#of course that's going to push him to wait and learn more instead of doing something drastic

[enjoyvoidblack]

Was midway through typing out a defense of Jon's decisions in light of how everyone (including Jonny) seems to think he could've done much better, but then I remembered he walked up to Jude Perry's front door and knocked and yknow what post cancelled actually. For that alone this man is an idiot (affectionate)

[itneverendshere]

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

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mention of pregnancy; abortion; lack of self-care; drug and alcohol addiction;

Rafe had been clean for the past three years.

Over the course of the year, things between him and you had been smooth sailing. 

It was almost easy, something he wouldn’t have believed a few years back when everything he touched seemed to go up in flames. There’d been a time when he was just too much—angry, impulsive, doing all the wrong things for all the wrong reasons.

He’d been selfish, reckless, it was intense, way too intense, and when you fought, it was like you were both throwing grenades, just waiting to see who’d blow up first. You’d pushed him away, he’d pushed you harder, and you’d both crossed lines that should’ve never even been close.

Eventually, both of you learned to talk instead of shouting, learned when to back down instead of pushing buttons just to get a reaction. You’d gotten better at letting each other breathe. He’d pull back when he felt himself getting heated, and you’d do the same.

It wasn’t perfect; sometimes you’d still get into it, still end up in an argument that felt like old times, but it was different. There were no more lines on the bathroom counter, no disappearing at all hours. 

Until Ward died. 

Rafe didn’t know what the fuck to feel when he got the news. He knew what he was supposed to feel, right? He’d done it before with his mom, now it was his dad’s turn. The man who had raised him, the one to teach him everything he knew about how the world worked, even if it wasn’t pretty. 

Ward was a hard man, a strong man. The kind of guy who commanded respect, even if he didn’t always show it the way others might expect. But that’s the thing, he was a man of respect. 

To Rafe, that meant something. Everything. 

Ward had shaped him, he couldn’t just forget that, couldn’t act like that wasn’t important.

At first, you were there for him, no question. 

He knew you hated Ward, you barely tolerated the thought of him even existing in the same room as you. You spent those first few weeks with him, making sure he didn’t spiral back into the shit that nearly destroyed him. He needed the support, even if he didn’t always know how to ask for it.

You were there, holding it down. You got through it, the late-night talk, but then, you started getting distant.

At first, it was subtle—small things. He’d catch you looking at him like you didn’t quite get him anymore. You’d pull away when he needed you to listen, when he was ranting about Ward, and even though you tried to hide it, Rafe could see the dissociation.

He pretended he didn’t sense it, tried to tell himself you’d come around. 

After all, this was his grief, and no one else was going to understand it the way he did. His dad had been everything to him—maybe not in the way you thought he should’ve been, but that was just the reality of it.

For the first time in years, it felt like you weren’t there with him. It didn’t make sense to him how you couldn’t see it. 

Ward had been a tough guy, sure, cruel sometimes, but he was also a provider, a father who tried to teach him how to survive, even if it didn’t always come wrapped in the right way.

He wasn’t perfect, but he was the only father Rafe had ever known. He was gone all of a sudden and that was what had hurt the most—knowing he’d never get the approval he’d always been chasing, even when he was clean, even when he was doing better. There was no fixing that. 

He wanted to mourn in peace, but no one seemed to understand why Ward still mattered to him, not even Sarah.

Three weeks after the funeral he spent his days surrounded by a few bottles of scotch he’d stolen right out of his dad’s stash. Who was gonna stop him now, anyway? He almost laughed. Three years clean. Shit, that was something, wasn’t it?

He’d had people telling him he wouldn’t make it three weeks, let alone three years. Shit, his dad sure didn’t think he’d get this far. Only you.

Rafe squinted at the amber liquid swirling in his glass, then leaned back in the worn leather of his dad’s old armchair. It felt weird being in here, in his chair, in his office, breathing in that persistent smell of old cigars and varnish.

After the whole “funeral”, with everyone looking at him like he was a wild animal about to snap, this was the only place he could sit without someone judging him.

If you’re so clean, why are you drinking yourself half to death? He took a slow sip, letting it burn down his throat. 

It wasn’t like it used to be, that high that hit fast and hard, and didn’t care if it broke him apart.

This was different, a slower, quieter process.

Besides, he was in control this time. Just a drink, he told himself, fingers tightening around the glass. No powder, no pills. That was progress.

So what if he had to take the edge off? Who wouldn’t, if they’d just said goodbye to their only living parent and had to look at their younger sisters crying like that? 

He was practically swimming in alcohol. Rafe knew he was overdoing it, but he didn’t care.

Every time he saw himself— on a window, mirror, whatever—he had a drink in his hand, and something about it just felt terrifyingly right.

Grounded.

Nobody understood him; they just kept looking at him with that worried face, like he was on the verge of losing it like he used to when he was younger. Maybe he already had.

You watched him—really watched him—and yeah, he could tell you were pissed. He saw it in that little wrinkle between your eyebrows every time he took another sip. But you didn’t say anything. 

Even Wheezie was on his case in her quiet way.

She was hanging around, throwing out old jokes and trying to make him smile, but he barely reacted. She was looking at him like she was scared, as if he was some stranger she was trying not to set off. And he hated that—God, he fucking hated it. So he kept his distance, hoped she would back off, let him get through this his way.

But then came that night at the beach bonfire, when everything changed.

He probably shouldn’t have gone, but he needed to get out and feel normal again—even if that just implied showing up and pretending, he was fine. He dragged you along, flashing that cocky grin you could see right through, but you followed anyway, probably just to keep an eye on him. He could feel it—the way you were watching him, worried as hell, that just made him want another drink.

Half the people were staring, too. Waiting to see if he was gonna go off, if he was back to the same volatile Rafe he used to be, the one they loved watching spin out. And just when he thought he could ignore it, some random pogue, scruffy, half-drunk, threw out a comment loud enough for the whole group around him to hear.

“Guess Ward Cameron finally found some gold he couldn’t buy his way out of, huh? What was he thinking, running off to some country where people don’t just take bribes? Practically killed himself.”

It took everything in him not to lunge right there, but he was too plastered to keep the anger off his face. He pushed his way over to the guy, hands clenched into fists.

“You got something you want to say to my fuckin’ face?”

The guy shrugged, muttering something under his breath, people were looking now, everyone watching to see if he was finally going to give them a show.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was shoving him back, hard enough that the dude stumbled, beer splashing out of his cup. The crowd around them stirred, murmurs, but nobody did a thing—they were just staring, waiting to see the blood spill. He felt tempted to hurt someone, felt that cameron fury crawling up his throat.

It didn’t matter that he was twice as drunk as he should be; all that mattered was the way his father’s name was rolling off this nobody’s lips.

He felt you grab his arm, long nails digging hard enough to pull him back, he jerked his shoulder, trying to shake you off, but you weren’t letting go.

“You’re gonna waste your time on him?”

Rafe gritted his teeth, but you didn’t give him a chance to argue. You hauled him back, forcing him away from the guy, who was still standing there with that smug look plastered on his face. 

“Get out. Now,” you urged him, voice calm but with the tone that even he didn’t want to test. He glared at you, mouth opening to argue, but you didn’t let him get a word in. “Rafe. Now.”

You were mad at him.

It was enough to knock some sense into him, and he let you reel him away, but not before you turned back.

“And you,” you called out, enough to silence the chatter around you. “Keep your fuckin’ mouth shut.” 

There was no bluff, no hesitation, and Rafe watched as the pogue’s smug expression dropped instantly, eyes widening as he realized you were dead serious, your family’s name always had an impact around town, old money and all.

As you dragged him to the car, he muttered that he didn’t need you playing bodyguard, but you ignored it, taking him out of the spotlight he hated but couldn’t seem to avoid.

His head was spinning, his blood boiling, and he couldn’t even look at you, not with how angry he felt.

By the time you pulled up to his house, you got out, guiding him inside with that hard, that silent determination he both hated and admired in you. 

You were there, right behind him with that look on your face—angry, disappointed, like he was missing something big, as if he was the one who didn’t get it.

He stumbled into the bathroom, holding himself against the sink, and before he could even catch his breath, you turned on the faucet and splashed cold water in his face. He jerked back, sputtering, wiping it with the back of his hand. When he looked at you, his anger burned again.

“What the fuck is your problem?” he snapped.

“My problem?” you scoffed head already shaking, “Are you serious?”

“You don’t get it,” he growled, barely controlling the rage, the shame—everything. “You don’t know a fuckin’ thing about him. I had the right to defend him.”

You took a step forward, finger pointed at your chest, “Don’t I? Because I remember standing in this very house, watching him tear you down every chance he got. You’re so busy mourning this man who treated you like shit, that you’re pushing the people who care about you away. It’s not just me. It’s everyone.”

Rafe laughed bitterly, the sound humorless. “Oh, here we go,” he muttered, rolling his eyes as he turned back to the sink, gripping the edge hard enough to make his knuckles turn white.

“Don’t you dare roll your fucking eyes at me,” you retaliated, stepping up beside him. “I stood by you through all of it, I’m not gonna stand here and watch you kill yourself because of him. He’s the reason you felt like you had to be so perfect all the time, why you’re always trying to prove yourself to people who don’t deserve it. And now he’s gone, and you still can’t see it. You’re still trying to be good enough for him!”

He didn’t look at you, didn’t want to see the indignation—or worse, the pity—in your eyes.

“Just stop,” he muttered, but you were past listening.

“No, I won’t stop. I can’t. I can’t keep watching you do this to yourself again. You’re better than this.”

He suddenly pushed himself away from the sink, and turned to face you, his blue eyes practically black with a hurt that was older and deeper than either of you could touch.

“You don’t get to stand there and tell me what I deserve.”

“I know what you deserve.” 

He scoffed, rolling his eyes again, though his face had gone a shade paler. “You think you know everything, don’t you?” he sneered. “Think you know what’s best for me? Get off your high horse.”

“You’re damn fucking right I know better than you do, I’m not the one who’s drowning every night in some pathetic tribute to a man who wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire.”

He could feel it now, the bitterness you’d been hiding for weeks. It wasn’t just about him drinking himself stupid. It was everything—every fucking thing you’d been ignoring, it had festered between you two while you pretended things were okay.

“You’re the one who’s just tired of me, of everything that comes with me.”

You took a step back, eyes narrowing, but you didn’t flinch.

“What?” Your rage momentarily dialed down, the sound gurgling, “You think I’m tired of you? I’ve been here this whole time, trying to make you see the truth, but you won’t even look at me. You won’t let me in. You’re too fucking blind to notice.”

His breath was shaky, too fast, but he didn’t care. “So now I’m blind, huh? I didn’t see you sneaking out the door when I needed you? I didn’t notice how you pulled back, how you stopped giving a fuck about me? You’re just waiting for me to give you an excuse to leave.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he wasn’t done.

“You don’t get it! I didn’t need you to fix me, I needed someone to stay. But instead, you—" His voice cracked, the anger choking him up, "Instead, you started to make me feel like I was a b-burden. Some mess you had to clean up. How am I supposed to deal with that, huh?"

You were shaking your head, your eyes had already been filled with tears, your chest suffocating.

“I’ve been here. I’ve been standing right next to you, waiting for you to pull your shit together. I didn’t walk away. You did.

His stomach churned, as if you’d taken every inch of space in his chest and twisted it, just for fun. The worst part was, he couldn’t even argue with you. Not really. He had been so wrapped up in his own shit, so obsessed with keeping everyone out, that he hadn’t even seen how far you’d already gone.

“Don’t. Don’t you dare try to make this about me,” he spat, the words ugly in his mouth, it felt like they were scraping their way out of him. “You don’t get to make me the villain in your story just because you’re tired of playing my fucking hero.”

“I’m not trying to play the hero!” you screamed, stepping closer, your eyes were cold. “I’m trying to help you see that you have to fix this. Not me. Not anyone else. But you. And if you’re so fucking broken you can’t see that, then maybe you really don’t need me.”

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. Rafe could feel his heart racing, that agonizing coil in his chest, but he couldn’t stop.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said, voice quieter, but just as venomous.

He turned his back on you, walking to the door. The sound of his boots clamped against the wood floor like a countdown.

“Maybe I don’t. Grab your shit and go.”

"Don’t you fucking—" you snarled, but he was already moving, grabbing your jacket off the hook by the door and throwing it your way, “You know what? Fine. Maybe I will.” You shoved that stupid thing on, hands shaking as you yanked the zipper up. “Don’t come running back in two days like you always do. Don’t come crawling back.”

Rafe paused, hand on the doorknob, his jaw clenched so hard you could see the muscle ticking.

He didn’t turn around, didn’t look back at you.

“I don’t need you to feel sorry for me.”

“Good. Because I stopped feeling sorry for you a long time ago,” you replied sharply, every syllable punctuated with weeks of resentment. “What I feel now? That’s just disappointment.”

You watched his shoulders lock up; his whole body wound so tight it was like he was one wrong look away from completely losing it. He didn’t turn around either, even as you slipped out the door, but he knew.

That was it.

Two moths later, almost three, he was standing in front of the ER pacing like a complete fucking idiot after you passed out in his arms earlier.

He’d told himself he’d stay away, make it easy for both of you. 

That shitty plan had gone down the drain once he saw you speed away at that party with absolutely no regard for your safety or Topper’s. He’d seen that wild look in your eyes before—the one that said you were about to burn it all down. Or when your dad’s gala came around, and he couldn’t sleep properly knowing he wasn’t going to be there that year, knowing how you spiraled every time you had to step on that stage.

He had stupidly thought that maybe, one day, you two could still be friends. But today? That shit blew up in his face, for the second time in the span of a week.

He forgot what you could invoke in him when you were standing merely an inch away. He promised himself that he’d moved on, forced to consider that the love of his life might not be someone he could spend his lifetime with. Maybe you weren’t meant for each other.

But how the fuck was he supposed to act when the girl who had been everything to him was hurting? 

No, no, no.

Sofia was what he needed.

Someone who didn’t know shit about his past, who didn’t ask questions he didn’t want to answer. She hadn’t seen him the way you had, hadn’t been there through every drunken rant and punch he’d thrown at the wall or someone’s face, hadn’t heard him rail against his dad or drag himself back from one of his darkest nights. 

She hadn’t called him a fucking idiot when he chose to throw his father’s ashes on the ocean. She wasn’t going to call him a coward for it. She didn’t have a clue about any of it, and that was supposed to be what he wanted.

He looked up at the ER doors for the millionth time in the past hour, his fingers clenched around his jeep keys so tight they left marks on his hand.

It was over between you two. He’d make sure to keep the fucking distance, two whole months. If he didn’t give you enough closure, you’d hate him faster and you’d both get over it. 

So why the fuck was he about to set the whole hospital on fire as he watched John B’s beat up twinkie pull up to the parking area? It shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did. 

Of course you’d call her, his own sister—his father's favorite.

Sarah had always been the golden child, Ward’s little angel who could do no wrong, while he was the family screw-up. Even now, you’d picked her, just like Ward would have. 

He didn’t think before he moved, closing the distance between him them in seconds. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He barked right up in her face, daring her to explain herself.

Sarah didn’t back down, though. She just looked up at him with that same cool, level expression she always had whenever he tried to get a rise out of her. 

“I’m here because she called me.”

“She called you?” He scoffed, eyebrows pulling together in disbelief. “You? She called you?” He took a step closer, “So what, you’re her savior now or some shit? Why the hell would she call you if I’m right here?” His eyes narrowed, searching her face like he couldn’t believe it. “Are you kidding me?”

Sarah threw her hands up, a look of pure exasperation on her face.

“Are you dense, Rafe? You’re with someone else! Why would she want the guy who broke her heart to drive her home?”

He blinked, thrown off. “I broke her heart? She broke mine!” He laughed, but it was harsh, bitter. “I did us a favor. We were just—”

“Oh, right. A favor?” Sarah cut in, voice dripping with sarcasm. “That why you’re pacing out here like a goddamn lunatic?”

“Go away. I’m driving her home.”

She stepped closer, her voice steely as she looked him dead in the eye.

“No. She called me, she wants me here. Not you. So do yourself a real favor and go home before you do something even more stupid.”

A breathless chuckle escaped his lips, “She already hates me, Sarah. What’s the fucking harm, huh?” He threw his arms out, as if daring her to come up with an answer that would hurt less. “What’s one more screw-up on top of everything else?”

“You’re real dumb if you believe that. But if you wanna make it worse, then by all means, go ahead. You’ll just prove her right.”

He stayed rooted in place, chest heaving, the conflict ripping him to pieces. His hands shook, his throat tight with words he couldn’t even begin to understand.

But Sarah had already turned her back on him, heading toward the entrance.

“Walk away,” she warned him, looking over her shoulder, “That’s the only thing left for you to do right now.”

Rafe didn’t know why the fuck he listened to her.

It was as if his body had already made that decision for him, understanding that if he didn’t leave right then, he’d end up doing something stupid—something even more fucked up than what he’d already done. His tongue was locked in place, a curse on the tip of his pursed lips, but it never came. 

His feet wouldn’t move, his hands stayed at his sides, and that tightness in his throat wouldn’t let him get a single word out, not one that would make any fucking sense. He hated that. Hated that you still had this kind of control over him.

Hated that he just…felt like something was wrong.

You hadn’t been this frantic, so impulsive since he had to take you home after your sister passed. He didn’t want to remember that night—you damn near threw yourself out of his truck.

But he couldn’t ignore the memory, the desperation on your face, the screams, the fight in his grip as he pulled you by your shirt back inside.

He’d felt like he was holding on to something breaking apart in his hands, something he couldn’t fix but couldn’t let go of either. He’d seen it again in your eyes when he’d caught you earlier at the beach clean-up, the way you’d tried to dodge his stare, voice cracking, legs wobbling when he mentioned the hospital. 

Rafe still felt like he’d swallowed shattered pieces of glass every time he thought about you. And if he could just push it down, if he could just get through one fucking day without looking back, maybe he’d start to forget you.

His feet were glued to the hospital pavement, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. If you were about to crash, if this was anything like before…He didn’t know what the fuck he was going to do.

He had no reason to stay, you’d made it clear as day. He was supposed to be gone—out of your life for good. You’d told him you didn’t need him, he told you he didn’t need you. So why the hell was he still standing here? 

Perhaps because he remembered the last time he’d let you walk out, the way he’d watched you disappear, thinking he was doing the right thing—giving you the clean end you’d both needed.

Maybe that made him sick to his stomach now, thinking of you in there with Sarah, telling his sister things you wouldn’t say to him, letting her be the person he once was to you.

But you’d called her, not him. You’d picked Sarah to be here, and that hurt like a bitch, but it was what he’d asked for, wasn’t it?

This was what he deserved. He told you to grab your shit and go, forced you to leave because that was supposed to make it easier.

He’d impulsively made his choice the minute he’d wrapped his arm around Sofia, pulling her close in front of everyone who’d once known he was yours. He’d talked himself into it. It was the right call, moving on was the only way to finally get you out of his system. 

He was the one who decided it’d be easier to act like he forgot you than to actually try. He thought he could make it easy—pain-free.

Rafe pinched the bridge of his nose as he walked back toward his Jeep. He gripped the door handle so hard he could break it in half if he wanted to, feeling his knuckles strain.

If he let go, if he closed that door and stormed inside, he’d just be right back where he started.

He stared at his reflection in the window, his hardened face staring back. His pulse was pounding in his temples, his gut twisting and turning as he tried to bury it all six feet under—the need to just go to you, to hold your hand or yell at you for making him care so fucking much.

He finally released the death grip he had on the door handle, forcing his fingers to relax, his knuckles still throbbing. He slid into the driver’s seat, the cold leather you’d help him choose, mocking at his skin as he slammed the door shut.

With a quick flick of his wrist, he threw the car into drive, the tires screeching as he peeled out of the parking lot.

He drove like he was being hunted down. He wanted to get as far away from that place as possible, praying the miles between him and you would stop the churning inside him. 

You’ll just prove her right.

He hated her for saying it, hated Sarah for knowing exactly what buttons to push. 

As he rounded a curve, his headlights swept across Topper’s house. Rafe cut the engine and stalked toward the backyard. Topper’s sprawled-out form on a reclining chair, arms crossed over his chest, sunglasses somehow still on evenly.

He stomped up and smacked the end of his chair.

"Wake the fuck up."

He jolted, nearly tumbling off the chair, ripping his sunglasses off and squinting up at him. “Jesus fucking christ, dude, ever heard of calling ahead?”

But Rafe didn’t answer. He just paced, hands in his growing hair, digging into his scalp like he could rip the frustration out of his skull. Topper sighed, propping himself up on one elbow, he didn’t even look at him, just kept muttering to himself, biting his lip, pacing.

“What the hell happened?”

Finally, he stopped, “I need you to find out what’s wrong with your cousin,” he muttered, not wanting to admit he cared enough to ask.

Topper blinked, brow furrowing. “What do you mean, what’s wrong with her?”

Rafe only shook his head, hands on his hips as he stared at the ground. “I don’t know, okay? She just…she’s acting off. And I can’t—I’m not supposed to care, Top. I’m not. I’m with Sofia now, alright? But she’s still…” His voice trailed off, as he scrubbed a hand down it.

Topper tilted his head, eyeing him knowingly.

“Right, yeah, whatever you say. I’ll figure it out.”

If Sarah Cameron didn’t walk through that hospital door within the next three minutes, you’d lose all the courage you’d summoned over the last hours. Or was it just an hour? You weren’t sure how long you’d been lying there, the IV needle taped uncomfortably into your arm. 

Your fingers curled into the thin blanket draped over you, and you wished—desperately—that you didn’t feel so…empty.

Ten minutes later, she strode in with a glance at the door, as if she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to get there on time. The relief on her face when she saw you was reassuring but it only made the confusion in your chest heavier.

She was so different from Rafe, yet still looked so much like him. She sat in the chair by the bed, eyes scanning your face like she was trying to gauge just how bad it was.

“Hi.”

You swallowed, blinking up at the ceiling to keep the tears at bay.

“Thanks for coming.” 

“Of course,” She reached for your hand where it lay on top of the blanket, hesitating for a split second before giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You okay?” 

You felt a laugh bubble up, “Not even a little.”

She let out a small breath and nodded, squeezing your hand again. “I figured,” she said quietly, and you appreciated that she didn’t pretend to have some miracle answer, “I made him leave.”

She’d made him leave.

You could imagine his face distorted with anger.

You wondered if he’d put up a fight or if he’d just walked away,  giving in to his sister in that infuriating, self-pitying silence he’d perfected.

You weren’t going to ask, the less you knew, the better.

“Good.” You were relieved, but it felt bittersweet, “I didn’t want him here.” 

Except your voice shook, like it simply had to let her know you were lying.

You’d been telling yourself for so long that you didn’t need him—that you didn’t want him anywhere near you. But the second you pictured him there, waiting… God, you hated yourself.

Hated that tiny, pathetic part of you that still wanted him to care, even if it was just a sliver of anything that wasn’t anger or flat-out ignoring you.

“He threw a hissy fight, but don’t worry. He’s not coming back.”

You nodded, half in agreement, half in frustration, “He never listens.”

“Especially when it matters,” Sarah added, rolling her eyes. “I swear, sometimes I think he just likes to make things worse for himself. And everyone else.”

You recalled the sound of his footsteps trailing yours earlier, the way his hand had hovered near you when you swayed, the wild look on his face when you told him to back off. He had seemed…hurt. Like he wanted to fix something he’d already smashed to pieces.

“I don’t want to talk about him.”

She respected that—she wouldn’t insist. There was a lot to unpack when it came to Rafe, but you didn’t need to go there right now. She could tell.

"Okay. Do you want to tell me why you called me and not Topper?”

There wasn’t any judgment in her tone—just plain curiosity, confusion. And you couldn’t blame her. If the roles were reversed, you’d be asking the same thing.

You had to bite your lips to avoid crying for the hundredth time that day. You hadn’t planned on telling someone the biggest secret of your life in a public space, or after nearly having a mental breakdown.

Not like this, with the IV in your arm.

"I—" you started, the words tangled in your throat. "I don't trust him," you admitted quietly, "I don’t trust him with this.”

This.

You turned your head to look out the window, the late afternoon light pouring through the blinds, but it never touched the void you felt inside. 

“He’s too close. He wouldn’t get it. I needed someone who could just… not be involved, you know? I mean—You’re still his sister but—”

Sarah’s already frowning, interrupting your pitying party, “Sweet girl, you don’t have to explain your reasons to me. I’m listening either way. I don’t know what’s going on, but I get it, I understand why you’d want to keep him out of this.”

“You’re the only one I can trust to keep this a secret,” you confessed, “If anyone finds out—if Rafe finds out—it’s over. I’m not ready for that.”

A shadow crossed Sarah’s face, her lips pressing into a thin line. She didn’t ask questions about what you meant—about how Rafe had ruined things before. She didn’t need to. 

“I won’t tell him,” Sarah promised, her grip tightening on your skin. “It’s safe with me. I’ve got your back.”

You closed your eyes, breathing out slowly.

This was hard, harder than anything you’d ever done before, and that was saying something considering all the shit you went through when your family died. She had no idea what you were about to say, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it would change everything between you—between you and her, and you and everyone else.

"Sara, I—" The truth choked you once more, cutting you off. You couldn’t breathe.

Your chest felt vacant, something was missing, something that you didn’t know how to fix, but you had to say it. It was the only way out.

“Are you—" she started to ask, but you quickly shook your head. You could hear the hesitation in her voice.

"Just… just let me tell you,” You begged, pushing the words out before you lost them. “I-I’m pregnant,” you finally blurted out, as if confessing it all at once could make it easier.

But it didn’t. 

You didn’t dare look at Sarah right away. 

Your eyes were stuck on the ceiling, blinking rapidly, you didn’t need her to see how much this was breaking you or how terrified you were. You could feel her eyes on you now, and your hand clenched around the blanket, your knuckles white from the lack of circulation. 

Then, slowly, Sarah squeezed your hand again, she was giving you a moment to breathe, even though you didn’t feel like you deserved it.

“Rafe’s?” she asked quietly, confirming what you already knew she understood.

You nodded, not needing to say it aloud; she could sense the truth in the way your chest hitched, how you couldn’t bring yourself to meet her eyes.

“God,” Sarah breathed out, "And you... you want to...?"

You nodded again. She wasn’t asking if you were sure; you could hear it in the hesitation of her question. She was asking if you were ready to make the choice.

“I don’t want this,” you choked out, the tears finally breaking free. “I can’t have it, Sarah. I can’t. I’m not ready for that. I’m not sure I even know what I want anymore," you spit the doubt out with the brokenness you felt, wiping the traitorous tear that traced down your cheek. "I don’t know what to do."

“I’m here. Whatever you need, however you need to do this—I’m here,” she promised, making sure you wouldn’t float away.

“I can’t… I just… I don’t want him to find out,” you managed between shallow breaths. “If he knew, he’d… I don’t know what he’d do. Maybe it’s stupid, but I don’t want him to look at me like… like he owns me something.”

Sarah nodded, not a hint of judgment on her face, “He won’t know a thing from me, I swear. He’ll never have any say in this, not unless you want him to. This is your choice, no one else’s.”

You didn’t know you’d been holding your breath, but it came out all at once in a shaky exhale.

“Thank you. I just… I didn’t know who else I could ask.”

“Hey,” she said, her voice gentle. “This? This is exactly what I’m here for. I’ve got you, no matter what.”

The empathy there, the way she held space for all your broken pieces.

“New Mexico’s clinic rules… they won’t let me go through with it alone. They said I need someone with me.” You took a shaky breath. “I can’t imagine anyone else but you there, Sarah.”

“Then I’ll be there,” she said, without hesitation. “I’ll get the tickets, we’ll go together. And if you feel like breaking down, then break down, because you don’t have to keep any of this in anymore.”

Her words broke something in you that had been holding everything so tightly. The relief, the gratitude— “You’re really… You’d really do this for me?”

“Of course,” she murmured, pulling you close so your head rested against her shoulder, her fingers brushing through your hair soothingly. “Sweet girl, I’d do this a thousand times over.”

“I mean—he’s your brother. I don’t want to mess things up between you two even more.”

She sighed, giving a small, sad smile, almost like she’d been waiting for you to say that. “You think he’s my priority right now? Don’t you worry about me and him, we always figure it out. Trust me, I’m used to it.”

“He might hate me for this. And if he takes that out on you…” You couldn’t finish.

“Listen to me,” she sighed, “I’m here because I care about you. Rafe and I, we’ll always have our issues—he’s stubborn, and he thinks he has all the answers. But that’s our problem. He’ll never have a say over what I do or who I’m there for. Especially not with this.”

You swallowed hard, “I don’t want you to regret it.”

She gave a wry laugh, brushing a piece of hair back from your face. “You don’t have to protect me from him, remember? He’s my brother, yeah, I love him despite all our shit, but I’m not here for him right now. I’m here for you.”

“You’re sure?” you asked, the question a whisper, almost childlike. You were afraid of the answer, terrified she’d eventually pull away.

“Of course I’m sure,” she replied, tilting your chin so you’d meet her eyes. “Whatever’s going on with Rafe will figure itself out—But right now, you need someone who’s all in, no strings, no doubts. That’s me. You focus on you. I’ll handle him.”

You looked down at your hands, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket, “I don’t think he loves me anymore,” you admitted, almost hoping she wouldn’t hear it, “I was so mean when your dad died.”

When you finally looked up, Sarah was watching you with a sad smile, one that made your heart hurt in both comfort and ache. “You really believe that?” she asked quietly, and you could hear the disbelief in her voice as if it was so obvious to her, something you couldn’t see.

You nodded, swallowing down the sting in your throat. “He doesn’t want me, not really. He’s…he pulled away. Like he’d rather hate me than be close to me. He’s with her.” 

The words tasted bitter, and made you want to hurt him twice as bad, but there was finally some relief in saying it out loud.

She sighed, looking down for a second, almost like she was thinking how to tell you something that hurt her to admit.

“I don’t think that’s the problem,” she murmured, with a knowing sadness. “I think the problem is that you two will never stop loving each other. He’s still hurting from dad’s passing, he’s angry because he doesn’t know how to stop loving you. And you—you’re here, angry that he loved my dad so much, hurt that he left, trying to protect me from him, still worrying about me when you should be focusing on yourself. You’re scared he doesn’t care anymore, and he’s scared you don’t need him at all."

Your lips quivered, your heart about to leap out of your throat, your tongue darted out, briefly brushing your lips.

You weren’t sure you should say it out loud, but maybe you had to. “We’re better off without each other, aren’t we?”

“You’re allowed to be someone without him, and you’re allowed to find out who that is.”

You were slipping, falling back into that spiral of guilt and shame, the one that told you maybe this was all you were good for. Maybe Rafe was right to break things off, perhaps he’d realized that, in the end, you weren’t worth fighting for.

And shit, you hated yourself for still caring. For still wanting him to want you, even though you knew it was poison. Even though you knew that being with him, needing him, was only dragging you both down.

“Thank you.”

And as you sat there, in the stillness of that room, with the sunlight dimming outside, you felt that maybe someday you’d be able to trust yourself too. To believe that you were worth more than the heartache you’d come to accept as your own.

TAGLIST: @maybankslover @october-baby25 @haruvalentine4321 @hopelesslydevoted2paige

@rafebb @rafesbby @whytheylosttheirminds

@zyafics @astarlights @bruher @nosebeers @carrerascameron

@serrendiipty @sunny1616 @yootvi @ditzyzombiesblog

@psychocitylights @maibelitaaura @kiiyomei

@stoned-writer @justafangirls-blog-deactivated2

@starkeygirlposts @enjoymyloves @ijustwanttoreadlols @icaqttt

[dunmesh]

okay i don't have anything smart to add i just genuinely love that these seemingly trivial jokes are actually an important part of his character. we see it throughout the entire manga, how he pushes aside his own frustration and discomfort to accommodate everyone else's and avoid needless confrontation- another example off the top of my head would be the barometz chapter in which he slowly gets frustrated with izutsumi but still tries his best to talk some sense into her calmly and soundly.

and in contrast, there are very few times he expresses his anger and hurt towards others, and it usually takes a lot for him to finally lose his patience and control.

i mean, even with kabru he tried to be polite despite the circumstances until the guy said the one thing that triggers an immense sense of shame, hurt and rage in laios. and you know, the manga does say it quite clearly early on. when we are introduced to namari and then to shuro, laios acts all friendly and shows his respect and trust in them despite how things ended between them, and everyone else gets frustrated with him for acting so strange- why are you the one who tries so hard to pacify the rest when you should be the angriest?

and they don't understand him. they don't know him well enough to be able to understand, but we as readers get to see during the manga that they aren't wrong to question him- he does, in fact, feel all those ugly emotions. and it's when the winged lion finally confronts him that we see to what extent these feelings he buried so deep go, and suddenly all those funny little moments where he sometimes pretends to be mr nice guy speak volumes about his character. honestly, ryoko kui is a master at using jokes in order to define important character traits and this one doesn't fail to amaze me.

and laios's hatred and rage and deep scars he can't get over aren't shown explicitly during most of these moments i mentioned before, but now you realize there are 26 years of emotional baggage to all of them and they sting. he is angry but he can't say shit, what difference would it make? it won't make his friends choose him instead of themselves when he needed them most, and it won't help his party get any farther. of course, this logic doesn't apply to them- they are absolutely allowed to get angry and it's fine to get mad at him, he can take that.

so after finishing the series it's so clear that he tries his best to avoid clashing with others not just due to the current circumstances and him needing to be a reliable leader but also because he knows that people don't even like him when he tries to show his good sides and hide all the rest, so who the hell would tolerate his rage and despair? who would stay after realizing that he is so deeply flawed he doesn't even like his own being?

but he does get mad. he can't help it, and sometimes it gets out of control and now everyone knows. and it's funny, isn't it? that most of those moments ended up bringing him closer to others. shuro admitting he is envy of him and actually becoming the friend laios thought he was all along, fighting for his sake and waiting for him to come back- believing in him even after he turned into a monster and searching for him the way he couldn't bring himself to do for falin when he learned of what became of her- or kabru being pushed to just let it all out because he couldn't bluff his way out of this one and get to laios any other way, so now they are even. they are both horribly honest with each other and they both choose to stay. a weird way of getting to know each other, but it is what it is.

it's simply... the more laios let himself just be, the deeper his relationships grew. and there's intimacy in being your ugly, weak and furious self around someone and them not leaving you. feeling safe enough to let it be known you are hurt and angry. and he knows that now, too.

[softspokendove]

"Keep making those noises, baby"

pairings: rafe cameron x shy!reader

summary: you always tended to hide your moans in bed with rafe, until one night it became too much. rafe instantly falling in love with your noises.

warnings: smut, p in v (unprotected), moan kink, doggy and missionary position, Rafe is kinda rough.

You continue to grind down on your bottom lip, the flesh horribly swollen as you try to keep your moans in. You've always felt safe around Rafe in every way, but when it comes to letting out your noises in bed you would blush and scur away from the idea. It wasn't about being uncomfortable, you just didn't know what to do or how to sound. All of those nights you'd stay up late watching those nasty videos only paying attention to the moans and whimpers coming out of the women. They always sounded so confident, so open. That just couldn't be you, you didn't know how.

Rafe was relentless with pounding into you, his hands digging into your waist as he pulls you backwards to meet his thrusts. Every few seconds he would let out some sort of noise, whether it be a groan, grunt, or a whimper. You loved it. Each sound that came out of him rewarded him with your walls tightening around his cock, his head craning back in how good you felt.

There's been times when Rafe has brought up how quiet you are in the bedroom. He'd be careful about it; not trying to embarrass you or make you feel bad. He'd slowly approach the topic and wait for you to add anything you'd want to it. Which usually would end up in you lowering your head trying to avoid eye contact and say that you didn't know how. Of course, Rafe didn't understand what you meant, it should come naturally to you not something you need to learn, but non the less he wouldn't push any further and would instead rub your thigh trying to calmly reassure you.

As Rafe tilts his hips in a certain way and his thrusts continue their abuse on your cunt from behind, your hands reach out to grip the sheets, your knuckles turning white from how hard you're tightening your grip. A weird sensation crawling up your neck and staying in the back of your throat. Your mouth instinctively letting go of your bottom lip and opening agape. The feeling gets stuck in your throat until a certain hard thrust of Rafe's pushes you towards the feeling and you let it out. The moan flowing so softly out of your mouth Rafe thinks he might've imagined it.

Rafe holds back his own noises and hits in that one spot just right again, earning another low moan from you. The moan causing Rafe's breathing to hitch and his dick to twitch. He puts one of his hands on the lower part of your back and pushes down causing you to arch more. The angle making you roll your eyes into the back of your head; the next moan leaving your throat is even louder this time.

God, you sound so good. Rafe could listen to you making that sound all day, it edges him on further. The tip of his cock constantly hitting that spot inside of you at a rough pace, Rafe leaning down and leaving small kisses all over your back. The soft tender kisses mixing deliciously with how hard Rafe is pounding into you. You rest the side of your face on the bed and let out a whimper at the beautiful feeling of the combination.

You whimper making Rafe let out a groan. "Fuck yeah, keep doing that." You're too lost in the pleasure that you're not too sure what exactly he's talking about. You feel your head get reeled back as he pulls your hair, the new sensation making a louder moan come out. "Yess sweetheart, that's it." The new praise making more of that same feeling pile in your throat, just wanting to come out.

You close your eyes and focus on Rafe's hard length sliding slickly in and out of you. The noises starting to escape on their own now. Each time he would bottom out inside your cunt it would end up in another whine or moan coming out and filling the air.

Rafe gets filled with a need to see your face, to see how good you look when those beautiful sounds are coming out of you. His hands land on your hips and force your body to turn over, your cunt and face on full display for him. Your eyes were still closed, but open in confusion when you don't feel his cock still inside of you.

Your eyes then widen when they come in to contact with his, your face becoming a deep shade of red as you recall all those noises you helpless let out. Rafe just smiles at your reaction and shoves his cock right back inside of you still hitting that same spot as before. Your hand reaches out and holds onto his wrist as the overwhelming pleasure hits you all at once. "Keep making those noises, baby. Wanna see how loud you can get." He then pushes down on your lower stomach bringing you closer to your breaking point.

"Rafe!" You try to warn him, to say anything at the quick feeling of your core about to snap. Instead, all that comes out is the sound of your moans getting louder and louder. Your walls wrapping tightly around Rafe's throbbing cock. Your noises bringing him close.

You let out one final loud moan as you cum and spasm all around his cock. Rafe quickly follows your suite and groans as he cums inside of you.

"Fuck baby. You have to do that every time, you sound so good."

[lyonnerileyauthor]

your orc mechanic 🔧

your car wouldn't start this morning. fuck. but your last mechanic, he always talked down to you, and tried to sell you things you knew you didn't need.

you'd heard about this new guy, an orc, who worked out of his garage. you didn't think orcs were car guys, but you learn something new every day.

you go in, ready to turn down all the extra services he wants to charge you. instead, he takes your keys, pulls the car into his garage, and invites you to take a look with him.

the starter plugs are bad, he says after only a few minutes of poking around the engine. the cost is parts plus labor. he glances at you over his shoulder, and one of his big tusks lifts as he gives you a lopsided grin. actually, I'll throw in the labor.

he must really be trying to make a good impression in town, you think, as he gets to changing out the starter plugs. but he watches you as he works, that grin climbing higher and higher on his cheek.

you might have an oil leak, he says after he's almost done, and points to a spot on the floor. sure enough, there's a dribble of oil there. I can fix that for you, though.

how much? you ask, because you don't have cash to throw at your car right now.

it's on me.

well, that seems rather generous, but you won't turn it down.

he takes off his shirt, exposing an incredibly large body, with a full chest and a thick belly, all of it coiled muscle under a layer of protective fat. you can't help but stare as he drops down onto the floor and slides under your car, his knees parting as he works. the massive bulge between his legs is obvious, even with loose jeans.

jeez, he's packing.

you wait patiently as he works, trying not to stare but unable to tear your eyes away. when he slides out from under the car again, he catches you in the act, and finally he shows all his teeth as he grins.

do you like what you see? he climbs up to his feet.

your mouth is painfully dry, but you have to admit the truth. yes, of course he's absolutely gorgeous. he laughs when he hears it, and closes the distance between you.

I was hoping you would, because I like what I see.

he tilts up your chin with one grease-stained hand, leaving his fingerprints behind and marking you as his. he has to lean down to reach you, and you find yourself rising up on your toes to meet him.

the orc's kiss is fierce, consuming. it's new to you to navigate around his tusks, but they frame your face perfectly as he takes your mouth, devouring you, conquering you. he pushes you up against the garage wall, making the tools hanging there rattle. the lump in his jeans presses against you as his hand ventures up under your shirt.

you explore him just as ravenously, feeling his sturdy body, the tree-trunk size of his arms. without a second glance at it, the orc clears everything off the work table and picks you up by your ass, setting you on it.

show me, he growls low in his throat. so you obey, taking off your shirt, then shucking your own pants. his pupils are huge and blown-out as he unbuckles his own belt, reaching into his jeans to pull out his cock. he strokes it as he watches you.

touch yourself. you can't help but do as he says, finding yourself already wet. his hand speeds up, pre-cum dripping from that green cockhead as he pins you to the table with his eyes.

are you ready? he advances on you, dragging you to the edge. reflexively you spread your legs, and he smirks as he lines himself up with you. I hope you can take me.

you hope so, too.

but you're so slick, so ready for him, that the soft head of his cock pushes through. you grab onto his arms as he continues guiding himself inside you, biting his lip as he tries not to plunge in deep.

what a perfect pussy. the orc grunts as he squeezes even more of that enormous beast inside you. swallowing me up so well.

you shake and moan as he reels his hips back, then slides in even deeper, until he's fully sheathed in you. you clutch him so tight your nails dig into his strong arms as he starts to fuck you. he kisses you, swallowing all of your moans and cries as he sends you spiraling up higher and higher.

then, all at once, you crash to the earth in a burst of pleasure. your scream fills up the garage as he slams into you once, twice more. he yanks his cock out and his cum arcs out, covering you.

your orc mechanic takes a deep, shuddering breath. now you smell like me, he says with satisfaction, rubbing his cum all over you. I guess I had better fix that oil leak now.

[libraryofgage]

After checks calendar 84 years, I am once again offering Smart Steve content lmao

Listen the writer's block has been hitting recently if you couldn't tell, but I'm still happy with how this came out.

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't :P

----

So.

Steve Harrington is smart.

Like, smart smart.

Like, the kind of smart where he not only understands shit, he can explain complicated shit to Eddie without sending his brain into a coma.

It's been two weeks, and Eddie is still trying to come to terms with this discovery. He's four tutoring sessions in and a little spark of surprise still rocks him whenever Steve can easily explain a new topic using the stuff Eddie likes.

He explained velocity using D&D spells. He explained electrical circuits using the concept of plugging a guitar into an amp. After asking a few questions about Lord of the Rings, Steve Harrington managed to explain the in-depth concepts of magnetism using the fucking One Ring.

How the fuck is Eddie supposed to be normal about any of that? Ignoring the sheer fact that Steve is capable of it, how is Eddie supposed to feel about the...the willingness to learn what Eddie understands best and meet him on that level?

If the answer is awed and practically starstruck, he's ahead of the game.

"Hey, you doing okay? Kinda spacing out over there, man."

Eddie blinks, the textbook in front of him coming back into focus. Steve had been explaining the concept of momentum, but his words just floated in one ear and out the other because Eddie was once again consumed by the absurdity of the situation.

It's not like he can say that, though. So, instead, he settles for a grimace and pushes the textbook away. "I think I'm all fried out for physics," he says, looking up at Steve.

"Oh," Steve says, blinking a few times before nodding. "Yeah, sure, uh, sorry."

"Wait, what are you sorry about?"

Steve looks away, an awkward frown tugging at his lips. "I...probably wasn't explaining it too well, huh?"

"Woah, woah, no way," Eddie says, putting a stop to that train of thought before it can leave the station. He turns in his chair to face Steve directly, ignoring how the metal rod that attaches it to the desk digs painfully against his shin. "Listen, Stevie, I've never understood physics more than when you explain it. Like, I don't know, man, whatever you're doing works."

Steve must have been more worried than he let on, because Eddie can literally see the tension draining from his shoulders. "Great," he says, rubbing the back of his neck as he glances away. "Seriously, that's great. I'm glad nothing's been confusing."

"Yeah, so, nothing you did," Eddie says, feeling like he needs to reiterate that point to drive it home. "Honestly, you could probably even make me understand geometry. Not like our teacher is doing shit to help."

"Do you...not understand geometry?" Steve asks, looking a little unsure like he can't tell if that's a joke or Eddie's attempt at suggesting another class he needs help in. This one is a class they share, which means Steve will have seen Eddie's floundering attempts at answering questions, and he feels a whole new burn of embarrassment course through him.

"Do you?" Eddie asks in return.

"Yeah. It's just, like, angles and shit, man."

Eddie stares at him for a moment, eyes narrowing and trying to figure out if Steve is somehow, subtly, making fun of him. But of course he isn't. If Eddie has learned nothing else, it's that Steve doesn't ever think Eddie is actually stupid or deserving of ridicule. He just thinks Eddie hasn't been taught properly, which is more on the teacher than him.

After a moment, Eddie twists around to dig in his bag. He pulls out his geometry homework, slaps it on the desk, and gestures at the triangles and squares and other shapes with unidentified angles and side lengths. "I have literally no clue what the fuck is going on here," he says.

Steve moves closer, looking over the sheet with a slight frown. Eddie knows this face by now. It's the one Steve makes when he's searching for the relevant knowledge in his own brain, pulling it to the front so he can easily identify the gaps in Eddie's understanding. "So, how would you start?" Steve finally asks, offering his pencil.

Eddie takes it, twirls it between his fingers a few times, and looks over the questions. He eventually chooses one asking him to find the length of a side. "I know this one. It's the equation with the squares and shit," he says, carefully writing it out and plugging in numbers under the triangle.

"Right. Pythagorean theorem. A squared plus B squared equals C squared."

"Yeah. That," Eddie says, working through the math on a separate sheet of paper instead of in his head. He can do easy addition and subtraction, but one of the first things Steve did was get him used to using scratch paper. His brain doesn't feel quite as crowded by numbers anymore; now it's just crowded by the endless rotation of bites of knowledge and equations that have nothing to do with the work at hand. It's like his brain can recognize that it needs to remember something, but can't identify what exactly, so it just offers up everything.

When he's done, Eddie shows Steve his work, the answer circled at the bottom of the scratch paper. "Perfect," Steve says, flashing a smile that makes Eddie's heart lurch dangerously. "Okay, so that's solid. What about this one."

He points at a right triangle with only one angle listed and the other marked as unknown. "No fucking clue," Eddie says.

"This one is asking for the unknown angle. It'll just be some subtraction."

"It's only giving me one angle, Stevie," Eddie points out, gesturing to the angle marked as 53. "What the fuck do I do with that?"

"Well, the main thing is that a triangles angles will always add to 180. Also, this is a right triangle," Steve explains, taking the pencil from Eddie to circle the L-shaped corner of the triangle. "This angle will always be 90 degrees on right triangles. Should I keep going?"

"No," Eddie says slowly, drawing the word out as he takes the pencil back. "I'm starting to get it. Lemme try."

Steve waits patiently as Eddie hesitates before adding the angles together and subtracting that from 180. When he gets to a solution of 37, he gestures for Steve to check.

"That's right," Steve says, nodding as he points to another triangle on the sheet. "For this one, I'll teach you about the SOH CAH TOA trick."

Eddie nods, paying as much attention as he can, but he can't help feeling a little distracted by Steve's happy smile and relaxed posture. He's never seen Steve like this during class, and he's struck by the sudden notion that nobody else will see Steve like this, either.

------

When Steve gets home, he drops his bag in the hallway, grabs a soda from the kitchen, and collapses onto the couch.

A few National Geographic and Scientific American magazines are still spread out across the coffee table. A brief glance reminds Steve that none of the stories were particularly interesting in these editions.

He pops the tab on his soda, takes a sip, and glances at the phone on the end table next to him.

Steve had noticed something today. Eddie's shirt. Most of the band shirts Eddie wears are popular enough that Steve sort of knows them. Metallica, KISS, and AC/DC were recognizable since he's passed their albums on display in record stores.

Today's band, though. He didn't recognize that one. What the fuck was Manowar?

After a few seconds of thought, Steve reaches out and grabs the phone. He's just doing research. Wanting to understand the music Eddie likes is reasonable. That's how Eddie learns. There's no other reason for Steve dialing the number of an old classmate.

The phone rings a few times before picking up. "Amare residence," a girl says, sounding distracted.

"Hey, Dee. It's Steve."

"Hmm, Steve. Steve. ...Steeeeve. Oh, is this Steve Harrington, deserter of friends for the woes of public education?"

Despite everything, Steve can't help an amused smile. "Yeah, that Steve," he says. He doesn't apologize, since he knows that's not what she wants. If she was actually angry, she would've hung up.

"Well, how kind of you to grace me with your voice," Dee says, sounding distant like she's set the phone down. "I suppose I can give you until I finish braiding my hair."

"Great. You know about metal, right?"

"Like iron? Duh, Steve, I'm not thirteen."

"No, like, heavy metal."

"Iron is pretty heavy."

"Music, Dee. Heavy metal music."

"Oh! Aren't you a Tears for Fears kind of boy? What are you doing asking about heavy metal?"

Steve starts to answer but stops himself. He doesn't know why. Dee tutors kids all the time. Everyone in their private school group did. That's how they made money. She'd understand that he's trying to learn more about Eddie's interests for tutoring purposes.

So why can't he just say that?

"This long pause says you're thinking about lying to me," Dee says. "Don't bother, Steve."

"Well, I do want to know for the guy I'm tutoring. But not just because I'm tutoring him."

"Awww, are you trying to make a friend?" Dee teases.

Steve grimaces, wondering why his stomach twists slightly at the question. "Yeah, kind of. I want to know more about the stuff he likes. And he likes heavy metal. So, ya know, I thought of you."

"Well, you've come to the right place," Dee says. "And I love talking music, so I guess we can keep talking even after I'm done braiding."

A relieved smile tugs at Steve's lips. "Thanks, Dee, I appreciate it. So, first question, what's Manowar?"

-------

Tag List!

@estrellami-1, @ravenfrog,

[miniaturesuitgladiator]

One chance, will you succeed? II

Synopsis: being forced to live with your supposedly 'father' you have finally succumb to your fate. But what if you have one more chance to get out? But you'd have to sacrifice your pride for your future. Can you do that?

In school you had learned that a muskrat would chew off its own leg to get out of a trap.

You had mixed feelings about that at the time.

It was brave what the muskrat what doing, but it was also kind of stupid. Atleast that's what you thought.

But now looking at what position your in ,you begin feeling exactly how the muskrat must've felt when trap clamped down on it's leg.

Muskrat aren't that smart and they don't have hands. They wouldn't know how to take off the trap even if someone showed them.

Now, you feel exactly how the poor animal felt.

Helpless.

You wouldn't describe yourself as a helpless princess waiting to be saved. But you sure wouldn't deny anyone willing to help.

But alas you have no one to help you. So you have to do the dirty work instead and in doing so maybe lose a bit of pride and dignity.

But who's to blame you when this is the only option you have? Well, there's no one here to blame you or know what you're planning on doing...

Well except the desperate boy beneath you...

But not even he knows your true intentions and that's clear by the way he keeps his hands tightly around your hips.

As if he's scared you'd vanish if given the chance. (You would.)

His breaths comes out in whines and he can't help how his hips push up into yours. You can barely even tell what he's saying at this point something like "Please, I'll be good." But you don't really care either.

You should push him away since everything has gone to plan. Your tracks are covered there's nothing else to worry about...but what would be the fun in that?

"Your pathetic." You mutter but he hears it. And he doesn't even deny or try and defend himself. Because what's the point? Right now that's exactly what he is... Pathetic.

He squims beneath you trying to get any friction possible.

Being tired of his needy please you kiss him in hopes of shutting him up.

The kiss is rushed and you honestly just want it to be over but he holds your face firm against his keeping your lips locked together.

He kisses you roughly not daring to let go. His hold on the back of your head is firm and you wonder if he's actually trying to kill you by how your losing air.

Eventually he does let go and you both gasp for air and you see it in his eyes. His sick deluded eyes.....

He's inlove with you.

Now thats some deep shit. You had thought that his obsession was nothing deeper then him just wanting to know you.

But as you look into his baby blue eyes you can see it clear as day.

Your sure that if he was a cartoon there'd be literal hearts in his eyes.

He doesn't give you much thought on that though ,as he slightly pushes you off just slightly though. And you think that he's trying to get you off his lap but he's not.

You quickly try and get off but he stops you and keeps a firm hand on your hip as the other goes to unbuckle his pants.

You look at him confused did he really want it to go this far? Oh, who are you kidding of course he did! He's as pathetic as lovesick puppy.

He positions you right back onto his now very hard buldge and now the only thing that's separating you two is his boxers and your clothes.

"Don't stop....please?"

And when the hell did his voice get so cute when he's whining? You can see the tears of frustration and pure need on the edge of his eyes almost daring you to make them fall.

But then the gods above must've seen your position or maybe you just got lucky either way you aren't complaining.

'Ding!' Your phone goes off and Tim's to lost in the moment to even hear it. But you do and your quick to grab it.

And you ignore Tim's childish pout as you check the message.

'Sister, I require your assistance on this particular painting. Meet me in the art room ,immediately.' The texts reads and for once your actually glad that Damian texted you.

"Sorry I gotta go. Damian needs me." You mutter pushing his hands off your hips and standing up.

"You can't just leave like this....please?" Tim begs and he follows your action and stands up.

"I'm sure the brat doesn't need you that bad." He continues trying to reach for you but your quick to pull away.

"And if I don't go he'll come looking for me...and how would we explain what we were doing? Huh genius?" You say mockingly. You wanted what you were saying to hurt.

You wanted him to feel how you felt everyday inside the manor ,hurt.

"Of course the Demon brats a cockblocker too." Tim whispers under his breath but you don't hear him. No, your already out the door before he can try and persuade you to stay.

Walking down the hall and up some more stairs you found yourself at the door of the art room.

Only damian would demand your attention at 2am. But you can't act to suspicious or look like a mess.

So you make sure your hairs decent and your clothes are smoothed and take a deep breath before walking in.

Walking in Damian already standing infront of a canvas covering whatever is painted on it..

"What took you so long?" Damian asks his eyes never leaving the canvas.

"I was asleep, like you should be." You say adding a fake yawn to sell the act.

Damian scoffs rolling his eyes ,decideding to ignore the obviously fake yawn.

"Well art doesn't sleep, sister."

"Well your not art." You retort , voice still holding that same venom you've had ever since you met him. Or more like they forced you to meet him.

"You speak so little of me ,sister...as if you do not care." He says the pout on his face now very clear as he turns around to face you.

"I don't." You mutter under your breath as you scoff but you don't let him hear your words. No, you'd be a fool to do that. Last time you did that the outcome was not in your favor. So you say it quietly...

"What are you painting?" You ask as you move infront of him to look at the painted canvas.

Your movements are so fluid as if he's not there and that causes the small boy to pout even more.

"Don't you ever get tired of painting me?" You say as you look at the canvas that was almost mirror-like.

It looked just like you, you couldn't help as your hands traced the outline of your painted face on the canvas.

It was almost cute how Damian looked up to you. Almost. It started off simple a sketch now and then ;then it turned into full on murals.

It was nice knowing he looked up to you. But you draw the line at the obsessive amount of painting dedicated to your face solely.

"Don't you ever get tired of hating me?" He says his eyes looking at you with adoration but you can tell he's memorizing every inch of your face. Probably for another painting.

"Fair enough." You whisper more to yourself then to him.

"Do you like it?" He asks ,his voice quiet waiting for your approval. Needing your approval.

"Its....realistic." You murmur eyes still on the undeniably beautiful painting. But you'd never tell him how much you truly admired his work.

He hums heart squeezing in his chest at how you barely react. It should get easier each time you critique his art or each time you verbally state you have no interest in being his sister.

But it doesn't.

It hurts just the same each time. Even worse on some days.

The young ex assasin boy will always yearn for your approval no matter how much you deny him.

"That's the point." Damian mumbles but his words have no true bite to them like they would if someone else would've committed on his painting. No, his words are soft and hurt.

His eyes now at the floor unable to look you in the eyes. As of he's disappointed ,not you ,but at himself.

And for a moment the room is calm as you stare deeply into the painting that replicates you completely.

Tearing your eyes away you turn to Damian. Sadly he doesn't look at you back. Instead he stands like a kicked puppy begging for acceptance. Atleast that's what he looks like. And kinda is.

Looking at him now he doesn't look like robin. Or an ex assasins...just a kid. But you have to remind yourself what he's done to you. What they've done to you.

So you don't show any empathy as he continues looking pitiful. Though his eyes continue looking at the ground you notice something.

Something different.

You tilt your head and your hands make their way to his chin lifting it so his eyes meet yours. And he gladly let's you since he's so eager for your affection.

His eyes look at you softly waiting for anything ,but your to worried about something else.

"Your eyes...their blue." You say your voice just a whisper as if verifying it to yourself.

Damian tilts his head like a confused puppy.

"They have always been blue ,sister" Damian says his voice soft but also mocking.

"No, they were green..." You say your eyes never leaving his now blue ones. What was going on?

His eyes have always been green you were so sure of it. Though yes you despised him you couldn't deny his eyes were beautiful.

Green like the forest you thought. Never blue. One of the traits he got from his mother... atleast that's what you thought.

"Are you feeling well ,sister?"

"Stop lying. Your eyes have always been green." You say your grip on his chin tightens almost instantly but not harsh. Never harsh.

Damian looks at you like you just just said something ridiculous and that makes you confused. He really isn't lying is he?

Letting go of his chin you step back.

"Are you sure your alright, sister? I'll go get Alfred..." Damian says worry etched on his face as he looks at you. You look fine just....confused.

"No, don't get Alfred. I'm fine...just need some sleep." You say hoping he'll buy the lie. Even though part of what you said is true.

Because how the hell did his eyes change colors over night? Yeah you definitely needed sleep.

"I'll assist you to your room ,sister." Damian say his feet already making their way towards you.

"There's no need damian. I know where my room is." You say sarcastically already making your exit out of the art room before Damian could protest.

You rub your temples on your way to your room ,clearly stressed. Were you really losing your shit?

"You okay sweetheart?" Bruce voice rings throughout the quiet hall till it reaches your ears. Of course you weren't alright your losing your damn mind! But like he'll your telling him that.

"I'm fine ,dad."

Dad? Dad. God's you hated calling him that but you knew what would happen if you didn't. And sitting through an entire movie with your overbearing father was not on your wishlist.

"Just tired." You mumble as you continue walking. Trying to escape having a full conversation with the man you couldn't stand.

"Get some rest!" Bruce all but shouts as you continue walking to your room.

You sigh as you finally lay down in your room. Peace. This was peace. But what do the always say? Oh, yeah.

Calm comes before the Storm.

You yawn your eyes finally drifting shut as you roll to lay on your side only to fill something crumb beneath you. Groaning you lazily try and pull whatever is underneath you out.

But it doesn't budge so you tiredly sit up. And pull the piece of now crumbled paper from under you.

"Shit I thought I put up my homework?" You mumble tiredly but the rooms to dark to see what's on the paper.

But wait this doesn't feel like just a piece of paper. Something inside you is deeply telling you but you toss it aside decideding to wait till tomorrow. Because right now you need sleep.

The next day you wake up to thunder a big storm. Yawning and wiping your eyes you hardly even glance at the raging storm outside but what does catch your eye si the piece of paper from lats night. Actually it's a note.

Your gut gets that feeling like you're about to puke. But you brush it off. It's just a dumb note right? Probably from dick telling you about his day or jason telling you he'll see you today. Or maybe even Tim annoyed about the state you left him in last night.

Either way it's just a note right?

Wrong. The words in the note twist your stomach like you've been pushed down a forty feet tower.

And in this moment you feel just like the muskrat who chews off his own leg to escape the trap.

But you also understand one thing from the muskrat now ,that you didn't before.

Maybe the muskrat wasn't stupid or brave.

Maybe the muskrat knew he'd die if he chewed of ihis leg.

But maybe dying was better then living his whole life with his foot trapped in a cage....

Oh! and what did the note say? Simple words really.

'It worked. NOW RUN.'

Who knows this might be your way out. But you could be just as stupid or brave as the muskrat.

The question is are you?

Thanks for reading!

Likes comments and reblogs are appreciated!!

Taglist: @alwaysholymilkshake @0sunnyside01 @a-taken-url @hearts4mica

[serpentandlily]

No Going Back - Azriel x Reader

No Going Back - Azriel x Cassian’sSister!Reader

Summary: Azriel has been your mate, your husband, your love for centuries. But a certain Archeron sister has him questioning your relationship after all this time. You soon find out that there are simply things that can not be unsaid or undone. And sometimes, there are things you can’t come back from.

Warnings: angst angst angst and a little violence

A/n: based on this request. this one hurt guys :(

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Azriel was late. 

Again.

You sighed, leaning back in your chair and tossing your napkin on the table. You had waited for him but at this point, the food was cold and your appetite had disappeared so you began to clear the table instead. 

It had been like this ever since the Archeron sisters had become permanent residents of the Night Court. For months now, your mate had been coming home late, skipping breakfast, leaving the bed before you even woke. He had become a scarce presence in this apartment, the one of the two of you had bought together years and years ago.

Tonight was no different. 

It had started out slow, innocent. Feyre’s sisters were having a hard time adjusting to their new lives and Elain had started clinging to Azriel at some point. You understood why. He was someone who wouldn’t push you more than you needed and would be there for you as a quiet, steady presence. 

You hadn’t minded it at first. Elain was clearly struggling a lot. But at some point, Azriel had begun to prioritize her over you. Whatever Elain needed always came first now. He had canceled dates, skipped out on dinners, left parties early—all for her. 

And it was starting to hurt.

You weren’t stupid nor naive. You knew what was happening. You were watching your mate slowly fall in love with someone else. 

Azriel had always liked playing the hero. First he was the hero for Mor, saving her when she had been discarded in Autumn, beaten and nearly dead. 

And then he was the hero for you. 

You were a bastard born Illyrian, ripped from their mother’s side as soon as you were able to complete chores on your own. You hadn’t known your father. Hadn’t even known you had a brother until he came storming the camp one day, looking for your mother. 

Cassian had almost killed you during his fit of rage once he had learned what your camp had done to your mother. He had gone on a killing spree, sparing no one until he came upon you. But he recognized your scent, took one look at you and immediately knew who you were in relation to him. 

You were only nine when he had saved you from that camp. Cassian took you that day and brought you home with him. Rhys’s mother took you in with no question but Cassian had practically raised you.

You had met Azriel and Rhysand that day as well but you had no idea what the shadowsinger was to you until years and years later. 

Once Rhysand was in power, he banned wing clipping. It pissed the Illyrian males off, of course, which led to them kidnapping you to try and clip your wings as a message for the High Lord, knowing Rhysand cared about you as much as he had cared for his own sister.

Their plan was to keep you locked up until they could get a hold of your brother, Cassian, to tie him up and make him watch what they would do to you. You were beaten within an inch of your life and kept in a cell for three days before Azriel rescued you.

You still remember the image of him stalking into your cell, his eyes lit with a feral rage. He looked like a dark Angel straight from Hell. The minute his gaze found yours, the mating bond snapped into place. 

Azriel saved you and your wings that day. And afterwards, he sat by your bedside night and day until you were fully healed. He held you through all the nightmares, waited patiently for you to be ready to accept the mating bond. And then he had trained you into a fortified spy and warrior, an equal. 

But none of that mattered now.

None of that mattered because now there was a new damsel that needed saving.

And it wasn't you.

Not anymore.

You pulled out your weapons bag from the closet and began to lay out your daggers and swords on the dining table. You had devised a plan to make Azriel feel more needed in your relationship because maybe that was what was lacking. At least, you hoped that's all this was. You hoped he wasn't truly falling in love with another female. 

Rhys had given you a job today that was supposed to be for both you and Azriel, but you were going to ask for his help—make him feel like you need him and hopefully that would make him come back to you. 

An hour later, you heard the front door open and close before his scent of cedar and night-chilled mist filled the apartment. You smiled, turning around to greet him. He gave you a half-smile in response. 

You stood on your tippy toes to kiss him as he passed by, but he swerved his head to the side, making your kiss land on his cheek instead. Your heart clenched as he walked away. 

"You're finally home," you said, trying to not let the hurt you felt seep into your tone. "I saved you some dinner if you're hungry."

He shook his head, sitting on the couch to unlace his boots. 

"That's alright. I already ate," he replied, barely looking at you.

Your fingers tightened around the dagger in your hand. Elain had cooked him dinner again, that much was obvious. Your smile dropped as the scent of jasmine and honey met your nose, only confirming your suspicions. 

Azriel strode to you now, looking over your shoulder at all the weapons on the table. 

"What's this?" 

"Rhys gave me a mission—some spy work in Hewn City," you said. "I was going to leave to complete it tomorrow but I was hoping you'd come with me. I could use the help." 

Azriel snorted. "When was the last time you needed help?”

You frowned as he breezed by you, heading towards the stairs that led to the loft where your bedroom was. "It's a high value, dangerous target. I guess I could do it alone but I would feel better if you were there with me."

"I can't, Y/n," he said, stopping at the bottom of the stairs to look at you. "I'm sorry. I already made plans with Elain."

Your heart dropped to your stomach. Here he was, once again picking Elain over you.

"Really? And you can't cancel those plans just for the day? I really need your help, Az."

"You don't," he said. "I trained you, babe. I know you don't need my help anymore." 

"Well maybe I just need you. It's that so bad? Maybe I just want to do this with you."

"I'm sorry, but Elain needs me."

You threw your hands in the air, your cheeks turning red. "What does Elain need that is so important that you can't reschedule it for a different day?" 

"She wants to go into the city. Wants to see more of Velaris. It's a huge step for her, Y/n. One she needs me for."

"And Feyre can't take her? Or Nesta? She has two sisters who are perfectly capable of showing her around Velaris."

"Well, she asked me," Azriel sighed. "And I already agreed."

"Why is it that you can bail on me all the time, miss dinners with me, skip out on our dates," you growled. "But the moment it comes to Elain, you won't even bother rescheduling a simple outing?"

Azriel narrowed his eyes at you and crossed his arms over his chest. "What exactly are you insinuating, Y/n?"

Your heart was pounding, a sick feeling in your stomach. How could he not see? How could he not see how much he was choosing her over you, his own mate?

"I'm just saying that you've been spending a lot of time with Elain," you argued. "I hardly see you anymore, Az. I just want my mate back." 

"Well, you're not the one who needs me right now, Y/n. You're not the one who's gone through immeasurable trauma. You're not the one who just barely stopped starving yourself. Elain needs help right now. Am I supposed to just turn my back on her after everything she's been through?"

You wanted to laugh. You would've if you weren't so upset. Elain wasn't the only person in Prythian to go through trauma. All of you had gone through so much. For him to disregard you like that… after everything… you felt your heart cracking into pieces. 

"She has her sisters to help her! Even Nuala and Cerridwen have been helping her adjust to life here! Why does she need you as well?"

"I can't believe you're acting like this," Azriel snarled. "I'm tired, Y/n. I don’t want to do this right now.”

"Acting like what? Acting upset because my mate is prioritizing someone else? Upset that my mate is barely home these days? Upset that my mate has been spending all his time with another female? How would you feel? How would you feel if I started spending all my time with another male, Azriel? How would you feel waking up to an empty bed, eating dinner alone while I was out with another guy?"

"It's not like that and you know it! Don't make this about you, Y/n. I thought you were better than that."

"Are you serious, Az? I have been nothing but patient and kind. I have given you so much grace. I have had to sit back and watch my mate cater to another female for months now. Months! And I only ask for one day. For you to come with me for one job and you can't even do that?" 

"Well, you can wait a little longer," Azriel said, his face cut from stone. "She needs me right now. Me. Not Feyre. Not Nesta. Not Nuala and Cerridwen. Me."

"What about her own godsdamn mate!"

"She doesn't want him and she owes him nothing. She doesn't want his help,” Azriel growled. You didn’t miss the flash of jealousy in his eyes that made your stomach twist.

"Of course she doesnt. Why would she when she can just use my mate instead? I can't believe you're picking her over me, Azriel."

"I'm not picking her over you! And I wouldn't."

"You already have! Each and every day you choose her over me. Why? Please, Azriel, explain it to me because I don't understand!"

"I already told you," Azriel growled. "She is going through a lot at the moment. You don't need me right now but she does."

"I don't care what she needs! I don't care! I'm tired of pretending like this doesn't bother me. She clearly has feelings for you and instead of discouraging her, instead of distancing yourself, you just keep running back to her! Why? You owe me an answer, Azriel!"

"I already told—”

"The truth, Azriel! Give me the fucking truth."

"Fine," Azriel snarled, his eyes going dark, his face as cold as the winter snow outside. 

The room was silent for a moment. Silent except for your heavy breathing, your heart still echoing in your chest. You felt like you were going to be sick. You hadn't expected to blow up like this but you couldn't take it anymore. 

Finally Azriel let out a sigh, deflating a bit. "I've been spending some time thinking… of us, of our family, of everything and I can't help… I can't help but think maybe the cauldron got things wrong. It doesn't make sense. Three sisters, three brothers. My brothers got two of the sisters but the other one is given to another? I can't help but question everything, Y/n. You have to understand. You know the cauldron doesn't always get things right… maybe it got this wrong."

With every word he spoke, your heart cracked more and more. You blinked in disbelief, staring at the male that you had called your love for over two hundred years now. A male you had built your life with, a male you were connected to in a very primal sense of the word. A male you had expected to be with forever.

And here he was, telling you he thinks the cauldron was wrong in making the two of you mates. Telling you that he thinks some other female should be his mate. He might as well stick a dagger straight through your heart. You were certain that would be less painful than this.

Gods, your ears were ringing. Tears lined your eyes. All of your paranoia the last few months, your feelings of inadequacy every time you saw Elain, the female he was spending all this time with over you, all of it was true. He had been falling in love with another girl… right in front of you and your family. 

"Say something," Azriel murmured. "Please."

You blinked, hugging yourself as his words replayed in your mind over and over again.

"Is that… Is that how you truly feel? Would you really rather have Elain as a mate? You think we shouldn't have been mated… that the cauldron made a mistake?"

"Fuck, I don't know! I don't know, Y/n. All I know is that my two brothers are mated to two sisters and the third… Elain.... I can't help but wonder if we would be better suited together. I'm sorry, Y/n, but you have to understand how it looks from my perspective. Please."

You shook your head, backing up. 

"So that's what you've been doing? Testing the waters? Seeing if she would be a better wife to you, a better partner?"

"No, fuck, this is coming out all wrong," Azriel groaned. "It didn't start out that way, please believe me, Y/n. I never intended on developing feelings for her. It just sort of happened naturally and I… I've just been trying to wrap my head around it all."

You couldn't breath, couldn't think.

Your mate, your husband, your one true love had fallen for another girl. Believed that he should be mated to her instead of you. 

Were you not good enough for him? Not pretty enough? Not powerful enough? What did Elain have that you didn’t?

"So you think that you and Elain should be mates. Your brothers got mated to two beautiful high fae females, and you… you're the one struck with some lowly Illyrian and not the other beautiful sister. So it must be a mistake, right?"

"Don't turn it into that, Y/n. Don't diminish it," Azriel snapped. "It has nothing to do with your looks or who is more beautiful or High Fae. I could care less about that shit."

"But it does, doesn't it? You already think you're so unworthy and this just proves it. To be mated to an Illyrian and not the third made sister."

"I knew I should've never talked to you about this," Azriel growled. "I was trying to figure it out on my own. I didn't want to hurt you, Y/n. I didn't want this to happen."

"Well it has and you did," you snapped. 

He had hurt you. Immensely so. 

Tears began to drip down your cheeks. Azriel took a step towards you at the sight of your tears but stopped himself. Your chest heaved as you turned around, staring out the window in your apartment to Velaris, where people were laughing and dancing on the streets. Partying, having the time of their lives, while yours was ending.

"Y/n—"

“Have you slept with her? Kissed her? Have you cheated on me with Elain?”

“I-I…Y/n, I’m sorry. Please—”

That was enough of an answer for you. You couldn’t even fathom the thought of kissing another male and here was Azriel, basically confessing that he fucked Elain behind your back.

You wanted to scream. Wanted to throw things at him. Wanted to tear this whole apartment down. 

"Get out."

"What?"

"Get out," you snapped. "Get out!"

You heard a resigned sigh before the front door opened and closed. He hadn't even tried to fight for you. Hadn't tried to make things better. He just left… left you falling apart, with no one to pick up the pieces of your breaking heart.

A sob finally broke out from your lips and you crumbled to the floor, crying your heart out. 

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You lingered in the shadows in the alleyway across from the illustrious bar in Hewn City. Your target had gone inside over an hour ago and you were waiting for him to leave so you could trail him back to his apartment. 

You knew you shouldn’t be here right now. You were being reckless. Your mind was still a mess from last night, your heart broken. Every breath came with a deep pain in your chest. You wanted nothing more than to go home and cry and cry… but you were hoping this would distract you from the pain Azriel had left you with.

You had tried tugging on the bond a little earlier but you were met with an obsidian wall. Azriel had completely closed you off and you knew that meant he was with Elain, pretending to be her mate instead of yours.

You squeezed your eyes shut, your breath trembling as a few tears slid down your cheeks. Was he fucking her right now? Bringing her flowers and kissing her the way he used to with you?

Why weren’t you enough for him? Why weren’t you the female he wanted? The cauldron had gifted the two of you a mating bond and still it wasn’t enough to make him want you apparently.

The door to the bar swinging open had you standing up straight. A handsome High Fae male walked out from it and your eyes narrowed on your target. You slinked away in the shadows, following him down the streets.

He turned a corner and you rushed to follow, twisting to face the dark alleyway only to see it empty. Your brows furrowed in confusion as you walked down the narrow path.

You were halfway down the dark alleyway when you felt the cold tip of a dagger press against your throat. It pricked your skin, causing blood to trickle down your neck.

“Well what do we have here? A little Illyrian female, all by herself,” his voice purred from behind you. “Did you think I didn’t notice you following me, little bird?”

He spun you around, pressing you back against the wall, dagger still at your throat.

You tried to use your magic but your siphons sputtered out. It took you a minute to realize that his dagger was coated in faebane. You let out a panicked cry, trying to kick him away but he only pressed his body further against you. 

You were so fucked. You tried to tug on the mating bond again, if only to reach Azriel so he could send help. But that obsidian wall was still there. 

“I know who you are,” the male murmured. “That bastard’s sister. The shadowsinger’s mate.”

“Let me go,” you snarled, trying to twist from his grip but he pressed his dagger against your neck harder, making you stop.

“I don’t think so,” he teased, smiling. “You and I are going to have a lot of fun together, sweetheart.” 

He spun you around again, pressing your face into the brick wall. You cried as you felt his dagger run down your wing.

You tugged and tugged on the mating bond. Only silence greeted you. 

“But first, I think you’d look so much prettier without these.”

You died at the first drag of his dagger down the base of your wing. Died as he dug that dagger into the tendon, ripping up the nerves and muscle. Died as he severed off your left wing before moving to your right. Died as excruciating pain rattled your entire body.

Died as you cried out for your mate, for your brother, for anyone to come save you as the male laughed at your pleas.

Died as you tugged and tugged on your mating bond, crying and pleading for Azriel over and over again only to be met with cold, bitter silence. 

You died in that alleyway before your heart had even stopped beating.

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Azriel grabbed the plate of brussel sprouts from Elain, nudging the kitchen door open with his shoulder, and walking into the dining room. He placed the plate on the dining table, smiling at Elain lightly as she followed him with a large bowl of mashed potatoes.

Rhysand, Feyre, Amren, Cassian and Nesta were already at the table, waiting. He took a seat next to Elain and Rhysand shot him a confused look. 

“Az, where’s Y/n?” 

Azriel shrugged. “Still on the mission you sent her on.”

“What?”

“The job in Hewn City?”

Rhysand looked even more confused. “Why aren’t you with her? I specifically told her not to go alone–to take you with her. This was a two person job.”

“She didn’t tell me that,” Azriel said, also confused.

“Wait, what’s going on?” Cassian asked. 

“I gave your sister a report about some happenings in Hewn City that I needed her and Azriel to check out. But I made it very clear that it was a job with a dangerous target. What did she say to you about it, Azriel?”

Azriel felt his face heat up as all the attention fell on him. “She asked me to go with her but I was meant to take Elain into the city today so I told her I couldn’t. She never told me that you ordered her to take me with her.” 

Rhysand cursed, standing up. Cassian jolted at Rhysand’s reaction, also standing up in a panic. 

“She asked you to go and you told her no?” Cassian asked, his voice darker now as he stared at his sister’s mate. “Why the fuck would you let her go alone if she asked you for help?”

“I didn’t think she would need help,” Azriel said, carefully, also rising from his seat. “She didn’t tell me that Rhys said it was dangerous!”

“She shouldn’t need to! My sister asked you for your help, your mate asked you for help, and you told her no? Why the fuck would you do that?”

“Elain needed help,” Azriel argued back. 

Elain’s cheeks turned red as the attention drifted to her for a second. “I just wanted to see more of the city. I’m sorry.”

“Why didn’t you ask one of us to take her?” Feyre questioned, staring at Azriel with an odd look. “I could’ve or Nesta.” 

Elain turned even more red, pressing her lips together. Amren’s eyes darted between the pair, narrowing. 

“You’ve both been messing around behind Y/n’s back, haven’t you?” Amren had always been too observant. 

“What?” Cassian exclaimed, his face darkening. “That’s not true, Azriel? Right? He wouldn’t do that to his mate. He wouldn’t do that to Y/n.”

Azriel said nothing, shame pouring down on him. But he didn’t have to. Dark talons ripped open his mental shield, sorting through his mind.

“Get the fuck out of my head, Rhysand,” Azriel snarled, baring his teeth. 

Rhysand had seen enough, his face paling as he stared at Azriel with wide eyes. Cassian’s face dropped.

“What did you see, Rhys?” He asked.

“Amren’s right,” Rhys barely choked out. “Azriel… how could you? Y/n is your mate.”

“I’m going to fucking kill you!” Cassian roared, hopping over the dining table to tackle Azriel to the floor. Elain screamed, barely making it out of range as the two males fell to the floor. He only managed to land a punch before Rhysand pulled him away. 

“We can’t do this right now,” Rhysand growled. “We need to find Y/n. She shouldn’t be in Hewn City alone. I’ve been trying to reach her but I can’t sense her.”

“What do you mean you can’t sense her?” Cassian was more panicked now. 

“Are you sure she went to Hewn City today, Azriel? I should be able to reach her from this distance.”

“I’m not sure, I assumed.”

“What the fuck do you mean you’re not sure?” Cassian glared at him, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

Azriel had the good sense to look away, rubbing the back of his neck. “We had a bit of an argument last night. She kicked me out so I was giving her space. When I went back this morning, she was already gone.”

“Why didn’t you go after her? Why were you guys fighting?” Feyre asked. 

“She figured it out, didn’t she?” Amren interjected again. “She found out about you and Elain.”

Cassian let out a curse. “Fuck! Find out where my sister is, Azriel, or I swear to the Gods I will fucking end you.”

“Cassian,” Nesta chastised, placing a hand on his arm to calm him down. But he shrugged her hand off, too angry at the fact that his friend had hurt his sister so badly. 

Azriel didn’t need to be told. He was also panicking now, wondering why you hadn’t told him that he was supposed to go with you today. He would question it later, for now he just wanted to find you. He opened his end of the mating bond back up, feeling guilty that he had kept you closed off all day.

He gasped, folding over, as a wave of your emotions crashed into him. 

Fear. 

You were sending pure fear down the bond. 

“What? What is it?!”

Cassian grabbed Azriel by the upper arms. Azriel ignored him, tugging on the bond, hoping you would respond but nothing. Nothing but fear and pain traveled back to him. His shadows exploded around him, wailing in agony.

“She… She’s in danger,” Azriel gasped. “I need to go. I need to—”

He didn’t say anything else before he disappeared in a swirl of shadows. He stepped out into Hewn City, racing down the streets, trying to follow the mating bond to you. He heard Rhysand winnow in behind him with Cassian but he didn’t pause.

He shouted your name as he ran, pushing faeries out of the way, trampling through stalls. Rhysand and Cassian were right behind him. He ran and ran into the even shadier parts of the city, until it led him to a dark alleyway.

He paused as he scented blood. A small figure was curled up on the floor, in a pool of blood. No one else in sight. He rushed forward, screaming your name in terror as he realized it was you lying in a pool of your own blood.

He skidded to a halt, falling to his knees next to you. He let out a cry and pulled you into his lap. Your wings. Your wings were gone. Your back was covered in deep wounds, your heartbeat so faint he almost couldn’t hear it. He let out a wail, shaking your limp body in his arms.

“No,” he cried. “No no no no no.” 

He patted your cheek. “Wake up, baby. Please, wake up!”

Your eyes remained closed, your body still limp.

He heard Rhysand and Cassian come to a stop behind him, panting. Cassian let out a noise of horror at the sight of his wingless sister, turning around to vomit against the wall. Rhysand cursed, kneeling next to Azriel.

Azriel growled at him, yanking your body closer to his chest.

“Azriel,” Rhysand said, softly. “We need to get her back to Velaris. She needs a healer, now, before she bleeds out.”

Azriel let out a cry, standing up and hoisting you into his arms. Rhysand placed a hand on Azriel and Cassian, winnowing them back to the River House. Azriel brushed past the group waiting in the foyer, ignoring their cries of alarm as he rushed into one of the bedrooms and placed your body on the bed.

He knelt down next to you, grabbing your hand as tears poured down his face. Your breaths were growing thinner, your heartbeat fading. He could feel the mating bond slowly tearing itself apart.

“Don’t do this,” he cried. “Please, Y/n, you can’t do this to me. You can’t die. You don’t get to do this. Not like this. Please.”

Cassian burst into the room, Madja right behind him. The older female let out a long breath at the sight of you on the bed and immediately got to work. Cassian ripped Azriel away from you, tossing him on the ground.

“Please,” Azriel begged Madja. “Please don’t let her die. Please.”

“She’s not going to die,” Madja proclaimed. “Not on my watch. But you all need to get out of my way. Send one of my healers in here to assist me.”

It took both Cassian and Rhysand to drag Azriel out of the room and away from his heavily injured mate. They had barely made it back to the living room when he was suddenly slammed against the wall.

Cassian’s fist met his jaw and he felt blood pool in his mouth. Cassian punched him again and again, crashing to the floor with him as Azriel’s legs gave out. 

“You fucking prick,” Cassian shouted. “You were supposed to be there with her and you let her go alone! You did this! This is your fault!”

Feyre was sobbing in the background, being held back by Rhysand who knew better than to get in between two Illyrian’s fighting. Elain, on the other hand, rushed forward.

“Azriel!”

But Nesta grabbed her before she could get any farther. Her face paled as Cassian growled at her. “I’ll deal with you later.”

Elain let out a noise of distress, looking at Nesta but Nesta just pressed her lips together and looked away, disappointed.

Cassian focused his attention back on Azriel. He pummeled him, shouting and screaming. They were both crying, a mess of blood and tears. 

“You are her mate! You were supposed to protect her! And you failed–You failed her!”

Azriel barely fought back. He let Cassian beat him up knowing he deserved it.

Rhysand finally placed a hand on Cassian’s shoulder. “Enough.”

Cassian paused, still crouched over Azriel. He grabbed the shadowsinger by the collar before slamming his head back on the ground and leaning in close to snarl in his ear.

“I will never forgive you for this. Never.” 

Rhysand grabbed him by the back of his shirt, lifting him off of Azriel. 

“Cassian, your sister needs you right now,” Rhys murmured. “She’s more important.” 

“If I see his face again, I will kill him, Rhys,” Cassian snarled at his High Lord. “I swear to the Gods I will.” 

“I know,” Rhys whispered with his own despair. He knew this was the last time he’d see Azriel and Cassian together. Knew his family was about to be torn apart for the first time in centuries. “I know.”

Cassian spit out blood on Azriel before storming away, back to the room where his sister lay unconscious. Azriel sat up slowly, pushing himself back against the wall and drawing his knees up to his chest. He hung his head between his knees, tears dropping onto the wooden floor.

Rhysand knelt down next to him. “Azriel, what the fuck? Why would you… what have you done?”

“I fucked up, Rhys,” Azriel muttered. “I fucked up.” 

────────────

You woke up days later. You immediately felt the absence of your wings. You groaned, trying to sit up and failing. A glass shattered against the floor and you looked up to see Azriel hovering in the doorway.

“You’re awake. Don’t… don’t try to move,” he breathed out, rushing forward. He knelt down next to the bed, grabbing your hand as tears formed in his eyes. “You’re awake.”

You pulled your hand away from him. He was the last person you wanted to see right now. It hurt just to see his face, his words were constantly replaying in your head along with the image of him and Elain together. The last thing you remembered was trying to call for help down the mating bond and being met with silence. 

“My wings are gone,” you whispered, more to yourself than anything. Your voice was hoarse, raspy from disuse. “My wings…”

“I know. I know and I’m so sorry, Y/n. You have no idea how sorry I am,” Azriel pleaded. “Gods, I am so fucking sorry, baby. For everything. For everything I said to you. For what I’ve done. For closing off the mating bond. For not going with you to Hewn City. I am so sorry.”

You said nothing. Just stared at him. What could you say? He had cheated on you, closed you off, left you alone. You had lost your wings because of him.

“Baby, please, say something.”

“I want Cassian,” you whispered. “I want my brother.” 

“I know, just please,” Azriel cried. “Please, just talk to me. I am so sorry, baby. I am so sorry. I will do anything for your forgiveness. I will do anything to fix this.”

“Cassian,” you murmured again. “I want Cassian!”

“I know, I know,” Azriel said. “Just please tell me what I can do to fix this. I will do anything. I’m sorry for what I said. I’m sorry for everything I’ve done. I regret it so much. I’m sorry I ignored you. I’m sorry I didn’t go with you. I’m so sorry. Please just tell me we can fix this.”

You choked on a sob, turning over so you didn’t have to look at him anymore. 

“I can’t unhear your words, Azriel. I can’t forget how you betrayed me,” you cried. “And I will never be able to forget how I cried for help and you closed me off. There are some things you just can’t unsay or undo. There is no going back from this.” 

“Please,” Azriel’s voice was full of sadness and regret but all you could feel was the pain he had caused you. “That can’t be true.”

“Please, leave,” you whispered, your tears sliding off onto your pillow. “Please.” 

“I can’t, Y/n. I can’t leave you. Not like this. I love you.”

“No, you don’t,” You said, softly. “We both know you don’t. I know who you love and it isn’t me, Azriel. Now please, leave. I’m begging you. There is no going back. There is no future for us after this. Please, just leave.” 

Silence so loud, it felt like the air was screaming. There was no denying your words. Azriel might regret what he did, but it didn’t change the fact that he did it. Those words had come from his mouth. He had made a choice when he decided to fuck Elain behind your back. He didn’t want you as his mate anymore.

Maybe he never did. 

You heard Azriel sigh and stand, his footsteps retreating. The door opening and closing was both your relief and your undoing. 

[beetlejuicyy]

Just a Dream

Mydei’s favorite place to be was between your plump, soft thighs. He loved the way you trembled slightly when his cold cheek, bruised by a day of demonstrating the true Kremnoan warrior nature, cleansed with cold water and your soft hums only a moment before, touched your warm skin. Mydei himself felt a weak shiver run down his spine as his sense of smell was assaulted by the sweet floral oils you used to bathe in mixed with the already familiar scent of your pussy. He’s been there many times, too many to count but not enough to be satisfied. How could he? When just a flick of his tongue was all it took for you to arch your back above the sheets, grab his golden hair a little too roughly. Mydei loved pleasuring you, probably more than he cared for anything else, and it was most obvious in bed.

“Do that again.” You would let out a breathy moan, telling him whatever you liked, praising the way his tongue brushed against your sensitive bud, how his lips kissed every inch of you, how he sucked on your clit with just enough strength to leave you asking for more.

Of course he wouldn’t comply right away. Instead, he would chuckle lightly at your desperation, shifting his attention to your tummy, your hips and, his favorite, your thighs. For a man of his reputation, a warrior, a savage, he was exceptionally gentle with his lips. Maybe his hands were rough, his hips a little too violent when thrusting into you, his hold too tight on your weaker body, but his lips have always, always been as light as a feather on your skin. Part of it was because Mydei wanted to enjoy his time as much as he could. After all, Mydei ate you out for his own pleasure first and foremost. As opposed to times when he just let out his frustration through sex or was simply in the mood for a quick fuck, at the end of the day when he patiently waited for you in his royal chambers you knew you were in for a goddess treatment. His favorite pastime was you, exploring your body, finding out things you liked, things that turned you off. Finding out how your body reacts to his touch. And, heavens, you were responsive.

“Mydei, please…” His gaze would quickly shift to look up at you. His grip on your legs was too firm, forcing them to stay spread. He was unaware of how tightly the fat of your thighs was pressed between his biceps and forearms and he would loosen his grip while muttering an empty apology.

You learned just how much he enjoyed the taste of your cunt on his lips, his tongue dripping with your slick, pretty quickly. Mydei would force orgasm after orgasm from your body as many times as he felt like going, ignoring your efforts to push him away or press your legs closed, the overstimulation too much for you to handle. He would never confess to any living soul, but Mydei often thought that having your thighs pressed on either side of his head with your rawest uncontrolled force, his face still buried in your cunt until he couldn’t breathe anymore would be an extraordinary way to die. Maybe even death would find this pathetic enough to take him.

It never happened, though. As you soaked in his private bath, Mydei sat by your side on a cushion, his back resting against a marble column. The only sound was the clear splashing of water while you quietly poured it over your shoulders and back.

“Your breasts are swollen.” He hummed, voicing the thought without pondering. He noticed it before, when his hands felt different, smaller when cupping your tits, when you whined in discomfort and rushed his hands lower on your body.

“Well I- my monthly bleeding is approaching.” The remark made you felt exposed and vulnerable, although he had seen you naked so many times. Still, you quickly submitted to his call when he gestured for you to come closer by the edge of the pool.

“Make sure to rest well.” Mydei’s low voice poured like honey in your ear as his hand found its way to your damp hair, caressing it.

“I would if someone let me.” Your playful banter earned a soft smile from his lips. For a moment, you were reminded of the sheer difference between the two of you. You were looking up at the crown prince of Kremnos, a brute by all accounts, tall and muscular, with bloody red lines engraved over his thick skin. Yet his expression softened at your sight, his thundering voice quieted down, his deadly strength controlled.

Mydei didn’t reply. Instead, he took his time to look at you from up close, from your round eyes sparkling with life to your small but plump lips stained with pomegranate juice. You looked like a doll, like a statue sculpted by the most renowned artist. His gaze shifted to your neck and shoulders, light purple marks blooming on your skin, a summary of the past hours spent together. The fullness of your breasts was traceable underwater, and he knew there were more signs of his claim on you the lower he searched. You looked ethereal. Otherworldly. Had you not been paying so much attention to counting the love marks the crown prince had left over your body, you would have seen the pure devotion in his eyes.

“Will you marry me?” The question was simple, as light as the night breeze. It was the second time he voiced his thoughts without much contemplation. What was there to consider anyways? You were the apprentice of the high priestess of Nikador, the most respected position in Castrum Kremnos, besides his, of course. You would inherit your duty from your grandmother eventually, just as he would become king one day. If not Mydeimos, son of Gorgo, who would be worthy enough to marry you?

The air was thick and warm in contrast to Mydei’s cold sweat when his eyes opened, the empty familiar room proof enough that everything had been just a dream. Still, his arm reached out over the sheets, as if looking for your warmth, in hopes you would be sleeping next to him. The night in Okhema was quiet and bright, the full moon casting a silver glow over Kephale’s enormous figure in the distance. Mydei walked over to the balcony, taking a deep breath in an attempt to tame his racing heart.

They never found your body. He never found your body, and damned be all the titans who refused to bring you back to him, he looked for a sign for days on end. In the ruins that barely resembled the glorious Castrum Kremnos of old, he overturned every rock, searched every corner, went through countless corpses across the city to look for you. Had you managed to escape? Yet, you’ve never set foot in Okhema. Was your end so violent that your body was not recognizable anymore? Mydei, who has waged so much war, breathed violence and tasted so much blood in his lifetime, was appalled at the thought. His fist fell heavy against the cold marble railing of the balcony, like a hammer ready to shatter everything in its way.

Even if death itself had granted you the eternal embrace he was denied of, Mydei would descend into the abyss to find you.

Masterlist

[earthsparked]

There were a lot of sideways looks and mechs falling silent whenever anyone brought up the former Decepticon warlord around you. Even the former ‘cons who historically had a dim view of organics had learned your worth. If the sparkeater incident hadn’t done it, you sneaking onto the bridge through the air vents to stop an accidental self-destruct lockdown and saving everyone’s afts, most certainly had. But Megatron? He hadn’t been there for that.

Rodimus had been the one to say it.

The human is not to be left alone with him. I’m serious! He pointed at you specifically. Do not go near him. He can’t do much to us without his weapons and on a diet of fool’s energon, but one wrong move and we’re down a human. And good luck trying to get any new humans to sign on when they find out he’s on board. We are NOT losing you.

Nobody had actually bothered to ask how you felt about it. Except Rung, of course. And he’d gotten an audial-full from you.

By the time Megatron actually came on board, you’d already more or less decided your course of action. You hadn’t hidden away. You’d walked up to him and looked him in the optic from your enormously different perspectives.

Rodimus had tried to hastily nudge you behind himself with the toe of one of his pedes, but you’d sidestepped him.

You really weren’t sure you could keep the emotion out of your voice if you tried calling him Megatron. There was too much tied up in that name. Instead, you’d called him captain.

Welcome to the Lost Light, Captain. I’m the ship’s human. I’m here to provide services as needed.

And then you’d given him a polite nod and left and gone about your business. Your heart pounding in your chest. You’d felt how his red optics had followed you as Rodimus had jumped in to distract him.

You’d been a child when the worst of the fighting on earth had taken place, but that grey plating was nonetheless a part of the background radiation of the Cybertronians’ presence on your home planet in some early memories. The blurry video, the images in newspapers and on the news.

You knew exactly who he was. You knew exactly what he’d done. That he had not managed to exterminate your species, destroy your world, like he had so many other organic civilizations over the course of the war? You had no illusions that it was out of the goodness of his spark. It was because he’d failed.

Seeing him without his weapons was strange. Seeing him without his purple Decepticon sigil, bearing the red Autobot sigil instead, was even stranger. You had to get Brainstorm to confirm you hadn’t slipped into an alternate reality (again).

Chaos reigns as it always does, and before long you and everyone else gets distracted by the day to day realities of your quest. Megatron proves to be an entirely competent captain. The mechs rally to make sure you’re never alone with him. You spend a lot of time thinking. You wonder how long it will take before you stop flinching at the sound of his voice.

One night it’s really hopping in Swerve’s. Megatron is there, nursing his fool’s energon. You sip your whiskey and coke, and brood.

Finally you shake it off and pull out a credit chit. You push it across the bar to Swerve. You’d say you were getting his attention, but the guy always has at least one optic on you, as if you were a rockstar or somebody important. You weren’t anybody important back home. But you know who you are, and what you stand for.

Swerve, two cubes of the good stuff, please.

He has to cycle his systems, and then checks, Two…cubes..? Little guy, you know you can’t drink energon. Are you feeling okay?

You smile tightly and push the chit closer. Yes, I’m fine, Swerve. Thank you. I didn’t say I was going to drink them.

Oh! he exclaims, and awws at you. Aren’t you sweet! Buying a round for some friends?

He sets to getting the cubes and you wait until he places them down to answer.

No, not tonight. Could you get me another jack and coke, too, please?

You finish your drink and stand up, walking along the bar to where Megatron sits. You can’t even imagine what he’s thinking as you enter his immediate sensory range and his big grey head turns to regard you. You meet the same optics that were the last thing so many people - so many humans as well as mechs - ever saw.

Those are yours. You point to the cubes. They’re too big for me to lift. You’ll have to grab them.

And you thought his attention had been intense before. His gaze sharpens, and his smile is bitter.

Trying to get me killed, human? I admit, it’s rather clever as assassination attempts go. My former lieutenant could have learned a few lessons from you.

You snort and shake your head. I’m not a murderer. And if they wanted you dead after the trial, they should have executed you. But what they’re doing to you, isn’t punishment. This is cruelty. Go get your energon, Captain. It’s even more dangerous out here for a mech not in top condition. And, I’m told Swerve makes the best.

You turn and fight the urge to shudder. Despite your display of courage, you’re very frightened right now, and you know they can all feel it no matter how you try to hide it.

But the trembling anger and disgust is stronger.

Swerve tries to talk you down. In a hushed voice, glancing worriedly between the cubes and Megatron, who still hasn’t moved.

Hey - you can’t - I mean, kiddo, what are you doing? Have you forgotten who he is? What he’s done? This is for everyone’s safety. Especially yours.

You stubbornly sit down, and cradle your drink in your hands, refusing to look at anyone.

I know. I know why he’s here. But I think you may have forgotten why I am here.

Your voice loses its hesitation, becoming every bit as hard as any mech’s armor.

While I am on this ship, this is my ship. While you are on this ship, you are my mechs. While you are my mechs, I don’t let anyone hurt you. I don’t let my mechs starve. I don’t let other people starve my mechs, and call it justice.

You’d examined your contract very, very carefully. Given the nature of the relationship between the handful of humans willing to become ships’ humans, and the huge demand for you on the Cybertronian fleets, those contracts were both highly coveted by captains - and extremely tilted in your favor. Humans liked their independence, and didn’t like being given orders. Your contract reflected this.

Even Ultra Magnus wouldn’t be able to seal up this loophole.

I’m an independent contractor and technically not under Cybertron’s authority. There isn’t shit they can legally do to stop me. It’s not illegal for me to buy some energon and give it away.

Besides.

And if the powers that be don’t like it? What the hell are they going to do? If they wanted authority over him that bad, they could have kept him locked up somewhere they could enforce it.

You give a half-shrug, and toss back your human-sized drink. If anybody complains? Tell them it was me. I want them to know. Tell them to come talk to me. I have plenty to say, and I���d rather say it to their fucking faces.

There’s dead silence in the bar. A feat you’re not sure has ever been accomplished. You feel every optic in the place on you and Megatron. You’re pretty sure you’ve pissed off some friends tonight, or maybe even lost some. (It’ll be a long before it hits you that you might have gained some, unlooked-for, too.)

It’s not that you like Megatron. It’s not that you trust him. It’s not even that you forgive him. It’s that there are things you cannot allow to continue and still be able to look at yourself in the mirror. As it turns out, enforced malnutrition as a condition of prison release is one of them.

Swerve’s a good guy, and he leaves you alone about it after that. Even if he keeps hovering a little.

The silence doesn’t last long. There’s some muttering, some surprised exclamations. The mood has shifted, and you decide you don’t want to be here anymore. Setting down a tip, you take the human-sized walkway down to the ground and grab the scooter you use to get around the massive hallways. Leaving Megatron and the cubes behind.

- - -

author’s note: obviously this happens in a scenario where the human is not “in” on the whole fool’s energon thing. Wouldn’t have been told the secret.

[angrythingstarlight]

Tell me this isn't our sweet Baker!Bucky

That was Bucky that night he thought he was lost😂. The only thing he knew was that he wanted his sweet Peach.

Pairing: Chubby Baker!Bucky x Reader

Bucky will always flirt with you, especially when he's tipsy. You've learned not to joke that you're taken because drunk Bucky gets devastated at the thought of you being with someone else.

"You–you seein' anyone? You want a boyfriend?" Bucky asks with a drunken, hopeful grin. "I'm all yours if you want me."

You cradle his face in your hands, giggling when he melts into your touch. "I have a boyfriend," you tease, squeezing his soft, bearded cheeks. "Remember?"

Bucky's already asked you out twice tonight while at the new bakery's grand opening celebration and again when you were helping him into the house. You decided it was going to be too much trouble to make it up the stairs so you guided him to the living room couch instead, which is where the two of you are now. Somehow you ended up under him. But you don't feel trapped. His body on top of yours always feels right.

"Aw no." Bucky's brow furrow and his mouth flounders open for a second. He peers down at you with baleful blue eyes. "Who? You like him? Ya sure?"

"I am, Bucky. He's an amazing baker. An even better boyfriend. Thoughtful and kind and funny. Not to mention he's tall, so strong and he has this perfect chubby belly that I love to lay on and oh,"—you break into a low moan that sends a shiver down his spine, his rapt yet bleary gaze on your face. "He has a beautiful smile and the prettiest blue eyes. Plus he can do this thing with his tongue that is just sinful. He's the best man I know."

"I mean—," Bucky huffs, rubbing his face on your palm, savoring your touch. He moves closer until his warm, large body is pushing you into the couch cushions. "I guess he sounds okay Peach but I could be better," he grumbles. "I wanna be your man."

You know you should probably stop teasing him but you're too busy trying to not lose it at the fact that Bucky doesn't recognize that you're describing him.

"I don't know, my James is pretty amazing. I don't think anyone could be better than him." Laughter laces your tone, your composure crumbling when he groans. "Is there anyone else you want?"

"Only you." Bucky drops his head on your shoulder, his lips brush over the curve of your neck as he repeats himself. "Only want you. I can wait."

His voice is so soft and sweet and sure that it makes your breath hitch. And just like that, you can't tease your baker anymore not when he's gazing up at you like you're everything to him.

You turn so you can kiss him. Again and again. Each kiss is slower and more passionate than the last, the taste of his peach sangria sweeping across your tongue. His moan preening in his throat, his arms curving around you in a tender embrace.

You reluctantly break away, giggling softy when he follows your kiss swollen lips, silently asking for more. "Bucky?"

"Hmm?" He replies distractedly, wondering how to get you to do that again.

"I'll always choose you. It will always be you Bucky," you whisper softly, running your thumb across his bottom lip to wipe away the lipstick smeared there from your kiss. You watch your words sink into him, his brilliant sapphire eyes finding yours.

The dizzy, off-kilter sensation he feels has nothing to do with the cocktails coursing through him and everything to do with you.

Your words lit a fire within him and despite his drunk haze, he knows one thing for certain. "I love you so much, Peach. With everything I am."

A moment passes.

Bucky nestles into your side, his warm body curling protectively around you. His lips are on your neck, peppering lazy kisses wherever he can.

"Peach, Peach," he whispers, an adorable crooked grin stretching across his face.

"Yeah?"

"Now we gotta tell your boyfriend about us."

[heeluvv]

rockstar!jay who fucks you senseless in the dressing room/limo after a show all sweaty and in heat from the adrenaline 🥰🧸

okayyy wait bc i love this request, (did it a bit different but still) so here it is!

DRESSING ROOM.ᐟ

pairing ᝰ.ᐟ rockstar! park jongseong x style consultant! reader

warnings ᝰ.ᐟ p in v, unprotected sex, etc.

natty’s notes ᝰ.ᐟ mdni, hate comments will be deleted.

working at a high-end boutique in the heart of the city, you’ve seen your fair share of celebrities. actors, models, influencers—people who walk in draped in designer labels, their egos just as expensive as the clothes they buy. you’re used to the way they scan the store, looking for exclusivity, for something rare, something to set them apart.

you’ve learned to stay detached, polite but distant. no one ever stays long enough to remember your name anyway.

but when he walks in, something shifts.

jay fucking park.

rockstar, guitarist, frontman of the most infamous band of the decade. the kind of man whose presence changes the energy of a room the second he steps inside. and now, he’s standing just a few feet away from you.

black boots heavy against the marble floor. silver rings glinting under the soft boutique lighting. a fitted leather jacket hugging his frame, worn and broken in, like it’s been through the kind of nights people write songs about. his dark, tousled hair falls just over his sharp eyes, and he pushes it back with a hand that’s littered with silver and ink.

his gaze lands on you.

there’s a flicker of something in his expression—amusement, curiosity. he takes you in, slow and deliberate, the weight of his attention pinning you in place.

"hello, welcome. what can i do for you?" you ask politely, keeping your tone professional despite the man standing in front of you.

jay fucking park.

his presence is overwhelming, even in the soft, elegant lighting of the boutique. the air around him seems heavier, charged with the kind of energy only someone like him carries—someone untouchable, yet standing right here, waiting for you to assist him like he’s just another client.

he doesn’t respond immediately. instead, he watches you, his gaze sharp, assessing, lingering a beat too long. and then, the corner of his lips tugs upward into the faintest smirk.

"i'm looking for something to wear tonight," he says, his voice smooth, dipped in amusement. "something that’ll turn heads. more than i already do."

cocky. effortless. the kind of arrogance that should be off-putting, but coming from him, it feels natural—like he’s earned the right to say it. because he has.

still, you school your expression, keeping your reaction buried deep.

"of course," you say evenly. "we have a few selections i think you’d like."

without waiting for a response, you turn on your heel, leading him through the boutique, toward a more secluded section—where the real exclusives are kept.

but you feel it.

his eyes.

scanning you, slow and unashamed, dragging over the curve of your waist, the dip of your back, lingering just a little too long lower than they should. it should make you uncomfortable, but instead, a quiet thrill hums beneath your skin.

you ignore it.

the racks ahead are lined with clothes that scream power—pieces meant for those who belong under flashing lights, those who are the moment. if you were a star, this is what you’d go for. something bold, something that demands attention.

but you’re not.

you’re here, stuck assisting the people who are everything you want to be.

jay steps beside you, close enough that you catch the faint scent of leather and something richer, something undeniably him.

"these," you say, motioning toward the selection. "they’d suit you."

he doesn’t look at the clothes.

he looks at you.

and you’re not sure whether it’s the boutique lighting or something else entirely, but his gaze feels hotter now, heavier. like he’s considering something far beyond fabric and fit.

“yeah?” his voice is lower now, threaded with something unreadable.

you swallow, steadying yourself.

“yeah.”

jay makes his selection quickly, barely sparing a glance at the price tags as he pulls items from the racks—pieces that match the effortless kind of allure he carries. he doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t second-guess. it’s like he already knows what will look good on him, and really, why wouldn’t he?

one of his assistants steps forward, arms already filled with the chosen clothes. jay doesn’t even acknowledge them, his focus trained on you instead. when he turns to face you, that smirk is still there, lazy and knowing, like he’s enjoying the way you try—and fail—to act unaffected.

“where’s your dressing room, princess?”

the pet name rolls off his tongue too easily, too smooth. it shouldn’t sound as good as it does. shouldn’t make your stomach tighten the way it does.

but it does.

you hate that you react, that you feel the way you do. your breath catches, and heat licks up your spine as you press your thighs together, forcing yourself to appear unaffected.

still, the words don’t come as quickly as you want them to.

“towards the left…” you finally manage, voice quieter than intended.

jay hums, his amusement only growing. he takes a step closer, and the air between you shifts—electric, heavier.

“could you lead the way again?”

it’s not really a question.

your throat tightens, but you don’t respond. you just turn on your heel and start walking, pulse hammering as you make your way down the dimly lit hallway leading to the private dressing rooms. you can hear him following, his footsteps slow, deliberate, stretching the tension between you even further.

reaching one of the spacious, high-end fitting rooms, you push the door open, stepping aside to let him in. the space is sleek, lined with floor-to-ceiling mirrors and a plush bench in the center.

jay nods toward his assistant. “leave them inside.”

the assistant quickly does as told, placing the clothes neatly on the padded seat. but when they step back, jay doesn’t follow them. he stays put. right next to you.

then, just as casually as he commands everything else, he adds, “wait by the entrance.”

his assistant hesitates, just for a second, like they, too, are confused. but they don’t question him. they nod and disappear down the hallway, leaving just the two of you in the doorway of the private fitting room.

your brows furrow slightly, but you don’t say anything.

you should question it.

but you don’t.

because his gaze is already back on you—intent, unreadable. like he’s considering something.

and for some reason, you don’t move.

he doesn’t wait. not a second longer.

before you can process it, before you can take a steadying breath, jay's hands are on you—firm, calculated—as he pushes you inside the dressing room. the door clicks shut behind him, sealing you both inside, and suddenly, the air feels hotter, heavier.

your back barely meets the mirror wall before his lips crash against yours.

it steals the breath from your lungs, leaves you dizzy, caught in the force of him—of his heat, his urgency, the way he doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t second-guess. your gasp barely makes it past your lips before you respond in kind, hands reaching, gripping onto the back of his neck, threading into his dark hair as you pull him closer.

he takes it as an invitation—like he was waiting for it.

his hands find your waist, fingers digging in just enough to make you shiver before he lifts you, like you weigh nothing, pressing you against the cool mirror behind you. the contrast of heat and cold sends a shock down your spine, but it’s nothing compared to the way he looks at you now—lips swollen, breath unsteady, eyes dark with something unreadable.

his smirk is still there, lazy and amused, like he’s won a game you didn’t even realize you were playing.

“thought acting all unaffected wouldn’t be too obvious, princess?” he taunts, his voice low, teasing, sending a sharp thrill down your spine.

you open your mouth—maybe to deny it, maybe to tell him where he can shove that cocky smirk—but then he shakes his head, clicking his tongue, his breath warm against your lips.

“i see right through you,” he murmurs, a soft chuckle leaving him before his lips crash back onto yours.

this kiss is rougher, deeper—like he’s trying to pull something from you, something you weren’t ready to admit. his hands move, fingers fumbling with the buttons of your suit uniform, grazing against the fabric in a way that has heat coiling low in your stomach.

you can barely think.

because this is happening.

you are kissing jay fucking park.

in a dressing room.

and god, you don’t want it to stop.

he doesn’t waste a second.

your suit jacket is stripped off in a matter of moments, the expensive fabric crumpling onto the floor, forgotten. his hands move with practiced ease, working at the buttons of your crisp white shirt, undoing them one by one in a frenzy. his breathing is heavier now, uneven, as he pushes the fabric aside, revealing the delicate lace of your white bra.

jay stills for a moment, his gaze darkening as he takes in the sight.

he groans lowly, the sound vibrating deep in his chest. “fuck…”

his fingers brush over the lace, featherlight, almost reverent. the material cups your breasts perfectly, hugging your skin in a way that makes it look like it was meant to slip off. the sight of you like this—flushed, breathless, pinned against the mirror—has something primal flickering behind his eyes.

“you’re so fucking hot,” he mutters, voice rough, strained with something dangerously close to desperation.

before you can respond, his lips are on you again, but this time, they travel lower, down the curve of your jaw, trailing the length of your throat. his kisses are slow, deliberate, each one pressed into your skin like he’s leaving his mark—like he wants to leave his mark.

his teeth graze the sensitive spot just beneath your ear, and when he bites down, just enough to make you feel it, a soft gasp escapes your lips.

his smirk returns against your skin.

“like that, princess?” he taunts, voice a low whisper against your pulse.

you don’t even try to hide the way your body responds.

“fuck, jay…” you grunt, your head tilting back, pressing against the cool surface of the mirror, granting him more access.

he takes full advantage of it, his lips moving lower, mouth open, sucking at the delicate skin of your neck, his tongue swiping over the bruises he leaves behind.

heat pools in your stomach, burning, unrelenting.

he’s everywhere—all over you, consuming every breath, every thought—until there’s nothing else but him.

your breath hitches as his hungry mouth finds your breast, lips enveloping the soft flesh before pulling back to let his teeth graze and nip, sending shockwaves of sensation coursing through you. moans spill from your lips, filling the room with a symphony of desire, but there's no need for silence; the world outside has faded away, leaving only the two of you in this secret, secluded haven.

his knee presses insistently between your thighs as he tugs at your pants, peeling them away along with your panties, baring you completely. he mirrors your state, kicking off his own pants, and your eyes are drawn to his thick, hard length. a whimper escapes your lips, a flicker of doubt crossing your mind. will it fit? he sees your hesitation, eyes dark with desire and reassurance. "i'll make it fit, baby.." he murmurs, his voice a low growl as he positions himself at your entrance, pushing in with a groan. the feeling of you, tight and hot, gripping him like a vice, sends waves of pleasure crashing over him. you cry out, his name a litany on your lips as he stretches you, fills you completely, your bodies joined in a dance as old as time.

Your hands clutch onto his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh as his powerful hands grip underneath your thighs, driving his rock-hard cock into you with a desperate, primal rhythm. "Fuck, baby… you're so fucking tight…" he groans, his breath hot on the nape of your neck, your head thrown back against the cool mirror. You're in heaven, barely able to believe the intensity of the moment, the sheer ecstasy of his body against yours.

he pistons into you, each thrust more urgent than the last, shifting positions to plunge deeper, to feel more of you. suddenly, he flips you around, your breasts and cheeks pressed firmly against the mirror, its cold surface a stark contrast to the heat of your bodies. he enters you from behind, his cock drilling into you with relentless passion. "look how fucking good you look, baby… taking my dick so well, huh?" he groans, sweat beading on his forehead, his lips constantly caught between his teeth in a futile attempt to suppress louder moans. he fails miserably, unable to contain his pleasure as you clench around him, your body milking his with each thrust. the room fills with the raw, carnal sounds of your passion, a symphony of desire and release.

your breath hitches as you cry out, "jay, fuck! i'm going to cum!" your legs quiver beneath him, no longer pressed against the fogged-up mirror, but now sprawled on the velvet bench in the dressing room's heart. your back arches like a bow against him as you lay on your stomach, his hand firmly gripping your neck, the other clutching your waist, pulling you back to meet his relentless thrusts. "gonna cum for me, princess?" he growls, his voice a ragged whisper, his length throbbing inside you as he nears his own release.

"fuck, fuck, jay!" you gasp, your eyes rolling back, your body convulsing as he increases his pace, his hips slapping against you. your inner muscles clench around him, a tight, pulsating grip that sends waves of pleasure crashing through you.

"fuck yeah, baby…" he groans, his voice rough and primal, his head thrown back, tendons straining in his neck. he can feel you, your climax imminent, your body tensing around him. you shatter with a cry, your release drenching him, your body shaking beneath him. he plunges deep, deeper than before, filling you completely as he finds his own release, his hot climax spilling into you, overflowing. maybe, just maybe, your job wasn't so bad after all.

natty’s notes ᝰ.ᐟ i hope you enjoyed!

[choochooboss]

Sketch dump! Vol. 5

September 2022 (Part 1/2)

The first piece on top summarised my cosplay rush for Tracon 2022! The second is an old idea for a charm.

"SURPRISE!!"

Back in 2022 I hosted an art raffle for reaching 777 followers on Twitter! The winner would get their submas themed idea realised (which was their friends throwing a surprise party for the twins!). I wanted to make a little comic and have the bosses walk in their office where depot agents, Elesa, Drayden, Skyla, Clay etc. would be waiting with decorations and treats and games.

Emmet is all smiles of course while Ingo gets so emotional he could only whisper a "super bravo".

Not really headcanons anymore but still funny ideas.

1. Emmet gets clumsy when off-rhythm! He starts walking in curves if there is nobody else around to match his rhythm with.

2. Emmet spaces out/forgets to say things aloud when someone speaks too long or when things go off-script! His thinking gets interrupted easily.

3. Ingo sometimes bumps into doors because he is too used to automatic doors!

4. When things go off-script Ingo speaks too much and rushes in straight lines"

Also my little inexpensive sketchbook & my trusty tools! Mechanical pencil and eraser pen are life when scribbling my skrimblos smaller than a postage stamp!

More Ingo~ I utilise a wide range of sources for references, including CSP's poseable 3D models, they can come really handy with perspectives and proportions!

The second piece is my very first attempt at cosplay in Tracon 2022: Blingo! I walked in with a sequin hat, leather jacket, leather pants and high heel patent leather boots.

The hardest part of cosplaying Ingo is remembering NOT to smile ahaha!

Some hairstyle tests

I drew these for a huge submas art collaboration over Twitter hosted by @/mimizukeii!! It was technically my first art collab before I started arranging them myself with Aggie/Magma.

While looking for train related songs I found this cute nursery rhyme to go with the marching:

"Over the mountains,

Over the plains,

Over the rivers,

Here come the trains.

Carrying passengers,

Carrying mail,

Bringing their precious loads In without fail"

I wanted to compare these silly twins, planning to do something more silly with them later. Also a sketch of @/fukurow's butler designs I never finished.. The capes compliment them so well, I love them!!

Prequel to this piece! Emmet is so confident in himself he thinks Pierce wants to learn from him but is invited for a duet on the stage instead!!

Emmet has really great voice actors in Pokemas! I especially love how his english VA gives him that bri'ish/posh/sophisticated vibe while also soft and melodic! I know for SURE this VA/Emmet can sing, I can show you later!

One of my favourite sketches!! I wanted to add a bunch of characters in the BG reacting to this sonic blast of emotion over a performance!

Heyyy it's the smile buddies comic!! I really hope Ingo gets to interact with Marnie in Pokemas one day!!

I feel Ingo's eyes in the mirror panel is a little off in the final comic, I meant to keep it softer like in the sketch!

It's Nimbasa trio!! Idea inspired by submas EX uniform colors. Might continue this later!

Some BG tests for this piece! Compositing is hard but absolutely worth the effort, it can make a huge difference in the appeal of your piece!!

Practise piece drawing over a photo I thought was cool! I want to get more experimental with lighting and perspective!

'How's it hanging bro?' Who hung him up there anyway??

Sketch for this arguing scene! Something REALLY BAD needs to happen for them to end up that tense! Even if I want to present them close to the canon material I still want to put them in really challenging situations to see how far I can push their emotions!

Thank you so much for coming all the way down here!! This set was pretty loaded, I hope you enjoyed scrolling through all this ahah!

Previous posts:

Sketch dump Vol. 1: April-June 2022

Sketch dump Vol. 2: July 2022

Sketch dump Vol. 3: August 2022

Sketch dump Vol. 4: July 2022 Part 2

[innerfare]

I Love You - Part 2 

Summary: Who says I love you first? How do you say it?

Characters: Shanks, Beckman, Crocodile, Mihawk, Corazon, Marco

Genre: Fluff

CW: None // SFW

——— 

Shanks: The two of you have known each other for years before the words ever leave his lips. You’ve been through so much, and you never felt the need to put a label on it. But one night, you’re both swinging in a hammock on a beach, you in his arms and him sipping a bottle of booze, and he says out of nowhere, “you know that I love you, right?” You think he must be drunk but he insists he’s not, telling you it struck him recently that he’d never told you before and he really should in case something happens. He wants you to know how he really feels and how much you mean to him. 

Beckman: He’s always visiting you on your home island, either finding excuses to plot a course straight to you or sneaking away for a few days. It’s only as he’s leaving one evening that it strikes him: he loves you. It takes him a very long time to decide to tell you. Given his lifestyle, a relationship isn’t exactly easy, and he would be putting you in danger should anyone learn your association to him. Plus, he enjoys his freedom. He works it over in his head for months, to the point Shanks even asks him about what’s bothering him, though Beckman doesn’t fess up. But he just can’t get you out of his head. He can’t sleep, he can’t eat, he can’t even focus in a fight. One late night, he returns to his cabin to find Shanks waiting. His captain has puzzled out what has the first mate in such a state, and Shanks tells him to go take care of his business. Beckman agrees and turns up at your doorstep at three in the morning with some flowers he picked on the side of the road because he felt awkward showing up empty handed. You lead him into your kitchen and make him something to drink, thinking something horrible has happened, only for him to confess his love for you. He’s not shy about saying it after that, always making sure to tell you when he greets you and says goodbye, as well as several times in between. 

Crocodile: He despises the word love, would never even utter it except to mock people who use it. He thinks it’s weak, thinks men who profess love are sniveling and pathetic, thus the reason he despises himself for feeling it. The emotion creeps up on him slowly but surely, and he beats it back and bottles it up for as long as he can, staying up late at night with a bottle of whiskey because laying in bed makes him think of you and your mischievous smile. Only when he is locked up in Impel Down does he finally, begrudgingly admit to himself that he feels deep affection for you, which he painfully admits to you one night after he breaks out, bracing himself for you to reject him, laugh at him, or spurn him in any way. When you tell him you feel the same way, he decides that is that and sees no reason to ever repeat it, your mutual and abiding affection one of his most closely-guarded secrets. 

Mihawk: He doesn’t tell you when he feels it, however overwhelming the feeling may be, so you’ll definitely be the one to say it first. This man is the king of unspoken affection. He’d sooner die than draw his sword and cut through all the tension that seems to follow him. That being said, he does say it in other, more subtle ways, primarily referring to you as, “my love,” and leaving it at that. When you finally tell him you love him, he doesn’t even say it back, simply burying his face in your hair and saying, “I’m glad to hear it, my love.” He shocks you by saying it back a few months later, though you don’t say it back, instead pulling him in for a kiss. And it continues like that, only one of you ever saying it, the other responding with affection. 

Corazon: A victim of near insta-love, he knows better than to tell you how he’s feeling when he first meets you. He tells himself to wait a month, and then at the one month mark, it seems premature, so he pushes it to two. Then, he pushes it to three, and then to four, and then to five. He thinks he’s good at hiding it, and normally, he is good at hiding his emotions, but with you, it’s all out in the open. You catch on pretty quickly to how he feels, have even seen him start to form the words only for his face to fall and him to turn away. Eventually, one night, you ask him, “why haven’t you told me you love me yet?” He’s shocked to discover you know the truth, and when you laugh and tell him it was pretty obvious, he laughs, too, his heart soaring when you tell him you feel the same way. He’s overwhelmed by the feeling that he has a family, something he’s been desperately wanting since he was just a little kid. 

Marco: He says it first. He’s loved and lost so many people, formed the family he never had as a kid and lost so many members along the way. And he’s done a measure of living, enough to know that love should never be hidden. So when he realizes he’s in love with you, he swallows all of his fear like a seasoned professional and tells you exactly what’s on his mind the next time you two have a quiet moment alone. He’s soft and gentle in that moment, too, just as he is in all the moments you two share, just the two of you. He says it often, always either turning away or burying his face in your hair when you say it back, overwhelmed with giddiness he’s certain a man of his age and standing should not be feeling.

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[allhailbuckybarnes]

Am I What You Crave?

Robert Reynolds [VOID] x Reader Warnings for oneshot: SMUT minors DNI, emotional manipulation, trauma, ptsd, fingering, heavy themes, reader is afab, no use of y/n, degradation, hurt/no comfort, very graphic, not a happy one-shot, so depressing, finger sucking, hate sex

It had been a month. 30 days. The longest month of your life. A month of horrible, aching silence. A month of lingering, festering tension. The month without Robert Reynolds.

He went dark. Left the team and, more importantly, you, behind him. But why? What had you done? Just once, when you thought there would be someone to understand you. Someone who could hold you at night, who could keep you safe... he left. Just like them all.

Something didn't feel right about it. If therapy had been so going well, then why the mysterious note? You, of course, discovered it in Bob's room.

I have to find this out on my own. Despite the never-ending help of each of you. I can't be babied anymore. I have to learn to deal with the darkness. It consumes me.

-Bob

PS. Please, baby, wait for me.

The team immediately questioned you. Threats of 'what he's capable of' and 'this rests on your shoulders, you knew him unlike any of us' were constantly thrown at you. As if you weren't much in the dark as the rest of them. You didn't have any warning of your lovers absence.

And the nights, oh they never ceased.

Nightmares, which Bob had finally silenced in your head, returned. Crashing of equipment, syringes, and IVs. White, hot pain.

The feel of what you could do to a man's skull with your bare hands.

The first time you had lost control.

Your father, his bloodied face surrounded by broken shot glasses. His blood on your fingers. Under your nails.

The doctors praising you. You were perfect.

-------~~~~~-------------------~~~~~~---------------------------~~~--------

You woke up in sweat again. Fuck.

Rolling over, you took at drink of water. You wiped your forehead. "Bobby... god. Please, I don't know why you left. But I'm going insane trying to put myself back together," you whispered, voice cracking. Sometimes talking eased the pain, other times it made you feel all the more helpless.

A sudden chill ran up your spine, the hairs on your neck creeping to attention.

"Bobby's gone, sweetheart."

You turned your head at the noise, looking towards the doorframe. You stumbled, slapping at your forehead. God I'm insane.

"We're all a little insane, slapping yourself won't make it stop." The low, baritone voice quietly murmured. The sound was closer now. Your eyes widened as you pushed yourself against the cushions of your bed. It's a dream, a dream.

"That's all you think of me? Some dream?" The voice feigned offense, right by your ear. You flinched, whimpering, tears finally falling down your cheeks.

"What-t... what are you?" You whispered staring at every possible corner of the darkness. "Please, leave me alone."

"I am the voice inside your head," it began again. "That beating heartbeat of defeat and isolation inside of you. I will eat your fears alive, and leave what is behind for your own self pity to destroy." You sobbed freely now, in fear. You had the power to destroy a god, but you sat, helpless at this presence.

The sense of unease sank its way into your soul. "Please don't hurt me. Where is Bobby?" You asked shakily.

It laughed. The voice laughed. Dark, thick. You could only sniffle.

"He is gone. I told you that, girl. He has been made into something more powerful than any god."

"Why? Please! Just... I'll do anything. Take me, take me instead!" You stood, reaching out in surrender, hands shaking. Your wrist was gripped by a searing, rough hand. The fingers felt like sandpaper and ash. Everything, and nothing. Your eyes followed the sight to a dark, tall figure.

"You're the much more anticipated option." It leaned down and whispered in your ear. It's breath was cold, like a breeze on an autumn afternoon. It made you shake. "Just, let him go," you mumbled weakly, "let him go and you can do what you will with me." His eyes terrified you. The dots of light seemed to know every inch of your sorrow.

A smile crossed his face as he stared down you. "Deal," his devilish voice swore. He grabbed you and threw you back on the sheets.

"You are nothing." He said as he tore your shirt down the middle. You cried, but his burning hand brushed over your lips, silencing you. The instant fear took over your mind, and you prayed for your powers to kick in, but they left you as alone as Bob had.

The hand scraped it's way to your neck. You were sure blood was surfacing on your skin.

"You will learn, that this is all you. Everything I say, is inside of you already. I only feed on it, I crave it. But you... I wonder. What do you crave, child?"

You whimpered again, lowly and helpless as fingers prodded your nipples. The pain was close to a third degree burn with nothing but a ghost of contact. Your back arched as the hands palmed at your chest, claiming your breasts with what you were sure was bruising and scars. "Fuck!" You screamed.

"Hush," the voice demanded, slapping you. Your cheek seared in pain. "This is what you wanted. You chose this, and it will not be taken from you. Now let me take what is mine." Your tears fell, as you finally let the voice rest in the nook of your mind. The constant ringing of pain beneath your forehead dulled, becoming familiar. His hands worked your chest. You were raw, battered and empty. Everything he ever wanted.

"Good, you have given me a break from the hassle of wrestling you." He seethed in your temple, the drumming of his voice in your head, pounding against every empty space. A thumb scraped your bottom lip, "Now let me in here, pet."

He lived in you now. Your lips slowly opened, tasting ash and gravel instantly. He didn't give you a chance to react as he forced his thumb to the walls of your throat, gagging you.

You choked, trying to expel the finger which now claimed you. "Don't fight it girl. It will only make it worse." You cried, writhing and kicking your legs. But they fell still at a flick of his fingers near your chest.

You helplessly sucked to try and stop the gagging heat in your throat. "Good girl. That's right. You need this. You need my fingers to give you a taste of everything you fear. You're afraid, afraid you'll burn up... Just like your mother did when you were a baby. If only your father hadn't been a low-life drunkard, he might've noticed the oven on after dinner. Maybe he wouldn't have beaten her. Beaten you. But Oh... You took care of him, didn't you?" You sobbed.

You had done that. You. You killed the man with nothing but his only true love, the bottle. The shot glasses broke easily between your palms, and the glass cut as cleanly as a knife.

Your eyes shut and you squinted hard enough to invoke pain, trying to push the image away, but the hand on your chest squeezed your jaw. "No. I put that there, Look child."

You gave in. Nothing would ever cease the pain, except for accepting it. You looked. You watched your innocent hands bash your father's head in. Your tears stopped, and the finger stopped moving against your throat.

"That's it."

You felt almost asleep, going limp. The hands now hoisted you up, pulled off the rest of your clothes, and laid you back. The heat burned you alive now. His hands branding you like cattle as he pushed your thighs apart.

An iron finger slid between your folds. You whimpered. The gruff voice spoke once more, "Mine." Your hands stilled at your sides as the fingers prodded your clit. Your cunt weeped in desperation of being touched after so long being alone. You groaned in pure disgust at yourself. The very thing that took Bobby away from you has you wet and spread wide for itself.

The feeling of his fingers was certainly not pleasurable, but it didn't hurt like before. It was a dull, aching feeling of alone. The feeling of a sad, horny teenager desperately trying to find some attraction in their own body as they scrape themselves raw. A desperate and pitiful attempt at release.

You expected nothing less from the creature. And it didn't surprise you when he decided that was enough attention to your pussy. His fingers left, replaced by a hot, thick cock. The texture was close to that of steel wool on first impact. But once he rubbed himself between your folds enough, the feeling melted into a soft, rug burn.

It prodded at your entrance. You turned your head away, accepting your fate. He whispered, slowly, "Bob has left, I remain. You have chosen what cannot depart. I am all that remains child. Look at me."

He willed your head up. The beady, gold specks of nothingness burned into your vacant expression. You were erased. Every piece of you was burnt, ashes, His. You would complete his craving. You were a void. He would fill you.

His cock split you, he forced himself to bottom out inside of you. The feeling sparked every nerve in your body. In the dark, you had never felt more alive. You moaned lowly.

He smiled, "Yes." You held him. You touched him as his cock dragged in, and out of your sore cunt. "Yesssss." He groaned.

In the haze of his relentless pounding, your head drifted. The groans reminded you of Bobby. Of his groans of annoyance after a bad joke. Just another trick to make you feel as if Bob was around. You knew better. This thing could never be Bob. Every thrust was a reminder. You were nothing. Bob had left. You were his. You moaned lowly as the creature hit a new angle. Your pussy clenched around his heat.

He gained speed, bruising your hips with his hold as he gave you no warning, spilling inside of you. You didn't cum. He steadied himself on one hand. Lifting the other to your face, he gripped you chin.

"This is who you are now, child. I am your redemption." You stared back. The outline of his black body starting to show as dawn breached the windows. The outline looked like Bob. Your brows furrowed.

"Bobby?"

TO BE CONTINUED

[parkjihoonswifey]

oh beom-seok and popular girl? 🫶🏻

A/N: He's such a cutie I hate what he did :(

Title: Little Miss Popular

Pairings: Oh Beom-seok x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Sexual Content (it felt right), kissing, idk what else.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

Beom-seok had always figured girls like you dated boys with easy smiles and louder laughs. Boys who didn’t flinch at affection or worry that love was a trap waiting to be sprung. You, with your shiny lip gloss and sunshine laugh, with hands always touching someone—braiding your friends hair here, a hug there—your life looked like it belonged in a movie.

His looked like CCTV footage.

You were the type of girl who walked down the hallway and made people look. Not because you tried—just because you were. Pretty, popular, always with a few friends orbiting you like satellites. The type to plan parties, Carry a cup with you everywhere, and post photo dumps on Instagram with captions like “this night felt like a movie”.

He was the boy in the background of those photos. But somehow, you saw him.

“You don’t talk much, huh?” you said the first time you really spoke to him. Beom-seok hadn’t even realized you were talking to him at first. His shoulders tensed as he looked up from his phone. “...Not really.” You smiled like that didn’t scare you. “That’s okay. I talk enough for two. I think it's kinda cute.”

And it started like that. You in the cafeteria—sliding into the seat across from him, a little too bright for the dull fluorescent light. Him, heart hammering every time you leaned in, every time you touched his arm when you laughed.

He didn’t understand why you kept choosing him. When your phone buzzed with party invites and friends wanted you at karaoke nights, you always texted: “Wanna come?” He usually said no. You usually show up at his place with takeout instead of going.

You’d kick off your shoes like you lived there, flop onto his floor with food, and talk about all the chaos in your life.

“Everyone thinks I have it perfect,” you said once, digging through your food. “But you’d be surprised how lonely being liked by everyone is.” Beom-seok had looked at you, blinking. Because how could you feel anything less than adored?

“Sometimes,” you continued, eyes soft, “I feel like no one actually knows me. But you look at me like you see me.” He didn’t know what to say. So he just said the truth.

“I do.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Dating you was like learning how to breathe underwater.

Everything in Beom-seok’s life was sharp, cold, and too quiet. His father’s footsteps down the hall still made his stomach flip. His own silence was a survival tactic, not a choice.

But you held his hand like it was worth holding. You hugged him like he was worth hugging. You loved him like he was worth loving. You dragged him into sunlight. You introduced him to your friends—though most raised eyebrows. Some asked "Why him?"

But you answered every time:

“Because he makes me feel safe.”

“Because he listens.”

“Because he’s real.”

"Because he loves me."

And Beom-seok didn’t say it, but he thought it constantly: Because you make me feel human. Like he wasn’t broken. Like he could be more than what his past tried to shape him into.

Of course, it wasn’t easy.

Once, he overheard someone say you were “wasting time” dating him.

Another time, he saw a rumor online that he was just a rebound. It tore at the parts of him he tried to hide. He distanced himself. Stopped replying to texts. Started skipping school.

You showed up at his house, eyes glassy with frustration and worry. “Why are you pushing me away?” you demanded. “Is it because of what people are saying?”

Beom-seok didn’t answer. “Do you not want to be with me anymore?” He looked at you—really looked at you—and it cracked his chest open.

“No,” he said. “I want to be with you so much it scares me.” You exhaled, a breath caught between a laugh and a cry.

“You idiot. I chose you. I keep choosing you. Let me love you, even if it’s hard—especially when it’s hard.” And Beom-seok—for the first time in a long time—let himself be loved.

Sometimes he still wonders how a girl made of sparkles and attention fell for someone like him. But then you smile at him like he hung the moon.

You paint his nails with pink polish and kiss his scars like they aren’t ugly, and he thinks maybe broken boys and golden girls can love each other after all.

Even if they come from different worlds—even if it’s messy. Because your love is the first thing he’s ever had that felt real, and he’d die for that.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Sex started slow, like everything with Beom-seok. Your first kiss was 3 months into the relationship, Your first makeout not long after. Each time you initiated something intimate, he thought it was a joke—pushing away until he remembered you were his. Only his, no one else's.

You were curled up on his bed, legs tangled with his, head on his chest. You were watching something on TV, some action movie. His fingers absentmindedly brushed your waist under your hoodie—his hoodie. He never wore it anymore. You'd practically claimed it the day you started dating.

He was quiet, like always. With you, Beom-seok didn’t feel the need to talk much. You understood the language of looks, of touch. And right now, he was looking at you—eyes low, hands warmer than usual, breath slowing like he was trying not to do something reckless.

You noticed—leaned in closer, lips brushing his jaw. “You’re thinking about me,” you murmured. He stiffened for a second. But then his hand gripped your waist tighter. “Yeah,” he whispered, voice rough, hands shaky. He's a virgin, of course. He kissed you like you were something he wasn’t supposed to have. Like every second might be his last. He barely touched you in public, and carefully in private. He never even thought too much about sex, always figured no one wanted that with him.

His eyes met yours, a beauty that hid beyond his glasses. “You always look at me like I’m gonna disappear,” you said softly.

Beom-seok looked at you—really looked at you. His eyes saddened a bit. “People like you don’t usually stay with people like me.”

"Oh, baby." You flipped onto your back, pulling him with you until he hovered above you—hand placed beside your head, shakily keeping himself up. He's breath caught, surprised by the boldness—it made him feel excited. His breath was erratic as you grabbed his glasses, pulling them off his face slowly, placing them on his dresser. “Then let me show you how long I’m staying.”

His hoodie came off you first, and the look on his face when he saw you—only in your bra, thighs pressing together—was starstruck. His fingers traced your skin like you were porcelain.

“You’re so..” He shook his head, biting his lip. “I don’t deserve this.”

Your hands reached up to cup his face. "You deserve this—You deserve me. You've been the best boyfriend ever. Popular or not, You're mine and I'm yours."

You felt his hips slowly rock into yours. He maintained eye contact as he rutted himself into you, small groans leaving his lips. his eyes started to water, "I love you," he whispered. You pulled him into a kiss, breaking only for air.

"I love you," you said, your foreheads pressed together.

He was hesitant at first. Careful. Like he thought he'd break you. But when you guided his hands, when you kissed him like you knew what you were doing, Beom-seok started giving in. He felt comfortable— he trusted you. His hands got bolder. His kisses, messier. His grip on your hips, tighter.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmured against your collarbone, lips hot and wet. “I’ll do anything.” You smiled, breath hitching.

“I want you. All of you.”

The dam broke.

Clothes scattered on the floor. His mouth on your chest, down your stomach, reverent and shaky. And when he finally slid inside you, eyes locked to yours, the gasp that left his throat was the rawest sound you'd ever heard from him.

“Fuck—” he whispered. “You feel like—like I don't deserve to feel this.”

“You do,” you breathed, arms around his neck. “You do.”

Beom-seok moved slowly at first, careful. But when you pulled his hair and moaned in his ear, something shifted. He fucked you like he needed to prove something. That he could love you right. That he could make you feel him. That you’d never look at anyone else the way you looked at him now—flushed, messy, adored.

His hand slid between you, fingers searching for your clit. When he finds it, your back arches hard.

“That’s it,” he said, voice shaking, hands trembling like he was scared to feel the pleasure. “Take it. Take all of me.”

You let go with his name in your throat.

And he followed soon after, lips on your shoulder, hands gripping your waist like an anchor.

Afterward, you lay tangled in sweat and kisses.

“I think I fell in love with you a little more tonight,” you whispered.

Beom-seok blinked, cheeks still pink. “Me too."

You grinned. “Good.”

A/N: I actually really love this but lemme know what you guys think cause that's what really matters!