#and I know that I know nothing and its frustrating
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growthhyp · 2 days ago
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The Garage Sale IV
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"Fuck, where is that little shit?" Abe muttered under his breath, his ginger hair glinting in the fading sunlight as he stomped outside the college campus. His beefy arms flexed with each step, the veins in his neck bulging with frustration. He'd been looking for Aiden all day, his usual smug smile nowhere to be seen.
Aiden, the nerdy black college student, had somehow managed to outwit Abe, the burly jock, and it was driving him insane. His eyes scanned the crowded area, looking for the skinny kid who always seemed to be lost in his own world of books and tech. Aiden had always been an easy target for Abe's cruel pranks and homophobic slurs, but today, he had evaded the jock's grasp.
But as Abe was about to give up and admit defeat, his eyes caught a glimpse of a garage sale, set up in the driveway of a quaint suburban home. The sight was peculiar, a stark contrast to the modern college buildings surrounding them. Amongst the clutter, a hulking man stood, his muscles bulging beneath a tight bright blue tank top that was doing its best to contain them.
Curiosity piqued, Abe approached the garage sale, his eyes scanning the assortment of items laid out on tables. "Hey," Abe called out to the muscular man, his deep voice echoing in the quiet space, "you haven't seen a nerdy guy come through here, have you? Skin and bones, probably tripping over his own feet."
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Jack looked up from the chair he was sitting and cocked his head to the side, eyeing Abe with a quizzical expression. "Nah, man, no one like that's been here. But I did have a customer come by earlier, though." He wiped his sweaty brow with the back of his hand, his biceps flexing as he spoke. "Dude was built like a brick shithouse, like me. You might've missed him if you weren't looking for someone… well, smaller."
Abe's eyes narrowed at the description, his mind racing with thoughts of Aiden teaming up with someone like Jack to outsmart him. "What'd he look like?" he asked, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice.
Jack looked up from his task, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, you know the type. Big, brawny, probably benches more than you weigh." He chuckled, his deep laugh reverberating through the garage. "I don't think he was your typical bookworm, if that's what you're worried about."
Abe felt a flicker of annoyance at Jack's teasing, but he couldn't help but be a little intrigued. He stepped closer, his eyes lingering over the muscular man's form. "What was he here for?"
Jack shrugged, his massive shoulders rising and falling with the movement. "Just picked up some old gym gear, said he was looking to bulk up."
Abe nodded, his eyes still scanning the garage. The absence of other customers was odd, but he shrugged it off. Maybe everyone was just avoiding the scene of the jock's frustration. "Thanks anyway, man," he said, turning to leave.
But as he took a step away, Jack called out, "Hey, what's your name?"
Abe spun around, a smug smirk playing on his lips. "Abe. And before you ask, yeah, I'm a college student."
Jack's eyes lit up with recognition. "Oh, so you're one of those jocks, huh? Play football, get all the girls?" He winked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Abe nodded proudly. "Yeah, exactly. I'm on the college varsity team, and I've got more notches on my bedpost than I can count." He flexed his bicep, the muscles rippling like waves of power beneath his skin. "So, what's your deal?"
Jack's smirk grew wider. "Well, Abe," he said, leaning on the weight bench, "I'm an alumni of this very college. But let's just say, I didn't spend much time playing football." His gaze drifted off for a moment before he snapped back to the present. "But enough about me. What's got you so riled up about the nerdy guy?"
Abe felt his cheeks redden slightly at the question. He'd never admitted to anyone that he had a grudge against Aiden. "It's nothing," he mumbled, looking away. "Just a little… rivalry."
Jack raised an eyebrow, his gaze piercing through Abe's facade. "Rivalry, huh?" He stepped closer, the scent of sweat and metal wafting from his body. "Look, Abe, I know your type. You're the kind of guy who thinks the world owes you something just because you can bench press more than anyone else. But let me tell you a little secret." He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Being a jock doesn't make you untouchable. And sometimes, the quiet ones have more bite than you think."
Abe's jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides. He'd never been talked to like this before, not by someone who wasn't trembling in fear. But Jack's confidence was oddly compelling, and he found himself listening intently. "What's your point?" Abe spat out, trying to sound tough.
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Jack's smile didn't waver. "My point is, maybe you should cut the guy some slack. Everyone's got their own battles to fight." He straightened up, his towering frame seemingly growing larger in the confined space of the garage.
But before Abe could respond, Jack's eyes fell on a dusty old jockstrap hanging from a makeshift clothesline strung across the garage. "Speaking of which," Jack said, plucking it down and holding it out to Abe with a flourish, "you might like this."
Abe stared at the piece of clothing in confusion, his brain struggling to piece together why Jack would be offering him underwear. "What the hell is this?" he snarled, his voice laced with skepticism.
Jack's grin grew even wider, his teeth gleaming in the dim light. "It's a jockstrap, buddy. Perfect for guys like you." He stepped closer, invading Abe's personal space. "It'll give you the support you need, keep everything in check while you're out there playing your games." His voice was smooth, like honey, and Abe couldn't help but feel a strange pull towards the garment.
"But I already have one," Abe protested weakly, his eyes flicking between the jockstrap and Jack's intense gaze.
"Ah, but this one's special," Jack said, his tone like a siren's song. "It's not just any old jockstrap. This one's been worn by champions, men who've pushed their bodies to the limit. It's like having a piece of history, a symbol of strength and endurance." He held it out closer, and Abe could almost feel the power it contained.
Abe stared at the jockstrap, his mind racing with conflicting thoughts. Why was he even considering this? But Jack's words were like a drug, and he found himself reaching out to take it. "What makes it so special?" he asked, his voice gruff.
Jack leaned in closer, his breath hot against Abe's ear. "Let me show you," he said, his voice a seductive whisper. Before Abe could protest, Jack had turned him around and guided him to a makeshift changing room in the corner of the garage. "Just slip into it, feel the difference," he encouraged.
As Abe reached for the curtain, his heart pounding in his chest, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was making a mistake. But Jack's confidence was infectious, and he found himself drawn to the mysterious allure of the jockstrap. He pulled the curtain aside, expecting an empty space, but what he saw made his jaw drop to the floor.
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There, sprawled out on a bench, was a hulking black bodybuilder, his muscles rippling even in his state of unconsciousness. The man's dark skin was like midnight velvet, stretched tight over muscles that looked like they'd been chiseled from marble. His eyes snapped open, and for a split second, Abe thought he saw a flicker of recognition in them. But then the man's gaze went vacant again, and Abe realized it was just his imagination playing tricks on him.
He quickly pulled the curtain shut, his heart hammering in his chest. "Jack, what the fuck?" he hissed, spinning around to face the grinning man.
Jack chuckled, a knowing look in his eye. "Oh, I'm sorry about that, Abe. Didn't mean to startle you." He held up his hands in a placating gesture. "That's just my buddy. He passed out after a heavy workout. You know, sometimes these things happen when you push too hard."
Abe's heart was racing, his thoughts a jumbled mess. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. "It's… it's fine," he stuttered, his cheeks still flushed. "I just didn't expect to see… that."
Jack nodded, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Understood. But let me make it up to you. Why don't you come over to my place, and we'll get you into that jockstrap properly?" He winked, and Abe felt a strange mix of excitement and unease. The muscular man led him out of the garage and into the house, the door creaking open to reveal a small but well-kept living room. The scent of musk and sweat filled the air, a clear sign of a man's domain.
The bathroom was dimly lit, with a single bulb swinging gently overhead. The tiles on the floor were a bit sticky under Abe's sneakers, and he couldn't help but wonder how much sweat had been spilled here in the pursuit of Jack's Herculean physique.
Aiden had always been the object of his derision, but now, faced with this stark reminder of his own physical inferiority, Abe felt a peculiar mix of envy and admiration. He'd never seen anyone so… massive. And there was something about the quiet confidence Jack exuded that was undeniably appealing.
Shaking off the lingering image of the unconscious bodybuilder, Abe stepped into the bathroom and shut the door behind him with a click. The room was smaller than he had anticipated, with barely enough space for the toilet, a sink, and a shower stall that looked like it had seen better days.
The jockstrap still in his hand, Abe couldn't help but feel a strange thrill at the idea of wearing something so intimately connected to the kind of strength and power that he had always craved. He looked at himself in the mirror, his eyes tracing the lines of his own muscular frame, the reflection of his chiseled abs and bulging biceps staring back at him. But it wasn't enough. Not compared to what he'd just seen.
With trembling hands, he peeled off his own underwear and stepped into the dusty jockstrap. It was snug, but as he pulled it up, it felt like it was molding to his body, fitting him like a glove. He could feel the fabric hugging his crotch and the waistband digging into his skin, but instead of feeling uncomfortable, it was… empowering.
As Abe tightened the straps and adjusted the pouch, a sudden warmth began to spread from his groin up to his chest. It was like a hot liquid was being pumped through his veins, filling him with energy and a strange, newfound strength. His muscles began to tense and expand before his very eyes, his reflection in the mirror becoming more and more like the men he had seen in Jack's garage.
His white tank top, once snug across his broad chest, started to strain and stretch, the fabric groaning under the pressure of his swelling physique. The seams grew tight against his skin as his pectorals bulged outward, his biceps and triceps ballooning with power. He flexed his arms, watching in amazement as the veins grew more pronounced, his muscles swelling with every beat of his heart.
Aiden stumbled back in shock as his legs grew longer and thicker before his eyes. His calves, once slender and barely noticeable, exploded in size, each muscle fiber becoming more and more defined until they looked like they could crush a walnut with ease. His feet felt heavy, the bones in his toes cracking and shifting as they morphed into a shape that could support his newfound bulk. He looked down at them, his eyes wide with terror and awe, his sneakers now seeming like children's toys around his monstrous feet. The mirror in the cramped bathroom was now almost eye level for Abe, his reflection towering above him.
He reached down, his hand shaking with anticipation, and touched the thick, engorged member that jutted out from the jockstrap. It was hot and pulsing, as if it had a heartbeat of its own. His fingers wrapped around the base, and a jolt of pure ecstasy shot through him, making his knees buckle. He hadn't felt anything like this before, not even when he'd scored the winning touchdown in the last game of the season. It was a pleasure so intense it was almost painful, and he couldn't help but let out a low moan that echoed off the tiles.
As Abe's hand moved in a slow, deliberate rhythm, his thoughts grew hazier. The faces of the cheerleaders who had once thrown themselves at him grew distant, replaced by images of muscular men, their powerful bodies entwined in passion. He felt his cock thicken and lengthen in his grasp, the sensation unlike anything he'd ever experienced. It was as if the jockstrap was feeding his desires, transforming him into someone new.
The once cocky jock felt his swagger dissipate as a strange sense of vulnerability washed over him. His thoughts were no longer filled with conquests and one-night stands, but with the tender touch of a strong, protective man. The idea of being dominated, of being filled, sent shivers down his spine. He didn't know why, but he craved it with an intensity that scared him.
As Abe's hand continued to work on his newfound monster, his ass began to swell and round out before his eyes. He felt it expand. It was as if the jockstrap had unlocked a hidden chamber of desires within him, sculpting him into the receptive partner he never knew he wanted to be.
With a final, guttural groan, Abe came harder than he ever had before. The force of his orgasm sent ropes of cum shooting into the air, painting the tiles with his essence. His legs gave out from under him, and he crumpled to the floor, his back thumping against the cool porcelain of the toilet bowl. He remained there, his breath coming in ragged gasps, as the last drops of cum dribbled from his cock, mixing with the sweat that now coated his body.
As the aftershocks of pleasure faded, a wave of exhaustion crashed over Abe like a tidal wave. His eyes grew heavy, and without realizing it, he leaned back, his head lolling against the coolness of the bowl's edge. He didn't fight it; instead, he allowed his eyes to drift shut, the sounds of his own heavy breathing filling the small bathroom. His muscles, which had been so taut with arousal, began to relax, his body going limp.
Before he knew it, Abe was asleep, sitting awkwardly in the toilet bowl. It was a position that would've been uncomfortable for anyone else, but in his exhausted state, it was almost like a cradle. His legs sprawled out before him, his two hands are resting on the floor to keeping from toppling over. His face was a picture of serenity, the kind of peace that comes from the most intense of releases.
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===
But as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the garage in an orange glow, Aiden's eyes fluttered open. He blinked a few times, the sleep still clinging to his eyelids like cobwebs. His body felt… different. He took a deep breath, feeling his lungs expand in a way they never had before, and as he sat up, his newfound muscles rippled and flexed beneath his skin. He looked down at his body, his eyes widening in shock.
He was no longer the skinny, unassuming college kid he'd been just a few hours ago. Aiden had been transformed into a creature of power and beauty, a colossus that could make any man's jaw drop. His chest was now a wall of muscle, the definition sharp enough to cut glass. His abs looked like they'd been sculpted by a master artist, each ridge and valley a testament to his newfound strength.
As he took in his reflection in the cracked bathroom mirror, a smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. He felt different, as if he'd been born anew. The shy, nerdy exterior was gone, replaced by a cocky, arrogant swagger that seemed to ooze from his very pores. He liked the feeling of power that surged through him, the way his body had changed so dramatically.
The light outside was dimming as he stepped out of the bathroom, the setting sun casting long shadows across the garage. He walked to the door that led to the house, his heavy footsteps echoing through the empty space. He didn't bother knocking, instead throwing it open with the newfound confidence of a man who had nothing to fear.
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In the living room, Jack looked up from his workout magazine, his eyes widening at the sight of Aiden's new form. The smirk on his face grew into a full-blown grin as he took in the young man's towering presence.
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"Jack," Aiden slurred, his brain still foggy with the aftermath of his transformation. "Where am I?"
Jack chuckled, his eyes raking over Aiden's new form with unabashed admiration. "You're at my place, man. You had quite the experience in the changing room, huh?"
Aiden nodded, still trying to piece together what had happened. "Yeah," he said slowly, his voice deeper and more gravelly than he'd ever heard it. "I remember buying some clothes from you. But I can't seem to find them."
Jack's eyes lingered on the bulge in Aiden's black briefs, which was now tenting obscenely with each step the young man took. He could see the outline of Aiden's cock, thick and long, straining against the fabric. It was clear that the transformation had not only altered Aiden's physique but also his libido.
"Don't worry about it," Jack said casually, his voice a smooth purr. "You bought that black hoodie and those jogger pants, but I think they're a bit too big for you now." He winked, enjoying the confusion and arousal that played across Aiden's features. "I left them in the guest room for you. Why don't you go check them out?"
Aiden nodded, his gaze lingering on Jack's bulging biceps before he turned to leave. His hips rolled with each step, the fabric of his briefs stretching taut against his engorged cock. The musky scent of male arousal filled the air, thick and potent.
Jack's offer to spend the night was like a siren's call to Aiden's newfound desires. He stumbled down the hallway, his mind racing with thoughts of his transformation and the insatiable hunger that now consumed him. When he reached the guest room, he pushed the door open with a low groan, the wood creaking in protest. The room was sparse, with a single bed in the center and a small dresser in the corner.
He didn't bother looking for the clothes Jack had mentioned; instead, his hand found its way to his throbbing cock, still trapped within the confines of the black brief. The fabric was sticky with his cum, but the feeling of his swollen length in his hand was too much to resist. He began to stroke himself, his eyes glazed over with lust as he took in the new landscape of his body.
Each pump of his hand sent a new wave of pleasure through him, and he couldn't help but moan softly, his body now a playground of unexplored sensations. He'd never felt so alive, so… hungry. The thought of going back to his old life, his old body, was like a distant memory, a faded photograph that no longer held any appeal.
===
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Abe's eyes snapped open as he sat in the toilet bowl, his mind racing to piece together the events that had led him to this moment.
He glanced down at his transformed body, the muscles rippling and bulging in a way they never had before. His hands moved to feel his chest, his fingers tracing the deep valleys and rock-solid peaks of his pecs, his thumbs grazing his erect nipples. His cock, now a thick, pulsing beast, strained against the fabric of the jockstrap, begging for attention. He felt his cheeks redden at the realization that he was sitting in the toilet, his massive legs taking up most of the space in the cramped bathroom.
But it was when his hand moved to his face that he felt the most shocking change. Abe's fingers brushed against a coarse, unfamiliar texture. A beard had grown, thick and dark, framing his chiseled jawline and giving him the look of a Viking warrior. The feel of it was strange, but also surprisingly comforting.
With a shaky breath, Abe stood up, the jockstrap feeling like a second skin around his waist. His body felt heavy, but in a good way, as if he'd been filled with something primal and powerful. He took a step forward, his legs moving almost of their own accord, and stumbled out into the hallway.
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"Jack," he called out, his voice softer than he'd ever heard it. "Can… can I talk to you?"
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Jack looked up from his magazine, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "What's up, Abe?"
Abe took a tentative step into the room, his newfound bulk making him feel vulnerable. "Sir, I… I just wanted to talk to you about something." He couldn't quite find the words to express his confusion and fear.
Jack barely glanced up from his magazine, his eyes dancing with amusement. "What's on your mind, Abe?" he drawled, not bothering to hide the smirk that tugged at the corner of his lips.
Abe took a deep breath, his chest heaving with the effort of holding in his emotions. "Jack… Sir," he began, the word slipping out despite his best efforts to sound assertive. "What… what happened to me?"
Jack's smirk grew, his eyes dark with an emotion that was both thrilling and terrifying to Abe. "You don't remember?" He teased, his voice thick with something that sent shivers down Abe's spine.
Abe's heart hammered in his chest, his mouth dry. "No, Sir," he murmured, the word slipping out again. He felt his knees want to buckle but he held his ground, his new muscles straining under the weight of his own body.
Jack leaned back in his chair, his muscular arms folded over his broad chest. "It's okay, Abe. You're just a little overwhelmed by your new… attributes." The smirk on his face grew wider, his eyes glinting with something that made Abe's stomach flutter.
Abe felt his cheeks burn, his heart racing. "But… I don't understand," he said meekly, his voice cracking. "What happened in there?"
Jack looked up from his magazine, his eyes piercing through Abe's soul. "You don't need to know, Abe," he said, his voice firm yet soothing. "All that matters is that you've been given a gift." He took a sip of his water, his biceps flexing with the movement. "Why don't you just accept it?"
Abe swallowed hard, his knees feeling weak. He wanted to demand answers, to shout and rage against the unfairness of it all, but something in Jack's tone kept him in check. He nodded, his head bobbing slightly, his eyes downcast. "Yes, Sir," he murmured, the word slipping out again like a reflex.
Jack's smile grew even wider, his eyes gleaming with dominance. He pointed a finger towards the guest room. "Why don't you go on in, Abe," he said, his voice low and authoritative. "You're more than welcome to spend the night. It's late, and I'm sure you've got a lot to… process."
Abe nodded, his heart racing. He didn't know why, but he felt a strange mix of fear and excitement at the idea of being so close to the muscular men he'd just seen. He padded down the hallway on silent, bare feet, his cock still straining against the jockstrap. When he reached the guest room, the sound of heavy breathing and the slick, wet sounds of flesh against flesh filled the air.
He pushed the door open slowly, his eyes widening as he took in the sight before him. On the bed lay the form of the hulking muscular man, his hand moving rhythmically up and down his monstrous shaft. The man's muscles rippled with each stroke, the moonlight streaming through the window casting shadows across his gleaming skin.
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"Sir," Abe whispered, his voice hoarse with a mix of awe and arousal. "What's your name?"
The man on the bed looked up, his eyes hooded with lust. For a moment, there was something eerily familiar about those eyes, something that sent a shiver down Abe's spine, but he couldn't quite place it.
"I'm Aiden," the man on the bed rumbled, his voice deeper and more confident than Abe had ever heard. "And as for you," he said, his eyes raking over Abe's transformed body, "you're just a pitiful excuse for a man, aren't you?"
Abe felt his jaw drop, he'd never heard anyone speak to him like that, especially not someone who had been so weak before. But as he took in Aiden's powerful frame, his own muscles flexing and bulging, he knew that the tables had turned.
The anger he'd felt earlier was replaced with a deep sense of fear. The person he'd bullied for years was now his equal, maybe even his superior. Aiden's hand was still wrapped around his own cock, stroking it with a confidence that was unmistakable. Aiden looked up at Abe, his eyes gleaming with something that could only be described as hunger.
Abe felt his breath catch in his throat. He should've been furious, but instead, all he could manage was a stuttered apology. "I'm… I'm sorry, Aiden," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I never meant to… to treat you like that."
Aiden's eyes narrowed, his hand never stopping its relentless pumping. "Sorry isn't enough, Abe," he said, his tone dripping with authority. "If you want forgiveness, you'll have to earn it."
The room was thick with tension, the scent of male lust hanging heavily in the air. Abe felt his body respond, his cock swelling even further in the jockstrap. He licked his lips, his mind racing with confusion and arousal.
"You want me to… to do what?" he stuttered, his cheeks flushing a deep red.
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Aiden's eyes never left Abe's as he spoke, his voice firm and commanding. "You heard me, jock. If you want my forgiveness, you're going to let me claim your ass."
Abe's breath hitched, his cock pulsing in response to the raw dominance in Aiden's voice. He couldn't believe the words he was hearing, but his body was responding in a way that was undeniable. He felt his cheeks burn with a mix of shame and arousal as the reality of the situation sunk in.
With a tremble in his voice, Abe whispered, "Yes, Sir." He took a step closer to the bed, his knees wobbling with anticipation. Aiden's hand never stopped moving on his thick cock, the sound of his palm slapping against his abs echoing in the stillness of the room.
Aiden patted the bed beside him, his eyes still locked on Abe's. "Come here, boy," he said, his voice a seductive purr that made Abe's knees buckle even more.
With a whimper, Abe took the final steps to the bed, his body feeling like it was on autopilot. The jockstrap was soaking wet from his own precum, and his cock was painfully hard, begging for release. He'd never felt so powerless, so… submissive before, but something about it was intoxicating.
Aiden leaned back, his abs flexing as he positioned himself in the center of the bed. With a smirk, he wrapped his hand around the base of his massive cock, which was now pointing straight at Abe's trembling hole. "Ready to be my bitch?" he taunted, his voice a gruff growl that sent shockwaves through Abe's core.
When Aiden's cock finally made contact with his hole, Abe couldn't help the loud gasp that escaped his lips. It was hot, like molten lava, and it sent a bolt of pleasure shooting through his body that made his toes curl. He felt his knees buckle slightly, but Aiden was there, his strong hands on Abe's shoulders, holding him in place as he pushed the tip inside.
Aiden's eyes never left Abe's, the hunger in them growing more intense as he felt the tightness of Abe's body give way to his massive girth. He pushed in slowly, inch by agonizing inch, watching as the jock's face contorted in a mix of pain and pleasure. Aiden's own moan mingled with Abe's as he sank deeper, the feeling of being sheathed in tight warmth unlike anything he'd ever experienced.
Aiden's hand gripped the base of his cock, his thumb brushing against Abe's prostate with every thrust. The jock's moans grew louder, filling the room with a symphony of need and want. Aiden's hips began to move faster, the sound of skin slapping skin growing more intense with every movement. Aiden felt a sense of power wash over him, a power that was both terrifying and exhilarating.
Abe's eyes rolled back in his head as he took in the sensation, his body arching off the bed to meet Aiden's thrusts. He'd never felt so… full before, so completely consumed by another man's desire. His own hand had stilled on his cock, his focus solely on the feeling of Aiden's massive length claiming him, stretching him wider with every push.
Jack sat in his living room, the sound of the TV playing in the background as he heard the muffled moans coming from the guest room. He couldn't help but smile to himself, knowing that Aiden was giving Abe the ride of his life. He'd seen the transformation before; it was always a thrill to watch a new customer discover the power of the clothes he sold. And Aiden had proven to be a natural at it, wielding his newfound dominance with a finesse that Jack hadn't seen in a while.
The noises grew louder, more urgent, as Aiden felt his orgasm approaching. His muscles tensed, and he began to hammer into Abe's willing body with increased ferocity. Aiden's hips were a blur as he chased his release, his teeth gritted and eyes squeezed shut in concentration. Aiden's massive cock was a piston, driving into Abe's tight hole with the power of a freight train.
Abe's moans grew more desperate, his breaths coming in short gasps as he tried to accommodate Aiden's relentless pace. His own cock was a leaking faucet of precum, painting his abs with a sticky sheen. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he bit his lower lip to stifle his screams. The pleasure was so intense it bordered on pain, but Abe didn't want it to stop. He craved the feeling of Aiden's dominance, the way he filled him up and made him feel alive in ways he never had before.
Suddenly, Aiden stiffened, his eyes snapping open to stare into Abe's. "Take it," he growled, his voice deep and primal. "Take it all, you worthless jock." Aiden's cock swelled even more, and with a roar, he came deep inside Abe, his hot cum flooding the jock's insides.
Abe felt the warmth spread through him, filling him up until he could take no more. His own orgasm ripped through him like lightning, his cock spurting thick ropes of cum that shot across his abs, painting them in sticky white streaks. The force of it was so intense that he saw stars, his body trembling uncontrollably as he climaxed harder than he ever had before.
When the tremors subsided, Aiden pulled out with a wet pop, his cock glistening in the moonlight. He looked down at Abe, his expression unreadable. "You're forgiven," he said, his voice still thick with lust. "But there's one condition."
Abe's eyes widened, his chest heaving with each breath. "What is it, Sir?"
Aiden leaned back on the bed, his newfound confidence oozing from every pore. "If you want to stay forgiven," he began, his voice still deep and authoritative, "you'll be my boyfriend. And since we're already roommates," he smirked, "we can enjoy each other's company… whenever we like."
Abe looked up at him, his eyes wide with a mix of shock and desire. The thought of being with Aiden, of being owned by him in every way, was something he'd never considered before. But the way his body responded, the way his cock was already starting to swell again at the mere mention of it, told him that he wanted it more than he could ever admit.
"Y…yes, Sir," he murmured, his voice still hoarse from the screams that had torn from his throat moments before. "I'll be your boyfriend. Anything you want."
Aiden leaned over Abe's trembling form, his own chest heaving with the exertion of their encounter. He took a moment to enjoy the sight of the jock's cum-covered abs, his newfound power still resonating through every nerve in his body. He reached over to the nightstand, grabbed a towel, and tossed it to Abe. "Clean up," he said, his voice still laced with dominance.
Abe took the towel, his eyes never leaving Aiden's as he wiped himself down. The reality of what had just transpired was setting in, and he felt a strange mix of fear and excitement. He knew he'd never be able to look at Aiden the same way again, but he also knew that he didn't want to. He liked this new dynamic, the way Aiden made him feel… alive.
"Thank you, Sir," Abe murmured, his voice thick with emotion.
Aiden smirked, his hand resting casually on Abe's thigh. "I think it's time we expand our little circle," he said, his eyes glinting with mischief. "We'll go back to Jack's garage doon, and you can help me pick out some clothes for my nerdy friends. I think they'd look good with a little… boost, don't you?"
Abe nodded dumbly, his mind still reeling from the events of the night. "Of course, Sir," he murmured, the word rolling off his tongue with surprising ease.
The room was silent for a moment, the only sounds the rustling of the sheets as they both adjusted their positions. Then, Aiden spoke again, his voice filled with excitement. "I've always wanted to play football," he said, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "But I never had the body for it. Now, I think I might just be able to make the team."
Abe's eyes widened at the suggestion. "The football team?" he echoed, still trying to wrap his head around the new world he found himself in.
Aiden nodded, a smug look on his face. "Why not?" he challenged. "I've got the body for it now." His hand absently caressed his new abs, the muscles rippling under his touch.
Abe stared at Aiden, his mind racing. The thought of his former tormentor joining the football team, let alone playing alongside him, was surreal. But he had no power to refuse. "Y…yes, Sir," he murmured, his voice still thick with submission. "I'll talk to the coach tomorrow."
The two muscular men lay there for a while, their eyes locked in a silent understanding. The tension in the room had shifted from anger to something else entirely. It was a bond, a connection forged in the heat of passion and power. They were equals now, but with a dynamic that was unmistakably skewed in Aiden's favor.
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qoldenskies · 2 days ago
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i have like. such mixed feelings on the medic leo headcanon, coming from someone that has used it in pretty much all of his work so far. me and the medic leo headcanon are in an off-and-on relationship and every time i think we're done for good its outside my door with a boombox in the pouring rain and i feel like i hate myself a little when i take it back. it fucks like a champ though which makes it KIND OF worth it
cause like. i really think its an implementation thing that frustrates me more than anything else. to give leo a special THING feels like it disregards such a core facet of his character, that being that he doesn't have one and he feels like the others do. "face man" feels like overcompensating. initially, "leader" feels like too much, and it feels like something he TOOK from raph. there's really an implication that he feels like his brothers are SOMETHING without him, but he's NOTHING without them, and he directly states the second part. (so he overcompensates and acts like they do need him)
i think to make this an early-in-his-life practice kind of throws that out the window. leo taking this up when he's young doesnt fit him, i dont think, especially because i see him as a very.... high wisdom low intelligence kind of character. good street smarts terrible book smarts, and that's kind of apparent by him being so clever and intuitive while also taking stupid dares and making actively reckless decisions to look cool lmao. he would swallow a whole bottle of shampoo because mikey told him to and then be confused why he's in the medbay and raph is yelling at him like ten minutes later
HOWEVER. i think it is a very good way to explore some of the nuances of him that actually MAKE him a good leader, once he steps into that role. leo is a people person. he knows his family, he pays attention to them, he knows how to manipulate them and it would make him a diligent eye in the field. things dont get past him and it makes it hard to hide when theyre in pain from him. he's the most likely to be like "cool, i dont give a fuck" when they try to dismiss injuries. he'll happily make it an argument if he has to; he'd be as stubborn as a mule when it comes to their well-being, and he's more calculative than he looks, which means raph and donnie's usual tactics of dismissal and deflection hit a wall when he puts his foot down on something.
so really i just go out of my way to not make it something EXCLUSIVE to him when its included (and i always go out of my way to make it recent, because why would they have a designated medic who they already know to go to when the concept of crime-fighting was NEVER something they thought would really happen?). it makes the most sense to be something that STARTED with donnie, considering he refers to resuscitating piebald as "my science"; medicine is included in the field of what he enjoys and invests in. donnie is a jack of all trades in anything he can get his grubby little hands on, but ive always seen him as squeamish, which gives a good reason for leo to get involved.
but i think leo would always underestimate his capability despite lots of hands-on experience, even though hands-on is literally how he learns instead of reading books and studying like donnie does. no matter how diligent and practiced he is in the field, he's still not exclusive in it, and it doesnt feel like something that IS a big thing to him. so he can do a few stitches, big deal. donnie and splinter can already do that! who cares? raph and mikey probably could too if they actually paid attention to any of donnie's yap-sessions. no matter how much he boasts about how much they need their cool brother to patch them up, he doesn't believe it, even as he gets better and better and better.
it also gives him the opportunity to really come to face how meaningful it actually is, and to be appreciated for that, especially if donnie is out of commission and he actually gets to utilize that strength. doomed timeline angst potential right there.
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liketolaugh-writes · 2 days ago
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The Commissioner had said that the boy looked exactly like him. It was true, physically, but there were marked differences as well. Bruce studied him as Alfred was gently taking blood for testing.
Danny looked tired; it was likely that he'd been traveling for days, perhaps longer, but he didn't have a bag. Hopefully, he'd dropped it somewhere to retrieve later, but it was also possible that he'd been unable to gather resources before coming to Gotham.
It did beg the question of how he expected this to go. Did he intend to take a DNA sample and leave? Did he have a way of stabilizing himself, or would he return to his creators with the new sample and ask for their help? What traits had he 'failed' to present that they had expected? The number of unanswered questions aggravated Bruce. How much education had he received? Had data simply been uploaded, as with Kon?
But more than tired, Danny looked withdrawn. He shied away from Alfred, and the curious gazes of the Bats that had been spared from patrol. (Spoiler and Red Hood were still out.) His gaze was lowered, his shoulders hunched, like a shamed child. Danny seemed to lack the rage Bruce had exhibited at that age; in its place was a kind of defeat, likely from his abandonment.
Bruce suspected that he felt overindulged just to get a DNA sample, and meant to leave as swiftly as possible after that, as to not be a bother.
"I don't know if my DNA will hold together long enough to be tested," Danny said again, strained and frustrated. "It has… other problems, from some of the later experiments."
That was a half-truth, but Bruce quickly assessed it as a problem for later. "Understood."
"Everything's set up to be as fast as possible," Tim added, arms crossed as he watched. "If it breaks down before I can finish, we'll know it's not your fault."
Danny didn't look reassured. "And… what would you do?"
"We'll exercise our best judgment," Bruce said evenly.
It was obvious that Danny immediately interpreted that as 'we will play it safe and refuse to help you,' by the way his head dropped with a soft, resigned sigh, but Bruce meant what he said. Based on Danny's behavior in the interim, and his stated plans for how to proceed, he would make a judgment call. Calculated risks were Bruce's specialty.
From Damian's unwavering stare, he didn't agree with Bruce's metrics.
"This family is well acquainted with clones, I assure you," Alfred said, kinder than any of the rest of them. "We're well aware that it's not your fault where you came from. Unless we find evidence to the contrary, you are nothing more sinister than a child who desperately needs help."
Yes. A child who, one way or another, was related to Bruce.
"Recklessness," Damian muttered, his restless shifting giving away the extent of his unease. (Damian never was particularly fond of Kon either.)
Alfred handed the blood sample to Tim, who immediately scurried off with it and went to process the sample as quickly as the chemistry of the process would allow. In the following silence, Danny shoved his hands in his lap, seemingly attempting to pretend not to exist. It was an… odd look, for Bruce to see on his own face.
"If you receive a DNA sample, what do you intend to do with it?" Bruce asked abruptly. Danny glanced up, giving him a skeptical look.
"…Stabilize my DNA?" he suggested.
"Do you have the knowledge to do that yourself, or do you intend to return to the people who created you?" Bruce clarified. "Or do you know of another person who may be able to stabilize you?" There were more people in the world that had the relevant knowledge, plenty of whom would be pleased to have even a 'failed' clone of Batman indebted to them. Most of them weren't especially trustworthy.
Danny grimaced slightly, indicating he wasn't happy with his options either. "I know a guy," he said at last, reluctantly. "He's familiar enough with the cloning process that he can probably help. He's not great, but he won't let me die if he can stop it."
That indicated two things: that Danny was not certain this man would succeed, and that he did not like this man. "Define 'not great.'"
"Father," Damian said, exasperated. Bruce ignored him.
Gut Feeling
DPXDC
Commissioner Jim Gordon meets an odd kid in the precinct.
--
“Come on, you really don’t have a way to directly contact Batman?”
Jim smiled. Kids came to the station and asked that all the time. Usually, it was just curiosity and showing them the signal was enough to get them to sign up for the Junior Police program. This one looked a little older than most, teenagers were often “too old” to believe in Batman, but again, give them a little faith now and they’ll never loose it.
“Lookin’ for the Bat, kid?” Jim asked, knowing he was about to make this kid’s –
Jim froze. The kid turned to face him and it was Bruce Wayne. Not playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne, but freshly a teenager Bruce Wayne. The Bruce Wayne who Jim had checked in on time and again from age eight until he ran off on a globetrotting trip to find himself. The little Bruce Wayne with too pale skin and dark bags under his eyes, and not enough love to make up for all the grief weighing him down. And he didn’t look like Damian either, where Bruce was obviously his father but there were distinct traits from his mother. This was a carbon copy of a boy Jim remembered vividly.
“I am.” He even sounded like teenage Bruce. All business, like he was on a mission.
“I might be able to help you, but it’ll take a while.” Jim said and the officer the kid had been talking too gave him an odd look. He waved her off and told the kid to follow him to the commissioner’s office. Normally, he’d be more dramatic, put on more of a show for the kid, but his gut told him this was different, this was important. He offered the kid a styrofoam cup of water then closed the door behind him. “So, what do you need to talk to Batman for?”
“It’s personal. I need to talk to him in person.”
Jim took a sip of coffee from his cup. “He doesn’t appreciate me calling for no reason in the middle of the day.”
“So you do have a direct line?” The kid nearly jumped out of his seat. “If he’s upset, it’ll be my fault, just call him, please.”
“Who should I say wants to talk to him?”
The kid hesitated. “He doesn’t know me, but I have to talk to him.”
Jim frowned. “What’s your name, kid?”
He swallowed and looked like he wasn’t going to answer for a moment. “Danny.”
“Danny…?” Jim wanted a last name but Danny kept quiet. Jim sighed, “He’s likely not going to show up until sundown.”
“I can wait, as long as you guarantee he’ll show.”
“And you’re not going to tell me why you need Batman?” Jim just got a glare in response. “What about one of the other heroes?”
“Only Batman, no one else can help.”
“You sure about that? Not even Superman?”
“Not unless Superman can get me in the same room as Batman.”
“Why’s it so important that you meet him in person?”
“It’s personal.”
Jim liked this less and less by the minute. “Do your parents know you’re here?”
Danny looked away but right when it looked like he wouldn’t say anything he mumbled. “They wouldn’t care anyway.”
After another moment to give the kid time to reconsider, Jim pulled out the Bat-phone. It was a normal Wayne-Tech cell phone, but Jim had been given very specific instructions on how and when to use it. The phone listed all the Gotham Vigilantes without visible numbers so they couldn’t be copied and handed out. He pressed the one for Batman.
“Stand outside, would you?” The kid gave him a look, but followed the request. Jim could see his shadow in the door’s window, not so subtle eavesdropping.
It rang a few times, and Jim sat there awkwardly with a teenager listening to his every move. Finally, a familiar voice picked up the other end of the line. “Commissioner Gordon.”
“Sorry to call you out of the blue Batman, but I’ve got a kid here who needs your help.”
“Who?”
“Says his name is Danny, that you’ve never met him but you’re the only one who can help him.”
“Why?”
“Refuses to tell me.”
“What’s your best guess, Commissioner?”
Jim looked at Danny’s shadow, it looked like he was straining his ears to try and hear what he was saying. Danny had given him almost nothing to work with. Just his name, that he’s never met Batman but needs to talk with him in person. But Jim was here because he listened to his gut. A feeling like when you see a random rock on your neighbor’s doorstep but you’d never go in without an invitation. A feeling like you know what’s in the present and are preparing your surprised face. A feeling like when you cheated on your wife and you know she knows.
“He looks like Bruce Wayne.”
A beat of silence. “What?”
“Danny looks exactly like Bruce when he was a teenager. Exactly the same.” Jim hoped Batman would get it, feel in his gut what Jim felt.
“And he wont say why he’s there?”
“No, and he demands to see you in person.”
“I’ll be there in an hour.”
“10-4.” The line cut off before Jim had finished saying it. He called Danny in again. “He’s on his way.”
Danny glared at him. “If he’s not, if you called some social worker or something, you’ll regret it.”
“I’m sure.” Jim sighed and downed the rest of his now cold coffee.
The sun hadn’t set, but only just barely. Jim ended up taking Danny up to the roof in the end after all, if only to save his window from being broken into. The kid had a red hoodie on, but he was still shivering in the autumn chill and it was just going to get colder by the minute as the sun made its way behind the horizon.
Jim checked his watch and, at exactly an hour from when he called, he acted surprised when Batman and Robin appeared out of nowhere. “Bats.”
“Commissioner.” Batman greeted but his eyes went straight for Danny. “Danny, I assume.”
“Yeah, I…” Danny hesitated, looking at Jim and Robin.
All it took was four words from Batman. “What do you need?”
The kid held out his hand with a flash drive in it. “I’m your clone. My par- The people who made me wanted to make a stronger version of you, but they got ahead of themselves. My DNA is degrading and I’ll die if I don’t get your DNA to stabilize me.”
Holy cow.
“You don’t expect us to believe that, do you?” Robin sneered at him.
“The flash drive has all the info on it. All the data about the cloning process and the, uh, relevant experiments after that.” Batman gave the kid a look. “I didn’t want to waste time on unnecessary data.”
“If what you’re saying is true, why are you here, alone? Are they working on a different solution?”
Danny’s shoulders hiked up. “I’ve been a failure for a while now, I’m not worth the resources and they’d learn more from an autopsy.”
Oof, kid. Jim looked at Batman who seemed to feel the same… if Jim was reading him right.
“So, you wont object to a DNA test?” Robin asked with a cocky head tilt, at least he was relatively easy to read.
“You can try.” Danny said, and then realized what that sounded like. “I mean I wont stop you, but my DNA degrades faster outside my body. You’ll have to take me to whatever lab you plan on using.”
“Then we will.” Batman said and jerked his head towards where they’d probably parked that ridiculous car of his. But then he looked at Jim with a nod. “Commissioner.”
“Batman.” Jim returned the nod. “You’ll tell me how things turn out, yeah?”
“I’ll give you a report.” Batman joked – Jim could tell, it was gut feeling.
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muletia · 13 hours ago
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your yandere starscream snippet?? good lord... 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️as a fellow starscream simp I (and plenty of other followers) are willing to read more if u wanna expand on yandere starscream? (ignore or delete if u dont wanna :3)
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[tfp] yandere!starscream x human!reader very incoherent and crack(ish) ramblings because I'm insane about this scrimblo
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Imagine it’s four in the morning, and you suddenly wake up to get a drink of water. You lean over to grab the full glass on your nightstand, but you don’t even manage to touch the glass with your fingertips because you notice a pair of scarlet optics staring directly at you in the darkness. Oh, and they’re hovering right above your bed. The best part? This isn’t the first or last time this has happened, because he frequently breaks into your house at night just to look at you.
You’d better hope you sleep through his visit, because if you wake up and Starscream notices, you’ll be bombarded with a monologue about how you don’t pay him enough attention. How dare you bolt the doors against him?! You knew full well he would come to see you. And now, thanks to you, the door is ripped off its hinges, cold air is pouring into your house, and he absolutely detests the cold. So you’d better warm his majesty up—or he’ll shove himself under your blanket. Oh, and it’s only Tuesday, which means you’ve got at least ten more incidents like this to look forward to this week.
Since he enjoys breaking into your house—because it’s nice to have a place where no one takes out their frustrations on you with brute force, and where he’s at least somewhat welcome (or so he convinces himself)—he also loves to snatch a few “souvenirs” for himself. Especially when his obsession reaches its peak and he knows he won’t be able to see you for a while. Usually, it’s your clothes that he takes. They remind him of you when he desperately needs comfort.
He’ll nuzzle and cling to them, imagining he’s doing so with you, using them to stave off complete madness. The only downside of stealing clothes soaked in your scent is that the scent fades far too quickly, especially since Starscream often finds himself in rough patches. So you’ll soon notice your clothes disappearing at an alarming rate. Unfortunately, I’m afraid you’ll never get them back. Starscream will adamantly deny any knowledge of the theft and refuse to return the stolen items. By now, they’ve been so thoroughly abused that they’d never return to their original state of cleanliness anyway.
Without his obsession, Starscream is already demanding attention, but when you add a deranged and unhealthy love into the mix, his need for attention skyrockets. When you’re awake, and Starscream decides to visit you—which happens alarmingly often, especially during his self-imposed exile, he insists you keep your eyes on him at all times.
When you talk to him, you must look at him, listen carefully to what he has to say, and actively participate in the conversation. Otherwise, he becomes unbearable. You can’t walk away or leave him; you’re forced to engage. Any attempt to escape will result in manipulation—and if that doesn’t work, he’ll use force. How dare you use your phone in his presence? He’ll snatch it right out of your hands and force you into a conversation with him. Ignoring him despite his threats and insults? If you’re outside, he’ll pin you in place with his claws, forming a sort of cage, and continue his tirade as if nothing happened. If you’re indoors, he’ll trap you with his body instead.
The problem is that once physical contact occurs, Starscream has no intention of letting go.
He clings to you so desperately it’s almost disgusting. He constantly forces physical contact, whether it’s kissing, stroking, or demanding affection himself, often at the most unexpected times, like that miserable four in the morning. And since he’s nearly impossible to satisfy, these sessions can go on forever.
Hours spent stroking his helm and delivering monologues praising his majesty leave your wrist aching and your throat sore. And the next day? You can look forward to another session of the exact same thing.
He’s intensely possessive and jealous, ready to gouge out the eyes, or optics, of anyone who dares so much as glance at you. You can’t even mention your friends’ names in his presence. He’d be happiest if you stopped interacting with anyone else altogether, shrinking your circle of acquaintances down to just him. You don’t need anyone else, right?
After all, the only thing he needs to be happy is you and you alone.
He’s exhausting, demanding, and unafraid to use force to get what he wants from you, but you’ll never get rid of him, no matter how much you might want to. You can scream at him until your voice gives out, try to fortify your home against his intrusions, but Starscream isn’t going anywhere. He has no intention of giving up the only source of comfort in this vile and unjust world. He’ll fight for you at the cost of his sanity—or even his life.
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izvmimi · 2 days ago
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cw: something something about keepsakes and important items. selfship-coded. fluff with suggestive language at the end.
“Have you seen my bandana anywhere?”
Robin offers you a sympathetic look as she shakes her head no, offering you many hands to turn over the room you’re both in but soon you thank her for her efforts, heading out of the room and leaving her to her reading.
The pink, purple and gold scarf is a favorite of yours, and even if it doesn’t have a quarter of the sentimental value or symbolic gravitas as Luffy’s straw hat, it is still particularly important to you. You’d let it sit in the laundry hamper in the women’s quarters for a little too long instead of washing it yourself by hand and leaving it to dry in the shower and (perhaps serving you right for being lazy), now it was nowhere to be found.
Not under any of the beds, or on the living room couches and chairs; not somewhere in the kitchen or bathroom, or in any of the clotheslines with washed shirts and bedsheets hung out to dry.
You find yourself growing more frustrated by the moment as you search, until you find Luffy, sitting on the lawn in squatting position and watching intently as Usopp tinkers with a new invention, your bandana tied around his bicep.
Both relief and annoyance watch you at once.
“Luffy!”
Luffy moves so fast you barely spot him until his face is right in front of you, grinning widely. The rest of him follows, the remainder of his body snapping back into place and you grimace, wishing he wouldn’t contort himself so easily into cartoonishly horrifying form when you weren’t expecting it.
“Eh?”
He pouts as he notices your displeased posture, arms crossed over your chest.
“What happened?” he asks. You uncross an arm and point to the bandana around his arm.
“I’ve been looking for that for almost an hour, Luffy.”
He looks towards the bandana on his arm, then back to you.
“It almost flew overboard, that’s why I have it,” he asks. Slipping it off his arm quickly, he hands it back to you partially wadded up but before you can snatch it, he maneuvers quickly around your grasp, and attempts to fasten it around your forehead.
It catches you by surprise, and he tightens it a little too tight, but his attempt is so earnest, biting his lower lip as he tries to adjust it just right, you find yourself standing still and letting him do it.
“Sorry,” he offers. “Just wanted to keep it safe.”
He pauses, then places his hands on his hips as he admires his own handiwork. You reach up to adjust it gently.
“Luffy I tie it in the back, not the front,” you remind him, but he’s surprised you by putting his own hat on your head.
“Here you can wear this for a few minutes as an apology, okay?” he says. “Take good care of it!”
He’s already walked off to return to bothering Usopp, who sighs at the loss of the temporary reprieve from questions he enjoyed while Luffy was distracted with you. 
Your hands gently clutch the brim of his hat, and wonder why he so easily trusts his possessions with you.
You don’t wear Luffy’s hat often after that, its significance more than you can bear, but there are some particular occasions where he makes sure you hold on to it and you oblige:
When he’s about to do something particularly dangerous but necessary, as a promise that he’ll be fine and right back in front of you to get it.
When you need reassurance that he’s always there for you.
When you need a reason to hide your face...
The last of those reasons is particularly lascivious, but possibly your favorite, the wide brim, shielding you from your own shame when you’re a little too exposed for your own liking, atop or above him, wearing the hat but nothing else. It emboldens you and reminds you that you are loved and treasured all the same.
He is just as fond of your favorite bandana, a playful blindfold when he’s staring at you just a little too much for comfort, or when you want him to know that you too, will be right back where you left him, when you separate, either to travel a new city, landscape or ruin and he must leave you to your devices.
Somewhat of a perfect exchange.
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majestick-posts-op · 3 days ago
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Op characters if I forced them to do my latin homework (i swear its not because I'm procrastinating on it. I've finished it)
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Self explanatory but I'll elaborate:
Mother tounge latin: Olvia and Robin both spoke multiple languages and have an affinity for old texts.
Could do it no problem: Most of the people here have shown to be very smart. Kuma is a priest, he knows his latin. Law was raised catholic. Katakuri can look into the future to see any mistakes he will makeand avoid them. (Counts as cheating but whatever)
Takes a while but good: Same as before. I think Sabo would be good at latin but get bored as hell and zone out during the translation. Brook was best buddies with Virgilius back in his day.
Barely passes: Franky is impatient, he wont look at all the possible word's meanings and get plurals messed up. So will Sanji. Garp gets the construction rules messed up.
Cries but manages: Cora is smart, but emotional. Kin in the kind of guy who gets a 10 even if he hasn't studied and Koby worries too much. Usopp is great but refuses to believe in his abilities.
Cries but doesn't manage: Sugar would trow a tantrum and give up, Helmeppo would faint. Kaku can declinate the word "giraffe" and nothing else. Sorry hachi.
Tears it up: Kidd has anger issues, Arlong can't do shit unless its Nami translating it for him.
Writes bullshit: Bege is too overworked and tired to care. Kizaku thinks latin is below him. Moria didn't do it on purpose.
Leaves it blank: Krieg and anyone affiliated to him is uncapable of even trying, Perona gets too frustrated. That old man got blocked 10 years on a pair of sticks, you expect him to know latin.
Eats the paper: No explanation needed.
Kills Virgilius: Roger has everything except the skills and Ace must have gotten it from somewere. Zoro just wanted to score higher than Sanji and his friends copied from him. The other 3 would kill Virgilius anyway.
Makes latin illegal: Akainu is a bastard who can't accept his mistakes and so is Vergo.
Cheats (no one finds out): Teach and his crew are smart but they take the chaotic neutral route. Nami could do it just fine but she likes scamming the professors. Shanks learned a trick TM. Never mess with Laboon.
Cheats (they found out): Kuro fought he was being cunning and so was Foxy. Hody ate his dictionary before taking the test.
Changes the rules of latin: Enel was himself, Cabagge thinks he can do no wrong, Cesear.... had a vision. Buggy actually did it to make Shanks fail. Jangoo was either gonna do this, or brainwash the teacher. Doffy shot the one that handed him his version back (face down). Hawkings had a 0% change of passing but with this it went up to 2%.
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omgahgase · 2 days ago
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Charthur short
Charles breaks his bow and Arthur gets him a new very special one 🥰
hello there! sorry this lil ask took too long, and sorry that it's not short haha. i love the idea of arthur doing anything for charles bc He's In Love, so here's my take of their relationship before getting together. i hope you enjoy!
It’s a well-known fact in camp and by his friends and by just about anyone that’s asked Arthur for any help making anything outside his expertise of shitty knives:
Arthur ain’t no craftsman.
Yeah, he can chip away at a rock and wrap it around a stick then call it an arrow, and he can weave a basket—nothing else, though, that’s about as far as he can get without Jack or one of the girls aiding his helpless fingers—and, sure, he can tie up a piece of line to any broken branch and head on down to the lake with the world’s most God awful fishing pole, but the truth still stands.
If Arthur had to choose between crafting someone an item and not having it fall apart after its first use, or getting shot in the mouth…Well, then, Arthur’s making sure that bullet goes straight through his throat and out the back of his head.
So why, in God’s green Earth, is Arthur making a new bow for Charles after he broke his old one?
‘Because you love him,’ Arthur thinks, gentle in the same way his cheeks redden at the mere thought of Charles, in correction to Eagle Flies’ snarky, “I don’t know, you asked me for help,” that lights up a spark of irritation in Arthur’s gut, makes Arthur want to shove him off the log he’s perched on.
“This may be the most foolish thing I’ve ever done,” Arthur says, twirling the knife in his hand that’s speckled in his own blood.
He stares at the piece of chokecherry wood in front of him, the branch now thinner than when Arthur chopped it off and whittled it down to a poor, uneven shape that hardly resembles a stick let alone a bow. It took a little over a month to get the wood and then season it, this process he wanted to do himself because it’s special, Eagle Flies said, to put your emotions into a piece of Earth and ask the land if it’s okay to take a piece of its tree for his own desires—for Charles, his mind keeps saying. So he can’t screw it up unless he wants to start all over again. Arthur can’t afford mistakes, but his project laughs at him, it seems, and Arthur, finding himself comfortable in his frustration, wants to burn it.
“A fool in love is stronger than any beast or man he encounters,” Eagle Flies says, crafting improved arrows to Arthur’s right. He holds one up to his eye and stares down the line of it. “Your affection for Charles is deep, therefore, your actions are foolish.” He shrugs, and motions for Arthur to keep whittling. “Keep going. You're nearly there.”
“I almost lost a finger.”
“Your lover will thank you.”
Arthur feels his cheeks go from warm to uncomfortably hot. He tips his hat down over his eyes to hide the deep blush spreading over his face. “Charles ain’t my lover,” he mumbles, a correction to a hopeful assumption.
Eagle Flies only hums as he places his arrow in his pile and Arthur kinda wants to fire all of them into the distance just so his friend can feel an inkling of his annoyance. Arthur does understand that Charles will be grateful, however, no matter how shitty his new bow may turn out. Sadie gave Arthur the suggestion, said that it’ll take Charles months to construct a new bow while Arthur can figure something out and get a new one in his hands in less than that, and Arthur—with his squirrel brain that as of five months, two weeks, and six days ago (but, really, who’s counting?) hasn’t been able to keep Charles Smith out of his head—ran with it. He overestimated his abilities in the fine art of craftsmanship (and thinking with any logical parts of his brain when it comes to Charles) and damn near killed himself gathering everything he needed to make a bow.
Arthur sought out Eagle Flies not too long after Sadie planted the seedling of the thought in his head, asking him what it’d take to trade so he could get his hands on any materials ready for bow crafting. Eagle Flies, with a light in his eyes and a kick in his step, rattled off a list of items his tribe needed. Fresh berries from the West Grizzlies, wolf and cougar pelts, big game from The Heartlands, eagle feathers from the highest cliffs of Donner Falls. He even had to wipe out a few rowdy stragglers who were camped up too close to the tribe, something Eagle Flies said about his father not wanting to wander into outlaw affairs so Arthur best get the job done because it won’t be too suspicious if a Van der Linde boy does it.
After choosing his tree and setting it out to dry, Arthur spent the better half of the week hunting and gathering, putting his neck out on the line for anything that can make Charles a bow as good as the one he made himself, and by the time he had everything he needed in his possession, he was more bruised and bloody than a shitty bull rider at the state fair.
Arthur knows it’ll be worth it, though. If it means he can do something for Charles—and maybe crack a smile outta him, Arthur’s a greedy bastard down to his core and he needs to be on the receiving end of just one of Charles’ rare grins—then Arthur will gladly do it all over again.
He huffs, loudly, and gathers up the remaining incentive to keep going. Eagle Flies said he's almost done whittling, then all that's left is to string the sinew, and add little decorative designs along the shape of it because every bow is different, none is ever exactly the same. That’s what Eagle Flies told him when Arthur first started this journey.
‘Every bow is unique in its own way. Make it your own.’
‘But it’s not for me,’ Arthur had said. ‘I’m makin’ it for Charles.’
Eagle Flies only looked at him, wearing the same face Sadie wore when she gave him the idea. ‘Make it for him, then, but give a piece of yourself into every step. Put your emotions into your craft, and make it yours. Both of yours.’
‘Make it ours,’ Arthur reminds himself as he gets back to work.
---------------------------------
One month, twenty-six days, and seven hours. That’s how long it took him to make a bow.
Arthur has more scars on his hands now than he ever did before he set out to make this gift, which granted him the full understanding of the saying ‘putting in the blood, sweat, and tears’ into something you love. Arthur loves Charles more than he thinks is capable of a man like him, so why wouldn’t he put in all his effort?
He’d do just about anything for Charles, that’s been established a long time, maybe even back then in Colter when Charles suffered from a burnt hand and Arthur did everything in his power to make sure he didn’t injure it any further. That was the start of it all, Arthur believes, and now in the present time, Arthur isn’t tending to his wounds anymore, instead, he’s tending to the ache in his chest telling him to do grand displays of affection. Like crafting an entirely new bow when Arthur is the shittiest craftsman from here to Blackwater.
Arthur sucks in a deep breath to steel the jitters in his hands, his fingers clutching at the leather wrapping of the bow like a lifeline, and walks a little way down to the lake’s shoreline. Flat Iron Lake ain’t that much to look at it in the daytime, the heat of Lemoyne making the sand feel like hot rocks and the water like a warm bath, but in the evenings, when the sun’s setting just right, a blaze sparks across the horizon, makes the bright blue of the water’s surface turn a flower petal pink, then a dusky orange.
It’s pretty, hell, Arthur would even say it’s beautiful, but he won’t. Nah, the most beautiful thing about the lake is when Charles stands at the water’s edge, his features painted in the ever-changing color of the sky, his hair long and wavy down his back, the outline of his frame strong, sturdy like a mountain, and just as gorgeous. He just stares out into the water, soaking it in, eyes soft in the setting sun, and Arthur can’t think of anything prettier.
Arthur swallows down the nervous lump in his throat, then, “‘Scuse me, Mr. Smith,” he calls.
Charles turns, his fair falling in front of his eyes when he sees Arthur, and, suddenly, it’s only them. Call it Arthur’s tunnel vision—hell, even call him crazy if it fits—but at the moment Charles fully faces him, the barest hint of a smile on his face (is he surprised? Arthur hopes so), the lake, camp, everything around them falls away.
“Hello, Arthur,” Charles greets, meeting him halfway along the shore’s edge. He stops just shy of a foot away, and Arthur has to resist the urge to pull him closer. “Aren’t you supposed to be working on that stagecoach job with John?”
“Nah, Martson can handle it.” Arthur clears his throat, then, before his brain can tell him to high tail it back to his tent, he thrusts out the leather wrapping. “I got somethin’ for you.”
Charles’ eyebrows knit together quizzically before he looks down as if just realizing it was there, his lips going all pouty in that way he does when he doesn’t understand something. “What’s the occasion?” He asks, gingerly taking the wrappings and undoing the ties.
“No occasion, Mr. Smith. It’s just—well, I thought that um—” Before Arthur can stop himself, his mind going from overly polite to ‘Don’t say anythin’ stupid,’ his mouth kicks into overdrive and rambles a string of words in a single breath.
“I know you broke your bow last time you went huntin’, and it’s hard tryin’ to find somethin’ like that in any ‘ol store, so I made you a new one—it ain’t as pretty as your last one—shoot, it probably don’t work much better neither, but I made it—for you—so I hope it gets the job done.”
Arthur’s head swims woozy by the time his words fall free, and his gut churns with anticipation as Charles looks upon the bow, his expression hidden by the shadow of the descending sun. Arthur’s feet are leaden to the ground, his hands trembling a shake so violent he hides them behind his back, and after a few seconds of agonizing silence, of Charles tracing the curved line of his new weapon with a delicate finger and tweaking the sinew strings, he lifts his head. Arthur’s heart jumps into his throat.
“You made this?” He asks, marveled, eyes the softest shade of brown Arthur’s ever seen on him.
Arthur clears his throat, manages a croaked, “Yeah.”
Charles just continues to feel it, grips over the leather wrapping of the middle part, and then, as if in a trance, his eyes land on the engravings just above. His thumb runs over it, gently, as if the bison might disappear if he’s not careful.
“You did this too?” His voice is so deep, so soft as if he’s speaking to Arthur in a dream that Arthur almost misses his question.
“Yeah. Eagle Flies helped, a ‘lil. Actually, he’s the one who taught me how to make it. I didn’t—I wanted to do it right.” The ‘for you’ threatens to barrel roll from his lips but Arthur swallows it down, forcing it to the back of his throat. “Bison are important to your family. So,” he shrugs, trying to pass it off as nonchalant when his body’s buzzing like a hummingbird.
Charles’ eyes land on the second engraving, a buck that sits just below the leather, and something in the way he spoke, like a gentle rustle in the grass, shook Arthur to his core. “Is this you?”
Arthur nods, steps a little closer so he can brush his fingers over the buck too, just shy of Charles’ own. “The lines took the longest. Almost lost a finger while doin’ it.” Charles chuckles, endeared, and he’s smiling, a small barely there upturn of his lips that Arthur wants to sketch and keep in his pocket forever. “Eagle Flies said to make it special, to, y’know, make it my own. It’s yours, though, but I still wanted to have a ‘lil bit of myself there. So it’s—it’s kinda like ours—in a way, I guess.”
Arthur bites his tongue, stopping himself from saying anything else that will make his face redder than a fire ant’s ass. He hopes the flaming rays of the sun can cover his blush, but even his luck can’t make miracles.
“It’s beautiful,” Charles says, so earnestly that Arthur’s heart drops from his throat and does a can-can number in his chest. “It’s like you’ll be with me wherever I go.”
“I’ll go anywhere with you, Charles,” Arthur counters, baffled by the thought that he wouldn’t follow Charles to the end of the Earth. If he asked or not, Arthur’s with him.
Charles stares at him, then, equally as mystified. “You will?”
As if Arthur would be anywhere else. “Always.”
It’s Charles’ turn to surprise him, then, by lunging into Arthur’s person with the force of a bolder. He hugs him tight, squeezes around Arthur’s shoulders, and tucks his face close to his ear. He doesn’t say anything, not until Arthur’s body catches up to his brain and he wraps his arms around Charles’ middle, holding on just as close.
“Thank you, Arthur. No one’s ever given me something like this, or ever treated me this nice before.”
“I will,” Arthur says, his voice muffled by the fabric of Charles’ shirt, but still holding so much weight to it that Charles steps in until the entirety of their bodies are pressed together. “You’re my friend, Charles. I would do anyin’ for you.”
Charles sucks in a sharp breath. “Thank you.”
They separate far too quickly for Arthur’s liking, the sun nearly gone behind the mountains and the moon already high in the sky. Charles continues to stare at his gift as if he can’t believe it’s actually his like he can’t imagine someone going out of their way to give him something as heartfelt.
(In the back of his mind, Arthur vows to break that train of thought, to make Charles believe he’s not just put on this Earth to hurt, but to live, and, hopefully, to love.)
But still, even if Charles likes it, Arthur still has to say, “Sorry if it ain’t as good as your old one.”
“Don’t be a fool,” Charles scolds, his eyebrows knitting together. “It’s perfect.”
Arthur rolls his eyes. “You and I both know my craftsmanship is shit. You don’t even know how it shoots.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Arthur. You’re more of a wonder than you think you are.” He smiles, then, closed mouth and so sweet that his cheeks bunch up under his eyes, and Arthur officially goes dumb. “Come. Practice with me while we still have light.”
He brushes past Arthur, up the little hill towards the small clearing near camp. When Arthur doesn’t move because he’s too busy reeling at granted something so small and special, something no one else in camp gets to see, Charles calls out to him.
“You coming with me, cowboy?”
Immediately, Arthur is next to him, standing so close their knuckles brush and a spark shoots out somewhere in the distance.
“Always.”
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clarkeyhill · 2 days ago
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jealousy, jealousy | Arthur hill
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Angst.
It started with a stupid comment, one of those offhand remarks that shouldn’t have meant anything but hit harder than it should have. We were at a party, the music pounding, the room crowded with faces I barely recognized. Arthur had been standing by the bar, laughing with some girl I didn’t know—a tall, effortlessly gorgeous blonde who had been flipping her hair and leaning in just a little too close for comfort.
When he came back to me, drink in hand, I couldn’t help the sharp edge in my voice. “Making friends?”
Arthur raised an eyebrow, his usual smirk tugging at his lips. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, nothing,” I said, crossing my arms, the words already dripping with sarcasm. “Just looked like you and Barbie were hitting it off.”
And that was all it took.
“What, I can’t have a conversation without you getting jealous?” Arthur snapped, his tone harsher than I expected.
“I’m not jealous!” I shot back, though the heat in my cheeks said otherwise. “I just don’t appreciate you giving her all your attention while I’m standing here like an idiot.”
Arthur’s eyes narrowed, the tension between us thickening. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“And you’re being an asshole,” I retorted, stepping closer, the space between us crackling like a live wire.
The argument spiraled fast, our voices rising above the music, drawing a few curious glances from nearby partygoers.
“She’s just a girl,” Arthur said, his hands gesturing wildly. “You’re the one I’m here with. What more do you want from me?”
“What I want,” I hissed, my voice sharp enough to cut, “is for you to stop acting like I’m overreacting every time you flirt with someone.”
Arthur barked out a laugh, though there was no humor in it. “You think that was flirting? God, you’re impossible.”
“Oh, I’m impossible?” I shot back, shoving his chest. “You’re the one who can’t go five minutes without charming someone new!”
“You’re unbelievable,” he growled, stepping closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous low. “Always looking for a fight, aren’t you?”
“Maybe I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t give me so many reasons!” I shouted, my chest heaving as the anger bubbled over.
Arthur’s jaw tightened, his eyes dark with frustration—and something else. Something that sent a shiver down my spine despite the heat of the argument. He stepped closer still, his body crowding mine, and for a moment, I thought he was going to shout again.
Instead, his voice dropped, low and rough. “You know what your problem is?”
I glared up at him, my breath hitching at the intensity in his gaze. “Enlighten me.”
“You like this,” he said, his lips curling into that maddening smirk. “You love pushing me, getting me all riled up. It gets you off, doesn’t it?”
My stomach flipped, and I hated how right he was.
“Shut up,” I said, though my voice had lost its bite.
Arthur took my chin in his hand, his thumb brushing over my jaw as he tilted my face up to meet his gaze. “No, I don’t think I will.” His eyes searched mine, the tension between us shifting, turning hotter, heavier.
“Arthur—”
But before I could finish, his lips crashed into mine.
The kiss was fierce, consuming, a collision of frustration and passion that sent sparks flying between us. His hands slid to my face, his touch firm, possessive, as if he was staking his claim all over again. My fingers tangled in his shirt, pulling him closer, and the world around us disappeared.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against mine, both of us breathing hard. “You drive me crazy,” he murmured, his voice low and husky.
I smirked, my lips brushing against his as I whispered, “Good.”
Arthur chuckled, the sound warm and rich, and then he kissed me again, softer this time, though no less intense. The argument forgotten, we lost ourselves in the fire that always seemed to burn between us, a flame that only grew brighter when we clashed.
-
🫶🏻
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peleksstuff · 2 days ago
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escape V. l rafe cameron x pogue!reader
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*gifs not mine*
ive been gone so long hope you didnt forget that last chapter cause i do but heres an update so sorry for the long wait
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one
two
three
four
“You’re not useless, Rafe. You’re more than what he says. You just… need to stop trying to be what he wants you to be.”
Rafe’s gaze locked onto yours, and for a moment, the air between you felt charged, heavy with something unspoken.
_______
Rafe’s heart raced as he roared down the dark, empty road on his motorcycle. The wind whipped against his face, but it did nothing to cool the burning anger, frustration, and heartbreak bubbling up inside him. The sound of his father’s voice still echoed in his ears, cruel and sharp.
“Useless. You’re a disappointment, Rafe. You’re not my son.”
His father had saved him tonight—paid off Barry to cover his debt after Rafe's reckless run with drugs and poor decisions had spiraled out of control.
But Ward Cameron hadn’t just stopped there. He disowned him, severing whatever thread of connection Rafe had desperately clung to for so long.
The validation he’d craved from his father had been ripped away, leaving him feeling hollow, unwanted.
He squeezed the handlebars harder, his knuckles white. He wanted to cry—hell, he needed to—but something inside him wouldn’t let the tears fall.
Instead, he felt stuck in the numbness, trapped in the anger that swirled with his sorrow.
Where was he even going? He didn’t know. He just needed to escape, to run from the weight of his father’s rejection. He’d always been good at running.
Before he knew it, the familiar neon glow of the diner lights cut through the dark. Kiara’s family diner. Your workplace. Without thinking, Rafe pulled into the parking lot, the motorcycle’s engine cutting off as he came to a stop.
He was exhausted, emotionally drained, and he didn’t have the energy to go anywhere else. Something about seeing you right now felt like the only thing that might tether him to reality.
As he pushed the door open and stepped inside, the bell above the entrance jingled softly. You were behind the counter, wiping down the tables, unaware of his presence at first.
The diner was mostly empty at this hour, just a few late-night regulars scattered around. When you finally looked up and spotted him, your eyes widened in surprise. You stared at him for a moment, caught off guard by his presence.
He made his way to a booth near the window, sitting down heavily. You caught his eyes briefly as he stared out into the night, lost.
There was an intensity in his sadness that you hadn’t seen before, and it unnerved you. Rafe Cameron wasn’t supposed to look like that.
You wiped your hands on your apron and walked over to him, keeping your voice steady as you asked, “Can I get you anything?”
He looked up at you, and for a moment, there was something so open, so broken in his expression that you almost wanted to sit beside him.
He held your gaze, his voice low and a little hoarse when he spoke. “You.”
You blinked, not expecting that. “Rafe—”
“I just… need someone to talk to,” he said, his words barely above a whisper.
His eyes were glassy, like he was on the verge of tears but refusing to let them fall. “And it’s you. I don’t know why, but I need you.”
The honesty in his voice caught you off guard. Rafe wasn’t the kind of guy to admit weakness, especially not to someone like you—a Pogue. But there was something so genuine in his sadness that you found yourself nodding before you could think better of it.
“My shift’s over in fifteen minutes,” you said softly. “I can talk to you then.”
As you turned to head back to the counter, you noticed Kiara leaning against the kitchen door, her arms crossed as she watched the exchange.
Her eyes narrowed slightly as she took in the sight of Rafe in the diner.
“Rafe, huh?” Kiara said, her tone carrying a hint of suspicion. “That’s… unexpected.”
You shrugged. "Its not like that."
Kiara let out a soft laugh, her eyes narrowing in playful disbelief. "You know he’s bad news, right?”
There was an edge to her voice that told you it wasn’t just casual gossip. Kiara had seen what Rafe was like, how he treated her friends—Pogues. Her warning wasn’t out of jealousy or teasing. It was genuine concern.
Rafe had a reputation, and it wasn’t a good one. But the Rafe sitting in that booth looked nothing like the guy who was always stirring up trouble.
He looked… lost. And something in you couldn’t walk away from that, not after everything he did for you.
“I’ll be careful,” you promised, offering Kiara a smile.
After the clock finally struck the end of your shift, you pulled off your apron and approached Rafe’s booth. He glanced up at you, still looking like a storm was brewing inside him.
“Come on,” you said softly, nodding toward the back exit. “Let’s go somewhere quiet.”
The two of you stepped outside, the night air cool against your skin. You led him to a small bench behind the diner, away from prying eyes.
For a while, neither of you spoke. Rafe just sat there, staring down at his hands, lost in thought. You weren’t sure how to start, so you waited for him.
Eventually, he broke the silence. “I fucked up. Again."
Rafe took a long, shaky breath, rubbing a hand across his face. “My dad… he’s done with me.”
His voice cracked, and for the first time, you saw the raw pain behind his eyes. “He paid off my debt tonight—saved my ass from Barry—but then he told me I was a disappointment. That I wasn’t his son anymore.”
“I just… I don’t get it,” he continued, his voice growing more frustrated.
“No matter what I do, it’s never enough for him. I’m never enough.”
He looked at you, his eyes filled with a pain so deep it made your chest ache.
“I don’t know what to do anymore. I’ve been trying so hard to prove myself, but… maybe he’s right. Maybe I am useless.”
“Don’t say that,” you said firmly, your hand resting on his arm.
“You’re not useless, Rafe. You’re more than what he says. You just… need to stop trying to be what he wants you to be.”
Rafe’s gaze locked onto yours, and for a moment, the air between you felt charged, heavy with something unspoken.
His eyes searched yours, and you could see the vulnerability in them, the desperation for someone—anyone—to believe in him.
“You really think that?” he asked quietly, his voice laced with disbelief.
“I do,” you said softly. “You don’t have to be perfect, Rafe."
Something shifted in his expression then, a flicker of hope or maybe relief, and before you could process what was happening, Rafe leaned in.
His lips brushed yours, soft at first, like he wasn’t sure if you’d pull away. But when you didn’t, he deepened the kiss, his hand gently cupping your face.
The world around you seemed to fade, the only thing you could focus on was the warmth of his lips against yours, the way his hand gently cupped your face as if he was afraid to break you.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath shaky.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice rough.
“Don’t apologize,” you interrupted softly, your fingers brushing the side of his face.
Rafe didn’t need to say anything more, and neither did you. All you knew was that in this moment, Rafe needed someone—and for some reason, he had chosen you.
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lqveharrington · 1 day ago
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Rodrick heffley………better than revenge
Better Than Revenge | R.H.
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summary: after years of friendship with rodrick, the one thing that came in between you was a girl.
pairing: rodrick heffley x best friend!reader
includes: use of Y/N, reader's last name is Johnson, pretty much angst, fighting, yelling, cursing, unspoken feelings, mentions of murder, not proof read
a/n: first time writing for rodrick, tell me how it is!
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The one thing you didn’t think would get in between you and Rodrick was a girl. Sure, he had talked with girls who would give him the time of day, but they never really phased you. Not like Heather Hills. Her prissy attitude and selfishness somehow found its way under your skin, riling you up and causing a hitch in your friendship with Rodrick. You knew she wasn’t good for him but — of course — he never listened. It seemed as if you were merely a second thought.
And it didn't help that she looked at you like you were a waste of space. But who was the one getting all the college scholarships and going to college in the first place?
“Rodrick, she’s just using you as a rebound!” You huff and grab your keys from his bed side table, slipping your shoes back on.
You meant to spend an hour over at Rodrick’s before heading over to your cello lesson in preparation for the final concert before heading off to college, but he just had to bring up his date with Heather. You tried to fake a pretty smile for him and nodded politely — you really did. But as soon as he stopped everything to answer a dry text message from the woman herself, you decided you had enough of his nonsense.
Rodrick hastily tucked his phone in his back pocket and watched you with confused eyes, brow furrowing at your sudden desire to leave. “Heather likes me, okay? You know this has been the dream since—“
"Since elementary, I know!" You glare at him and stare at him a second longer before running your fingers through your hair in annoyance. "Whatever, I don't have time for this."
Swiftly, you raced down the stairs and nearly collided with Greg. You quickly apologized and did your best to make it to your car without being stopped by Rodrick. Did you really want to leave the house on a bad note? No, but god he was annoying you beyond all measures.
Rodrick pursed his lips and tapped his foot to the ground before chasing after you, colliding with Greg this time. He pushed his brother out of the way and blocked the front door, narrowing his eyes when you rolled yours.
You moved to the left and he followed. You moved to the right and he followed. Huffing, you crossed your arms and looked up at him in exasperation. “I need to head to cello, Rodrick—“
“Are you jealous?” He breathed out and looked over your facial expression, shaking his head when you sent him another glare.
Rodrick was used to your glares and your occasional arguments, but this one felt more personal. After years and years of friendship, this felt like a final blow to a precarious accord. Like one wrong move would completely change your views on each other.
“Why would I be jealous?” You crease your brows and frown, eyes flickering back and forth between him and the door behind him.
He shook his head and raised his arms in frustration. He didn't know what to say, so he said the first thing his mind thought of whenever he thought of you. “I-I don’t know! Maybe because I'll like her better than you?”
Your mouth parted ever so slightly before you felt your eyes glazed over in anger, shoving him to the side. "Fuck off, Rodrick."
Of course the time you decide to use foul language was when Mrs. Heffley entered the room. She took one look at the two of you and stood in between, hands pushing you two away from each other.
“Language!” She scolded and glanced at your teary-eyed expression, anger dissipating at the sight. “What are you two arguing about now?”
“Nothing.” You both speak at the same time, still staring at each other in glowering hatred.
Several seconds later, you pull away from Mrs. Heffley and move to the door yanking the handle hard like it was the one who insulted you. Mrs. Heffley looked at her soon in disappointment and opened her mouth to speak but got interrupted by you, pursing her lips at how distant your voice was.
“I have cello, so if you’ll excuse me.”
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For the rest of the month leading up to your final orchestra concert in Plainview, you were in a sour mood. You would have thought a final goodbye to your childhood town would have been more mournful, but all you felt was annoyance. Even your cello teacher knew something was upsetting you. However she was only in her early twenties, so every so often you felt like she was your friend more than a mentor.
“Then he has the audacity to ask if I’m jealous and never reaches out afterward!” You pace around your cello teacher's office with a heavy heart. You had been complaining for the last thirty minutes of the lesson, and all you wanted to do was burst into tears at the thought of Rodrick claiming you were jealous of Heather. “I swear, he’s such an ass. Even more now that Heather has him wrapped around her finger. She thinks she's so innocent when really she's an actress and known as a w—"
You teacher put a hand up and stopped you, "Enough complaints about Rodrick. I'm almost positive tomorrows lesson will be about him anyway."
You sent her a sheepish smile and sat in your chair again, fiddling with the old friendship bracelet you and Rodrick made way back in middle school. You didn't think twelve years of friendship would wash away because of Heather, but you also didn't think you would end up in the situation you were in now.
"Besides Rodrick, have you hung out with anyone else this summer?" She moved around to wipe the dry erase marker off the board, tilting her head when your face flushed crimson. "So there is one?"
"Only Alex." You murmured and picked at your nails, more interested in the color than the topic.
Your teacher chuckled and gave you a lopsided smile, "Instead of dwelling on the Heffley boy, why not give Alex your time? It's better than whatever revenge you were planning in your head."
Somehow, you flushed an ever deeper shade of red and nodded, hating how she was able to read you so well. Your thoughts went back to the boy who caused all your grievances. If he didn't care how you felt any longer, why should you care about how he felt?
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Rodrick didn't know if you even wanted him to come watch you orchestra concert. Since you first picked up a cello, he came to every single concert and in return, you came to watch whenever his band performed. But after the horrid argument he started, he wasn't sure if you would still welcome his family — more or less him — to the concert.
“Rodrick, let’s go! We’re going to be late!” His mother shouted from the bottom of the staircase, causing him to snap out of his stupor.
Grudgingly, he clipped on his tie and made his way to the foyer, groaning when his mother fussed over the dirt smudges over his face. He swatted her hands away and took care of the issue himself, grumbling in annoyance. Susan looked at her eldest and narrowed her eyes, knowing he had something to say.
Rodrick rolled his eyes and shook his head, unruly hair sticking out in various places. “I don’t think she’ll want me there.”
“Of course, she does!" Susan adjusted Rodrick's collar and patted his chest, giving him a reassuring smile. "Despite whatever — uh — conflicts you two have, she’ll still want to see her best friend in the audience for her big day.”
"And we already told her family to save seats for us at the front row." Frank muttered under his breath and earned a smack to the arm from his wife.
Rodrick huffed and messed with his cuffs, not meeting either of his parents' eyes. He didn't need his mother's sympathy or his father's military style attitude to ruin the rest of his already awful summer break.
“Yeah yeah, whatever.” He shuffled to the door and swung it open, nearly knocking Greg off his feet. “Let’s get this over with.”
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As always, your performance was flawless. From full orchestra to your solos, you were absolutely marvelous. Every time you went to play, you were completely immersed in your own world. You focused on your own instrument and listened for the cues. You were at peace and it was such a display each and every time.
Often you would open your eyes to scan the crowd in between the switching of instruments, almost like you were looking for someone. When you met Rodrick's eyes, he sent you an encouraging smile and only until you sent him a quick smile did his own felt real.
"See, she did want you here!" Susan whisper-shouted at Rodrick and nudged him with her elbow, earning a weak grin from him.
When the concert finally finished and the final applause died out, the institution was finally able to award their seniors as they were leaving in a little over a week. Rodrick had completely zoned out all the other awards, nearly falling asleep before his mother stood and cheered quite loudly when you were called up to the front.
“The Beatrice Huntington Award goes to… Y/N Johnson! Along with the George Barati Cello Scholarship! Congratulations Miss Johnson!” Your cello teacher spoke into the microphone and handed you a plaque, giving you a hug when you appeared by her side with a bright smile.
You beamed at the crowd as many of them knew you since you were only six. Your eyes watered as you took a final bow, earning a louder applause. You knew this would be your last performance for the institution, and when you came back, it would be completely different.
Your eyes met with Rodrick's one last time before the audience was dismissed. You could practically feel how proud he was despite his low effort in looking decent. He sent you a thumbs up and you laughed softly, wiping your tears before your makeup could run.
When you made it out to the auditorium foyer, you were immediately swept into the arms of Mrs. Heffley and felt her attack of kisses to your cheek. Laughing, you returned her hug with the same amount of emotion. She was the one who truly supported your decision in playing the cello at such a young age.
“Congratulations, sweetie!” She squeezed your shoulders and pulled you into another hug, smiling so bright it could out shine the sun. She sniffled and dabbed a handkerchief to her eyes. “Couldn’t be more proud of you!”
“Thank you, Mrs. Heffley.” You pull away and send her a grateful smile, squeezing her hand reassuringly.
Your eyes drifted to her family behind her, smile widening when Manny waved at you. You could see that the entire Heffley family was proud but nothing could prepare you for Rodrick trying to hide his own tears. You were unsure if they were for you or about you, but you were immediately pulled out of your thoughts when Mrs. Heffley offered to take you out for dinner with her family.
“Oh, it's quite alright, Mrs. Heffley!" You tighten your grip on your award and avoid Rodrick's eyes. "My... A friend is taking me out to dinner tonight and I wouldn't want them to feel like I'm ditching them last minute."
Her eyebrows shot up and opened her mouth to ask who, in hopes of inviting them as well when said friend walked up and wrapped an arm around your waist and kissed you temple, smiling down at you. She was even more surprised when you smiled up at the boy and whispered unknown words to him.
"I'll be there in a second." You murmur and meet his bright eyes, heart swelling when he pressed a kiss to your lips. "Alex..."
"Well you have to introduce me to them, yeah?" He whispered back and pressed one last kiss to your lips before winking at you.
You clear your throat and give the now shocked family a bashful grin, eyes only meeting Mrs. Heffley's wide ones. She continued to look between the both of you, doing her best not to verbally react to the new information.
"Uhm, Heffleys, this is Alex. Alex, this is the Heffley family." You gesture and nearly drop the plaque, Alex's hand coming around to help you balance the heavy glass.
When no one reacted, you awkwardly stood in front of them, smile faltering when they glanced at each other with confused looks. You were about to excuse yourself when Mrs. Heffley finally realized what had happened.
She began to introduce everyone in the family and nodded until you thought her head would fall off. You hid your laugh in Alex's shoulder and sighed softly before you heard Alex mutter something utterly shocking in your ear.
"Rodrick looks like he might stabbed me to death with his drumsticks."
You furrow your brows and look over him, frowning when he did in fact look murderous. He was happy just a few second ago, what happened?
"Sorry to interrupt," You cut of the rest of Mrs. Heffley's confusing rambling. "But we have to get going soon."
"Oh, yes, of course!" She quickly spoke and gave you one last grin. "Congratulations again."
"Thank you." You send her a happy smile before looking back at Rodrick one last time.
He shook his head at you and turned away, leaving you to ponder whether or not he truly was happy for you. But was it your fault? He didn't try and reach out to you the entire month and he expected you to just stay around him. It was unfair and you both knew it.
So without any sort of remorse, you let Alex sweep you away to the diner. It didn't matter what Rodrick thought anymore. Besides, he had Heather Hills to fall back onto.
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©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms
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larryisinlove · 3 days ago
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I completely agree with this post by @apparentlybychance and what I write below is from my perspective. My understanding comes from the perspective of someone who studied marketing since 2019, is a community manager and currently works in a marketing agency. 
You are not compelled to take everything I say as the real and only way to look at it, this is my opinion and I respect others as well.
It's clear that Louis needs a new marketing team, as the current one doesn't seem to be doing its job properly or, worse, doesn't even seem to understand what they're doing. Their attempts to divert attention to topics such as his "fatherhood" or sexuality are way too obvious, while his music is poorly promoted. Many fans try to fill that gap by promoting his music organically, but it doesn't have much impact as we are not an enormous fandom and it's not our responsibility either. Moreover, the fan base shrinks with every failed "strategy", which generates disinterest, anger and abandonment of the fandom. This is also reflected in the organisation and promotion of their shows and music releases. 
The worrying thing is that this mismanagement is not new; it has been going on since the beginning of his solo career. Some justify this by saying that Louis prefers to be an underground/indie artist and be left alone with the usual fans, but that makes no sense, that's just a justification for the bad actions of his team. No artist seeks to stagnate or limit his growth. To advocate without questioning every decision of an artist's background doesn't mean being a "bad fan", and it is important to understand that questioning the strategy is not attacking the artist. 
It is frustrating to see that many fans believe that Louis doesn't really want to grow as an artist, which, again, makes no sense. The problem is the lack of planning and analysis on the part of his team, who act without foreseeing the long-term consequences. I don't understand this image they want to give him, because as a fan for years, this is not the Louis I grew up with. Maybe he's trying to distance himself from One Direction and avoid the mainstream stuff, which is admirable, but this kinda rude and distant image doesn't seem to align with his original (and real) essence. 
Those of us who work in marketing and communication have a different, more analytical and technical vision, which allows us to detect patterns and strategies (or the lack of them). This is not a justification to invalidate other opinions in any way, but to offer an informed perspective. With Louis, it is clear that there is no clear strategy. His team seems to improvise, as if every decision is made without a long-term plan, simply reacting in the moment.
The resurgence of the babygate stuff a few days ago is another example of this lack of planning. From the outset it seems to have been an idea launched without considering the consequences and, now that it has grown out of control, they don't know how to handle it or shut it down for good. This only creates more chaos as the years go by. The exposure of the child has been contradictory from the beginning: How can you justify wanting to protect his privacy when he was initially exposed so much by his whole family, from pregnancy onwards, and then included in the documentary "All of These Voices"? Nothing has any coherence if you analyse it at all.
As for the blocking on Twitter, it is hard to believe that Louis has blocked so many accounts without it being known beforehand. It's an absurd and ineffective tactic to manage the narrative of his public image. I agree with the post that "Louis and his team are no different. They like to use subtle tactics like blocking, following, unfollowing or general interactions on their social accounts (mainly X) to manage the narrative of their public image" as this is part of a strategy that has been carried over from One Direction, like when he tweeted "I am in fact straight" or "Larry is the biggest load of bullshit I've ever heard".
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Or Another example we can name is this 2012 interaction with Rebecca Ferguson, where she expresses the overexploitation she was receiving and "Louis" replies "Success is impossible without proper hard work". That contradictory image does not fit with the Louis that many of us fans have known and followed for years. Why would an artist seek to lose fans and, therefore, limit his growth?
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Over time, all this has made their actions feel fake and automated. As a fan, one ends up questioning and analysing every action from another perspective, as nothing seems genuine or truthful. His "Hope everyone is doing alright" tweets seem scripted and even programmed, lacking that closeness that used to exist. While we know that artists' social media accounts are controlled, the fan/artist connection remains crucial to maintaining public support and loyalty. When repetitive patterns and bad strategies accumulate, the authenticity of the artist is lost, turning him into a kind of "robot" with no control over his actions, which can end up damaging his image and damaging the relationship with his fans, often without him being fully aware of it. 
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From a music marketing perspective, there are several key aspects that Louis' team seems to ignore. An effective marketing team should focus on  research and investigation of the audience, clearly identifying the artist's target audience, considering factors such as age, interests and content consumption platforms. The lack of consistent branding is evident, as Louis' public image doesn't appear to align with his musical and personal essence, leading to confusion.
A well-planned release strategy should include a pre-launch campaign with teasers, interviews and strategic collaborations, something that seems to be absent in most of his projects. In addition, multi-channel promotion is essential, using social media, interviews, streaming playlists and specialised press, without relying exclusively on fandom. A competent team should also focus on authentic storytelling, creating an emotional and genuine narrative to connect with the audience, rather than resorting to polemical tactics that distort his image.
Fan growth and retention is another key aspect. Good marketing seeks to expand the fan base while maintaining the interest of the current, as opposed to what appears to be happening. Finally, long-term planning is essential, with measurable goals and clear direction, rather than reactive and inconsistent decisions.
In conclusion, Louis' team is not managing his career professionally or effectively. Successful marketing requires planning, analysis and authenticity. His fans deserve a clear and respectful narrative, and he deserves a team that will really promote his music and his career. I hope that for LT3 we have a good promotion, that his team starts to get things right because I don't want his career to continue to suffer consequences from this, besides from his image to be ruined by the mismanagement of those working with him.
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kricketwritesstories · 13 hours ago
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Veritaserum or Dare
A Hogwarts Legacy Fic
Pairing: Sebastian Sallow/MC; Sebastian Sallow/reader
Summary: You and a bunch of your friends are at Hogwarts during Christmas break. Garreth overhears you explaining the muggle game truth or dare and decides to “enhance” it like one of his potion experiments.
Hilarity and confessions ensue
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“What afraid of the truth Gaunt,” Imelda taunted.
Ominis chuckled, “It’s not me, it’s the rest of you I fear for…but if it’s truth you guys want don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Before anyone could protest he had already downed the vial of veritaserum Imelda was holding out for him.
“Well now you will all see what I’ve had to deal with for 6 years,” Sebastian said smugly before he drank his vial. He grimaced, “Good luck to us all!”
The odd circle of friends gathered around the fire of the Slytherin common room look at one another with excitement and apprehension. It was Garreth who suggested Veritaserum or Dare after overhearing you explain truth or dare to Imelda, Natty, and Poppy. How he got everyone to agree - specifically Ominis and Amit - was a mystery to everyone. He was the one who suggested to play in the Slytherin common room as well to “be as far away” from his aunts meddling as possible.
“The only reason I agreed to this is because Sebastian is the one who brewed this,” you admitted.
Sebastian’s cheeks reddened at your compliment and in that moment he was thankful he was seated the closest to the fire. His voice portrayed his usual confidence as he teased, “Here that Weasley? I’m the trusted potionier here!”
“Yea, yea,” the redhead dismissed, “let’s get this started before the effects wear off…with how strong this is we’ve got what an hour or two tops?”
The game commenced and after a few rounds everyone was frustrated. Not one person had picked truth. As frustrating as that was at least the dares were amusing:
Amit had to use the disillusionment charm and retrieve one of Professor Garlick’s undergarments. When he came back red faced and explained she didn’t own any, the roars of laughter echoed throughout the dungeon.
Natty had to run around the faculty tower in her animagus form without getting caught. Watching a gazelle attempting to go up and down the spiral stairs was too much. She was almost caught because the group of you watching couldn’t stop laughing. Professor Onai stepped out of her room at one point and looked around to find nothing there.
“Hearing wild animals in the hallways,” she said as she looked down at her mug and whistled lowly, “I better slow down on the fire whiskey.”
As soon as she went back inside the lot of you hauled ass back to the Slytherin common room and only then did you start laughing again.
Natty swatted Amit hard on his shoulder, “Don’t you ever try to mount me like I’m some kind of horse when I’m in my animagus form ever again or I’ll shove your precious telescope so far up you-“
“I’M SORRY I PANCIKED,” Amit cried running away from Natty, “YOU KNOW I CAN’T RUN FAST!”
Poppy had to down a shot of fire whiskey that Gareth had pilfered and then try to steal Leander’s toad that he left behind while he went home for the holiday. After several run ins with walls and hiccuping pleas that she would be a better owner than Leander, she finally got him.
“I’m *hiccup* keeping him. What kind of soulless *hiccup* git *hiccup* leaves a creature behind,” she declared before she started crying. It took several minutes of soothing and petting the toad to calm her down. She still cuddled him now and randomly reassured him that he was safe now she would treat him better anyway.
Imelda had to “makeout” with a portrait - specifically Sir Cadogan - and she did so with gusto and way too little shame.
“You know as amusing as all these dares I’ve witnessed tonight are,” Ominis deadpanned at the group, “what’s the point of downing vertaserum if we aren’t planning on taking advantage of its effects!”
No one spoke up.
“Fine I’ll start: truth ask me anything,” he sighed in frustration.
“Umm do you have a crush on anyone,” Natty piped up, unsure what else to ask.
“How original,” he sighed but there was no real venom in his voice, “I suppose if I didn’t have a crush on my girlfriend she would be highly put out don’t you think?”
The group gasped. You giggled furiously. Sebastian whipped his head around to his best friend, “Girlfriend?! What girlfriend? And wait why is y/n laughing? Did you know he has a girlfriend?”
“Yes and it’s not my turn,” you laughed as you answered strategically
“Traitors! The both of you,” he exclaimed, “well who is it?!”
“Sorry, my turn is over and it’s my turn to ask,” Ominis stated simply. He smiled as he heard the uptick of Sebastian’s heart. It was too easy…might as well make him sweat a bit.
“I think I shall ask….Imelda, truth or dare?”
“Truth, bring it Gaunt, I have nothing to hide,” she said proudly.
“The other day I was taking a walk outside, right around Kogawa’s office and summoners court,” Ominis started.
Imelda’s face fell immediately and she looked like she was about to be sick.
“As I walked past the room where the quidditch supplies are kept I couldn’t help but hear your outcries of distress,” Ominis grinned as he emphasized outcries, “or was it distress? Or rather the true question: what were you doing in there?”
Everyone looked at her expectantly. She gripped her mouth until her knuckles were white. She felt like she was going to be sick if she didn’t answer soon. “Oh come now Imelda, I thought you had nothing to hide,” Ominis teased mercilessly.
The serum was burning through her forcing the truth out. In one breath she exclaimed, “I was getting myself off on my broom.”
There was a beat of silence before everyone lost it. “I told you I wasn’t the one who should be afraid,” Ominis said smugly.
“I knew how much you loved flying but I didn’t KNOW how much you LOVED flying,” Natty said in between giggles.
“How does one even do something like that with a broom,” Poppy asked innocently confused.
“Good question Poppy,” Gareth interjected, “I dare you to show us how!”
All the girls threw pillows at him shouting choruses of, “You’re disgusting!” and “How dare you?!”
Imelda sat a little straighter, “Too bad. My turns over and you know what Sallow you’ve been a bit too quiet.”
Sebastian’s eyes went wide, “So wait, I didn’t say anything like these guys - all I did was laugh - and you’re after me now?!”
“Afraid of the truth Sallow,” Imelda dared, knowing Sebastian never backs down from a challenge.
“Absolutely not, fire away,” he declared with forced casualness.
“Last year,” she started slowly.
You, Sebastian, and Ominis tensed slightly and stole glances at one another.
“There was a rumor that you took the fall for breaking into the restricted section for this one,” she nodded her head at you, “Why?”
You cut in laughing, “Everyone knows he likes having people owe him favors so -“
“I thought she was gorgeous and I wanted to both impress and protect her,” he admitted with a red face, not daring to look in your direction.
As a chorus of “ooos” and “I knew it”s rang out you reached for the fire whiskey so you could blame your deep red body blush on that instead of Sebastian’s admission.
“Hey that’s not butter beer,” Poppy whispered knowing you never touch fire whiskey.
“I know,” you whispered back right before you downed a huge gulp.
“Gareth,” Sebastian said briskly, determined to get the spotlight off him, “who’s name do you pant when you get off - anyone here?”
This is when Sebastian finally looks at you. He has a triumphant grin as he’s sure his point is about ready to be proven.
“Poppy,” Gareth said sheepishly.
Poppy immediately spit her butter beer out and it sprayed all over Amit.
“I’m sorry,” Gareth winced, “I didn’t mean for you to find out my feelings for you this way.”
He shot a glare at Sebastian at the same time you shouted, “HA! I told you he was never flirting with me that we’re just friends!”
Sebastian gaped open mouthed between Poppy (who had just taken another shot of fire whiskey herself) and Gareth.
“But…but I swear he was all over you and flirting all last year,” Sebastian doubled down.
“Yea I was,” Gareth explained as he scratched the back of his neck, “I thought if I flattered her she would be able to get me an in with Poppy. Y/n is the first person to gain any headway with her so….”
“Wait a minute,” Amit piped up, “why does it matter to you if he was flirting with her or not?”
Ominis chuckled, but said nothing.
“Yea and why is it so important that Sebastian know that he wasn’t y/n,” Natty asked knowingly.
“And those are the million Knut questions aren’t they,” Ominis said smugly as he raised his glass of butter beer and took a drink.
“Wh- wh- who’s turn is it now,” you asked in a high pitched voice.
“Everyone’s gone but you sweetheart,” Gareth said.
“Knock that off Weasley or I swear to Merlin I will curse you so badly your future generations will feel it,” Sebastian barked.
You could hear a pin drop as everyone turned to stare at him. Everyone, except for you, was holding in so much laughter it hurt.
“DARE,” you screamed to break the tension, “I will take any dare you throw at me right now!”
The heads that were turned on Sebastian all creepily turned towards you with that same “cat who got the cream” facial expression. You shuddered as you realized your mistake, and braced for what was to come.
“I DARE you,” Gareth declared with purpose, “to tell your crush that you like him.”
Sebastian held his breath. He was torn between loudly protesting and begging Merlin that it was him. All those feelings still when he saw a tear stream down your face - then all he felt was anger.
“Look what you did Weasley,” he said enraged as he pulled out his wand, “couldn’t give her a break? Or be more original?”
“It’s okay I’m just scared of rejection and I definitely didn’t want to say these words with an audience but if I don’t say it I’m going to explode,” you explained quietly as you put a hand on Sebastian’s arm to lower his wand.
He turned to face you and you looked up at him through your lashes.
“I love you Sebastian,” you said in a small voice, “I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you in our common room, pacing in concentration nose deep in a book. When you called me a kindred spirit I thought for sure you could see I was a goner. I come with a lot of baggage and we’re so close as friends. I understand if this puts you off and you want space from me.”
Sebastian just stared open mouthed back at you. He did so a beat too long and you start walking to your dorm while furiously wiping at your face, “I’m off to bed. Happy Christmas guys!”
When you were completely out of the room everyone turned their eyes to Sebastian who was still frozen in place.
“SALLOW YOU ABSOLUTELY ARSE! I MAY FUCK MY BROOM ON OCCASION BUT THAT’S NOTHING COMPARED TO HOW BADLY YOU JUST FUCKED UP RIGHT NOW,” Imelda screeched and cringed at her own admission. Her anger for her friend overriding her embarrassment.
“Imelda is spot on Sebastian,” Ominis sighed in judgment as he pinched the bridge of his nose.
Suddenly he stood up and announced, “Sebastian: you’re not allowed back in our room until after you’ve fixed this, you utter imbecile. Garreth, you don’t deserve Poppy, but she seems to be into you despite your revelations. Don’t. Muck. It. Up. She’s not a potion to be experimented with. Natty, Poppy - you two are lovely, never change. Amit: good luck not picturing Professor Garlick naked from now on. Imelda: you fuck your broom, enough said. Now goodnight!”
Everyone was silently holding their breath as he headed towards his room. Right before he walked out of eye sight he turned around and said, “Oh yes, and Sebastian? I’m courting Anne, because I am a man who can express his feelings and do something about them. I’m blind not dumb.”
After a few moments of silence Garreth shrugged and spoke up, “He did warn us about him joining in. He was not kidding.”
“I’m - regrettably - a Gaunt. We don’t kid,” Ominis shouted from the hallway, “and before you comment I’m blind not deaf and you have the shrillest voice I’ve ever heard from a man Garreth!”
“What are you still doing here,” Amit questioned the still frozen Sebastian.
“I think he’s still in shock,” Natty giggled.
“HEY SALLOW! HAVE YOU BEEN PETRIFICUS TOTALUSED?! NO? THEN GO FIX THIS NOW OR SO HELP ME I WILL HEX YOU MYSELF,” Poppy threatened.
That snapped Sebastian out of it and he turned to look at Poppy. When he saw the dangerous look in her eyes he scrambled tripping over his feet and took off for your dorm.
“That…was incredibly sexy,” Gareth said as he slid closer to Poppy, “I knew you had a little Gryffindor inside you….would you liked some more?”
He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively as Imelda yelled at him and Poppy giggled.
“Buy me a butterbeer first and then we’ll talk,” she said flirtatiously.
Sebastian could barely hear the roar of his friends’ laughter over the rapid beating of his heart. He knocked on your door a couple times before coming in. You were sat on the side of your bed with your back to him.
“Go away Sebastian. I don’t want your pity,” you said tiredly, “I know I’m a lot to deal with so I’m not surprised and you don’t have to worry I won’t fawn all over you.”
Hearing your self deprecating side hurt him to his core and gave him the strength he needed. In a couple quick strides he made it over to face you. Then he said something you did not expect:
“I know you didn’t take the veritaserum,” he said softly.
“What are you talking about,” you said defensively.
He gave you a knowing look and you sighed, “How did you know?”
It was his turn to sigh as he sat next to you on your bed tilting his body to face you.
“Because I know you. You’re so caring and responsible I know that there is no way that you would ever risk accidentally letting out the…how shall I say…more confidential details about last years events. Which is something I didn’t even think about, no surprise there,” he reasoned before giving you that lopsided grin that made you weak in the knees, “and I might have definitely seen you put the full vial in your pocket when you thought no one was paying attention. And if there’s one thing I do thoroughly is pay attention to you.”
“Sebastian don’t say things you don’t mean just to make me feel bet - OH MERLIN WHAT ARE YOU DOING,” you exclaimed as he bent over you to root through your right pocket.
“See I pay attention,” he said with a grin before he downed the serum, “Just in case the first batch wore off…I need you to know I’m being completely honest.”
He waited a moment and then stood up to move in front of you. You couldn’t stop the billions of butterflies that fluttered around in your stomach as he crouched down and gently took your hands in his.
You’d never seen him look this serious - well other than his frustrated and angry seriousness from last year. This was different. This was softness and so very vulnerable.
“The day you came bursting in the great hall out of breath but still maintaining a confidence that showed us all you belong here…I just knew you were special. I was hoping desperately you’d be sorted in Slytherin. I chided myself for that. See I know everyone thinks I’m a big flirt but it’s not on purpose. I can’t help how naturally charming I am,” he visibly cringed after he said that last sentence.
You chuckled and gave him a deadpan look.
“Okay yea, maybe you’re right and I am a but arrogant, I heard it then,” he admitted and shook his head, “regardless, love and those kind of relationships just weren’t on my priority list. Anne and I went through so much. When I wasn’t at Hogwarts I was just trying to survive being around my Uncle and how he treated me. Then when I was here I had my sister and Ominis and my studies - and yes okay being generally popular has been fun. Yep heard it that time too - Merlin I didn’t know I thought so highly of myself!”
“Go on,” you encouraged through your soft laughter, “before the serum wears off and I don’t believe a word you’re saying.”
“I know you’re teasing but ouch. You’re right though. When you came over and spoke to me I called you a kindred spirit because I knew if I said soulmate I would’ve scared you away. It didn’t make sense to me I didn’t even know you but you felt like home almost immediately. Then you knocked me on my ass and I was done for, I had to do whatever I could to be close to you. I do pay attention. I look for you everywhere when we’re not together. I come up with any excuse I can to be near you. Then when everything went sideways you stayed by me even when I was nasty to you, when I cursed you, when I took more than I gave. I was horrible and I don’t deserve you. You. Beautiful. Incredible. Kind. Feisty. Witty. Intelligent. Wonderful you. I love you darling, I’ve been yours since I laid eyes on you.”
Tears spilled from your eyes as you lunged forward to capture his lips in a kiss. He responded in kind and as the kiss deepened you grabbed a hold of his shirt and pulled him up onto the bed with you. Neither of you broke the kiss during this, each of you needing the other more than air.
He caged you between his arms and the bed. Then just as suddenly as it started he pulled away looking confused and slightly upset.
Your mind started racing: did you go too far, did he change his mind now that you’ve kissed, were you a bad kisser?!
“Wait a minute,” he said slowly processing something as he looked towards your door, “Did Ominis say that he’s dating Anne - as in my twin sister Anne?!”
You burst out laughing underneath him, “You’re slow, but you get there!”
While he was distracted you used your legs to flip him over on his back so you were on top straddling him. You smirked as you took in his shocked and reddened face. Thank Merlin for all that galavanting in the highlands, you were a lot stronger than you looked
“Now that I’ve knocked you on your ass again, how about we put Ominis and Anne on hold and focus on you and me, huh,” you said lowly causing Sebastian to shiver.
He reached a hand out to tuck some of your hair behind your ear and whispered, “Merlin I love you!”
His face broke out in a devilish grin, “I could get used to this view you know.”
Normally you’d blush and turn into a puddle at his words. Not tonight, not now that you know he feels the same.
“Well then let’s experiment and see how many ‘views’ we can come up with,” you said suggestively.
Sebastian gulped but maintained his confidence when he spoke, “I am a sucker for research and experiments. And we do have a lot of time to make up for, don’t we darling?”
As you both got lost in one another you didn’t hear what was going on outside your door.
“Well I guess I’m not sleeping in my room tonight,” Imelda sighed, “I mean good on them - about time honestly. However I don’t even want to sleep in this house tonight, Sallow seems like a screamer to me.”
“You would know,” teased Poppy referring to Ominis hearing Imelda having fun with her broom
“That’s it you’re never touching firewhiskey again,” Imelda scolded as her cheeks heated up, “can I stay in your room Natty, since Poppy here is being a jerk.”
Natty put an arm around Imelda and smiled warmly at her.
“Of course you can, my friend…just uh…leave your broom behind please,” she joked and then bolted before Imelda could hex her.
“OH COME ON, YOU TOO,” Imelda shouted as she took off after her back to the common room where Garreth and Amit were still lounging.
“Do you think she gets splinters…you know….there,” a wide eyed Amit asked Garreth.
“Weasley. You. Are. DEAD,” Imelda yelled as she pulled out her wand.
“WHY ME,” he shrieked.
“Because this game was your damn idea to begin with now stay still you rotten bastard,” she ordered.
“POPPY SAVE ME! YOU’RE SCARY ENOUGH ON FIREWHISKEY TO TAKE HER! HELP!,” Garreth screeched as he ran.
In that moment you broke your kiss with Sebastian. You looked absolutely panicked as you whisper yelled, “Oh no Professor Weasley! I can hear her voice coming from the common room she sounds horrified! Merlin she’s going to kill us if she finds us like - Seb why are you laughing? Seb come on this is serious! She’s got that shrill upset tone she gets when she’s livid.”
“Just trust me, we’re safe. Now kiss me,” he promised.
“Screw it, you’re worth all the detentions!”
With that the two of you became lost in one another once more. It was a Happy Christmas indeed!
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bellaxgiornata · 17 hours ago
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How Much Did You Miss Me?
Pairing: Jax Teller x fem!Reader Word Count: 3k [Jax Fic Masterlist]
Warnings/tags: 18+; smut, f!masturbation, cocky Jax and his filthy mouth, somewhat rough sex (kinda, not really), porn with minimal plot, unprotected sex
Summary: While Jax is on a protection run, you're desperate to ease some tension so you can fall asleep. But when he unexpectedly returns early, he's determined to prove he's better than your toy.
a/n: This is pure filth. All of it. I was writing some soft!Jax smut and was struck with the need for something with a cocky Jax, so this interrupted that and fell out of me really quick. Newer to this fandom, but if you'd like me to tag something not listed above, let me know. Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!
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You hated nights like tonight. Nights when Jax was out late doing a protection run with the club and you were left alone in your apartment.
You especially hated nights like tonight when you couldn't seem to ignore that damn incessant ache between your thighs no matter how hard you tried. You knew you’d never get to sleep tonight if you didn’t get rid of it, but all you wanted was Jax–his mouth, his fingers, his cock. Right now you craved any part of him, but he was probably hours away on his bike and you were here with nothing but your damn vibrator.
Head nestled amidst the pillows of your bed, your eyes squeezed tightly shut as the repetitive buzzing noise drowned out the sound of anything else in your apartment. You were focused on the pleasure steadily building in your body as your mind desperately tried to conjure up images from the last time you'd been with Jax two mornings ago. Holding tight to the memory of him lazily fucking into you while half awake from that other morning, you desperately attempted to chase your release just so that you could relax enough to finally go to sleep tonight.
Teeth biting down on your lip, you could feel that intoxicating sensation gradually growing stronger within you. You were getting closer, inching nearer and nearer as that wave of pleasure crept its way up your spine. Keeping your focus on the memory of Jax with your legs tossed over his shoulders, his large hands holding your ankles firmly in place as he slowly rolled his hips into you, your back arched along the bed as the pleasure continued to build. You were so damn close now.
But the sound of a familiar deep, rumbling chuckle broke through the moment. 
Just as you'd startled and opened your eyes, Jax was reaching down and pulling the toy out of your hand without the slightest hesitation. With a smug smirk on his lips, he easily turned the vibrator off without even glancing away from where you were sprawled naked on the bed before him.
“Really, baby?” he asked, his tone a mixture of amused and annoyed as he gestured his head at the vibrator in his hand. “This what you do when I'm gone?”
Lips parting in surprise for the briefest moment, you gaped at his audacity. Seconds later you recovered, shooting him a pointed look that only had his smirk growing a little more.
“What the hell, Jax?” you shot back in frustration. 
He held the toy up higher in his hand, his brows raising back at you. “You think I'm gonna let my girl use this fucking thing when I've got something much better?”
If it wasn't for the fact that you were feeling sufficiently sexually frustrated at the moment, you'd have found the sight of him holding your purple vibrator up with that look on his face somewhat funny. But right now you didn't feel anything close to entertained.
“You were supposed to be out, Jax,” you reminded him. “What the hell else am I supposed to do when you're gone? Suffer?”
“Now there's a thought,” he mused.
With an annoyed huff, you watched as he turned around to set the vibrator on your dresser. Pushing yourself upright on the bed, you frowned at him when he turned back to face you.
“Come on now, darlin’,” he drawled, a glint in his eyes as they roamed over the way you sat naked on the bed. “Don't give me that look. I'm not going to leave you so...tense.” 
Your eyes narrowed at the way he was still grinning at you. Unaffected by your look, his hands reached up and slowly slipped the leather kutte off of his shoulders, letting it drop to your bedroom floor with a soft thump.
“What's the catch, Jax?” you asked him, cutting straight to the point.
He chuckled at your question, his hands casually undoing the buttons of his flannel one at a time next. “No catch, baby. I wouldn't do that to you. Not when it seems like I interrupted you before your satisfying conclusion.”
You shook your head immediately, not entirely believing what he was telling you–not with that look on his face. Thighs pressing together as you watched him undress, your body was craving release at this point. It didn't help that Jax had caught the subtle squirming and shifting of your hips, his eyes dropping down towards your legs. His tongue darted out, running slowly along his bottom lip as he slid the flannel down his arms and to the floor. Your eyes immediately drank in the sight of his bare chest, raking over every toned muscle, little scar, and tattoo now made visible.
“Okay, maybe one little catch,” he amended.
Gritting your teeth together, you watched as his hands lowered, beginning to slowly undo the button and the zipper of his jeans. He was going so slow on purpose just to tease you.
“What?” you grudgingly asked.
“I want to hear you,” he continued, pushing his jeans and black boxer briefs down his thighs in one fluid movement that had you almost salivating at the sight of him finally bare. “No keeping quiet tonight. I don't give a shit if we piss off your neighbors again.” He kicked out of his clothes, taking two steps before he was right at the foot of the bed. “I want to know how much more you enjoy my cock. I want to hear it. You got that?” 
His eyes held yours as he leaned forward and planted both hands on the edge of the bed. There was a challenge in his expression, daring you to tell him no. But you knew better than to do that because then he probably really would leave you frustrated and unsatisfied tonight. And honestly, you had a feeling you'd be so sensitive at this point that you wouldn't be keeping very quiet.
“It's not like I wanted that thing over you in the first place, Jax,” you answered flatly. 
Clearly your response had been one he wanted to hear because Jax climbed up onto your bed the second you'd finished speaking. He jutted his chin out at you before he spoke again, that smug smirk he often wore returning.
“Roll over, baby. On your stomach,” he ordered.
You hesitated for only a moment, just long enough to take in the sight of him naked on his knees on your bed, one hand stroking his hardening length. He looked so good that you just couldn’t help yourself, but the moment one of his brows arched at you, you shifted and turned, laying down on your stomach.
“There you go, baby,” he praised in a deep rumble.
His voice went straight to your cunt, a surge of pleasure running through you. His rough hands grabbed onto your hips, shifting them a little higher up off the bed before one of them slid over to grab a firm handful of your ass. A quiet, soft little noise slipped out of you in response, the anticipation of what was coming causing your cunt to pathetically clench around nothing. 
As Jax pushed your legs apart wider with his knees, making room for himself between them, a pleased, throaty noise vibrated in his chest. The sound alone had your hands fisting the bed sheets before you glanced over your shoulder at him behind you.
“Already impatient, darlin’?” Jax teased.
“Of course I'm impatient, you interrupted what I was–”
Your words were cut off the second he ran the tip of himself through your damp folds, a gasp falling out of you instead. You were so damn sensitive already from what you'd just been doing that you didn't think you’d be lasting much longer. Especially when another throaty, satisfied noise left Jax behind you.
“What was that, baby?” he asked, amused. “Would you have preferred the toy instead?”
He teased the tip of himself against your entrance, barely pressing himself against you. Your eyelids immediately fluttered, your breath hitching. You just wanted to feel him already.
“No, Jax,” you nearly whined in response.
Trying to compose yourself as you watched him once more over your shoulder, you saw the slow, satisfied grin spread over his lips. A second later you were rewarded with the feel of him partially sinking into you, the sensation causing your mouth to fall open and a soft groan to slip out.
“That fucking toy get you this goddamn wet?” he growled, a hint of irritation in his tone. “That why you feel so goddamn good already?”
Jax moved behind you, leaning forward on the bed until his body was flush over the back of yours, resting his forearms along the mattress on either side of your hands to withhold some of his weight from off of you. His hips pushed himself further inside of you a little more roughly than usual as if to emphasize his displeasure at your use of the vibrator. The gesture met with a sharper gasp from you this time.
“Was–was thinking about you,” you managed to breathe out.
His face hovered just over your shoulder now, his mouth beside your ear when another pleased rumble sounded in his throat. He pulled his hips slowly backwards, his cock nearly slipping out of you before he roughly buried himself fully back into you in one quick movement. A high-pitched curse flew out of your mouth, your eyes snapping shut.
“So you were thinking about me?” he murmured, his tone far softer than the current thrust of his hips against you. His head shifted, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke. “You miss me that much when I'm out with the club, baby?”
“Mhmm,” you hummed out, the noise sounding more like a needy whine.
Jax’s pace increased at your response, his cock repeatedly burying itself so deep inside of you that he kept hitting the spot that made the edges of your vision nearly burn white. You were so damn close again already, each of his panting breaths and rough grunts in your ear drawing you right back to the moment he had interrupted a little bit ago.
You loved this position and Jax knew it. The angle he could thrust into you was always perfect, allowing him to fill you completely with every sharp snap of his hips. And you loved the feel of his solid, warm body pressed flush over the entirety of you, his weight pressing you deep into the mattress as he practically overwhelmed all of your senses. You could feel the pull of his muscles against your back, hear the grunts and heavy breaths slipping out of his mouth beside your ear, feel his hot breath along your neck, smell the familiar scent of cigarettes and leather.
Your cunt was tightening around him already at the influx of stimulation, squeezing him as you kept drawing closer to the release you craved. A flurry of soft moans had been increasingly tumbling out of your mouth as he continued to roughly fuck into you, his hips repeatedly ramming into your ass over and over. But you could tell he wanted more when the hand beside yours moved, sliding its way along the bed before moving between your body and the mattress, brushing down past your breasts and your stomach. His hand continued its descent further until it stopped between your thighs, his fingertips landing right on your already sensitive clit. A hiss of pleasure came from between your teeth and Jax huffed in amusement beside your ear.
“Baby, I know you can be louder,” he panted out. “I told you I wanna hear you.”
His fingers began rubbing circles against that sensitive bundle of nerves and your eyes nearly rolled back into your head. You felt like you were drowning in bliss now as his hips continued rolling roughly into you, the sound of skin on skin obscenely mixing with Jax’s grunts and your growing moans.
“Louder,” he ordered, continuing to speak into your ear between gritted teeth and forceful thrusts. “Let me–hear you. Wanna know–how much–you missed me.”
“Fuck–Jax–”
With an animalistic grunt, his teeth latched onto your earlobe, giving a couple of sharp tugs against the delicate skin as his fingers continued rubbing against you. Your cunt fluttered around him, gripping him like a vice. He groaned in response, releasing your earlobe before his forehead dropped onto your shoulder as his hips began to stutter, slowly losing their rhythm as he neared his own release. That had your own hips beginning to push back against him, desperately trying to match his pace and take him somehow deeper.
“That’s it baby,” he whispered into your skin. His body pressed more of its weight on top of you as he kept ramming his hips into yours, chasing his own release. “That’s my girl.”
“Jax–I’m–”
You couldn’t get the words out, you were already teetering on the edge of an orgasm, one that felt far stronger than normal because of its delay. At the feel of Jax pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder, your eyes snapped tightly shut.
“I know, baby,” he murmured, his voice strained. “Let go for me. Need you to–” he paused, breaking off on a groan that had your toes curling along the sheets as he hit you with a particularly deep thrust. “Need you to–cum for me.”
When the pads of his fingers added just a bit more pressure to your clit, you finally lost it underneath him. A moan tore its way up through you, ringing out through your bedroom as your fingers fisted the bed sheets even tighter. Jax continued to thrust into you, though the movements had grown sloppy as his breaths grew ragged and loud beside your ear. He was grunting and groaning as your body trembled its way through your orgasm until he gave another particularly deep, sharp thrust that had you crying his name.
That’s when Jax finally lost it. A resonant, beautiful moan tumbled out from between his lips as his hand finally left its place between your thighs to grip the pillow beside your head. He gave a few more rough pumps into you before you felt the warmth of his release fill you. You hummed softly, your cunt continuing to twitch around him.
Jax expelled a deep breath before he practically collapsed half on top of you, the weight of him only causing your already blissfully boneless body to relax further into the bed. As you both sat there panting, your loud breaths filling the room as your sweat-dampened bodies remained tangled together, you could feel his cock gradually beginning to soften inside of you. 
“So that–that’s what you get up to when I’m out, huh?” Jax finally asked, still sounding out of breath. “You and that goddamn vibrator get nice and close when I’m busy?”
Turning your head along the pillow, your eyes met Jax’s as his head rested on the pillow beside yours. There was a lazy half-smile on his lips as he gazed back at you, but there was something soft and tender shining in his eyes as he watched you in return. He looked so damn good all flushed and satisfied that you were half tempted to rile him up for another round once you recovered.
“Not every time,” you answered, a small smile slipping onto your lips as your breath came in heavy. “Just…some nights. When I’m missing you.”
A soft, amused breath left him as his hand reached up, lightly brushing aside a strand of hair that had stuck to the perspiration along your forehead with his fingertips. “Yeah?” he murmured, his hand coming to gently stroke your cheek. “Miss me that much tonight, did you?”
You hummed an affirmative response, your small smile growing. “Yeah. Wasn’t expecting you to come over tonight,” you told him, your heart still pounding heavily in your chest. “You made it sound like you’d be gone all night.”
“I was supposed to be,” he replied. “Had that protection run. Wasn’t gonna be back until four in the morning. But then some bullshit was going down at the clubhouse so Clay sent Opie and I back. Think he meant it like a punishment or somethin’.”
Jax laughed softly, shifting on the bed to ease some of his weight off of you. The movement had you once more growing aware of the fact that he was still inside of you. 
“Jokes on him,” he continued, that usual cocky smirk slipping onto his face. “Wasn’t that big of a problem to handle. And right now, this don’t feel remotely like a punishment.”
Quirking a brow back at him, a small grin tugged at your lips. “You want me to make it feel like one?” you teased.
Jax’s hand reached down, lightly swatting your ass as he grinned deviously at you. The gesture had you laughing, the sound causing the corners of his eyes to crease.
“Baby, this is your punishment for using that goddamn toy,” he reminded you. 
“Not feeling very much like a punishment for me, either,” you joked back.
That devious expression on his face only grew, a hint of mischief glinting in his eyes suddenly. He leaned forward off the pillow, his teeth lightly mouthing at your bare shoulder as his eyes continued to hold your gaze.
“You want me to make it feel like one?” he asked, throwing your words back at you.
A shudder ran up your spine at the sultry tone of his voice before a sinful smirk pulled the corners of his lips upwards. You were definitely in for it tonight.
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waliminium · 2 days ago
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Fires We Can't Control
Pairing: Harvey Specter x Reader Warnings: Adult language, strong sexual content, angst, drinking, intense physical tension, mature themes Word Count: 1.8k Summary: Harvey shows up at your door, half-drunk and burning with curiosity after receiving a cryptic text from you that has been driving him wild. He’s done playing games, and he’s here for answers—no more waiting. What begins as a heated confrontation quickly spirals into something far more dangerous. Passion ignites between you two, and suddenly, the line between teasing and something more blurs into nothing.
Harvey Specter had a lot of things on his mind, but for the past few months, you had been one of the things that he couldn’t shake off. It wasn’t just your sarcastic remarks or the way you both kept the banter sharp—it was the way he couldn’t help but notice how his heart skipped a beat when you were near. And he hated himself for it.
You had never shown any signs of wanting to take things further, so he kept it light. Teasing touches, playful flirtation, just enough to keep things interesting without ever crossing that line. He didn’t want to risk ruining the one thing he knew was perfect—this thing between you that wasn’t defined, but was always there.
But then you sent him that damn text.
It was simple, cryptic, and the kind of message that left him staring at his phone for a few minutes, trying to read between the lines. What did it mean? What the hell were you really trying to say?
And just like that, Harvey was on a mission. Not to win a case this time, but to track you down. To find out what the hell you were playing at. He was ready to chase you down, through every street in New York if he had to, until you gave him answers.
But he quickly realized that the chase might not be about the message at all. Maybe it was about figuring out how much he was willing to risk to turn all this playful tension into something real.
And you? You’d never been one to give him easy answers. So, when he showed up at your door, half-drunk, eyes burning with curiosity, and the same cocky smile he always wore, he knew he’d finally found something he wanted more than just a game.
You were just about to shut off the lights and call it a night when the sudden, unmistakable sound of knocking echoed through your apartment. It was fast, almost urgent, but somehow still carrying that familiar, cocky rhythm.
You opened the door without hesitation, and there he was—Harvey Specter, looking disheveled, a little off-kilter. His usually pristine suit was slightly wrinkled, his tie a bit too loose, and his perfectly styled hair was a mess. He was standing there in the hallway, eyes burning with a mix of frustration and something else—a raw, unspoken desire that you hadn’t seen in him before.
"Harvey?" You raised an eyebrow, trying to mask the shock in your voice. "What the hell are you doing here?"
He didn’t answer right away. His gaze was locked on you, scanning every inch of your face as if trying to figure out what you were really thinking. And just as you were about to ask again, his lips quirked into that damn smirk of his, though there was an edge to it that felt different tonight.
"I got your message," he finally said, voice low, the words slurring just slightly. "You know, the one that made me lose my damn mind for the past two hours trying to figure out what it meant."
You crossed your arms, leaning against the doorframe, keeping your composure even as your heart picked up its pace. "So you came all the way here just to ask about a text?"
He took a step closer, his presence filling the space between you. "I came here because I need to know," he said, his voice dropping, soft and dangerous. "And you’re gonna tell me."
A shiver ran down your spine as he reached up, brushing his thumb along the edge of your jaw. His touch was light, tentative, like he was testing the waters—but you both knew it was more than that. You could feel the electricity between you, the pull that neither of you could ignore anymore.
"And if I don’t?" you challenged, tilting your head slightly, just enough to test his resolve.
"Then I guess I’ll just have to figure it out the hard way," Harvey muttered, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took another step forward. The space between you was almost nonexistent now, and you could feel the heat radiating off of him. He was dangerously close, his breath warm against your skin.
Your heart was pounding, but you held your ground. "What’s the hard way, Harvey?"
For a moment, he didn’t answer. Instead, his eyes flicked to your lips, then back to your eyes, and in the silence that followed, you both knew exactly what was about to happen.
Harvey took the final step, closing the distance, and in one swift motion, he kissed you—hard, demanding, a kiss that sent a jolt through your entire body. It wasn’t a question anymore. He wasn’t asking for permission, wasn’t waiting for a response. It was the culmination of all the tension, all the unspoken things hanging between you two, crashing down in that single, heated kiss.
When he pulled back, both of you were breathless, his hands still lingering on your shoulders, his thumb gently tracing the edge of your collarbone. His voice was rough when he spoke again.
"So, tell me. Was that the answer you were looking for?"
You couldn’t help but smirk, even as your pulse raced. "Maybe it was the answer I needed."
He let out a soft chuckle, leaning in again, but this time it wasn’t about pressing for answers—it was about something else entirely. You both knew it. And neither of you were willing to back down.
Harvey’s lips lingered just inches from yours, his breath a tantalizing mix of whiskey and something darker. His eyes were locked on yours, smoldering, like he was waiting for something—waiting for you to say something, to make the next move. But you didn’t speak. You let the silence stretch between you, charged with a thousand unspoken words.
He groaned low in his throat, his hands sliding down your arms, pulling you even closer. The space between you felt like it didn’t exist anymore, like your bodies were magnetized, drawn together by something neither of you could control. His lips brushed against your neck, the faintest of touches, but it was enough to make your skin erupt in goosebumps.
"I’m done guessing," he murmured against your skin, his voice rough. "Done wondering if you feel it too." His hands slid to the back of your neck, tilting your head back slightly, exposing the soft line of your throat. "I need to know. Right now."
You didn’t answer him right away. Instead, you tilted your chin up, just enough to meet his eyes again. The question was there, hanging between you two, in the tension, the way you were both breathing a little too fast. You could see it in the way his jaw clenched, the way his eyes darkened further.
“I’m not asking for permission anymore, you know,” he continued, his fingers trailing up your back, the touch almost burning. “I’m just gonna take what I want.”
His lips crashed back to yours, more desperate this time, the heat between you building in a way that felt like it was about to explode. There was no more teasing, no more waiting. You kissed him back just as fiercely, your hands threading through his hair, pulling him closer, feeling his heartbeat pulse in time with yours.
His body pressed into yours, and you felt the unmistakable heat of his desire. Your breath was ragged now, mixing with his as your mouths moved together, kissing and tasting, pushing and pulling. You couldn’t get enough of him. It was as if everything else had faded away, and there was nothing left but the two of you—locked in a kiss that was messy and hungry, but oh so needed.
When he finally pulled away, just enough to catch his breath, his lips were wet and swollen, his expression a mix of frustration and something deeper—something more vulnerable.
“You still haven’t told me what that text meant,” he said, voice hoarse.
You smirked, running your thumb along his bottom lip, feeling the faint trace of a smile tugging at the corners of your own mouth. “Maybe you’ll figure it out,” you whispered, a challenge in your voice, “if you stick around long enough.”
Harvey’s eyes darkened even more, his hands moving down to your waist, gripping you like he was never letting go. “I plan to.”
With that, he pulled you back into a kiss, more demanding this time, his hands exploring the curves of your body as if he was marking you, claiming you in a way that felt irrevocable.
And you didn’t stop him.
The kiss didn’t stop. It was the kind of kiss that pulled you under, like a tidal wave crashing over you both. Every second felt like it was stretching out into eternity, but in the best way possible. The heat was intense, almost scorching, as if neither of you could get close enough, couldn’t touch enough. You wanted more, he wanted more—your hands were tangled in each other’s clothes, fumbling, eager, desperate.
Harvey’s lips left yours only for a split second, but his mouth was everywhere else: your neck, your jaw, the sensitive skin beneath your ear. The sounds between you two were raw—breaths, murmurs, the heat of your bodies pressing against each other. You felt him against you, hard and unyielding, a physical reminder of the desire that had been simmering between you for so long.
And then, just like that, the world outside your apartment ceased to exist. All that mattered was the way his hands were tracing the curve of your back, the way your body was reacting to every touch, every movement. The taste of him lingered on your lips, intoxicating, and you couldn’t get enough.
Harvey pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, his pupils blown wide, face flushed with the aftermath of the kiss. He was breathing heavily, chest rising and falling beneath you. His hands slid down to your hips, squeezing just hard enough to leave a mark, a reminder that this—whatever this was—wasn’t going to be easy to forget.
“You’re trouble, you know that?” he said, voice thick with desire, but there was an edge of something else. Maybe it was the vulnerability that crept in when he let his guard down, even for a moment. “The kind of trouble that makes me want to do it all over again.”
You smirked, knowing exactly how to push him. “Maybe that’s the point, Harvey. You wanted answers. But I think you’ll have to work a little harder for them.”
He raised an eyebrow, but the smirk on his face told you he was up for the challenge. “Don’t tempt me.”
And that’s when you saw it—the moment when he realized that this wasn’t just about the text anymore. It was about you. It was about both of you, tangled in this mess of passion, desire, and something that neither of you wanted to admit—that something more.
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blueberrybeomgyu · 2 days ago
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hihi berry :333 i have finally come to tell u about my maso sub taesan thoughts 🤫
im thinking overstimulating him until it hurts, but not only just through multiple orgasms but also stimulating him in different ways all at once. keeping a vibrator stuck to his leaky aching cock while you sit on his thighs, running your sharp nails down his skin hard enough to draw blood, maybe clamping his nipples and pulling at them. pinching his tummy and his thighs, yanking at his hair — when his head is pulled back like that you slap him till his cheeks are red and he’s drooling under you, skin tingling.
i think hed be a little bratty, a little mouthy just to get you to hurt him more. wants your slaps and degrading words to be genuine instead of you just doing it because he likes it. tie him up with rope instead of handcuffs so its rougher on his skin so he can’t squirm too much, and maybe shove a gag in his mouth or tape it shut, loves the feeling of you ripping the tape off <3
get one of those mini floggers even (the tiny whips that are stringy, idk how to explain them) and drag it across his skin before striking him with it, around his collarbones, nipples, stomach, his cock, and his thighs. he lovesss when you use it on his cock, it just hurts so good and he cant control the way his body jerks every time the leather makes contact with his most sensitive parts. pinch his thighs and coo at him while he just looks so pathetic under you, he camt do anything but take everything you do to him but he wouldn’t have it any other way !!
okay i got carried away… but im very serious ab this topic so i hope u fw it heavy <33 - 🥝🩷
MY KIWI GIRL 😣😣😣😣 u know wtf im talking about!!! let me think about how to make this masterpiece any better (impossible) small text cause there's a lot to say
taesan lovesloveslovesss when it feels like there's too much to focus on, he can't be too in his head about anything and will finally have a clear mind where he can just focus on you and how you make him feel.
he's already so sensitive cause of the vibrator, and he's trying to tune in on that feeling to calm down a little, but then you run your nails over his tummy or tug on the nipple clamps and there's too much calling for his attention, it feels like there's something happening on every area of his body and it's so overwhelming, when you slap his cheek he's shuddering through a sob and another orgasm, helpless to hold back his pitiful noises, he'll sound so whiny and pathetic in a way that has him humiliated when the scene is over
thinking of taesan and vibrators always makes me think of bunny's taesan a-z, vibrators on him are the best way to overstimulate him, i think he lasts pretty long typically but with vibrators, it's like he can barely think before he's cumming and he loves that, he also loves that you keep pulling orgasms out of him despite him begging you to stop, the lack of control is a little frustrating and that only makes it better for him -- that no matter what he says, he's powerless in this situation
he lovess being slapped and when you introduce floggers he's so turned on by the idea, he's a little impatient as you trail the flogger across his skin, he just wants to get on with it, but the built up tension only makes it better when you actually strike him with it, blindfold him and he has no idea where or when you're going to strike him next, trying so hard to tell where you are based on your condescending words
i love bratty taesan, he's not necessarily a mean boy but he'll say things like is that all? this is nothing, even when he's so sensitive and spent, he's finding a way to mouth off bc if he can form words it's not enough, he needs to feel so ruined and helpless that he can barely think, can barely defend himself when you insult him
i think sensory deprivation is a big yes for taesan, and overstimulating the senses he does have, make him wear noise canceling headphones, plug his mouth, blindfold him, and it's all the better when you press a vibrator to his tip and jerk him off, he has no idea what he sounds like so he can't hold back his muffled whines, he's hyper focused on the scent of your perfume clung to the sheets, and his fists are clenching and unclenching around nothing where they're bound by the ropes, can't use his hands to clean up the spit dribbling down his chin, he's so beautiful like that
i think he's mostly a whimperer/panter and his voice can get all soft and breathy, wincing when you peel the tape off of his mouth to ask him what he's so noisy for, and by the time you finally sink down on his cock, he can barely do anything but look up at you with shiny eyes, nodding along when you call him a slut or acknowledge that he'll let you do anything to him as long as he gets to bleed for you
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hungrytummyprompts · 2 days ago
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bratty?
"Are you kidding me?" The music abruptly stopped as Ryan held up his hands before storming over to the guitarist and ripping the sheet music away from him. "Did you even fucking try to read this? At all?" He pressed his fingers to his temples with a great sigh. "I don't know why Cass even insists on hiring musicians. She knows I can play all the instruments myself."
The man at the guitar put the instrument down and stood roughly. "Then why don't you?"
"Because Cass insists on hiring you. Only for you to butcher my fucking music. I want it played as written for the recording, mate. It's my vision, my song. No improv, no creative flair. This is a Reks Lee song, one hundred percent by Reks Lee. Not by Reks Lee and some random nobody his manager picked up off the street."
He turned away before the poor sod could answer, continuing to try and massage away the headache threatening to crack his skull. It did nothing to help.
"I'd always heard Reks Lee was great to work with." A snide voice piped in from behind him. One of the other special hired helpers, he supposed. "Didn't realise he was such a prick."
So great. Not only am I stressed beyond belief, tired as fuck and packed in a schedule tighter than a nun's holes, but my reputation in the industry is about to get completely fucked too. Whoop de doo.
Ryan handed back the crumpled sheet music with a sigh. "Look, just...just play the music, okay? We need this done by five, we only have the studio until five, I want it done early if possible because I've got to go straight on to a bloody performance in bloody Milton Keynes of all places. So...please."
He stalked back to his place as his stomach twisted in that frustratingly familiar ache that came with not having eaten a thing today and barely eating yesterday. Add starving to that stupid list. Ever since he'd started gaining real notoriety, Cass had really been on his arse, keeping him busy at all hours to make the most out of having at least one genuinely famous client. That often meant wall to wall work without a single break to eat and a very grumpy singer. He paused to adjust his microphone and that was when the hell cramps in his belly released in a low, longing growl. Loud enough for the others to hear, judging by the snort of laughter from the amateur guitarist.
"So are you always this much of a cunt or just when you're hungry?"
Perhaps it was a subconscious effort to save face or protect what little reputation he had left, but he answered with a terse "just when I'm hungry" through gritted teeth. His stomach punctuated that with another insistent, burbling groan and he found himself pressing a hand to his belly, trying to ease the discomfort just a little. He gave his tummy a rub, trying to work out the knots and cramps, but every time one released another took its place.
"When did you last eat, man?"
"None of your fucking business."
"More than a day ago then. Got it."
Ryan rolled his eyes so hard they could have popped right out of his head. "Well, the sooner we get this done, the sooner I can eat." His stomach moaned miserably again.
"Anyway, you'd think you'd be less pissy considering I only got the sheet music yesterday. Like, come on, man, give me some time to learn it before you jump down my ass."
"...What? No, excuse me, what?" Frustrated, he dragged his hands through his hair. "Are you telling me Cass only...yesterday?" He took a deep breath, then kicked the microphone stand, stomped to the nearest chair and hid his face in his arms. After a moment, he heard the snide helper, he did not know her name, come up beside him.
"How about I order some pizza or something?"
"I don't have time for pizza." The thought was tempting, though. He was so fucking hungry, just the thought of even a cheap pizza from the nearby dive set his mouth watering and his stomach grumbling. "I have to get this done. Cass-"
"Get a new agent." The guitarist told him sharply, sitting down next to him. "Or manager, whatever she is. And learn to tell her no, man, for fuck's sake."
Learn to say no. That had always been a problem for Ryan. People pleaser, he'd called himself, but really it was just code for 'easy to abuse'. It was second nature by now to keep his head down and his mouth shut, do as he was told and deal with the consequences as they came.
"'Sides, your gut sounding off like that'll get in all the recordings anyway." Ryan huffed while the others laughed. One of his arms came down away from his face and clamped around his belly instead as it let out another hollow groan. "Saige, order a few pizzas. We'll fill our bellies and have another crack at the recording when everyone's in a better place physically and mentally. Trust me, man, there will be way fewer interruptions then. We might actually get a smooth run without you losing your shit again."
Ryan sighed, rubbing his poor, aching belly as he thought it over. "Fine...pizza sounds good. I'll pay."
"No, I'm buying it." Saige insisted, shaking a finger at him.
"... I'll at least chip in. Come on, this is embarrassing enough."
"You won't stop until I cave, will you?"
"I'm one stubborn bastard."
Saige laughed as she put in the order. "Fine. Pay me back later. For now, let's get you fed."
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