dad. You're doing a really good job, Rafe."

He smiles weakly, his eyes trained on his lap. "Sorry tonight was a bust."

"It wasn't." You protest. "Plus, it's not over yet."

Rafe lifts his chin to look at you, his curiosity piqued.

You lick your lips and trace your fingers along his jaw, maneuvering yourself over the console to firmly grip the sides of his face and pull his lips to yours in a long and messy kiss. It's clumsy, with your noses bumping, and teeth scraping - but it's hot and it makes you feel tingly.

Rafe nips at your bottom lip shamelessly, kisses trailing down the column of your throat. "In the truck?" He asks, and you can practically hear the grin in his voice.

"In the truck." You breathe, holding back a moan when Rafe sucks on your skin. 

One way or another, the two of you find your way into Rafe's backseat. He's sitting with his legs wedged apart while you grind on top of him, muttering obscenities under your breath and weaving your fingers through his hair.

The sounds of your pleasure do more for him than he'd care to admit. When you unzip his slacks and stick your hand into his briefs to pull out his leaky cock, he throws his head back against the headrest and hisses at the contact. He is so fucking sensitive already.

"No, don't." Rafe protests breathlessly when you stroke his hard cock a few times, his hand slipping from your hip to wrap around your wrist and pull it away. Your eyes widen and you unfurl your hand immediately, only to smile when you realize why he wants you to stop. He tries to calm himself down, but can feel it building. 

"It's been a while." Rafe defends, and you giggle on top of him, pressing a sloppy kiss to the underside of his jaw. 

"Honestly, Rafe. That's really fucking hot." 

You pull your top over your head and toss it to the floor, then quickly unclasp your bra. Rafe groans immediately, half-lidded eyes so pretty and pitiful as one of his hands reaches up to grope you, while his mouth latches on to one of the hardening buds. You raise your hips to pull down your shorts, but it's not quick enough for Rafe. He tugs impatiently at the lace of your panties. 

Rafe sits you down on him, letting you control the speed as he enters you. Your mouth falls open as you attempt to take him fully, eyes screwed shut, gasp after gasp leaving your lips. 

"Fuck." You pant as he bottoms out, unable to move for a second as your head slumps in his chest. Rafe chuckles underneath you, large hands squeezing your hips. 

"You okay, baby?" 

"It's just big." You murmur, taking your bottom lip under your teeth. "It's really big, Rafe."

"I know," he coos softly as you begin to rock your hips on top of him, his own face twisting in pleasure as your pelvises kiss. "But you're doing so good, huh?"

You can barely respond, too taken by the feeling of your tight walls squeezing around him. By the sound of Rafe's deep thrusts, pistoling up into you as your hips knock into each other sloppily. Your slick dripping from where you're connected down to your thighs, squelching obscenely inside Rafe's truck, definitely staining the seats. 

"Taking my cock so well." He praises. "Splitting you in half, and you're taking it like a champ." 

You moan brokenly as Rafe hits your spot, his hand trailing down at the same time to rub circles on your aching clit with his thumb. 

"My good girl, huh? Always will be?"

You reach your climax as he presses searing kisses on your shoulder, shuddering with the kind of white hot pleasure that has your toes curling and a high-pitched whine vibrating from your throat that Rafe is sure he'll never forget. 

He comes shortly after, the way you clench around him through your orgasm enough to send him reeling. He groans, pumping his hips a few more times before he stills completely and fills the condom with his spend. He holds you tightly as you both come down, the sounds of your heavy breathing overlapping with each other.

Before his cock softens, he pulls out slowly and disposes of the latex. He presses a soft kiss to your cheekbone when you frown at the loss of contact, whimpering sweetly.

"Don't pout, princess. You need to get filled up? Right here?" A slender finger trails down to your slit, bumping your sensitive clit in the process, and it prods at your wet hole. 

He chuckles, brushing the sweaty hair from your face with his other hand. "I got that. Just gotta be patient and wait 'til I get you home. You can do that for me, right, pretty girl?"

The next morning, you strap yourself into the passenger seat of Rafe's truck as he drives to a busted Church at the outer edge of Figure 8. He takes his seat amongst a circle of foldable chairs and you take your seat next to him. His hand reaches out to grip yours not different from how it did last night, through fucking and sleeping alike.

When it's his turn to speak, you squeeze his hand encouragingly and he takes a deep breath.

"My dad, Ward Cameron, passed away about a year ago. He was a lot of things..."

a/n: thank you for reading! comments/reblogs appreciated!!

[itneverendshere]

Just saw the new popular movie ’’This ends with us’’ and I beg of you to draw from the actual beautiful love story, so pure! So same concept of the love story: Pouge!Rafe has been kicked out by his mom and her abusive boyfriend, Kook!Reader sees him homeless & hiding. Reader does small acts of kindness, which builds up to a romance but they separate for whatever reason (could be because they get discovered, he joins the military, like the movie, or something different). It could also be reversed with Pouge!Reader instead being homeless, you pick! Years go by, Reader meets an abusive partner, she bumps into a now grown up Rafe. Lots of angst, lingering feelings and longing, he sees the signs of abusive and gets protective. But without the movie plots of reader getting pregnant and married) I adore and worship your writing skills, truly have a gift to make you feel all the emotions!! <3333333

invisible string - r.c series (one)

i loooove this request because pogue!rafe so i decided to turn into a mini series (two or three parts). im personally not a fan of it ends with us, but i love your requests bc it's still very different from the original plot.

pairing: pogue!rafe x kook!sweetheart!reader word count: 6k chapter warnings: domestic violence; absent parents; angst; fluff.

Rafe was born rough around the edges.

There was never any sugar-coating about it; with his hair always messy, sun-bleached and salty, and his hands perpetually stained with the grime of whatever job he'd taken up that week, Rafe Cameron had never known peace. He moved like a stray dog that had learned to fend for itself, his eyes always scanning for trouble. 

Most people kept their distance, and he liked it that way.

There wasn’t much softness in his life. His mom tried her best, he supposed, but that wasn’t saying much. She had a new boyfriend every few months, and they were all the same — mean, drunk, and looking for a fight. Rafe learned early on that if you couldn’t fight back, you were nothing. So he fought. A lot.

He fought the men who walked into their house at night, stinking of cheap whiskey and cigarettes. He fought the kids at school who called him trash, who mocked the way his clothes never quite fit or how he always seemed a little too hungry. But mostly, he fought himself — every time he looked in the mirror and saw his father’s eyes staring back at him. The man who left and never looked back. 

Another piece of shit. 

He kept his head down, kept his hands busy, and kept his mouth shut unless he had something to say. He wasn’t nice. Nice got you nowhere; nice got you used, broken, and left behind. He had seen it too many times to believe otherwise. The world wasn’t a kind place, and he wasn’t a kind guy. 

Most days, he’d finish work covered in sweat and salt, with just enough money in his pocket to get by. He'd dropped out of school years ago and head to the docks, sit on the edge, and smoke a cigarette while the sun dipped below the horizon.

The only real moment of peace he had.

Rafe took what work he could find — fixing up old fishing boats for the few Kooks who’d dare come down his side of the Cut, pulling shrimp nets in the dead hours of the morning, his back aching and his muscles screaming at such a young age, but at least it was better than being home. If he could call it that.

Home, where his mom was probably passed out again, where the latest loser she'd dragged in might be passed out on the couch or looking for a fight.

He could hear them shouting before he even got to the door. His mom’s voice screaming her throat out, and he could hear something crashing inside — a glass, maybe, or a plate. Then came the matching scream of the new boyfriend, Tony or Tommy or something — they all blurred together after a while. Rafe paused on the porch, his hand hovering over the door handle, debating whether it was worth going in at all.

Inside, she was standing in the middle of the living room, her face flushed, her blonde hair a mess. Tony stood over her, fists clenched, his face red and veins bulging in his neck. 

Rafe knew that look. 

He’d seen it before — seen it in a dozen men who thought they could push their weight around, thought they could break whatever they wanted.

“What the hell’s going on?” 

Tony turned, eyes narrowing. “None of your damn business, boy.”

Rafe took a step forward, his fists balling up instinctively. “If it’s in my house, it’s my business.”

His mom spun around to face him, her eyes wild and desperate. “Just stay out of it, Rafe. You always have to make things worse!”

He felt the sting of her words. He should be used to it by now. “I’m not the one who brought this piece of shit in here.”

That was all it took. Tony lunged at him, shoving him hard against the wall. Rafe felt the air rush out of his lungs as pain flared in his back. “You watch your mouth, punk,” Tony hissed, his face inches from his, his breath a disgusting mix of beer and god knows what.

“Or what?” Rafe shot back. If there was one thing he’d learned, it was how to keep his anger in check — at least most of the time.

Tony’s eyes flicked to his mom, like he was making a point, and she just stood there, watching. He’d lost his faith in her a long time ago but it still blew him away how she never lifted a finger to help him. 

“Get out,” she said finally, hand moving to point towards the bust-up wooden door.

“What?” Rafe blinked, caught off guard. He must’ve heard her wrong.

“You heard me. Get out!” She was shouting now, her voice high-pitched and desperate. “I can’t have you here, always stirring things up! You make everything worse!”

It had to be a fucking joke. He was the only one bringing in money to pay the rent, the only one who kept the house clean enough so it wouldn’t look or smell like someone died in there. Paid the hospital bills when they hit her too hard. He did everything, always. 

Tony shoved him again, harder this time, toward the open door. “You heard her. Get the hell out.”

Rafe stumbled backward, catching himself before he fell. He looked at his mom, his chest tightening in a way he hadn’t felt since he was a kid. “You’re really gonna choose him over your own son?”

She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Just go, Rafe. I can’t do this anymore.”

He forced himself to nod. He almost wanted to laugh. “Fine,” he muttered, pushing past Tony and heading for the door. “Don’t call me when he sends you to the hospital again.”

He didn’t look back. He couldn’t. The moment he stepped outside, the wind hit his face like a slap, the kind that made his eyes sting and his heart pound. Things had never gotten to this point before. He would’ve rather taken a beating then get kicked out. 

He walked, hands stuffed into his pockets. He didn’t know where he was going, just that he couldn’t go back. Not now. Not ever. He’d die before he begged his mother or Tony to let him in that shithole again. His feet took him along the edge of town, past the marina and the fishing docks, and eventually, he found himself in the wealthy part of town, near Figure 8.

It was ironic, almost funny.

The Kooks lived here, the ones who wouldn’t give him the time of day if they saw him on their streets. And here he was, a beat-up pogue, walking right through their territory, angry and suddenly so damn tired.

He spotted an old, abandoned house, sitting at the end of a street where the mansions stood tall and proud. He had walked by it a few times before and noticed it had been empty for years, the paint peeling off in strips, the windows boarded up, and the grass overgrown. He crossed the street, glancing around to make sure no one was watching, and pushed the broken gate open. The hinges squeaked loudly, proving just how long it had been since someone had been there.

The front door was unlocked; it opened with the slightest push. Inside, it smelled of dust and mold, but it was dry, and it was quiet. It was enough. He made his way to a small room in the back, what must have once been a kitchen. There was an old sofa left behind, covered in a dirty sheet. He pulled the sheet off, threw it in a corner, and sank onto the sofá, finally breathing properly. 

He stayed there, staring at the cracked ceiling and the empty walls, wondering how the fuck he was going to get himself out of this one. 

For the two next days, he moved carefully, quietly, in and out of the house. He didn’t want anyone to know he was staying there. He wasn’t getting his ass thrown into jail again. He found a way in through the back window, kept to the dimly lighted areas, and avoided the main roads. He didn't have much — a few changes of clothes, some cash from odd jobs, and his dad’s old pocketknife, the only thing he had left of the bastard.

It was on the third day that he saw you.

He was sitting on the front steps, having a cigarette, when he heard the sound of a bike chain clicking. He glanced up, and there you were — riding a yellow bike, hair pulled back, and eyes glued to him as you pedaled down the street.

He stiffened, quickly stubbing out the cigarette, his heart rate picking up. You were one of them, a Kook, from one of the mansions just a block away. He’d seen you before, always biking around town, sometimes with friends, sometimes alone.

He didn’t know you, didn’t even know your name, but he knew the type.

You saw him, too, and slowed your bike. His first thought was to get up and disappear back into the house, but he knew that would look suspicious. So he stayed put, trying to look casual, as if he belonged there.

You stopped a few feet away, still on your stupid bike, one foot on the ground to steady yourself.

“You live here?” You asked, not in a mean way, just curious.

Rafe’s jaw tightened. “Yeah,” he lied, “Why?”

You shrugged, “Just… didn’t think anyone did. Looks pretty empty.”

He tensed, waiting for you to say something like, “I’m going to tell someone,” or worse, to start asking more questions. But instead, you just gave him another curious look, nodded, and biked away.

Weird girl.

The next day, you were back. This time, you had a bag with you. He watched you approach, wary. You stopped in front of the house and took something out of the bag — a sandwich, wrapped in paper, and a bottle of water.

You held them out to him, a gentle smile on your face, “Figured you might be hungry.”

He thought maybe you were just trying to make yourself feel better, some Kook guilt thing, like feeding the stray cat in the alley so you could pat yourself on the back for being such a nice person.

And he hated that. Hated you for even thinking he needed your stupid charity. So he gave you every reason to leave him alone.

When you handed him that sandwich, he barely even looked at you.

He just grabbed it and then turned his back, heading into the house without another word. But the next day, you were there again. And the next.

He started making it obvious he didn’t want you around. He’d grunt when you said hello, roll his eyes when you tried to make small talk.

One time, you offered him an apple, and he snatched it out of your hand without a word, just to see if you’d get annoyed enough to leave. You didn’t. Like some fucking saint.

Instead, you kept coming back, like some sort of annoying, persistent fly he couldn’t swat away. Every time, your smile was a little nicer, your eyes a little more curious.

He didn't get it. Why the hell were you still trying? Didn’t you get it? He didn’t want you here. Didn’t want to talk to you. Didn’t need shit from a Kook.

“What’s your problem?” he muttered one day when you showed up with a bag of groceries.

You blinked, “What do you mean?”

“You keep coming back here like I asked you to. I didn’t. I don’t need your charity.”

You raised an unimpressed eyebrow, still not leaving. “I’m not doing charity. I jut figured you could use a little help.”

He scoffed, turning his back on you again. “I don’t need anything from you, princess.”

You hesitated, then placed the bag on the steps anyway. “Well, it’s here if you do.”

He snorted, rolling his eyes again. “Great. Another pity gift from the rich kid. Thank you so much,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You clenched your jaw, but still didn’t leave. He expected you to finally get the hint, but you just shook your head and walked away.

The next day, you there you were. And the day after that. Always bringing something, always with that same annoying, stubborn smile.

By the end of the week, he was done. You rolled up with another bag, and before you could even open your mouth, he let out a loud groan, throwing his head back. 

"For fuck’s sake, don’t you have anything better to do than bother me every damn day?”

That was it — you snapped.

Your eyes flared, and you stepped in closer, voice getting louder. "Will you just eat the damn food before I throw it in your face?" You shouted, cheeks going red with frustration.

He blinked, caught off guard. He didn’t expect you to clap back.

You’d been silent and too sweet for his liking. Most Kooks would’ve run back to their fancy houses by now, but you were still standing your ground, fists clenched, breathing heavy. Cute.

He almost laughed. Almost. “What’s your deal? You think you’re some kind of hero bringing food to the poor pogue? You think you're gon' save me or something?”

You glared at him “I’m not trying to save you, jerk! I’m just trying to be a decent human! Maybe you should try it sometime!”

He stared at you, face set in a deadpan, but he felt something— something he hadn’t felt in a while. Respect, maybe? But for some reason, he didn’t tell you to get lost.

Instead, he snatched the bag out of your dainty small hand. “Fine. I’ll eat your stupid food. But don’t think this changes anything,” he muttered.

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. “Oh, trust me, I don’t.”

You both stood there in this weird silence for a minute, glaring at each other. Then you shook your head, and smiled like you hadn’t read him to filth ten seconds ago. “See you tomorrow, Rafe.”

What? You knew his name?

He watched as you rode away and he realized he was grinning, just a bit. For the first time in weeks, he didn’t feel completely alone.

And somehow, that pissed him off even more.

Days turned into weeks, and you kept showing up, like a plague.

No matter how much Rafe grumbled, no matter how many times he rolled his eyes or muttered under his breath, you just kept coming back. It was always something small — fruit, a bottle of water, a warm meal in a container. Every time you showed up, you had that same stubborn look in your eyes, like you weren’t going to back down no matter how much he pushed you away.

He hated to admit it, but he started to look forward to your little visits. He hated even more that he noticed things about you. Like how your hair fell in your face when you leaned over to hand him something or how your laugh sounded when he said something sarcastic. He noticed the way you seemed to care, even when he made it clear he didn’t want you to.

One day, you showed up with a duffel bag. Rafe looked at you suspiciously as you parked your bike and slung the bag over your shoulder.

“What now?” he grunted, eyeing the bag like it might bite him.

He could tell you were nervous and that weirded him out even more. Since when could he read your mind? 

“I was thinking… maybe you’d want to come to my house. Just to shower and get some real rest. My parents are out of town, and y’know, you could use it.”

He stared at you like you’d grown another head. “You want me to come to your house?”

You nodded, looking a little unsure now, hands tightening around the bag’s strap, “Yeah. Just for a bit. I thought you might like a break from this place.”

He scoffed. “And why the hell would I want to do that? You think I’m gonna be some charity case you can parade around to make yourself feel good?”

You sighed, clearly getting frustrated. “No, Rafe. I just thought… I just thought you might want a hot shower. But if you don’t, that’s fine.”

He usually cleaned himself up near the docks, but the water was freezing during this time of the year. Every time it felt like his balls were going to drop to the floor. So yeah, a hot shower in a big mansion sounded tempting.

Even if he didn’t want to give you that satisfaction.

A hot shower… a real bed, even for a little while. He hadn’t had that in what felt like forever. He looked at you again, trying to figure out if this was some kind of sick twisted plan, but all he saw were those stupid glowing eyes staring him down like he’d be dumb to refuse you. 

“Fine,” he muttered, standing up. “But just for a shower. And if you try anything weird, ’m outta there.”

Your nose scrunched up, “As if.”

Your house was everything he expected from a Kook — big, clean, and way too fancy. He felt out of place the moment he stepped through the gigantic door, like he was tracking mud on a white carpet. You led him upstairs, pointing out the bathroom.

“You can use this one. Towels are in the cabinet, and I’ll leave some clothes outside if you want them.”

Rafe grunted in response, still unsure why he was even there. He went into the bathroom and locked the door, leaning against it for a moment. The place smelled like lavender or some other fancy soap he couldn’t name. He turned on the shower, and the hot water poured out instantly, filling the room with steam.

He stripped off his dirty clothes and stepped under the water, hissing as the heat hit his skin. But then he relaxed, letting the water wash away the grime, the salt, the exhaustion he’d been carrying for so long. He stayed under the spray longer than he should have, almost losing track of time.

When he finally got out, he saw the clothes you’d left outside the door — a plain t-shirt and sweatpants, nothing flashy, but clean. He put them on and headed back downstairs, finding you in the kitchen, making coffee.

You looked up when he entered, “Feel better?”

He shrugged. “I guess.”

You handed him a cup of coffee, and he took it reluctantly, still waiting for the catch. But you just sat across from him at the kitchen island, sipping your own cup, not saying anything.

He found himself watching you, noticing the little things again.

The way you tucked your hair behind your ear, the way your fingers tapped against the mug when you were thinking. He hated that he was noticing, hated that he found any of it interesting. He took a sip of the coffee and scowled when it tasted good, because of course it did.

“You do this shit for everyone?” he asked, breaking the silence.

You looked at him, “What do you mean?”

“This.” He gestured around. “Invite random guys to your house, make them coffee, act like you care.”

You laughed, a light sound that made his chest feel weird. “No. Just you.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, so he just looked away, taking another sip of coffee. He didn’t do nice. He wasn’t used to nice. This was weird.

You kept doing these little things for him — small acts of kindness he didn’t ask for and definitely didn’t deserve. You’d leave extra food by the house when you knew he’d be there, sometimes even a blanket or a pillow you said you didn’t need. You’d offer to let him use the house again, and every once in a while, he’d accept, hating how much he craved the simple comfort of a shower or a bed.

And all the while, he stayed the same — gruff, sarcastic, always trying to push you away with his attitude. But you didn’t go. You took his crap and came back.

One night, after a particularly rough day where everything seemed to go wrong, he found himself standing outside your house again. Your parents were out of town again, and he didn’t have anywhere else to go. He hated that he was here, hated that he needed this, but he knocked anyway.

You opened the door, your face lit up with that familiar smile. “Rafe,” you said, voice warm. “Come in.”

He liked the way his name sounded on your lips.

He hesitated, but he did. You led him to the living room, and he noticed a few things this time — the family photos on the walls, a vase of flowers on the table, the soft throw blanket on the couch.

Your home was nothing like his, but it felt… safe.

They sat in silence for a while, and he noticed how you didn’t bother him with questions, didn’t try to fix anything. You just sat there, close but not too close, letting him breathe. He found himself looking at you more, catching the way your lips curled up at the corners, how your eyes seemed to soften whenever they landed on him. He felt something strange, something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

He sat on that big couch, staring at his busted-up hands, trying to ignore the way his heart pounded in his chest. You were just a few feet away, eyes flicking over to him now and then, like you were waiting for him to speak. But he didn’t know what to say.

He felt… uncomfortable. Not because of the place, or you. No, never because of you. But because of this strange feeling that kept crawling up his spine, making him feel restless.

You were sitting on the arm of the chair, legs tucked under you, looking at him with that familiar, gentle expression that made him feel like maybe he wasn’t such a screw-up. He didn’t know what to do with that. You were the kind of girl who should have nothing to do with him. Yet here you were, again and again, showing up, like you didn’t know any better.

He cleared his throat, trying to push back whatever weird tension was building between you. “So… your parents,” he muttered. “They’re out of town a lot?”

You nodded, sighing, “Yeah. They travel for work. I’m used to it.”

“Must be nice,” he said, but his voice came out rougher than what he was going for. He didn’t know how to do gentle and he was still half-convinced you were going to kick him out or tell him you had enough of his crap.

“Sometimes,” you replied, “But it gets lonely, too.”

He wasn’t expecting that. He glanced at you trying to read you. He knew you weren’t looking for sympathy; you were just stating a fact.

He wasn’t sure what made him ask, but he did anyway. “Why do you keep helping me?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “I— I don’t know. I guess… I just see something in you. Something good.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “There’s nothin' good in me.”

“There is,” you insisted. “I see it. Even if you don’t.”

He felt his chest tighten, and he had to look away. “You’re wrong.”

“Maybe,” you said quietly, “but I don’t think so.”

He feel your eyes on him, could feel the way his pulse was racing under his skin. He hated it. Hated that he wanted to believe you, wanted to feel whatever it was you seemed to see in him.

“You’re too good,” he muttered. “Too good for someone like me.”

You laughed softly. “You don’t know me as well as you think, Rafe.”

He glanced up, surprised by the boldness in you. You were so soft most days it always threw him off when you took the reins. You were closer now, leaning forward just slightly, eyes fixed on his. He felt that breathtaking tension tightening again.

Before he could think better of it, he spoke, voice coming out meeker than what he was going for, “You really think there’s somethin' good in me?”

You nodded, not taking your eyes off of him for a second, “Yeah, I do.”

He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. He didn’t know what he was doing, didn’t know what possessed him, but before he could stop himself, he reached out, his hand finding yours. You didn’t pull away. Didn’t flinch in fear or scrunched up your nose in disgust.

Instead, your fingers tightened around his, and his breath caught in his throat.

“Why?” he asked again, desperate.

 “Because I just do.”

Something snapped in him then, something he’d been holding back for too long. He moved closer, his other hand reaching up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your delicate skin. You didn’t pull away again, only leaning into his touch. 

He hesitated, just for a moment. “I’m not— I-I’m not a good guy,” he murmured.

You smiled again, softer this time, the way he hoped you only did for him, “I don’t need you to be.”

He didn’t get it, but he didn’t have time to figure it out.

He leaned in and kissed you. It was clumsy at first — just a touch of lips, a bit hesitant. But then you kissed him back and suddenly he understood those stupid cliché novels his mom used to read when he was younger. He’d never kissed anyone before. 

He was too aware of how inexperienced they both were, of the way his lips barely brushed against yours. He felt stiff and unsure, like he didn’t know if he was doing it right. But it felt right. It wasn’t smooth or perfect — there was hesitancy and uncertainty, but it was real. He felt your hand touch his cheek, your fingers warm and trembling just a little.

His hand slid from your cheek down to your neck, pulling you closer, fingers curling into your hair. He couldn’t get enough. It was messy, frantic, his heart racing like it was trying to break out of his chest, and for once, he didn’t care. He felt your breath hitch against his lips, the warmth of you pressing into him, and all the walls he’d built up, all the reasons he’d given himself to push you away, disappeared. 

Your hands found their way to his chest, fingers gripping the fabric of his old shirt like you didn’t want to let go, and that did something to him. Made him feel more alive than he had in a long time. Every time he kissed you, it was like he was drowning in you, like nothing else mattered except for this — your lips, your skin, the way your body pressed against his.

He pulled away, just for a second, eyes wide and breathing heavy, like he couldn’t believe what had just happened.

He looked at you, cheeks flushed, lips swollen and wet from the kiss, and damn, you looked beautiful. More beautiful than he ever let himself admit before.

But then you smiled, that same heart-shattering smile, and it was like you were pulling him back in, “You don’t have to be afraid,” you whispered.

“I’m not…” he started, but even he didn’t believe it. Because he was. He was terrified as hell of this, of you, of the way you made him feel like he wasn’t a complete mess. But before he could say more, you kissed him again, and this time, he didn’t hold back.

He didn’t think about what he should or shouldn’t be doing, didn’t overanalyze the way his hands moved from your waist to your back, pulling you closer until there wasn’t any space left between you. You melted into him, your body warm and soft, like you belonged there and he felt like he was burning up from the inside out.

His hands roamed, exploring, memorizing the curve of your waist, the way your body fit so perfectly against his. Every little sound you made, every breathless gasp, made him feel like he was on fire.

You broke apart again, both of you panting, and he rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed, trying to catch his breath.

“This is crazy,” he muttered, his voice all shaky.

You giggled, the sound making his chest tighten in the best way.

“Maybe. But I don’t care.”

He opened his eyes, staring into yours, and he knew you meant it.

You didn’t care about the Kook vs. Pogue thing, about the stupid rules that had been drilled into them from birth. You just cared about him. He didn’t know how to let himself want something good, something real. But he wanted you. God, did he want you.

From that night on, everything changed. 

You started seeing each other in secret, meeting up when your parents were out of town or sneaking off to some hidden spot by the beach at night where no one would find you. Every time he saw you, it was like a high he couldn’t get enough of. You’d kiss, talk, hold each other like you were the only two people in the world, and he’d forget about all the shit in his life. Forget about the fact that he was supposed to be a screw-up who didn’t deserve someone like you.

You sat side by side at the dock, feet dangling just above the water, the tips of your shoes barely touching the surface. Something was calming about the sound of the gentle waves lapping against the dock, the world feeling small and distant for once, like it was just the two of you.

He leaned back on his hands, staring out at the horizon, not saying much. He’d been quiet today, more so than usual. You nudged him lightly with your shoulder.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

He snorted, shaking his head slightly. “You don’t want ‘em. They’re not worth much.”

You rolled your eyes, nudging him again. “C’mon. You’ve been quiet all day. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

He hesitated, glancing down at the water, his fingers curling into the wood of the dock. He was biting back whatever was eating at him. He wasn’t the type to open up easily, you knew that, but he wanted to, for you. You wanted to know him, all of him, not just the fake exterior he put up for everyone else to see.

“You ever think about… like, how different your life would be if shit didn’t go so sideways?” he asked, his voice low, almost like he wasn’t sure he wanted to say it out loud.

You frowned, turning to face him, “What do you mean?”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, running a hand through his hair.

“My mom, she… she used to date these losers. Real pieces of shit, y’know? Guys who’d roll through, thinking they owned the place, treating me like I was some kind of burden just because I was around.”

It wasn’t easy for him to say it, but he was doing it anyway, like the words had been stuck inside him for years.

“She didn’t really care what they did. As long as they paid for her booze, she was cool with whatever. They’d knock me around sometimes, tell me I wasn’t worth shit. But she never did anything about it.” He paused, swallowing hard, his gaze fixed on the water because he couldn’t look at you. “One of ‘em got real bad. Fucker hit me so hard one night, I thought I was gonna pass out. And when I told her… she didn’t care. Told me I was a liar. Said I probably deserved it.”

“Rafe…” you whispered, reaching out to take his hand. He didn’t pull away this time, just let you hold it, his fingers squeezing yours a little too tightly.

“I tried to stick it out,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “Tried to stay for as long as I could. But one day, she kicked me out. Told me I was too much trouble, and she didn’t need me around anymore.” He laughed, but it was hollow, bitter. “I guess I wasn’t worth the space I took up.”

You were quiet. He liked that about you, that you didn’t try and get his thoughts out of his head, just let him do his thing, on his own time. There was nothing that could make up for the kind of pain he’d been through. You just squeezed his hand tighter, and he just knew you wished you could take some weight off his shoulders.

“That’s why you were in that house?” You brushed your lips against his shoulder.

“Yeah.”

It was hard for him to talk about this stuff. Hell, it was hard for him to talk at all when it came to anything real. You just sat there, holding his hand, being there. That was what made you different. Most people didn’t wait for him. They’d get frustrated, give up, move on.

You just... stayed. And that scared him almost as much as it comforted him.

“You didn’t deserve that.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter. Deserve’s got nothin’ to do with it.”

You shifted closer, your knees touching his now. “It matters to me.”

He didn’t understand how you could look at him like that, like he was worth something.

“You knew my name.”

You nodded, “You delivered fresh seafood to the house once.”

His eyes nearly popped out from their sockets, “I was fourteen.”

“Yeah?”

“And you remembered that?”

Your brows shot up like he’d said the dumbest thing ever. “Obviously.”

His breath caught, and before he could stop himself, he reached out, pulling you into his lap. His hands found your waist, desperate, almost frantic, holding onto you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

"You shouldn’t—" he started, but the words died on his lips because you were already kissing him, and it was like everything stopped. The world, his thoughts, all the shit that weighed him down. It was just you, your lips, the way your hands tangled in his hair, and the soft sounds you made against his mouth.

He kissed you harder, more urgently, like he was trying to prove something to himself — that he could have this, that he could deserve this. His hands slid up your back, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. His lips moved against yours and he felt like he was falling apart and putting himself back together all at once.

When he pulled back, just enough to look at you, his chest was heaving, and you were looking at him with that same softness that made his stomach twist.

"How—How the hell did I get this lucky?" His voice cracked, just a little. He hadn’t meant to say it, but the words spilled out anyway. 

You smiled, brushing your thumb across his cheek, and he realized then that his face was wet. He hadn’t even noticed the tears slipping down, hadn’t noticed the way he was trembling.

"You deserve this" you whispered. 

That was it.

That was the breaking point. A choked sob escaped him, and before he could stop himself, he crashed his lips against yours again, kissing you so hard it hurt, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t get enough of you, couldn’t hold back the way he felt like he’d been waiting his whole life for this moment. For you.

His hands cupped your face, fingers trembling as he kissed you again and again, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he stopped. 

And as his tears mixed with your kiss, he realized that for the first time in his life, he wasn’t running.

He wasn’t pushing you away. He was falling, hard and fast, and he didn’t care. Because for once, he was exactly where he wanted to be.

[hoe4hotchner]

Hii ! Can I request a hotch x bau!reader with the grumpy x sunshine trope where hotch is kind of protective of the reader and she (or you can make it gn I don’t mind) is oblivious and I don’t rly have an idea for the plot maybe on a case or smt 😭 tysm if you write it and if you don’t it’s ok too <33

I honestly had to google the trope, I've been writing fanfics for nearly 10 years and at this point I still only remember the classic tropes.

Anyway, I don't know if I used it correctly. Hotch is a teeny tiny bit dramatic

"Alright, team we have a lot of work to do. The sooner we get on top of this, the better." Hotch said looking at his watch, hoping he could be back in Quantico by tomorrow morning for the yearly budget meeting. Who else would defend the expenses of the BAU?   "Don’t worry, Hotch. We’ve got this. I’m sure we’ll crack this case in no time!" You flashed him a smile, despite the situation.   "Let’s focus on the details for now." Hotch's eyes softened gradually as he nodded.   Throughout the day, Hotch’s attention seemed to drift toward you more often than usual. Whether it was a glance when you ventured too close to the edge of a crime scene or a slight increase in his tension when you had to interact with potential witnesses or suspects, it was clear he was more on edge than ever.   "Y/N, be careful over there," Hotch’s voice rumbled as you peered over the edge of the cliff the last victim had been thrown over, a hint of concern veiled beneath his gruff expression.   "I’m always careful, sir. No worries!" You glanced back with a bright smile.   Hotch’s jaw tightened, though he tried to conceal it with a curt nod. As the case progressed, so did the danger. In the evening, while following a promising lead, you and Reid were near a run-down building that had become a potential hotspot where the unsub potentially performed his twisted rituals and routines. Hotch was nearby, coordinating the team's efforts, but his eyes never strayed far from your location.   A loud noise echoed through the building, the dust stirring into the air. You instinctively reached for your weapon and moved toward the sound, but Hotch’s voice cut through the chaos.   "Y/N, stay back!" he commanded, his tone firmer than usual. You froze for a moment, a bit taken aback by the intensity in his voice, but quickly resumed your position behind Spencer.

"Got it, sir."   Despite your reassurance, Hotch’s anxiety was palpable. When you finally emerged from behind the building, safe but slightly shaken, Hotch was waiting for you, his concern evident even as he tried to keep his face emotionless.   "Are you alright?" He asked, his voice softer now, though still edged with an underlying urgency.   "I’m fine. Just a little adrenaline rush." You smiled up at him, brushing off the dust from your clothes. Hotch’s gaze lingered on you, a mix of relief and frustration in his eyes.

"You need to be more careful. I can’t always be there to protect you guys."   "But you are always there, Hotch. I’ve never felt unsafe with the team. We’re all in this together." You tilted your head, puzzled at what he meant.   "It’s just…" Hotch’s expression softened slightly, and he took a deep breath. Before he could finish, the team regrouped, and the focus shifted back to solving the case. Yet, the tension between you and Hotch remained.

It wasn’t until the case was closed and the unsub caught that Hotch finally found a moment alone with you.   "You did well today."   "Thanks, Hotch. So did you. I couldn’t have done it without your support." You beamed at the praise, trying to pay it right back to him.   "It’s more than just support. I—" He hesitated. Hotch’s gaze lingered on you, his usual stoicism cracking just a little. "I worry about you. Sometimes more than I should, I think." Hotch’s expression softened further, his protective and cold nature finally giving way to a vulnerable side. "Just promise me you’ll be more careful. I can’t afford to lose you."   "I promise." You reached out, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. Hotch’s eyes met yours, a rare smile touching his lips.

Consider linking or reblogging if you enjoy my work

[roseghoul26]

König x fem!Reader

Synopsis: After a long day, König offers some much-needed “stress relief”. Tags: Title From A Sabrina Carpenter Song, Bed Chem - Sabrina Carpenter, Edging, Not Beta Read, Fem Pronouns For Reader, Bit Of A Size Kink, Porn No Plot, Vibrators, Fingering, Cunnilingus, König Lifts His Mask The Tiniest Amount To Eat You Out, Scar Kink(?), Is That Even A Thing, Doggystyle, Safe Sex, German Is A Fun Language, Kissing, Cuddling Author's Note: My four-and-a-half years of German classes are finally coming into use (but I’m nowhere near fluent, so correct my mistakes lol). Also contains descriptions of what I imagine König to look like. Everyone is free to their own interpretation. Also I'm like a year too late for this but whatever lol and this one is just pure porn guys, so... do with that what you will Explicit content, minors DNI

You felt ridiculous. 

Desperate. Anxious. Ridiculous.

Pacing across your small room didn’t help, your frenzied state unending. Anxiety hammered your heart, your stomach twisted in knots, and your hands ached from tensing them so much. Your breathing wasn’t much better, coming and going in quick huffs of air; you felt like you were going to pass out. 

You were a goddamn soldier, a ruthless mercenary; you shouldn’t be acting this way. You’d faced down the worst of humanity and came out victorious; the idea of König coming to your room shouldn’t render you so… timid. 

You’re not sure why you took König up on his offer for “stress relief”. He’d seen how tense you were all day around the base, the reason for that feeling long since forgotten, your words clipped, muscles tensed. It wasn’t an unusual emotion for you, but he’d never offered his assistance. 

Until today. You weren’t quite sure what changed.

A shiver went down your spine when you remembered his voice as he whispered, large frame pressed up close against yours, but not close enough to touch. “Let me help you, Schatz,” he’d said, and you were certain if you could see his face, there’d be a smirk on his lips. You wondered if he knew how you felt about him. 

Desperate to be rid of the tension in your body, and desperate for him, you’d agreed. It wasn’t until you’d reached your room that it sunk in, what you’d agreed to. It wasn’t that you regretted it, far from it, but now your stress levels were even higher than they were before. 

You wouldn’t lie and say that you hadn’t hoped that something like this would happen. You’d had the biggest crush, which sounded so juvenile for someone like you, on him since the moment you’d signed on with KorTac a few years ago. 

And how could you not? He was tall, almost intimidatingly so, with a broad build to match. And the muscles weren’t all for show, just as deadly with his body as he was with his weapons out on the field. You remember the first time you’d watched him take down someone with his hands, a memory that had ingrained itself into your dirtiest dreams. 

As for the rest of his appearance, you weren’t quite sure. He’d never taken off his “mask” (a shirt, you’d later come to find out) in front of you, even when on jobs together. You never pried, though, respecting his need for privacy. And besides, you didn’t have to see his face to know that he was the most stunning person you’d ever met. His eyes, baby blue, yet torturously haunted, were all that you needed to see to confirm that. After years of only seeing them, you’d gotten good at reading them like you would facial expressions. 

Too caught up in your thoughts, you nearly tripped as your foot caught on the edge of your bed, a small, dingy thing. A mix of a sigh and groan left you, as well as a soft curse as you shook your hurt foot. Glancing at the small LED clock beside your bed, the time read 9:26.

König hadn’t given you a time when you asked, only a teasing, “Tonight.” Which meant, that at any moment, you’d hear him knocking on your door.

Or maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe this was all a joke, a cruel one at that. Maybe he knew about your infatuation with him, and this was his response. Deep down, you knew König enough to know that he wouldn’t do something like that, but your anxiety-riddled brain couldn’t think rationally right now. 

Before disappointment could set in, there was a surprisingly gentle knock on the door. But to you, it sounded like two gunshots had just gone off in the room, your ears now ringing in response. 

A soft gasp left you, and you swore your heart stopped. Taking a second to take a deep breath, you fixed your hair as you walked to the door, suddenly worried about your appearance. Your hand shook as you grabbed the handle, time seemingly slowing as you opened the door.

There, just like he said he would be, was König, his body damn near filling the entire doorframe, the tiniest bits of light from the hallway sneaking in. He was dressed down, which made sense for the time of day, so it shouldn’t have come as such a shock to you to see his bare arms. He must’ve been feeling particularly cruel, to be wearing a tight, black short-sleeve shirt instead of his usual loose long-sleeves. His hands were shoved into the pockets of some black sweatpants, and it almost felt wrong to see him like this. 

And as his eyes widened the tiniest amount, you realized that he, too, had never seen you in loungewear. Wearing a tank top and some sleep shorts, you might as well have been naked with the way his gaze roamed over your body, setting your body alight. A part of you wondered if this was the first time he’d looked at you like this, or if your attraction hadn’t been as one-sided as you believed. 

You weren’t quite sure what to say; you both knew why he was here. So instead of making a fool of yourself by attempting to talk, you took a step back, wordlessly inviting König into your room. 

As he stepped in, you watched as his head moved around, taking in his surroundings. Your room wasn’t much, but it was a step up from the shared room you had when you first joined. There was a bed, a full size at most, the headboard pressed up against the wall, with standard-issue grey sheets. A nightstand sat beside it, with the LED clock, and a lamp that currently struggled to fight against the darkness of the night as it poured through the lame excuse of a window that resided at the top of the wall. A few other pieces of furniture, a dresser, a desk, and a shelf, were each in their respective spots, leaving not a lot of free room.

So, as König walked in, your room felt incredibly small, nearly suffocating. It didn’t help that every time you saw König your breathing turned labored, which wasn’t the best thing to happen to you out on the field. But your years of suppressing your desires had trained you well, able to put on an impression that you were unaffected. 

“Do you want this?”

You’d barely heard König, your heart thudding too loudly. He had turned to face you, hands still in his pockets, a casual stance. But his eyes told a different story, hooded with lust, and boring into you. 

Swallowing, you failed to notice the way his eyes zeroed in on the action. Nodding your head was the only thing you could do, never feeling so certain bout something in your life. But you were nervous. What if you disappointed him? What if this wrecked what relationship the two of you had? What if this was all still a joke?

You hadn't expected König to have moved so that he was right in front of you. Was he always this tall? Towering over you, you felt his fingers, free from their usual gloves, grasp your chin, forcing your eyes onto him. A strangled noise died in your throat at the action, but he felt it, and you watched his eyes crinkle in the corners. He was grinning. 

“Use your words, Schatz.” The endearment, although in a foreign language, made you melt. You weren’t entirely sure what it meant, even after hearing it before, but he said it so sweetly that you didn’t need to know what it meant to feel its effects. 

Your heart was fluttering now, your brain fighting between feeling anxious and exhilarated. König must’ve detected this inner battle of yours, something softening in his gaze. The hand holding your chin moved to your wrist, grabbing it loosely enough so that you could pull away if you wanted to, and he slowly pulled your hand up until it rested on his chest, palm flat against his left pec. 

Once the shock of touching him subsided, you were confused as he watched you expectantly. You went to try to speak but were subsequently silenced by König as he shook his head, pressing your hand down harder. It was then you could finally feel beneath your fingertips his heartbeat, much too fast for the casual stance he had earlier. 

He was just as nervous about this as you were.

He let go of your wrist once he saw you felt it, but you didn’t pull your hand away, quickly gaining confidence knowing you weren’t alone in your nerves. “I want this, König.” You were pleasantly surprised to find that your voice was steady, not even the tiniest bit hoarse. I’ve wanted this for a long time.

Pleased, you could also detect the tiniest bit of relief from him, uncertainty playing a part in his nervous behavior. But that was quickly washed away when his authoritative demeanor returned; you’re not sure why you expected anything else. In every room he walked into, he demanded respect, to be listened to. Followed. Obeyed. You just never thought that it carried into more intimate moments. 

You certainly weren’t complaining. Not when you could feel arousal pool in your gut, a pleasant warmth that flowed through your entire body. Not when every word he spoke made you shiver, his accent thick, voice pitched lower. And now that your nerves had died down, all that was left was excitement, which nearly made you just as jumpy. As he brought his masked face close to yours, you swore your breathing stopped; it almost felt like the anticipation you’d feel before a kiss.

But his destination wasn’t your lips, although his eyes did flick down to them momentarily. No, he stopped before they could connect, mask and all. Resting his head against yours, which took a bit of bending on his part, you felt two warm hands begin to trail down your body, starting right at your collarbones. 

You watched as his eyes trailed over your face, gauging your reaction. When he was met with nothing but desire and want, his touch grew more certain, yet he didn’t pick up the pace. His fingers continued to drag down your body until you wanted to push them down to where you wanted. Something told you that that wouldn’t go over well, but you had to admit you were curious to see what his reaction would be. 

You chose to just shift in his grasp instead of trying to force his touch lower, hoping he’d get the message. You knew he did when you heard him chuckle, a sound that always made you weak in the knees, now especially. “Patience.” 

You could detect the warning well enough, but you couldn’t bring yourself to listen to it. “Please, König.” You didn’t care if you were begging. All you could think about was how close he was to giving you what you wanted. 

Another chuckle left the Austrian, but this one sounded more cruel. “You are going to have a long night.”

Before you could even think about his words, he was effortlessly sweeping you off your feet, hands having found their way to the back of your thighs. Insticinvly, your legs wrapped around his body, but you knew he didn’t need the extra help, and you also knew that he wouldn’t drop you. With a surprised laugh, you hung on as König carried you over to the bed, eyes never once leaving your face like he was enraptured by it. 

Unfortunately, the walk to the bed was brief, and before you could get comfortable in his arms, he was depositing you onto the bed. So much for not dropping you. It didn’t hurt, no, more surprising than anything, the breath briefly getting knocked out of you. The cheaper bed groaned under the weight, rusty springs a godawful symphony of noises, but you paid them no mind. 

Hungry eyes watched you from the foot of the bed as you moved up towards the headboard, back resting against it. Once you were settled, König stalked over to the side of the bed, his movements nothing but predatory. Yet oddly enough, you felt safe. You both trusted each other enough to watch over the other while out on the field and so you felt that same trust here. Deep down, you knew that if you were to tell him to stop, he would, no questions asked. Yet you knew you probably wouldn’t need him to. 

But he didn’t sit down, rather moving to the nightstand beside you. Your dazed state quickly dissipated once he started rummaging inside of it, but you were too late to do anything. With burning cheeks, you watched as he pulled out a pink device, which looked comically small in his hands. 

You wanted nothing more than to bury your face in your hands and pray for your demise, yet you were stuck in place once his attention returned to you. You just knew he had a shit-eating grin on his face, and if you weren’t so mortified about him finding the toy, then you would’ve made some comment to wipe it right off. 

Finally, König sat beside you, the vibrator still in his hand. With his other, you felt his touch return to your calf, featherlight, and leisurely making its way to the waistband of your shorts. “You use this a lot?”

“König…” Your voice wasn’t as assertive as you’d have liked, coming out more as a breathy whine. 

“Answer my question.” His hand stopped moving, stopping right at your knee. No matter how you shifted or squirmed, he didn’t move.

With a deep sigh, you tried to ignore the embarrassment you felt when you nodded your head. You then remembered his words from earlier. “Yes,” was all you said, but that seemed to be enough for him, as he continued his ascent with his fingers.

But his tormenting wasn’t done there, as after a few seconds you heard him speak again. “What do you think about?” This question came quieter than the first like he was sharing a piece of gossip, not asking you to reveal your deepest fantasies. 

You. 

The word was on the tip of your tongue, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to say them, to admit to him. How you’d dreamed of moments like this. How you’d imagined him touching you, fucking you, devouring you. So much information was on the verge of being spilled, and you were scared of it happening, too many what-ifs floating in your brain to keep track. 

But any attempt of holding back your words disappeared when König’s hand retracted, and you found the words stuttering out of you, desperate to feel him again. “I think about you, König…” You nearly felt out of breath after, your chest heaving for air, your cheeks now on fire. 

König, much to your surprise, didn’t seem taken aback by your words. Instead, you watched as his eyes darkened even more, which seemed like an impossible feat. “I thought as much,” his voice sounded more like a growl, and you fought the urge to press your thighs together. “And what do I do, when you think of me?”

Now that the cat was out of the bag, you felt less embarrassed about speaking. You were further encouraged when his hand settled on your thigh, pulling lightly at the hem of your shorts. “I… I’ve thought of you using toys,” you glanced at his other hand briefly, “your fingers. Your mouth.” The last one came out more like a whisper; he’d have to take his mask off in order for the last one to be true, and you both knew he wasn’t doing that. 

By the time you had finished speaking, he had reached your waistband, fingers dipping beneath it to brush against your skin. He hummed like he was truly thinking deeply over your words. “In that order?” If it was meant to be teasing, you couldn’t tell. 

Words died in your throat as you struggled to speak, your newfound confidence nonexistent. König, thankfully, took some pity on you, realizing that this was all a bit much. “Would you like me to take care of you?”

That you were able to respond to. “Please.”

An appreciative groan reverberated through his broad chest. “Sehr gut.” You weren’t certain what he was saying, but the infliction sounded like a praise, and your body responded as it would if it had been spoken in a language you knew.

You expected him to continue speaking, so imagine your surprise when in one strong tug, he tore your shorts off your body, before throwing them somewhere in the room. You heard an audible gasp from him when he saw you were completely bare underneath, completely exposed to him. You watched his hands flex from where they hung in the air, momentarily taken aback, his restraint pulled tight. 

He recovered quickly, blue eyes obscured by black irises now staring at you. “No underwear?” It was a redundant question, yet he asked anyway, wanting you to admit to it. Sheepishly, you nodded, your reward being a low chuckle. “Gott, you are trying to kill me.”

That was the last thing he said before he was settling at the end of your bed, right where your feet sat. His unoccupied hand grabbed your ankle, pulling your legs apart so that he could settle between them. With both thighs resting on his shoulders, you could no longer close your legs, unless you wanted to suffocate the man between them. You doubt he would complain, though. 

His face was inches from your center, and you could feel the heat radiating from him with each breath he took. His eyes had left your face, now drinking in the sight before him, and you could tell he was pleased with what he saw. Quite pleased, if the groan he let out told you anything. 

“So wet already,” he murmured as if he was surprised. You had little time to feel any sort of embarrassment, before two wide fingers ran through your folds, collecting the arousal there. You watched, then, as he brought his fingers below his mask, and you were able to fill in the details as his eyes fell shut with a hum of appreciation. 

Very much distracted, you’d momentarily forgotten about the device in his other hand until the unmistakable buzzing noise filled the air. Your breathing was labored as you waited for his next move, where he would touch you next. You, luckily, did not have to wait long to find out, as those two fingers returned, this time working to spread you open. His eyes finally shot up to yours, his desire evident, and there was an unspoken question in the gesture. More?

You would take all that he could give you, greedily. If he gave you scraps, you would take scraps with a thankful smile. If he gave you a goddamn meal, then you would savor every moment, every drop. With a shaky smile, you gave him a nod, not needing to use your words this time. 

The first graze of the toy over your clit made you jump, eliciting an amused shake of König’s head. “Relax, Schatz.”

And you tried. Taking a deep breath, you went through the breathing exercises you were taught when you first enlisted. Either it was thinking about the breathing exercises, or the exercises themselves, but you found yourself relaxing a bit, your muscles not as wound up as they once were. 

So when König once again pressed the vibrator against the bundle of nerves, you still jolted. Not out of shock, but because of the pleasure that action brought. And instead of pulling away like last time, he kept his hand in place, making you squirm. 

Soft whines and gasps of air were heard from you, hands fisting the sheets beside you. You wanted to hold on to him, but you were worried that once you grabbed on, you wouldn’t want to let go. “König…” you moaned, trying to express just how good he was making you feel. Every nerve in your body tingled, that unmistakable tightness growing in your abdomen. You weren’t close, but you didn’t think it would take long with how worked up you’d been waiting for him. 

The hand holding you open ascended, your back arching into his touch as he dragged his fingers over your stomach, your ribs, before encapsulating one of your breasts in a large, warm hand. “Du bist so schön,” he murmured, a glint of something in his eye. It quickly turned mischievous, though, when you just nodded along, his words meaning nothing to you. “Du hast keine Idee, was ich sage.”

When you neither confirmed nor denied his observation, he laughed, much to your confusion, but you were too caught up in your pleasure to care much. “Oh, Schatz.” It almost sounded patronizing, something that shouldn’t have gotten you as worked up as it did. Another plea of his name tore from your lips, the pressure in you building and building. 

Glancing down between your legs, you were surprised to find his eyes already on you. A squeeze of his hand had you keening, König making a noise that almost seemed proud. “So responsive. Nur für mich.”

What could you do besides nod? Even if you could understand him, you doubted you’d be able to process his words. And besides, hearing him speak his native tongue was always a treat, so hearing him like this was melting you, another thing setting your body alight. Your thighs were beginning to shake, something that did not go unnoticed by the man between them. 

“König… fuck, just a lil’ more…” You failed to see the plan he was formulating, your eyes screwed shut as pleasure overtook you. That tension was becoming unbearable now, and just on the verge of snapping. Your hips rocked and twisted, your fingers cramping with how hard you were gripping the sheets. You were on the edge, just teetering. All you needed was a little push, and-

The sound of silence was deafening as König turned the toy off, setting it on the bed beside you. Your eyes flew open, nowhere near expecting him to pull away just as you were about to cum. It would’ve been embarrassing, the frustrated noise you let out, but all you could think and feel was your waning orgasm. You went to try and finish yourself, but a strong hand caught your wrist before you could move. 

“König…” you warned, pleaded. Like sand, you could feel your release escaping through your fingers. “Y-You said you would help me relax.”

“You are distracted, nein?” 

It was true, your mind was far from the stresses of the day. But a new stress was building, one that was being caused by him. “König-”

“Lay back down.”

You hadn’t even realized you’d sat up, and with a sigh, you sunk back against the pillows, hoping he didn’t see the way your cheeks darkened at the way he commanded you. You could feel yourself continue to come down from that delicious high, body still strung tight like a string on a violin. König played you so well, that you doubted it would take long for you to reach that precipice again. But would he give you what you wanted, or continue to dangle it above your head, just out of reach? You both loved and hated the game he was playing, but your patience was bound to run out eventually. 

He settled in between your legs again, both hands empty this time. A few minutes passed, König lazily tracing his fingers across your bare legs and stomach, truly letting the embers of your previous orgasm burn out.

After what felt like an eternity, he began to drag his touch inward, making you gasp lightly. Like he did before, you felt him pass his fingers through you. The stimulation was almost too much, but it was the best thing you’d ever felt, a soft whine leaving you. That whine turned into a moan when he pressed a digit into you, aided by your arousal. 

He wasted no time in working his finger in and out of you, setting a slow yet intense pace. Your previous decision to not hold on to him quickly fell apart, desperately reaching down to him. There was a second of surprise before he gave you his other hand, your fingers immediately locking with his. It was a startling difference, the innocent gesture of handholding versus the way he was making you see stars with every crook of his fingers. 

His fingers were wide, much wider than yours, so the stretch burned when he added a second. He gave you a moment to adjust before moving, murmuring soft words of praise. “Gutes Mädchen,” he purred. “Gott, look at you, taking me so well.” Each word was enunciated with a thrust of his fingers, pulling noises from you you didn’t even know were possible. 

As amazing as his fingers felt, you need more. Wanted more. Glancing down at König, you gave him as wide eyes as you could, and he seemed to get the message. “You want more?” Upon your fervent nodding, he shook his head teasingly. “So greedy.”

For a moment, you were convinced that he wasn’t going to fulfill your request. That was until he pulled his hand away from yours, reaching for the base of his mask. Your heart damn near stopped when you realized what he was doing, and with a shocked gasp, you shut your eyes, unsure if he wanted you to see. 

You felt him pause, the rustling of fabric ceasing, before his voice rang out. “Look at me.” For the first time since you’d met him, you’d heard his voice clearly, not muffled by his mask. 

Cautiously, you opened your eyes, still partially convinced that this was a test of sorts. All of those worries disappeared when your eyes landed on him. His mask wasn’t fully off, not like you expected, and a part of you was relieved. You don’t think you were ready for that. 

Instead, it was pulled up just past his mouth, revealing most of his lower face, and any image you’d created of him in your mind was immediately forgotten, replaced with the sight in front of you. He had a wider jaw, with a decent amount of stubble adorning his cheeks. His lips were full, the top smaller than the bottom, and pulled into a small smile that made your stomach erupt into butterflies. He was, without a doubt, one of the most handsome men you’d ever laid eyes on, and this was only a part of his face.

But what stuck out to you the most, and would stick out to anyone who saw him, was the large scar that cut upwards on the right side of his upper lip, disappearing under the mask as it continued. The rest of the skin had healed together, except for on his lip, where, similar to a cleft lip but smaller, there was a gap, exposing a sharp canine. It was like his lip was turned up in a constant sneer.

You had no idea how he got that scar, and knowing the job you both did, it was probably quite traumatic. But the scar, alongside the rest of him, had desire churning so strongly in your gut that you nearly felt ill. It felt almost too good to be true, yet here he was, in between your legs, staring at you like you were the best thing on this forsaken planet, his hips grinding against the bed as he pleasured you. 

“Hallo, Schatz.” You were entranced by the way his lips moved as he spoke, and he noticed it, a cocky grin now on display. God, the effect that smirk had on you was immediate, his smugness immeasurable when he felt your body react on his fingers. “You know how to make a man feel good.”

You managed to roll your eyes, not wanting to bolster his ego that much, making König laugh in response. But his playful mood was quickly replaced by one of pure desire, moving forward until you could feel his warm breath hit your center. His fingers had resumed their motions, that tension once again building in your abdomen. It felt stronger this time like your body was punishing you for not allowing the tension to release last time. 

Not once did his eyes break away from yours, not even as his tongue flicked out to taste you, and you could feel his smile, never once dropping. He did it again, this time nudging your over-sensitive clit, making your hips buck. Letting his mask fall on your body to keep it held up, his now free hand splayed across your lower abdomen, keeping you in place, unable to escape the onslaught of pleasure. 

Even quicker than before, you found yourself careening toward that edge, your nails digging into König’s arm, likely leaving marks. His name replayed like a chant on your lips with each crook of his fingers, each flick of his tongue, every suck from his lips. You couldn’t see him any longer, your head thrown back against the pillows.

“König… please.” You almost didn’t want to tell him you were close, afraid of him taking your release away from you again. But you figured he didn’t need you to tell him to know, with the way your thighs shook and walls fluttered around his fingers. You felt him smirk again, a sense of dread washing over you at its implication. “Please, König… let me cum.”

Forcing your head back down, you watched as he considered your plea, and for a second, you thought you were in the clear. That was until he pulled his mouth away, his lower face glistening, that smirk still there, before the mask fell back down. His fingers pulled away next, groaning when he watched you clench around nothing.

Frustrated was nowhere close to how you felt, tears now prickling your eyes as yet another orgasm was withheld. The torture was delicious, yes, but you were going to lose it if you didn’t get to cum soon. You’d wanted this for so long, to fall apart under his ministrations, and you were tired of waiting. Your voice wavered as you whined his name, but there wasn’t anything either of you could do now, as you felt that almost high fade away again. 

With a defeated sigh, you let your head hit the pillows again, your legs sliding off König’s shoulders. You didn’t get to relax long, though, before his accented voice hit your ears again, unfortunately muffled. “Roll over.”

Without trying to hide your displeasure, you complied, glaring at him as you turned. You hoped he couldn’t tell how excited you actually were, fighting back an eager smile. He chuckled from behind you as you settled on your hands and knees, trailing off when he took in the sight before him. “I will ignore that attitude. This time.”

As you thought over the implications of this time, you felt König stand, followed by the sound of rustling fabric, as well as the crinkle of plastic. Something stirred in you at the fact that he came prepared, meaning he wanted this as much as you did. You’re not sure why you still believed he didn’t, but the reassurance was nice, to say the least. 

Glancing over your shoulder, you managed to catch a glimpse of him, the sight making you nearly snap your head back around. Nearly. He had shed his pants, his black shirt rising enough to reveal a pale, muscular abdomen, created from years of intense labor and exercise. He radiated power, and a part of you wondered if that translated into more intimate aspects like his authoritativeness had. Would he be rough with you? Or would he be more ginger, like his touch had been for most of the night; not gentle, but not on the verge of hurting?

You would take either way, as long as it was him doing it. 

“It is rude to stare.”

His tone was teasing, yet it still pulled you out of your shameless ogling. Caught red-handed, an almost sheepish smile appeared on your face. “You can’t blame me when you look like that. You’re a sight, König.”

For the first time that night, König seemed at a loss for words, staring at you like you’d grown a second head. If his mask was still pulled up, you figured you would see his lips struggling to form words, and, if you were lucky, a blush creeping up his face. It was a beautiful image in your mind, one that made you smile harder. 

Clearing his throat, König shook himself out of whatever daze he had been in, and you pocketed his weakness away for later. Checking you for any last-second hesitations, he let the rest of the clothing on his lower body fall away, effectively shifting the power back into his hands. And despite yourself, a small noise left you at the sight, further stroking his already massive ego. 

As to be expected for someone of his size, he was large, and painfully hard, if the hiss he let out told you anything. He was proportional to his hand as he took himself in it, stroking himself a few times, but you knew you’d struggle to hold him in yours. Just like the rest of his body, he was pale, with an almost purple tip that leaked precum. 

Turning your head back around before you lost your nerve, a few seconds passed before you felt the bed creak again, assumedly to put on the condom. One hand pressed between your shoulders, wordlessly pressing your face and chest into the bed. His other hand grabbed your hip, pulling your ass against him, another small noise leaving you when his cock pressed into you. You let him maneuver you as he wished, surprised with how much you were enjoying him taking the lead during this. 

“Ready?” His voice sounded relaxed, but the fingers digging into your hips told a different story. Still, the sincerity of his gesture made your heart thrum happily.

“Yes.” You’d never been more ready for something. 

A strangled moan tore from your lips as he pressed in, obscured by the mattresses your face was currently being pressed into. Tangling your fingers into the sheets around you, you could do nothing but take him as he sheathed his length into you, inch by inch. Time seemed to slow, your breathing ragged, when it wasn’t interrupted by noises of pleasure. 

The pain wasn’t as bad as you initially thought it would be, and for a moment you were thankful that König had worked you up so much. But that tension returned again, König still not fully in you yet. A whimper of his name had him stilling, an almost painful-sounding breath leaving him as he steadied himself, using every ounce of restraint to keep going slowly. 

The words tumbled out of you then, unable to stop yourself. “I-I can take it… please.”

“Scheiße.” The expletive was not unknown to you, nearly turning smug with the fact you made him lose control again. And just like before, he was quick to put you in your place, any comment dying on your lips when he bottomed out with a sharp thrust of his hips.

You swore you saw stars, unable to make any noise besides a soft oh. König, trusting that you were telling the truth, didn’t wait to give you time to adjust. He set a brutal pace immediately, hips snapping against yours with a slick noise. You could cum just from this alone, still so worked up, and König knew this.

The hands on your body shifted, wrapping around the front of your body and lifting you effortlessly until your back was pressed against his chest. He wasted no time tearing off your shirt, groping and toying with your breasts as he continued to thrust up into you. His voice was like gravel as he spoke, his covered mouth speaking right in your ear. “Du fühlst- Gott, mein Schatz.”

Even though your brain was hazed with lust, there was one thing that stuck out to you when he spoke. Never before had he added the word “mein” before calling you Schatz. You had no idea what it meant, but it certainly sounded like an English word you’d been dying to hear from his lips. Mine.

“Yours?” You knew you were probably connecting dots that didn’t exist, but the idea of being König’s was too appealing. 

König stuttered in his movements, an absolutely sinful moan being pulled from him, a sound that nearly pushed you over that edge. “Smart girl,” he spoke while regaining his breath. “Cum for me, mein Mädchen.”

That was all you needed, reaching your release the hardest you’d ever had in your life, the relief you felt immeasurable. Your head threw back to his shoulder, and because your eyes were screwed shut you couldn’t see the way he stared at you with awe. Every muscle tensed and then released, causing you to go slack in his arms, your nerves buzzing with pleasure. 

Your ears rang too loudly to hear him groan your name as he felt you cum, and a few more thrusts of his hips was all it took to reach his own end. The sensation of him spasming inside of you rode out your waves of pleasure until it became too much. König, thankfully, seemed to realize this, and he pulled out of you, then easing your limp body to the bed carefully. 

Completely blissed out, you didn’t feel as König got off the bed, nor know how much time passed before he returned. All you knew was that suddenly the blanket was torn out from under you, before covering your bare body.

Even though every muscle in your body didn’t want to work, you forced yourself to sit upright and watch the large man, who was currently in the process of getting redressed. “You’re not staying?” You didn’t try to hide the obvious disappointment in your words. 

König stilled at that, turning to face you slowly. “Do you want me to stay?”

“Of course.” The words came out so easily, so honestly, that you nearly startled yourself with your honesty. 

Something like relief sagged his broad shoulders, and before long he was back beside your bed. You let him lay down first, as he did take up more space, before settling yourself in the crook of his arm. Well, it was more like you were half lying on top of him to keep from falling off the bed, but neither of you were complaining. König certainly wasn’t, his eyes crinkling in a poorly concealed smile. 

A few moments passed in silence, simply savoring the afterglow and the feeling of being in each other’s arms. Then, “Are you relaxed now?”

You snorted at that, lifting your head to look at him, shaking your head lightly. Fondly. “I suppose I am,” you agreed. “Though I am gonna be sore tomorrow for… other reasons.”

It was König’s turn to laugh now, the sound lighter than you expected. “I hope you are not expecting me to apologize. You were the one who asked for it.” You merely shrugged your shoulders in response, knowing he was right, but not wanting to give him the satisfaction of verbally admitting it. 

Every part of your body wanted to lay back down, but you had a different idea as you continued to observe König. He tracked every movement of your eyes, and you could see his brow furrow in confusion. Before he could say anything, though, you were speaking, so quietly you wondered if you had merely thought the words.

“Can I kiss you?”

And for the second time that night, König was at a loss, blinking at you like a deer in the headlights. But it seemed he’d already made up his mind, nodding lightly, the mask creasing with every movement of his head. 

Letting the blanket fall off you, you were quick to straddle his abdomen, eliciting a gasp from the Austrian. Tentatively, you let your fingers reach for the hem of the mask, scanning his eyes for any hesitations. When you were met with none, you flashed him a gracious smile, before pulling the cloth up right to his nose, not going further than he had before. 

His hands, which had fallen to his side, now ran up your thighs, before settling on your waist. Blue eyes danced across your face and your body, not able to decide which sight he liked better. You were quick to keep his attention on your mouth, though, as you planted one of your hands on his chest and leaned forward.

Taking your other hand, you let it trail up his neck before settling on his lower jaw, his stubble tickling your hand. He shuddered under your touch, lips parting in a soft gasp. Even with everything the two of you had done tonight, this felt the most intimate. 

When you pressed your lips against his, you couldn’t help the smile that tugged yours when he made another audible noise. A part of you wondered how long it had been since he’d been kissed, been touched this softly. If he’d let you, you’d remedy that. Gladly.

You kept the kiss short, but it promised more to come. Setting the mask back down, you pressed one last peck to his covered lips, unable to help yourself, before laying your head on his chest, keeping any comment about his fast heartbeat to yourself. “I hope you know I’ll be getting my revenge,” you said instead, hoping he didn’t realize it was just another way of saying you wanted this again. 

“I am looking forward to it, Schatz.”

Translations:

Schatz - treasure (term of endearment)

Sehr gut - very good

Gott - God

Du bist so schön - you are so beautiful

Du hast keine Idee, was ich sage - you have no idea what I am saying

Nur für mich - only for me

Nein - no

Gutes Mädchen - good girl

Scheiße - shit, fuck

Du fühlst- Gott, mein Schatz - you feel- God, my treasure

Mein Mädchen - my girl

[cheriladycl01]

Paparazzi - Lando Norris x UniStudent! Reader

Plot: you are a university student in the UK, and the Paparazzi manage to find out where you go and stalk you due to rumors surfacing about.

It was a pretty shit day at university for you, you were a third year law student who had just come back from an amazing placement with Mercedes as part of their legal counsel.

You'd had so much fun and had worked really closely with Lewis and George. It also was the first year that you were able to travel from the last half of one season, to the 3/4 of the next season.

He was a driver for McLaren, his job and you being a student meant that you guys didn't see each other as much as you'd like.

You had been dating for the good part of 4 years now having met in secondary school and stayed as friends even when he left the school. When you started on your A-levels and he was progressing in his driving career he asked you to be his girlfriend.

Now he was in Formula One and you were about to be graduating university. It had however been difficult, the transition of being with Lando pretty much everyday, and now not seeing him was killing you.

It had taken a tole on you, you had dark circles under your eyes, your nose was red from the cold. Your class hadn't been great either and tears were starting to brim your eyes. You just wanted to get home and cry it out in private.

Lando: Hey Babe, its Thursday so media day today and McLaren are busy! Call me later, love you lots!

The text made more tears brim in your eyes until you heard the snap of a camera. Next you saw the flash.

Your eyes dart up seeing the 5 or 6 people with cameras behind you, following you. You pick up your pace, going towards your specific building on campus where you could hide out with your personal tutor until they left you alone.

You walk into the building into a flurry of students walking around the building pulling the hood of Lando's hoodie up. You make your way to a back stairwell that was quieter than the main one and made your way up the 5 flights of stairs to where your personal tutors room was.

"Michael?" you ask entering the room, nobody was there so you sat on the small little sofa he had at the side of his office. You pull the work bench closer to you, placing your laptop and book down before getting on with some work for your Intellectual Property Module.

Minutes later Michael comes in, a shocked look on his face as he observes you.

"Y/N what are you doing here?" he asks walking past you and taking a seat at his desk, sipping from the takeaway coffee he had just brought.

"I had Paps come onto campus again. And i've had a bit of a shit day" you mumble looking at the email from Lewis asking you to do some research for him if you had any free time.

"Well, you know my door is always open for you"

"That's why i let myself in" you grin at him, already feeling better. He spoke to you for about an hour, while he was doing his own research and marking behind his computer.

"I think its safe to say they've left now" he admits engrossed in something on his computer.

"How'd you know?"

"There's articles already up, some of these headlines. Oh lord they are ridiculous" Michael admits scrolling down on his mouse wheel looking further.

"Huh?" you ask before looking online under your name.

Lando Norris Girlfriend Y/N Y/L/N, Seen Crying On University Campus After Breakup Report Y/N Y/L/N Seen On Campus Crying Is There Tension Between Lando Norris and Y/N Y/L/N On Her First Absent Race Of The Season Lando Norris Cheats On Girlfriend - Her Reaction Is Heartbreaking!

"I'm just going to go home. I don't have the energy to read any of these. Thank you for letting me stay" you admit, packing up your bag and nodding in a goodbye to your personal tutor.

As you exit the building and make your way to the carpark where your Mercedes-AMG SL 63 sat, courtesy of your time at Mercedes for the last year. You now still work for them, but from the Brackley and part-time around your degree.

You get in and let out a long sigh, you pull away getting onto the road driving back to yours and Lando's apartment which was about a 30 minute drive away.

Lando started to call you, the ringtone blaring through the car speakers that your phone was connected to. You hit accept on the screen, your eyes only momentarily wavering from the road.

"Y/N baby, what's up. The articles and the photos of you! You look so sad, what's going on?" he immediately starts grilling you like you'd expected him to when he would eventually see the articles.

"Sorry, I'm in the car right now! I just had a shitty say at uni and i really fucking miss you" you breathe out happy to finally admit it. It was the end of October now and you'd been back at university for a month.

"I know baby, you still planning to come out for the last race, in Abu Dhabi?" he offers, it sounds like he's busy and like he's walking around the McLaren garage. He did say it was media day...

"Erm, ill let you go. Its like midnight there and you have a big day with practice tomorrow" you say, he starts to stay something but you interrupt before he can.

"I love you, goodnight" you say to prompt him.

"Goodnight, ill see you soon" he sighs, he also sounded tired just like you.

You drove the rest of the way home, pulling up in the underground carpark and just sitting there for a few minutes taking in some breaths.

You eventually get out the car and head into yours and Lando's apartment. The apartment was always clean because either you were here or your parents were kind enough to house sit while you and Lando were away.

You did your normal routine for when Lando wasn't here, which was go to the gym, go back and shower, cook food eat food and go to sleep.

You never really had any motivation for anything when he wasn't around.

The next day was a free day from uni, you went to the Mercedes team, everyone could tell that something was up with you. They chose not to say anything and just let you get through your shift. You'd had a cute Good morning text from Lando, asking if you'd slept well and if you'd eaten.

You'd replied, saying yes to both and that you were just catching up on his free practices and that he had really good times, as you'd expected.

But part of you just longed for him to come home.

[bvidzsoo]

Shameless

⟡ Husband!Jongho ⟡

∞ Author: bvidzsoo

∞ Pairing: Choi Jongho x female reader

∞ Warning: suggestive, violence, torture, death, cursing ∞ Word count: 2.5k ∞ Genre: non-idol!au, mafia!au, marriage of convenience!au, established relationship!au ∞ Rating: nc-17 ∞ Summary: Always hungry for more, in a world full of men who fought for more power, you might have just hit the jackpot by coming to an agreement and marrying the country's mafia leader's son. Soon, Jongho and you will be the one leading all.

∞ A/N: Second part of my so-called mafia drabble mini-series is up, and I quite like this one, I can't lie hihi. Despite the warnings, I haven't detailed anything too much, so it's not very graphic. Next I'll post either Seonghwa or Wooyoung, I'll see who's plot I'm feeling more. I'll point out once again that I won't be starting a taglist for this mini-series, so you'll have to lurk around ^^ Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy, and pls let me know your thoughts about it, I love reading your feedback, always!

⟡ Listen to this before or while reading! ^^

∥ Hongjoong ∥ Seonghwa ∥ Yunho ∥ Yeosang ∥ San ∥ Mingi ∥ Wooyoung ∥ Jongho ∥

            The quietness of the building would have been eerie if I didn’t know men hid around every dark corner, cameras encompassing the whole building. However, to those unknowing, it gave the false sense of aloneness. In my world, there are eyes on you always, even when you least expect it. And in a notorious mafia leader’s den, you better prepare yourself to face horror upon horror, rats upon rats. And not the animals, but mere peasants—low in the hierarchy of our world—who thought they could outsmart their leader and gain something by ratting them out to other gangs and syndicates. Except, that’s not how it works in our world, at least not in my husband and mine’s.

My heels clicked loudly against the concrete stairs as I ascended them, fur coat slipping from my shoulder as I held my little purse in one hand. It was slightly warmer up here, and more well lit compared to the downstairs. I rounded the corner and was met with two tall men, gazing straight ahead, until I stopped in front of them and caught their attention. Recognition flashed behind their eyes instantly. It wasn’t too often I stopped by the warehouse, I preferred fancy places and not beaten down lairs that had insects crawling around. Both figuratively and literally.

“Ma’am.” Both men bowed their heads in unison, eyes staying glued to the floor as I smiled, allowing my fur coat to slip down my shoulders.

“Do you mind putting this away for me?” I asked with a sweet tone, extending the expensive fur coat towards the man standing to my left.

“No, ma’am, it will be in your office this instant.” The man bowed his head again before he turned right and took off hurriedly, headed for my office. Well, it wasn’t my office per se, but my husband was sweet enough to let me have a decent sized room in this gloomy warehouse of his for when my presence was mostly needed. Like tonight.

“Is he in his office?” I asked as I looked towards the large oak doors at the end of the hallway, but the remaining security guard just shook his head.

“No, ma’am, he’s in the chamber.”

“Ah.” I chuckled, looking down towards the dark hallway on my left, suddenly registering the soft classical music that was coming from the only room down there. The chamber, or, better known, the torture room. For some reason, the men working here avoided calling it that and it had always amused me. Tough, bulky, fearless men uncomfortable to call it the torture room? It’s rather comedic, taken what their jobs in my husband’s empire require most of times from them. I offered the guard another sweet smile before throwing my purse over my shoulder, holding its paper-thin strap decorated with the finest diamonds on Earth, “I’ll be on my way, then.”

The guard bowed his head deeply and as I took off, the sound of my heels echoing around us, the soft classical music louder the further I walked down the hallway. The long sleeve of my dress did an amazing job at keeping the chill in the air away from my body, the fabric a black velvet and really warm. It was a present from my dearest husband, not even a week ago. I had gotten him a necklace filled with diamonds, and so, he felt it necessary to return the offer by buying me something pretty. He knows I have a weakness for long sleeved black velvet dresses with a deep V-cut. I chuckled as I stopped in front of the white door, the screams of whoever was behind the door not so quiet anymore. The music from up-close wasn’t loud enough to mask the pained moans anymore. I gripped the handle and pushed the door open, stepping inside.

There was a stale smell in the room and my eyebrows furrowed as I shielded my nose, the stench of blood familiar yet still disgusting. The clicking of my heels was masked by the overly loud screams of the man as I walked further inside the room, looking to my left. A man that looked slightly familiar was strapped down to a table, a drill buzzing as it rammed against his leg, no less into his bone. I shot him a pitiful look, the man begging louder and louder for it to stop as he noticed me. But in this den full of lions, I wasn’t the boss. It was my husband.

Choi Jongho.

Looking ahead, I was greeted with the familiar sight of him, relaxed into his leather armchair, swirling his bourbon around in his glass. I smiled at him sweetly as I slowly approached him, stepping on black carpet as Jongho watched me with attentive eyes, slightly darker in this lightning than they actually were. It made me grin in satisfaction when I noticed the diamond necklace around his neck, the top of his shirt undone. Well, that certainly was a delicious sight.

I came to a stop in front of the man, grin morphing into a smirk as he further parted his legs, grabbing my wrist to pull me to stand between them. Jongho took another gulp of his bourbon before placing the empty glass on the little table he had by the armchair, letting his head fall back as he looked up at me, sharp eyes trailing up from my legs to my eyes, biting his lower lip once we made eye contact.

“You look pristine for someone who’s torturing somebody.” My voice was low, perhaps sultry for such setting, but then again, I always found joy in toying with my dear husband when the situation wasn’t too fit for it.

“Hoshi just left, I wanted to be the one finishing the job.” Jongho’s usually angelic voice was now low, baritone rumbling his chest. I licked my lips, completely distracted by my husband as the screaming man’s voice became quite bearable after a while. I’ve heard people louder and more awful than him, to be fair.

“Of course,” I chuckled softly and gulped down a gasp as I was yanked down in Jongho’s lap, him sitting up properly as he circled my waist with his arm, leaning incredibly close to my face, “you love other people doing your dirty work for you, just to be the one to finish it.”

“If I have hired them, I expect them to do their part of the deal, you know.” Jongho muttered, eyes glued to my glossy lips. I had decided to try out a new lip gloss tonight, it tasted like strawberries. The man’s pained screams became rather pathetic by now as he continued wailing, the sound blending together with Jongho’s favorite musical piece. My husband has always loved a good opera.

“Care to tell me why the man looks familiar?” I threw a glance towards the tortured person on the table as I reached up, fingers tangling into Jongho’s black roots, softly pulling on them as his eyes fluttered just a little.

“He used to be my intel man,” Jongho’s voice was airy, but he gulped and his jaw clenched when my fingers pulled a little harsher at the hair on his nape, “turns out he was the rat sending information to my father.”

I scoffed, jaw clenching as I turned to look at the man laying strapped down to the table. So, he was the reason why Jongho’s, and subsequently my, affairs kept getting sabotaged, “Took you long enough to find him.”

“Don’t mock me, woman.” Jongho snapped, grabbing my jaw and turning my head back to face him, “I worked faster than your pathetic excuses of goons did, didn’t I?”

“No need to get so worked up, honey,” I chuckled, leaning so close our noses brushed together, “however, you could have been smarter about this.”

When Jongho said nothing just raised his eyebrows, his right hand slipping from my waist to my ass to squeeze, I smirked at him, leaning close to his ear, “You should have kept him alive and fed him with false intel, fucked with your father a little, you know?”

When I went to pull back, Jongho gripped my nape and held me in place, lips brushing lightly against my exposed ear as my hair was pulled back in a low bun, “I would have done that if my father already didn’t know that I had found out about this little fucker.”

I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, Jongho’s musky scent mingling with the stench of blood making my stomach tighten as I leaned back, the hand holding his nape sneaking towards his neck as I started toying with the necklace I had gifted him, “So, when are we going after you father?”

“As soon as your brother bites down on our trap.” I smirked, excited for the day to come as Jongho’s large palm squeezed my ass once, before softly making me stand up. I knew what he wanted without saying a word, and I grinned as I grabbed my forgotten purse off the floor, opening it. I made sure to bend down just the right amount in front of Jongho, my dress ridding up but not to the point of showing my ass, and I heard him suck in a harsh breath. Bingo, men are so easy. My favorite handgun glinted in the light and I blew Jongho a kiss before walking towards the screaming man, hips swaying in a way I knew would have Jongho hard in no time.

You see, our marriage wasn’t out of love, it wasn’t even close to that of a forced one. Our marriage was of convenience, both of us hungry for more and determined to do whatever we had to in order to get to the top. Jongho’s father, the most powerful mafia head in the country, and my brother, the second most affluential man of our country, were our targets. Once both were gone, Jongho and I would be ruling over everyone and everything in this damned country. And we were so close to finally getting what we wanted, five years of hard and diligent work finally getting repaid as his father was getting sloppy with his trades, and my brother arrogant to the point he was making banal mistakes even a newbie wouldn’t make. Soon, the empire would be mine—and Jongho’s. Soon, people would be bowing down at our feet, begging for their sins to be forgiven.

I stopped by the man’s side and turned the drill off, his screams ringing for a few more seconds until just his sobs were heard. His body was covered in wounds and bruises as it convulsed, he was as good as dead at this point. I sighed, feigning sadness as I stepped back, walking to the foot of the table, undoing the safety of my handgun. The man’s eyes widened when he registered my presence at his feet, but before he could make a sound, the bullet had already pierced his skull, the silencer on my handgun masking the sound and its lethalness. Claps resounded in the room, the classical music finally over, and I rolled my eyes and turned around. Jongho had an amused smile on his face as he stopped clapping, holding my purse as I slowly walked back towards him, eyes narrowing when he extended his palm, silently asking for my handgun. I reluctantly placed it in his hand and we shared a prolonged stare, our thoughts no doubt the same. If he killed me now, he’d be the next mafia head and yielder of all business. But he placed my handgun inside my purse and then gently placed that on the small table, next to his glass.

As I went to cross my arms in front of my chest and demand to know why he had flown oversees without letting me know first, I was yanked down in his lap again, this time failing to silence my gasp. I steadied myself using his firm shoulders, thighs resting on both sides of his hips, the leather soft against my naked skin. Jongho’s right hand rested on my left knee, slowly gliding up towards my thigh, his palm warm and yet rings cool against my skin. I gulped as Jongho smirked confidently, and quite smugly, leaning up to press our chests together.

“This dress drives me fucking insane,” He rasped, eyes staying glued to my exposed cleavage, “I’m glad I bought it for you.”

I chuckled, but didn’t allow myself to get sidetracked. I already knew Jongho and his tactics when he tried to avoid something, and it was always sex. Well, he wouldn’t get that until he did some explaining.

“Why did you go to Japan?” I raised an eyebrow, glaring down at him despite the way his hands were slowly creeping closer to my panties.

“Had to supervise some cargo before it got sent off.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

At his deadpan voice, I sneered and leaned in his face, glaring into his dark eyes, “Don’t fucking lie to me, Jongho. You have enough men to do that for you. If I find out you’re doing something behind my back, I will kill you.”

“Relax, love,” Jongho chuckled, hand slipping to my ass and kneading the flesh through the lacey panties I wore. I bit my lower lip, hiking myself a little higher up in his lap, “When I made my vows to you, I meant it when I said we’d stay together forever—unless you are conspiring behind my back, about to break my trust.”

“That’s not my style, and you know that.” I chuckled as Jongho’s fingers dug into the flesh of my ass, making me lick my lips just as he leaned up, closing the distance between us. It’s been a week since I last have felt his lips against mine, and I moaned against his mouth as he sucked my bottom lip between his teeth, slowly releasing it with a pop. But I didn’t allow him to pull back as I chased after his soft mouth, our lips moving messily as Jongho’s palm on my ass urged me to roll my hips against his already growing erection. I groaned into his mouth, slipping my tongue past his lips when he opened up enough, our tongues dancing together as he let me explore his hot mouth. His free hand caressed my hip before slowly trailing up my body, cupping my breast and squeezing as I moaned again, gyrating my hips in the right way, slow and teasing, knowing well that Jongho would lose his cool in the next ten seconds. And as I bit his bottom lip, sucking it between my teeth and biting hard on it, his eyes flew open and he hissed, all but almost ripping my panties apart as he yanked them down, urging me to raise slightly up as I smirked, kissing all the way from his jaw up to his ear, taking his earring between my teeth as I licked at his earlobe with my tongue.

The world wasn’t ready for our empire.

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[yanderes-galore]

Can I request a short scenario about Gojo falling in love with Sukuna’s favorite lover? They got unsealed first & was discovered by Gojo. Darling tried to escape one problem only to acquire an even worse one

Darling is gender neutral and it’s Romantic Yandere Gojo

~Anon~

The plot was a bit complicated yet vague so I hope the idea I came up with works ^^; I don't know much about the Heian Era so I am guessing. AU where Jujutsu High is actually Jujutsu University for the sake of ages and plot.

This deviates from the request a bit but I hope you enjoy it anyways :) The end is a bit butchered as I had no ideas :( The yandere behavior is vaguely implied, I wish this was executed better but I was working with what I had. Constructive feedback is appreciated.

Possible Manga Spoilers, Please read with caution.

One Long Century

Yandere! Satoru Gojo Story (Ft. Sukuna)

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Violence, Possessive behavior, Slight rivalry themes, Jealousy, Stalking, Darling hates relationships, Themes of toxicity in relationships, Delusional behavior, Forced relationship.

The Heian Era was known as a legendary time for Jujutsu Sorcerers. After all, this era was where Sukuna and Kenjaku originated from. Speaking of which, there was another Sorcerer that history recorded who dealt with these two.

You were Sukuna's favorite lover, out of all the partners the King of Curses had, you were his best. You were experienced in utilizing Curse energy, which made you a favorite. However, you never wanted to be tied to the monster.

Sukuna took you as a partner due to your abilities as a Sorcerer. While you were originally his enemy, he broke you in due to his strength. You were never stronger than him but he liked your potential. Truthfully, your plan was to die trying to take him out.

You never got such an easy fate.

No, instead Sukuna contacted Kenjaku to speak of immortality. You understood Sukuna wished to live forever, but you fully expected to die here. Unfortunately... Sukuna didn't want to waste such a good partner.

"Make them a cursed object, too. I want them to follow me eternally."

You were never like Sukuna. No, your morals were more pure than his. You had the morals of more modern Jujutsu Sorcerers.

Protect the weak... For you are strong.

Against your will you were made into a sealed cursed object. You reluctantly lay in wait for a time where you can awaken. With the body of a host... you can be reborn.

Even if you didn't wish it.

---

For a century your cursed object was passed around and stored. Legends and rumors told of your relationship with the King of Curses. It was often said that you could calm the King of Curses if things ever got out of hand.

Eventually, like some of Sukuna's fingers, you found your way into the protection of Jujutsu University in their Cursed Warehouse.

You weren't chosen to be reborn until enough of Sukuna's fingers were collected. Higher-ups realized that if something goes wrong they should have you ready. Which lead to a host being chosen...

And you being reborn.

It felt... strange to be reborn in the modern age. Everything was so different, from the amount of Sorcerers to even the clothes and buildings. You were brought back for a reason it seemed.

You feel like you're being judged.

You can't blame these modern Sorcerers for suspecting you. Sukuna was known for sadism and being known as his favorite lover didn't help. However, you did your best to prove your true allegiance.

Any side fighting Sukuna works for you.

You didn't meet Satoru Gojo until you were allowed to be "used". Their wording disturbed you, yet you try not to judge in turn. They have their reasons to be worried.

Unfortunately... meeting Satoru Gojo comes with reuniting with... Sukuna.

You were told that Sukuna had taken host in a student named Yuji Itadori. Satoru Gojo was given the job of being his teacher and being a handler. Your job?

Stick by them both... and keep Sukuna under control.

You loathed the idea... but you hated the idea of Sukuna going unchecked more. As a result, you comply with the order. This makes you part of Gojo's group.

It also gets you involved with Gojo and Sukuna... the blights of your life.

---

As expected, being in the group started uncomfortable for you. Gojo was curious of an ancient Sorcerer such as you. One who wasn't malevolent... but kept alive for some reason.

Admittedly you weren't as strong as Gojo... but you were up there.

You then met the younger students who accompanied him. Yuji (Sukuna's vessel, according to your intel), Nobara, and Megumi. They were all quite interesting and powerful in their own right... and over time you found yourself attached to them.

Then there was Sukuna, the King of Curses and your supposed lover. He festered within Yuji, much to your disgust. You dreaded whenever he took control.

You could never have a normal conversation with Yuji without Sukuna popping in to taunt you. He was unfortunately still flirtatious, seeing you as his lover. He didn't care if you hated him... just like all those years ago.

You wished you could just stay enemies with him.

You wished you weren't brought back.

Arguments often occurred between you and Sukuna. It was usually verbal as Gojo was around to prevent physical fights. For the sake of everyone around you.

Speaking of Gojo, you often spoke with him. You both often acted as mentors and guardians to your group. Originally, the air between you was tense.

Then Gojo realized he could get along with a strong Sorcerer such as you from ancient times.

You don't mind Gojo at first. He helps you adapt to modern times now that you're able to be out and about around other people. You two even bond well in battle against Curses.

Sukuna often mocks the fact Gojo is so close to you. The King of Curses is still possessive of his remaining lover. You often hear Sukuna vowing to take you back once he takes full control of his vessel, Yuji.

You plan on preventing that with Gojo.

You help Gojo train his students. For the most part you stay out of the way of other activities unless it's Sukuna related. Occasionally you even help with Kenjaku issues once those become known.

Soon months begin to pass and Gojo grows more... intrigued. He knew attachments could be dangerous, especially with an individual as mysterious as you. However...

It didn't stop Gojo from falling for someone he shouldn't have.

Gojo's obsession with you doesn't go unnoticed by Sukuna. In fact, he often acts out more around Gojo. Which leads to more work for you.

You begin to notice things when Gojo leaves your side less. He often excuses his actions as the higher-ups just wanting to keep you monitored. You believe it since Gojo is technically monitoring two dangerous Sorcerers.

In reality, Gojo can't keep his eyes off you.

He originally didn't want to think of the idea of being in love with you. Yet despite the difference in your eras and origins, Gojo still managed to be playful and interested in you. You even played along.

If anyone was worthy of Satoru Gojo...

It was you.

---

Gojo is really your only guide to getting around this new age. You have power, but without him you could've been misguided. At least, Gojo seems to think so.

As you work with Jujutsu University, Gojo only seems to grow closer to you. He often asks how you manage to get Sukuna under control and what you've learned throughout the ages. If anything, you're the most valuable asset he and the rest of the Sorcerers has other than Yuji/Sukuna himself.

Gojo's strange behavior doesn't get better as you work with him. It perplexes you. After all, you aren't that much of a threat. So why is he so close at all times?

If only you knew the true extent to his feelings.

You haven't thought much of romantic relationships due to your circumstances. After all, Sukuna is still around and he's turned you off to such relationships. Which is why it disturbs you when you notice Gojo's... obsession.

It's fitting that the strongest craves the strong, no matter how forbidden it is.

However, when you see the signs, you're reminded of how you were treated all those years ago. The possessive glares, then hostility towards those who don't accept you... it's familiar.

Gojo's much nicer and more playful than Sukuna...

But it appears they're both their own type of monster.

Whenever Gojo pulls you into an embrace, you shove him away. Whenever he playfully teases you, you go cold. You don't wish to be trapped again....

Yet Gojo never stops to consider his actions....

His hold on you is always tight. His confession for you was rather sudden once he did say it. When you tried to refuse, his behavior didn't change.

In fact he only seemed more violent towards those you fought against... Including Sukuna.

"We're good partners, aren't we?" He asked you, a smile on his face. "So wouldn't we be good... romantically?"

You hate that you still persist even now.

Even now, when you just want to rest, Gojo's there. You begin to dislike company of any type by this point. Yet you're forced to endure as a Jujutsu Sorcerer.

Originally you could deal with him being overly affectionate. The hugs were even originally comforting. You kept telling him you didn't like him romantically, but he seemed to ignore such a thought. You were tired of him constantly being by your side no matter where you go.

Although, snapping would only bring you trouble.

If you snapped, the higher-ups would order you exorcised and their control over Sukuna would falter. That or Gojo himself would seal you so you're harmless. As much as you hated it...

A century ago you told yourself serving Sukuna was your duty. Now, in modern times, you tell yourself that serving alongside Gojo is your duty. It didn't matter what happened as long as the weak were protected....

It was once again your duty to please.

Gojo was so focused on you two being strong together, he never thought about what you think. In his eyes, the strong belong together. No matter what.

Instead of piercing red eyes, you're met with glowing blue ones. Instead of the King of Curses, it's the strongest Jujutsu Sorcerer. There may be differences...

But in the end you're still left with a monster...

A monster that has so much more power over you... A monster that claims to love you... Just to take everything you have all over again.

A long century has passed... and nothing has changed.

"We'll be unstoppable, won't we, baby?"

[zutaranation]

Wishing for the Netflix Live Action Avatar series to be bad and jumping to conclusions based on one-off interview comments isn't it. This show is reclaiming its culture inspiration and being led by a majority POC cast and crew, so the hope for its downfall is icky to me.

I've discussed this on Twitter a lot, but not on here. I find it incredibly frustrating that people seem to be wishing for the live action Netflix version of Avatar to fail. This fandom is so dead set on commiserating and hating that they're damning the show before it even comes out and they see a single second of it based on a few lines from interviews taken out of context.

The watering down of sexism from Sokka could be done in just such a way that translates better to a live action format. It makes sense for Sokka to be sexist in a way that believes in rigid gender roles, but still appreciates the roles women perform. In the cartoon, he was more disparaging of women's roles in general. I think this would be a suitable change that still addresses sexism.

The change of Katara's role in regards to sexism I welcome as a breath of fresh air if it's done how I expect. Katara was portrayed as motherly, and I hope that stays, but her motherliness was seen as nagging, annoying, and a bad thing. She can keep these traits, but be appreciated and not depreciated every second and seen as a bore. She is also a child and deserves to be viewed with the same depth and appreciation as the others.

The Game of Thrones comment also makes sense. This is a show primarily for older audiences who grew up watching Avatar. GOT is a popular, beloved fantasy drama series. Many people who watched ATLA as adults compare the appeal of Avatar to GOT. The comment does not mean that the show is going to have sex scenes and SA scenes. It means it's going to appeal to that sort of audience, which makes complete sense for a fantasy live action series. The head runner of the live action show also stressed that the integrity of the show and its characters remaining intact was pivotal to their depiction. So, striking a balance between making this something fresh and interesting in its new medium, but staying faithful to the original should actually be seen as a promising aspect for the series, not something detrimental. I'm so hackneyed by this fandom's obsession with dragging everything down.

Azula having a bow and arrow is badass. Zuko had the dual swords. I have no idea why anyone is mad about this. It's cool. Her coming in early in an 8-episode series makes sense. She's the best villain in the show, she SHOULD get more screentime. It's not like Toph where her Book 2 introduction is concurrent with the pacing of the plot. I also hope Zuko is on the gaang's side for the entirety of Book 3. I always thought that would have made more sense, gave us better friendship building moments, and improved pacing. This criticism confuses me.

And, the thing about Aang not going off on side quests is simply logical. Of course Aang can't be mentioning side quests and frivolous detours like riding on the sea eel (sorry I forget its proper term rn lol) because the way the show is being adapted does not have any time to show these kinds of filler episode scenes. It's being reimagined as a mini series drama with 8 episodes. It makes no sense to subdivide these episodes to include filler moments, so of course Aang needs to be more plot driven becasue there's less breakdown in the episodes because there are less of them. It doesn't negate his childlike eagerness and faithfullness to his original portrayal. It could also serve as an enhancement where this 20-year-old series fell short, despite its successes.

This is a reimagining, otherwise there's no point. A carbon copy would be absurd and terrible for anyone to watch. Wishing a show to fail that was created by an almost entirely POC cast reclaiming the show's culture is so icky to me and I think it's a disservice to this fandom. I'm hoping for the best and being cautiously optimistic. Of course, things could go sour, but why expect it? Why not hype the show up instead of aspire for its failure? Especially in the Zutara fandom, we should be better than this. There is so much opportunity for this series to correct the problems our fandom at large has been complaining about for years and years.

For the bulk of the fandom, including casual and nostalgic fans, they don't know the horrors of the behind the scenes nonsense Bryke, the two white guys who created ATLA caused. So they're crapping on this version left and right because Bryke left. Bryke didn't even create these characters' depth. They didn't write the intricacies of the beloved episodes or develop the characters the way people are so found of. That was the other writers. Bryke wanted Toph to be a boy and have a love triangle with Aang and Katara. They also wanted Azula to be a boy. They wanted Iroh to betray Zuko and be pro-Ozai at the end of the show and Zuko have to choose between Iroh and the fate of the world. The other writers changed this. Look at the mess they made of LoK without the input of the other writers when they were writing entirely on their own in Legend of Korra book one. Their removal is a chance of further improvement.

[leclercss]

Tainted Love, Part 5 (Charles Leclerc ft Lewis Hamilton)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Masterlist

plot: in an attempt to fix your marriage, you've reluctantly agreed into being in an open relationship with your husband. so far, it's only been your husband that has taken advantage of your recent arrangement until one night out you meet a man who makes you begin to question your marriage.

pairings: charles leclerc x fem!reader

warnings: (+18) mentions of smut, cheating and some swearing

authors note: sorry for taking so long to post part 5. Life has been life-ing and it’s been so busy. Thanks for all of your kind words in the mean time x

word count: 4.5k

taglist: @ironmaiden1313, @ru-kru, @buendiabebeta, @flwr-quicksilver, @ravioli19, @julesandro, @hornedravenclaws, @thatobsessedreader @pinkangelavenue, @queenofshinigamis, @notleclerc, @paullinne, @bisexualbith, @tempo-rary-fix, @bbygrlllllll, @teenagedreams-cl, @lunamelona, @leclerc16s

“Are you sure you’re okay with us doing it in my car?”

You can’t help but giggle at Charles' question.

“Charles, it’s fine,” you reply in between your giggles. “I’ve had sex in worse places than this”.

Charles furrows his eyebrows at your response. “Like where?”

You giggle again. “Charles, we snuck out of the party so we could have sex. Are you really using the limited time we have to ask me about the random places I’ve had sex?”

“Good point!”

After you and Charles’ close call with Whitney in his bedroom, the two of you put your heads together to find a place where you could have sex without getting caught. And somewhere as far away from Whitney as possible.

And so with the limited options you had thanks to the apartment upstairs being filled with partygoers, Charles had suggested that you guys could go to his car in the garage. And while it wasn’t the most comfortable of places for you two to get busy in, it was much better than your suggestion of finding somewhere behind the apartment building.

So that’s how you ended up here, on Charles’ lap in the passenger seat with your legs either side of his. Your skirt and underwear are somewhere in the backseat after Charles practically tore them off your body.

He’s currently pulling at your top so he can have a front row view to your boobs, which he’s become very attached to in the short space that you’ve known him.

Deciding that you’re not the only one to be practically naked in the car, you start to unbutton Charles’ shirt. He helps you by pulling his arms out of the sleeves before you throw the clothing into the backseat, finding space alongside your discarded clothes.

“You look so beautiful, amour,” he tells you as his eyes are fixated on your body. His hands feel like ice against your skin before they make way to your boobs. He runs his thumbs over your exposed nipples and they harden at his touch. A shiver runs through your body, once more your body instantly reacting to his intimate touched. He gropes your boobs for a little longer before his hands make their way down to your stomach ever so slowly. Your skin is tingling at the sensation of feeling him touching you.

His next destination is your thighs where his fingers dance across your skin ever so lightly, enough for you to start to feel heat in your core. Even in the limited time that you two have down in the garage before you have to account for your whereabouts, he still wants to savour every millimetre of your body.

You can't help but smile at the sight before you. It's almost like he's obsessed with your body. His tongue slightly poking out the corner of his mouth. He's concentrating as if he's studying you so he can remember the image and feel of your body for later.

“If you’re enjoying the view so much, you can take a picture,” you tease him.

He looks up at you with surprise in his eyes but the smirk on his lips tells you his true feelings.

“Are you serious?” He asks. He feels a twitch in his pants at the idea of taking photos of you naked. Until now, he’s been using his mental images from the night and morning you’ve spent together. But to have a photo of you on his phone to keep, how could he turn that down?

“I’m serious, Charles. You can have it for when I’m not around”.

Your hands find their way to his bare shoulders before you run them down his chest, towards his torso and they stop, just resting above his belt. His eyes are fixated on you and your movements. You slowly unbuckle his belt, at an agnoising pace. You hear his breath hitch in the back of his throat as you unzip his jeans.

“The offer won’t last forever you know,” you kindly remind him and flash him a wink. The alcohol that’s still in your system giving you the confidence you need in this moment.

Wasting no more time, Charles digs his phone out of his jean pocket before slowly reclining his chair to get a better angle of you. You help him out by leaning back on your heels. As he opens the camera app, you run your hands through your hair and start to pose for him.

You can’t help notice the smirk that’s plastered across his face as he positions himself. Reminding you of some horny teenager. You thought it might have been a bit of a silly idea to have Charles take some naked photos of you but seeing how joyful he is has reassured you that these photos won’t go to waste.

“Give me a little smile, amour”.

You follow his instructions and he begins snapping away, sniggering to himself as he does so.

“Can you stop laughing at me?” You whine, tempted to grab the phone out of his hand.

“I’m not laughing, [Y/N]. I’m just thinking about how I’ll be using them tomorrow,” he retorts.

You roll your eyes slightly before posing for a few more photos. Once you’ve had enough, you grab the phone out of his hand and throw it into the drivers seat so you have his full and undivided attention again.

You take his face into your hands and lean in to leave a wet, sensual kiss on his lips. He hums slightly into your mouth as he reclines the chair further before his hands find their way back onto your body. Grabbing and pulling at any skin he can get his hands on.

You find your seat again on his lap and slowly begin to rock your hips back and forth against his clothed crotch, feeling his hardness growing beneath you. You continue to rock back and forth as his tongue slips into your mouth. Your tongues meet and move alongside each other with slow but purposeful movements.

You reach out for the top of his boxers and jeans, pulling the material down. Charles lifts up his hips so you can pull them over his bum and they soon find themselves bunched around his ankles.

You take his hard cock into your hands and stroke it a few times. He’s ready to go.

You pull back from the kiss so you can position yourself so you're hovering over the tip of his penis. Your eyes meet and you feel your breath catch in your throat. His eyes feel like they’re staring into your soul.

You feel a twitch down below and so you make sure your hole is lined up with his tip before you push yourself down. His cock begins to fill you up and you both let out a deep sigh.

You place your hands on his chest for leverage and begin to move your hips back and forth. Your pace is slow at first, getting used to the position in the passenger seat and you feel your heart beat start to speed up.

Charles’ eyes never leave yours as you gradually pick up your pace, grinding your hips against his.

“You look so good on top of me, baby,” he mutters, loving the sensation of you riding him.

You’ve now found your momentum and pick up your pace further.

“Mmm… Charles, fuck,” you groan and bit your lip at the sensation you’re feeling down below. Charles’ hands find their way to your hips so he can guide your movements.

The car begins to rock around you, the moment run carrying you and you begin to pick up your pace even further.

“Oh, fuck!”

The sensation of Charles inside of you combined with the thrill of getting caught at any moment by another resident passing through the garage has you throbbing down below. Your moans are rolling into one another.

You feel Charles’ mouth wrap around one of your nipples. His tongue swirling around the sensitive nub. He bits down a little, causing you to squeal in pleasure. One of your hands’ now finds its way into his hair, the other on the ceiling of the car to keep you steady. Your hips still being guiding by Charles.

“Fuck, baby,” you groan in pleasure.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” Charles pants from beneath you. You manage to open your eyes and look down. Charles is looking up at you, his pupils dilating through all of the pleasure.

You nod, not able to string more than a few words together at this point.

Charles tightens his grip on your hips before thrusting up into you.

“Fuck!”

You practically jump at the movement. But Charles doesn’t give you time to come around as begins to thrust up into you, his movements are hard and fast. Skin slapping against yours and you find yourself bouncing on his dick. You try to grab onto anything at this point to hold yourself up. Mouth open as you continue to moan on top of him.

“Keep going,” you sigh.

Charles’ obeys your orders and thrusts into you even harder and faster than before. The car now moving erratically around you.

“Charles, baby”.

You miss the feeling of him on your lips and so you reach down to place your lips on his. The kiss is sloppy, thanks to the movements he’s making beneath you. He wraps his arms around you in a hug and thrusts up into you, he's now hitting your spot over and over.

You squeal against his lips, trying to muster a “fuck”. He slips his tongue into your mouth once more.

You reach down and begin to rub your clit with your fingers to add to the sensation that you’re feeling down below.

Charles is clearly delighted by this and continues at .

“Are you touching yourself, amour?” He whispers into your ear. A shiver runs down your spine.

“Yes”.

You can feel him smirk against your ear.

“And what do you think about when you touch yourself?”

Oh God!

“Yo-“ you can barely get your words out without moaning.

“Come on, you can say it”. He’s teasing you at this point but it’s turning you on even more when he talks to you like this. “What do you think about, amour? When you’re touching yourself”.

He’s somehow thrusting into you even faster now. His movements are getting erratic.

“Fu-, you fucking me, Ch-Charles,” you whine.

That seems to do it as Charles groans and gives everything he has to thrust into you further but he’s at his peak.

“I’m gonna cum,” he grunts into you ear and with one last deep thrust, his cum starts to spill inside of you. French profanities roll off his tongue but you’re too reaching your own peak that you can’t understand what he’s saying.

As Charles begins to come down from his climax, you place your hands onto his chest and pull yourself back up, with the little energy you having remaining, and begin moving your hips against his once more until you feel the knot tighten in your stomach.

“I’m cumming, Charles”.

You let one last moan before your eyes give way and you collapse onto Charles’ chest, his body acting as a cushion for your fall.

You lay in each others arms panting, trying to regain your breath after you both orgasmed. Your head is laying on Charles' chest, rising and falling with each other as he's breathing heavily bender h you. His skin is slightly damp from what you've just done but you don’t mind at all. You can feel his fingers tips dance along your skin as he glides them across your back, soothing you.

As you begin to regain your energy, you look up at him through your lashes and notice him staring at the roof of the car, his chest still rising and falling below. You place a soft kiss on his chest. He feels this and looks down at you with a soft but tired smile on his face.

"I don't think I could ever get tired of this," you don't realise that the words have left your mouth until you see Charles' smile widen. He leans down so he can place a kiss on your forehead.

"Me too, amour," he replies, his voice a little rasp. "I think I could just lay here with you all night".

You reach up and place your hand on his cheek, softly running your thumb over the smooth skin. He's looking at you with so much affection and you feel like you could stay in this position forever. Your body on his, legs intertwined, your heart beating so close to his. You'd almost forgotten that he was still inside you. His penis has softened at this point but it feels so comfortable to have him inside you like this.

"It's a shame that we couldn't spend more of the night together," he tells you, a slight pout on his lips.

You let out a little sigh. "I know. I'm sorry, Charles. I know things are a little complicated when it comes to my situation".

He turns his cheek so he can peck the palm of your hand that's against his face. "I knew what I was getting into with you, amour. You don't have to apologise".

You smile at him. "Are you sure it doesn't bother you?"

"I'm sure," and the tone in his voice doesn't lie. He's confident with what he's saying. "I know how I feel towards you and I can see how you feel towards me. I promise you it's okay".

You rest your head on his chest so you can hear his heart beat against you once more.

"Maybe we can do something more romantic?"

His chest vibrating as he speaks beneath you.

"Like where?"

"I don't know. As much as I've enjoyed having sex in my car, it's not exactly the comfiest place," he chuckles. "Maybe a weekend away, just the two of us."

He has you smiling once more. "I'd like that, Charles”.

A little while later, you and Charles had managed to peel yourselves off each other and decided to return the chaos upstairs before Whitney sent out a search party on your behalf.

You definitely weren’t going to look as presentable on your return as you had when you first rocked up to Charles and Joris’ apartment tonight. But by now people would most likely be heavily intoxicated or high and so your disheveled appearance would be the least of everyone’s worries.

You cherished the last private moments that you would have with Charles this evening before finding your way back into his apartment. Your fingers intertwined as you kissed each other softly in the elevator. Your bodies enjoying the last few moments of intimacy.

“I’m not sure how I’ll be able to keep my hands to myself now,” Charles mumbled against your lips.

You smiled into your kiss.

“Well, if you’re feeling a little lonely, you can always check your camera roll,” you teased.

Charles pulled your bottom lip between his teeth and bites down ever so slightly.

“Don’t tease me like that, amour,” Charles growls. “Not after what we’ve just done”.

You smirk up at him, the Dutch courage still coursing through your body. You decide to toy with him a little more, “Even when your cum is still inside me?”

“Merd-”

His whine is interrupted by the ding made by the elevator and you both find yourselves on the 8th floor, music and voice still going.

You place a final kiss on Charles lips before making your way to his apartment.

“Good night, Charles”.

Your disappearance had gone unnoticed, Whitney was too busy in the birthday boy’s bedroom. Your appearance hadn’t been judged. People were far too drunk to remember your name, never mind the fact that your make up was now half gone from your face.

You’d lightly integrated back into the party but your best friend was up to her own mischief and you were trying to keep your eyes and hands off Charles. But as the drunken partygoers slowly started to filter the way out of the apartment and the night slowly came to close, the two of you found yourselves in the kitchen alone.

You were in a similar position to the one you found yourself in the last time you were here. About a week ago now. Your hands wrapped around his neck. Your lips and tongues moving in synchronisation. Charles’ fingers had found their way inside of you once more. Your soft moans rolling onto his tongue.

The two of you are lost in the intimacy, lost in the moment and lost in each other. The fear of a random person, or even Whitney, walking into the two of you doesn’t scare you. It just feels too good for you to care about anything else.

Your lips leave his and your head falls back as a moan leaves you. Your chest slowly starting to rise and fall.

It doesn’t take much for you to come undone onto his fingers this time, it’s just so natural for you at this stage. Your energy is spent and you hold onto him, held still thrown back. Your heavy breathing is starting to slow down but your eyes are still closed from the euphoria you’re feeling. You don’t even notice his fingers slide out of you, you’re just so lost in your own world.

That is until you feel Charles place a soft kiss on your lips and his voice pulls you back to reality, “Are you okay, amour?”

You slowly peel your eyes open and smile at him. He’s looking at you - you’re not sure if it’s with affection or with concern. You’ve been absent for a little while.

“I’m good. Just enjoying this feeling,” you exhale softly.

You find the energy to pull yourself upright and place your head against Charles’ chest. Your arms wind their way around his torso and you let your body melt against him.

Charles is quite for a moment. You feel his heart beat quicken against you.

“Amour,”

His voice is so soft and gentle.

“Will you stay with me tonight?”

You look up at him and he’s looking down at you nervously. Your mouth slightly agape as you’re not sure what to say.

It’s the first time you’ve ever seen him nervous. And his lack of confidence isn’t helped by the fact that you still haven’t found your words.

You blink.

“Charles, I ca-,” you begin but he shakes his head.

“Don’t worry about it”.

You let out a little sigh as you feel his touch loosen around you.

“Charles, you know I would. But Whitney is here and she doesn’t know,” you begin to explain but he stops you by placing a kiss on your lips.

“I forgot, [Y/N],” it feels weird when he doesn’t call you amour now. “She doesn’t know. It’s okay, you need to get home tonight”.

You flash him a sympathetic smile and you feel guilty for seeing the disappointment in him. He wants you to stay. And you want to stay but you can’t.

Whitney doesn’t know and if she caught you with Charles you’d have to find a million answers to a million questions you weren’t ready to answer.

After reassuring Charles that you would see him soon and one more deep, meaningful kiss, you find yourself outside making your way home and you’re now at your apartment door.

You send a couple of texts before you go inside, one to Whitney to let her know they you had gone home and you’d be getting all of the juicy details from her tomorrow. And one to Charles to let him know you were safe and that you had missed him already.

Once you finally made it inside, you noticed that the apartment is dark and quiet. The only sound you can hear is the ticking of the clock in the hallway. You shut the door quietly and make your way towards the bedroom with your heels in your hand so you don't disturb Roscoe in his sleep.

You're not sure if Lewis is home, it's not like he was keeping you up to date with his itinerary these days anyway.

As you reach your bedroom door, You slowly push it open, it's dark in here too. And you're met with the snoring of Roscoe who's asleep at the foot of the bed. But he's not the only one snoring. You look towards the top of the bed and see a figure in the dark beneath the sheets, lightly snoring away. It's Lewis and he's home, much to your surprise.

You're not sure if you're relieved or nervous about seeing him here after the night that you've just had at Joris' party with Charles. But you don't feel any guilt and you're surprised at the lack of guilt that you've felt since you've started to sleep with Charles.

Rather than wait in the open doorway any longer, you make your way to the ensuite bathroom. Deciding that a quick shower will not only make you feel better in the morning but will feel slightly more respectful when you climb back into bed with your husband. You were already on the edge with Lewis as it was without bringing the scent of another man onto your shared sheets. You were growing to dislike Lewis and his behaviour towards you but you didn't dislike him that much.

As you stand under the hot shower, glass steaming up around you, you shut your eyes and let the hot water soak into your skin. And you begin to think about the night that you've just spent with Charles. You can still feel his touch and kisses on your body. Your hand travelling down to between your thighs and you lightly touch yourself at the memory of him thrusting deep inside of you, filling you with his cum. It was the first time he had done so with you, previously he had always pulled out but last night he was so lost in the feeling of you that he seemed to forget. You didn't mind too much, if anything you felt that it brought you closer to him.

You hadn't known him too long but in the short amount of time you could feel a deep connection, one that you hadn't felt in a very long time. He noticed you and he made you feel seen. But most importantly, he made you feel important. And you only craved to feel him touch you once more.

You let out a little hum as you feel a twitch down below, you're still touching yourself as you think about Charles. You pick up your pace and press harder onto your clit, thinking about how if Charles was here right now, and oh how you wished he was. He’d be taking you from behind. His skin wet and slippy from the shower. He'd have his hand in your hair as he bent you over. You'd be gripping onto the tiles to keep you upright as he thrusted into you. His cum spilling into you once more.

"Fuck," you whine as you realise that you've brought yourself to your peak. As you slowly catch your breath, your mind drifts to Charles once more. If he was here right now, he'd kiss you, arms wrapped around you. It’s almost as if he’s in the room with you, calling you amour.

Was it a mistake not to stay him tonight?

Realising that your shower has taken much longer than planned, you quickly turn off the water and begin to dry yourself off. You take one last look in the mirror and notice the faint marks on your neck that Charles has left. Your fingers find there way to the bruised area and you can't help but smile.

You make your way back into the bedroom, slipping into an oversized tee before slowly climbing into bed. Roscoe still snoring away. As your head hits the pillow, your body finally relaxes and you let out a deep exhale.

Just as you're about to shut your eyes and drift off into sleep, some movement beside you stirs you out of your slumber. You feel Lewis roll over in the bed.

The room falls quiet once more. But not for long.

"You came home," Lewis whispers. You're not sure if it's a question or a statement but it takes you by surprise. You take a moment, deciding on what will be the best course of action to take. Do you pretend you're asleep or engage in a conversation with Lewis? But you feel like the decision is almost being made for you as you feel Lewis' eyes burning into the back of your head.

You roll over and through the darkness you seem him looking at you, his eyes wide open. You feel your stomach drop as he's looking at you and you notice his eyes glisten with some sort of hope.

Your mind lingers back to Charles and the look he gave you tonight when you told him you couldn’t stay. You’re feeling conflicted, you’d worked so long to keep your marriage to Lewis as happy and healthy as possible but these last few weeks have been the reality check that you needed. And you finally find love and passion and meaning again, but this time it wasn’t with Lewis.

But as you lay in bed, and your husband is looking at you like this, you can’t help but find yourself cave.

You know his words have a deeper meaning than what they sound like on the surface.

For so long, Lewis had pushed you to the side. You were so young when you met him and so in love that no matter what he did, you thought. that, through your own naivety he would always come back to you.

And in this moment, he has come back to you. After this past week of him ignoring your entire existence after shouting at you like he had never done before, he's suddenly seen you again. But you're not sure if it's out of love and care or because you're now a different person in your marriage, something he thought you would never be. You were starting to have a life outside of him and maybe this was his last chance to hold onto you, to fight for the version of you that would love you unconditionally.

You’re pulled back to reality when you feel Lewis reach out for you as his thumb starts to stroke your cheek. You're not sure why but you feel your eyes start to well up at the feeling of him touching you like this, looking at you like this.

“You came home,” he says once more, “for me?”

Those two words surprise you.

Your breath catches in your throat but somehow you manage to lie,

"I came home".

[carlsdarling]

Homewrecker

Y/N being jealous and stealing Carl away from Enid. Bit more of a plot, then sex. Everyone is 18 or over.

WARNINGS: smut, nsfw, oral, cheating

You've had a crush on Carl for a long time, almost six months to be exact, when Rick found you alone in a vacant building, took you to Alexandria and you met his son. You were immediately fascinated by Carl and felt attracted to him - by his beautiful blue eye, his swift movements, his badass attitude and the lovable character that stood in sharp contrast to it. Over and over you dreamed of seducing him, at night caressing and fingering yourself, moaning his name and burying your head in your pillow so Glenn and Maggie, who had taken you in, wouldn't notice.

You lost your virginity a while ago, and there really wouldn't have been anything wrong with just approaching Carl and checking out if he felt anything for you, too, but there was Enid. His girlfriend. You were so jealous of Enid that you could have screamed with rage whenever you saw the two of them together. When you caught them making out in the paddock, you wanted to snap Enid's neck.

At that moment, you decided that it was not possible to go on like this and that you would fight for what you so desperately wanted, Carl.

One night, when you knew Enid was on guard duty and Carl wasn't, you went to find him at his house. Rick opened the door. "Um, is Carl around?" you asked. In your hand you had a couple of comic books as an alibi.

"Yeah," Rick replied. "He's in his room."

You walked up the stairs and knocked until Carl called, "Come in." He was sitting on the bed, hastily adjusting his bandage when he caught sight of you. You didn't care about his scar, you thought he was gorgeous, sexy and charming even with it. Carl simply had a great charisma, and you were all the more envious of Enid. But now she wasn't here, and this was your chance. "Hi, Y/N," Carl greeted you in surprise.

"Hi," you said in a soft, seductive voice and approached him, letting one spaghetti strap of your white top slip off your shoulder as accidentally.

Carl blushed slightly. "What... what are you doing here?" he asked uncertainly as you sat down close to him so he could smell your perfume and feel your body heat.

"I was feeling lonely," you purred, making big bedroom eyes. "And I thought maybe you could help me." You licked your lips lasciviously.

"Help? With what?" Carl was obviously a bit dumbfounded in this regard, so you gently grasped his chin, turned his head toward you, and kissed him on the lips. They felt soft and a little rough at the same time.

Carl took a startled breath. "What are you going to do?" He seemed embarrassed, but at least he didn't push you away right now. That gave you encouragement.

"I like you, Carl," you confessed, "I like you a lot, actually, and I want to show you."

"But I'm with Enid," he protested demurely. His expression was difficult to interpret.

"And has Enid ever suck you off?"

He turned bright red and shook his head.

"There you go," you would breathe a series of kisses on his neck, making him groan softly. You'd show him you were better than Enid. "I want to do this for you. That and more. You'll like it, I promise. I want to feel you, Carl. I need you. I need you badly, every night I think about you." Again you kissed him, and this time he returned the kiss, slipping his tongue into your mouth before hesitantly pulling away from you again.

He obviously had qualms about cheating on Enid, but Carl also couldn't deny that he was already aroused; he was building a visible tent in his jeans, and his breathing was rapid and frantic as his cheeks reddened. He was so cute. "It... it has to stay between you and me, though," he murmured. "You must not tell Enid about this."

"You have my word of honor," you promised, and immediately you were starting to make out and caress each other, until finally your hands slid under Carl's shirt and you stroked his back demanding. He smelled nice, clean and a little bit of fresh sweat.

He slipped the shirt off and tossed it to the floor, and for the first time you saw his lean, lightly muscled torso, the fair skin, the small tufts of underarm hair, and the strip of soft dark hair that ran from his belly button down and disappeared into his boxers. The sight nearly drove you crazy; so you grabbed Carl by the shoulders and made him lie on his back, then undid his belt and also undid the buttons of his jeans to pull them down to his knees. Carl let it happen, his eyes half-closed, and there was a damp stain at his light grey boxers. His cock was at full erection and was clearly visible under the fabric.

You scattered wet kisses around his belly button until Carl began to moan softly, then you grabbed the edges of his boxers and pulled them down as well. His erection really sprang out, his tip glistened with moisture, and your eyes grew wide: Carl was definitely on the bigger side. His pubic hair was dark and slightly curly.

"Wait," he said hoarsely, sitting up and stripping off his jeans and boxers. Carl was now completely naked, whereas you were still clothed. "I want to see you naked too, Y/N," he sighed, fumbling with your top and bra. Without further ado, you took both off, exposing your breasts.

Carl looked at them ravishedly. "God, you're beautiful," he whispered and began to fondle them, making your nipples hard.

"Lick them, please, Carl," you begged, and he gently began to kiss your right nipple, encircling it with his tongue and sucking on it. You cried out in pleasure and were now finally ready for him, wet as sin, but wanted to give him head first.

Tenderly you kissed his length and then took his cock in your mouth. He didn't quite fit, but Carl moaned heavily and curled his fingers in the pillow, lifting his hips as you sucked gently, letting go of him briefly every now and then to kiss the insides of his thighs and his belly. "Please, keep on sucking," he murmured, stroking your head and supporting your movements with his hand until you suddenly let go of him. His cock was wet with your saliva, veins protruding.

Carl was already in a state of complete euphoria, writhing on the bed whimpering softly and begging you to continue. You took off your shorts and panties. "No, I want you to fuck me now, Carl," you whispered in his ear, leaning over him. He grinded his cock against your belly.

"I've never done this before," he confessed, embarrassed.

"Well, I have," you replied plainly. You were only a year older than him, but unlike him, you had already had some experience. "Do you have any condoms?" He nodded over to his nightstand, and you pulled an as-yet-unopened pack out of the drawer. Jealousy flashed through your mind, because surely Carl had made these preparations for his first time with Enid. Well, screw Enid, you thought. Carl took one of the condoms, tore open the wrapper, and placed it precariously on his cock. "Oh, let me do it," you said impatiently, pushing his hand away and putting the condom on him yourself.

He awkwardly tried to lie on top of you, but you beckoned him to stay on his back. "I want to ride you," you said breathless with desire before guiding his cock to your willing pussy. "Be careful at the beginning," you whispered into Carl's ear. "Very gently."

Inches by inches he penetrated you, his whole body tense with excitement. It was wonderful to finally feel him inside of you. Instinctively, he began to make soft thrusts, and you moved your hips synchronously with him. You immediately found a rhythm together, and both of your moans and sighs filled the room. "It's so good," Carl moaned. "You're so tight and hot." His thrusts were getting faster and faster, and he was going into ecstasy, forgetting everything around him. "Y/N, I'm... I'm cumming, I'm..."

"Me too," you said, leaning forward so he could pull you close as he now reared up and shot his load into the condom, moaning heavily. A loud scream escaped you as you also climaxed. You looked lovingly into each other's eyes and shared a long kiss before you dismounted from him.

Carl removed the condom, knotted it, and wrapped it in a Kleenex before dropping it beside the bed, then hugging you tightly. "That was wonderful," he murmured exhaustedly, pressing little kisses to your lips.

"Yes," you replied, "I have patrol in a minute. I have to go," you said regretfully a moment later.

"I don't want you to go," Carl pouted.

You gave him a kiss on the forehead and got ready to leave. "I have to though," you said, gathering up your clothes.

"Um, Y/N..." said Carl shyly. "Can we maybe do this again?"

You jammed your hands into your sides. "Depends," you informed him. "If you pick me and dump Enid, we can do it every day," you offered with a seductive glance in your siren eyes.

The next night, just as you were about to go to bed, Glenn called you to come downstairs. "You got a guest," he said, perplexed. "Carl's out on the veranda."

Carl looked toward you with a smile on his lips as you closed the door behind you. "I just broke up with Enid," he said, embracing you and immediately kissing you passionately. "I want to be with you."

You won.

[sailoryooons]

Okay hear me out, but maybe a little bit of enemies to lovers, little bit of smutty goodness between witch hunter!yoongi and witch!reader?? Idk why this popped in my head but I’m kind of desperate to see a little something now lol.

Also, I love you ❤️

❀ Pairing: Witch hunter!Yoongi x f. witch!reader

❀ Summary: For years, you and Yoongi have played cat and mouse. It’s his duty to rid the world of witches, but he always finds a new excuse to let you slip through his fingers. When you find yourself at his mercy, you wonder if the great witch hunter will finally end your game of chase, or if there’s something that will stay his hand. 

❀ Word Count: 4188 

❀ Genre: Urban fantasy, enemies to lovers, a hint of angst, smut

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

❀ Warnings: On screen character death (not permanent though), depictions of blood and intense action sequences, scary demon thing, depiction of weapons, hints at violence between two groups of people, mild world building, a bit of angst, explicit language, explicit sexual content featuring light nipple play, unprotected vaginal sex, emotional sex, a lot of spit, UNEDITED. 

❀ Published: August 3, 2023

❀ A/N: I don’t know why I thought I’d be able to control myself with some of these ideas because god dammit Sarah, I want to turn this into more than ~4k of a work. Like this idea inspired me so much, you have no idea how insane I wanted to go on this but I had to CONTROL MYSELF because I promised that this year I would keep it tame. I love you so much and I’m so sorry that this is like 90% plot and 10% smut but I kept inching toward 5k and I was like I HAVE GOT TO STOP MYSELF JESUS CHRIST and dkfgjdiogjfoigjg I am telling you right now, I want to come back and revisit this fic and makie it like a four chapter thing or something because GOD I LOVED THIS IDEA AND YOU KNEW JUST WHAT TO REQUEST. Also this is unedited!!!!

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

| Masterlist | Ask | Hali’s Happy Agust | Song Inspiration |

Most nights, Yoongi dreams of you. He knows better, and yet he can’t help himself. It’s like you’re living under his skin, a virus that has taken root in the marrow of his bones. He doesn’t know how he would dig you out if he tried.

If he tried. 

If anyone from the Conclave knew the dangerous game that Yoongi is playing, he would be ousted or killed. Killing would be the mercy, but he’s garnered enough hate within the elite members of the Conclave to know they’d rather him suffer cut off from his resources. His friends. His family. 

Still, Yoongi walks a dangerous line. He knows it’s wrong, letting a witch infect him like a sickness. He is sure that he’s under your spell. There’s no other explanation for the way he always lets you slip away. For the way he closes his eyes and imagines the flutter of your heart against his, the sound of your gasps, the warmth of your hands.

Stars explode behind Yoongi’s eyes as he presses the heels of his hands into them. He’s exhausted, limbs heavy and sore from a day of bloody work. The activity downtown has only worsened the last few months, making Yoongi hunt multiple times a day and return home banged up. 

The pain he can handle. Witches and their demons are nothing new to him. But he knows there’s something he’s missing, something lurking beneath the surface of the increased activity and the strong demonic presence in the city.

Yoongi knows he could ask you. He’s thought about it a few times over the last few weeks but he’s talked himself out of it each time. The curiosity has always lingered there, waiting for him to ask in those moments where you cross his path, coy and sharp as ever. In the minutes you linger, shooting him insults he thinks you don’t mean and playing little word games. 

He doesn’t ask, though. And you never offer, despite the fact that your sharp eyes and knowing smirk lead him to believe you know he wants to ask. 

Perhaps that’s why he doesn’t. Not giving you what you want is part of the fun. He likes the way it makes you bristle, magic crackling at your fingertips. He loves the way it makes you narrow your eyes at him, lobbing empty threats that make him want to purr. 

Whatever this effect you have on him is potent. He can’t shake you off, can’t outrun you. 

And worse, he doesn’t want to.

Rain begins to beat on the bedroom window outside. Though his limbs are heavy from slogging through the sewer system downtown after a witch and her ivax demon, he’s a little too keyed up to sleep. Yoongi senses something staticy in the air, an energy that he can’t name.

Opening up his phone, he flips through his text threads with members of the Conclave. It seems everyone is in it tonight, the demonic activity buzzing and the monsters worse than usual. He frowns when he sees Seokjin mention a prowler crawling through the warehouse district. Yoongi knows that’s where you live and an unexpected sense of unease slivers down his spine.

He locks his phone and tosses it on the bed. He doesn’t need to worry about you. You’re one of the most skilled witches in the city and you’ve killed scores of demons and others alike. He should remove your head for the number of hunters you’ve put in the ground, but you’ve killed triple that in witches. 

Which is why you’re alone. It’s not lost on Yoongi that you’re a witch without a coven and with unusual alliances living in a warehouse all alone with a prowler on the loose. If you know it’s there - you have to know it’s there, being you - he knows you’ll go after it. 

“Fuck,” he sighs at the ceiling. 

Grabbing his phone, Yoongi sends off a quick text. 

Yoongi: Anyone dispatching to take care of the prowler?

Councilman Haer: Negative. The Conclave will not be dispatching. The Warehouse District is not critical and it’ll go back down after it’s satiated. Prowlers aren’t controlled by witches, it might even take a few out for us.

Yoongi stomach flips as he squeezes his phone tight before getting up. He’s tired of the Conclave’s inaction. He knows he’ll get in trouble for going after something so dangerous without backup, but he can’t ask Seokjin and Hoseok to back him up on this one. Not unauthorized, and not for something so dangerous. 

Unsanctioned hunts is exactly how Yoongi has ended up at the bottom of the pool among Conclave members, but he doesn’t care. Politics can’t erase the fact that he’s the best fucking hunter in the city, and no councilman who won’t get their hands dirty can give him grief for doing what needs to be done.

This isn’t about the Conclave, though. Yoongi knows it. Seokjin would know it, if Yoongi told him what he was doing. But the thought of a prowler tearing through the low-income streets in the Warehouse District doesn’t resonate with him. Neither does knowing that you are one of the witches in the line of fire. 

Yoongi dresses and arms himself with military proficiency. A black, long-sleeved shirt with a form-fitted leather vest over it to prevent most stabs and cuts, knives sheathed along the ribbing of the vest, breathable pants with a tactical belt and pockets full of hunting necessities, and his necklace with the Conclave helix. 

At the last second, he grabs a jacket and pulls the hood up to keep the beating rain from soaking him through. While he has some talent with magic to help him heal faster and make his blows stronger and faster, he’s not skilled in the way of weather or anything advanced enough to keep him dry and comfortable. 

Nervousness settles into him as he takes the subway to the Warehouse District. It’s not far, but the train is empty and filled with dirty puddles left behind from passengers. Lights flicker above as the subway rockets unevening on the tracks, making him dizzy. 

When he steps off the train and into the wet underground of the station entrance, he knows something is amiss. His fingers twitch as he jogs up the steps, boots splashing loudly as the rain comes down. Wind whips at him here and when he hears a crack of thunder too loud and rumbling to be human, his instincts kick in.

Yoongi takes off running. He knows where your warehouse-turned-loft is. He’d originally scouted it out to eliminate you. Now, it’s something he’s always kept an eye on, steering other hunters away from your home. It’s silly, he knows. You’d call him weak if you knew, probably. And yet he does it, diverting danger coming your way when he can.

Now, danger is already there. 

The storm rages harder as he heads your direction. Wind pushes at him, making Yoongi lock his muscles as he fights the freezing cold rain and the debris that blows down the street with the force of the storm. He hopes that it keeps people indoors and away from the prowler. 

But Yoongi sees the purple lighting lance out of the sky, an explosion of radiant beauty for a moment before it strikes nearby, blowing transforms into white sparks and he realizes what is so uncanny about this storm. 

It’s you. You’re the storm. 

A roar of rage shakes the air as he comes around the corner to your street. The warehouse you live in is at the end of the road right up against the bay. The wind is mixed with salt spray, stinging his eyes as he runs towards the shadowy outline of your building, nearly impossible to see in the rain and night.

Yoongi manages to roll one of the heavy doors open to your loft, muscles screaming with effort. Stepping inside, chaos greets him. The ceiling is blown out above your home, rain pouring in from the sky. It tastes like lightning and blood. No doubt your storm is what ripped the ceiling apart, but when he sees the prowler, he doesn’t blame you. 

A massive creature stands ten feet tall, rippling with leathered hide and spikes on its back. Long, gangly limbs drag on the floor with black, sharpened talons on the end of each of its three fingers. The prowler walks awkwardly and Yoongi notes the scorch mark in its left shoulder, making it lean as it drags itself toward its intended target. 

Which is you, laying on the ground bloody and rain soaked. Yoongi doesn’t even think. He has no idea if you’re conscious or not, but he’s moving across the room, putting power into his step as he pulls out two of his daggers and jumps high up into the air. 

Yoongi’s intent is to land on the back of the prowler and sink each blade in as he falls. He doesn’t anticipate the demon to turn away from bloodied prey, but it does, swinging its arm wildly to bat him away. He’s lucky that the forearm catches him in the stomach and sends him flying and not the flaws.

Closing his eyes and bracing for impact, Yoongi is surprised when he doesn’t slam into a wall. He opens his eyes to see himself floating toward the floor, suspended briefly before the phantom energy drops him gently. He lands with shock, looking up to where you’re sitting up, one hand extended toward him.

At least you weren’t out cold or dead. Yoongi is really happy that you’re not dead, but it’s cut short as the prowler charges him. 

This time, Yoongi’s ready. He runs at the beast, waiting until he’s right outside of the window of its swiping claws before he dives to his knees, sliding under the creature and between its legs. He twists his hands, cutting the inside of the creature’s thighs as he goes.

It shrieks, shaking the building and scattering Yoongi’s thoughts. He feels fizzy and confused for a moment, the mind breaking scream of the prowler enough to make him vulnerable. He feels a hand on his face and he looks up, momentarily stricken with the thought that he sees an angel. 

“Thank you,” you breathe, and he recognizes your voice. Usually it cracks like a whip, but this is soft. Strange. It terrifies him. “I’m going to do something that is probably going to kill me. Just know that I liked our game, Hunter.”

“What are you doing, Witch?”

Your smile is like the sun. He doesn’t think he’s seen anything more beautiful. Your face is covered in blood and rain, turning your neck scarlet as it runs. There’s a gash above your brow and he sees a blackened wound in your stomach. 

It is amazing, how a creature like you, bred to be an evil, wicked thing can look radiant. Holy. Wonderful. Your hand is cradling his face and it feels warm, despite the rain and blood on your hands. Your thumb is soft as it sweeps across his cheek, a touch more reverent than he’s ever known. 

“Witch,” Yoongi starts, unsure what you’re doing. 

“I’ll miss that. Take this.” 

Before Yoongi can react, your hand falls from his face. You move past him with absolute confidence, lifting your chin. You have a limp as you do, and Yoongi reaches after you but you’re already out of his grip.

Something stirs in the air. He’s only felt power rippling like that once before when he was a child, and the entire Conclave worked together to slaughter an Eldritch Witch that had attacked them and taken out more than half of their hunters.

Now, Yoongi feels that dark presence again, energy buzzing against his ears as he turns to look at you over his shoulder. The prowler senses the power disturbance too, backing away from you as dark particles begin to gather around your hands.

Above you, the rain hovers, disrupted by the frequency of your magic. The buzz in Yoongi’s ears gets louder as he climbs to his feet, clapping his hands firmly over his ears, wincing as it gets higher and louder. He thinks it might burst his ear drums or crack his skull open. 

Disks of dark particles circle you as you approach the demon, which is now roaring once more, trying to disrupt your thoughts. It doesn’t work, the air vibrating with dark matter. You’re at the center of the swirling darkness, the rings rotating around you like an access.

The sound stops suddenly, and for a moment, Yoongi thinks he’s deaf. Black matter pulses from you, exploding outward. Yoongi hits the floor, realizing if he gets hit with your magic, he’ll die. Never before has he witnessed the Eldritch Blast of a witch, but he knows that it's only used as a final stand.

I’m going to do something that is probably going to kill me. 

The finality of your words shreds him open as the shockwave of your magic barrels at him. He thinks he’s going to die as it expands toward him, but instead, it arches over him, battling down against a magical barrier. 

Take this. Yoongi realizes you’ve warded him from your destruction, keeping him safe as your blast levels the world around you. He feels the magic beating down on your ward like raging fits, vibrating and shrieking under the pressure of the magic. 

It even keeps him from being injured by the collapsing debris. 

Yoongi looks at you as the world falls to pieces. You go down to one knee, then the other, swaying as the darkness cascades around you in a final flutter of power. Then you fall over, heavy and unmoving as the rest of the building comes down. 

All he can do is scream.

-

Most nights, you dream of Yoongi. You don’t know when it started - perhaps that first night after you met him? You can’t be sure. All you know is that at some point, the hunter poisoned you from the inside out, a disease taking root and rotting you all the way through to your core. 

You always knew that dreaming of him would get you killed one day. But Yoongi was different. Wiser than the rest of his wretched Conclave. Smart enough to question his way of life and his faction’s merciless killings. You think he’ll start asking the right questions soon, that maybe he’ll start seeing the signs that who he has sworn loyalty to isn’t who they say they are.

But Yoongi never asks questions. 

It’s easy to tell he wants to. There’s always that little pause at the end of your meetings. You used to think it was perhaps he was trying to decide whether or not to kill you. Perhaps it was that at first, but now it’s something a little different. A little more. Like he is on the edge of finally asking you what exactly is going on in the city that he protects from monsters.

Yoongi is simple, though. He likes his little life tucked away in the Art District and he likes the wash, rinse, repeat of killing demons and corrupted witches nightly. You think he likes your little run-ins.

Now, you’ve finally paid the price of letting him live these last two years. Had someone told you before you’d met Yoongi that you’d sacrifice yourself for him and the rest of a small neighborhood, you’d have laughed in their face. You weren’t a hero, though some might think slaying your own kind and their creatures was worth praise. 

Penance and praise are not the same, though. 

Dying seems like a good way of paying off your list of wrongs. Especially to save Yoongi. If only to save Yoongi, if you were being honest. 

Witches have a lot of lore about death and where one goes in the afterlife. You’re not sure where you are, if you exist, or if you’re even really a thought. It feels like nothingness and everything all at once, a void of floating consciousness. There’s no pain, but you remember the warehouse. Remember the prowler ripping down the door and coming for you specifically. 

And him. You remember Yoongi coming in, looking like a fucking angel of old as he leapt through the skies. Together you might have taken on the beast. But prowlers are notoriously difficult to destroy, and you were in no shape to protect Yoongi, much less fight by his side as a reliable partner. 

That left you with one option, and though you knew it would end you, you’d done it anyway.

Yoongi’s face swims in your mind. Soft and round, eyes like the bottom of the ocean, a single pink scar carved through his right eye. Mouth soft and petal pink, hair silky and dark, reaching to his shoulders. He’s small for a hunter but he’s strong and broad, his mind his best weapon. 

Witch, Yoongi had said. The last words you’d hear from him, spoken with a softness that you’ve never heard from him before. Rain-soaked and wide eyed Yoongi, looking at you like you held the flame of life, like you were something more than a creature on the other side of the trench. 

The best thing you could do for him was die.

So you summoned your magic from deep within you, that ancient, sleeping thing. You try not to think about what Yoongi’s last memory of you will be, an eldritch horror that will remind him of the creature that slaughtered his family as a child. 

Yoongi will never get to ask his questions. You’ll never get to tell him why you haunt the streets killing your own kind. Yoongi will never know the softness of your kiss. You’ll never know the gentle press of his hands. 

Something brushes across your forehead. You feel now and you frown. Or can you frown, in whatever plane of death this is? You’re not sure, but you feel… the weight of your own body. The beating of your own heart. The rush of air through your lungs as you breathe.

Awareness prickles at the back of your neck like a needle. Slowly, you begin to feel solid. Your fingers twist in soft sheets, and when you turn your head, you feel the plushness of a pillow. Smell petrichor and cedar. 

It smells like… Yoongi. 

“Hmmm?” you feel the vibration in your throat at your unspoken question, nothing but a rumble of noise and confusion. Something cradles your face. “Hunnn..?”

A deep, throaty laugh. “Mmm, I take care of you for a week straight and we’ve moved on to endearments?” 

Your eyes flutter open, lids heavy. The world swims into view, a little blurry as your eyes try to focus in the dimly lit room, taking in the bed you’re in and the face hovering above yours. 

“Yoongi,” you breathe, your heart expanding with unfettered joy. 

“That’s the first time you’ve ever said my name.”

“What?”

“Say it more often.” He leans forward and you watch as his dark eyes drink you in. “And never do that to me again.”

Before you can ask him what that is, Yoongi’s mouth is pressing against yours. You melt immediately, going boneless in a bed you’re unfamiliar with, lost in the citrusy taste of his mouth and the gentle press of his lips. His kiss is soft soft soft, blurring reality as he pulls at your bottom lip teasingly before pulling away.

Eyes fluttering open, you stare at him in wonder. He hovers above your face, haloed by inky-black hair. “Yoongi.”

He smiles. “It sounds much better than hunter. Hun can stay, though.”

“You’re not calling the shots.”

“You’re in no condition to fight me.”

“I killed a prowler, I think you’re no problem.”

His eyes glow. “I think perhaps you’re right. But for now, you’re at my mercy.”

“Kiss me again.” You lift your hands and bring them toward his face, brushing a finger over the bottom of his scar. “And don’t stop this time. I’ll ask my questions later.”

“Of course, witch.” 

Yoongi’s kiss is hungrier now. Desperate. Full of all the questions he never asked and you meet him with equal fire. You don’t care that you’ve beat the odds and lived. You don’t care about anything else but the weight of Yoongi straddling your waist and the feel of his velvet soft skin beneath your hands. 

Every inch of him is warm, filled with the heat of the hunter’s fire that burns through every member of the Conclave. This hunter burns brighter than the rest, though. Warmth blooms where your fingers press over his stomach and chest, ridding him of his shirt. Fire burns where you grab his arms, arching into him as his teeth skim your throat. 

You’ve never felt this in sync with someone, bodies twining together like you were made for one another. Yoongi’s hand is scorching as his touch ghosts down your body, his touch light and teasing as he lowers his mouth to your hardened nipple, catching it and giving a gentle suck.

Honey-dipped moans slip from your mouth. Yoongi’s mouth is wet-hot against your skin, tongue laving hungrily as his hand seeks the heat between your legs. Your thighs open for him easily, giving Yoongi access to the dripping mess of your folds. He curses when his fingers slide between your slit, gathering slick to circle his digits around your clit.

“Fuck,” you hiss, hips twitching. “Don’t bother. I can take you now. Want you now.”

“I told you that you were at my mercy.” You summon your magic, rattling his shelves. Yoongi leans over to your neglected nipple and plucks it with his teeth, making you squeal and shiver, pleasure rattling you. “Fine,” he agrees. “Greedy witch. Should have known.”

“Not greedy,” you shoot back as Yoongi sits up and sheds his pants. Your hands follow him, tracing the faint scars on his stomach, pressing against the muscle of his tapered hips. “I’ve waited for months for you to do something. To say something.”

“I’m not good at that.” 

You hum. “It takes me dying for you to take initiative?” 

“A lesson hard-learned and never to be repeated.”

Yoongi’s cock is hard, bobbing heavily as he shuffles you under him and presses your thighs open for him. The brown tip is sticky with precum, his shaft long and thick enough to make your cunt ache for him more.

“Nice cock,” you tease as he pumps himself, hand gliding and spreading his precum down his shaft.

He grunts. “Can’t wait to feel this fucking pussy,” he mutters, leaning forward and pressing the tip to your entrance. You make a breathy sound, eyes fluttering shut at the pleasure-pained stretch. “Think you can take it, witch?”

“Yes.”

Yoongi sinks in and you second-guess your statement for a second, but the stretch of his cock pressing you open feels good. Deliriously so, your back arching as he bottoms out. You feel him in your gut, deeper than anything ever before and you whine as he draws his hips back before snapping them forward, punching the breath from your lungs.

He sets a deep, hard pace. You grip his biceps, feeling the muscle flex in his arms. Every part of you is on fire, lit up from the closeness of your bodies as Yoongi leans down and melds your mouths together, continuing to fuck you so deep you know you’ll never forget what it feels like.

Every brush of his cock against your g-spot drives you mad. Every whisper of your name - your name, not witch - makes you shudder. His tongue is hungrily as it brushes against yours, his moans deep and throaty as your pussy grips him tight. 

“Fuck,” he pants, sliding a hand down your body to grab your thigh and hoist your leg higher. It changes the angle, making his stroke somehow deeper. Your eyes roll back and your head digs into the mattress as you fist at the sheets. “You can fucking take it.”

“Keep going.”

“As if i could fucking stop.” 

You never want him to stop. Fucking you, kisses you, teasing you, shadowing you as you take on the world. You want every part of your life colored with Yoongi. You want him to be a part of your mornings, your fights, your weaknesses, your strengths. You want to rile him up, needle him with little insults that get him going. Tease him to make him laugh and share that secret smile. 

Every moment has led to this. You don’t know how you never saw this outcome, here with him, crying out his name as your orgasm crests into an unstoppable force. When you come around him, it’s with his name in your mouth and so much need for him in your heart that you think you might explode with energy for a second time. 

After, when you’re wrapped in Yoongi and you feel his hunter’s skin blaze against you, sweat-slick skin pressed close, you think that finally, he’ll ask those questions. You’ll give him answers. 

“Don’t do that ever again, witch,” Yoongi warns. “I will follow you into death.” 

[candiedspit]

Smear Frame (1992)

The night I got home from the hospital, we had peas and squash and good chicken. Nobody spoke. The radio spoke for us; vitamin deficiencies, lights spotted across Vegas, another building demolition. The first couple of days, I stayed in my room throwing a ball against the wall, doing long division in my head. The television playing a documentary about squid brains. On the third night, mama asked what I was planning to do.

You can be a thing in the world, she told me.

We were in the kitchen, the evening light staining the windows above the sink.

You do have a choice, she continued. But you choose to suffer like an idiot. Even the rabbit knows better than to follow the wolf.

Learn something, Jane.

And she left the room. I held her words in the belly of my chest, going over them again and again. That night, I got dressed in my trench coat and went out to the middle of town. The lights were buoyant and fresh, amazing slashes, amazing range. The moon was pinned against the skies like a cop’s badge. I stepped into Lousy’s which was a bar I had been to before. I liked it because it was dark and cold. I often pretended I was in a cave or in some sort of comet, minutes away from approaching the quiet tendrils of earth.

I ordered a Shirley temple and sat at the bar watching the bartender spin and shake and serve drinks.

What’s the drink with the longest name? I asked.

A terrible, unearthed bitter and lame dirt tonic, he said.

I mused on this for a while and eventually someone spoke to me. An older woman wearing red and large earrings asked me what time it was. I shrugged.

Maybe sometime around midnight, I said.

Don’t you have a watch? She asked. What kinda man doesn’t have a watch?

The question of my masculinity continues to come under fire, I laughed.

So, what’s your problem? She asked. Why are you here at maybe sometime around midnight?

I got out of the loony bin last weekend, I said. I’m trying to map out the world again.

How long were you in there for?

Six weeks, I said.

Do they zap your brain? She asked. I had a cousin like that, always in and out of those places.

How is he doing? I asked.

On the side of the road, she said. Begging for cash, not hiding the bad time he’s having.

That’s admirable. But no, they didn’t zap my brain.

Did they strangle you with Valium?

I was never sedated, I said.

Who put you there?

My parents, I said, I was seeing the holes in the plot, could see the failing strings in the fabric of the universe, the whole picture. I stoped eating, stopped sleeping. All I did was play chess with spirits and paint my nails over and over again. I showed the woman my hands. See? They’re clean.

The woman was quiet, sipped on her drink. I continued.

It was sorta nice, I admitted, not speaking to anyone but sounding out the idea.

Being taken care of like an infant who can’t speak. You get medication in the morning and you moan about the news. Someone starts screaming. Someone stops screaming. You go into a dreamless, milky sleep. And your roommate mumbles in his sleep, sweet robotic poems. And you don’t have a pencil so you commit them to memory; a fog roars, abstain, chapel, chapel, chapel. And you disappear from the world. Headlines float around every day and you wander around the unit making funny faces to entertain yourself and someone calls you and they ask how you are and you tell them you can’t wait to go home. And then you get home and the world is indifferent.

Cheers, the woman said.

And we clinked our glasses. Around three, the woman stood up and gave me her number and shook my hand and left. I kept the slip of paper in my coat pocket. I went out to walk by the river-end, watching the rising of the waters, the night reflected on the surface, dark rivulets. A sort of vile peace.

A couple of months afterward, I found work at a fish market. Slicing trout in half and packaging swordfish into white papers. The work was mindless, bleeding work. Nobody spoke to me. I smoked cigarettes. When I got home, the house smelled of blood.

A while later on, I called the woman. I was on my way home from work. I had not spoken to another human being in ten hours. I had forgotten what my voice sounded like. I could see myself getting slower by the minute. Words died in my head like vermin. The woman answered within four rings. I explained who I was. The boy in the trench coat. It was nighttime and we spoke for a while. You were drinking a tall martini and every so often would dive into your purse to fix your lipstick.

You sound different, she said.

I feel different, I said. I feel like an aspirin. I feel like a headache that won’t resolve.

Where are you? She asked.

By the river, I said. I like seeing the water enunciate. Where are you?

She told me she was making tea for her husband.

He’s not feeling well, she said. I’m doing what people say to do; ginger and saltines and warm baths. But he’s persistent with his pain.

Some people are, I said.

The clouds are fragrant tonight, I continued.

It’s getting late. I can see my mother checking the time, fidgeting in the kitchen then checking again. It’s something I relish. Getting home late. The worry she must feel. The worst things happen in your brain. Perhaps I fell down a flight of stairs. Perhaps I cut my hand open on a knife and I’m in the hospital bleeding out beneath the fluorescent lights. She has a feeling but doesn’t want to endorse the feeling in case it becomes a truth. And when I arrive at last, the feeling subsides and instead is replaced with a mute disappointment. I am the one she loves but not the one she missed.

I began to call the woman—whose name I never bothered to ask for, I wanted to name her myself—often. When I was on my lunch break barely eating a tuna sandwich. When I was smoking cigarettes. When I was in my room reading the newspaper and playing with myself. When I was half asleep.

Once, I was naked in bed with the radio on, and there was a sullen exasperation in my stomach. I felt as though I knew when I was going to die and if I focused long enough the date would come to me, would emerge from the foggy brain matter and I would be freed. I had been thinking of death for weeks. Death was my babe, my habit. I had visions of my own death. Dying struck by a moving car and being stuck in the tire. An aneurysm so I’m alive one moment and exploding the next. Being stunned by a bullet and feeling my cells gasp in unison.

Death is an orgasm, I told the woman one night. Death is a great, wondrous love. You go into the light. You feel peace for the first time in your pathetic silly little life.

You sound twisted, the woman said. Death is what you avoid, everything you do, you do to put death out. Your bravado is not going to protect you from what will happen or what has happened.

That winter I was sleepless. I slept for thirty minutes at a time, watched the sunrise slur into my windows, made tea for my parents and gutted samurai fish and wrapped tuna and walked around town, dreaming of poisonous gas. Sometimes, I choked on my visions.

One afternoon, I felt a pop in the back of my head and walked out of work during my lunch break. And walked straight home. When my mother saw me, she placed me on the couch and pointed a flashlight in my eyes and placed a cold towel on my forehead. I mumbled for the angels.

I had been in the hospital for two weeks when I called the woman, I had been blotted out and cast into a week of sleep. I was feeling alright.

What kind of dreams have you been having? The woman asked,

I don’t dream, I told her. I stumble in and out of sleep like a newly born calf. I feel like I’m full of milk, a white calmness in my arteries, a saline stillness.

Come see me, I said. Come see my blue scrubs and bandaged fingers and dirty acne and limp, sedated gait.

I will, she said.

It was New Year’s Eve when she came. The nurses had hung up garlands and the television played the ball drop in New York City; that mirage a thousand light years away.

We were given virgin champagne and the nurses counted down with us and the woman was there, her hand on my back.

Focus on living one breath at a time, she said. Count the breaths until you forget you’re even counting.

The year turned over onto her stomach. That night, I laid down and recounted the poem again.

Chapel. Chapel. Chapel.

[thegirlwhorideslikeasamurai]

When did Viktor choreograph Stammi Vicino and did he commission the music?

This post is the first part of series of metas in which I analyse Viktor's free programme with the aim to find the likeliest explanations of the source material.

1. Did Viktor commission the music for Stammi Vicino?

Let's start with a piece of meta information from interviews with the YOI staff! According to Mitsurou Kubo, the aria is a piece of music that exists in the world of YOI, but it's unclear whether it exists because Viktor commissioned it or whether it existed before. Sayo Yamamoto instructed the composer of YOI (Matsushiba Taku) to compose the song in the style of an Italian opera from the 19th century using some prepared plot for the piece (I assume that's about the lyrics). But unlike Shall We Skate, Destiny of Nights, or The Inferno, which are from soundtracks of movies that we know exist in YOI, Stammi Vicino has never been explicitly labelled a song from an opera—neither in the anime nor in any interview.

Or in other words: The information the creators provided can be interpreted either way.

However, we have this:

Technically, the YOI creators might just have used footage of this programme because there was no time to animate Viktor skating an entirely different routine. However, since the creators had to condense to plot of YOI to ~50% of its initial size into 12 episodes, every scene and every image demanded to be filled with meaning. Instead of animating Viktor skating a different programme, they could have used a series of pictures that show adult Viktor in different costumes (like those that had been drawn for Yuuri's room), but they didn't do that either, which suggests that Viktor commissioned Stammi Vicino.

From a storytelling perspective, it would make no sense to combine Yuuri's inner monologoue about Viktor having music written for his programme with a short scene of Viktor skating said programme if he didn't commission the music. As Viktor’s fan, Yuuri knows which songs Viktor commissioned because skaters love to talk about these things in interviews.

This scene makes it seem as if Viktor has been commissioning music for his programmes for several seasons at least. While this doesn’t rule out the possibility that he occasionally picked a song that already exists for whichever reason, Stammi Vicino applies to Viktor’s situation at the beginning of the show so neatly that the lyrics must have been tailored to him. The commentator’s words while Viktor is skating his FS furthermore suggest that this programme shows a new and personal side of him. Of course, that could also work for a song that already exists, but how likely is it that such a song 100% matches the vision of a perfectionist? A genius like Viktor would rather think “Okay, that’s nice. But this verse and that verse don’t match my idea at all. I think I'll call my composer and ask them to write a song for me.”

Stammi Vicino holds unambiguous references to Plato’s Symposium, which the YOI creators have talked about repeatedly. And while this is neither an argument for or against the song already existing long before Viktor even thought about a new free programme, it seems too coincidental from a storytelling perspective.

To me, all this points to Viktor commissioning Stammi Vicino because taken all facts together, it’s what makes the most sense.

2. When did Viktor choreograph Stammi Vicino?

The first time we see Viktor wearing the Stammi Vicino costume, is right at the beginning of episode 1 at the GPF. While there is no rule against wearing the same costume for different programmes and costumes are expensive, you don’t see this often in real figure skating. Some figure skaters even get a new costume for the same programme mid-season because matches the purpose better.

The music, the composition and choreography, and costume build the concept of a figure skating programme. The more perfectionist a skater is (and many top skaters actually are), the more specific you can bet they are about the concept. Viktor is a perfectionist who has full authority over his programmes and he could probably afford having several costumes per programme. Wearing the same costume for several programmes would be a breach of his characterisation.

Could Viktor have changed his programme mid-season if he had set his mind on it?

Let’s assume for one moment that Viktor did indeed create Stammi Vicino because of his encounter with Yuuri at the GPF in Sochi. Why would the creators have put him into the same costume as he wears three months later at Worlds but designed costumes for JJ and Chris?

Does he wear the same costume because he met Yuuri there? Well, Yuuri approached him at the banquet, which is held on the last day of an event when competitions, medal ceremonies, and the gala are done. To reflect Viktor's first actual meeting with Yuuri in a programme, wearing suit like the one he wore that night as a costume would make way more sense.

Some skaters change their programme mid-season. Some switch back to an old programme, other skaters create an entirely new programme. If Viktor had indeed created Stammi Vicino because of his encounter with Yuuri (and with the costume from the GPF), the earliest time he could have started working on it would have been after Russian Nationals, which are two weeks after the GPF. The one week he has between both events at home, leaves him just enough time to pitch the idea to his composer.

For a top skater like Viktor, the one month between Russian Nationals (late December) and Europeans (late January the following year) is enough to practise a new free programme and win with it. There are a couple of skaters who are reckless enough to do that like Stéphane Lambiel who switched his free programme right before Worlds 2005 and won.

However, the show refutes this theory because Yuuri himself says that he started practising Stammi Vicinio when the competitions ended for him. That was at Japanese Nationals which happen to take place at the same weekend as Russian Nationals—at a time when he has already seen Viktor skate this programme several times in competition and had footage to use for his practice.

All the hints the show gives us point to Viktor having created Stammi Vicino at the beginning of the season that is still ongoing in episode 1. And there’s a beauty in this choice because it gives Viktor an agenda beyond his love interest. Well-crafted characters exist outside of their interactions and relationships with the rest of the cast. Viktor had a life before Yuuri and this life was lonely and his (secret) longing for love was an inherent part of it. Especially in a show that is limited to 12 episodes and in which every image is filled with meaning, including details that hint at the characters’ past are beyond precious.

I’m preparing a follow-up post that subjects the lyrics to a detailed examination. And I'm planning another and probably very long and very technical post that analyses the composition of the programme.

Thanks for reading! 💜💙

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