#it was a mind fuck and it took so long to figure out how to process and unpack all that...

[7-deadly-cats]

killing me softly | 16

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

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

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

✿ C O N T E N T W A R N I N G ✿ swearing, suggestive language & themes, rafe ovulating, angsty and overthinking reader, some verbal tension, some very long-ass conversation starting in the second half, reader having some intense episode of spiraling and need for reassurance, rafe being very dramatic at the end aka him jumping to the craziest conclusion known to man aka he's actually going insane (monologue only), also rafe being possessive and if you look closely also some unresolved trauma of abandonment, some hints at past platonic kiara x rafe

✿ S U M M A R Y O F L A S T P A R T ✿ waking up with a hangover, the first thing you saw when opening your phone was the drunk texts you’d sent to rafe after getting home last night. the two of you had exchanged blurry selfies, and rafe had made some very suggestive comments. cringing at yourself, you texted cara to meet up later. after your shower, you found rafe in the living room bc he wanted bring you your forgotten bag. his bruise getting looked at by your dad (rafe later claimed he told your dad the bruise was an accident with a golf club). your mom invited rafe for lunch and they seemed to like him. afterward, you and rafe are left alone with him suggesting to continue your project. you being too hungover declined. rafe decided to drag you outside so you could properly sober up. in his car, rafe gave you his phone to shut kelce's spamming up. however, opening the chat, an upper body pic of kelce greeted you. after replying to kelce in rafe's name, you got a little too curious scrolling through the chat and finding thirst trap of rafe (the boys seemingly update each other with their gym progress). rafe caught you staring but he shrugged it off with a cocky remark. you finally arrived at the health store rafe claimed had magical anti-hangover smoothies. and somewhere between the car ride and the smoothies, you started to get the feeling that maybe, just maybe, rafe actually liked you more than you originally thought.

✿ W O R D C O U N T ✿ 10.4k+ (reader's fault)

✿ A / N ✿ getting to add some barry action into KMS? don't mind if i do hihihii;; also literally so anxious about this part (i know i say this with every new chapter help) bc the second half took me a while to figure out or rather i had a hard time debating how i wanted their convo to go AND which pov i wanted it to be in and ngl i actually had to keep my own patience in check with reader 🤣 and well, i’m always scared some stuff might feel forced or rushed, especially bc i’m aiming for a natural development BUT ANYWAY, it is what it is and i hope you guys enjoy. as always, lmk what you think <3

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"That looks like the stuff that came out of me this morning," you said with scrunched-up brows as you crouched in front of the smoothies' fridge at Bulk & Bloom (shit, yeah, that was the actual shitty-ass name, and no, Kelce was not a co-founder).

And somehow, seeing you in that position there beside him, lips slightly parted in a way that could be viewed suggestive in a different setting, Rafe had no fucking clue why, but the sight did something to him. Suddenly, there was an urgent need to think of wrinkly old grandmas and dead puppies.

Rafe let out a chuckle. "Which end?"

You blinked at him, deadpan. “Your sense of humor is horrible.”

Fucking hell. And now you were looking up at him with that bratty gaze. Rafe tried to think about literally anything other than how badly he wanted to—

Fuck, what.

"Shit, still better than expressing my feelings through some fucked-up images that look like they came straight out of a crackhead’s brain," he shot back with a crooked smile.

Because yeah, your weird-ass reaction pictures? Only Wheezie seemed to understand what the hell those pictures were supposed to mean, or how to use them (not that he'd shown them to anyone else anyway). And Rafe still questioned his own sanity for actually asking his little sister to explain them to him.

Not because he cared, of course. He just didn’t want you to think he was beneath you when it came to that crap.

You turned your gaze back to the line-up of smoothies. "Should be easy enough for you to understand, considering you and the crackhead share similar hobbies."

Oh, how badly Rafe wanted to shut you up and teach you some respect in a way that made his blood rush faster and adrenaline shoot higher.

He had skipped the fucking coke this morning on purpose, and he was still having these insane thoughts. Worsening by the minute.

"Real funny," he muttered.

You chuckled. "Who says I’m joking?"

Rafe scoffed. You were definitely doing this on purpose—acting all bratty, just to get a rise out of him. And he seriously questioned how the fuck you had the confidence to act like that when just earlier in his car, you’d been a stuttering, awkward mess after he'd caught you staring at his post-gym pic like you’d just pulled a legendary FIFA card.

“Feeling bold now, huh?” he said. “Funny, considering you were damn near drooling on my phone a few minutes ago.”

And the little side-eye you threw him? Brows furrowed, lips pressed together? Rafe drank that shit up like ice-cold water.

He raised his eyebrows in anticipation as you looked at him. Yeah, how were you gonna talk your way out of that one? With another I-I didn’t mean to, sorry, I just—

"I'm not ashamed to admit that Kelce has a nice build."

what.

Rafe didn’t even feel his smile drop or his brows furrow because the sudden rush of anger hit so fast, it short-circuited everything else.

Like, what the fuck.

Obviously, he hadn’t been talking about fucking Kelce. It had been his pic. Him your nosy little ass had been staring at.

Shit. No fucking way.

Had he been right to suspect something during that project session at Kelce’s? Did you actually have a thing for that fucker? He couldn’t wrap his head around it. Couldn’t fucking understand how—

You little shit.

The second that sly smile crept onto your lips, the tension in Rafe’s jaw eased.

Shit, how badly he wanted to shut your mouth. And you still crouching next to him only fueled the flashing images in his head.

"Hilarious," Rafe muttered with a scowl, gesturing toward the fridge. "Now have you finally picked one? They all taste the fucking same anyway."

And you had the audacity to chuckle in response.

God, you were eating away at Rafe’s last nerve, which somehow just worsened the pressure building in his chest. And the crazy part? It was the kind of pressure he usually only got rid of when he was knee-deep in some random girl.

And that thought triggered more images. Of you. Sounds you’d make. The way you’d get all flustered and—

Fuck this shit.

No way he needed to get off that badly that you ended up being the one his brain fixated on.

It was just pent-up tension. Yeah, that was it. Just because he hadn’t gotten the chance to take care of it last night—thanks to fucking Topper crashing in the guest room with him—and you just happened to be the nearest girl around for his brain to throw into those kinds of scenarios.

It’s fine, he told himself. Gonna take care of that shit later at home.

"Well, you claimed one of them helps with hangovers," you said, eyeing him with an amused smile. "How am I supposed to know which one to pick when they're called..." You leaned forward (Rafe took that as a green light to check out your ass) and squinted at the name tags on the dumbass smoothies. "Maxx Mass Mango, Triceps Tropic Thunder, or," you let out an embarrassed laugh, "The Triple Load."

Rafe let out a low chuckle because the way you'd said it—so innocent, so awkward—was fucking priceless. You getting flustered over anything even remotely suggestive? Stupidly hilarious.

"I think one load will be enough for you today," he said with a lopsided grin, relishing the way you immediately looked away with a frown, all awkward again. Then he reached into the fridge for the Thirst Aid bottle and held it out to you. "Now let’s get the fuck out of here before the first wave of lunchtime joggers comes crashing in."

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“Wait here. I’ll be right back.” Rafe unbuckled his seatbelt, grabbed his wallet from the center console, and reached for a backpack in the back seat.

Okay. Three funny things: One, he had clearly lied to you earlier at home because this definitely meant he was about to do something sketchy. Two, you still hadn’t recovered from those ridiculously named smoothies. And three… guess where you were?

Barry’s pawn shop.

Like yeah, you'd kinda figured he and Rafe knew each other with Rafe selling fucking coke to his classmates. And sure, Barry probably wasn’t the only plug in the Cut but still, funny coincidence that it was him.

Aka the same guy Cara got her weed from.

Aka the guy she lowkey tried setting you up with since you'd first met him.

Barry was chill and cool, and okay, objectively speaking, he had a pretty face if you ignored the tangled hair and commitment-issues beard. And yeah, okay, you did like him, but in a completely platonic way.

More like two bros. Except for that one very steamy dream you'd had about him once that we’re never, ever talking about again from this point on.

Okayyyyy, hahaha, moving on.

But since you were already here, you kinda wanted to say hi.

"The fuck are you doing?" Rafe snapped as he saw you unbuckle your seatbelt just as he was about to get out of the car.

You eyed him dryly. "Getting out?"

"No. I told you to wait here." Oh, this dude was DEFINITELY picking up drugs with that sudden change in tone.

"Yeah, I have ears," you said with a scoff, slinging your bag over your shoulder and reaching for the car's door.

Rafe’s jaw clenched. "I’m fucking serious. Stay here."

You chuckled at how ridiculous he sounded, your gaze flicking to the backpack on his lap. "Why? Because you’re about to do some sketchy shit in there?"

"Because I don’t need some girl clinging to my ass everywhere I go," he snapped.

Braincells = 0.

You blinked. "Correct me if I'm wrong but weren't you the one asking me to come along?"

He looked so dumb with his lips pressed tight, brows drawn, and hugging his backpack like a pissed-off schoolboy running out of patience.

Eyeing you with an irritated smile, he said, “You don’t actually think—”

“Okay, no,” you cut him off, body shifting back toward him. “Which part of what I've said offended you now?”

Rafe’s brows twitched. His brain was probably running a marathon trying to figure out why he was actually pissed off.

“I don’t have the fucking patience to argue right now,” he muttered, voice strained. “Just fucking stay here. I’ll be back in five minutes, okay?”

Considering his usual reactions, that was almost a polite reassurance.

“Well, maybe I’ve got business in there too,” you said, brows raised.

Oh, this idiot found that hilarious. His face lit up like a kid watching a clown trip over its own shoes. “Yeah, nah, I doubt that.”

You held his gaze without saying a word. He didn’t want a discussion? Fine. Let him stew in the awkward silence and realize how dumb he was acting.

National Geographic should honestly study this dude because the silent treatment riled him up more than anything else, and you were this close to snapping a photo of his dumb little expression.

He ran a hand over his face and nodded dramatically. “Fine, then come along, for fuck’s sake. Don’t piss me off. But don’t start whining if some crackhead in there gives you a dirty look.”

You pressed your lips together, trying to suppress a smile. He sounded mad, but: “So you were trying to keep me away from shady people. How heroic."

“If it helps the voices in your head,” he muttered, the most dramatic scowl painted across his face. “Now get your ass moving, don't wanna get stabbed out here.”

“I’ll be damned,” Barry said with a lazy grin as you and Rafe stepped into the little shop. “Country Club and Little Alley Cat showing up together? What is it—my birthday?”

You chuckled, heart skipping a beat for… WHATEVER REASON. OKAY, MOVING ON.

The shop was completely empty, aside from grumpy Larna who sat in the back room behind a desk, glancing up with a death glare before going back to whatever she was doing.

Fucking dumbass Rafe just blinked, flabbergasted and visibly disoriented. Apparently, he hadn’t expected you to know his plug, and for some reason, that made the whole thing feel like home turf.

“You two fucking know each other?” he asked, face scrunched like he’d just bitten into a lemon.

Barry chuckled, leaning on the counter. “You can bet your spoiled little ass on it.” Then he turned to you with a smirk. “And I see Little Kitty has finally gotten herself a guard dog.” He nodded toward Rafe. “Hoping you got him checked for rabies with that temper of his.”

Why did everyone just assume you and Rafe had something going on? You two weren’t exactly radiating happy couple energy. Then again, Rafe wasn’t known for having female friends (which you also weren't), so... yeah.

Rafe tilted his head toward you, ignoring Barry completely. “How the fuck do you know this fucker?”

You had to bite your lip not to smirk at the way he immediately got so worked up.

“Easy, pretty boy,” Barry cut in before you could even respond, clearly amused. “You better be nice to that lady or I’ll beat your rich ass.” He tapped his own cheek. “That bruise of yours? Don’t wanna end up with a matching one on the other side.”

OH. MY. GOD.

The butterflies in your stomach that usually went berserk for Rafe? Yeah, a few of them were dancing for Barry now. Because Dealer Barry stepping up for you in front of Dumbass Rafe? That was… kinda sweet, not gonna lie.

Rafe furrowed his brows, clutching the strap of his backpack like a schoolboy on his first day, about to throw a tantrum because he didn’t wanna go.

He squinted at you. “So what—you're secretly a fucking crackhead now, or what am I supposed to take from this?”

Seriously. Did this guy ever think before he spoke? Like, he literally dealt coke and snorted it himself, but you’re the crazy one?

At this point, you should question your own sanity for even crushing on this guy.

But the funny part wasn’t how hypocritical he was being, no, it was the fact that he chose to go after you instead of Barry despite him basically threatening Rafe. And there was no way Rafe would let a chance pass to put another guy in his place.

Which made the whole thing even more entertaining because, for once, he clearly didn’t have the upper hand. Usually, he carried this presence, this aura, that screamed “look at me wrong and I’ll beat your ass.”

But here? He seemed small.

Like a hyena baring its teeth at a lion.

Rafe Cameron, proud Kook and official Pogue-hater, actually keeping his mouth shut in front of little pawn shop owner Barry? Fucking hilarious.

“No. Sometimes I'm just tagging along when Cara's picking up her weed,” you said amused, watching the gears in Rafe’s brain grind themselves into dust.

“Miss Fancy Boots actually dropped by earlier,” Barry said. “Had her little mutt with her too.” He made a cupping motion in front of his chest, smiling all big. “Top barely holding on for dear life. Wouldn’t even tell me which backwood shack she was visiting.”

Oh, she was really trying to bag JJ Maybank this time. Best of luck, bestie.

You chuckled, but Rafe beat you to a response with a scowl, stepping forward and dropping his backpack on the counter. “Okay, fuck this. I’m not here to fucking chit-chat.”

Barry gave him a look, something sharp flashing in his eyes, but then he just laughed and peeked into the backpack. “Keep running that mouth and I’ll tell Lil’ Alley Cat who was whining on my couch just a few days ago.” He pushed the backpack back toward Rafe and nodded to the right. “Now move your ass to Larna. She's gonna take care of the rest.”

Rafe smiled bitterly, shaking his head. “Nah, that's not what—”

“I’m in a good mood today, Country Club,” Barry cut in, tapping the counter. “Don’t make me introduce you to the girl hiding under here.”

And somehow… you really didn’t think he was joking and you hoped Rafe knew how to behave.

Thankfully, he did.

With a scoff, he grabbed the backpack, threw you an unreadable look, and disappeared into the backroom where grumpy Larna was waiting.

"So, you and Country Club, huh?" Barry stepped around the counter, leaning against it with a lazy smile on his face. "Didn’t think you’d fall for a Kook prince."

After seeing his idiot side, I hadn’t thought so either.

You smiled sheepishly and adjusted the strap of your bag. “He’s not—I mean, there’s nothing going on between us.”

Barry let out an amused chuckle. “Was already wondering how he managed to get you to stick around, ‘cause that stupid boy?” He pointed his thumb toward the backroom. “Nothing but daddy issues and anger problems. Ain’t worth one look from an Alley Cat.”

Shit, that stupid nickname? Only Barry could make it sound right.

“Yeah, he’s an idiot,” you said with a soft smile, sounding like a widow reminiscing about her dead husband. “But he’s actually kinda fun to be around once you figure out how to deal with him.”

Were you seriously defending Rafe’s stupidity right now?

Barry raised his brows, eyes lighting up with the biggest grin. “Cat’s all smiley and dreamy over a boy. Didn’t think I’d see the day.”

“What? No, I just—” Heat crept up your neck and you shook your head with an embarrassed smile. “We were paired for a school project. That’s how I got to know him better.”

“Ain't seeing you doing school work right now,” Barry replied, his grin widening. “Must be serious if he’s letting you tag along to this stuff here.”

I actually annoyed him so much he just gave in.

You shook your head again, feeling like you were digging your grave deeper with every word. “No, I’m serious. This is just—”

“I’m just messing with you, Lil Kitty Cat. No need to puff your tail,” Barry said, raising his hands with a lazy chuckle. “But you should watch out. Wouldn’t call that fancy-looking boy my friend, but I know his type well enough to say—if he’s keeping you around, there’s a reason.” His tone shifted ever so slightly. “Don’t want my Alley Cat getting bitten by some spoiled hound dog.”

You eyed Barry quietly for a moment. Him warning you about Rafe stirred something strange in your gut, and part of you knew better than to ignore it.

But right now, you were too scared to question it, so all you did was offer a soft smile. “He’s more of a wired Doberman anyway. Big attitude, but pull the leash once and he gets all dramatic.”

To your surprise, Barry didn’t laugh. “A dog’s a dog. They bite if you’re not careful. And for a sweet kitty like you? That shit can turn bad real fast.” He nodded toward the backroom. “And Dobermans? You don’t wanna pull their leash too hard. Loyal and shit until they start thinking they own you. Then it ain’t cute no more. Had an uncle—couldn’t be around people without his mutt flipping out. Damn thing almost took my hand off once."

Your brows furrowed in irritation. It had been funny when Cara had joked about Rafe being possessive and jealous and all, but hearing Barry say it like a genuine warning... yeah, that hit differently.

And suddenly, Rafe’s weird behavior since yesterday started making sense.

Him getting mad when Topper asked you to come along. Him nearly beating the crap out of Rob for no reason. Him now suddenly wanting to spend time with you, being all flirty and suggestive and—oh god, please no.

Maybe this wasn’t about him liking you. Maybe he just hated the idea of someone else playing with a toy he’d throw away the moment he got bored, found another, or worse, shredded it to pieces. And until then, he'd bark at anyone reaching out for it.

The smoothie you'd drank earlier threatened to come back up. You didn’t want to be someone's toy.

“Aww, no. Didn’t mean to wipe that smile off your face, Kitty Cat,” Barry said, his lazy smile returning. “I’m just saying—be careful around a boy like that. Though, I trust you’ll know when to pull your claws out.” He knocked on the counter and chuckled. “Otherwise, just say the word, and I’ll introduce his fancy ass to my girl.”

Barry probably meant well, but your brain had already soaked up his words like a sponge, throwing them into a spiral, dragging them into the most anxious corners of your mind.

Still, you managed a smile. “No worries, Barry. I don’t think he even—”

You didn’t dare finish that sentence as Rafe came out of the backroom, a deep scowl on his face. He didn’t even look at you as he passed between you and Barry, only muttering, “Let’s go.”

“Nah, nah, nah, Country Club,” Barry said, raising his brows and pushing off the counter with a grin. “We ain’t done yet.”

Rafe stopped, turning back with a glare that practically screamed he was done with everyone. He towered over Barry, but somehow still looked small. “I got your shit. What fucking else do you wanna piss me off with?”

Barry ignored him, smiling softly at you. “Was nice seeing you again, Alley Cat. Don’t go running off too far.” He nodded toward the door. “Now get those little paws outta here, I still got some business with this boy.”

An uneasy feeling spread in your stomach, but you knew better than to argue, so you just smiled with a nod. “Yeah, see you around, Barry,” you said, trying to ignore Rafe’s burning stare on you.

You passed him quietly, trying to suppress the sudden thoughts threatening to tear open a pit you thought you’d buried not even a few days ago.

And while you’d entered Barry’s little pawn shop with a smile and warmth in your chest, you left it now with uncertainty in your eyes and a deep heavy feeling in your gut.

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“Okay, what the fuck is going on between you and Barry?” Rafe asked after the two of you had gotten back into the car.

And the reason for that question? Such a funny fucking story. And it started with you even knowing this fucker in the first place. You two apparently getting along—and oh, fun fact—apparently getting along really well, because guess what? Barry hadn’t kept Rafe in the shop to talk business. Oh no, he hadn’t just talked.

He had fucking threatened him.

Said stupid shit like he’d show Rafe how people in the Cut handled things when no one was looking if Rafe didn’t behave. If he dared to hurt or play with you or whatever fucking else Barry had preached like some back-alley saint.

Rafe couldn’t even wrap his head around what that fucking Pogue thought he was doing. Like if Rafe actually wanted to, he could send every cop in town straight to Barry’s crusty little pawn shop and have him write his bullshit threats on the damn cell wall.

Fuck. Like seriously, what the hell was that shit?!

You just shook your head, a weird smile on your lips that didn’t even come close to your eyes. “What? Nothing. Like I said, he’s Cara’s dealer. That’s how I got to know him.”

And now you had the audacity to lie straight to Rafe’s face in his car? Nah.

“He literally threatened to blow my brains out if I looked at you the wrong way,” Rafe said, tapping his temple with a confused laugh. “Like—what kind of crazy-ass psycho bullshit is that? And that weird-ass nickname? No way in hell he isn't your fucking boyfriend or some shit.”

The idea that you belonged to someone—Barry, of all people? That messed with Rafe’s head in ways he couldn’t even begin to explain. It filled him with such rage and confusion, he was so close to grabbing that damn backpack on the backseat, taking out a bundle of coke that stupid grandma had handed him, and snorting a line right off his Mercedes' hood.

But he was so thrown off by your sudden change of demeanor, your whole vibe completely off since Rafe had come back from the shop—strange, distant, almost... bitter—that he decided he'd rather demand some fucking answers.

And when you just smiled weakly instead of snapping back like usual, pushing his buttons, he knew something was up.

“No, that’s just how he is,” you said while buckling your seatbelt, the weird tone in your voice not sounding like you at all. “He only means well.”

Rafe blinked at you, his chest tightening as your eyes finally met his, but something was missing.

“Okay, what the fuck is going on?” he asked, his voice sharper than he meant it to be.

Your brows twitched, and there was a flicker in your gaze he couldn’t place. Again, that strange smile that didn’t fit your face. “What? Nothing,” you replied, shaking your head slightly.

Just nothing. Normally you’d say some shit like, ‘Why are you getting all worked up, I don’t owe you any explanation, blah blah’—but this? It confused Rafe. And it pissed him off that he couldn’t figure it out.

“Barry said some shit to you?” Rafe raised his brows.

That was the only logical explanation. You went in all cocky and smiley, and now you looked like someone had shot a puppy in front of you.

You shook your head again, and Rafe felt a sharp stab of disappointment from how empty you sounded. “No, I’m just tired. Guess the lack of sleep’s finally catching up,” you said with a soft smile.

Rafe clenched his jaw, fingers tapping against the console. He was this close to snapping, but he didn’t want to yell. You’d probably shut down completely. Wheezie did the same thing when Dad started raising his voice and Rafe hated witnessing that.

“Okay, something’s clearly bothering you,” he said, forcing himself to keep his voice steady. “You’re always on about how important it is to talk shit out, and now you’re the one being all weird.”

Seriously, why did your behavior even bother him in the first place? Normally when some chick was trynna act sulky he’d drop her off at her place or kick her out immediately because he didn’t care about that shit.

But with you, he somehow couldn’t and that irritated the fuck out of him. Probably because I deserve some fucking answers.

“There’s nothing to solve because there’s no issue,” you finally said softly, clearly bullshitting.

Rafe clenched his jaw, running through every possible reason why you were suddenly acting like this. “Fuck that. There’s obviously an issue.” He tapped his chest with his fingers. “Did I say something that got the minions in your head running again? Shit, I was just pissed earlier because—”

“No, really. Everything's—”

“Fine? Don’t bullshit me. You were all bold and mouthy earlier and now?” Rafe furrowed his brows, trying to understand what the fuck was going on in your head. “Now you’re acting all wilted and melancholic like Topper after some chick rejects him.”

That got a chuckle out of you, and Rafe felt his features soften.

“I’m not acting wilted,” you said, a little amusement finally slipping back into your voice.

Rafe nodded. “You are. I’m guessing Barry ran his stupid mouth while I was gone.” He narrowed his eyes, another thought hitting him. “Or did that fucker creep on you?”

“What? Oh my god, no,” you replied, shaking your head, puzzled. “No, it’s just…” You held his gaze like you were the one with questions. After a second, you looked down at your fidgeting hands, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “I guess you’re right. I’m probably just creating a problem in my head that doesn’t even exist.”

Rafe frowned. “What the fuck did he say?”

You looked up, pretty eyes somehow carrying that sad little shine again, and Rafe had to fight the sudden urge to storm back into Barry’s shitty shop and drag the guy’s face across the counter.

“I...He didn’t exactly say it… I mean, I’d already been wondering...,” you started, clearly struggling to continue.

Rafe was so fucking close to losing it. He shook his head and gestured to his chest again. “What, huh? Me dealing coke? Is that what suddenly has you all scared? Shit, I’m not some criminal like Barry, okay? I just—”

"No, that's not it", you cut in, voice lacking your usual attitude. "I mean, sure, it's—"

"Holy fucking shit, just spit it out." Rafe couldn't bear you dancing around the answer any longer. Aggressively he gestured toward the pawn shop. "If Barry didn't fucking harass you then I seriously can't fucking imagine what's got you acting like this."

You pressed your lips together, eyes wide, brows raised like some deer about to get shot. "I don't know how to phrase it without it sounding like I'm ... delusional or crazy."

Rafe scoffed amused, both hands gesturing toward you. "Shit, you are crazy. Now fucking spit it out or I'm driving the car into the next fucking tree."

"Okay," you replied with a laugh, the smile quickly fading as your gaze drifted to the fidgeting fingers in your lap. "Okay, I just—" You seemed to take a deep breath in. "What's your business with me?"

Rafe blinked. “What?”

“I…” You pressed your lips together, clutching your bag tighter. “I’m not saying there is any business," you said, a nervous chuckle escaping. "I’m just… confused. I mean, I know we’ve had this conversation before. I know it’s stupid, I’m just…”

You furrowed your brows, meeting his eyes again. “You need to understand, I’m not trying to piss you off. I mean, you're probably right. It’s just my brain spiraling over nothing again. It's just… shit, I know this here is completely casual, I mean we aren't even friends, I just..."

You let out a strained breath, voice unsteady. “I’m not trying to accuse you of anything. I really don’t wanna come across like I’m assuming something’s going on in the first place. I mean, you already think I’m crazy,” you said, a distant smile tugging at your lips. “But obviously it’s totally fine if you’re only looking for a chance at some temporary fun. It’s just… in the hypothetical case you actually do expect something to happen...”

Another awkward laugh slipped out, and you sank into your seat, brows furrowed as you smiled nervously, “God, this is so embarrassing. I’m sorry, I probably sound—”

“Holy fucking shit, you need to chill the fuck out,” Rafe cut in, staring at you like you’d lost your damn mind. Because this? How much fucking longer did you wanna go on?

This was absolutely insane. The way your brain made up all this shit. How the fuck did you even function at all?

He pointed to his temples, eyes wide. “Seriously, this is not just borderline crazy. This is straight-up insane. I mean I am going insane just by listening to this."

“Well yeah, that’s actually what I was trying to say,” you muttered, hands fiddling in your lap. “I just don't understand why you'd wanna hang out with me if I'm getting on your nerves—unless there's some other motive.”

Jesus Christ. Rafe didn’t know anyone with this level of anxiety and overthinking. Not even Wheezie came close.

But that wasn’t what really pissed him off.

Sure, if you were a little nuts, fine. It was even kind of amusing, honestly. At least you had the brains to think about shit.

No, what really pissed him off was that you were questioning him, even after he’d already told you the answer to this topic in school just a few days ago. He'd just tried to help you by suggesting to work at Tannyhill for the next project session but you fucking declined because you'd thought he was just trying to hook up with you.

Okay, yeah, maybe at this point the idea of sleeping with you wasn't exactly unwelcome—though with your nerves, you'd both probably have a mental breakdown halfway through—but it wasn’t about that.

It was about the fucking principle.

You were acting like his word meant nothing. Like he was just some lying, sleazy, piece-of-shit Pogue.

Rafe clenched his jaw, using every ounce of self-control not to snap. “There's no fucking other motive. You make it sound like I'm plotting some crazy-ass shit.”

Your brows twitched, lips pressing together. Somehow, you still didn’t look satisfied.

For a moment, you just stared at him, hesitation flickering in your eyes, but then your voice came out soft, so soft it made Rafe's chest tighten in a way he didn’t like. “I’m not trying to be annoying or—”

“You are,” Rafe interrupted, surprised by the lack of bite in his tone. His face twisted and he raised his shoulders, gesturing at his chest. “Like, I don’t fucking get why you’re questioning me when I already told you—”

“I know.” You nodded, frustration leaking into your voice. “I know and I really appreciate it, but I just… it’s my brain, okay?” You tapped your finger against your temple. “It talks shit and I start believing it and I just can’t stop it. And then I get anxious—especially when someone gives it something to chew on—and it’s just so frustrating because I'm definitely not trying to piss you off, I don’t wanna ruin—I mean, I’m just asking for some reassurance, that’s all.”

Your brows knit together. “But then again, I don’t want some fake reassurance either if you actually—”

“Jesus fucking Christ, I like hanging out with you, okay?” Rafe pressed his lips together as the words left his mouth, not even sure why the fuck he’d said them. Why he even cared enough to listen to all this bullshit. But right now, all he wanted was to shut you the fuck up, so he didn’t bother filtering.

“I’m not trying to get in your pants, alright?” he added, wearing an irritated, almost amused smile. “I’d have to be fucking desperate to put up with all your messed-up crazy shit just for the chance to hook up with you. That's... fuck, I’m not that needy.”

He gestured to you, frustration seeping through his voice. “You piss me off, but I can deal with it. Shit, I think I even like it. You’re not some boring-ass gossip bitch like Ruthie.” He furrowed his brows, refusing to unpack what the hell that meant, now tapping his chest with his fingertips, voice strained. “But what I can’t fucking stand is not being taken seriously.”

Judging by your face, he hadn’t just shut your brain off, he’d completely nuked it. Your eyes were wide, lips pressed tight, and even your fidgeting had stopped.

He half expected you to start crying for whatever reason, but thank fuck you didn’t. You just frowned, that softness still in your expression. “I do take you seriously. That’s why I'm so confused. All these… I don’t know, suggestive comments and stuff. You say you don’t mean anything by it, but then you’re all teasing the next second. It’s confusing.”

Seriously, had you ever even interacted with a boy before Rafe?

He let out a frustrated smile, nodding. “Shit, yeah, ever heard of fucking flirting? That’s the thing people do because it’s fun. It doesn’t fucking have to lead to anything.” Rafe raised his brows. “Unless you want it to.”

And there it was again—that shift in you. Your whole vibe changed, whenever he said shit like this. And he couldn’t fucking tell if you were flustered, uncomfortable, or just weirded out.

You shook your head, a nervous laugh bubbling up like he’d asked you to strip in the backseat. “Of course, I know what flirting is. It’s just—In my head, this feels like… I don’t know mixed signals or whatever and—“

“Okay, fuck. Stop.” Rafe had hit his limit. He ran a hand over his face, voice tight with frustration. “I’m only saying this once, so fucking listen, alright?” He gestured to you again. “I fuck with you. You’re somehow fun to be around, even though you’re literally the least chill person I know.”

His brows twitched, a moment of hesitation flickering across his face, but he pushed through. He wasn’t gonna overthink—he wasn’t you. “And shit, yeah, of course, I’m flirting with you. You’re a cute chick. If you said the word, I’d be down to bend you over in the backseat right now, but why the fuck would I waste my energy on someone who’s clearly not into casual shit.”

Fuck. Now that he’d said it, he felt just as stunned as you looked.

Saying these words out loud ... it angered him. He'd basically just given in to you. But the thing that actually riled him up? The fact he'd just acknowledged out loud that he knew you weren't interested in him. That he couldn't get you into bed with some charm and a little flirting. That you were out of reach.

And fuck, this just made hanging out with you all the more confusing because why the fuck did he enjoy this shit if he was well aware that he wouldn't take you home later for some quick fun.

But worse than all of that was the way he found himself waiting.

Desperate for your response. Hoping you’d push back. Hoping you’d say something—anything—to let him know he'd just interpreted your signals wrong, that, yes, you did indeed find him attractive, that you actually enjoyed his presence, his flirts, and teasing. That you'd love to be his new friends-with-benefits-chick.

Jesus fucking Christ, he should go back inside Barry’s store and beat the shit out of that fucker for whatever the fuck he'd said to you that made you spiral this hard, and now Rafe was out here saying and thinking shit like this.

"Okay, now I'm even more confused," you said, smiling awkwardly. "You say you like spending time with me but at the same time, you also feel like you're wasting your time here."

Rafe was so close to smashing his head against the steering wheel. He raised his hands in exasperation. "And you say you're not trying to piss me off but right now I'm so close to losing my shit."

He aggressively tapped his finger on the middle console. "I just tried telling you that I'm not here because I'm looking for a chance at a fucking hookup, okay? Seriously, how much clearer do I need to be?"

“Okay. Just to clarify, for my own sanity,” you started slowly, voice soaked in nervous energy (Rafe was literally one second away from having a fucking stroke). “You like hanging out with me but according to your logic, you're not someone who's wasting his time with a girl if you're not gaining something from it."

With a pained expression, Rafe closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, and nodded with a distressed "Uh-huh".

Maybe if he just continued agreeing with you, then you'd finally shut up, because clearly snapping back only seemed to continue dragging on this horrible limbo of yours.

Some strained chuckle escaped your lips. "And considering you're still asking me to chill with you even though you seem to be aware that I don't wanna be someone's pastime, does that mean… I mean, is what you're hoping to gain from spending time with me… a friendship?"

Rafe's head snapped up.

That was your fucking conclusion to all of this?

Fucking hell. Did he look like someone in need of more clingy idiots crowding his life? Topper and Kelce were already enough and he didn’t even receive anything in return for dealing with their bullshit.

And having a female friend without getting to bend her over once in a while? He'd never even considered it. The only girls Rafe had ever privately hung out with were the ones he'd benefit from.

And all of them either got so fucking annoying, he'd dropped them, or worse—they'd wanted more. Dates, gifts, PDA. A label. The title of Rafe Cameron's girlfriend.

They all wanted the benefits that came of being with him but none of them had actually wanted him.

But you? Well, he had to admit you were different. You didn’t do hookups. You didn’t chase him because of his last name and the benefits that came with it.

And the crazy part? That just fucking pissed him off more.

Because for some fucked-up reason he'd actually learned to tolerate your presence enough that he could deal with your crazy-ass brain outside of the project despite him not receiving some fun time in return. And now you assumed he wanted this to actually result in some permanent shit.

But for whatever reason, the idea that this might be over after handing in your project next week? That actually stirred something weird in his chest.

Right now, Rafe could still claim the project was the reason for you two spending time together (if you ignored the fact you weren't doing school shit at the moment). Sure, he’d admitted he liked you—but everything about the way you two had been hanging out this past week could still be chalked up to the assignment. But once that was over… then what?

Fuck, all of this was giving him a headache. And now you were pressuring him to define whatever the fuck was going on between the two of you.

Rafe shook his head in irritation. "Why do you even need a fucking label for some casual hangout? Can't we just fucking chill?"

You gestured to your chest, a distressed smile on your face. "Yeah, of course. I just… my brain needs to make sense of this somehow, so I can place this in either ‘okay, this ends when the project’s over’ or ‘alright, get ready to make space for this person, they’re gonna stick around.’ It’s fucking stupid, I know, but it helps me adjust to new people."

This right here was the biggest fucking test of patience in Rafe's entire life and he was so fucking sick of you demanding him to clarify shit when you were the one that made him question his sanity.

"Shit, I don't fucking know, alright?" Rafe raised his shoulders with an irritated smile. "I mean what the fuck do you want? You’re calling me confusing, but I don’t even fucking know if you actually like me or if you’re just tagging along because you’re too scared to decline because of some people-pleasing bullshit or whatever.”

Like he'd admitted all this fucking shit just now, but why didn't you? Why didn't you offer him some reassurance?

Your gaze softened, and that only irritated him more.

“I'm actually very capable of saying 'No',” you replied.

“Yeah, the fuck do I know.” Rafe threw his hands up. And then, a disgusting thought crossed his mind. “Or are you just tagging along because you're hoping for some attention of being seen with me?”

Finally, your frown returned—thank god. That little bit of fire he was used to.

“What? No!” You shook your head, clearly confused. “Aside from the fact that I couldn’t care less about shit like that, I’d rather jump off a cliff than draw unnecessary attention to myself.” Your expression softened again, lips quirking into a crooked smile. “I came along because I wanted to. Not because I’m trying to get some pics snapped of me being seen with an A-List celebrity.”

Just say it, Rafe thought, not even caring about your stupid comment. You were so fucking close to saying it. Tiptoeing on the edge of it. So damn close to saying what he needed to hear.

But you didn’t. And it pissed him off. Fucked with his head. Just—

Fuck all of that.

Maybe it sounded pathetic, maybe it was, but he didn’t care. He had to know. “So you actually do like hanging out with me?”

A soft laugh left your lips and your brows knit slightly. “Yes? I’m not spending my time with people I can’t stand.”

And just like that, something in Rafe finally let go. He exhaled a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. It felt like a win—even though he hadn’t actually won anything. Actually, he’d probably lost some fucking braincells discussing that shit.

He sank back into his seat, staring through the windshield, running a hand through his hair, no fucking energy left after this marathon of a discussion.

He tilted his head toward you with furrowed brows, motioning between the two of you. “So where’s the fucking problem, huh? We both like hanging out and neither of us is hiding some secret agenda or some shit.”

You smiled awkwardly. “Except you literally said—”

“Yeah, I know what I fucking said,” Rafe cut in, already regretting having voiced that he'd be down to bend you over. But whatever. It was out there now, so who the fuck cared.

“I’m not some horny perv who's unable to be in a room with a chick without trying to get in her pants,” he added, a lopsided smirk tugging at his lips. “Doesn’t mean I’m gonna pass up on a little flirting and teasing.”

You raised your brows slightly, chin tilting downward. "So—"

"YES, for fuck’s sake!" Rafe raised his hands, shifting up in his seat, absolutely at the end of his rope. "If that helps to end this fucking stupid discussion, then yes please, go ahead and tell your crazy-ass brain it can open a new fucking folder titled ‘I made Rafe Cameron lose his fucking mind to the point where I force-befriended him’. And put some big-ass lock on it because that shit stays closed from now on."

He let out a strained breath, an exasperated smile twitching on his lips. "There. Does this shut you up or do I need to craft you a fucking friendship bracelet with my name on it?”

The worst part: The image of you wearing his name around your wrist sparked fucking JOY in his fucking chest for some fucked-up reason.

SEE. YOU'RE MAKING HIM GO THIS FUCKING CRAZY, HE WAS GETTING EXCITED ABOUT STUPID FRIENDSHIP BRACELETS.

You just stared at him, lips parted slightly like your brain was still spiraling over the obvious. Rafe almost thought he’d have to go back into the pawn shop and ask Barry to blow his fucking brains out, but you simply shook your head, a gentle smile forming.

“I don’t think that’s necessary", you replied with a soft smile.

Rafe eyed you impatiently, waiting for you to go on and spiral into another damn monologue about how you had to figure out the right color for this mental folder, and which fucking font would best match the content—because god forbid you’d use some bullshit like Papyrus or—WHAT THE FUCK DID HE KNOW, JESUS CHRIST YOU MADE HIM THINK ABOUT THIS FUCKING BULLSHIT.

To top it all off, you had the audacity to stay quiet and Rafe could physically feel his nerves blow up. “That’s it?”

No fucking way that actually resolved this fucking discussion.

You eyed him amused like he’d just hallucinated this whole fuckass conversation. “Well, yeah.”

Rafe’s brows dropped to a scowl. “You're fucking kidding me, right?”

“No.” A small laugh left you, and that familiar glimmer was back in your eyes. “I just needed some clarity to calm my nerves. That’s just how my brain works. I’m okay as long as things make sense. But the second a thought enters my mind that could mess with that—even if it’s ridiculous—it sticks. And then it ruins the whole logic. And until the thought can be ruled out, it stays, and my head chews it up until it gets worse.”

That's it. You were officially the reason Rafe considered therapy just so someone could tell him why the fuck he even put up with your shit.

Like, seriously, Rafe had some fucked-up shit going on in his head, but you? Holy shit, if he had to deal with the crap your brain pulled every day, he’d fucking lose it.

Your head sounded like a fucking prison.

Rafe let out a distressed breath. "Now, care to tell me, what was the actual fucking reason for you spiraling this hard in the first place?" He gestured toward the pawn shop. "And don't fucking think about lying. Either you tell me or I'm gonna go back inside and beat the answer out of that fucker."

He wouldn’t, though. Barry might’ve looked like a little bum, but Rafe had seen it enough times—his threats didn’t usually stay just threats. And sure, Rafe might’ve had the upper hand physically, but Barry didn’t do fights.

He'd pull out a gun and even Rafe's fists had no chance against that.

You pressed your lips together, hesitating for a second. “He just told me to be careful around you. It wasn’t even really what he said, it was more the way he said it.” You shook your head, puzzled. “And I guess my brain just filled in the worst-case scenario because… well…” A flicker of uncertainty in your pretty eyes. “I mean, not to sound like a dick, but it’s just a fact that you don’t really hang out with girls. And when you do it’s like... you know.”

Yeah, that was true. Rafe didn’t deny it. But still, why the fuck did you have this fucking player image of him?

Sure, he did hookups once in a while—every few weeks maybe at some random party. And yeah, he’d had friends with benefits, but like four or five times at most in his whole damn life. But the way you made it sound? Like he was out here fucking someone new every night.

“So instead of just asking me straight up what’s going on, you’d rather fucking… what? Sulk and act weird as hell? What kind of childish reaction is that?” Rafe asked, face twisting in frustration.

You let out a short laugh. “I didn’t wanna piss you off by bringing this up. Which, clearly, I did.”

“Well, yeah, because I practically had to beat the answer out of you,” Rafe said with a scowl, motioning to his chest. “What actually pisses me off is when people won’t just say what the fuck they're trying to say.”

You nodded sheepishly. “Yeah, makes sense. I’m sorry for making this so messy.” A soft chuckle slipped out. “I guess we both value clear answers… just on different scales.”

Yeah, except Rafe didn’t have a mental breakdown when he didn’t get one.

“I just don’t fucking understand why you can’t just ignore these fucking thoughts,” he said, oddly calm for some reason. "When some shit starts bothering me, I just fucking ignore it. If I need to make a decision, I just do it. If some asshole pisses me off? I put him in his fucking place.”

He scoffed. “And your brain sounds like one big asshole. You just gotta show it who's boss.”

Surprisingly, you laughed—soft, genuine—and Rafe blinked, confused.

“What?” he asked. “I’m serious. It’s absolutely insane that your own mind is your worst enemy. That’s fucking fucked-up.”

He gestured to himself. “I mean that dude pisses me off so badly, I wanna smash his face into a wall just to get him to shut the fuck up. How the fuck do you let him pull this shit on you?”

“That’s—” You laughed again, and something weird flipped in Rafe’s stomach. “I appreciate the energy,” you said, “but honestly, I’m already good when people just have a little patience with me.”

Your expression grew distant. “When I bring stuff like this up, I’m not trying to be annoying. I’m just genuinely trying to find clarity in the chaos up here.” You tapped your temple, smiling gently again. “That’s why I really appreciate that you actually talked with me this time—even though I’m sure you wanted to smash my head through the window.”

He'd rather have your head pressed against some sheets to let go of this fucking pressure inside him but Rafe forced this thought down (see? easy).

So he just shook his head. “I did but I’d rather not have your dad on my ass because of that. That dude’s got some crazy aura.”

Another laugh slipped from your lips, and Rafe felt his features soften. “I guess. He served as a combat medic in the military, so I think some of that still lingers beneath the surface.”

Shit, that made sense. Rafe knew there was a reason that guy had given him the creeps the first time he'd looked at him. He seemed nice, sure—kind even—but deep down Rafe was certain that man could knock someone out cold with a single punch.

The weird thing was: Rafe actually felt less tense around him than around his own dad.

“Shit, another reason to keep my hands off you,” Rafe muttered with a low chuckle. “Don’t need Liam Neeson in Taken chasing me down.”

Another laugh. And damn, that made Rafe feel like some kind of winner.

“I doubt you have to worry", you said. "He actually seemed to like—”

Your phone started buzzing inside your bag.

"Cara," you said when you pulled it out with an apologetic smile. “I should take this.”

Rafe gave a reluctant nod, even though the sudden interruption annoyed the fuck out of him.

“What’s up?” you said, holding the phone to your ear. After a beat, you added, “I’m with Rafe.”

His head snapped up like he’d been struck by lightning.

That was... he couldn’t remember you ever saying his name out loud before. And now that he’d heard it—coming from your sweet voice—fuck.

It did something to him. A weird kind of something. Buzzing in his stomach, warmth blooming in his chest, and this deep, unfamiliar ache for something he couldn’t quite name.

“Really?” You laughed. “We’re actually close by—Yeah, at Barry’s—Girl, no—Yeah, I know he told me—Yeah, I know I was the one who asked you—Okay, yeah, sure—So I assume you're with—yep, thought so—Okay—Seriously?—Alright—Yeah, nah, let’s not.” You laughed again. “Okay—Yeah, see you in a bit.”

You hung up, your whole presence lighting back up.

“Sorry,” you said with a soft smile, slipping the phone back into your bag. “She’s at the beach nearby and asked me to join her. Or well... I kinda asked her earlier if we could hang out, so....”

Rafe felt a frown creeping in, disappointment taking over his entire body. You were about to fucking ditch him.

He raised his brows. “Now?”

You nodded, toying with your bag strap. “Well... yeah. She needs some backup.”

“What, her boots got stuck in the sand or some shit?”

You shook your head, chuckling. “No, she’s with some people and… well, she needs help with a boy.”

“Her?” Rafe scoffed, disbelieving. “She’s the most upfront and confrontational person I’ve ever met. What the fuck does she need help with?” He tilted his head. “And didn’t she have some thing going on with Topper?”

“Yeah, I don’t know,” you said, holding your hands up in amusement. “She’s super complicated when it comes to that stuff.”

Girls. Rafe didn’t fucking get them.

“So what, you want me to drop you off now?” He didn't even try to hide his disappointment.

Your smile faltered slightly. “Well, yeah, that’d be nice.”

Rafe clenched his jaw. You were actually going to leave him now—after he'd helped you get rid of your hangover, after he’d actually shown patience and calmed the voices in your head, after all his nerves were fried beyond repair.

You were scared he might play you? Nah, he was the one who felt toyed with right now.

But as much as Rafe wanted to call you out for it, snap at you for being all anxious and now daring to pull this shit, he just didn’t have it in him. No strength left. He really didn’t have the fucking energy or patience for another long-ass conversation with you monologuing about shit.

Sure, he could just decide to tag along, because when did Rafe ever ask for permission, but his gut told him that was a weird fucking move. He wasn't your fucking dog to accompany you everywhere.

Fuck, he didn't fucking know how to handle shit with a girl like you.

So he just nodded, buckled up, and started the engine. Letting out a tight breath as he pulled out of the parking lot, he asked, “Where to?”

You hesitated for a second. “Do you know where the western beach of the Cut is?”

Rafe scoffed and nearly stopped the car. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

Of course, he knew where that fucking beach was. Sarah always went there after school to hang out with her stupid little Pogue friends.

So yeah, he could already guess exactly what kind of people Cara was hanging out with: those annoying-ass rats.

The thing that pissed him off the most wasn’t even you ditching him. It wasn’t driving you around like a damn chauffeur. It wasn’t even that you were trading him for a group of Pogue losers.

Nah. It was the fact that Sarah had once again managed to stick her nose into shit that didn’t fucking concern her. Because somehow this reeked of her meddling.

And the worst part? It felt like she was winning again. Like she’d won over their dad, like she'd won over Kie during her time at Kildare Academy by turning her against Rafe just for them to end up having some bitchy fallout shortly after.

Like she’d get to win you over too with some fake-ass bullshit.

And you, being prone to falling for shit like that with that brain of yours, would probably believe her too. Not because you were naive, nah, but because your head would probably soak Sarah's sweet words up, falling back into a spiral over Rafe's intention or some bullshit.

Fuck.

Rafe actually liked this weird acquaintanceship with you (THERE, THAT'S THE LABEL THAT FIT THIS SHIT). He didn’t need Sarah to ruin that—or worse—take you from him. Pull you into her little shitty-ass, feel-good Pogue bullshit friend group.

And the most fucked up thing? You weren’t even his. But the very thought of Sarah turning you against him anyway?

Nah. He wouldn't let that happen.

You said Rafe was hoping to gain some shitty-ass friendship from this? Fine. If that’s what it took for your brain to hold on to Rafe, he’d gladly be your fucking friend.

He’d throw every goddamn principle he had out the window before he let Sarah take something else from him before he even had a chance to claim it for himself.

Because for the first time in years, Rafe actually felt like he didn't wanna let go of a girl. Nah, he actually wanted to keep you around. Not as some warm body in his bed—it fucked with his head that you weren’t into hookups but he could accept that—but because somehow, you were the first girl who didn't hang on his ass to brag to her friends later about getting to ride his dick.

Shit, if he didn’t know any better, he’d think you were either a lesbian or just completely uninterested in sex altogether. Which only messed with his head even more, because if both of you were here willingly, what the fuck was the point if no one was gaining anything from it?

Like, why the fuck did Rafe feel this pull toward you? Not just sexually… more like—fuck, he didn’t even know. He also couldn't compare it to the short-lived whatever-thing he'd had with Kie either because he'd only ever seen her as some extension of Sarah that he tolerated. Thinking of her even remotely sexual had just felt fucking weird.

But you? Being around you came close to landing a hole-in-one during golfing, the feeling after being praised by his dad, the way his body buzzed after a line of coke. Which honestly made him wonder if the perfume you were wearing was laced with chemicals or some shit that messed with his head like that.

Fuck, this? Him thinking about this shit at all—that was your fucking fault.

Rafe just knew he liked having you around so there was no need to let you go.

For now.

So as much as he hated, despised, and loathed the idea of you ditching him for some beach party with dirty-ass Pogues and Princess Sarah, by now, he'd learned that if he kept his temper in check, his patience with you would pay off.

Shit, he'd even add a little bonus.

So, when you'd asked if he knew the way, he shot you a raised brow and a casual side-eye, and in the most unbothered tone he said, “Yeah, it’s just down the road. Assuming your friend's succeeding with that guy, I’m guessing you’re gonna need someone to pick you up later.”

And when your brows twitched and your eyes lit up, Rafe knew he was one step closer to keeping you around for real.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

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

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T A G L I S T F O R M (taglist for this series is CLOSED but you can sign up for my other stuff through this link)

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[writeriguess]

Heyy so I’ve been feeling very lonely lately and I wanna see a fluff fic of reader x Katsuki or shinso. Reader thinks that none of her friends actually like her and thinks that she’s really annoying and stuff idk I just need some comfort rn if your not feeling it or don’t wanna do it don’t feel pressured but yknow if you want toooooo

TY SMMMMMM!!!🫶🫶🫶❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Stay Right Here

You don’t know when the thought started creeping in—maybe it had always been there, lingering in the back of your mind like a shadow. Lately, though, it had been getting louder, refusing to be ignored.

You weren’t sure if your friends actually liked you.

They always invited you out, sure. They responded to your texts, yeah. But wasn’t that just them being polite? It wasn’t like they’d ever seek you out. You were always the one initiating plans, the one sending the first message, the one chasing after them.

And lately, you’d started noticing how they’d share glances with each other when you spoke—subtle, quick. But enough to make you wonder if they were silently wishing you’d just shut up. Maybe you talked too much. Maybe you were too loud. Too annoying.

That thought alone had kept you from messaging anyone for the past week. You figured if they wanted to talk to you, they would.

But they didn’t.

Not until a sharp knock on your dorm door startled you out of your spiral.

You hesitated, blinking at the door like it had personally wronged you. Nobody ever really knocked on your door. You had half a mind to just ignore it, but then—

“Oi! Open up.”

The voice was unmistakable. Katsuki.

Your stomach twisted. Why was he here? He never just visited people. And he definitely wouldn’t come all this way for something pointless. Maybe he was about to tell you to stop being so annoying. Maybe someone finally told him how suffocating you were, and he was here to confirm it.

You swallowed hard and forced yourself to open the door.

Katsuki stood there, arms crossed, looking pissed. But not in the usual way—not like he was about to blow something up for the hell of it. No, this was different. His brows were furrowed, and his jaw was clenched like he was holding something back.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” he demanded.

You blinked. “Huh?”

“You’ve been acting weird. Avoidin’ everyone. Not answering my damn texts.” He narrowed his eyes. “The hell’s goin’ on?”

You hadn’t even realized he texted. Your heart squeezed at that.

“N-Nothing’s wrong,” you muttered, avoiding his gaze. “Just… needed some space.”

“That’s bullshit.” He took a step forward, forcing you back into your room as he shut the door behind him. “What’s really goin’ on?”

You swallowed, your throat feeling too tight. “I just—” You hesitated. “I just… don’t think anyone actually likes me that much.”

Katsuki’s entire expression shifted. His eyes widened slightly before his scowl deepened. “The fuck did you just say?”

You winced. “I mean, they put up with me. But I don’t think they like me. Not really. I think I’m just kind of… there. Y’know?”

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. The silence felt suffocating, and you immediately regretted opening your mouth.

But then—

“You’re a goddamn idiot.”

You flinched. “Oh. Okay. Cool. Thanks, Katsuki—”

“Shut up.” He stepped closer, eyes blazing with something you couldn’t quite place. “You seriously think nobody likes you? That people are just putting up with you?”

You hesitated, suddenly unsure. “…Yeah?”

Katsuki groaned and dragged a hand down his face like you were being impossibly dense. Then, before you could react, he grabbed your wrist and yanked you toward him.

You froze as your forehead nearly bumped into his chest, and his grip on your wrist tightened just enough to be grounding.

“Listen to me, dumbass,” he muttered. “If you were annoying, I wouldn’t be here.”

Your breath caught.

“I wouldn’t text you. I wouldn’t train with you. I wouldn’t put up with your dumbass questions or your stupid jokes if I didn’t like having you around.”

You blinked up at him, lips parting in shock.

“And it ain’t just me,” he continued. “Everyone’s been worried about you. Deku wouldn’t shut up about it. Shitty Hair wanted to come check on you, but I told ‘em to fuck off ‘cause I was gonna do it.”

Your chest tightened. “You… noticed?”

Katsuki scoffed. “Course I fuckin’ noticed. You think I don’t pay attention?” His grip on your wrist softened slightly. “We like you, dumbass. You’re part of the damn group. You think we’d waste our time on someone we didn’t wanna be around?”

Your throat felt too tight to speak. You wanted to believe him, wanted to cling to his words like a lifeline, but the doubt still lingered.

“…Then why does it feel like I’m always the one reaching out first?” you whispered. “Why doesn’t anyone ever come to me?”

Katsuki exhaled sharply through his nose, looking like he was trying to hold himself back from yelling. “Because you always reach out first.”

You frowned.

“You’re the one who makes sure everyone’s okay. You’re the one who checks in. You’re the one who makes plans. You do all that shit, and we just got used to it.” His grip on your wrist tightened slightly again. “But that doesn’t mean we don’t care.”

He let go, but instead of stepping back, his hand moved up to squeeze your shoulder.

“…Just means we’re dumbasses who didn’t realize we should’ve been doin’ the same for you.”

That’s what broke you.

A sharp, shuddering breath escaped you, and suddenly, there were tears spilling down your cheeks before you could stop them. You turned away quickly, trying to hide it, but Katsuki clicked his tongue in irritation and grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“Don’t do that,” he muttered. “Don’t fucking hide.”

That only made the tears worse.

You let out a shaky laugh, covering your face with both hands. “God, I must look pathetic right now—”

“Oi.” He pried your hands away from your face, his expression unusually soft. “You’re not pathetic.”

You sniffled. “I kinda am.”

Katsuki rolled his eyes before sighing. Then, much to your shock, he pulled you into a firm, warm hug.

Your brain short-circuited.

Katsuki Bakugo was hugging you.

“You’re a pain in my ass,” he muttered, his voice quieter this time. “But you’re our pain in the ass. And we’d be fuckin’ lost without you.”

You squeezed your eyes shut and gripped the back of his hoodie.

“…Thanks, Katsuki.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just—next time you start thinkin’ dumb shit like this, tell me, alright?”

You let out a watery laugh. “Okay.”

“Good.” He pulled back just enough to look at you. “Now quit crying before I start calling you a dumbass again.”

You sniffled and playfully smacked his arm. “Jerk.”

But you were smiling.

And for the first time in a while, you actually felt like you belonged.

[kissandtellus]

Hiya!!!

I’ve got a request 4 you!!🥳 Would you be able to do a one-shot of brat tamer Zayne but his punishment goes a bit too far and puts MC deep into subspace, meaning Zayne has to be soft and sweet to help her out of it? Maybe some angst and comfort?

Right Here

Synopsis: Zayne’s a caring lover, even after the teasing and bratting gets the best of him after a long day at work. No matter how much he breaks you, he is sure to put you back together again.

Warnings: Hard!Dom Zayne, Overstim, Inflation(?), Choking, Dumbification, Panic Attack, Aftercare, Fluff at the end, Possible spoilers for the newest Main Story lines.

Teasing Zayne should’ve been an Olympic sport. He was not quick to anger, focusing on more quick and decisive ways of figuring out issues.

But ohhhh, you were a different story.

It started as simple teasing, then not listening to his advice on resting and then came the full on bratting.

You weren’t entirely sure how long he had you folded up like origami, or how many orgasms he had pulled from you. But now, you sat reverse-cowgirl on his lap in his bed.

Legs spread wide open in-front of the full length-when did he even order this?-mirror directly across from his bed.

Zayne had a tight grip on your waist and your hair. He pulled your head up and made you look directly at the mirror in front of you. He leaned down to your ear. “Now look yourself in the mirror. I want you to look at how much of a pathetic little brat you are.”

His fingers tightened in your locks, making sure you were still looking in the mirror. His other hand moved from your waist to your thigh. He squeezed it before moving it back to your waist. “You’re such a dirty girl. Such a pretty girl.”

You gurgled out something between words and a moan. He had you like this for hours in his home, stuffing you full over and over again. Drool and other fluids coated your body.

“I can’t hear you, sweetheart.” He teased, his lips close to your neck. He took the opportunity to leave more marks on your skin. He moved the hand that was on your thigh to your face. He put a finger in your mouth and forced your head back, making you look up at him.

“You’re such a mess.” He said in a breathy voice. He pulled his finger from your mouth and traced it across your face.

He leaned down to your ear again, keeping his grip on you tight. He knew you couldn’t escape his hold, even if you tried. “You’re such a dumb little girl, hm? You take instruction pretty well though,” his chuckle was low, his chest vibrating your back,” “Good girl.”

"Look at you... A Hunter reduced to nothing but a warm hole for my cock. All those brains you used to track monsters... now completely fucked out." He punctuated each sentence with a hard thrust.

His hand moved from your hair, over the swell of your chest before pressing against your stomach. He was so deep, had filled you so full of cum you swore you couldn’t escape feel is swishing inside of you.

“You wanted to be a brat all day? Look at yourself now." He growled softly into your ear. “Look how fucking pathetic you are right now—dripping with my cum, unable to even form a coherent thought."

Each thrust made her body jolt up and down in his length. “This is what happens to bratty girls... They get turned into nothing but fucktoys."

You were mumbling apologies through broken sobs and moans “S-sorry! Sorry, Doctor Zayne!”

His intelligent mind processed your broken apologies with a twisted satisfaction. Currently you were weak, submissive, and utterly dependent on him. “Shh, little slut," He whispered cruelly, gripping your hair to keep your head steady as he pounded into you.

He watched your reflection intently - your apologetic whimpers, your empty eyes, your body jerking with each deep thrust. He was breaking you perfectly - turning you from a bratty mess to an obedient, fuckable thing. "That's it... Take your punishment like a good girl now..."

Zayne chuckled at the slight swell of your stomach where his seed lay. With just the tiniest pressure, his seed leaked from around his cock and down onto the silk sheets.

You grabbed at his wrist, trying to push his hand away. "My poor little thing... So full of me already." He murmured in your ear, his large hands gripping your hips tightly as he slowly moved her up and down his thick length. He knew you were sensitive, but he couldn't stop himself from marking you further.

You gave another cry, panting, breaths growing faster.

Zayne knew the signs of a panic attack, you clutched at your chest, right over your heart. His entire personality shifted. He pulled out with a wet ‘plap’ and eased you back against the headboard. Your eyes were wide, darting around like a wild animal.

Zayne wiped the drool away from the corner of your mouth, kneeling down on the bed. “Sweetheart, breathe for me. In…. Out…. In…. Out….”

You were panicked, trying to make yourself small on the massive bed. “M-mm sorry I’m so bad, I didn’t wanna brat. J-just wanted attention and-“ your breath choked up, a broken sob spilling from her lips.

Zayne's heart shattered as he watched her break down in front of him. He immediately understood what was happening - she was spiraling into a deep sub-space, convinced she was the cause of his frustration and not the other way around.

He moved quickly, gently cupping your face with both hands. “No. No, listen to me right now. This is NOT your fault." His voice was firm but tender. “You didn't do anything wrong. You're having a panic attack because I pushed too hard."

He spoke to her in a soothing tone he used for patients. But this was so much more personal. This was the love of his life, shaking and shivering.

He kept his voice calm and even, using the same tone he would with a scared or hurt patient. But every word was laced with emotion, each touch gentle and caring. "You're not stupid or selfish. You're not attention-seeking. You're overwhelmed and I messed up."

Zayne stroked your hair, soothing each bruise with a gentle touch of his ice Evol that soothed her skin.

His cool fingers gently traced along her bruises, healing them as he spoke softly. "Such a good girl. Look at me..." He tilted your chin up with one hand while the other continued to heal your skin. “When will you realize you're the most perfect thing in this world?"

He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips - a stark contrast to the rough kisses from earlier. This one was loving, tender, filled with apology and adoration. “I love you so much it hurts. And I'm sorry for hurting you." His voice cracked with emotion.

You sniffled, burying your face into his neck for comfort. Your voice was small, legs still trembling. “Love you…”

He wrapped his arms tightly around your body, protecting you like he always did. His voice dropped softer, more loving. “Darling..." He murmured, kissing your hair. His fingers lightly grazed your sides, making sure you were not hurt there too. "Let me ask you something serious."

He waited until you lifted your head slightly, big eyes staring at him curiously. "Are you okay down there?" His hand slowly crept down to her lower abdomen, checking for any discomfort or pain.

He heard the small squeak and his brow furrowed. He pushed there again softly, watching you squirm. "Ow?" He asked softly, already knowing the answer. "Here?"

He saw you wince slightly and his heart sank. He gently moved you onto the bed, surrounding you with blankets and some of your favorite stuffies you had moved into his bedroom. He rushed to the bathroom, bare as the day he was born, to grab some much needed supplies

"Lie on your side Sweetheart. I’m going to get you fixed up." He returned with warmed wipes, arnica oil for bruising, and a heating pad. He pressed the heating pad gently against your lower abdomen while holding you close. “Such a good girl for being so patient.”

He slowly cleaned you up with the warm wipes, being extra gentle around your sensitive areas. He then applied the arnica oil, massaging it in slowly. He knew your body so well, knew just how to touch you to bring her comfort and pleasure. “My poor girl."

He watched you closely, making sure He adjusted the heating pad and pulled you into his lap, holding you like she was the most precious thing in the world - because you were. He kissed your forehead softly. "...Want some ice cream?" He asked sweetly.

You giggled, which made his heart ached when the tears in the corners of your eyes finally shed. You sniffled just a bit before responding. “Is the ice cream for me or for you?”

He chuckled softly, his thumb gently wiping away the tears from your eyes. “For you, silly girl. I know how much you love your ice cream." He kissed your nose playfully. “But if you share some with me, I won't complain."

Back when they were children, he had accidentally hurt you with his Evol, had nearly given you hypothermia and killed you. So now as adults, as the woman he loved, he would never hurt you again.

He remembered that day clearly - the day he almost lost her forever. The day he realized just how amazing and precious you were. He pulled you closer, holding you tighter. “I'll never hurt you again, I promise." He whispered, his voice filled with sincerity and love.

[bellaxgiornata]

Letters from the Outside 4:| Visitation

Pairing: Jax Teller x fem!Reader Word Count: 2.4k [Series Masterlist] [Jax Fic Masterlist]

warnings/tags: 18+; prison!Jax, bit of sunshine/grumpy dynamic, prison pen pals, fluff, angst, mentions of violence, potential smut, canon-divergence, Reader has a brother, mainly short pieces about Jax and Reader's letter correspondence

a/n: This installment is a tiny bit different than what we've seen so far and I think y'all are going to like it... Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

series tag list: @kmc1989 @callmesev @secretlysamcro @steviebbboi @anonymouse1807 @bonnyclydecat @chloe-skywalker @kaydallas21 @sarraa-26 @uknowmesstuff @mmarysha @orymgraves

Sitting at the metal table, your index finger had been absently tapping along the surface for the past ten minutes as you'd waited for the Stockton prison guard to bring your brother into the visitation room. It smelled like bleach and sweat in here, the pungent scent something that always took a few minutes to get accustomed to again whenever you came out to see your brother.

While you’d been waiting, you'd noticed that there were a few more people here than usual. Normally when you came out during morning visitation hours, there were about half this many other visitors in the room. But considering where you were right now, you tried your best to prevent your gaze from wandering around to the different tables too much. Making eye contact with the wrong person could easily turn into a bad idea here–something you didn't need your brother to tell you. 

But admittedly today it was difficult to keep your eyes to yourself and ignore the dark-haired woman sitting with a young, babbling child in her lap a few tables away from you. In all your time visiting Grim–the street name your brother was known by–you hadn’t seen those two here before. You figured the little boy’s father must be the one incarcerated and that was who they were probably visiting. Your heart sank at the thought. 

Strangely, watching the older woman whisper something to the little blonde boy in her lap had your mind drifting back to your grumpy bear of a pen pal. You'd found yourself curious to know if he had a family. While you knew far better than to try and ask him anything that remotely hinted at a personal topic, you had often wondered that while you'd been composing letters to him. But you figured if you ever dared to ask, he’d most likely have some colorful way to tell you that he wasn't going to answer your question. Or maybe he'd just stop writing to you altogether.

But still, you wondered if anyone ever came to visit him while he was stuck inside serving his time. You'd also often wondered how long his sentence was, though you'd known better than to ask him that, too. You couldn't even begin to imagine how much harder it would be serving time without some outside, familiar face to look forward to seeing every once and awhile. You found yourself hoping he did get visitors, that he had something more in his life than just your letters.

Admittedly that was partly why you'd joined this whole pen pal program when you'd first heard about it. While your brother Grim thought it was absolutely fucking bullshit–and he'd certainly given you his thoughts about it on plenty of separate occasions–you also knew how much he always looked forward to your letters throughout the week. He'd told you there were countless days that they felt like the only thing keeping him sane inside. So you’d signed up for the program hoping that you could maybe do the same for someone else.

And your grump had actually written you back the other day, so clearly you hadn't annoyed him too bad with your previous letter. This time he'd even written with just a couple of sentences more than he’d initially written in his first letter to you, which you’d considered an improvement. Even now as you thought back to his last letter, you found yourself smiling at the way he'd responded to the ridiculous nickname you’d given him.

Grumpy Grizzly? That's the best name your ass could come up with? Kinda disappointed in you, Giggles. That's fucking awful.

It almost felt as if he'd opened up just a tiny bit more to you in that letter. His words had been more teasingly friendly rather than just teasing this time–but maybe you'd just been misreading the tone through his messy handwriting. But it was almost as if you could actually hear a voice coming through his loopy scrawl of text now.

And he had answered your question.

You'd miss your dog in here, huh? You seem like a dog person, Giggles. I miss my Harley. Miss the freedom of it. 

He apparently liked motorcycles, a piece of knowledge you figured you would store away for future writing topics. You wondered if he liked them as much as your brother, but you had a feeling it was hard to love a bike more than someone like him did. Your brother and his guys in that club lived and breathed their bikes and that whole lifestyle. 

Your thoughts were interrupted when the door across the cafeteria-like room buzzed, signaling that an inmate was entering. Your attention instinctively shifted towards the door, catching sight of an orange jumpsuit before you recognized your brother's face. A smile spread across your lips instantly at the appearance of him in one piece, and you caught the small grin he returned.

The guard escorting your brother walked him over to your table, giving him the usual curt warning after you greeted Grim with a brief hug. Afterwards, the guard stalked off to a corner of the room, standing nearby and keeping watch over him as you both took a seat at the table, sitting on opposite sides of it.

“You look happier than usual today,” you observed, settling back down in your chair. “Someone sneak you something good?”

Your brother chuckled, resting his hands on the surface of the table, keeping them in view like he was required. “Yeah, maybe somethin’ like that, sis.” He jutted his chin at you, that small grin forming on his lips again. “How's shit with that whole pen pal of yours? He write you a novel this time?”

You rolled your eyes at the question, but the smile remained on your face. You'd missed your brother since your last visit, and you were grateful that despite being stuck inside, he still sounded like himself every time you came out to see him. He never lost his sense of humor or his ability to poke fun at you.

“No, he didn't write me a novel. But I'm making progress with him,” you answered. “His second letter had a few more sentences than the last one, and he sounded less like he had Big John’s dick shoved up his ass.”

Grim laughed, the sound loud and full of life. A sound he probably didn't make too much in there because there wasn't much to laugh about in prison. 

“Maybe he likes Big John’s dick in his ass, sis. But what'd you expect?” he questioned back, his smile fading slightly. “Guy is a criminal. You think he's gonna swap cookie recipes with you or somethin’? Tell you about his childhood trauma? Send you a little beaded friendship bracelet he made in arts and crafts? C’mon, you’re smarter than that.”

“No,” you stated, shaking your head at your brother. “I’m not expecting any of that. Just figured he might, I don’t know,” you shrugged a shoulder, thinking about what you’d last told your grumpy bear of a pen pal, “enjoy receiving mail from someone on the outside. To have some semblance of feeling human or whatever. Someone he can let some of his thoughts out to or something. I don’t know.”

Grim sat back in his chair, a teasing grin on his face. The one that told you he thought you joining that program was absolutely ridiculous. 

“You’re too hopeful, sis,” he replied. “It’s sweet, but I’m sure whoever the piece of shit you’re writing to doesn’t deserve that kindness anyway. The guy ain't gonna be your friend.”

“You don’t know that,” you disagreed, your smile disappearing at the thought of your pen pal being someone quite so horrid. “Not everyone locked up in here is some sort of psycho serial killer. But I’m not here to discuss my pen pal. How’re things going in there?”

Grim shrugged before glancing around the room, subtly surveying which prisoners were out here visiting with loved ones. You caught the way his eyes scanned over a few guards longer than necessary before his attention returned to you.

“Been good,” he answered. “Considering I’m stuck inside for a few more months.”

He leaned forward towards you, resting his elbows along the table as a devious glint passed behind his eyes. You mirrored his movements as you leaned forward, your head tilting curiously to the side at whatever he was about to tell you.

“We’re making moves soon,” he told you, voice lowered. “With that thing. Should help give the guys added protection back home.”

It took you a moment to make sense of what he’d said, but then you understood. The Devil’s Condemned were going to ambush some Irish gun shipment being moved that he’d mentioned to you in a recent letter. They were planning to steal the inventory for their own arsenal. With the Mayans branching out, trying to start a charter out in Stockton, your brother’s motorcycle club had been itching for extra firepower to hold down their territory. 

“You sure that’s a good idea?” you asked quietly. “Seems like you’re going to make even more enemies doing that.”

“We’re gonna make it look like someone else hit ‘em. Don’t worry, alright?” Grim assured you, his expression turning serious. “But it’s not like we’re gonna get a chance to buy the hardware. Not like we got that kinda money. So this is the next best and most realistic option.”

“I don’t know, Grim,” you whispered back, uncertainty written over your features. “I’m not so sure that’s the best idea. Can’t you guys just work out a deal with the Mayan charter? Make peace or something?”

Grim scoffed at the idea, leaning back in his chair once more. His hands remained on the surface of the table, but you saw the way they'd curled into fists in frustration.

“That’s not what I’m–”

“Ain’t that simple, sis,” he answered. “This isn’t some kiddie school playground. You don’t just walk up and make friends with rival gangs.”

You broke off, sighing in frustration. The Devil’s Condemned was a smaller motorcycle club, one that mainly focused on protecting Stockton from all the bullshit that tended to land in the city from all the neighboring gangs. Especially with Stockton prison in your city, it tended to attract the wrong crowd. The Devil’s made small time money doing something with guns–that was the extent of your knowledge. But you always wished they’d stop getting involved in dangerous things like this–things that felt a little too far out of their league. Like sabotaging some larger motorcycle club that had an expansive list of charters and allies, just so they could get access to better guns.

That sharp buzz sounded again, the noise catching your attention and interrupting your conversation. Your eyes shifted over to the door of the visitation room, watching as it opened. Another man in bright orange walked through it, his blonde hair slicked back and a tattoo visible along his forearm. He walked with a bit of a swagger in his steps, moving like he owned the whole damn room as the guard behind him followed after. 

Curiously, you continued to watch as his attention was drawn straight to the table with the dark-haired woman and the little boy. You saw the way the man's eyes lit up the second he spotted the boy, and the corners of your lips curled upwards at how the expression had completely changed his entire face. The little boy in the woman's lap bounced a bit more excitedly, his hands reaching out towards the prisoner as he shouted ‘dada’ so loud that it caused a few others to look over at the table.

Grim's gaze was drawn to the noise, but his expression darkened as he saw the man hugging the kid. An annoyed huff fell out of him before he leaned forward along the table, his attention returning to you as he once more lowered his voice.

“That’d be one of those assholes now,” Grim warned you quietly, his words drawing your attention back to him. “President of the Sons.”

Eyes marginally widening in surprise at the information, you focused back on the man now settling down at the table across from the woman and the boy. There was a bright smile on his face as he focused on the pair of them, the lightness of it making it impossible to ignore just how handsome he was. Something you hadn’t expected. Just like you wouldn’t have expected him to be quite so young for a motorcycle club president.

“That’s the guy you’re going to piss off?” you whispered.

“He won’t know who did it, sis,” your brother reminded you. “Alright? Don’t worry about it. And don’t stare at him, either.”

Clearing your throat, you tore your eyes away from their table and focused back on your brother, shifting in the uncomfortable plastic chair. “I wasn’t staring,” you whispered back. 

“Uh huh,” Grim replied, a smirk spreading across his lips. “Stop drooling over our enemy. Ain’t a good look on you.”

“I wasn’t drooling over him,” you countered sharply. “The last place I'd be looking for a man is in a fucking prison, Grim. Don't be weird. I just didn’t expect him to be quite so young for a president of such a big club.”

Grim quirked a brow back at you, silently making it clear that he didn't quite believe you. You rolled your eyes at him before sitting back in your chair, aware you had twenty more minutes with your brother. You didn't want to spend it discussing some rival club–or one that was about to become a rival.

“Felix got out earlier this week,” you said, changing the subject. 

Grim chuckled as the tension visibly eased out of him at the new topic. “No shit?” he asked. “Bet that was fun chasing down a deaf dog.”

“You have no idea,” you replied.

You spent the rest of your time with your brother retelling him the story of chasing Felix through countless backyards in countless neighborhoods one afternoon this past week. While your brother sat listening, occasionally laughing and good-naturedly making fun of your struggle, you couldn’t help but notice the Sons’ president out of the corner of your eye. He kept curiously glancing back over at you while occasionally shooting your brother’s back dark glares. Those quiet looks from the Sons’ president while you spoke with Grim only had that worry for your brother's safety growing while he was stuck in here.

[kaitlyn-imagines]

Omg I just love you and your writing! I hope you're staying happy, safe, and healthy!! Would it be too much to ask for some angst ending in fluff for a Kirishima soulmate fic?? I'm in desperate need of that puppy but all the fics I find are either pure fluff or super dirty. Kiri has emotions other than happy or f-boy.. help a sister out? Thank you sfm I love you stay healthy my love!! You are so wonderful!!

Hello my gorgeous girl! Sorry it took me so long to get to this :) I looooved this ask, because yes, sometimes I feel like Kirishima can be reduced to a certain role, and a lot of people forget he’s struggled with mental health in the past. Any-who, I love writing angst, sorry it's long haha.

No Pain No Gain

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

Eijiro Kirishima x Soulmate!Reader Soulmate AU where pain is shared and linked between bonds

Warnings: Angst with comfort at the end, swearing, mental health, reader is the drama kind of, sparring/canon typical violence

Words: 5310

It had been pretty easy to figure out that your soulmate was part of the hero program. Afterall, no average person would be getting hurt every other day unless they were training for a career in heroism.

It wasn’t fair that they should be so careless with their pain, particularly since you gave them the luxury of having a soul mate in the general education course. It wasn’t like you were throwing yourself in danger at every opportunity for a good grade. No, all you had to do was ensure you studied well enough for your biochemistry class.

This fact—and the constant rate and severity of pain flooding down the soul bond to your nervous system—gave you half a mind to march down to each classroom and threaten to beat the shit out of whoever was breaking your back each day.

So, one day, you made an effort to sit outside and watch the various hero classes during their sparring sessions to figure out which asshole gave you debilitating pain every other day. You sat in the bleachers with your textbook atop your thighs, studying until some new shock of pain hit your system.

You were halfway through working on a Henderson–Hasselbalch equation when you felt a nauseating explosion to your pain receptors. “Fuck,” you cry out in a hiss, feeling like the very skin on your forearm was blistering into horrific burns. Yet, as always, when you looked at the offending arm, it was unmarred and clear of any abrasions. You expected as much—afflicted injuries weren’t carried down the soul bond, just the pain of them.

You were nearly nauseous from the burning sensation, feeling dizzy as you pushed your textbook off your lap and onto the surface of the seat next to you. You forced your eyes away from your sizzling nerves and towards the training field, where two students were sparring in the center of the ring.

You bit your lip, trying to focus through the excruciating pain still flaring off in your nervous system. As you glared forward, you noticed the familiar figures of hero class 1A. The two students currently sparing included an ashy blonde, who you recognized as Katsuki Bakugo, an infamous dick. You figured you had him to thank for the sensation of blisters eating up your arm.

Though, he wasn’t the one you had choice words for.

The other student, from a distance, was unmistakably…red. You’d see the guy before in the cafeteria, though you’ve never interacted before. This was lucky for him, because if you’d known he was the cause from your daily suffering, you’d have punched him square in the nose. Though, you supposed you’d also be the one feeling the justice of your fists. It’d be worth it, though.

Eijiro Kirishima…the name came to you through the haze of your pain, and it felt bitter on your tongue. You watched, a fierce rage in your eyes as you watched him battle his friend with the explosion-quirk. Despite your anger, you couldn’t help but feel a traitorous sliver of respect. How the hell was he taking hit after hit without even flinching? It was taking everything in you not to keel over as the weight of each blow hit you in tandem.

By the time the sparring session timed out, you were breathless and moaning, a sheen of cold sweat across your forehead. Your body had felt every lick of flame, every punch, and every slice of debris-made-shrapnel. And yet, when you lifted you head wearily, you saw Kirishima walking off the field with his back straight, laughing with an arm slung over his—your—assailant’s shoulder. How. The. Fuck.

You wasted no time, shakily stuffing your textbook into your backpack despite your sweaty palms. You rose from your seat on the bleachers, and nearly stumbled as your seemingly-uninjured legs buckled.

You gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to move as you slowly limped your way down the stairs of the bleachers. You lifted the straps of your bag onto your shoulders, and managed not to yelp with the irritation to your already sensitive skin.

You hobbled your way towards the field, where already two other students were beginning their own respective sparring match. A few students shot curious or confused glances your way, no doubt questioning why some random general education student was walking up on their class session. You paid them no mind, shooting a fierce look around in search of the scarlet headed boy.

It took you a moment, but then you spotted it—a flash of red. You pushed your way past a pink girl and her invisible friend, only just managing to grit out an ‘excuse me.’ You forced yourself to keep moving your exhausted, burning limbs… and then there he was. He was still standing next to his sparring partner, a grin on his face. He looked nearly unmarred, save from a few smoking pieces of his uniform. His skin though, which should have been covered in second and third degree burns by the judge of your pain, was without a single blemish.

“You!” you hiss out venomously, catching both Kirishima and Bakugo’s attention. You didn’t spare him a moment to react before you bridged the space between you, raising your hand and slapping him straight across the face. Except, when your palm made contact with his cheek, you didn’t feel the pliancy of flesh but a rigid, steely feeling of titanium. You felt the shock of the blow shoot all the way up your arm, and the delicate bones in your hand fractured upon impact.

To add insult to injury, your cheek stung with the force of your slap, and yet Kirishima still stood there, completely unmoved…albeit with a wide-eyed, shocked look on his face. Immediately you keeled over, cradling your injured hand, which was already beginning to swell. You bit out a curse, tears pricking your eyes. God, your entire body felt like it was falling apart.

“Oh, shit, are you alright?” you heard his masculine voice ask in concern. He reached out a hand to touch your shoulder, but you’re already jolting away from his outstretched hand.

“You motherfucker,” you hissed, and both Kirishima and Bakugo seemed just as stunned by your foul language as they did your abrupt failure of a slap. Still cradling your swelling hand, you glared at Kirishima with as much venom as you could muster.

“I-I’m sorry…?” his voice came out hesitant, unsure. He had no idea who you were, why you were here, or why you looked about ready to blow a fuse. He glanced at Bakugo, but his companion just shrugged, sharing his cluelessness.

“Sorry?” you laugh out callously. “Oh, fuck off. If you actually cared, you’d be a little less reckless and self-sacrificial. And, might I add, a little more thoughtful about who’s also taking your hits.”

Kirishima blinked at you, wide-eyed. He seemed to be floundering a little, still struggling to make sense of the situation. You sneer at him, not bothering to explain further. “How the hell are you even still standing? You don’t even look like you’re sore, for fuck’s sake. You can’t tell me you’re not feeling even an ounce of pain from all that?”

“M-My quirk…” he exhaled, shaking his head as his eyebrows furrowed. “It’s called Hardening. It allows me to harden and sharpen my body. I don’t really hurt when it’s activated…” he trailed off. At your accusing look, something seemed to click for Kirishima, and his posture shifted. His expression brightened, replacing any confusion or reservations he was feeling.

“Oh, wait!” he exclaimed, staring at you with a sudden clarity and eagerness. “Are you…?” His eyes were beaming with recognition. You couldn’t deny that such a bright look on his face made him look incredibly handsome, but the sheer amount of pain you were experiencing made you refuse to think of anything but your anger.

“Yep,” you gritted out, still cradling your hand, which had swollen to an alarming size in less than a minute. At this, Kirishima seemed to curb his excitement at discovering his soulmate. You watched him realize with a sense of alarm—and to your slight satisfaction, guilt—that you’d basically taken the full force of every one of his blows without any of his natural defense.

“Shit, that looks bad,” he winced, glancing at his hand as your injury sent small flares of pain down the bond to him. Then he stepped forward to look closer at your own hand. “I can’t imagine you’re feeling great anywhere, especially after my match…” You pulled yourself away from him, not allowing him to get closer to you. He looked like a kicked puppy when you did that.

Though, with your pain receptors firing off and competing with each other, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Nor did you dull the sharpness of your glare. “Don’t fucking touch me,” you spat, and he flinched. “You should’ve been more careful. I refuse to believe it never occurred to you that your reckless battling style wouldn’t go straight down the soul bond. Or, maybe you are that stupid…”

You were being mean, but in your mind, it was justified. His actions and selfishness had caused you physical pain for months ever since your soul bond manifested. The least you could do is inflict some retributive pain in the only way that seemed to affect him…verbally.

Bakugo, who seemed content to watch with a semi-amused smirk from the side, finally stepped in at that, his jaw clenched at your insult to his friend. “You watch your fucking mouth,” he all but growled out. “It’s not like he fucking meant for you to get hurt on his behalf.”

You barked out a bitter laugh, your feelings of injustice making you brave in the face of the notorious hot-head. “Yeah? Well, it doesn’t matter if he intended to or not, he’s still a shitty soulmate for all the shit he put me through.” From the corner of your eye, Kirishima seemed to deflate slightly, evidently weighed down by shame. Bakugo’s eyes, however, flared as he met your anger with his own.

“But,” you continued, “since you have such a hard on for him, you can have him for all I care. Fuck you, and fuck you too. Stop ruining my life and stay the hell out of it.” You shot that last bit Kirishima’s way, and despite yourself, you couldn’t help but feel the tiniest smidge of guilt. He’d forced his expression into something neutral, biting the inside of his cheek—but his eyes…they were nothing short of devastation.

You spun on your heel to leave. Despite all your pride and justified anger, the brutal limp in your step made your dramatic exit less effective.

You heard Bakugo growl from behind you, and you could only assume Kirishima was holding him back as he murmured a quiet, “Don’t. They’re right, man. I fucked up…” You didn’t care enough to look back and check. You had enough on your plate as you limped your sorry ass up to the infirmary for your broken hand.

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

You had been absolutely, breath-takingly beautiful. Your cheeks slightly flushed and that passionate, fiery look in your eyes…

He hadn’t even felt the impact of your hand slapping his cheek, but he wished he’d known it was coming. If he had, he’d have deactivated his quirk…just to feel your touch in any capacity. Because, if he knew one thing for certain, he’d never feel the grace of your touch ever again.

He'd met his soulmate, and in the same breath, he’d lost them.

You’d been as devastating, fierce, and hypnotizing as a roaring flame. He couldn’t forget the vision of you. Your words had been sharper than a blade, and they’d cut him more than he’d care to admit. But he couldn’t really blame you.

He hadn’t even thought about the ramifications of his fighting style before. Due to his quirk, he was a highly defensive asset—he could tank debilitating blows without even breaking a sweat. It was perfect for combat, since he never had to consider any real damage or injury to himself.

But he had been thoughtless. Because, despite how excited he’d been when his soulmate bond manifested, he never once considered the consequences his brutal, reckless fighting would have on them.

He used to like taking hits, just to show off how tough he was…but now it made him sick to his stomach, thinking about all the suffering he’d caused you. All before he even knew you.

You were right. He was a shitty soulmate—at that fact made him loathe himself all the more. What kind of man did that make him? He’d willingly, though unknowingly, let you take the brunt of every hit. God…that look in your eyes. You hated him. You hated him, and you didn’t even know him, but it was his fault.

“Kirishima!” Aizawa shouted, exasperated, from the sidelines. The sound startled Kirishima out of his thoughts. “What the hell are you doing? You’re letting your team flounder out there!”

It’d been a week since the altercation with you, and admittedly it had affected him deeply. He wasn’t putting as much effort into his training, choosing to avoid the heat of battle where he could. This, consequently, was pummeling his teammates.

“Shit,” Kirishima muttered under his breath as he watched Sero take a brutal punch to the side of the head from Shoji, sending him sliding across the rocky terrain. They were in the midst of a team versus team exercise, and once again, Kirishima had abandoned his part in the formation.

He was the one who should’ve taken that hit, up on the frontline. He could tank it without a problem. Now Sero was down for the count, and their team was at a disadvantage.

He could hear Aizawa shout again, anger and frustration beginning to bleed into his tone as he yelled at him to get in there. But how could he? How could he willingly take the blows knowing that he was practically damning you to bear the pain for him?

Yet at the same time, how could he ever aspire to be a pro-hero if he couldn’t use his body as both a natural shield and weapon—if he couldn’t use his quirk? He was torn, and his own internal conflict had left him floundering ever since he learned who his soulmate was, and what he’d inadvertently done to them.

With Kirishima’s guilt and indecision forcing him into inaction, their team inevitably lost the exercise. Aizawa glared at him from across the field, disappointment painted across his face. And his teammates—his classmates and friends—were shooting him frustrated looks too, looking a little more beat up than usual.

Kirishima made his way over to Sero, where Denki and Mina were already helping him to his feet. Sero had a nasty bruise already marring the side of his head, purple extending all the way around his eye socket. Kirishima’s gut twisted painfully as a deep feeling of shame and worthlessness settled there.

Kirishima didn’t like feeling like a coward. He was more than willing to sacrifice himself for his friends…but he felt like his hands were tied. Either he had to watch his friends get hurt, or knowingly hurt you by taking it himself.

Old insecurities from his youth resurfaced. Self-doubt and self-loathing began to settle where absence had taken residence within him—he lost the chance of a future with you, his soulmate, and now he was losing whatever chance he had of becoming a truly respectable and manly hero.

Kirishima clenched and unclenched his hands at his sides before he ran one of them through his hair. Sero was slightly wobbly on his feet, and was forcing a gritty smile despite the evident throbbing of his head. With Denki helping to shoulder his weight, Sero spoke to Kirishima, wincing slightly.

“It’s okay, man,” his said, voice hoarse. “It’s not your fault.” His words, though good natured, did little to reassure Kirishima. He knew it was his fault, and knew that Sero was just being kind because of what had happened with you last week. His friends all knew the struggles he was going through—they could see the emotions, insecurities, and guilty conscience warring in his eyes no matter how hard he tried to be strong.

Mina knew this more than anyone, and so she patted Kirishima’s shoulder gently. “How about you take Sero to the infirmary?” she offered, and Kirishima recognized this as the kindness it was. It was an opportunity to help him feel a little less useless in that moment.

Kirishima swallowed, and nodded his head, feeling every bit like a young boy again and he assumed Denki’s spot and shouldered half of Sero’s weight. As he walked him up to the infirmary, he winced each time Sero did.

Kirishima knew he was a shitty soulmate, and now he knew he was a shitty friend too.

Once Sero was settled into a cot and under Recovery Girl’s care, Kirishima allowed himself to exhale the breath he was holding. He ran a hand down his face, and felt the urge to do…something. Punch a wall, scream into his pillow, pull his hair…anything to get rid of this heavy feeling in his chest and the loudness of his thoughts.

He leaned against the wall just outside the infirmary, standing like a sentinel while his friend had his mending done. Cutting through his onslaught of heaviness, Kirishima felt a sudden ache in his hand. He glanced down at it, and something tightened in his chest. That was you, wasn’t it? Down the soul bond…the hand you’d broken against his jaw was aching now.

Would this be as close as he ever got to you? Standing on the outskirts of your existence, only ever knowing your pain? It seemed a fitting punishment, considering he’d caused so much of it for you…

He wondered where you were. He wondered if you ever thought of him, or if you did your best to clear him from your mind entirely. Stop ruining my life and stay the hell out of it. Those were likely the last words he’d ever hear from his soul mate.

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself, before he finally pushed off the wall. Classes were over for the day, and he couldn’t think of a better start to his weekend than sulking bitterly in his room for the rest of the night.

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

You rubbed your uninjured hand along your chest, trying to ease the painful, aching tightness there. It had refused to dull even a smidge for the past week. You had a small suspicion to the cause, but little idea as to what the sensation actually was.

It was Saturday night, and although the burn pains from last week had faded, the feeling in your chest was only getting worse. It was almost more miserable than the soreness beneath your cast.

You stared hard at your textbook, the lamp on your desk illuminating the words and diagrams in a warm yellow light. But as much as you tried to focus, the aching chest pain distracted you. You sighed in defeat, and closed the heavy book with a thump.

You pushed out from your desk, stretching to the best of your ability with the clunky, hunk of plaster encasing your fractured hand. Something was wrong with your soulmate, wherever he was. Ever since you presented with a soul bond, nothing like this aching feeling had ever been sent down the line. It was distracting, and…a little concerning.

You hadn’t planned on ever talking to Kirishima again after how you left things last week, but you felt compelled to get to the bottom of this. You told yourself it was because you needed to study without any distractions. Though, if you were honest with yourself, you’d been feeling kind of shitty about what you’d said to Kirishima in your anger.

You’d just been so tired of the near constant pain. You’d been at your wits end. You had resented him for it, and that resentment had built over time until it boiled over.

But this past week, you’d noticed something. The pain you’d so often associated with him and his hero training was surprisingly absent. There was only that deep, painful ache in your chest that refused to go away.

You swallowed, trying to clear your head of all these thoughts. You took a deep breath to mentally prepare yourself. Then, you raised you good hand, and gave three solid knocks to the door. You waited…but no one answered. You knew he was in his dorm. You could hear soft music playing on the other side of it. Perplexed, you raised your fist again and rapped your knuckles against the door a second time.

Once again, no one answered. Feeling slightly miffed at being ignored, you called out through the door, “Kirishima, open up.”

A moment later, you heard the music silence.

Your eyebrows furrowed slightly, and you shifted awkwardly on your feet as you heard shuffling on the other side of the door. You preoccupied yourself by looking at your cuticles, waiting for what must’ve been thirty seconds before the door finally and suddenly opened. It startled you slightly, but you quickly composed yourself.

There, Kirishima stood. He was in sweatpants and a sleep shirt. His hair was mussed and down against his head, as if he’d only just quickly ran a comb through it. He looked…not well. Beneath his eyes were slight dark circles, as if he hadn’t been sleeping well. He wasn’t smiling as he normally did either, as if his bright and cheery attitude had been snuffed out like a candle.

His eyes were widened slightly, staring at you as if you were a phantom, or a figment of the mind. He gaped, evidently stunned, and you cleared your throat awkwardly at the attention. “Hey,” you managed to get out.

You watched his throat bob as he swallowed. Then, he recovered, and leaned against his door frame. “Hey…” he answered quietly, his eyebrows furrowed. He seemed sad. “Sorry. Did I…did I hurt you again?” he asked, his voice sounding weak.

You blinked at him, and quickly shook your head. “No, no…” you said, speaking with a lot more patience and kindness than you had the last time you confronted him. “I just…wanted to check on you.”

At your lame explanation, Kirishima seemed to still. His expression morphed slightly, taking on a look of confusion. His eyes briefly glanced down the hall in either direction, as if there might’ve been a camera crew waiting to get his reaction. Then, when his eyes returned to you, you felt your heart leap into your throat. Was his attention always this all-encompassing?

This close to him, you realized that you never noticed before how pretty his eye color was. It was a gorgeous burnt-sienna.

You blinked when he cocked his head slightly, and realized you’d been staring. You cleared your throat, a little embarrassed, but undeterred. He hadn’t yet responded to you, seemingly waiting for you to continue. So, you do.

“I’ve been getting this feeling,” you began slowly, but immediately stopped as a few girls left their dorm a few doors down. You flushed slightly, glancing their way before looking back to Kirishima. “Actually, do you…mind if I come in to talk more privately?”

Kirishima’s eyes widened slightly, and glanced over his shoulder towards his room, as if a little self-conscious. “It’s messy,” he confessed after a moment, but one look at your pleading eyes had him caving. “But uh…yeah, come on in.” He stepped to the side, holding the door open to you in a way that seemed rather gentlemanly, despite everything.

You entered, ducking your head and keeping your cast tucked into your body. The room was dark, and as he’d said, a little disheveled. Some clothes piled in the corner next to the hamper, empty drink cans and snacks on the table next to his bed, a towel in the center of the floor…

Before you could enter too far, Kirishima closed the door and made quick work to tidy up what he could. You opened your mouth to reassure him it was alright, but something in your intuition told you to humor him. So, you patiently waited as he tossed the clothes and towel into the hamper, and swiped the trash into the bin.

When he finished, he ran a hand through his hair and puffed out a soft breath of air. “Sorry about that,” he muttered between his teeth. Silently, he gestured a hand to a red beanbag in the corner of the room for you to sit. You hesitated for only a second before thinking better of it, and accepted the invitation. It sank beneath you as you sat down. It felt like it was swallowing you.

“So,” he said after a moment, leaning his hips against his desk. He braced his hands on the edge of it, not quite meeting your eye, but instead looking at the floor near your feet. “You were saying?”

You cleared your throat, trying to fight off the wave of awkwardness threatening to consume this entire situation. “Yeah,” you began. “I’ve just been…getting this feeling like something was wrong.” He looked at you then, and you paused for just a second before you asked, a bit unsure, “Is something wrong?”

Kirishima seemed to search your face for something, words getting caught in his throat. Finally, he looked away and muttered quietly, “Can you feel it? Is it bothering you? …sorry, I’m…I’m trying.” He’d always been so boisterous when you saw him in the halls, always loud, cheerful, energetic, and bright.

Now he seemed so sullen and dejected. Geez, had you done that to him?

Guilt gnawed at your gut, and distantly you replayed the harsh words you had snapped at him the last time you’d spoken. You’d been angry, and you felt justified in being so. But also, you’d spoken without giving him any chance to respond or explain himself. And, he’d just let you. You’d never had a proper conversation before that afternoon, and he had no reason to quietly undertake your vitriol, and yet he did—without a single word of retaliation or denial.

“Kirishima,” you sighed, looking away in shame. “It’s not that…look, I’m sorry for how I behaved before.” You could feel the weight of his eyes back on you, watching your face. You wished you were brave enough to meet his gaze. “I was upset and… you didn’t know, did you? That it was hurting me that badly? You didn’t think of it. I’ve been thinking this past week, and I can’t imagine you would do it on purpose. You don’t seem like that kind of guy.”

You looked up in time to see him shake his head, confirming your guess. He was staring at you with an intensity, hanging onto every word as if you were the most important thing in the world. “I didn’t know,” he agreed quietly.

“I know,” you breathed, watching him carefully. He glanced away at your sudden attention, and you got the feeling he normally wouldn’t have if not for…whatever was going on. “I can feel your pain,” you said after a moment. “It’s different. It’s here.” You press your good hand to your chest, and saw him close his eyes, a strained expression on his face.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, and you felt your heart twist painfully. He seemed to feel it too, because he looked up at you the moment it happened.

“Stop saying that,” you frowned, and with minor difficulty due to having a cast, you pushed yourself up from the bean bag. You watched Kirishima stiffen as you approached him, and paused. “I’m the one who should apologize.” He seemed to relax a hair then, and watched you with the same rapt attention as before.

“I never meant to make you feel like this,” you said, again pressing your hand to your chest. You watched him watch you, and took another small step forward. He didn’t react, so you took it as a sign to approach. Slowly, you removed your hand from your chest, and ever so gently placed it upon his own.

You heard him inhale sharply, and could feel his heart hammering in his chest. “That’s what this aching feeling is, isn’t it?” you asked, and he didn’t respond. He didn’t have to. You could see all the confirmation you needed in his eyes.

“You’re not a shitty soulmate,” you murmured, wincing at the words you had once spat at him. “I shouldn’t have approached you like that, guns blazing. I shouldn’t have made assumptions. I haven’t felt anything this week other than the aching. You’ve been trying not to get hit during class, right?”

You watched him carefully. Again, he didn’t answer you, but instead raised his hand to rest it atop of where yours was still upon his chest. His eyes were soft with a vulnerable emotion, a lingering sadness, and what you felt might have been a tiny, fragment of hope.

You swallowed, feeling a slight warmth rise to your cheeks. No one had looked at you like that before. It felt intimate in a way. The anger and resentment you had burned with just last week was extinguished, and all that remained was a desire to reconcile and understand.

“Tell me what this feeling it?” you asked quietly, deciding to reward his vulnerability with some of your own. “Help me understand you.”

And so, he did. He brought you to his bed, and you both sat on the edge of it as he confessed how he had been feeling. The resurgence of old insecurities and mental health issues. The self-loathing, the struggle to work towards his hero dreams, to be a good person to his friends and to you, and to fight back the crushing waves of disappointment and expectations weighing down on him.

He was honest with you about everything, and you admired him for it. He was courageous in his honesty, and despite all the new and past hurt you’d triggered in him, he continued to speak kindly to you. Did you deserve his forgiveness? You weren’t sure yet, but he seemed to think so.

When he’d finished, you had slight tears in your eyes. The crushing weight in your chest, that ache he’d been feeling…it had been overwhelming. But as he’d talked you through his feelings, you noticed it had lightened considerably. It was still there, smaller yet persistent—but, you were certain with time, you might help him vanquish it as he’d done once before. You squeezed his hand with your own, and he looked at you with a slight color to his cheeks.

“Since we’re being honest,” he said after a moment, “I was always psyched knowing I had a soul mate out there.” He watched you for your reaction carefully. “Even though you looked at me like a raging bull, I thought you were so beautiful. You had so much spirit, so much courage.”

You bit your bottom lip, and realized you were still grasping his hand. You didn’t release it.

“That’s the kind of hero I want to be, you know?” he admitted with the softest smile. “The kind of person I want to be. Straightforward, honest, courageous, bold, and compassionate even when it’s hard to be.”

“You are,” you heard yourself saying, staring into his eyes. Those pretty, burnt-sienna eyes. After a moment, you swallowed, feeling your cheeks warm once more. “I don’t actually want you to stay away,” you admitted.

“I know,” he answered, and smile he gave you was familiar.

[msfantasy]

Unexpected Surprise from a goblin

Goblin x Reader

Summary: experiencing illness you visit a witch where she diagnoses you

Series Masterlist

“Pregnant.” The bubbly witch announces, holding a crystal over your stomach as you lay flat on your back on top of the of the Wicca alter.

Your throat clenches at the unexpected news being delivered, your ears fading out to a dull ringing, your mind reeling at the news all whilst your eyes prick with tears that are quickly building— spilling over the creases like small buckets of water. Your hormonal mind escalating the shock to instant crying.

“Oh dear— I suppose it wasn’t planned then?” The sweet young witch asked, placing the crystals down and began patting your head in attempts to comfort you. “I know that this isn’t helpful now— but monsters are incredibly fertile, if you do not wish to get pregnant, you must involve a witch in your plans to help you mitigate this.” She says which only makes you cry harder, because, how the fuck were you meant to know that? It’s not like sex education is exactly encouraged for girls, let alone when it involves monsters. It’s such a taboo topic.

“H-how did you know? Did the crystal show its a goblin?” You ask with a quivering voice.

“Oh well….” The witch mutters, playing with her long mousy brown hair awkwardly. “You don’t need magic to tell that it’s a monster—otherwise you wouldn’t be crying this hard.” She says, stepping away to pour you a cup of tea.

What the hell were you meant to do? You had enough money from your inheritance to live for a few years independently in the woods, but not indefinitely. You’d figured you’ll seek a husband when you had to and not a moment sooner. But who the hell would want you if you had a goblins child?

There’s no way.

There’s no way you can keep the baby— you’ll live in poverty and starve to death and your child will be abandoned in a cruel world rejected by society only to also be starved and left in poverty…

The kindest thing would be to—

“It’s a boy.” The witch said suddenly, making your mind come to a crashing halt at you process her words. “Have you ever thought of any boy names? I always liked those human names, Fredrick, Alaric or Cassian.” The witch said, her bubbly voice making your tense mind ease up ever so slightly. “Aye, well you’re very lucky— goblins are very family orientated.” She says placing the teacup into your hands. “You and your baby boy will be well looked after, do not fret.” She says which only makes you cry harder.

“I-I d-don’t know who the f-father is.” You begin to sob again making the witches eyes bulge.

“Oh my— you’re a very progressive woman to have so many -“

“I’ve only slept with one goblin!” You snapped. This was so unfair, you only did it once. “I mean, I didn’t even ask his name. It was all in the heat of the moment— he didn’t even stay, took off immediately after we.” You couldn’t even finish your sentence.

The sympathetic, tight lipped smile coming from the witch has your mind spinning all over again. You continue to gasp between dabbing your eyes with a pink handkerchief that floated you way.

“I-I can’t have this child.” You say mournfully, the tone of sadness shocking you as you had not even realised how you objectively felt about this whole situation.

Without warning the witch reached forward, touching your belly, her eyes turning into blank white as her voice twists into a deep melodic trance.

“Kobolt Konstantin of Terra Caves.” She states before snapping back to reality.

You just stared at her, mouth agape, unsure of what she just did.

“The spirits tell me the father is Kobolt Konstantin of the Terra Caves.” She says again with her normal chipper attitude. “Be warned dear girl, when you seek Kobolt out— he will not be expecting your arrival.” She says, now squinting your way, as if scrutinising your appearance as she looks you from head to toe. “No, no, no, this is won’t do.” She said suddenly, jumping to her feet, ripping potions and herbs from her apothecary.

“What won’t do?” You ask, watching the witch scurry around her cottage.

“The leading lady must always be the most beautiful in the room and right now…” she says, her voice dwindling as she tries to curate the best response. “You just need a little extra…care.” She finishes. Now shoving her hoard into your hands.

“I-I can’t afford all this.”

“Consider it a gift from new life.” She says, placing a hand on top of you head, muttering otherworldly words with that vacant look in her eyes until she pulls away with a giddily clap of her hands. “A witches eternal blessings for glowing skin, silky hair and manicured nails!” She giggles again, admiring her handy work. “No off you go— seek out Kobolt, once you do, all will be well.”

[sluckythewizard]

[PUT INTO PLACE, TIED DOWN AND ARRANGED, AND IS NEVER THE SAME, AGAIN.]<-listen to my favorite songs. VAMPIRES ARE WONDERFUL ARENT THEY. THE FLESH IS SO MUCH MORE DURABLE. SO MUCH STRETCHIER THAN HUMANS. THE STRESS DOESNT KILL A VAMPIRE THE SAME WAY IT DOES A HUMAN. YOU CAN TAKE THEM APART THREAD BY THREAD AND LEAVE THEM WIDE AWAKE WITHOUT WORRY OF THE BRAINMATTER SPOILING UNDER VINEGARY AGONY.

[banefort]

cost me an arm and a leg to get it running, but here's my Google Drive upload of The Generators (2024) dir. Georgie Cowan-Turner. If the upload doesn't work, try accessing it through this - a private Vimeo link I found in the festival's code.

[leatherbookmark]

dear god that would be turbo cringe or whatever, but seeing all those annoying little things in fics over and over again really makes me want to write one in which they're not obligatory funnymoments but rather like, words that have meaning and weight and so on

[dallonwrites]

beau is sooo messy i'm obsessed with him. him being happy to see felix seemingly flourishing and being more confident etc but also feeling weird and almost jealous at the fact that it used to be just him that got to see felix that way. that he used to be the only reason for it. and like he KNOWS that's a messy and kind of fucked up way to think about it but he also knows he's in a really weird spot emotionally and can't help it

[snekdood]

bitches prolly out here psychoanalyzing my old art on behalf of my abuser to cushion their belief that im a Horrible Person but then dont see the irony when I point out the shitty things my abuser has drawn and how I see it as clear evidence of their mindset and beliefs (of what's okay to do and how to treat people) descending and pairing that along with everything else they've done and it paints a clear picture of how this person got to the point of thinking it was okay to abuse me the way they did and then the people looking for reasons to hate me through my art will act like "they're just drawings !!!" about their art. which one is it. does someones art say something about them or not? or does it only say something about them if you hate them?

[miyaz6ki]

☆ wearing their clothes

synopsis. seeing s/o wearing their clothes for the first time :) (like shirts/sweatshirts or jackets/coats :pensive:)

the blade has spoken. erm... first draft being posted... i feel a little nervous after changing from reshinless to the user i use everywhere..

pairings. albedo, alhaitham, capitano, childe, wriothesley, diluc, neuvillette, kinich, xiao, dainsleif, wanderer

albedo felt himself heating up already. the red that crept up his neck was noticeable as you looked up. you were wearing his lab coat, and all cozy in the bed you both share.

"you're.. wearing.. my.." - "oh.. wow."

he had just come back from work and he couldn't wait to cuddle with you in bed, yet it was as if he wouldn't mind conducting another experiment with his new 'assistant' by his side <3

alhaitham when he suddenly walks into the empty home, tired of the work he's done for only archons knows how long he had been working. he just wanted to come home and tell you about all the things he's been- oh.

he was stunned. star struck. fuck. were you really wearing his sweater right now? the grayhead felt himself simply smirk at he adorable sight of you simply sleeping on the couch. a dinner made just for him, along with dessert on the side (ifykyk)

"maybe i'll tell you when i wake up, love."

capitano who simply lets out a chuckle, one out of love. he loves how large his coat looked on you. he handed it to you after going out for a while, asking you to simply hang it beside his desk. yet you had better ideas. and by better ideas? is to wear it of course!

"well what do we have here? you're so adorable my love."

he tucks strands of your hair behind your ear. adoring the way you tried your best not to fall over as you tried to spin. this was enough to keep you warm though. not to mention how he was already carrying you bridal style to bed.

childe laughs, seeing you try on one of his shirts, looking at yourself in the mirror before turning to see him.

baby, you look amazing! how about another spin?

even when you simply scoffed, he loved how you looked right now. fuck, he could feel himself reddening already. he definitely will let you have full access to his wardrobe. just take it all like how you took his heart too.

wriothesley just put his jacket over you to keep you from being wet while watching the melusines play with sigewinne, yet right now he was more focused on how much he admired your figure in his clothes. his jacket.

"what's wrong?" "...nothing. you look amazing today, yk that?"

he chuckled at your behavior, unaware of your own attractiveness as you told them to stop running around the fountain with the wetness of the floor spreading. you couldn't help but ease up and laugh as well.

a certainly crazy day at the court of justice- neuvillette was finally finishing up the last few cases, not to mention how absurd some of the cases were.

not realizing he ended up taking your jacket instead of his home, only realizing it when the melusines mention how different it look from his usual one. oh man. there you were. trying on his coat that just seemed a little too big (or small) on you. gosh were you cute.. what do you mean his ears are red?!

"i.. it looks better on you than me, doesn it?"

dainsleif who was there immediately as soon as the red wine was spilled onto your outfit. quick to spring into acting, he throws his jacket over it just as fast. scolding the person who jealously just oh-so accidentally ruined your outfit tonight purely because they wanted your significant other? oh please he wasn't having any of that!

but by the time his anger went away, he didn't realize how.. alluring you looked.. in something he wore all the time. it definitely suited you better, only noticing after he finally parked the car. he definitely had to give you more of his clothes.

"you.. uh.. i.. well.. you're beautiful. you know, you're welcome to keep that."

diluc's face was turning as red as his hair seeing how you quietly snored, sound asleep in his- no, your shared bed. seeing how closely you held his coat to your chest, as well as the shirt you wore.

"...I don't.. deserve you."

he simply took his boots off, letting his arms snake you close, one of his hands trailing up to your scalp, calmly stroking your head as he feels you smile into his chest. this was life.

kinich who always had an interesting wardrobe, you really just wanted to see how comfy his clothes were if he can swing back and forth that far!

and in which you did, spinning and looking at yourself in the mirror in his clothing. you loved it even more from how it smelled just like him too <3

"someone's having fun aren't they?"

you felt yourself blush out of embarassment of getting caught. but before you could apologize, he already had his lips on yours.

when xiao decides it'd be a good idea to give you a hoodie just to realize you never gave it back. is it just.. yours now?

and to find out the answer? yes! it is! and he finds out in the cutest way possible—by finding you sleeping soundly and wearing it all the same. almost indifferent about it as if it was normal.

"you okay?" "i-i've been looking for this y-you know.."

he only flushed more when you tell him you missed him so much.

finally coming home, wanderer, or scaramouche just wanted to cuddle. no words shared. just to hold you in his arms.

but maybe it was good that didn't happen. because now he was looking at the love of his life, and eating the food they made him. knowing how they made it with the knowledge on how he can't really taste anything. not to mention you were wearing.. that sweatshirt he lent you.

you.. look.. good.

[oepionie]

— "HE'S THE OTHER MAN!" . the corpse groom

SYNOPSIS: A ghost groom has claimed MC as his unwilling bride. Unfortunately for him, she's already got a lover

⊹ [ c.w ] — violence, possessive behavior, malleus blows a fucking green laser down ramshackle, mentions of blood, yuu is poor but we alrdy knew that, papa crewel crumbs

⊹ [ w.c ] — 1.6k opening post with malleus! if this gets enough attention, I might do more :P

"You what?" Crewel seethed, eyes wide as an unsettling smile stretched across the red of his cheeks.

"Repeat that."

"I…I accidentally released that ghost from the spellbook," Grim sobbed, his glossy eyes reflecting both fear and guilt as he looked up at the imposing figure of the professor. "And he's taken my henchhuman as his bride!"

Oh, Great Sevens. Not again.

Crewel groaned, his hands reaching up to frantically rub at his burning eyes. The flickering candlelight cast erratic shadows across his face.

"Please, do tell. How in Wonderland did someone with your lackluster skills manage to—" The professor was abruptly cut off by a loud, almost obnoxious cry that echoed from the doorway. Turning sharply, Crewel saw Crowley hunched against the entrance frame, hysterically sobbing into his palms. Fat tears dripped beneath his ornate mask, glistening in the low light. "They grow up so fast! My dear child is already getting married!"

Crewel's eye twitched as he took in the scene: Grim shaking like a leaf, and Crowley, dramatically weeping, pathetically looking to him for a solution.

"Fools," Crewel snarled, striding out of the room as he fished his phone from his coat pocket. "If you two won't be of use, then I'll have to enlist the help of those mutts instead."

The day had started like any other in Ramshackle, but you certainly didn't expect it to end with a wedding. Surrounded by the ghostly residents of the dorm, you stood dressed in all white, a bouquet clutched in your hand. Curling in yourself, you sighed and rested your head in your hands, avoiding everyone's gazes which felt like icy needles on your skin.

Ramshackle's old lounge, with its worn-out floorboards and faded wallpaper, was the chosen venue for your ceremony. Whispers rustled through the gathering, carried on a faint breeze that stirred the dust motes in the dim light. Somewhere in the background, the somber notes of an organ piano echoed. You didn't even know you had a piano…

"Dear?"

Jumping with a shriek, you whipped your head around. A ghostly visage, bathed in a deathly pale blue glow, hovered inches from your face, an unnaturally wide grin stretched across their blue lips. Bony fingers gently traced up your cheeks, sending tingles down your spine.

With sunken eyes and high, sharp cheekbones, Elizan—a "visiting" friend of one of Ramshackle's ghosts—was truly a sight to behold. His complexion had a pallor that matched the moonlight filtering through the decrepit windows of the form. Wisps of long, flowing indigo hair framed his face, swept back as if caught in a breeze that only he could feel.

"You look wonderful," he cooed, pressing a featherlight kiss to your forehead, leaving your cheeks burning.

"Ah. Thank you," you stammered, averting your gaze and gently pulling away. You could hardly focus on the words being spoken to you, your mind spinning with the surrealness of it all.

"You look... Good as well," you forced out with a cough, tugging at your hair nervously. "But... Listen... I—"

Before you could finish, the door to the entrance slammed open, nearly breaking off the hinges with a sound that could wake the dead, sending cracks spider-webbing through the already dilapidated walls.

On the inside, you screamed louder than the hinges.

You had painstakingly patched up the door after Grim's recent screw-up—a feat that had tested your patience and carpentry skills to their limit. Unless you wanted to survive on a diet of stale canned food and cafeteria leftovers for another year, you couldn't afford any more repairs.

While you were busy mourning the loss of having decent meals, heaving and leaning against the door for support, your friends called out your name in a panic, their bleary and furious gazes zeroing in on your figure. Clad in white, you stood there, the perfect picture of a pretty blushing bride.

The uninvited guests didn't go unnoticed by your "groom," and in seconds, you were pulled into a suffocating grip. Elizan's usually serene demeanor shattered like fragile glass. His deathly pale features contorted into a snarl, veins pulsing ominously beneath translucent skin. His typically gentle eyes blazed with an unsettling fire, icy whites now narrowed and piercing.

"Mutt!" Crewel seethed, his foot slamming into the floor and shattering the newly installed tiles. Your soul nearly left your body as you screamed inside again. There go a thousand thaumarks…

"What in the Sevens is this!?" Crewel shrieked, running a gloved hand through his tousled hair. With sharp movements, he pointed a finger at Elizan. "I'll have you know I can have you arrested for trespassing, unlawful detention, and violating the sanctity of this academy!"

"How... How dare you? Barging into this sacred ceremony—Who even are you?!" Elizan snapped back, his arms coiling tightly around your torso. The crowd erupted in a haze of shouts and muddled answers. Unable to understand anything, Elizan's intense gaze shifted and bore into yours, demanding answers. You gulped nervously, suddenly feeling small and vulnerable in his grasp.

"Who is he?! Who are they?!" he barked like a dog, flashing his sharp fangs at you.

"Uh… That's my professor—uh, Crewel," you stammered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. "And those are… They're my… friends?" Your gaze flickered to the group of men who had entered, their expressions ranging from confusion to anger.

Elizan's wide eyes now filled with shock, white orbs glossed over with luminescent blue tears. He pushed you away as if you had burnt him, recoiling from your touch as though it pained him physically.

"You know other men?!" the ghost cried out, his hands clenching into fists, his midnight blue hair cascading wildly around his face like a tempestuous sea. The tortured cries of the groom echoed through the room, sending a shiver down your spine as you awkwardly shifted on your feet, feeling like a character caught in an soap drama.

"…Yes?" you replied, unsure.

"How could you do this to me?!" He sobbed, a dark shadow covering his face. "Running off on an affair the DAY of our marriage?!"

"Well, that's a rather dramatic accusation—" you started, but Elizan shook his head in anguish.

"Answer me! Do you have another man?!" His voice shook the room, and you took a few cautious steps back.

"Elizan, please," you uttered gently, your eyes darting nervously toward one of the men in the room.

Your lover didn't meet your gaze; instead, his eyes were locked onto the ghost, a storm of emotions brewing beneath his features. As you jumped down from the makeshift podium, you shot an apologetic frown at the ghost, hoping to diffuse the escalating situation. "Don't you understand? You're the other man."

"No! You're married to me!" Elizan shrieked, lunging forward in a frenzy, his nails clawing at the air as if trying to grasp something intangible. "Whoever he is—He's the other man!"

MALLEUS DRACONIA

"Whoever he is—He's the other man!"

Lilia raised an eyebrow with a chuckle, his form reclined against a fogged-up window of the room. The weather was gloomy and stormy, the skies tinted green outside, casting an eerie glow over the scene. The window pane, streaked with raindrops and mist, blurred the view of the turbulent skies beyond. Lilia hummed a tune under his breath, a calm figure amidst the brewing storm.

With a sidelong glance, his eyes locked onto Malleus, whose entire figure shook with a barely contained wrath that threatened to engulf the very air around him. The young prince's chest heaved in violent, choked breaths as smoke wisped from his mouth and nose—tendrils of flames flickering amidst the swirling dust and ash.

A deafening crack tore through the air as a vivid surge of green emerald lightning erupted from the heavens, descending upon the roof of the venue with explosive force. The blast of energy painted the sky with a blinding flash of green as it crashed into the building, sending broken glass and wood raining down upon the venue.

Cursing, Elizan moved you both aside, a large chunk of debris hurtling past, narrowly missing your startled form. As more debris crashed down, he shielded you with an outstretched arm, a shimmering barrier briefly forming to deflect a particularly large piece of wood.

"Spectral pest," Malleus seethed, his eyes aglow with an eerie green hue as his nails elongated into sharp claws. With a click of his tongue, he raised his hands, summoning thorns that spiraled towards Elizan, ensnaring the ghost in their sharp embrace. Simultaneously, from the floorboards below, vines emerged like serpents, their tendrils gently but firmly pulling you away from Elizan's protective embrace and guiding you into the safety of Malleus's arms.

"How—?! Ngh!" Elizan writhed against the thorny vines. The prickly tendrils twisted around him like serpents, their sharp points digging into his ghostly flesh.

Malleus paid no mind to the struggling spirit, keeping his gaze fixed on you as he checked for any signs of harm. His expression softened with relief upon finding you unscathed, albeit a bit dusty.

"Beloved," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm amidst the lingering chaos. His gloved hand moved delicately, sweeping away the clinging dust from your shoulders and arms. Pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, his lips lingered there briefly, conveying a warmth that contrasted starkly with the raw power he had displayed moments ago.

"Are you alright?"

Blinking up at him with wide eyes and frazzled hair shooting up in every direction, you nodded dumbly. Turning away from him, you nearly gasped aloud to see the room in shambles, debris scattered everywhere, and the eerie green glow of energy still lingering in the air. The ghostly residents were in a state of panic, their translucent forms flickering as they moved frantically.

"My dorm," you whimpered, your mind racing as you calculated the cost of the damage.

With a chuckle, Malleus adjusted his grip on you, his muscles flexing as he gently set you down. Your legs felt shaky as you tried to steady yourself.

"I will handle the cost of repair, my dearest," Malleus assured you, bending down to your height, his voice dropping to a whisper. Green eyes bore into yours, strands of his midnight hair falling over his face. "You will not need to worry about such things once we are formally betrothed."

You froze, your face suddenly warming and burning.

"What?!"

Malleus reached out, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your cheek, claws dragging across your supple cheeks. "Yes, my dear," he murmured, chest rumbling as his lips curved into a sharp smile. "You heard me correctly."

"I… I don't know what to say," you whispered, feeling dizzy with emotion.

"Will you consider it?" he asked softly, a faint hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "Please?"

Caught in the depth of his gaze, you felt your resolve melting away. "I-I guess?" you breathed, your voice trembling. "I'll… consider it."

A smug smile spread across his face, and he tenderly pressed his lips against yours. "That's all I ask, my dearest."

After ensuring you were alright one last time, Malleus redirected his focus to Elizan. With a flick of his wrist, the thorns under his control tightened around the ghost. Elizan shrieked and thrashed about, his translucent form writhing in pain as the thorns dug deeper.

"Do try to exercise some restraint, my boy," Lilia drawled, tapping his sharp fingers idly against his crossed arms. "We do not want Ramshackle to be bathed in blood. It would be very unsanitary."

not too sure if i am continuing but feel free to suggest some peepl bookies

[huh-i-guess]

Fever

(Task force 141 x F!reader)

Summary: While out on a mission you are injected with a substance that might lead to a shift in the dynamics between the 141.

Warnings: SMUT 18+, sex pollen, fingering, dub-con/non-con (under the influence of sex pollen), choking, nasty Simon, Gaz has morals

Word Count: ~ 4.2k

(Reader's callsign is Pepper)

I don't own MW2, the characters, or the gif above.

“What the fuck was that?” You shouted as you felt a sharp pricking sensation on your left ass cheek. You reached behind you to feel what was causing the sensation and groaned as you felt a syringe protruding from your behind. You looked down and noted that you had stepped on a pressure plate of some kind and triggered the laboratory’s defense mechanism.

“Oh fuck, lass.” Johnny mumbled.

“Shit, Pepper.” Gaz exclaimed in disbelief.

“No fucking way. Why does this shit always happen to me?” You yanked the dart-like needle from your behind and examined the leftover contents. The remaining contents appeared to be a blue syrup-like fluid. You sighed and pocketed the syringe hoping you could take it back to base to have it examined by the scientists at the lab. 

“Pepper, what was that?” Price called over the comms hearing the distress in everyone’s voices. Your thoughts ran at a mile a minute as you tried to figure out if you should tell your captain, that you probably had a mild crush on and always wanted to impress, that you just stepped on a trap. Or if you should lie. You hated lying to Price. It felt like you were letting him down and any time you did, you found yourself immediately retracting your statement and telling him the truth hoping he’d forgive your indiscretion. You readied your mouth to let out some kind of answer but snapped your mouth shut as you heard Gaz from your right side, “Looks like they tranqed Pepper or something. We were sweeping the lab and she was the first one in.” You turned your head toward Gaz and offered him a look that was a mix of thankfulness and regret. 

“Shite. You're still standing, lieutenant?” Price probed in a tone that, only those close to him could tell, was full of doubt and concern.

“Yes sir.” You pushed further into the lab taking extra care where your steps landed. The lab had been recently abandoned by russian terrorists working on some kind of bioweapon. You could only hope that you didn’t just get dosed with whatever they were concocting. As the three of you pressed further into the dingy lab you felt like the mass of your body was slowly doubling. 

“Soap. Gaz. If I drop, I need two to keep moving. We need to get this intel out of here as soon as we find it.” You could faintly hear the heavy footsteps of the terrorists behind you.

“No way in hell we’re leaving you behind.” Gaz contended. 

“Listen I-” 

You were quickly interrupted by Laswell’s voice in your ear, “Pepper. Evac will get to you and the boys in 11 minutes. It’ll be 2 clicks north of your current location. We’ll get you to the safe house from there.” 

“Copy.” You replied as Soap took a step closer and fixed his mouth to ready a response to your order. 

“Lass I don-”

“Listen. We don't have time for this. I don’t know what I got hit with but I know that at the moment we have a job to do. Let’s keep moving while I can and clear the files we came for. You will keep moving if I drop and that’s final. This mission can't be a waste of time.” You were met with an apprehensive “Yes Ma’am” and a “got it LT” and you snapped your head around to continue sweeping the lab. 

You knew you were being harsh but if you gave them room to argue you’d be stuck here going back and forth with them about it. Truthfully it was a ruse to make it look like you weren’t basically shitting bricks. You couldn’t stop the thoughts that flew through your mind.  I’m going to die today. Holy fuck I’m not making it out of this. I don’t know what I got hit with. How long do I have? You didn’t have much going on in your home life so the thought of a family didn’t even cross your mind until you thought about who around you did have one. Soap had his sisters back in Scotland that loved to “force” him to watch those really crappy rom-coms that he claimed he hated so much but then recommended for team bonding nights. Then you had Gaz who had his mom waiting at home for him. She always sent him care packages with little hand written notes that gave him updates on the status of his neighbors’ cat who had slowly been making itself comfortable on their property back in London. She even sent him photos of the cheeky little tuxedo cat. Your mind shifted from thoughts about yourself to thoughts about them. I have to get these boys out of here. They have so much going for them. They really are some of the best we have to offer. I can’t let them down. If I can't get out of here at least they can. 

Gaz went to the computer and plugged in a decryption device and began to sift through the scientist's digital files while Soap went through some of the scattered papers left in the room.

“They were in such a rush to get out of here they weren’t even effective at scrubbing their drives. Pep, I think I might have something.” You walked to the computer Gaz was stationed at and noticed a folder titled “Project Vitality”. 

“Good job, Gaz get it and we go. Soap anything?”

“A couple of poorly redacted files with the same name.” Soap chipped from your left. You made your way to him and patted his shoulder in praise.

“Alright we gotta move.” You heard the footsteps boom as the incoming enemies approached. You felt yourself slowly start to stall and noticed you had a difficult time focusing your eyes. It was like you were wearing a pair of glasses that weren’t meant for you and you couldn’t take them off. You willed your eyes to focus but it was becoming a hassle. Fuck me. You turned your head to Soap on your left and said, “Soap I need you to take point on the way out. I'll watch our backs as we exit.”

“Are you-” he started then pressed out a short, “Will do.” The look on his face was filled with so much concern, that for his sake, you almost wanted him to ask you if you were okay. He turned and rushed out of the room followed by Gaz and you at the back. The three of you navigated the winding corridors of the combatant base and made your way back, passing the rooms you had previously cleared. 

“Pepper. How we doing?” Price questioned over comms.

“Got the documents and drives, sir.”

“I know you did. That’s not what I’m asking about.”

“What kind of answer do you want, Cap?

“You know what I want to hear.” You knew Price wanted the truth but you couldn't let him know the fact that you might be starting to lose motor function and that the mass of your body felt like it had doubled. There was a large part of you that wanted to make him proud and craved his approval so the thought of disappointing him always stirred something deep inside you. But then there was Gaz and Soap. They were your sergeants and they often looked to you for guidance. The image they had of you rarely faltered from confidence and strength. They were right by your side and were clearly worried for you. If you told the truth to them they probably want to stop and question your status or maybe even try to do some kind of makeshift field evaluation on you and you’d definitely lose out on valuable time. 

A shaky, “I’m doing just fine, sir.” fell from your lips then silence. A sigh from Price that was then followed by a gruff, “Bring it in safe. I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Of course sir.” You acknowledged. He knew you were lying. The slight tremor in your voice told him exactly what he needed to know. 

Soap led the three of you out of the compound but not without running into a couple of the remaining terrorists that missed your group upon arrival. You, although struggling to see and move, caught the slight movement as you three made your way to the entrance of the compound. A brown jacket sleeve that moved just a bit too slow was all you needed to gather that the combatants had reached your location. Years of intense practice and strenuous training had you firing your weapon with a practiced precision that was barely impacted by your declining physical state. 

As soon as you exited the compound you were met with a glaring brightness from the snow of the siberian tundra. The almost blinding whiteness was a massive contrast to the dimly lit compound so the massive shift in intensity had your head spinning. Gaz noticed you stumbling but only met you with a face of concern and a hand on your shoulder as he watched you struggle to get your bearings. 

Trekking through the Siberian tundra in your worsening condition was one of the hardest things you'd had to do in your career. The whirling of the wind was so intense that it felt like someone was screaming directly next to your ear and the pressure of it was enough to make your head pound. The snow was coming down so hard that each snowflake that hit your face felt like a tiny pin prick over and over again. Your feet were so deep in the snow that it felt like you were gaining an extra 20 pounds of weight with the effects of the drug starting to control your movements. You tried to pull yourself together. It was undeniable at this point that you would not be winning the battle against whatever medication they injected you with.

“2 minutes till evac” Ghost chimed in your earpiece. Your hearing was so sensitive that you could almost feel the loud mechanical static and the whirl of the helicopter in the background of his response.

“Oh my days. Ghost is the one flying us out? I don’t want to end up out the bloody chopper again” Gaz groaned. Oh. I wasn’t the only one to hear the helicopter then. 

“It was either me or you freeze out there, Sergeant.”

“LT, if you fly that thing the way you drive, Gaz might be better staying down here. Less chance of him getting thrown from the bloody thing.” Soap chirped. 

The world slowly started to look like a mass of colors and shapes with no definite beginning or end. The only thing you could do at this point was push and pray that you were gonna have enough strength to make it to the evac point. Everything was so intense that overwhelming wasn't even the right word to describe the feeling. You struggled to pick up your head as you began to hear another distinct whooshing sound that could only belong to that of a Puma HC2.

“I’m here aren’t I?” Soap and Gaz stopped moving as Ghost put the helicopter on the ground. 

“I’m glad you are sir. Good to see you, Ghost.” Soapsaid as he flung the door open and made his way on the aircraft.

“Always good to see that ugly mug of yours, Johnny.” Ghost turned his head to get a good look at everyone. “ Pepper, you don't look too hot.” Ghost concluded as you dragged yourself into the seat next to what you could have only imagined was Gaz. The words that came out of your mouth were something along the lines of “Not” and “Good” but no one really understood you with how slurred your response was. They did however understand that something was really wrong when your body slumped backward and went limp next to Gaz. You could vaguely hear the commotion of Gaz, Soap, and Simon, around you as they shouted your name and desperately tried to keep you from slipping out of consciousness. The last thing you heard was Price pressing to be informed on your state and him telling Ghost to get all of you to the safe house. 

---

“A neurotoxin that sends the body into overdrive. Increases nervous sensitivity and impulsivity, and impairs functionality of the prefrontal cortex and hippocampus.” Price read from the lab report with a stubby cigar in hand.

“Why the hell would they want to make something like that?” Gaz questions.

“Apparently in small doses it can be used as an aphrodisiac that it increases blood flow throughout the body, promotes sexual stamina, and increases pleasure outcomes? They must’ve been trying to develop something to sell on the streets.” Price continues.

“Right so they dosed her with super viagra?” Soap questioned. 

“That's what it sounds like?” Gaz said. 

“I thought that stuff didn't work on women?” Simon interjected. 

“It looks like they’ve altered it so it impacts both sexes but they haven’t been able to work out the less desirable symptoms. Tachycardia, fever, headache, dizziness, loss of consciousness, heart failure, and death.” Price paced as he read the outcomes. 

“Oh shit.”

“Heart failure? Death? How do we make sure that that doesn’t happen?” Gaz frantically questioned.

“The only way the toxin can be expelled from the body is through coitus…” Price trailed off as he dropped his cigar into a bowl. That can’t be right. He read it three times just to be sure and the words on the page didn’t change. 

“Steamin’ Jesus.” Soap deadpanned.

“No blood way.” Gaz stood with an open mouth. 

“Someone has to fuck her.” Simon said. 

---

When you awoke, you noticed you were lying on a firm mattress and were surrounded by the smell of smoke laced with a heavy sweetness that only came from Price’s cigars. You felt undeniably cold and couldn’t help but to shiver. You rubbed your fingers across your palms and felt them drenched in sweat. As you slowly began to turn to your side, you were overwhelmed with the feeling of the rough sheet that laid under you. 

“What the fuck?” You noticed that you had been stripped out of your vest and snow gear and were left in your black polyester thermals. You could feel every inch of fabric that you wore and immediately moved to take off the thermals. You were left in your sports bra and underwear.  Why am I taking off my clothes? I’m freezing? You ran your hands up and down your body trying to get a semblance of warmth but then decided that putting thermals back on would be too much for your unusually sensitive skin. As you dragged your hand down the sides of your thighs you couldn't help but notice how good it felt to touch yourself. You moved your hands to your inner thighs and couldn’t contain the moan that slipped from your mouth. You brushed your hand over the gusset of your panties and whined at the feel of your hand gliding over your already sensitive clit. 

“Pepper?” rushed out of Gaz’s mouth as he entered the room. He looked over to the pile of thermals on the end of the bed. “How are you feeling?” he probed.  When did Gaz get so attractive? He wore a red henley that hugged his arms perfectly and his soft curls made an appearance without the presence of his well worn UK hat. He made his way over to you and touched your forehead. “You’re burning up. Damn. The fever’s started.” The feeling of his hand on you was almost indescribable. He was warm and firm and exactly what you felt you needed at that moment. 

You felt yourself acting on purely impulse as you grabbed his hand and dragged it down to your mouth. You started to kiss his palm and moved your attention to his thumb. You placed it firmly between your lips and began to suck. “Oh fuck.” Gaz exhaled as he watched you with wide eyes. You continued your ministrations and moved from his thumb to his index and middle fingers. You began to lick around his digits before you engulfed them in your mouth with a guttural moan. You could taste the salt and gunpowder from the mission and it only made you crave him more. You lifted your gaze to him and willed your eyes to meet his. The groan that fell from his lips was divine. You removed his fingers from your mouth and helped his hand descend to where you really needed him. “Fuck. No. I can't do that princess. Not when you're like this.”

“But I really really want you to. Come on, Kyle. It’ll help me feel so much better.” You purred. Gaz let out a shaky breath, pulled his hand from you, and walked out the room but not without you noticing him readjusting himself in his pants. Fine, I'll do it myself. You sighed and pulled your panties down your legs till they rested at your ankles. You slid your fingers between your legs and gasped at how wet you were. You slowly started to trail your finger through your folds, collecting some of the wetness that had dripped from you and began to rub your clit. As soon as your finger pressed against your reactive little nub you were in heaven. You started in small circular motions and rubbed until you felt you needed more. You moved your other hand to your breast and tugged at your nipple. You kneaded and grabbed your breast like it was the key to your survival. You’ve never felt like this before. It's like you can feel everything, everywhere, all at the same time. You felt the rough fabric of the sheets, the scratchy wool of the pillow behind your head and you felt the soft cotton that was resting around your ankles.  You were still shivering from the fever but you felt like you could feel the stimulation of your clit in your toes. You needed more. 

You moved your hand from your plush breast to rest right at your soaked opening. You circled your middle finger a few times just to get it wet, and sank right into your leaking entrance. “Oh fuuuuuck”. You could feel the pressure of the finger at your walls as you started to curve your finger inside of yourself searching for your g-spot. You continued rubbing your clit and curling your finger inside of you hoping to seek your elease. It felt so good but it just wasn't enough. You slipped in another finger and moaned at the intrusion. You started to pant and whine with how good you were feeling, but you felt yourself needing more. You continued the calculated movements and felt your orgasm approaching. You just needed a little more. One more push to get you there. One curl of your finger turned to two, then to three, then the pleasure turned into frustration. “Fuuuuuuck.” You groaned as you  pulled your fingers from your body and layed on the mattress in a heap of sweat and frustration. You felt yourself slowly drift back into the unconscious void even as you worked to steady your breaths.  

---

“She sucked my fingers. Wanted me to fuck her. With my fingers. Uh she begged me to. And she was down to her knickers” Gaz confessed as he dropped his eyes to his combat boots, too unsure to look at his team. 

“Did you lad?” Price probed. 

“No, I couldn't do it. I really thought about it and I- I don't know. She definitely has a fever though.”

“Hm.” Was all that left Price's mouth. 

“We're gonna have to check up on her. Make sure her heart isn't working too hard and see how to keep her satiated. For her sake.” Simon stated matter of factly. 

“Does it say it has to be expelled through “sexual intercourse” or can she just, ya know, uh.. “Get there”, and work it out her system.” Soap questioned, looking toward Price and seeking the answers he normally has. 

“Johnny. It says coitus.” Simon replied. 

“No one’s gonna fuck her like this. It’s not right.” Gaz stated.

“What if we have to?” Soap doubted.

“Maybe we should see if an orgasm is the solution. If that doesn't work then last resort, someone will do what needs to be done.” Price said with a sense of finality. 

---

You felt the press of two fingers at your carotid artery and shivered at the warmth they offered. You fluttered your eyes open and nearly jumped out of your skin when they met dark brown ones behind a human skull mask. You’d seen Simon before and regularly worked with him but you'd never woken to him standing over you like the grim reaper.  

“Jesus, Simon.” 

“‘Just checking your heart rate.” He confirmed. Simon almost always has his gloves on. To feel his fingers at your neck had you craving more of his touch. You grabbed his hand that was at your neck and splayed it across your jugular. You looked up at him with full, pleading eyes and felt him squeeze a bit. A light moan left your lips as you begged him to squeeze harder. The groan that left his mouth would surely implant itself in the depths of your mind for years to come. The sound coming from him went straight to your core and you felt yourself clenching your thighs. 

“Simon, please.”

“Fuckin’ hell. Don’t look at me like that. Not while you've got your knickers round your ankles.”

“Please. Si. I need you. I’m so fucking horny. I can feel everything Simon. Please just help me feel good. I promise I’ll be good. You can use me however you want. However you need to. Please.”

“Don't say that y/n.” He turned his gaze away from your face. 

“I mean it. Please help me.”

“Just my fingers darling.” 

“Yes. Yes, thank you so much.” You nodded your head eagerly and bit down on your lip. If your fingers weren't working to get you there, maybe his would. You parted your legs for him and he hung his head and rolled his shoulders while he let out a deep “Fuck”. His grip on your neck tightened and you felt your head go light. “Oh fuck yes.” His other hand made its way between your plush legs and ran between your folds. Simon’s eyes were locked onto your pussy and he was in awe of how wet you were. He knew what the toxins effects on you were but to see them in person had him stiff as a board in his pants.  Fuck this was so wrong of him. He knew he wanted to help you but part of him was living out his sick and twisted fantasies. To have you, a stunning woman, dripping wet and begging for him to fuck you, he’d be insane to not feel at least a bit aroused. He dragged a finger around your clit and almost purred at the whine that left your lips. He continued to make slow and tedious circles around your clit. 

“Simon, please I need more. Can you - mmm fuck- can you fuck me?” How could he deny you when you’ve asked him so nicely. 

“Only with my fingers, darling.” He slipped in two fingers and groaned at how tight you were. Your back arched so deeply and he wondered to himself what it would be like to be behind you when you arched like that. Simon began to work his fingers inside of you. He started with slow but deep pumping motions and moved onto scissoring his fingers inside of you searching for that special spot that he knows will make you tick. Your breath hitched in your throat and you let out a long high pitched squeal. 

“Is that it, darling? Right there? Hm?” He beamed with a sense of condescension that made your pussy tighten on his fingers. 

“Oh fuck Simon. Please, please let me cum.” His fingers were hitting all of the right parts of you and you felt your orgasm nearing. 

“Of course you can come, darling. Fucking soak my fingers. I know you need it. Come on, darling.”

You slid your hand down to your clit and rubbed it in furious circles. His grip tightened on your neck and you felt fuzzy everywhere. “Cum all over my fingers. Make a mess, why don't you.” And at that final comment from Simon, you felt the band within you snap as you had one of the most intense orgasms of your life. Your toes curled and your back was nearly curved into a C shape. Your pussy clenched and unclenched as Simon continued his assault. You felt your ears ringing from the intensity of the orgasm and felt like you lost hearing for a little moment. As you panted and tried to recover from your climax, Simon removed his drenched fingers from you, lifted his mask to just below his nose, and brought his hand up to his mouth. He locked eyes with you and you watched him in amazement as he cleaned you from his fingers. Your eyes flutter at how intense the sight was. His strong jaw, scarred but pink lips, and traces of stubble left you wanting more. He moved the hand that was on your neck back to your pulse point to check your heart rate.

“It’s slowed a bit. Get some rest," and with that he left the room and you felt yourself slip from consciousness.

[itneverendshere]

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - TWO

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mentions of possible pregnancy, of abortion, of pregnancy risks & death. self-loathing. chapter one ┆ chapter three ┆ chapter four

You lied.

You didn’t take the tests the next day.

Or the next. You couldn’t. Every time you picked up one of the stupid boxes, your heart would drop to the pits of hell and your hands would start sweating. You’d shove it back in the drawer like it could disappear if you just ignored it hard enough.

Once you knew, you knew. 

There was no more pretending as if nothing happened.

No more pretending like you didn't care that Rafe moved on like he didn’t just dump you, with no real closure and ran to the next girl he found. 

Fuck, why did he have to look so happy that night? He got to be carefree, living his perfect little life with her, and you were there, sitting on the bathroom floor, too scared to even pee on a stick.

What if it was positive? Then what? The thought of seeing his name pop up on your phone after you blocked him, or worse, hearing her voice if she picked up...you’d rather die. He didn't deserve to know.

He didn't deserve anything from you anymore.

You started googling abortion clinics before you even touched the tests. You could afford it. That wasn’t even the issue.

You had more money than you knew what to do with. Your inheritance was just sitting there. You could book a flight tomorrow, pay for whatever procedure, whatever it took—fly out of state, out of the country, if you had to. 

But that wasn’t the point. It has never been about the money. It was the overwhelming shame. The fear. The realization that Rafe might have left you, but he was still there, stuck in your head, in your body, in your fucking life. Even when he wasn’t.  

He didn’t have to worry about any of this. He was most likely out on the boat, not even thinking about you. Not thinking about what he did to you. 

And you— you were left with this. Sitting on a bathroom floor for hours a day, trying to figure out how you were supposed to make a decision that changed everything.

You started looking up clinics again, scrolling through the options, but your mind was barely even there. It was legal in North Carolina for now, but you read something about the 12-week ban they passed in June, and suddenly you were spiraling one more time, wondering how much time you even had. 

Could you wait? Could you put it off like you’d been putting off the tests, like if you waited long enough, maybe the problem would just... disappear? Shit, wouldn’t that be easier?

You heard that voice in your head, the one that sounded like your mom, at least what you remembered from watching old videos.

It was depressing how life didn’t let you hold tightly to your memories sometimes. She always reminded you of the kind of person you were supposed to be. The type of girl who had her shit together. The type of girl who didn’t get herself into situations like this, in the first place.

But instead, you were the girl who lost everything—the life you were supposed to have—and somehow, you’d still found a way to screw up what was left.

You kept scrolling like you couldn’t stop.

One page led to another, and soon you weren’t just looking up clinics—you were looking up everything. 

What happened during the procedure, how long it took, the side effects, the complications. You read horror stories about infections, about women who thought it was over and then bled for weeks, about people who changed their minds too late.

You even looked up what could happen if you didn’t get an abortion—what pregnancy could do to your body. And that was a whole other rabbit hole you didn’t need to go down. Your body changing, your hormones going insane. You thought about your boobs getting sore, your stomach stretching, the possibility of throwing up every morning, and it felt like your body was already betraying you. And then you read the serious stuff—gestational diabetes, preeclampsia, all these words you didn’t even know existed before that night. There was a minefield of things that could go wrong, things that would go wrong.

Complications. Risks. Dangers.

You read about women who almost died in labor. About miscarriages and stillbirths and the trauma of carrying a baby for months, only to lose it. You never even thought about that, how pregnancy wasn’t just this smooth, magical process people make it out to be. It was brutal. But you’d been the little sister, you never saw your mother go through it, or anyone for that matter.

Your younger cousin, Topper the bitching backstabber, had been born and raised in Los Angeles before he moved to Figure 8 when he was five. 

You were terrified—not just of being pregnant, but of what it meant to stay pregnant. Would your body even handle it? You’d always lived off coffee and takeout half the time. An unreasonable amount of parties. Too many drinks some nights.

You weren’t exactly the picture of health. What if you weren’t strong enough? What if something went wrong, and you ended up in a hospital bed, alone, because Rafe sure as fuck wouldn’t be there. It was just you.

For a second there, you thought you might pass out.

You’d thrown your phone across the room, it hit the wall with a thud, but it didn’t help. The anxiety was still there, vibrating under your skin, making you want to scream. You glanced at the bathroom drawer again, where the pregnancy tests were hidden like some cursed thing.

Maybe you should’ve just taken one.

Rip off the bandaid.

The stupid phone rang, like was having fun pissing you off, vibrating on the floor where you’d thrown it. You stared at it for a second, debating if you should even pick it up. You didn’t feel like dealing with anyone, especially not whoever was about to ask something from you.

But it kept ringing, and of course, it was a number you recognized—Lily, one of the coordinators from your dad’s foundation. Shit. You forgot about the gala. Again. The one that was happening in two freaking days, the one you haven’t even thought about preparing for.

You swiped to answer, “Yeah?”

“Hey, I didn’t want to bother you, but we need to go over the final details for the gala,” She greeted you, sounding way too perky for how you were feeling. “I really need your input on the seating arrangements, and the auction items, and—”

It hit you just how ironic this was. You were sitting here, freaking out about being possibly pregnant, scrolling through nightmare stories about abortion and pregnancy complications, while Lily was talking about a fundraiser for children’s health. Kids. It felt like some twisted repulsive joke the universe was playing on you.

You blinked back into the conversation, realizing she still talking, and you hadn’t said a word. “Uh, yeah, sorry. I’ve been busy. Can you just handle it?” you muttered, feeling guilty but not enough to actually deal with any of it.

“I’ve already taken care of most things,” she said carefully, “but we really need your approval on the final guest list and the speech. You’re the face of the foundation, after all.”

The face of the foundation. The legacy your dad left you. It was supposed to be this huge responsibility. And it was. You’d always taken it seriously. The one thing in your life you never ruined. But this year, you hadn’t written the speech yet. Jesus, you forgot it was even happening. And the guest list? No clue.

You rubbed your forehead, “I’ll look at it later. Just send it over.”

Lily hesitated again, probably sensing that something was off, you'd always been a control freak. “Okay, I’ll email it to you. Just let me know by tomorrow, alright?”

“Yeah, sure.”

You hung up before she could add anything else, staring at the ceiling. One more thing. One more responsibility piled on top of everything else. You were drowning in all these expectations—being the good daughter to dead parents, the responsible one, the perfect kook girl who was supposed to have everything. You were supposed to be the girl who had the trust fund, the perfect life, the foundation that helped kids in need.

You earned to be her.

Your phone buzzed again, this time with an email notification. You rolled your eyes, already knowing it was from Lily. She’d sent over the guest list, and you groaned, thinking you’d skim it, give it a half-assed glance, and send it back. But as you scrolled down the names, you stopped.

Rafe Cameron.

Of course, he was going to be there. Why wouldn’t he? His family had been involved in your dad’s foundation for years. It was like you couldn’t escape him.

The fucking nerve. To your gala. Your blood boiled instantly, your fingers gripping the phone so tight you almost cracked the screen.

Fuck him. 

If he thought he could just show up and rub his new life in your face, he had another thing coming. Without thinking twice, you deleted his name, erasing him like he didn’t even exist. And then, without checking another name, you sent the list back to Lily.

You didn’t give a shit if it was petty. You didn’t care if it wasn’t professional.

If Rafe wanted to play games, you’d ruin his life if you had to. He thought he could fuck you over, leave you with all this—leave you with nothing? No. You weren’t going to let him have that power.

Not over this. Not over you.

You were shaking now, but it almost felt good. Even if it was just a stupid guest list. Let him find out when he got there and there was no table for him. No seat. No fucking room. 

You still sat there staring at the screen with that stupid blinking cursor. The email from Lily sat open in front of you, and somewhere buried in the list of attachments was the speech. Blank.

Your speech—the one you were supposed to read at the gala in two days. The one you hadn’t even started writing.

This was always the hardest part. Writing it. Saying it. You used to cry every time. Standing in front of all those people, talking about your dad, your family, how the foundation was this beautiful way of keeping their memory alive. It was never just a speech—it was like ripping your heart out of your chest and letting everyone see it, year after year. It never got easier.

But Rafe, used to be there with you.

Every year. He’d sit with you while you struggled through every word, telling you it was okay to take your time, reminding you that you didn’t have to do it if you didn’t want to. And when the gala came, he was always by your side, standing just off stage, waiting for you after the speech was done. You’d run into his arms, and he’d whisper that you 'did great baby', holding you until the room stopped spinning so much.

You could still hear his voice in your head sometimes, 'you’re stronger than you think'.

That’s what he always said, even when you didn’t believe it. He’d hold you, kiss your forehead, and make you feel like it was true, like you really could get through it. He was always so sure of you. But this year? He wasn’t going to be there. He’d stop believing the lies he fed you. You were angry. You were seething. You were utterly alone.

You’d been avoiding this moment—writing.

This time around, it wasn’t just about the speech. It was about the fact that when you walked out of that stage, you wouldn’t have him waiting for you.

You’d step down into nothingness, with no one to catch you.

Your fingers hovered over the screen, but they wouldn’t move. What were you even supposed to say this year? How were you supposed to stand up in front of all those people and talk about love and family and legacy when yours was shattered?

You hated looking at yourself in the mirror, feeling like you’d lost every single piece of who you used to be.

Fuck the speech. Fuck the gala. Fuck Rafe Cameron and his stupid lies, his stupid smile, his stupid promises that he never kept.  

If he thought you were weak, if he thought he could break you, if he thought you were the same girl who used to cling to him like he was the only thing keeping you together—he was wrong.

You were going to do this without him.

You were going to stand up there and give that speech, no matter how much it hurt. And if it killed you, so be it. You’d still do it.

Because unlike him, you didn’t just walk away from the things that mattered. Even if it tore you apart. Even if it was killing you to keep pretending like you were fine. You weren’t fine. But you’d fake it. You’d fake it until the whole world believed it. 

You’d barely hit send on the email when your phone rang again, and this time it wasn’t Lily.

It was Topper. You hadn’t talked to him since that night—the night. The party where you’d found out, where you’d seen Rafe and Sofia together for the first time. Where you realized that everyone knew.

How he’d called Rafe over, like you needed him to fix it, like he was still yours to rely on.

“What?”

“Hey…” Topper’s voice was cautious, “I, uh, I wanted to call and apologize for the other night.”

You snorted, leaning your head back against the wall. “Yeah? For what part? For calling Rafe like his little bitch or for getting in front of my car when I was trying to leave?”

“I didn’t mean to fuck things up. I was just trying to stop you from doing something stupid.”

“Like what?” you snapped. “Leaving the party? Getting out of there before I had to watch him with her for one more second? Yeah, Top, real dumb of me.”

“You almost ran me over,” Topper shot back, his voice rising just a little, like he was offended you hadn’t mentioned that part. “Kinda felt like maybe you weren’t thinking straight.”

“You jumped in front of the car you fucking idiot. What the hell did you expect me to do? Slam on the brakes and listen to whatever bullshit you and Rafe had to say? Because trust me, ’m all out of patience for either of you.”

There was a sigh on the other end, the sound of him trying to not to lose his patentience, like he was the one in the right here. Typical Topper. Always wanting to smooth things over, play peacemaker between you and Rafe, like this was just another fight you’d get over.

He never really got it.

“Look,” Your cousin started, calmer this time, “I didn’t mean to call him. I just thought—”

“You always think calling him will fix things,” you cut in, “Like he’s the answer to every problem I have. He’s not. Not anymore.”

“I get that,” He added quickly, like he was afraid you’d hang up. “But I didn’t know what else to do! You were upset, and I thought maybe—”

“Maybe what? That he could swoop in and save the day?” You let out a bitter laugh. “He’s not your golden boy, Top. He doesn’t fix anything. He ruins things.”

Topper went quiet for a second, probably trying to figure out how to respond without setting you off on an angry rant again. “I get it,” he said finally, “You’re pissed at him. You have every right to be. But I didn’t call him to hurt you, okay? I was worried about you.”

You hated how genuine he sounded, hated that he meant well. He was a nuisance half of the time, sure, but he wasn’t malicious. He never was. He just had terrible judgment. 

“Next time, don’t,” you muttered, rubbing a hand over your face. “I don’t need you playing little brother and calling him when things go wrong."

“I wasn’t trying to clean anything up,” Topper explained, a little defensive now. “I just didn’t want you driving like that. You were upset.”

You rolled your eyes. “Upset doesn’t mean I need you or Rafe deciding what’s best for me. I’m not a kid.”

“You’re not,” he agreed, “But you weren’t exactly in a great headspace, so yeah, I stopped you. I wasn’t gonna let you leave like that and end up in a ditch somewhere.”

It hurt like a bitch, because deep down, you knew Topper had a point.

You were having a meltdown, and he’d stepped in, like he always did when you went off the rails. That was the problem with him—he cared, even when you didn’t want him to. He was family, the only family you had left, and he was too loyal for his own good.

“You could’ve told me,” you confessed what had been upsetting you, your voice losing some of its initial attitude. “About them. Instead of letting me walk into that party blind.”

Topper sighed again, “I should’ve,” he admitted. “I didn’t want you to find out like that. But it wasn’t my place to say anything. And I didn’t want to make things worse.”

Your hand instinctively moved to cup your stomach. You didn’t even realize you were doing it at first, but the second your fingers touched your shirt, the earlier panic welled up inside you again. If he only knew how bad things were. How bad they could get. You yanked your hand away like you’d been burned, heart hammering against your ribs most painfully. There was no way you could even begin to explain what was going on inside your head—or your body.

Not to Topper. Not to anyone. If he knew, he’d freak and you didn’t need that right now.

You clenched your jaw, pushing yourself to focus on the conversation, on Topper still yammering on about apologies and guilt You shook your head, a bitter smile tugging at your lips. 

“Are you even listening?”

“Unfortunately,” You sounded apathetic even to yourself, fingers tapping against the phone, agitated. “Look, Top, I don’t have time for this right now. I’m busy.”

He sighed. “I know you’re pissed, okay? I get it. But the gala’s in, like, two days. You... you still going, right?”

“Of course I’m going,” you scowled, barely able to hide the bitterness in your voice. “I have to. It’s not like I can just dip out and pretend it’s not happening.”

Unlike some people, you thought, but you bit your tongue.

“Good, because I’ll be there too. And I—”

“Oh, joy,” you interrupted, “Another chance for you to babysit me and make sure I don’t make a scene? Can’t wait.”

“Jesus, I’m just trying to help!” Topper groaned. “I didn’t want to make things worse the other night. I—”

“Yeah. Whatever, I’ll see you at the gala.”

You hung up. You didn’t have the patience to deal with him right now. 

The day of the gala came faster than you thought it would.

It was like you blinked, and suddenly, you were standing in the middle of the venue, walking through final checks with Lily, nodding along as she rattled off details you barely absorbed.

The room was all glitz and glamour, with chandeliers dripping from the ceiling, and everything draped in the foundation’s signature gold and white. 

Crisp tablecloths. Flowers in perfect, elegant arrangements. Waiters in black-tie uniforms were circulating, making sure everything looked flawless. Flawless.

That word made you want to gag.

You moved through the space like a ghost, smiling at the right moments, giving half-hearted approvals when needed.  You didn’t care. People were running around, asking for your opinion on this or that. You’d stayed at the venue longer than planned, making sure everything was in order, but your mind was stuck in that floating-place. You wanted to burn the whole thing down, if you were being honest.

You should’ve called your doctor. Days ago. Hell, maybe weeks ago.

Making smart choices wasn’t your thing lately, was it?

When you finally slipped into the room where they’d set up your glam team, you just wanted to sleep. The room itself was a suite off to the side of the venue, a private space meant to make you feel like royalty.

A massive mirror ran across one wall, surrounded by soft, glowing lights. A table was set up with everything—hair tools, makeup brushes, palettes, serums. Bottles of champagne sat chilled in the corner, the condensation dripping down the glass, untouched. It was the kind of place you were supposed to feel special in.

Normally you did. But this year you were numb.

The stylist worked quietly on your hair, soft curls falling into place as she tugged and pinned each section with meticulous care. The makeup artist was dabbing foundation onto your skin, blending and contouring until you didn’t even recognize yourself in the mirror. The dress hung behind you, a shimmering white gown, custom-designed by Versace for the occasion.

You looked like you were stepping into one of those perfect, glamorous lives. But on the inside, you felt like you were going to lose it at any second. You nodded along, giving tight-lipped smiles when they complimented you, and then they finally left.

The room was dead silent now, just you and your reflection. You stood in front of the mirror, staring at yourself, the perfect curls, the glowy skin, the gown waiting behind you. It all felt wrong. It felt fake. You didn’t bear a resemblance to yourself.

You looked like the version of you that the world expected—the untouchable girl. A doll.

Your rifled through your bag for your phone, but instead, your fingers brushed something else. Cold, hard. 

You hadn’t even realized it was in there.

One of the pregnancy tests. You must’ve thrown it in without thinking earlier that morning when you were rushing out the door. You hadn’t even noticed it until now.

What the fuck were you doing?

You had a gala to host in less than an hour. People were going to be looking at you, waiting for you to give the speech, expecting you to hold everything together like always. And there you were, standing in a private dressing room, about to do something so monumentally stupid. Maybe it was the pressure of tonight, or maybe it was the anger you’d been shoving down for weeks, but suddenly, you didn’t care.

You were going to do it.

Without even thinking, you stormed into the bathroom. You were so fucking tired of avoiding this. Tired of pretending like everything was fine, like you were fine.

What the hell was fine about any of this? You tore open the box, hands trembling as you pulled out the test. The room was so quiet, you could hear every little sound—your breath still uneven, the rustle of your dress against the tiles, the click of the test cap as you flicked it off.

You sat down, staring at the stick in your hand. This was insane. You were insane. Who the fuck took a pregnancy test ten minutes before they’re supposed to host a charity gala? 

You couldn’t get a proper breath out as you waited, heart pounding so hard it felt like it might rip your chest open. You leaned against the sink, gripping the edge. Your stomach churned, the nausea rising again, and you had to close your eyes to stop the floor from spinning.

What if it was positive? What if it wasn’t?

You stared at the test, willing the result to appear, but it didn’t. Not yet. The little window stayed blank, as if taunting you, making you feel like you were losing your mind. You knew you had to wait longer. You weren’t stupid. You’d read those instructions a million times by now, but you hated waiting.

Hated not knowing.

You couldn’t take your eyes off the stupid little piece of plastic. Just one line or two. That was all it came down to. One fucking line or two, and your entire life would either fall apart or what? Be fine?

You glanced at the mirror, catching another glimpse of yourself, and it almost startled you—your eyes were wild. Desperate. They were the eyes of someone who was just about ready to do anything to get this over with. 

You tried to picture telling him again, but the idea alone made you sick. You thought of Sofia, of her perfect smile next to his, and bile rose in your throat. Your hands never stopped shaking. You wanted to run. You wanted to throw that thing in the garbage can and never stare at it again.

Your thoughts spun in circles, going nowhere, just making everything worse. The clock on your phone ticked louder and louder, and you knew—somewhere out there, everyone was getting ready. Guests were arriving. The gala would start soon, and they’d all be waiting for you. Watching you. Expecting you to be the poised, perfect version of yourself you’d spent your whole life pretending to be.

And you were in here, trying not to lose your fucking mind.

You peeked back at it. Still nothing.

No line. No answer.

It felt like you were suspended in time. You closed your eyes, gripping the sink harder, praying for it to end—something to happen, anything.

Then finally, you felt it in your chest—a heavy, sinking feeling, like the moment before a fall.

You opened your eyes. 

There it was.

TAGLIST: @maybankslover @october-baby25 @haruvalentine4321 @hopelesslydevoted2paige @rafebb @rafesbbyy @whytheylosttheirminds

@zyafics @astarlights @bruher @nosebeers @carrerascameron @serrendiipty @sunny1616

@yootvi @ditzyzombiesblog @psychocitylights @maibelitaaura @kiiyomei

@stoned-writer @justafangirls-blog-deactivated2

@starkeygirlposts @enjoymyloves @ijustwanttoreadlols @icaqttt

[rikiiluvr]

— 𝙉𝙀𝙀𝘿 𝙔𝙊𝙐

☆ nishimura riki x afab!reader

☆ wc: 1.1k

☆ warnings: SMUT(MDNI), cockwarming, teasing, making out, riding.

requested <3

THIS was not what you expected when riki asked you to come over to hangout. you expected cuddling, good food, a movie and maybe some sex. still, things were not as you thought they would be because your loving boyfriend had been playing video games ever since you set foot into his room. “riikiiii are you done yet?” you whined, kicking your feet up in the air, tired of waiting for him “one more round baby” he mumbled, his fingers still working the controller with immense speed, you couldn’t help but think about how he’d split you open with those same fingers. 

your gaze lingered a little longer, watching him trash-talk into his mic which was an oddly hot sight but god his features. your eyes traced his sharp nose, jawline, plump lips and how his adam’s apple bobbed every time he spoke up. you trailed your eyes further down, his tank top which stuck to his lean figure, the blue-light illuminating his biceps, he’d been working out more for sure, and what had you spiraling the most was the sight of the imprint of his cock, prominent through his grey sweats and that was enough of a reason to have you rubbing your thighs together. 

you silently got up and walked up to riki, careful not to trip over the various chords on the floor as you approached his gaming desk. you threw a leg over his hip and settled onto his lap, nuzzling your head into his neck and peppering kisses to his neck, making him chuckle “slow down baby” he said gently, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you against him, thinking it was just an innocent moment but quickly realized it was much more when you rolled your hips against him making him hiss. you looked up at him with glossed over eyes, lips parted “fuck baby… not right now just one more round” you huffed but complied anyway. 

—

that one round become two more and now you’d reached your limit. so you took matters into your own hands. you slid off his lap before bending down infront of him and palming his cock, making riki tense up. he covered his mic with one hand and peered down at you “what do you think youre doing?” “shhh…” you shushed him, palming and squeezing him a few more times, making him throw his head back in pleasure, and just as expected his cock started hardening, pressing against his sweats. 

you grinned before jerking his sweatpants and boxers down to his ankles, making his erect cock spring up, hitting his abdomen, earning a quiet groan from him. every single action of yours made riki spiral. he could barely focus on his game, his friends yelling at him for slacking off was nothing but a buzz in his ears. you shimmied out of your shorts and pumped his cock and braced yourself by holding onto his shoulders before slowly sinking down on him,  making riki clench his jaw as his hold on the controller tightened.

you wanted to see how long it would take before he’d crack and give in so instead of moving, you wrapped your hands around his waist and nuzzled into him. riki could barely focus on his game, he felt the way his cock pulsed inside of you, the way you momentarily clenched around him making him twitch. fuck. “mm… keep playing baby” you teased, knowing he’s barely holding himself back.  

riki’s breath comes out ragged as you subtly ground against him at a slow, teasing pace before giggling.”yo, riki, are you good?” one of his friends asked, making riki glare at you while you looked up at him with a smirk. yeah, all good. let's just start the next round.” he shifted his eyes to the screen, his jaw tight with constraint, making you bite back a laugh at his struggle.

riki was distracted, that was obvious, but clearly not stopping and you couldn't wait any longer, your neediness taking up your mind so you did what you had to do. you started moving your hips slowly, letting out a quiet moan at the full feeling. riki jerked slightly, pushing deeper into you, making you bite his shoulder to muffle your moan. his grip on the controller tightened as he tried to focus on the game ahead. throughout the match, riki made a half-hearted attempt to play, his mind was wandering and his restraint slipping by the minute and the moment he lost the match, he yanked his headphones off and tossed his controller aside before running a hand through his hair and letting out a troubled sigh while you watched in amusement, waiting for his next actions. 

riki held onto your hips tightly, thrusting into you, making you both moan loudly. you gripped his shoulders and sped up the pace while riki left hot-wet kisses on your neck, sinking his teeth onto a spot he know would have you spiraling. you whimpered as you slid up and down his cock, wet slick making it easier to glide. you were getting close and riki could tell from the way your movements were getting sloppier and so thrusted up into you, wiping you out of your trance and making you moan loudly “yeah baby… let me hear you” he whispered, holding onto your waist as he thrusted into you at a rhythmic pace and soon enough you fell apart as you came all over his cock, making you moan. riki clenched his teeth as he thrusted into you a couple more times, but a little more rapidly as to chase his high as he shot thick ropes of cum deep into your walls to the point where you could feel him filling you up. 

riki looked down at where the two of you were connected and watched as your cum mixed with his dripped down his cock “fuck…” he groaned. 

the room was filled with the faint hum of the game menu’s music but the only sound that mattered was the quiet, uneven breaths and the slow rise and fall of your chests. you draped your arms around his waist and rested your head on his shoulder, shuddering from the aftershock “you really couldn’t wait hm” he teased, tapping his fingers on your waist, you smiled into his shoulder nuzzling further “i thought you might end up getting sucked into the screen at some point. couldn’t have that happening to my boyfriend hm?” you teased making him scoff  “so.. will you let me finish my game now?” “mmm… i don’t know i kinda like having all your attention” you whispered, hugging him tighter. he placed a chaste kiss to your hair “you’ll always have my attention baby” he mumbled, caressing your waist soothingly.

☆ xiao's notes: a little something while i work on more requests (and some of my own works)

check out my other works!

☆ courtside

☆ best part

☆ messy