#except I’m his golf clubs

[keithsgolfclubs]

Sup! I’m Keith’s golf clubs, I was been bought as a gift before that rich ass drunk dude killed his father!

Don’t tell Keith I’m here. He’ll like totally flip!

I go with Keith everywhere, even school so I know all the gossip.

- OOC -

I am a minor! And I have no clue what I’m doing, I think I’ll just be an annoying set of golf clubs.

Asks are open!

[I have permission from @countryclubkeith to create this blog. ]

[hadersversion]

but daddy i love him!

“no, i’m not coming to my senses. i know he’s crazy but he’s the one i want.”

pairing: rafe cameron x innocent kook!reader

word count: 5.8k

warnings: smut, minors dni!!! dry humping & fingering. corruption kink of sorts (rafe and an innocent reader has taken over me fully i apologize). parental violence/verbal abuse. fighting. rafe showing his true colors but quickly hiding it from the reader because rafe is a big softie for them. pet names (sweetheart, honey, darling, baby, pretty/good girl). aftercare. let me know if i miss any!

mood board!

rafe cameron was bad news.

anyone in the outer banks could tell you that.

he was a fighter, a shit-talker, a guy who you couldn’t trust.

but there was something so intriguing about him that you just couldn’t turn away.

from the day you moved to island almost 10 years ago, you haven’t been able to get him off your mind. you would see him at parties, the country club, when you would hang out with his sister, around town on his motorbike with his buddies. but you had to push that crush deep down because no one in their right mind would go after that boy.

except you.

you stretched yourself on the court, waiting for your dad to come out with drinks before your tennis match. that’s when you saw him and his friends making their way to the locker room. they had just got done their round of golf, you could tell by their bags. you tried not to stare, but your eyes seemed to have a mind of their own.

“hey, y/n.” you heard him call, with a smirk painted across his face.

your face blushed and you waved to him. “hey rafe.” play it cool, play it cool.

you can see him look you up and down, staring at your legs. “nice skirt.”

you looked down at the new, white tennis skirt your dad had bought you for your report card. your fingers found a loose thread, beginning to toy with it to deal with the embarrassment you felt. “t-thanks.”

he nods before looking behind you. “mr. y/l/n.” he nods with a quick wave. you turn around to see your dad with two waters and a stern look on his face. “enjoy your game.” he says before going inside.

your dad stands over you as you sit, handing a water bottle over. “that cameron boy…” he lets out a deep sigh.

“what?” you question, getting up and brushing your legs off.

your dad pinches the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. “he’s not the kind of guy you want to be friends with, sweetie. he’s a bad seed.”

��but how do you know that?” you question, trying not to sound too suspicious.

your dad picks up his racket and makes his way over to his side of the net. “i know ward cameron. and i know how rafe is just like his dad, thinks he can get anything he wants. thinks there is no consequences to life. but there is. there always is.” your dad shakes his head. “i saw him beating up some kid here not that long ago. sure, he was a pogue but doesn’t give rafe the right to walk around like the king of the outer banks. but until someone stops him, humbles him, things’ll never change.”

you stand there, uncomfortable. all you wanted to do was defend rafe, though you weren’t close like that. but your dad is a one way street. it’s his way or no way. so all you can do is nod. “oh…okay.” you say simply, getting ready for the match.

“just promise me you won’t get mixed up with the likes of that boy, please?” your father looks sincere.

you bite your lip and look down at your clean, white shoes. “yes sir.”

“good, now watch me beat you in tennis.” he says with a laugh. i fake a smile, getting on with the game, but still have rafe in the back of my mind.

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you didn’t see rafe again until the night of a house party at topper’s house.

your friends and you walk in, buzzed from the pre-game. they immediately all go their separate ways, looking for drinks, boys, or both. this leaves you standing awkwardly by a table, talking to some people from school. they talk about prom, their grades, and teachers, making you mentally check out from the conversation. that’s when he catches your eye, he is talking to topper and kelce with a red solo cup in his hand. you watch his every move, how big and veiny his hands are, practically cover the entire cup. how he constantly pushes his hair back while he talks, almost seeming like a force of habit he has. he also licks his lips a lot, sending a very graphic image of rafe between your le-

he looks up, meeting your gaze. a blush forms on your face as you try to hide your embarrassment but taking a sip of alcohol from your cup. you give yourself some time, staring into the cup before looking up again. but when you look at him, he hasn’t stopped staring at you. the blush you fought so hard to keep away makes your face feel like it’s on fire.

you watch as he excuses himself and makes his way over to you. this has to be a dream? or some prank, right?

“hey there, y/n.” he snaps you out of your spiraling thoughts. every person who you are talking to looks over to rafe then back at you. “didn’t know you were coming.”

you awkwardly shrug. “last minute choice by my friends.”

his eyes burn holes into your body as he looks you up and down. “well, i’m glad you’re here.” you nod at him, offering a shy smile. “looks like you need another drink, come inside and i’ll get you one.” he nods his head towards the kitchen door. the group you're with is watching this conversation like it’s a TV show. you make my way through them and stand next to him. he automatically puts his hand on your back and leads you inside. the feeling of his touch sends chills down your spine but it almost feels like his hand is meant to be there. like his touch is the missing piece in your life.

you get into the kitchen and he heads towards the fridge, grabbing juice and handing it over. “you strike me as a vodka and juice, girl.” he says with a smile, making my insides melt.

“and what makes you say that?” you ask, putting your hand on my hip, playing into his little game of flirting.

“well, you’re sweet and you seem to play it safe. you don’t really drink a lot but when you do, you’re never blacked out.” he admits with a laugh, giving his diagnosis. “juice is sweet and vodka is the safest way to get a little drunk, in my opinion.” he stares at your face, waiting for a response.

“you’re good, rafe cameron. a little too good.” you admit, grabbing the juice and filling up the cup. he stands over you, giving me the vodka next. “didn’t know i was that easy to read.”

“you’re not.” he admits, staring down at you while you drink. “i just think i have a special interest in you.”

you freeze in place, there’s no way he’s admitting this to you. right now. the boy you’ve been pining after since the first grade. you can tell you're shutting down but you need to play it cool. “oh really?” you look up at his blue eyes, getting lost in them instantaneously.

“really.” he steps closer, inches away from my face. you know you are not that drunk but your head feels like it’s spinning under his gaze. he leans in a little closer, your noses brushing, when the kitchen door slams and topper can be seen stumbling in. his obnoxious laugh fills the room, making rafe close his eyes and sigh. “what could you possibly want right now?”

topper laughs and comes up beside rafe, he’s clearly fucked up. “i’m just looking for some weed, man.” he hits his chest playfully. “don’t let me get in your way.”

rafe pushes him away, making topper laugh harder at us. he looks at you before speaking. “sorry for being a cockblock.”

rafe narrows his eyes at him. “just get the fuck outta here, top.”

topper staggers into the other room, still laughing.

“sorry about him. when he drinks, he becomes an asshole.” he says, running a hand across his face.

“is he drunk all the time?” i ask with a new found confidence in my voice.

rafe looks at me and laughs. “seems to be.”

you both stand in silence, not moving away from each other but unable to bring the moment back.

“i like you.” he admits.

you stare at him, unable to speak. “w-what?”

“i think you heard me, y/n.” he smiles cockily, looking into your eyes.

you look back at him. “you barely know me, rafe.”

“doesn’t mean i can’t like you.” he sips his cup and nudges your shoulder with his. “i think you could say the same about me.” he gets closer, whispering into your ear. “don’t think i don’t notice how you stare at me when i’m around.”

you feel the air leave your body and you bite your lip. you feel like your cornered and have nowhere to go. “i-i-uh…”

he brushes his finger against your lip, almost like he’s shushing you. but you can’t even fight the way your body reacts to his touch. “it’s okay, honey. i like it. i like it a lot.” he says in a whisper, almost making you forget you aren’t the only two people in the world. it feels like you can read his mind just by looking into his blue eyes. he wants you…screw that, rafe cameron needs you. and you need him. forget what your father says, or the town, or even your friends. this seems to be all you need.

how am i ever going to recover from this? you thought to yourself.

you hear your friend call your name from outside. rafe looks over as they yell from outside. “i’ll see you around, how’s that sound?” you look at him, unable to think when he looks at you like this. his hand brushes against your face before walking back out into the party.

you stand there, still as your friend comes in. “you alright? looks like you seen a ghost or something.” she asks you, laughing a bit.

“all good.” was all you can get out, staring straight ahead at the door rafe just left in.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

ever since the party, rafe found little ways to be around you.

whether it was joining you at the country club while you played tennis or hanging around you when he saw you at the beach reading. he even started knocking on the front door of your mansion to just talk on your porch, something you had to hide from your dad. with these interactions, you had no idea what everyone was warning you about with him. he was one of the sweetest guys you ever met. for weeks, you and rafe had begun a nice friendship.

but the almost kiss at topper's party was never spoken of again.

the two of you sat on your porch swing, the air was warm as summer was slowly approaching. your legs laid flatly across rafe’s lap, looking directly at him. you poured a glass of lemonade for you both, sparking rafe to hit you with a “you sure you don’t want some vodka in this?”

when you’re with rafe, the conversations seem to just flow like you are the oldest of friends. you could talk about anything and nothing at the same time. he went on for the past five minutes about how he used to love playing lacrosse but one injury affected his whole career for him.

“it sucked, ya know? i never felt like i belonged anywhere, or had a close bond with anyone like i did on that team. then one fucking torn acl later and it’s all gone for me. i had college scouts looking at me and everything. i could’ve escaped this place and lived the real college experience.” he looked out into the water that faced your house. he turned to you and smiled awkwardly. “jeez, i’m sorry i just don’t shut up.”

you chuckle at him, loving how he put some of his walls down around you. “it’s okay, i like hearing ya talk. it’s soothing.” you smile innocently at him.

he gazes into your eyes and nods, his expression softening. “really?” you nod and he just stares at you. “you’re one of a kind, ya know?” his fingers start to rub innocent circles on your leg.

“and why’s that?” you ask him.

“i-i don’t know, i feel like i can be myself around you.” he admits. “don’t ever quote me on that because i’ll deny that shit.” he points, gaining a laugh from you.

“don’t want anyone to know rafe cameron can be a softie?” you tease him.

“shut up, i’m not a softie.”

“i think you can be behind close doors.” you say.

he stops rubbing your leg and turns to you. “oh shut up.”

“well, you’re gonna have to make me then.” you say without thinking.

rafe looks at you with a fire in his eyes that you haven’t seen since the party. “what was that?” he cocks his eyebrow at you.

you just stare into his eyes, straightening your shoulders back. a confidence striking you like never before. “i think you heard me, rafe.”

without missing a beat, rafe connects your lips. all of that pent-up tension, gone within that very second. his hands found his way to your face, cupping it ever so lightly like you were a delicate flower he was so lucky to have found. his hands slowly slid down your body, like he was trying to memorize every inch of your skin. "jesus, this is all i've been thinking about." he said breaking away, looking into your eyes.

"then, don't stop." you say breathlessly, climbing on top of his lap, kissing him again.

you can tell this move took rafe by surprise as he let out a soft moan in the kiss. the innocence he once thought you possessed was now all gone. you slowly began grinding yourself against rafe's clothed cock, which was slightly hardening. "fuck, who knew you had it in you, honey." he said as he kissed down your jaw. you never felt so needier in your life chasing a high with rafe that you thought you could only dream about.

your face blushed as you looked down at rafe who was staring up at you like you were a painting held high in the louvre. the more you looked down, the more self-conscious you became. your pace which was rapidly increasing started to falter. "hey, hey, sweetheart. don't stop now. what's wrong? talk to me." he caressed your face so lovingly.

you bit your lip and closed your eyes, still out of breathe. "i-i-i don't know. what if i'm doing this wrong? or it's weird for you? i'm just nervous, i never did this before."

"did what, sweetheart? dry humped?" he almost laughed, pushing hair out of your face.

you shrugged. "well yes and no..." your voice started to trail off.

"yes and no?" rafe stared at you with a puzzled expression, trying to crack the code. you watched as he deciphered your words and the gears started to turn. "y/n, have you ever been with someone like...sexually before?"

you wanted to cry, the embarrassment being too hard to handle. you just laid your head against rafe's chest and sighed. "please, don't think of me any differently. i just...i just haven't found the right person to do all this with, ya know? i used to be scared but with you...i don't know, i feel ready." rafe sat there in silence, his hands falling to your waist and gripping them. you break away from his chest and stare into his eyes, which have seemed to darken. "rafe?"

"you trust me?" he asks simply. you nod shyly, causing his breath to hitch. you can feel his pants grow tighter under you. "i want you to keep going, do you hear me? don't stop until you cum on my pants." it sounds like he is giving you orders. he brings his thumb across your lip and gives a menacing smirk. "you wanna be all mine, huh? you pretty girl. show me your mine."

with his reassurance, you pick up you begin to rub yourself against his pants. your hands grip his shoulders as he holds you down on him. "good girl, keep it going." the material of his jeans feel rough against your clothed cunt but it adds a sensation you have never felt before. "shit, look at how pretty you look on me. can't wait to bury my cock inside you. would you like that? my cock being so far inside you, you can feel it in your stomach?"

you let out a pathetic whine, your head falling back from the pleasure you have building up inside. "y-yes."

"good girl, but we gotta start with the basics, right?" his hands start to trail up your body, stopping at your closed breasts. he cups them with his hands and smiles when you cry his name. "i got you, baby. c'mon, you know you wanna cum."

you quickly grind against him, feeling desperate as you chase your high. with his words of praise and reassurance, you can feel yourself ready to release. with one quick movement, you feel the tension building up in your stomach release as you cum on rafe. tears prick your eyes as you repeat his name over and over again. "rafe, rafe, rafe."

he stares at you in awe as you finish on him. the sight of your teary eyes and his name falling from your lips in such a needy way pushed him over the edge. he found himself cumming in his pants like he was a high schooler all over again.

you both stayed there, out of breathe, not moving once. you felt like a whole new person even though barely anything has changed.

"you alright?" he asks, pushing hair away from your face.

you tiredly nod, not knowing how to form words. your hooded eyes just take in the view of rafe, his face read and sweaty with a cocky smirk painted across it.

he bites his lip and kisses you gently. "there's more where that came from, you know?" he says and your head reels. "i've been waiting for so long to have you to myself, sweetheart. i don't plan on letting go now."

you giggle into his chest and nod. "don't gotta worry about me leaving, trust me. i've never felt so good in my life." the sweet yet sensual moment you two shared came to a halt when you heard your dad's truck pulling up the gravel road to your house. "shit." you quickly climb off rafe, trying to compose yourself.

your father quickly exited the truck, slamming the door behind him. he seemed to race up to the two of you as you sat there. rafe's hand protectively went over yours as your father approached. "the hell is he doing here?" he fumes.

"d-dad, we're just hanging out." you lie to his face.

"yes sir, that's all we were doing." rafe says camly, looking at him in the eyes.

your father head snaps towards rafe. "was i talking to you, boy? no. stay outta it." his attention focuses back to you. "i told you to not mess with the likings of this boy and what do you do behind my back?" he screams at you. "you go around with this...this hooligan! i want him off my property now. acting like some easy girl, i raised you better."

"b-but, daddy." you pout, trying not to cry as rafe squeezes your hand.

"sir, you're being too hard on her. it's not her fault." rafe tries to calm him down.

your father's finger rests on rafe's chest as he gets close to his face. "oh i know that, rafe. it's you and your typical bullshit. my daughter wouldn't act this way if it wasn't for you. look at you, you're probably using her."

rafe's fists clenched as your father talks down to him, no one does this to him and gets away with it. "sir, i suggest you put that finger down."

"or what?" your father snickers in his face.

rafe's whole demeanor shifts, the sweet boy you were just talking to now gone. like he was never even there. it honestly scared you how fast rafe can change personalities. "you don't even want to know." he grits his teeth. you hate to admit the affect this took on your body, clenching your legs together.

your father drops his finger and turns to you. "inside, now." he says, grabbing your arm. before you can fight him off, he's dragging you away from rafe.

"it's okay, baby, we'll figure this out." he reassures as you are being brought into your house. "fuck!" he screams as soon as the door slams shut.

you watch as rafe makes his way to his truck, slamming the door shut and driving away. you turn to your father who just stares at you as you cry. "screw you!" you say before running upstairs and locking yourself in your room.

you finally had him and now you lost him.

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the days past since you saw rafe.

your father grounded you and cut you off from the outside world.

you sat by your window and waited, having some false hope that rafe would be your knight in shining armor and take you away from this place. your father pulled up the driveway and seemed to struggle getting out of his truck.

you met him at the door, ready to deal with the bullshit he would throw you today. when you opened your door, your father seemed battered and bruised.

"holy sh-i mean...what happened?" you asked, holding the door open for your dad as he sat on the recliner.

"nothing." he shuttered. "nothing happened."

you stood there and crossed your arms. "clearly something happened."

he shook his head, seeming almost fearful. "nothing happened, now drop it." you stood there as he turned to you. "you aren't grounded anymore. your phone is on my dresser." he seemed almost defeated.

you stared at your dad trying to understand what the hell is going on. are you in the twilight zone? you knew you wouldn't get an answer out of him so you grabbed your things and raced out of the house before he could change his mind. the sun was setting but you didn't care, you had one thing and one thing only on your mind.

you got on your bike and raced towards tannyhill. when you finally got there, you threw your bike down and almost ran to the front door. with two knocks, wheezie opened the door.

"y/n?" she said with a smirk.

"hey, wheezie, is rafe home?" you say, snooping around the insides of the home.

she rolls her eyes and opens the door. "in his room."

you walk up the stairs and stop right before his door. your fist hovering over it before connecting it to the wood. after a few seconds, rafe stands there in the almost dark room.

"y/n." he says, almost as though he was expecting you to be here.

you quickly jump into his arms, holding onto him by his neck. you missed this. the way he smelled, the way he felt, everything about this boy drive you wild. "i missed you."

"i missed you too, honey. come on in." he lets you into his room. this was your first time being in here. sure, you've seen it through snapchat and pictures he sends but that's it. it's the typical boy room but it felt authentic. it felt like rafe.

you sit down on his bed as he walks around, picking up clothes off the floor. "didn't think i'd be having guests." he doesn't seem like his usual self, maybe you caught him at a bad time? but he invited you in, so you stayed.

you laugh at him. "no big deal, the old man let me off the hook tonight. it was weird, he came home all messed up. i tried asking but he kinda pushed me away. it was weird."

rafe stood there, silently. "oh really?"

"yeah, super strange. he's not usually the fighter type. never has been." you watch him stand there. "you all good?"

he nods and turns to you. "i am, now that you're here."

you smile at him as he approaches you. you open your legs so he can stand in between them, looking down at you. he traces your face with his finger, stopping at your lips. "all mine, sweetheart. all mine." he says before bending down to kiss you. the kiss feels rough, almost as though you are a fresh breathe of air that rafe has been waiting for. he pushes you down onto his bed and crawls on top of you.

you break the kiss and look into his eyes, his room is dark so you can only make out certain features. but you bring your hand to his face and hold his cheek, which makes him wince. "oh, i'm sorry, did i hurt you?"

"n-no, it's all good." he tries to kiss you again but you stop him.

"rafe?" you ask him, making him stop once again. "what's wrong? tell me."

"goddamn! nothing is wrong, okay? i can't miss you." he says, running a hand through his hair. you try to study his face but can't even see him. you reach over for his bedside lamp. "no, no, leave it of-" before he can stop you, the light is on. his beautiful face has a large bruise under his right eye and cheek. his lip busted and knuckles bruised.

"rafe?" you question, sitting up.

"y/n, i can explain." he pleads.

then it all makes sense. your father coming home all battered and bruised, rafe's current state, you being let off the hook too easily.

"you don't even want to know."

"it's okay, baby, we'll figure this out."

his words from that night ring through your head. the way his whole demeanor changed that night into a person you've never seen before.

"d-did you?" you ask with teary eyes.

"baby, look at me. i can explain." he begs you but you start to get up.

"explain what? how you beat up my fucking dad!?" you yelled, trying to grasp the millions of thoughts you had. "h-how could you?" you stand by his door, pacing, with your head in your hands.

he walks up to you, grabbing your hand. "look at me, honey, please. look at me." he begs you, trying to grab your attention.

when you finally turn to him, you see the cuts and bruises again. "rafe, why?" you say with a tear slipping down.

"because i love you, honey. you're my girl and i don't give a fuck who it is, they cannot talk to you the way your own father did. calling you easy, acting like your dumb for being around me. nobody should ever talk to you like that, ever." you stop and he cups your face in his hands. "i just wanted to talk to him, okay? all i wanted to do was talk. but then he started again with how i'm a bad person and how you were being stupid for even acknowledging me. he said he didn't need a guy like me corrupting his daughter and i snapped."

you gazed into his eyes, they looked as though they were pleading with you to see why he did what he did.

"please, say something. please." he states.

you sigh and close your eyes. "rafe, i don't need you going around defending my honor, especially to my dad. it's not worth it."

"not worth it? sweetheart, look at me." you open your eyes. "you are worth everything to me, you hear me? everything. i would kill for you if you asked me to. i never had someone care for me the way you do, have someone listen to me, or even treat me normally. you mean the world to me, y/n. i love you."

and there it was.

rafe cameron, for once in his life, showed affection.

he told someone they love them.

"i'm sorry it was your dad, okay? sometimes, i black out and can't remember things when i'm angry. i act on my impulses. but with you, i never feel that way." he shakes his head, trying to contain all his emotions. your eyes water again, causing him to wipe the tears. "what's wrong, baby? talk to me."

you smile through the tears. "i just, i love you too." no one has ever made you feel so safe and loved in one moment than rafe has this past month. he's all you could ever ask for.

he beams down at you, shaking his head. "you mean that?"

"with every ounce of my body, i love you." you admit.

his heart swelled as he connected your lips once more to his. you were all his, all he ever needed in life to feel whole.

rafe pushes you against the door, a light moan slipping from your lips as he presses himself against you.

"you like that?" he asks, a satisfied smirk on his face as he kisses your cheek and goes down your neck.

you nod under his touch, like you're cast in his spell. "y-yes."

"you want more?" he asks, sucking on one spot of your neck for a long time. all you can do is nod, already becoming a mess because of him. he pulls away, having you almost whimper from the lack of contact. "not uh, baby, gotta hear some words out of that beautiful mouth of yours. i'll repeat myself, do you want more."

"y-yes, rafe, yes please."

he groans at your begging and nods. "good girl." he pulls you over to the bed and guides you toward it. you feel the bed hit the back of your knees and you sit down, looking up at him. he quickly takes his shirt off and tosses it to the side.

he kisses your lips lightly as his hands find the end of your shirt, lightly toying with the fabric. "y-you can take it off." with the reassurance, he slips the top off and leaves it next to you. his eyes take in your body, your breasts pooling out of a flimsy green bralette. he sucks his tongue and gently runs his fingers over your tits.

"so pretty and they're all for me." he slowly reaches behind your back and unclasps the bralette with one hand, letting it fall down your body. you could swear rafe has tiny hearts in his eyes as they bore onto your half-naked body. "lay down." you follow his orders and lay against his pillows. his bedroom light shines over his features and the cuts from the fight. you bring your hand up to touch them and he gives into your touch. "you okay?"

"more than okay." you tell him.

he kisses your hand then his lips meet with yours once again. he then lets his lips trail across your cheek, jaw, neck, and down to your chest. he stares at your tits before peppering them both with kisses. he then takes one nipple in his mouth, slowly, and grabs your other one with your free hand to give a squeeze. your body instantaneously reacts to rafe's touch, moaning at the sensation of his lips. "you like that, huh?" he almost teases, switching to the other nipple.

"m-more." you whisper out, clenching your eyes.

"what was that, honey? need you to speak up for me." he grins.

"please, i want more, rafe. touch me more." you raise your voice.

"you got it." his hand leaves your tit and trails slowly down your body, resting at the hem of your jeans. he unbuttons them and lets his hands slide down your underwear, his hands automatically getting soaked. "shit, baby, all this for me?" he runs ins finger down your cunt and gathering your slick, bringing it to his mouth. he sucks it off his fingers as you watch in awe. "you're just too sweet for me, you know that?"

he doesn't even give you time to think before he puts his fingers back inside you, swirling your cunt. your hands grab his shoulders, holding onto them for dear life. "it's okay, i got ya, i always got ya." he reassures as he slowly slips one finger into your tight hole. "jesus, honey, with a hole this tight i don't know how long i'll last." he says as he slips his finger in and out of you, his thumb still toying with your clit.

your head falls back as more moans fall from your lips. "more, rafe, please give me more."

he laughs slightly. "cocky little thing, aren't ya? if you insist." he adds one more finger, your hole clenching around him as his finger slip in and out. "look how pretty you look with my fingers inside of you." he says before kissing your mouth, collecting your moans. you're so wet you hear the noises your pussy is making around him. you feel overstimulated as rafe keeps going, not stopping once. tears prick your eyes as you feel your high approaching. his thumb rubs harder as your nails connect to rafe's chest, dragging them down. "my pretty baby, i just love you so much." he says, staring at you.

with those words, you feel yourself being pushed to pleasure. you cum all over rafe's fingers, crying out his name. "rafe!"

he lets you ride out your high before taking his fingers out and putting them in his mouth like he did before. "never gonna get tired of that."

he gets up and heads to the bathroom. you want to talk to him, ask him where he's going, but you're too tired. you've never felt this good, not even from your own fingers. rafe comes back with a towel in his hand, gently, he pulls off your shorts and panties, cleaning off your pussy. the water is nice and warm as he gets you situated. he drops the rag and crawls into his bed next to you, holding you tightly.

"you know, if you want me to go dow-" but before you can finish that sentence he kisses your forehead.

"no need to rush there, honey. i wanna take my time with you, wanna show you how good i can make you feel." your heart melts in your chest as he rubs your back lightly. "get some rest, alright?"

you fall asleep fast in his arms, he holds you there the entire night and doesn't plan on letting go.

[stillgotscars]

there’s only one more eras show left, meaning:

one last transition from “applause” into the “you don’t own me” countdown

one last eras tour intro

one last “oh HI!”

one last “does anyone here know the lyrics to this bridge? PROVE IT!”

one last “you’ve got me feeling really, extremely… powerful”

one last “LET ME! SEE YOUR! HANDS!”

one last “what an absolute honor it is to say these words to you: [insert city], welcome to the eras tour”

one last “so you and i, we’re about to go on a little adventure together”

one last endearing “i’ll be your host this evening, my name is taylor”

one last fearless twirl

one last “it’s fearless” followed by the entire crowd holding up a hand heart

one last “are you ready to go back to high school with me?”

one last *clap clap* during you belong with me

one last heart-warming 22 hat exchange

one last comical quip from kam during wanegbt

one last “do you have 10 minutes to spare?”

one last extravagant ballgown appearance for all of one (1) song during the speak now set

one last “1, 2, 3, let’s go bitch!”

one last “do the girls back home touch you like i do?” *shakes head*

one last “don’t blame me for what. you. made. me. DO.”

one last “and so we’ve brought the folklore cabin to [insert city]”

one last minutes-long standing ovation after champagne problems

one last august run

one last illicit affairs bridge in all its glory

one last “and i can go anywhere i want, anywhere i want, JUST. NOT. HOME.”

one last lighting up the entire stadium with phone flashlights for marjorie

one last thunder and lightning transition from marjorie to willow

one last willow coven dance

one last golf club swing during the blank space bridge

one last pavlovian stress response during bad blood as a lasting consequence of the original set list

one last collective gasp when the pyro starts during bad blood

one last archer pose before so high school

one last roomba appearance

one last alien abduction metaphor brought to life during down bad

one last the smallest man who ever lived bridge being cathartically scream-sung by thousands of people all at once

one last attempt to make taylor break during the icdiwabh skit

one last “i’ve been doing it since he left” note change

one last “try. and come. for. my. job.”

one last surprise song set

one last stage dive after just causing mass emotional devastation

one last garter reveal

one last “except when i’m on tv” pose

one last vigilante shit performance

one last “do you have time for one more song?”

one last final bow as confetti falls to the ground

eras tour (march 2023 - december 2024), you will be remembered 💚💛💜♥️🩵🖤🩷🩶🤎💙🤍

[erwinsvow]

introducing... bitchy reader!

rafe never pays attention to sarah’s friends. new yet similar faces seem to make the rounds through tannyhill every week; the place was a revolving door. the occasional familiar girl would say hi to him, which would of course be ignored since he doesn’t care enough to say hi back.

so naturally, you become the exception to his little rule.

you and sarah are on opposite sides of the counter, flicking through magazines and taking sips from overpriced iced coffees, when he overhears a conversation that makes him stop and listen.

“-and he’s not like topper, like, at all. he’s really nice and actually talks to me instead of at me-”

“wow,” he hears you say, dragging out the syllables and sarcasm dripping from your voice. “such standards you have. no, really.”

“shut up. he’s totally sweet-” sarah says, but you interrupt her.

“he’s, like, totally a dirty pogue.” that catches his attention—not just the fact that there’s something going on between his sister and some pogue, but the way you say the sentence, how the words sound coming from your mouth. 

you nearly sound like rafe.

“that is so rude-”

“what? i’m just being honest. i’d be a bad friend if i didn’t tell you the truth.”

“what truth?” his sister questions.

“that you’re settling for some pogue boy because you’re bored of top. i get it. if i was dating him i’d be bored enough to fuck a pogue too.”

rafe cringes at the topic even though your word choice makes him laugh—topper is boring, though he doesn’t think he’s heard anyone else bring it up until now. he steps back into the doorway, watching the two of you. the crass words are coming from you, dressed in a sunny yellow dress and tapping pretty pink nails against the counter. 

“hey! i’m not bored-”

“you mean, you like hearing about his boat and golf every single day?”

“he has other hobbies! like-”

“like what?” you pause, watching sarah’s expression before giving her a pointed look—a look that says told you so. “who are you really trying to convince right now?” you flip through another magazine, finding something that must have caught your eye. you lift it to show sarah—some pinked striped pajamas and fuzzy slippers on the pages. “don’t i totally need this?”

“shut up.”

“that’s what someone says when they know the other person’s right,” you say with a mocking smile, setting down the magazine. he’s watching the whole thing—you’re funnier than he would have thought. “and if you change your mind just go to country club. top’s dime a dozen there.” the two of you start laughing. 

“i’m not gonna change my mind-”

“that’s what you said when you started dating topper,” you say it deadpan, and rafe holds back a laugh.

“-because he’s really nice. he’s a good guy.”

“ugh, sarah. making out with a dirty pogue at a bonfire is one thing. you’re talking like you’re in love. get a grip.”

“what? what’s so wrong with that?” sarah asks, taking a sip of her drink.

“because you can’t be in love with someone you have to hide your valuables around.” that’s when he decides to walk in—sarah sputtering on her drink while you roll your eyes.

“and what’re you girls talkin’ about?” rafe asks, and two sets of eyes turn to look at him. you look at him a little confused—in all the years you’ve known sarah and times you’ve been at tannyhill, rafe’s never once spoken to you.

“i don’t think it’s any of your business-” his sister says, and then he rolls his eyes. you interrupt right away.

“sarah, it’s okay.” you turn to rafe, looking right at him and leaning in a little like you’re gonna tell in something. “it’s really not any of your business.”

blank face, trying to be annoyed but not actually feeling annoyed, he stares back at you. his sister laughs stupidly, heading into the living room. she leaves you alone with rafe in the kitchen, but as you grab your drink and try to follow sarah, rafe says something.

“y’know i heard that shit you were sayin’. you’re funny, kid.” you turn back to look at rafe.

“thanks. i wasn’t joking.”

“yeah. good. at least one of my sister’s friends has ‘er head screwed straight.” you laugh, but the look on your face says you didn’t think it was funny.

“are you trying to compliment me? by insulting all my other friends?” he wasn’t expected that retort.

“no. no, i-”

“maybe if your friend wasn’t such a shit boyfriend, sarah wouldn’t be talking to some pogue. but hey, what do i know?”

“hey, kid, i-”

“don’t call me that.” you roll your eyes, walking to the living room without even glancing back at rafe. he calls out after you again.

“so have you?” you pause, turning again.

“have i what?” “made out with some pogue at the bonfire.” he shrugs. “that’s what you said to sarah, isn’t it?”

“again, how is that any of your business?” you ask, cocking your head at him.

“that’s not an answer.”

“i don’t owe you an answer. but for the record, no, i haven’t. i actually have standards.” he doesn’t miss the remark and what it says about his sister.

“good,” rafe says, looking at you. his eyes rake over your body before he can stop it—your short hem, the jewelry dangling on your wrists and neck, the heels even though you hadn’t gone anywhere.

“shut up. weirdo.” you walk to the living room where sarah’s waiting for you.

rafe’s gonna have a hard time staying away from you.

[nohoney]

touya x drug dealer! reader has been an idea that i’ve been wanting to do for a while. i had thoughts of cute flowing dresses, flutes of champagne, strawberries with brown sugar, and a powdery compact mirror with a credit card lined with white at the edge ♡

Touya hates going to the country club. He hates having to get ready to wear the stupid polo shirt and pressed pants his mother picked out for him. He hates having to take out most of his face jewelry, only leaving his eyebrow piercing as a slight rebellion to irritate his father. It’s all so annoying to him but to be fair—

They all hate going to the country club together.

It’s only an obligation for them to attend as a family. To show up so that Enji’s professional business ties can remain intact if the event is important enough. It’s the only time everyone agrees together as a family. Despite the fact that going to the country club is meant to be a luxurious get away, the Todoroki’s see it as anything but.

With the exception of Shouto who is too young to partake in anything, the rest of the family cope in their own ways to survive an agonizing event that none of them want to attend.

Enji smokes in private with the other men, Rei quietly nurses a glass of white wine as she makes polite conversation with the other wives, Fuyumi and Natsuo discreetly pass a weed pen between one another, and Touya…

Well he’s got his special friend that he knows where to find.

All throughout the club, there’s little signs that lead to a certain someone who exchanges little treats for just the right price. It could be money or it could be secrets or something else entirely, but the exchange given has to be deemed equal in value to what is handed out. There’s bouquets that are found throughout the entire club, all seemingly of the same variations except for one flower that’s meant to point you in a certain direction.

Touya walks through the club, noting the one flower that sticks out in the bouquets as a subtle sign of where to find you.

Following the secret path, it leads him this time to a room with only a single piano in the center and the white curtains drawn over the windows.

It’s a beautiful grand piece of shiny, lacquered black and is maintained regularly in its tuning. No music is being played though, all that’s heard is the tinkling laugh from one of the two people that are sitting on the piano bench. Touya walks with his hands in pockets, leisurely in his step when he approaches you. Next to you is the caddy that often accompanies your father on the golf course, amber eyes lifting to him and giving him a friendly nod.

“Touya, so nice to see you again!” you greet with a warm smile. You’re graceful in the way you stand up from the piano bench, sliding your hand along the caddy’s shoulders as you make your way to Touya. He leans down, used to the customary greeting of kissing each cheek from you. The perfume you wear is new, smelling more like citrus and freesia than the usual florals he’s used to.

Turning back to the caddy, you wave him off. “I’ll meet you later Keigo, okay?”

The feathery blonde haired caddy stands from the piano bench, pressing a kiss to your temple first before making his way out.

“So, what can I do for you today Touya? You wanna be perked up? Or you wanna relax?” You ask him immediately, leaning against the grand piano and clacking your manicured nails against the surface.

“You ever think that maybe I’m just here to see you? And nothing more?” Touya playfully nudged his shoe against your ankle, also noting the clean polish of your pedicure. Strappy white heels are your choice of shoe today to compliment your tea dress.

You’re this vision of a good girl, prim and proper, soft and sweet. All the mannerisms you exude are perfected and practiced, taught firmly from the all girls school that you attended. On the surface, you’re just simply the rich daughter to the man who owns the country club. You’re known to love lounging by the pool or reading under the shady trees by the garden. The older adults love to fawn over you, even trying to set you up with suitors but only if they’re screened through your father first.

Rolling your eyes at him, you flash him a smile that sends the message of ‘yeah right’ before you wave him over.

You lift the piano bench where your current stash resides. It’s organized meticulously of all types of different pills and already measured bags of different powders. Nude colored nails hover over the selection that you know him to always get, but you’re polite enough to ask first for confirmation before plucking the packed substances from their spot.

“The usual?”

Touya pulls money out from his pocket, the same exact amount that he’s paid every single time he’s seen you. “The usual.” he confirms.

You hold two baggies for him, one with two blue pills and the other filled halfway of white powder. Touya takes it from you and waits for you to take out the held out cash.

“Mm, this dress doesn’t have pockets. Can’t take it.” you smile as you shut the piano bench, “I’ll take a kiss though.”

Touya smiles back, pocketing his cash alongside the goodies you’ve given him. “Is that how you’re taking payments today? With kisses?”

He knows you want him, you’ve been wanting him ever since he had fucked you at your father’s birthday party just a few months back. He can still recall the champagne he tasted on your lips, the silky material of your party dress as he pushed it over your hips, the smell of peony and honey spritzed onto your skin when he had bit your shoulder. It was an amazing fuck, one that he thought about going back for, but he liked to see you dangle yourself for him. Beg him with those pretty eyes and try to seduce him with low cut dresses or leave lingering touches that you hoped pull him in.

You shrug your shoulders and play coy, stepping into his personal space to smooth your hands along his shoulders as if you were going in to hug him. “Special just for you, I’ll figure it out with the rest.”

His hand slides along the small of your back to pull you in and close the space. “You are so bad.”

“I happen to be a very good girl, my record shows that.”

“Your records were expunged by your dear daddy.”

“So therefore, I have done nothing wrong.” you giggle, “C’mon, stop teasing me like this. You never want to see me outside of this place. I only see you when you and your family come to the club for an event, and you guys always look so miserable.”

“And that’s why I’m here,” Touya’s hand drops lower, grabbing at your ass and relishing your little gasp, “because you help me get through these aggravating events.”

He teases you, has you chasing after him and keeps him entertained whenever he comes to this ridiculously posh club. You play the polite girl when you’re out among the crowd but he’s always felt your eyes on him whenever the two of you are in the same room together. If you could keep your eyes on him the entire time you would, but sadly you have to get pulled aside from so many people. From your inner circle, to polite introductions to your father’s colleagues, to the ones who want a little something to get them through the night. You carry yourself with grace and good posture, more than any girl that he had ever met.

You’re the classiest little drug dealer he knows.

And like every deal, a transaction has to be completed. So he leans down to kiss you, holding you tightly by your waist to bring you closer to him. You’re so eager for him locking your fingers behind his neck, sighing sweetly that makes him reminisce of that night you had together. The plush of your lips takes him back to that night, back when you smelled more floral and warm, when he had found you lounging alone at the pool and bored from your father’s party.

Surprisingly you pull away from the kiss. “I like you Touya, c’mon we had so much fun together at my daddy’s party. Don’t you wanna have fun again?”

“I never said that I didn’t want to do it again.” Touya points out as he takes a seat on the piano bench, “It’s crossed my mind.”

You pout at him, the gloss from earlier kissed off slightly sticky on his lips instead. Carefully you wipe away the remnants of the gloss from his lips, smudging it on the pads of your fingers. “You’re so mean, you know that? Don’t you know to not make your plug mad?”

“Ah, how can I make it up to you, princess? Please oh please,” Touya wryly plays along with you, “what can I do to get back in your good graces?”

You hold out your hand to him, “Take a walk with me.”

Walking out hand in hand with you, he is led out of the piano room and allows you to take him to wherever it is you have in mind. You pass by one person that you give a subtle signal too, Touya observing how they make their way to the piano room with a key in hand. He wonders how much you’ve paid off certain workers inside the country club to help and protect you.

He admires that about you, not being afraid to exercise your power. Maybe it just comes with being a spoiled brat who can get her record wiped clean when she calls her daddy with crocodile tears. All this wealth at your disposal and the only thing that entertains you is being the unofficial country club girl scout for xannies, oxies, and other treats.

Touya is led to different halls throughout the club, some he recognizes more than others, but not as well as you do. These are your grounds after all. The caddy from before is seen talking to a group of gentlemen, the elders clearly enjoying conversation with him if the boisterous laughter and the friendly pats on his back are anything to go by. Hell, Touya’s father is apart of the group and even he looks to be amused from whatever quip the feathery haired young man doled out.

Keigo must sense your presence nearby as he immediately looks up to see you. You blow an air kiss to him and he pretends to catch it in his fist. Touya can swears that when he looked at you, you mouthed ‘love you’ to him as they passed by.

He doesn’t know much about Keigo, only that he was brought on by you and that he happens to be very charming with many people. Looks wise, he can see why you went for him but Touya hasn’t taken any personal interest to get to know the caddy.

People pass by and give you pleasant greetings, all of which you returned kindly but never paused to have a conversation. There’s excitement running through you as Touya follows behind, wondering where exactly you’re taking him. He can tell by how eager your pace is that gives it away. It’s precious, he enjoys it too much.

You want him that badly.

━━━━✧

Touya’s not sure how he’ll explain to his mother how his pants got so wrinkled, but it’s a thought that gets pushed out of his mind as he smothers you in a kiss. He’s trying to recall his last excuse when his mother questioned how he became so unkept. The answer isn’t quite coming to him; all he can recall is just the adrenaline he had afterwards from fucking you so good. Normally he’s very smooth with his words, lying easily to anyone when it pleases him, but he had gotten pussy drunk off of you and his brain just wasn’t operating the same.

You and that cunt of yours.

He’s almost upset that he’s been denying himself this entire time. There were plenty of nights recalled the sloppy kisses from you, the elegant way you crooked your finger to bring him to you, and when you pulled on the roots of his hair when he had eaten you out. Truthfully he had wanted to chase you just as much when the deed had been done. But as he’s got you on your knees for him, Touya remembers why he decided to not give into you so easily.

“Please Touya? Please, pretty please?”

It’s so sweet when you beg.

He remembers after coming down from the high that arrogant look on your face when he had helped zip your dress back up. That because he had shagged with you then he was surely to come at your beck and call. Instead of giving in, Touya decided that he’d like to see you chase after him. To have you be the one sending text messages or letting late night calls go unanswered, declining private invitations from you to keep you frustrated.

He still has all your voicemails of you breathless and needy, begging softly for him to just want you back.

Your voice is small and pitched, whiny almost as you pathetically tug at his belt as you sink to your knees. You’re practically drooling for it, eyeing his bulge and caressing it gently through the fabric. Christ, he really made you that in love with his cock. “Oh princess, don’t tell me you’ve been pining after me.” He coos over you and tilts your head up to look at him, “All this time?”

“Yes, god yes!” You admit and jut your lower lip in a pout, “I would wait around for you, hoping you’d answer me or even come visit! I’ve always been so nice to you Touya, and you just ignore me!”

It is the spoiled brat in you that’s making you act this way. You’re such a good girl, a nice girl, a pleasant and sweet and pretty girl that there shouldn’t be any reason to give you this awful treatment. That’s how you see it. That you’re the one who blessed Touya with the rare gift of giving him personal access to you so therefore, he should be grateful and be falling at your feet.

Touya has his own pride though.

“Is that darling caddy you’re so fond of not enough for you?”

“I adore Keigo, I love him,” you admit, “but I want you too.”

You want him desperately, slowly crumbling your pride as you beg softly for him. This is what Touya wanted from you. To see you throw a bit of dignity away just for him.

“Yeah? You mean that?” he asks you, using a single finger under your chin to lift your gaze up to him.

“Yes.”

He could probably ask anything of you in this moment if it meant that he’d give himself up to you. Something that you would find worth it for him to finally cure your ache. Admittedly one of his fantasies with you is to use one of your fancy lipsticks to draw the filthiest names on your body and take pictures for evidence. He wants to write slut at your tits, whore written in fat letters on your back, maybe even cumdump on your tummy with an arrow pointing down to your cunt. Touya wonders if that would be too much though.

He wants to demean you so bad, knock you off your high horse and make you look pathetic.

Yet there’s also some desire in him to cherish you too. You are the darling of this club, adored and revered and Touya falls into that crowd too. That it wouldn’t be so bad if you were to wear a dainty necklace with his initial, have you in his car for leisurely joy rides down by the coast, and go on those stupid fancy picnics that you posted on your instagram.

“Need you Touya, need you!” you whine, catching his hand and leaning your cheek into his palm. Aw look at you, trying to look sweet for him, giving him doe eyes and batting your lashes.

There’s some laughter outside, just a small group passing by the room you’ve locked yourselves in for privacy. There’s a little sign that you hung on the door handles: the art gallery is closed. Nearby is a sculpture of a nude woman, crafted by one of the local artists here and was in the club’s newsletter not too long ago. Touya glances to it, finding it beautiful and better in person than in the photo they had taken of it. Art is usually better to see in person anyway-

“Touya!”

You’re not on your knees anymore for him, standing to your feet and smoothing down your dress. Ah, you’re upset now—actually upset at him. “If you don’t want me, then just fucking go. You’ve been playing these games with me and I’m tired!” you huff and try to pick up your heels that you discarded onto the floor when you had locked up the room, “Keep the stuff I gave you, I still won’t charge you for today.”

His hand goes to your wrist and he’s pulling you back to him, wrapping you up in a hug as he hushes you, “Don’t be so upset, it’s not a good look for you.”

“Well I wouldn’t be if you would just look at me!” you almost cry, sinking into his body and making a small noise when he hugs you tighter. “Everyone else wants me, why don’t you? Don’t you want me?”

It surprises him how genuine you’re being. You can’t be this upset, can you?

It makes Touya happy that he can make you this way.

“Never said that I didn’t, princess.” he admits finally, “I like you back, is that all you need to hear?”

He’s given a little nod, feeling your hand press at his bulge again. Your hand caresses his cock through his slacks and you sigh a little, slightly tilting your head up and nosing along his jawline. Touya bites down the smug smile that wants to sprout up on his face—this is how he wanted you, on his terms and not on yours. So now that he’s got you right where he wants you…

“Ow!” you cry out when Touya roughly grabs a handful of your hair right at the root, pulling you just enough to make you look up at him. He holds tightly and coos over your shocked expression, your wide eyes looking up at him with a small sense of betrayal. How could he switch up on you so fast like that? “T-Touya..!”

You pout up at him, your lips tempting him to kiss you.

“You’re not the good girl you make yourself out to be. Like you got everyone wrapped around your little finger, huh?” Touya speaks haughtily, his grip flexing slightly and tugging slightly on the roots of your hair, “Good girls don’t sell drugs out of a piano bench and fuck around with the piss poor caddy that’s so popular around here.”

“Maybe not other girls,” you hiss through your teeth, “but I can.”

You can do whatever you want, it’s how you lived your life. If there are any rules you’ve broken, you’ve always been very good to take care of it yourself mostly. Look at how you flout about, walking around with your pretty heels and waving the help over with darling manicured hands, discreetly handing cash and speaking with the sweetest lilt to get people to do what you please.

Touya snorts, but he does admire you all the same. If he had more drive to do anything, he’d probably be working under you too.

But he hates being inside this stupid country club, which is where you typically are when you’re not traveling or with your own gaggle of friends. This is where you like to work after all, and will be yours to run once your dear daddy passes.

“God, you’re fucking beautiful.” Touya sighs out before leaning down to kiss you. He’s unexpectedly soft considering the tight grip he still has on you, slotting his lips against yours too intimately for someone who also wants to ruin you all the same. It’s a long kiss he gives you, that it even gets the butterflies fluttering inside of his chest.

He pulls back and releases the hold he had on your hair, twirling his finger in a circle to indicate for you to turn around. You present your back to him, getting flashbacks to when Touya had first undressed you. His fingers are cold as he fiddles with the zipper at the back and pulls it down slowly. The dress loosens from your body and you shrug off the thin straps. It falls to the floor in a pool surrounding your feet, and you’re left standing in a little cotton panty that’s lined with lace. Your nipples are perked due to the chill of the room but you don’t bother to cover yourself to retain some modesty.

You’ve been wanting to be like this in front of Touya for the longest time.

You’re given another wordless command, blue eyes briefly glancing down to the hardwood floor. Kicking your dress off to the side, you kneel down in front of Touya once more and watch as he unzips his slacks and pulls his cock through the opening. Your mouth practically waters upon seeing his dick again, so thick and with the prettiest color at the tip you had seen. You’re about to go in when he stops you with a simple little tut.

Glancing up at him, you wonder what he could possibly have to say.

“Don’t get too sloppy, can’t walk out of here with fucking drool stains on my crotch.”

Touya hopes to fuck you in his bed one day, have you squirt on his sheets, and then cum all over your face. But while the two of you are here, the two of you have to be able to come out look presentable. He can’t go as wild as he wants on but he fucking swears that he’s gonna make you fucked out by him one of these days.

You nod in understanding before swallowing his cock into your throat. There’s some dreamy sigh from you as you bob up and down on his cock; you really must have been aching for this. There’s enthusiasm as you swallow all his inches, looking up at Touya and going all doe eyed for him. See how much you wanted him?

He admires your small gags, the way your body lurches when you choke deeply on his cock, but he reminds you again to try to keep your drool from getting on him. Touya wants to fuck your face, he wants to make you cry from fucking your mouth too hard, and even slap your cheek. There’s so much he wants to do but this isn’t the time or place to do any of it.

You’d be pissed off too if he even attempted.

You pull off his cock, a line of drool connecting your lips to his cock still but it gets wiped away quickly by the back of your hand.

Touya grabs your wrist to bring you to your feet, pulling you to the nearest wall to fuck you against. Your hands brace the flat surface, grunting when Touya uses one hand to jut your ass back to him and the other presses your head to the wall. With your back arched, he admires your elegant form under the soft lighting of the art gallery. The lovely still life painting of a bouquet does not compare to how fucking beautiful you are in this moment.

He can’t wait until he can ruin you to tears.

He offers his fingers to your lips, your mouth obediently dropping to lick and spit on them. It tickles a little with the way your tongue drags along his fingers but he doesn’t allow it for long. Touya only needs just enough to finger your hole, even spitting on his own fingers before he does a careful but quick prep after pulling down your panties.

“Oh god… oh fuck…” you mutter, your eyes shutting as relishing in his touch, “Fuck me please!”

“Relax.” Touya is firm in his tone, acting cool and masking the equal desperation that is surging throughout his own body. He wonders if you notice how eager his fingers are to be inside you, biting his lip to force down the wolffish smile on his face when he feels how wet you are. All that teasing before that he had done to you was worth it.

It was worth all of it to lead up to this moment.

His fingers withdraw and he sucks on them, savoring the taste of your slick along his tongue. Touya recalls how he ate you out at your father’s birthday party, driving you wild with his tongue on your clit and the sweet noises you made. It would be nice to do it again.

Your body shudders a little as the head of Touya’s cock nudges against your pussy, a sharp little breath sucked in as the first few inches sink into you. “Fuck!” you quietly curse.

Touya would like to savor this, to take his time and work you up into a sloppy, pretty little mess. To finger your clit until you cry out of frustration and then choke you if you give him an attitude. There’s so many things that he wishes he could do in this moment. But you remind him—

“Please hurry, we can’t be in here for long.”

Because you’ve got people waiting for you. People waiting to eagerly meet you, whether at your piano bench or if you’re needed somewhere else to help maintain your father’s appearance. No matter how much Touya has this vision of what he wants, he knows that he truly can not have you in his own way.

But he’s grateful to get you anyway.

He thrusts in, sinking in smoothly but with a sharp clap of his body meeting yours. Your pussy tightens up on him from the brief shock that is also coupled with a small gasp. His hands grasp your hips tightly and he pounds away at you, noticing how you help with the motion by moving back into him as well. It’s quiet inside the art gallery so all Touya can hear is you and the sound of his skin slapping against yours as he fucks hard into you.

“T-Touya!”

It’s just as sweet as the first time, observing how you occasionally look over your shoulder at him and give him sweet doe eyes again. But this time they’re glazed over, your eyelids dropping as you get lost in the pleasure, relishing in everything that you had been waiting for. Touya wonders how many nights you spent fingering yourself to him, he imagines your embarrassment when he would leave your needy voicemails or nudes in his inbox unanswered, and he dreamt more than a few times of you riding that pretty boy caddy in front of him.

I want to fuck you again.

Those words almost slip out as he reaches a hand to finger your clit. Your knees buckle but you maintain yourself, your own little sounds struggling to be kept in. Touya can feel it already, he can feel you just about ready to snap if the way your cunt is clenching around him is any indicator of anything.

“Please cum, please cum!” you desperately whisper, “Please cum in me!”

I need to fuck you again.

Touya fucks harder to get himself to cum, looking down to see that you’ve creamed all over him. He’s grateful that he pushed his pants down enough so that none of it catches onto his clothes. It’d be nice if you could clean up his cock with your mouth after he cums in you, but you’ve got to come out looking as proper as you can be.

So no hair pulling, no spitting in your mouth, no crying to ruin your makeup, and no marks are to be left.

But if you’re going to beg him to cum in you, you should be able to accommodate a reasonable request.

Touya leans over, feeling his control ready to let go as he’s about ready to burst as he mutters in your ear, “Keep my cum in you, keep me inside you.”

His words have your eyes rolling back, answering him with a jittery nod and a sweet yes hissed into the air. “Yes, fuck yes!”

I am going to fuck you again.

Touya jolts into you one last time, pressing himself so deep that you whine his name. He’s emptying himself into you, spilling cum into that delicious cunt of yours. He chances putting a hand at your throat to choke you, his fingers careful at your windpipe and peering down at you as your orgasm wipes your mind blank and has you going limp that he has to catch you.

And then there’s silence.

He’s holding your body against him, carrying your weight as your mind tries to start back up again. Touya drinks in this moment because he knows he won’t get a repeat of this. He may never get the upper hand again now that he’s given you what you’ve been aching for.

He wants to keep coming back not to just buy off you, but to keep seeing you.

“Good, Touya?” you manage to find your voice and lean back against him, patting your hand against his arms that are still holding you tightly.

“The best.” He answers

You chuckle, nodding your head and still remaining in his hold with his cock in you. He wonders why you haven’t bothered to start making yourself proper—

The door to the art gallery unlocks and it has Touya jolting. All the curse words he knows flash in succession in his mind but you pat your hand against him. “It’s okay, it’s Keigo.”

Sure enough, it is.

The pretty caddy with blond hair is approaching the two of you with two small towels in hand. Had he been waiting outside the entire time?

Touya wonders if every move you’ve made has been calculated. Did you know for sure that he would finally fuck you today after keeping you waiting for so long? And to have your favorite toy waiting on hand to clean you up as well?

He takes the offered towel from Keigo but doesn’t offer a thanks. Touya wipes off the remnants of you off his cock, throwing the towel over his shoulder as he pulls his pants back up. His belt buckle clinks as he makes himself presentable.

“Can we stay and talk for a little Keigo?” you ask leisurely as the caddy places the towel over a wooden bench for you to sit on. You’re smoothing down your hair as you sit down, Keigo kneeling down on one knee to massage your calves. Your dress and heels still lay discarded as you appear to take your time getting ready to leave.

“Just for a little, okay? Hana is looking for you—“ Keigo informs you and laughs a little as you groan at the name. It seems he has the sense to not continue the sentence.

Touya is dressed, his pants not as wrinkled as he hoped they would be. Rei will probably take notice like she did last time but this time, he has enough clarity to give an answer that he knows his mother will not believe but does not have any backbone to question.

He supposes that he should go out there.

He’s got what he wanted anyway.

“See ya princess.”

“I’ll see you out there Touya.” You call to him just as he’s out the door.

Stopping by a restroom first, he puts himself in the privacy of a stall after locking the door. He retrieves the dime bag and admires the scaling of the cocaine inside the plastic. He fishes out a key from his wallet, using the tip of it dip into the bag. He inhales a sizable bump into each nostril, wiping his nose clean before flushing the toilet for the sake of seeming as if he had used the facilities.

He joins Natsuo and Fuyumi, the weed pen offered to him as well but he declines. Just a little further down, Shouto is with two boys that he seems to have made friends with. One of them is blond and huffing his chest while the other has hair the color of an evergreen tree and seems to be the mediator of whatever fuss is going on.

Touya leans back into his seat, just a touch more awake as he tastes the drip at the back of his throat.

━━━━✧

It’s a relief when it’s finally time to leave.

Enji and Rei are side by side, she’s holding onto his arm for balance, teetering slightly to the right but is corrected by her husband as he helps her into the car. Shouto is waving his friends goodbye before going along to Fuyumi’s side. She asks him if she had fun and he answers yes. She is no longer high but Natsuo takes a small hit of the pen one last time to tolerate the car ride.

Touya is about ready to take his place inside the car when he hears his name. He looks back to see you walking towards him and he decides to walk to you so that none of his family eavesdrops.

“Thank you for seeing me today, I really enjoyed your company.” you speak with a bubbly lilt and your smile more pleasant than usual. Of course you’re happy—you and Touya finally fucked again.

“Thanks for having me.” Touya responds a little flatter than he intended to, just trying to keep his family off his tail so that they don’t ask questions.

“Text me later.”

It’s not framed as a hopeful question; you’re telling him to text you.

“I will.”

He means it.

No more ignoring or being coy, not anymore since you got what you wanted and Touya knows that he’s given up the power to you. It was nice to briefly wield it but he knows in the end that you are the one to hold all the cards and have things aligned with how you want them.

Touya avoids his father’s gaze as he gets into the car. He leans back into his seat at the very back of the car, crossing his arms over his chest and feeling the buzz of the coke starting to wind down. He chances looking back and you’ve hung around in your same spot, appearing to see him off.

The windows are tinted and he’s sure that you can’t see him through the glass but you wave anyway, as if knowing that he’s looking at you. He resists waving back.

And as the car starts, someone joins you. Wearing all black and with slightly unkempt white hair, Touya recognizes your foster brother. He’s only seen Tomura around a handful of times—unlike you that leaves a trail to be found, he’s a bit elusive.

The car starts to pull away, Touya watches from his seat as your foster brother leans down to you. One would think that he just leaned down to kiss your cheek but he swears that it was a kiss on the lips. It was hard to tell when enough distance had blurred the interaction.

Not that it matters to him anyway.

Later that night, Touya does as promised and he texts you. All the previous messages in his inbox from you were one sided but now he’ll be expected to reach out to you. Maybe you can meet him at a different place occasionally, take you for a ride in his white mustang or share a sorbet with you in the downtown area.

He knows that he will have to meet you more often at the country club though—it is where you work after all.

Touya hates the country club but he’s only ever gone to have a chance to see you.

[gothgoblinbabe]

✮ Monster Mash ✮

Logan Howlett x fem reader

A/N: I wanted to do something for spooky month and I’ve been dying to go to Monster mini golf because. I mean. Look at it. Does that not look so fun. It’s so fun. I haven’t been since I was little and I’m determined to go soon - anyway, I wanted to explain that if you don’t know what that is, it’s a chain of indoor mini golf courses that are hand painted in neon paint and have all these cool monster statues and themed holes. Also an arcade <3 I fucking love the arcade 

I even included some pictures in the moodboard!

Yes I did laugh like a twelve year old boy every time I wrote “hole” so get the giggles out now

Summary: Picking a group activity was never easy, but with Halloween right around the corner, you came up with the perfect idea. Even if Logan hated it.

Warnings: swearing, I think that’s it? Good amount of fluff, This is a cute one

Word Count: 4k

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ⭑꒷꒦

Team building exercises sounded great when Charles brought it up, in theory. 

You’d all spend one day a week doing an activity together. Each person - you, Logan, Ororo, Jean and Scott - got a chance to pick said activity, decided by who got to pick the week before. It seemed like an easy and fair system - except that some of you were very stubborn and wouldn’t agree to go anywhere half the time.

“I’m not doing that. I don’t want to,” Logan would say flatly, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Too bad,” Scott would always say, “get in the car.”

This week was your turn and you were ecstatic, except that you couldn’t decide on what you wanted to do. Something in you was feeling nostalgic and longed to revisit somewhere you hadn’t been in a long time. You tried to think of what you did as a kid with your friends, what you did for your birthdays or places you wanted to go but never got to. You also figured since Halloween was around the corner, you should choose something kind of spooky.

You knew exactly where you wanted to go.

“I don’t get it,” Logan narrowed his eyes and looked at the colorful sign plastered on the front of the building, “what do monsters have to do with it?”

You stifled a laugh.

“They’re cute.”

“Cute?” Logan eyed one of the monsters painted on the outside wall, “define ‘cute’.”

“It looks like fun,” Jean shrugged, hand in hand with Scott as you all walked in together. 

Monster mini golf was one of your favorite places to go as a kid. The blacklights, patterned carpets, familiar monster displays and neon lights reminded you of simpler times.

Once inside, you all got clubs and golf balls. You tried to hand Logan a club and he shook his head.

“I am not playin’ golf like some yuppie.”

“Does this look like a country club to you?” you gestured to your surroundings, “Logan, it’s mini golf. It's fun. Take the damn club or you can sit in the car for the next three hours.”

After a moment of hesitation, he begrudgingly took it from your hands and followed you onto the little neon course.

“I’m gonna kick your ass at this - just so you know,” you told him. If there was anything that could get Logan to participate, it was to challenge him.

“Oh, are you?” he narrowed his eyes and you knew you had him.

“Yeah, duh! And when I do win,” you smiled and pointed at a distant photo booth in the arcade room adjacent from the course, “you’ve gotta get in the photo booth with me.”

It may or may not have been an excuse to sit shoulder to shoulder in a little booth where you could smell his cologne and see his pretty face up close. Plus, you’d have a strip of photos to help you remember it. Having such a huge crush on him and never saying a thing about it meant that a moment in a Photo Booth could be all you’d ever have, and you still wanted it anyway.

“Deal,” he replied, holding out his pinkie so you could lock yours with his. You can’t remember where it started - maybe during downtime on a mission or a late night talk on the couch in the living room - but every time you made some sort of deal or agreement, you locked pinkies. It was like a pinkie promise to fulfill your end of the deal.

You locked yours around his and he goofily shook your hand all around while he still had a grip on you.

“Okay, okay,” you giggled, “let me go!”

He finally did with a short laugh.

“Okay, Romeo and Juliet,” Scott’s voice made you turn around, “can we actually start playing?”

Logan rolled his eyes and lifted the mini golf club over his shoulder to hit him with it, but you grabbed his bicep and made him slowly lower it.

“Is this gonna be like the last time we all went out?” Ororo asked, “because I can’t do a repeat of Six Flags.”

“We’re still banned for another six months,” Jean pointed out.

“I didn’t think they could kick you out for destroyin’ a concession stand,” Logan shrugged.

“Why wouldn’t they?” Scott asked.

“You started it, anyway.”

“So?”

“So? I’ll throw you through another one, fuckface -“

“Alright!” you interrupted with a false smile, “if either one of you get us kicked out of here, I will personally shave your heads in your sleep. Got it?”

Logan shuddered and immediately brought a protective hand up to his hair. They both nodded and you patted them on the backs.

“Okay, boys! Time to golf.”

You couldn’t even get past the first hole without hitting your ball over ten times.

“This sucks,” you said under your breath. The place itself didn’t suck, but you sure did at mini golf. You did this as a kid all the time - why was it so hard as an adult? Maybe because the clubs were much shorter now.

Except your six-foot best friend was hunched over the little club as he swung and he was still doing well.

“Looks like I’m winnin’,” Logan flashed a smug grin as he hit a hole in one.

“Ugh,” you groaned, letting your head fall back in frustration.

“Someone’s a sore loser,” he teased in a sing-song voice. 

“Yeah, it’s gonna be you soon,” you pointed over to where you saw Scott, who was playing effortlessly. 

“Alright, hey - it’s you and me, one on one. Forget Summers, I’m gonna be the one to kick your ass.”

As much as it probably shouldn't have, Logan’s voice made your heart flutter.

“Sure you are, big cat.”

His eyebrows furrowed when you said the nickname, one you used to tease him often.

“You think ‘roro and Jean are doin’ any better?” he asked, intending to ignore your inherent need to press every single one of his buttons.

You saw the both of them a little bit ahead of you, celebrating as Jean completed that part of the course.

“I’d say so,” you pursed your lips and leaned down to align your club with the ball.

“Your feet aren't right.”

You stood up straight and looked back at Logan.

“What?”

“Your feet are too close together,” he explained, coming closer to lightly knock his boot against the inside of your foot, “there.”

He stood back again and crossed his arms. You positioned yourself to hit the ball until he spoke again.

“You need to straighten your back.”

You chuckled and turned around.

“I thought golf was for yuppies, hm?” you mocked his earlier statement and he rolled his eyes.

“You want help or not?”

You genuinely contemplated his question before answering.

“Alright.”

“Alright.”

He came closer behind you before you could even ask what he was doing. He blanketed his hands and arms over yours to help your aim, inadvertently pulling your back against his chest. He was warm and smelled like leather and pine. You were trying to listen to everything he was saying, but his voice so close to your ear made your head spin and turned your brain to mush.

There was a sudden flash of light and you heard something click. You instantly spotted Ororo with a digital camera in her hands and a wide smile on her face.

“You guys look so cute, I had to!”

Logan rolled his eyes and you shook your head, but you couldn’t see him bite down a smile behind you. If you didn’t ask for a copy of that picture later, he would.

You were so distracted by your thoughts that you almost forgot there was actually a point to him crowding you like this.

“Anyway, here,” he readjusted his hands over yours and pulled the club back a bit to swing, “ready?”

You nodded and he rested his head over your shoulder so he could see the ball and help you aim. You could feel his warm breath grazing your ear.

You felt like your legs were going to give out from underneath you.

The ball went rolling with a light tap and you watched it travel straight into the hole.

“Yes!” you exclaimed, excitedly raising your hands in the air when he let you go. For some reason, a part of you felt bold enough to lean up and kiss him on the cheek as a thank you, so you did.

He was lucky you couldn’t see the tips of his ears turn pink under the black light.

“With your help, I’ll be better than Tiger Woods in no time,” you joked.

“I don’t know about that,” he said with a shy smile, “I’m no professional trainer. Besides, it was all you.”

“You had your hands over mine and swung for me.”

“Again, all you.”

You laughed and motioned for him to follow you to the next hole in the course. The spot was next to a particularly grotesque monster sculpture.

“Ew,” Logan cringed, pointing at the towering neon statue, “he is ugly.”

“He looks like you,” you joked, gesturing to its face.

“Ha - ha,” he said flatly, “very funny.”

Logan shot you a mischievous smile and looked around the room, locking eyes with Ororo.

“ ‘roro! Pull out that camera!”

Before you could ask any questions, he was lifting you up with his arms around your waist and holding you up next to the statue.

“Logan! Put me down!” you tried to yell but couldn’t stop laughing, kicking your feet in an attempt to get loose and failing miserably. He held you tight - not enough to hurt, of course - and practically squished the side of his face against yours. Your cheeks felt hot from laughing so hard - or having Logan so close, you weren’t sure which.

Ororo, Jean and Scott were all chuckling while the picture was taken. The flash went off and you couldn’t help the wide smile on your face that unknowingly mirrored Logan’s.

“How cute are they?” Jean pouted and spoke under her breath, looking over Ororo’s shoulder at the digital camera screen.

“Lemme see!” you demanded as Logan set you down, jogging over to peek at the screen.

You knew you smiled as wide as you could, but seeing him smile so big that his eyes were nearly closed made your heart feel like it would burst.

“I didn’t even know you could smile,” Scott teased him, earning a glare from Logan.

“Hey, you remember six flags,” you reminded Scott, “he smiled when he threw you through that concession stand!”

“I was kind of too busy with my head stuck in the front of a popcorn sign to see it, but I believe you.”

“That was pretty funny,” Logan smiled to himself, “your hair smelled like butter for weeks.”

“Yeah, funny,” Scott rolled his eyes.

You continued the game and having Logan’s guide at the start increased your skill significantly. When you got down to the last hole, you were tied.

“This is it, big cat,” you told him, hands on your hips as he lined up his shot.

“If I win, you’ve gotta stop callin’ me that.”

“Hm,” you pretended to think for a moment, “nah, I don’t think I will.”

“You’re gonna have to in a minute,” he said in a cocky tone, pulling his club back to swing.

When he hit the ball, it rocketed across the carpeted floor and hit the little neon side wall, ricocheting it from one side to the other until it lost momentum. It was nowhere near the hole.

You clicked your tongue.

“Step aside, big cat,” you flashed him a smug grin and playfully nudged him with your elbow.

He groaned in frustration and crossed his arms, watching from behind as you lined up your shot. You hit the ball and watched it roll straight into the hole.

“Ooh, how does that feel, babe?”

You didn’t really mean to let the nickname slip - you called people ‘babe’ all the time - but you didn’t correct yourself either.

“Feels like I let you win, babe.”

Hearing it in his voice made you undeniably giddy.

“Sure, sure - whatever you have to tell yourself to sleep at night.”

“Well, I can guarantee you one thing,” he started and you raised your eyebrows, “you’d never beat me in Mortal Kombat.”

He pointed into the arcade you’d seen before.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Who do you usually choose to fight?”

“Reptile. Who do you pick?”

“Kitana.”

“That’s..” Logan paused in thought, “a pretty good fight, actually.”

“I’m still gonna kick your ass.”

“Not at this one, kid.”

You were walking hurriedly on the neon carpet like you were a kid again, eager to feed money into rewardless games. You spotted the Mortal Kombat machine almost immediately and tugged on the sleeve of his jacket to get his attention. You made your way over to the brightly colored machine and put in some quarters, changing the screen to the select character menu.

“Ready to lose?” He asked and you playfully scoffed, eyes glued to the screen.

“Whatever, kitty. You still owe me a photo booth picture, so I’m the real winner today anyway.

“What’d I say about ‘kitty’?”

“That you hate it? Oh, yeah, I know, that’s why I use it.”

The round started and you and Logan stood shoulder to shoulder, mashing buttons and driving the joysticks in different directions. It was a two player machine - technically, you had enough room to put space between you, but neither of you actually wanted to.

The first round was over before you knew it, a bright ‘FATALITY’  written across your side of the screen.

“Now how did that feel, babe?” 

Your face felt hot when he used the affectionate nickname and you hoped he was too focused on the second round to notice you were smiling like an idiot.

He was too, though.

“Oh, permanent nickname now?” you tried to play cool while you were still focused on the fight.

“Mhm,” he hummed, “get used to it, babe.”

You could most definitely get used to it.

“Okay, babe.”

You were still with your eyes glued to the screen, but in your mind, you were jumping around and doing cartwheels and screaming in victory.

So, you were amazed that you’d won the second round even while daydreaming about the guy beside you.

“Suck on that, Howlett,” you said smugly, grinning up at him.

“Ooh, so your trash talkin’ gets dirty, now?”

You only laughed in response.

“I think I prefer being called ‘babe’, though,” he told you, looking into your eyes in a way that made your hands sweat. 

“Well,” you tried to calm your nerves, “you’re on, babe.”

The third round would determine who won and you were both locked in. The colored light from the screen painted your features as you vigorously slammed buttons. You watched your health bar steadily get lower, lower and lower before it was empty completely. The third and final end screen popped up and you let your head fall back in frustration.

“See, what’d I tell you? You never had a chance,” he teased.

“It’s Photo Booth time, anyway,” you said excitedly, grabbing his hand and attempting to pull him with you as you walked. He followed you, but it wasn’t actually because you were holding onto him - you couldn’t move him even if there were two of you - but because he’d really follow you anywhere if it meant he could hold your hand.

You passed a row of claw machines and halted in front of one of them when something inside caught your eye. Logan stopped behind you, confused as to what you were looking at.

Smack dab in the middle of the pile of stuffed creatures, you saw her.

A Halloween themed stuffed Hello Kitty, complete with a glow in the dark bow and bat patterned dress. Her small beady eyes stared back at you from behind the glass and you knew you had to have her. It was love at first sight.

“You see her?” you looked at Logan with a deadly serious expression and pressed your finger to the glass, “I’m not leaving without her. We’re coming back after the pictures.”

You found the Photo Booth and eagerly slid into the small space behind the curtain with Logan next to you. You looked up at the screen that showed the both of you and smiled wide. Maybe it was your own bias, but you thought you looked cute together.

You followed the instructions and the photo countdown began. You and Logan looked at each other in mild panic, realizing you didn’t know how to pose.

“Silly one?” you asked and you were both immediately moving to strike a pose before the photo was taken.

You were crossing your eyes with your tongue stuck out and he had his hands up in claws, forcing an underbite so that his lower teeth were covering his upper lip. When the picture was snapped and you looked up to see it, you laughed so hard at Logan’s face that you were nearly in tears. Your laughter was contagious and he was infected immediately, both of you starting to tear up from laughing so hard. You hadn't heard the camera timer over your laughing and when it made the click noise, you looked back at the screen.

You were leaned over Logan a little, your mouth open mid-laugh and your eyes closed. His smile was wide as could be, his cheeks actually red from laughing.

“That’s cute!”

You really didn’t mean to say it aloud but it slipped anyway and you pursed your lips.

“Very,” he said.

You felt the turn and twist of excitement in your stomach. 

“Okay, next one,” you told him, “wanna do a regular picture?”

“Sure.”

Instantly, he slung his arm over your shoulder and leaned his head against yours while you kept your cheek-aching grin. He had a genuine smile, his eyes stuck on your face on the screen. 

It felt like there was something there, something in the air between you, some kind of effect that made your longing for him almost unbearable.

The picture was snapped and you turned to look at him. He didn’t move his arm, instead keeping it hooked around you to pull you close. He looked back at you with a semi-serious expression while his eyes studied your features.

“What?” you laughed, small and nervous.

You were too entranced by him to hear the last photo countdown, but Logan heard it fine. 

Three

You leaned in close to each other, almost nose to nose.

Two 

He brought his other hand up to hold your face tenderly, swiping his thumb over your skin in an affectionate manner. His stare was intense in the best way possible. You felt like your heart was beating so hard it might give out.

One

He kissed you.

He closed the gap and you wanted to squeal in excitement, though you’d wait till you told Ororo to do that. His lips were soft like you always thought they’d be and you reveled in the overwhelming scent of him - leather and pine. You had your hands in the hair at the back of his head, as if you were holding him against you. It was like a dream come true, somehow everything you’d hoped it would be. 

When you finally pulled away from each other, you were speechless. He took your silence as rejection and awkwardly avoided your stare.

“I’m sorry, I - uh, I don’t know why I-“

You pulled him close to kiss him again and silence his rambling. You could feel him relax under your touch and you did the same, smiling against his lips when it finally set in that he had actually kissed you.

“I’ve wanted to do that for awhile now,” you admitted quietly when your lips disconnected.

“Me too.”

He was smirking like he’d beat you in another arcade game, proudly basking in the afterglow of victory. This time, you were the prize, one he never thought he’d win.

“We should probably get the pictures, huh?” You asked and he nodded.

“Yeah, uh, one more thing,” he replied and kissed you again, “okay, let’s go.”

You giggled and followed him out of the booth. He picked up the two strips of photos from the printer on the side of the booth and handed you one. 

All of the pictures came out great, but you were really just focused on the last one. It was perfect. Not only did he kiss you, but now you had proof to remind yourself it wasn’t a dream.

“Hey, how’re you guys making out over here?”

You jumped at the sound of Jean's voice and blurted the first thing that came to mind.

“We weren’t making out.”

Jean tilted her head and looked between the two of you.

“Hm,” she hummed, “okay, then.”

Logan discreetly interlaced his fingers with yours when she turned away and tugged you further into the isles of games. He stopped in front of the row of claw machines again.

You spotted Hello Kitty and looked back and forth between her and Logan.

“I’m gonna get that stuffed cat,” he told you matter of factly, starting the game with a press of a button.

“She has a name, you know,” you informed him, trying to bite down another beaming smile just from the fact that he wanted to do that for you.

“Oh, does she?”

“Mhm, Hello Kitty.”

“I told you to stop calling me that,” he sighed and you started to laugh, taking a deep breath before responding.

“No, no - that’s her name, she’s Hello Kitty.”

“Ah, I see,” he smiled while his eyes were glued to the metal claw of the machine, “Well, I’ll let you teach me all about her when I get her out.”

The metal claw lowered slowly and its talons gripped around Hello Kitty’s rotund head, but she slipped from its grasp the moment the claw started to rise.

“Rigged,” you said simply, “I never win at these.”

“No one does - I will, though.”

“Sure,” you giggled, watching him try once more. He got it but the stuffed cat, of course, slipped from the claws grasp.

“Third try, this is it. If I don’t get that damn thing, I’m gonna put a hole through the machine and get it myself.”

You were going to get that cat no matter what he had to do. It was undeniably sweet to see him so determined to do something for you, especially something as unserious as winning a stuffed animal.

You both watched anxiously as the claw lowered for the third and final time. The talons wrapped around Hello Kitty’s head once more and lifted her into the air. You gasped and watched in silent concentration as the claw took from one side of the box to the other, dropping her into the prize slot.

“Yeah!,” Logan exclaimed excitedly in his deep voice and you giggled at his enthusiasm.

“I mean,” he cleared his throat, “you’re welcome.”

You took Hello Kitty from the prize slot in the front of the machine and held her close to your chest.

“Thank you very much.”

He would’ve stayed at the damn machine all day to get that thing if he had to.

You all decide to leave a little while later, stepping into the parking lot, only to be met with light rain.

“Ugh,” you groaned, looking down at your shoes, “I just got these - if they get wet, they’re ruined.”

“I gotcha.”

Without a second to protest, Logan lifted you up with one arm under your knees and the other around your back. You giggled - something you couldn’t really help when his hands were on you - and grabbed ahold of the front of his jacket. You weren’t really sure why. You told yourself it was to keep him from dropping you, but you knew he never would, especially with how strong he was. Truthfully, it was probably just to keep him so close.

“Go carry your bride to the car,” Jean teased, nodding towards the vehicle parked not so far away. 

Neither of you challenged the ‘bride’ comment.

As Logan carried you the short distance, his hand on your back reached your side so he could poke you, knowing it made you ticklish.

“Ah!,” you squealed and laughed, kicking your feet, “you’re gonna drop me if you do that!”

He did it again and you squirmed, wrapping your arms around his neck to keep you from hitting the ground.

Neither of you realized that when you had kicked around, one of the photo strips fell from the pocket of your jacket. Scott saw and picked it up before it could get wet without a second thought, failing to even look at what it was.

“Okay, okay, I’m done,” Logan finally replied, “promise.”

“Promise?”

“Nope!”

He poked your side and you shrieked out of instinct, lightly hitting his chest with your open palm.

“Logan!”

“Okay, really, I’ll stop.”

He set you down and opened the car door for you. You slid in to escape from the rain and he did the same, everyone else piling in after. Scott was in the front seat and remembered that he picked up something of yours. He pulled the paper from his jacket pocket and turned it around to figure out what it actually was, turning in his seat to speak to you at the same time.

“Hey, one of you dropped this pa-“

He went silent and smiled, chuckling to himself.

“What?” Logan asked, but when you saw what was in Scott’s hands, you instantly knew what it was.

“Oh, that’s not - that’s..” you tried to explain but your voice trailed off as Jean peeked at the photo from the passenger seat and gasped.

“Finally!” she turned the picture to Ororo so she could see, “I told you!”

You and Logan both made the same confused expression, looking between the three of them.

“ ‘Told you’ what?” he asked Ororo, who sat beside the two of you.

She sighed.

“Jean said you’d get together in the next month. I said it would be two months, so - she told me so.”

You and Logan were both still very confused.

“So you knew I liked him?” you asked Jean blatantly, but Logan spoke first.

“You liked me this whole time?”

“Yeah,” you felt bashful, “of course I did.”

“I liked you this whole time, though.”

“You did?”

“Alright, we get that you like each other,” Scott interrupted with a huff, “is there anything else you guys want to tell us?”

You were silent but Logan spoke again after a minute.

“Yeah, all the quarters I used in the arcade were yours.”

Scott was visibly grinding his teeth.

“Alright,” he turned back around and started the car, “we’re going home.”

Logan wrapped his arm around your shoulder like he did in the photo booth, lovingly pulling you into him so you could rest your head on him. 

You stayed like that the entire ride home, stuffed Hello Kitty tucked in your arms.

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ⭑꒷꒦

A/N: If you made it this far ily! and I wanted to say I'm absolutely still working on requests, I just take a long time to write </3

Anyway pls interact if you enjoyed and follow me 4 more!

[lnfours]

daylight | l.n

summary: Hi lovely, you write Lando SO well😍 I’m not sure if you’re taking requests, but I can’t stop thinking about Lando and a drivers sister (if you have the time please). Maybe she’s visiting friends in London and they go on a night out. She gets super drunk, loses her friends, doesn’t know her way back to their place and goes to the only place she does know, Lando’s. Except he’s fast asleep and she wakes him up trying to politely break into his house and he’s like all sleepy and cute and looks after her and asks her to call him next time and he’ll pick her up Then the next time it happens, she actually calls him and it’s just fluffy af - from anon <3. also my requests for lando are open! feel free to send your ideas my way !

warnings: fluff, leclerc!reader, language, drinking, and overall lando just being protective

masterlist | ask box | listen

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

the night air was cold in london, making you regret your choice in attire for tonight as you hurried your footsteps on the sidewalk, heels clicking against the pavement.

you had decided that tonight was going to be a fun night out, you and your girls were going to go to the club, have a few drinks and a good time, but no. somehow, someway, you ended up getting stranded at the club, no one coming to get you or tell you where they went.

so, with a dead phone, you headed in the direction of the only place you knew how to get to: lando’s.

the two of you had been in a weird ‘will we, won’t we?’ stage for the last year or so. he was the one you were closest with. the one who, undeniably, made you feel like a teenager falling in love all over again.

you made the next right, ignoring the aching in your feet as you reached his front steps. the mclaren sitting in the driveway letting you know he was home. you knocked on the door, and after a few minutes with no noise on the other side, you huffed.

you reached into the flower pot on the step, grabbing the spare key to the front door. you put it in the lock and twisted it, letting out a sigh of relief when the lock clicked open. you pushed the door open softly, tossing the key back into the flower pot before stepping inside.

your heels clicked loudly on the hardwood floor and you immediately winced before you shut and locked the door behind you. you stepped out of your heels, becoming a deer in headlights when the lights turned on all of a sudden.

“y/n?” lando asked, placing the golf club against the wall. you gave him a tight lipped smile in return.

“sorry,” you said, “the girls left the club without me, my phones dead, and your house was the only place i knew how to get to.”

he furrowed his eyebrows, “you walked eight blocks from the club? alone, in the dark, and tipsy?”

you bit your bottom lip, “yeah, guess so.”

he ran a hand over his face, trying to fight off the thought of everything what could’ve happened to you, “just… please, please call me next time. i don’t care where you are, what time it is, nothing. i’ll always come get you.”

his words made your stomach do flips as he held out his pinky for you, making you smile as you locked your fingers together. he pulled you closer, letting you wrap your arms around him in a hug.

“miss me?” you joked.

“mhm,” he said, “definitely didn’t miss you breaking into my house.”

you smiled up at him, “you definitely missed that.”

“whatever you say, love,” the smile still playing at his lips, “c’mon, let’s get you some clothes.”

you nodded, following him up the stairs and into his bedroom. he flipped on the light switch, making his way to his closet as he fished something out for you. he grabbed an older mclaren hoodie and some sweatpants, passing them to you as you sat on his bed.

“here you go,” he mumbled, clearly still sleepy, “you can sleep in here if you want.”

you nodded, heading towards the bathroom to change. you threw on the clothes he gave you, feet padding against the wooden floor as you pulled the sleeves of the hoodie over your hands. he opened the blankets as you climbed into bed next to him.

“thanks for letting me stay,” you smiled over at him, head resting against his pillow.

“didnt have a choice, you literally broke in.” he smiled back at you, reaching over and brushing a piece of hair from your face.

you rolled your eyes playfully, “then maybe you should hide your spare key better.”

“nah,” he scrunched his nose, “i think i might leave it there, yknow, for whenever you’re in town.”

you leaned into his touch, “i missed you.”

“i know,” a smug smile on his face, “i missed you too.”

“then kiss me,” you mumbled, grabbing the neck of his hoodie and pulling him towards you. he smiled as he situated himself over top of you, arms pinning your head to the pillow as he leaned down and brushed his nose against yours.

“missed me that bad, huh?”

“like crazy,” you breathed.

“and if your brothers know you’re here?”

“i don’t want to think about my brothers right now,” you mumbled, “just fucking kiss me, lando.”

he complied this time, cupping your face in his hand as he leaned down and pressed his lips against yours. his lips moved against yours and he sighed contently when your fingers ran through his messy curls.

the sound that fell from your lips was like music to his ears as his lips moved from yours and attached to your neck, “if you coming here means i get to see you in my clothes more often, then please come more often.”

you smiled, “race weekends not enough for you?”

“baby, i could never get enough of you.”

you smiled as he pressed more kisses to your neck, “lan,”

he hummed against your skin, letting you continue, “i love you.”

he stopped what he was doing, eyes meeting yours as he came back to be face to face with you. a bright smile sat on his face, his pupils blown, and curls a mess. he looked so pretty like this.

he rested his chin on your chest, “i love you, too.”

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

the sound of his phone ringing made him drop the towel he was drying his hair with, your name and photo lighting up his screen. he swiped the button over, pressing the phone to his ear.

“hello?”

“hi!” your slurred words echoed through the phone, making him smile. he could hear the group of girls in the background asking who was on the phone, “i’m on the phone with my boyfriend! shut up!”

he chuckled, “you okay, baby?”

“yeah, no i’m good! im great!” your voice was barely audible over the loud music, “the girls are heading to a different bar, but i’m drunk and i want cuddles,”

he chuckled, putting you on speaker as he put his shirt on, “i’m on my way.”

“you’re the best!” he could practically hear your smile as he jogged down the stairs, ignoring the questioning look from max on the couch. he tugged his shoes on, “i love you.”

“i love you, too, baby,” he said, “i’ll see you in a little bit, okay?”

“okay,” you said, “see you soon.”

and he kept his promise, smiling as you walked out of the club. you spotted him leaning against the door of his car, smiling and bidding a goodbye to the rest of the group as they climbed into the uber to go to the next bar.

his hands found their home on your hips, yours wrapping around his neck, “hi,”

“hi,” he smiled, “hungry?”

you nodded, “starving.”

he took your hand into his, opening the door for you, “alright, c’mon.”

you sat down in the passenger side, letting him close the door for you before he got in on his side. he grabbed your hand over the center console, you pressed the back of his hand to your lips.

“i love you.” you mumbled against his skin.

“i love you, too, baby.”

[maiiuelle]

❀ warnings: minors dni, alcohol, “daddy” is used, phone sex, mutual masturbation

⋆ ˚｡⋆ ᡣ𐭩 ⋆ ˚｡⋆

your room is like a sanctuary; poofy pink pillows, a silky canapé over your bed, and your fluffy duvet just melt your anxieties away at the end of the day. before bed you have a sort of ritual — after your extensive shower and skin care routine, you tip toe into your princess suite and shut off every light except the floor lamp next to the window overlooking the street.

you have a gorgeous vintage bench beneath the window that functions as your reading nook, complete with floral pink and cream cushions, lace curtains, and your favorite blanket. you’ve been loyal to your nighttime reading since you were little, always setting aside at least an hour to read before going to sleep every night. to really set the mood, you light your favorite cinnamon vanilla bean scented candle and put on a relaxing record.

humming along to lana’s soft voice, you shuffle to your towering bookshelf to look over its contents. the shelves are overflowing with books and knickknacks — most being calico critters and sonny’s angels that live happily amongst the hardbacks, complete with appropriately sized furniture for them. you carefully squeeze past the animal tea party you carefully set up to retrieve tonight’s read—

buzz buzz.. buzz buzz.. buzz buzz..

you sigh, your eyes softly closing in annoyance at your phone ringing against the wooden end table where it’s charging. one peek at the bright screen and you stomp over to answer.

“rafe? its 11:30.”

“yeah? what’re you doing up so late?” you can hear the smirk on his lips, and you roll your eyes.

“well, i was trying to read.” you snark, looking at the book in your hand and skimming over the summary on the back, pacing mindlessly over to your reading bench with the phone pressed to your ear. “what’re you doing? working?”

“nah, actually — i was just thinking about you.” in truth, he was supposed to be working, but the scotch in his glass distracted him. now he’s reclining in his office chair, tapping his pen against his wooden desk as he speaks. “missed you today.”

“mhm.” you muse. he’d invited you to come golfing with him, topper, and kelce but you refused. sometimes it felt like he was a completely different person with them, and you don’t want to be around that. you hadn’t heard from him for the rest of the day, until now.

“what? you mad at me or somethin’?”

“no.. i just — i’m frustrated! i wanted to see you.” you admit, throwing the book down on the bench cushion beside you. “and only you — not top and kelce — just you!”

“aw, pretty girl, m’so sorry.” his tone is almost mocking, clearly not actually apologetic as he slides his toned hand over the bulge in his pants. he really does miss you, and he certainly missed watching you prance around the country club in your mini skirts. even now you’re just too cute when you’re angry, it’s driving him crazy. “how ‘bout you lay down, i’ll help you relax, yeah? yeah.. lemme make it up to you.”

you pause, all of a sudden very aware of how his breathing has deepened. he couldn’t be.. “rafe? what’re you doing?” you ask again, listening closely to the muffled sound of his clothes rustling.

he has the phone pressed between his ear and his shoulder, both hands working to pull off his belt. “didn’t i just tell you to do somethin’, princess? go lay down.”

you blink like a deer in headlights — you want to stay mad at him, after all he had completely blown you off all day. but his gravely voice is already making you push your thighs together, you’d rather he take care of you than prove a point. “mm.. okay.”

“yeah, s’what i thought.” rafe breathes over the phone. you’re always so pliant for him, so desperate to please him you’d do anything he says. you jump onto your poofy bed, scaring your poor cat awake as you roll onto your back.

“wanna tell daddy what you got on?”

you look down your torso, manicured fingers dragging down your thigh as you try to stay patient. “just a tank top n those cute panties you got me. you know the pink lacy ones?” you play with the bow attached to the front of them in thought, remembering how he’d ripped them right off of you last time he snuck over.

“oh yeah? that’s it?” he’s amused, his smirk growing as he pictures you putting on practically nothing to go read. he groans at the thought, freeing his cock from his boxers. “i like ‘em better off.”

“i bet.” you bite your lip, giggling as your fingers slip under the thin fabric to pull them down. you want more than anything for him to appear at your door so he can take care of you properly, his encouragement over the phone just isn’t the same. “you should come here n help me.”

“oh, believe me, i want to. could sneak in the window and fuck you right — like you deserve.” rafe coos. “remember last time? had you on your back, spread out on your bed with your pretty legs around me.” the memory makes you whine, hips moving on their own in search of friction. “you playin’ with that pussy like i do, baby?”

you take that as permission, humming a soft, “mhm..” as you dip your fingers into your mouth to wet them, then settling them in between your folds.

“don’t tell me i’m gettin’ you all wet already, princess.” he teases, his smugness interrupted with a grunt as he slowly strokes himself to your soft moans. “such a good girl, see what happens when you listen? feels nice, huh?”

“ah.. rafe—”

“shh, i got you. you just worry about playin’ with that pretty pussy n daddy’ll handle the rest, a’ight?”

maybe it wouldn’t hurt to skip reading for one night?

⋆ ˚｡⋆ ᡣ𐭩 ⋆ ˚｡⋆

[evermoredeluxe]

How Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour Took Over the Entire World

By Chris Willman

By Alissa Gao for Variety

On the morning that Taylor Swift’s “Eras Tour” is about to begin a three-night stand in Dublin, the older gentleman taking charge of my passport at airport customs has clearly had his fill of Swifties, probably processing them by the hundreds already today. When I reveal myself to be one too — despite being arguably the wrong gender, inarguably old and lacking a telltale “Lover” mascara star over my right eye — his disdain is palpable. Suddenly, I’m getting way more screening questions than anyone not on a watch list should. “What do you like about her?” he sneers, peering up over specs.

This is probably the wrong time for me to point out Swift’s Irish heritage, or to assert that she is this generation’s James Joyce. (The original king of the Easter eggs, right?) I wouldn’t really go that far — I’m only on record as doing my best to certify her as this century’s Beatles. Trying to figure out how to answer him, the past 18 years of extolling Swift in print flash before my eyes. I end up murmuring the bare minimum: “Um, her songwriting.” This seems to disturb him further. He snaps back: “Aren’t they all the same song” — a slight pause, and I know what’s coming next — “about her breakups?” Then, abruptly, he stamps me through, sparing me a detour to Interpol for more grilling.

In the cab into town, the driver is blasting a local talk-radio personality sharing his dismay about the fans of an awful superstar taking over his country. The host reads an email sent in from a hater who says, “A year ago, when tickets went on sale, my partner and I made a reservation to take our kids out of the country this Friday morning. … Thank you for creating a safe space with your show.” I start to wonder if Swift might have met her match at the Cliffs of Moher.

But from my drop-off forward, the next three days are like living in a Swift-topia. The mile and a half to Aviva Stadium each night is like Disneyland when it shuts its doors early for an affinity group. Whether stopping in the pubs or walking through the charming neighborhood of Victorian brick homes adjoining the fancy new stadium, there’s that warm feeling of people who are united by one quality: They are all super in touch with their feelings — or else they wouldn’t be Swift fans. And they all are happy to stop on the street or over pints to talk about poetical expression. (Well, except for the occasional taciturn, invariably straight young male who has signified his supportive-plus-one status by wearing a jersey bearing the name of Swift’s Super Bowl beau, Travis Kelce.)

So it is that I end up chatting with a middle-aged gay man in a sequin-covered shirt whose female companion whispers to me, while he steps away to trade friendship bracelets with a 10-year-old girl and her mum, that Swift’s music just helped him through a difficult breakup. The girl then runs off to trade her homemade bracelets with a pair of high-helmeted Dublin policemen loaded up to their own elbows with friendship swag — unexpected accessories for long arms of the law.

All the stories about American Swifties swarming overseas to catch “The Eras Tour” turn out to be true: You couldn’t swing a neon golf club around here without hitting a Yank. Approximately one out of every five fans I approach is visiting from the States — and the jubilation they’re feeling about the night’s impending concert is compounded by the fact that nearly all of them financed a European vacation and a concert ticket for roughly the same amount they would have paid on a secondary ticketing site for a typical four-figure ticket to one of last year’s predatorily repriced U.S. shows.

Remember the venerable stereotype of the Ugly Americans, brusquely trampling over refined Europeans in their travels? Thanks to Taylor Swift, who has a gift for laying out global welcome mats, this is the summer of the Spangly American.

At the stadium on night one, just down the row from me are a group of millennials from New Jersey, several in glam unitards inspired by the “Lover” or “1989” portions of the career-spanning show and looking like they were costumed by Swift’s own designer, with fake jewel-encrusted microphones to match. I ask how many hours went into perfecting these nearly pro-grade outfits.

“About 80 hours for mine,” says Megan McLaughlin. “Hers probably longer,” she adds, nodding toward one of her sisters, Margo Steinberg. “She knows all the glues and the best gems.” Indeed, confirms Steinberg, “I was working on mine since January. And, yes, I did quit my job to finish it!” She adds, when I ask if she cares to share any secrets to a particularly good look, “You have to use the B-7000 glue.” (A third sister, Amelia McLaughlin, admits she resorted to buying her spangly dress off Etsy — “I was doing a PhD, but I had to match these girls’ enthusiasm” — while a fourth, Carolyn McLaughlin, skipped the glitter and went for a red dress that matches Swift’s from the “I Bet You Think About Me” video.)

Certainly, there is an element of cosplay to many of the fans’ outfits. Some have seen footage of the new segment Swift added to the tour beginning in April 2024 — devoted to her most recent album, the 31-song “Tortured Poets Department” — and have managed to manufacture gowns that look like they’re made of paper and feature lyric excerpts printed on them in script, à la Swift’s custom-made Vivienne Westwood dress. I meet a group of American women who became friends as literature majors in college who have “Tortured Poets”-themed outfits, one duplicating the Westwood dress and the other with handmade printouts of the latest album’s lyrics pinned all over her black dress, as if she were literally pulling pages out of Swift’s playbook.

It’s the devotion to lyrics, even more than glitter, that is most impressive about the bespoke outfits fans have concocted for the occasion. There are scores and scores of Swifties wearing homemade T-shirts — sometimes singular, sometimes matching with a friend, like walking Burma-Shave signs. Some of the messages are obvious, like the dozens of laddies wearing “It’s me, hi, I’m the husband/boyfriend/father, it’s me” shirts. (Bet that seemed really original at one time.) But a lot of them refer to more obscure songs or stanzas, as if every nearby street or stadium loge section is full of human Easter eggs, begging to be unpacked. It’s hard to think of any other superstar in the history of stadium tours who could have inspired as much fan-crafted clothing rooted in the power of words.

Combos of middle-aged mothers and their teen or 20-something daughters abound; some of them have seized on Swift’s mentions of her own mother, Andrea, to come up with their T-shirt ideas. On Lansdowne Road, I talk to a mum whose red-on-black shirt says, “Had to listen to all this drama,” accompanied by a daughter bearing the legend, “And here’s to my mama.” (This is a reference to Swift’s song “This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things.”)

Later, in a stadium Guinness line, I chat up a pair of thirsty locals, the daughter’s shirt reading “I call my mom, she said …,” with the mom’s shirt completing the thought: “It was for the best.” (Damn it, I had to Google to recall that’s from a “1989” Vault track that came out last year.) I ask the daughter if she had to explain to her mom what she was wearing. “She’s 52,” she replies. “I don’t think she knows.”

Age is really no guarantor of not getting it — the popular #SwiftieOver50 hashtag on X proves that. Although outnumbered, plenty of older people are unaccompanied by a minor, or by anyone who has been a minor in the past 20 years. I approach a middle-aged couple, Jean Sebastian Conley and Natasha Gagne, again bidden by their matching shirts — “Who’s Taylor Swift?” and “Who’s Travis Kelce?” They turn out to be French Canadians who found their 206-euro SRO tickets to be a steal compared with the extravagant resale prices they briefly considered back home after being shut out of the initial on-sale. I ask what attracted them to Swift since, unlike so many others here, they didn’t grow up with her.

“I really fell in love with her with the ‘Folklore’ album,” Conley says, referring to her low-key Grammy-winning album recorded during the early months of the pandemic. “I think different audiences and older audiences found her through that and ‘Evermore’ because they were more singer-songwriter, a little bit rougher indie music, and that’s what we like most. So that’s how I got hooked.” For her part, Gagne says, “I like everything she represents. And when she redid all her masters, that’s where I thought she was a lady boss.”

It’s a reminder that, for however many mini-narratives Swift packs into the three hours and 20 minutes of an “Eras” show, there are really four or five years of backstory that feed into the audience’s shared awareness. When she sings the ominous ballad “My Tears Ricochet,” accompanied by a coven of stone-faced dancers, at least some fans will understand it as a distant reflection of her very public feelings about the men she considers her business bêtes noires, Scooter Braun and Scott Borchetta, who bought and sold (respectively) the rights to her first six albums, spawning much vitriol as well as four “Taylor’s Version” rerecorded albums to date.

When the dancers put their grins back on, Swift plays an ebullient excerpt of a very recent “Poets” bonus track, “So High School,” which every person in the crowd will know is inspired by Kelce. There are some breakup songs of recent vintage too — yes, Mr. Customs Man! — like “The Smallest Man in the World,” which may or may not have cost Matty Healy, the 1975 frontman and former Swift paramour, a night of sleep.

The whole tour is themed around not just the newer records but the rerecordings that have made every older album in her catalog feel improbably fresh. It was, quite possibly, the single most baller move in the history of the record industry … and led to the career-retrospective concept for what is already unquestionably the biggest tour in the history of popular music.

Any discussion of the charms of fandom isn’t meant to forestall discussion of “The Eras Tour” as big business. The numbers are fuzzy because Swift’s camp does not release grosses from her shows, unlike nearly every other artist at the stadium or arena level. Even when the tour wraps after 20 months on Dec. 8 in Vancouver, it seems likely those numbers will continue to be guarded with a zeal on par with the government of North Korea’s. Many industry experts believe the gross will approach or even surpass $2 billion.

What is known for certain — even without a confirmation from Swift World — is that she broke the all-time tour-gross figure when she hit the $1 billion mark, whenever exactly that might have been. The two trade publications that specialize in the touring industry have slightly differing estimates: Billboard calculated a cumulative gross of approximately $900 million when she took a break at the end of 2023, figuring that she would crack $1 billion shortly into the tour’s resumption in April, while Pollstar estimated that she had passed $1 billion by the conclusion of last year. Any way you guesstimate it, Swift took less than a year to break the previous record of $939.1 million, which Elton John grossed with his “Farewell Yellow Brick Road” tour across nearly three years of shows.

One source close to the production said early in the “Eras Tour” era that her average gross each night is $14 million. Others believe that is a highly conservative estimate, with a possible total that on at least some nights edges closer to $17 million. One remarkable aspect is that this does not include the revenue from any inflated resale tickets — which, as anyone who has tried to get tickets through Vivid Seats or StubHub knows, mostly have gone for several times their face value. It was little publicized, but Swift had “dynamic pricing” turned off for her ticket sales, possibly to avoid the controversies Bruce Springsteen encountered when the face value on some of his tickets leaped to the four-figure range upon their first sale. Swift left money on the table by not participating in the scalping of her own tickets, which had an average price of around $230 and topped out at $499, excepting VIP packages, which zenithed at $899 — all well short of what some other superstars ask nowadays. Of course, neither Argentina nor anyone at Wembley Stadium ahead of Swift’s opening night performance in June will be crying for her when she’s in reach of $2 billion without the resale inflation … not to mention the hundreds of millions of dollars in merch.

(This is extraordinary also because Swift hasn’t done any press to promote the tour, except for when she was selected as Time Magazine’s Person of the Year in December. But she doesn’t need to — the tour is constantly being celebrated on social media with every outfit change. And it’s also become so huge, it’s featured more A-list sightings than the Oscars, from Julia Roberts to Tom Cruise to Stevie Nicks, who had the surprise song “You’re on Your Own, Kid” dedicated to her in Dublin.)

Benson Boone, whose “Beautiful Things” is the most-streamed song of 2024 in the U.S. and the world, says he felt dwarfed when performing as the opening act at one of Swift’s seven shows at London’s Wembley Stadium. He has forever committed to memory the exact attendance figure he was given for the night: “89,497,” he says. “Just her stage alone is bigger than anything I’ve ever seen — 300 feet of it!” he says. “I took in every moment. It was cool for me to experience another artist’s world and learn from it. I want to work that hard and be the captain of my ship.”

Although it’s maddening to a media that likes official box office reports and can’t get them, it’s easy to see the wisdom in not flaunting those figures if you’re a superstar artist who counts on being seen as relatable. Swift certainly is proud of breaking records — she posted a tweet when “The Tortured Poets Department” spent its first 12 weeks at No. 1 on the album chart, one of only three albums in history to do so. But she’d rather count fan impressions than dollars. By the same token, she doesn’t publicize or confirm acts of generosity that leak out, like the sizable food-bank donations she makes in every city she tours, or the $100,000 bonuses that the tour’s 50 truck drivers reportedly got for Christmas.

An addendum to all this is how the “Eras Tour” film — released last fall, less than halfway through the actual tour — grossed just over $180 million domestically and $261 million globally, beating the records set by Justin Bieber’s concert film in the U.S. and Michael Jackson’s globally. Massive big-screen spoilers only heightened, rather than diminished, resale demand for the shows yet to come on the 152-date tour and helped precipitate the movement among Americans to head overseas, to make up for the supply found sorely lacking at home.

“She is the torchbearer for the live industry,” says Andy Gensler, editor of Pollstar. “It’s nothing we’ve ever seen before, and it’ll be a long time before we see it again. Her timing was exquisite: The pandemic created this yearning and hunger for live entertainment like nothing else in our history, so she couldn’t have picked a better time to go out.” Pollstar called last year a “historic golden age” for touring, as the top 100 global tours collectively surpassed $9 billion — up 46% from 2022 — with Swift obviously contributing a significant chunk of that total. (This year, the trade reports that overall tour attendance is down, with flat grosses, representing a slight reckoning for the live industry that, obviously, isn’t impacting “Eras.”)

“What my partners and I talk a lot about is how it’s one thing to have a big tour in North America. It’s another thing to have an equally big tour wherever you are in the world and to do doubles and triples in these markets,” says Bernie Cahill, an Activist founding partner and manager of acts including the Grateful Dead and the Lumineers. “It’s an anomaly. It’s not normal. And don’t forget, you’re going into what I call asymmetric venues, which are venues that are not really built for music; these are venues that are built for football games or soccer games and can be very challenging to do music. And they get it right every time — Louis Messina [Swift’s tour promoter since her earliest days] and his team are world-class.” But for all that globe-trotting, he notes, “there are some artists that you see do a show and you know they don’t even know what city they’re in. I always feel like Taylor knows exactly where she is. She has a relationship with that city or that market and those fans and she’s connected to them in ways that are very authentic, that you can’t fake.”

The one big snafu in the rollout of “The Eras Tour” occurred in November 2022 when the Ticketmaster system melted down after too many North American dates went on sale at once, causing thousands of fans to experience long delays. The on-sale broke the all-time record for tickets sold in a single day at 2 million, but it also nearly broke the world’s largest ticketing platform. Swift herself was Teflon in this situation, as the blame fell on a ticketing system not capable of handling so much of the Swift-loving world at once. And although most of the problems people have with Ticketmaster are different from what fans faced in the “Eras Tour” debacle — mainly, hidden fees and monopolistic practices — it could have big legislative consequences anyway. Dean Budnick, co-author of “Ticket Masters: The Rise of the Concert Industry and How the Public Got Scalped,” believes that the Swift hullabaloo was the main catalyst for Congress enacting reform. “There’s no question that perhaps there’s gonna be some meaningful change in ticketing as a result of what people experienced with that on-sale.”

That sense Cahill spoke about of the singer making it clear to an audience she knows exactly where she’s at is in full force in Dublin. Swift introduces the “Folklore”/”Evermore” segment by suggesting that she had a spiritual locale in mind when she started writing that more intimate material, locked in during the first part of the pandemic. “It keeps me up at night all year long: Which era is the most Irish?” she half-jokes to the crowd. “I’m gonna make a case for it being ‘Folklore’ … This album’s imaginary world had a whole aesthetic — like I lived in this cabin in a really green, nature-y, moss-covered landscape. You see where I’m going?… Another thing that I think makes it more Irish than the other eras is, ‘Folklore’ was all about storytelling. And I know you hear this a lot, but you guys are naturally gifted storytellers, right?”

Later on, Swift will cement the local connection by playing, as a “secret” surprise acoustic song, “Sweet Nothing.” She doesn’t have to give the crowd any explanation for that: From the first notes, Irish Swifties will immediately recall that the lyrics reference to the coastal town of Wicklow. The real cherry on top of the show for locals at any international Eras Tour stop, though, comes with a customized moment each night during “We Are Never Getting Back Together” when the spotlight is put on backing dancer Kameron Saunders for a couple of seconds, as he blurts out something locally appropriate, and cheeky. One night in Dublin, it’s the Irish catchphrase “the neck of ye!”; on another, he yells out “pog mo thoin,” meaning “kiss my ass!”; the massive, knowing laugh that inside joke gets makes it clear this isn’t entirely an audience of American tourists after all.

But the basic theatrics and emotional currents remain consistent from show to show. If Swift is surprisingly reticent to make her “Eras Tour” numbers public, that may be, in part, her desire to keep the focus primarily on a personal fan connection. Music industry veterans are taken aback by Swift’s ability to be giant and intimate onstage. “She’s a master marketer of herself — and she is not afraid to be vulnerable to her fans,” says Michele Bernstein, who runs a consultancy that works with stars like Drake. Bernstein could almost be quoting the lyrics of “Mastermind,” where Swift describes herself in almost comically omniscient terms, then dives into a bridge about how no one would play with her as a little girl.

People like my guardian of the customs gate may complain about Swift’s songs centering on her romantic splits, but that subject matter magnifies her own insecurities and weaknesses, expressed in genuinely eccentric wordplay, in ways that keep the audience in thrall to someone they perceive as a humble underdog as well as a veritable cage fighter. She could do a $10 billion tour someday and still keep the crowd enraptured by how she measures up to, or rallies to exceed, the smallest man — or men, or Kardashians — in the world.

This plays out in the “Eras” show in all sorts of symbolic ways, like the new segment in the “Tortured Poets” section where she seems to have fainted from the vapors of failed romance. Dancers in tuxedos try to revive her while a swing version of “I Can Do It With a Broken Heart” plays over the PA. A pair of women dressed as nurses fit her with what looks like a majorette’s uniform — or, with all its off-white stripes, is it really meant to resemble a straitjacket? The resemblance is probably not coincidental. Swift fans know there’s nothing like a mad woman.

The most exhilarating moment that has been added to the show this year has her gliding down the ramp on a platform, appearing to anyone at floor level like she is levitating like the witch she makes herself out to be in “Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?” Taylor Swift: She was Agatha all along!

Yes, there is much to unpack. But in Dublin and in every other city where “Eras” has alighted, there is also pure inspiration for those who maybe haven’t always felt like they’ve had a voice, whether it’s her LGBTQ+ fan base or, well, women. It’s a modern transmutation of Beatlemania in which Swift manages to be all four Fabs, and a mirror, as well as object, of that gaze. You don’t have to be a woman to experience the explosion of pure female joy that takes place on a mass scale at an “Eras” gig, but for men, it doesn’t hurt to have a healthy sense of where you might sit on the female spectrum.

Outside Aviva Stadium, two young Londoners have formed their own two-woman straight-gay alliance: One is wearing a shirt with the hand- drawn words “You’re obsessive and crazy,” and the other’s shirt has the phrase “You’re gay,” each with an arrow pointing to the other. This echoes the original lyrics to Swift’s 2006 oldie “Picture to Burn,” which was rerecorded after some were offended by “gay” as a possible teen epithet. “I am obsessive and crazy, and she is gay,” laughs Zoe Gibson, pointing to her friend, India Day. “We want to bring back the original lyrics. We never found them homophobic — we want to reclaim it.” Day adds, “We’ve listened to her since we were 4 years old, so obviously there’s the nostalgia factor. But for me, she speaks on quite a lot of issues like gay rights and feminism, and all of her songs perfectly sum up the experience of being a woman.”

Some of the shirts are apropos for Pride Month. Seeing a boy of no older than 15 or 16 wearing a homemade “But Daddy I Love Him” shirt (the title of a “Tortured Poets” fan favorite), it’s easy to imagine some courage was required to don that apparel. Along the same lines, I spot any number of women making their own statement in shirts with the modified exclamation “But Daddy I Love Her.”

Gay or straight, 6 years old or 60-something, female or just female-allied, the crowd inside gets its sway on early in the show, with the arrival of the gentle, waltz-time “Lover.” It’s not one of the big set-pieces of this nonstop Broadway-style production — the spotlight is just on Swift and her acoustic guitar — but it might be the one where the entire audience feels like it’s at a four-minute campfire. No wicked witchiness here, just winsomeness.

Down on the floor, I’m seeing what amounts to a Taylor Swift mosh pit: gangs of two or three or five young women, ignoring the fact that Swift herself is just yards away from them on the ramp. They’re singing and acting out every last line to each other, as if the superstar isn’t even towering right over them. A waste of their euros? Hardly. Swift will capture their full attention again as the show proceeds, but in the moment, she isn’t just a superstar — she might be the world’s greatest community organizer.

[faithlia]

᥉᥆꧑ᥱᥒthιᥒg ᥲb᥆ᥙt ᥡ᥆ᥙ ᝰ.ᐟ

english ins't my first language!

summary: matt and you share a tension that could be cut with a knife – which intensifies even more when he sees a picture of you.

warnings: suggestive, flirting, bissexual!reader, jealousy.

a/n: this is a collab with @aniesvision about the same story with different povs. click here to read her pov with Chris and get to know a little more about this.

The phrase "fucked up" is exactly what can define me at this moment. Damn! How could I be so careless and stupid? Look, I had no intention of sending that photo of my boobs in the group – that Matt is – I just wanted to show my bikini line to Anne.

My eyes widened in despair when I saw him approaching. My heart almost jumped out of my mouth when I noticed the smile on his lips. I pulled Anne by the arm before I could even greet them. I took her to the bathroom and started yapping nonstop, forming several scenarios in my mind. However, Anne proposed an interesting idea after I told her that yes, maybe, I want Matt, but not in a way that he thinks I'm desperate for him.

"Okay, well, why don't we test it out to see if he likes you too? I can pretend to be flirting with you so we see his reactions." she suggested with a mischievous smile. Something was so enchanting in her voice that made me delirious, it was impossible to say no to her.

I bit my lip and listened to her words.

In the end, it really seemed to work. She approached me with her crimson lips very close to mine, she touched me shamelessly and, even though it was just to tease the boys, I really did get slightly excited. Matt seemed confused, unlike Chris who was furious. I laughed as I looked at Matt but kept up the charade, loving the way he didn't take his eyes off me.

As the night went on, we drank and said a lot of stupid things to lighten the mood, except for the fact that Anne and I kept on touching each other. We went to the mini golf course and Anne kept bragging about scoring more than us; she and Chris were in an unbearable fight – which was the gateway for Matt to finally approach me.

"So, how long are you and Anne going to keep rubbing against each other like two bitches in heat?", he asked, with the golf club on his shoulders – he looked like an idiot.

"And since when do you care, huh?", I asked, narrowing my eyes.

"I think since you sent me that picture...", he had a smug smile on his lips. Son of a bitch! I looked down, embarrassed, trying to find words that could shut that insufferable and delicious mouth. "Oh, no, come on! Don't be shy... they're beautiful."

"Oh my God", I exclaimed, positioning myself to leave, pretending I didn't like the compliment. Damn, I wish it wasn't true that I had tanned for him, but it was! I wanted him to see me, I wanted him to desire me, to like me and say it out loud just so I could tell him to fuck off or something. Does that even make sense?

"You know I sent it wrong"

He put the bat on the floor and let out a sigh. It was true, I had no intention of sending that photo in the chat like that, I wanted him to see it in person, but no one needed to know that. I sat in one of the chairs in a row, watching Chris and Anne almost kill each other on the mini golf course.

He sat next to me and I was dazzled by his blue eyes adorned with a shine that I was rarely able to witness. It was beautiful. He lowered his gaze to my mouth, sighing, and I soon noticed when he planted his eyes on my bust, ignoring what I had said.

As focused as I was at that moment, we were surrounded by several people, and that alarmed me. I swallowed hard, feeling shame take over my body. "Okay, stop it,” I said.

“Stop what?” Matt frowned and I gave him a disapproving look – he knows exactly what I’m talking about. “What? Do I make you nervous?” His smile was cocky and smug, but yes, he made me nervous as hell.

“No,” I lied. “It’s just that you’re practically ogling me, Matt,” I blurted out.

He pursed his lips and said, laughing at my insinuation, “Oh, stop pretending you don’t like it.”

"What?" I asked, offended - but not entirely. Matt was slouched in his chair, very close to me. He put one of his arms around my neck, using his fingers to play with my necklace. I didn't feel uncomfortable, although it was rare that we were actually this close. Even though we were friends, there was always that indiscreet flirting when we were alone. I just didn't have the courage to make the first move, and, disappointingly, neither did Matt. However, tonight, he had been less reluctant than usual, and I loved it.

"Am I lying?" he pointed out. Now, with the proximity, his voice was a little lower, but due to the music in the place and the constant chatter, he decided to speak in my ear. "I'm wondering: how long are you going to keep playing this little game, hm?" his soft voice made me shiver. I liked the way his body was pressed against mine - trying his best to calm my nervousness.

Matt turned his face away, waiting for my answer. "I'm not playing games!".

Unfortunately, I never got around to being more deliberate. I crossed my legs and snuggled closer to him, getting much closer to each other.

"Aren't you? Then what's all this?", he lowered his gaze and I bit my lip.

"You're the one who did this, idiot," I grumbled. "And, well, you're the one who kept complimenting my boobs...", I shrugged, watching him chuckle. I felt comfortable enough to run my boot over his covered leg, giving him a gentle caress.

"But you're the one who sent the picture of them..."

He brought his lips closer to mine, ready to kiss me but I dodged, making him kiss the corner of my mouth. "Matt... not here!", I whispered in a slurred voice, wanting to cry with so much desire.

"Not here?", he repeated, kissing my cheek, then behind my ear and also my neck. "Where then?", he moved his hand to my arm, forcing me lightly against his chest. "Tell me..."

I really didn't want to kiss him in the middle of so many people, especially because I knew very well how a simple kiss could end. My temptations seemed insatiable, just like his. Before I could answer, I saw Anne and Chris approaching. I took a deep breath, straightening my posture and thinking about what I would do, but nothing came to mind.

Matt didn't force me to speak, respecting my silence. He gave me his usual simplistic look, dragging his hand down my thigh and finally standing up.

I saw him handing the car keys to Chris and Anne came to me, asking: "So, is he already desperate for you?", I stood up and put my arm around her waist while she put hers around my shoulders. "Almost", I answered.

They got to the car and Chris would be our driver this time while Anne made herself comfortable in the passenger seat. There was an uncomfortable silence in the air, and I had to hold back a nervous laugh.

The silence was broken when Anne decided to put on some music to drown out the tense atmosphere.

Matt was next to me, with a neutral expression. I looked away, starting to think he hated me. Shit, shit.

It was so dark that I couldn't tell what was going on in the backseat, and the loud music drowned out any other sounds.

Matt grabbed his phone, ignoring my existence, and I decided I wasn't going to care about it until I heard the notification sound on my phone.

Matt: Did I really need to see you two flirting?

Me: are you jealous?

Matt: Just wondering if that's why you didn't answer me.

I glanced at him, knowing what he was talking about.

Me: I don't want to go to your house. Nick will be there... with a ton of questions.

Matt: Great. Let's go to yours, I can't wait to see you.

Me: you're literally right next to me.

Matt: You know what I mean.

Me: that's not fair! If you saw my boobs then you're gonna have to show me yours too, bitch.

He looked at me, thinking about what to write and I gave him a cocky smile.

Matt: I can show you that and a lot more, baby...

Marry Christmas 🎄

[szasfuckingwife]

SHAWTY FUCK WIT’ ME CUZ SHE KNOW I’M POPULAR

RICHBOY!EREN YEAGER X RICHGIRL!READER

WARNINGS: Smut, car sex, Jean tryna sabotage eren and y/n, swearing, weed, jealous sex, Jealous eren

SYNOPSIS: You and Eren have started your relationship and have become exclusive, but when Jean finds out, he decides that he wants you for himself..

A/N: I wanted to release this on the day i hit 1k but it’s cool💀 I made two drafts for pt 2, this and one and another one where eren invited Y/n over for dinner at his parents and she meets zeke. I dunno if i like this draft as much but I decided to release it cuz car sex wit eren???

This is pt2 of Soundgasm

It’s been months, and in those months , you’ve spent them with Eren. Yes, it was semi fucking, semi talking but it was with Eren nonetheless. Of course, you didn’t want to make it obvious to your parents that you were seeing someone- if you can even call it that. But, if you had the choice, you’d chill with Eren everyday.

Yet again, you were at the country club. Except this time, you were more than happy. Mainly due to Eren being behind you, holding your hands as you held the club. You swore that Eren couldn’t distract you when you were golfing and he put you to the test.

You couldn’t stop giggling as he kissed your neck and rested his chin on your shoulder, “Eren, you’re gonna make me miss it.”

“I thought you were the best golfer here?”, he put his cap on your head. His head was definitely bigger than yours. Despite that, he found it cute how it looked on you.

However, inside the country club building, a tall brunette stared at the touchy scene in front of him. It was his friend - or more frenemie - kissing on some girl. He’s seen you before from time to time. Jealousy didn’t show on his face but he was definitely feeling it inside.

“Jean, bro…is that Eren?” Connie, another teenager asked Jean. You’ve met Connie before, he’s a little to weird for you and quite literally the definition of ‘spoiled brat’. Splashing his parents cash as if it was spare change.

Jean nodded, “Who’s the girl?”

“That’s Y/N. I didn’t know they were close like that.” Connie raised a brow, scratching his bald head.

“I didn’t know that there was a ‘they’ anyway…” Jean muttered, pulling down his Cartier aviators.

You see, Jean didn’t love Eren. Yeah, that was his friend from middle school. And yes, they’d had a happy friendship until they grew into teenagers. Jean thought Eren would stay on the hockey team, like he promised. And when Eren turned around and joined the basketball team, getting all these offers angered Jean.

Not enough for Jean to be praying on Erens downfall, but enough for Jean to think that maybe, just maybe, you’d be happier with him.

When you guys finished golfing, Eren took you over to the bar, paying for both of your drinks. “You gonna come to my game this Saturday?”

“I haven’t missed one this season..” You smiled at him, causing butterflies to float in his stomach. “I don’t see why I’d miss this one.”

Eren loved when you came to his games. You were his motivation. Yeah, because he didn’t want to lose and embarrass himself in front of the girl he was so close calling his girlfriend. But, seeing your smile after scoring was enough for him.

“I’ll see if coach can get you better seats this time. What did your parents think of the last game-” “Eren!”

When you looked behind him, you saw three people walk up to you. Constance, who you’ve met, was smiling, dressed in a large, navy blue varsity jacket with a white hoodie underneath and the same coloured cargoes.

There was a brown haired girl, who you haven’t met. She wore a casual lilac summer dress with her hair up in a ponytail. Her eyes were huge, in a cute way. She smiled at you, her cheeks rosy and round.

The guy in the middle of them was the tallest out of the three of them, he may be taller than Eren. There were striking similarities between the two however. For starters, they were both tall, brunettes, pretty eyes. He wore a tight long sleeved white top and some joggers. There was no doubt about it, he was definitely intimidating but weirdly, he wore a smile on his face.

“You didn’t tell me you’ve got a girl..” The taller boy wrapped his arm around Erens neck. You saw him put a little bit of pressure as Eren began chuckling. “All grown up now, huh?”

“Shut up, Jean..” Eren responded, smiling after seeing his best friend. “Y/N, this is Jean, Sasha and Connie.”

They all smiled at you and you gave one back. “Connie? Is that a nickname?” You asked.

“Don’t tell me he gave you that bullshit about his name being Constance.” Jean cackled, his friend’s cheek going red with embarrassment. “It’s a name his grandma gave him and she’s the only reason why he can call himself a quarter Dominican.”

Connie barked out insults at Jean earning a few heads to turn towards your group at the bar. You all continued to laugh. Jean especially payed close attention to your smile and how pretty it looked.

After you all had your drinks, you all chose to chill outside, soaking up in the sun. A conversation had already begun but, it was mainly Jean giving Eren shit.

“I told you if you stayed doing hockey, we would’ve made it big.” Jean sighed as Eren rolled his eyes for the nth time.

“You do hockey?” You ask.

He smiles at your curiosity, “Yeah, I do. Our team are on our third championship and hopefully, getting our fourth by next Friday.”

Eren watches as Jean continues to babble about hockey. He sees the face he makes. That one face where he seems unbothered but Jean’s really trying to impress you.

“I see you do golf. Well, we all did this morning.” As Jean spoke, Connie held back laughter, disguising it with a cough. Sasha seemed to be confused to and nudged Connie, hoping he’d tell her.

It took a few minutes before you realised they probably saw you and Eren playing together. A shy laugh leaves your mouth, “It was just practice. Eren’s a little rusty…”

“Oh, he’s rusty in golf too? He was rusty in the court too is what I’m hearing.” The table falls into silence after Jeans dig at Eren. You fear Eren will retaliate, cause a scene. But all Eren does is chuckle as he eats the last of his sorbet.

“Who you hearin that from?” Eren asked.

“People in your team, Yeager.” Jean smirks.

The tension that was now at your table couldn’t even be cut with a knife, it’d need something much greater. You can barely hear anyone breathe let alone talk.

You look at Eren, attempting to get him to look at you back but, he doesn’t

However, Connie clears his throat after a few seconds of silence, “Well, Eren I know you have a game on Saturday which is why I’m being so generous and throwing a party on Sunday. And of course, Y/n and yourself are invited.”

It took a lot of convincing from you in order for Eren to say yes to going to Connie’s party. He was filled with excuses, ‘i’ll be too tired from the game’ and ‘Connies parties are too much’. But once he heard you say you wanted to go so you can meet his friends, he knew it was just out of the kindness of your heart.

So, on Sunday, Eren picks you up in his Mercedes - what he didn’t mention was that he begged his father to give him the car so he could impress you.

It did kinda hurt when you didn’t gawk at his car but he didn’t mind it. Maybe you just weren’t impressed by material items.

When he pulled up to Connies house, you were both immediately met with a loud bass that shook the whole neighbourhood. Eren sighed before walking into the house, he wasn’t a frequent party guy but he enjoyed them.

As soon as you walked in, the smell of weed and alcohol met your nostrils. Random people were all over each other, kissing, grinding or shotgunning. Eren made sure your hand was in his at all times, he didn’t want one of these weirdos talking to you.

“I-Is that Eren Yeager?!” Connie walked up to the two of you with open arms. It took you by surprise how he hugged the both of you. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

“I didn’t want to.” Eren muttered.

“Your house is beautiful, Connie. Why would your parents let you do this?” You chuckled.

You saw Connie’s eyes shift left and right before he shrugged. “They don’t know.” He saw your mouth open as you were about to say something. “And they don’t need to know.”

You sighed before Connie asked if you guys wanted any drinks and went to go get you something. Eren said something but due to the very loud music drowning him out, you replied with a “What?!”.

“Come dance!” He said. “Need to let everyone know you’re mine..”

A smirk grew on your face as you realised what this all was about. “Is Eren Yeager jealous?”

Eren quickly looked away. He doesn’t get jealous, mainly because he’s used to getting what he wants when he wants. And God help whoever tries to take that away from him.

After Connie came back with drinks, you let loose. The alcohol made you less reserved, causing you to start new conversations with randoms around the house.

Eren doesn’t usually dance but when he felt you grind against his crotch, Eren suddenly felt some rhythm in his legs. It was almost like you were right back on the field having him help you practice with golf.

This scene was a little more intimate and a little more risqué. His hot breath hit your neck before he kissed it. You felt his strong hands grip on your hips subtly moving your hips to where he wanted them.

It was getting way too hot. You turned around and looked at him in the eye. His pretty eyes were lidded as he looked down at you. The corner of his lips were curled up into a grin, he wanted to kiss you so bad.

“I need to go to the bathroom.” You whisper into his ear. “Afterwards, I want you to take me somewhere - anywhere - and fuck me…”

Eren watched as you walked away so innocently. Sweetly asking Connie where’s the bathroom and politely asking people to excuse you.

He’d fulfil your wish.

Unexpectedly, you were met with a long queue to Connies bathroom. You weren’t even sure if some of the people in the line were even there to go to the bathroom but rather for a quickie.

“I know he doesn’t know you that well but Connie really made you use this bathroom…?” A low voice spoke behind you. When you turned around, Jean stood with a grin plastered on his face.

You chuckle, “There’s another bathroom?”

Jean puts his index finger by his lips, “Don’t tell everyone.” He whispers causing you to giggle. “It’s his parent’s on suite. Come, I’ll take you.”

Nothing was stopping you from following him. You were desperate for the toilet and the quicker you can do your business, the quicker you can get back to Eren.

Jean opens the door, holding it open for you to pass.

“That one…” He points at the door and you thank him before running to the bathroom. You finish your business and look in the mirror to take a good look at your appearance.

All that dancing had done something to your make up. You chuckle as you notice how your eye bags seemed slightly darker from your mascara and how your lip gloss was slightly smudged.

Once you leave the bathroom, you were met with Jean sitting on Connie’s parent bed, lighting a blunt. His eyes were on you as he placed it in between his lips.

“You’re gonna get Connie in trouble when his parents come home and their bed smells like weed..” You chuckle, finding a place on the bed to sit.

He shrugs, “The windows are up. Besides, they love me. I’m like the golden child in their eyes.”

You chuckle. The atmosphere was strange. Jean seemed like a chill guy but he was definitely arrogant in some way. All thoughts left your mind, however, when Jean took the blunt out of his lips and passed it to you.

“Nah, I don’t..smoke..” You smiled. “You shouldn’t either, Mr championship hockey player. It’s bad for your lungs and shit.”

He shakes his head grinning. “I don’t do it often. It’s just tonight, I wanna relax.”

“You better not do it often. When you make it big, it might be detrimental.” You mutter. Jean sees the way you play with your fingers and he can’t tell if you’re nervous or if that’s a habit.

Whatever it is, it’s cute.

“When I make it big, huh? What makes you think I’ll make it big?” He asks, he moves himself slightly closer to you but not too close where you’re uncomfortable.

You look at him. “You have an athlete persona. And, the way you were making it sound in the country club, you were destined for greatness.”

Jean shrugs, as if he doesn’t care. But he’s smiling in his head because he knows he’ll make it big. All the offers and scholarships piled at his front door aren’t just imaginary.

“Nah..” Jean chuckles. “I been playin since I could walk it feels like. My mom…she wasn’t filthy rich when I was born so it was hard to get me lessons. But when she slowly became richer, I’ve been at the top of my game. I owe it all to her, really.”

A smile adorns your face as you hear him talk about his mother. “How about you? I hear you do…golf?”

You then go on to ramble how you’ve been playing golf for a little over ten years now and how everyone thinks it’s boring, but it’s fun for you.

“And, you teaching Eren how to golf now?” He looks at you smugly. Something was telling you that Eren would be brought up. “He never seemed that interested before he met you I assume.”

You shrug, “He’s…good. But yeah, basketball is his thing. Golf is definitely mine.” You chuckle but Jean doesn’t. He just grins, and looks away.

The room falls silent as Jean continues to smoke, “You like him?”

The question almost catches you off guard, was it not clear in the country club?, “Yeah…I really do. He’s been great.”

Your answer leaves Jean a little more jealous than he should be. However, he does nothing but chuckle. “I’ve seen this happen so many times, y’know?”

“Seen what happen?”

He looks at you, blankly, “Eren gets a girl to fall in love with him and in the end, he leaves them for dust. It’s happened to that girl, Historia? Don’t know if you know her?”

Jean knew that what he was saying was a lie. Well, it was a half lie. Eren and Historia briefly dated and it was a very nasty break up. It was filled with toxicity from both parties and the relationship would’ve rot had it continued. But that was Eren’s first toxic relationship.

Ask any of his previous girlfriends, apart from Historia, they’d tell you that he was the one that got away.

“No..No, I don’t.” You answer. Was everything Eren told you a lie? Like how he’s never felt like this about anyone? Was it all just bullshit?

The conversation that was ahead didn’t appeal to you, so you stood from the bed. “Thanks for the conversation, Jean. It was nice getting to know you.”

He stands too, “It’s nothing. I shouldn’t have said all that about Eren. It’s none of my business…It’s the weed talkin..”

“No, you might’ve just opened my eyes a little.” You sigh, walking to leave the bedroom.

When you open the door, you were met with those same pretty eyes you’d been looking at for months. He looks at you, then behind you to see Jean. You can see him mentally try to connect the dots, but it’s too late. It didn’t help that your lip gloss was smudged.

“Eren..” You say, before he storms away.

You follow Eren outside as he marches back to his car. Obviously, from his perspective, he’s seen the girl he likes and his friend in a room that smells of weed. And, your lip gloss smudged.

But you have questions of your own. “Eren, stop..”

“Just get in the car, I’ll drop you home.” He sighs as he opens his side of the car. Normally, he’d walk over and open your door first. But he’s mad, furious.

The car ride starts off silent. Well, for the most part. The roading chants from Connie’s house echo throughout the driveway.

“Did you make out with him? Or fuck him?” He asks, like it’s an ordinary question.

You look at him in disbelief, “You’re not serious..”

“What? I’m seeing my girl and my friend in a room, what am I supposed to think?” He scoffs.

In any other situation, the way Eren called you ‘my girl’ would make your cheeks grow warm. But now is not the time, “I can’t speak to one of your friends?”

“Was that you were doing?” Eren asks sarcastically.

“Yeah, it was. And the things he told me about you surprised me the most.” You scoff back at him before crossing your arms and staring out the window.

Eren stays silent for a second, “What’d he say?”

“We talked about Historia. And how that and every other relationship you’ve had was toxic as hell.”

If Eren wasn’t driving, he’d snap his head to look at you in total disbelief. What Eren were you guys talking about? Because it surely isn’t Eren Yeager.

The same Eren Yeager who picked flowers from his mothers flowerbed to give to his first girlfriend before she cheated on him? Or the same Eren Yeager who was left soaked after giving girlfriend no.2 his jacket when it was raining like crazy?

“Y/N, I know you’re smart, c’mon..” He sighs. “He’s only saying that so you look at me differently.”

“And why would he-” “Because he’s attracted to you, Y/N!” He says, at this point he’s beyond annoyed. Finding out Jean was trying to jeopardise his new relationship was enough, but finding out you believed him?! Icing on the cake.

Once Eren says those words, it’s like everything clicked for you. That’s why he threw shade at eren at the country club.

“Ask any ex of mine, I was nothing but good to them..” Eren sighs. “Historia…Historia was the only toxic one. She cheated first, then I cheated. And yeah, I regret it. But…I was hurt.”

You look at him, full of regret. “I’m…I’m sorry, for not believing you..”

He shakes his head. “It’s whatever.”

The rest of the car ride is silent before Eren stops at a red light. You can tell this whole situation has pissed him off. But, there’s nothing you can do to regain his trust.

“One question, though..” Eren muttered. You turned to look at him straight away.

“You didn’t fuck him?”

You sighed, smiling slightly. “No, Eren. I barely even looked at him.”

“Good.” He turned into a car park and parked there. “Come ride me..”

The casualness in which he said that surprised you. But, it was the least you could do. Awkwardly, you made your way to sit on his lap.

Eren grabbed the back of your neck and pushed your face towards his, inviting you into a lengthy and sloppy kiss. His anger was radiating from the kiss alone as his other hand began to grab your ass from behind.

You felt his pull your skirt up slightly so he could grab your panties. That’s when you heard a loud rip. You immediately felt the absence of your panties but you didn’t care. For now, all that mattered was making him feel good.

“Eren..I want you..” Eren smiled into the kiss after hearing your words. His hands went down to his joggers, pulling them down so his dick sprung out.

It was hard and throbbing against you. “Maybe we should argue more often.” He smiled at you, before kissing you again.

The feeling if Eren’s cock sliding in between your folds made you crazy. You wanted nothing but for him to thrust inside you, but you knew that you couldn’t be too impatient.

“This is what you wanted, hm? Talking to my friends, tryna get me jealous so I could fuck you like a whore, huh?” He whispered in your ear. You didn’t answer, the feeling of Eren against you making you unable to form words. “Answer me, Y/N.”

You nod, biting your lip. Suddenly, you feel a sharp slap on your bare ass. “Y/N, you’ve been pissing me off all night, use your words.”

“Yes!” You whimper. “I just wanted you to fuck me..”

Eren knows that was the case all along. If it wasn’t, you wouldn’t have grind on him like no one was watching.

Finally, Eren pushes his cock inside you. You gasp at the feeling, gripping onto his shoulders tightly. Eren smirks as your hips begin to rock, slowly but it feels amazing.

A string of moans leave your plump lips. Eren groans at the way your pussy tightens around him ever so slightly. “You’re fucking mine, okay?”

You nod again, forgetting how Eren wants you to speak. He thrusts up into you roughly, earning a loud moan from you. His strokes are quick and satisfying. You feel like you’re gonna cum before he abruptly stops.

“Ren..” You whine.

“You want me to fuck you like that? Then, fucking speak when I’m talking to you.” His voice is low as he tells you what he wants.

You begin to bounce on his cock. Obviously, it’s quite cramped because cars aren’t made for sex. But you make it work. Eren’s hands grip tightly on your hips as you speed up.

And Eren so badly wants to rip your shirt to see your beautiful boobs. But he knows hes dropping you back to your parents.

So, he settles for pulling up your top, exposing your tits. He greedily sucks and kisses all over them. If your mind wasn’t already scrambled by his dick, this would send you.

“Eren, fuck..feels too good..” You whimper.

He notices you slowing down and slaps your ass again, “Don’t slow down. You were talking all that shit earlier, like you know shit..”

A whine leaves your mouth again as you try to bounce on his cock as feverishly as you did before. But you just don’t have that much energy.

“You need some help, huh?” He asks and you mewl out a small, ‘please’.

Immediately, you feel Eren snap his hips up into you, fucking you hard and deep. You lose your breath for a second before gnashing your teeth down on your lip, attempting to muffle your moans.

His lips are back on your tits and then they travel up to your neck, hard enough to leave marks. You try to stop him, realising that if your parents see a hickey, they’d be angry as hell. But, all efforts are futile.

“You gonna speak to Jean again?” He says, breathlessly.

“N-No!”

His hands slap your ass a few more times, “I know, baby. Because you’re mine, hm? These tits are mine, this pussy is mine, yeah?”

You nod, this time Eren doesn’t care because he so close to cumming. “You’re about to make me come, baby. I can feel you’re close.”

“I’m so fucking close, Ren..” You hug him as he fucks you even more faster than he did before. Eren groans out a ‘Fuck!’ before you cum all over him, causing him to cum too.

The car smells like pure sex as you and Eren try to regain your breath. He looks up at you and kisses you. It’s a softer kiss but it still sends butterflies to your stomach.

“Be my girlfriend.” He mutters in between kisses.

You look at him and smile. “I’d be honoured..”

[randomsufff]

HEHAHBFKI More South Park doodles I think I’m going insane.

Actually this is kind of the product of me being liking South Park way back in high school but was too embarrassed to draw them when I was bored in class and now it’s all kinda flooding back 💀

Read below if you want to know more about my New Kid and my thoughts behind some of the doodles cause this turned out longer then I though 💀

Anyways- introducing my New Kid. No name cause I literally have no idea. Whatever the cannon name is ig- though I’d think it’d be funny if she was referred to New Kid by literally everyone like in game. I like the idea that a lot of people have with their New Kids that they liked the makeover section with the girls during the Stick of Truth a little too much. I also like it cause… uh… I didn’t play Stick of Truth. (The combat system is not my cup of tea) So it’s not until the start of TFBW does she know shes really a girl.

To give context to the top right drawing- I couldn’t remember the dialogue Wendy says in the alleyway if you say you’re a trans girl- but I do know what she says if your a cis girl (I always knew you were a girl) cause I did a second play through as a cis girl. And I don’t know if there’s supposed to be a huge time jump between the end of Stick of Truth and TFBW but I think it would be funny if it was just the next day- so combine these two fact to get “Wendy always clocked New Kid as a girl but NK just found out yesterday 💀”

Anyways- she’s such a cutie, I love her and her cool superhero outfit I gave her. Outside of the game- I’d like to think of her basically exactly how she acts in game. Mostly non-verbal, with the occasional zingy one liner, and just kinda goes along with the crazy shit the happens in South Park un phased. Like if she was in a episode- the plot would happen and she would be on screen, but wouldn’t say anything, and anytime another character would address her, they’d respond however as if she spoke lmao. Aroace, just like me, so she’s just friends with everyone (except Cartman) and vibes with everyone.

The mini Style comic I though of cause 1) I wondered if Kyle had the same elf ears as the other elfs did in game (again, never played and it’s been a while since I saw gameplay so whoops if it’s confirmed or whatever) and 2) I thought it would be funny if Stan was caught lacking and tried to /rp his way out of it (I wanted to add an extra bit where Kyle would be like “Oh, are our characters gay for each other??? (ARE YOU /SRS OR /J STAN)” and Stan would have to just “yes, and” his way out.)

The last three images were kinda of a stream of consciousness put on paper and made neat lol. I really like showing that all the costumes the kids wear are homemade and stuff- either stuff taken from their parents or visibly taped together etc- cause I think it’s charming. Anyways- I though Kyle’s little robe could be like one of his parents bath robe- and it would be a little too long for him to run without eating shit so he’d have to hike it up like a skirt/dress. Which lead to me thinking that Cartman would say some shit about that and how Kyle, who has a literal Golf Club, would smack his ass up. Which then lead to me thinking about how since Kyle’s the Elf King and Stan’s basically his right hand how he might lift it up wedding dress style if needed (/RP GUYS, RIGHT?RIGHT???) and how Cartman would react, which lead to that one JoJo meme cause thats literally how they’d retaliate.

Always- I’ll probably have at least one more post about South Park I swear. There was a period of time before I stopped watching (I gotta pick it up again) where I would doodle a bit of whatever was happening in the episode, each episode. Crazy I know, but not only did it improve my drawing skills but it helped me remember what actually happened in episodes cause I have shit memory and definitely don’t remember some of the episodes I watched. So I might redraw some of those- see if anyone can tell what episode they’re from.

[lov3-lik3-ghosts]

Hey I was wondering if you had any Ricky & Jacob hc’s?? It can be romantic or platonic??

If not I was wondering if you could write about Jacob & Ricky going to a lake at night and Ricky letting Jacob talk about what happened when he went missing??

How They Got Together

Pairing: Ricky Pickering x Jacob Portman.

Format: Headcanon’s. (accidentally extended)

Warnings: Fighting. Mentions of blood. A lot of vulgar language. Kissing. Suggestive themes? I got a little carried away, they’re definitely extended hc’s, I’m sorry :( Not beta read. Possessive!Ricky. Jealous!Ricky. Angst.

Word count: 6.1k

A/n: hello! I’d like to let it be known that I only have book one of the mphfpc series and that I’ve not gotten past the first couple chapters, so I really hope I’ve captured their characters. From what I know of their characters, they’d be quite cute together and I love the idea, so I gave it a try!! Funnily enough, your only my second request and both have been for Ricky x Jacob, lol. Thank you, I hope you enjoy!!!

Reblogs are extremely appreciated!

Request Guidelines Masterlist

~ 𐀔 ~ 𐀔 ~ 𐀔 ~

• I think Ricky would be the first to realise he liked Jacob more than a friend. That’s not to say that he confessed straight up, (or liked it, for that matter).

• There’s definitely a chance that Ricky did make the first move. But, I also think he’s lead by stronger emotions — jealousy, anger, embarrassment, fear — and he lets them get in his way. If he confessed first, it was done in a moment clouded and misjudged by an emotional response.

• Following that, there’s only two emotions that I can imagine would make him spill or act upon his feelings. Anger or jealousy.

• If he was angry — rather, irritated — I can imagine that he’d let his irritation build until the point he does something brash; like hit someone or kiss them. And, in this case, he did.

Let’s say he was letting some drunkards have a hit at his car. His gas was running low, to the point he couldn’t make it much further without breaking down and, as a last minute resort, he’d pulled over beside a pub. He’d picked the first group to stumble out, tripping over their own feet while conversing words so loud they were practically shouted. A gaggle of men; all built like a brick shithouse, all similar in height to Ricky’s 6”5, all pissed out their own minds.

He’d walked over and thrust a golf club in their faces with a gruff invitation and a list of rules. Except, these were drunk men with giggling women watching from the door of the bar, men with egos so high and egged on by each other that Ricky’s rules were mere forgotten suggestions.

Swing one hit the left door. Swing two, the boot. Swing three, the roof. And then, swing four, swung smack dab into the middle of his back doors window.

Ricky ripped the club from the guys hand with force. Shoving the man away from his car, he lift the metal over his head and clocked the guy over the head with it. Once, twice, thrice.

His mates rushed forward, grabbing Ricky by his arms and forcing him away from the cowering man. One held him back with his own arms looped through the crook of Ricky’s own, pinning them behind his back after forcing the stick from his tight grasp, and another two threw clenched fists at his open stomach. Ricky grunted, breathless and winded. No matter how much he struggled, even with them drunk, Ricky couldn’t fight free against five men without lasting damage; they had him rendered useless.

The fifth man lugged his injured friend up, arm thrown over his shoulder and held still by his waist. “Get a move on,” he called over, “Someone’ll call the cops if you keep it up.”

Ricky was victim to the brute force of a last hit to his cheek that knocked him senseless and dazed before he was shoved to the ground with a boot to his hip. He lay curled in a fetal position, catching his breath, before sitting and turning to his car.

His poor Crown Victoria was more noticeably damaged then it ever had been and looking at it made him surge with a rage unquenchable.

A rage he festered in for days. Sneering at anyone that asked what happened to his cheek. Avoiding the people he could normally put up with.

Jacob was insistent though. Insistent and relentless. Insistent and relentless and adorning the most enchanting pair of blues that Ricky had ever seen. When Portman wanted something, they widened half a notch and seemingly paled a shade in colour while hope coated determination twinkled in them. And what he wanted right now, was to know why Ricky hadn’t shown up to the last two study sessions they had planned the week before.

And Ricky couldn’t outright ignore him like he could everyone else — not when he looked up at him like that.

“C’mon, Ricky! I’m just trying to help you pass math. I can’t do that if you don’t show up!” He huffed, frustrated. Ricky side-eyed him, his lip curling with annoyance. “Do we need to rearrange? Is that it? Because if that’s what you wanted you could have just fucking said instead of wasting my time!”

So he settled for vulgar language instead.

“Fuck off, Special Ed.” He snapped. Pivoting on his feet, he began to walk down the deserted hallway and away from the shorter boy. He thought momentarily that Portman had finally gotten it through his head, but a second pair of footsteps soon came tumbling after him. Ricky rolled his eyes, speeding up with a huff.

“If you don’t slow the hell down, I swear to god.” Jake muttered under his breath, catching up with Pickering’s pace. In a moment of blind irritation, Portman wrapped his fingers around the span of Ricky’s wrist and pulled. Ricky stumbled back, not having expected the force of it.

His skin flushed with molten anger, burning through his blood and tightening his limbs. His fists clenched at his sides, the blunt edges of his nails imbedding through the skin of his palms. Stalking forward, his breath ragged and his nostrils flaring, he backed Jacob into a row of metal lockers.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He gritted. “I know you’re not fucking stupid, Special Ed, so why the fuck are you acting like it?”

Jacob gulped, squirming under the piercing glare. “You’re right, I’m not stupid. I know somethings fucking wrong with you… so spill.”

“How many times do I have to tell you to fuck off before it registers?” He steps closer, a hand landing harshly on the locker beside Portman’s head. Jacob flinched, following the movement, and Pickering felt twang of guilt pierce the anger. Surely, Jake didn’t think he would actually hit him.

When he spoke next, it was through a gasp of breath; like he was finally getting nervous about pushing him. “A lot more. You do this every time something happens. You self-sabotage.”

The guilt flushed out of Ricky quicker than he could register it. “The fuck I do! I’m so sick of pricks like you looking at me and makin’ assumptions!” He snarled. “You got everything fucking handed to you-”

“Don’t start with that victim shit! I’m ‘privileged’ but I’m not oblivious to the world. I’m not oblivious to you! Something happened. And I know because your fucking grades are slipping again, you’re pissy all the time and you’re fucking avoiding me!”

Ricky paused. The flaming fury wracking his chest loosening and calming with an overtake of warm fondness. ‘I’m not oblivious to you!’ He’d never considered that. Never considered that someone didn’t just see him as a raging ball of fiery wrath only good for being brawny. His eyes trailed the length of Portman’s face, lingering on the plumpness of his lips — before recognising they were still moving.

“-t the bullshit and get your shit together, Ricky. I can’t keep fucking waiting around every time someone says something about your fucking mom or your intelligence or the fucking fights! I’m trying to help you, I can’t do that if you don’t meet me half-way!”

The flames soared high again. Jacob was in a disarray under him; his eyes were blown wide and drowning in a deep anxiety, flicking between Ricky’s face and the hand blocking him in. His breath was as ragged as Pickering’s own, and Ricky didn’t think he’s noticed, but he’d placed both hands on his abdomen — both pushing him and pulling him closer with every emotion he displayed.

“Shut up.” Ricky said. The influx of emotions confusing and re-angering him all at once. The mention of his mother sent a reactive need to fight alight; his hand curled beside Jake’s head.

“No. You never liste-”

But he couldn’t find it in himself to raise a threatening hand to him — not after protecting him from raised fists for so long, not when he looked up at him like that. All impassioned and frenzied and perfect.

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Just fucking listen to m-”

“No. Shut it.”

Why was his pretty mouth still moving? Why couldn’t he just be quiet and let him stew in his pity for a while longer?

“Ricky, I swear to f-”

He surged forward, lips crashing into Jacob’s clumsily and with fervour. Portmans’s mouth had been half open, in the middle of a sentence, and in turn Ricky kissed more of his teeth than he did his lips. Jacob froze completely beneath him, voice humming through Ricky’s mouth as it died it with an intake of air.

Pickering stayed for a long moment, hoping with all hope that Portman kissed back. That this wouldn’t change things for the worst. But nothing.

He stepped back. Anxiety churning his stomach and with all intentions to turn and never look Jacob in the eye ever again. His lips left Jake’s, pursued and reddened from force.

This seemed to kickstart Portman, who grasped tight onto Pickering’s shirt with one hand and snaked a hand into the crook of his throat with the other. Their lips re-smushed together, this time with Ricky delaying in reciprocating before stepping forward and forcing Jacob back straight against the lockers. Jacob gasped again, fingers trailing around the nape of his neck and bringing their faces closer than should be possible.

Their noses flattened into each others cheeks, leaving no room for breath. Ricky parted, inhaled a stunted gasp, and went back in for another one.

Pickering’s hands found Jake’s hips, pushing himself flush up against the other body. Portman groaned, the hand holding Ricky’s shirt moving to hold his side with a squeeze before he pulled apart from Ricky’s lips with a shuttering sigh.

“Oh.” He whispered, leaning his head back against the metal. “That was- oh.” Ricky watched his pupils pulse with dilation, eyes half-lidded and fluttering.

“You should learn to take a fucking hint.” He swallowed, pressing his forehead lightly to the other.

“Honestly, I thought you might hit me.” He shrugged lightly. “It was better than you ignoring me. But I’d settle for this reaction every time.”

“I would never fucking hit you, you dick.” He sneered. “Never.”

• If he was jealous, however, I think he’s much more inclined to glue himself to Jacob (subtly). He asks for double the amount of study sessions, he offers to take him to school and back everyday, he forced him to sit with him at lunch. He knows he doesn’t have a right to be jealous, Jacob isn’t his. And he surely never will be.

• They’ve been dancing a dance between each other for months now. Playing a game that was seemingly endless. One in which Jacob gives suggestive hints to Ricky and Pickering responds in kind.

• Except, Jacob is impatient. So, he plays into Ricky’s vulnerability — he’s baiting him. He’s always been baiting him.

• In this scenario, Jacob suspects that it’s him that makes Ricky act so odd, so possessive. And he’s smart (Ricky doesn’t call him ‘Special Ed’ for no reason), so it’s easy to piece together that Pickering only ever seems to get that reactive whenever he spends more time around Malia, a girl he shares advanced math with.

• And there’s only so long Ricky can take watching her and Jacob giggle between them before he does something about it.

• They’re at Jacob’s house, much to his parents chargin, studying. Ricky is staring down at the book that had been thrust before him once he’d sat, open already on a page filled with letters and numbers and all sorts of unfamiliar symbols.

Jake hadn’t given him much context, just shoved a few sheets of paper and a pencil at him with the instruction of figuring out as many equations as he could in the thirty minutes set. There was no help, no explanation as to what this was for, just a dismissive wave of his hand at Ricky’s dumbfounded stare.

So, he knuckled down. The words painting the textbook seemed completely foreign, like trying to understand French when you’d only ever spoken English — but like looking at other languages, some equations were more recognisable and easier to differentiate; some were closer variants to what he knew.

He’d picked out the three he felt he had more chance of understanding and focused on them for the first twenty minutes with furrowed brows. Jake would occasionally glance at him and open his mouth like he wanted to say something before inevitably deciding against it. He’d pulled out his phone after unloading the work onto Pickering, instantly clicking into the open messages between him and Malia.

He’d planned to just sit snickering at the screen, despite the fact their conversation was far from funny, as an attempt to rile Ricky into the bait but he kept making the mistake of looking at the boy each time before he did.

Ricky looked uncharacteristically adorable. His head cocked to one side with his face scrunched in concentration; he’d let his hair grow a few inches longer then he normally would, giving it the length to fall onto his forehead, and he’d huff a sigh through flared nostrils each time he’d have to shove it back. Ricky was twitchy when he had to pay attention, shuffling and wiggling and twisting every few seconds; Jacob had realised through observing that he only ever seemed to do that when he was with him. He found it endearing.

Pickering glanced up, tongue visibly moving along his teeth from inside his mouth and Jacob rushed to look back at his screen with pink cheeks.

“So what’s this for then?” He grumbled, nodding down to the desk. “You testin’ me or something?”

Jake hummed, feigning interest in his phone while offering Ricky a half-hearted response. “Need to know what you remember.” Ricky’s eyes raked the length of him, narrowing distastefully at the device.

Portman peeked over at him, “You done?”

“All I can do, yeah.” He shrugged a shoulder.

“Good.” He hummed again, “Look over it. Double check your answers.” Jacob blinked down at his phone, forcing his shoulders to untense as he typed bullshit sentences into the text bubble, playing into his guise.

“Are you joking?” Pickering scoffed, eyeing between his face and his hands, a tick in his jaw. “Aren’t you supposed to do that? What the fuck am I here for if you’re not helping me?!”

“I’m seeing what you remember. Stop being difficult about it.” Jake gave him the side-eye, falsified with judgement and contempt.

“I’m not being fucking difficult! I walked in here and the first thing you did was pick up your stupid fucking phone.” Ricky sneered. “Thought you were taught proper manners?”

Jacob’s grip tightened and loosened, a coarse of adrenaline flushing through him like molten lava. His breath hitched, a catch in his throat that had him parting his lips and inhaling subtly. Baiting Ricky was easy, easier that most things Jacob tried his hand at, but the presence of unpredictability hovered almost mockingly close.

“Just double check your damn answers.”

“Whatever.” Portman watched carefully as he did, Ricky’s jaw still ticking every few seconds. Good. Something was working.

The screen flickered below him, capturing his attention. Maria was bombarding him with questions, ranging from ‘what does that even mean?’ and ‘fuck you too? Asshole.’. Confused, he scrolled up and saw endless messages conducted of nonsense words and inane insults.

Maria:

What even is a ‘bombard chicken-ass lokam look-alike’???

You’re a dick. ‘Mary Jane Lucy smelling ass_ your face long enough for the first’ and ‘Ken’s right-hand man the fat course of continent you’. What the fuck does that even mean????

I don’t know what you’re on about but that shits still oddly insulting.

Honestly, what the hell? Did I do something?

Jacob.

Jake?

Portman, I swear to god dude.

Answer me, you fuck!

You know what, I don’t even care if I did something. Your pasty ass better have been butt texting cause I swear if you weren’t I’m gonna reduce your twig of a self into a pile of bad grades and no balls.

Not like you have any anyways.

Jacob snickered, a sound that rumbled through his throat and escaped through his nose, and figured he’d put her out her conflicted misery.

Jacob:

Sorry.

I was typing bullshit to see how long it’d take to piss Ricky off that I wasn’t paying him attention. I wasn’t even reading it before I sent it lol

The text bubble appeared and disappeared for countless seconds, all of which Jacob spent grinning and festering in ideas of how she’d respond. There was a likely chance that Maria would keep up an annoyed facade while giving curious inquiries and woven insults, but when the text finally came through, he felt a flash of disappointment instead.

Maria:

Oh. Well, be careful. I’ve seen him at school and the boy has a temper, wouldn’t want him to hit you in your mug.

Might be the only thing you’ve got going for you physically.

Jacob:

Firstly, I got a lot going for me, thanks. Secondly, I’m expecting a reaction.

Ricky gathered the loose papers and book roughly, shoving them into a crumpled pile and throwing them onto the bed beside Jacob’s feet without care; Jacob jumped but stayed put. The glare on his face was scalding, roaming the hunched form of Portman before pausing on the screen. He couldn’t read the messages from a distance but the bold name at the top sent blares of vivid envy gnawing at his stomach and forced his hands to fist by his sides.

He cleared his throat when he got no reaction and Jacob’s head lifted with his eyes still trained on the messages. He hummed up at him in question, facading disinterest. Ricky’s face darkened, his eyes hooding and dilating.

“Why am I here if you’re not fucking teaching me?” He growled with his lip curled down into a snarl.

Portman’s fingers flew along the keyboard letters, typing out a last sentence before locking the phone closed and dropping it onto his lap.

Jacob:

If that reaction is a hit to the face, then so be it.

And if it’s a kiss, then even better.

Maria’s reaction was instantaneous — his phone lit up not a second later and buzzed without stop with her onslaught. He snorted lightly when he caught a glimpse of her answer; every message she sent was written in all caps and filled with an overuse of punctuation marks. Ricky’s jaw tightened from above him and he kissed his teeth.

Pickering’s hand unfisted and slid under the bone of Jacob’s jaw, his fingers pinching into the fat of his cheeks. Tilting his head up lightly, Ricky watched as he squirmed and flustered with interest. “I’m talking to you. Listen.” He’d tried to sound angry, or at least annoyed, but even to his own ears he’d gritt a plead.

Portman swallowed, the movement of his throat tickling Pickering’s palm. He licked his lips and inhaled sharply, with Ricky’s eyes following his tongue as it disappeared back into its cavern. “You keep asking the same questions. You already know why.” He breathed.

Ricky stayed silent for a long moment, gaze trained directly on Jacob’s own. The contact was roaring with intensity, a game of cat and mouse in its own right — a fight between whether Pickering should back off or if Portman should stop his sharade. Neither blinked nor in took deeper than shallow breaths but Ricky’s grip loosened and his face untensed.

“I keep asking because you keep giving me the same bullshit answer.” He whispered lowly. “You’ve been ignoring me for days, only talking to Maria, and when you’d asked if I wanted to come ‘round today, I thought you’d finally stopped pissing around.”

His voice was soft, if not twinged lightly with annoyance. Ricky stepped closer to the beds edge, his knees pressed against the mattress, and Jacob sat up straighter so his head was just above his chest. Their faces were meters apart, the greenette’s head dipped at the chin and the brunette’s tilted up; Jacob felt the warmth of Ricky’s breath against his face when he continued talking.

“And then I get here and you’re still ignoring me…” He furrowed his eyebrows. “Only for me to find out that you’re still talking to Maria. So, what is it? Are you guys dating? Or would you just rather spend your time with her?”

“What?” Jacob panicked. “Why the hell would you think we’re dating?”

“It’s not far-fetched, Special Ed.” He annunciated. “You’re both smart. You both like the same shit. I s’ppose I’d rather be around her if were you, too.” Ricky shrugged, trying and failing to come across unbothered.

“I don’t prefer her company, idiot. She’s just a friend. We-”

“You’re right.” Pickering nodded. “You’re friends, I’m not. I get it.” His hand dropped from Jacob’s face, a hurt frown overtaking his previous anger.

Portman grabbed his wrist before it fell to his side, gripping the span of it with a firmness unfamiliar to them both. “That’s not what I sai-”

“You didn’t have to.” He swallowed. “It’s just the truth.”

“No, it’s not! Stop twisting my words, dick! Me and Maria are friends. Me and you are mo-” He cut himself off this time, with his eyes wide and horrorfied. “Listen,” he gulped, “Me and Maria are friends, close friends. I like her, she can be sweet and she has this funny way of being both insulting and the most reassuring person all at the same time. She likes the same music I like, and the same foods, and the same movies. Her ma-”

Ricky’s mind reeled. They were friends, only friends, yet Jacob was still talking about her like he was ready to hop off and elope. It should be him. Him who had spent months playing into Jacob’s game of ‘will they, won’t they’, him who broke himself down into something softer all for the sake of sticking around.

But Jacob would never actually be with him.

Wouldn’t he? Something countered, a small voice filled with all-knowing and undertoned with challenge. More. You and him are more. He said it himself.

Pickering straightened. His eyes unblurred, refocusing back into Portman’s overwrought state and deciding with finality that he would do something. Jacob stayed rambling through all the reasons why Maria was so great and compatible and, surged with a spark of jealousness, Ricky struck.

His hand returned under the stretch of his jaw, fingers biting into flesh with purpose, Jacob’s grip on his wrist following the movement. Portman stuttered with his mouth parting and he stared up at Ricky in a daze. Wasting no time, he dashed forward and connected their lips with rough passion.

Jacob’s reaction was almost instantaneous, kissing back in a fight for dominance that had their teeth clash and their noses bump. He tilted his head to give himself a moment to breathe, lips still brawling fierce, and Ricky followed suit as he pushed himself closer.

The hand grasping him loosened and slid softly to brush along his jawbone before slipping away to caress the sensitivity of his jugular — Jacob groaned into his mouth, the sound humming through their lips and stroking lightly against the tips of Ricky’s moving fingers. Ricky smiled.

Portman clasped the nape of his neck, forcing him down further into their lip-lock with desperation and Pickering stumbled, his knees forcibly meeting the bed frame and making him kneel on the mattress. Ricky parted with a grunt, gasping urgently for lost air as he pressed his head against the other.

Jacob looked worse for wear, his face flushed and dazed and all gooey-eyed, his lips were swollen and reddened and slick with salvia but he wasn’t panting for any semblance of oxygen — instead, he inhaled deep breaths and pushed the tip of his nose softly into Ricky’s.

“You look so pretty.” He whispered, eyes never straying from Pickering’s. “You look like mine.”

Ricky swallowed nervously. “I am yours.”

“I know,” Jacob said gently, exhaling when Ricky began to curl the hair on his nape. “I’ve always been yours.”

Ricky’s eyebrows curled and he pressed his nose tighter into Jake’s as his eyes flickered with question and a twinge of possession. “Not Maria’s?”

“Definitely not Maria’s.” He chuckled. “Maria’s a lesbian. She wouldn’t wanna touch me with a ten foot pole.”

“Dick.” Ricky scoffed. “I knew you were doing it on purpose!” Even though his face contorted to showcase his peeved emotions, he moved further onto the bed and watched as Jacob snickered with a warmth in his chest.

• Jacob is a bit of a different case.

• I’m not saying he’s not overrun by strong emotions, because what teenager isn’t? But I do think because he grew up in a different environment, where things aren’t always survival of the fittest, that he has somewhat of a better grasp on them.

• If Jacob confessed first, which I think is more likely, then it was just because he wanted to.

• For some reason, I’ve got it in my head that he’s secretly a romantic and so I see him confessing in an unintentionally cringy (read: sweet) manner.

• However, for comedic and characteristic purposes, let’s not forget that Jacob can be an anxious guy and so not everything went with smooth sailing.

• Ricky is sat beside him, hands routing through a tattered backpack. The rumble of the Crown Victoria generates through him with low vibration and serves as a gentle soothe to his unease. Ricky doesn’t often have music on whenever he drives Jacob to and fro but the few times he’d had him sit with the car still the radio was always turned up a notch or two.

Pickering’s music is subjective to his mood, whenever he turns it on Jacob is always prepared for an onslaught fast rapping and strong beats, this time his music was softer, sweeter — Lord Huron, an artist Jacob had at the top of his list of favourites and one he had fragmented memories of once upon a time telling Ricky about. The music doesn’t serve as the comfort Jacob hoped it would.

It was days ago that he had slipped a parchment lined with ink, wrapped sleekly in pristine folded paper into the open of the others bag. A bag that went unused far more often than it did.

He’d placed it there knowing that it always lay deserted in a crumpled heap to fester in a corner of Ricky’s room or the backseats of his car. He’d placed it there hoping that it’d go unnoticed, like most things put in there, left to the abyss of the black hole that Ricky’s bag had always been. There were off chances that Pickering would have an epiphany and suddenly decide that the abyss of disdained homework and forgotten pencils were worth his time after all; but the probability of it happening was so low in itself that when Jacob had left the letter there it hadn’t crossed his mind that Ricky would ever find it.

And it definitely hadn’t crossed his mind that he would find it with Jacob sitting right there with him.

Portman has always had this odd way of being the most lucky and unlucky guy all at once, it seems his luck has run out. He’d considered that Ricky might one day have to go routing for lost importanties and it had aided as fuel to the fire that was Jacob’s feelings for him but that should have been years down the line and far far away from Jacob.

Now, he watched as his face furrowed and he flipped the envelope between two fingers with befuddlement. The bag lay laxly in his lap, folded in on itself with recent emptiness. Jacob wished more than anything he could fold in too.

The front of the ‘lope was inked in green, bold, capitalised letters that stood out a mile. The colour had been chosen with sentiment, with the hope that Ricky might notice and appreciate that he’d picked the shade of his hair. Presently, it felt stupid and looked brash. Jacob hadn’t written his first name, having felt like he’d already bore his soul in the letter’s length and not willing to extend that odd intimacy that was their denomination.

“Pickering.” Ricky read. “Why are you posting letters to me through a damn bag?” He scoffed and tilted his chin sideways to face him.

Jacob’s stomach lurched with a sickening rush of trepidation. He looked between him and his confession with such rapidness his head spun and he was sure he would be seeing his lunch for a final time. He knew. Ricky somehow knew, and he hadn’t even opened the damn thing. How did he know?

Then, he spotted it. The tell tale letter that he’d prided himself for using, a flare of an extra flick and a certain roundness given usually to an ‘R’ but gifted to his ‘k’; a pompous ideology Ricky never failed to point out. Fuck. There goes his chance of convincing him not to read it.

“I’m not.” Jacob swallowed, rolling his eyes for effect. “It was just some shitty Christmas card that I gave to a couple people, just trash it.”

Ricky’s eyes shone with a enflux of mirth and his lips quirked. “A Christmas card? What are we, five?” His voice quivered with gleeful entertainment.

“I know. It was stupid. You should chuck it.” He’s trying, really trying, not to let his desperation seep but the emotion is strong and clawing at him with such ferocity that he’s sure his insides are tearing. He tries to settle on nonchalance.

“Now, now,” Pickering teases, “That’d be plain rude, don’t you think?” Jacob knows it’s rhetorical and a light pick at his posher upbringing but the need to answer anyway forms when the boy's fingers slide under the sealed opening.

The noise places on his tongue, dancing on the edge with torment, and the word takes on his lips — no, he’s prepared to say, ready to scream with a foolhardy ambition. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t because this is what he wanted, had wanted when he’d written and sealed and placed his downfall, and to take it away would be to lose an opportunity. Jacob had lost too many opportunities in this lifetime.

At least now he’ll know that he’s as hopeless as he’s always thought.

Ricky has the letter in hand now, unfolded and bore. He’s not a quick reader and so Jacob sits in an agonising everlasting stillness — the low music and buzzing engine hushed and drowned by the unmuzzled panic set wild in him.

Dear Ricky,

I’m writing this for the sixth time knowing it’ll never find its way to you if I get a say in it. I’m writing this as a way to tell you without telling you at all, with the hope that it will flush out the stupidity of it. Though, it never does.

You’re everything. You have single-handedly weaned your way into my life, my heart, and made yourself the axis of it. You are everywhere and in everything and I can’t be anything without wanting to be it with you. You've become the rain and the butterflies and the games and the ease. You’ve become the books and the pictures and the music and the way I breathe. You’ve become life and I’m almost sure you’ll become death, too.

You’re what I want in life. In work, in enjoyment, in entertainment. I want you. I’ll always want you.

Even if you don’t want me. I can settle for anything you’ll give — I’ll take your hate, your anger, your disappointment, if only that’s what you need from me. I’ll be a friend, I’ll be an enemy, I’ll be a lover; I only hope I’ll never be a stranger. A hateful version of you is miles better than no version at all.

If you haven’t already gathered, I’m in love with you, Ricky. I’ve been in love with you for a long time.

Please don’t ask me to be a stranger? Please just hate me instead.

Love,

Your first admirer, Jacob.

P.S. Your music still sucks ass, that doesn’t change.

Ricky shook, the paper in his hands quivering with him; it differed from Jacob’s anxious trembles in the way that Ricky flushed with suffocating relief and reddened. Portman stayed frozen. He knew Ricky was done reading because his eyes no longer flickered with the movement but the longer he stayed silent the more Jacob reared in preparation.

His eyes didn’t stray from Pickering, trained on him like a canine cautious and ready to be struck in the worst of ways — in ways that would pierce his heart and have it bleed black and blue. Ricky’s breath shuddered when he exhaled, reminiscent of Jacob's own when he did.

Ricky folded the parchment back into a rectangle with delicate fingers, handling the letter like it was some aged artefact of value that could crumble any moment. He shifts in his seat, his legs bending at the knee and pointing towards Jacob as he twists his torso to face him. Their gazes connect with a crossfire of conflict and a hope.

The silence stays thick and stifling and Jacob cracks. “Please say something.” He begs, “Anything.”

“I-That was fucking poetic.” He chokes out. Ricky’s always been bad at emotions, at expressing them and feeling them in complete overwhelm but Jacob asked him to speak — Jacob asked and he couldn’t leave him to the quiet because he asked him not to.

Jacob’s turmoil somehow sated and re-flamed in the same span of time. Ricky wasn’t angry at him, he didn’t hate him but he didn’t reciprocate either. Poetic.

“You hate me?” He asked, just to be sure. Just to cover all grounds because sometimes Ricky wasn’t as readable as others.

Ricky flinched, as if the sentence just spoke was a man waving a loaded gun and firing. “Hate you?” He frowned. “I could never hate you. Not now. Not after…this.” He gestured to the letter. “Never after this.”

“Oh.” Jake gulped down the relief knitting in his throat with effort. “We’re- uh- we’re good right? ‘Cause I don’t want things to get weird because of some stupid feelings I have. I don’t want to lose our friendship because I was dumb enough to leave some letter in your bag.” He tried harbouring the same nonchalance he’d tried earlier but his voice betrayed his wishes once again with a pitch of unwavering need and plead.

“Why did you put it in my bag if you didn't want me to see it?” Pickering bites into the flesh of his cheek.

“I don’t know.” Jacob inhaled a stuttering breath. “You don’t ever go in that bag. I thought you might find it in a few months, maybe, and at least by then I’d have had a few more months of you. I thought maybe you’d see the envelope and just trash it, you don’t like to read shit.” He shrugged a shoulder.

Ricky bit a lip. Jacob was right, he would have chucked it without thought, he would have but that was Portman’s writing and he would never be rid of anything he gave him. Not really.

“Are we good?” Jake asked again, riddled with nerves.

Pickering inhaled deep, so much so that the air tightened his chest and stung his lungs. “I love you.” He confessed, a strangled sentence that sounded more forced than sincere, a show his body committed to whenever he tried to show affection. “I love you.” He said, with finality.

“What?” Portman breathed. “I’m sor-sorry, you what?”

“I love you.” He affirmed. “Too. I love you, too.”

Jacob stared, this time with a certain awestruck dazed look that made him appear almost high. His lips lay parted and his eyes wide and he looked like he’d been through some religious epiphany and seen God themself — except, he was looking right at Ricky and Ricky just said he loved him. “I love you.” Jacob said it this time, actually said it instead of just wrote it, and Ricky fucking Pickering blushed when he did.

• So, yes, Jacob has an easier time with emotions than Ricky but overall they're both pretty bad at it. Because Jacob panics and Ricky gets mad and they’re kinda fucking perfect for each other really.

• Yes, Jacob is a little cheesy and poetic and (not so) secretly a hopeless romantic and wholly devoted to being in Ricky’s life no matter. And yes, Ricky does sometimes think it’s cringey.

• (He does not.)

~ 𐀔 ~ 𐀔 ~ 𐀔 ~

Reblogs and comments are extremely appreciated and encouraging!

[lauronk]

Would you please write a fic where Joel dies but he comes back to life?

here you are babe, i made myself cry a little with this one, ngl

call my name and save me from the dark

length: ~1.9k words tags: joel & ellie; joel & sarah; canon divergence; joel lives au; magical realism too i guess?; brief mentions of the afterlife; no beta we die like david

Joel always had a feeling it would end like this. He’d done too many fucked up things, spilled too much blood to deserve anything but a violent ending. The years in Jackson, few though they’d been, had been him living on borrowed time.

He just hadn’t thought he’d be taking Tommy and Ellie down with him.

But there’s nothing he can do except peer out through his busted eye at Tommy’s unconscious form, at Ellie pinned down and struggling, tears and blood coating her face. They’d been so close, he and Ellie, so close to fixing things after years of distance. Figures that his past would rear its ugly head now and yank the chance from his grasp.

And he doesn’t even know who this woman is, who her friends are, though he’s got some suspicions. All he knows is that the sight of her looming over him with a golf club is gonna be the last thing he sees.

–

Joel’s never really given much thought to the afterlife, even with as many close calls as he’s had over the years. He figured he’d punched his ticket to Hell a long time ago, and nothing he could do would change that. So maybe he’d thought there would be flames. Fire ants to bite him for eternity, or a lava bath. Anything hot and painful.

He hadn’t expected a giant void. It was kind of like space, he muses, darkness as far as the eye - does he still have eyes? - can see, dotted with the occasional pinpricks of light. But he can’t move, doesn’t think he’s breathing, doesn’t really feel anything. He just…waits.

And waits.

And waits.

And then finally something takes shape in front of him, haloed by an increasingly dense cluster of lights until Joel has to squeeze his eyes shut against the brightness. Then it’s gone, and someone says –

“Hey Dad.”

Joel’s eyes snap open, and there she is. There she fucking is, right in front of him, his daughter, his little girl, his Sarah. She doesn’t look any different than the last time he saw her - curly hair, purple shirt that’s blessedly free of blood. Wide brown eyes and a soft smile.

“Baby girl?” Joel chokes on the words, eyes brimming with tears. Maybe this is his punishment - the sight of Sarah, close enough to hug, before he’s sent off to whatever really awaits him.

Her head tilts. “You’re old.”

Joel can’t help the laugh that escapes him, wet and garbled, and he tries futilely to wipe away some of the tears streaming down his cheeks. They just keep coming though, and he doesn’t know that they’ll ever stop. “I missed you, baby.”

She blinks, her own eyes glassy. “I missed you too.” She sniffs, taking a tentative step forward in whatever empty space they’re currently occupying, hand outstretched until her fingers curl carefully around his. The feel of her, tangible and solid and real, sends Joel to the ground, knees folding until he’s curled up and sobbing. They don’t ache for once, his knees, and Sarah’s hand releases his in favor of coming to rest lightly on his back, rubbing careful circles as his chest heaves.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” Joel gasps. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t keep you safe, I’m so sorry. I failed you and I lost you and I –”

“Shhh.” Sarah crouches next to him, arms looping around his neck and pulling him closer. His face winds up pressed to her shoulder, sobs that he can’t seem to stop rolling through him again and again. “You’re alright. We’re alright.”

Always taking care of him when he should be taking care of her.

Joel gets an arm around her and squeezes, pressing a kiss to her cheek, her temple, the crown of her head, anywhere he can manage. She smells the same too, like the coconut from her shampoo and the crisp cleanness of their laundry detergent.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever let her go now.

Joel doesn’t think time passes while they sit in the void, at least not that he can tell. But it feels like an eternity and a second before Sarah is shifting backwards, small hands coming up to cup his cheeks. She’s beaming at him for some reason, smile stretching all across her face.

Fuck, he’s missed her so much. Even on his better days there was always a giant, gaping hole in his chest, a limb he was missing, a breath that was harder to catch because Sarah wasn’t there. And here she is again, whole and healthy, fourteen still, brimming with that same bright energy she’d always had. His beautiful, perfect baby girl.

“You gotta go back, Dad,” she says, and Joel rears back until her hands land on his shoulders to steady him.

“Go ba– no, baby, I can’t go back. I’m stayin’ here with you.”

Sarah’s eyes fill with tears again, a few making sparkling tracks down her cheeks as she shakes her head. “You can’t. If you stay, it won’t be…it won’t be with me.”

Right. Of course it wouldn’t. Nothing he’s done earns him the privilege of being with his daughter again, nothing he’s done has given him that right. This brief, beautiful, terrible glimpse was all he was ever gonna get.

But Sarah’s next words yank any remaining air from his lungs. “You have to go back for Ellie.”

“Ellie –?”

But of course. Ellie, his other girl, the one he left behind. The one he last saw pinned to the ground, mouth moving in words he couldn’t make out. Ellie.

Something in his chest fractures, a fissure opening up where his heart had briefly been whole.

“She needs you,” Sarah’s saying, her lower lip wobbling. “She needs you real bad. I can’t - I can’t tell you everything, but you have to go back for her. If you stay here, she’s gonna…it’s gonna be real bad. For her and Uncle Tommy both.”

“Baby, I don’t think I –”

“No, you have to!” Sarah bursts out, pressing the heels of her palms to her eyes. “You don’t get it, you –” She inhales unsteadily, her fear and sorrow a tangible thing sitting between the two of them in this empty space. “When you’re dead you can…you can still see everything. You can watch what everyone’s doing, the choices they make. You can watch them become someone you don’t even recognize.” The last sentence is a whisper, and Joel feels it slip around his throat to strangle him.

She’d seen it. All the terrible, fucked up things he’d done, the people he’d tortured and killed, the drugs he’d taken, the ways he’d punished himself for failing to save her. She’d watched all of it.

And yet she was still here in front of him with love in her eyes, not reprimanding him or judging him.

He never had deserved her, not for a minute.

“You don’t want to see Ellie go through that,” Sarah whispers. “She’s too much like you, Dad, maybe even more like you than I was. She’s too stubborn and determined and she fights so hard when she loves someone. She’s gonna upend her life trying to avenge you.”

Joel shakes his head, tearing his gaze from his daughter for the first time. “No, Ellie and me, we –”

“I don’t have time to argue with you about it,” she interrupts, her eyes taking on that stubborn glint he remembers all too well from the time she’d wanted a tenth birthday at the Riverwalk. “You just have to trust me, and you have to go back. You have to, Dad.”

“And you called her stubborn,” Joel mutters.

Sarah laughs briefly, but it fades and then she’s placing a small hand on each cheek again and lifting his face. “Go back,” she whispers. “Go back and save her. You couldn’t save me –”

“Baby –”

“– but you can save her. So please.” Her voice breaks, the vision of her blurring as more tears fill his eyes. “Please go save her.”

“Okay,” Joel whispers. “Okay, baby girl, I’ll go back for you. You and her.”

Sarah’s smile is the brightest thing in the darkness around them. The last thing he feels is her hand over his chest, a whispered I love you meeting his ears before everything fades out again.

–

There’s not a single piece of him that doesn’t hurt, even as he feels outside his body. No idea where he is or what’s happening, only a constant, unending pain. It ebbs and flows, some periods unbearable enough to make him wish for the void of death again.

But the tether doesn’t snap this time, and all Joel can do is hold on.

–

The first thing he hears is beeping. Rhythmic, quiet beeping, and after a moment Joel realizes it’s in time with his heartbeat.

It takes an eternity, but he peels open his eyes. No - his eye. His left remains shut, his right only opening with concerted effort. It’s dark, wherever he is, only faint pinpricks of light illuminating the area nearest him. All he can make out is the shape of someone curled in a chair, draped in a blanket.

Ellie.

He can’t see her, but he knows.

Joel tries to say her name, to say anything, but his throat constricts, his chest aching. All he can manage is some kind of grunt, the beep of his heart rate picking up ever so slightly.

But it’s enough - Ellie stirs.

“Joel?” She asks sleepily, shifting and turning bleary eyes on him.

This time, he gets the words out. “Hey, kiddo.”

A ragged oh my god spills from Ellie before she’s kicking the blanket off and stumbling three paces forward and crumpling with her head landing on his chest. It sends flares of pain ricocheting through his ribs, starbursts erupting in his vision, but he doesn’t dare ask her to move. Instead he carefully wraps his right arm around her shoulders, hissing out a breath as his side screams in protest.

“How in the fuck –?” Ellie sobs against him, fingers tangling in the front of his shirt.

“Sarah,” Joel mumbles, throat tightening again and a fresh press of tears welling in his good eye. Ellie tenses against him but doesn’t pull away. “Sent me back. Said you and my dipshit brother were gonna do somethin’ dumb.”

A wet laugh escapes her, shoulders shaking. “Think those painkillers fried your brain, old man.”

Maybe. But Joel wanted to believe it had been Sarah, one of his girls trying to protect the other. “How long –?”

“Three weeks,” Ellie whispers. When she finally straightens, Joel can see the plum-colored shadows under her eyes, the way her shirt - his shirt, his favorite flannel - hangs off her too-thin frame. “You – we brought you back to Jackson and right when we got in the walls you started breathing. Freaked us all out because we checked, a million times. You’d had no pulse, no heartbeat, no breath.” Her voice cracks, one thin hand reaching for his the same as Sarah’s had. “And then we got you in here and you’ve just…you weren’t waking up.”

“‘M sorry,” Joel mumbles, squeezing her hand as best he can.

“It’s okay.” Ellie laughs again, a delirious kind of thing that sends a fall of tears from her eyes. “Just don’t ever do it again, or I’ll fucking kill you myself, got it?”

“Yeah,” Joel smiles, even as it makes the side of his face twinge in agony. “Yeah, I got it.”

thanks for reading! feel free to continue submitting ficlet ideas but just know there will be a wait for it because i have a bunch piled up

also i have put all my ficlets on ao3 in one multi-chapter work for convenience, you can find them here

[thegreatobsesso]

Big scene packaged up, ready to ship!

Alrighty, it's taken a long time and a lot of effort but this flagship scene is ready to go. :D If you want to get caught up on the first time Milo and Octavius meet:

Part I

Part II

Here's the rest!

--

He can’t move. They’re being shot at, and he can’t move. He can’t hide, he can’t run. He can’t do anything but lie here and wait to get murdered, his exposed chest a convenient bullseye. 

He doesn’t want to die! This can’t be it for him, tied to a rich man’s bed, bleeding out for absolutely no reason! The knots are tight. He thrashes anyways. That is, until some kind of mercenary crawls into the room, armed with a thin, shiny pistol.

There’s so many things wrong with this. They are a hundred floors up. He looks nothing like Spiderman, and if Milo were hallucinating, somebody who scaled the side of a skyscraper would definitely look like Spiderman. But this just doesn’t happen in real life. It simply doesn’t.

Except it is happening, and the hulking figure in tactical gear bends down and drags a still-alive Octavius up to his knees. He’s clenching his own forearm; blood seeps between his fingers. 

“You get one chance to play this right,” says the intruder in a gruff American accent. “Fuck around and I’ll blow your brains out.”

“Hello, I’m Octavius, it’s lovely to meet you-”

The man slams the barrel of the gun into Octavius’s face and yanks him upright once more by the collar of his shirt. Octavius laughs faintly, blood dripping from his nose over the curve of his lip.

“Craine wants to talk,” the man grunts.

“Leo doesn’t need to blow a wall out to talk to me,” Octavius says, his voice thinner now. “Which he very well knows.”

“Not Leo.”

He lowers the gun and exchanges it for a mobile, which he hoists into Octavius’s field of vision.

“Hello, my friend,” says an airy voice on the other end of the line. Milo can only make out a sliver of the screen. “I hope you’ll forgive my somewhat heavy-handed intrusion. Chambers, are the three of us alone?”

That’s when all eyes settle on him, and Milo’s heart stutters to a stop.

“No ma’am,” says the man called Chambers. “This freak’s got some guy tied to his bed.”

“Please, please don’t kill me,” he stammers. “I’m, I’m not even here, I won’t say anything, I’ll never tell anyone, please-”

“Of course he does,” says the voice cooly, and just like that, they both turn back to the phone. Milo drops his head back, closes his eyes, and tries to breathe. “I trust you’ll take care of him after this is over, Octavius, but for now, I need access.”

“Access to what?” Octavius asks evenly. Not I’m not going to kill an innocent bystander or He doesn’t have anything to do with this.

“Come now, don’t be coy. Earlier today I asked very nicely and I was denied. Now I’m no longer asking. I know you keep the SIM card in a vault behind the painting on the far wall. You’ll fetch it now, pop it into this phone, and allow my man here to transfer all its data to mine.”

This is so bad. He doesn’t want to hear another word. If his hands were free he’d plug his ears.

“Will I?” Octavius asks, somehow still totally placid, pleasant, even. “Come now Aster, how would your father feel about me just handing over the keys to the kingdom by way of some thug? No offense to you, of course, fine fellow-”

“My father is dead.” 

The room goes silent. Milo can’t help it; he lifts his head to see what’s going on. Chambers is still holding the mobile in front of Octavius, whose seemingly infallible levity falters at whatever he’s being shown. 

It’s a terrible moment, a bomb going three, two, one, zero kind of a moment, and Octavius’s expression abruptly reverts.

“Change in management, then,” he states in his incongruously chipper way. “Quite right. You know, I always preferred you, Aster. Privately. You’re a much more of a progressive thinker than Leo. Better fashion sense as well, and you know, Chambers, have you seen her swing a golf club?”

“Shut up.”

“The safe, Octavius,” Aster says. “Before we grow old, if you please.”

Sirens, outside - for a second Milo had forgotten there was anything beyond this room. Oh, but there’d be glass all over the ground, right? People who heard the shot? Somebody had to be coming for them!

None of them say it but the sirens definitely add another layer of urgency to the proceedings; Chambers yanks Octavius to his feet and shoves him across the room, gun trained to the back of his head. Octavius swings a painting off the wall and it obscures them both from Milo’s view. There’s the clicking of a combination lock, a shuffling of boxes, and after a minute or an hour or a lifetime, a satisfied digital chime.

The painting swings back flush against the wall. “Thank you, Octavius,” Aster says with a degree of satisfaction audible even to Milo, “and my apologies once again for interrupting your recreation. I will, of course, be in touch.”

Chambers pockets the phone and Octavius watches him pleasantly. “Well. That’d be your cue, wouldn’t it?”

“Get fucked, fuckin’ pervert.”

“And to yours.”

The mercenary-assassin-nightmare-man swings back out the window via some kind of cord like a stuntman from hell. And now he is alone with Octavius, and no one is coming. He knows too much. He’s not going to get out of this. He's going to die shaking, cold on this luxurious featherbed.

God, Meg, I’m so sorry.

“Good lord,” Octavius breathes, leaning out into the gaping cold night. “How invigorating.”

“Please,” Milo manages. “Please don’t, don’t, don’t kill me.”

Octavius turns on his heels sharply at the sound of his voice. 

“Hmm? Oh, goodness, you poor thing! I’m not going to kill you. You’re quite irrelevant.”

“I... am?”

“Entirely.”

He walks over to the bed and begins to untie Milo’s wrists the best he can, injured as he is and trailing blood.

“Now, I am obligated to inform you that after I was shot, absolutely nothing else happened in this room. If you should imply to anyone that it did, I will have to have evidence planted on your person of some horrible crime, get you locked up, ruin your reputation, turn you into a lunatic in the eyes of the public, all that fanfare. But I’d much prefer to avoid that, if it’s all the same to you.”

It's very much not all the same to Milo. He pulls free the second the last knot is loose enough to do so and yanks his jumper back into place. “Yeah, yeah. That’s perfect. I didn’t hear anything or see anything, nothing, nothing happened in here after you got shot.”

“Very good,” Octavius says, and the praise has a much different spin than it did earlier this evening. “Killing people is terribly messy. Outside the organization, as it were. Inside, it’s just how things are done.”

Milo has no time to parse this information before the door flies open and people flood the room, serious looking officers with guns and EMTs and men in plain clothes Milo wouldn’t want to cross on a good day and more. They swarm Octavius and pay Milo absolutely no mind as he sits numbly on the bed. His legs shake and his lungs burn. He pulls his knees to his chest.

“Hey there. You alright?”

He looks up into the eyes of a woman in a turtleneck and jeans with a shiny gold badge around her neck.

“Yeah,” he says, a totally automatic response. “I’m okay.”

His brain is too busy feeling grateful that he’s still breathing, albeit too fast and not nearly deep enough.

“Detective Inspector Shaelynn Cole,” she says. “And you are?”

“Milo McKenzie.”

“Alright," she says patiently. "That’s a good start. You wanna tell me what happened here, Milo McKenzie?”

There’s a running tally in his head of firsts from this evening and he’s about to add another mark: lying to an officer of the law. He gulps down sickness and steadies his voice.

“A gunshot came through the window. Or, the wall. Glass shattered everywhere and he, he went down. I didn’t see where he actually got hit.”

“I see. Why didn’t you dial 999?”

“I don’t have my phone.” That is true. “It’s not allowed in here.”

“You could’ve used his.”

“I...”

He looks to Octavius, who is collapsed in his love seat  getting his wound stitched and holding a rag to his bloody nose with his free hand. Milo clears his throat.

“I don’t know. I guess I panicked. I’ve, um. Never seen anybody get shot before.”

“I think you might be leaving something out.”

“What?”

“Up there." The officer motions at the headboard. "Bloody business ties.”

Relief nearly knocks him sideways. “Oh. Right. Well, that’s... it’s just that I-”

“Relax, Milo,” she says easily. “Sinclair isn’t exactly coy about what goes on up here. You were restrained when it happened, weren’t you?”

Oh, yes, fine. If she finds any element of his original recitation suspect, let it be this.

“Yes,” he admits, and he hopes he’s flushing, because it’ll lend credence to his omission. “I was, and he had to untie me before I could help him. It took him a minute, because he was hurt.”

Shaelynn is silent for a moment, and he can just see her gears turning, rolling over his purported sequence of events. Maybe there’s evidence in the room already that proves he’s lying and this is just a test! Can’t some of these people just look at a crime scene and see what happened there, or did that only happen on television?

“Well, I’m sorry this happened to you, Milo,” she says at last. “Sounds like you were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

A shaky laugh escapes him. “To say the least.”

“Detective,” Octavius calls. “I think he might be in shock, you know. The proper thing would be to get him a blanket.”

He winks at her like they’re old friends.

“I’m not in shock,” he mutters, although realistically, he probably is. As if to demonstrate, he gets up. His legs feel like jelly but they are working, so that’s good. 

He can see as he gets closer to Octavius that his absurdly well-defined cheekbone is turning different shades of blue and green as the medic wraps gauze around his forearm, just below the shoulder. 

“Told them there was no need for this,” he comments, casting a resigned glance at where the sleeve of his fancy pinstriped shirt had been cut away. “I didn’t get shot in the bloody carotid. They could’ve spared a moment for Alexander McQueen, don’t you think?”

He has no idea how to respond to that. “Does it hurt?”

“This? Barely a knick. Thank you,” he says to the medic. “That’s enough. Off with you.”

The way people flutter about at the wave of his hand is nothing short of incredible. So when he motions for Milo to sit next to him, he does. He just obeys, like they all do when he speaks. 

“Are we good?” he asks Milo quietly, turning his full attention on him in a way that's alarming despite the conversational tone.

“Yeah.” He stares at his feet. “Yeah, we’re good.”

“I’m very glad to hear that.”

Milo can’t imagine he cares much either way. He made it sound like he could ruin Milo’s entire life before he had his morning coffee. He’s one of those people whose money and fame and power make them slippery. Dirt slides right off and somebody like Milo, well - of course he didn't need to kill him. Nothing he could say could realistically make a dent in Octavius Sinclair.

He's ready to go home. Baxter is waiting for him. He is going to go home and hug his silly dog and fall asleep in his silly little flat where things make sense.

A tinny voice rings out from inside Octavius’s trousers. Pay me what you owe me don’t act like you forgot, bitch better have my money.

“Well, in that case, Jules will be in touch.”

He claps Milo on the shoulder in some strange gesture of manly camaraderie and rises to his feet.

Milo blinks. “Wait, seriously?”

“Of course,” Octavius replies, typing into his phone instead of answering it. “I was enjoying myself before we were so rudely interrupted. Weren’t you?”

He looks down at Milo like he's genuinely interested in the answer.

“I was.” The air suddenly feels quite thin. “I mean, yeah. Sure. If you want.”

“I want.”

He grins. He’s some sort of crime lord, isn’t he? A mafia boss with his hands in God knows what.

His smile fills Milo’s chest with sunlight.

He must be delirious.

“Octavius Sinclair,” he says, finally deigning to interrupt Rihanna and answer his phone. “Oh, quite alright. There’s absolutely no need for alarm. One moment.”

He covers the speaker with his hand to address Milo. “I really am sorry for all this. I’ll let you come next time to make up for it. But I make no promises whatsoever that I won’t make you beg for it first.”

He says it like he’s offering to pay for lunch, making no effort whatsoever to ensure nobody can hear him, save for the person on the other end of the line. They are far from alone and Milo ignores the way several of the officers’ eyes widen as they turn away.

Octavius departs, chattering on his mobile. “No, not at all. I can make the nine o’clock. Unless of course Quentin wants to spend the first forty minutes bitching about Chinese permits, in which case, I’ll just have you book me a bloody massage. Lord knows I could use one after this nonsense.”

A photographer documenting the destruction shrugs in Milo’s direction.

“Different strokes and all, but I wouldn’t kick that guy out of bed for eating biscuits.”

Milo nods numbly.

No, he reckons. Not for eating biscuits.

What about for being a killer?

--

✨ WIP intro

🔖 tag list: @winterandwords // @foxboyclit //@revenantlore

@space-writes // @indecentpause // @words-after-midnight

comment to be added or removed!

📝 all posts from WIP: gay crime bdsm story

[nehswritesstuffs]

A Bad Walk and An Even Worse Time

Sometimes I wonder why in the hell I write something and this is one of those times, lol

5176 words; shoutout to the dude who I saw regular golfing on the way home once in full Luffy cosplay (and shoutout to the club for letting him in lol); I’m overdue for a full-on sports AU but take this instead; apologies in advance at golf of all things but you know how it is; your mileage may vary at some of the relationships I’ve thrown in here but I also vary on them so no worries; related to the Adventures with the Denizens of 1000 Sunny Rd. series, which you don't need to necessarily read to understand this one (for reference, the other fics are here [FFN], here [FFN], and here [FFN] as well) just know it's a modern Midwestern-ish AU where LawNa is an established thing and the Sunny is a sus af party house

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

For what it was worth, Zoro did not usually get terribly upset. A little cranky? Of course. That was almost expected when most of his sleep came from naps and the fact his adoptive pains-in-the-ass were always on his case about shit. “Zozo, you need to bathe more” and “Zoro, you need to consider a career instead of a job” and “why are you no longer cute, Zozo” filled the time he was with his family, which explained why he was at 1000 Sunny Rd. most days. The rest of the people lurking around the Sunny knew that if he chose to suffer through an extended period of Nami’s nagging with the rest of them, it was bound to be a doozy at home he was avoiding between his creepy vampire adoptive dad and the shrill, high-maintenance banshee that he was supposed to refer to as his sister.

Except this time, what he was avoiding had been tasked to him.

“Ah, fuck,” he cussed as he checked his phone. Zoro threw it across the living room and into a far couch, which was not normal for him. He sulked over towards the kitchen island and slumped down on a chair, hiding in his hoodie.

“What the fuck’s up with you, mossbrains?” Sanji frowned. He didn’t like Zoro being there for too long, especially since he was going on his fourth day of no showering, for the love of food safety…

“Mihawk wants me to put together a couple foursomes and he keeps bugging me about it,” Zoro grunted. Usopp and Franky both exchanged cautious looks from either side of the island, food stuffed in their mouths—Mihawk wanted what…?!

“You… uh… gonna elaborate on that, bro?” Franky wondered cautiously. Zoro was silent on the matter, only looking up when Sanji put a protein shake in front of him.

“It’s golf, right?” the blond asked. Zoro nodded silently and waited for Sanji to place a silicone straw in the shake before taking it and drinking while sulking some more. Usopp laughed nervously, almost relieved.

“Why on earth would Mihawk want you to get a bunch of people together to play golf?” he wondered. “Doesn’t golf involve, like, you know, being outside? I thought that was the exact opposite of his thing.”

“It’s his main form of being outside,” Zoro complained, “and there’s a charity circle-jerk and he promised to bring people.”

“That would involve him having friends,” Sanji noted, “which is something he lacks while his son has in spades.”

“Well, I’m glad it’s just golf, but you’re gonna have to count me out,” Franky said. “Golf is a no-go for me—I’ve been banned from courses in the area for being too super of a guy.”

“You’ve been banned from golf courses?” Usopp wrinkled his nose in thought. “Wait… which ones?”

Franky simply grinned as he took a sip of his pop. Okay. Fine. Keep your secrets.

“Does Mihawk know what he’s asking for though?” Sanji asked. “I mean… it’s us we’re talking about.”

“What are you talking about, Sanji-kun?” The guys all looked to find that Nami and Robin had both walked into the kitchen-living room area, a freshly-rescued-from-med-school Chopper right behind them.

“Oh, nothing to worry about my dears,” Sanji crooned as he set snacks down for the newcomers. “Marimo here is just complaining about his old man making him do shit for once.”

“If it’s golf, then you can count on me,” Usopp bragged. “Why, I was winning pro-am tournaments when I was just a little kid! Had to drop it because they kept barring me from competing, but I’m sure they will have forgotten the ban by now!” Chopper’s eyes glinted in admiration as he sucked down his milk.

“Golf…?” Nami raised her eyebrow critically. “What possessed the brooding vampire-goth man to get into golf of all things?”

“High SPFs, umbrellas, and business bullshit that apparently only happens on the course,” Zoro grumbled. He finished off his protein shake and handed the glass back to Sanji as he sat upright. “I don’t know anyone who fucking golfs! How am I going to get seven people who golf just to please his prissy ass?!”

“Well, you already got Usopp,” Franky noted, “and Robin’s not been banned like me.”

“This is true—I worked a few odd jobs growing up, and one of them was as a caddy—it helped get me a scholarship for college.”

“A golf scholarship?”

“No,” Robin replied, her smile unknowable. Usopp shuddered—he had to ask, didn’t he?

“I’ll do it if Robin’s doing it,” Nami agreed. It was then that Sanji came out from behind the counter in a flurry of emotion, taking the redhead’s hand and kissing the back of it.

“If Nami-swan and Robin-chan are participating, then I will too~!” he crooned. “We can be in a group together!”

“He just wants to see them in short skirts, doesn’t he?” Usopp mused aloud. Zoro nodded in agreement, which got both of them lumps on the head courtesy of the chef. The three became so involved in fighting that they didn’t even notice that someone else walked into the conversation, interest immediately piqued.

“Shishishishi—I’m in!”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It was a few days later and most of the Straw Hats were at a putt-putt adventure golf course after-hours, the guy who ran the thing owing Luffy a favor or five. How that was the case, no one wanted to know, but they were going to take advantage of it anyhow. Usopp stood at a chalkboard near the entrance; usually the board was filled with upcoming events and birthday wishes for parties coming through, but this time it was filled with equations and graphs that he drew up on the spot from the golfing theory book he had open in his hand.

“If we’re going to win this thing, it’s going to involve a lot of finesse and concentrating on how our bodies move,” he said to a… less than receptive audience. While Robin seemed interested enough, Zoro and Sanji were about to fight (again), Nami seemed bored, and Luffy and Brook were too distracted by the moths beginning to flap about the lights.

“You just asked a bunch of people who don’t math to do math,” Nami pointed out. Usopp knew she was right—the two of them did math all the time, while it seemed like a foreign concept to most of the others. “You’re at least following, right, Robin?”

“My areas of expertise involve the humanities, mainly history, sociology, and anthropology, so I’m following as closely as I can,” Robin admitted. A chill ran down Nami and Usopp’s spines—if they lost Robin, they were doomed. “We’re mainly here to work on our putting, which is something that trips up even the most skilled of professionals, as the amount of force and aim required needs to be precise in order to sink the ball.”

Usopp let out a breath of relief—thank fuck someone was taking this seriously.

“I’m precise,” Zoro claimed. “I’m so fucking precise I can wipe the floor with this asshole.”

“Wipe the floor?!” Sanji scoffed. “Do you even know how to golf?!”

“Yeah! You hit the ball and get it in the hole! You’re not the only one who suffered through rich kid bullshit, Swirls!”

“Oh, don’t even go there!”

“Or what?! You’ll try to throw your daddy issues around?! Like I care!”

“Ladies, please,” Usopp deadpanned. “We all know you both know how to play golf. This meeting is to make sure that we all practice our putting, short game, and all the more scientific parts of the game in order to prevent a case of the yips. The only one of us who doesn’t know what any of this is…” He looked off to the side, with the others following his line of vision.

That’s right. Luffy.

“Hey everyone, look at this neat bug I found!” Luffy grinned. He went over towards the rest of his friends with his hands cupped together; Sanji and Nami both hid behind Zoro in anticipation, while Robin and Brook simply chuckled.

“That’s very nice, Luffy,” Usopp frowned, “but what are you going to do about the golf tournament we’re helping Zoro not ruin? You need to be paying attention so you know the rules.”

“Oh, those; they’re boring.” Usopp hit his own face with his palm out of frustration. “It sounds like it’s all made up anyhow.”

“If you don’t even care about the rules, then why are you participating in the first place?!” Sanji asked from the safety of behind Zoro’s shoulder. Luffy simply turned towards them, bug still in-hands and making Sanji and Nami shiver.

“I thought it would be fun,” he beamed. “It’s a bunch of stuffy people who care about rules, so what better fun than doing it our way instead?”

“Luffy has a point,” Brook mentioned. “You wouldn’t believe the amount of rules that have been relaxed since I was your age. You can say the game was getting a little… moribund.”

“Quit the crap and let’s get on with the lessons!” Nami snapped, refusing to come out from behind Zoro’s other shoulder. “Let the bug go!”

“…but Naaaaamiiiii…”

“Luffy, she’s right, you’re going to need to concentrate for this one,” Usopp agreed. “We’re not doing this because we want to flout the rules, but because if Zoro doesn’t come up with seven people to join him, then Mihawk is going to be extra insufferable.”

“Yeah… that wouldn’t be very fun for Zoro, would it?” Luffy decided. He then stopped and counted everyone there: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven… “Wait, seven people total or seven more people?”

“We’re working on one more, now just focus,” Usopp said, tapping the chalkboard with his fingers. Between Chopper having school and Jinbe not knowing if he could get the time off work and Franky being banned from the sport of golf in perpetuity (how the fuck??? Why the fuck??? Wait, scratch that; he didn’t want to know), Usopp wasn’t sure whether or not one of them was going to need to call in a favor aside from the one currently in the works. “The Usopp School of Golf and Putting will make a golfer of you yet!”

How was that easily one of his biggest lies to-date? No one really knew.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It was taking everything in Usopp’s power to not scream at the top of his lungs in frustration. Although Nami and Robin were both paying attention and subsequently began sinking many a putt, it wasn’t as though everyone else was taking his lessons as seriously. Sanji and Zoro kept fighting, Luffy kept getting distracted, and Brook was enabling in a bad way.

“Yohoho, good one, Luffy!” Brook cheered, watching as Luffy’s ball bounced around their surroundings. It eventually plopped itself onto the carpet of fake grass, rolling gently until it nestled itself in the cup at the end of the seventeenth hole.

Unfortunately, they were supposed to be on the tenth.

“Why do you keep doing that…?” Usopp groaned. “You’re supposed to aim for that hole,” he gestured with his putter, “not any of the others. You can’t just pick random holes to tee off into on a full-sized course!”

“That’s no fun,” Luffy pouted. “You said he wants to go home! So I let him go to the home he wants!”

“No,” Usopp said while trying to not grind his teeth, “the ball’s home is whichever hole you’re on. Stop keep trying to get it in the pirate ship!”

“…but I like the pirate ship!”

“I know you like the pirate ship, but you can’t always try to sink the putt at the pirate ship. That’s not how the game works. There’s not even a pirate ship at the regular golf course.”

“Well, that’s stupid,” Luffy pouted. “What’s the fun in golf if there aren’t even any pirate ships?”

“Wandering around, getting fresh air, testing your skills in both long and short game…”

“Meh; sounds like they wanted to make going on a walk worse.” Usopp opened his mouth to counter that, but stopped when he heard Nami and Robin both stifle a snicker. How in the hell was he this under-appreciated? “Can I just pretend it’s just the pirate ship for now? I dunno how much boring golfing I’m gonna be doing anyhow.”

Forget screaming: Usopp was ready to start sobbing.

“No, because you need to be better at more than just the pirate ship!” Usopp snapped, his voice cracking. “It’s more than just the pirate ship, you can’t use three clubs at once, there’s no kicking allowed, and we’re not allowed to use the course as a venue for any sort of musical performance while golfing as a means of distraction! Do I make myself clear?!”

A chorus of grumbling came from his friends.

“Alright! Now let’s get back to putting!”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It was finally—finally—the day of the charity golf outing. The weather was cooperating at Goa Hills Golf Course and Country Club, a sprawling thirty-six-hole behemoth, which was filled to the gills with wealthy golf-nuts and those who happened to be roped into their antics via work or circumstance. Zoro was sulking off in a corner of the clubhouse before everything was opened, alongside Luffy, Sanji, and Usopp. Brook was there as well, but was off keeping an eye out for Nami, Robin, and whomever they were bringing along as the final piece to their puzzle.

“This is so fucking stupid,” Zoro groused. “Mihawk just wants to torture me.”

“Torture us,” Usopp hissed. He and Sanji were attempting to keep Luffy from attacking the snack table that had been set up on the other side of the room.

“As long as I get to play with Nami and Robin, this will all be worth it,” Sanji said. “Seeing them in those skirts will allow me to die happy~!”

“What skirts?”

“Of course a repressed mess like you wouldn’t understand: playing golf means a dress code, right?”

Usopp frowned, unimpressed with the assessment. “Yeah. Why else were we able to get Luffy in a collared shirt?”

“Well, ladies…” Sanji’s face contorted as he focused in on his mental fantasy. “Ladies have to wear short skirts while on the course! It’s the rules!”

“You need to get laid,” both Zoro and Usopp said simultaneously. Sanji scowled and let go of Luffy, which allowed the individual in question to break free and begin assaulting the breakfast bar.

“Jerk!” Usopp hissed. “We’re here to help Zoro, not help him get into trouble!”

“At least it won’t be eating Mihawk out of house and home,” Sanji shrugged. Usopp took a deep breath to steady himself—if all his work was going to be for nothing…

“Guys! Guy! Guys!” The trio looked out into the crowd and saw Brook coming their way in an absolute panic. He reached them and seemed to be almost in tears. “I’ve got some bad news!”

“What’s the matter?” Usopp asked.

“Don’t tell me that the eighth didn’t show up,” Zoro scowled.

“Even worse!” Brook shuddered as he prepared to levy the news. “It’s Nami and Robin!”

“Are they alright?!” Sanji asked, instantly becoming defensive. “If someone dared to touch a hair on their heads, I’ll…!”

“Oh, it’s nothing like that!” Brook insisted. “It’s just…!”

“What in the hell are you doing?!” Nami’s voice could barely be heard over the din of the clubhouse as she pushed her way through the other participants. She and Robin soon reached their friends, only for Sanji to gape in horror.

Capris. Cut to just above the calf. Not skirts. Pants.

Nami and Robin were in pants.

This was not going to be worth it.

“What in the hell is wrong with you, Brook?” Nami demanded. “Why’d you take off and abandon us?!”

“I got you here, didn’t I?!” Brook replied, affronted. Nami turned towards the others and flicked on her billion-watt smile.

“There you are, Sanji-kun,” she beamed. “I was hoping you’d be able to get my rental clubs from the pro shop. There’s a reservation already for them.”

“Why certainly, Nami-swan~!” Sanji replied, mood turning on a dime. He went off into the crowd with a flourish, completely ignoring the fact that he went right by a flustered Law as the latter was fighting his way through the crowd in an effort to get to the Straw Hats.

“Oh good, you weren’t eaten alive by the country club’s colony of rabid groundhogs,” Robin smirked. Law wanted to give her at least one middle finger, but was already too exhausted for before eight in the morning.

“All of you owe me, big time,” he grumbled, “especially you, Roronoa-ya. I could be literally anywhere but here.”

“You and me both,” the green-haired man fired back. “Gonna hang this over Mihawk’s head for long as I can.”

“That won’t work and we all know it,” Nami reminded him. They all silently agreed on that front—for some reason all of the adoptive pains-in-the-asses were collectively very, very weird and mostly unflappable. It was just that by some unfortunate turn of events that Zoro specifically landed where he was and now it was everyone’s duty to suffer through it.

A crash could be heard and a distant voice began threatening someone whose name sounded incredibly like Luffy. It was better to let that lie where it was; nothing good came from interfering with Luffy and food.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Even though Zoro knew how to play golf, it was definitely not his favorite thing in the world. It wasn’t his most-hated thing, but definitely not by much. He felt constrained, it looked like the park space was being wasted, and he couldn’t even drive through the swans that were terrorizing the third hole even though they were just honking assholes with wings.

“Stupid cook—you can’t smoke here,” he growled. The pair were watching as Law was getting ready to tee off for them, Luffy having already vanished into some bushes like a cryptid in a polo shirt, and now Sanji was indulging in his most effective vice.

“It’s either this or I murder everyone,” the blond sniped back. Fuck, Luffy was taking a long time to resurface. “Hey, I know you know how I got the geezer, but how’d you get your adoptive asshat?”

“Parents knew him somehow; I dunno, I was a kid when it happened,” Zoro scoffed. He guessed he could let Sanji power through a smoke or two—the idiot chef was without Nami and Robin, after all. “Same with Perona’s dad, I guess. I don’t think Mihawk ever imagined that the favors would be cashed because one month his mansion is perfect and silent, and the next had me and Perona arguing. Loud.”

Law hit the ball and it went a decent distance—stayed fairly straight too.

“Not that I can blame her,” Sanji scoffed. “I bet you were a shit as a tween.”

“As though you weren’t? I think I still have the geezer’s phone number; he can verify.”

“Fuck off.” Law returned to their golf cart and put the driver in with the rest of his rental set. “Did you at least see where it went?”

“Yeah; we might actually make it out of here alive if we take turns being Strawhat-ya,” he replied. Law then took a quick look around. “He hasn’t come back yet?”

“Nope,” Sanji and Zoro said in unison.

“Fuck,” Law cussed. “If we don’t find him soon, he’s gonna terrorize whatever kid they’ve got manning the beer cart thinking there’s food there.”

“I say let him,” Sanji shrugged. “It’s not like we’re paying for this disaster of an outing.”

“Make Mihawk regret it,” Zoro added. “See if he asks me for another favor again.”

“I thought the object of this was to get in, golf, get out, and make it so that we don’t get noticed by Mihawk’s weird business associates or anyone else who might be a pain in our asses,” Law frowned. “Cora-san’s brother has been known to come here when he’s in-town—we need to keep a low profile. Can any of you handle that?”

“I know I can, but I don’t know if the moss-for-brains is capable of that, considering how we need to escort him around everywhere,” Sanji said as he got in the driver’s seat and turned on the cart.

“What the fuck are you saying, curls? That I can’t find my way around?! I can do that just fine!” Zoro sat in the front passenger seat, the pair immediately butting heads in the latest round of their constant, figurative dick-measuring.

Law screamed inwardly as he tried to not cry getting into one of the cart’s back seats; the mind-melting sex he was promised was not going to be worth this.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Robin and Brook were standing to the side of the putting green, watching as Usopp was measuring and calculating the sort of putt Nami was going to need to pull off in order to sink the ball. Nami herself was standing next to the ball, tapping her foot impatiently.

“Will you cut that out?” she scowled. “Any longer and we’re going to get people wanting to play through.”

“This is for double-birdie, Nami!” Usopp replied as he laid down on the green to measure at eye-level. “This will help keep us in competitive range! These don’t often happen with golfers of our casual nature! We gotta make this count!”

“Uh… I think you mean eagle not double-birdie,” Brook cut in. Usopp and Nami both glared at him, making him flinch. How scary!

“Usopp, I think I can math my own way out of this one and not ruin Robin’s lucky shot,” Nami grumbled. “You’re making too big a deal out of this.”

“Listen, Nami,” Usopp said, “we all know that you are really good at math, but we also know that I’m better at math and physics. It has nothing to do with making you feel stupid. Because you’re not. You’re terrifyingly smart.”

“Mmm-hmm,” she frowned. “You just don’t want to get murdered in your sleep.”

“That is always a goal, yeah.” He got up and went to go stand by Robin and Brook. “Okay—one of your normal putts should do it.”

“I could have told you that,” Nami deadpanned. She went to putt, only for an unexpected voice to cut through the air and make her overshoot in surprise.

“NAAMII!” Luffy shouted. Nami and Usopp both cringed—how the fuck did he escape the others? Everyone looked to see Luffy approaching via the beer cart, where he was sitting in the passenger seat munching on chips while… wait… Koby was driving the cart?!

“I always suspected the police department to not pay a living wage,” Robin noted as the cart stopped next to them. Koby shook his head.

“I’m undercover… kinda,” he admitted. “There’s a lot of varying movers and shakers participating in this tournament, and Commissioner Sengoku wants me to keep an eye out.” He then gestured to Luffy. “Where does he go so I can drop him off?”

“With Zoro, Sanji, and Torao,” Nami said. She leaned in to Luffy, who tried to ignore her glare. “Why aren’t you with them?”

“Golf is boring,” Luffy admitted, “and I have a lot more fun hanging out with Koby anyhow! We’re gonna go catch some weirdos being weird.”

“I thought you were going to keep an eye on Torao for me,” Nami scolded. “What’s going to happen if we leave him alone? There’s weirdos here that might want him for themselves and then no more Torao at the Sunny.”

“I dunno,” he shrugged. “He’s with Zoro and Sanji though, so I’d say they’re all pretty safe from weirdos.” Luffy then noticed that Usopp was laying down on the grass. “What’s the matter?”

“We just lost a major shot thanks to you…” Usopp whined. “The only way we’re going to make that up is if we score a triple-eagle on the next one!”

“I wouldn’t count on that,” Robin said. “Those are incredibly rare. They’ve never been accomplished in professional play.”

“Yeah—the only way to get a condor would probably be to cheat, and I don’t know if we want to do that,” Brook added. He handed Koby some money and the young man passed him a juice box, which he proceeded to drink loudly. “At least, I wouldn’t do that here.”

“Mr. Soul King’s right,” Koby said. “We can’t lose our heads just because we want to stay ahead in the game! There’s villains out there that we have to catch!”

“You didn’t hear a word I said, did you?” Brook deadpanned. Koby didn’t seem to listen, as there seemed to be stars glinting in his eyes.

“Come on, Luffy! What do you say?”

In his defense, Luffy did seem to think about it. He thought for only a few seconds before a spine-chilling grin crept across his face.

“Nope!”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Dracule Mihawk was irritated. It took a lot of nonsense at once to get him irritated, honestly, for if there was one thing that keeping the brats in his home did for him was turn his nonsense threshold terribly high. There was also the fact that many of his business associates were—unfortunately—absolute goons that made him question the hierarchy of who was able to move up in the world and who was kept down. He tolerated them at best, especially on days where he was made to do social activities.

Even a bottomless wine tumbler could not change the fact that his present company was… lurid.

“Just take the shot already,” he droned. Buggy flinched from his spot over on the fairway—he was in the middle of adjusting his stance, which had been going on for two minutes too long.

“Watch out; you’re going to spook him,” Crocodile chuckled. The pair were sitting in the front seats of their cart while Galdino was standing next to the vehicle. “Do that and we might have to record a mulligan.”

“I don’t care; this is wearing on my nerves,” Mihawk replied. He took another sip from the tumbler and hoped the chilled compartment in his bag was keeping the rest of his very necessary bottle intact and a decent temperature, even with the sun. “How do you do it?”

“Honestly? I’m just glad I can use him as a human shield,” Galdino shrugged. “He’s almost the perfect decoy.”

“Hey, I heard that!” Buggy snapped. “If you’re such big shots, then why am I even here?!”

“…because we’re trying to network through charity events,” Galdino reminded him. “We have to look legitimate, remember? That involves shit like this sometimes.”

“…or would you rather default on that money you owe me and have the next decade of your life be a living hell?” Crocodile threatened with a grin on his face. Buggy swallowed hard while Mihawk sighed in distaste; the other man certainly had a way to make things so base. “What? You mean you wouldn’t want to watch him squirm?”

“At least don’t shout it out to the entire course,” Mihawk replied. He adjusted the umbrella that was shielding him from the partly-cloudy skies and grunted. “I wonder how Zoro’s doing, if making his friends come along has made him behave.”

“I don’t care to find out,” Crocodile scoffed. “That brat’s still on my shit list, as are all his friends. It’s a bad idea if you ask me.” He went to light another cigar and Mihawk’s lip curled.

“You smell enough like those things; you don’t need a refresher.”

“If you can drink, then I can smoke,” he grumbled. “It’s only fair dealing with this shit.” Crocodile gestured towards Buggy with his now-lit cigar.

“Why am I here…?!” Buggy sniffled. “I don’t even like golf!”

“Just hit the ball,” Mihawk, Crocodile, and Galdino said in unison.

“Fine! You want me to hit the ball?! I’ll hit the fucking ball!” Buggy took a running start and smacked the ball as heard as he could; ball, turf, and club alike soared into the air, making his companions groan in frustration. They all kept their eyes on the ball, however, watching as it plopped onto the putting green and… “Wait, what the fuck, did that just go into its home?!”

“It’s called ‘the hole’, you idiot, and it looks like you did,” Crocodile replied, almost impressed.

“So I got a hole in one?!”

“No, but you did get something,” Galdino muttered. He did the quick math and an even quicker lookup on his phone. “Apparently this is called a double-eagle! You’re three strokes under par!”

“Fuck yeah!” Buggy pumped his fist and started a victory dance, in which Galdino joined in. Crocodile simply chuckled as he wrote down the score, while Mihawk took a swig of wine.

“Of course he scored an albatross,” Mihawk sulked. “He is the bloody albatross.”

“He’s something alright,” Crocodile laughed. He and Mihawk watched the victory celebration for only a moment before he raised his voice slightly. “Get in the car and let’s confirm that hole-in-two.”

Buggy did not seem to hear him, continuing to dance to a song being played on an imaginary speaker. He was so engrossed in dancing, however, that he completely missed the fact that the beer cart was coming his way… or that it honked… or that it was about to run him over until he was clipped by the cart, its teenaged driver laughing mirthfully as he sped away on the now-ruined fairway.

“Sorry ‘bout that!” Luffy shouted. “You should probably pay attention!”

“Ow! Fuck! Watch where you’re going you!” Buggy was in the process of being helped up by Galdino when he saw his assailant: wide grin, polo shirt ripped at the sleeves, sandals, jorts cut off at the knee, a straw hat… oh, his blood boiled. “I’m gonna get you, you little shitstain!”

“Oh, that’s tempting,” Crocodile noted. He then watched as Koby ran after the beer cart, his attempt to catch up on foot not entirely feeble in execution. “Ah, one of Garp’s pets is here anyhow. That’s not a lot of fun.”

“Could be,” Mihawk shrugged. “Depends on how you look at it.”

“I evade taxes, not back pain; let them sort it out.” Crocodile saw that Buggy was not yet back on his feet, which was frankly irritating. “Get back in the cart, dumbass, or we’ll leave you behind!”

“I think that idiot broke my ankle!”

“Walk it off!”

“Easy for you to say!” Buggy grumbled under his breath the entire time Galdino helped him hobble to the cart, hissing in pain as he was deposited into his seat. “You couldn’t have gone and, you know, picked me up?”

“Waste of battery.”

“This bitch has a solar panel roof.” Crocodile said nothing as he turned on the cart and began to drive away. “Can we at least stop to grab my club? It’s a rental.”

Eh; he guessed he didn’t mind that much.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

A/N: For those who might not know, referring to something as an albatross that’s not, you know, the actual bird means that something is a burden. A person can also be considered an albatross, but it also can mean the person’s an idiot.