#oc!reader

synopsis: the one where jeonghan marks his territory and lets the internet connect the dots but still backfires.

wc: 1.2k

warnings: suggestive content, fluff, rumors, jealousy, teasing, flirting, pda, overall fluffy and cute

a little drabble for my loves! something for you guys as i finish the mingyu x luna x wonwoo bittersweet mv reaction ( finally ik ) 🤭 so, yeah! that will be my next post. . . so look out for that, coming soon! 🤍

⋮ ⌗ 008. ┆ drabble ( requested ꩜ .ᐟ )

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Firefighter!Rafe x Female!oc CHAPTER 1

Rafe Cameron always said the city sounded different at night.

In the daylight, it was a steady hum, buses sighing to a stop, people chattering into phones, horns blaring with impatience. But at night, everything sharpened. Every sound carried. Every echo mattered.

He liked that. It made him feel needed.

The firehouse behind him buzzed with low conversation and the muffled clatter of dishes from the communal kitchen, but Rafe stood outside on the back steps, rolling his shoulders as the chilled breeze swept in off the water. His turnout gear rested beside him, still faintly smelling of smoke from the afternoon’s call. Nothing major, just a kitchen fire put out before it could spread, but even the small ones left their mark.

He ran a hand through his hair, dragging in a slow breath.

Some nights, he still couldn’t believe he’d made it here. That he wore the uniform. That he was trusted. That he didn’t screw it up.

Sometimes it scared him how badly he wanted to keep this life.

The rusted metal door creaked open behind him.

“Cameron,” Captain Reyes called, his voice like gravel dipped in coffee. “You good?”

Rafe straightened a little. “Yeah. Just getting air.”

Reyes eyed him for a moment, the way people who’ve seen too much can look straight through the lies you don’t even know you’re telling. But he nodded.

“Get inside. We’ve got inspection tomorrow. You’re on hose maintenance.”

Rafe almost groaned. “Again?”

Reyes smirked. “Consider it extra practice. You’re still the rookie.”

The door shut, leaving Rafe alone again with the dark and the smell of the ocean.

He grabbed his gear, heading inside. Hose maintenance could wait until morning. What mattered now was sleep, or something close to it.

On the other side of the city, Emily Cravitz sat on the floor of her apartment, surrounded by the quiet ruin of her own expectations.

The email was still open on her laptop.

Thank you for your interest… unfortunately, we are unable to move forward… you do not meet the required specifications…

Specifications. Like she was a piece of machinery. A blueprint.

She let her head fall back against the wall.

It wasn’t the first rejection. Or the tenth. It wasn’t even the most painful. But tonight it hit differently, lower, sharper, leaving a pressure on her chest that refused to lighten.

Her phone buzzed.

Mom: Everything okay, Em? Call me when you can.

She stared at the message without replying.

Her mother would tell her to keep trying. Her friends would say the industry was brutal and it didn’t reflect her worth. Everyone would remind her she was talented, beautiful, resilient.

None of it changed the fact that her dream, the one stitched into her ribs since childhood, was slipping through her fingers like water.

She closed the laptop and stood, pacing the narrow path between her couch and the kitchen island. The walls felt too close. The air too thin.

She needed to get out. Just walk. Clear her head.

Throwing on a jacket, she tied her hair up, locked the door behind her, and stepped into the cool night.

The city breathed differently around midnight.

Fewer cars. More shadows. Streetlights blinking like tired guardians.

Emily walked without destination, hands shoved deep into her pockets. She passed shuttered storefronts, dim apartment windows, and the stray cat that lived behind the laundromat and glared at anyone who dared make eye contact.

She didn’t know how long she’d been walking when she smelled it, faint at first, like someone had burned toast.

Then stronger.

Smoke.

She paused at an intersection, lifting her head.

Above the rooftops, a thin coil of gray curled into the sky.

“That’s too big for a kitchen mishap,” she murmured.

Sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder.

Instinct said go home. Curiosity tugged her forward.

She chose curiosity.

The call came in fast.

Rafe had barely made it to his bunk when the station erupted in red lights and ringing alarms.

“Structure fire,” Reyes barked as they scrambled. “Apartment building on Caswell. Possible people still inside.”

Rafe’s blood lit with adrenaline. This, this feeling, was why he’d chosen this life.

He yanked on his gear, secured his helmet, and sprinted for the engine with the others. The sirens roared to life as they tore into the night, wind slamming against Rafe’s face through the open window.

Flames were already visible when they turned onto Caswell Street.

And so was she.

A girl, or woman, he couldn’t tell from the distance, stood near the police tape, staring up at the burning building with wide eyes, her hair whipped by the heat-draft.

He looked away quickly. He had a job to do.

They halted, and Rafe leapt off the truck, hitting the ground running.

“Cameron, hose line!” Reyes shouted.

Rafe grabbed it, muscle memory snapping into place as he followed his captain toward the blaze.

Emily’s breath caught as the fire trucks arrived.

The flames were worse than she’d thought, licking up the windows, turning glass into molten diamonds before they shattered. Neighbors clustered on the sidewalk, some crying, others on their phones, all pressed behind the barrier.

She scanned the scene, her heart racing even though she was in no danger.

Then she saw him.

A firefighter, tall, strong, focused in a way that made the chaos around him blur. His helmet caught the glow of the flames as he hauled a hose across the pavement. She could see only half his face, but there was something sharp and intense about him.

Something alive.

She didn’t know why she couldn’t look away.

She didn’t know that she was staring at Rafe Cameron.

And she didn’t know that he would remember later, long after the fire died and the night grew quiet again, that among the smoke and screams and danger, there had been a girl watching him like he was something more than a stranger in a uniform.

Something she wasn’t sure she believed in anymore.

A dream come true.

✧.* Aria (아리아), born on July 9, 2008, is a singer, dancer, lyricist, and assistant director under BIGHIT Entertainment. She debuted as a member of the sub-unit group TRILIS on August 1, 2026, with the release of their 1st EP Through the Collapsing Prism, which featured six tracks. All four members of TRILIS were credited in writing, producing, and directing the project. On September 25, 2026, TRILIS was later united with their twin group CORTIS, who had debuted earlier on August 10, 2025, to form the co-ed group TRISOL.

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part I

part II

part III

part IV

part V

pairing: lestat de lioncourt x oc!reader x louis de pointe du lac

summary: wife turned lamb.

warnings: angst, mentions of domestic abuse, mentions of blood.

word count: 2.583k disclaimer: OC story!!! english is not my first language, so sorry on that front. and this is my first published piece, thus please have mercy on me. I am also not sure if I will make this a multiple chapter situation but do let me know if you guys want more. might be shit but at least not ai. thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy it!

The shadows had bowed to her and her steps were a faint whisper on the lively spring ground of the woods. The trees rustled their leaves in greeting to their feminine breeze, the sun grazed her porcelain akin skin, longing to touch her. An angel sent onto the world, unleashed onto its people and wonders. With hair as silky and inky as the night and brown eyes as warm as honey, and a smile as genuine and gentle as a mother’s touch, she was encapsulating everything which was good in the world. And He was drawn to it immediately.

He followed her, as He always done, something akin to the shadows of the trees. She knew He followed, she did not hear him but felt His very presence in every cell of her physical being and soul.

He had seen her first when her family had descended from the ship at Le Havre, a cluster of immigrants from central Asia and amongst them, an angel. With her devoted steps following after her father and sister, she seemed almost holy in comparison. Unlike anything He had ever see or would ever see.

Breathless kisses against the sturdy tree trunks and sweet whispers followed, tender in anything and everything they share. A love gentle as a grass blade ghosting on one's skin. A love as old as empires. A love set in stone and shared in blood.

The year writes 1910 and New Orleans buzzes with sin and jazz and the Devil had arrived two nights ago. His confident saunter leads him to the more… lustrous streets in the French named city that had captured His attention enough to lay roots in it for as long as time allows Him. The first time He lays his gaze onto Louis de Pointe du Lac, Lestat de Lioncourt is infatuatedly enamoured. An ancient fire awakes within Him when the black man passes Him like a breeze of promise. And at home, Lestat de Lioncourt’s wife holds onto promise as she toys with the gold banded diamond ring on her finger and her gaze longingly shifting out the window in silent hope.

Used to His many side steps, she does not bother asking Him where He was. There were only ever a few options and by the look on His face and the unbothered smoothness in His movements, she knew she’d get the one option she liked least. He always came back home to her, never tangled her into His sinful encounters which she let him have because Lestat de Lioncourt needs variety. He had called it as simple as a ‘new colour palette’. Was she allowed to expand her palette? Of course not. She was his. His wife, his companion, his first child of the Dark Gift.

But when He brings one of His side steps into their shared home on one foggy evening, calling him His acquaintance and telling her he was simply introducing him to his hometown, she knows her fate was sealed. It was the first time she would lay eyes on Louis de Pointe du Lac, and to her misfortune or fortune (yet to be debated), she was infatuatedly enamoured. She was burdened by her maker’s preferences.

Louis de Pointe du Lac thought he was a homosexual man. He had thought it since he was a young boy, drowned in shame and reclusion when he stayed away from any sexual or romantic encounters. But all his doubts and all his knowledge about his own being and preferences blew away with the same wind that pushed Their sails forward into the city of jazz. Setareh de Lioncourt was and will infinitely be angelic in her very essence. Sanctified by the very man that had stripped her of her beloved humanity. _________________________________________________________ The fire cracks, wood splinters and burns like a wound inside the fireplace of Their shared home. The man of the house wasn’t present, but both his wife and lover were. Her dark and oddly human eyes glance up from the edge of her open book, at the man sitting on the sofa across from hers, while she inhabited the other one. A small table separated them like the red sea.

It was partly her fault, as she had aided her husband in ‘seducing’ the Creole man. Not out of love or devotion but out of an disgusting sense of obligation that her husband simply seemed to lack. Now, as if it had always been this way, Louis De Pointe Du Lac had entered her home and husband as if he had belonged there all along. And oh, and how it ached whenever she heard the faint sweet whispers that were once uttered to her in reverence, now spat upon and dishonoured as her husband uttered them to another, right in front of her.

The air inside the New Orleans townhouse was thick with one too many scent crowding her senses. By the eight glance she had shot him over the open book in her hands, he lets out an almost exasperated breath, smiles small and looks up from his own hardcover. ”Do I have something on my face?” He asks her almost amused, but ever with the underlying sense of sharpness Lestat swore his new lover did not have.

She returns the slight smile, although hers carried a hint of a bitterness. ”Only my husbands devotion.”

It makes him glance down at the floor in something close to guilt but he raises his gaze back to her, his eyes so much more piercing than hers. ”Listen,…I know I don’t really have a place here and I can’t imagine what it must feel like to have someone suddenly come in here and disrupt your marriage like this but… I…I care about him. And believe it or not, I care about you. And I want to make this work.” His voice is calm when he speaks, always the mediator and something so different than what she’s used to by the man usually around her. Lestat, who barks like an angry dog, who roars like a lion and throws vases at his trembling wife. Lestat who had shattered her heart the same way he did with mirrors. With a quick indifference.

She lowers her book in her hands, placing it down onto her thigh which was covered by expensive and dark silk, the colour resembling the essence of human life. Blood. Lestat thought it amusing.

“Je ne sais pas what it is you want of me. To befriend the man my husband beds?” She asks him with a genuinely curious tilt of her head and a slight sharpness to her smooth voice, sharp and yet soft, almost helpless really.

“As messed up as it sounds: yes. We live here together, with him, and as far as I can see, it won’t change for a while. I don’t want to replace you nor do I think I ever could. I don’t want to be at war.”

“There is no war.”

“Then why do your looks hurt as much as a shot to my heart?”

She looks at him, her face blank but her beautiful eyes softening a fraction at his words. When they had first met, they had clicked. She really had believed her husband and thought of Louis as a friend. Someone to show them the city at night, to entertain them until Lestat had dared to leave them alone one night, sitting on a bench in the park. They had talked for hours that night and she was close to burning herself in the rising sun, having forgotten what she was cursed with. When she was lying in her coffin that sunny day, Louis’s voice had still rung in her head like a lullaby. He had been gentle, tender and almost melodic to her senses. A man naturally charming, while Lestat had been utterly unnatural.

Things had spun around when Lestat had revealed the truth to her, all the nights spend with Louis, conversations and understandings crumbling to nothing but regret.

“I… I do not want to be at war either.” She tells him after a moment of thick silence. Her slender fingers barely folding the corners of her book but not enough to crease the page. Lestat had found it a nasty habit when she did it. Her nails were human, not like Lestat’s or Louis’s or any other vampire’s. It evoked questions in each of them, but Lestat had no answer to any of them.

“Then how do we do this? What would make you feel more comfortable with this?” He asks her with a slight tilt of his head, mirroring her unconsciously. He seemed genuinely concerned, genuinely trying to be better, to make amends with the wife of the man he loved.

“I would feel better if my husband would stop loving you,” she tells him almost dryly amused, bitter but not sharp. “But I know he will not change his mind. He rarely does. I suppose I simply have to…adjust. It will take time. You will have to be patient, s’il te plaît.”

He nods dutifully, kind eyes locked onto hers and that faint but charming smirk of his gracing her lips. She understood Lestat. Very much.

“We got all the time in the world, ain’t that right?”

“Oui. Correct.” She lets out a silent breath, evading his gaze shortly, glancing past her own shoulder and out the window as if He was lurking in the shadows. “I suppose ‘tis nice, in its own way. Now I am no longer alone in living with his...extravagance.” She says with a faint smile, one that, to him, resembled the sun.

Louis lets out a soft and rueful laugh, nodding along to her words. “Yeah, he’s…something.” He replies with a bigger smile and a breathy chuckle, before his voice softens, same as his smile. “I felt like your silence has been louder than his tantrums and theatrics. Maybe we don’t have to share his attention but more the burden of loving him.” He tells her earnestly, green eyes shimmering the dim light of their home.

“I would like that.” An understanding shared in warm and dim lights, in the warmth of a now truly shared home… and man.

Their comforting bubble is burst by the sound of the front door flying open and smashing shut in the usual unbothered motion of a wrist flick. Of course she had sensed his presence long before he had entered. She always did. How couldn’t she when it was like a blare of a horn as well as the rumble of thunder in dark and heavy clouds. Her gaze drifts to him, same as Louis’s. The aristocrat enters his home, smouldering gaze at the two he owns. He comes to a halt a step inside through the doorway, polished shoes on the Persian carpet that was nearly as old as his wife. His hands clasp almost innocently in front of him, tilting his head like a curious dog as he smiles deceivingly calm, voice smooth and low as always. Pleasant, yes. But threatening to her.

“What do we have here? A soiree without the man of the house?” He asks them with a slow blink of his piercing eyes. She simply grasps her book closer to her chest, honeyed eyes looking at her husband with an childlike obedience.

“Nous ne faisions que discuter de mon livre.” (”We were just discussing my book.”) She replies in her quiet and almost timid voice, one that could never ever make one think that she was not telling the truth. He keeps the slight up-tug at the corner of his sensual lips but his gaze remains piercing, telling as he regards his wife. His gaze briefly glances down at the book held to her ample chest. DuBois and his ideas of equality. His radical wife with her radical ideas. Little did he know she was trying to understand Louis better, to understand his world and standing in Lestat’s world. The one of men with opaque skin and consuming desires of having and owning.

“Ah… A supporter of the Creole folk, mon amour?” He asks almost mockingly with a slight but feigned pinch of sympathy between his brows. It makes Louis inhale through his nose and lean back in the plush armchair. He was in no mood for Lestat’s hostile energy towards his own wife, in no mood to see that gentle frown on her oh so gentle face. She was too sweet for it.

“Aren’t you?” Louis asks him with a small tilt of his head. The flames from the fireplace graze the left side of his face, creating golden skin. Nevertheless, his gaze remains seriously playful, in no mood for Lestat’s games, in no mood to fall victim to them. It did not have its usual appeal right now. Not with her in the middle, between two fronts.

Lestat’s gaze flicks to his lover, the tug lifting some and his gaze almost seems amused, as careful as it suddenly becomes, if even slightly. He had some less bite with Louis.

“Of course, mon cher. Always.” He replies smoothly, lowering his chin some in a calming manner. His gaze shoots back to his wife and like the snap of one’s fingers, it carries the usual strictness in it. The look a mother gives a child during family events, silently telling it to not touch the laid out sweets… even if they are meant to be enjoyed.

She blinks at him before her doe like eyes turn downwards, as if chastised. She shuts her book after marking the page with its string, never dog earring the page as her husband did. She did not like to destroy beautiful things.

She silently rises from her seat, the robe like a whisper against her skin when she steps out the seating area. Book clasped in her hands, she aims towards the staircase, to walk up the stairs, lock herself into her coffin and dream of other things than this nightmare of an afterlife. But before she can even cross the doorway, a firm hand grasps her delicate upper arm. Her gaze keeps on the carpeted floor, book still clasped to her chest like a lifeline when he clasps her arm.

“Je suis fatigué.” (”I am tired.”) Her voice is quiet, silently asking for permission even though it is not what she means to do. It comes to her naturally, trained like a dog by its master.

His thumb briefly strokes over her silk robe covered arm, feeling her human warmth beneath his palm. His gaze is scorching on the profile of her lowered face, his gaze tracking the divine slop of her nose, the sharp yet soft jawline, the plush of her rosy lips. Just after a few long beats he lets go off her, hand snapped away as if she were on fire, gaze back ahead at Louis when he speaks to her nearly dismissively.

“Va dormir.” ("Go to sleep.") He orders her in his contemptuous tone, waving her away with a lazy and feline motion of his hand. She feels Louis’s gaze on her back, the silent show of support… or was it pity? Whatever it was, she silently obeys his order, seeing it more as an escape than that when her delicate feet pad up the stairs.

Like a purr, his voice seeps to her for the last time that night before she sleeps as well as an undead being could sleep.

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐬 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥.

bsf step bro!rafe & stepbro!topper x oc!reader jia.

TW : horror, gore, violence, smut, overprotective rafe & topper, pet names : rafe & topper calls jia "angel", a bit of age gap ( topper & rafe are 19 & jia’s 17 ), harassment, murder, langage, slut shaming, use of drugs & alcohol, mature content, inspired by Scream.

Summary : Going from a Pogue to a Kook was weird. Having Topper Thornton as a stepbrother was even weirder. But nothing compared to the murders that started spreading across Outer Banks after Jia moved to Figure Eight and the dangerous attention from Rafe Cameron.

moodboard jia.

when jia found out that her mother was seeing a kook, she was shocked. but when, only a few months later, she learned they were getting married — and that she’d have to move to figure eight — jia didn’t know whether to be angry, disgusted, or just numb. because no, to her, this wasn’t some new “opportunity.” it wasn’t a step up. it was a betrayal.

she was leaving everything behind — her friends, her neighborhood, her world. most of all, she was leaving lia, her best friend since forever, the only person who truly got her. and for what? to live surrounded by the same people who used to sneer at her when she passed by their side of the island?

jia hated figure eight. she hated those fucking kooks who lived there — their perfect lawns, their shiny cars, their empty smiles. all they cared about was money, reputation, and how many people they could fuck before the weekend was over. it was disgusting. they weren’t real people. they were masks.

and now, somehow, she was supposed to become one of them.

like hell.

her relationship with topper was… strange, she guessed.

she wouldn’t say she saw him as a brother — not really — but she liked him. more than she expected to. he wasn’t like the others. he wasn’t shallow, or arrogant, or cruel just for the fun of it. he was just… himself. honest, a little messy, the kind of guy who didn’t care what people thought. maybe that’s what made him different.

sometimes, jia wondered if she was just seeing what he wanted her to see — if the kindness was a mask, the easy smiles another kook performance. but whenever he looked at her, it didn’t feel fake. it felt real. and that scared her a little. because with topper, she felt safe.

and that — that was new.

no one had ever made her feel that before. not even her mom, not really. with topper, it was like the world slowed down. like the noise of figure eight faded when he was around.

and she liked it.

from topper’s side ? it was simple — he adored her.

he loved having a little sister. fragile, delicate, and soft-spoken, yet with a spark in her eyes that made her impossible to ignore. jia didn’t talk much, but when she did — especially when she laughed — it was like something inside topper loosened.

she was so different from everyone else in figure eight. there was no performance with her, no fake smiles, no competition for attention. she was quiet, observant, and real. topper had grown up surrounded by people who wore masks — friends who only cared about status, parties, or who they were seen with. but jia… jia was genuine. and maybe that’s why he wanted to protect her so badly.

he wanted to be one of the people who made her smile, one of the reasons she felt safe here. he liked the way she relaxed around him, the way she trusted him enough to share little things about her old life — about her best friend lia, about how she missed the sound of the ocean from the pogue side, about her father who left.

he wanted to tell her she didn’t have to miss any of it anymore. that he’d take care of her now.

sometimes, when she fell asleep on the couch next to him, topper would just watch her for a while — the rise and fall of her chest, the soft rhythm of her breathing. he’d pull a blanket over her body carefully, almost afraid to wake her. he didn’t know when it started feeling like more than just brotherly affection. maybe it was that moment when they were both sitting on the still-warm sand of the beach after midnight, and she confessed that she felt safe when she was with him.

maybe that was the moment something in him shifted. because after that, every time he looked at her, he felt it — a pull, quiet but constant, like gravity itself was trying to keep them close. and he didn’t know how to resist.

and he knew he wasn’t the only one caught in this mess.

the day he introduced jia to his closest friends, he hadn’t expected that reaction — least of all from rafe cameron. rafe, who hated pogues with every fiber of his being. rafe, who used to sneer at girls like jia, calling them boring, stuck up bitches, and not worth a second glance.

and yet, the moment rafe saw her — really saw her — something in him shifted. it wasn’t curiosity. it wasn’t attraction. it was something far more dangerous. because rafe wasn’t just interested in jia. he was obsessed.

not in the sweet, movie kind of way — not flowers, not love notes, not nervous smiles. no. his obsession was sharp and possessive, the kind that made your skin crawl once you realized you were being watched.

topper noticed it immediately — the way rafe’s gaze lingered on her too long, too often. the way his voice dropped whenever he said her name, like it meant something sacred. the way he’d always find a reason to be near her, to talk to her, to touch her.

at first, topper thought it was just rafe being rafe — another girl, another game. but this wasn’t the same. jia wasn’t another girl. and rafe wasn’t playing this time.

and the worst part?

topper didn’t know whether he should stop him… or let him. because part of him understood. jia had that kind of quiet magic — the kind that slipped under your skin and stayed there. the kind that made even someone like rafe cameron lose control.

so topper said nothing.

he just watched.

he watched when rafe made jia laugh — that soft, genuine laugh that always made both of them smile without meaning to. he watched the way rafe’s hand would settle protectively on the small of her back when they walked her to the front of her school, as if he was silently warning the world to stay away. he watched how rafe’s eyes followed her when she was doing something, completly in her little world, tracing every move she made like he was memorizing her.

and jia, completely unaware, just kept being herself. her laughter, her quiet voice, her kindness — it all fed into something rafe couldn’t control anymore. he knew rafe would never admit it, but jia had become the only thing that calmed him down and the only thing that made him lose his shit. she was his favorite drug — and rafe was an addict who didn’t want to get clean.

topper kept telling himself that rafe wouldn’t cross a line. that he was just… protective. but deep down, he knew better. and topper wondered how long it would take before rafe snapped.

because if anyone hurt jia, or even made her cry…

he wasn’t sure who would spill blood first — him who swore he’d protect her or his best friend, who swore he’d probably kill someone if he ever saw even a hint of sadness on her face.

jia hadn’t told anyone. not about the constant whispers that followed her through the hallways, not about the looks that burned holes in her back every time she walked by. ever since she’d become a “kook,” everything had changed — the way people looked at her, the way they spoke her name like it was an insult instead of a person.

she hated this school. she called it a prison sometimes, or “that shitty school,” half-joking but always meaning it. the students there didn’t see her as one of them. to them, jia was just a poor pogue who got lucky — a girl whose mom married rich. a girl who didn’t belong.

the rumors only grew worse with time. they called her names when they passed her in the hallways. they whispered about her mother, called her a gold digger. they shoved her into lockers, laughed when her books fell. sometimes they’d hiss words like whore or pogue trash just loud enough for her to hear.

jia pretended she didn’t care — she’d smile, straighten her uniform, keep walking like it didn’t sting. but it did. it stung so deeply it left marks no one could see. every word, every push, every cruel laugh pressed heavier and heavier against her chest until breathing felt like a chore.

so she finally told lia.

they sat on the beach one night, far from figure eight’s glowing mansions, the waves dark and restless under the moonlight. jia hugged her knees to her chest, still in her uniform, tears slipping softly on her cheeks. lia didn’t interrupt — she just listened, eyes soft, heart breaking.

“they make me feel like i don’t belong anywhere,” jia whispered, her voice trembling. “like i’m not a pogue anymore, but i’ll never be a kook either. i’m just… nothing.”

lia reached out, brushed a tear off her cheek. “you’re not nothing, jia. you’re the only real person in that whole damn place.”

jia smiled weakly at that, but her eyes stayed on the horizon — where the sky met the sea, endless and empty.

lia knew her best friend trusted her. but she couldn’t just sit there and watch those fucking kooks tear jia apart, piece by piece. she couldn’t watch them destroy her, not when jia had already been through enough.

so she made herself a promise — she’d talk to topper.

no matter what it took.

if only lia knew how far things would go. if only she knew that soon, the ones who called jia nothing would start disappearing, one by one.

dressed in a short denim shorts and a black hoodie pulled over her head, lia stood in front of the thornton house — her eyes wide as she took it all in. the place was huge. the kind of house you only saw in magazines or on tv. clean, perfect, expensive. and to think jia lived here now.

she exhaled slowly, trying to steady her nerves. she just needed to talk to topper. that was it. five minutes, maybe ten. she prayed it would be him who opened the door — not jia’s mom, not his father ready to question what a pogue was doing on his precious porch.

with a deep breath, she pressed the doorbell. the sound echoed through the house, far too loud for her liking. she shifted on her feet, glancing around nervously. every second that passed made her more aware of where she was — out of place, unwanted, exposed. the last thing she needed was for someone from figure eight to see her here and start talking.

she didn’t want the same rumors that haunted jia to start following her too.

and then, the door opened. lia froze, lips parted.

a young man stood in front of her — messy hair, naked chest and glistening with sweat, his breathing uneven like he’d just finished working out. his blue eyes met hers, puzzled but sharp. it took her half a second to realize who he was.

topper thornton.

she recognized him instantly. she’d spent the summer working part-time at his family’s property, trimming hedges, mowing the lawn, pretending not to notice the kooks lounging by the pool while she tried to earn enough money to help her parents. she’d seen him a few times back then — always surrounded by people, laughing, confident, untouchable. she doubted he’d remember her face.

but now, here he was, standing right in front of her, sweat still rolling down his neck, looking at her like he was trying to place where he’d seen her before.

“uh… can i help you?” his voice was rough, still heavy with breath.

lia hesitated, pulling her hood a little lower. “yeah, hum.. i’m jia’s best friend.. lia. ”

topper raised an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. his eyes scanned her from head to toe, making her even more nervous. "lia, huh ? yeah, i remember.. she told me about you."

lia smiled faintly, her eyes dropping on his toned forearms before remembering why she was there. yeah, topper was handsome — more than handsome, actually. the kind of guy who looked like he was built from every bad decision a girl could make. his toned chest, the veins running down his forearms, those piercing blue eyes that seemed to see right through her. but she couldn’t let herself think like that. she was a pogue.

and he was a kook.

why would he be interested in a girl like her?

so she cleared her throat and forced her gaze away from his body. “well i needed to talk to you.. it’s about jia. ” she said, her voice smaller than she wanted it to be.

his expression changed instantly. the casual look vanished, replaced by something sharper. concern. maybe even fear. he glanced past her shoulder, checking the street before stepping aside.

“come in,” he said quietly.

lia swallowed hard and stepped inside, her sneakers brushing against the spotless floor. the air smelled like pine and money — too clean, too perfect.

as the door shut behind her, the noise of the outside world disappeared. and for the first time that day, lia wasn’t sure if coming here had been a good idea. topper’s sudden voice pulled her out of her thoughts. “come with me,” he said, his voice still rough and slightly tired now.

lia nodded, still nervous as she followed him toward the living room. topper grabbed a shirt from the back of the couch and pulled it on quickly, the scent of sweat and cologne lingering in the air. he motioned for her to sit, but lia stayed standing, her fingers twisting the edge of her hoodie pocket.

"so what’s the matter-"

"jia’s not okay." lia cut him off, her voice shaking slightly. she lifted her gaze to topper, waiting for him to say something, but he just watched her, emotionless, waiting for her next words. she sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “she’s being bullied… at her school. the kooks hate her. or maybe they’re just jealous of her… what i mean is they’re making her life a living hell and i can’t just stand here doing nothing. she needs help, topper, and i know you can help her—”

"who ?" he asked finally, his tone sharp and bitter.

lia swallowed hard, trying to remember the names jia had given her. only a few had stuck, but they lingered in her mind like small, sharp reminders. the memory of jia sitting on the sand that night, cheeks streaked with tears, hit her again.

“there’s this blonde everyone loves… madison clarke,” jia had said. “she’s like… the american dream or something. but she’s awful, and no one sees it.”

“then there’s that freaking creep, james smith. he tried to touch me without my consent, but a teacher saw him, so he backed off…”

lia cleared her throat. “madison clarke and james smith. i don’t think they’re the only ones, but those are the ones she talked about.”

topper’s jaw tightened. his blue eyes darkened, storming with something lia couldn’t name at first. anger? disbelief? something deeper, sharper, like a blade barely restrained. he ran a hand over his face, shaking his head slowly.

“madison clarke and james smith,” he muttered, almost to himself. "gonna fucking kill them.."

"what ?" lia said, furrowing.

topper lifted his head toward her, letting out a sigh as he started to think. “nah, nothing, it’s just.. she didn’t tell me any of that,” he muttered finally. “not a word.”

“of course she didn’t,” lia said quietly. “that’s what she does. she hides it. she doesn’t want to look weak or to worry someone.”

topper’s eyes met hers again — cold, unreadable, but full of something heavy. “and you came here alone to tell me that?”

lia hesitated. “yeah. i had to.”

he nodded slowly, stepping closer. “you did the right thing.”

but the way he said it — calm, low, too steady — sent a chill down her spine. because he was standing too close now.

their breaths mingled in the small space between them, heavy and uneven. lia’s lips parted slightly, like she wanted to speak, to ask something, but the words never came.

topper’s smile was faint, teasing, almost unreadable. he reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “you’re brave,” he murmured, his voice low, rough, not gentle in the slightest. “coming to figure eight… walking into a world full of men like me.”

lia’s chest tightened, her heartbeat stuttering in her throat. she felt her gaze drop involuntarily to his lips, the way they moved with that quiet confidence, and a tremor ran through her body. “what do you mean…?” she whispered, almost too softly for him to hear.

topper’s smile widened just a fraction, enough to make her stomach knot. then, without another word, he gripped the back of her neck, pulling her in with a strength that was almost violent. his lips crushed against hers.

lia froze for a split second, shock and heat coursing through her. her mind screamed, this is wrong, he’s jia’s step brother.. but her body betrayed her, leaning into the pressure, caught in the force of his kiss.

topper’s hands held her firmly, controlling, possessive, and yet there was something else there — an undercurrent of need, of warning, of a claim being made without words. the kiss wasn’t soft. it wasn’t tender. it was an assertion, a challenge, a danger she could feel radiating from him.

when he finally pulled back just slightly, enough to let their foreheads rest against each other, his blue eyes held hers with an intensity that made her breath hitch. “don’t tell jia, would you ? ” he murmured, voice low, gravelly.

lia swallowed, her pulse racing, trying to find words, trying to find herself in the whirlwind of heat and tension. but she only nodded.

and that’s how she ended up bent over topper’s kitchen counter, cheeks flushed, eyes wide and glassy, spit dripping down her chin as topper’s cock thrust roughly into her, her moans echoing through the young man's large, empty house.

should she feel disgusted with herself? embarrassed? maybe. but in the moment, she just felt... privileged.

"such a filthy slut.. fucking with her best friend’s step brother, huh ?" topper said breathless, thrusting harder when he saw her tears spilling on her cheeks."what would think jia if she saw you like that, mhm ?"

lia let out a broken sob as her fingers dug into the edge of the counter, knuckles white, trying to maintain balance even though topper held her tightly. he was relentless, his body a force of nature against her back. his hands roamed her curves, gripping her hips, pulling her closer, his big cock twitching into her cunt.

"damn it.. didn’t know the pogues girls were that slut.."

the cold marble of the countertop pressed against lia’s stomach, a stark contrast to the burning heat blossoming between her legs. each thrust sent a shockwave through her body, a mix of pleasure and a strange sense of power. because it wasn't just anyone who was fucking her... it was a fucking kook. topper thornton. she felt so privileged that she had almost forgotten that anyone could come in and see them like that.

and by anyone, she meant jia.

speaking of jia, she had just gotten out of class and was sitting on a bench near the school, waiting for topper to answer. something felt off. normally, she wouldn’t have even needed to call him — topper would already be parked in the lot, leaning casually against his car, waiting for her like he always did. but today, for some reason, he wasn’t there.

she tried not to worry. she could always take the bus. that wasn’t the problem. the problem was the three guys a few meters away, laughing and glancing at her with those smug, cruel smiles that made her stomach turn. what if they followed her? every instinct screamed that she shouldn’t be here alone. she needed topper to respond, or she might be heading straight into another nightmare.

then an idea hit her. her thumb hovered over the call button as she exhaled slowly. should she call him? after all, he had always said:

“if you have a problem, you call me directly, jia. i’ll always be there.”

maybe it had just been words. maybe he’d said it to make her feel safe. maybe he wouldn’t come. but she had no other choice. the three kooks were staring harder now, their eyes tracing her every move like predators circling prey.

taking a deep breath, she pressed call, hoping he’d pick up before things escalated. the phone rang once, twice… her heart thudding louder with every second.

“jia?”

his low, rough voice made her chest unclench slightly. relief rushed through her — he had answered.

“rafe, sorry to bother you, but—”

“you never bother me, angel.”

she swallowed hard and let out a small, nervous laugh, only stopping when her eyes flicked to the three guys still hovering a few meters away.

“you okay? where are you? i hear cars around you,” his voice asked, sharp and concerned.

“actually… i’m still in front of the school. topper hasn’t come to pick me up. it’s weird.”

“what? that idiot forgot you?” she could hear the rustle of clothing, the jingle of keys, as if he was already getting ready to leave.

“yeah… i guess, but it’s not really his fault. he’s probably just tired—”

“are there people around you? you alone? i’m on my way, j.”

“yeah… well, a few students, that’s all… don’t rush, i can wait.”

“i’m already in the car, angel. i’m coming, okay? don’t talk to anyone weird.”

jia chuckled softly and nodded, even though he couldn’t see her. “yes, sir.” she hang up and stood up from the bench.

she felt a small spark of safety, knowing he was coming for her. but the three boys were still there, their eyes sharp and predatory, and her nerves started to spike again.

she grabbed her bag tighter and took a step closer to the street, trying to make herself more visible to anyone passing by — anyone who might scare the kooks off before rafe arrived.

moments later, the roar of a car engine drew her attention. her stomach flipped as a sleek black car pulled into the parking lot, tires crunching on gravel. the driver’s side door opened, and rafe stepped out, his stormy blue eyes scanning the crowd until they locked onto hers.

“jia,” he called again, his voice low and dangerous now, like a warning. the three boys froze. something about him made it clear — they were trespassing, and he wasn’t someone to mess with.

jia’s chest tightened, but a strange sense of calm settled over her. he was here. he’d never let anything happen to her.

“rafe—”

before she could finish, rafe was already in front of her, fists clenched, eyes darting over his shoulder toward the three boys who, as if on cue, were now walking away.

“did they do anything to you?” he asked, voice low, sharp, protective, still watching them.

jia followed the boys’ retreating figures before shaking her head. “no… just… weird. thanks for coming, rafe.” she gave him a small, soft smile, letting him take her backpack and lead her toward the car.

“i tried calling top too, but he didn’t answer. that’s not like him,” rafe said, opening the passenger door for her. jia murmured a quiet “thanks” as she slid inside. he placed her bag carefully on the back seat before returning to the driver’s side and settling behind the wheel.

“he’s probably asleep,” jia said simply, trying to downplay the situation, hoping to reassure herself more than anything.

rafe didn’t respond immediately. his eyes stayed on the road for a moment, jaw tight, fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel. finally, he spoke, voice low but firm: “jia, listen to me. if anyone ever makes you feel unsafe again, you call me first. you understand?”

jia turned her head toward him, frowning slightly, her eyes tracing the sharp lines of his jaw as she sighed. “i don’t need protection, rafe. i’m not a little girl.”

he let out a short, humorless laugh — the kind that carried more frustration than amusement. “you think i didn’t see the way those assholes were looking at you? what if i’d gotten there a minute later?” he shot back, his voice rough, the anger under it barely contained.

jia stayed silent, the weight of his words settling over her. the car filled with the low hum of the engine, the faint sound of waves crashing in the distance.

after a moment, she said quietly, “you can’t protect me from everything.”

rafe’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “i can try,” he muttered.

the conviction in his tone made her look at him again. there was something in his eyes she couldn’t quite read — not just protectiveness, but something deeper, darker. something that scared her a little because it didn’t sound like a promise. it sounded like a warning.

they drove in silence for a while, the tension between them thick but unspoken. jia’s gaze drifted to the window, watching the blur of trees and ocean beyond the glass.

“you’re quiet,” rafe finally said, his voice softer now.

“i’m just thinking,” she replied.

“about what?”

“about how different everything feels,” she said. “since i moved to figure eight. people look at me like i don’t belong. and sometimes…” — she hesitated — “i feel like they’re right.”

rafe glanced at her, his expression softening for just a moment. “you don’t need them to tell you who you are, jia.”

she smiled faintly, eyes still on the window. “that sounds like something topper would say.”

he didn’t respond to that. his jaw flexed again, and he stared straight ahead.

a few minutes later, they turned into the thornton driveway. the house was quiet, lights off except for a faint glow upstairs.

“looks like he’s home,” rafe said, his tone unreadable.

“see? told you he was probably just asleep,” jia said, unbuckling her seatbelt.

“yeah,” rafe murmured. but he didn’t sound convinced.

he got out first, waiting for her to follow. she grabbed her bag and walked toward the door, rafe behind her, feeling his gaze on her the whole time — heavy, protective, unsettling. when she turned to say goodnight, he was still standing there, hands in his pockets, eyes lingering on her like he was memorizing her.

“thanks again for coming,” she said softly.

“don’t thank me,” he replied. “just don’t make me have to come again.”

jia frowned slightly at his tone, unsure whether he meant it as a joke or a warning. but before she could ask, he gave her a small nod, turned back to his car, and drove off into the night.

she watched his taillights disappear down the road, a strange unease curling in her stomach. something about rafe cameron terrified her — but it was that same something that made her feel safe.

later that night, when the whole house had gone quiet and the only sound outside was the wind brushing against the trees, topper slipped out of the house without a sound. the headlights of his car cut through the darkness as he drove toward tannyhill — toward rafe.

his thoughts wouldn’t stop spinning. the image of lia kept flashing in his mind like a film he couldn’t turn off. her voice, his hands on her, the way she’d looked at him right before everything went too far. he gripped the steering wheel tighter, jaw clenched, shame burning in his chest.

he knew lia wouldn’t tell jia — not because she wanted to protect him, but because she was scared. or maybe just embarrassed. either way, topper wasn’t going to say anything either. he couldn’t. he couldn’t stand the idea of seeing that disgusted look on his stepsister’s face.

by the time he pulled into the camerons’ driveway, his heart was racing. the house loomed in the dark, its windows glowing faintly. he killed the engine, got out, and quietly made his way to the back door. the spare key rafe had given him still hung on his keychain.

the door creaked softly as he pushed it open and stepped inside. faint music drifted from the lower floor — that familiar low bass rafe always played when he didn’t want to think. topper followed it down the hallway until he reached the private room.

rafe was there, half sprawled across the leather sofa, one arm hanging loosely over the edge, a joint burning lazily between his fingers. smoke curled above him, the air thick with the smell of weed and cologne.

topper hesitated in the doorway before finally speaking. “man,” he spoke up, his voice cracking slightly, “i messed up.”

rafe looked up, his stormy blue eyes half-lidded but sharp. he took a slow drag, then exhaled a thin line of smoke before saying flatly, “yeah? what else is new?”

topper stepped inside, running a hand through his hair. “jesus christ, i fucked jia’s best friend.”

topper’s words hung in the air, heavy and raw. for a moment, rafe didn’t move — didn’t even blink. the joint burned slowly between his fingers, smoke curling upward in lazy spirals. then, finally, he turned his head toward topper, eyes narrowing, voice low and with disgust in his tone.

"you fucked a fucking pogue ?"

that was it. that was all he seemed to register. not the guilt in topper’s tone, not the regret flickering in his eyes — just that single fact.

topper let out a frustrated breath, pacing across the room. “that’s what you got from that? jesus, rafe— it wasn’t like that, alright? it just… happened. i didn’t mean for it to.”

rafe’s stare sharpened. “you don’t ‘accidentally’ fuck someone, topper.”

“i know,” topper snapped, voice cracking. he ran both hands through his hair, his pulse hammering in his throat. “i know. but it’s not what you think. i didn’t plan it. it just—” rafe cut him off, bitterly. "so you forgot to pick up your sister.. because you were fucking a bitch ?"

topper lifted his head to meet rafe’s stormy gaze, brows furrowed, jaw tight. “lia’s not a bitch,” he said, voice low but firm, trying to steady himself against the heat rising in his chest.

rafe let out a harsh, humorless laugh, dragging the tip of his joint across the edge of the ashtray, tapping it until the embers went out. “so now you’re defending pogues?” he said bitterly, voice dripping with sarcasm. “is that new, topper? since when do you give a damn about them?”

topper’s hands clenched at his sides, his gaze sharp, unwavering. he took a step closer, voice dropping, heavy with conviction. “have you completely forgotten, rafe? jia is a pogue too. before her mom married my dad, she was one of them. and if it had been her — my stepsister — if it had been her i’d fucked-?”

rafe slammed the bottle of whiskey he was holding down onto the glass coffee table with a force that made the glass tremble. topper instinctively backed away, heart racing at the raw intensity in his friend’s eyes. the room went quiet for a moment, the air thick with smoke and tension, the faint hum of music beneath it all.

"don’t say shit like that, topper."

topper didn’t speak for a long moment. he just stood there, staring at rafe, the storm in his eyes barely contained. his fists clenched at his sides, knuckles white, and the air between them felt suffocating, thick with tension. the room seemed smaller, heavier, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath, waiting for the next move.

rafe exhaled slowly, a low, tension-filled sigh that seemed to shake the air between them. he pushed himself up from the sofa, moving with deliberate calm toward the pool table at the center of the room. topper’s eyes followed him, sharp and unblinking, as rafe arranged the balls with a meticulous precision that made the clatter of the ivory spheres sound almost ceremonial.

rafe picked up the cue stick, rolling it between his hands, the faint smell of smoke and cologne clinging to him. he glanced at topper over his shoulder, his stormy blue eyes dark and unreadable. “you want to play a bit?” he asked casually, though the tension in his voice betrayed the undercurrent of something dangerous—anger, possessiveness, maybe even fear.

topper’s jaw tightened, and before he could answer, the words burst out of him like a gunshot. “jia… she’s being harassed at her school.”

the room went quiet. rafe froze mid-motion, cue stick suspended in the air, and topper felt the weight of his own confession hanging in the space between them. it wasn’t just a statement. it was a warning, a declaration, a plea all wrapped into one.

rafe’s eyes narrowed, the faintest shadow of a snarl tugging at his lips. he set the cue down carefully, the clack of wood against the edge of the table echoing in the stillness. “what kind of harassment?” he asked, voice low, controlled, but there was an edge there—a dangerous edge that made topper swallow hard.

“bullies. madison clarke — that bitch — and james smith. he tried to touch her,” topper said, running a hand through his hair, voice rough with frustration. “that’s why lia came to my place today. saying shit. said jia’s being… harassed. and i totally lost it, man.”

rafe didn’t move at first. he’d had a feeling earlier — the way those assholes had watched jia had been wrong, too hungry to be dismissed as teenage hormones. they weren’t innocent; they were part of what was tearing her down. and the worst part? he hadn’t done anything. he hadn’t gone after them. he should’ve. he should’ve gone and ripped them apart.

jaw clenched, rafe turned away from topper and crossed to the cabinet by the bar. topper watched him, brow furrowed before the pieces clicking into place. when rafe opened the cabinet and topper saw what he pulled out, a small, dark smile ghosted across his face. in rafe’s palm lay the ghostface mask, cold and familiar, and he brushed its edge with one finger like someone handling a promise.

“time to make some noise again, top,” rafe said, the smirk cutting across his face.

part 2 soon!

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes it's time for another update babes.

Part 1

IT!OC getting called in due to the tech outage since she’s off and not avoiding Robby or Noelle.

Avoiding them cause Noelle told her Robby would never get with someone like her who is “young and immature” when OC dropped by robby’s place one night.

IT!OC being put in the Pitt to try to fix the system since she can’t get to the office and also good at writing fast to help the team.

IT!OC when Robby confronts her on her ignoring him and also why she’s been ghosting him.

Her: well Michael i don’t have to explain myself to you.

Robby: excuse me?

OC! And Robby talking it out and her revealing her feelings to him and saying “it’s okay if you don’t feel the same. I can’t believe I actually believed Heather when she said you feel the same way. I’ll move on and you can be with Noelle who is more suited for you.” Before leaving to go home after a long shift.

Robby: stunned

Robby leaves on sabbatical but before goes to her place