#Rock House Valley

[ultimatepad]

A Secluded Villa In The Valley Of Fire by @sunt_mrr

[lionfloss]

source

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

Bad Religion - American Jesus

[not-poignant]

hello :))) for the meme - the wind that cuts the night (<3) - 17

17. What was the hardest scene to write?

*thinks* That's such a long time ago now (7 years) that I don't actually fully remember that well.

That being said the scene that required the most research, hand down, was Elliott's garden. All those plants I used are coastal tolerant plants that can handle ocean winds directly coming off the sea.

I knew that like... 'coastal tolerant' doesn't necessarily mean 'literally living on or near sand dunes', and that ruled out most plants. I probably spent, all up, about 8 solid hours over 4 consecutive days researching plants, images of houses that used those plants (so I could see how close to the sea they were), what the plants looked like flowering, and of course I had to look through over about 300 different species of plant to narrow down my list.

To this day, for something that amounted to like, a fairly short description of the plants re: Alex describing them to Elliott, that's like...the most research I ever did for that fic. Once I had the research done, writing the scene was from memory pretty easy. But the research was intense!

~

From this meme!

[turbomnstr]

SHOUTOUT THE ROCK FOR USING MNSTR CLIQUE LINGO !!!!! I LOVE YOU !!!!

WHEN DO YALL WANT MY NEW ALBUM “Turbo 2”?

[shopcat]

there are so many good minor characters in stranger things that no one talks about in favour of talking about the minor characters that suck like stupid gareth. like BENNY!!!!!! who came and served and DIED.. yet still existed his entire life beforehand. maybe he even gave steve those bacon egg and cheese bagels... or those two lifeguards who worked with heather who were so cunty for no reason it was hilarious. even dear sweet keith who is such a strange individual and works every job ever. and those two farmers that have beef which is so real we fucking hate our neighbour and call him by his name as if he's an actual figure in our lives and i don't think he's thought about us even twice.

[postcard-from-the-past]

House carved into the rocks in Bourré, Loire Valley region of France

French vintage postcard

[ichlugeichlugeichluge]

{a bitter dream, a calm nightmare}

[amanita-the-spore-druid]

Not met enough people who listen to The Distillers of Zombina and the Skeletones. And like I got super into them after my mom died and it's like, thanks mom I got Jo one to yap abt them with and also how tf did u find these bands no one 3lse down here listens tot them

Yap over

[thejoyofviolentmovement]

New Audio: JOVM Mainstays Death Valley Girls Share Ecstatic "I Am a Wave"

New Audio: JOVM Mainstays Death Valley Girls Share Ecstatic "I Am a Wave" @Deathvalleygrls @suicidesqueeze @terrorbirdmedia @andi_______

For the better part of the past decade, Los Angeles-based JOVM mainstays Death Valley Girls — currently Bonnie Bloomgarden (vocals, guitar, Wurlitzer, organ), Rikki Styxx (drums), Larry Schemel (guitar) and Sammy Westervelt (vocals, guitar) — have used their music as a means of tapping into a communal cosmic energy. 2016’s Glow in The Dark, 2018’s Darkness Rains and 2020’s Under the Spell of…

[festus-eats-tabasco]

Let’s talk more about accents in the Riordanverse!

• Percy with rounded New York vowels and that quick run-together way of saying his sentences. Percy with an accent you can’t quite place until he orders some coffee or water.

• Annabeth with a Virginia drawl and long vowels that don’t quite go away, even after years on Long Island Sound. Annabeth, who will randomly spit out phrases like “nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs”, whose cup always fills with sweet tea in the mess hall/

• Carter with a fairly standard American accent until he pronounces a word so bizarrely it’s clear he must have learned it halfway across the globe. Carter, who gets slightly antsy in the same place for too long and goes to language classes at night just for an excuse to practice.

• Sadie with a London accent that’s begun to fade after years in Brooklyn House, who accidentally says “cheers” when people hold the door for her. Sadie, who skips over her t’s and who drops consonants and, like Carter, isn’t exactly sure where her home is.

• Magnus and Alex with strong Boston accents and nasally a’s that Hearth is glad he can’t hear. Magnus, whose accent gets stronger in battle, who intentionally leans into it when he’s on the West Coast. Alex, who makes people guess where she’s from and tells them something different every time, who argues with Magnus over whose accent is stronger.

• Jason Grace with languid California vowels, who drops the end of every word when he’s relaxed and over-enunciates when he’s in charge. Jason, whose accent is only present when he’s comfortable.

• Leo Valdez with a Texan accent to boot and quick clipping consonants, whose accent sounds nearly the same as Annabeth’s to the untrained ear, but insists that they’re completely different every time someone brings it up.

• Hazel Levesque with a thick New Orleans accent, whose vocabulary is peppered with French and old-fashioned phrases and the occasional Southern saying. Hazel, who sticks to Deep South manners (and passive-aggression, when necessary), who orders in French when she goes to a bakery and watched old black-and-white movies when she feels homesick.

• Frank, who sounds American except for when he says “sorry”, who speaks a bit of Canadian French (which Hazel hates, because she can’t understand it), and gets teased every time he says “about”.

• Piper with a slight valley-girl sound that she’s worked hard to get rid of, but tends to slip into when she’s tired or angry. Piper, whose voice becomes sweet and soothing in charmspeak, who understands every fluctuation and intonation and how to use them to her advantage.

• Nico di Angelo with a seemingly standard American accent, until you pick up on the odd transatlantic pronunciation or Italian rolled “r”. Nico with an arsenal of phrases so jumbled and eclectic that people do a double take when he talks.

Just. Yeah. Riordanverse accents.

[getodrools]

𐙚 DRUNK IN LOVE. VARIOUS J. KAISEN! — in which, getting tipsy with your boyfriend is fun! especially when your eyes begin to glaze over with a little need…

PAIRINGS. bf! gojo, geto, nanami, toji, choso x f! reader

| 𝓲. | MDNI ৎ୭ separate smut. hcs and pov. dub con (only cuz both parties are drunk/tipsy) but this is all consensual sex. GOJO: dry humping, spanking, premature cumshot/creampie, he's whiney. GETO: public/bathroom sex, cunnilingus, squirting, he eats it from the back, almost anal? (oops!), he gets nasty. NANAMI: shower sex, cock warming, marking. TOJI: public/car sex, belly bulge, cervix fucking, pussy spanking, fingering. CHOSO: scent kink, dry humping, breeding, it's the curse in him istg, he's also vv whiney.

WORD COUNT –> est 2.4k+

໒꒰ྀི｡•̀ᴗ-꒱ྀི 🗞 OK OK i was obv listening to bae and was rlly inspired to write this ♡ it's kinda sappy and rlly horne ;o

⟡ | SATORU GOJO!

you both know he is a lightweight! gojo can't handle a single shot without tipping a little off to the side… gojo is always extra playful when he gets cold on rocks. he'd giggle and swoon easily – or try to annoy you and make you flustered more than he was before he'd start to mumble off… haggard and glued to you with nimble ideas spontaneously popping in his head, and you'd catch the bright flicker in his blue hues…

it's unavoidable once that switch blows off -- he's unavoidable when crapulous thoughts begin to brew.

gojo has a more dewy glow, almost sweating when he'd start to feel his cock growing in tight confines with little room – embarrassing for someone like him… he'd start to twitch and not just his hands. it'd make his cheeks kiss with a soft pink and pretty eyes to hood low when blood rushed faster the longer he gazed at you. he'd lean back, a little more relaxed with limbs more loose; legs spreading wider, and arms flinging over a shoulder and chair as if all hopes weren't on his own.

but oh, that damn tilt he'd sweep his head down with was evil! he'd peek right over at you through heavy lashes as his hair would cascade like it was payed, even a lose smirk annoyingly pokes at you… gojo couldn't help but squeeze at himself playfully when he'd try to bite at his lip, but the smile growing was unmeasurably too mischievous to hold back when you'd play along...

oh. this was horny sex.

your chest was mashed straight into the first wall of your house – the walk back from your usual date night was just as nasty; he couldn't stop poking and slapping at your ass all the way through… – now sandwiched as his own was pinned into your back, melting right into you, even spiked breath panting at the shell of your ear you could taste… it was sticky.

gojo kept himself stapled against you with no simple movement – it was a burning rub between you both. with his prodding dick meat bulging from his pant leg to the globes of your ass was like a hungry fly in honey. embraced so tightly he'd wind his hips in sync with yours to keep at it, mirroring you as hands fumble to dig at the soft curvature of your hips; squeezing before roving down the valley of your legs.

between fleshy thighs until rough fingers prodded at your wet and exposed lips. gojo chuckled roughly, and without being gentle he started to rub the sensitive skin. 

“wanna… 'm gonna fuck you so — hard.” the little shimmy you poke your ass out with in response was like cables to a car, to his engines firing off – giving you a mean swat. gasping between succinct sensations; his free hand was pinching through the front of your dress, hooking a finger beneath to toy at the puffy hood of your clit… pleasure riding close with delicious ache; still all while the other would drag welts across supple skin.

his kisses were dragging; tongue lapping sloppily against the side of your face with soft lips and almost teeth following. anything after was a subtle shift of piling hot need…

booting your legs further open to pry intentions. your cocktail dress was frilled over your ass. the cold air helped your buzz but the wwhiplash of fat meat irresistibly prodding at your sopping hole tinkered something else in your brain…

he was quick.

he felt thicker as he hotdogged himself between perk your ass. he was eager.

if you could give a peek over your shoulder to see the oozing bulbous tip, you would, and drool… but satoru kept his head at your temple, cheek to cheek, mushing right against you like he was stuck. the wall in front of you seemed to do the same, yet cooled off burning skin as you clung to it.

whispering sweet nothings, “hheeh, i’m cummingg.” gojo chuckled, almost bantering into a whine as battered spunk ribbons out across ridden flesh; hips jutting and without second thought he was dipping his tip between the slippery folds of your cunt. cum still oozing and pushing into you.

your hips rock and your sopping pussy clenches. uttering out long symbols of incoherent spews.

you could feel all of him; tipsy or not, he always filled you up, but inch through inch now felt deeper, practically feeling his hot knot warming you up.

gojo fucked right up into you ‘'til you both gave out – pulling at your arms through orgasm after another… you'd dog at each other until sunrise. clothes lost, and living room torn, and the dining wall stained with your lipstick and sweat prints of your figure…

⟡ | SUGURU GETO!

suguru can handle a few tall glasses before his bangs start to stick to his face. his hair would fall loosely and he'd run lithe fingers through it; flip it to the side, part it, twist it, even tuck some behind his ear – he looks like a nervous schoolgirl when he's buzzed! it's a small safe haven for him – noticing how he can't help but trace along your skin too and squeeze at for reassurance, seeming that's what he craves in a state like this…

he's unusually quiet but just as annoying; tilting his head, hair would fall right over his face but that doesn't stop him from smothering you with kisses. he thinks he looks like a prince kissing his princess – embarrassingly trying to be romantic with lopsided jokes and corny pickup lines. only covering them up with battering doe eyes.

suguru’s eyes tend to lay low and when he'd settle from the first stage of being tipsy – the giggling, the fun… he'd sit with a deep stare. he looks like he's pondering heavily as legs are sprawled wide across from you, and roven jet hair curtaining over most delicate, glowing features. it's soft at first glance; his brows winding up and lips pouting makes him look gentle, but sunken eyes fire off a different disguise… he'd stare at you intently but his lips would curl invitingly — well more of the bulge prodding between bouncing thighs...

it'd make you nervous – a powerful man like him would make anyone nervous. but you knew that feral gaze. it was a killer, and he knew it sparked you up too, a signal for the go, and one move was all you needed to be pounced on. he gets filthy when you gave him the cue.

“getoo... someone is goiing to see.” your hand squeezes at that one playing a dangerous game between your legs, and yet you spread them just a little wider…

too many people crowd the pleasant restaurant geto took you to for a few drinks – nothing more, he said… now his fingers lock into a hook right up your pussy beneath the table. the drinks and plates crowd at the table too, almost hidden in a leather, private booth but your faces were quite the contrary… you bat a worried look but it quickly sulks into a pinch; your eyes shut and lips squeeze in, sucking up that moan threatening to spill out.

suguru slurs. he yearns to feel your cunt sucking him up you right now, almost whining over it… you were right though, no doubt, he was—is making a scene the longer his tongue lapped at your neck like a dog… but it's all he was thinking about; spreading your pussy wide between his fingers – it's such a sight he adores, his eyes even flutter close and chin rests at your shoulder just to image it while your folds silk around him as he plunges working hands beneath your dress.

“heh, ‘s… ‘s ok… -- then let's go somewhere no one— heh, can…” the rogue hics…

. . .

“oh my god— suguru!” your eyes peel back wide as those teasing hands now smash down on your two doughy globes; spreading the supple skin wide just for himself.

he hums and his tongue doesn't hesitate to slide right between them.

your spine shivers at the slime delving between your puffy folds; the swirling of his wet muscle pokes in and flicks up – fucking you raw with his tongue. hot breath sticks to your skin and he almost gasps forgetting to breathe himself, too lost in lapping up the sticky web clinging to your sopping cunt.

you hold dear to the stall with one hand as the other locks a good chunk of hair at the back of his head. you groan as you mush his face closer ‘til the point of his nose tickles at your perk hole. suguru didn't need help but it was hot how needy you were, and it fired him right off the ecstasy cliff.

your eyes pop open wide, feeling him filthy glide up and around and past your perk hole… this was virtuously him, drunk and eating your ass in a bathroom stall… and it was making his dick stiffer by the second.

he bit at the tender flesh, gave it a jiggle, and went back in for more.

suguru knows all he needed was his working mouth to make you fall pliant. you know that too, already feeling your stomach coiling the longer he kept at it; his pace was frantic, yet knew where exactly to set a frenzy.

clapping a hand over your ridden mouth, your knees hook inward and your heart jumps. cunt quivering around nothing in desperate need, he pops a finger in just to feel you spasm… glistening a stream down the strong of his forearm you both pant.

heavy breaths escaped your mouth in short, quick gasps — in rough timing with the movements of your boyfriend continuing to fondle every inch behind you… suguru spat out a wad of spit; adding to the mess, sloppy as is, he tracks it and slurps it back up. the squelching and bubbles foaming echoed as he tongued harder past all your sopping openings, up your spine, and to the soft curvature of your neck.

“wow-- suguru… you're so— oh!” the tall brunette giggles and taps his cock head at your perk, now messy hole.

your hand instinctively grabs at his base, “oh–! not in a… bathroom… y-you wish.” he's too big, and you're too drunk to deal with such a mighty stretch at the moment…

“w-when we-- we get home… sit on my dick? then– please?” geto whines.

⟡ | KENTO NANAMI!

nanami will sip… and sip… and continue to sip on his “only one glass.” ‘til he notices that said glass has now turned into five – somehow. he can't keep up with himself! having such a strong subconscious of being responsible and yet, you'd still have to try to swat at his hands when he'd reach to pour another thinking he can pay attention himself! (he just feels extra relaxed with you is all).

nanami tends to get tipsier than flat-out drunk and when he does, he's surprisingly more laid back. a damper smile fading into features and more hand movement when he rambles on about life. never about work, or anything burdening his spirit – only just between you both. he'd fall pliant into you with future thoughts… he gets sappy.

his tie loosens up and a few buttons are popped from his suit, even his signature glasses get folded and stuffed somewhere. the more content he gets, the more he feels the atmosphere; he'd start to let it sink in, watching and admiring details more finely – like your beauty flaunting up front or to your little giggles – it all relaxes him.

he'd admire sometimes too hard. the liquor catching up. and he'd probably put his glasses back on to hide the droop and hard stare, but they'd steam up as his body does… nanami always gets extra hot when it would burn down his throat, even goring eyes to doe, blonde hair now getting shaggy out from its soft gel, and even his cock gets stiffer than a wedding dick…

“don't fall!” you shout with a giggle as your naked bodies slip around in soap, fondling ever so closely.

“only for you.” nanami almost rolls his eyes at his own line but you suck it right up with a bright smile, just how your cunt sucks his cock right up, warming his base with a sort of adore.

it's been a night, and nanami brought the idea up – a romantic. delicious home-cooked food and a few glasses of wine, tipsy and giggly, now playing around in the shower after a long night, soapy and just as giggly… and with sexes warming each other was just the cherry at the top.

your back presses firm into the marble walls and he doesn't let you worry about the rest of yourself; cradling your lower half close with a strong grip at your thighs that hook around the small of his waist. nanami planted himself between the sweet heat of your legs, bucking a slow rhythm in and out of your cunt, sometimes burying a little too deep your head almost crashes with his…

oh, you both were feeling this… the music from earlier still playing in the living room chants shallowly into the bathroom, both of you were tipsy and just together laughing, fucking raw and loving, cleaning each other through kisses too… content and full, you purr.

“you're so… beautiful. you are like-- no words can explain… you're so—” he was turning red like a little girl. he gets so bubbly when liquor rides his system, but it's softening to see this overwrought man finally loosened up...

“you too.” you're gentle with him… a soft rock in your hips rides up to his pelvis and down to his base. the pudgy walls sucking him in makes the blonde groan, even his head falls snug between the welcoming of your shoulder and neck. pecking ever so gently…

your soapy hands feather up and down nanami’s broad back as stiff dick-meat fills you up. spongey folds slurping wetly around the fat crown adorning your womanhood with a sudden pace – unhurried but enough to feel every nth inch pressing deeply into you.

exactly how this moment intended it to get.

his cock pumps with a soft throb, almost in sync with your walls clenching around him then and here… kento goes on to rock his hips, dragging out achingly longer than intended; too lost in the lodge of his cock stuffing your cunt full when he'd nudge himself right back in – firmly embedding nth throbbing inches of thick pale flesh into your sopping cunt…

“yeah…” he smothers close to you.

biting down a baring mark at your shoulder, you giggle at the sharp teeth skimming at your skin, “don't eat me now.” he hucks a chuckle with you, and he just might the way you cling to him.

“don't tempt me, sweetheart…” nanami still buzzed with a fizz in his brain, seeing how he drooped a nimble smile at you.

panting, his breath fans at the plump of your cheek, whispering sweet nothings as the flow of water trickles between your clashing bodies. a slosh began the longer he kept at it. he nibbles at your bottom lip, playing idly with nimble tongues, and he bucks up into you ‘till the warm water fogged the mirrors…

⟡ | TOJI FUSHIGURO!

you joke how he just might get a beer belly the way he can chug down a liter… and toji would joke right back and still chug another down, again. the older fushiguro doesn't drink much but when he does and has the chance to, he's like an irish man lonely in a pub. he's looking for fun mostly.

toji grumbles, a lot. he’d keep his head locked between stiff shoulders and peer down at his glass, mumbling on about something and anything. he's a brute, cold-stoned usually, sometimes playful… --playful?! he has a set of damn dirty paws on him when he's drinking, and he's fully aware how nasty he can and does get.

toji keeps his tongue playing at his scar when he looks at you; sweat beading at his hairline, and hair itself jostled around almost spiked and fluffed. he looks more haggard than normal; more scruffy and gruff, his build tensing up yet it shamelessly suits him when he hackles. it's manly. and it turns you on. it turns him on that your turned on.

toji has a foul mouth on him too. he gets more verbal, a little more daring with you. almost like his dick is doing all the thinking for instead. even getting bold by mocking to put a baby in you…

toji knew that look. it was more heavier than usual, no less burning. you flaunted it across the bar after a few shots deep into your fun date night, and he couldn't help but drag you outside to fix it.

“toji!” you slur with a pitch. hands slapping around at the windows and legs kicking at the roof… he would've fucked you just as hard over the bar table if he could right then and there, but you both settled into his truck not too far — in the parking lot off the side…

toji pushes his cock deep into you with a force – a kind of drunken power that makes him forget he's a strong man—too strong to just pound into you like a flesh toy… almost breaking a pelvis, he steadies your legs above your head and onto his shoulders, forcing a thick print to knot up. the bulge of his cock-head bashes right against your perk cervix when he found a good footing on the back seat.

struggling to fit his nth-inch bitch breaker into the vice of your cunt, you practically howl. this was a horny, raw fuck… the small space reeked with pure sex the longer you huffed into each other's mouths and it almost added to the high…

the sheer milk creaming and rolling down the thick shaft he pumps with was quickly swallowed up once more as he buried himself back in, stuffing you to the hilt. the car shook on its tires and the windows blurred.

pressing all the way into your guts, you felt lightheaded under the pressure of it all. cunt being abused from below, the jabbing of each inch of his hulking slab of dick-meat at a time deepened — movements in urgency as he worked your pussy wide. you tried your best to work with him, rolling your hips and raising them in time with his jagged gyrations but he held you down. sawing into your slit with haste.

booze impaired your judgment, no doubt, so you didn't notice the figure hovering at the window…

“hey! get outta here with that, you fucking animals!” the owner of the bar tapped his knuckles at the glass. it made you scream, flinch, and huddle into toji’s arm. toji himself didn't move, cock still firm and buried in you... but, he groaned – the audacity to interrupt his session with you, and he looks up; his face pearling with sweat, lips parted and panting, eyes low, not even snapping wide at the owner.

he pops himself out and the owner himself flinched, looking away quickly from the sheer mass dangling between your legs.

‘holy fuck, what. she takes all that?…’

. . .

you giggle into your hands and toji himself gave what happened a good chuckle as he drove off…

“nah, nono... don't think we're done.” toji keeps one hand firm at the steering wheel as the other finds itself back between your legs; slapping them open to give your pussy a good spank before popping a haste finger in. you groan and twist at the electric grope tingling up your spine.

the force of pumping his fingers into you lead to an instinctive bodily reaction, “pretty pussy still wet f’me.” he groans with you, missing the warmth you coated him with. his mouth waters and cock still twitches, but now it aches in tight confines… blue balled in his own damn car… feeling his balls spring up so tightly, ready to just pop, now his groin was left tense and waiting hungrily.

still tipsy and giggly – though he always has had a set of paws when it came to you… so, every stop sign and red light, his fingers played harder between your legs ‘till you both got home… finally left uninterrupted.

⟡ | CHOSO KAMO!

when choso drinks (which is rarely) he is always bound to get tipsy, never flat-out drunk. he enjoys a casual glass of wine here and there, especially when it's only you two. he feels a lot safer near someone (you) who he trusts to see him in such a ridden state.

but he only drinks with you because he knows (you both evidently know) how he can and does get. a sort of “you are women. i am man. we sex.” primal sense kicks into him like a dog. his body is constantly reminding him he has a dick and you have a sopping pussy he could dip right into. he's just meant to pop its knot into you and when he's boozed off the rocks it's all he could think of. it's like the curse in him trying to come out and the liquor riding through his system doesn't help – in his moral case.

choso peaks through fallen bangs; his hair lets loose and gorges into a mess. his eyes burn, almost a cry coming from him. he gets desperate and sweaty, a sort of glow than his usual sulk marinates at his features instead. he paces a little too, the alcohol swimming in his blood makes him shift around a lot; legs spreading open and closing or tapping together, his shoulders dropping, back straightened or hunched, and even to his hands try hard to keep off from you but they never seem to anyways.

choso is usually tame, quiet, and bordering on innocent with high care for his family. but he can become brutally honest. no matter how hard he tries to act fully human, that hard liquor always punches his curse straight in the face and breaks it out of him. as if that's all he ever was. every time. he'd tell you everything, to secrets, to stupid jokes, or how hard you get him, and how badly he needs to flip this table over and fuck you widely until your full.

your hips roll in a slow rhythm, sometimes catching the bump in choso’s pants between your legs...

cruising your clothed cunt against the bare skin of pale thick meat, it was almost antagonizing the way you played with him… lacey panties thin enough to feel your slick ooze through and gloss his shaft, even feeling lips kiss at the soft skin that rolls up and hides his bulbous, blushing tip every time you press against him—teasing him.

his eyes sulk and he left his mouth hanging, “wanna… stuff you… let me cum in you, please.” he needed to, it's where his cum belonged! he could feel his balls pushing up to burp spunk through the crown of his cock. it was aching now.

you've been at this for a while. about nine songs in and two full bottles left empty… enough with the teasing! his cock too hard to be ignored any longer. all the teasing you sauntered around with as liquor poured down your throats added to the fury. choso couldn't take you grinding on his cock anymore, he needed to feel you in this very moment.

that smell, that look. this is who he wanted. right now.

almost a chivalrous code – his cock throbs twice and the warmth of his body pulsing against yours, too close for a drunken curse to not want to lash out then and there… your pretty lips went to whisper out to him, but arms longer than you remembered swoop in like steel talons around your waist; sinking in fast with lithe fingers into your ribs and crushing your body flat into the couch with the haste of swiftness.

he was left on top now. you can see the dark stars in his eyes twinkling past sticking hair. your cunt clenched, feeling her purr with a need catching how he seethed above you hungrily.

choso’s own anchored you down quickly before you could react – his weight-gaining pressure to keep you still from wriggling beneath him, yet you still tempted him, like usual; limbs tossling in fevor and breath gasping into sunken moans.

“please…” choso humped against you raw; his cock clanging against your thighs like a church bell.

you peck at his lips, letting him shift your panties off to the side with a hooked finger. finally. he almost lets out the cutest whine too, sweating as he dips himself in slowly, yet surely.

the stretch was deliciously blissful. he angled his hips just right to make a smooth way; gummy walls sucking him in invitingly. he filled you up quickly, your walls to their hilt and your naked frame dragged beneath his. sharp and working into you snugly with a rhythm that let him soak this in before his greed began to consume him – or maybe it was the liquor overriding his system… or the breeding instinct in him kicking in…

either one, choso jackhammered down and deep into the spongy, tight walls of your cunt. your lips curl and open wide, panting out his name in a frantic frenzy.

“so warm.” his words lick up the nape of your neck – gliding the slick muscle to your temple and settling a keen kiss to your head, “‘s-- you want my cum? huh… tell me…” his own inclines and sweeps in; pressing hot mouths together firmly, deepening the wet kiss with the same ease, with a deeper, more lustful lock…

<– BACK: PINNED ౨ৎ NEXT: MASTERLIST –>

[crookedteethed]

18+ various kinks, slight smut, hints of dub con/non-con kink

⋆ ★ Thinking about the Rafe's and their specific kinks <3

Season One Rafe would so be into doing lines of coke off your body--bonus points if you are about to do it behind the big rock at the beach or on his balcony during one of his Kook parties because he's also a bit of an exhibitionist. 

It felt decadent to Rafe to pull out your perfectly plush tits (or your ass) and sprinkle a bit of that angel dust down the valley of your breast. He wouldn't snort it immediately; he'd wait until he had his thick length inside your sopping wet cunt--and then he'd snort the line, engulfed in your deliciousness. 

Fuck did Rafe love your body, but fuck did he love coke--so why not mix the two?

Rafe had adorned the thrill he got when he got that first hit of blow mixed with the thrill he got when he'd first plunged into your cunt; it often made him want to fuck you harder until your nose bleed.

If he couldn't fuck you hard enough until your nose bleed, he would settle for bruising your skin with big love bits and hickies--it had something to do with his male ego.

In a way that was larger then just decadence, Season One Rafe loved the thrill he gotten for knowing he has and will be the only man that's been inside you.

Like all the times he would purposely brush your gums with coke on his fingers, and then put you in a jaw gripping kiss, just to lick your mouth clean, all while sitting across from Kelce and Topper.

He loved the power it gave him knowing he was the only person that could use you like this.

Season Two Rafe always found himself palming or adjusting his cock at your innocence.

I mean, fuck, how could he not get hard when you're kneeling on your knees in front of him, wide eyes and mouth full of his cock, asking him, "Like this?" Because you've never sucked dick before. 

And though Rafe did love the more skilled girls--he loved how he never had to tell them what to do--Rafe also had loved your naiveness and your naiveness with a cock. 

Did you sometimes use your teeth when blowing him? Maybe. 

But it's not like Rafe could scorn you about it; he knew that you simply didn't know any better, and that's why Rafe was the one to be your first everything so he could teach you better.

Apart from Rafe and his attraction to your innocence, he also had a kink for destroying that innocence. 

Fuck he thought he was going to bust his load when he finally coerced you into doing coke for the first time. 

Rafe had been low himself, so he wanted to make someone who could be low with him. (It's true what they say about misery-liking company.) 

Like the time in Season Two when Rafe had taken your virginity, yeah, you cried and kept whimpering to him, "it hurt." or "stop" but all of that was just ammunition to him; he loved to consume something so pure and innocent and ruin it for nobody else to have it--like what had happened to him.

Season Three Rafe would have a breeding kink. I mean, it goes hand in hand with his "man of the house" mentality. 

There is no doubt about it: Rafe is a thrill seeker--it's why he does coke or purposely picks fights. 

Fucking you without a condom was such a thrill to Rafe--it was like playing Russian roulette, but the chances of him getting shot were the chances of him getting you knocked up (which he didn't mind). 

But what had turned him on was after shooting his cum inside of you, it was so hot for Rafe to force his cum to stay inside you. 

He'll either plug your discarded panties into your cunt, or force you to finger yourself so you can push the cum deep inside of you. And if you were being too bratty, he'll just fuck the cum deep inside of you. 

None of Rafe's cum would go to waste. None of it. 

Even when you give him blowjobs, he'll scoop the cum that either landed on your face or tits and smear the cum around your pussy. 

God, Season Three Rafe could not wait for the day you swelled and leaked with milk, all because of him.

But all this goes to say, he wouldn't mind it, if you were to call him Daddy (in and out of the bedroom).

Honorable Mention:

I also feel like each Rafe would without a doubt be into choking.

[libraryofgage]

Stardew Valley AU where Eddie is a "burnt out at 27" former rock star who impulse buys a farm in Hawkins Valley for a change and finds he actually really enjoys fixing the place up and getting ridiculously wealthy on cauliflower

Steve is a local who had dreams of being a pro football player but they just...never went anywhere and he somehow ended up local carpenter instead because he likes seeing the appreciation on people's faces when he finishes a job for them

And obviously Eddie needs help fixing up the house, he doesn't know what he's doing there, and Steve spends the whole time talking about the locals until Eddie feels like he's also known them for years and not, like, a week

Anyway Eddie keeps finding increasingly ridiculous jobs around the farm that just can't be done without Steve's help and at some point they kiss about it

[caffeinewitchcraft]

The Mayor's Daughter and the Outlaw

Summary: After ten years, you've finally got your shot at your revenge. You've found the Hero. You have him in your sights.

-----

Pull the trigger.

You’ve worked too hard not to pull the trigger. The sweat, blood and tears you’ve shed have been the least you’ve given to be here. The air is crisp and clean nearly a hundred feet up in a pine tree overlooking a remote forest. You’re probably the only person in the world capable of spotting the brown, camouflaged building spanning the length of the small river running through the valley. There’s a hologram of the river it’s covering playing over the building’s walls. Hell, there are even birds flicking occasionally across the illusion, not often enough to draw attention, but just often enough their movement sends your eyes darting to other trees, trying to find where they went.

You breathe in the scent of sun-heated sap so slowly that it takes a solid minute for your lungs to expand. Your pupils flex and adjust whenever the wind rocks your tree. The window you’ve been staring at for the past hour remains in your focus.

The Sun, hair just as fake-gold as it was ten years ago, sleeps on. He’s definitely older now that you can see him in real life instead of on magazine covers or under studio lights. The skin of his neck is loose and folded under the weight of his chin drooping towards his chest. His eyes flicker under his eyelids. The bastard still has the audacity to dream. His arms are crossed over the sun motif emblazoned across his breastplate, his dust-covered boots kicked up on his desk so you can see how worn the soles are. Judging by the way his lips tremble, he’s snoring.

Pull the trigger.

You exhale. This is when you should do it. When your shoulders drop and the wind dies so that, for a moment, the world stands still. There are no whispers across the canopy. Every bough is frozen. The reflection of the sun in the river is overcome by a well-timed cloud and the Sun’s head tilts back to expose the long line of his throat.

The trigger presses back against your finger like an eager puppy. There’s nothing special about the bullets, nothing special about this gun. It’s not the right weapon for what you’re asking it to do, but you’ve had longer and harder shots. You know that you’ll shoot true and the confidence steadies your hand even more. You smoothly pull--

If you kill a Hero, there’s no going back.

Your pupils dilate at the memory. For a moment you don’t see the Sun; you see her with her face burned as red as her prom dress. You try to dispel the image, try to remember that she didn’t die in her prom dress, but it’s too late.

I want you to live, Elian.

You’re suddenly aware of how your lungs ache and your legs burn from the way they’re wrapped around the tree and the bark is digging into your cheek and your fingers are like ice on the trigger. You’re out in the middle of nowhere. This is the Sun’s private residence. The security must be insane even if there doesn’t seem to be anyone else around. What’s your exit strategy again? Your thoughts scatter as her voice rings through your head again.

More than anything, I want you to live.

-------Ten years ago----

You’re what the heroes tactfully call a nuisance. A juvenile delinquent with powers, aka a kid that the police aren’t equipped to handle and the local Hero chapter is too overqualified and too understaffed to address often.

 Your moral compass has never had a true north and it only gets worse the more your powers develop. Soon you aren’t just stealing your mom’s car – you’re stealing the neighbor’s and then the neighbor’s neighbor’s and then the neighbor’s neighbor’s neighbor’s until you’re breaking into houses at the top of the hill and joyriding in a car worth more than your entire neighborhood together.

You find out pretty quickly that the heroes care a lot more when money is involved.

You spend your first night in jail after getting chased for three hours in a neon green lambo by the four heroes packed like sardines in a standard issue SUV. It’s laughably easy to out-drive them, choking around corners and careening down alleys that you scouted in the afternoon. Honestly, it would have been easy to get away, but your mom called just as the tank hit empty, asking when you were coming home.  You decided to give the heroes a break before they decided to play too rough with a minor.

Mom isn’t thrilled when you tell her you won’t be home in time for school tomorrow.

You kind of expect to be sent to prison the next day when you find out just whose car you stole. The Mayor’s daughter’s car, bought new for her seventeenth birthday a month ago. There are two open secrets about the mayor. One, he’s probably one of the heroes that protect the city judging from how much he praises them every time there’s a mic nearby. Two, he loves his daughter more than anything else.

So when you’re released the next day with a slap on the wrist? Yeah, you’re surprised.

When you’re released the next day to find the golden-haired, blue-eyed Mayor’s daughter waiting outside? Having just bailed you out?

You feel fear for the first time.

“You could have at least crashed it,” she says when she notices you gaping at her from the end of the parking lot. She’s leaning against the hood of a black SUV that looks a lot like the one the heroes chased you in last night. She waves a hand in the air. “Dad says the dents you put in the side will be out by tomorrow.”

Fear, apparently, makes you snarky. “What, you wanted to spend another week getting chauffeured by a hero?”

Her brows jerk up towards her hairline. She throws a glance over her shoulder. “You seeing ghosts? Nobody’s in there. I drove myself.”

“Good for you,” you say. You think you smell. They didn’t give you access to a shower last night. You’re upwind from her and damnit why are you embarrassed if you smell or not? Your chin jerks forward in a challenge. “You gonna give me a ride back home?”

You’re joking, but she nods like it was the plan all along. “Let’s go.”

Is that an answering challenge in her words? Your teeth grind as you force yourself forward. “Very kind of you,” you chirp, swinging up into the passenger seat. The car smells like leather and justice. “Just drop me off on the other side of the train tracks. I can find my way home from there.”

She snorts. “Is that a Footloose reference? Very dated.”

You stare at her profile. “…No. I literally live on the other side of the tracks.”

She flushes. “Right. Well…I’m not dropping you off yet. I want to talk first.”

The doors are locked. You swallow as she carefully pulls out of the parking lot and then guns it into the road without looking. Luckily, no one’s there. “Talk? About what?”

“About how you’re going to steal my car again,” she says. “And this time you’re going to crash it right.”

“You hate the color that much?” you joke.

Her tone is not joking. “You have no idea.”

You don’t find out her name until dinner when your mom’s managed to entice her into a third slice of homemade pizza. She stares down at the slice while your mom waves for you not to stay up too late before going to bed early. Gamely, you’re already on your fifth helping. Criminal activity takes a lot of energy.

“Does your mom know who I am?” she asks.

“Like, in theory,” you say. You’re full and warm as you lean into the hard wooden back of your chair. Mom added olives to your side of the pizza. “She probably doesn’t know you’re the Mayor’s daughter though. Just that he has one.”

“The Mayor…right,” she says. Her jaw firms. She flicks some olives off her pizza and then eats half the slice in one bite. “I’m Gina.”

“Elian,” you say instead of No, you’re the Mayor’s Daughter. You refill her soda cup before your own, just to show her you can be fancy and have manners too. She’s so out of place in your family’s one bedroom apartment. Her shirt is crisp and white, her gold necklace so shiny, that it’s like there’s a sepia filter over the eggshell walls and oak cabinets. “Sprite. Only the finest for the lady who bailed me out.”

“I’m thinking you can take my car next weekend,” Gina says so abruptly you nearly spit out your soda. There’s a hard light in her eyes. “Dad’s out of town for…business. He won’t notice for a few days. You take it, you get out of the city, you drive it off a cliff once you’ve wrecked it doing donuts or whatever.”

“A cliff?” You know exactly where she’s talking about. There’s an abandoned quarry about an hour outside of town. You shake your head. “That’s where people dump bodies. No way am I going out there.”

“They find bodies there because it’s outside of Hero Force’s patrol,” Gina says. She waves her hands in the air so the yellow light from the inset ceiling lights catches on her golden manicure. “If you think about it, it’s the best place to dump a car. Especially when the heroes are going to be out of town.”

You stare at her. “Did you just admit your dad is part of Hero Force?”

Her eyes skitter away from yours. “No.”

“Your dad is out of town next weekend.”

“Yes.”

“And the heroes?”

“Maybe they’re traveling together.”

“I don’t think anyone is supposed to know when the heroes are going to be out of town. Isn’t that like a national secret, or something?”

“We’re not a big enough chapter for it to be a national secret,” she denies. She bites her lip. “Probably a state secret though.”

You stand and your chair chatters against the linoleum. “No. Absolutely not.” It’s time for Ms. Mayor’s Daughter to leave.

She scrambles up after you, following you into the living room. “Why not?! You already mess with the heroes. Weren’t you the one who kept breaking into the mall on a motorcycle? You hijacked one of their delivery trucks a month ago—”

“A food delivery truck,” you say. “Which was more of a commentary about the city’s investment in Hero Force luxury rather than after school programs—” You bite your tongue. You spin so that the couch stays between you. You glance at your mom’s closed door and consciously lower your voice. “How do you even know that?”

“I’ve been watching you,” she says. She laughs without humor, dragging one hand through her golden hair. “Sometimes living in this town is like being in a simulation. We have four A-class heroes for a population of 30,000 and everybody loves them. Nobody thinks it’s strange to have walking nukes in a small town. They love my dad. Did you know no one’s even run against him for the past two elections? It doesn’t matter what he does. He owns this place and these people. He has – could commit murder and it would be justified. People would think it would be justice.”

“He loves you,” you say weakly. Isn’t four heroes a pretty normal number? Sure, the ones in your town are big names, but that’s not weird.

Is it?

“He loves me so he gets to be a tyrant?” Gina scoffs. “If he’s even capable of love.”

“I’m not going to mess around with heroes’ civilian identities just because you’ve got daddy issues,” you say. When hurt flashes across her face, you wince. “Sorry. But it’s one thing to mess with heroes in masks, okay? Messing with a hero’s family—”

“You didn’t seem to have a problem when you were stealing my car the other night.”

“That was before I knew your dad was Mr. Solve or whatever—”

“The Sun,” Gina says.

“What?”

“My dad’s the Sun.”

“That,” you say, “is so much worse. Didn’t he burn some minor villain’s eyes out last week?”

“Yes,” Gina says. Her mouth twists. “The guy got off easy compared to some others.”

You stare at her, momentarily speechless. “And you wonder why I’m not going to antagonize the guy?”

“But you already do,” Gina says. Her eyes are glinting. She looks so out of place against the dim interior of your home, a radiant girl dressed all in white and gold. She rounds the couch and snatches up one of your hands between two of her own. “Everyone else loves my dad. Except you. My entire life, and you’re the only one who dares to make—make statements about Hero Force consumption by stealing their deliveries or make the heroes chase you around an abandoned mall on foot like regular people. You challenge them, Elian. All I’m asking is that you do it again.”

“That sounds like a lot more than just crashing your car,” you say. Your voice sounds very far away. You never thought of your actions as so noble. There’s a tingling in your stomach that you’ve never felt before and your hand is so warm. She sees you. You shake the fantasy out of your head. “I—look. I’m flattered, but I’m not your guy. The heroes know my face. It’s only a matter of time before I get sent to whatever detention super-powered kids get sent to. I have to graduate high school.”

Rather than discourage her, Gina presses closer. “What if I told you there’s a way to do both?”

Her closeness fogs your brain. “Both?”

“Take the heroes down a notch and maintain your identity,” she says. She releases you and whirls to get her purse off the couch. “I can help you. We can train so that the heroes never recognize the new you. You can use your powers in new ways. And you can wear this.”

She thrusts a piece of chewed leather into your hands. A mask.

“I’m thinking,” she says, “we call you Outlaw.”

------ Now ----

You can’t shoot. Night is falling by the time you admit it to yourself. You press your back against the rough bark of the tree and stare up at the first stars. You cradle your gun in your hands.

The bloodlust is still there. You aren’t a fair lily incapable of staining your petals red (as red as her). So why can’t you pull the trigger? Because of her ghost? Her last message to you?

If you kill a Hero, there’s no going back. More than anything, I want you to live, Elian.

You grind your teeth. Easy for her to say. The dying never have to feel the weight of consequence. They can just say whatever the fuck they want.

You aren’t thinking when you climb down the tree. Your powers give you a lot of things – speed and healing, an instinct for the outdoors, and excellent eyesight. You don’t need to look to find one branch and another, dropping to the forest floor in ten-foot increments. By the time your boots hit the ground, you know what the problem is.

Unlike your other kills, this one is personal. It was never going to be enough just to see him dead. You need him to know why you’ve got him in your sights.

The Sun is an old school hero. The traps you were so afraid of are predictable, turns out. You pick your way around bear traps and landmines, sharp eyes easily picking out silver trip wire when it glints in the moonlight. There are cameras, but there’s likely only one person with access. In the past ten years of following the Sun, you’ve learned two things about him.

One, he’ll kill the things he loves before he loses them.

Two, he doesn’t trust anyone but himself.

You get to the building inside of an hour. The first floor is hidden by steel shutters and there’s no light peeking out from behind them. The second floor window where he’d been sleeping for most of the day shines with the faint blue glow of a television.

The front door looks like a bank’s with how thick it is. There’s a keypad and a biometric scanner you don’t have a prayer of hacking.

That’s okay. You’ve already seen your way in.

You climb up the nearest pine tree. The Sun likes to think of himself as a competent hero, but too many mayoral kickbacks over the years made him soft. He surrounded himself with powerful heroes and never once struggled to win. Because of that, he’s missing some caution and common sense. The building’s first floor is locked up tight, but the windows on the second are regular glass.

And he hasn’t trimmed the tree line back far enough.

You fire your first shot of the night into his empty desk chair, exactly where his chest had been hours earlier. Immediately a siren sounds, and the TV glow coming through the office’s open door is consumed by bright light. You run two steps and then leap, neatly flipping through the empty window frame. Your boots slide for a moment on the broken glass and you catch yourself on the edge of his desk. There are medical papers scattered across it, prescriptions and diagrams of the face and eyes and heart.

You chew your cheek at the sight of a pill bottle. There had been rumors that the Sun is sick with his own radiation poisoning. It’s good you’re here before nature runs its course.

The siren wails for another beat before dying. The silence rings. Your heartbeat picks up as your ears strain to hear if anyone’s coming to meet you. Strange. The Sun had to have been the one who shut off the alarm.

So where is he?

You hold your gun out in front of you and check your mask. The Sun knows who you are by now, but you want him to see the mask she gave you. The handsewn leather, patched more times than you can count, is recycled from one of his old leather jackets. It feels oddly poetic to be dressed in the first iteration of your costume, cowboy hat tipped back and a biker vest embroidered with the name she gave you.

Is the Sun hiding? You creep out of the office, eyes darting from the quaint landscapes hanging on the wall to the tasteful wooden floors. The Sun’s safe house feels more cabin-y than you expected. The property deed has been in his name for the past fifteen years. Did Gina ever visit? Her ghost runs ahead of you, golden nails dragging along the peach wallpaper to the first open door on the left. She looks over her shoulder and smiles.

There are times when you’re glad for the afterimages your brain conjures. This is not one of those times. You don’t think she’d be happy to see what you’re about to do.

You swing around the doorway gun first, a snarl on your lips. “You old bastard, drop what—”

The smell of antiseptic hits your nose first, dashing away the red haze filling your vision in an instant. A TV murmurs against the wall, some rerun of an old western, but it’s not what holds your attention.

There’s a bed in the center of the room. The Sun sits at bedside, his attention wholly invested on the hand he’s holding up. Carefully, he applies gold paint to the nails without once looking up at you.

The woman in the bed is obscured with white gauze and beige compression bandages. Her breathing is soft and even. The one eye you can see is closed and still. No dreaming, no awareness.

“Outlaw,” the Sun says. He gently sets Gina’s left hand down on her stomach and picks up her right. He squints at her pinky nail. “Close the office door, would you? I don’t want the heat to escape.”

“What,” you breathe, “the fuck.”

-----Ten years ago ----

It’s a good year with Gina. You never realized how friend-starved you were until she was there, over at your house every day after school. She always makes it sound like she’s coming over to talk about the Outlaw thing, but there’s other stuff too. Movies and cooking and tutoring.

“Life is about balance,” Gina says sagely during one such tutoring session. “Besides, even heroes don’t go on more than two missions a month. We’re doing just fine.”

There’s always a pressing need to do more though. Whenever you pull off a particularly daring heist, she smiles this secret and pleased smile that makes your stomach flip. Sometimes, when the two of you watch news coverage of your getaways, she murmurs how impressed she is, how smart you are, how cool your powers are.

It makes you want to do anything for Gina.

You’re watching the news one day, waiting for a recap of how you stole the Sun’s favorite shield from the armory, when a rare story comes on. A Hero is dead, some guy named Ibis from Atlanta. There aren’t any leads to the culprit except for eyewitness accounts of a mysterious, winged super-powered individual flying low over the city, hiding in storm clouds.

“I’d kill a Hero,” you blurt out.

Gina jerks so hard that the popcorn bowl goes flying out of her hands. She doesn’t seem to notice. “What?”

“N-not your dad or anything,” you say quickly although yes, if you had to kill anyone, you’d start with the man who makes Gina cry like that. “Just…in general. The news anchor said Ibis was connected to a civilian’s death, right? I could kill a Hero like that.”

“No,” Gina says. She drops off the couch to kneel by you. “No, Elian.”

You flush like you’ve done something wrong. You sink into your hoodie. “I’m not going to, I’m just saying—”

“If you kill a Hero, there’s no going back,” Gina says. She’s too close, so close that you can see the flecks of gold hidden in her eyes. “Your life—it’s not like what we’ve been doing. Dad’s got rules when it comes to stealing. But if you kill a hero?” She shudders. “I want you to live, Elian.”

“I got it—”

“Please,” she blurts out. The plea in her voice makes you really look at her despite the pounding of your heart. Her eyes are wild and her mouth is pressed into a thin line. “No matter what. Promise me.”

“I—” No matter what? You slowly shake your head, trying to get away from the instinctive desire to agree with her. “I-if someone is really bad, I’d—”

“Elian—”

The tension makes you truthful.

“If your dad hurt you, I’d kill him,” you say. When she rears back, this time you follow. You brace your arm against the couch so you can lean into her space. With your other hand, you trace the fading burn on her cheek that could pass for an old sunburn if you didn’t know the truth. “I know you don’t think he will, but he’s been erratic lately. And I know about his temper. If he hurts you, I’d kill him.”

The air thickens between you. It’s rare that you don’t back down, but you’re not backing down now, staring into her eyes. Competing wills. For a moment you let everything you feel come to the surface. Your frustration when she visits with that fucking shadow in her smile, the helplessness when there’s another burn on her arm, the adoration when she’s just there.

Gina shudders and looks away first. She licks her lips. “I—I…appreciate what you’re saying, but I’m fine. You agreed I got to make the rules for Outlaw. I’m telling you one. Don’t kill heroes.”

She’s pulling away. You do too, falling to her side and sitting next to her rather than hovering over her. You try for a careless shrug but fall short. How can she make you feel so powerful one second and so powerless the next? You avert your eyes. “I won’t kill heroes,” you promise.

You hear her suck in a breath. “Good. Because I need you alive.”

“I do like being alive,” you say and don’t finish the sentence with with you.

“We’re done studying,” she decides. She darts up towards the kitchen. “I’m getting another bowl of popcorn before we start the movie. You want some?”

You stare at your reflection in the dark TV. Your jaw works. Finally, you say, “Nah. I’m good. I’ll just eat it off the floor.”

“Don’t be gross, Elian!”

------Now.----

“I will regret that day for the rest of my life,” the Sun says. He hasn’t looked at you once. His eyes are glued to the steady rise and fall of Gina’s chest. He times his breathing to hers and then sighs. “What a fool I was. Drunk on power.”

You’re standing on the opposite side of the bed. Your gaze flicks from Gina to him and back again. “Is she ever conscious?”

“It’s a medically-induced coma,” the Sun says. “The doctors say she should wake up any day now that most of her injuries have healed. Her last surgery was the final one. Now it’s up to her.”

This might be the first time in ten years that you’ve breathed. You suck in air greedily and imagine you can taste her scent under the layers of sickness and medicine. “They told me she died.”

“I told Hero Force you did it,” the Sun says. There’s no remorse in his voice. “They always tell villains they were successful, so they don’t try again.”

A decade of rage slides around your ribs. “You fucking bastard.”

“I did think it was your fault ten years ago.” He carefully picks up Gina’s left hand again to apply a second coat. It takes all your willpower not to slap him away from her. “If you hadn’t stolen Hero Force data, I wouldn’t have had to come after you with my full power. She would never have been in the line of fire.”

You’re fists shake at your sides. “I didn’t steal Hero Force data, I stole your fucking car. Don’t rewrite history.”

“There was Hero Force data in that car.”

“It was your Porsche, your civilian Porsche!”

“My fault to have left sensitive data out,” the Sun says. His confession surprises you into silence. “But I had to get it back no matter what. Then I blamed you by thinking how if you’d only asked me to take my daughter to Prom, I would’ve known she was in the car.”

“She’s not your property and it’s not the 1800s, of course I didn’t ask if I could take your daughter to—”

“I’m telling you what I thought,” the Sun interrupts. He finally looks at you. He looks worse than he did earlier, the years cutting deep lines into his face. There are black bags of exhaustion under his watering eyes. He breathes out shakily. “I had to tell myself it was your fault. It was the only way I could survive, Elian.”

Your real name shocks you. You stumble back. “How do you know that name?”

“She calls for you sometimes,” the Sun says. He drags a hand over his face before grimly returning to his daughter’s nails. “She’s never been really conscious for long. The d-damage took a long time to heal. But when she’s awake, she calls for you and she calls for Outlaw. Wasn’t hard to put the pieces together.”

Your chest throbs. “I should have been here. You should have—I could have—”

“Blaming you let me keep her by my side,” the Sun says. “I don’t expect you to forgive me or even understand me. But I…I regret more than anything what I’ve done to my daughter.”

“You’re going to regret it even more,” you say. The rage you feel is like a tidal wave. Ten years. Ten years. You could have held her hand through her recovery. You could have been there for her. And this selfish asshole who never even loved her like a father should took that away from you. You remember your gun. “You never deserved to be her father.”

“I didn’t, did I?” the Sun asks. He sets her hand down and swallows hard. He looks down the barrel of your gun without flinching. “She says one other thing, you know. When she asks for you.”

The curiosity stills your trigger finger. “What?”

“She says, Don’t kill heroes.”

Your face contorts. There’s the memory of popcorn in your mouth and the heat of her eyes on you. “Yeah, she said that to me before too. Back when I offered to kill you the first time.”

The Sun hangs his head. If he’s surprised to hear that, he doesn’t show it. “I wasn’t a good father.”

“No. But she didn’t want you dead.”

Understanding dawns. “Don’t kill heroes.”

“Exactly.” You tilt your head. “Do you feel like a hero?”

His lips tremble. His gaze drifts back to his daughter. Her eyes are flickering under eyelids. “I—I—”

The trigger presses back against your finger, eager and ready. “Do you?”

He licks his lips. “N-no,” he whispers. He closes his eyes. “No, I don’t suppose I do.”

This time, it’s easy to take aim. Steady your breath. And—

Fuck.

“Leave,” you say. You drop your gun back to your side and scowl when the Sun’s eyes fly open in surprise. “If you do what I say, you’ll live long enough for Gina to decide what to do with you. Leave and don’t tell anyone about this.”

The Sun shakes his head. “No, no I can’t leave her—”

“Then die here,” you snap. You bare your teeth at him. “Leave. We’ll be gone in a week. Maybe she wakes up and calls you. Maybe she—” You take a deep breath. “Well. Maybe she doesn’t. Either way, your part is done here.”

“I need to be there when she wakes up. Please, I’m her dad—”

“You’re her murderer,” you say. More than anything, you want to pick Gina up and run out of here before the Sun can stop you. You eye the monitors and know three people you need to call for advice before you even attempt to move her. A week should be just enough time to disappear. “You think you deserve to stay by her side?”

The Sun opens his mouth twice before he finds words. “I just—let me stay until she wakes up. That way I’ll know.”

“I spent ten years thinking she was dead,” you say. “You can last a month in limbo. If I have to ask you again, we’ll finally see who’s stronger now that I’m all grown up.”

The Sun picks himself up slowly. You think he cries. You’re not sure. He may even plead with you again. You’re deaf to it. Your brain has given up on splitting your attention and every atom of your being is homed in on Gina.

She’s alive. She’s alive.

You kneel at her bedside and wait for her to wake up.

----

Thanks for reading! If you want to read more of work or get access to stories like this a week (or more!) early, please consider checking out my Patreon (X)! This week's short story for my Triple Shot and above tiers is about a world where being loved adds years to your lifespan!

Based off this prompt (X): Love determines how long you live, some people are in their hundreds, but some don’t even live to be 20.

[shiny-kaibernyte]

Arven Headcannons (Romantic)

No warnings: Just pure fluff

There are a few general headcannons in here and a couple of how i think him and Nemona's friendship would be. But its 90% fluff. I actually wrote WAYYYY more than what's in this post but i didn't think people would want to read an entire Essay. So here are a selection!

This man cannot bake for anything. Give him a grill and bread, he will give you a 5 star meal. Give him a whisk and a cake try he will burn the house down. So don’t expect a homemade cake on your birthday. Or at least don’t expect one from him.

He was Smitten with you the moment you agreed to help him on his Titan Quest. Reluctantly or joyfully, hearing you agreeing made him fall head over heels for you and he didn’t even know it. Maybe that's why he tried extra hard on those Sandwiches. 

Arven and Nemona used to fight over the best friend position, You’d usually have to stand in the middle of them to prevent their Pokémon battles from spilling into personal ones. Arven would later claim the Boyfriend card once Area Zero was dealt with, Nemona was very pleased to cement the best friend spot.

You are the only other person who's allowed to take Mabosstiff out on walks. You're his person, so you get the puppy. Nemona and Penny both tried, it resulted in Arven throwing a tomato at Nemona and Penny slowly backing out of the room. He did mourn the tomato though… he wanted that tomato.

Arven isn’t necessarily Protective, but he is observant. He will defend your honour and voice with every ounce of his being. But he also isn’t a violent person, that's what Pokémon battles are for. 

That being said, if something did happen to you, especially if you fell ill. He would go to hell and back to find some way of helping you. He already proved that much, just don’t bail on him if he needs you most.

Love Language: Gift Giving + Quality time.

If he can, he will SPOIL you. He never had someone love him the way you do. Show him the kindness and compassion that makes his heart sore. If he could give you the world. He’d hand you the Galaxy on a silver plate. But until he can find a Cosmo. A plushie will have to be done for now.

He is not a morning person at all. The only reason you will ever find him up before midday is for one of two reasons: A teacher told him off for being late and he’s only got 1 more warning before another suspension OR Mabosstiff dragged him out of bed by the ankle and forced him to go outside. There is no other reason.

Terrible at video games, absolutely horrendous. Dude can’t even play Minecraft without throwing the controller. Penny tried to teach him how to play Stardew Valley, he got angry at Pierre for the backpack price and hasn’t picked up the game again. Though he’s happy to watch you play and will hold down a button if you get tired. Never ask him to play though… unless you need to laugh, then ask. 

One time you tried to put a bow on Mabosstiff ‘s head. With no recollection how or why, it somehow ended up in Arven’s hair. You have now learnt Arven can rock a manbun and a sparkling pastel pink bow. 

When you first stayed the night, dude slept like a board. He did not move a single cell in his body. It wasn’t until you were resting your head on his chest that he actually moved. He has since loosened up, but it took a while for him to trust himself enough to even touch you when you slept. 

He cannot Flirt. You cannot tell me otherwise.

He bought you both onesies to wear on movie nights. Yes he has to have a Saturday movie night with you or he gets grumpy. 

Sometimes Arven will bring you lunch or make you breakfast so he knows you have eaten at least something during the day. Plus he also uses it as an excuse to see you smile but he will never say that to your face. Only Mabosstiff.

Dude is terrified of Cetitan. Ever since the "mountain incident" Cetitan is his greatest enemy. Arven tries to act tough and unafraid to impress you but, Grusha has and will continue to use this fear to his Advantage any time Nemona drags Arven to the Mountains. You totally didn’t make a deal with Grusha and Nemona, that isn’t something you did… Wink wink.

You don’t borrow his clothes, he donates them. There have been numerous occasions you have opened a drawer or wardrobe to find one of his numbers, jackets, vests, anything! Just something new of his somewhere for you to have. He will even buy different sizes if you prefer baggy shirts or snug shirts.

He remembers everything and yet nothing at the same time. You ask him what day it is, he’ll look at you like you just asked him to explain calculus to a class of year 1’s. Ask him your favourite movie!? Arven will go into excruciating detail about everything to the point you’d think he directed it. Nemona and Giacomo once held a quiz night on Arven just to test how much he did remember. Dude remembered nothing about anyone else, except birthdays… he’s good at that. But you dude could write your autobiography. 

Dude has zero fear of heights, once Miridon learnt how to fly, anytime Arven would join you, he’d always sit behind you so he could hold your waist. It’s been a little thing of his ever since Area Zero, he can’t not do it. Even if he’s the better driver; Dude will sit behind you as an excuse to just hold you.

Almost No PDA he is a private person. He does lean on you though or will stand behind you almost like a bodyguard. If he does touch you in public it's usually a reassuring hand on the shoulder, on the small of your back to guide you somewhere or your arm locked into his. He isn’t a hand holder, he usually is carrying something or needs his hands free so he does subtle stuff instead.