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harryspet · 5 months

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bambi eyes (5) r. cameron

[Warnings] soft!dark!rafe cameron x reader, daddy!rafe x little!reader older!rafe, crimeboss!rafe, rafe takes advantage of traumatized reader, DUBCON, dd/lg, sex trafficking, sexual slavery, sugar daddy rafe, stockholm syndrome, spoiling kink, unprotected sex, forced? age regression, obx special guest appearances, little editing, 18+ READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

A/N: Will tag people later, for now I must sleep :) Enjoy!

word count: 3.9k

In which Rafe loosens his leash, but actions come with consequences.

Rafe told you to get dressed and to wait at the front of the house. Truthfully, you liked it better when Rafe picked out your outfits. That way, you knew exactly what looked good on you and that you wouldn’t make some kind of fashion faux pas. You decided on a pink fitted top, a matching skirt, and an adorable pair of brown boots Rafe bought you for Christmas. You completed your look with a bow at the top of your hair and an array of colorful bracelets you put on each arm.

You spent a while watching men in dark clothes walk the perimeter of the yard and through the forest on the sides of the property. At first, you were quite scared to see them, but Rafe explained that they worked for him. This led you to ask even more questions. Weren’t they cold out there? We should offer them some snacks? Could I make them cookies? Rafe shut down your curiosity quickly, emphasizing that you were not to say a word to any of them.

When the door to the enclosed porch opened, you expected to see Rafe. You closed your drawing book and turned your head to greet him. Instead, Rafe’s friend Barry greeted you. You’d heard them going back and forth all morning, usually, their conversations were tense, but you assumed they must’ve come to some type of agreement. At the sight of you, he smiled, flashing his gold tooth.

“Country Club’s little princess,” He sang, “How are you, baby?”

You smiled nervously, still not super used to being around others. It had been a few months now since Rafe brought you to Tannyhill and almost all of your social interaction had been with Rafe and Lana.

“I’m good, I . . . how are you?”

He walked in front of you, his hands behind his back as he looked you over, “Oh I’m just peachy. Whatchu got there?”

You glanced back towards the door, wondering if Rafe was far behind him. Looking back down at your lap, you said, “I was just drawing a little bit. Rafe told me to wait here–”

“Drawing, huh? You an artist?” Your eyes tilted back up to him.

“Not an artist,” You said quickly, “I just like to . . .”

“What kind of stuff do you draw?” He asked, and you sensed sincerity in his tone, “You know, I used to draw a lot when I was in school. Nothing serious, but I couldn’t help it; my mind would just wander, and then my paper would have a bunch of doodles on it.”

He kneeled down in front of you, and you hesitated for a moment before you opened the book. You showed him your page of doodles. You drew a lot of what you saw, including doodles of Rafe, and things you saw around Tannyhill, “That’s Lana, ain’t it?” You nodded, “Impressive. Most people ain’t good at drawing faces. Not you though.”

“Thank you,” You said, “You don’t draw anymore?”

He shook his head, “Not very often. I should.”

You agreed, “You should. Sometimes, Rafe will draw with me. Well, mainly we’ll color together. He likes it when there’s already a picture, so he doesn’t have to come up with it himself.”

“He’s pretty bad at it, anyways, ain’t he?” Unexpectedly, a giggle left your lips, and you raised your book to cover the bottom of your face.

“I should go look for him–” You made a move to escape, but Barry placed both his hands on the arms of your chair, effectively trapping you.

Barry hadn’t touched you, but you felt you might get in trouble just for laughing at his joke, “You don’t like my company or something?” You shook your head immediately.

“Sorry, that’s not what I meant . . .”

“You’re sweet; I can see why he likes you,” Barry held his eyes on you and you felt the skin on your face heat up with embarrassment, “You know, you ever get tired of him, or he pisses you off – which he will, then you can call me. We can run away together.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, “I don’t have a phone.”

Barry smirked at that, “Ask anyone on this island who Barry is, and they’ll point you in the right direction.”

Running away with Barry was the last thing you wanted to do. Rafe had his bad days but you hadn’t considered trying to leave. Barry also barely knew you but you decided to think positively. Afterall, Rafe trusted Barry. You assumed his intentions must be good, “Okay,” You agreed, “When you come back next, maybe you can show me some of your drawings.”

“You want to see them. Really?”

“Yes,” You said, “It’s only fair.”

Barry nodded, “You make a good point. I gotta come back soon and try more of your desserts. That cake you made … I ain’t tasted nothing better.”

“You have to,” You rushed out excitedly, “Rafe and Lana say everything I make is great, I can’t tell if they’re honest.”

“I’m as honest as they come, sweetheart,” You grinned at that, “A good friend is honest.”

“You want to be my friend?”

“I mean, only if you want me to.”

“I do.”

“Don’t tell Rafe though–”

Your conversation was interrupted when the poor door opened, and Rafe appeared, “Don’t tell Rafe what?” His gaze was sharp, and luckily, it was mostly directed at Barry. You watched as Barry stood and stepped back from you.

“Nothing man, we were just talking about about Kildare. You’re going to let me help show her around, right?”

Rafe’s brooding look turned to amusement, “She’s not gonna step foot on your side of the island. Thanks for the offer though.”

There was an awkward silence, and you felt some tension building until Barry finally said, “Alright, I’ll see you soon, Bambi,” You waved as he turned on his heel, “Rafe.”

Rafe watched as Barry walked out the front door before he held out his hand, summoning you. You hurried from your chair, moving in closer before you grabbed ahold of his hand. It was his cue to you that he would be leading you somewhere, and you were expected to follow.

“He touch you?” Rafe asked, leading you out the same door. You watched as Barry pulled around the horseshoe driveway in his sports car. He walked you to his large truck, opening the passenger door, “Bambi.”

“Uh …no,” You stared.

Suddenly, you were the furthest from Tannyhill’s front door than you’d ever been.

“Good, get in, Bambi.”

“I’m leaving . . . you’re leaving with me in the car? Your car? Right now? Today?”

“Yeah,” He said, unsure of himself, “Get in; I’m already starting to change my mind.”

You jumped in excitement, “Really? Where are we going?” Rafe helped you as you started to climb in. He leaned over you, fastening your seatbelt for you, “You aren’t taking me back, right?”

“No, sweet girl,” Rafe assured you, “As far as where we’re going, it’s a surprise.”

You couldn’t contain your excitement as you settled into your seat. As you pulled past the gates at the end of the long driveway and onto the road, you couldn’t help but feel like all your faith in Rafe had paid off.

“Who’s that, Daddy?” You asked, noticing a black car that had also pulled out of Tannyhill and was following closely behind.

“No one, Bambi,” He brushed your question off, “So, uh, what were you two talking about? You and Barry?”

Your eyes were focused on the huge trees that hung over the road, beautifully dripping green moss from it’s branches. Between the trees, you saw huge mansions with big gates and long drives just like Tannyhill.

“Drawing,” You said briefly, “He said he would show me some of his work.”

“He’s full of shit.”

You turned to Rafe who was gripping the wheel with one hand, “Daddy … I don’t like it when you curse.”

“Bambi, I–” He held his tongue, sighing before he reached over to place his other hand on your thigh, “I’m sorry, sometimes work makes me lose focus. What I mean is that Barry is my friend but … he likes to mess with me, you know? So he might say something to you knowing that it would bother me.”

“He seemed like he meant it,” You said, “Would it bother you if we were friends?”

“Guys and girls can’t really be friends,” Rafe explained, “Especially not with little girls like you, okay?”

“But why–”

“Because I’m telling you right now. I appreciate that you are kind to Barry but he wouldn’t be a good friend to you. If I’m going to protect you, and as your Daddy, I should have a say in who your friends are.”

You opened your mouth to argue but quickly shut it. It didn’t make much sense to you why men and women couldn’t be friends. Why would Barry offer to be your friend if it wasn’t appropriate? You supposed that you never had any male friends before, and most men you’d been around wanted a similar thing from you, “Maybe you’re right, Daddy.”

You drove over bridges with water on both sides of the road and through more neighborhoods with huge houses. Fifteen minutes into your drive, you arrived at an area with a grocery store and lots of stores that you assumed were also for shopping.

Rafe pulled his truck in front of one of the storefronts. You unbuckled your seatbelt, sitting up further in your seat so you could read the sign, “Fig . . uuure eight …ball …it.”

“Ballet,” Rafe corrected you, “Figure eight Ballet Company.”

Confusion spread over your features, “I looked into it; they have adult classes for beginners. I thought it might be something fun for you to do once a week.”

“Me?” You pointed to your chest, “Dance classes?”

“If you don’t want to, that’s okay,” Rafe rushed out, “It’s good exercise, and you can also do it at home. And it’s a chance to meet friends, friends that are girls, preferably.”

“Oh,” When you looked at Rafe, it seemed like he was desperately trying to read your expression, “I’d be so nervous. And I wouldn’t be good at it.”

“I think people just do it for fun and to learn something new. And I wouldn’t just leave; I would walk you in and pick you up. Not today; I just wanted to take you by and see what you thought.”

“... It could be really fun …”

“And you’d make quite the adorable ballerina.”

“Maybe I could try one class . . . and if I liked it, you would take me every week?”

“Every week, as long as you continue to be a good girl,” Your nervousness started to melt away into excitement the longer you thought about it, “And while we’re out, I thought we could do some shopping. My research has informed me you’re going to need shoes, tights, a leotard, and a skirt.”

You practically leaped over the center console to hug him, “Thank you, thank you, thank you, Daddy!”

Rafe pulled you in close, “Anything for you, sweet girl.”

Rafe didn’t need to get his hands dirty anymore; he could hire people to protect him or kill for him. As he settled into his new life with you, he started to miss some of the adventures he experienced in his early 20s and late teens. There were no more brawls or treasures to steal. He hadn’t realized he needed an outlet for the negative energy that seemed to boil up inside of him sometimes. Now, what he knew is that he needed to keep that side of him as far away from you as possible.

Killing JJ would’ve satisfied that part of him that has been begging to come out of him for years. He would’ve felt a rush like no other, power and control that he hadn’t felt in so long. He hadn’t brought himself to do it yet, teetering on that line between sanity and insanity. The Pogue was always a good competitor, and Rafe wasn’t surprised that he was still fighting. Rafe liked that about JJ.

Still, Rafe wanted to see him break, and he was patient enough to wait for it.

“What would you do to see her again?” Rafe asked as he kneeled over JJ’s bruised and battered body.

The pogue coughed, and blood-spattered on the boat cabin’s floor.

The silent treatment followed, but Rafe was used to talking to himself, “I know she’s not over you, but how long do you think she’ll wait before she moves on? Six months? A year? I mean, she’s a wild one; I’m sure she won’t want to stick around this place for much longer.”

“Fuck you, Rafe,” JJ’s favorite words.

“Maybe you just don’t love her like I thought you did,” Rafe taunted, “I mean if you did, you’d be groveling at my feet, right?”

JJ’s eyes pinched tight as Rafe’s words sounded like nails on a chalkboard.

The silent treatment followed again, and Rafe considered what his next steps might be. Removing limbs? That could be fun for a while, but if he hadn’t surrendered at this point, what would make him crack?

“Fine,” Rafe looked down at his bloody knuckles, “I won’t bother you anymore today, but I do have something I want you to contemplate in your hours of silence. Consider the idea that I let you go, and you see Kie again instead of bleeding out here and your body being chopped into pieces. I want you to think, and I mean really think, about what you might do to make that happen. And don’t think of it as sacrificing your morals or making a deal with the devil … think of it as securing your future, okay?”

Rafe tapped his hand against JJ’s sore cheek before he stood and left. He heard no quippy comeback from the Pogue. At least Rafe had successfully beat that out of him.

Rafe’s eyes snapped open and was awakened from his sleep when he felt a soft finger poking at his cheek, “Wha…” Groggily, he reached to turn on his bedside lamp and found you, dressed in a onesie that made you look like a brown bear, standing beside his bed, a sniffling mess, “Hey, w-what’s wrong?”

Immediately, Rafe reached out to grab you, and you proceeded to climb onto his large bed, “I-I had a scary dream,” You hiccuped, “Y-You sent me away a-and I was alone again and Master he was so mad at me b-because I-I didn’t make you h-happy–”

Rafe shushed you, pulling you into him, “It wasn’t real, okay? Look, you’re here with me right now.”

“It felt real,” You whimpered, and Rafe’s lips pulled into a thin line of frustration. He wanted you happy, and he wanted to give you much more than you ever had, and it pained him that you thought he might hurt you in that way.

“I . . . I wouldn’t ever do that, Bambi,” He brushed tears from your cheeks and caressed your face, “I’d fu- … I’d rather die than let you go. And I’d kill anyone that tried to take you from me. Anyone, okay?”

“You’ve hurt people before,” It wasn’t a question; Rafe could see it was an observation she’d made.

“Yes,” He admitted, “But I haven’t hurt you, have I?”

“You saved me.”

Rafe nodded, “That’s right, sweet girl. I saved you. I’ve hurt people, yes, but I-I’m not a cruel person. I wouldn’t do something like that. And you make me so happy.”

Rafe watched as you blinked away your tears and tried to stop yourself from frowning, “What if I don’t always make you happy?”

“You make me happy by breathing,” Rafe tried to assure you, “You’re smart and beautiful, and you deserve nice things. I never had anyone in my life that made me feel like I deserved anything. I never even felt like I deserved to be loved. I don’t want you to ever feel like that.”

“I love you, Rafe,” You were trying to reassure him now, and Rafe was grateful. He loved those words on your lips, and he felt in his heart that you meant them, “And . . . I like being loved by you. So much.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” Rafe felt you press your forehead against his before you pressed your lips softly against his, “Thank you . . . for everything. Uhm, did I scare you?”

“No, no,” Rafe’s mind was mostly on the thought of your lips, “I like being woken up by cute bears.”

Rafe pulled you in again for a kiss. Softly, your lips moved together, and Rafe explored your mouth with his tongue, slowly deepening the kiss. Rafe was already growing hard, and he cursed in his mind, frustrated by how easily you got him going.

“You still sore from earlier?” He asked.

“A little bit,” You spoke shyly, “You were kinda rough…”

Rafe thought back to you, bent over the arm of the couch, taking you deep, but that just made his cock ache even more.

“But I’ve trained that little hole well, haven’t I?” Rafe asked, pressing the length protruding from his boxers, against your stomach, “You can take more, okay?”

You nodded, although Rafe’s question was rhetorical. Rafe didn’t like you sad, but he certainly like seeing your teary face. Your pajamas were the cherry on top, including the convenient little flap on the back that allowed for easy access, “Turn around on your side, little girl,” Rafe commanded gruffly, “This will help you sleep.”

“Daddy…” You whined as you did exactly as Rafe ordered.

“Right here, not going anywhere,” Rafe pushed his crotch into your ass, bringing his lips close to your ear. He ground against you as he carefully pulled down the front zipper of your onesie. He needed to feel your nipples between his fingers, your breasts in his large hands. He also needed your pussy dripping for him, knowing he couldn’t fuck you when you were already sore without any lubrication. He reached into your onesie, finding your mound easily, and began to rub circles over your sensitive area, “Daddy needs you so badly.”

You squirmed, but you were tightly pressed against him. He teased you, moving back and forth from your clit to your breasts. He’d rub your breast until you were aching below, and when you started to feel close, he’d go back to teasing your nipples.

He got you to a point where you were so stimulated that you were already orgasming with three slow and deep strokes inside of you. You were convulsing around him, unable to contain your moans, but Rafe wrapped his hand around your mouth and continued to pump inside of you. It certainly wasn’t as rough as earlier, but Rafe could feel you squeezing him tighter, “You feel how happy you make me, Bambi?” Rafe grunted, “Daddy wouldn’t want to cum in any other pussy than yours — Jesus.”

Rafe finished inside of you. He hadn’t lost all of his energy, though, moving his hands back to your clit, as he filled you up. He didn’t stop until your legs were shaking and you were cumming again.

“Thank me.”

“Thank you, Daddy,” You spoke breathlessly.

Now that your Daddy was allowing you out of the house, there were new rules for you to learn. Of course, you weren’t allowed to talk to strangers unless they were girls you met at dance class. You had to go by Y/N, Y/L/N, and Rafe had given you an ID to carry around when you couldn’t be together. If anyone asked who you were to Rafe, you could just say that you were his girlfriend and you’d moved in with him a few months ago. That wasn’t far from the truth, so you didn’t imagine that would feel like lying.

A few days after he showed you the ballet company, he let you tag along to run errands with him. For most of the time you sat in the car, watching him pump gas, stop at different businesses, and shake hands with men who seemed amused by every word Rafe said. You noticed people tended to stare at him, especially as the two of you walked through the grocery store together.

“Did people always stare at you like this?”

“They used to stare at my Dad; he used to be the King of this place,” You nodded, twirling the ribbon in your hair as Rafe pushed the cart along, “I don’t think people expected me to come back.”

“Well, since you’re Dad is gone. I guess you’re the King now,” You flashed him a smile.

“Maybe so,” Rafe conceded.

“Oooh, look!” You pointed at something in the refrigerated section that caught your eye, and your feet were already moving towards it. As soon as you pulled open the glass door, you felt Rafe’s strong hands around your bicep, stopping you. You whipped back to see eyes narrowed at you and his serious face.

“You can’t just run away from me like that,” He snapped, “Jesus . . . don’t do that, okay?”

“I’m sorry,” You squeaked, “I just saw . . . they have so many types of iced coffee. They have peppermint, and caramel and mocha-”

“Coffee isn’t good for you.”

“You let me eat sweets all the time, and those aren’t good for me,” The words came out before you could stop them. You couldn’t help but feel frustrated. Rafe offered you the world, but at the same time, he controlled so many aspects of it.

You’d pissed him off; you could immediately see it in his face. His hand still on your arm, Rafe leaned closer to you, “You’re going to stand right next to the cart for the rest of the time we’re in here, and you’re not going to say another word, okay? I don’t want to hear it.”

You let the door go just as Rafe let your arm go. You crossed your arms, knowing you had no other choice than to keep your mouth closed. Rafe didn’t have much to say after that, and you let him brood on his own.

You were standing near the fresh produce; Rafe was picking out the vegetables that Lana had written on the grocery list when you saw a woman approaching your cart. She had caramel skin and pretty curls that were tamed by a messy bun on top of her head. She was holding a small shopping basket, but she didn’t seem to have any care for any of the items inside as she stomped closer to the two of you, red in her eyes.

“Rafe Cameron!” She didn’t seem even to perceive you as she stared Rafe down. You watched his reaction closely and how his contempt quickly switched from you to her.

“Kie, long time no see,” He didn’t express much emotion other than through his eyes, making him appear stoic.

The woman, Kie, didn’t hide any of her emotions, “I know what you did.”

“What’s that?” Rafe tilted his head.

“You know what exactly I’m talking about,” She pointed a finger at him, tears in her eyes, “Your day is coming–”

He proceeded to talk over her, “Hey, let your Mom and pops know Cameron Development is still interested in working with them. I have the perfect property for their next restaurant. I mean, an absolutely gorgeous spot.”

“Fuck you, Rafe,” You covered your mouth in shock.

“It was nice catching up with you too, Kie,” He winked as the woman walked away.

You watched as Rafe’s hands squeezed into a fist and then how tightly they wrapped around the cart’s handle.

“Daddy-”

“Let’s go, Bambi.”

“Rafe-”

“I didn’t want to hear it before; I definitely don’t want to hear your mouth now. Let’s go.”

You bit your tongue and fell back into step with him. You supposed a king couldn't be loved by all his subjects.

PART 6

Please reblog if you enjoyed and let me know what you think/predictions for the future!

#dark fic #rafe x reader #rafe obx #rafe cameron #outer banks smut #barry outer banks #rafe cameron x black!reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe fanfiction #jj maybank #kiara carrera

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retrievablememories · 7 months

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cherry bomb | part 2 | jungkook (m)

pairing: jungkook x fem reader

summary: after your town goes into lockdown because of the cherry bomb massacre, you find out that the murderer's interest is on you. eventually, you’re left with no choice but to face him.

genre: horror/slasher, angst, smut, college!au

word count: 13.7k

warnings: major character deaths, gaslighting, hallucinations, anxiety/paranoia, grief, trauma, violence (including knife and gun use), torture, blood, gore, descriptions of dead bodies, a funeral scene, fuckboy!JK, oral (fem receiving), fingering, finger-sucking, handjob, cumplay(?), hair-pulling

a/n: this part is quite rougher than the first, so heed the warnings. same notes as the last part—not meant to be entirely realistic since this *is* a slasher. block/filter as needed. i didn’t mention this in part 1 but this fic is not set in present day; more like somewhere in the 2000s? i don’t think this fic would work as well with all this advanced technology/the prevalence of social media now

...also, i had this story all written out and then decided to completely change the plot at the last minute because i figured out a way to write the original plot i had wanted to do from the beginning. 💀 yeah…just leave your thoughts below

taglist is at the very bottom of the fic—for some reason i wasn't able to tag everyone who requested, so please reblog this fic so folks can see it

sources for the fic dividers: one | two

link to part 1

you’re standing in front of some stranger’s house in the early hours of the morning, your body heavy from exhaustion as your adrenaline has run out. this is not at all how you expected your night to end when you left your dorm hours ago. it must’ve taken at least 40 minutes to get to this house, and you’re less familiar with this part of town, which you try not to feel uneasy about. you suppose the farther away from the scene of the carnage, the better.

jungkook bangs on the door, calling out the name yoongi-hyung until the porch light comes on. though it’s illogical, you’re tense with apprehension that the murderer could somehow appear at any moment, and you hope whoever yoongi is lets the both of you in soon. so much for no longer looking over your shoulder.

a man with hair just as long as jungkook’s answers the door, looking disheveled and annoyed. “why the fuck are you banging down my door at nearly 2 am—"

yoongi stops speaking as he eyes the both of you up and down, his gaze going from the bite mark bruises you left on jungkook’s neck to the dried blood on your face to the bullet holes in jungkook’s car. his expression is between surprise and curiosity. “what the fuck is going on here?”

“can we talk inside?” jungkook says, though he doesn’t wait for an invitation before pushing his way past the other man and stepping inside.

“uh…hi. sorry.” you step inside too, glad to not be out in the open anymore.

yoongi takes another look outside the door at the state of jungkook’s car before closing and locking it. “mind explaining this shit? i thought you were going to that party you told me about?

“i did,” jungkook says, his voice full of frustration. “the fucking killer showed up at the party.”

“the fuck are you talking about?”

“you know what i’m talking about. that werewolf-masked freak? he came and just started stabbing people to death. we watched him shoot a fraternity member in front of us, dude. that’s why my car looks the way it does.”

“the campus is probably dangerous,” you add. “that’s why we came here. we just need somewhere safe to stay for the night.”

yoongi goes to the window and draws back the curtain. he peeks out the small holes in the side of the blinds rather than pushing the blinds down to look outside. “and you’re certain he didn’t follow you here? i thought he only killed virgins anyway. why the hell was he shooting at you?” then yoongi turns away from the window and looks at you. “oh. is this why?”

feeling put on the spot, you blurt out: “look, i don’t think that matters much anymore. he seemed to be killing anybody who was in his way.”

“and he was on foot the whole time, so there’s no way he could’ve followed us,” jungkook adds.

yoongi shakes his head and walks away from the window. “whole town is fucked, then. come on.”

you’re relieved to be able to scrub the blood off your face and change into fresh clothes. you initially thought it was peculiar that yoongi had spare clothes ready for you to wear until he alluded to keeping them on hand for any of jungkook’s hookups that he brings over.

“sure—of course.” you’d just nodded and tried not to look embarrassed as you accepted the clothes.

even after showering you don’t feel entirely clean, though. you think it might be impossible to return to feeling anything like your former self after tonight.

the couch has a pull-out bed, so it’s not as uncomfortable as it would be just sleeping on a regular sofa, which you are grateful for. you’re still arranging the pillow and blankets when jungkook walks into the room holding his own bedding.

“i think i should sleep here,” he says.

“there’s no room on the couch for the both of us,” you protest, thinking he means to take your spot.

“i mean on the floor. earlier, you didn’t seem like you wanted to be left alone in here.”

“oh.” you try to take the edge out of your voice; it’s hard to be polite when you’re still so overwhelmed with stress. “that’ll be uncomfortable though.”

jungkook just waves his hand and dumps his pillow and blanket on the floor before going to push the coffee table out of the way. “doesn’t really matter, i think we’ve been through worse tonight than sleeping on a hard floor…”

“thanks,” you say quietly, watching him spread his blanket out on the ground. you want to say something else, but you can’t think of anything.

“it’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

after a few more moments of staring at jungkook as he arranges his sleeping area, you finally ask, “i was wondering how’d you meet yoongi? he doesn’t seem like he’s a college student. i’ve never seen him around our campus, at least.”

“he isn’t. he works as a music producer, so he’s out of town a lot, but this is his homebase. as for how we met—it’s a long story. he and my brother actually used to know each other, so…” you think he’ll explain further, but he just shakes his head. “but he’s a good friend.”

“i see. a music producer…nice. how cool for a little town like this.”

after everything is to his liking, jungkook gets under the blanket. “tonight was a lot, so try to get some sleep.”

you nod and turn the lamp off, though you’re doubting you’ll get any peace tonight. “yeah…you too.”

SATURDAY MORNING, NOV 4

you wake up around 11 a.m. on a strange couch wearing strange clothes in a strange room. with your brain’s half-conscious state, your terror reawakens; you think maybe you’ve been kidnapped by the murderer and the car ride with jungkook last night was a dream—until yoongi pops into your mind.

you try to regulate your breathing and settle back beneath the blanket, though you know you won’t be going back to sleep.

you haven’t gotten more than an hour of sleep in total, broken up into 20-minute intervals across the hours. every time you’ve tried to close your eyes and drift off, you see the frat member’s skull bursting apart again, shocking your entire nervous system. you can think of nothing but the piles of bodies and the deaths you witnessed. perhaps it’s better that you don’t sleep; you figure your dreams wouldn’t be any more tolerable than your thoughts.

as you shift around on the couch, your whole body screams with soreness. your arms, your ribs, your sides, your legs, and—to a lesser extent—even between your thighs where jungkook was last night.

you glance over and see that he’s still sprawled on the floor, blanket halfway kicked off. he’s actually awake, his face turned away from you as he blinks slowly and stares at nothing, but he doesn’t say anything and so neither do you. with you spending most of your night awake, you saw that he was able to get more rest than you did. lucky him.

it hurts to move, but you reach for your phone and check for any signs of lorelai. none. there is one text from camille, sent 40 minutes ago.

➤ camille: I talked to Lorelai’s sister. She went to go see about a missing persons report. The police took her information but didn’t seem very concerned about it and said she might have just stayed the night with other friends after the party. Apparently a lot of others had the same idea as you. Campus is a ghost town. They’re still identifying all the bodies, so no word yet.

➤ y/n: so we just have to sit here and wait to see if she’ll turn up alive or dead? that’s useless.

➤ camille: As per fucking usual with the pigs.

➤ camille: She also told me there’s supposed to be a lockdown or something. It’s on the news.

➤ y/n: a lockdown???

looking around the room, you spot the TV remote sitting on yoongi’s coffee table a few feet away. you try to sit up, but it takes you a couple minutes longer than you anticipate because of the pain. jungkook notices the movement from the corner of his eye and turns to look at you. “what are you doing?”

“tryna get the remote.”

jungkook grabs it and hands it to you, and you turn the TV to one of the local news channels.

➤ camille: They’re telling people not to leave their homes for anything non-essential while they search for him. Not sure how long that’s supposed to last. I guess now they wanna get serious about this fucking killer? Too late for that.

you and jungkook watch as the newscaster gives a rundown of last night’s events; to your small relief, it looks like the killer didn’t try to go to the campus after the murders at the party house. the newscaster goes on to announce that the police are instating a citywide curfew, which they’ll discuss further at a press conference in the afternoon. in the meantime, they advise everyone to only travel in groups, shelter in place if possible, and keep all windows and doors locked.

you laugh humorlessly, and jungkook glances at you again. “in groups? we were all packed into one damn house at the party, and how much did that help?”

➤ y/n: are you sure you’re okay at the uni?

➤ camille: I’m fine. My roommate brought some of her friends into our room so no one’s left alone. Either way, my dad is coming to help me move some of my things out and come back home.

➤ y/n: okay, please just stay safe.

➤ camille: You too.

“what now?” jungkook says once the newscast goes off. “everybody just stays holed up for like a month while they hunt for that guy?”

you roll your eyes. “people won’t stay in their homes for that long. i don’t know how any of this is gonna work. we wouldn’t be in this mess now if they’d cared when this first started happening.”

“you think so? students would still be getting killed. the only difference is that a good chunk of people would just be sitting at home freaking the fuck out and too scared to go anywhere while the killer would still be on the loose.”

“…damn. it’s truly bleak to assume we’d still be in the same situation. you’re an optimistic one.”

“better than deluding yourself about it.”

“whatever. where’s your family to freak out over you? somebody should be concerned about your whereabouts by now. didn’t you say you have a brother? speaking of, i’m gonna have to call my sister soon…”

jungkook turns back to the TV, and you can tell he’s become more tense than he was seconds ago. “yeah, but i’m estranged from them. yoongi’s my family.”

wrong thing to ask. you wonder about the reason for it but decide it’s probably better not to pry. “ah…that sucks.”

jungkook looks back at you like he’s irked by that response, but he makes a noise resembling a chuckle. “tell me about it.”

later that afternoon, after you’ve reassured your sister veronica on her work break that you are fine and at a “friend’s” house (because you have no clue how to refer to either of these men), you and yoongi sit at the kitchen table with brunch while jungkook goes outside to examine the damage to his car more closely.

it’s difficult to eat, but you do so anyway; you don’t want to be rude by wasting the food yoongi made. the news station still plays loudly from the living room as you wait for the press conference to come on.

“so, about you and jungkook...” yoongi starts, looking at you from over the rim of his cup of coffee.

“what about me and jungkook?”

“we both know he didn’t get those bites on his neck from a wild animal attack.”

you sit up straighter in your seat, a sudden spike of irritation hitting you. “aren’t we all grown here? who cares?” you try to sound unbothered despite feeling very green about all of this. after all, you’d only had sex for the first time last night.

“look, i don’t care. fuck him all you want. i’m just trying to advise you not to get emotionally involved, because that’s not how jungkook operates. the amount of girls i’ve had somehow coming after my neck when their situationship with him doesn’t work out is starting to get really old. it’d be best if you didn’t do the same.”

you’re simultaneously annoyed at his assumption of you and flustered because you want to prove him wrong about acting the same as the other girls. you hate both feelings. “i don’t want anything like that with him. i just needed something done and i got it. it doesn’t matter anymore.”

yoongi shrugs, and you get the sense he’s heard that before and isn’t convinced, but you can’t be bothered going back and forth with him about this.

the press conference comes on TV a few minutes later. they announce that classes at your university are cancelled indefinitely; parents and relatives will need to come move their students out, and the school will be operating with a skeleton staff and increased security presence for any students who can’t leave the campus. the citywide curfew will be at 8 p.m. every night, by which time almost everyone will need to be in their homes, and it will end at 6 a.m each morning.

“fun,” you say sarcastically. “at least i won’t have to worry about finals and trying not to get murdered at the same time.”

when jungkook comes back inside, you let him know about what he missed from the press conference.

“we should just stay here for now.” when you raise your eyebrows, jungkook says, “i basically live here when i’m not on campus for classes. plus yoongi-hyung lets me bring girls here all the time, this is nothing new.”

“if both of you are gonna be hiding out in my place, we’ll need to go to the store,” yoongi says. “more mouths to feed.”

“…or i could just go home?” you propose, your mind reeling at them already making plans. you feel awkward about staying in a stranger’s house for who knows how long. “i think we only really needed to stay here for the night. it’s fine.”

“will you have people there with you?” jungkook asks. “it’s not safe to be alone.”

you’re surprised he seems to be this concerned, but you answer: “well, i mean…my sister works 12-hour shifts as a nurse and she’s the only one living there, so…” you’d chosen your university because your older sister lived in the area, and because it was a tradition for women in your family to attend that school, but there were no other relatives you could turn to. your parents lived a couple of towns away.

yoongi comes to the conclusion so you don’t have to. “in other words, you’ll be alone most of the day.”

“…i guess. but i’m really not tryna impose on you by staying here.”

yoongi tilts his head, a small smirk on his lips. you automatically dislike the look on his face. “why don’t you take jungkook with you, then?”

you and jungkook glance at each other. “but, hyung…”

yoongi shakes his head. “you already know i can take care of myself. seriously, don’t worry about it.” and then yoongi winks at you. you don’t know for sure, but you take that to mean he’s probably packing heat like camille’s dad.

“if you’re sure.” turning to you, jungkook says, “so, how about it?”

“it’s my sister’s house, so i’ll have to ask her,” you say tentatively. “yeah…uh. let me do that now, i guess.” you pull out your phone to text her about it, though you know it’ll be a while before she gets another work break and can answer. “in the meantime…i think we’ll need to go to the store either way. and then to campus to pick our things up.”

“you’re right. let’s go then,” jungkook says.

the store is full of people panic-buying food and necessities in preparation for the curfew and effective lockdown, which you expected. you and jungkook end up going your separate ways to find the things you need because it’s quicker that way, and because you want to get in and out of the store as soon as possible. the crowdedness is too much like the party, and despite yourself, anxiety begins rising in you due to the claustrophobic atmosphere. you try to maintain even breaths as you keep searching for items. just what you need—a shiny new trauma to make your life harder.

you pass by a man in one of the less-crowded aisles before realizing he’s standing in front of what you need to get, examining one of the food packages. you wait a few moments to see if he’ll finish up soon, and when your eyes begin to wander, you see that there’s a long gray hair clinging to the back of his leather jacket, standing out clearly against the black. you probably wouldn’t have noticed this at all on any other day, except your mind has been on high alert for hours now; you find it strange that this strand clearly doesn’t match the shade or length of the hair on his head, which is short and plain brown. the shade of the hair also weirdly reminds you of something, though you can’t quite recall what; it remains just out of your mind’s reach.

you shake your head. he could’ve come to the store with somebody who has long gray hair, or hugged them before he left home, and a strand stuck to his jacket. it’s the least of your issues right now.

the man must feel your presence behind him because he turns around to look at you. you’re a little taken aback by his gaze; his expression isn’t mean per se, but very intense, as if his entire focus is trained on you.

there’s a second’s pause, like he’s thinking about something before he speaks. “am i in your way?” he asks, never breaking eye contact. his voice doesn’t portray any particular emotion.

“i just have to get something really quick.” he steps aside and gestures to the rows of food without a word. you slip in beside him and grab what you need before moving away again. “thanks.” you think about telling him about the hair on his jacket but decide against it; your decision is solidified when you spot a wolf figurine keychain on his keys, faded from time but still distinguishable. it makes your breath catch.

there’s no way it could be him. it was kind of dark in the party house with nothing but string lights and lamps illuminating it, and everything happened so quickly…but you do remember the colors of that mask. red, yellow, black—and that dark gray for the fur.

but maybe it’s really all just a coincidence; how much sense would it make to turn every person with wolf paraphernalia and random stray hairs into a suspect?

you walk down the rest of the aisle and away from the man with growing unease. maybe it’s time to find jungkook so you can get out of here; you can hardly keep yourself together, and despite your best attempts at logic, you can’t stop yourself from getting more frantic about those two things.

speeding up your walk and weaving through people, you look down every aisle in search for jungkook before you find him, rushing over to him as you breathe heavily.

“whoa, what the hell is wrong? did somebody do something?”

“no, i…”

“what happened?”

“it’s the…well, the…i saw, uh…”

“y/n.”

“i saw—the mask. the fur from the mask. do you remember it?”

“…you mean that stupid ass werewolf mask?” you gesture for jungkook to lower his voice. “wait, you’re saying you saw it in here?”

“no, i saw a man who had a strand of hair on his jacket…” it starts sounding ridiculous to your own ears the more you speak, but you continue. “the strand—it was the same color as that fur. the same length! and he—he had some weird wolf keychain…”

jungkook stares at you for a long moment before sighing. “you’re not serious? a random strand of hair that could be from anybody or anything? that could be from someone’s fucking grandma for all we know. plus a keychain…maybe he just likes wolves, y/n.”

you already know that saying i just feel like something is off won’t be enough to convince him. you sigh with a deep sense of defeat, considering that he’s probably right. maybe your initial assumption was the more sensible answer. “…right. i think i’m just really fucked up right now after everything that happened. can we finish up here?”

“yeah, we will. because you definitely need to lay down soon or something. you haven’t had any sleep all night, right?” the way jungkook eyes you with concern as if you’ve lost your mind annoys you. you’re about to give a smart remark when you notice something in the carrying-basket he has.

“…a baseball bat?”

“if the killer comes after us again, duh. we’ll be prepared this time. or at least i will.”

“good luck with that if he happens to have another gun.” rolling your eyes, you brush past jungkook to go to one of the checkout counters.

in the parking lot, you see that the man from earlier has also come out and is putting the last of his grocery bags into his car trunk. there’s really nothing spectacular about his appearance that would make him stand out in a crowd, with his average height and average looks, let alone incriminate him as a serial killer. yet that familiar unease won’t leave.

he sees you and jungkook walking towards the car together, and his eyes dart to the bullet holes in jungkook’s car. then he makes eye contact with you. you give a half-hearted wave, unsure what else to do with his eyes stuck on you. for a moment, his lips turn up into the faintest smile before he shakes his head and gets into his own car.

MONDAY, NOV 6

you’ve spent half of saturday and all of sunday trying to get used to living in your sister’s house with jungkook. veronica had been surprisingly okay with having him stay over, though most of it was her being relieved you finally found “a potential boyfriend who’s actually cute.” you didn’t have the energy to argue with her.

you’ve also been constantly checking on camille (to her eventual annoyance) and seeing if there are any more updates on lorelai. still nothing. your dread grows the further away you get from that bloody friday, but you try to keep your thoughts from straying too darkly.

right now, you, veronica, and jungkook all sit on the couch together in a neat little row, a bowl of popcorn in front of you on the coffee table and some science-fiction B-movie playing on the TV. your sister proposed the idea to distract yourselves from everything going on, but so far, you feel like it isn’t very effective. at least not for you. your mind keeps wandering to other things every 5 minutes.

eventually, veronica yawns widely, stretching her arms and legs before rising off the couch. “okay, i’m getting tired as fuck. i need to go to sleep for work tomorrow anyway. you guys enjoy the rest of the movie, okay?” she pats your shoulder as she passes by you on her way out of the room.

jungkook waves. “oh, sure. goodnight.”

“night, sis.”

when jungkook’s attention goes back to the movie, your sister makes eye contact with you and points her finger at you menacingly. you give her a shocked look while she mouths you know what i mean and swirls her finger in jungkook’s direction. embarrassed at the implication, you roll your eyes and turn your head back to the TV screen. having sex with jungkook on your sister’s couch is not high on your list of priorities tonight.

after your sister is gone, jungkook spreads out on the couch like it’s his own living room, placing his legs right over your lap. you sigh, looking over at him—and hoping that your eyes don’t linger too obviously on the expanse of thigh muscle that’s now on display from his shorts riding up higher.

“…really? i don’t want your big ole legs in my lap.”

jungkook just grins. “you should lay down too, it’s more comfortable this way.” you stare at him, and he tries to egg you on by pulling the sleeve of your shirt. “come on.”

“i’m not laying down on top of you, if that’s what you’re after.”

you do end up lying down, but on the opposite side of the couch so that your legs are tangled together, which really just increases the amount of contact between you either way—but whatever.

this makes jungkook laugh more. “ha, it’s like we’re scissoring.”

“so damn corny.”

you two continue watching the rest of the movie, but by the end of it you don’t remember half of what happened. taking the remote, you flip through the channels and try to find something else to look at. there isn’t much interesting to watch on a random monday night—which would be a school night anyway, if not for the current context.

as you search for a channel, jungkook asks: “what would you do if you found out who the killer was?”

you squint your eyes at his odd question. maybe the obvious answer would be to alert the police. but after days of having your anger stoked like a fire, that’s not exactly the answer you’d choose. “maybe i’d kill him.” the words leave your lips easily, and you hardly think twice about them once they’re out.

neither of you speak for a few long moments.

“does that scare you?” you ask, after the silence starts annoying you. you want to laugh, but there’s nothing really funny about the situation.

“…not really. angry women are kinda sexy. so are dangerous ones.”

you scoff. “i’m not tryna be sexy, you fool. and how many dangerous women have you dealt with? seems to me you only have a thing for the innocents.”

“it’s not like i only fuck virgins. you don’t even know me like that.” he nudges your leg with his foot like he’s also annoyed, but his expression doesn’t show any actual irritation.

“…if you want to go back and forth about it, go outside and argue with the wall or something. i’m in no mood, jungkook.” you shove his foot off of you. “just, holy shit. i wish i could have just one hour where i don’t have to think about any of this shit. my mind can’t even breathe.”

he’s actually quiet for a couple minutes after. you think he’s moved on from the conversation until he finally says, “i can give you an hour.”

your body becomes alert at that. the insinuation in his tone is obvious. you glance backwards as if your sister could hear you from upstairs, though you know that’s illogical. “i got what i wanted from you already,” you whisper.

“so? what if i wanted to give you more? you know you’re allowed to have sex with a person more than once, yeah?” he chuckles.

here he is making you this offer, and once again you feel like you’ve been reduced to the state of a confused lamb in front of a hungry wolf. you realize that the idea of letting yourself get more physically entangled with jungkook scares you. he is not someone you can turn into a boyfriend, who wants to be a boyfriend, and you are only looking to save yourself from any potential hurt. “it would just be sex—right? you have to know i’m not looking for anything deeper from you.”

jungkook smirks. like with yoongi, you don’t know if he believes you. “i know.”

you want to undo almost everything from the past few days. you can’t forget, but for a while, you want to just exist outside of the timeline where there’s a killer on the loose and one of your friends is missing. it’s too much to handle; your body is approaching its limits for the amount of stress it can take. you need a balm to numb the pain and the fear, and you dislike that you are giving into your base instincts to do so. you feel guilty, somehow. but pleasure is easy. at least it has been whenever you sought it on your own—and now you have someone else to give it to you. someone who is in front of you now, proposing it with all the willingness in the world. maybe there’s really nothing wrong with saying yes.

“jungkook…”

“hm?”

“please just shut the fuck up and don’t say another word about the outside world right now. i don’t want to think about anything but your…” you falter, still trying to get used to expressing what you want sexually.

jungkook sits up, his hands sliding up your legs and to your hips. “but my what?”

“um, your…” your thoughts end when he leans down and pulls the hem of your sweater up, planting a kiss on your waist where your skin meets the waistband of your sweatpants. one kiss turns into a second, and a third. the fourth becomes an open-mouthed embrace of his lips on your skin, and you make a small noise of pleasure when his tongue gets involved.

“careful. don’t want veronica to come down here, remember?”

you huff. “that isn’t happening any time soon, believe me.”

his kisses continue as he begins to slide your sweatpants down, revealing the waistband of your panties. once they’re fully on display, he leans forward to nuzzle his face between your thighs, his mouth and nose pressing into the seat of your underwear. his actions take you off guard. you actually give a brief chuckle from surprise, though you are also somewhat embarrassed. “now what the hell are you doing?”

“let me savor my meal before i eat it.” his warm breaths tickle your inner thighs as he speaks.

“ugh, don’t turn me off.”

“that’s funny, because i seem to have an easy time getting you wet.” to prove it, his fingers press into the seat of your underwear to feel the wetness that’s seeped into them; you sigh from the brief pleasure his fingers’ movements afford you before he pulls them away.

jungkook drags your panties down next, his lips trailing down your lower abdomen and across the curls of hair covering your pubic mound. your body fills with anticipation at the gradual pace of his actions and the purposeful, wet caresses of his mouth.

when he uses his thumbs to press your lower lips apart and expose you more fully to him, you have half a mind to be self-conscious about it until he places his mouth on you in earnest.

jungkook eats like someone who hasn’t done so in a while and doesn’t know when he’ll get to do it again. his mouth sucks at your clit like he’s desperate for you to come, tongue rolling over the swollen nub in an unrelenting pattern that has your stomach tensing, and you quickly realize you do have to try to silence yourself even if you know it won’t wake veronica up. you twist your hands into the sleeves of your sweater and lean your head back on the couch’s armrest as you arch your hips up closer to jungkook’s face, uncaring about how vulnerable you feel completely offering yourself up to him like this; right now, all you want is to feel good.

“gonna come quick again? maybe we can set a new record?” jungkook pins your knee against the couch with his elbow to keep your legs open as he slides two fingers inside, diving straight in instead of working you up this time. your body breaks out in a sweat and you know you really won’t last long once he does this, the tips of his fingers aiming for that dreadful, wonderful, and overpowering place inside you. you don’t know how people do this—you feel like you’re going to die when he stimulates that spot, and all you want to do is scream even though you can’t.

“a r-record? fuck off…” you choke out, though you begin to rock your hips into the rhythm of his fingers, needing so badly for him to take you over the edge again.

he chuckles. “i don’t think you want me to fuck off right now.”

you have no words for a good comeback when he buries his head between your legs and slurps at your pussy again and crooks his fingers repeatedly to where your orgasm is unexpectedly rushing down upon you, causing your body to tense as you gasp and stifle any sounds that escape with your sweater sleeve.

jungkook doesn’t stop there and you don’t really expect him to, because you’re beginning to learn he isn’t a one-and-done type of man. he keeps sucking and stroking you right into another releasewhile you push the beanie off his head, fist your fingers into his strands, and tremble over the sight of his pitch-black mess of hair between your thighs. something about the visual is so appealing to you.

after he has made you come for the third time, you watch him sit up on his knees to reach into his shorts and pull his dick out, his darkened tip slick with precum. his long hair falls into his face as he glances downward, using the hand he’d been fingering you with to lube himself up with your cum.

“come here,” you tell him, your voice coming out sharper than you intended; but he doesn’t care, because he follows your request without a word and presses himself into your side. the couch is just big enough to accommodate both of you in this position, but it’s still a tight fit, and your bodies are once again tangled together.

“let me touch you,” you say, your palm pressed to his stomach, feeling the firmness of the muscle.

he raises his eyebrows, like you didn’t even need to ask. “of course.”

“no, i mean…” he realizes what you actually mean as you brush his hand away from his shaft and wrap your fingers around it instead.

“should i teach you how?” jungkook brings his hand to overlap yours, though his breath becomes a bit strained when you slide your hand to the base of his cock and back to the tip again, the pads of your fingers rubbing over the sensitive head. seeing your fingers around him turns him on more than he thought it could, and it’s just a simple fucking handjob.

you roll your eyes. “stroking a dickshouldn’t be that hard.”

“everyone likes it differently, though. fast, slow, soft, or rough…just the tip, or the whole shaft.” you can’t deny that—or the way you find yourself throbbing at his words, his voice husky from the pleasure. which is why you let jungkook close his hand more fully around yours and guide your movements.

it’s captivating to observe his reactions from your hand on his skin—the heavy breaths he lets out and the soft moans and even softer whimpers that come in between the exhales. whenever you squeeze his shaft more firmly or rub your thumb against his leaking tip, you find yourself grinning at the rise and fall of his chest and the tongue that darts out of his mouth to lick at his lips. but mostly, your eyes are drawn back to the sight of your hand working him over, his thighs and stomach tensing sporadically.

eventually, you both look away from your joined hands and at each other’s faces. your eyes dart to his lips and back to his gaze again, and you shift your face forward to signal your desire for a kiss. he meets you there by pressing his lips to yours, and it isn’t hard for him to get lost in the meeting of your mouths and the heat from your palm on his shaft.

your free hand returns to his soft hair to tug on it as your tongues slide against each other. he grunts at the burn of his roots being pulled but doesn’t stop you; on the contrary, his body responds favorably as more precum swells from his tip and his nipples poke against the material of his shirt.

“do you like that, jungkook?” you mumble against his mouth.

“you know i do.” at some point, his hand falls away and he lets you stroke him on your own.

jungkook gives a shuddering moan into your mouth when he climaxes minutes later, thick streams of his cum shooting onto his shirt and dripping down your hand. he tries to keep quiet and doesn’t entirely succeed, but it doesn’t much matter.

you squeeze the few remaining drops of cum from his cockhead, trying to make sure you don’t grip hard enough to actually hurt him. you pull your sticky hand away from jungkook when you think he’s finally emptied, but he grabs your wrist and you look at him questioningly. you watch with shocked eyes as jungkook brings your hand up and takes your messy fingers into his mouth, sucking his cum from them. you know instinctively it isn’t the first time he’s done this—not with the look of pure satisfaction on his features as he licks his own seed off your fingers.

his enthusiastic pleasure is part of the reason why you accept when jungkook gives you a crushing kiss, passing his cum from his tongue to yours. you don’t know what you expected it to taste like, but it isn’t gross like you’ve heard others complain about when sharing their sex tales; despite being salty, the overall taste is neutral. still, it takes some getting used to.

when you pull away from each other, noses brushing and lips wet from each other’s spit, you look into his dark brown eyes and get the sudden desire to say something that’s been buried in the back of your mind for days now.

“why did you come straight to me that night?” you whisper. “like you already knew who you were there for.”

jungkook stares back, his lips curving up slightly. “i just wanted to. or i wanted you, more specifically.”

“that’s not an answer.”

“well, it’s my answer.”

“was i another one to knock off your list?”

“you think i have a list?”

“i’m not stupid. it’s not unusual for guys to have a list. plus, plenty of rumors go around.”

jungkook taps his fingers underneath your chin and kisses you on the lips again, though it is brief. “stop believing everything you hear.”

you clearly won’t be getting a straight answer from him tonight. with the moment broken, you sigh and begin pulling your bottoms back on. “…whatever you say, dude.” once you’re dressed, you climb over his body to get off the couch. you poke him in the chest as your eyes roam over him in his disheveled state, his shorts pulled down and his cum staining his black shirt. “might wanna clean yourself up, huh? i’m going to sleep. and, yeah…thanks for the distraction.”

TUESDAY, NOV 7

with the weather being as cold as it is and heading toward winter in another month or so, lorelai is surprised by how quickly the bodies began to smell.

she doesn’t know much of anything about bodily decomposition—because, to her parents’ disappointment, she wasn’t about to be a biology major and have to be around cadavers in a dissection lab—but if this were a movie or something, she would’ve thought it would take longer than just one day. the smell started to hit her the saturday after the party.

but ultimately, this isn’t a movie, and the fact that she’s trapped in a decrepit house in some remote part of town is her present reality.

she doesn’t remember anything about how she got to this house; she thinks she must have been concussed before she was brought here. her head has been hurting badly for days, and not even the simple relief of a painkiller is available.

what she does know is that she’s being kept in a dirty living room on an equally dirty mattress, her hands and legs tied by rope and zip-ties. if there were any miniscule chance of her escaping, it would be impossible to go anywhere considering both her ankles are broken, only adding to the amount of physical pain she’s been in for days.

the living room is mostly empty except for the bodies of some other students from the party, which have been scattered around the room. lorelai tries not to look at them—especially not at the ones she knows—but it’s difficult. they become even more terrifying to her when night falls, turning into dark, rotting shadows in the corners of the room. there has been nothing but the company of these corpses for days, and a couple of visits from the killer.

he's never once taken off his wolf mask or his gloves, and every other part of his body stays covered in all black. she doesn’t have the first idea of what he looks like underneath it all. he has spoken to her a few times, but the voice isn’t one she recognizes. his words when she first awoke inside this house still knock around in her mind, filling her with dread.

he’d crouched in front of her, watching her move around on the mattress and try to orient herself. he had the casual air of someone observing a flipped-up bug struggle on the sidewalk before crushing it underfoot. “you aren’t y/n, but you’ll do for now. we’ll have some real fun later on. you’ll help me give her a good scare.”

“how the fuck do you know y/n?” lorelai had struggled against her restraints, but this only made her newly broken ankles hurt worse. tears began to fall from her eyes from the pain and fear.

the killer had said nothing to that—only tilted his head curiously and stared at her, which was unnerving even if she couldn’t see his eyes.

“you have no fucking reason to go after her, she’s not even a virgin anymore you dumb fuck—” with those words, the killer had backhanded her, sending her already injured head into a fresh wave of agony.

“things would’ve been different if not for that fucking party. you students think you’re so fucking clever, yeah? and look how you paid for it.” it was impossible to see any facial expression, but his body language spoke of anger. “no matter, though. virgin or not, i’ll see this through to the end.”

now it’s yet another morning, and he has returned. he has a lot of debris in his hands—stuff like sticks and dry moss and foliage. he’s also carrying a small bag, the contents of it a mystery. everything he does causes alarm for lorelai, but now confusion joins in.

“ready to have some fun?” he asks. with duct tape over her mouth, she can’t answer back. she watches as he arranges the debris on the ground in front of her, her anxiety mounting as he takes a lighter out of his pocket and sets fire to the foliage.

leaning forward, he rips part of the duct tape away from her mouth with his gloved hand, causing her face to sting. “got anything to say?”

“wh-what the fuck are you doing?”

“i’m gonna stoke a nice fire here…get this knife hot enough to hurt.” he brings out his knife then, and lorelai shrinks away from the blade as he drags the flat of it across her throat—but there’s nowhere else to go, as she’s sitting up against the wall. “then i’ll just cut this pretty little body up a bit. the finishing touch…i think i’ll slice your throat open. how does that sound?” he takes the knife away from her neck to hold the blade over the flames.

lorelai’s breath hitches, and her stomach begins to physically hurt from the outpouring of anxiety flowing through her. she starts to sob, trying to speak through the tears and snot and drool. the only question she can muster up is, “wh-why?”

“this is for y/n—remember? i hope that concussion hasn’t fucked with your memory.” the killer watches the reflection of the flames on the blade as it grows hotter. “and…i’m doing someone a favor.” he doesn’t wait for her to speak again before putting the duct tape back in place over her mouth, leaving her to cry to herself and face her rising distress as he heats the knife until it’s burning hot. internally, she wishes there was any way in the world to get out of this situation.

it isn’t much longer before he’s finished. lorelai screams as he approaches her with the knife, and then at the feeling of the red-hot blade scorching her skin, though the sounds are stifled by the duct tape.

“now, be still while i fix you up.”

WEDNESDAY, NOV 8

you go outside that afternoon to check the mail and have an excuse to get out of the house; it doesn’t matter if it’s only for a few moments. you’re not used to staying cooped up in one place for so long with absolutely nothing to do, and you feel like you’re not too far off from going mad with cabin fever. it hasn’t even been a week since everything happened.

you open the mailbox, and there are the usual bills along with something strange: a blank envelope with no return address. even your sister’s address isn’t written on it. flipping it over, you see that the envelope was never sealed. someone must’ve just come up and put it inside the mailbox. but who the hell would do that, and for what reason? whenever any of your neighbors have something to give you or your sister, they come straight up to the house to do it.

inside the envelope is a set of polaroids. their content makes you drop the rest of the mail. your legs grow weak, and you end up sitting down hard on the end of the driveway, some of the polaroids slipping from your hands. the pictures show the bodies of some of the students from your university, their corpses posed in odd positions and some bare of clothing—all dead.

you struggle to breathe as you frantically flip through the rest of the pictures. in the center of all the group photos is lorelai, her neck torn open and her wrists and ankles tied. she’s still dressed the way she was the night of the party, though her dress is stained with dark brown blood. there are open cuts all over her bare skin, their appearance rough-looking and uneven as if they’ve been cauterized.

there are several group polaroids, several of lorelai alone, and several angles of the outside of a house, which must be the same one the bodies are being kept in. one photo of lorelai slips out of your shaking hands, and you see there’s barely legible handwriting on the back of it, which reads, “this is just the teaser, y/n.”

you scream and don’t stop screaming until jungkook comes running out of the house holding the baseball bat, as if the killer might’ve gotten bold enough to attack in daylight. a couple of your neighbors peek out of their houses and make their way over with concern on their faces once they see you sitting on the ground, your exclamations ringing through the street.

there’s a disarrayed group of people around you grabbing at your shoulders and asking what’s wrong, what happened, and then gasps and exclamations of shock when they see the polaroids. you feel yourself being pulled to your feet and then lifted up—maybe it’s jungkook, because it smells like him—but you’re too disoriented to make proper sense of anything right now. you can only think of how much time has been wasted, and how little time lorelai actually had left.

SUNDAY, NOV 12

in the main lobby of the funeral home, you sit in a chair next to camille, staring into empty space while the other girl tries to cry as quietly as she can. she cries as if she’s ashamed of it, and you wish you could comfort her, but you don’t know what to say or do. for the past few days, you’ve mostly just felt numb.

you’re waiting for veronica to come back out so you can leave, as she’d stayed behind after the service to talk to lorelai’s family for a little longer.

lorelai’s family had opted to have her cremated after seeing the state of her body. a lot of other families did the same after the events of cherry bomb, not even wanting to entertain the idea of a closed-casket funeral. you can understand their feelings about it if you push through the haze in your mind to consider it for long enough. though the morticians have done the best they can over the past week, sometimes knowing that your loved one has multiple stab wounds and eviscerated organs beneath all the makeup and fancy clothing is too much to handle.

when veronica finally comes out, the three of you walk outside to join the rest of the people who’ve started getting in their cars. some still linger in small huddles, shaking their heads and wiping their faces.

jungkook, who’d driven you and veronica to the memorial, waits outside for you all, leaning on the side of the building. you both thought it was probably better for him not to attend the service considering lorelai was never fond of him and he didn’t know her that well.

“is it finished?” he asks.

“it is.” veronica sighs. “god, funerals are so damn…bleak.”

you notice a man waving at your group from the other side of the parking lot and realize it’s camille’s dad. her posture straightens when she catches sight of him, and she hurriedly tries to wipe the rest of her tears before shoving her tissue into her pocket. “i-i think my dad is waiting for me. i…i’ll see you guys later, alright?”

“okay, camille.” the strange absence of emotion that you’ve been trapped in for the past few days suddenly cracks open when you notice camille’s anxious demeanor as she speed-walks away from the rest of you. intense sorrow overtakes you; you don’t want her to leave, but she has to go.

you are crying before you fully understand what’s happening. veronica puts her arms around you and squeezes you against the side of her body. jungkook reaches a thumb up to wipe away your tears, though you don’t let him get very far before turning your head away and into veronica’s shoulder.

“y/n…”

“how am i supposed to go on?” you exclaim, catching the attention of a few people nearby. “the police said maybe she’s just staying with friends. and now look. plus, the killer knows where me and my sister live now…maybe he always knew.”

“we don’t even have a clue who the killer is…” jungkook mumbles. “there’s no one you know of who might have a grudge against you?”

“no, jungkook. the police already gave me all that questioning. and it doesn’t help me feel any better to think maybe all these deaths are somehow my fault.” you scoff.

“y/n, nothing’s your fault because some freak decided to go around killing people; that was his decision.” jungkook argues.

you nod slightly to his words but say nothing else, not wanting to go further into that topic. you don’t know if you can believe him about that.

the parking lot is emptying out now, so you try to pull yourself together so the three of you can leave. “well…you don’t need to keep staying with us if you don’t want to. we have those assigned bodyguards now, so…” you glance in the direction of one other car sitting beside jungkook’s—inside it are two men the police force appointed after the polaroids of the bodies were planted in your sister’s mailbox.

jungkook looks at you as if he’s trying to gauge your expression; he himself looks surprised, though he attempts to play it off. veronica glances between you both, recognizing the awkward shift in the air.

“you don’t want me there anymore? i mean it is your house—” he glances at veronica “—so that’s fine with me if—"

“what? i didn’t say i don’t want you there, neither did veronica, it’s just if you don’t want to be there—"

“i never said i didn’t want to be there, though?”

you both become quiet, jungkook looking at you and you returning his gaze for a few seconds before looking off to the side. veronica is still standing between you both like she’d rather be anywhere else on earth.

“i just figured that maybe…” why are you being so concerned about me? isn’t this the part where we go our separate ways? is what you really want to ask. you have seen and learned enough from your friends’ and even your acquaintances’ experiences to realize that any other one night stand would not have cared so much. that’s how these things go, right? but he isn’t really a one night stand anymore, either.

you don’t even know if you’re considered friends with benefits, but what would that change? you’d still seen others tossed aside without much thought by their FWBs while in times of need. considering his history, you don’t understand why jungkook isn’t following the same template now, and you don’t think you should ask why for fear of breaking the illusion.

fed up with your own confusion, you decide now isn’t the time to lament on your lack of knowledge about these things. “nevermind. that’s fine. so you’ll stay?”

the corner of his mouth lifts in a brief smile. “i’ll stay as long as you won’t try to kick me out.”

you aren’t in the mood to attempt to smile back, but he seems to understand that. “right, well...good.”

“…now that you two have figured that shit out, can we leave?”

FRIDAY, NOV 17

jungkook thought that getting outside a bit more would help you feel better and prevent you from developing a complete fear of leaving the house, which is why you’re sitting in this claustrophobic little diner now with him, yoongi, and camille—and of course, your ever-present bodyguards in the booth behind you all. but this outing isn’t doing anything to mitigate your fears.

nearly 10 minutes in, you have to ask jungkook to switch seats with you so you’re not on the outside of the booth, as you’re afraid that it’s too easy-access if anyone—say, the killer, though you’ve been trying not to think so obsessively about him—were to come in and start stabbing you to death right where you sit. being on the inside calms you for a little while until you become anxious about the window beside you; what if he has a gun again and simply shoots through the glass? all he’d have to do is stand on the sidewalk and aim, his werewolf mask laughing at you with its eternally frozen growling expression, and your brains would be all over the table just like that frat guy’s.

your meal sits half-eaten as you get increasingly lost in your anxieties. the others are talking about something, but you can’t hear what. it’s like some of your senses have shut down or begun working incorrectly. the strawberry sauce in camille’s sundae looks too much like blood and even smells like it from the occasional whiffs you get, and you find yourself staring at the sundae dish and wanting to throw it across the restaurant.

jungkook’s hand touches you on the back, and the tension in your body increases. he feels it and draws away, though he keeps trying to meet your eyes. “are you okay?” he whispers.

“why ask that? she obviously isn’t,” yoongi says, like he’s annoyed with the obviousness of jungkook’s question.

“hyung, i’m just trying to help.”

“it was your great idea to come out here when she didn’t want to, though.”

“y/n—” camille starts.

“can’t you throw that out? it smells like blood.” your mouth feels useless and hard to maneuver, but you manage to say those words.

“what?”

“the…that. that thing.” everyone looks at camille’s melting sundae. yoongi raises his eyebrows.

“blood?”

“do you mean it—looks like blood?” jungkook suggests.

you raise your voice in irritation, not understanding how everyone else is unable to perceive the same scent that you do. “no, i-it does, but it smells like blood too! just get rid of it!”

one of the waitresses comes over to the table. “is everything okay over here?”

“um, we’re fine! i’m finished with this though.” camille hurriedly hands the sundae off to her, trying to keep the situation calm.

“oh, well—the rest of you too? that’ll be it, then?” she gathers everyone’s plates and leaves with a smile that attempts to be cordial but is still colored with unease.

her departure leaves a stiff silence in which you all spare glances at each other but try to avoid directly meeting eyes. camille is the first to break it.

“i’ll ask my dad if i can stay over with you,” she suggests. she suddenly sounds much more tired. jungkook’s eyebrows furrow slightly at her words; yoongi silently glances at the younger man. “just, you know…maybe the extra company would help? he’s been treating me like a kid again, but we should be safe with the bodyguards there, so…”

“you don’t have to do that,” you say, though you’re too exhausted to truly argue.

“you’re in shambles, y/n. and it’s not just for your benefit. i’m feeling pretty fucking alone right now, and it’s hard for my dad to understand the emotional side of it, so…” camille plays with her fingers and doesn’t look at anyone as she speaks; you know talking about her father can be a sore spot for her sometimes. “uh, anyway. not to trauma-dump or anything. just let me do this.”

you sigh. “fine…okay. do whatever you have to. can we just leave?”

as you’re all walking outside, jungkook pulls you aside.

“i still worry about you after that incident at the store, you know?” he admits.

you shrug his hand off your arm and glare at him. “you think i’m crazy.”

“i don’t. i just want you to be able to relax and not feel like you’re being hunted 24/7. i don’t think the killer is constantly waiting around the nearest corner for you, y/n.”

“you don’t know how close the killer could be. he knows where i go to sleep at night. so stop the bullshit, jungkook.”

“you’ll be okay. you have me, remember? i protected you that night…i can do it again.”

you examine his face for a long moment and find that you are too overwhelmed with stress and fear to be moved by his words. “i’d like to trust you…but the killer might just murder you too. then who’ll save me?” you don’t wait for his response before walking away to catch up with the other two.

LYING IN WAIT...

it’s strange to see the police bodyguards in veronica’s driveway and backyard everyday. it’s not the same two all day—they switch off so that there are two doing a day shift and two doing a night shift.

the security team at the hospital where your sister works is aware of the situation, so you try not to get too worried about her safety when she’s away from the house—but it’s difficult.

there have been no more kills connected to your university since lorelai. it seems like half the town has forgotten their fears and tried to go back to some sense of normalcy while the other half still hides away and lives in perpetual panic, including you. the former group of people has started muddying the waters for the police, with some teenagers getting brave enough to sneak around in wolf masks and vandalize buildings with red-lettered virgin graffiti just to fuck with the cops. there have even been a few people who turned themselves in claiming to be the killer—only their supposed confessions never matched the details of the case.

reporters have tried to hound lorelai’s family and your family several times for any speculations or answers on the killer’s identity, but none of you are willing to spread misinformation just to give them something to write about. however, that hasn’t stopped other residents of your town from sharing their speculations and even implicating their own relatives or neighbors—whether as a fucked-up joke or as genuine revenge just depends on whoever’s speaking. with all of these false leads, the police are still no closer to finding the killer than they’d initially been.

everyday feels like you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop, though the chances of any more kills are starting to seem improbable; the university is practically empty. but it doesn’t matter to you if the school is nearly deserted, because the killer has his aims set on you now, and you only wish you knew why.

up in your room, you and camille sit on your bed gazing out the window—the window that must always remain locked now, for fear of unwanted ingress. you’ve never been uncomfortable in your sister’s house, but lately you’ve been feeling like you’re boxed in with every wall pressing towards you.

sitting up from your lying-down position, you have to find the appropriate words for a moment before speaking. “camille—i can’t stop feeling like maybe we aren’t entirely safe,” you murmur.

camille raises her eyebrows. “why not? those guys stay outside all day, and we keep everything locked up day and night. literally, the only time the front door opens is for veronica to leave and come back from work everyday.”

“i don’t know. there’s no particular reason for it…it just seems like we’re waiting for something.”

“…yeah? for the killer to be caught.”

“but he’s made no moves recently. you remember the policeman’s daughter, right? i even texted her and she hasn’t heard anything new that we don’t already know. seems like things have slowed down at the police station. it’s not like that abandoned house was in the killer’s name or anything, so what leads would they have?”

camille frowns and rubs her eyes like something’s in them, but when she looks at you directly, you see her eyes are red from unshed tears. “…i want things to be okay, though. i’m tired of living like this. you know how i had to beg just to get my dad to let me leave the house. he’s constantly on edge.” you feel even more unsettled to see camille so distressed lately, as she’s always been the only one able to pull something funny out of a terrible situation—something enough to distract you from the horrors. “all i know is they’ll have to dig his ass out of some hole in the ground at some point. he can’t hide in this town forever.”

“yeah…i guess you’re right.” you still don’t feel reassured, but you don’t voice your doubts.

WEDNESDAY, NOV 22

“i think i might go mad,” camille says from her position on the armchair, her limbs splayed haphazardly across it and one hand stuck in a bag of chips.

you sigh. “you’re the one who wanted to watch this thanksgiving movie marathon.”

“the most mid holiday of the season,” jungkook adds.

“no one cares what either of you think, thanks.” it isn’t long before the program is over and the ending credits are rolling. with an exaggerated exhale, camille gets up from the chair and crunches the bag of chips in her hand. “i’m going to your room, y/n. you two just do whatever it is you do down here, since you hate my movie choices so much!”

“means we can finally turn the channel.” jungkook snatches the remote off the coffee table and does just that.

camille goes into the kitchen to throw out the chip bag and wash her hands. your focus returns to the TV. a few seconds later, you hear the upstairs flooring creak above the noise of the water pouring from the tap.

“what’s up, sis? i thought you were sleeping.” veronica is known to be a deep sleeper, so it’s not common for her to be getting up in the middle of the night. there’s no answer to your question. you glance upstairs, but your sister isn’t standing there; she isn’t standing at all, instead being carried by someone wearing an all-too familiar mask.

you scream as the killer tosses your sister over the stair railing. her torso has been sliced open from collarbone to navel, her body leaving a large splatter of blood on the floor where she lands. jungkook jumps to his feet but is momentarily immobilized as he gazes at your sister’s body crumpled on the floor. you slide off the couch and crawl over to her, still crying out, but there’s no life left to try and salvage.

the screaming brings camille rushing to the kitchen doorway. she can barely vocalize what’s wrong? before spotting veronica’s body and stopping in her tracks. in a moment that feels like it takes forever to pass, the killer pulls a gun from his waistband—you recognize it as one of the guns the policemen carry and realize he must’ve killed the bodyguard posted in the backyard—and shoots her in the chest twice.

“camille!” when you go over to where she’s lying on the ground, she is still alive but bleeding intensely and struggling to breathe. your knees slip in the blood that begins pooling around her. “shit, camille…p-please don’t die…” you press your hand against the wounds, but they’re bleeding so much that your efforts don’t help, and the pressure of your hand causes her more pain.

there’s the sound of a gunshot at the front door as the lock is blown off, and the door is banged open a few seconds later by the remaining bodyguard. he has virtually no time to fire off another shot before the killer is shooting him in the head first.

the killer throws the gun aside, taking his knife in his other hand and making his way down the stairs. “your sister left her window cracked open. i waited for days for a slip-up like that. see how much harm can come from a simple mistake? well, she was collateral damage anyway.”

even in your panic, it’s as if all your bodily functions freeze when you recognize the familiarity of the killer’s voice. camille reacts with a rattling gasp, but her body is becoming too weak for her to utter anything; all she can do is watch as the man stops at the bottom of the stairs and pulls his mask off.

“yoongi…” your voice breaks as you try to speak again, but nothing coherent comes out.

he drops the mask on the floor and brushes a hand through his hair. “i guess you weren’t expecting that. good. we kept it up ‘til the end.”

your lips form around the word we, but your vocal cords won’t cooperate. you twist around to look at jungkook, who is still standing by the couch.

the man who you’d gotten too close to for your own good and done so many firsts with, who’d promised you that he’d protect you and was even there for you on the day of lorelai’s memorial, looks at you now with eyes glowing from the thrill as his mouth twitches into a smile—small at first but growing into a full grin. “i almost can’t believe we staged all that shit and it actually worked. you really believed it all, y/n.

not all of those kills were hyung’s, of course...there’s no way i’d miss out on the best parts. you don’t know what it’s like until you kill a person for the first time. crashing cherry bomb was his idea, though. and lorelai was mine. that bitch would’ve kept you away from me, and i needed her gone for this kill to work.”

through tears, you finally muster up the strength to ask, “wh-why have you done this? that night…y-you mean to tell me none of that was real? being shot at—why would you—” your voice rises until you’re shouting. “you-you’ve killed so many people. what was the purpose?!”

jungkook’s smile fades somewhat as he pretends to think about it, acting like he’s reminiscing on wistful memories. “i realized that killing and fucking aren’t that different, y/n. the real ecstasy of it is in taking someone pure…and doing something to them that has never been done before, and can never be done again. there’s a certain eroticism in killing someone, stabbing them, entering them…it’s like sex in the most profane sense.”

“you’re disgusting,” you mutter, glaring at him through your tears. you can’t help but feel shame to think of the times you’d had sex with him. had he simply been imagining murdering you during those moments? it makes you want to throw up.

yoongi steps closer until he’s right in front of you and camille. “and as for me…i just enjoy it. practice really does make perfect. you wouldn’t believe how entertaining it can be to see someone beg for their life.” his lips turn upwards in a dark smile resembling jungkook’s. “but instead of raging at us, i think you have bigger matters to be concerned with.” yoongi gestures his knife hand to camille, and when you look down at her body, you realize she’s no longer moving.

you lift camille’s head up with your hands as if that could make her return your gaze, though you can find no sign of breathing or pulse. “god, no…” you scream in frustration, your hands slipping in her blood. you check once more and again for any signs of life, because there is just no possible way this could’ve happened, but there are none present. “please—i’m sorry…”

“time’s up.” yoongi grabs your arm and yanks you away from camille, jostling you to try to get you on your feet. you flail around in his grip, fruitlessly scratching at his arms that are covered by his thick jacket, before managing to elbow him in the groin with your frantic movements. “shit!” this causes him to loosen his grip, which is enough for you to scramble away from him, slipping in the blood as you go.

you make it to the other side of the room where the officer lies facedown—though there isn’t much left of his face from yoongi’s shot. you snatch the gun from the dead officer’s hand and point it in the direction of both men. the safety is already off; all you’d have to do is pull the trigger and kill either one of them right now. before you can act, yoongi uses his free hand to pull another gun from his waistband—his own.

“as i said before, i know how to take care of myself,” he says, flicking the safety off and aiming for you, though his stance shows he’s still in pain. “please don’t assume it’ll be that easy. do you even know how to shoot a gun?”

you and yoongi are at an impasse as you both point your guns at each other, jungkook looking on with casual amusement coloring his face. “fuck you,” you spit out. you remain hesitant to fire on him, knowing that even if you succeed, he could fatally shoot you at the same time.

“let’s not do it this way,” yoongi says, his voice low and soft in an attempt to be persuasive, though you just find it disturbing. “you were supposed to be a clean kill. a few stabs and it’d all be over. i’ll even let jungkook do it, since you seem to like each other so much. do you really want to be shot down like a dog like camille over there?”

“you and him can both fry in hell!” you shout.

yoongi glances over at jungkook. they both nod before yoongi hands the knife to him, and the younger man takes a few steps in your direction. you don’t know whether to point the gun at him or keep it trained on yoongi; your head is pounding with a headache that you’ve only just realized you have. “don’t come over here. stay away from me!”

you press your back to the wall as jungkook comes closer, inching towards your right side with his knife at the ready. you slide away from him as you keep your back against the wall. “hand it over, y/n. it doesn’t have to be like this.”

“hand it over and let you kill me? are you insane? you lied to me this whole time, you fucking piece of shit.”

jungkook scoffs and looks at yoongi as if to say can you believe this? “why wouldn’t i lie to you? you were always meant to die.”

he won’t stop coming towards you, and you’re running out of room to slide away from him. you grasp for anything to try to reason with him, though you know it’s futile. “you realize that if you kill me now and you conveniently survive, everyone will know it’s you? you’ve been living here for weeks, you jackass!”

“hyung and i have that covered. it’s not for you to worry about, considering you won’t be worrying about anything soon.”

jungkook lunges for you with the knife, thinking he can catch you off guard and overpower you. you scream and pull the trigger in your frenzied state of mind, shooting yoongi. the next few things seem to happen almost simultaneously:

you hear the crash of yoongi’s body hitting the TV stand and the TV falling to the floor.

you feel jungkook’s knife piercing your shoulder, causing you to fire a stray round into the wall from the unexpected burst of pain.

you hear another gunshot that’s not from you; you see and feel jungkook stumble into you, the knife sliding from his fingers and to the floor.

you realize that he’s been shot when his hand flies to the bullet wound on his lower back; he’d been standing in front of you, and yoongi meant to hit you, not him.

“jungkook!” yoongi’s shout is furious and regretful as he steadies himself on the TV stand.

trying to push the pain into the back of your mind, you clumsily grasp jungkook’s fallen knife and run for the stairs. more shots follow you and most of them miss but one, which strikes you in the thigh. while you cling to the stair railing and try to regain your footing, you are suddenly staring mortality in the face and understanding with a freezing-cold clarity that you will die right now if you don’t do something.

your nervous system vibrates with fear and adrenaline as you tighten your grip on the police officer’s gun and shoot yoongi with it twice—in the same area he’d shot camille.

these last two bullets finish him off immediately. you don’t think it’s fair, with how camille suffered and bled and died in your arms. for a moment, you’re so outraged that you wish he’d come back to life so that you could kill him again. you’re torn from these thoughts by jungkook.

“you bitch…he was my only family after everyone else threw me away. do you understand? i’ll fucking kill you!” jungkook is nearly writhing in the ground from his upset and from the hurt of his injury; it frightens you that this same man is someone you once thought you could grow fond of.

you aim the gun for jungkook next, but the chamber is empty. either way, he currently has no weapon, which leaves you with a small chance to get away before he re-arms himself. throwing the gun away, you stagger up the rest of the steps while his screams continue echoing up to you.

you give no thought to the blood trail you’re leaving behind as you rush to veronica’s room and to the window yoongi had entered through. you begin squeezing yourself through, keeping your grip on your knife all the while, but your injuries make it difficult to move. a few more tears slip out as you try to balance your injured leg on the tree branch beneath the window, and the desperation of wanting to give up clings to you.

you hear jungkook’s heavy and limping footsteps coming up the stairs, and you attempt to hurry, but you’re only halfway out of the window. when he crashes into the room, it’s unnervingly easy for him to grab your arm and yank your body back through the window, uncaring of how you get scraped up in the process.

he jams you up against the nightstand with one of the kitchen knives to your neck to stop your movements; his harsh maneuver causes the objects on the nightstand to rattle. the nightstand’s edge digs into the backs of your thighs, the pressure causing your wounded thigh to hurt more.

“you want to know why i picked you?” jungkook hisses, the knife’s blade stinging your throat as it begins to break skin. “you were just another choice out of many, but i decided you’d be the first one that i’d fuck and kill.”

it’s painful to hear, but it angers you at the same time. “fuck you!” in your rage, you spit in his eyes. jungkook jerks back and the knife shifts from its previous position at your neck; you take those few seconds to grasp the alarm clock off the nightstand and crash it against his head.

“shit—!” he cries out, stumbling and grasping the side of his head. he tries to grab for you again, but you jump onto the bed and crawl away from him, your stomach lurching at all of veronica’s blood soaked into the sheets. you spot a small decorative glass bowl on the dresser—the one filled with little candies that you’d always teased veronica for, saying she was so much like a grandma handing out treats to her grandchildren. when your feet touch the ground again, you clasp your hand around it like it’s a lifeline and fling it at jungkook’s head as hard as you can, just as he makes it around the bed to your side. the shards cut his face when it breaks, slowing him down further as he grabs his slashed and bleeding face. one of his eyes is blinded from the blood and glass.

this will probably be your only chance while he’s struggling to gather himself. you rush towards him with the knife handle tight in both of your hands and drive the blade into the middle of his chest, putting all your strength into that movement—just as his own knife impales your abdomen.

you are both simultaneously struck from the shock of being stabbed, and it takes you a few long moments to piece your mind back together as the pain radiates throughout your body. jungkook groans when you shift the knife around in his wound as you pull it out, letting his blood flow out freely. his breaths become wet and rattling as he chokes on his own blood, the red fluid staining his mouth and dripping down to his neck. he jams his knife further into your wound in retaliation so that the handle is flush against your body, causing your head to spin.

“i-if i die, i’m taking you w-with me.” jungkook gasps with his remaining effort. his body starts to sag from its standing position as he weakens, his hand slipping from the knife handle. he loosely grasps the comforter with one hand as he collapses to his knees, his torso becoming soaked with blood and his head bleeding from your earlier hits.

you drop your knife and lean against the bed too, shifting your body to find a position that could lessen the pain, but it’s impossible with a knife lodged in your abdomen. you know enough to understand that you’ll bleed out faster if you remove it, though, so you resist the urge. “you can rot in hell alone, jungkook.” you watch him struggle for what feels like minutes before his breaths stop altogether and his body slumps to the floor. he is just a blur of clothes and blood through your tears. you’ve never felt so lonely in your life.

you have a thought to call 911, but you’re becoming more and more lightheaded from the blood loss, and you can already hear sirens approaching on your street. you figure one of your neighbors must’ve called after hearing the gunshots; perhaps the bodyguard sent for backup before he was shot. your rescue has come much later than you would’ve preferred—or maybe everything just happened much faster than it seemed. you can’t tell anymore.

you can’t tell anymore, and you no longer want to look at the carnage around you, and nothing makes any sense. so, you close your eyes to it all; and when you feel someone lifting you in their arms—this sensation is so familiar—and maneuvering you onto a stretcher, you allow yourself to relent to it and empty your mind of everything.

@ihatemen55 @cottoncandyclouds-stuff @yunhofingers @heybabesposts @twilight-loveer @whipwhoops @mrsminho @junecat18 @hoshi-is-ult-bbg @okayiamkassandra @witchbitxhxx @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @thaiika @goldentea10 @iloverubberduckiez-blog @katie-tibo @ohsweetmimosa @dream-cvtcher @hoseokteardrop @lpgirl2324 @vanillacupcakefrosting @gukiemochi @jkslaugh97 @ahgasegotarmy116 @jeonjklibs @bangtans-momma @screamertannie @kenzietaetae @han-nah-banana @00frenchfries00 @taiwan0618 @laurynne5 @monvante @ynisthatyou @thiccthighs19 @jeonwiixard

#jungkook smut #jungkook fic #jungkook imagines #jungkook scenarios #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts fic #bts smut #bts x you #bts x reader #black reader #x black reader #x black fem reader #black fem reader #fem reader #female reader

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starglitterz · 10 months

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♡ NIGHT DANCER.

❝ nothing changed, please don't change… let's blend together, one more time. ❞ / after spending the night with you, how do the genshin men treat you in the morning after?

✧ feat ; albedo, cyno, kaedehara kazuha, scaramouche, shikanoin heizou, xiao x gn!reader ✧ warning(s) ; suggestive (esp scara and heizou) ✧ a/n ; HIII everybody make some noise for quill’s shocking once a year post!!! hope you guys like this and if it doesn’t show up in tags i will delete my account (/nsrs) anyways idk why i’ve been so obsessed w the idea of waking up next to someone (can you tell i’m critically lonely? 💀) and so this piece was born. pretend u don't notice how scara & xiao’s might seem kinda similar it’s bc i view them thru the same lens LOL ok hope you enjoy! (also ignore the scara favouritism im kinda obsessed w this idea for him KJASKJD)

please reblog + leave comments ! it helps a lot w motivation <3

✦ ALBEDO. [ kreideprinz ]

you’re awoken by the feeling of a cold breeze caressing your skin, and as you grasp for his familiar figure, you realise albedo’s not beside you anymore. but before you can freak out, his soft voice calls to you from behind you, “good morning, dove. don’t move, i’m almost finished.” “finished with what?” you query, deciding to obey him and stay still. he doesn’t answer at first, but you can hear a faint scratching sound which almost sounds like charcoal against parchment. “and… done.” you shift in the bed, turning around to face him. albedo looks almost ethereal in the early morning light, especially when he smiles at you like you hung the stars in the sky. “i do hope you don’t find this peculiar, but i wanted to draw you while you were asleep. you looked so peaceful, and i wanted to immortalise this moment.” he hands you the paper, strands of wheat-coloured hair spilling over his shoulders, let loose from his usual half ponytail. you’re the only one who gets to see him like this, messy and imperfect instead of the flawless scientist he portrays to the rest of mondstadt. you gaze at the drawing, absorbing every detail as you try not to faint from what a sweet gesture this is, “albedo, this is amazing! you made me look so pretty.” he tilts his head quizzically, raising an eyebrow, “what do you mean? i just drew you exactly how i see you – you’re always beautiful to me.”

✦ CYNO. [ judicator of secrets ]

cyno's skin looks almost golden in the sunlight filtering through the translucent curtains. you're lying on your side, gazing at him and just admiring his features when his red eyes flutter open and he murmurs, “i might have to charge you for looking so much.” his voice is rougher than normal, deepened by sleep and it makes heat rush to your cheeks. “morning, babe-ah!” you can barely get out your greeting before he's pulling you back into his embrace, strong arms wrapping around you as he nuzzles into your neck. “cyno!” you laugh, turning around to face him, “stop it, i'm hungry! i wanna go get breakfast-” “hi hungry, i'm cyno,” your boyfriend looks at you with the most deadpan expression, and you're momentarily stunned. then you groan and throw a pillow at his head, “you're so lame!” “i'm not so lame, i just told you i'm cyno- okay, okay, i'll stop!” you collapse into a fit of giggles right as you're about to pummel his chest, “lamest ever.” “mmm,” cyno mumbles, eyes already fluttering shut again as he feels your plush warmth against him, “i'll make you breakfast, i swear, but can we just stay like this for a little longer?”

✦ KAEDEHARA KAZUHA. [ scarlet leaves pursue wild waves ]

the first thing you see when you wake up are kazuha's crimson irises laser-focused on you. the way his eyes scan your features, it’s almost like he’s tracing every detail to commit to memory, as if every morning that he wakes up next to you could be his last. “kazu? what's-” you're interrupted by a yawn, and your boyfriend's gaze softens as he looks at you. as you brush his red-streaked hair out of his face, he leans into your touch, almost cat-like in the motion, “what is it, 'zuha?” “i was just thinking... you make me glad to be a poet,” a gentle smile graces his features. “what? why?” despite the fact that kazuha is always letting praise fall from his lips like jewels, you didn't even remotely expect his answer. “because it means i'm lucky enough to be able to properly convey how you make me feel, and how gorgeous you are,” kazuha presses a sweet kiss on your forehead, then his brow furrows slightly, “but i don't think there's enough words in the world for me to speak about what you mean to me.”

✦ SCARAMOUCHE. [ kunikuzushi ]

when scaramouche wakes up, his first thought is; why does my entire body hurt? eyes still half-lidded and drowsy, he looks down and he's met with the sight of your back pressed against his torso, his arm thrown carelessly over your waist. he scrambles backwards, eyes widening with shock, and his sudden frantic movement wakes you up too. “what are you doing in my bed?!” “what the hell, scara?” you mumble, rubbing away the sleep from your eyes, “it’s too early for you to be this loud.” scaramouche’s heart is beating a million times a minute, and it’s only exacerbated by how cute you look when you’re this sleepy, not that he’d admit it to you for the world. but as you yawn and sit up, he thinks that he’s going to go into cardiac arrest. “you didn’t answer my question!” you give him a weird look, “we slept together. again. duh.” the blanket wrapped around your figure slides off a little as you reply, revealing your bare shoulder and giving him the faintest glimpse of your chest, and scaramouche’s face turns so red you genuinely think he might explode. “c-cover yourself up!” he scolds, clambering closer to drape the fabric over you again as his mind works through the haze of sleep, letting the memories of last night flood back.

realising how flustered he is, you take this as the perfect opportunity to tease him, “it’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” “shut up.” he replies curtly, but he hesitates as his fingers skim over the bite mark on your collarbone. his eyes darken slightly as he recalls last night, the messy kisses that were more tongue than anything else, his teeth nipping at your neck and finally sinking into your skin, all to mark you as his. you’ve both never officially decided what the two of you are, but you both know that he’s yours and you’re his, and scaramouche doesn’t like sharing. a playful smirk curves your lips, “remember giving this to me?” “don’t test me,” he mumbles, eyes roving over your exposed skin. his gaze dips to the still slipping blanket, hands ceasing their rapid motion to try and rescue your modesty, “i might give you more.” your arms loop around his neck, pulling him back down to the bed as you smile teasingly, “so do it.” “you’re a bad influence,” scaramouche groans, hands already moving to grip your hips, and you laugh, “that’s why you love me~”

✦ SHIKANOIN HEIZOU. [ analytical harmony ]

“good morning~” heizou's lilting voice is the first thing you hear when you wake up, and his trademark smile is already on his idiotically kissable lips as the two of you lie next to each other in his bed. “you do this with all the criminals you catch?” you drawl, trying to ignore how your heart skips a beat as you see the way his green eyes twinkle in the light. “just the ones i think look best in a different type of handcuffs,” he replies smoothly without missing a beat, smirk deepening as he notices he's left you speechless. “plus,” his hand trails across your cheek, thumb stroking your skin for a split second before his smile turns devilish, “it'd be pretty hard for me to get them to the police station if i left them all unable to walk.” “ugh, heizou!” you swat his shoulder, and bury your face in the pillow as he bursts into laughter. “but seriously,” heizou taps your shoulder gently, almost hesitantly, and you peek up from the pillow to look at him. a soft pink blush dusts his cheeks, and his eyes flicker away from yours in a manner that seems almost shy, “you're the only person i'd do this with, criminal or not.”

✦ XIAO. [ vigilant yaksha ]

waking up next to you is like a little slice of heaven for xiao. he can barely believe that he, the corrupted conqueror of demons, is able to share a bed with a mortal who borders on angelic. you shift in xiao's embrace, tucking your head under his chin almost instinctively as your eyes open slowly, “good morning, xiao. did you sleep well?” he still gets embarrassed by your proximity, so his voice is a little curt as he responds with a pink blush darkening his cheeks, “adepti do not require sleep.” “ah…” you roll your eyes, but pounce on the opportunity to fluster him, “guess that's why you always want to go all night, hm?” “i-!” xiao's face turns an almost delightful shade of crimson and he looks away, “no respect for the adepti.” “not true!” you gasp with mock offense. cuddling up against him, you stick your tongue out, “i respect alllll the adepti. but my boyfriend? maybe not so much.” “you'll be the death of me,” xiao sighs, pulling you impossibly closer. “then i hope you'll die a happy man,” you giggle, threading your fingers through his jade hair. xiao's eyes slide shut from the feeling of you playing with his hair, and he murmurs a response that leaves you speechless, “after a life with you? certainly.”

i love them this is so soft when is it my turn // general masterlist

#albedo x reader #cyno x reader #kazuha x reader #kaedehara kazuha x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #heizou x reader #shikanoin heizou x reader #xiao x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #✏️ — quill writes !

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ladykailitha · 4 months

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Batshit Soulmates Part 1

Yay! We have finally got to the meat of the story. And oh boy do Steve and Eddie go through it.

In Medias Res| Prologue|

***

Steve wanted nothing to do with Eddie Munson. Never had, never would. But Dustin was like a brother to him, and he would move heaven and earth to make sure the kid was safe. And he knew all too well that if he didn’t tag along, Dustin would get himself and anyone who went with him in trouble. Possibly hurt or worse. So he offered to drive.

They arrived at Reefer Rick’s place and Steve led the way. They tried the house first, but the lights were off and no one seemed to be home.

Steve was close to strangling Dustin as he kept yelling the worst possible things. But they tried the boathouse next.

He looked around but couldn’t see any drug dealing, D&D playing nerds, so he grabbed an oar that was leaning against the wall. The last thing he needed was to touch something and have it rip his arm off. He poked at the tarp.

What happened next, Steve wasn’t sure was a good or a bad thing. But it was certainly the most interesting thing that had happened to him in all of his life. And that was including finding Robin or the monster coming out of the wall at the Byers house.

The tarp ripped open and suddenly he was being slammed into the wall, a broken bottle placed to his throat. He knew that there was no way to get the leverage he needed to swing the oar to defend himself. And that’s when he felt it. He could feel the jagged edge of the bottle piercing his throat, threatening to draw blood. But he could also feel a burning on his forearm.

“Eddie!” Dustin cried out, suddenly afraid. “This is Steve. He isn’t going to hurt you.”

Steve gulped. That was certainly true. At least until they talked, anyway. He looked into Eddie’s frightened eyes and knew that Eddie wouldn’t hurt him either. But he was scared.

“Steve drop the oar!” Dustin instructed.

Steve threw the oar away. “See? I’m not armed anymore. Can you let me go?”

Eddie pushed the bottle further into Steve’s throat.

And Dustin, Robin, and Max all gasped in alarm.

“Hey, Eddie,” Dustin continued to try and soothe the scared boy. “This is Robin, you remember her from band? And this is Max. She the one that doesn’t like D&D, but she still cool.”

But nothing seemed to be working and everyone leaned forward expect the worst, when Steve spoke up.

“Eds, man,” Steve said softly. “Is–is your right arm burning all of sudden?”

“What the hell kind of strategy is that?” Robin squeaked.

But Eddie’s eyes flicked down to the arm that was holding the bottle and then back up to Steve.

He didn’t answer, but that was enough for Steve.

“Just let me pull up my sleeve,” he continued, his eyes still wild with fear. “I’ll show you, I’m safe.”

Max frowned but when she looked over at Robin and Dustin, they didn’t look confused. They looked shocked.

Robin was whispering “Oh my god, oh my god,” over and over. And Dustin was covering his broad smile with both of his hands.

She looked back over at Steve and Eddie and still didn’t understand what was going on.

Steve slowly pulled up the right sleeve of his jacket and tore off his soul patch, throwing it to the ground.

Max gasped. She knew what was happening now and she couldn’t believe it.

Eddie looked down at Steve’s arm. There it was: four stylized bats that were glowing bright red. His eyes flashed up to Steve’s again and said through a clenched jaw, “Why the fuck is mine a nail bat?”

“Oh my god!” Robin squeaked. “Max go get it from the trunk. He needs to see this.”

Steve pulled his keys out of his pocket and tossed her direction, praying it wouldn’t land in the water.

But Max caught them and dashed out of the boathouse. They all waited on baited breath. Because Eddie wasn’t going to let Steve go without knowing the meaning behind his soulmark.

Max came running back inside. “Steve! Catch!”

Eddie turned around to face her, letting the other boy go. Steve caught the bat before it even got close to either of their faces. Eddie’s eyes were wide for a different reason now.

He dropped the bottle and stepped back, everyone else breathing a sigh of relief. “Why the fuck do you have a nail bat, Harrington?”

Steve slumped against the wall and slid down it, holding the nail bat tightly in both hands, it was straight up. Like a knight holding a sword.

Dustin got between them and moved Eddie to sit down on a nearby crate, while Robin was at Steve’s side checking to see if the bottle had cut him.

It hadn’t. But he let her fuss over him, because they both needed the reassurance that he was, in fact, okay.

Eddie pulled off his leather jacket and ripped off his own soul patch. He had a couple of tattoos on his arm. One he had done himself, but the other? The other was a soulmark that throbbed bright red. It was Steve’s nail bat, no doubt.

“Bats,” Steve giggled manically. “Our soulmarks are bats.”

Eddie cocked his head and rolled his eyes. “Just answer the question, Harrington.”

Dustin grimaced. “You wouldn’t believe us if we told you.”

Robin and Max nodded emphatically.

Eddie shook his head. “I don’t know, not after what I saw. It was horrible.”

Suddenly Steve was on his feet and at Eddie’s side in a heartbeat. “I have a feeling we would be the only ones that would understand, Eds.”

Eddie let out a shuddering breath, but started talking. He told them about Chrissy and the drug deal. He talked about her nightmares and how lost she seemed when he was nice to her. He talked about how scared she had been in her final moments. And how he ran when she started to twist in a horrible, unnatural way. How she died screaming.

“I can’t get her screams out of my head, man,” Eddie whimpered. “Why her? Why me?”

“We don’t know,” Robin said. “But we’ve done this before.”

Eddie stared at her in shock.

Steve nodded. “Three years for Dustin and I, although he has about a week up on me. Two years for Max. And one year for Robin.”

“Three–three years?” Eddie stammered. “What the fuck?”

“Since Will Byers vanished,” Dustin said sadly.

Eddie closed his eyes. Both Wayne and he had volunteered to help look for the boy and Wayne had been among those that found the fake body. He nodded before opening his eyes.

“What am I going to do?” he asked.

Steve knelt in front of him and touched his cheek. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

Steve was having a panic attack. That was the only thing he could think of when he started to hyperventilate outside of his house after dropping everyone off at home. They needed to get Eddie some food and explain things properly to him, but all that consumes Steve is the refrain of: He’s my soulmate. He’s my soulmate. He’s my soulmate. Over and over.

Tears threatened to fall from his cheeks. A boy was his soulmate. He didn’t care, but his dad would. Dustin and Max seemed fine with it. Hell, Dustin was practically bouncing in his seat all the way home. Berating Steve for not meeting Eddie sooner. If only Steve had listened to him he wouldn’t have struck out with so many girls.

Steve dropped him off first just to stop the constant stream of his monologue and then Max. As he was pulling away from Forest Hills Robin touched his shoulder.

“Are you going to be okay?” she asked gently.

He didn’t know if he was ever going be. Because his forearm still burned, still glowed dark red. In fact it was getting darker and more painful the further he got from Eddie.

“I think we’re perfect mates,” Steve ground out through the thick pain lancing through his arm. “A true pair.”

Robin’s eyes went wide. “Holy shit. Like only a hundred of those are born every generation.”

He pulled up his sleeve to show her. She took his arm gingerly and ran her fingers over the dark soul mark.

“I don’t think you could have found a worst time to meet him,” she said softly.

Steve nodded.

Robin kissed his cheek and inside her house, leaving Steve to drive home alone with his thoughts.

So that brought him to where he was now. Having a mental breakdown in front of his empty house. He knew that he was going to have to compartmentalize. Which was something he was pretty damn good at. It just was shit timing. But before he could do that, he knew he had to work through the shock of his soulmate being a boy.

Usually he would talk to Robin about this, but he didn’t want to hurt her feelings. After all, Vickie was her soulmate, the girl just wasn’t interested in being with Robin. She would rather chase after some boy who had already go off to college and was likely cheating on her with who knows how many girls. So how could Steve gush about his soulmate when hers didn’t want her? He wasn’t an ass. Or at least not anymore.

Steve finally got out of the car and opened the door to his house, half expecting his parents to come storming out of one of the rooms demanding where he’d been. But the house was silent. As it always was these days. He toed off his shoes in front of the door, suddenly not caring if it blocked anyone from coming in. Maybe that was a good thing.

He didn’t want to be disturbed while he wallowed in his misery.

A boy. Never in his wildest dreams did he ever assume his soulmate wasn’t a girl. Not even once did even consider it wouldn’t be someone with soft curves and pouty lips. Steve scoffed. He supposed he got the pouty lips. Just no curves. Only curls. He closed his eyes and threw himself bodily onto the sofa to wallow.

Steve threw his arm over his head and sighed. Was he attracted to boys? He knew that being soulmates didn’t necessarily include sex or whatever, but he always assumed that his soulmate would fill every aspect of his life and not just being someone he could rely on.

And there lied the other crux of the problem. Could he rely on Eddie?

Eddie Munson: metalhead, two-time super senior, drug dealer, goofball. Nothing like the person Steve imagined growing up. Someone who was an equal, who would help him with their kids.

Kids! Shit. There went that, too. They would have to adopt if they even got that far. Steve could taste the bile that rose from his throat. But he forced it down and let out a deep breath. He just had to readjust his thinking is all. Instead of focusing on the negative.

He sat up and really thought about Eddie as his soulmate. He already knew that Eddie got along good with Steve’s little nuggets. Three of them were in his club, for fuck’s sake. And from what Dustin had said was really impressed with Erica. So that was four of his kids that liked Eddie. Or at least tolerated him in Erica’s case. That was something.

That was something else. He had taken in Lucas, Mike, and Dustin when they were lost little freshmen with no clue how to navigate high school. Of course things between Lucas and Eddie may have soured a bit over last night’s game. And while Steve wasn’t in any clubs, he had grown up watching his mother plan party after party.

Rule number one was at least three days notice of canceling unless something had literally come up that day. Which Steve knew wasn’t the case with the championship game. Lucas knew a week in advance what was coming and chickened out telling Eddie. So that situation made for bad blood all around.

But as Steve sat there he could tally up more good things about Eddie then bad. And as for the attraction, well...he had just described the other boy as having pouty lips and soft curls, so maybe he wasn’t as straight as he thought he was.

He thought back to the big brown eyes and quivering hands. And yeah, maybe Steve was more attracted than he thought.

All right crisis...well not averted. Because he was still in the middle of some shit. But managed he supposed. Now all he needed to was make sure his stupid soulmate made it out of this alive. And you know, clear him of a murder charge.

But that was a problem for future Steve, current Steve needed food and god damned nap.

****

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Epilogue

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @emly03 @bookworm0690 @itsall-taken @vecnuthy @bookbinderbitch @redfreckledwolf @littlewildflowerkitten @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @scheodingers-muppet @mira-jadeamethyst @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @genderless-spoon @anne-bennett-cosplayer @irregular-child @oxidantdreamboat @mogami13 @samsoble @xandriumbat

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #soulmate au #lumax #dustin/suzie #byler #robin/vickie #alternate season 4

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lottiecrabie · 7 months

Note

I also cannot explain how much I need this including everything you said in the tags hahaha consider this my blurb request!!!!! (ps linecook 2 was insane and so unexpected like what a gift u are ily xx)

Would you rather me camp with a tutor au sign or a linecook v word roleplay sign 🪻

on a weird smut streak dhmu

it starts off as a joke, or at least that’s what you assume. you’re recounting your first time story like a stand-up, treating the awkward fumblings and condom slippings and bloody sheets and the pain as punchlines to your story. matty doesn’t laugh much, but you entertain yourself, tipsy on amaretto sours and the warmth of his hand on your thigh. you get to the dead-fish look just above your eyes before the tell-tale groan and rollover when matty can’t take it anymore.

and it goes like it usually does, dirty speeches about how it wouldn’t have gone like that if your first time had been with him. and, sure, it’s a truth and a fact and a promise, but it doesn’t stop you from mocking him a little for the grandiose sermons.

then he says it. ‘i can show you.’

‘what,’ you say, laughing. ‘you’re gonna stitch me back up and take my virginity again?’

matty doesn’t even crack a smile. he’s taking the subject much more seriously than you would think, especially considering how silly it all is. ‘we can pretend. make it what it should have been.’

you’re taken aback. your fingertip rolls around the rim of the glass, chewing on your lip. ‘you’re seriously suggesting a virginity roleplay?’ matty shrugs. your heart races in your chest, but you aim for another joke. ‘are you never scared of being such a cliche?’

matty grins. ‘no. never.’

so he takes you home, though pushes your hands away when you try to unbutton his pants, blinking up at him in your best virginal doe eyes. he kneels before you instead, claims it’s all about getting used to the feeling. it’s where he stays the whole night, drawing screams and tears out of you until you’re dripping and drooling on the mattress, then kisses your forehead and wishes you a goodnight.

he teases you more and more, never giving you what you want, what you need. you know the trick; get her desperate and cockdrunk before you slide in, and it seems matty reserves a particularly delicious torture for ‘first times’. he croons sweet promises in your ear, fingering you and praising the way your cunt stretches for him, gets used to him, how he can’t wait to be inside of you, how well you’ll take him soon. by the end of it, you’re so pent-up about the idea, you almost forget it’s not actually your first time.

you’re making out on his bed when you grasp his hand, tightening it and blinking up at him. ‘matty. i’m ready.’

he plays it casually, smiling at you, but you sense his heartbeat quicken under your palm. ‘yeah? want me inside of you?’

you pout, moaning, ‘fucking need it.’

he hums. ‘oh, baby. alright. take your shirt off for me.’

you’re undressed in a matter of seconds, kicking off your shorts before he even asks. you wear white lingerie; much better than the nude cotton underwear you had on your first time. it seems you, too, want to rewrite history.

matty grins at you, danger in the spike of his teeth. ‘like a little lamb.’ you shiver as his mouth dances down your body, kissing your skin, and buries between your thighs.

he gets you off like that for a while, of course, because it’s matty. stays until you’re pushing his head away, the bed spinning around you. matty wipes his mouth as he crawls back up, already tugging off his shirt.

it’s when you’re both naked and panting in each other’s mouths that it starts feeling too real. your heart races, apprehension and anxiety and nerves spinning in that hurricane head. you feel exactly like you did the first time, unsure and overwhelmed and excited.

you opt for another joke to crack the tension. fluttering your eyelashes at him, you say, ‘i don’t know if it’s gonna fit.’

‘we’ll go slow.’

you wrap your hand around his hard cock, stroking gently. ‘i’ve never done this before.’ your thumb swipes his tip. ‘it’s so big.’

matty halts your hand with his own, prying it away and crossing both your fingers together beside your head. ‘i won’t hurt you,’ he says, gentle. your throat closes up. he doesn’t want to joke.

you dig your nails into his shoulder as his tip teases your entrance. you hold your breath, nervous, as though readying for a pain that you know won’t come. you blink up at the ceiling.

‘look at me,’ matty whispers. you lock eyes with him, with the reassuring gaze. velvety, sugary. his hand grasps yours firmer. he slides in.

and, no, of course it doesn’t hurt. but you gasp anyway, like an inherent mental reaction. he goes slowly, inch by inch. you moan, throbbing around his length.

he lays there, kissing your face, immobile. you take several breaths, adjusting to him, to the emotion building in your throat. ‘you ready, sweet girl?’

‘yeah,’ you whisper. ‘you can move.’

he slides out and it’s meteoric, rippling pleasure through your sweaty body. you moan his name, digging your hands in every inch of his skin you can find.

‘you’re fucking perfect,’ he moans in your ear. ‘taking me so well. fuckin’ squeezing me.’ as if on cue, you clench around him, a wave of pleasure swallowing you as he hits deep and true.

‘do you feel good, princess?’ you nod, too hazy to form words. his hand sneaks between your bodies, rubbing at your clit. you gasp his name. ‘better?’

‘yes.’

‘i’m gonna make you feel good. you’ll see.’ he kisses your shoulder, licking up your collarbone. ‘this is sex.’

you throb around him, closing your eyes and seeing stars. ‘fuck,’ you cry. ‘matty, i need more.’

he coos at you, kissing your neck. ‘it’s okay, baby. trust me.’ he speeds his thumb, but doesn’t slam into you like you’re silently begging for. ‘don’t want to hurt you. we need to go slow.’

‘i won’t break.’

‘i know better.’ you huff, rolling your head back, letting yourself be washed by the ecstasy he does masterfully pull out of you.

it’s a slow, gentle fuck like you never do. you bury your hand into his hair and tug him to your face, kissing him until you’re out of air. until you’re drowning in him.

matty only breaks the kiss to whisper-pant, ‘they wish they could have you.’ he licks into your mouth, starved. ‘they all fucking think about you. but they won’t get it.’ he kisses your chin, your jaw, your cheek. ‘won’t have you. only me.’

you nod. ‘only ever you.’ his thumb speeds at your bundle of nerves. deep strokes hit you, burying and burying.

‘i’m the only one who’s ever gonna know you like this. i’m the only one who’s ever gonna fuck you.’

‘yes!’ you scream, delirious. pleasure pulls at you, pressing and insistent. you tremble under him, tighten your hand around his in warning.

‘don’t need others when i treat you this well.’

and you don’t like the weird emotion building in your chest, your throat, your head. instead, you plead, ‘make me come.’

‘oh, don’t you fucking worry.’

he rubs and fucks and kisses until you’re melting into his arm, the loose letters of his name falling down your chin. he gets you there, right there, and then makes you look him in the eyes as you fall apart for him.

the sight gets him crazed. he fucks you harder, ready and greedy. ‘fucking love this cunt.’ he kisses you. ‘love it. love you. fuck—‘ he comes with a shake and spills into you.

you lay there, heart racing, mouths panting. you gently stroke his hair. there’s a strange peace in the room. time suspends, still unreal, still pretending.

it’s the best first time you’ve ever had.

#blurb #ask #smut #crablurb #matty healy smut

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kivino · 6 months

Note

MORE ROOMMATE!SOAP PRETTY PLEASEEE!!!!!

ROOMMATE!SOAP HEADCANONS

my masterlist

Word counter - ~900 words

Tags/Warnings - pure fluff!

A/n - ASK AND YOU SHALL RECEIVE ANON <33 i can't really post a complete fic rn because i'm working on another midterm essay so here y'all go! I also have another fic with Roommate!Soap planned out, so stay tuned sdkflskdfjs

You two met through his sister, you, being her college friend, visited her and her family during breaks many times, and that’s where you met Soap. You two were on pretty good terms, and he would sometimes call you when he or his family were not able to get ahold of his sister when she would go out to parties (usually accompanied by you). However, the two of you became roommates only later in the future, when he decided that he didn’t want to live with his family anymore, but leaving an apartment all empty for months on end would just be foolish. So that’s when he decided he needed someone to co-exist with, and you casually made your way into his life.

Whole Task Force 141 plus Laswell know about you, because of how homesick he gets sometimes! And you don't always respond to messages, you have your own life after all (plus, Soap knows you're not good with texting back, so he tries not to pressure you). However, unintentionally he starts to remember or mention you in unrelated conversations. And that's how everyone around him knows that it's time for him to go on his leave.

Not a lot of people are allowed to call him Johnny. He still gives his older sisters shit for calling him that sometimes. You and Ghost, however, are both allowed to do it. Not like his discontent would’ve stopped you though.

More often than not talks about you in a way that makes it appear like the two of you are together, with how he’s all smiles during these conversations. Describes you like he’s an infatuated teenager and then gets confused when someone assumes Soap is talking about his significant other. It's not that he is oblivious to his feelings, or a dumbass, of course not, it's that his feelings lasted for so long that it's very much normal to him and he doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary with it.

The love language that you both share is bullying and insulting each other relentlessly. Soap is less harsh with his words, but you’re just merciless. Sometimes it also grows into play fights and roughhousing between you. Soap tries to be careful, because he knows that he’s stronger (he’s in the military, duh), but he still won’t go down without a fight. So he goes easy on you.

We know that Soap has a whole sketchbook, filled to the brim with many drawings of various quality, his thoughts, and different garbage he picks up when he has the opportunity. A pretty leaf? Snatch. A random receipt from when you got groceries with him together? Snatch. A note you scribbled for him to finally wash his damn dishes? Sad snatch. When he's on leave he takes the opportunity to sketch you as much as possible, so he remembers every single detail of your face, the expressions you make, or the way you position your body. Soap does it to be able to replicate it when you’re not around him. He has millions of sketches where you’re napping on the couch.

When he’s absentmindedly doodling something during the briefings and meetings he draws small figures that resemble Task Force and you. One time he bought some colored pens so he’s not bored out of his mind on base, and the assigned color to draw you was blue, while he drew himself with a red pen. Gaz got green and Ghost he draws using a black pen, both Laswell and Price share the fact that Johnny draws them with a pencil.

One of the small traditions that you have when he’s on leave, is cooking something for each other while some show you’re not paying attention to plays in the background. The kitchen in the apartment is pretty modest, so two people cooking and moving around at the same time is a bit too much for such a small amount of space. When you get too into the process of mixing or cutting something and Soap needs to squeeze past you, he gently puts a hand on your lower back and you instantly know what he wants, because of how much he does it. It’s never arrogant or invasive, instead, it’s gentle and a bit playful.

Johnny’s very sociable and likes going out to drink frequently. You, however, prefer to not get involved in his escapades as often, so you stay home, instead telling him to call whenever he needs you to pick him up. On multiple separate occasions, when he came back home a bit tipsy, he would stumble into your room and fall on your bed, getting knocked out almost in a second. Soap’s snoring is pretty loud when he’s drunk or has a stuffy nose. Plus, he’s as heavy as a damn rock and you can’t move him because of it, so instead you sleep on the couch, sacrificing the health of your back for Soap’s sweet dreams.

Johnny is pretty good with his hands. If anything broken needs fixing, or anything heavy needs lifting he’s always happy to help. He’s also a decent cook, so if you’re not feeling like cooking dinner after you’re back home from work he’s ready to throw something together for you no problem. Partially because he knows that you’d do the same for him if he asked. And, well, he just cares about you. He’s ready to cook dinner for you for the next decade if it means you’ll feel better.

Your texts with him are filled to the brim with stupid videos and photos you send each other. If Johnny sees something that reminds him of you, what you like, or some random inside joke – you best believe he’s already snapping a photo and sending it to you.

check out my masterlist for more fics or send me a request/comment!

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patito-oward · 15 days

Text

Birthday Wishes

masterlist

WC: 2k

Summary: YN gives Pato a birthday surprise

Tags: smut, fluff if you squint, oral (m&f receiving)

It’s a rare day that they get to wake up without an alarm blaring. One of them always has to be up for work or some other engagement, but today Pato is off between races, and YN took off to spend the day with him. Her first thought as she began to wake is to curl deeper into Pato and enjoy as many cuddles as she could before she had to start the day. As soon as she’s awake enough to realize what today is, her plans quickly change.

Pulling back enough to look at Pato, the white sheets are sitting low on his hips, leaving his chest completely exposed. The light coming in through the windows puts a glow on his tan skin, accentuating his abs, and the sunshine has made his chest warm. The trail of hair from his navel to below the sheets teases her, she knows where it leads and it makes her mouth water. She can’t wait anymore and leans over, placing a tentative kiss to his lips.

When that does nothing to wake him she continues, placing a kiss on his cheek, his jaw, his pulse-point, a few down his neck and across his collar bone. “Amor, wake up, it’s your birthday.” He leans his head back to give her more access and smirks, so she knows he’s awake. Straddling him so she can reach better, YN kisses across his other collar bone and up the opposite side of his neck. When she reaches his pulse-point, she scrapes her teeth across it, and he lets out a groan. Continuing the same pattern up his jaw and cheek, YN makes her way back to his lips, and slots their lips together. “Feliz”, another kiss, “Cumpleaños” and another.

“What did I do to deserve all this?” his voice is still laced with sleep.

“Today is your day, and you deserve to be celebrated.”

“Well in that case,” a cocky grin paints his face as he leans back in to kiss her.

They lay together with YN still straddling his waist for a while, neither in any hurry to get the day started. The kiss started, slow, soft, with Pato’s hand cupping her cheek, but grew in intensity. Neither minded the morning breath, or seemed to notice, both too encapsulated with each other.

Pato’s hand ventured from her face down her sides, he slipped a hand under her shirt and quickly found her exposed nipples. He ran his thumb across the hardened bud and relished in the noise it drew from her. The hand still on her waist tentatively pressed down, encouraging her to grind against him. As soon as she did he was moaning into her mouth.

YN can feel the effect their kissing had on him below her, and continued moving against him. Two thin layers of underwear are the only thing between them, and it’s the perfect amount of friction against her.

Pato is panting as she continues to use him, “Amor, please,” he’s never been ashamed to beg if it’ll get him what he wants, which is currently nothing more than to be in YN.

YN isn’t done yet, she wants to put on a show and make him see stars. She slows her hips, but doesn’t completely still them as she sits up and gets rid of his shirt that she wore to bed. His hands immediately go to her waist grabbing hard enough to leave marks. She’s a vision like this, sitting atop his waist in nothing but a small pair of underwear, soaking them both as she uses him to get herself off.

Leaning down to place another kiss to his lips she gathers her hair and ties it out of the way before whispering in his ear. “Alright, birthday boy, make a wish.” She bites playfully at his ear before sitting up, but it clearly has the desired effect on him as he bucks his hips upwards.

“Fuck,” He’s forcing her down onto him now enjoying the moans he’s drawing from her. “sit on my face.”

“Uh-uh, today’s about you and making you feel good.”

“Trust me, there’s nowhere I want to be more than between your thighs right now, please baby.” and YN is a mere mortal so who is she to deny that request, especially when he adds a slight pout to his lip at the end of his sentence.

“Alright, your wish is my command.” He laughs at that a little as she positions herself off of him. YN always thought laughing during sex was a myth but everything with Pato was so different. He made her laugh 24/7 and she was always so comfortable with him. They easily switched from hot and heavy dirty talk to giggles frequently while having sex, or as Pato sometimes referred to it, only to make YN squeem, making love.

YN strips herself of her underwear and climbs back on Pato, this time straddling his chest. Immediately he grabs her ass and starts urging her forward. She keeps herself lifted above him for approximately .3 seconds before he forces her hips down onto his face.

Pato wastes no time in diving straight in. He begins to lap feverishly at her opening, and his nose rubs against her clit. He takes his time, exploring different rhythms as his tongue prods in and out of her entrance. Looking down at him she finds him looking back at her watching how his every movement affects her, and sees nothing but bliss in his eyes.

When he moves his head and starts focusing on her clit she’s done for. As soon as his tongue darts across the bud YN is screaming out and moving her hands from the headboard to his hair. He sucks on her clit and as she shouts, “fuck, baby, so good” she pulls on his hair making him moan into her.

He sets a pattern, alternating between licking and sucking, and she’s a goner. It’s just on the right edge of too much when he starts moaning around her. She can feel the familiar knot forming in her stomach and her thighs are shaking where they’re clenched around his head.

YN screams as she comes undone, and Pato flattens his tongue to let her ride out her high. He rubs her thighs and up her waist as she slowly starts to come down. When she leans forward and hangs her head he can tell how thoroughly fucksd out she looks. It sends a jolt to his cock to know he’s the one that gets her like this.

His cock which has taken a back burner and he is only now realizing is so hard it hurts. YN shimmies her way back down to his waist. “You’re too good to me.” Instead of waiting for an answer she slots their mouths together, tongues automatically beginning to dance.

It’s not rushed like it was before she takes her time exploring his mouth and taking him apart. When she finally pulls back after minutes or hours, Pato’s panting. Without saying anything else she moves on from his mouth, kissing a trail down his jaw, occasionally biting but not hard enough to leave any marks.

He throws his head back and YN continues her path down his throat, softly mouthing over his adam’s apple. Just below his collar bone she bites hard enough to leave a mark which has Pato moaning and begging for more. She knows him well enough to know he’ll walk around shirtless whenever possible this weekend and revel in whatever comments are made about the purple marks across his chest. Not stopping there, she leaves many more across his pecs and down his abs. Switching between leaving marks and tracing his abs with her tongue.

Finally she’s brought to where she’s wanted to be since she first woke up. She’s more laying in between his legs now, the comforter long forgotten and kicked off the bed, and she’s face to face with his happy trail. The V formed by his pelvic bones are teasing her, knowing where they lead.

Cautiously she brings her lips to the head of his cock and mouths at it through the fabric of his underwear. She’s immediately delighted by the darkening spot by his head, and knows there’s precome leaking from his tip.

Hissing he grabs a handful of her hair in a fist, “You can not do that if you want me to last at all.”

In lieu of an answer she removes his boxers, the way his cock springs up and hits his stomach makes her want it more. Settling back in to her spot between his legs, she gently grabs the base and begins working his precome down his shaft to make the glide easier. As she uses a hand to work up and down his shaft, she brings her mouth to the head, and sucks the tiniest bit.

She can tell how on edge he is by the way his hand tugs at her hair, the burn delicious. When another blot of precome escapes him she presses her tongue slightly into his slit making him groan and his hips lift off the bed. “Fuck, baby, please you’re too good”

She basks in the praise and takes more of him into her mouth. She focuses on keeping her throat open and breath even as she tries to take all of him. When her nose touches against his pubic bone she makes her way back up. Pato babbles a lot during sex, “Baby, it’s good, so good, you’re perfect, please please please” He doesn’t even know what he’s asking for but she understands, taking him all the way again.

When she pulls back this time she keeps her hand stroking him, then runs her tongue over the vein on the underside of his cock, swirling around the head when she gets there. Alternating between deep throating him and just appreciating his dick because god is it pretty, YN has him tumbling dangerously close towards the edge.

YN can tell he’s almost there because he’s an incoherent mess, muttering words in Spanish and English, pulling on her hair, and begging for more. She can see his abs clenching as she takes him into her throat again. He tries to pull her off by yanking on her hair, but she doesn’t budge, instead he shoots hot liquid down her throat. He really doesn’t mean to but he gets too caught up in the moment and jerks farther into her mouth causing her to sputter and pull off of him. When he comes back down, he sees the tears running down her face and realizes what he did.

He begins to apologize immediately, “Mi amor, I’m so sorry I didn’t want to hurt-“ his rant which was sure to be long winded and unnecessary is cut off by YN slotting their lips back together.

“Hey, I’m all good, no worse for the wear alright?”

He laughs at her, partly because she’s ridiculous, and partly because he’s so in love he can’t believe it. “I love you so much you know. Best birthday ever.”

“Oh yeah? It’s only 10:00, you sure you want to declare that already?”

“Trust me, nothing’s topped that.” he has a shit eating grin on his face and YN rolls off of him and throws a pillow at his head.

“You’re ridiculous,” Pato pulls her into his side to cuddle against him.

“Yeah, but you love me,”

“I do. I don’t know why sometimes, but I do.”

Pato switches the position they’d spent most of the morning in and rolls on top of her, but finds her waist and begins to tickle her. “I can’t believe you’d say such a thing, and on my birthday! Take it back!”

She’s laughing so hard it’s hard for her to get the words out, “Fine, fine, I love you and I know exactly why.”

Pato let’s up on his assault, “Good, now tell me all the reasons.”

YN took the same pillow from before and threw it at him again. “and I thought 25 was the age you were going to grow up, silly me.”

#pato o'ward #pato o'ward x reader #pato o’ward fanfiction #indy car #pato o’ward imagine

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bullet-prooflove · 1 month

Text

All About You: Dean Archer x Reader (NSFW)

Tagging: @kmc1989 @mandy426 @helsinkibaby @hufflepuffgirl

Dean doesn’t do this. He doesn’t fuck in storage closets in the hospital where he works. He leaves that to med students who've seen too many reruns of Grey’s Anatomy. However right here, right now he just can’t help himself because it’s been a few days since he last saw his wife and he’s been needing to blow off a little steam.

Your hands are in his scrubs, bypassing his underwear, fingers wrapping around his hard cock. He’s leaking already, moaning into your mouth as your thumb spreads it across the tip of his dick.

Your lips take a detour, kissing a heated trail along his jaw until you find that spot, that deviant space just under the hinge of his jaw that makes him thrust into your hand as he says your name.

“Don’t you dare make me come in my pants...” He mutters, his words cut off as you bite down just a little, making his hips jump.

He feels your smile against his skin before you kiss lower, lips brushing over his neck, his chest, his collarbone before you sink to your knees in front of him, pulling his scrubs down along with you.

“That isn’t what I meant...” He tries to chide you but your lips are already enveloping his cock, your tongue teasing over the head causing his breath to hitch.

Christ you feel good, he’s almost forgotten what it’s like to be loved by you.

His fingers gently pull the hair tie from your hair, allowing it to fall across your features and something just clicks, you’re not the M.E anymore. You’re his wife, the one that he’s barely seen in almost a week.

You take him deeper as his fingers tangle in your hair, his head tipping back against the wall. He won’t last long, not after all this time apart. He can feel that tingle of ecstasy at the base of his spine as your palms come to rest on his hips, pinning them to the wall.

He will never admit it to anyone else but he loves when you force his pleasure, when you coax it out of him. It’s hard for him to get his head out of work, to forget the responsibility that comes with being Head of the E.D. This is the only way to do it sometimes, to remind him he’s Dean, not Doctor Archer.

“Sweetheart.” He warns you as the rapture tears through his synapses like an IED, stealing away every inch of his sanity.

All he can focus on is you in that moment, the hot, tight sensation of your mouth as he spills his release down your throat. He tries to catch his breath as you draw away, your hands lightly guiding his scrubs back up his hips before you tuck him back in.

“You’ve been stressed lately.” You say by way of explanation. “It’s not good for you.”

“You can just say that you missed me .” He says with a knowing look.

“I thought showing you was a better use of our very limited time together.” You tell him as his watch goes off, signifying the end of his break. He sighs as his hands come to rest on your waist drawing you against him. Your perfume floods his nervous system, the sensual scent of rosewater washing through his senses as he breathes you in.

“I wish I could return the favour.” He says regretfully, his fingertips teasing over the elastic of your own scrubs. “Because I really would like to.”

“I know.” You tell him, your palms coming to rest on his chest. “But…”

“Tonight.” He says, his forehead coming to rest upon yours as he clasps your hand to his heart. “I’ll grab takeout on the way home, run a bath, I can use that massage oil that you like…”

“That sounds like heaven.” You say and he can tell from the look in your eyes that he’s not the only one that needs a break. The past week has been gruelling for the both of you. He should have checked in more, he thinks, made himself more available.

“Tonight is gonna be all about you.” He promises as his watch goes off again, signalling he’s needed elsewhere. “I’ll make sure if it.”

#dean archer #dean archer x reader #dean archer x you #steven weber #one chicago #chicago med

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no1frogfan · 9 months

Text

Impending, part 3

Matsukawa Issei x afab reader

Word count: ~3.4k

Tags & warnings: SMUT-MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. Fingering, oral sex (f receiving), p in v. There is cum. Pubes exist in this world. A little angst, pining, guilt, and desperation (my four favorite flavors).

Note: Finally finished this mini-series. The word counts have grown too much each time, but what can I say? — I want him emotionally, spiritually, biblically.

part 1 | part 2

You can’t stay in bed forever.

Probably.

Not unless you can convince Hiro to bring you something for dinner, but that’s never going to happen.

A particularly angry gurgle from your stomach makes you roll out of bed and pick your way to the kitchen. The tackiness of your skin is proof you made the right choice to sleep the day away. Summers are always stifling, and the humidity lingers even after the sun has set, preventing the air from dropping to comfortable temperatures.

A cool gust from the fridge provides a welcome relief, though it’s unfortunate the shelves are empty. That’s the worst part of being at home — the isolation. The trees and hills are beautiful, even the warbling of the birds at 4am is nice, but grocery stores and restaurants are few and far between. You could walk to the ancient ramen place a few streets down, or the sukiyaki place a few streets up, but neither sound at all appealing in this heat.

“Did mom and dad leave us anything for dinner?” You shout toward the open basement door.

No answer.

“I know you can hear me.”

You can’t see the middle finger Makki holds up. “I’m getting pizza later.”

“Can we order now? I’m starving,” you pad downstairs with a whine.

Sprawled on the couch, Hiro is sporadically illuminated by some anime show on tv. While you don’t recognize it, you can at least pick out the white-haired guy Hiro likes landing a couple of (over)dramatic punches on a black-haired guy.

“How are you even hungry? You’ve just been sleeping all day.”

Your brother doesn’t take his eyes off the tv where the black-haired one finally managed to dodge, and now the white-haired one is strategizing (at length) about his next move.

“You’re one to talk! As if you’ve mov-”

“I’m hungry too,” a deep baritone chimes in seemingly from below you.

You leap back with a yelp, squinting into the darkness at your feet. Out of the shadows, Issei’s form slowly takes shape. Honestly, you’re shocked you didn’t step on him.

“That’s not what you said 5 minutes ago,” Makki grumbles, but picks up his phone to place the order.

Issei shrugs, reaching his arm out toward you.

You dodge beyond his fingertips and beat a hasty retreat back up the stairs, calling out over your shoulder, “order me a Hawaiian pizza.”

“No way in hell. That’s disgusting.”

Fake retching sounds follow you to the top.

The cold spray of the shower is calming, necessary even, to wash the stickiness from your skin and quiet your frazzled nerves.

That happened almost a week ago, and seeing him in your house every day has only made things more fraught. While you haven’t exactly been avoiding Issei, you haven’t tried to talk to him either. For your brother’s sake you should probably make clear that it was a mistake; one that will never happen again. You could blame it on the beer or the weed, but the truth is, Issei plagues your thoughts even while sober — his breath hot on your neck, fingertips digging into the fat of your hips, the utter fullness when he pushed into you.

Before that night, the image of him as a gawky preteen was all your mind could conjure up. But now… Your fingers aren’t enough to relieve the pressure anymore.

Your encounter unleashed some latent magnetic field, prickling your senses and hopelessly drawing you toward him at every turn. You welcome his attention more than you care to admit, so, unsurprisingly, it’s been hard not to make it weird, and harder not to second-guess every single interaction these days. Since when did he know your favorite snacks? Did he used to stare at you so much? Had he always been this touchy?

Or is he just hoping for a repeat of the other night?

The possibility stirs up both anxiety and relief. Except for the teeny, tiny detail of being your little brother’s best friend — you know, the one person outside of family that Hiro places 100% of his trust in — Issei would top your list of fuck buddies (and if you’re honest, maybe even more than that).

What’s been most confusing is that Issei doesn’t seem bothered, and you’re not sure why that irritates you so much. He’s never seemed like the kind of guy who would treat you like a notch in his bedpost, but then again, best friend’s sibling is a perennially popular porn trope for a reason. Surely he’s not immune.

None of that really matters though. Hiro’s been acting strange lately, like he knows something’s up. Half the time, he books it out of a room as soon as you walk in. God knows how he’d react if he found out what happened. Issei said he wouldn’t care, but how true is that? You try to imagine how you’d feel if one of your friends told you they’d slept with Hiro, and you can’t help but be…one, grossed out because you really don’t want to think about it. And two, well…protective, angry maybe. He might be an ass, but he’s still your brother, and you’d never do anything to actually hurt him.

A knock breaks into your anxious musings.

It’s then you notice you’re standing vacantly in the middle of your room. Somehow, you’d finished showering and walked back while lost in thought.

“Go away!”

Hiro is the last person you want to talk to right now; especially not before you can get your thoughts under control.

Footsteps shuffle away, but instead of the telltale creak of the stairs, they pause, then turn back toward the door.

The door jiggles and clicks open.

“What part of-”

Except it’s not Hiro. It’s Issei.

His audacity dumbfounds you, but only for a second.

“The hell?! Get out!”

Hesitation flickers across his face but he takes a step forward.

“Can we talk?”

“NO.” You wrap the towel tighter around yourself.

When he doesn’t move, you reiterate the point by whirling on your heels and stomping toward the dresser. The underwear drawer suddenly captures your full attention, and you rummage through it with single-minded focus.

The door shuts behind you with another click, and you let out a shaky breath.

The relief is short-lived.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Goosebumps break out all over your skin at his words.

“That’s not true.”

The lavender scent of your shampoo tickles his nose. With you faced resolutely away, he steps closer and allows his eyes to sweep over the droplets gleaming across your shoulders.

“No?”

His lips brush against the base of your neck, and whatever retort you had fizzles on your tongue.

“Issei,” you whimper, “you said you wanted to talk.”

You lean back into his touch and feel him grin against the juncture of your neck. His hands, big and warm and firm, slide up under the towel to knead at your soft thighs, rapidly emptying your brain.

He gives you a gentle nudge toward the bed.

“I don’t think we should do this,” you protest, but your lack of conviction is apparent in how eagerly you obey, practically tripping over yourself to perch on the edge of the mattress.

He raises one thick eyebrow. “Why?”

“Hiro’s going to find out.”

Issei unbuttons his shirt with unhurried movements, unveiling the smooth musculature of his chest. Its slopes and dips are made more dramatic thanks to the yellow-orange light of the single desk lamp. You swallow thickly, eyes drawn to the sharp cut of his collarbones and the faded scar on his right hip.

“Makki knows. He doesn’t care.”

His shorts and underwear quickly land in a pile on the floor.

Even in the harsh light, his dick is nothing short of mouth-watering. A pretty flush tip sits enticingly over its thick, veiny length. Coarse hairs curl tightly at the base, trimmed short to reveal more of him.

He kneels and shuffles forward to tug the towel from your clutch, uttering an appreciative groan before he tosses it aside.

“Fuck, just look at you.”

Your objections devolve into gasping moans when he pushes you back to lay open-mouthed kisses across your collarbones and down your chest, sluggishly mouthing over your hips, down the tops of your legs and back up, licking a stripe along the tender skin of your inner thigh as he splays your legs up and out. He dives in to suck on your clit and you almost choke.

Your entire body tenses with pleasure when he starts to lap at you. But it’s the way he meets your gaze with hooded eyes — intoxicated from a single taste — that kickstarts the last ounce of resistance left in your body.

“Issei, if you- fuck that’s ahhh- you’re just looking to get your dick wet…”

That stills his tongue. Even though you’re the one protesting, you can’t help but whine now that he’s actually stopped.

“That’s not…” He frowns, a mixture of your juices and his saliva glistening on his chin. In one fluid motion, Issei slides you off the bed and onto his lap. A shudder runs through him when his erection glides against your folds, though it doesn’t distract him.

“Is that what you think this is?”

You’re not sure what answer he’s looking for, so you stay silent, head turned to avoid his eyes.

He scrutinizes you for what seems like an age. How could you not know? All the times he’s tried to impress you? All the things he’s done in the hopes you’ll notice him? All the years he’s trailed behind you — to your house, to university, and even to Sendai?

“Do you remember when your parents made you start watching us after school?”

Your face scrunches in confusion at the change in topic, but he’s insistent.

“Do you remember? Right after you started high school?”

“Ok…yeah,” you indulge, “I remember. I’d just joined photography club and had to quit like a month later. I was pissed — they’d never cared about leaving us home alone before so I didn’t understand why I had to babysit you guys.”

“They didn’t actually care. I made up some lie — I don’t even remember what it was now — to convince my parents we needed a sitter. I figured they’d make you do it, and they did.”

You look up in confusion. Is he…blushing?

“And in eighth grade, when I needed help with math… I actually bombed my tests on purpose for a month because I knew my parents would ask you.”

Wait… “Was that what your fights were about?”

Hiro and Issei were thick as thieves, the only exceptions being in your first and last years of high school. Their fights got heated too, though neither ever told you what set them off, no matter how many times you tried to pry it out of them. The second time, Issei didn’t come over for almost a month afterward (you remember because you had to go to his house to tutor him) but things always eventually went back to normal.

Issei huffs a soft chuckle. “Yeah, Makki figured it out.”

“Figured what out?”

“It’s not obvious?” Issei drops his head onto your shoulder with something between a groan and a laugh. “I liked you. A lot. I still do.”

He admits it so casually, like he’s commenting on the weather. Like he and Hiro haven’t kept this secret for over a decade. Like it’s hardly a confession at all.

For once, you’re the one struggling to keep up.

“Wait…you like me?”

You feel a muffled snort. “That’s literally what I’ve been saying this whole time.”

“And Hiro’s…not mad? But he’s been acting so weird lately,” you point out.

“Oh that. He keeps trying to ‘give us space’ or something. I told him to cool it.”

“Oh.” Huh. Maybe it was obvious. You were just too worried about Hiro to notice that every time he flew out of a room with some flimsy excuse, you were left alone with Issei. Issei, who you like more than you expected. Who’s had a crush on you for more than a decade. Whose lap you’re currently nestled in, naked.

“Does that mean we can…” You shift, jerking when your clit catches his spongy tip.

He laughs, grinding his hips up to meet you.

“We sure can.”

You’re still wet, really wet, you’re reminded when your pussy glides against him, and getting more aroused by the second as Issei stares, mesmerized by the slick trail you leave along the length of his cock.

His hands slide down to give your ass an excited squeeze before lifting you up onto the edge of the bed.

Dextrous fingers part your puffy lips as he rests his cheek against your thigh, giving him the perfect view of your dripping cunt. He thumbs lightly at your clit and heaves a sigh of contentment when your hips buck in response.

“Didn’t get to enjoy this last time.”

You bite back a moan when he slides one long finger into you. It reaches deep, and you squirm in encouragement when he sinks a second one in. He works them nimbly, curling and scissoring them while rolling your clit, breaking you down into a whiny mess in seconds, until you’re dripping down his wrists and onto the sheets.

You’re so distracted by his fingers that you don’t notice him dive in, just feel his lips wrap around your clit with a slurp. He licks and sucks at you eagerly, and you can only gasp and writhe, trying to steady yourself with a fist in his soft wavy hair. The walls echo with your cries mingled with Issei’s enthusiastic groans and the wet suction of your cunt around his fingers.

It catches you by surprise when you cum, cresting fast and hard, pulling your body taut and whiting out your vision. Before you realize it, you’re already quaking with aftershocks, trying to twist away from the overwhelming sensation of him licking and suckling dreamily as you come down.

When he finally pulls his fingers out, he makes a show of sucking them clean, stroking himself as he smirks up at you.

He pushes himself up off the floor and god, fuck. He’s irresistible, his cock bobbing heavily between his legs as he gets on his hands and knees above you.

Issei leans down, humming happily when he wraps his mouth around your right nipple. He massages your chest with one hand and grips his cock with the other to smear his tip along your sopping pussy.

It feels good, but you squirm and push at his shoulders. “Want you in my mouth,” you beg.

He placates you with a hungry kiss. “Next time, ok? Next time. I can barely- I don’t think I can last long,” he admits wryly, “but next time we’ll do anything you want.”

Your eyelids flutter shut in anticipation when he lines himself up.

He pushes in slowly, first the fat mushroom tip, then the whole thick length of him, rocking himself in, out, in, inch by inch until he’s pressed flush against you. Issei groans when your face contorts with pleasure. The stretch is incredible. He stuffs you so full, finally hitting that place you’ve been unable to reach.

He takes things slow. Too slow. He wasn’t able to savor you before, but he’s not about to make the same mistake again. His long, languid strokes are just enough to have you grinding against him in frustration with every thrust.

“Let me enjoy this for a minute,” he rasps.

His hands trail restlessly across your body, caressing and squeezing every inch of skin he can reach. He kisses his way down your neck to roll his tongue around your nipple, biting and sucking one before moving to the other, and back again.

After what feels like hours, your patience finally gives out.

You smack him hard on the ass. “Issei! Fuck me already.”

That jolts his hips into action. The length of his body is laid on top of you, pinning your legs up against your shoulders as he pistons into you with surprising force. Wet slaps alternate with the loud squeak of the mattress.

You begin to quiver, your whole body shaking as the heat builds in your core. He reaches deep, so so deep, making you wail every time he bumps your clit and his cock hits that perfect spot inside of you over and over again.

“Ohhh- fuck, Issei please I’m-”

He barely has time to blink before you’re falling apart at the seams again. Wave after blinding wave of ecstasy crash over you, relentless.

Your pussy clenches hard, gripping his cock so firmly he can barely move. Not a second later, he pulls out with a shout. Through hazy eyes, you see his mouth drop open. He fists his cock only once before his body stiffens, convulsing as jets of hot cum shoot out to land on your cheeks, shoulders, chest, stomach, dribbling out to coat your pubes, before finally leaving him twitching.

The room fills with hoarse pants.

You laugh weakly at the mess. “Wow, you came a lot.”

“I think I almost blacked out,” he croaks.

With great effort, he pushes himself off the bed and returns with the box of tissues from your desk. He cleans you up with care, just like last time.

“I wanted to last longer,” he mumbles, pressing a sheepish kiss to your sternum before collapsing on you, pinning you down with his weight.

It does something funny to your heart to witness him like this, so different from his usual confidence.

“Next time,” you assure him.

“Next time?” He looks up, almost reverent.

“Yeah.” You smile and brush the damp curls away from his eyes.

Next time. He breaks out in an obnoxious grin. There’s going to be a next time. And if there’s a next time, there might be a time after that.

“You won’t even need to introduce me to your parents.”

You snort. “Ok, pump the brakes.”

When you finally make your way back to the kitchen (with Issei practically holding you up as you wobbled), you find one Hawaiian pizza and two-thirds of a pepperoni pizza sitting on the counter.

Issei loads up a plate for you both before heading down to the basement. You grab some cold beers and follow suit, pausing in the doorway to take a few calming breaths.

You don’t hear any yelling or scuffling — a positive sign. Hopefully, that means Hiro isn’t too angry.

You take one wary step, then another.

When you reach the bottom, your eyes hesitantly find Hiro’s. There’s an uneasy moment when he frowns at you from where he’s seated on the floor before he gives you a curt nod. It’s stiff, but definitely not angry, not even upset.

Your shoulders untense.

Issei waves you over to the couch where he settles you securely in his lap, his arms encircling your waist. You cast another wary glance at Hiro who just rolls his eyes.

“Glad you’re finally done ‘getting some water,’” Makki snipes. “I’ve been waiting forever to start the next episode.”

“I’m definitely not thirsty anymore if you know what I mean.” Mattsun wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

Hiro’s face twists, revolted. “Ugh- I- ugh god, I don’t want to think about-” he sputters. His eyes flick to where Issei’s hands grope at your thighs and ass. “Whoa, ok rule number one: not when I’m right here. And rule number two-” there’s an uncomfortable pause before he mutters, “keep it down next time.”

Mattsun’s not at all chagrined. In fact, he puffs out his chest proudly.

You, on the other hand, shrink in absolutely mortification. Right when Issei opens his mouth to make another (probably vulgar) retort, you shove a slice of pizza in…with a little more force than you intended.

He chokes in surprise and your brother lets out a mean snicker. “Perfect timing! Serves you right.”

You expect him to continue bickering with Hiro, but Issei instead flashes you a dopey grin. “Thank you baby,” he says sweetly, muffled though it is by a mouthful of food.

The gleeful smirk drops right off Makki’s face and he whirls back toward the tv with a loud gag.

“You’re welcome,” you giggle. Your brain’s still playing catch-up with everything that’s happened today, but you think you like where this is heading.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu smut #matsukawa issei #matsukawa x reader #matsukawa smut #hq x reader #froggy scribbles

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tortor-sauce · 3 months

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18+ POST LOOK AWAY 👹🔞 if you’re not 18+ PLEASE DNI with this post!! 👹🔞

(sketch and drabble and headcanons)

(jel/reth/oc stuff)

GO AWAY LOOK AWAY!!!!! IM WARNING YOU 🔪

SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP I CANT EVEN TAG THIS I DONT EVEN WANT PEOPLE TO SEE BUT I HAVE TO SHOW SOMEONE AND TALK ABOUT IT OR I’LL EXPLODE!!!!

i’m too shy to share the whole picture IM SORRY—i just wanted to capture a few headcanons into a single shamelessly horny drawing of the three of them together. also, my thoughts are completely unorganized and this post is mostly just me rambling!

small disclaimer, if you don’t agree with or like my headcanons, that’s totally valid but please don’t tell me so 🙇 i kindly ask you just move on from this post. thank you!

okay. so i feel like both reth and jel are service tops HEAR ME OUT—like, they’re both just a couple of pathetic lover boys who are so head over heels in love with you. the fact they practically always gift you something when you flirt with them in-game (jel gifting silk and reth gifting soup) i feel is their attempts at spoiling you and taking care of you in their own way. they just want to see you happy and make you cum your brains out a thousand times until you can’t think straight anymore 🥺

and in general, i feel jel would love to shower you in compliments and words of praise and practically worship your body. while i feel reth is the type to show you how he feels and relish in watching you come undone with him. but personally 👉👈 i feel jel and reth align more closely as switches because they’re both so.. so soft and need to be spoiled and loved so deeply (no innuendo intended)

with that said, i think jel is a more intimate and passionate lover while reth is a bit more unhinged and rough. that’s not to say jel doesn’t have his sadistic bouts. i feel it stems directly from his obsessive nature and grows into a desire to watch you submit to him and his whims, sort of in a controlling way. but it makes him so happy when you do. the need to know you belong to him, both your heart and body, is honestly really important to him. i actually feel he has control issues due to a number of reasons but that’s a different discussion—💀 and he rewards you so thoroughly for showing him how much you love him. god, the aftercare? he’s so gentle and attentive and treats you like the most precious thing he’s ever held.

more on reth, while not as sadistic, i feel he’s still plenty controlling when he wants to be. the poor man has hardly any control in his day-to-day life and the fact you allow him an ounce of control? over your body of all things? yeah, that shit drives him mad (positive). gets a bit carried away and leaves marks on your body, hickeys, scratches, bruises, the like. but hey, at least it’s a pretty reminder of how much fun you had together. plus, if anyone sees they’ll know you belong to him. but he definitely teases you about it the following days by making sly comments and even running his fingers over the more sensitive marks.

so, in my polycule i envision moments where two will actively spoil the other. so for instance like when maddox and reth want to spoil jel and shower him in the love and affection he deserves, he gets all shy and blushy but relishes in the moment. he pays them back tenfold once they’re finished, but not that same night. maddox and reth make sure he’s completely worn out so he’ll finally get some damn sleep for once. reth is the same in that regard; he gets all shy and blushy but he enjoys being spoiled for once. not having to care about anything or anyone else and focus fully on himself and his pleasure. and the two know this and want to show him how loved he is. lowkey i imagine jel bringing him to tears, crying tears of pleasure and from overstimulation but that may be a personal thing of mine. 💀 and as for maddox? they both know exactly which buttons to push. i imagine them sort of egging each other along. i mentioned earlier i think jel has a sadistic side to him, well i think the same of reth albeit not nearly as prominent. like, the fact he teases and flirts so much could be for a number of reasons, but how lovely it would be if it were only to watch their reactions each time. with that said, maddox happens to be very reactive and discovering that fact in bed, like, awakens something inside of him to tease more, to push as much as maddox will allow him. and yes, he notices the way jel reacts to it too. it only makes him want to tease him for the fact as well 🥴 WHICH is why i drew him with that expression LMAO normally i would’ve imagined him with a much softer and kinder expression but i think he’s quick to lose himself in the throes of pleasure which causes him to act a bit selfish at times. but like i said, i see him as a service top so really his ‘selfish’ moments are him just spoiling maddie and jel and showering their bodies with so much love and attention.

i have so many more thoughts but this post is getting long and i’m getting embarrassed so i’ll stop there for now.

IF YOU READ THIS IM SORRY LOL BUT THANK YOU FOR INDULGING ME///////

#palia nsft #i started drawing jel then i blacked out #brain worms sorry

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abibliophobiaa · 1 year

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1000??? yaaaaa bestie!! 🤩😍♥️ omg congrats! this is huge and so deserved, so excited for and prouda youuuuu 😙 was thinking about what to send in and woooo nelly i just know you’re gonna make this so damn good.

🌙 fluffy angst 🌙 friends -> lovers 🌙 “i broke my rules for you” & “i want more than this” 🌙 honestly stevie or eddie! which one speaks to you??

thinking these two are BFFs and it’s like raining out and maybe it’s the reader who’s being hesitant cos she’s afraid to ruin their friendship? or is a commitaphobe?? or somethinggg and one of the boys just can’t take it anymore and shows up all soaked and shit and 🥹🫶🏼

OKAY BABE YOU’RE AMAZING ILY! ♥️♥️♥️ CONGRATS ON 1K!

better late than never. here's 1K words of steve being a dingus. warnings/tags: steve harrington x f!reader; mild smut so 18+; some fluff, angst and steve making poor choices.

Maybe it’s because he’s faced death too many times. Stared it down in the eye and lived to tell the tale. Maybe it’s because it’s easier to pretend the feelings he holds for you aren’t deeper than what they presently are. Maybe it’s because the fear of losing you is greater than the desire he has to be with you. But he knows that’s not true. And it feels wrong to even think that; you’re his best friend, he loves you, he might be in love with you.

He’ll never tell you, though. Love scares him. The last time he loved it swallowed him up and spat him back out. Last time he loved, he watched the person he thought he could see a future with run back into the arms of someone who loved her better than he ever could.

Such is life, isn’t it?

It’s been two years since then and you’re a bright spot in his life. Someone he runs to on his worst days, fills it with laughter, fills it with your easy smiles and candor. You’re comfort to a weary soul, a tether when his mind slips away into the past—into visions of swirling red skies and fluttering wings, of monsters that crawl in a world that no longer is.

It starts the way most of these things do: one night you get a little too cozy, hands start to wander, sticky kisses press to exposed skin. He gasps as your mouth slides along sensitive flesh, watches as your eyes roll into the back of your skull as he sinks in minutes after he watches you fall apart on his tongue, writhing with your thighs splayed around his shoulders. It’s meant to be a one time thing, but these things never are.

One time turns to two, and soon it’s every weekend, and before long it’s months of roaming hands in dark alleyways after having a drink at a bar, it’s him pinning you against the door to his bedroom and watching you fall apart around his fingers, and right now it’s your gasps filling the cabin of his car as you fold against his chest, skirt high up on your thighs, his softening cock still inside of you, heartbeats slowing down into a normal rhythm, melting into the steady drum of rain splashing against the windows.

There’s nothing normal about this time, though. It’s different. You lean back in his lap, eyes hazy with your release, lazy lips sliding languidly over his. He sighs against your mouth, tongue licking into you, drawing out the last remnants of your pleasure, before your hands come to rest on his shoulders and you whisper, “I want more than this.”

“You want more than this…” He’s not understanding. And then again, he’s never asked. You’ve never talked about it. These trysts, these moments between you, they’ve never disrupted your friendship. They may have blurred it, blurred the lines of it, but you’d never talked about more. Always some unspoken agreement between the two of you; at least until now.

“I want to be with you, Stevie. I don’t want to hide behind our friends' backs. I…I want this. Us.” Your voice breaks off at the end, and in that he knows he’s already made a mistake. Because his mouth drops open at your words and he can’t find it in himself to speak.

He doesn’t speak for some time. Therein lies the problem. He realizes too late as your bottom lip trembles and you nod stiffly. As you slide your skirt back down over your thighs and climb off of him. As you open the backseat door and slip out of his car and into the pouring rain.

“Where are you going?!” He’s stumbling out of the car, buckling his pants as he races through the darkened streets behind your trembling form.

You whirl around to face him and the hurt on your features is a lightning bolt to his chest. A knife to the gut he’s not prepared for. “Home!”

“Let me drive you!” His voice is drowned out by the thunderous drops lashing against the ground. Drowned out by the own frantic throb of his heart. “Baby, slow down!”

You do better than that. You stop, and it’s only because your face crumples and you start to cry. The sight alone nearly kills him. Crushes the wind clear from his lungs. His arms curl around your shoulders and drag you close, and he wonders if you can feel him shaking, because he’s terrified when he speaks. When he whispers, “I broke my rules for you.”

“W-what do you—”

“I love you.”

Three words. Three words he’s not said in years. Three words that someone had made him believe he’d never hear. Never earn. Three words with the weight to crush him—to send him crashing like he had so long ago. Three words that have you clutching at the front of his shirt, teary eyes meeting his face. You’re both shivering, both drenched to the bone, but it doesn’t matter now.

None of it matters except for you.

Maybe it’s been that way all along.

“I don’t know what I’m doing. I haven’t done this in so long and I’m probably shit at it, you’ll have to be patient, but I love you and I’m…I want this. I want us, too. I’m just—I’m scared and I—”

“I love you, too.” Your lips brush his, soft and delicate, arms curling around his waist to drag him close. “We’ll figure it out together, okay? I just want you.”

And so you kiss under a streetlight, clothes sticky and plastered to your bodies, hair stuck to skin, but neither of you cares.

Nothing else matters.

Only this. Only now.

#lunas1kfollowercelebration🌙#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington blurbs #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut #steve harrington angst #steve harrington x f!reader #steve harrington x fem!reader

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djpurple3 · 4 months

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his tears freeze when he cries, did you know that?

3k words, Empires s1, romantic scwhip (fWhip/Scott), vaguely canon compliant, set just before Scott leaves on his Elsa Arc. Full fic both on AO3 and posted below.

Tagged: kissing, crying, self-deprecation, abandonment issues, hurt no comfort, angst, winged Scott and fWhip, tragic romance.

Summary:

After fWhip's sister gets hit by Scott's newly developing and quickly out-of-control powers, fWhip has that sort of... gut feeling that everything is about to fall apart. He rushes to Rivendell to see Scott just in time - catching Scott as he is about to leave. fWhip now has to try, in vain, to convince his love to stay.

--- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

fWhip has that… that gut sort of feeling. When Gem had shown up, allegedly ‘feeling fine’ but corrupted to all hells and back, and talking about Scott, fWhip had a terrible sort of feeling. Now, coming to a quick landing in Rivendell’s main plaza, he sees he was right to assume the worst.

Scott, wings half-unfurled, stares at him, caught off guard, and… painfully scared.

When fWhip dares to approach, he has to swallow hard, stomach twisting itself into agonising knots, because as he draws closer, Scott shies away.

“I’m not mad,” fWhip says quickly. He raises his hands in a show of peace. “Not anymore, I promise.”

“It’s not just that,” Scott says, and he doesn’t even look at fWhip, and that hurts too. “It’s… no. You should go.”

“Go?” fWhip stops five paces away, hands still in the air, and he tries to smile, tries to joke it off. “But I just arrived! And it was such a long journey, too.”

“You may use one of my people’s homes to rest,” Scott says. He’s really trying to brush fWhip off. And, fWhip notices, Scott’s… not in his usual robes. He’s in warm weather gear – not sleek and well-fitted royal garb, but thick and sturdy. Scott is… he’s in runaway clothes, isn’t he? “I will send word for you.”

“Scott.”

“You can’t… I-,” Scott cuts himself off with an aching sigh. “We can’t, fWhip.”

And Scott finally looks up. His eyes are wide and bright and exhausted. fWhip can’t help but notice that Scott’s been clutching his hands tightly together over his stomach this entire time. It’s a stark contrast to the usual way Scott would gesture as he spoke.

“You should understand better than anyone else.” Scott’s lips purse, and he looks away. “…How is she?”

“Well, she’s…” fWhip looks away, too. Scratches the back of his head as he fumbles for his words. “She went looking for a cure herself, and got corrupted, actually, but… I took her to Katherine, who managed to purify her. She’s good as gold, now, …if not a little shaken.”

“Corrupted?” Scott echoes, horrified, and he steps back sharply, hands flying to his mouth. “Even Gem? E-even the… the Great Wizard of the Crystal Cliffs…”

“Hey. We both know that it doesn’t matter who you are,” fWhip says sharply, but the way Scott’s face falls tells fWhip he’s accidentally hit a sore spot. “But! She got help! We defeated it together.”

fWhip does his best to smile, now and takes a half-step closer.

“And besides. This,” fWhip gestures at Scott, now, up and down, “isn’t that. You’re… you’re you, Scott. You didn’t mean it. She knows you didn’t mean it. I know you didn’t mean it. It… it’s okay.”

“It’s not!” Scott’s hands tighten, and the air gets several degrees colder even as Scott takes a jerky step back that spreads frost from where his boot makes contact with the ground. fWhip fights down the urge to shiver, and holds his ground. “I… you’re not listening to me! I can’t control myself, fWhip. A-and I don’t… I don’t want to keep hurting people.”

And fWhip watches in quiet horror as tears fall down Scott’s face. But… but they aren’t normal tears. They’re frozen on his cheeks, long before they hit the ground, and bounce on the cobblestones with little tink-tink-tinks.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Scott says, and he reaches out to fWhip for a moment, just a moment, before he catches himself, and tucks his hands away again.

fWhip involuntarily makes a distressed sound in the back of his throat, before he has a thought, eyes lighting up. Scott watches him in confusion as fWhip frantically pats down his coat.

“Look, wait, hang on,” he tells Scott, before he finds the right pocket and pulls out his work gloves. “These- these babies? Designed to withstand the extreme temperatures of my forge.”

And fWhip doggedly closes the distance before Scott can argue, pulling his gloves on, and takes Scott’s hands in his. Scott flinches, gasps, his hands flex as frost spreads across fWhip’s gloves, but fWhip just raises a shaky eyebrow, and smiles.

Scott’s eyes widen.

“See?” fWhip squeezes Scott’s hands, coaxing him along, and finally, the tension leaks from Scott, his shoulders uncurl enough to stand tall again. “You can’t hurt me. It’s alright.”

“…Your technology is marvellous,” Scott says, musing. He gently turns fWhip’s hands over so Scott can inspect the gloves closer. “And you’re sure I’m not…?”

“Can barely feel a thing,” fWhip assures him. “You’d really need to start pumping the temperature up or down to damage these.”

In truth, he hasn’t actually really tested these for cold. But they certainly work for heat. Wearing these, he can handle magma and, to some degrees, even lava with his hands. Which is more where his expertise lies. But they’re holding up more than fine right now. fWhip squeezes Scott’s hands again, even as the frost thickens. He still doesn’t feel the cold.

Scott looks up now, finally meeting fWhip’s eyes… and, gods above and below, he looks tired.

“I’m about to go,” Scott whispers. “I’m… I’m going.”

“Where?” fWhip asks, voice equally hushed, worried, and he immediately steps closer.

“Somewhere. Anywhere. Away from here. I have to.”

“You… Scott.”

“I have to,” Scott’s still crying, his frozen teardrops are almost piling around them now. “I need to learn to control myself. And I need to do it somewhere I won’t freeze someone half to death. O-or worse.”

“And you?” fWhip tilts his head, studying Scott’s face.

“Oh,” Scott says, his best attempt at playful, and he even does his best to give fWhip a smile. “The cold doesn’t bother me.”

“…H-how long will you be gone?”

“Long enough,” Scott says, and his hands tighten around fWhip’s for a moment. “I… I don’t know if I should even…”

“You better come back,” fWhip cuts Scott off, brow furrowing as the pain in his chest threatens to seal off his throat. “You better. I’ll hunt you down if you don’t.”

“fWhip,” Scott says He sounds in pain.

“Scott,” fWhip matches his tone. “You… you can’t go. …I-I’m sorry. I hate seeing you like this.”

“Like what?” Scott says, the bitterness in his tone taking fWhip aback, and he watches as Scott’s lip curls. “A menace? A danger? A threat?”

“Scared,” fWhip says, earnest and simple. “In pain.”

He moves in, now. fWhip catches Scott in a full-on hug, and wraps his leathery wings around both of them, best he can.

“You better come back,” he half-growls, hugging tighter as Scott tenses up with a sharp gasp. “We… gods, Scott, we were just beginning to work.”

“I know,” Scott says, and he sounds so… mournful. “Maybe we just weren’t meant to-”

“You better not finish that sentence either,” fWhip cuts him off again, voice so dark, and fWhip looks up sharply to meet Scott’s ice-blue eyes. They’re practically pressed chest-to-chest now. Scott’s shaking in his arms. “I… you can’t… I can’t… I’ve already lost so many, Scott, you…”

fWhip closes his eyes for a moment, before he finally says, “I can’t lose you too.”

Scott’s face crumples, and he watches fWhip with a devastated expression. fWhip takes his opportunity to lean in and place a kiss on Scott’s cheek.

“fWhip!” Scott reprimands him, and snowy owl wings push draconic ones aside. Scott physically shoves his way out of fWhip’s arms.

“What?” fWhip tries not to sound choked up even as he stumbles back a few steps. “You can’t say you don’t want it!”

“I’ll freeze you!” Scott cries, and fWhip’s eyes widen as frost spreads from around Scott’s boots, seeping deeper into the ground, edging closer to fWhip. “I’ll kill you, fWhip, and I don’t want to. You’d be safer without me!”

Scott puts his head in his hands, turns away, wings circling himself, drawing in tight.

“Everyone would be safer without me,” he whispers to himself.

fWhip chokes on his tongue. He can’t breathe. He needs to say something, anything, but he can’t. The words won’t come.

He takes one hesitant step forward. Then another. He tries to take care not to slip on the ice. Scott doesn’t look up until fWhip is directly in front of him again.

“…fWhip?”

fWhip reaches out, now. He reaches out, worn leather gloves reaching out until he cups Scott’s face gently, so gently, and fWhip tears up as he watches Scott’s eyes widen. fWhip guides Scott’s head down, not all the way, just until their foreheads are resting together, and fWhip closes his eyes, staying there. It’s almost too much to bear.

“I can’t stop you,” he says, low and slow. “I know I can’t. But promise me, Scott. Promise me you’ll come back. I need you to come back.”

“I can’t promise that.”

“You can.” fWhip’s face scrunches up, eyes screwing tighter shut. “…Who’s even looking after your people, when you’re gone?”

“My advisors,” Scott says. “I’ve left them letters; they know what to do.”

“…The Grimlands will lend aid, if they need it,” fWhip’s voice is so soft. Scott’s touch is much colder than it used to be, but fWhip isn’t scared of it. He likes it, even. It… fWhip runs too hot for his own good. He could even get used to this, grow fond of this, …if Scott would stay.

“Thank you,” Scott whispers, and somehow, he’s the one who shivers. “…fWhip.”

“Scott.”

fWhip hasn’t opened his eyes yet. He can’t. If he opens his eyes to see that fear on Scott’s face, it’ll… make this far harder. Too hard. fWhip wants to remember what Scott looked like with a smile. What he used to look like before the demon. Before everything.

“What are you doing?” Scott whispers to him.

“I-I’m trying to remember you happy,” fWhip replies honestly. “So it’ll hurt less when you’re gone.”

Scott’s breathing hitches. Under fWhip’s touch, he shudders. Slowly, fWhip feels the familiar warmth and softness of being encircled by feathery wings, and he melts into it.

“Don’t go.” fWhip can’t help but beg.

“I have to.”

“Then kiss me,” fWhip finally opens his eyes, and takes in Scott’s tears, the fear in his eyes, the way his mouth is hanging a little open, the way he’s drawn tenser than a bowstring, and knows he won’t be able to erase how Scott has changed, has been changed, by all of this. “Kiss me, one last time. Please.”

Scott gasps again, and fWhip watches Scott as he openly wars with himself, fear and longing clawing at each other until Scott gasps for air, and-

“I…” Scott’s hands almost make it to fWhip’s face, but they falter, fall a little, and lightly cup his throat, over where his scarf is, like Scott can’t bring himself to touch fWhip’s bare skin.

“Lean in,” fWhip whispers. “Close your eyes, if it helps. I just… Gods. Give me something to remember you by, Scott.”

Scott caves. fWhip watches it happen, watches it play out across Scott’s face. Scott caves, and closes his eyes and tilts his head down, hesitant, waiting. fWhip is the one who cups Scott’s face again to guide the kiss.

Scott’s lips are cold. fWhip doesn’t let it throw him, just presses their mouths together insistently, tries to press everything he can against Scott’s lips to try and let Scott know he has something to come back to.

When they part for air, Scott doesn’t open his eyes for another moment.

fWhip leans back just a little to start undoing his scarf, and he slips it off, loops it around Scott’s neck, and he’s fumbling with doing up the knot when Scott’s eyes fly open.

“I… I can’t take this,” Scott tries to argue, though he makes no move to stop fWhip.

“I have others,” fWhip tells him sharply, doing up the knot a little too tight as his nerves spike. “Remember me.”

Scott touches it softly, his expression twisting. “Red’s not my colour,” he whispers.

“Means you’ll have to give it back.” fWhip drags him in by the scarf now, and kisses him again, pressing his words to Scott’s lips. “Means you’ll have to remember me.”

It seems to be yet another touchy thing to say to Scott – his lips part like he was going to say something. fWhip almost takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss then and there, but he doesn’t. He… doesn’t think Scott would forgive him if he did.

They break away. fWhip just doesn’t want to take his hands off the elf before him, yet. When he does, Scott will go, and it’ll all be real.

“Is there any last things you need?” he asks instead, makes himself ask instead.

“No.” Scott’s hands fall away to hang at his sides.

“You have enough food?”

“I do.”

fWhip smooths down the scarf. …Scott isn’t wrong about red not being his colour. It just kind of washes Scott out.

fWhip still thinks he looks beautiful.

“…Be safe?”

“You too,” Scott says earnestly. “…If there’s an emergency, send an owl. They’ll find me.”

“I will,” fWhip promises.

And the conversation lulls. It’s come to an end, fWhip can feel it has, but he doesn’t want it to. But Scott steps away now, leaving fWhip’s hands trailing behind him. Snow has started to fall around them, slow and soft.

It settles on Scott’s hair, gleaming in the sun.

fWhip wants to say all sorts of things. Things like I’ll miss you and things like I love you. He doesn’t say any of it, though, because… at the end of the day, he knows Scott knows. And he knows it’ll only make this hurt more.

fWhip knows he can’t stop him. Despite how badly he wishes for the contrary, fWhip cannot stop him. And he knows Scott wouldn’t cope with fWhip following. Even if fWhip wanted to, he …can’t. because even outside of the ‘powers’ thing, it isn’t really, politically, the best of times to leave. But fWhip won’t tell him that. He’ll just have to… to try to cover Scott’s tracks for him.

Scott now leaves five, now six, now seven, now eight empty paces between them, before he smiles, so sadly, so scared, at fWhip; and… there. In that moment right there, fWhip knows that this expressionwill be the face that will haunt his dreams from now on.

“Goodbye, Count fWhip,” Scott whispers. It’s almost as soft as the snow falling around them, but it falls louder than an avalanche on fWhip’s ears.

fWhip swallows hard.

“Goodbye, King Scott,” is all he can whisper back. Helpless. He feels helpless, watching Scott extend his wings, put his back to fWhip, and hesitate only once before he takes off.

Scott circles once, overhead. What gold he’s still wearing catches in the sunlight, as does his hair. fWhip has always thought his hair looks particularly fetching in the sun. It makes his heart lurch now. With a few mighty beats of powerful wings, Scott is soaring into the distance.

Just like that, he’s …gone.

fWhip stays rooted to the spot until Scott’s out of eyeshot, and then a little longer, just for good measure. Snow settles on his hair, his shoulders, his wings. fWhip stays, still as a statue, frozen in place until he can’t stand the cold anymore, and he cracks. fWhip wraps himself up in his wings, finally giving in and shivering as he rips his eyes away from the horizon.

He feels barer – colder – without his scarf.

As fWhip drops his head, gritting his teeth, something sparkling catches his eye. fWhip makes a sound – a sound that’s a little too close to a sob to play it off, before he leans down, and scoops up a handful of Scott’s frozen tears. He cradles them in his hands, watching them glint in the morning sun.

They are small and delicate in the palms of his thick, dark, leathery gloves.

…It’s only morning. He has a whole day ahead of him. Buildings to build. Councils to meet with. Treaties to negotiate. Paperwork to finish. Inventions to fix.

He…

H-he needs to replace his scarf first.

fWhip stands, turns sharply, and spreads his wings too, closing his hands around the tears. They don’t even seem to be melting, yet. And they don’t the whole way home, and not even when he takes off his gloves and cups them in his bare hands, where they sit, freezing and lonely, against his skin.

fWhip leaves them on his windowsill, in his bedroom, by his bed. He puts his back to them as he huddles by the fire long enough to stave all the cold off, replaces his scarf, though he gave Scott his favourite one. …It was bloodsheep wool. Sausage had made it for him, years ago.

…It’s one he can probably never replace, nowadays.

Eventually, fWhip rises to his feet, making to leave, to try function for the day, and ends up turning back to the window. fWhip can’t help but notice with detached curiosity and buried pain that, even in the full sun, Scott’s tears aren’t melting.

Well then. Good to see fWhip’s got something to hold onto, too.

So, fWhip doesn’t let himself cry. fWhip plasters on his best smile, and leaves, trying to put some fake pep in his step as he goes to meet up with his civil planning committee to try suss out the last of the preparations for their newest building project, and does his best not to slam his bedroom door behind him, as all he can do is to… continue on with his life, and hope for Scott to come back.

#empires smp #empires s1 #empires fwhip #empires scott #scwhip #empiresshipping #empires fanfic #empires smp fanfic #empires fic #djpurple3's writing yo #i havent posted fic in so long. and it's rarepairs. B)#it's 2am im going to bed now

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rushingheadlong · 2 years

Text

The Worst Best Friend in the World - A Roger x f!Reader fic

Summary: You and Roger have been calling each other the “worst best friend” for years now, but it’s only recently that it’s started to hit a little too close to home - because only the worst of people would fall in love with their best friend like you did.

Tags: ~8700 words, Roger x f!Reader, angst, h/c, friends-to-lovers, soft smut

Notes: Written for a request from a tumblr user who wishes to remain anonymous. Requests are technically closed so I’m not accepting anymore, but I loved this prompt and just couldn’t resist writing something for it!

Read on AO3 here!

1957

“I hate you Roger Taylor! You’re the worst best friend in the whole entire world!”

Years later, when you look back on that day, you won’t remember what Roger did that upset you so badly. You’ll remember running back home in tears but you won’t remember that you cried so hard that you got hiccups, or that you were nearly sick down the front of your mum’s skirt when she wrapped her arms around you and asked what was wrong. You won’t remember what you told her and you won’t remember crying yourself to sleep that night, hours after the fight actually happened.

What you do remember is seeing him waiting for you by the school gates the next morning. Even now, years after the fact, you remember how nervous he looked when he handed you a piece of paper, and you remember how small his voice sounded when he said, “I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean what I said. Will you still be my friend?”

You remember opening the piece of paper to see a crude drawing of two stick figures holding hands with your names inside a lopsided heart. At the top of the page, written in Roger’s childish script, are the words Best Friends Forever.

And the rest, as they say, is history.

15 years later…

Tonight’s venue is small, and by the time you finally arrive the place is already packed to the gills with people. You can’t see the makeshift stage setup on the far side of the room but you easily recognize the sound of Queen performing, and you’ve been to enough of their shows by now that you know they’re coming to the end of their set. Damnit. You wanted to get here earlier but your fucking boss held you back, and now it’s going to be a nightmare trying to get backstage to meet up with your friends.

So you don’t try to weasel your way behind the stage at all. You instead duck outside and around the back of the building towards where Queen’s old van is parked, figuring that they have to return to the vehicle at some point and you’ll just meet up with them then. Tonight must be your lucky night, though, because you find the rear door to the venue open and you’re able to slip back inside just in time to hear Freddie say goodnight to the crowd.

“Well look who finally decided to show up!” Roger calls out as the band makes their way down the back hallway. “Thought you decided to skip out on us tonight!”

“Nah, my fucking boss just decided to hold me late,” you explain as you follow him and the others into the dressing room.

“And you didn’t tell him to go fuck himself and leave anyway? Worst best friend ever,” Roger teases, and you laugh at the old inside joke.

The two of you have been slinging that ‘accusation’ at each other ever since that fight when you were ten, but apart from once or twice in the middle of heated arguments it’s never been meant with any sort of seriousness. On the contrary there’s a great deal of fondness captured in those three words that doesn’t seem like it should fit with being called someone’s “worst best friend” but it’s because you both keep the joke running that you know your friendship with Roger is still going strong after all this time.

“Hey now that’s not fair. A real worst best friend wouldn’t have shown up at all,” you say, slinging an arm around Roger’s shoulders. He worked up a sweat while drumming and it’s a bit gross to be touching him right now, but it doesn’t really bother you.

When it comes to Roger there are a lot of things that don’t really bother you, even if they probably should.

Roger laughs. “No, I think that’s just called being a bad friend.” He playfully elbows you and adds, “C’mon, get off me so I can get changed.”

You nod and let go of him, even though that’s the last thing you want to do. No one asks you to leave the room, neither Roger nor the rest of Queen, and you’ve long since stopped raising the subject yourself. You’re Roger’s old mate from school - practically one of the guys - and so none of them seem to think that maybe they should want you to step outside while they drop trou.

That means that you’re free to lean against the doorframe and ogle the boys as they change. Or at least that's what you'd be doing if you had the stomach for ogling your friends, but you don't. It just doesn't feel right for you to be eyeing up Roger like that when he's made it clear - through actions, if not words - that he doesn't feel the same.

There is one advantage to your position by the door, though. You’re the first to hear the sound of giggles and hushed whispers floating down the corridor, and when you glance in that direction you can see the two girls clearly trying to work up the courage to come talk to the band.

“Head’s up,” you tell the boys. It’s just enough of a warning for Roger to zip up his trousers and throw on a shirt, before the girls are hovering nervously at your shoulder.

“Um, hi there!” one of the girls says. “We saw your show and just wanted to tell you that it was fantastic! You guys were really brilliant out there.”

“Thank you,” Freddie says. “It’s always lovely to hear what the fans think of our music.”

The girls seem to take that as permission to move further into the small room, pushing past you without so much as a ‘pardon me’. You roll your eyes behind their backs and try to send Roger a Can you believe this? look, but he doesn’t see it.

Because while the brunette takes a seat by Freddie really does seem eager to talk about Queen’s music, her blonde friend has made a beeline for Roger - and judging by the look in her eyes and her hand on his arm, she has other things on her mind than the show she just watched.

And, even worse, Roger seems to be perfectly happy to entertain her advances.

This is a side of Roger that you’re still trying to get used to. He tried dating a few girls when the two of you first got to uni, but the relationships never really worked out and eventually he gave up on dating altogether. Or at least that’s all that you can assume happened, given that you’ve long since stopped seeing the same girls more than once or twice.

If you’re being honest with yourself - which you try not to be, at least not where Roger is concerned - it makes you uncomfortable to watch him with other girls. You know that the attention he receives is unavoidable, especially as Queen keeps gaining a proper following, but why does he have to respond so eagerly every time a pretty girl flirts with him? It’s not that you’re a prude, and god nows you’d be the world’s biggest hypocrite if you started spouting off against of pre-marital sex, but it’s just… it’s just…

The girls waltz past you with another flurry of giggles, pulling you from your thoughts. You hope this means that you can get back to the plans you had already made with Roger, but those hopes are immediately dashed when you see the lovestruck look on his face as he watches the blonde leave.

Then he glances your way, and immediately winces at the expression on your face. So much for trying to hide your annoyance.

Roger gives you an apologetic grin and tries to explain himself. “Ah, Y/N, I wasn’t- I mean I know we had plans, but-”

“Oh, go on then,” you say, jerking your thumb over your shoulder towards the door behind you.

Roger perks up a bit. “You don’t mind?”

You do mind, but you’re not going to admit that to him now. “No, but you’re going to owe me one for this. You now that, right?”

“I’ll buy you dinner later this week to make it up to you,” Roger promises.

“Sounds perfect,” you say, though there’s a part of you that wishes that ‘dinner’ meant more than just a simple meal. Except Roger is grinning at you, that bright and beautiful grin that you love so much, and so it’s hard to really be disappointed with his offer. “But you’re still the worst best friend for leaving me like this!”

“I know,” Roger says. It’s an apology for leaving, and a thank-you for letting him, and because it’s Roger you don’t need anything more said than that.

Because you do know. You know that you’re only uncomfortable with his flirting and hookups because he’s never looked at you that way before.

And you know, beyond any doubt, that he never will.

XXXXX

When you were sixteen your mum had put her foot down and insisted that you go to at least one school dance that year. It wasn’t that you hated socializing with your peers or that you objected to getting a bit dolled-up (though you did object to the dress that your mum wanted to put you in); it’s just that school dances are always either boring or awkward, or more often than not a miserable combination of the two, and you had better things to do with your time than suffer through that.

You were in the middle of bemoaning that fact to Roger when he suggested, “Why don’t we just go together then?”

“Weren’t you listening to anything I was just saying?” you asked with a laugh. “Because I think us going to a dance together would definitely make things awkward!”

“I didn’t mean that we should go together-together,” Roger said. “Just as friends. That way when things get boring we can sneak away and find something better to do.”

"I'm pretty sure they don't let the students sneak out of the dance like that."

"And I'm pretty sure that as long as we're sneaky enough they'll never even notice!"

And in the end, they never did.

You and Roger put in enough of an appearance at the dance to make it seem like you were there. Just enough that, should your mums cross paths with one of the chaperones and get to chatting, no one would have anything to say to raise suspicions. But at the first opportunity the two of you snuck out the back door and disappeared into the Cornish night... which really meant that the two of you wandered down to the football pitch and sat on the damp grass, uncaring of the mess you were making of your nice clothes.

You and Roger spent the rest of the night just laughing and talking about whatever came into your heads: school, exams, your holiday plans and Roger’s band rehearsals… It was going to be a busy summer for the both of you and you were worried about how much time you’ll have to spend together, but Roger swiftly put those fears to rest.

“I’ll drop the band before I drift away from you,” he said firmly.

“No you won’t! You love the band!”

“I do, but I lo-” The rest of his sentence was cut off by Roger clearing his throat, but you knew him well enough to guess what he had been about to say.

At the time, you were happy that he didn’t say I love you more and instead rambled on about how your friendship was more important than any band would ever be. You were both sixteen, that age where you stop saying that you love your friends and start saying those words to the person you’re dating instead. Roger might have saved the conversation by steering it back towards safer topics but your burning hot cheeks and the flush on Roger’s face were a testament to the moment of awkwardness that almost was.

Now as you think back on that night, you wonder if your embarrassment wasn’t because the both of you were awkward teens - but rather because you were already a little in love with Roger. And not at all in a platonic way.

You can’t pinpoint the exact moment that you fell in love with him, or even the first time you consciously realized that you had these feelings at all. Maybe they’ve just always been there, another constant in your life just like Roger has always been. You wonder if that means that you’ll always love him then, and whether you’re prepared to always feel as shitty as you do now every time that you have to watch Roger take home a girl who isn’t you.

Sometimes you think back to that night you spent out by the football pitch instead of inside dancing and you imagine what it could have been like if Roger had actually said the words, I love you. Would you have had the courage to respond as if it wasn’t meant platonically? Would that have changed anything between you, or would it only have ruined the best friendship with the worst best friend you’ve ever known?

Sometimes you imagine how things could be if Roger says I love you now. Sometimes you fantasize that his confession turns things a bit steamy, but you know that’s all you’re ever going to have: Just your fantasies, and nothing more.

XXXXX

The next time you see Roger is at Queen’s rehearsal a few days later. He told you to stop by when they were done so he could buy you the dinner he promised, but for once you had nothing else on your calendar so you decided to swing by at the start of practice so you could say hello to the rest of the guys as well.

You must have arrived just after Roger, though, because the first thing you see is him kissing another girl just outside the band’s practice space. It’s a blonde again, but not the same one from the other night. She’s taller than the last girl, or at least wearing higher heels, and wearing an outfit that makes her look like she just walked off the pages of a Biba advert. She’s drop-dead gorgeous, anyone with eyes can see that, and your stomach twists with a white-hot jealousy as you watch her blow Roger a kiss goodbye before she finally leaves.

“Hey, Y/N!” Roger calls out. You quickly pretend that you weren’t glaring daggers into the back of that girl’s head and turn to look at him instead. “You’re here early. Didn’t have anything better to do?”

“Just didn’t want you skipping out early when you owe me a dinner,” you say. Roger laughs, and his good mood gives you the courage to ask, “So who was that then? New girlfriend?”

“New girl, at least,” Roger answers.

“Is she going to be sticking around?”

“Dunno.” Roger is still grinning but there’s a growing look of confusion on his face as well and he asks, “What’s with the twenty questions? You don’t usually care this much about who I hang out with.”

You shrug, trying to feign an air of nonchalance that you don’t entirely feel. “Just curious, that’s all. What, am I not allowed to take an interest in my friend’s life anymore?”

“Ass,” Roger says, laughing. He elbows you playfully and adds, “C’mon, let’s get inside before they send Brian out to see what’s taking so long.”

Roger seems to have already brushed off your questions but you still feel rattled as you follow him into Queen’s rehearsal space. He has a point, after all; you don’t usually interrogate him like that and it worries you that just seeing him with another girl can get under your skin like that.

You know you can get a bit jealous of the girls that he takes home but you can’t let Roger know that. If he finds out about your jealousy - if he found out how you really feel about him - you really would become the worst best friend in the world. Except, it wouldn’t be much of a joke at that point at all.

Luckily Roger doesn’t seem to suspect anything. If he was ever suspicious about your one-too-many questions earlier, it’s faded by the time rehearsal is over and the two of you head out. One quick stop for takeaway later and you two end up back at his flat, where you bicker good-naturedly about what to put on the telly while you eat and try to steal bites of the other’s food behind their back.

You aren’t in any rush tonight to return to your own flat. You love being able to spend time with Roger like this, just the two of you, just like the old days. You finish eating, and you’re perfectly happy to stay on the cramped sofa with Roger’s knee digging into yours and let the hours of the evening tick by. By the time you finally, begrudgingly, make a comment about needing to head home it’s late enough that you almost regret waiting this long to leave, if only because you hate walking home in the dark.

“You know you can always stay the night,” Roger tells you.

“I know,” you say, but you also know that you never will. Not anymore, not when you know that you’d just be lying awake on the couch wishing you were in bed with Roger instead. “But I’ll sleep better without springs poking into my back.”

“You can take my bed, and I’ll sleep on the couch,” Roger offers.

Your heart skips a beat but you manage to hide it with a laugh and say, “A mattress spring digging into my spine isn’t much better than a couch spring, Rog! Now, do you remember where I put my wallet?”

“I hid it so you wouldn’t be able to leave.”

“Worst best friend.” You smack his shoulder playfully as you walk past and add, “You better return it by the time I get back from the toilet, or I’m taking your wallet home with me instead!”

You’re still chuckling to yourself as you finish up your business. You can hear Roger moving around in the living room and you’re certain that he’s grabbing your wallet from wherever he stashed it. Still, there’s a part of you that thinks it would be a little funny if you walked out with Roger’s wallet in your pocket instead.

You move over to the sink to wash your hands - but then you see something on the counter that makes you stop short.

There’s a hair there, a long, bright red one that definitely does not match the hair of anyone you’ve seen Roger with recently. In fact you can’t remember ever seeing Roger go home with a redhead before. You always knew that there were probably more girls around than you had actually met but you weren’t prepared to have the evidence of that thrown in your face at the end of an otherwise perfect night like this.

Suddenly you can picture her perfectly in your mind’s eye, checking her hair quickly in the mirror before joining Roger in the bedroom or redoing her makeup the morning after the fact. There’s a dark smear on the countertop that could be eyeliner and you furiously rub it away with your finger until the white porcelain gleams again. You take a petty joy in removing any evidence that there’s other women in Roger’s life, even if you know that won’t change anything about your relationship with him.

XXXXX

If you’re being honest with yourself, which you’re still trying not to do, you bought the makeup because of Roger. You just couldn’t stop thinking about all the girls that he takes home and comparing yourself to them, and even though you can’t afford a new wardrobe to look more stylish or larger heels to make yourself look taller you can afford to duck into Biba to pick up a few new items of makeup to try out.

You don’t think you can pull off some of the bolder looks popularized by today’s models, but you’ve always had a deft hand with eyeliner and it’s easy for you to copy the crisp cat-eye look in the magazine pages. The blue eyeshadow isn’t your usual color but it does make your eyes pop, and with the addition of lipstick and liner you think you could almost be mistaken for Twiggy. At least, from a distance. And at a night.

Still you have a spring in your step as you head out to meet Queen ahead of that night’s show. You don’t know if this will be enough to get Roger to see you in a different light or not, but the appreciative looks you get from others as you make your way towards the dressing room are a welcome boost to your confidence nonetheless.

“Look at you, Y/N!” Freddie says as you walk into the room. “What’s the special occasion, then?”

“No special occasion,” you tell him. “Just felt like getting dressed up tonight, that’s all.”

“Well you look very nice,” John says.

You beam at him. “Thank you!” You lean against the wall and ask, as casually as you can, “I take it Roger’s running late tonight?”

“Him and Brian both,” John says, with a slight roll of his eyes. “Hopefully they’ll be here soon…”

Freddie cocks his head and says, “Oh, I think they will be.”

Now that Freddie has pointed it out you can hear the faint, but steadily growing louder, sounds of Brian and Roger arguing drifting down the hall towards the dressing room. Judging by the looks on Freddie’s and John’s faces this is an old, recurring argument of theirs, but that doesn’t do much to tone down the passion in their voices as they bicker about some facet of one of their songs. Brian walks into the room first, gesticulating so wildly that he almost hits John with his guitar case, and Roger is right on his heels, talking over him and completely oblivious to his surroundings.

“Alright, alright, that’s quite enough for one night!” Freddie says. They don’t pay him any mind, though, and so he claps his hands and says, louder this time, “Hey! Cut it out!”

They both jump slightly. Brian mumbles an apology and starts getting his guitar ready, while Roger says, “Sorry, Freddie, but you know that the song needs- Holy shit, Y/N!”

Roger does a visible double-take at the sight of you. His eyes widen and his mouth drops open in surprise, and you have to bite the inside of your mouth to stop yourself from laughing.

“Something wrong?” you ask, voice dripping with faux-innocence.

Roger shakes his head, a gesture of someone trying to pull their thoughts back together rather than an answer to your question. “No, but what’s on your face?”

The question stings more than you want to let on, and your stomach sinks. That wasn’t the reaction you were hoping to get from him.

“It’s makeup,” you snap and, before you can think better of it, you add, “Thought you would’ve been used to it from those girls you keep taking home.”

“I’m only used to girls who look good with their makeup on, not one who try to imitate a clown,” Roger says.

He’s grinning, like he just cracked a hilarious joke, but you don’t find it funny at all. It just hurts, more than anything you can remember Roger ever saying to you before. He looks at you, waiting for you to retort with a similar sort of jab, but as tears start to prick at the corner of your eyes all you want is to get as far away from him and this situation as possible.

“You know sometimes Roger you really are the worst fucking friend in the world,” you say, as you gather your coat and storm past him out of the room.

“Jesus christ, Rog! Do you ever think before you say something?” you hear John snap at him behind you, but you don’t stop or turn around.

You hurry out of the venue, needing to put as much distance between yourself and Roger as you can so he doesn’t see you crying. You don’t know what you were thinking, trying to get this sort of validation from him. That’s not the sort of friendship you two will ever have, so why did you even put yourself in this position in the first place? You wipe furiously at your eyes, not caring that the gesture will smear makeup all over your face. Why should you care about that anyway, when your original look apparently made you look like a clown to the only person whose opinion you cared about?

When you get home you wash your face and throw out the new makeup you bought, because you know you’ll never be able to stomach wearing it again. You don’t even know if you’ll be able to stomach seeing Roger again; the thought of losing him from your life still terrifies you, but it’s clear that your feelings for him are getting out of control. You can’t even begin to think of how you’re going to explain away this reaction when you see him again… and as the night drags on, you start to wonder if you even should see Roger again, or if you should take this as a sign that your friendship with him has finally reached an end.

XXXXX

You’re woken abruptly by the sound of loud, insistent knocking echoing through your flat. You blink against the bright lights, and it takes you a moment to realize that you must have dozed off on the couch. You don’t know what time it is, only that it’s still dark outside, and you’re sleepy enough that your spat with Roger is the last thing on your mind as you shuffle over to the door to see who’s bothering you at this late hour.

The answer - and you really should have seen this coming - is that it’s Roger standing there on your front steps. He’s sweating and breathing heavily and still in his stage clothes, and despite the hurt you still feel your stomach swoops at the sight of him.

“Y/N, hey, can I… Can I come in?” he asks hesitantly. “Can we talk?”

You grip the door a little harder. “It’s late. What are you even doing here?”

“Trying to apologize to you,” Roger says. “I wanted to come by earlier but there was the show, and Freddie said I should let you cool down first…” He sighs and gives you a remorseful half-smile. “Probably should’ve waited until the morning, I’ll accept that, but I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine,” you lie. “Apology accepted. You can leave now.”

You try to shut the door, but Roger quickly stops you. “Hey, c’mon now, Y/N. I’m really, really sorry. You looked great with the makeup on, honest.”

“Yeah, like a great clown.”

Roger winces at the reminder of what he said to you. “No, that was just me being an ass. I thought we were just teasing each other like we always do but I crossed a line there and I am so sorry for hurting you. You looked beautiful tonight. I promise you did.”

Somehow the compliment hurts worse than the earlier insult did. “Don’t say that,” you tell him.

“What? Compliment you?” Roger asks. “It’s true, though. You did look beautiful with the makeup on.”

“Stop it,” you say. “You don’t need to lie to make me feel better.”

“It’s not a lie,” Roger says. “You did look great with the makeup. But you always look gorgeous without it too.” You shake your head and Roger huffs, and asks, “Why don’t you believe me? Just because of what I said before?”

“No, because you don’t say things like that to me!” you snap. “I’m your friend, I’m one of the guys, and we don’t compliment each other like that! So if you’re going to start doing that now then you can fuck off and not come back, because I can’t-”

You cut yourself off before you can either say something that you’ll really regret, or start crying like a baby in front of Roger. You try to shut the door again but he sticks his foot in the way, and he doesn’t even flinch when you slam the door uselessly against the side of his shoe anyway.

“Y/N, what the hell’s going on?” he asks. “You’re not acting like yourself. Did something happen?”

He looks and sounds worried and that kills you inside. You hate being the cause of his concern, and you hate knowing that the two of you are just going to keep ending up here no matter what you do - maybe not in this same exact situation, but you know you’re only going to keep being hurt the longer you try to bottle up your feelings.

“What happened is that I fell in love with the worst best friend I could ever have,” you tell him tiredly. “And I know he doesn’t feel the same so I hate hearing him call me beautiful when I know he only means it platonically.” You sigh, and lean heavily against the door, and add, “So can you just leave me alone now? Please?”

Roger stares at you, mouth agape in open surprise, but with his foot still stuck in the door so you can’t even close it in his face.

“Please,” you repeat, a little quieter.

That seems to shake Roger out of his stupor. His gaze becomes a little more searching, like he’s trying to read your expression to make sense of everything you just admitted.

“Do you mean me?” he finally asks. You don’t respond, which is probably answer enough for him, because he huffs in frustration and says, “C’mon, Y/N, let me in. I think we need to talk.”

You don’t want to. You want Roger to go away and let you lick your wounds in private, so that the next time you see each other maybe you can pretend that none of this happened and you two can go back to the way things used to be. But you know nothing can ever be the same again, and trying to push back this conversation will only make things worse. So, despite the fact that your heart is in your stomach, you reluctantly nod and open the door to let Roger inside.

Normally you like having Roger in your flat. You like spending time with him and when they’re at yours you can at least guarantee that none of his bandmates will be unexpectedly interrupting you. Tonight, though, you can feel yourself tensing up as Roger walks into your living room and takes a seat on your couch.

He glances back at you, and offers you a crooked smile. “You going to stand there all night, or do you want to sit down too?”

You shake your head. Your place is small and the only place left to sit is next to Roger, and you don’t think you can stand to be that close to him while having this conversation. “I’ll stand, thanks.”

Roger’s face falls, and you immediately feel guilty.

“However you think I’m going to react, I promise it’s not like that,” Roger tells you. “I’m not mad at you or anything.”

“But you should be!” There are tears pricking at your eyes again but you try to blink them back as you continue, saying, “God, Roger, I’m so sorry. I know we joke about it all the time but this really does make me a terrible friend, and I know that and I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean for this to happen and I never wanted it to change things between us-”

“But what if I want to change things between us?” Roger interrupts.

You flinch at the question and wrap your arms around yourself, as if the gesture can help you physically hold yourself together, but that’s not enough to stop a tear from slipping down your cheek. If that’s what Roger really wants then you don’t know that you’ll be able to change his mind, and your heart is already absolutely shattered at the prospect of losing him.

“No, no, Y/N, I didn’t mean it like that,” Roger says quickly. He stands up and takes a small, abortive step towards you before he realizes that that might make the situation worse and he slowly sinks back down on the couch.

“What I meant to say,” Roger says, soft and gentle, “is that I want things to change because I’m also in love with you.”

Time seems to freeze around you. Your breath hitches in your throat and your watery eyes widen in surprise and you wait for Roger to say something else, to say anything else, to give any explanation at all - but he doesn’t, and somehow you find your voice enough to croak out, “What?”

“I’m in love you with,” Roger repeats. “Have been, for a long time. That’s why I stopped dating, because how I felt about them couldn’t hold a candle to my feelings for you.”

“But… those girls you take home…”

Roger ducks his head in embarrassment. “I was trying to forget about you,” he admits. He glances back up at you and adds, sheepishly, “Didn’t really work too well, though. Even when I was with them I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“Why?”

He blinks at you. “Why… what?”

“Why would you think of me when you already had the prettiest girl in any room on your arm?” you ask bitterly. Despite what Roger’s saying now, you still remember all too well how it felt to compare yourself to those girls and always finding yourself coming up short.

“But I didn’t have the prettiest girl in the room. That’s why I had to settle for them instead.” Roger studies your face and, slowly, he asks, “Y/N, did you really think that I didn’t notice how beautiful you are?”

You can feel your own face starting to flush now and you point out, rather hotly, “Well you never said anything! I was right there and you never once seemed to notice me like that!”

“Guess I’m a better actor than I thought,” Roger tries to joke.

You’re far too upset for it to land properly. You’ve been making yourself miserable for ages now by comparing yourself for those other girls, and for no reason at all! You’re embarrassed that Roger seems to have picked up on your insecurities like that, and angry that all of this could have been avoided if you had been less of a coward and just said something-

“I’m so, so sorry, Y/N,” Roger says. The apology, thankfully, interrupts your rapidly-spiraling thoughts before they can get much worse. “I was so worried about making you uncomfortable that I guess I went too far in the opposite direction, and I’m so sorry for that. I never meant for you to feel unnoticed. Believe me, I’ve always seen you and you’ve always been the best distraction in my life.”

Your face must be bright red by now with how hot it feels, and all you can think to say is, “You could have said something, you know!”

Roger laughs softly. “Yeah, alright. That’s fair enough. Guess the least I can do then is finally say something now.”

He stands up again and, though your heart is racing in your chest, you somehow manage to pull yourself together enough to meet his eyes.

“Y/N, I love you,” he says. “You’re gorgeous and funny and the worst best friend anyone could ever ask for, and I have wanted to kiss you for years.” He takes a step forward, this time with confidence, and asks, “Will you let me start making up for lost time now?”

XXXXX

Time seems to slow down at Roger holds out one hand towards you, waiting for you to make the next move. Waiting for you to confirm that, yes, you really do want to take this next step together with him.

It’s a question that he hardly needs to ask. You’re moving before you even find your voice again, uncurling from the ball of tension you had wound yourself into and reaching out to lace your fingers together with Roger’s, before finally answering, “Yes.”

You take a step towards him, or maybe Roger uses your clasped hands to pull you in. You don’t really know and it don’t really matters, because the end outcome is still the same: You, pressed close against Roger, one of his hands on your hip, as he leans down to kiss you.

It isn’t exactly the kiss of your dreams. Your heart is racing so quickly that you’re nearly trembling, and maybe that’s what makes the angle of the kiss just a bit awkward and off. Roger laughs nervously and tries to adjust but somehow that just makes things worse, and he finally ends up pulling away altogether after only the barest brush of his mouth near yours.

Roger’s face is red and he nearly trips over himself trying to apologize, but you don’t need him to do that. “Rog, it’s okay,” you assure him. “Guess we’re both just nervous, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Roger sighs and offers you a crooked smile, and asks, “Wanna give it another go?”

You nod, and this time you lean up to meet Roger halfway in a kiss that’s much more coordinated than before.

It still isn’t exactly perfect - but it is pretty damn close.

And when Roger pulls back, several long moments later, you can see a hunger in his eyes that makes it clear that this is only the beginning of everything he wants to do with you.

It’s that look that wipes away the last of your insecurities, because it’s a look that makes it clear that Roger really does want you. And suddenly it doesn’t matter what other girls he’s been with before or how you measure up against them. All that matters is that he’s with you now, and he doesn’t seem to be in any rush to let you go.

“I think I could spend the rest of the night kissing you, y’know,” Roger says. His voice is low, almost a purr, and the sound of it is nearly enough to make you weak in the knees.

“Then why don’t you?” you ask.

Roger’s hand tightens slightly on your hip. “Because there’s no reason to rush things. I want to do things properly here. I want to take you on dates and buy you flowers and-”

“And,” you cut in, “we’ve known each other for most of our lives. If anything we’ve been taking things slow up until now, so if you want to kiss me again…”

“I want to do more than just kiss you, though,” Roger admits, as if he actually thinks that’s going to make you pull the breaks now.

You let go of his hand, but only so you can shift even closer to Roger and drape your arms over his shoulders. “Then why don’t you?” you repeat, this time in a low murmur.

Roger inhales sharply. “Y/N… Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you say, without any hesitation. “And if you leave me waiting now, you really will be the worst-”

Roger interrupts the rest of your sentence with another kiss, a bit more forceful this time, a little more heated. He pushes up the hem of your shirt a bit, his fingers just teasing along the skin of your stomach, but that’s enough to get you to whimper against his mouth. You’re painfully aware of the fact that you’re just in your pajamas, and definitely not wearing a bra anymore. If Roger moves his hand just a little bit higher…

“Bedroom?” Roger asks, his hand still resting just above the waistband of your sleep-shorts.

You nod, and despite the fact that this is your flat you let Roger lead the way into the bedroom. He obviously knows where it is since he’s been here before. He’s even slept in your bed before, when the two of you were two pissed for it to matter, but tonight you’re both clear-headed and sleep is the last thing on your minds.

Roger kisses you again, and this time when his hands toy with the hem of your shirt there’s a purpose there that makes you shiver.

“Can I?” he asks. You nod again, and lift your arms so Roger can carefully remove your top.

You have to fight the urge to wrap your arms around yourself to hide your breasts, but Roger doesn’t give you any time to feel self-conscious.

“You’re gorgeous,” he says. If it wasn’t already clear from his voice that he means it, you can see how his eyes darken in appreciation and when he presses close for another kiss you can feel his growing hardness against your hip. “Lie down on the bed for me?” he murmurs against your lips.

You pluck at the top that he’s still wearing and say, “Only if you take this off.”

You’ve seen Roger shirtless countless times before over the years but this time is different, because this time you don’t have to hide your staring. You watch with open appreciation as he joins you on the bed and settles between your spread legs, and all you can think to say is, “You’re gorgeous.”

Roger laughs. “Stealing my lines now, Y/N?” he teases. He slides one hand up your body, palming your breast and eliciting a quiet gasp from you which he quickly swallows down with another kiss, because apparently he wasn’t kidding when he said he wanted to spend the rest of the night doing that.

He trails kisses down your neck, across your collarbones and along the tops of your breasts. He swipes a thumb across your nipple as he kisses down your sternum, and you can feel yourself start to throb with anticipation as he moves down the planes of your stomach until his lips are just above your waistband. And it’s there that he lingers for a moment, pressing kisses into your navel but making no moves to keep things heading south.

You reach down and card a hand through Roger’s hair, pushing it back away from his face and making him glance back up at you with a questioning look.

“You don’t have to eat me out if you don’t want to,” you tell him. You know from experience that that can be a sticking point for some guys, and you would never push Roger to do something he didn’t want to do.

But Roger is quick to reassure you, “No, no I definitely want to. I was trying to think of a romantic way of asking, but since you said it first…” He plucks at your waistband and grins up at you. “Wanna take these off so I can eat your pussy and blow your mind?”

His phrasing of the question makes you laugh. You like that Roger can keep things light-hearted and humorous in bed. It helps keep your nerves and insecurities at bay as you lift your hips to allow Roger to remove your shorts and panties, leaving you fully bared beneath him.

“Beautiful,” Roger murmurs, appreciative, as he presses a soft kiss just below your navel. Then another even lower than that, and you spread your legs a bit wider in anticipation of him finally moving down between them. He does keep moving down your body but not where you want him to go. He kisses down one of your inner thighs, then up the other one, seemingly unaware of how wet you’re becoming.

“Rog- oh,” your complaint is cut-off before you can even say anything, as Roger suddenly licks a broad stroke over your core, ending with a small flick of his tongue against your clit.

You moan and grab at the blankets beneath you as Roger begins to eat you out in earnest. He’s so fucking good at this and the reality is so much better than your fantasies ever were. Roger holds your hips down and laps at your core like he can’t get enough of the taste of you. His clever tongue finds your clit and he alternates between teasing licks and light suckling, the combination driving you absolutely crazy with need.

You’re flushed and panting and absolutely incoherent with desperation. You want to come so badly… but you don’t want to come like this.

Somehow you manage to let go of the blankets so you can gently push Roger away - something that’s far easier said than done, when Roger’s mouth feels as good as it does.

He does stop but he gives you a confused and worried look and asks, "Is something wrong?"

"No! No, god no," you say quickly, and a look of relief immediately crosses Roger’s face. “But I don’t wanna come until you fuck me.”

Roger groans and unconsciously grinds his hips down against the mattress. “Fuck, Y/N, are you sure? I’m, ah, I’m probably not going to last long this time-”

“I don’t care,” you reassure him. You card a hand through his hair, and shiver as he nuzzles against your inner thigh. “I’m already close. I just wanna feel you first."

"Well I'll never say no to that." Roger kisses the inside of your leg, before sitting up and asking, "Condoms?"

"In the drawer."

Roger nods and grabs one, along with the small bottle of lube that you had stashed in there. You're not sure that it'll be needed given how absolutely soaked you already are, but you can appreciate the care he shows in the gesture. Roger is clearly a thoughtful lover but almost to a fault; he somehow manages to shimmy out of his trousers and underwear before you can even offer to help undress him, and you have to pluck the condom out of his hand to stop him from putting that on himself too.

“Let me do something here,” you say, teasingly. You tear open the small packet, and any reply that Roger would have given is lost in another groan as you slowly roll the condom down over his cock.

You can’t resist giving Roger a few strokes, relishing the weight and feel of him in your hand. “How do you want me?” you ask him.

He stills your hand with a gentle touch and says, “Lie down on your back. I wanna see your face.”

Your heart is racing in nervous anticipation as you settle back down on the bed. Roger grins reassuringly as he braces himself above you. “Breathe, Y/N,” he says. “I’ve got you.”

And then he’s pushing inside you, slowly and carefully, and breathing is the last thing on your mind because all you can think about is how perfectly Roger fills you up. You cry out and rub your cheek against the pillow beneath you, trying so hard not to come as Roger finally comes to a stop, buried to the hilt inside you. He’s breathing heavily and trembling faintly, and you know that neither of you are going to last long once he starts moving again.

“Ready?” he asks after another minute.

You nod and barely manage to breathe out a needy, “Yes,” before Roger carefully pulls out, and thrusts back in. All you can do is moan and cling to him as he starts fucking you, slowly at first but quickly picking up pace. He’s not rough but there is a desperation to his movements, like he’s barely able to hold himself back this much. He groans and mouths at your neck, and you dig your fingers into his back so tightly that you just know they’re going to bruise, but right now neither of you care about that.

You only let go of Roger to try to touch your clit so you can finally, finally come, but Roger bats your hand away and replaces it with his own.

“This what you wanted?” he asks, panting, as his clever fingers rub over the head of your clit. “You gonna come for me, babydoll?”

“Roger,” you moan. You clench around his hard length and he groans above you, hips stuttering slightly, but he doesn’t stop his thrusting or the motion of his hand on your clit. “I’m gonna- fuck, Rog, I’m-”

You cry out as your orgasm washes over you. You clench down around Roger, setting him off only a few moments later as well. He grinds deep inside you as he comes and he ducks his head to muffle his groan in the crook of your neck. You’re breathing heavily and you shudder as Roger’s every movement sends sparks of overstimulated-pleasure racing down your spine. He finally pulls out when your sporadic clenching becomes too much for him to stand any longer, and once he disposes of the condom he collapses bonelessly next to you on the bed.

There’s a moment of near-panic where you wonder what the fuck you’re supposed to do now. You just slept with you best friend; there’s no coming back from that. Everything is going to change between you and Roger now - the one thing you were always trying to avoid - and there’s a part of you that is terrified about what happens next.

But then Roger laughs breathlessly and rolls over to face you, slinging one hand casually over your waist as he snuggles close to you, like it doesn’t even occur to him to be anything but affectionate with you. You breathe a small sigh of relief, and the smile you give him in return is bright and genuine.

“Would it be forward of me to say that I already want to do that again?” Roger asks. He’s smiling lazily at you, looking like the cat that got the cream, and it makes you want to kiss him breathless all over again.

“I don’t care if it’s forward or not, because I was thinking the same thing,” you say. You just came but with Roger pressed hot and naked against you all you can think about is getting your turn to worship him with your mouth and hands.

You lean up to kiss him and Roger meets you with the same passion and intensity that you’re feeling yourself. He drops his hand to cup your ass and encourages you to grind against him, which you do eagerly.

“Christ, Y/N, you drive me crazy,” Roger murmurs, the words nearly lost against your mouth. “What sort of friends are we, if we can’t keep our hands off each other for five minutes?”

“Oh the worst best friends, for sure,” you say, trying to suppress your giggle. Roger’s answering snort of laughter disrupts your angle and throws you off the rhythm of your grinding. You huff and add, “Of course, you’d be the best boyfriend ever if you moved your leg back to where it was…”

“Boyfriend?” Roger echoes, immediately perking up. He doesn’t move his leg back but before you can complain about that he rolls the two of you over, so you’re on your back and he’s on top of you once again.

“Yeah, boyfriend,” you say. “At least, I thought that’s where things were going.”

“They were,” Roger confirms, grinning down at you widely. “That wasn’t a complaint. I just liked hearing you call me your boyfriend.”

“Well you’re about to become the worst boyfriend again if you don’t do something-”

The rest of your complaint is lost to a moan as Roger moves his hand between your bodies, and starts you off on round two.

#long post //#my fic #roger taylor fanfic #roger taylor fanfiction #roger taylor x reader #text #roger

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damn-stark · 1 year

Text

Chapter 12 Pretty when I cry

Chapter 12 of Sandstorm

A/N- I'M SO EXCITED FOR WHAT'S TO COME!!!

Warning- Sswearing, fluff, incest, violence, ANGST, death!! Dark magic and sacrifice, talks of pregnancy and THERES ALSO CHANGES THAT DRIFT AWAY FROM THE SHOW

Pairing- Jon Snow x Targaryen!fem-reader

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

————

There’s a ruined Red Keep that you stand in, two cradles stand in the middle. Snow falls through the gaps on the ceiling, this time albeit it’s slow and so life-like, the bitter breeze that swirls the snowflakes on the ground actually feels cold. Once again just before you can see the babies inside their cradles, the fire begins to grow around you, but this time it's flames actually provide heat and slightly blind your eyes.

You expect the dream to end there and then as it always does, but this time the fire lingers, you don’t abruptly wake up, the fire only grows taller almost as if trapping you inside. The heat intensifies, making you turn your head away and shield your eyes. The silence lingers thereafter and the fire's heat doesn’t change anymore, so you slowly turn your head and put your arm down, that’s when you catch a figure in the fire, it grows taller as it gets closer.

This hasn’t happened before, you never stayed this long. This is…different, something new. Is it the meaning behind this dream?

You narrow your eyes out of curiosity even if your heart is beginning to race out of fear. The figure grows taller the closer it gets, and then when it reaches the edge a shadow casts on the ground before an armored metal boot breaks out of the fire wall. Instead of stepping away even if you have nowhere to go, you stay put and watch the rest of the figure walk out of the fire, revealing herself as a slim woman with silver-gold hair; braided and bound in golden rings. Her eyes are an intense and unique pale lilac color that almost seems to burn as hot as that fire as her glare pierced in you. She shouldn't be unfamiliar but you do recognize her now as the fires light basks her intense majestic face.

It’s Queen Visenya Targaryen.

She is your namesake.

What is she doing here? In this dream? This isn’t an answer, it's only more confusion.

Yet before you can grow mad with confusion, from the corner of your eye you catch another figure emerging from the firewall at your right side. this time it’s a man, a very tall man with a thick and broad appearance, he’s built like a bull. His hair is blond, and his eyes are a deeper lilac. His gaze is as intense as the Queens, but he looks even more intimidating. And just like before, you recognize him too, he’s King Maegor Targaryen.

But why?

“What’s going on?” You ask the pair, the mother and the son.

But there’s no answer, instead a third person appears this time from your left side. It’s a woman, she’s older than the others, slimmer than Queen Visenya, she has a fair complexion and a high forehead. Her eyes aren’t the same color as the others, they’re blue. And like the others there is a name that comes to mind, Queen Alysanne Targaryen.

“What’s—” this time you don’t finish your repeated question because another figure emerges from the fire between Visenya and Alysanne, it’s smaller and the moment their face shows your face falls with disbelief and your eyes fill with tears, and your heart….that shattered thing begins to fill with joy and warmth.

“Rhaenar?” Your voice quivers.

He moves his arm away from his brown eyes and finds you in the middle of the fire circle, and instantly smiles. “Mother!” He exclaims, and before you knew it you were both running towards each other to meet with a tight embrace.

“Oh my sweet boy,” you cry and hold onto him, you draw in a deep breath and take in his scent. “My Rhaenar.” Your breath shudders.

The boy laughs softly and holds onto your neck with force.

“I’m sorry,” you interject and pull back to grab his cheeks and face him, now you notice that his face isn’t burnt, his face is okay here. His curls are so neatly formed and all over his face. “I’m sorry. I failed you, I’m so sorry.”

Rhaenar wipes your tears away and shakes his head with a sweet smile on his face. “It’s alright mother. I’m okay, I’ll be fine. Don’t cry please. I’ll always be with you.”

You shake your head and now grab onto his shoulders. “No. No I’m not ready to be without you, I need you with me in real life. Not here, not in my dreams.”

Rhaenar draws out a deep breath. “They’re not dreams really.” He scoffs. “It’s all real in a way. This place, it’s just been different for everyone, but for you, grandfather says it’s different, you’re the only one who’s seeked far enough to reach all of us. This plane.”

Your eyes narrow slightly, and your eyebrows furrow in comfuson. But the first thing you question is what he mentioned moments ago. “Grandfather?”

Rhaenar’s grin widens. “I’m not alone here mother, I have so many people here, family. But most importantly my grandfather! He’s been with me the entire time.” He nods and then looks back, when you follow his line of gaze you see the man he speaks about with so much glee, Rhaegar Targaryen, your father. He emerges from the fire too, with his long silver-gold hair, his deep blue eyes, and a faint smile on his pale face.

His presence fills you with nostalgia, familiarity, and there is a spark of joy, but that soon gets overpowered by the anger, burning fury.

“I know,” he says in that voice you’ve missed hearing sing to you. “I know you’re upset my girl, but—”

“No!” You cut him off and stand up to your feet to stride towards him. “No! You!” You sneer and point at him. “It’s your fault! It’s your fault I grew up without my mother, it’s your fault my sister and brother died!” You reach him and shove him back with that same anger. “It’s all your fault this all happened to us! To our family! You left me! You left us! You left! How could you do that?!”

Your father ducks his head out of shame and swallows thickly. “I will never forgive myself for what happened to your mother and your siblings, but it’s something I won’t regret.”

You scoff and step back.

“It had to be done. To complete the prophecy. Which it has, Jon, Daenerys, you.” He lifts his head and meets your gaze with awe. “Three heads to our dragon, my darling. We did it.”

You clench your jaw and shake your head. “At what cost?” You snap at him. “My son is gone. He’s dead! Daenerys killed him! He was only 10!” You rebuttal. “It’s true the dead are gone and I’m glad that they are, but nothing else matters anymore because so is he. So I ask what now?”

“Now you rule,” a different voice cuts in. When you snap your eyes to where it comes from you notice that it was Queen Visenya. “You will revive the Targaryen dynasty. You will take back what your father destroyed.”

You swallow thickly and rebuttal. “Daenerys rules now. Isn’t that enough? I can’t lose more, Jon, my children that have yet to be born.”

Footsteps step forward from your left side and a sweeter but still rather stern voice speaks. “You stay there in Winterfell and you’ll die too. Your children will always be a threat to her, will you see them die too?”

You snap your eyes to the left and meet Queen Alysanne’s gaze with a glare. “Like hell. I won’t lose them. But you have her, let her rule, it’s not like our family hasn’t killed their own kin before, why not her? Why me?”

“Because she killed your son,” a different voice adds from the fire.

You look towards the flames again and see a different women come out from within them, this woman had a thicker waist compared to the other two, her silver-gold hair was in a long braid as well. She was ethereal as all the others, but also intensity followed within her gaze. You knew her too, a lot quicker than the others, after all she was one of your favorites, that is before she actually ruled; Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen.

“Because you are the one meant to restore our glory, rule like we couldn’t,” she says and begins to approach you. “If she rules, she’ll commit the same mistakes and wipe out the Targaryen name. It’s you who is meant to sit on that throne, your children shall follow, the ice and fire that our prophecy foretold. I know,” she mutters softer now. “What it is like to lose a son…but you aren’t me, use your anger, use your power, use your kindness and take what belongs to you, for your son. For all of us.”

You let out a shaky sigh, but don’t let anymore tears fall now since you’re beginning to be filled with inspiration and anger once again at the memory of what Daenerys did.

“You have a good heart my dear,” your father interjects, pulling your attention to him again. “Use it, be noble, don’t lose what you already have. Those you keep close will carry you through this, but remember to be firm, fearless, stern and unforgiving to those who truly deserve it.”

You sigh but nod. You then look at Rhaenar, but before you can speak your last words to him, a deep husky voice cuts in from your right.

“Don’t be like your father, girl,” Maegor says and begins to walk around you, as if he’s stalking you, a prey. “Don’t be foolish, and don’t live in the clouds,” he scoffs and shoots your father a dirty glare. “Use your fury, your dragon is your best friend, use your strength and power. Take care of business like me.” He stops by his mother and shoots you a malicious smirk before he looks at his mother with a smirk. “Burn her. Burn Daenerys Targaryen.”

You offer him a nod and shoot him a faint smirk before you face Rhaenar one more time. “I will always, always love you my sweet boy. I’m sorry.”

Rhaenar smiles at you and wipes away that stray tear that falls from your eye. “I love you too, mama. Tell Jon that it’s okay, that I’ll be okay, yes?”

You grin and nod. “Of course.”

He then throws his arms around you and you don’t hesitate to hug him back with all your might. You don’t close your eyes in hopes you’d stay, and it’s why you notice Queen Visenya approaching you one last time. She meets your watery gaze with an intense and burning determined glare.

“Burn your dead, mourn your losses. You are Queen now.” She mutters before the darkness quickly surrounds you at one second before you’re thrown back to the cruel reality, back to your room, back to the coldness.

At least the sun is out today, it’s light is soft but not warm since it is still dawn. It should’ve provided an ounce of happiness, but the natural light finally breaking from the clutches of the winter clouds doesn’t affect you now.

You sigh deeply and wipe your tears away before you look at the bed and find the spot next to you empty, and when you touch it you notice it’s cold, letting you know that Jon has been gone for a while. And since he is your only source of motivation to keep going right now you get up and change to go look for him.

Yet when you reach the crypts he’s not there. You walk to the gates since maybe he’s out with Rhaegal, yet you don’t want to walk all the way over to hills where the dragons are if he isn’t, so you look up and speak to the guards at their post. “Excuse me?!”

A man reaches the rail and looks down. “Princess,” he calls out in surprises and straightens up.

“Has Lord Snow passed the gates?” You ask.

The guard shakes his head. “No, but I did seem him walk towards the Godswood earlier today.”

You hum and nod. “Thank you, sir.”

The guard nods, and you then head towards the Godswood. When you arrive you see the new planted trees begin to sprout where the ashes of the olds ones once stood, leaving a clear view of all the Godswood, and Jon kneeled at the front of the Heart tree.

As to not interrupt his moment of prayer you make sure to slowly approach him, but stop by the frozen lake that’s by the red leaved tree.

Nevertheless, Jon hears your footsteps and turns around. When he notices it’s you his gaze softens for a moment before the sadness on his dark eyes returns.

“Good morrow,” he greets.

You offer a small smile. “Good morrow,” you return and meet him in the middle of the snow covered field. “I’m sorry I interrupted.”

Jon takes your hands and shakes his head. “I was…done already. What are you doing out here? It’s cold.” He touches your belly and smiles. “Are they giving you fuss?”

You grin and shrug. “Always, but that’s not what got me to awake up.”

Jon lips pull to a bigger smile and he scoffs softly before he drops his gaze and stares at the snow below his feet with a deep sorrowful frown that makes your sadness return, and brews curiosity.

“What is it?” You probe.

Jon lets out a deep sigh and then meets your gaze with a watery look. “I asked for forgiveness from the gods, but it’s you that I truly need to apologize to.”

You slowly knit your brows together in confusion.

“Please,” he continues with tears escaping out of his eyes. “Forgive me. I’m the reason your son is dead. I didn’t reach him in time, I didn’t get rid of the men fast enough. I’m sorry.” Jon drops to his knees and keeps holding your gaze. “I can never make up for what you lost. I’m sorry.”

Tears threaten to come out of your eyes, but you hold them back and just feel your throat sting more as you slowly get on your knees, and cup his cheeks. “What happened is not a guilt you need to carry on your shoulders Jon...” you pause and swallow back thickly. “My life will never be the same without my boy. It is true, but don’t blame yourself. He’s okay.” You muster a soft smile. “He appeared in my dreams, he said he was okay, he told me to tell you that it’s okay.”

Jon slowly grows perplexed, but he knows better now so he accepts what you say is true. “But you—”

“I’ll…heal soon, but I do know that I have nothing to forgive because I don’t blame you, nor should you blame yourself. Please.”

Jon hesitates, so you press your forehead against his and whisper.

“It’s okay, my love. It is. I need you for what’s to come.”

Jon lets out a shaky breath, and then slowly cups your cheeks and keeps his forehead pressed against yours as he stays silent. You know he won’t doubt you, or try to discourage your new plan so you don’t explain what’s on your mind, you linger in the silence and relish in the warmth that radiates from his hands, from his lips, and from his body.

You don’t linger long though since it is cold and the funeral is today. Since you don’t have the stomach to eat so much breakfast is quick, it’s the getting ready that takes time. It’s not easy for you, no matter if you did see Rhaenar in a dream, to get ready for his…funeral, to mentally get ready to say goodbye one more time. But you still do it, you let the handmaidens dress you in a white dress that is dipped in red at the bottom, so the white-beige color flows to a blood red. You let them put on light makeup and fix your silver-white hair, you put on your gold jewelry, and then before you walk out of your chambers you grab Helios from his cage.

His eyes search the room for the boy he was once bonded to, he calls out for him in soft cries that only smash those heart fragments to smaller pieces. And there’s nothing you can tell him to comfort him. Absolutely nothing because you know he also knows deep within his little heart.

“Come on,” you whisper to Helios. “Let’s go.”

Once you step out Jon is waiting outside of your shared quarters, he holds your gaze for a moment before he takes your hand to interlace it with his before you begin walking outside, past the gates, to the top of a snowy hill. People begin to part once they see you approach, the Starks and your sisters then break away from their spots behind the crowd and follow you towards the funeral pyre where Rhaenar’s body lays wrapped in a white shroud.

Time moved normally before you walked through the crowd, but once you begin to walk past the people gathered to reach the pyre time began to move slowly as your mind still tries to comprehend that this is all real. That you’re going to say goodbye to your boy forever.

Tears even fail to fall at those moments you walk forward, even when you reach him your tears don’t break out from your eyes, no. Even if your heart sinks and a shaky breath escapes from your chest, you don’t cry. Instead you let Jon’s hand go and place Helios on Rhaenar’s chest one more time.

The dragon knows, he knew the moment Rhaenar drew his last breath that he was gone and they’d never see each other again. But the dragon like you held onto hope. It’s why Helios crawled to Rhaenar’s neck and sniffed him before he began to nudge his jaw so he’d wake up.

You knew you were being foolish, but you waited for a response. When it doesn’t come and Helios lets out a broken whine, is when you can’t hold back anymore and let a sob escape from your mouth.

Eraxis feeling your sorrow, cries out and fills the silent air with her melancholy song. Helios follows and sings about his own grief, and Rhaegal then joins them too and all three dragons fill the winter air with their sorrow filled songs.

You then drop your forehead on Rhaenar’s and clutch onto his shoulders, you cry and cry until you can’t breathe properly, until you can’t even stand. That’s when Eraxis leans her head forward and tries to wrap her neck around you for comfort and support. It startles some people from the crowd, after all, all they knew about dragons was that they’re fierce, not that they were also comforting and filled with many complex emotions. It got those who weren’t crying already, to shed tears for a boy they hardly knew.

And it was thanks to your dragon's comfort that you were ready, so you scoop up Helios, and as Eraxis raises her head in the sky you turn and walk down the pyre to hand Arya the orange dragon. “It’s okay,” you assure her. “He won’t harm you.”

Arya pulls the dragon back towards her and holds him fearlessly and with slight pride. Now, as you face Rhaenar again, you take Jon’s hand again and lift your chin to sniffle before you part your lips. Yet you can’t muster the word, only sobs.

“It’s okay,” Jon whispers and begins to rub your back. “Take your time.”

Your bottom lip wobbles, and your chest begins to feel tighter and heavier to the point you can’t breathe anymore, you turn to Jon and bury your face in his chest. He quickly wraps his arms around you and kisses the top of your head as he caresses your back softly.

“May he soar the skies in paradise,” Jon interjects. “May he rest and find peace, may he watch over his family. I’m sorry Rhaenar…”

A moment longer passes before you can face the pyre, before you can part your lips and mutter out the right words that tore at your heart. “Dracarys.”

The white dragon draws in a deep breath before she opens her mouth and breathes out fire, bathing the pyre and Rhaenar in her hot and bright red-orange flames.

You stand there in front of the fire, you bask in its heat and let more tears fall out before the anger returns, before that burning fury begins to boil your blood again, bringing back that dream you just had and everything that was said, especially those venomous words spoken by Maegor; “Burn her. Burn Daenerys Targaryen.”

You won’t hold onto hope for your rekindling anymore, you won’t ask for forgiveness. You’ll seek revenge and what truly belongs to you.

Which is why you slowly turn and face the crowd still gathered in front of the pyre. You meet the gaze of Jon before you face them all with a scowl. “I was asked to fight for the throne by all of you,” you interject loud enough so they can all hear. “I declined out of hope, and a dream that I would know a peaceful life and receive Daenerys forgiveness for my future, for the future I carry within me. But now, after she took what I held so dear in my heart, my first born. Now she will know my wrath, and I hope you all can follow me in my path to the throne. It will be another war, devastating no doubt, but once it is done we will finally know peace because she is just like those that came before her, a tyrant lost in her way.” You sigh, but muster a malicious smirk.

“I hope you all follow me. For my son, for you, for me.” You finish.

And thus, without hesitation the crowd begins to cheer, shouting out only one phrase. “Queen Y/N!”

——

*DAENERYS. KING’S LANDING*

A knock raps on her door, echoing in the tense silence that filled her quarters.

“Come in,” she welcomes the visitor, hoping it was successful news of the ambush. Waiting for the news has been keeping her on edge, she could hardly sleep, or keep in one place, she needed to know.

“My Queen,” a familiar voice she hasn’t heard in a long time cuts through the silence.

Daenerys turns quickly on her heels and comes face to face with Daario Naharis, a man she had left long ago in Meereen to enforce peace, a man who’s appearance hasn’t changed, and someone who she can’t deny is happy to see. After all he is one of few who hasn’t betrayed her, he’s remained loyal even after she broke his heart.

“Why wasn’t I advised you arrived?” She responds with a quirked brow and a faint smirk playing on her lips as he doesn’t fail to make her body ignite with lust.

Daario smirks wider and pulls his hand from behind him to show her the wildflowers he held in his hand. “I came on a faster ship apart from the others because I wanted to surprise you.”

Daenerys hums and watches the man slowly begin to approach her.

“I’ve brought these,” he says and pushes the flowers towards her.

Daenerys breaks away from her spot to slowly walk towards him, stopping just before she can reach him to let him get close to her instead. He offers her the flowers and she hesitantly takes them from his hand to then raise her chin and hold his warm gaze.

“I would just like to say that you look even more beautiful than before,” he adds. “The crown suits you.”

Daenerys places the flowers down on the table beside her and crosses her arms over chest to now press him with her gaze alone.

“Ah,” he says and clasps his hand behind him. “Right. The ambush happened, yet I’m disappointed to say that Lord Snow managed to escape with a couple of his men. The ship burned, most of his men aboard died, and a boy traveling with them perished in the fire.”

Daenerys blinks and furrows her eyebrows. “A boy?” She queries.

Daario nods. “Yes, I’m not sure who, but Lord Snow made great effort to take his body.”

Daenerys lips slowly begin to fall, and her arms slowly unfold from her chest as a name begins to circle her mind.

“Were there dragons in the sky?” She asks him with her gaze begining to narrow.

Daario nods. “Yes. The creatures burned our ship and helped them escape. There was three of them, a white one, Rhaegal, and a small orange one.”

Daenerys swallows thickly and turns around abruptly to look out at the gloomy white sky, and sighs deeply as sorrow begins to stab at her heart and pain fills her mind.

“What is it?” Daario instantly asks and takes a step towards her.

“Wheres Greyworm?” She avoids his question.

“I let him take a second break so I could deliver the news to you personally.”

Such a radiant boy he was, young prince Rhaenar. Regardless of the tension that existed towards the end of the relationship between you and Daenerys, he never was rude to her, he was kind and caring. No matter how short of time she had with the boy, she still cared for him because he was family, and now he’s gone and you're heartbroken.

And she can’t cling onto the hope that the dead boy is someone else, why else would Jon be so desperate to the take the body, why else would Helios be with Jon. Helios is a small dragon still very much attached to who he’s bound to, that dead boy is Rhaenar.

“That boy who perished,” Daenerys mutters and approaches her window with tears clouding her eyes. “Was the son of my niece. It was y/n’s son. How did it come to be? I said just kill Jon and the men he was with.” She stops and exhales deeply before she turns to face him.

Daario stays in his spot and shrugs. “I can’t be certain. You know how battles are? Unpredictable. All I know is that a fire started on the ship. It was an accident.”

Daenerys scoffs and shakes her head. “She won’t see it that way. No one on her side will. If she was ready to make peace before, now we can forget about that, especially with Sansa whispering in her ear.” Daenerys clasps her hands in front of her and drops her head.

“You sit on the throne now,” Daario interjects and steps forward. “They’ll follow you.”

Daenerys snaps her head up to face him. “No,” she snaps. “They won’t. The Reach will rally behind her because of what she gave them, and the future commitment that once bonded them. We can’t even count or try and sway Dorne, even dead they’ll never follow another king or queen that isn’t her or descended from her bloodline.” Daenerys turns and approaches the balcony to gaze out at the city below.

“The Vale of Arryn will follow her because of Sansa, meaning the North is also supporting her,” Daenerys continues to tell Daario. “And the Riverlands…they’ll follow the Starks, making for Five great houses rallying behind her, leaving us with two, the Westerlands if I keep Tyrion alive, and the Stormlands...” she pauses and sighs deeply. “That is if I make our commitment periment with a marriage proposal to the new Warden.”

“And so you shall have it,” he assures her with no argument, and finally closes the gap between them to grab her shoulder and turn her to face him. “You have a fleet, more men. And a dragon experienced in war. You can win this, you only lose if you give up, and I know you’ll fight with fire and blood before that happens.”

Daenerys holds his gaze and hums, feeling relieved that she once again had someone she can trust and talk to.

“We’ll get to work right away, fortifying the walls, whipping the men to shape, and making alliances.” Daarios continues to assure her. “No one will take that throne from you.”

——

*WINTERFELL*

Jon’s voice echoes out from the hall, his words are passionate you know they are because he gives good speeches, but right now his words just don’t register in your mind, all that you can think about is Rhaenar, the new future that you are now paving with this choice. Anger still fuels you and it's what’s pushing you, whilst that motivation after seeing your father and ancestors burns in your veins, waking up something that was dorement before, determination to take what’s yours once and for all.

It’s why you don’t frown, you don’t express sadness in your eyes either as Dornish guards make a path and line up across from each other all the way to the end of the hall where Jon, and the maester awaits with your crown. It’s that burning determination, and that grief that brings you pride as you stand at the end of the lined up guards, with your head up high.

Horns begin to play inside after Jon finishes his speech, letting you finally break away from your spot and create a footprint on the sheet of snow as you begin to stride ahead in between the guards.

The blades they hold above your head begin to fall when you pass them, leaving them to see only your back and the tail of your red dress. When you step inside the warm hall, slowly the people viewing your coronation kneel as you walk past them.

Being here was something you never dreamed about, at least you always thought you’d stand on the platform waiting for your husband to get crowned. Now that you’re here though, now that you see all the people kneel, as you see the guards metal blades glistening against the firelight, you can’t help but smile inside. And the moment you take Jon’s hand as you reach the platform a faint smile finally forms on your lips.

Jon mirrors your gesture and then leans forward to press a kiss on your cheek before he shifts to the side and helps you to your knees. Once you’re secured he moves to the side and lets the maester step forward.

“May the Warrior give her courage,” his voice booms throughout the hall before he daps oil on your forehead. “May the Smith lend strength to her sword and shield,” he continues and adds more oil on your forehead with each saying. “May the Father defend her in her need. May the Crone lift her shining lamp and light her way to wisdom.” With that last saying instead of oil he dabs blood on your forehead by your request as a sign of your goals, battles to come, and revenge.

When the maester finishes he turns to set the bowls down to instead grab a golden crown forged partly by the gold jewelry that Rhaenar owned so you’ll always carry him with you through this journey as Queen. The maester then turns with the shining gold crown in hand, causing the red shining rubies that are decorated around the crown to twinkle against the firelight. As he lifts the crown you see two small winged dragons holding the red ruby at the center. The moment he places the crown on your head you feel the heavy weight fall on your head, bringing some discomfort.

“Let the Seven bear witness, Visenya Targaryen second of her name is the true heir to the iron Throne,” the Maester adds, causing the crowd behind you to quietly agree.

After that is over Jon leans over and offers his hand, you gladly take it and let him help you to your feet. He then quickly lets you go and kneels before you. It catches you off guard for a second, but you have to remember that you are Queen now and it’s going to happen more often.

Alas, Jon then stands up and drifts his gaze to the crowd. “All hail her grace!” He exclaims. “Visenya, second of her name, Queen of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the realm!”

You draw out a small breath and turn, catching the crowd and the guards kneel. You drift your gaze to the right front row and see Elia and Sarella kneel, Sansa curtsy whilst Arya kneels too. You then look to the left front row and see Ser Jaime kneel, Ser Brienne and her ward kneel, Ser Davos takes goes down too, and then as on cue, Eraxis fills the silence and air with her prideful roar, making you finally smirk.

“Long live the Queen!” Elia is the first to exclaim.

“Long live the Queen!” Ser Jaime follows before everyone inside repeats those words as they get up and clap.

Those who carry swords lift their blades in the air and shout. “Queen Y/N!”

Those words fill your ears and bring happy tears to your eyes as you tug your lips to a smile. When you sit on the wooden chair that was placed on the platform more people cheer, and Ser Brienne approaches the stairs that lead to the platform. She gets on one knee and meets your gaze.

You throw your hand out to silence the crowd, and they don’t fail to listen, letting Ser Brienne speak.

“I swear toward the Queen,” she interjects in a loud confident voice. “With all my strength, and give my blood for hers. I shall take no husband, hold no lands, mother no children. I shall guard her secrets, obey her commands, ride at her side and defend her name and honor.”

Chills travel down your spine, and a soft smile tugs on your lips. You rise up again and bow your head, letting her stand.

“I appreciate your loyalty and devotion, Ser Brienne. I’d trust no one else but you to be my Lord Commander of the Queensguard.”

Ser Brienne breath draws in a small breath and can’t help her proud smile at the mention of the title you just bestowed upon her.

“I leave it to your judgment to choose the other six who should join the Queensgard. When you have chosen the right people you may bring them to me.” You let her know.

Ser Brienne nods in comprehension and stands back up to return to her spot, leaving you to address the crowd to give them an announcement. “Every ruler needs their most trusted advisor at their side, a friend to confide in. A hand when one’s pair is full. Someone who is not afraid to hide their thoughts or pass judgment. There are many here that I trust to be that with me, but there’s one person who I know won’t fail me, Lady Sansa Stark.”

It was a choice that you had discussed before, and one she took with the condition that when this war is over, and if it is you who sits on the throne then she would step down to be Warden and Lady of the North.

“Lady Sansa, I name you hand of the Queen.” You finish saying, making said person head to the front to kneel. You then turn and grab the pin from Jon to walk towards his sister and hook the golden pin on her chest.

The crowd makes commotion in support of the choice.

“You honor me, Queen Y/N,” Sansa says and stands back on her feet.

You offer her a smile and watch her return to her spot so you can continue to announce to the people who else will be a part of your court. “Now with these battles to come I trust no one else to be my Master of War but my dear husband, and your King Consort, Jon snow.”

At the announcement of both new titles the crowd cheers for Jon, while you look over at him and grin. He breaks away from his spot to stand before you and bow his head. Your smile widens, and you’re filled with glee as you get to finally reveal your gift.

“Arya,” you call out and meet her dark gaze. “If you may please.”

Jon looks back at his sister in confusion and follows her every move as she makes her way to you. You fill with more joy and excitement as she reaches into her sack and pulls out a silver crown that looks similar to yours, but is a bit thinner, and has a golden dragon and a golden wolf holding a ruby at the center.

“Now,” you continue and take the crown from Arya. “I know that you aren’t one to be so flashy, and you’d be content without one, but it is gift from me to you.”

Jon holds your gaze and sighs softly, but he can’t help his faint smile before he kneels, letting you carefully place the crown on his head.

“There,” you say and clasps your hands before you. “Handsome.”

Jon scoffs softly and then stands back up to fall back at your side, letting you continue so you can finally finish and announce your master of whisperers, Bran Stark of course, and lastly your Master of coin Lord Ben Ashfords son, the heir of the Reach, Bernard Ashford. As to the other positions well, you still have yet to fill. Hopefully you’ll get to find the right people soon.

With that said you turn away and head to a different chamber where you will have your first small council meeting that consists of your sisters, Jon, Ser Brienne, Sansa and her siblings, and Ser Jaime.

“You know you did not have to get me this,” Jon breaks his silence as he walks by your side to the meeting quarters. “This crown is not necessary.”

You glance at him and smile. “You are my King Consort, my love, a King needs his crown.”

“I would’ve been fine with a ring,” he counters, making you giggle for the first time since Rhaenar passed.

“I told you,” you retort and hook your arm around his. “It’s a gift. You don’t need to wear it all the time, I just wanted you to have one.”

Jon meets your gaze and hums softly before his gaze softens. “You need to rest, you’ve been on your feet for far too long.”

You roll your head to the side and draw out a deep breath. “Yes, perhaps I should, but there are meetings to be had now. You know this isn’t easy. But for your comfort after this meeting is over we can retreat to our chambers and take a warm bath together, hm?”

Jon nods softly in agreement. “Sounds like a plan,” he assures you. “Not like I could actually refuse you now. You are the Queen.”

You scoff and shake your head. “Don’t start with me Jon.” You chuckle softly, causing Jon to watch you with a soft and admiring gaze and smile since he likes the look of your smile and the sound of your laugh after seeing how much you’ve been suffering.

Yet it is short lived since that sweet look on your face fades away, and gets replaced by a sad confident look when you all enter the meeting quarters.

Now the burden falls on you, after so much that your family did to try and get you on that throne, and after trying to avoid the burden, you wear the crown now and lead thousands. Now rather than listening on the sidelines you sit at the center and have all eyes on you.

“Thank you all for coming,” you address the group as they find their seats around the table. “You’ll have to pardon me for the next couple of meetings. As much as I have studied I still am not used to ruling,” you huff softly and clasps your hands together.

The people around the table don’t say anything to you so let out a deep sigh and continue.

“Let’s get to business then. I know not so long ago I turned down Ser Jaime’s requests of retrieving his brother from the clutches of Daenerys, but now with the sides being drawn, the Westerlands are left undecided. The Lannister’s may not be a strong house, but their name still holds much value, having both men at our side can benefit us. So,” you say and look at Jaime sitting in the middle.

“Ser Jaime, I grant your leave. You won’t have men though, it will attract too much unwanted attention.”

Ser Jaime’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, and you begin to smirk. “Sarella,” you name, causing the woman to straighten up. “Arya, you are clever, discreet and able to hide well. Will you accompany Ser Jaime to smuggle his brother out?”

Sarella without a fault nods. “Of course, sister.” She assures you, letting you shift your gaze to Arya. And when your eyes land on her a small smirk tugs on her lips.

“I will,” Arya agrees. “Thank you, Queen y/n.”

You offer her a smile and a small nod.

“Excuse me, your Grace,” Lord Royce cuts in. “The plan is great and all, the Westerlands may not be the largest land, but they are the richest. It will benefit us well, but with sides set, and Daenerys with a patch of new soldiers, entering the city will be difficult.”

You nod and can’t help your smirk from widening. “Yes. I know. It’s why while the three of them enter the Red Keep, I will lead a distraction.”

The members of the council all share confused and concerned looks at the mention so you explain your plan, and assure their worry. “It won’t be a big army, there won’t even be men, the distraction will consist of only women. I unfortunately won’t join the battle at the ground, I cannot,” you scoff and reach down to caress your swollen belly. “I’ll be in the skies with Jon, while the women go in pretending to seek refuge and help from Daenerys. Her army will come out and provide assistance, they won’t suspect such brutal attacks from women,” you begin to smirk smugly. “They’ll think of them as weak, fragile. That’s when the army women will strike, I will go in later and burn what remains of the small army. After that Jon and I will lead them out before more men can come.”

“If it pleases your grace,” Ser Brienne interjects as she takes a step forward so you can see her. “I would like to lead the attack on the ground in your stead.”

You catch the disbelieved stare of Lord Royce, but you have faith in her; just because she isn’t like every other typical woman doesn’t mean a thing. It’s sad that men here don’t see such a thing.

“Of course you can, Ser Brienne, the army will consist of Dornish women warriors and northern women who volunteer. Any other woman from the other armies of different houses can also join if they please, but we need to keep the numbers small.”

“Understood,” Ser Brienne agrees.

You drift your gaze back to the other members. “We will make that our first attack after the lords pledge their loyalty. With that said, Sansa, what can we expect from the Riverlands?”

Sansa raises her head and parts her lips. “My mother was a Tully. Our uncle still lives and rules now in my grandfathers stead. I expect we will gain their allegiance, but I think we should still go in person and ask.”

You nod. “Alright. We can go after our first attack, that way Daenerys doesn’t get word of our attempts until after. What about the Stormlands?”

“Given Daenerys gave the Stormlands to Gendry and declared him a legitimate Baratheon,” Jon interjects. “I doubt we can count on his allegiance.”

“But the boy doesn’t know a thing about ruling a kingdom or people,” Jaime argues. “Nor does he have the right connections.”

“But he has the Baratheon name now, he may be a bastard but some people will follow his family name,” Ser Davos defends the man. “Surely the staff at the castle would help.”

“I assume not long, any lord could usurp him,” Jaime counters. “We can use that to our advantage.”

“Aye,” Lord Royce agrees.

You look over at Sansa and ask her a question. “Could we send an envoy to any of the other lords?”

Sansa sighs. “We could, but we have to think about the risks, if Gendry bends the knee it would benefit Daenerys to strengthen the alliance with a marriage. She’d burn any rebellion attempts. We have other kingdoms that take priority if it comes down to a battle .”

“We could get rid of Lord Gendry,” you suggest. “That breaks the alliance—but also turns the Stormlands against us.”

“Then we leave them,” Jon adds. “As far as resources, it’s only fighters they provide. We have the numbers, we don’t need them. If a lord reaches out to us then we can think of a plan, until then we count them as traitors.”

“Anyone disagree?” You ask without trying to argue Jon’s suggestion.

The people around the table shake their heads in disagreement, letting you continue on. “ Bran, do you know anything?” You ask the quiet boy.

Bran nods stiffly. “Only confirmation that Daenerys plans to marry Lord Gendry. As soon as he arrives at the capital.”

Just as Sansa mentioned.

“Smart girl,” you comment. “With the Stormlands off the table, we also can’t count on the Iron Islands. With luck we will gain the Westerlands and the Riverlands.” You let out a small breath and then continue. “Anything else someone would like to discuss?”

Everyone looks around, but no one adds anything, thankfully leading this meeting to an end for today.

“Alright, well you all are dismissed, thank you for attending.”

Everyone disperses out of the room, and you wait for them all to leave before you can. However, Ser Brienne, Ser Jaime, Jon and your sisters linger behind.

“Excuse me, your Grace,” Brienne directs and bows her head as she addresses you. “But is it okay if I take my leave for today? I would like to start finding the other members for the Queensguard.”

Right that.

“Of course uh, Sarella, Elia,” you call out. “May you introduce Ser Brienne to some of the commanding officers of the Dornish army. There are some great fighters there you can choose from.”

“Yes!” Elia exclaims all too excitedly. “I would love to go.”

Of course she would, she likes to gawk and flirt with the men.

Regardless, they leave but Ser Jaime stays behind still. He takes a moment before he says anything, first he slowly makes his way towards your chair before he finally reveals his thoughts.

“I know I have probably said this, but, thank you. You have been too kind, more than I deserve. You have given me a second chance, and it’s one I don’t deserve and one I will live my life repaying. So thank you, Queen Y/N.” He reaches for his sword and then kneels with his hands on his pommel. “My sword is yours, my Queen. I may not be a great fighter anymore, but I have experience that can be just as valuable. I want to serve you.”

You share a small glance with Jon before you stand on your feet. “Then you shall. I need all the help I can get. And I value your thoughts, Ser Jaime. Just promise that when you see me straying from my moral path that you will help rather than betraying me. Remind me of the people I fight for because some rulers tend to forget who really keeps them in power.”

The corner of Jaime’s lips tug upward before he nods in agreement. “I will. I swear.”

“Great. Then if Jon wants you can help him with the armies. You may also help train the soldiers.”

Jaime gets to his feet and accepts before finally leaving Jon and you alone.

“Now,” Jon says and take your hand. “Can I have you to myself?”

You grab onto his arm and drop your head on his shoulder. “Please, I beg you.”

——

*LATER THAT NIGHT*

With the anger fueling through your blood, with fury clouding your mind, sleep was impossible, that hunger for revenge kept you awake and raised a desire in you for something to be done. Something that you haven’t touched in a long time, dark magic.

Rhaenar was your son, he was your little boy, and Daenerys took him, she will pay with blood, you will rip everything she has ever loved from her hands so she can feel what it is you feel.

So while the castle is sleeping, while no one can interrupt you, you use the chambers where Daenerys had stayed in to conduct a spell.

“Did you bring it?” You ask Sarella.

Sarella nods and unhooks her cloak to show the small baby in her hands.

You trusted no one else but them, besides the others would only judge you for this dark magic. Elia and Sarella won’t.

“It’s sick,” she mentions. “Mother dead, father drunk and with no love for this child.”

You nod stiffly and take the blade from the flames, and watch as the metal gleams red and orange with how hot it is.

“A dragon will never compare to the love you have for your own children. I want her to feel that love, that joy when she holds her child in her arms for the first time. I want to see her care for that child so much more than her own life so she feels an ounce of what I feel.” You sneer to the flames. “Blood for blood. Son for a son.” You glare at the flames and clench your jaw.

You then turn to grab the bowl off the floor, but just before you can you come to a sudden stop as you swear you see Rhaenar’s face in the flames, you swear you see his sweet brown eyes. And a small frown on his face. It’s only for a second, but you swear you do.

“I’ll use my blood that connects us,” you mutter and put the bowl over the fire. You then put your palm in front of you and use the sharp edge of the blade to cut a slash on your palm.

The pain stings and burns, but you just clench your jaw and keep quiet as the blood begins to spill out of the cut. After the slash is made you put the blade down and put your hand over the fire and fist your hand to make the blood pour over the bowl.

“Now, Elia give it to me,” you interject and put your uninjured hand out.

Without hesitation the girl comes to you and hands you a brush. One Daenerys had left behind when she left Winterfell.

“Now I’ll use her hair to connect this spell to her.” You add and pull the strands of hair off the brush and throw it in the bowl. “Now,” you sigh deeply and feel some hesitance and regret. But your pain is much deeper, so you turn regardless, and Sarella hands you the sickly baby.

“The sacrifice to complete this spell,” you continue and pick up the knife from the floor. You swallow thickly and without thinking deeper into what you’re going to do you slice.

The blood trickles out so you push it towards the fire and let the thick scarlet liquid spill over the bowl. Once the bowl is full you hand the lifeless body back to Sarella. “Feed it to the dragons.” You tell her.

“Now it’s time to finish.” You put the blade down, and put your arms out, you close your eyes and lift your head to begin chanting the needed spell in High Valyrian.

At first you start off quiet, but you get louder and louder, whilst the fire suddenly enrages and sends off sparks and thick smoke as it engulfs the bowl and what it contains inside.

The heat intensifies, bringing sweat to break out on your face, making the dress stick to your skin. The fire's light brightens, making Elia and Sarella shield their eyes.

But the act doesn’t last long, it then ends and the heat and brightness fades back to what it was before. Now nothing remains in the bowl anymore. Now the spell is complete.

“There,” you let your sisters know. “She’s barren no longer. She’ll have a child now and fear my pain. Soon she’ll pay. Son for a son.

A/N- Now do you guys think Daenerys will have a child with Daario? Or one with Gendry?

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