#very weight and bulk

[maream-zaream]

I had a sudden urge to try drawing a bear. The sketch you see is the result after heavily referring to a bear reference photo. More study is needed.

[sunnixsunshine]

Tbh I think the way I draw Sanji all lanky and down to the bone skinny would probably be how he sees himself, especially after the rock, and tbh I’m not okay with that

[thedreadvampy]

in happier news I just registered my competition weights for next week and I am up 7kg on bench and FIFTEEN KILOGRAMS on squats. my new highest rep is 65kg!!!!! feel like I could potentially do more but I was starting to get antsy about my back.

Anyway reminder that you can sponsor my heavy lifting activities by going to my PT's surgery fundraiser and leaving a donation with the comment "Power Meet 20". If you can afford it you should do that.

[bladeofthestars]

.

[silhouette-saloon]

im my heighest consistent weight so far💪💪💪💪💪💪💪

[nanamiskentos]

❛ ㅤ𖥔 ─── EXTRA-L (五条悟, 𝓖𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔)

𝓐𝖡𝖲𝖳𝖱𝖠𝖢𝖳 ─ when gojo tries to talk you through it, but it makes him cum first instead 🤷

( 1.4k )ㅤ｡⠀呪術廻戦 ㅤ& MDNI. ✶ afab!reader, established relationship, práise kínk, crèampíe, máting prèss, inappropriate use of jujutsu

"heh, are you close?" gojo teeters, his large hand cupped underneath the soft, flushed arch of your neck. he's reached that stage of the night where he's getting far too cocky, his powerful, broad thighs not even breaking an ounce sweat, not even as skin slaps against skin.

bright, searing blue cuts through the darkness of the bedroom, and you have no doubt he's using a copious amount of reversed cursed energy to keep him going. gojo's doing a pretty decent job of holding out for the big finish.

the big finish in you that is. for the very thought of filling you up with thick, spurting loads makes gojo shake, quiver even, a whine slipping from his glossy, pink-stung mouth.

you can feel the ache in your stretched limbs, for the sensation is pulsing and throbbing from the mean mating press that gojo's got you in. his washboard, sculpted abdomen is pressed right up against you where you're certain that the print of his muscles will leave a mark. and the curled thatch of silvery-white hairs is tacking right up against your mound, drenched in the sticky slick that you've released, four times no less.

"dunno' if i can do it a-another time, 'toru," you're whining, gasping as gojo shifts the bulk of his body weight deeper against your bare torso. he's making sure to hit that sweet, sweet spot at this filthy angle, thick tip rummaging and swabbing through your gummy walls. but surely, gojo must be close now, for you feel the thin, weeping cries of precum slip out of you and onto the damp sheets. pooled onto the inner, plush flesh of your thighs.

"sweetheart, c'mon," gojo nudges your thighs further apart, slotting his broad form so perfectly in that gap that he adores the most, "i know you can, 'm gonna' make it real good this time." leaving adoring, laving kisses over your collarbone, complete with small, pink petals that bloom after his lips pop! away.

"jus' so big, i can feel you allll in me," you moan, lips parting as small ah! ah! ah! begins punctuating the cool night air. it's sort of the magic formula, you see. praising gojo, and lavishing him with many a sincere compliment.

you learned long ago that gojo loves to hear how much you love him, especially during lovemaking. particularly when he's doing his level best to plough himself right through you, determined to have every thick-veined inch of his cock kiss you.

you hear a little, pussydrunk giggle from the man above you. ridiculously long lashes fluttering against creamy, flushed skin as gojo sighs, content as he's determined to delve further into your heat, to have you as close to him as possible, "y-yeah? that big?"

slap! slap! slap!

once, you may have burned, or been embarrassed at the soaked, sloppy sounds of your cunt leaking like a faucet around gojo's thick shaft. to be mildly conscious of how your translucent shine had been coating every inch of his cock ever since he bottomed out in you with a groaned pop!

but frankly, you had been with him for so long — by now, the man had manoeuvred you into every position possible, and you knew nothing made him pick up the pace or turned him on more than the sticky encouragement of his second favourite girl in the entire world.

"hahh, 'toru, why?" your walls suddenly clench, desparate hips bucking up to kiss his. whining at the disappointment of the quick empty sensation that takes over when gojo's gripping the base of his cock, gently sliding his shaft out that glistens with all that tender love and care.

gojo just chuckles, pressing a delicate and feather-light kiss upon your waiting lips, quelling your soft gripes. "be patient now, pretty. just gonna, yeah –" he's jostling your thighs now, quietly stretching out the stiff limbs so he can press another kiss to the inner corner of your ankle, setting both legs over his wide shoulders, "jus' gonna change the angle. gonna' get you through this next one, that alright?"

frankly, the angle is a welcome change for your smarting hamstrings so you nod, hoping that he gets a move on and presses right up against, and into you asap.

gojo seems to be just as impatient as you are, but he's holding up beautifully despite not having released himself once tonight. he often gets like this, so determined to have you fall apart for him as many times as possible before he flushes, and groans, and spills into you.

"heh, 'm pretty girl, isn't that right?" gojo's admiring you blatantly, electric-blue eyes roving over your form, six eyes vying to find that sweet spot once more, "now 'm just gonna put it innnnn, jus' like. that."

and the stretch is delicious, and oh! the way that the weeping, hot tip swipes against your clit, sloppily dragging through your folds before he's pushing past the first ring of quivering muscle.

"you can take it right? can take alll of me, can'tcha?" gojo's cooing, slapping his hips (and well, his heavy balls) against the fat of your ass, and he hardly seems bothered by the messy strands of arousal that string back, fragile and yet so loud. this angle is truly mind-numbing, for his cock is rubbing right against every sweet spot possible, and your legs are already begin to quake once more, knowing exactly what's around the corner.

"oouh, yer' doing great, just breathe for me, sweetheart," gojo murmurs, his muscled torso flexin' so deliciously in the pale, filtered light of the moon refracting through the half-open windows, "now 'm just gonna' angle ya' like this."

gojo's got a thick hand on the underside of your thigh, pushing it to the edge of his shoulder so the angle is wide open and he can watch every delicious movement of his cock into your weeping cunt, to admire how your folds throb and tense, with slick drenching down the sheets. "y'look c-close, pretty, i mean — look at how she's ready to give me another show." tapping his chin in faux thought, licking a strand of your glossy arousal off his slender fingers, "wonder if you're gon' squirt this time."

it seems that gojo satoru simply cannot shut up, but you've always known how much he loves to run his mouth.

especially when he's balls-deep in you, circling his hips to make sure that he's hitting every sensitive spot possible to make the both of you see stars, "see, look at that, 'm thinkin' that this —" gojo wetly slaps the pads of his fingers against your aching, sensitive clit, watching the drowned slosh smear over your thighs, "this is gonna make you cu — ohh, fuck, fuck!"

you suppose that it will be lost to the ages as to what exactly gojo satoru was going to say, and many will wonder how he was going to finish that sentence (although, those of us with two brain cells to rub together can hazard a guess).

but he never quite gets those words out, suddenly squeezing his eyes tight shut, so soft lashes imprint on his under-eyes. a red-hot flush suddenly climbing up his alabaster neck, as his hips buck and quiver, stuttering as hot, thick and opaque seed splurges right up in you, enough that you tense your thighs as creamy drops spill right out, "fuck, 'm feeling dizzy — s'so good, hah." gojo's whining and panting, still keeping a bruising grip on your thighs, but he's determined that not even a single drop goes to waste.

when he pulls himself together once more, what a sight, for gojo's jaw is still slack, crystalline tears pooling at the corners of his lashes as he shudders, the most powerful man currently walking the earth has come undone. but he's never one to leave your momentum interrupted, grinning with that fang-ridden, shark-like grin as he pulls your body down the bed, even close to him so your arousal and his cum pool together and stick between the two of you, "how 'bout best of, uhh. . .nine?"

[stxrrywoo]

GYM ACTIVITES ── c.sn

synopsis ; when san finally grows tired of your constant whining that you're bored he drags you to the gym with him, but you didn't want to at least not until you couldn't find yourself able to tear your gaze away from your best friends muscles.

pairing(s) ; bsf!san x f!reader

☆ ── wc. ; 2.8k ☆ ── genre ; smut, fluff, friends to lovers ☆ ── tw. ; MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!, cussing, kissing, reader is thirsty asf and not the dehydrated kind, public sex, petnames (princess, baby...), unprotected sex, clit play, fingering, biting/marking, teasing, slight size kink, shower(?) sex, sloppy make out, strength kink, multiple orgasms, slight overstimulation, creampie, san covers the readers mouth, getting caught, lmk if I missed anything!! ☆ ── notes ; hehe this idea is all thanks to @kitten4sannie and her post about gym rat san, so I present to you...

“San, I don’t wanna go.” You whined as the dark-haired male pulled you into the building, the sun barely broken over the horizon behind you. 

“You keep complaining that you’re bored, and I am quite frankly getting tired of it, so…” He tugged on your wrist until you were standing beside him, the mostly empty gym before you. “I found a solution. You can work out with me or sit there and be bored, your choice.”

“You’re so mean.” You pouted, but the male just patted your head before walking further into the facility.

You stood there for a few moments contemplating just walking right back out, but the gym was about twenty minutes away from your apartment, and it was far too cold even to try to walk back. So with a defeated sigh, you stepped in looking for where your feline-eyed friend had disappeared to. 

It didn’t take you too long to find him, seeing as there weren’t very many people in the building to begin with and because you could recognize his back almost anywhere. Walking over, you caught San’s attention, and he turned his head with a smirk.

“Finally decided to join me?” He teased, causing you to roll your eyes, and walk over to the bench in front of the mirror.

“In your dreams, pretty boy. I’m gonna sit here, bored mind you, while you do your thing.” You sat down, crossing your legs underneath your body. 

San chuckled but went back to what he was doing nonetheless, while you pulled your phone out to scroll through Pinterest mindlessly. You regretted taking your earbuds out of your pocket this morning before San showed up because you had to sit in the still silence, the only sound being the dull thrum of the air conditioning.

Letting out a huff, you dropped your phone into your lap, getting ready to start complaining once more, but the words caught in your throat as you took in the sight before you. San was doing pull-ups with his back turned towards you, the grey tank top he was wearing stuck to his form, and you could see the way the muscles in his back and arms flexed every time he pulled himself up.

You never went with San to the gym for one reason, and this was the very reason. You weren't sure whether it was because you were ovulating or San had just bulked up in recent years, but you found yourself more drawn to him. More than a friend should be.

The moment he dropped back to the floor, you snapped out of your trance, quickly picking your phone back up and praying that he didn’t notice you gawking. However, San wasn’t dumb; he had seen you staring through the mirror on the opposite side.

“You’re awfully quiet, whatcha doin over there?” He asked, a smirk tugging on the corner of his lips, as you barely even looked up at him.

“Doomscrooling on Pinterest.” You told him, willing your voice not to crack as you wanted to scream at yourself for getting so worked up.

“Oh?” He started walking towards you, causing your heart to start racing, but you almost let out a sigh of relief when he walked over to the weight rack next to you. “Looking at anything in particular?”

“You.” As soon as those words fell from your lips, your eyes grew wide, and you wanted to slap yourself. Hearing the sound of San’s laugh wasn’t any help either, seeing as how heat flushed your face, painting your cheeks a bright shade of red.

“I didn’t know I had pictures on Pinterest.” San teased, grabbing one of the weights, and you turned your head to tell him that it was just a dumb animal, but as soon as you saw his flexed arm, veins running along his forearm, all words and thoughts left your head.

“I-It’s–” Your voice cracked, and you wished that the floor would swallow you whole as he looked over, catching your eyes.

“It’s what?” The teasing tone in his voice was starting to drive you insane, so you stood to your feet, almost falling as your knees buckled underneath your weight.

“Nothing.” You spoke quickly, averting your gaze away from his smiling form, “I need a hairtie, where’s your bag?” 

San chuckled, a wide, dimpled grin spread across his face because he knew very well that you didn’t have any hairties in his bag. You hated having your hair tied up because it gave you headaches when you did. However, he was intrigued and decided to play along.

“In the locker room.”

“Thanks.” You scurried away as San watched you, the smile never leaving his face.

–

Walking into the locker room, you pressed your back against the sturdy wooden door, trying to will your racing heart to calm down. Closing your eyes and tilting your head back, you let out a deep breath.

Once you had calmed slightly, you opened your eyes and pushed yourself off the door before walking over to the sink across the room. Turning the tap on, you cupped your hand, filling it with the cool water and splashing it over your heated face. The water seemed to help a bit, keyword, a bit. Because every time you closed your eyes, you would see flashes of your best friend and how his muscles ripped with every movement. It was driving you up the wall.

“Curse you Choi San and your ridiculous body, got me feeling like a damn dog in heat.” You groaned, rubbing the heels of your hands into your eyes, trying to get some of the frustration out.

But then there was a noise heard from behind you.

A chuckle.

One that you could recognize even in a room full of people. One that had your body go rigid. One that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand tall. One that left your gut swirling and had heat pool in your core.

Slowly, you moved your hands from your eyes, blinking to clear your vision, and through the mirror, you could see him standing behind you, leaning against one of the lockers.

“You were taking your sweet time, so I came to see if you needed help.” His voice was deep, and there was a gleam in his chocolate eyes as he stared at you. It was a look that left you weak in the knees.

“S-San.” You choked on your words as you turned to look at him, a nervous laugh falling from your lips, hoping that he hadn’t heard what you just said.

“Only to find you cursing me.” He pushed himself off the lockers and stalked towards you.

Oh, he had definitely heard what you said. Tears involuntarily brimmed in your eyes as you became extremely overwhelmed. You stumbled back the closer he got to you until the small of your back hit the edge of the sink, your fingers wrapping around the smooth porcelain.

“That’s not very nice, princess.” He gave you a faux hurt expression as he stopped merely inches away from your body.

You gulped as you looked up at him, unsure of what to say that would get you out of this situation. However, the moment San’s arms appeared on either side of your body, ultimately trapping you, you knew there was no getting out of this.

“I wasn’t.” Your voice trembled as he leaned closer to you, the heat of his body making your mind spiral.

“Oh, but you were.” San smirked when your eyes fluttered shut the closer he got, “did you just need some dick? Is that why you were being such a whiny brat?”

“N-No!” You stammered, eyes flying open at his words, and your heart ready to beat out of your chest. “It’s just–” Your breath hitched in your throat when he pressed his body closer to yours, his head dipping down until his lips brushed over your ear.

“Just what?” He hummed, the vibrations flowing through your body, and it felt like you were going to fall over at any moment.

“You.” The word fell from your lips before you could even comprehend it, and your fingers tightened around the sink until your knuckles turned a ghostly shade of white.

“What about me, princess?” San asked, lips ghosting over your ear as he pulled away to look at you, that same annoying smirk playing on his lips.

You weren’t sure if it was the heat getting to your head or your patients snapping, but words started to tumble from your lips.

“You are driving me insane, no matter what I seem to do, you’re there with those stupid muscles of yours. I swear I can’t even think straight anymore because all I can imagine is you pinning me to the wall and having your way–”

Before you could even finish your sentence, his lips were on yours with a bruising force, knocking all of the air out of your lungs. A small squeak fell from your lips at the rudeness, but the moment his hand grabbed your hip, your body melted against his. Your fingers finally released the sink and wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer as you returned his kiss with the same amount of fever.

Your brain started to feel fuzzy as his hands roamed your body, groping at any skin he could get to. His lips left yours to trail down your jaw, leaving hot and wet kisses along your skin until he found purchase on your neck, biting down just enough to elicit a soft whine from you.

San felt like he was in a dream, not believing this day had finally come. He had been crushing on you for months now, but he never acted on it because you always acted indifferent around him. However, now that he has you, he is going to make the most of it.

“S-San.” You choked out when his hand led down to your gym shorts, fingers just shy of your throbbing core.

“God, you sound so cute saying my name like that.” He groaned against your skin, his hand moving down to cup your clothed cunt in the palm of his hand. The moan that left your swollen lips made his blood run completely south, making him even harder if that were even possible.

San pulled away from your neck as he let his hand slip past the waistband of your shorts and underwear. An almost animalistic groan left his lips as he felt how wet you were, your slick coating his fingers.

“Fuck you’re soaked.” He leaned down until his nose bumped against yours. “Is this because of me, princess?”

“W-Who else?” You asked before your jaw fell slack when his finger pressed against your aching clit, a soft moan falling from your mouth.

His fingers worked against you in a slow, teasing manner, leaving you a panting and whiny mess. San watched in amusement as you gripped his shirt, eyes pleading with him.

“So needy aren’t you, baby.” He teased, kissing the corner of your lips before sealing his over them once more, just to swallow all of your sweet noises when he picked up his pace.

Your whole body jerked at the sudden change in speed, and your nails dug into San’s chest, leaving behind crescent marks in their wake.

“San– I can’t.” You gasped as the coil in the pit of your stomach tightened in record time.

“It’s okay, let go.” He cooed against your lips as he suddenly pressed two fingers past your entrance while his thumb worked against your clit.

“San!” You cried out as your legs trembled, your high crashing over you, leaving your eyes rolling back.

San whispered sweet nothings as he worked you through your orgasm until you felt yourself slowly start to come back.

“C’mere.” San pulled his hand from your shorts before grabbing the back of your thighs, hoisting you up onto his hips. A pathetic moan fell from your lips when you felt his bulge against your sensitive pussy.

San moved both of you into one of the showers with ease, sliding the curtain shut in the process. Neither of your lips left the other as he pressed your back against the cool tiles.

“Is this what you wanted, princess?” San teased you, pulling away from your lips to take in your dazed expression.

You cupped his face, leaning closer to him before whispering, “It’s even better, but…” Rolling your hips against his, you elicited a soft mewl from your own lips, “I need you in me, so bad.”

No other words were spoken as he dropped you down just long enough to discard all of your clothes. Lips clashing against each other is a messy kiss, as his hands found your hips once more.

Picking you up again a sharp moan fell from your lips swallowed by San’s as you felt the tip of his cock proding at your entrance. San’s thumbs rubbed soothing circles on your hip as he pulled you closer to him.

“Ready?” His voice was hoarse, and a chill ran through your body at the sound, your brain starting to melt the longer he wasn’t buried in you.

“P-Please.” You mewled, pressing your lips against his once more in a sloppy kiss; however, your jaw fell slack, and your nails dug into his shoulder as he started to push into you.

A choked gasp fell from your lips as he fully filled you to the hilt, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes at the full feeling.

“Sannie–” You whined, body trembling in his hold as pleasure overwhelmed your senses.

“Fuck you feel so good baby.” He groaned, head falling to the crook of your neck.

The moment you gave him the green light, he slowly pulled out to just the tip before snapping his hips back into yours, knocking the air right out of your lungs. A strangled cry tore from yoru throat as your hand flew back against the wall, accidentally hitting the shower knob and turning the water on. 

It didn’t slow San down though, no he continued to fuck into you with rough strokes and you had no choice but to take it because he had you pinned to the wall. White spots started to cloud your vision when he began to suck marks on your neck, the pleasure almost becoming unbearable.

When his hips shifted just a bit, your moans grew louder in pitch as your nails raked down his back. 

“Shh, baby, everyone is gonna hear you if you’re too loud.” He chuckled as you looked at him with a fucked out expression that left his dick twitching.

“I-I can’t. You just feel so good!” You cried out, head falling back against the tiles, when his pace picked up.

“Oh so you want everyone to hear how good I’m fucking you, is that it?” He cooed, moving one hand from your hip to grab your jaw, tilting your head back down to look at him.

“N-No.” You mewled, but the way your cunt was squeezing around his swollen dick told him otherwise.

“I bet you do. You want everyone to hear your pretty noises, don’t you?” 

“S-San–” The air was knocked from your lungs when he brushed over your sweet spot, your moans bouncing off the walls. “I’m close! San, I can’t!”

Your cries spurred the dark-haired male on, fucking his cock deep into your cunt, hitting spots that no one ever has before and bringing you closer to your climax. Sensing that you were about to cum San released your jaw before placing his palm over your mouth muffling the loud cry that tore from your lungs just as your high hit.

“Holy shit, baby you’re squeezing me so tight.” He groaned as he fucked you through your high as your cunt kept sucking him in.

“Sannie!” Your muffled moan of his name was almost enough to push him over the edge but when he looked up and saw your teary eyes pleading with him over his hand he felt his dick twitch before he was painting your gummy walls white with his cum.

His hips slowed as he fucked his cum back into your spazzing cunt, watching as your eyebrows scrunched togrhtrt from the overstimulation. Then his hips stilled, and he leaned against you, lips ghosting over your neck as his hand fell from your mouth.

Your hand found the back of his head as yours fell back against the tiles, your erratic breathing becoming steady once more.

“San.” You called out his name, voice hoarse.

“Hmm?” he hummed against you, reaching over to turn the shower off so he could hear you. However, as soon as the water was off, you could hear the sounds of the locker room door shutting, and your heart stopped.

“If we get banned from this gym, just know that it’s your fault.” You told him, causing him to laugh softly, pulling his face from your neck.

“Worth it though.” He mumbled before pulling you into a sweet kiss, ignoring the nearing footsteps.

© 𝐬𝐭𝐱𝐫𝐫𝐲𝐰𝐨𝐨 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓 | 𝙙𝙤 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙖𝙡, 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙜𝙞𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙨𝙚, 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙨𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙚, 𝙤𝙧 𝙧𝙚𝙥𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙖𝙣𝙮 𝙤𝙛 𝙢𝙮 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫 : 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙣𝙤 𝙬𝙖𝙮 𝙖 𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙤𝙛 𝙖𝙣𝙮 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙚𝙢𝙗𝙚𝙧𝙨. 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙥𝙪𝙧𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙚𝙣𝙟𝙤𝙮𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙣 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙤𝙪𝙨𝙡𝙮

[esote-rika]

More of you to worship | Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x gn!reader

Category: fluff, mild angst

Summary: Spencer Reid has insecurities about his changing body, and you assure him you love him regardless.

Content: body insecurity, established relationship, one mention of New Year

Word count: 1.5k

A/N: Quick little oneshot to end the year! You can thank @reidgif for this one because this gif rekindled my hyperfixation on his tummy. And then I saw a clip of Aisha (Tara’s actress) saying MGG weighs 11 pounds and has the metabolism of a rabbit on speed (lmfao) anyway, I took that and ran with it and now here we are. As someone who struggles with dysmorphia, I did my very best to be as sensitive with this as possible. Last fix of the year, I hope you enjoy it!

Spencer had begun to notice it a few weeks ago. At first, he had foolishly thought that there was simply something wrong with the shirt he had worn. Tactile sensitivity had always been something he dealt with, and this was no different. There had been a certain peculiarity in the fit of his shirt that he couldn’t quite pinpoint. Days continued, and it became a persistent bother, impeding his movement when he aimed, and inhibiting his general comfort.

It wasn’t until today, sitting in the bed—one he shared with you—that he finally had the time to inspect what was going on. The two of you had just gotten home from Rossi, who had graciously hosted a New Year’s dinner at his mansion. Spencer had admittedly eaten more than his fill, and that’s when he realized—it showed.

At once, the problem appeared. He was gaining weight. His shirts were bothering him because they were growing too tight, digging into places where they had previously been loose. The realization made him pause, as he stared down at himself.

Sitting on the bed, his stomach had gathered into a bulge, straining against the cloth. It was a new sight, not necessarily unwelcomed, but it seemed to send his mind reeling (to be fair, a lot sent his mind reeling nowadays, he was running on fumes, his only reprieve being you.)

He had never been muscular, had never found the need to be muscular. The team was nearly faultless because everyone filled a role, and they executed that well. He was, has always been, the genius, the expert on everything, as Hotch had called him once. Being the genius of the BAU meant that he had value. Relevance. It brought him great deal of pride, being able to contribute and pick up on patterns and little details that the majority of the team might miss.

It made him feel like he mattered. Needed.

So what if he couldn’t tackle a man down? They used to have Derek and Hotch for that, and now that role was being fulfilled by Luke and Matt, both of whom were utter specimens of the male physique.

But his time in prison had proven to him that he couldn’t rely on just his brains. Not when he had three burly inmates looking for trouble, looking for someone easy. It pained him that someone easy meant someone that looked like him. Tall, gangly, defenseless.

He took another breath and frowned as the fabric around his stomach grew tighter, taut at having to contain this belly that had formed over the course of the evening. A food baby, you liked to call it, because your own tummy was bonded to several factors as well—hormones, food, water intake—that made it fluctuate frequently, normally.

Normal. He tried to remind himself that this was normal, gaining weight was normal, but then again, how could someone tell what was normal when their—his—whole life, he had little experience with the word? Growing up a genius and taking care of an ailing mother skewed whatever sense of normalcy he could have developed.

Besides, his normal meant lanky, thin. His body, the way it was framed and built, had always been long and erring on the side of delicate. It wasn’t that he hadn’t tried to bulk up, it was that his muscles were lean; that was simply how his anatomy worked. It would take a lot more effort to gain more muscle, effort that he, admittedly, didn’t want to exert. It wasn’t his role.

And now, he looked down at his stomach with a crease on his brow, mind whirring with explanations. Weight fluctuations are normal, and they were okay, and he was nearing forty, anyway, of course his metabolism was beginning to slow down, human adults’ bodily functions tend to do that, it was scientific and —

“Honey?”

He looked up, and there you were, your loveliness framed by the plain doorway. Somehow, you made it seem more magical, less boring, as though your very presence just made everything better. He smiled, holding out a hand for you, forcing the wave of insecurity down his throat, down his chest, trying to bury it deep in the recesses of his body.

You walked closer, and the thoughts punched through his attempts to silence them—you wouldn’t find him attractive anymore.

Something must have shifted on his face, a sliver of that anxiety creating fresh lines between his brows, because you paused. A hand ran across your cheek, and he felt the weight of your concern in the action.

“What’s wrong, Spence?”

He drew you closer, pulled you onto his lap. He couldn’t lie to you, not out of his lack of skill, but due to your incessant ability to somehow sniff out the truth from him, one way or another.

“I think I’m outgrowing my shirts.” he said, softening the words with a chuckle. He was ashamed to admit that it was affecting him more than he anticipated; maybe humor would lessen its significance.

“Aren’t you a little too old to be going through puberty?” you asked, matching the teasing tone of his voice. The difference was glaring though; his voice was awfully strained, and yours was lighter, more at ease.

Still, he laughed, buried his face at the nape of your neck. “They’re getting tight around my stomach.”

At that, you pulled back. He swallowed the whine that threatened to leave his lips; he was already being so pathetic over a little pudge, he was reaching max capacity. With bated breath, he watched as your gaze ran over him, eyes flickering with recognition when they landed on his torso.

“Oh they are,” You replied, hands going up to his shoulders, tugging at the fabric there, “Here too. Huh, I guess we’ll have to go shopping then.”

He looked, patiently waited for more.

“What?” you asked, eyes crinkling oh so prettily at the corners that he couldn’t help but press a kiss over them.

“That’s it?” he murmured, disbelief coloring his voice. He had anticipated more of a reaction, maybe a suggestion of ‘oh maybe you should go to the gym’. But you took it with such stride that he was a little confused.

“Yeah, that’s it.” you laughed, brought a palm down to his stomach, that one place that’s causing him to basically break down, “Should there be more?”

He shrugged.

Perched on his lap, you frowned as you watched emotions flicker through his eyes. “Spence,” You murmured, kissing his temple, “Talk to me.”

“I just don't want you to think I'm unattractive anymore.” The words felt bitter in his tongue; it was a relief to release them, get them out of his system. “I was never - you know - sexy before, and now I'm gaining weight.”

“Spence,” You interrupted him gently. It wasn't something you did often; his rambles were one of the things you loved about him after all, but it pained you to hear him get so insecure about something so insignificant as his weight, especially since his body wasn't even the thing that made him attractive to you in the first place, “Belly pudge or scrawny, I think you're hot.”

His eyes softened, looking so impossibly hopeful that you couldn't stop the urge to lean in and kiss him. “Seriously,” You murmured, “It doesn't matter to me. You're handsome, but you're also so intelligent and passionate and sensitive, and those are so much more important than how you look.”

He sagged with relief, arms tightening around you. “Yeah?” He asked as he buried his face in your hair.

“Yeah, honey. I'm not with you because of your looks,” You replied, then with a little laugh, you added, “Although, they certainly are an added bonus.”

His shoulders shook as he chuckled, and you can feel his lips giving you tiny kisses at the crown of your head.

“Besides,” You continued, toying with the hair at the nape of his neck, “The way I see it, there's physically more of you now - more of you to hug, and to love, more of you to worship.”

He was silent, but his grip on you never faltered, breath fanning gently over your hair. “More of me to love.” He whispered, “You're right, that's - that's one way to look at it.”

“Mhmm,” You nodded, “But you really do need to go shopping, can't have you ripping your shirts while you're out on a case. You wouldn't want your team to think you're doing an impromptu strip tease.”

He bursted out laughing, and exhilaration filled your chest. You always took pride in making him laugh, and this was no exception.

“God, I love you.” He said, pulling back and resting his forehead against yours.

“I love you too.” You smiled, then added, “Besides, I think the pudge is cute. You're on your way to a dad bod.”

He laughed again, and if you could hear that sound on loop forever, then you would be in heaven

[limerlove]

nsfw themes, eighteen+

gymrat!vi who frequents the gym every day except for sundays. giving into his wishes to be present for their weekly dinner. any other day? she’s getting her pump in. an absolute given in her world. pink-hued strands stick to her scalp as she pushes for a new personal record on the bench, especially when vi’s bulking. whenever she’s training, she’s so zoned in, nothing can distract — well — it used to be nothing. 

gymrat!vi who secretly enjoys nothing more than working out with jayce. accountability between two best friends turns into a friendly competition. nothing at stake except their egos. seeing who can outdo the other set after set. something to keep them both in line, fit, and violet enjoys the hit to jayce’s ego whenever she can push weight heavier than jayce.

gymrat!vi who isn’t oblivious to the attention thrown her way. with the heatwave of summertime, her muscles are on full display, defined biceps, toned thighs, and god her tattoos are basically a honey-trap. she would be a fucking liar if she acted disgusted by it, part of her likes it a little too much. but hey, everyone likes to be appreciated from time to time and vi is no exception. and she never really saw a problem with it until a one night stand who then not not so subtly stalked her every time she was in the gym, learning her schedule until she had no choice but to leave her favorite gym. silently, she made a vow to not fuck with girls she met at the gym. 

….well, until you. 

gymrat!vi who is a known regular. she knows all the girls at the front desk, flirts with many of them, but to her it’s as platonic as chatting up the barista who brews her dose of caffeine in the morning. it’s ingrained into her morning routine, simply just a part of who she is. so, when she sees you at the front desk she nearly has to do a double take. there’s not a hot chance in hell she’s seen you before — vi would have definitely remembered you.

gymrat!vi who becomes shy for the first time in her life, bringing her membership card up to the scanner and offering a small smile but when looks back you seem to take a second look, eyes locked into her powder-blue eyes. even if just for a moment, you’re veering into her thumping soul. vi can’t help but smile. she reminds herself, you’re just another pretty girl. you’re new, probably won’t even last long. yeah, that’s what vi’s going to let herself believe. it’s not like she’s thinking about your gorgeous lips when she bench presses, or thinking about your gorgeous  eyes taking her breath away — or when vi’s powerlifting she’s so not thinking about lifting you on top of her. 

“if you talk to her, she might actually know your name.”

“w-what, i-i’m not, sh—”

jayce raises his eyebrows at vi, shaking his head as his very questionable friend spots her as she moves the weight the fluidity, her movements only struggling to push through when she reaches the final set.

“she’s the gym owner’s daughter, he’s wanting her to take over the reins, old age and all.” jayce responds as violet places the bar on the rack, her set complete until she moves onto the next one. “your little theory of her not being around for long is kinda crushed. unless you want to find another gym….”

“that’s the whole point of me not talking to her, m’not finding a new gym again. that’s a promise. i can control myself.” 

jayce just laughs. fucking laughs.

“what’s so funny, bro?” vi pouts.

“that you genuinely believe you’re gonna be able to stop yourself and that you think you have a type….and she fits the bill.” 

“oh, fuck off.” vi grunts.  

dropping the fifty pound dumbbells by the bench, lifting up her shirt to wipe some of the sweat off her face only to find you on the other side of the gym, staring directly at her abs like her glistening sweaty skin like it’s a golden ticket to heaven.

“well…fuck.” 

gymrat!vi who notices your presence more and more in the coming weeks. this time not just behind the front counter. you’re with the personal trainers, helping new customers fill out paperwork, and this morning you go wherever vi goes, her eyes can’t seem to stop searching for your figure. especially with those tight leggings you always seem to wear, vi couldn’t stop looking at the fat of your ass if her life depended on it. she managed to squeak out more than a hi to you yesterday, but it’s as far as her pleasantries extend.

gymrat!vi who has her headphones placed on her head, her all black workout set; this time something more modest at her disposable. the black and cotton hoodie covers her head, flares of bright pink wisps shadow from the hood but her shorts reach mid thigh, the overworked muscles in her legs flexing as she lifts the weight. jayce isn’t with her today, which means she basically had to physically restrain herself from talking to you today. even if she can see you sneaking glances at her through her workout, eyeing her legs each time she’s on the leg press. greedy, hot, goddess — vi is so fucked. 

when she walked the following day, you said her name, violet. 

you know her name. 

it’s just the database, it’s the only reason. 

pull yourself together, idiot. 

gymrat!viwho is at the end of her workout, taking her final rest before she does her last set, but here you go again, gawking as you pretend to be readjusting the weight on the racks but you finally stop looking at her, trying to put the last weight, the one-hundred pound bell but you just can’t. even then, vi is trying not to smile with how adorable you look as you struggle. 

before making her way over to you, she slides the black pair of headphones on her tattooed neck, popping the hoodie, seeing if anyone else was going to help you — just her luck — there wasn’t a soul in her at midnight besides her….shocker. 

“stupid, piece of shit, would you just—” 

“need some help there, princess?” vi looks over at you from the workout beach she’s perched on, legs spread wide as her jaw juts out, eyes naturally gleaming with curiosity. 

“i should be able to. i can do this, right? yeah? i definitely can do this.” 

but it only sounds as if you’re trying to convince yourself. the weight of responsibility crushing your spirit by a singular dumbbell. you’re huffing and puffing. life and death here, and all because of a stupid, petty, weight. 

vi stands up, her height towering over your hunched finger. “pick it up with your legs. next time, make it’ll easier.” 

violet doesn’t really use her legs though. the beautifully strong woman kneels on the ground with you, her gloved hand picks the weight up with ease and places it back on the rack. 

“obviously, i know that.” 

violet hums before she offers a hand, helping you stand tall. “of course you do.” 

the sensation bubbling on her fingertips from touching your skin almost seems downright electric — and now vi feels like running ten miles in the other direction for the sole purpose of settling her heartbeat for just a moment. 

“anyways, yeah, sorry to disturb you.” 

“not a problem, princess. never going to say no to a pretty girl in distress.” 

the smile violet offers is adorable, the one she flashes the girls when she comes in for her late work out, from wherever she comes from. but the way she scratches the nape of her neck? that’s just for you. 

gymrat!vi who can’t stop thinking of you, despite her best efforts. constantly, she wonders if you’re seeing someone, but the way you watch her, vi suspects your single as can be. it isn’t until one friday night, just as she’s trying to leave, one of the front girls, rich and pompous, is trying to coax her into meeting her and some friends at the bar tonight. when she’s about to say no for a finale time, growing more uncomfortable by the second, you’ve come up to where she is and, well fuck, violet’s even more embarrassed that one of your employees is hitting on her right in front of you. 

“c’mon! jayce says you haven’t been out in ages. you deserve it, you’re always working out so much. if anyone deserves a treat, it’s you.” 

cursing out the little shit in her mind, she rolls her eyes, trying to contain herself from having an aneurysm. “little shit, divulging all my secrets.” 

sabrina laughs more than she should, tossing her purple hair over her shoulder. carefully, you hover, absentmindedly scrolling on your phone and violet wonders if you stay there for a reason. 

if she’s the reason you’re eavesdropping. 

“so….is that a yes?” 

violet sighs, she hates this. “maybe another time.” 

gymrat!vi who wonders what you thought of the entire time. quiet as a mouse, you hadn’t said a single word to her since you were there to witness the rejection of her employee they still couldn’t seem to just stop. this is what she wants. silence…..right? it’s what she keeps telling herself but now vi can’t stop trying to catch your attention, just an ounce of it is all she craves. today, you only spared her a glance before you talked to jayce. pathetically, she decides to do something to catch your attention, hip thrusts. 

gymrat!vi who looks up as you watch her pelvis lift the weight placed on her abdomen, pushing sturdy hips through the set as you keep sparing glances gawking at her porcelain skin exposed. she can tell you’re at least trying to pay attention to whatever jayce is saying but you’re interest loses focus when she grunts with one final thrust, the bar rolling away from her legs. 

“did you hear that?” vi rolls her eyes at the sound of his chipper voice. 

“what?” violet slips her headphones off, trying to even her labored breaths. not just jayce, but the both of you stand above vi as she tries to catch her breath. 

“i invited her to our brunch with mel on saturday.” 

“oh, is that this saturday?” 

oh, he really is playing fucking dirty. 

“is there a problem, vi?” 

little chicken shit is grinning, goddamn it. she takes another swing from her water bottle, hoping to god you’ll think it’s too forward, too weird, and you’ll just instantly decline. 

“not a problem.” vi grits her teeth as she speaks, jaw clenching as she knows this is surely to be a hole there will be no digging out from. 

or one she so desperately wants to fill.

rayray rants — UM IDK HOW I FEEL ABOUT THIS???? it's kinda different than what i normally post but i might turn it into a little hc series. anyways! hope you like and i have a very special vi post coming soon that i'm really excited about. but yeah! hopefully, i can continue this because vi working out is literally all i can think about. alright, um, see you next time ♡

[carbonfiction]

First bloom

Summary: Frank has a moment of vulnerability as he gifts you flowers for the first time.

Happy valentines Besties!! <33

Warnings?: whole lotta fluff really. nothing much to add other than Frank giving reader flowers for the first time and being a little bashful about it. (M' a sucker for a big, gruff, kinda angry man being a sweetheart to the person he loves alright?) possible horrible writing- a girl be struggling..

Pretty obvious buuut with this im adding frankie to my 'will write for' list bc i am, at my very core and before most fixations i ever had, a frank castle girlie.. With that said my normal Logan stuff will remain!! but i thought I'd get this lil thing out while it feels good in my mind and before i make a million changes- writers block has got my ass again but asks are still open!

Masterlist. Words: 1.1k

Franks feet feel heavy in his boots, each step thudding on the concrete. The streets are quiet, winter air crisp and cool as he digs a hand in the pocket of his jeans as he goes. Keep one hand warm and the other? Well.. That one feels pretty cold and yet, strangely, a little clammy at the same time.

In Franks grasp rests a bunch of colourful flowers; lillies, roses, some little delicate buds he doesnt recall the name of for decoration. 'Oh those? Those are called Babys breath frank!' He hopes you'll tell him with a beam later.

The rose thorns prod at his palm, his grip on the bundle of stems tense, but he finds it doesn't hurt the longer he walks. They just.. Ground him slightly as he treads closer to home. Closer to you.

Theres a peace that settles within him in your presence, he finds; one that seems to dim the darkness that swirls in his heart. You ease the ache that so often sits inside him, Never erasing it, no one ever could but.. You lessen it. Always willing to take the weight from his broad shoulders, if only for a little.

And for that? Frank is greatful.

He knows he can be alot; his grumpiness piled almost as high as his baggage. But you dont ever seem to mind.

You embrace him on the days he needs it but cant find it in himself to ask and keep him at arms length when you see in his eyes that being loved feels stifling; its just how life is with him. Yet you do it all with that soft smile and gentle hand, the polar opposite to his rough lines and jagged edges. Keeping him sane on the days when he believes himself to be anything but.

The hand he dug into his pocket seems clammier now as he pulls out his set of keys, the lock clicking open moments later. Its just flowers castle, pull it together he thinks, stepping back into the warm embrace of your apartment. Given girls flowers before for christ sake.

"sweetheart?" he calls out, gruff voice booming through the hall.

You jump slightly at the sound, placing down the wooden spoon that you had been stirring the fragrant pot on the stove with. Voice calling back "in the kitchen!" with a significantly softer tone.

You wait with your body leaning against the counter, observing how the bulk of him rounds the corner. A large arm behind his back; still in his coat. A suspicious rustle of cellophane filling the kitchen as he shifts on his feet, but still you grin at the sight.

"Got everything you needed" he says, hand digging through his coat pocket with various clinks and russles. In his large hand he pulls out a collection of little packets and jars, placing them on the counter. refills of various spices, salts and even a little box of yeast pouches for bread making sit in a heap; things you were running low on earlier.

you beam that perfect smile at him, murmering softly as you step forward, leaning up on your toes to kiss his stubled cheek. "Perfect, thank you frankie"

He accepts the kiss with a soft hum, dipping his head for you to reach.

But still that arm remains behind his back. He almost hopes you dont notice.. But you do, he can tell.

"Uh Frank?.." you start a little cautiously with that same grin, however this time theres a little glint of confusion added as you step back just slightly. "What are you hiding?"

You stew in his silence for a moment, a crease wedging its way back between his brows. Handsome face suddenly filled with... trepidation?

"Frank.." you start again, a little more seriously as you step closer. By now you're fully expecting something bad; that someones been gunning for him again and hes hurt. That there must be blood soaking through his coat and thats why hes hiding.

But as quick as he paused, he sighs, broad shoulders falling just slightly. that same arm once hidden, now outstretched infront of you. The colourful bouquet at eye level as you take it in, a tiny gasp slipping past your lips.

"Frank castle did.." you begin, hand coming to join his on the delicate stems. Your voice is hushed and a little shakey as your eyes scan up and across his face. "Did you buy me flowers?"

His head moves in a little nod, chest puffing out just slightly as he releases his grip; completly surrendering both the flowers and himself.

"Yeah i, uh.." he gruffs, thinking outloud before he stops; practically looking everywhere but at you. The pot on the stove, the cups on the sink, even his boots. Its then he realises that he's almost afraid to see some semblance of rejection in your gaze; that he's missteped or you dont like them. That this sense of peace you wash over him is about to be swept away; wide eyes and incredulous tone not helping his state.

Frank takes another breath, steeling himself; his walls building back up, before he simply settles on a shake of his head and a huff. "Doesn't matter, 's stupid alright"

"No, no its not stupid." you rush out, remaining close as you eye the flowers in your hand and then him again. "They're beautiful frank.."

"Saw em and they reminded me of you so..." he coughs, a large hand scratching at the back of his neck. "thought I'd get em.."

Frank shifts on his feet, stance widening as you suddenly throwing yourself into his arms and grip him tightly; the Boquet landing on the counter seconds before your impact to his chest. You hold him like that for a few quiet moments before you lean back, resting on your tip toes as you cup a rough cheek.

"Thank you.." you whisper softly, honesty pure in your words. A little bashful grin across your lips as you lean up a little higher. "I love them, really. They're perfect"

Frank gazes down at you gently, a finger of his own brushing over your skin as he leans in, kissing you with such unspoken emotion it could knock you off your feet- if he wasnt already keeping you up.

"Yeah sweetheart? Really think they are all that?" he murmers, forehead against yours, the air of unease beginning to slip from your reaction. Enjoying the endearing heat of your gaze.

Your lips meet his in another tender kiss as you press the words against him; though they hold a hidden, deeper meaning. "Yeah Frank.. I really do"

[girlyhornywriter]

You're still worried you're going to regret this?

Come on, pig. It's a little late for that, isn't it? You know there's no going back to how things used to be. Not now, after what you've done to yourself. Don't give me that look, you know this wasn't all my idea.

You just wouldn't stop begging to know about my fantasies... I didn't have any choice but to sate your curiosity and tell you that I liked bigger girls. Girls that jiggle when they walk and get out of breath when they walk up the stairs. You know, fat girls. You were so slim, and I didn't expect that you'd want to satisfy my kinks like that, but you said that you'd maybe gain a little weight for me, just so I could squeeze your belly while we made out. Nothing crazy, just an extra meal here and there. You'd keep it under control.

It's not my fault that your fat ass lost all self-control.

You were just having too much fun, weren't you? You loved feeling my hands caressing your soft, sensitive curves. The way I always slipped a hand under your top to give your gut a squeeze whenever I pulled you in for a kiss must have done more to your poor, horny brain than I could have ever imagined...

Well, of course I noticed what was happening, but did you expect me to say anything? You have no idea how much I loved watching you go back for seconds and thirds every time we went to a buffet. I couldn't get enough of hearing your sheepish voice asking if we had any ice-cream left in the freezer immediately after finishing an extra-large dinner. And maybe I didn't help your waistline by offering to drive you everywhere... But at your size back then, you'd have gotten so worn out and exhausted by having to walk more than a couple of blocks.

Not any more, though. Now you can't even make it to the end of the street.

Oh, you think I'm exaggerating? Babe, you haven't hauled your fat, lazy ass off of that couch in days. If it wasn't for the fact that I keep throwing away all your empty bags of snacks once you've poured them down your greedy throat, I'm pretty sure you'd be buried in them by now. Come on, just try to stand up.

...

Gosh, you really tried there, didn't you? There's no way you'd be panting and sweating like this if you hadn't been putting effort into that. I knew you'd become a fat mess, but I didn't realise it was this bad... You're all blubber and lard now, aren't you? Whatever muscle you had is so lost under layer upon layer of soft, jiggling flab that there's no way you're going to work off all these calories of adipose you've eaten onto your figure.

Well yeah, maybe a diet would work, but I'm not going to let you go on one, piglet.

Why? Because I've got you right where I've always wanted you, princess. You're too fat to move and too well-trained as a mindless, gluttonous cow to undo the damage you've done. I might not have made you gain all this weight, but I'm not about to see it melt away either. I love the way it feels too much, the way you jiggle with every movement, the way it pins you to the couch and only grows softer and heavier every time I feed you.

If I were you, piglet, I'd get used to this. Learn to enjoy it, because I certainly will... Maybe if you're a good girl for me, I'll find you some clothes that actually fit over your immense bulk. Though anything I find isn't going to fit you for very long - You're so big and obese, piggy, but you've still got a long way to go...

[lovscb97]

tags: park sunghoon x fem!reader, established relationship, size kink, strength kink, bulge kink, d/s dynamics, dom!sunghoon x sub!reader, unprotected sex (plz don’t), breeding kink, creampie, dirty talk, degradation (slut, whore), praise kink?, nicknames (baby, princess, angel, hoonie, etc), slight fluff, lowkey pwp, reader is described to be shorter than hoon and is easy to pick up/throw around, reader is also very down bad for him (aren’t we all), etc

wc: 2.67k

add. notes: hoon won the poll i put out so i present to u my first ever enha work :3 thank u very much to everyone who voted n this will def not be the last enha fic i put out so do not worry there is much to come for hyung line!!! also icon creds to @/v4mpjay :3

. . . 

sunghoon doesn’t know how much longer he can take this. 

it all started when he began going to the gym regularly, slowly bulking his figure up and feeling himself grow out in his clothes. what used to be his lanky frame that greeted him in the mirror gradually turned into a built man with lean muscles and sharper features, adding to what was already there initially. it wasn’t like this wasn’t what he wanted though, albeit the entire reason why he even started working out in the first place being to improve his health and build better habits for himself, but the outcome wasn’t too bad in itself. he got used to feeling stronger, more lighter on his feet or less out of breath when he climbed the stairs, and it was enjoyable to know that he could lift twice his weight and still feel good as new. in some way, things felt like they were going swell.

that is, until you came into the picture.

now, sunghoon’s always known that you’re small compared to him. even when standing side by side, his height next to yours is a little laughable, though he supposes you’re used to that considering you’ve always been shorter than most of your peers. he’s well aware of how you have to go on your tippy-toes when you guys kiss, and the soft feel of your little hands in his is something that spins in his mind constantly when your fingers lace together. it doesn’t help that you always ask him to fetch your favourite mug from the top cabinet too, his larger physique towering over yours each time he leans over from behind you. he likes to tease you about it, revelling in the way you pout cutely back at him whenever he makes fun of you jokingly despite the small smile playing at your lips, but little do you know about the twisted fantasies breaching his thoughts every moment you spend together. he wonders if you would be disgusted? would you dump him and tell all your friends about what a creepy loser he was? sunghoon can’t help but imagine the worst case scenario, and it would be easy to bury these emotions down the hatchet had it not been for the fact that he’s started to think he is going mad too. 

every time sunghoon comes home from the gym, every time he enters your shared apartment, sweat dripping down his forehead and his water-bottle empty, he swears on his dead grandmother that you start checking him out. it doesn’t help that he's always been attentive either, always needlessly easy at picking up the cues of your discomfort when you're outside in a social space for too long, or being able to tell instantly when you're anything other than the happy go lucky girlfriend he usually sees you as. so, when your lingering gaze begins to trail across his arms a little too long whenever he passes your shared bedroom on his way to the shower, or when your mouth opens and closes to swallow before you're pressing your thighs together subtly each time he moves to wipe himself down each time he’s home— it all sparks something in him. it told him to finally, finally indulge in the nasty thoughts he’s kept tucked away to himself once and for all.

except he doesn’t. because at the end of the day, sunghoon is a gentleman. he pulls open the doors for you with nonchalance written all over him despite his burning ears, and he brings you back your memorised coffee order alongside a few sweet treats when he knows you’re on your period. he holds you close when you’re asleep in bed together, rubbing a gentle thumb against the skin of your cheek because he’s aware that’s what it takes for you to fall asleep, and makes sure you know he’s always going to be there for you in any time of need, even if he’s a thousand miles away. he’s never once made you doubt him, never once given you any reason to suspect he could be anything beyond the perfect, storybook written boyfriend he’s always been. 

until today, at least.

it was a day like any other, a day where you wouldn’t have expected things to take the turn they took at all. you and sunghoon were tangled up in your lavender sheets with your leg thrown over his, the morning sun streaming through the beige curtains you’d picked out on your ikea date together, and no alarms were intact to disturb you as it was the weekend. that’s probably why you both found yourselves in your current situation, your mouths meeting sloppily for short kisses and your boyfriend’s cock buried to the hilt inside you, thrusting ever so gently every other second as he whispered sweet praises to you between the meshing of your lips. the only sounds heard beyond the chirping of the birds outside your window were your soft moans and his low grunts, alongside the quiet noises of your slick dragging against his dick.

“fuck, baby. you feel so good.” sunghoon mumbles, pressing gentle smooches along the skin of your chin and jaw. you reply back something unintelligible, too lost in the euphoria he’s providing you to even form a coherent answer, which only makes him chuckle. he pulls back to admire your figure underneath him, a smile spreading across his lip at the sight of you laid out oh so pretty and pliant just for him. for him. all for his use. his use and his use only. the eventual thought makes his cock twitch inside you, and sunghoon momentarily slows down his movements in fear he’ll accidentally lose control of himself and fuck you into the sheets. his loss of momentum causes you to whine out loud though, large doe eyes blinking up at him in wonder, almost as if asking what happened, which does not make your boyfriend’s job any easier.

“hoonie, faster.” you beg softly, one hand coming up to grip his shoulder as the other bundles up the duvet underneath you. “please, wan’ it so bad.” sunghoon feels like his resolve is on the brink of snapping at your words, and he quickly resumes his previous pace (albeit still slower than what you wanted but better nonetheless) with gritted teeth, trying to think of something, anything that would distract him from the realisation of how fucking small you look under him, or how soft your hand feels resting on his skin. it doesn’t help that the sounds spewing from your lips are so cute, only spurring him on further to do what he longs to. 

“yeah, angel? want it faster? want hoonie to fuck you deeper?” he groans out instead, biting his lip at the sight of you nodding almost instantly to his words. your hole clenches even tighter around him as he speaks to you, and he shudders at the sensation. “shit, don’t do that, princess. might cum too quickly.” he exhales shakily, confused when you shake your head. “don’t care. cum f’me. wanna feel it, please.” you plead almost instantly without thinking, sunghoon’s eyes darkening as the request leaves your mouth. his pace comes to an immediate halt after that, and you make a noise of complaint at the loss of pleasure in your lower region, legs kicking up slightly in protest as you eye your boyfriend who���s currently trying to compose himself above you.

“don’t.. don’t say stuff like that.” sunghoon sighs, eyes closed shut as you cock your head to the side. you’re about to ask him why when he speaks up again. “i won’t be able to hold myself back if you do.” he professes darkly, opening his orbs back up to look deep into yours, his smouldering gaze making you shiver. you involuntary tighten around him at his confession, and he hisses at the feeling, head snapping to look down at you and the blush spreading across your cheeks. 

“i-i don’t.. don’t want you to hold back.” you mutter whilst looking away meekly before he can even comment on your actions. you meet his stare again after a beat of silence, but there’s something dark and sinister swimming in it now, and by the time you can even process what it is, he’s suddenly sheathing himself back into your warm walls, plowing into you with a heightened pace as if this is the last time he’ll ever get to fuck you. your moans tumble out of your mouth before you can even stop them, and you swear you hear sunghoon growl at the way you keen from his movements. 

“yeah? don’t want me to hold back? want me to absolutely destroy this wet cunt with my cock? ruin it for everybody else and mould it to the shape of my dick?” he grunts, a smirk spread across his face as you wildly nod at his words. “what, too fucked out to speak now, baby? where’s that confidence from before, hm?” you whimper at his condescending tone, the noise travelling straight to his core as he curses, continuing to plunge himself deep into you. the tip of his cock brushes against that spongey spot inside you, and you cry out when he angles his thrusts to hit it each time he drives inside your pussy. 

“who knew you were such a slut, huh baby? tell me, how long have you wanted me to spread you open and fuck you like i hated you?” sunghoon pants, tongue lolling out to lick at the sweat gathering on your neck. “s-so long, hoonie!” you mewl in response, eyes rolling to the back of your head when he bites down on your skin. “wanted you to— hnng, wanted you to bend me over and throw me around so bad!” sunghoon laughs breathlessly at your answer. 

“yeah, pretty? want me to use my big arms and toss you onto the bed? you should’ve told me sooner that you were such a whore.” you clench at the degrading name, and sunghoon almost stumbles into you at the sudden jolt of shock. “would’ve done everything you wanted me to. wanted it just as bad as you, did ya know that?” he grits out, pace unrelenting and unforgiving as he proceeds to pound into you. “you’re so fucking small, baby. makes me so goddamn hard every time i think about it. just want to, oh fuck— want to hold you down and make you take it.” 

“do it! do it, hoonie, please do it! make me take it, i wan’ take it for you.” you sob, and sunghoon physically feels the last of his self restrain break in half. he’s far too fucked out now to go back to his old ways, far too gone in the dizziness of making you feel good. his only goal now is to make you cum violently around him, and he’ll stop at nothing to achieve that. “gonna do it, baby. just wait, gonna fuck you so dumb, you’ll be begging me to stop.” he pauses momentarily to grab at the plush of your thigh and tosses your leg over his shoulder, resuming his past actions in the blink of an eye as you cry out at the change. he hits deeper, more harsh this way, and you swear you can feel him battering your cervix with each thrust delivered to your abused cunt.

“fuck, look at that.” sunghoon laughs in disbelief, his eyes fixed on the slightly evident bulge of his cock thrusting in and out of you in your stomach. “taking my cock so well, princess. you gonna cum for me soon, yeah? gonna cum for hoonie and make a mess of me?” he coos at the way you’re drooling, swiping a thumb up to wipe at the spit leaking out of your mouth before sucking it off, the visual of it only making you whine even more. by now, the bed is stained with your leaking arousal, but neither of you care, especially not when he involuntarily moves his hand to press down on your stomach. his movements only cause you to double over in pleasure, and before either of you know it, you’re shaking through an orgasm, thrashing and wailing as tears stream down your face.

“shit, shit, shit! that’s so hot, oh fuck.” sunghoon moans. “you did so well, angel. did so fucking good for me, you deserve a reward, don’t you? don’t you, my baby?” he rambles, and you whine in overstimulation as his thrusts grow more frantic and misplaced when he begins chasing his own release. “get ready, princess, ‘m gonna fill you up. gonna breed you so, so good and make you take it, yeah? you’ll take it, won’t you? take it so good for me like you always do.” by this point, you’re both trembling and whining out loud, sunghoon pistoning his hips into you as he desperately fixes to cum. he can feel the pressure building up, his balls tightening with each harsh thrust he delivers inside of you, and you’re more than ready to feel him ooze out of you, encouraging words spilling from your lips.

“do it, hoonie! do it, please! make me full and fuck it back into me. i’ll take it so good, so good, please baby, please.” you’re babbling by now, too fucked out to think let alone speak, but your words seem to send sunghoon over the edge because by the time you’re even halfway through your sentence, he’s shooting ropes inside of you, painting your walls white with his seed. there’s so much of it that it almost leaks out despite his cock keeping you plugged up, and you watch his beautiful face contort in pleasure, eyebrows furrowed and eyes clenched shut as he continues filling you up. 

“fuck..” sunghoon sighs out once he’s come down from his high, looking down to grip his cock and pull it out slightly only to push it back in when your cunt gushes with his release, causing him to bite his lip at the sinful sight. you whine when he moves back into you, his large arms caging your smaller frame in as he leans down to pepper salty kisses all over your face. “my good girl.” he whispers, slightly collapsing on top of you to catch his breath. his weight on you feels comforting, almost natural as you wrap your tired arms around his back tightly, pressing your bodies together even more than they already are to feel closer and connected to him.

“i didn’t know you were into that.” sunghoon speaks up after a moment of silence, causing you to open your eyes and look at him. he moves so he’s laying on his side, cock still keeping you plugged up despite the awkward position. “into what?” he deadpans at your reaction, and you giggle. “c’mon, babe. you can’t seriously look like that and expect me to not be feral for you.” you smile, and sunghoon huffs out a laugh, spooning an arm around you as he pulls your body closer to his warm one. “still, who knew my girl was so freaky?” you swat at him, and his chest rumbles with laughter, the sound sending an odd pool of warmth flowing through your chest. you both lay there in silence after that, basking in each other’s presence and enjoying the serenity and afterglow which comes from what was quite literally the best sex of your lives. 

“i love you.” you hear sunghoon mumble suddenly, his voice drowsy as he yawns cutely, a large grin spreading on your face at the simple three words which leave him. you reach out for his hand, lacing your small fingers in it before bringing it up to your mouth and pressing a kiss to the back. “love you more, hoonie.” you sigh out in satisfaction, eyes slipping shut slowly as sleep welcomes your tired senses.

you gradually drift off, thoughts filled with sweet dreams of your boyfriend and his precious laughter. 

. . .

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! <3

[wileys-russo]

‘Okay but we go at my pace’ Alexia. Hike

the best view II a.putellas

"princessa! por favor you will love it." your girlfriend begged as you shook your head again, eyes focused on the monitor in front of you. "i need to study ale, and i can promise you i won't." you chuckled with an assured shake of your head.

"it is just a lookout. we take a little picnic, watch the sunset, muy romántica!" the midfielder continued to try as you only hummed, half listening now as you scribbled down the key points you'd need to use to bulk up your opening argument.

"alexia!" you huffed when she snatched your pen out of your hand, swooping next for your notebook and holding them behind her back making you groan.

"no. we are going, i have decided. you, need a break bebé!" the girl announced still with a firm nod and a poke to your nose, her determination admittedly making the corner of your mouth tug up into a small smile.

"you are not going to give me a moment of peace until i agree, are you?" you sighed knowingly as your girlfriend shook her head with a wide grin.

"well where is this wonderful lookout then amor?"

what your girlfriend had failed to mention, was that that in order to get to this beautiful view she was so excited to show you, there was a hike nearly entirely uphill which had taken you around an hour to even get near to the top.

"are you done with your pouting yet amor?" the girl in question teased from a few feet ahead with an amused grin, one you very much so wanted to slap off her face as you stopped with your arms crossed over your chest sending her the most evil glare you could manage in your exhausted state.

"is that a no?" alexia called as you strode off past her, ramming your shoulder into hers with a huff as you marched ahead. her chuckles behind you only spurring you to put as much distance between you both as possible, mainly so you weren't responsible for a murder in the next five minutes.

but in hindsight that was not your smartest move as your girlfriend instead had to run to catch up with you, and while keeping a cautious eye that you were both still following the trail she missed the gnarled and poorly hidden tree root which caught her ankle and sent her hurdling to the ground.

you heard her cry out in pain and whipped your head around, eyes widening as you hurried back to her and dropped down to the ground. "what happened?" you asked with panic, your girlfriend clutching her ankle with a moan of pain and a string of curses.

"¡me he hecho daño en el tobillo con esa estúpida rama!" alexia hissed as you poked at a particularly tender spot and she smacked your hand away.

"i would not have fallen if you did not run away!" the blonde grunted, trying to roll her ankle around and hissing with a wince as you shot her a look and sat up on your knees.

"my fault? this is my fault?" you scoffed in disbelief. "you dragged me on this stupid hike alexia, and then you weren't watching where you went and you tripped over! see the common factor? you!" you huffed with a scowl, wasting no time standing to your feet.

"¡espera! i think it could be a sprain." alexia immediately backed down as you went to storm off, face quickly softening at the obvious pain on hers.

"vale. lets try to get you up mi amor." you spoke without a trace of your previous frustration as your girlfriend nodded, reaching her hands up which you took in your own.

"on three? one, two-" you pulled her up and the blonde let out a squeal before her weight collapsed completely into you and sent the pair of you tumbling back to the ground with a thump.

"you are a head taller than me. this is not going to be easy!" you sighed as you hurriedly rolled off of her, both of you dusting yourselves off with a wince.

"at least it is all down hill?" your girlfriend attempted to smile charmingly as you rolled your eyes though it wasn't with malice, recognizing that she was trying to make light of the situation.

"bien, but we go at my pace."

"baby..." you inhaled sharply as the girl on your back started to speak once again after you'd banned her from doing so, her running commentary on your lifting form as you were struggling to catch your breath not helping.

"have you thought that-" she started as you exhaled, shifting her on your back with a grunt. "i would urge you to think very very carefully about your next words alexia, or i will drop you on your ass and leave you here for the wolves." you warned through gritted teeth.

"we do not have wolves in barcelona amor. but do you think we could maybe go just a little bit faster? por favor? it is almost dark and i worry we will lose the trail." the girl spoke softly as you stopped for a second, feeling her grip on you tighten as she panicked you might in fact drop her.

"well. whose idea was a sunset hike alexia?" you spoke calmly before you kept walking, your legs absolutely burning but you knew with each step you got closer to the bottom where the car was waiting.

"stop with the alexia, you hurt me more than the tree root." your girlfriend grumbled as you rolled your eyes.

"i will hurt you much worse if I get lost and trapped here in the dark on a mountain with my useless one legged girlfriend who would not let us bring our phones!" you growled, adjusting her again with a wince as your neck pinched with a bolt of pain.

"te lo dije, you needed a break." alexia mumbled and you sagged a little in relief as finally after a few moments of silence you could see the car. "not a word alexia. ¡lo digo en serio!" you warned hearing her open her mouth to make a comment as it quickly snapped shut again.

"you sit, i will bring the car closer." you lowered her down onto a bench by the trail entrance and grabbed the keys from her pocket, though spotting a sign you stopped right in your tracks, squinting as you read it over and over.

"princesa what are you-" the girl hobbled over to you, sagging her body into you a little as she fell silent reading what you had been before, and you felt her tense up beside you.

"alexia. the park closes at six, the gates are locked at six, it is now...six forty two." you spoke terrifyingly calm as you grabbed her wrist and checked her watch, your girlfriend rapidly hopping away from you on one leg with wide eyes as you turned.

"no no now mi amor before you speak i want you to remember that i was-"

"come here putellas i'm gonna snap your other ankle!"

[keehomania]

act a fool — rcm (18+)

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ smut, fluff, slowburn, swearing, fast & furious elements, reckless driving, drunk driving, enemies to lovers, gun use, crashout!rafe, kook/pogue dynamic, eventual smut, minors dni, drop! 2 fast, drop! 2 furious

there was a world on the island that went beyond the surface-level rivalry between the rich and the poor, one that thrived off something the two tribes both loved, made into a competition. a good alternator, lubrication, a solid engine—things that led to the adrenaline rush they couldn't get from their gas station beer or firing their dad’s gun. it was the wind in their hair and the money they knew they’d get from it if they were good enough.

you had moved to outer banks when you first heard the rumors, striking up your fancy as you pondered finally being able to live up to your father’s name. he had made a name for himself when he was your age, on that very island, and you were determined to honor it as much as you could. he was what the islanders considered a pogue, and so were you. you weren’t ashamed of it—it was just the way things were. and you weren’t ashamed of him either.

“that’s good, guys. right there,” you said, your voice carrying over the low hum of conversation and the clang of tools against metal. workers shuffled around the shop, hoisting equipment into place and unrolling cords across the smooth concrete floor. the building was nothing fancy—cinderblock walls painted a clean white and a pair of garage doors wide enough to fit the biggest cars on the island—but it stood out amidst the weathered, sun-bleached shops and homes that made up the cut. that was the point. it needed to catch their eye, needed to show them that even a pogue could make something worth noticing.

the smell of fresh paint mingled with the faint tang of oil and grease, scents that already felt like home. a sleek hydraulic lift sat in one corner, freshly bolted into place, while a row of shiny toolboxes lined the back wall. you’d spent months saving for those, cutting corners wherever you could, taking extra shifts at the docks, and bartering favors to make it happen. now, they gleamed like trophies.

your gaze drifted to the wall above the toolboxes, where you’d hung a photo in a simple black frame. it was an old shot, the colors slightly faded—a younger version of you standing beside your father, both of you grinning ear to ear with a grease-streaked hood open behind you. he’d always said, “it doesn't matter if it's by an inch, or by a mile—winning is winning,” and you’d carried those words like a mantra, applying them not just to the races but to everything else in life. fixing cars, building this shop—it didn’t matter how long it took or how many setbacks you faced. progress was progress.

you smiled faintly as you brushed a bit of dust off the frame, imagining the way his eyes would light up if he saw what you’d built. he’d be proud, you were sure of it.

“hey, boss, where’d you want this?” one of the workers called out, interrupting your thoughts. he was holding a heavy-duty air compressor, shifting his weight under its bulk.

“over there, by the second bay,” you directed, pointing toward the far end of the shop where a workstation was slowly coming together. a workbench stood half-assembled, and you could already envision it cluttered with tools and parts, the heart of the operation.

as they hauled the compressor into place, you moved to another corner where a small office space had been carved out. the desk was secondhand, its surface worn and scratched, but you’d given it a fresh coat of varnish that brought out the grain of the wood. a laptop and a stack of invoices sat neatly on top, alongside a mug that still smelled faintly of the coffee you’d downed that morning.

outside, the rumble of engines drifted through the open garage doors, reminding you why you were doing this. the underground racing scene was cutthroat, a place where the line between rivalries and respect blurred in the haze of burning rubber and roaring engines. you’d need every edge you could get, and this shop was going to be your base, your sanctuary, and your weapon all at once. satisfied with the progress, you stepped back to take it all in. the shop wasn’t finished yet, but it was getting there.

it was hard to snap you out of your thoughts, but an unfamiliar voice had done its job.

“this your shop?”

you cocked your head to the right, meeting the friendly gaze of a man you didn’t recognize. he looked to be in his early twenties, taller than you, with tan skin, sun-bleached blond hair, and arms that suggested he spent more time surfing than doing anything car-related.

“yeah,” you replied coolly, the edge in your tone natural. “getting there.”

he took a step forward, his gaze sweeping over the shop with a mixture of admiration and curiosity. “no kidding,” he said, grinning wide enough to light up the room. “the cut doesn’t have any good mechanics. shitty parts, shitty people. i was getting my dodge fixed the other day, and the guy was totally drunk…”

he kept talking, his words tumbling out one after another, like he couldn’t stop himself. you guessed it was nerves—the way he kept glancing around, his hands fidgeting in his pockets.

“shit, i’m sorry,” he said abruptly, realization dawning on his face. he stopped in his tracks and ran a hand through his hair, looking sheepish. “i’m jj maybank. sorry for rambling.”

you didn’t know anyone on the island yet, and he seemed harmless enough, with a disarming charm that wasn’t exactly unwelcome. you extended your hand. “nice to meet you, (y/n) (l/n).”

his handshake was firm but friendly, his smile genuine as he asked, “you a racer? mechanic?”

“whatever i wanna be,” you replied with a casual shrug.

jj’s grin widened, impressed by your confidence. “i like your enthusiasm.”

he stepped further into the shop, his curiosity getting the better of him as he started to examine everything. he crouched to inspect the hydraulic lift, nodded in approval at the toolboxes, and paused by the engine stand, where a half-dismantled v8 waited for your attention.

“what’re you doing to this one?” he asked, gesturing toward the engine.

“rebuilding it,” you replied without missing a beat. “block had a crack, so i welded it. now i’m just replacing the camshaft and lifters.”

jj blinked, clearly surprised. “you did the welding yourself?”

“yeah. why?”

he let out a low whistle, his admiration obvious. “most people would’ve scrapped it, don’t you know?”

you smirked but didn’t respond, letting him wander through the shop. he asked more questions as he went, quizzing you about everything from the tuning process to the differences between turbochargers and superchargers. you answered each question easily, and his impressed nods became more frequent. when he reached the back wall, he stopped abruptly, his eyes landing on the photo of your father. he stepped closer, studying it with reverence.

“you’ve met him?” he asked, his voice quieter, almost awed. “dude’s like my hero.”

tension settled in the air as you replied, your voice steady but firm, “well, i’d hope so. dude’s like my dad.”

jj turned to you, his mouth slightly open, his expression stunned. “you’re joking.”

you folded your arms, your gaze steady. “dead serious.”

“bullet?” he asked, his voice rising. “the bullet? your dad?”

you nodded, the weight of the moment pressing down on you thanks to the rather spontaneous topic. but it was gonna come up at some point, you knew that. jj looked back at the photo, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe it. “that’s insane. he was a legend. the races, the cars, everything. i mean, he’s the reason i even started racing in the first place.”

“he’s the reason i came here,” you said quietly, your eyes flicking to the photo. “wanted to honor his name. his legacy. that’s why i started this shop.”

jj was silent for a moment, clearly processing everything. his mind was working—though you could tell it didn’t happen often—until something lit up in his eyes. when jj maybank got a good idea, it wasn’t often, but it was always worth considering.

“what if,” he started, pausing to make sure you were listening. “what if you drove with the pogues?”

you blinked, caught off guard. “drove with you?”

“yeah,” he said eagerly, the excitement building in his voice. “we’re always looking for drivers, and with what you know? you’d be perfect. plus, your dad’s reputation alone would make waves.”

you thought about it, letting the weight of the opportunity settle over you. your father’s voice echoed in your mind, reminding you that he’d always been one to take a chance. winning is winning. finally, you nodded. “i’m in.”

jj had spent the next hour perched on the edge of a worn metal table, watching you in silence. his gaze tracked every movement of your hands as you worked on the motorcycle in front of you, the harsh fluorescent lights of the shop casting a sharp glow over the sleek black paint. he was fascinated, though he tried not to make it too obvious.

the motorcycle wasn’t anything special—just a kawasaki with a busted fuel pump you’d been hired to fix. you’d dismantled it with expert precision, the kind that made even jj, someone who lived for speed, pause in appreciation.

“that’s not your ride, is it?” he finally asked, unable to hold back his curiosity.

you clicked your tongue in mild irritation at the interruption, but your answer was sharp and clear. “not a fan of anything with two wheels. only use them if i have to.”

“so what is your ride?”

you glanced up at him, smirking. “in the back.”

jj raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “wanna show me?”

you finished tightening the bolts on the fuel pump, wiped your hands on a nearby rag, and straightened up. “sure. why not?”

he hopped off the table, following you eagerly as you wheeled the motorcycle into place and locked up the shop. when you led him to the garage at the back, he couldn’t hide the anticipation bubbling beneath the surface. his mind raced with possibilities. a supra? a skyline? he had already started placing bets with himself. whatever it was, he could already tell it’d be something worth seeing.

the garage door groaned in protest as you unlocked it and slid it open. the smell of oil and gasoline hit him first, but his attention snapped to the vehicle parked in the center of the space.

“no fucking way,” he exhaled, his voice barely above a whisper as he stepped closer. his hands hovered over the car, reverent, before finally making contact. “camaro?”

you nodded, leaning casually against the garage wall, watching him with amusement. “z/28,” you clarified.

“but the z/28 isn’t supposed to be out yet,” he said, his voice full of disbelief. “not until next year.”

you shrugged, smirking. “rules don’t apply to everyone, maybank. what’d you think?”

jj turned to you, his eyes wide and pleading, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. he didn’t have to say a word for you to understand what he was asking.

“you wanna take her for a spin, don’t you?” you teased.

he nodded furiously, and you couldn’t help but laugh as you tossed him the keys. “don’t wreck it,” you called after him as you slid into the passenger seat. “you’ll owe me an eight-second car if you do.”

he didn’t need any more encouragement. the engine roared to life as he turned the key, the deep, guttural sound filling the small garage. he gripped the wheel with a wide grin, barely containing his excitement. the camaro tore out of the driveway and onto the street, its tires screeching as he pushed the gas pedal to the floor. the car was smooth, powerful, and perfect—a beast on wheels.

“holy shit,” jj breathed, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. “this thing is unreal.”

“told you,” you replied, smirking as you leaned back in your seat, your eyes on the road. “handles like a dream, doesn’t it?”

“more than a dream. gotta be in heaven or some shit.”

he shifted gears with practiced ease, the camaro responding to every command as though it was an extension of himself. the wind whipped through the open windows, and the sound of the engine reverberated in your chest. the drive to the pogues’ shop didn’t take long, though jj seemed to savor every second of it. when he pulled up, the building came into view—a far cry from your setup.

the shop was rough around the edges, just like the pogues themselves. the walls were made of weathered wood, the roof patched in places where time and storms had taken their toll. a rusted sign hung crookedly above the door, reading “outer banks auto parts.” the front yard was littered with old car parts and broken tools, a makeshift graveyard for vehicles long since stripped for parts.

jj parked the camaro carefully, as if it was made of glass, before jumping out and grinning at you. “welcome to paradise,” he said with a laugh, gesturing toward the shop. you stepped out, taking in the scene. it was rural, gritty, and undeniably pogue, but there was something charming about it. something real. something your father would have respected.

yoy let your gaze drift over the pogues’ shop, taking in its rough exterior and cluttered front yard. the place had character, you’d give it that—old wooden walls bleached gray by the sun, mismatched patches on the tin roof, and rusted car parts scattered around like they were part of the decor. it was the polar opposite of your shop, but it felt honest in a way that was hard to ignore.

“this is nice,” you said after a moment. “real earthy.”

jj rolled his eyes, smirking. “it’s okay, you can be mean. i can take it.”

you shrugged, letting a sly grin play on your lips. “alright, it’s pretty shitty. but it’s practical.”

“damn straight it is,” he laughed, walking around to your side of the car and gesturing for you to follow him inside.

the moment you stepped into the shop, you felt like you didn’t belong. the interior was as mismatched as the outside—a haphazard mix of tools, parts, and personal touches that somehow worked. it wasn’t the mess that made you feel out of place, though; it was the dynamic. you could tell right away that these people were a family, and you were the outsider walking into their world.

“guys!” jj called, his voice echoing in the small space. “got someone you need to meet!”

the group turned toward you, their expressions a mix of curiosity and friendliness.

“this is john b,” he started, clapping a hand on the shoulder of a tall guy with messy hair and an easy smile. “our fearless leader, or something like that, kind of glazing him.”

the man grinned and offered you his hand, “nice to meet you.”

“and that’s sarah, his girlfriend,” jj continued, gesturing to the blonde girl beside john b. she had a warm, welcoming smile that immediately put you at ease.

“hey,” she said, stepping forward and giving you a quick hug. “it’s great to meet you.”

“over here, we’ve got pope,” jj said, nodding to a guy who was leaning over a disassembled engine, his hands covered in grease. “he’s the brains of the operation. technical genius.”

pope looked up, wiping his hands on a rag and offering you a firm handshake. “nice to meet you. you a racer or a mechanic?”

“both,” you said with a small smile.

pope raised an eyebrow, impressed. “good to know. we could use someone with your skills around here.”

“and this is cleo, pope’s girlfriend,” jj said, pointing to a girl with short, dark hair and a sharp, confident demeanor.

“finally, another girl around here,” cleo said with a grin. “it’s a relief, i tell you. what’s your pick?”

before you could answer, jj jumped in. “that’s the best part. she’s not just a racer or a mechanic. her dad, dude? her dad was bullet.” the room fell silent.

“that’s not funny, j,” john b said after a moment, running a hand through his hair in disbelief.

“it’s true,” you said, your voice steady. “he’s the reason i’m here. wanted to honor his name and his legacy.” the weight of your words settled over the group, their expressions shifting from shock to admiration.

kiara, who had been quiet until now, smiled and crossed her arms. “well, it’s a good thing you’re here, then. our cars are busted to hell, and we don’t have enough hands to fix them.”

pope nodded in agreement, his brow furrowed in thought. “think you’re up for it?”

jj scoffed, rolling his eyes. “what kind of question is that? did you see the babe she rolled up in?”

sarah exchanged a glance with pope before turning back to you, curiosity lighting up her eyes. “okay, i have to ask. what do you ride?”

you pointed to the camaro parked outside, its bright orange paint gleaming in the sunlight.

“no way,” john b said, walking to the door to get a better look.

“bless your heart,” sarah said, pulling you into another hug.

the guys crowded around your camaro like kids at a candy store, their voices blending into an excited buzz. they ran their hands over the sleek orange paint, marveling at the flawless bodywork and muttering about its specs. you let them admire it, knowing the car deserved every ounce of awe it was getting. instead, you leaned back against the shop wall, folding your arms as the girls joined you.

“that’s some ride you got there,” kiara said, her tone more genuine than envious. her sharp features softened slightly as she looked between you and the camaro.

“thanks,” you replied, watching the boys from the corner of your eye. “seems like it’s already making an impression.”

she laughed lightly. “you came at the perfect time. we’ve got a big one coming up tonight.”

her words piqued your interest immediately. “big one?” you echoed, tilting your head.

sarah and cleo exchanged knowing glances before sarah leaned in slightly. “the kooks,” she said with a mix of irritation and anticipation. “we’re supposed to race them again tonight.”

you furrowed your brow, intrigued by her tone. “tonight?”

“yup,” kiara answered, a flicker of disdain crossing her face. “they’ve got their shiny cars and their squeaky-clean reputations, but they’re dirty as hell when it comes to racing.”

“they can race up front,” cleo added, nodding toward the shop’s door, “since they’ve got the cops under their thumb. us?” she gestured around dramatically. “we’ve got to be more lowkey. hence the shop.”

your gaze wandered to the garage’s cluttered interior and then back to them. “what’s the winning streak like?”

the girls shared a look that told you everything you needed to know before sarah even said, “not great.”

“not great?” you pressed, arching a brow.

kiara let out a frustrated sigh. “the kooks have everything. better cars, better drivers, and they don’t play fair. we’re lucky if we finish a race without something going wrong.”

“or someone crashing,” cleo added pointedly.

sarah’s expression darkened slightly. “especially when rafe’s involved.”

“rafe?” you repeated.

“my brother,” she admitted reluctantly, her cheeks coloring in embarrassment.

“wait, hold on,” you said, straightening up. “your brother races against you?”

she nodded, her lips pressing into a thin line. “some people call him crash. others go with crashout. he’s—let’s just say he’s a dirty racer with a good car.”

the nickname didn’t ring any bells for you, and you shook your head. “never heard of him.”

sarah looked both relieved and mortified at the same time. “well, consider yourself lucky. he’s dangerous, and not just on the track.”

“not to mention a total asshole,” cleo muttered under her breath, earning a small laugh from kiara.

“where’s this race happening?” you asked, leaning forward slightly, intrigued.

kiara stepped in to explain. “figure eight. there’s a parking lot on prairie avenue between a few streets. that’s where everyone meets up. people bring their cars, check each other out, and if they’re feeling bold, they race.”

“and the problem?” you asked, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear it anyway.

“our cars are in the worst shape imaginable,” kiara admitted, her voice heavy with frustration.

you couldn’t help but grin. “well, good thing i’m here.”

the three girls looked at you, surprised by the confidence in your tone. “you’re really gonna help us?” sarah asked, her voice tentative but hopeful.

“yeah,” you said with a small nod, letting your eyes drift back to your camaro. “bring your cars to the shop tomorrow, and i’ll see what i can do.” the relief on their faces was evident, but you weren’t done. you hesitated for just a second, then added with a smirk, “but on one condition.”

cleo raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “what’s that?”

“we race tonight,” you said firmly, your gaze fixed on your camaro as the sun glinted off its polished surface.

the heat was relentless, even as the sun dipped lower, casting an amber glow over the dusty road. you could feel it seeping into every fiber of your clothing, making the denim of your shorts crease uncomfortably against your skin. the humidity clung to you like a second layer, and you tugged at the flap of your tank top, attempting to let even the smallest breath of air cool you down.

your thighs stuck together with every shift of your legs against the seat, and you found yourself leaning forward slightly, hoping the breeze coming through the open window would offer some relief. it didn’t, not really, but you were too focused on the directions pope was giving you to care too much. “left up here, then just keep going straight for a bit,” he said from the backseat, his voice steady and sure.

your hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel as you nodded, your eyes scanning the road ahead. each turn brought you closer to the meeting spot, and the thought of the race waiting for you settled like a heavy weight in your chest. jj sat beside you, his elbow propped against the window as he stared ahead—or at least he was supposed to be staring ahead. instead, his eyes kept darting to you.

he knew he should be focused on what was coming: the race, the cars, the adrenaline of it all. but sitting this close to you, he found himself completely distracted.

the way your tan lines peeked out from under your tank top, hinting at just how much time you’d spent in the sun. the way your shorts seemed to live up to their name, riding up just enough to make his throat dry. and then there was the sheen of sweat on your neck, trickling down to disappear under your shirt, making him lick his lips absentmindedly as he tried to focus on anything but how good you looked. It wasn’t working.

“you sure you’re cool with racing?” sarah’s voice broke through the tension, her words directed at you from the backseat where she leaned comfortably against john b’s chest.

you glanced at her briefly in the rearview mirror before returning your focus to the road. “why wouldn’t i be?” you asked, keeping your tone neutral.

she shrugged, though the concern in her voice remained. “they could put you up against rafe, for all you know. he doesn’t exactly play fair.”

your stomach churned slightly at the thought. you weren’t afraid of racing—not in the slightest. losing didn’t scare you either. but being humiliated by someone like rafe cameron? a dirty racer with too much confidence and too little morality? that was a whole other story. you swallowed the knot forming in your throat and shrugged one shoulder, keeping your gaze firmly ahead as the scenery began to shift. the buildings thinned out, replaced by open stretches of road and the occasional cluster of trees.

“we’ll see,” you said simply, your voice steady despite the unease twisting in your gut. it was all you could manage.

as the city gave way to open roads, you began to notice a shift in the atmosphere. people, crowds. they were scattered along the sides of the road, gathering near the parking lot pope had mentioned. the thrum of engines filled the air, a low hum that vibrated through your chest and sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine. there was no turning back now.

the meeting was unlike anything you had imagined. cars were everywhere, of all makes and models, their glossy exteriors illuminated by the flickering streetlights overhead. the smell of gasoline and burnt rubber mixed with the salty tang of the sea breeze, a stark reminder of the island setting. music blasted from several vehicles, creating a chaotic symphony that drowned out the distant crash of waves.

people milled about in groups, leaning against cars or crouching near open hoods, talking shop or simply passing time. they ranged from sun-kissed surfers in board shorts to mechanics with grease-stained hands, and even the occasional tourist drawn in by the allure of rebellion. this wasn’t just a car meet—it was a full-blown spectacle. you had never seen anything like it on such a small island.

guided by pope's directions, you navigated the camaro into an open space, sliding it neatly beside a sleek motorcycle. the rumble of the engine ceased, leaving an almost deafening silence in its absence. you exhaled deeply, your fingers lingering on the steering wheel before glancing over at jj, who was already grinning like he owned the place.

“let’s go, hotshot,” he teased, nudging your shoulder.

with a roll of your eyes, you pushed the door open, stepping out into the crisp night air. it was a relief against your overheated skin, instantly making the effort of the journey feel worth it. you stretched your legs, groaning softly as the ache from sitting too long set in. leaning against the hood, you extended one leg at a time, trying to shake the feeling back into them.

“my legs are killing me,” you muttered, leaning back as you let your body relax against the car’s warm surface.

jj chuckled, already fishing something out of his pocket. a small flick of a lighter revealed the joint he’d pulled free, and he tucked it between his lips with practiced ease. he took a slow drag, letting the smoke curl around his lips before catching the look on your face.

“what?” he asked, his grin lazy. “cops won’t be here for a while. might as well relax.”

you narrowed your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. when he passed the joint to you, you didn’t hesitate, taking it between your fingers and mimicking his earlier drag. the burn was sharp, and the faint haze that followed was just enough to steady your nerves. as you passed it back, you began to notice the shift in attention around you. whispers spread through the crowd, heads turning toward the camaro with curious gazes. it wasn’t just because of the car—it was because of you.

the pogues showing up at a meet like this wasn’t exactly uncommon, but showing up in a ride like this? that was unheard of.

one gaze, in particular, lingered longer than the others. it belonged to a tall, lean man with blond hair and piercing blue eyes that seemed to glow under the streetlights. his stance was rigid, his jaw clenched, and his expression was a mixture of confusion and unbridled fury. you met his gaze head-on, your lips curling into a subtle smirk as you passed the joint back to jj.

“whose ride is it?” the man’s voice rang out, cutting through the chatter like a knife. conversations died instantly, leaving the air heavy with tension. “whose fucking ride is it?”

john b and jj exchanged a glance, both clearly ready to jump in and defend you, but you weren’t about to let anyone fight this battle for you.

“why?” you called back, your tone laced with casual confidence. “you like her?”

the man’s eyes narrowed, his lips curling into a sneer as he stepped closer. “enough to know no damn pogue should be driving her,” he spat.

he stopped just a foot away, his presence looming. the girl clinging to his arm tightened her grip, her gaze flickering nervously between the two of you.

“that might be an issue,” you mused, feigning worry as you stepped away from the car. your smirk only deepened. “she’s all mine.”

the murmurs around you grew louder, and the man’s scowl deepened. he scanned the camaro like it was something out of place, something that didn’t belong—much like you.

“never seen you around before,” he said finally, his tone low and clipped. “yet here you are, driving a car that shouldn’t even be out yet. what’s your game?”

his question hung in the air like a challenge, his blue eyes boring into yours with an intensity that demanded submission. for a split second, you wavered, but then your gaze caught sarah’s in the crowd. her wide eyes and subtle shake of the head told you all you needed to know. that was him. that was rafe cameron.

“i’m here to race,” you said, your voice steady despite the knot in your stomach. “what about you?”

gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd, the shock obvious. someone challenging rafe—crash—was a rare sight. doing so with such blatant confidence? absolutely unheard of.

rafe’s smirk returned, cruel and condescending as he turned to glance at his friends. “shit, almost feels mean, y’know?” he drawled. the smirk vanished as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a cold, predatory look. “but i guess you’re asking for it, yeah?”

you shrugged, refusing to let him see even a hint of the unease simmering beneath your calm exterior. pulling your wallet from your back pocket, you thumbed through the bills inside before pulling out a neat stack.

“three grand sound okay?”

jj and john b’s heads whipped toward you, their expressions a mix of disbelief and panic. “dude, you sure she’s not a dealer?” john b muttered under his breath, earning a smirk from jj.

rafe’s eyebrows shot up, surprised but clearly pleased by the amount. he reached out to take the cash, his smirk returning. “just kissing your minimum wage money goodbye,” he taunted.

you held his gaze, unflinching as you replied, “we’ll see.”

the moment the crowd began to gather around your camaro, a sense of tension hung in the air, thick and uneasy. every movement you made felt magnified—your every touch, every glance, being scrutinized by dozens of curious eyes. it was as if the crowd held its breath, watching not just the car but the story unfolding before them. some whispered to each other, eyes flicking between you and rafe, while others simply observed, waiting for something to happen.

kiara, standing off to the side, looked at you with concern etched across her face. her usually cool demeanor was cracked with worry. “you don’t have to do this,” she said softly, stepping closer to you, her voice filled with an unmistakable sense of care.

john b, leaning against the door, chimed in, his tone casual but tinged with unease. “yeah, seriously. this could just be a waste of money, and we don’t even know if it’s gonna be worth it.”

you could feel their eyes on you, the quiet insistence that you step back, that maybe this was too much. the worry in their voices almost made you hesitate, but you brushed it off. this wasn’t about money or the risk—it was about proving something. not to them. not to rafe. but to yourself.

without saying another word, you ignored their concerns, focusing on the task ahead. the crowd had thickened around you now, the murmurs of awe growing louder as the sleek camaro stood at the center of attention. it wasn’t just the car; it was you, the girl who’d shown up on the island with something the pogues rarely ever had—something new, something bold. you popped the hood, and the sound of the latch clicking was a signal to the crowd. you stepped forward, your fingers brushing the cold metal of the engine, making subtle adjustments as you moved with practiced ease.

“she’s really good,” sarah said from behind you, her voice laced with admiration.

rafe, standing with his friends and glaring at the scene before him, overheard the comment. he scoffed, trying to mask the flicker of doubt in his eyes. “good? please,” he muttered under his breath. in his mind, this was just another way to put the pogues in their place. if you could make it to the starting line, he figured, you’d be an easy target.

the kooks watched, standing in a small huddle, exchanging glances. but it wasn’t just the kooks you had to worry about. the crowd itself was becoming more animated, murmuring louder with every adjustment you made under the hood. jj, watching closely, exchanged a look with pope, both of them speechless at first. they couldn’t believe it—not in a million years. they thought they knew you, thought they’d seen every side of you. but this?

“you’re kidding, right?” pope said, eyes wide with disbelief. he took a cautious step forward, clearly in awe.

jj exhaled sharply, his eyes locked on what you were doing, his voice low as he tried to comprehend what was unfolding. “that’s good thinking.”

cleo, standing off to the side, seemed confused. she glanced between the three of them, wondering what they were seeing that she wasn’t. “what’s wrong?” she asked, her voice cutting through the noise.

but it wasn’t until you clicked something into place, securing the small device under the hood, that they all saw it. your hands wiped against your thighs, brushing off the excess grease from the engine.

“nitrous oxide,” jj finally spoke, a slow grin creeping onto his face. the pride in his voice was unmistakable, his confidence swelling as he looked at the sleek system you had just attached with ease.

pope's eyes were wide with shock, the realization dawning on him. “nitrous oxide,” he repeated, his tone almost reverent now. “you’ve got nitrous in there.”

jj chuckled, his grin broadening as he leaned back slightly, watching the reactions around him. “told you she was a pro.”

the camaro’s engine thrummed under your fingertips, the steady hum vibrating through your hands as you gripped the wheel tightly. you kept your eyes darting between your friends, who were standing by, watching the tense scene unfold with a mixture of nerves and excitement. each of them looked different, their faces reflecting their worry and disbelief, but they weren’t going to stop you. not now. the three grand, all of it, was in pope’s hands, and you were past the point of no return. then there was rafe.

he sat in the blue skyline beside you, the car that seemed like it was built for something other than street racing—a car that was sleek, dangerous, and made your skin crawl just by being too close to it. the paint job was dark, almost black in the night, with a glossy sheen that made it look like it was alive. the grill at the front, sharp and angular, gave the car an aggressive stance. the rims gleamed under the streetlights, and the custom body work screamed money and power—a car meant for someone who never had to worry about getting caught.

rafe leaned back in the driver’s seat, his smirk irritatingly smug, his eyes gleaming with the confidence of someone who knew he could win. the kooks, standing on the sidelines, weren’t giving him the same level of attention they’d given you. they didn’t see you as a threat, not yet. rafe was everything they believed in—money, power, status.

he rolled down his window and glanced at you, eyes filled with disdain, the condescension oozing from his every movement. “you can still quit, walk away with some dignity,” he called, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear. his smirk only deepened as he waited for your response.

you gripped the wheel harder, ignoring the slight tremor in your hands. “i’d rather walk out with three grand,” you shot back, trying to sound steady, your voice not betraying the nervousness you felt in your gut.

rafe’s smirk faltered for a moment before morphing into something darker, more sinister, like a predator sizing up its prey. he didn’t respond. the air between you thickened, charged with the bitter taste of impending tension. you couldn’t back down now.

the countdown began, and the sound of the crowd intensified, murmurs flowing like a wave through the crowd. you adjusted your grip, eyes locking on the red lights ahead, each second stretching on forever. rafe’s skyline revved beside you, his engine purring in a way that sent chills down your spine, the sound of it cutting through the night like a warning.

three.

two.

one.

the lights flickered green.

without hesitation, you slammed your foot on the pedal, the camaro lurching forward as the engine roared to life. your heart hammered against your chest as the world blurred around you, the rush of adrenaline flooding every inch of your body. you didn’t even think—your focus was singular, your vision narrowed to the street ahead of you.

but rafe wasn’t just racing. no, he had something else in mind. he took the lead, his car shooting ahead with the kind of precision that came from years of practice. you could hear the engine of his skyline growling as he sped ahead, his tires gripping the pavement with ease. his technique was flawless—he was smooth, cutting through the curves with a level of control that made it seem like he had done this a hundred times before. but you weren’t out yet.

with a fierce push, you hit the button for the nitrous, the world around you instantly transforming. the sudden surge of speed jerked your body back into the seat, the force of the gas shooting the camaro forward in an explosive burst. the crowd gasped, eyes widening as the car roared past rafe, cutting through the air like a bullet.

the street blurred past in flashes—streetlights, dark corners, distant buildings, all a streak of color and light as you shot forward. the world felt like it was moving in slow motion while your heartbeat raced to match the speed of the camaro. rafe’s skyline was already fading into the distance, his once confident smirk now replaced by the flash of surprise that barely registered before your car overtook him.

you were ahead. you could feel it, the surge of power under the hood, the tight grip of the steering wheel as you maneuvered through the streets with precision. the sounds of tires screeching, engines roaring, the shouts of the crowd—it all felt distant, like it was happening to someone else. you were in the zone. the finish line was in sight. the end was near. but then you heard it. the sirens.

your heart lurched as you glanced in the rearview mirror, your pulse spiking. flashing lights flickered in the distance—red and blue dancing in the rearview mirror. the cops. you dared a glance to the side, your eyes catching rafe’s face. his smirk was back. of course it was. he knew exactly what was coming. the kooks got away with everything. you knew that. they always did, but you? you were just a pogue. the rules didn’t apply to them.

without thinking, you swerved sharply, the tires screeching as you turned hard onto a side street, your hands working the wheel with a frantic precision. you had to get away. you couldn’t be caught. not now. not when the finish line was so close. you pushed the pedal down harder, your foot practically cemented to the accelerator as you raced down the dark streets. the cops were gaining on you, but you couldn’t afford to let them close.

a sharp turn ahead forced you to slide the car sideways, the tires barely catching the slick pavement as you shot through the intersection, narrowly avoiding a crash. the camaro’s rear end fishtailed, and you gritted your teeth, feeling the car fight against you as you struggled to regain control. but you didn’t stop. you couldn’t.

you could hear the sirens growing fainter as you swerved back onto a familiar street, the one where the race had begun. your friends were still there, waiting, watching in shock as you came into view, just barely ahead of rafe, whose skyline was left trailing behind you. you pulled up, the camaro skidding slightly as you came to a stop. your heart was still pounding, but the adrenaline rush was starting to wear off. you barely had time to catch your breath before you yanked the door open, your legs unsteady as you practically fell out of the car.

the sound of sirens was growing distant now, the cops lost in the maze of streets behind you. but you were here. you made it. and you’d won.

the cheers from the crowd echoed in your ears, but they felt distant, like they belonged to someone else. you didn’t have time to celebrate, not when the unmistakable wail of sirens grew louder behind you, chasing you down like a relentless predator. the victory you’d earned so hard, the three grand, the rush of taking down rafe—it was all slipping away as quickly as it had come.

“get in!” you shouted, your voice sharp as you cut through the noise of the crowd. you didn’t have to say it twice. kiara was already jumping into the backseat, followed quickly by the others. their faces were a mix of exhilaration and concern, realizing that the win wasn’t enough to guarantee freedom. the sirens were closing in, the lights flashing bright and blinding in your rearview mirror.

the rest of the crowd was scattering now, some of them cheering as they saw the drama unfold, while others realized what was happening and fled in fear of the cops. but you weren’t going to stop. not now. not after everything.

with a quick glance at your friends, you slammed your foot back onto the pedal, the camaro roaring to life as you surged forward, the engine growling under the strain. the car seemed to leap forward, the tires screeching against the pavement as you floored it, the gas pedal an extension of your will.

jj’s voice broke through the hum of the engine, his words barely audible over the chaos. “holy shit, holy shit, holy shit,” he repeated, his voice cracking with disbelief as he held onto the door, clutching anything he could find to keep steady. you could feel his body jerking with every sharp turn, the force of the acceleration pulling everyone back into their seats.

none of them had ever felt anything like it. the rush was unlike anything they’d experienced, the car’s power and the nitrous giving them a surge of speed that was intoxicating. the scenery blurred into streaks of light and dark, the world outside narrowing into a tunnel as you pushed the camaro to its limits.

“you won,” kiara said, her voice filled with awe, trying to catch her breath from the sheer force of the ride.

you didn’t respond right away. sweat dripped down your temple, stinging your eyes as you focused on the road ahead, trying to block out the flashing red and blue behind you. it didn’t matter that you’d won. not when rafe had pulled every dirty trick in the book to make sure you wouldn’t get away unscathed.

“he rigged it,” you scoffed through gritted teeth, eyes darting to the rearview mirror again. “called the pigs.”

a heavy silence washed over the group. kiara’s breath hitched in the backseat, and pope’s expression hardened, the weight of the truth sinking in. they all knew what it meant.

“he knew he was gonna lose,” sarah spoke up, her voice tinged with disbelief, though she didn’t sound surprised. she knew how rafe operated. “he called them in advance.”

your fist slammed against the steering wheel, the impact reverberating up your arm as frustration bubbled over. you should’ve seen it. you should’ve known. your victory didn’t count when the police were already on your tail, and the realization stung more than the heat of the engine. you forced yourself to focus, to block out the anger and the regret. you had to get away. the sirens were almost unbearable now, but you couldn’t let them catch you. you needed a plan, a way out.

“where to now, pope?” you asked, your voice sharp but steady, trying to keep the panic from creeping into your tone.

he leaned forward from the backseat, his face illuminated by the dim glow of the dashboard. “where they won’t expect it,” he said, his voice steady despite the tension. “tannyhill.”

the sound of loud music and laughter echoed throughout the expansive, chaotic mansion, but inside the game room, a tense silence hung heavily in the air. rafe’s anger was palpable, his fists slamming onto the pool table with such force that the glassware and ashtrays scattered in all directions. his knuckles turned white as he gripped the edge of the table, his eyes narrowed in pure frustration, as beads of sweat dotted his forehead.

“dude, what the fuck’s your problem?” topper asked, leaning against the doorframe, his brows furrowed in confusion.

rafe wiped his forehead roughly, trying to shake off the burning anger that seemed to radiate from every part of him. “got the cops on her,” kelce reminded him. “she didn't win.” he could see his friend was losing it, and he wasn’t sure what was worse—the fact that rafe had been outsmarted by a pogue, or that he was pissed off enough to go on a rampage.

“nah, man,” rafe growled, his fingers trembling as they pressed against the surface of the pool table. “you don’t get it.” his gaze sharpened, cold and menacing as he continued, his voice low and barely contained. “she's a pogue. shouldn't have had to call the cops in the first place.”

topper and kelce exchanged a concerned look, clearly aware that rafe’s pride had taken a hard hit, but unsure how to deal with it. kelce raised an eyebrow, pushing himself off the chair and giving rafe a sideways glance. “what’d you expect, man?” he asked, his voice carrying a touch of disbelief. “you know who her dad is.”

rafe’s attention snapped to his friend, his eyes darkening as he leaned in. “what’d you say?” his voice was a low growl, every syllable dripping with tension.

kelce didn’t flinch. “her dad, y’know? king of the road. bullet. you know, the one who used to run shit back in the day.” his words were casual, but there was a sense of finality to them. “word travels fast, bro. she came back, opened up her own auto shop, all for her pops.”

rafe froze. his fingers, still trembling, gripped the edge of the pool table, but his attention was now fixed on kelce. “bullet,” he muttered, a cold realization creeping into his voice. his mind began to race, the pieces of the puzzle clicking into place.

topper and kelce exchanged another glance, this time more wary than before, as they watched the slow burn of recognition in rafe’s eyes. kelce leaned forward, lowering his voice slightly as he clarified. “that bullet. not a different guy, the one you’re thinking of. the same bullet that faced ward twenty years ago.”

he paused, letting the weight of that sentence sink in, “the one who won.”

rafe’s jaw tightened, his muscles visibly tensing as the name echoed in his mind. bullet. his father’s old rival. the man who had humiliated rafe's father in a way that still stung to this day. now, the realization that your father—bullet—was the one behind you, fueling your ambition, was like a slap to the face.

rafe muttered something under his breath, a guttural sound that barely left his lips. the anger that had been boiling over now shifted into something darker, more dangerous. his eyes narrowed to slits as he dug a small bag of white powder from his pocket, the crinkling of the bag sounding too loud in the tense silence. he flipped open the bag, spilling the powder onto the pool table, his hands shaking as he used his black card to cut thin, meticulous lines.

“fuck,” he whispered under his breath as he stared at the lines. his hand trembled slightly as he rolled up a dollar bill, preparing to snort the powder. as he did, his mind began to focus, the fog of rage lifting ever so slightly, replaced by something more methodical. “i think we should,” rafe trailed off, his voice low and still shaky, the tremors not just from the drug but from something far more sinister.

he paused, his eyes fixed on his friends, who were both watching him closely. “well, rafe?” topper asked. “tell us, what's your great idea?”

“i think we should kill them all.”

the bass of the music hit you before you even stepped through the door, the pounding rhythm vibrating through your chest. it was the kind of house party that could only be thrown by someone who had too much money and too little to lose. the walls seemed to pulse with the sound of voices and laughter, the air thick with cigarette smoke and the tang of spilled drinks. people were scattered around, some lounging in the living room, others crowding the kitchen, while a few shady figures lurked in the corners, eyes darting around like they were waiting for something to go wrong.

pope, walking beside you, couldn’t help but notice the way your hands shook. it was subtle, but enough for him to notice. he glanced at you, concern written across his face. “on second thought,” he said, his voice quieter than usual, “i don’t think this is a good idea,” but you didn’t stop. it was too late now, the moment you’d stepped foot into the lion’s den. rafe was here, and the race might’ve been over, but this was far from finished.

jj trailed behind you, already making his way to the cooler in the corner, grabbing a beer. you noticed the smile on his face, the way his lips curled as if he was already relishing the thought of watching rafe squirm.

“what’re you smiling for?” you snapped, trying to steady yourself against the wave of tension that was crawling up your spine.

he shrugged, cracking open his beer. “not every day you get to see rafe cameron lose,” he said, his words carrying a hint of truth, but you knew it didn’t change the fact that rafe had played dirty. he’d made sure the victory didn’t feel real.

you barely had time to dwell on that before you heard a familiar voice. “hey!” john b called out. you turned to see him and sarah standing at the top of the stairs, grinning like they were in on some private joke. he had his arm wrapped around sarah's waist, and you couldn’t help but smirk.

“we’re gonna—well, there’s something i gotta show sarah upstairs,” he said, his voice laced with playful mischief.

jj raised his beer and threw a wink their way. “you crazy kids have fun,” he called out, his voice dripping with enthusiasm.

the two of them disappeared up the stairs, leaving you to continue through the crowd. the house was a mix of people—some familiar, some not. there were a few faces you recognized from the high school halls, kids who never seemed to do much more than party and live off their family’s money. but then there were others, people with sharper eyes, a bit too much grit in their demeanor, lurking in the shadows. you could feel their gaze flicker over you, sizing you up like prey.

but you didn’t stop walking. you pushed forward through the mass of people, not caring if you brushed against anyone. not caring about anything except the feeling of knowing exactly where this was heading. and then you saw him.

he was standing near the back, surrounded by his usual crew—kelce, topper, and a couple of other people you didn’t know. rafe’s eyes met yours the moment you stepped into his line of sight, and for a split second, the room seemed to pause. it was as if everything else faded, and you were the only two people in the house.

you didn’t hesitate. without even a thought, you walked up to him, your steps sure, your anger driving every movement. without warning, you grabbed him by the collar, yanking him forward. the world seemed to blur around you as you smacked him across the face, the sharp crack of skin on skin echoing in the room. the crowd around you went silent for a split second, but it didn’t matter.

“you stupid, cheating son of a bitch,” you snarled, voice dripping with rage. “hurt that bad losing to a pogue? you had to cheat?”

rafe didn’t flinch. his expression remained cold, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your skin crawl. his jaw tightened, his lips curling into something cruel. and then, just like that, his hands shot up and wrapped around your neck.

you gasped, struggling against the sudden pressure as his fingers dug into your skin. “don’t you ever call me that again,” he whispered, his voice cold, deadly. you tried to pry his hands away, your vision starting to swim as you fought for air.

“my old man might’ve lost to your dad,” rafe continued, his grip tightening even more. “but i sure as hell won’t lose to a dirty fuckin’ pogue like you.”

and it hit you. the words, the venom in his tone—it wasn’t just about the race. it was about something much deeper. his father had lost to your dad, bullet—the man who had earned his reputation in a way that rafe’s father could never match. the history between the two didnt run deep, but the animosity was thicker than blood.

you struggled harder, but the more you fought, the tighter his grip became, the pressure on your throat making it harder to breathe. your thoughts began to blur, your fingers clawing at his wrists, desperate for freedom.

but then, out of nowhere, you felt rafe being yanked away. jj, who had appeared from the crowd, threw his weight into the pull, dragging rafe off you with force. he stumbled back, hands still twitching as he tried to regain control, but jj wasn’t letting go.

“just you wait, pogue,” rafe called out, his voice hoarse from the force of his own words. “see what happens when you act a fool.”

jj didn’t respond. he didn’t need to. he shoved rafe back, and you staggered away from the chaos, breathing deeply, trying to recover from the shock of it all. as you made your way out of the fray, you glanced back to see rafe sitting back down at the table, his gaze empty. his body trembled slightly, his fingers still shaking. it wasn’t just about the race. it wasn’t even about you. his father didnt think he was good enough, so he wanted to be better.

the next morning, the smell of oil, metal, and grease filled the air as you worked in your shop. sunlight streamed through the garage’s open doors, illuminating the chaos within. it was shaping up to be a long day. your friends had brought their cars in, and calling them “in bad shape” was an understatement. each vehicle had its own set of unique, stubborn problems, from mechanical issues to cosmetic disasters. and on top of all that, jj’s dirt bike sat propped on its stand in the corner, waiting for a fresh coat of paint and some mechanical tlc.

you were perched over jj’s dirt bike, one leg swung lazily over the seat as you carefully sprayed on a bold blue coat of paint. the color shimmered slightly under the sunlight, and you allowed yourself a small moment of satisfaction. jj had insisted on something flashy, claiming he wanted it to “blind anyone he left in the dust.”

nearby, sarah’s car sat on a lift, its underside exposed. it was a sleek white coupe, but the suspension was shot to hell, the front bumper barely hanging on, and there was a mystery rattle that drove her crazy.

“you could do a lot more with it if you had a v8,” came a voice, smooth and cutting through the sound of your wrench.

your heart jumped. tense, you turned slowly, eyes narrowing as they locked onto rafe cameron standing at the edge of your garage. he was dressed in a crisp button-up, shorts, and boat shoes, a golf club casually slung over his shoulder like it belonged there.

“typical boys,” you quipped, recovering quickly, a smirk forming on your lips as you straightened. “always worried about whose engines bigger.”

rafe’s mouth twitched into a wry smile, though his eyes still held that unnerving sharpness. “what’re you doing here?” you added, your tone turning sharp. “came to trash my stash?”

he scoffed, taking a slow step forward, the metal head of the golf club clicking lightly against the cement floor as he walked. “got a garage more expensive than these rides,” he replied coolly, eyes scanning the cars around you. you rolled your eyes and turned back to sarah’s car, wiping your hands on a rag.

“the rumors are true,” rafe continued, a hint of amusement in his tone. “cut’s got its first shop run by a woman.”

you scoffed, glancing over your shoulder at him. “and if you open one, it’ll get its second.”

his smile faltered for a split second, irritation flashing across his face, but it didn’t stick. instead, he stood there, watching you with an expression that was equal parts frustration and intrigue.

“listen, pogue,” he said, his voice dropping slightly, “you can call me out for calling the cops, but i know about your nos tanks. doesn’t seem fair to me.”

you set your wrench down with a loud clang, turning to face him fully. “any real racer knows you can use as many tanks as you want,” you said, stepping closer to him, your tone unwavering. “if you can handle it. can you handle it, rafe?”

for a moment, his annoyance shifted into something else, something almost predatory. his gaze flicked over you, and he tilted his head slightly, as though trying to figure you out. how could a pogue talk to him like this—fearlessly, no less—after what had happened last night?

“i can handle a lot more than you think,” he responded, a sly grin creeping onto his face as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a fat stack of bills. “how about you set it up for me? i’ll make it worth your while.” with a sharp motion, you pushed his hand down, forcing him to lower the money.

“bring your ride in and put your money away,” you said, your tone low but steady. “you’ll pay me back with a race. a fair one.”

rafe’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, his smirk growing wider. “sounds fair to me,” he countered, his voice dripping with challenge. “if you can handle it. can you handle it, (y/n)?”

you tilted your head slightly, mirroring his grin as you leaned closer. “i can handle a lot more than you think.”

the roar of the skyline’s engine filled your shop as rafe pulled back in, the bright blue paint glinting under the fluorescent lights. the car was immaculate, sleek and modern, with a body that screamed speed and power. you couldn’t help but appreciate it. rafe stepped out, leaning casually against the car, his gaze drifting to the corners of your shop.

“nice place you got here,” he said, his tone almost dismissive, but his eyes were scanning every detail.

“nice car,” you shot back, wiping your hands on a rag as you approached. r34, right? not bad, even for you.”

rafe’s smirk deepened, pleased you knew your stuff. “figured i’d bring her to the best,” he said, his voice dripping with irony.

you didn’t rise to the bait, gesturing for him to follow you. you led him to the closeted section of your shop, a hidden alcove where you kept your stash of tanks. the area was organized chaos—rows of shiny tanks stacked neatly, tools hanging on the walls, and a sturdy metal workbench in the center.

“how’s this shit work?” rafe asked, leaning against the table as he watched you pull a tank from the shelf.

you set it on the bench, grabbed a wrench, and began working. “it’s simple, really,” you said, your tone matter-of-fact. “nitrous oxide gets injected into the engine. gets the oxygen levels up during combustion. more fuel burns, so that means more power. it’s a burst, though—not something you use all the time.”

rafe nodded, his expression unreadable as he watched you work. you moved with precision, attaching the nos lines to the skyline’s engine, ensuring every bolt and connection was secure.

“got a closet full of this shit,” rafe remarked, glancing around.

you shrugged, not looking up from your work. “guess i like it fast.”

he raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. “how do i know you’re not screwing me over?”

you straightened, wiping your hands on your shorts with a smirk. “take her for a spin,” you said simply.

he scoffed, crossing his arms as his gaze flicked between you and the car. “yeah, right. and if it blows me up?”

you rolled your eyes, already fed up. without a word, you opened the passenger door and climbed in, settling into the seat next to him. rafe hesitated for a moment, unsure if you were planning something, but eventually slid behind the wheel. you were immediately impressed by the interior—sleek, modern, and meticulously maintained.

he pulled out of the shop and onto the main road, driving casually until you reached a long, empty street.

“how’s it work?” he asked, his voice breaking the silence.

you pointed at a button near the gearshift. “press it,” you said, your tone almost mocking. “unless you’re scared.”

rafe’s gaze snapped to yours, his jaw tightening at the challenge in your voice. he wasn’t going to back down. slowly, deliberately, he pressed the button.

the effect was immediate. the skyline surged forward with a ferocity that pressed you both back into your seats. the engine roared, the world outside becoming a blur as the car rocketed down the street. rafe’s hands gripped the wheel tightly, his eyes flickering between you and the road.

“keep your eyes on the road, playboy,” you said, your voice steady despite the speed.

rafe smirked, his knuckles tightening on the wheel. “why? think we’re gonna crash?”

you didn’t blink, your gaze locked on him. “don’t know,” you said calmly. “haven’t decided yet.”

taking that as a challenge, rafe shifted his focus back to you, his blue eyes burning with determination. he kept the car hurtling forward, the engine screaming, his gaze never leaving yours. the tension in the air was evident, every second stretching into eternity as you stared each other down. the red light came into view, and rafe hit the brakes hard. the car skidded to a stop, tires screeching, the force jolting you both forward slightly. but even then, his eyes stayed locked on yours.

“i could’ve killed you,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper.

you held his gaze, unwavering. “you wouldn’t.”

the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon as you parked the last of your friends’ cars at their usual spot. each vehicle gleamed, repaired and polished. you stepped out, expecting gratitude and maybe a few jokes, but instead, you were met with silence. they were all there, standing stiffly in front of their shop, their expressions grim. you could feel the tension radiating off them as you walked closer, the quiet pressing against your chest.

“guys?” you called out, slipping from the driver’s seat and approaching cautiously. “what’s wrong?”

no one answered. the explanation came into view soon enough.

their shop was a disaster. broken glass littered the ground, the walls were defaced with cruel graffiti, and the door hung off its hinges. the words scrawled across the front made your stomach churn: “pogue trash,” “deadbeats,” “just like your daddy.” your breath caught in your throat as you took in the scene, each insult like a punch to the gut.

“what the fuck happened?” you asked, your voice tight with anger and disbelief.

jj ripped his cap off and hurled it to the ground, his face flushed with fury. “those fuckin’ kooks, man,” he spat at no one in particular. “those fuckin’ kooks.”

you stepped closer, your boots crunching against the broken glass as you stared at the hateful words. the damage was extensive—tools missing, shelves overturned, and a pile of broken parts in the corner.

“they didn’t even try to hide it,” you muttered, your voice shaking.

pope sighed heavily beside you. “don’t take it personal,” he said, though his tone suggested he didn’t quite believe his own words. “at least they didn’t touch the cars.”

kie nodded, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. “yeah, thanks for fixing them for us,” she said softly, though her gratitude was muted by the weight of what had happened.

but their words barely registered as you stepped closer to the shop, your hands curling into fists. “who was it?” you asked, though you feared you already knew the answer.

jj scoffed bitterly. “who do you think?” he shot back, his voice dripping with venom. “rafe and his buddies.”

your stomach sank. you’d gone out of your way to help him, to level the playing field, and this was how he repaid you? it wasn’t even about the shop—it was about principle. he had crossed a line.

without another word, you grabbed a broom and started cleaning. the others joined in silently, the air thick with anger and frustration as you worked together to sweep up the glass, scrub off the graffiti, and salvage what you could. every stroke of the brush, every shove of the mop, only fueled your resolve.

by the time you finished, night had fallen, and exhaustion hung heavy in the air. you handed the broom to jj, your jaw set as you turned and made your way back to your car.

“where’re you going?” sarah called after you, her voice laced with concern.

you didn’t answer, you didn’t need to. the sound of the car door slamming shut was your only response as you started the engine and drove off into the night, your mind racing with one thought: rafe cameron was going to answer for this.

the engine hummed beneath you as you sped toward figure eight, the north side of the island, where the kooks played their games and looked down on people like you. your fingers drummed against the steering wheel, a steady rhythm that betrayed the pounding of your heart. the streets were quiet, eerily so, but you scanned every shadowed alley and empty corner, searching for him. or, more specifically, for his stupid skyline.

your knuckles whitened against the steering wheel, tension coiled in your chest. rafe cameron. of course, it had to be him. the golden boy with a mean streak a mile wide, hiding behind wealth and privilege while wreaking havoc for fun.

as you turned onto another desolate road, your eyes caught the glow of a parking lot up ahead. slowing down, you squinted, scanning the lot as you passed by—and there it was. a skyline, much like his, sat tucked in the farthest corner, its polished body gleaming under the fluorescent lights.

“there you are,” you muttered, a sharp edge in your voice as you pulled into the lot.

you drove straight toward the car, parking directly across from it, headlights glaring like a spotlight. the engine idled as you stepped out, leaving the car on as a statement. across the lot, the driver’s side door of the skyline opened, and out stepped rafe. he didn’t look pleased.

“what the fuck are you doing here?” he snapped, his voice dripping with disdain.

you didn’t answer. Instead, you marched toward him, shoving him hard enough to send him stumbling back a step. “have a busy night, kook?” you spat. “steal some parts? trash some shops?”

rafe scoffed, recovering his footing as he stepped closer. his smirk was infuriating, his air of nonchalance calculated. “you’re out of your mind,” he muttered, but when your hand shot up to slap him, he caught it mid-air, his fingers wrapping around your wrist in a grip that made you wince.

“what’re you gonna do? arrest me?” he taunted, his voice low and biting. his grip tightened, making you clench your teeth. “you said you liked it fast, but you’re still not up to speed—this is the way things are here, pogue.”

he let go of your wrist, and you shoved him again, this time harder. his reaction was swift, his hands grabbing the front of your top and yanking you forward, slamming you against the hood of his car.

“let go of me, you son of a bitch,” you growled, struggling against him. but then your gaze locked onto his, and your tone turned razor-sharp. “what’re you gonna do next, rafe? choke me again? hit me? gonna hit me, rafe?”

his jaw clenched, his expression darkening as he stared down at you. he knew you were provoking him, pushing him toward the edge—but the hit never came.

instead, it came in the form of cold metal pressed against your temple, sleek and unyielding. your breath hitched as you realized what it was. a pistol, pulled from his waistband, now trembling slightly in his hand.

“come on, rafe,” you murmured, your voice soft but deadly. “do it, pull the trigger. let me see you do it.”

his hand shook, his grip faltering as his body trembled with barely-contained rage. the air between you was electric, charged with tension and unspoken words. finally, with a roar that made you flinch, he pulled back, stepping away as he spun around and shouted into the night, his voice raw and guttural.

“don’t push me,” he hissed, turning back toward you, his expression twisted with anger and something else—something almost like regret. “you know i’ll hurt you.”

you stayed frozen, stunned as he climbed back into his car and slammed the door. the tension still buzzed in the air as you staggered back to your own car, fury boiling in your veins. you didn’t look at him as you started your engine, but you knew he was watching.

as you pulled your car into reverse, you didn’t stop. you turned, aiming your headlights straight at him, and accelerated, tires screeching as you sped toward him. rafe’s eyes widened, but only for a second before his expression hardened, glazed with anger. you could see him mutter something to himself, though you couldn’t hear it over the roar of the engines.

“come on,” he whispered, his voice almost a growl. “see if you have the fucking balls.”

neither of you slowed. the distance between you closed rapidly, your gazes locked, unflinching, as your cars raced toward each other like bullets. it was a game of chicken, and you weren’t about to lose.

at the last second, rafe was the one to swerve, tires screeching as his skyline drifted to the side, narrowly avoiding impact. your own car skidded in the opposite direction, drifting towards the opposite sode, and for a moment, the lot was silent again, save for the low rumble of idling engines.

“i told you you wouldn’t,” you whispered under your breath, gripping the steering wheel so tightly your knuckles ached.

the gym was barely lit, the overhead lights casting long shadows across the space as rafe paced like a caged animal. the heavy bag swung idly, a testament to the beating he had given it earlier, but his fists weren’t satisfied. his knuckles were raw, bloodied, and split, but the rage in his chest burned hotter, untamed.

kelce leaned against the wall, trying to appear nonchalant, but the tension in his posture gave him away. topper sat on one of the benches, a water bottle in hand, his expression hovering between amusement and concern.

“she got you good, man,” kelce said, trying to lighten the mood. “never seen a girl get you this mad.”

rafe didn’t respond. his chest heaved as he muttered to himself, words too quiet for anyone else to catch. his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his entire body taut with frustration.

“hard to find a girl who knows how to drive,” topper chimed in, a smug grin on his face as he leaned back. “but a hot one? needle in a haystack.”

it was the wrong thing to say. rafe’s roar echoed through the gym, a guttural sound that tore through his throat, making both kelce and topper jump. before they could react, rafe’s fist slammed into the wall with a sickening crack, leaving a jagged dent in the drywall. his knuckles followed suit, blood smearing across the pale surface as he pulled back.

“dude, you need to calm down,” kelce said, stepping forward cautiously, his hands half-raised in a placating gesture. he exchanged a nervous glance with topper, who was now sitting upright, the humor gone from his expression.

but rafe wasn’t hearing any of it. his breathing was erratic, his gaze wild as he turned away, pacing again. he ran a trembling hand through his hair, tugging at the strands as if the pain might distract him from whatever was boiling inside. what was it with her? how could someone so infuriating, so goddamn pogue, crawl under his skin like this? she was everything he despised—defiant, reckless, unpredictable—and yet she was all he could think about. the way she stared him down, the way she challenged him, dared him even, as if she knew just how far to push before he broke.

was it the hatred that fueled him? the way she made his blood rush, his heart race? lr was it something else, something he couldn’t put into words but that kept him coming back, like a moth to a flame?

“i hate her,” he finally hissed, his voice low but venomous. his chest rose and fell rapidly as he turned to face his friends, his knuckles still dripping red. “i fuckin’ hate her.”

the bonfire blazed brightly against the inky night sky, crackling and sending sparks into the air as the party raged around it. the salty tang of the ocean mixed with the scent of burning wood and the faint whiff of spilled beer. laughter, shouting, and the deep bass of a playlist made the beach feel alive, every corner buzzing with energy. people crowded around coolers, passing drinks, leaning against cars, or dancing to the music. shadows flitted across the sand as groups clustered closer to the fire, the light flickering across their faces.

you pulled into the makeshift parking area, your headlights briefly illuminating the crowd before you cut the engine. the hum of the party immediately filled the car, but you stayed seated, your hands still on the steering wheel. the adrenaline from earlier hadn’t worn off, but it had simmered into something heavier, something confusing.

how could someone be so insufferable? how could he manage to boil your blood and make your pulse race all at once? you hated his entitlement, his smirk, his stupid blue eyes that always seemed to hold a challenge. he wasn’t worth the energy, and yet here you were, your grip tightening on the steering wheel as if trying to ground yourself.

“you okay?” jj’s voice broke through your thoughts.

you turned your head slightly to look at him, his blue eyes filled with concern. he noticed the slight tremble in your hands but didn’t push.

“yeah,” you said quietly, forcing a small smile. “yeah, it’s a party. i’m great.”

he didn’t believe you, not entirely, but he nodded anyway. jj knew when to let things go.

stepping out of the car, you were immediately hit with the cacophony of the party. the bonfire cast an orange glow that danced across the sand, illuminating faces both familiar and unfamiliar. the crowd was thick, packed with kooks and pogues alike, though the latter were clearly outnumbered. as you walked toward the fire, someone approached you, his voice loud and filled with enthusiasm.

“camaro!” he shouted, clapping a hand on your shoulder. “too cold for cameron.”

you blinked at him, startled, unsure how to respond. the race had clearly made an impression, and word had spread faster than you could’ve imagined. it was an uncomfortable kind of notoriety, but jj took it in stride.

“the people love you,” he said with a smirk, grabbing two beers from a nearby cooler and handing one to you. “give the people what they want.”

you rolled your eyes, but the truth was clear. everyone was impressed—almost everyone.

rafe was seated by the fire, his legs stretched out lazily, one arm draped over the shoulders of a girl who was chattering away. her friend sat nearby, giggling at whatever she was saying, but rafe didn’t seem to be paying attention. he didn’t even know her name, not that it mattered. just that he was lonely, and she tasted like tequila. his gaze was locked on you. the tension from earlier wasn’t visible in his expression, but there was something in his eyes. his beer bottle hovered near his lips as he stared, his brow furrowing slightly as he took in the sight of you.

you weren’t wearing your usual gear—no grease-stained shorts, no leather boots. Instead, you’d chosen a white dress, short and flowy, paired with white heels. it was simple, but it transformed you, softening your edges in a way rafe hadn’t expected. he should’ve looked away, should’ve focused on the girl clinging to his arm or the drink in his hand. but he couldn’t.

you noticed his stare and felt the weight of it, your stomach twisting uncomfortably. quickly, you lifted the beer jj had given you and took a long swig.

“thirsty, aren’t you?” he teased, raising an eyebrow.

you exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “sober. way too sober.”

the night dragged on, the bonfire crackling loudly as laughter and chatter mixed with the low thrum of music. jj handed you another beer before motioning toward the campfire. “come on, let’s sit,” he said, his tone light, though his eyes lingered on you, searching for any signs of lingering tension.

you sighed but followed, settling into the sand next to him. the heat from the fire washed over you, much unlike the cool breeze that carried the smell of saltwater. you leaned back slightly, the exhaustion of the day weighing heavily on your shoulders. every muscle ached, and all you wanted was the sweet escape of sleep. but sleep wasn’t an option, not here, not now.

you sipped your beer slowly, savoring each drop as it slid down your throat. across the flames, rafe sat, his arm lazily draped over the girl he had come with. he wasn’t looking at her, not really, but when she leaned in to kiss him, his lips met hers in a display that felt more performative than passionate. your gaze dropped instantly, your stomach churning. you prayed no one had noticed your reaction, but the heat crawling up your neck betrayed you.

“camaro,” topper’s voice cut through the din, dragging your attention back to the group.

you turned your head slightly, your body tense as you met his gaze.

“word on the street says you’re racing our man again,” he said, his tone laced with amusement.

jj glanced at you, his confusion evident. “again?” he asked, but you only shrugged, feigning nonchalance as you popped the cap off another beer.

“street doesn’t lie,” you said simply, taking a swig.

kelce and topper exchanged impressed looks, nodding as if to say they approved. but kelce’s smirk widened as you continued, “even when its racers are dirty cheats.”

the air shifted. rafe’s head snapped toward you, his eyebrows raised in challenge. the firelight reflected in his narrowed eyes, adding to the intensity of his glare.

“called street smarts for a reason, isn’t it?” he said, his smirk sharp.

you rolled your eyes, leaning back against the driftwood bench. “let’s see how smart you are without the cops,” you said, your voice steady, though your pulse hammered in your chest.

rafe opened his mouth, clearly ready to retort, but something stopped him. he clenched his jaw, leaning back in his seat with a forced calmness. his breath came in shallow, frustrated huffs as the firelight danced across his features. the tension in the group was uncomfortable, but the silence didn’t last long. you drained your beer, allowing the alcohol to dull the edge of your exhaustion and frustration. the conversations around you resumed, and for the first time all night, you felt yourself beginning to relax.

rafe, however, wasn’t relaxing. his eyes flicked to you every chance they got, watching as your posture softened, as your lips curled into a small smile at something jj said. he watched as jj leaned in, whispering something into your ear, his hand brushing your shoulder. whatever he said made you laugh, a soft, genuine sound that tugged at something deep within rafe. you made him angry. everything you did made him angry.

jj tipped his beer bottle toward you. “we staying here tonight?” he asked, his tone casual.

“yeah,” you replied, pushing yourself to your feet. “let’s just hope they won’t trash this, too.”

your words carried a pointed weight, and you capped them off with a glance in rafe’s direction, your gaze cool and challenging. it was subtle, but he caught it. he always caught it. you disappeared into the tent jj had set up, leaving the campfire and its occupants behind. rafe’s knuckles whitened as he gripped his beer. everything about you, everything you did, made him mad. and he still couldn’t look away.

the tent was suffocating. you’d been lying there for hours, trying desperately to sleep, but it was impossible. exhaustion clung to your body like a second skin, but no matter how much you tossed, turned, or closed your eyes, rest wouldn’t come. your mind was a storm, thoughts swirling violently around one person.

you hated him—every inch of him. the way he carried himself with arrogant confidence, the way his words dripped with disdain, the way he always seemed to have the upper hand. conceited, rude, filthy rich, and far too smug about it. but worst of all? his mouth. it wasn’t just the venom he spat or the smirks that played on his lips; it was the fact, when it came down to putting his money where his mouth was, his mouth went everywhere. you hated it, hated him.

you sighed heavily, leaning back against the soft wall of the tent. your head rested against your pillow, eyes staring blankly at the fabric above you. the muted sounds of the bonfire party carried through the night, distant but persistent. you closed your eyes, exhaling sharply through your nose, but peace still eluded you.

your body stiffened at the sound, the slow, deliberate movement of the tent’s zipper trailing sending a chill down your spine. the tent flaps parted, and he stepped inside. you didn’t react.

“come to kill me?” you asked, your voice flat, devoid of any interest.

he didn’t answer. instead, he moved toward you, his steps slow, purposeful. there was something unnerving about his silence, and it made your stomach twist. your head snapped toward him, your breath catching in your throat.

“rafe,” you said, panic creeping into your voice as you scrambled to your feet. “what are you doing?”

he didn’t respond. you glanced around the small space, frantically searching for something, anything, to defend yourself with, but there was nothing. he noticed.

“defenseless,” he murmured, his voice low, almost mocking.

your heart raced, pounding so loudly in your ears that you thought he could hear it. he stopped in front of you, his broad frame blocking the exit as he loomed over you.

“what do you think is gonna happen next?” he asked, his tone dark and taunting.

you swallowed hard, your palms clammy. “i know this story,” you said, forcing your voice to remain steady. “this is the part where we hurt each other, right? where we give in and see who’ll really win.”

amusement flickered across his face, but it was fleeting, his expression hardening as his gaze pinned you in place.

“that’s an interesting way to end things,” he murmured. “but i like my ending better.”

before you could respond, he closed the distance between you, his lips crashing against yours. the kiss was searing, all teeth and desperation, a clash of emotions too raw to name. hatred morphed into something else entirely as his hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer. your body reacted on instinct, your hands tangling in his hair as you kissed him back, just as hard, just as rough.

even as your lips moved against his, the fight never stopped. tongues battled for dominance, breaths mingling in the heated space between you. it wasn’t gentle, wasn’t tender—it was a war, and neither of you was willing to surrender, but this time? this time, you would lose.

without breaking the kiss, rafe sank to the ground, pulling you into his lap. his hands roamed, gripping your hips, sliding up your back, under your dress, as though he couldn’t get enough of you. he lay back, bringing you down with him, his body pressing into yours as his lips trailed away from your mouth. his kisses moved to your jaw, then down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin.

“i hate you,” you whispered, the words escaping through a breathless moan.

he groaned against your neck, his breath hot and ragged, “i hate you, too.”

there was something about playing with fire that everybody loved, ranging from the kids that would play with their mothers’ stoves despite warned not to, and the adults who lit their cigarettes despite knowing that it could kill them. despite being so different, every one of those people had one thing in common—they knew a thing or two about getting burned. the closer he was to you, the more you thought about it—playing with fire. you knew it’d hurt you at some point, but pain was fleeting, temporary. the warmth was what counted.

“show me,” you gasped as your fingernails clawed at the back of his neck. “show me how much you hate me.”

he took it as a challenge, he took everything you said as a challenge. just like that, his lips were on yours, his nose grazing your cheek. he tasted like beer—bitter, with a hint of something that you knew would keep you coming back for more. his lips were chapped from the alcohol, but still found a way to melt against yours. his fingers were long, rough as they crept up the back of your neck, sending goosebumps down your body before tangling themselves into your hair, pulling softly.

“look at me,” he whispered, and you’d never heard him so quiet. he pulled your hair downward, forcing your eyes to meet his.

your eyes were hazy, clouded with the same sensation that coursed through his veins. he couldnt have missed it, and he didn’t, a low hum vibrating through his chest as he took in the way you looked at him, unsure if he’d ever get to see it again. he kissed you again, his hips grinding down against yours, eliciting the softest whimper from you as his hard length pressed into the soft flesh of your thigh, separated by the fabric of his shorts.

“feel that?” he whispered, continuously rolling his hips against your thigh, pressing into you, making sure you could feel it—all of it. “that’s how mad you make me.”

you let out a sound, something between a laugh and a moan, biting your lip at the feeling of him like that—so hard, so deluded with lust. “who knew i had such an effect on you?”

rafe’s eyes darkened at your words, a wicked smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. his grip on your hair tightened slightly, and his nose brushed against yours as his lips hovered just inches away.

“you’ve got no idea what you do to me,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, sending a shiver racing down your spine.

you bit your lip, your body betraying you as you arched against him. his lips were on yours again, and this time it was hungrier, rougher, filled with all the pent-up frustration and hatred that had festered between you for so long. he kissed you like he was trying to devour you, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip before his tongue slipped inside, claiming your mouth as his.

his hands roamed your body, one sliding down to grip your waist while the other stayed tangled in your hair. he pulled you impossibly closer, his hips grinding harder against yours. the friction was intoxicating, drawing a soft, breathless moan from your lips that only spurred him on.

“say it again,” he demanded, his lips moving against your neck now, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin.

“say what?” you breathed, your head tilting back as his tongue traced the column of your throat.

“tell me how much you hate me,” he growled, his fingers digging into your waist as he pressed his hips firmly against you.

you let out a shaky laugh, your hands clutching at his shoulders. “i hate you,” you whispered, though your voice lacked conviction, trembling with desire.

he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his blue eyes blazing with intensity. “liar,” he murmured, his lips curling into a smirk before capturing yours again.

you fought for dominance, your nails scraping down his back through the thin fabric of his shirt. he hissed at the sensation, his hips bucking against you in response.

“careful,” he warned, his voice husky as he nipped at your jaw. “you’re playing with fire.”

“maybe i like the burn,” you shot back, your voice dripping with defiance.

he chuckled darkly, his breath hot against your skin as his lips trailed down your collarbone. “you don’t know what you’re asking for,” he said, his tone both teasing and threatening.

“then show me,” you challenged, your hands gripping the hem of his shirt and tugging it upward.

he pulled it off in one swift motion, tossing it aside before leaning back over you, his bare chest pressing against yours. his hands roamed freely now, exploring every inch of your body as his mouth claimed yours once again.

“you make me crazy,” he muttered against your lips, his voice filled with raw, unfiltered need. “i can’t think straight when i’m around you.”

“good,” you whispered, your fingers threading through his hair and tugging hard enough to draw a low groan from his throat. “i don’t want you thinking straight.”

you ran your fingers down his chest, unable to stop yourself from admiring just how strong he was, how broad he was. he was so lean, tan, with broad shoulders and big arms that he kept hidden. you bit your lip, keeping yourself from being too brazen, too nice—saying something you knew youd come to regret when the time came.

his touch was gentle, feather-like as his fingers slid your dress down, his eyes never leaving your frame as he did so. he tugged it down your chest, down your hips, until it was completely off. he groaned at the sight—the sight going straight to his shorts. you were beautiful, though he’d never say it out loud. with your white bra, your white panties—you looked like an angel.

“fuck,” was all that he managed to utter, staring down at you the way a predator would eye its prey.

“yeah,” you murmured, propping yourself against your elbows. he watched the way your plush thighs rubbed against one another, legs shuffling softly as you brought a foot up to his chest, sliding it down his chest until it was right where he wanted it. he took your foot in his hand, pressing it into the center of his clothed cock, making sure you could feel just how bad he had it for you.

his eyes stayed on you as you reached back, unclasping your bra and letting it fall to the floor. your tits fell out, sliding out of the comfort of their fabric as rafe tensed up. he leaned forward, bringing an arm around your back as his lips wrapped around one of your hardening buds. cradling his head against your tits, you threw your head back and mewled at his ministrations. he lavished equal attention on each breast, his darkening eyes darting up to take in your face every so often.

you bit back a whimper as your hands travelled up his neck, scratching where you could, leaving red lines he knew would be hard to explain later on. his lips and tongue worked together, travelling down your stomach, past your navel, his hot breath littering goosebumps across your flesh. he grunted, he could practically smell your desire, just inches away from him.

his fingers hooked themselves under the sides of your panties as he looked up at you. you had to bite your tongue, because he's never looked better. his eyes were glossy, drool dripping from his bottom lip as he stared at you from between your legs. and then, he pulled. he pulled until your panties were off, discarded somewhere, anywhere.

rafe only took a second to get a look at you, but it felt like eternity. he couldn’t stop himself from smiling as his fingers trailed down your sopping cunt, over the surface, but never where you needed him to. “rafe,” you sighed with an impatient frown.

“i know, baby,” he murmured, “i know.”

you didn’t get the chance to respond as one of his long, slender fingers slithered into you, curling just right where you needed it, pumping in and out at a slow pace. the cool metal of the ring on his finger grazed your clit each time. you gasped, your hand gripping his shoulder, nails pressing crescent moons into his taught skin. he repeated the motion, suppressing a groan before adding a second finger, much to your delight. his knuckles woulded against you as his fingers bottomed out, the digits sliding out completely, before diving all the way in again. his thumb hovered over your clit, but never made the small reach to press it the way you wanted.

you cried softly, hips moving against his fingers in the same up and down motion as earlier, “rafe, come on.”

“not yet,” he whispered, “not until you surrender, until you beg.”

you shook your head no, head tilting back with your eyes closed.

“bet you beg so pretty,” he murmured as his thumb flicked ever so lightly over your clit, “tell me what you want.”

you had to weigh your options carefully, precisely. you could save what little dignity you had left, and keep you mouth shut, even if it meant losing him—losing the nirvana that was waiting for you. it seemed impossible, especially compared to what you could have, what he could give you. he was so good, so good—and he was gonna show you just how good he was.

“please,” you barely managed to utter. “please, rafe, need you to fuck me.”

it was all he wanted to hear. “that wasn’t so bad, was it?” he murmured, a condescending edge to his tone as he pulled his fingers, coated in your juices, out completely. “take ’em off for me, baby, come on.”

you nodded as you allowed your fingers to slip below the waistband of his boxers, tugging them down as anticipation coursed through your body. his cock sprang free, slapping against his stomach. he was so much bigger than you could’ve guessed, your breath catching in your throat at the sight of his length, his girth. you wrapped a curious, hesitant hand around his dick, before pumping as best as you could. rafe groaned, head tilted back as he bucked up into your hand. he couldn’t get enough of the sight of you, small and defenseless, with a hand around his dick, tracing his pulsing veins with your fingers.

“gonna let me ruin you?” he whispered, his cock aching against your soft fingers. “if you can handle it. can you handle it, baby?”

you nodded, hating how powerless you had really become, as if he had you under some sort of spell. you let go of his cock before lying back down. you watched the way rafe grabbed a hold of his cock, spreading your thighs as he positioned himself with a grunt. you could feel the head of his cock sliding between your folds, lightly teasing against your clit as a moan passed your lips.

“let me hear it again,” he murmured, eliciting another moan from you as his cock brushed against your clit a second time.

“please,” you needed to give in—just this once, “please, fuck me, rafe.”

with that, rafe thrusts his cock forward, and a victorious smile warping his features as he pushed past your wet folds. your walls stretched to their limit, unable to stop the grimace of pain the more of him you took in. you let out a moan as your eyes rolled back, your tight cunt adjusting to his sheer size.

“that’s it, baby. takin’ it so good,” rafe praised through a groan, holding onto your hips and pushing until your clit clashed with base of his cock.

you felt so filled, so dominated, so alive. your nails dug into the sheets, your body writhing beneath him as he began to pump in and out of you. each stroke was brutal, his length stretching your weeping pussy and claiming you in a way that no one else had ever done. your eyes remained closed, focusing on the pleasure-pain as your body fought against the intrusion before succumbing to the delicious feeling of his rhythmic pounding.

the tent grew hazy with the scent of sex and sweat, your breaths coming out in pants and whimpers as he picked up speed. his teeth grazed the side of your neck, making you shiver with every thrust. his tongue flicked against the sensitive skin, tasting your sweetness as he claimed you, making you his. you couldn't help but arch your back, pushing your breasts up, begging for his mouth.

he took the hint, his teeth sinking into the soft flesh of your neck, not hard enough to leave a mark but enough to make you gasp. he sucked, hard, leaving a bruise that would surely be visible in the morning. his hand moved to play with your clit, the pad of his thumb pressing down and swirling around in a way that made your toes curl and your back arch even more.

the pleasure was building, a wave threatening to crash over you at any time. rafe’s eyes were on yours, watching your pupils dilate and your mouth form silent pleas for more. he smirked, his teeth still digging into your neck, feeling your pulse throb under his teeth. he knew you were close, knew he had you right where he wanted you.

with one final, powerful thrust, he swiped his thumb over your clit one more time, and you shattered around him. your orgasm washed over you in waves, making your body spasm and your legs tighten around his waist. you moaned his name, your nails digging into his back as your pussy clenched around his cock, milking him for all he was worth.

rafe’s eyes rolled back in his head, his own release barreling towards him like a freight train. he pulled his mouth away from your neck with a wet pop, his teeth marks clear on your skin. “gonna cum, baby,” he grunted, his voice strained with effort.

you nodded, your own orgasm still coursing through you as he drove into you one last time, burying his cock to the hilt. he groaned as he came, filling you up with hot, thick ropes of cum, from the inside to your clit.

when it was over, he collapsed on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress as you both panted for air. his cock still twitched inside you, releasing the last of his load, making you feel so completely owned. it was a feeling you never knew existed, but one you were now craving with every fiber of your being. he kissed you then, hard and possessive, his tongue claiming your mouth as thoroughly as his cock had claimed your cunt. you could taste the saltiness of your sweat on his lips, feel the stickiness between your legs. it was raw, it was carnal

the first thing you noticed was the warmth. it enveloped you like a heavy blanket, your body pressed against something solid and unyielding. your eyes fluttered open, the dim light of dawn filtering through the thin fabric of the tent, and your heart stopped. rafe was sprawled on top of you, his arm draped possessively around your waist, his face buried in the crook of your neck.

the events of the night before came rushing back in flashes: the kisses, the heated whispers, the way his hands felt on your skin, the way he made you forget every ounce of hatred you harbored for him, if only for a moment.

you felt the cool morning air against your bare skin, the absence of fabric a cruel reminder of just how far things had gone. panic set in as you slowly, carefully shifted beneath him, trying not to disturb his steady breathing. you reached for your dress, crumpled on the floor of the tent, and slipped it on as quietly as you could manage. your hands trembled, the fabric catching on your damp skin as you smoothed it over your body.

you paused, your eyes flickering back to him. rafe was still fast asleep, his features softened in a way you’d never seen before. he looked peaceful, almost innocent, but it only made the bile rise in your throat. what the hell had you done?

your thoughts spiraled as you crept out of the tent, each step feeling like a betrayal of yourself. what would your dad say? the man who taught you to stand your ground, to never let anyone—especially someone like rafe—get the better of you? and your friends? jj? god, jj.

you barely made it a few steps before jj’s voice startled you. “what happened?”

he was standing near the campfire, his hair disheveled, a beer bottle still clutched in his hand. his blue eyes bore into you, concern etched across his face.

“nothing,” you muttered, your voice hollow as you brushed past him.

“don’t give me that,” he said, following you as you made a beeline for your car. “you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

you ignored him, fumbling with your keys as you slid into the driver’s seat. he climbed into the passenger side, his confusion mounting as you started the engine.

“you gonna tell me what’s going on?” he pressed, his tone sharper now.

you gripped the steering wheel tightly, your knuckles turning white as you navigated the dirt road away from the campsite. the weight of what you’d done settled heavily on your chest, making it hard to breathe. then it hit you. you were racing rafe tonight.

your stomach dropped as the realization clawed its way through you. he’d done this on purpose. seduced you, distracted you, gotten into your head—all to throw you off your game. the anger came next, hot and unrelenting, burning away the shame and replacing it with a seething fury. how could you have been so stupid? so careless? you’d let him win, not just last night, but the entire war you’d been waging against him.

“jesus christ,” you whispered under your breath, your grip on the wheel tightening as jj looked at you, more confused than ever.

“what?” he asked, leaning forward to study your face. “what’s going on?”

you didn’t answer, your thoughts a chaotic mess as you sped down the road. tonight wasn’t just about the race anymore. it was about getting your revenge.

the rest of the day felt like a blur of heavy, suffocating silence. you spent most of it sitting in your car, parked in an isolated corner of nowhere, just staring into oblivion. the world outside seemed distant, a place that didn’t matter, didn’t exist for you. thoughts swirled in your mind like a storm you couldn’t escape, each one more troubling than the last. what had you done? what was going to happen now?

you couldn’t bring yourself to cry. not yet. not until you could at least get through tonight, at least finish what you had started. you still had a fighting chance against rafe, didn’t you? the race was everything now. it was the one thing left that you could control, the one thing that would keep him from completely getting under your skin.

jj had asked you what was wrong earlier when you barely spoke to anyone. sarah had asked him too, her voice laced with concern, but he didn’t have any answers. nobody did. you barely had any answers yourself.

the hours passed in a haze, and before you knew it, it was time for the race. the drive to the meeting was dreadfully silent. the engine roared beneath you, but it did nothing to drown out the buzzing in your head. every thought was a needle, and each one pricked at you until you were wound too tight to even think straight. every so often, you'd mutter to yourself, trying to reassure yourself that you were still in control, that you could still handle this. but it wasn’t working. frustration built in you like a pressure cooker, and every so often, your fist collided with the steering wheel in sharp bursts of anger.

jj, who had been quiet the entire drive, kept stealing glances at you, but he didn’t ask any questions. he didn’t need to. you didn’t know how to answer him anyway.

the race was worse. even though the cheers of the crowd should’ve fueled you, you felt nothing but dread, a deep, gnawing sickness in your stomach. you could hear your name being shouted, the excitement of the crowd, but it all felt so distant. when you saw rafe’s face in the crowd, that sickening feeling only intensified. he was there, watching you, his eyes locked onto yours with something that twisted your insides.

and then there was her. the girl rafe had been with the night before. you hadn’t missed her, standing there in the crowd, glaring at you with an expression that made your blood boil. her eyes were cold, calculating, and when she met your gaze, she didn’t flinch.

“take it easy on him tonight,” she said, her voice sweet but laced with venom.

the words crawled under your skin. it was too much. you were already so close to the edge, and that was the final push you needed. before you knew what you were doing, your fist was swinging through the air and colliding with the underside of her jaw. she gasped as she stumbled backward, the crowd around you gasping as well.

for a moment, everything was silent, and you took a step forward, ready to finish what you’d started. but before you could, jj was there, his strong arms pulling you back with surprising force. he didn’t even give you the chance to go for her again.

“easy, easy,” he said, his voice low and urgent as he kept his grip on you. you could feel the heat of his hands on your arms, his breath against the back of your neck. he was trying to calm you down, trying to get you to focus, but it wasn’t working. the only thing you could focus on was the feeling of rafe’s eyes on you, watching everything unfold with a look you hadn’t seen before. sympathy? pity? it almost made you want to puke. you quickly looked away, not wanting to let him have the satisfaction of seeing you crumble.

“look,” jj said, his voice softening, his tone more serious now. “i don’t know what’s going on with you, but whatever it is, you need to pull it together, okay? we’ve got five grand riding on this. you need to calm down.”

his words hit harder than you expected. five grand. that was all that mattered now, wasn’t it? you couldn’t let everything else get in the way. you nodded, your throat tight. you could feel your eyes threatening to well up, but you forced them to stay dry. you couldn’t break now. not yet. not with everything on the line.

the roar of the crowd still lingered in the air as you took your place at the starting line. your hands gripped the steering wheel, the leather cold beneath your fingers, but the heat from the race, from the tension building in your chest, quickly overpowered everything else. you kept your eyes forward, staring at the road, refusing to let your mind wander to anything else. not to the pit in your stomach, not to the fact that rafe’s car was right next to yours, not to the way you could feel his presence from the corner of your eye.

out of the corner of your vision, you caught him tapping on the window, the sound almost too soft against the chaos of the crowd. his eyes were no longer dark, no longer intense with that gleam of challenge. they were something else, something softer, but you refused to look at him. you wouldn’t. you kept your gaze on the road, your pulse racing, the air thick with the impending start of the race.

the countdown began, and with it, your heartbeat seemed to match the ticking clock until they went off. when they did, they came to life, and the world around you exploded into sound and movement. tires screeched as cars shot forward, speeding down the street, their engines roaring like wild beasts. the world blurred into a haze of color and sound, the air whipping past you, the car humming beneath you, and the rubber of the tires grinding into the asphalt as you pushed forward, faster, faster.

every turn, every maneuver felt like a calculated risk, your body swerving with the weight of the car, the grip of the tires, the thrill of the chase. the engine purred beneath you, urging you to push harder, to find the edge that would leave everyone else behind.

but your mind couldn’t help but flicker to rafe, his car beside yours, his presence there like a shadow, reminding you that something was there. you could feel him pushing, feel his need to win, just as much as you needed it. the sounds of the race around you—the screeching of tires, the hum of engines, the roars of the crowd—faded into the background. all that mattered was the road ahead.

but then, something happened. the way rafe’s car surged forward, the way his engine roared louder, faster, harder—it didn’t feel right. the energy shifted. You saw him from the corner of your eye, pushing his car up a steeper incline, his hands tightening around the wheel, his expression hidden behind the visor. it was the moment when you knew he was going too fast, too reckless. and then, you saw it—the press of the button, the one that activated the tank. the flash of light as it ignited.

you knew exactly what he was doing, and the thought hit you like a freight train. he was pushing it too far.

time seemed to stretch as the car lurched forward, the impact of the tank too much for his control. his car surged into the incline, the tires screeching, the engine roaring in a desperate cry. it was too much. the back end of his car fishtailed, and then, with a terrifying screech of metal against pavement, it veered off course.

your heart skipped a beat as you watched, the crash happening in slow motion. his car slammed into the barrier, the impact deafening as it crumpled like paper, and for a split second, all you could hear was the grinding of metal and the screeching of tires. the crowd’s roar became a distant hum, and your world narrowed down to the wreckage of rafe’s car.

your foot slammed on the brake, and the car skidded to a halt, the tires screaming in protest. you sat there, frozen, the weight of the decision pressing down on you. you could keep going. you could race to the finish line, claim the victory. you’d already beaten him in every other way. but your stomach twisted at the thought. you couldn’t leave him like this.

you were out of the car before you even realized it, your legs moving without thought, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins. you ran toward the wreckage, ignoring the shouts of the crowd, the chaos around you. when you reached his car, your heart dropped into your stomach. the car was mangled, unrecognizable, the front crumpled and twisted. smoke poured from the hood, and you could barely see anything through the shattered glass.

he was unconscious, his head lolling to the side. his breathing was shallow, labored, but there. it was enough to make you breathe, though the sight of him—bloody, broken—sent a wave of nausea through your chest. you knelt by his side, your hands trembling as you reached for him, your heart hammering in your chest. the familiar coldness of his hand in yours sent a shock through you. his fingers were stiff, and you could feel the weight of his body, his pulse weak beneath your touch.

“rafe,” you whispered, panic creeping into your voice as you shook his shoulder. no response. “rafe, stay with me.”

you didn’t know what to do, how to fix this. you wanted to scream, to curse, to shake him awake, but all you could do was hold his hand and wait.

“help!” you screamed, your voice breaking through the chaos as you turned toward the crowd, looking for anyone who could help. “get the paramedics! now!”

every second felt like an eternity. time seemed to stand still as you knelt there, your fingers clutching his hand tightly, waiting for someone to come. his breathing was still shallow, but he was alive, and that was the only thing you could hold onto. you could barely think through the panic, through the raw, ugly emotion that twisted in your chest. you hadn’t meant for this to happen. you hadn’t meant for it to go this far. but now, all you could do was wait. wait for the paramedics. wait for the help that you knew was coming, but it felt so far away.

the sterile scent of antiseptic filled the air, a reminder of the countless times you’d been in a hospital, yet never this way. the last time you had been here, you’d watched your father slip away, his final breath taken in the cold, quiet halls of this place. it felt almost uncanny now, sitting next to rafe, your heart hammering in your chest, as you waited for something—anything—that told you he was going to be okay. the memories of your father’s final days pressed heavily against you, making the sterile whiteness of the room feel suffocating.

you sat in the chair next to his bed, gripping your hands tightly in your lap, your fingers aching from the tension. the beeping of the heart monitor was the only sound in the room, a rhythmic pulse that felt too fragile, too tenuous. you kept your eyes trained on the floor, refusing to meet his face. the fear of seeing him in that state—broken, vulnerable—was too much. your mind raced, torn between the reality of the situation and the weight of everything you had just witnessed. and yet, despite all that, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you needed to do something. anything.

then, something shifted. at first, it was so subtle you thought you imagined it. a slight twitch of his hand, the soft rise and fall of his chest. your heart skipped a beat. you leaned forward, unsure if you were imagining the movement, until you saw it again. a small, faint movement.

“what happened?” his words were slurred, barely more than a breath, but they were enough to make your heart tighten.

“you crashed,” you said, my throat thick with emotion. “you pushed too hard. you used the tank too early, rafe. you lost control of the car.”

“you came back for me?” his voice was small, vulnerable, almost childlike in its simplicity.

you nodded, your hand instinctively reaching for his, fingers shaking as you gripped his palm. “someone had to,” you whispered, trying to swallow the lump in your throat.

your voice cracked as you spoke, the weight of the situation bearing down on you like a heavy storm cloud. his eyes shifted away from yours, gazing out the window, but there was something in his expression that you couldn’t ignore. the emptiness in the room, the absence of anyone else who cared enough to be there, was impossible to miss. no one had come for him, not even his family. it was just you. just you, sitting there, holding his hand, praying for him to wake up.

“you’re not the villain they think you are, rafe,” you said, your voice quiet but firm. “you’re just hurt. you wanted to make your dad proud, didn’t you? you wanted to win for him because you think no one else could be proud of you. but you’re wrong. you act out because you’re scared, rafe. you won’t open up, because you’re scared.”

he turned his head slowly, meeting your gaze again. for the first time since you’d met him, you saw something in his eyes that wasn’t anger or arrogance. it was vulnerability. it was fear. and something else. something softer.

“you win, rafe,” you whispered, your voice cracking as you choked on the words. “if it means anything to you, you win.”

a tear, just one, slid down his cheek. he never cried. not in front of anyone, not in all the time you’d known him. but there it was, a single tear that betrayed everything he had tried so hard to keep hidden.

“i love you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, but the weight of it hit you like a punch to the gut.

his hand was shaky as he placed it over yours, his fingers brushing against your skin with an almost desperate tenderness.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “for everything. i can’t deal with any of this. i’m not strong enough to deal with anything, no matter how awful i act.”

you shook your head, your chest tightening at his words. “don’t act,” you whispered, squeezing his fingers. “you could’ve lost your life tonight, rafe. and then what?”

his eyes closed for a moment, and when they opened again, there was a small, hesitant smile on his lips. “you could never lose me,” he said, his voice quiet but certain. “you know how i know?”

you shook your head, not understanding, but you didn’t press him. you simply waited, your heart heavy in your chest, as he gave my hand another squeeze.

“because you never lose.”

⋆. 𐙚 ˚

a/n: ok guys be skibidi plz bc i had to shorten the ending thanks to tumblrs limit that i didnt even know existed

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Foxglove and Oleander.

Pairing: Yandere!Sukuna x Reader (JJK).

Word Count: 6.0k

Commissioned by the very lovely @letstalktea.

TW: Heian Era AU, Wildly Unbalanced Power Dynamics, Blood + Violence, Deliberate Manipulation, Obsessive Behavior, and Implied Cannibalism.

Sukuna first arrived the night your chrysanthemums bloomed.

That was the only reason you weren’t in the temple when the fire reached it. Against your better judgement and the wishes of your superiors, you’d committed yourself to spending the night in the courtyard, carefully monitoring each delicate bud as they slowly unfurled and stained your garden with scattered blotches of bright, bleeding scarlet. In the morning, it would be your responsibility to gather each flower, dry their petals, and deliver them to the temple’s healers to use as medicinal herbs before you were allowed to get to your less seasonal chores, but tonight, the chrysanthemum belonged to you.

From your little corner of the courtyard, you watched as flames climbed the side of the side of the mountain, consuming the forest that surrounded your home before latching onto the servants’ barracks, then the outer sanctuaries, before finally reaching the main body of the temple. There were a few screams to accompany the fire’s first arrival, but they were quickly drowned out by the fire’s deafening roar, by the sound of buildings already mostly burnt away collapsing into themselves and putting their unfortunate occupants out of their misery. You could feel the heat, hear the others begin to flee, but it was only as the fire reached the peak of its gluttony that he emerged, entirely unscathed and painted with the blood of those you supposed you may have cared about, if you’d had more time. Sukuna, although you wouldn’t know to call him by that name, just yet.

It went without saying that he was hideous. Too many limbs, too many eyes, too many mouths – every part of him distorted with bulk and muscle and ink. His teeth struck you first, bared and glinting in the blinding firelight, then his clothing, the tattered and charred remains of what appeared to be a once fine kimono tied around his waist. He was carrying a spear, but he drove it into the ground as he stepped out of the inferno. There was something slung over his shoulder, too – a corpse, male and burnt beyond the point of recognizability – but that was abandoned just as thoughtlessly, left to rot on the outskirts of your garden. You were glad. Your chrysanthemums wouldn’t survive being crushed by such dead weight.

He didn’t notice you immediately. You stayed where you were, kneeling in the dirt, as he turned in either direction, taking in the devastation with a full-chested laugh. The noise was, in kinship with his appearance, unspeakably gruesome.  

Finally, he turned to face you, his eyes lighting up in spite of the stark shadows cast over his face. His spear was still within arm’s reach, but he made no attempt to retrieve it – holding out an open hand to you, instead. “Are you a monk or a maiden?” he asked, his voice more of a growl than anything proper, anything human. “I’ve already had my fill of the former, tonight.”

“A servant,” you answered, bowing your head by way of greeting. “I tend the gardens, among other things. Are you the one killing all the acolytes?”

“Among other things.” His tone had a mocking lilt, although he seemed far from vicious. You’d been warned about that, once, by someone very dear to you. You couldn’t remember the specifics, but the sentiment was still clear enough. ‘Do not fear the animal that bares its teeth, but the creature who lures you closer before it lunges’, or something like that. “I’m afraid I only have a taste for holy meat, tonight. Although, if you run, I’ll certainly take more enjoyment in striking you down.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but—”

“Lord,” he corrected. “Make that mistake again and it’ll be the last time I allow you the privilege of using your tongue.”

“My apologies, my lord.” Again, you bowed your head. “The high priest can be harsh with his discipline. My ankle is still healing, and I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to move quickly enough for either of us to get very much out of it.”

He grinned, and the fire raged on behind him. “Grovel, then. Perhaps, if you manage to please me, I’ll be merciful and kill you quickly.”

He was clearly a man (man? monster? beast?) of great ego. You pressed your tongue against the roof of your mouth, trying to block out the taste of something harsh and acidic rising up from the back of your throat. “If it’s all the same to you,” you managed, eventually, sparing one last glance towards your chrysanthemums. They really were beautiful. You could only regret that you’d never get to see them in the light of day. “I’d really rather not. It seems like it be easier, to just… uh, let you get the job done, as it were.”

In his defense, his pride overshadowed his shock. That, or you simply weren’t the first person he’d met to pay your own life such little regard. “I’ve cut down braver men for bolder suggestions.”

“But you cut them down all the same.” You swallowed, dryly. It’d been a while since you’d last had anything to eat or drink – the better part of a day, at least – but you supposed you wouldn’t have to worry about that for much longer. “I’m sorry, my lord. I would try to run, but my ankle really does make things difficult.”

He regarded you for a moment, as yet another wing of the temple buckled under its own weight. You decided, as you stared back at him, that his eyes weren’t so terrible – the pair he was supposed to have, at least. Although currently narrowed and creased around the edges, they had a pleasant color, a unique shade of red that seemed to glow when it caught the firelight. At least one part of him was bearable to look at.

Finally, he broke the silence, his resonant voice taking on a more authoritative cadence. “Come.”

He didn’t extend a hand, or gesture for you to follow, only trekking onward – towards the temple’s gates, left open in the panic of the exodus.  Gingerly, weary of your injured ankle, you pushed yourself to your feet and hastened to his side. Sukuna only paid you glance by way of acknowledgement, but you didn’t mind. “Are you going to kill me in the woods, instead?”

“Uraume’s been asking for another set of hands.” You weren’t sure what he was talking about, but you nodded as if you understood entirely. He spared you a small, thoughtless smile, and you decided that he was also the type of man who often enjoyed the luxury of never being questioned. “If they don’t care for you, I’ll kill you wherever I wish.”

“Ah.” You passed under the temple gates by his side. Not long after that, you heard the great crash of stone into earth, and knew that those, too, had collapsed. “I hope it’s somewhere with lots of flowers. I’ve always wanted to die somewhere beautiful.”

His only answer was another, more lingering glance in your direction, a low bark of a laugh. Satisfied, you let the conversation lapse into silence and walked into the night by the side of a monster.

~

“How do you choose where to go?”

He didn’t respond, not immediately. Instead, one of his spare hands brought yet another grape to your lips, and with a pleased hum, you accepted it, savoring the sour tinge that accompanied the sweetness. From what you gathered, he preferred savory to sweetness, sweetness to bitterness, and bitterness to all other flavors that followed. He rarely ate anything that wasn’t the strange, ambiguous meat prepared by Uraume, his ever-smiling mastress of rituals, but the last village you’d passed through had a surplus of fruit. It’d seemed like a waste to let all of it rot, now that there was no one left to enjoy it.

It was strange – traveling with Sukuna and Uraume. They seemed to be on a pilgrimage of sorts, the destination unknown and the purpose one of endless carnage. Not that either of them expected you to participate in the devastation. No, as far as you could tell, you were regarded more as a servant, meant to be of aid to Sukuna when Uraume was otherwise occupied. Except, Uraume never seemed to be very occupied at all, and Sukuna very rarely needed aid, and you were often left in a position more akin to that of a pet than anything else – kept around predominantly because Sukuna found it entertaining to do so. Not that you minded. Pets were cherished and coddled. Pets never went hungry. Pets weren’t expected to be anything other than endearing and obedient, which wasn’t totally dissimilar to the things you were always expected to be, regardless of what you were supposed to call yourself.

Currently, you were taking shelter in an abandoned shrine not quite dilapidated enough to be considered unlivable, Uraume tending the hearth while Sukuna stared absent-mindedly at a map pilfered from the shine’s stockroom, the colored ink nearly too faded to read. You paid little mind to either of them – content enough to remain sprawled across Sukuna’s lap, one of his arms wrapped loosely around your waist. This was the first time you’d spoken in minutes, reluctant to break the comfortable silence. Sukuna didn’t seem to mind the sound of your voice, and you didn’t want that to change. “I don’t,” he admitted, eventually. He only spoke for himself, but it was given that you and Uraume would follow. “I go where I please. I only like to know that, when I arrive, there’ll be something worth my time waiting to receive me.”

“So particular, my lord.” You felt something tap against your bottom lip, and opened your mouth to accept a perfectly sweet, perfectly ripe strawberry. “Tell me, then – what would please you?”

He seemed to think for a long moment. Finally, he asked, “What village were you born to?”

His intention went unspoken, but the implication was clear. Sukuna’s sole pastime was destruction, with the target of his ire being any person, town, or creature unfortunate enough to cross his path. Although you’d never seen him go out of his way to find prey before, you were sure willingly pointing him in the direction of vulnerable quarry would result in a predictable outcome.

“Oh, I wouldn’t know. Things like that can be so hard to remember,” you said, which wasn’t untrue. Your memory was a fickle thing – uncooperative on your best days and deliberately misleading on your worst. “You know, being a baby at the time and all.”

His fingers drummed thoughtfully against your side. “You must have family somewhere, servant.”

“Not necessarily.” You shut your eyes to stop yourself from squirming, sighing as you rested your head against his shoulder. “My parents abandoned me before I was old enough to learn their names. A scrap collector took me in some time after that, but he traveled quite often, and I lost track of him years ago.” You paused, shook your head. “Like I said, things like this can be difficult to remember. I’m sorry, my lord.”

There was a slight hum, a momentary lapse. Abruptly, you felt his hands shift to your waist, Sukuna repositioning your smaller form with all of the strength and all of the thought it might’ve taken an ordinary person to right a toppled-over doll. Your back came to rest against his chest as one of his spare hands cupped your chin, directing your attention towards the yellowed map. “Pick somewhere,” he muttered, his voice low and his lips close enough to ghost over the shell of your ear. “Anywhere. Before I pull your unhelpful little tongue out of your throat.”

“Of course, my lord.” Acquiesce came first, a real answer second. Your gaze fell to the map in front of you. It took a second, but you found what you were looking for quickly enough. “Here,” you said, pointing to an area north of your current location. “There’s a village in the eastern corner of this valley with a small population of young farmers and very little in the way of redeeming qualities. But, in the town square, there grows a cherry blossom tree tall enough to scrap against the belly of the sky with branches that stretch as far as the eye can seem. When it blooms, its petals are great enough in volume to carpet the surrounding acre in pink.” You straightened your back, decisively avoiding sinking back into his chest. “I… I wouldn’t mind visiting it again, if it would please my lord.”

It was a dangerous thing to do – showing your hand so plainly. You’d grown so used to keeping your cards tucked snuggly against your chest, even talking this openly felt as if you’d been stripped bare and put on exhibition in front of him.

But, if Sukuna realized that he was the audience to your performer, he neglected to acknowledge it. He only looked toward Uraume, who perked to attention immediately. They were good at that – pretending not to listen. Not as talented as you, of course, but good nonetheless. “We start traveling east tomorrow,” he said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’m adding another leg to our journey.”

His primary attention remained on them, but a few of his unblinking secondary eyes – repulsive in their lack of necessity – darted to you, watching for any signs of satisfaction, of pleasure. You only schooled your expression, retreating into your own mind to count the days until the cherry blossoms bloomed.

~

It took a surprising amount of time for you to catch Uraume in the act. Not overly long, but more time than you would’ve expected with them making no particular effort to hide the evidence of their ‘ritual preparation’ and you making no exceptional attempt to avoid finding out why their snow-white sleeves were so often stained red. If allowed to, you might’ve gone on living in the bliss of plausible deniability until your time with Sukuna and his chosen companionship came to an end, but he was not so kind, and there was little entertainment to be had in such a passive participant.

Still, you would’ve liked another week, another month, another season. You’d never cared for kitchens, but you cared for them least when they reeked of rotting meat.

The stench was almost worse than the sight – almost, but not quite. Then again, you were struggling to think of something worse than Uraume, all practiced tranquility and iced-over smiles, elbow-deep in the cavity a long dead middle-aged man, his body bare and spread over the stone countertop. You recognized him not by his face, but by his features – his wealth-fattened face, his uncalloused hands, the lack of definition to his legs that those who toiled could rarely afford to go without. He must’ve been the lord who owned the palace you currently found yourself residing in – a sprawling, decadent structure that it’d taken hours to clean after the massacre. Sukuna would survive wherever his whims lead, but he preferred to be comfortable. You didn’t mind. You preferred it when Sukuna was comfortable, too.

 It was clear they hadn’t been expecting you, either. Their dark eyes bored into you where you lingered in the doorway, a wicker basket on your hip and your robes still dusted with soil. Most of your day had been spent in the palace gardens. Its former caretaker had planted their shiso along the garden wall, where it would only receive partial sun in the best season – a common enough mistake, for how easy it was to mistake for basil, and a tricky one to correct. An experienced caretaker should’ve known better, but as the herbs were still alive while their keeper was very much not, you could consider their negligence repaid.

You made the first move –bowing at the waist by way of greeting. “Lord Sukuna asked me to fetch his tea,” you explained, as you straightened your back. You didn’t feel the need to mention that’d he’d sought you out in your gardens to do so. “I thought I’d bring you a few herbs in the same trip. My apologies, it wasn’t my intention to disturb you.”

The corner of their lips quirked downward. It wasn’t quite a frown, but it was the closest thing to one that you’d ever earned from them. You weren’t upset. Even glowering, they would’ve been breath-taking. “He wanted you to see my—” They paid a glance toward the dismembered lord, their arm still buried in his chest. “My preparations.”

“It would seem so.”

“And he wanted to know how you’d react. There’s a good chance he’ll ask me about this, later on.”

“I’d say it’s more of a certainty.”

“I’d understand it, if you wanted to leave. I know there are few ordinary humans who can stomach tasks so—” Another pause, this one longer than the first. Clearly, they were making an attempt to watch their tongue. “—needlessly visceral.”

“If I did try, how long would you give me before telling Sukuna?” This time, they choose to hold their tongue entirely, their slight frown deepening into a full-blown scowl. It took everything you had not to let your own satisfaction shine through.

Rather, you paid them another shallow bow before the threshold and setting down your basket on the nearest length of empty counter. “It’s mostly shiso, but I found some usable ginger and garlic, too, and a few stalks of parsley. Is there anything I can do to help?”

After a moment of consideration, Uraume shook their head. It only took a few minutes to make the tea you’d been sent to fetch, but they were minutes passed in silence, undisturbed save for the quiet chime of ceramic against ceramic. They didn’t start their own work again until you’d left the kitchen entirely, which you were thankful for. They’d been right. There were few humans with stomachs so strong as to withstand such grisly tasks, and you’d never counted yourself among them.

Sukuna had claimed the master’s chambers for himself, of course. You let yourself in without knocking, immediately finding Sukuna sprawled across the wonderfully ornate futon that dominated most of the floorspace. He smiled when he saw you, but his expression fell as soon as you returned the gesture.

He didn’t mention Uraume, or the kitchens, or the thick stench of iron-tinged blood that now seemed to fill every corner of the vast estate. You hummed as you poured his tea, and remained at his bedside as he took a long drink, followed shortly by an approving nod. You tried to make your escape quickly, already fantasizing about retreating back to your secluded garden, but Sukuna caught you before you could so much as turn towards the door. “Attend to what you must,” he started, his tone simultaneously dismissive and attention-seeking. “But return here, when you’re done. Bring your belongings, too – you won’t be going back to your bedroom again.”

You didn’t falter, but not for lack of reason to. You’d chosen your bedroom carefully, surveyed the better half of the residential wing before finding quarters that suited you. It was sparse by way of comforts and furniture, but the sole window looked over the mountainside, the landscape stretching on for miles upon miles without interruption. You would’ve been pressed to think of a finer view.

“As you wish.” And then, with a chirp of a laugh, “You know, we spend so much time with one another while traveling. I thought you would’ve taken our stationary periods as an excuse to get away from Uraume and I.”

“If I had a weaker will, maybe.” He reclined, let his head lull to the side, as if inviting you to counter, to protest – or worse, to step closer. “Why? Do you have something to say, servant?”

“Only how pleased I am to be of service to my lord.” You could’ve bowed, but decided against it. This time, when you took your leave, Sukuna was kind enough not to get in your way. Then again, he didn’t have a reason to.

He must’ve known that you were always going to come back.

~

“Who gave you permission to leave, servant?”

No one, but you’d hoped he wouldn’t notice until you were already gone. Stifling the urge to cringe, you turned on your heel and retreated back to the riverbank, not far from where Sukuna had left his robes, deliberately keeping your eyes on the ground. He rarely let you leave his side, but having you remain within eyeshot while he bathed was a newer development – and a tricker one to justify to yourself, at that. You were still allowed to remain more of a voyeur than a participant, but you weren’t naive enough to believe that he’d allow there to be such a great distance between you for much longer.

“I’m sorry, my lord.” Your eyes may have been downcast, but your voice was a light and as upbeat as ever. “I only hoped to catch Uraume before they finished. Servants have to bathe too, you know, and those of us with no limbs to spare can be rather hesitant to do so alone so deep into the forest.”

“Join me, then.”

Ah.

You should’ve been expecting that, honestly. You had no one but yourself to blame.

“My lord,” you managed with an airy laugh, feigning disbelief. “I’m just not sure if someone of my position should—”

Considering Sukuna’s size, he could move impressively fast. You’d only managed to take half a step back before you felt a hand curling around your wrist, pulling you off of the bank and into the river. You managed to take all of two stumbling steps forward before your foot caught on a slick river stone and you fell to your knees, ice-cold water immediately soaking through your thin robes. Sukuna made no effort to catch you, laughing as you tripped over yourself. He’d always seemed terrible to you, but you couldn’t remember the sound of his voice ever being so vile.

Biting back a sigh or some other, more telling show of displeasure, you started to push yourself to your feet, but stopped as soon as you felt Sukuna’s fist curl around your collar, another finding the back of your head. In a brief moment of blissful obliviousness, you thought he meant to help you – or, to restrain you and savor your humiliation for a few seconds longer, at the very worst. You almost thanked him, as little as your gratitude meant to Sukuna.

Then, your head was forced below the water, and you thought better of it.

It happened too suddenly to brace yourself. Your first reaction, operating purely out of instinct, was to open your mouth and try to breathe in – an idea as primal as it was unhelpful. Frigid water flooded into your mouth, your throat, liberating you from any amount of air you might’ve been able to hold onto and filling the now-vacant space with a chill that seemed to bite into your throat and leave everything it touched throbbing, numb. Your second was to thrash against Sukuna’s hold – which was, predictably, equally as useless. He was stronger than you could ever hope to be, than any real human being ever should be. Thick fingers threaded themselves into your hair, the hand holding the collar of your robes falling away only to find the nape of your neck, cementing your place at his mercy.

You tried to be rational, to exhale, to not panic, but something thick and solid seemed to be lodged at the base of your throat, and you couldn’t think about breathing without choking, and it was hard not to panic when you were hyper-aware that you were going to be drowned in some godforsaken river in some heartless forest at the hands of an unlovable monster. You were running out of air too quickly – you were supposed to have more time. He couldn’t have dragged you down any longer than a minute ago, but you could already feel an acute throbbing in your temples, make out dark spots dancing in the corners of your vision. Your body thrashed and stiffened in turns, but it was only when your form went limp in his hold that Sukuna jerked you back to the surface – hauling you back to the shore and letting you collapse onto the welcoming sand. He stood by, his grin the embodiment of mirth, as you hacked up acid-tinged water and blinked back tears, sucking in shallow breaths between coughing fits. Every inhale left your chest tense and aching, though, and every exhale felt like you were giving up something precious, something irreplaceable. You did your best to ignore the strain, to put it out of your mind. You had a feeling it would be some time before you could breathe painlessly again.

It took long, agonizing minutes for you to so much as begin to recover, but Sukuna remained by your side, waiting patiently. At some point, he lowered himself to your height – falling into a crouch and bringing a hand up to your back, rubbing circles into the apex of your spine as you coughed and clawed at the shore. He didn’t hum, or speak, or apologize, but you hadn’t expected him to. To initiate would be to taint what he sought so violently: your reaction. He wouldn’t do anything to spoil his prize, not so close to victory.

No, he wouldn’t dare.

The responsibility of denying him fell solely to you.

“My—”You tried to raise your head, to look at him, only to cut yourself off – another lungful of brackish water forcing its way past your lips before you could find your voice again. “My lord,” you managed, eventually. “If you’d like to bathe together, please give me a moment to undress, first. You know how long it can take cotton to dry.”

To his credit, his composure held. There was another throaty laugh, a sudden edge to his smile. “You should be more careful, songbird. One day, I’m going to eat you alive, and your last words to me are going to how glad you are to serve your master one last meal.”

“There would be no greater honor.” You managed an unsteady smile before dropping your head low, curling into yourself, and coughing up until your throat burnt and your rib cage seemed ready to burst. Sukuna only shook his head, taking you by the shoulders and leaning you against his chest, ensuring your stability before his attention shifted to your robes. With a surprising delicacy, he undid the sash bound around your waist, shrugging off your ruined yukata and carrying you back into the water. Your nails bit into his chest, but if he felt your involuntary resistance, it wasn’t enough to deter him.

Your body was lowered gingerly into one of the river’s shallower portions, and Sukuna kneeled behind you, one of his hands coming up to cup your cheek. You shut your eyes, but you could still feel his thumb tracing idly over your cheek, his chest reverberating against your back as he all but purred in delight. “I could hear your heart racing as I pushed you under.” And then, with a feather-light kiss to the top of your head, “It’s a relief to know there’s at least one part of you I can trust to be honest with me.”

You didn’t answer – only smiling as you melted into his palm.

~

The cherry blossom tree was larger than you’d remembered.

The village that surrounded it had grown, too. That made sense – it’d been years since you last passed through this area, and such a lovely corner of the world was bound to attract merchants and traveling warriors and those who, like yourself, simply found themselves drawn to beautiful things. You’d been able to see its wonderous branches rising above the horizon days before you were supposed to reach the village, started catching sakura petals on the breeze while you were still hours away from the nearest scrap of civilization, and a small part of you died upon being told that you would have to wait until after sunrise for your reunion, until Sukuna had finished glutting himself on blood and death and misery. Not that you listened. Uraume was tasked with looking after you, but they weren’t difficult to slip away from. They seemed to be fond of you – or, at least, surprisingly sympathetic to their master’s newest pet. Either way, they let you go without much of a struggle.

An hour or so after midnight, you made your way through fleeing crowds, maneuvering around mounds of disembodied extremities and between flame-eaten farmhouses, still in the early stages of burning down. Wherever Sukuna went, the fire seemed to follow, so you tried to stay where the light seemed the dimmest, where the smoke seemed the thinnest, focused solely on finding your way to the center of town – to the cherry blossom. You couldn’t make out its silhouette against the pitch-black landscape, but you didn’t need to. You would’ve been able to find your way to it on instinct alone.

That being said, now that you stood before it, you found it hard to believe that you’d come to the right village, let alone the right tree.

You didn’t remember your cherry blossom looking quite so… absent.

It was as if some great and wrathful deity had broken your sakura off at the base and spirited its body away, leaving only a charred stump behind. There was evidence that there had been more, at some point – pale pink petals littering the ground, a rope fence that had to have once guarded more than desecrated remains – but the cherry blossom was gone, as the village built around it would be by sunrise. It was cruel, really, when you could put your own despair aside long enough to use such tame vernacular. It was monstrous.

Speaking of monsters – yours was quick to rear his ugly head.

He’d never looked more terrible. Ash tainted the pale color of his hair, blood and gore staining his chest, his face, his hands. As always, he carried no weapon, and as always, he was entirely uninjured, untouched save for the byproduct of the devastation he’d wrought. You watched him approach in your peripheral, bracing yourself a moment before four arms wrapped around your smaller body and pulled you into a stone-hard chest. You knew better than to attempt to resist Sukuna, but this might have been the first time you were tempted to try.

“Songbird,” he muttered, the petname salt to a fresh wound. If he was surprised, let alone angry that you’d snuck away from Uraume, your disobedience caused him no strife. “I come bearing gifts.”

The upper of his two left hands uncurled, revealing a long, stick-like object. A hairpin, you realized, after a moment, the prong of a fine dark mahogany. It boasted only a single ornament: a small, expertly made glass flower. A cherry blossom, to be more specific.

You’d never been quick to anger. For as long as you could remember, in fact, you’d never found yourself angered by much of anything before.

You tasted blood before you realized you were biting your tongue; swallowing back a scream, or howl, or some other unsightly noise. It took you longer than you would’ve liked to regain your composure, but Sukuna was preoccupied, his attention dedicated solely to burying his face in the crook of your neck, to clutching onto you so tightly, you had to wonder how he’d ever managed to let go. It’d been inane to ever compare yourself to a pet, to something so cherished. It’d been inane to ever believe you were anything more than the favored plaything of a drooling, overgrown mutt.

With trembling hands, you plucked the hairpin out of his palm and held it up appraisingly. When Sukuna raised his head, his pointed teeth still lingering against your throat, you did the only thing you could think to – smiling as you leaned into him. “It’s beautiful.” And then, with a sigh, “It’s only a shame to have missed the real thing.”

For all of Sukuna’s faults, you could only be thankful that pride was among them.

“You don’t have to worry.” A hand found your jaw, holding you in place as he pressed a kiss into your temple. “I had more than my fill before you arrived.”

As you watched the village burn in his arms, you thought only of the color of chrysanthemums and the taste of iron, heavy on your tongue.

~

Someone had told you, once, that all the loveliest flowers bloomed under moonlight.

You watched the sky as you waited – your eyes never leaving the sliver of it you could see through small, barred window built into the opposing wall. He’d taken you to another vacant temple, tonight, claimed the head priest’s chambers as his den, and you’d followed lovingly, never uttering so much as a word of complaint. You’d let him rest his head in your lap, raked your fingers through his hair, and brought a cask of sweet wine laced with bitter herbs to his lips whenever he threatened to stir. Eventually, his eyes eased shut, his pulse slowing and his expression dulling into something calm, something docile. If you hadn’t known better, you might’ve started to doubt that he was a monster at all.

You didn’t move, didn’t shift, didn’t make a run for the door. You only reached into your sleeve, fetching the cherry blossom hairpin he’d gifted you weeks ago, now, the hairpin you carried dutifully ever since. You waited for him to turn onto his side, revealing the unarmored half of his face, before aligning the pointed tip with his ear, raising it above your head, and plunging it—

You felt his fingers dig into your thigh, another hand latching onto your hip. Your back slammed into the stiff futon with enough force to knock the air out of your lungs – leaving you breathless and paralyzed in an instant. When you recovered enough to think, you found Sukuna above you, straddling your waist, a hand planted on either side of your head. He was breathing heavily, as if excited. You knew it was impossible, but you found yourself wishing that he’d find a way to regurgitate his own lungs and choke on them.

“My lord,” you started, each word measured. You were careful to keep your voice low, your smile perfectly saccharine. “I’m sorry, did I wake you up?”

 His response was a manic smile, a bark of a laugh. “It’s too late to play innocent.” He lowered himself that much closer to you, his chest a hair’s width from making contact with yours. “How many times have you poisoned my wine, songbird?”

“Poisoned? Never.” You’d let go of your hairpin in the collision. Currently, it was lying against the wall to your right – just an inch or so out of your reach. There were other, more accessible weapons closer to you, but if you were going to kill Sukuna, you wanted it to be with that abomination. “If my lord is asking how many times I’ve treated his wine with herbs and spices, then twice. Once to see how he handled his drink, and tonight.”

You’d done him a disservice – writing him off as simply monstrous. He was more beast-like than anything, with his back arched and his talons dug into the bedding, with eyes so wide and so vibrant you believed, if only for a second, that he would manage to burn holes through your skull. “A day will come,” His anticipation was palpable. It was a wonder how such a glutton could ever sound so starved. “Where nothing will fall from you sweet lips but my praises, and I will know beyond the shadow of a doubt that you mean every last word.”

For once, you could only say what you meant. “I’d rather fucking die.”

There was a change to his animal posture, a glint of white teeth in moonlight, and then his mouth was crashing into yours – all fangs and tongue and intensity. Mindlessly, operating off of your own sort of base impulse, you reached out, your fingertips just barely brushing against the prong of your hairpin.

It was only as you curled your fist around it that you kissed him back, unable to suppress your grin.

[ceilidho]

I’ve been watching Spartacus with my dad and I must share with you the vision I had.

Gladiator 141 and the sweet little thing they got as a reward after a fight well fought.

this is very old:

Sometimes he spends as much as an hour staring at you through the bars of your cell. 

You haven’t yet worked up the nerve to say something to him. Not while he still wears the silver-plated galea that obscures most of his face. You can still see thin lips through the middle slit of his helmet, where the cheek plates don’t meet and the thin strip running down the bridge of his nose gives way to his philtrum, and the barest slivers of dark eyes. 

Apart from his helmet, he wears little else—sometimes the customary leather pteruge around his waist or a simple tunic belted at the waist. Nothing that would hinder his movements. It keeps the bulk of him on display. A prized fighter then, you surmise, as if the helmet weren’t enough to make that known. 

He still gleams bronze from his fights under the sun. Perhaps he’s counted at least a full hand’s worth this week alone. He comes to you sometimes after those very fights, still dripping sweat and prowling the length of your cell like one of the lions kept beneath the arena. You never know what to say to him then. There’s little you can do apart from curl up into yourself in the far corner of this cell you’ve come to know as a temporary home and eye him warily. 

It’s hard to reckon with the size of him. That’s what keeps you wary, watchful of him when he comes to keep you company for reasons unbeknownst to you. He hasn’t made them known yet, in any case. 

There isn’t an augur to warn you the day he chooses to speak. 

“Where'd they take you from, pretty bird?”

You flinch at the sound of his voice. It comes from the pure depths of him, Tartarus deep. You think it would take nine days for it to reach you, like a bronze anvil falling alongside it. In the days that he’s spent at your side, haunting the length of your cell like a sentry bound to his post, you’ve never once heard so much as a whisper.

His words take a moment to register. Across from you, he sits back on his haunches, thick thighs bunched up under the fan of his pteruge. It’s hard to tell how long he’s been there—the hallway outside your cell is relatively dark, the only windows being on the leftmost side of the building, near the door where he must have quietly slipped in. 

“East of here,” you answer hesitantly.

He hums, nods his head. Ruminates on your words. 

In truth, you can only guess—the village where you grew up, where you suckled at your mother’s teat and played with the other children in the glen surrounded by mountains jutting up from the earth and ochre yellow and green wildgrass, the fog sometimes sitting so low in the valley that you could lose yourself in it, is far from here. At least a month’s walk, perhaps more (you lost time along the way). Your feet are still blistered from the march back to Rome, legs still covered in sores and bruises; even now your cell is a poor comfort, the dirt floors harsh on your knees and shins, abrasive to the partially healed skin of your feet. 

You’ve never been very worldly though, never known more than the four walls around your bed. Perhaps the walk wasn’t nearly as long, as treacherous; maybe you came from the west instead, or the south. You can only guess. 

“I came from the north,” he says, breaking the silence again. That startles you somehow. The thought of him under the thumb of another feels inexplicably gut-wrenching; if a man with a virile, sweat-laden chest like his, arms corded with muscle that yours will never see in a thousand years, has been yoked to Rome’s chariot, what hope do you have? 

You wonder for a moment if he’ll tell you more, but he falls silent after that simple revelation. The weight of his gaze still pins you in place.

“…You’re a prisoner then?” you ask, considering briefly whether to say like I, before discarding the thought. Like I, like me. Are you too in a cage, like me?

It’s difficult to suppress the urge to ask him more, but you do. It does you no good to endear yourself to men that move and stare like beasts. There’s something malignant in him, you think, a rot burrowed in deep. You can feel it stir in you too when your eyes dip too low, halted by the muscles of his thighs and the thick slabs packing his arms. You’ve seen beasts copulate; you imagine he’d be much the same. 

He tilts his head, considering your words. Wolf-like, and you’ve seen wolves before. Though the ever-present helmet obstructs most of his face, the sharpness of his eyes pierces through. “They don’t put me in a cage anymore. What would you call that?”

Your chest collapses under his words. Hopes dashed. Does he go in the cage of his own accord then? Does he lock the door himself, deliver the key to the guard standing watch? You think people taken from their homes should see their plight in each other, but the gladiator before you doesn’t look at you like the two of you share a fate. 

“A slave?” you postulate, perhaps too boldly. Worry crawls inside the walls of your belly when his lips flatten, almost imperceptibly.

“Do I look like a slave to you?” he asks, and you can hear it this time. A gentle warning. A rebuke. A question that tells you all that you need to know about this man and how he sees the two of you. 

You remain silent, cowed under his stare and the tone of his voice. Perhaps he’s right, in a way; he’s not the one in the cage. He seems free to come and go as he pleases, his movements unrestricted. Unlike your own. You’ve hardly left this cell once since a faction of the legionaries left you at the gates of the city to be handled by those in charge, watching slave after slave made empticii, helpless, until finally you were dragged to the stand for viewing. 

You flinch when he grabs one of the bars of your cell, thick fingers coiling around the metal and overlapping easily. 

“What did they take you for, pretty bird?” His fingers tighten around the bar, knuckles whitening. “Every day I fight and yet they never offer you as a prize.”

The new scars on his body make sense then, fresh lacerations across his arms and legs that have multiplied by the days since he started visiting you. Why he gleams with fresh sweat every day, correlating with the fights you hear in the arena above you, the cacophonous chants and stamping feet. You can imagine him in front of a crowd frothing at the mouth for blood and gore. 

He comes stained in it sometimes. You hold your breath until he leaves on those days, reminded too much of your village in the aftermath of the plundering. 

“I don’t know,” you whisper, tucking your legs into your chest and trying to get as close to the wall behind you as possible. 

It’s the truth. No one tells you anything. No one told you what would happen when they ransacked your village and burnt it to ash, the bodies of everyone you’ve ever loved still burning char black in the tall grass, whittled down by the flames. No one told you what would happen after they dragged you back a thousand passus to a city scorched in white marble and stone and immaculate gold. They dragged you here and shut the door. 

He seems frustrated at your words, lips thinning like he has to hold back his rage.

“I’ll slaughter a hundred more if that’s your price,” he says, his helmet knocking into the bars with a rough clang and making you jump when he leans in. His chest lifts with his quickened breaths, working himself up at the thought of more bloodshed. “Then give you their hearts. No other man will take you. I’ll rend their limbs if another man tries. Make you taste their blood on my fingers and lap it up when I split you on my—”

Your heel skitters across the ground, digging a small groove into the dirt and scattering small rocks across the cell. “I don’t k-know what they intend—”

You stare at him when he rises back up to his feet, words dying on your tongue. Standing, he towers over you, shoulders rolling back to puff out his chest. 

“You wait, little bird. Flutter your wings. Soon you’ll see the sun.”

You can only imagine what he means. The thought of sunlight on your face fills you with dread for the first time in your life. 

He leaves without another word, heavy footsteps carrying him to the door until you hear him pry it open, sunlight streaming in for a second before it slams shut. The silence in the absence of him feels monstrous, gargantuan. 

All you can do is let out a shuddering breath.