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strangersteddierthings · 7 months ago

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Eddie blinks. Once. Twice. And a third time for good measure. The scene before him doesn't change. Steve Harrington stands off to the side of the lunch table, behind Jeff and Frankie who have both gone still as statues like they think if they don't move, King Steve won't see them.

"Uh, what?" Eddie finds himself saying, against his own will. He heard Harrington the first time, doesn't need or want him to repeat himself, but his disbelief seems to have won out against his grudge for all jocks and his indifference to Steve Harrington in particular.

Harrington's face pinches, like he's three seconds away from rolling his eyes. He doesn't do that, though, which Eddie will give him one brownie point for. "I asked if you had a minute to talk." Eddie's taking away his brownie point because Steve 'asks' in a way that sounds more like a demand.

Hearing the question and or demand a second time doesn't lower Eddie's hackles, but it does pique his curiosity. He drums his fingers atop his lunchbox, thinking it over. He wishes he could say he's pretending to think about it before he tells Harrington to fuck off, but the truth is he actually is thinking about it.

What could Harrington possibly have to say to him? They very much do not run in the same circles. Eddie only talks business at the picnic table past the edge of the woods out back and everyone who buys from him knows that. They share several classes, since they're both seniors, but everyone knows Eddie's on a track to not graduate (again) so he can't possibly be coming to discuss Mrs. Click's homework assignment.

"Sure. Should we go elsewhere or...?" Eddie trails off, lifting a hand to wave in a circle in Steve's direction, questioning.

Steve looks over his shoulder, back towards the side of the cafeteria taken up by the 'popular' crowd. When Steve turns his face back, he looks- well, kind of sad for a moment before it's smoothed over with indifference.

Interesting.

"No. It's probably good that the rest of your friends hear it anyway," Steve answers.

Jeff's eyebrows rise to his hairline, and Frankie frowns as his eyebrows raise at the same time, showing an expression of interest. Eddie's got no idea what Gareth's face is doing because Eddie can't see him unless he wants to turn his face away, but he's certain it's probably a glare of some sort.

Eddie leans back in his chair, wiggling like he's getting extra comfortable before he says, "Well, alright Harrington. Shoot."

"I'm graduating this year, so I just wanted to give you a heads up for next year. I tried to curb the bullying, but I know it still happened. So, since I'm not going to be here to watch out for that, you're gonna wanna up your," Steve gestures to all of Eddie, "everything."

He knew Steve curbed the bullying a bit, heard the confirmation of that last year from Jason Carver and Tommy Hagan, when he'd stepped in to save Gareth. Or rather, Gareth had come flying in to save him and then Eddie had to save Gareth- well, the details don't matter really.

"My everything?" Eddie asks, more confused than angry. He thinks he should be angry. Harrington has all but outright said he doesn't think Eddie's going to graduate with him, after all. But no. The main emotion now is confusion.

"Yeah. Your, y'know, freakinesss or whatever. Be more of it."

"Be more of a freak?" It's fascinating, that Harrington just keeps talking like he thinks anyone at this table care for his opinion.

"Yeah!" Harrington says, cheery like he thinks that Eddie's agreed with him somehow, complete with a stupid snap of his fingers that turns into a finger gun pointed at Eddie. "You've already got this like unapproachable mad dog kind of look about you, most of the JV team is already scared of you. Just like, up that a bit more and they'll probably steer clear of you and your friends." Then Harrington frowns deep, looking around the table of nerds and dorks before looking down at the top of Gareth's head to add, "well. Except probably curly here. No offense, but you seem an easy target."

"Fuck off," Gareth growls, because of everyone at the table, Gareth does have the most bite. (Most bark goes to Eddie himself). Eddie's more prone to run from a problem than engage in it, unlike Gareth, who he's had to pull off of a few people this year.

"Or not," Harrington retracts his previous statement and Eddie will grant the man another brownie point, which brings the total up to one.

"Good to know my reputation precedes me," Eddie grins, wild and a bit manic.

Harrington is unphased. "Yeah! Do that more. I think it really freaks Jason out and he's most likely to take the captain slot next year, so if you get him afraid of you, the rest of the team'll fall in line and leave you alone too. I think he's super religious, so like, lean into the satanic panic thing people are up in arms about and next year will be a breeze. And-"

Eddie lifts a hand, a motion for Harrington to stop talking. It surprised him a little that Harrington does. Even more interesting. "Stop me if I'm wrong here, Harrington, but are you suggesting that I become the bully?"

Harrington's mouth opens and closes a few times before his face pinches again. Instead of looking like he's going to roll his eyes and be bitchy, Harrington looks confused and then like he's deep in thought. An uncomfortable amount of awkward silence falls over there table, but it's just when Eddie's about to break that silence that Harrington finally speaks. "No. I'm saying just like, be you but bigger. Like, you don't even gotta look in the team's direction. If you're just more of a freak than you usually are, they'll steer clear without the bullying."

"You sure know how to compliment a guy," Eddie deadpans. He's not even upset that Steve's called him a freak. He's spent the majority of his high school career cultivating that outlook. He wasn't just a freak, he was The Freak.

Now a look crosses Harrington's face. One Eddie's not sure he's interpreting correctly. If he had to take a guess, he'd say the look was calculating, knowing, in a way that Eddie doesn't think Harrington could actually achieve. Then it's gone, replaced with the bitchy, eye-rolling look Eddie's used to seeing, and Harrington says, "I haven't said anything untrue."

Hmm. The most interesting thing yet. Eddie might not be graduating (again) but he's not dumb. He didn't survive this far in his life, with a father like his, without learning to read people. He wasn't as good as he wanted to be at reading people last year, but he's definitely good enough know to think that, maybe, just maybe, Harrington also knows a thing or two about cultivating a public perception. Making sure people only see a certain side of you.

"Alright," is what Eddie answers, "I'll take what you've said under advisement."

"Uh. Okay," Harrington says before he just walks away. Conversation over.

"Well," Jeff says, "that was strange."

"Very," Eddie agrees as he watches Harrington walk away, tracking him until the cafeteria door slams shut behind him when he exits.

Eddie has always wanted to up the ante, so to speak. Jump on a cafeteria table and rant about capitalism and organized sports. He never has before but next year seems like a great time to try.

#steddie #my fic #set in steve's senior year between s2 and s3 towards the end of that school year #pushing my 'Steve wasn't a bully he was just self-absorbed and bitchy' agenda #flight of icarus compliant #steve is the reason eddie has a reputation as a satanist #he thought he was using his popular kid status for good with that one honestly. how was he supposed to know s4 would happen?#steve can be emotionally mature AND a bitch

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artemiseamoon · 1 year ago

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I’m in my feels about them. Did I spend my commute making “camera” roll Moodboards of Rhea, Frankie & Santi? Yes, I did.

Indulge below. More under the cut.

Rhea has pics of all guys in her camera, I promise. I’m just eagle eyed on this trio right now.

#it’s a love triangle yall #fic: is this how it ends?#Santi x ofc #Frankie x ofc #artes moodboards #triple frontier

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paintedcrows · 2 months ago

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There you are, hiding from your friend Bill, are we?

Or, why you should never let your demon near your brother pet cat. Fan art for the wonderful fic 'How to Cat Burglar a Family' by @dark-lord-of-awesomeness! It's now complete! And (despite how this looks) very sweet!!

#I think i actually ended up mixing two scenes together here but the vibes man the vibessss #Its such a fluffy fic (with some good stangst) and then BOOM the horror of being trapped in your own skin fully aware but unable to move #The numbness is so viseral & I love how it made the stakes of getting caught that much more tense. its so GOOD! Bill when I catch you Bill-#this is sketchy but i was worried I'd get caught up in over rendering and end up never posting it soooooo badabingbadaboom!#Absolutely going to be drawing more stuff for this fic btw :3 Already got so many doodles of of Cat stan and Muppet Shifty and Ford and-#How to Cat Burglar a Family #fanfiction fanart #Gravity Falls #GF Fanart #gf bord #Bill Cipher #Stan Pines #Stanley Pines #Cat Stan #cw blood #cw injury #Fanart #fan art #artists on tumblr #my art

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puckinghischier · 1 month ago

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i’m having soft quinn thoughts today and i have to shout them from the rooftops so everyone else can suffer with me.

but i absolutely cannot stop thinking about how quinn would always want to spend time with you, but feel guilty for how occupied he is during the season. every second of downtime he has is spent watching game film in your living room, studying tactics and plays. not that you ever complain. you’re content simply being in the same room as him, not taking for granted any amount of time you can be in his presence.

quinn’s attention is always half on you, no matter how hard he tries to focus. he steals more glances at you than he cares to admit, worried that one day you’ll get sick of sitting in silence while hockey occupies the space between you. but you never do. you keep yourself busy scrolling through your phone or reading the most recent book he bought you, never uttering a complaint. he’s tuned in to every fidget or movement you make, not wanting you to remove your always cold feet from under his warm legs to occupy yourself with something—or rather someone—better.

it surprises him that you never do. you never utter a word, not wanting to disrupt his work. every so often he’ll catch you looking back at him during one of his ‘quick’ glances, absorbing the warm smile you give him. sometimes you’ll quietly ask him if he wants anything from the kitchen when you stand to go fill up your water cup, but seem content to simply sit there with him as he mumbles to himself, jotting down notes as he watches.

tonight, he can’t help but notice—during his million and one glances at you—that your eyes are glued to the tv. your phone is laying, locked, in your lap, eyes following the puck as it’s shuffled across both screens from player to player. your body’s subtle reactions to the game aren’t lost on him either. the twitch of your foot anytime someone shoots the puck, the raise of your brow when a player on either team scores, the hitch in your breath anytime the two teams start to fight.

you can feel his eyes on you more than usual tonight, his (not so) subtle glances lingering longer than normal. you turn your head to meet his gaze, brows furrowed and a puzzled look on his face.

“what?” you whisper, flitting your eyes between his own and the tv, not wanting to miss any important moments.

“are you watching the game?” he looks at you like you have three heads.

you giggle in response, amused at his expression and surprised tone of his voice. “yeah, kinda. don’t really know what’s happening, though, if i’m honest.”

there was never a home game of quinn’s you missed. you went to support him every time you could, and loved seeing him in his element. but you can’t even pretend to understand the sport past each player wanting to get the puck into the opposing net. you didn’t understand the positions, the penalties, or anything surrounding the ins and outs of professional hockey. you never watched it growing up, and probably still wouldn’t watch it if you weren’t dating the captain of your new city’s team.

you had moved to vancouver for work, and knew nothing of the prominent hockey culture before you arrived. the sports presence buzzed all around you as you figured out the ins and outs of your new home, but it had no place in your daily routine. that is, until you hit it off with this insanely attractive stranger that seemed to frequent the same coffee shop as you. you accidentally cut him in line one day, offering to pay for his coffee to make up for it, but he paid for yours instead. a ‘pay it forward’ war was started between the two of you until he was stood waiting at the door with your usual order one morning, requesting more than just a name and the fact you drank a large, vanilla iced coffee with chocolate syrup lining the cup every morning.

when he realized you were likely the only person in the city he now calls home that doesn’t know who he is, it only piqued his interest in the pretty coffee shop stranger further. the morning meetings at the shop turned into an exchange of numbers, which developed into him meeting you for lunch on your break when he was in town, that then escalated into dinner dates and spontaneous outings, and now it’s found its permanence in you moving in with him a few months ago.

you were…indifferent, when he revealed to you who he was and what all his career entailed, uttering out a simple “oh! that’s cool! makes sense why you’re always at the gym, now” later explaining that you thought he was just really into fitness and maybe worked as a personal trainer or some equivalent. when he first invited you to games he tried to tell you a little bit about the rules, but assumed you’d catch on as you watched (hopefully) more and more of his sport. you always told him how much you enjoyed watching him in his element, but never asked many questions past if the other team was supposed to be good or not. he assumed you understood enough to keep up, knowing how intelligent and observant you are, but he tried to refrain from talking about work too much with you. when he’s with you, he wants to be present with you, not hockey.

which is why he feels so guilty at times like this, watching film while you’re sitting next to him. it feels like you’re two people who happen to be in the same room, completely in your own worlds. until tonight.

“you…never watch the games with me. you always have a book or something,” he reaches over to pause the game, still a little shocked.

you shrug at him. “didn’t feel like reading tonight. not really anything new on my socials, either. so i figured i’d just watch with you for once.”

“and you weren’t gonna say anything?”

this earns a real laugh out of you, not understanding why this is such a big shock for him. it’s not like you’ve ever told him you don’t like hockey. you just have never really cared to watch it if isn’t the one playing. but you’ve been wanting to learn more about it recently, tired of not being able to participate in the games like the other women do when they’re watching their husband or boyfriend play.

“why would i? you’re trying to work, i’m just trying to learn a little bit,” you reply, the hint of a laugh on each word as you say it.

quinn just blinks at you, trying not to get his hopes up at your expression, not knowing just how far you want to go with your quest for knowledge.

“since when do you want to learn about hockey? why now?” he questions, trying not to sound accusatory or snarky, but genuinely curious as to what you’ll answer.

“i’ve always wanted to learn, ever since that first game i went to, but you don’t seem to like to talk about it outside of the rink, so i don’t really ask much. me and google have become very good friends as of late,” you shrug out another answer for him. “plus, when you’re watching games at night like this, i don’t want to keep talking and asking a million questions while you’re trying to work, so i force myself not to watch to keep from distracting you.”

quinn sits a little straighter, now worried he’s made it seem like hockey is this forbidden subject between the two of you.

“sweetheart, i don’t like talking about hockey outside of the rink because i don’t ever want you to think that’s all we ever talk about, not because we can’t talk about it,” he tries to defend himself, even though there’s no accusation. “if you want to learn about the game, please, ask me questions. i- god, i’d love nothing more than to teach you about it. i hate sitting here in silence every night i’m home, worried you’re going to eventually get pissed at me because all i do during the season is watch old games.”

you grin at his slight panic, endeared by how worried he was about your feelings this whole time, appreciating his intention with the unspoken rule.

“q, i never asked about it because i didn’t want you to be upset because i kept bringing up work when you’re away from it all,” your smile only grows at the fact you were both worried about upsetting the other for no reason at all.

the slight tension in his shoulders fades at your words, relieved that you’re not upset or feel like he made it seem like you had no place in that part of his life.

“alright, well, fire away, then,” he gives you the floor, pressing play so the players on the tv screens move once again, now glancing at you every few seconds to catch any looks of confusion or interest in any particular play or action.

the rest of the night is spent playing and pausing the game over and over again, question after question flying out of your mouth. anything from why the faceoff is from a certain spot on the ice to what a particular penalty looks like is spoken the second the thought enters your brain. quinn takes his time explaining every answer to you, even rewinding and pulling up other examples to make sure you understand what he’s telling you.

at the end of the night he realizes just how much more he caught of the game while answering your questions. there’s several times you picked up on things he never has before. like why one player seems to always place his stick so close to another player’s skates while he’s chasing him. or why a certain goalie seems to lean left everytime instead of right, no matter where the puck is coming from.

he’s been able to add several tells about players in his notes, ready to take them to practice the next morning and change his game to accommodate his opponents habits. and when they win their game a few days later, thanks to your observations during the impromptu hockey 101 class in your living room, he revels in the fact that even though you know so little about his sport and his job, you ended up being one of the biggest parts of their success.

from then on, the nights of sitting in silence while he studies film are nonexistent. every time he brings work home with him, you’re right there next to him, enthralled in whatever opponent’s game they’re facing that week. he loves that you’re so observant, paying attention to the smallest of details someone who’s been playing for years becomes blind to. and he really loves turning you into a bottomless pit of hockey information, seeing how you absorb each ‘lesson’ from day to day.

when they break through their slump, a big part of that accredited to your nights spent questioning quinn, and he sees you start really participating in his games, he can’t help but fall that much deeper in love with you. watching you scream and complain about bad calls with the rest of the fans in rogers arena, and reading your texts to him about your thoughts on his away games you watch on tv, swells his heart in a way he never thought to be possible.

plus, he always knew it was only a matter of time before you fell victim to the hockey atmosphere of the city. no one can really resist the pull of vancouver hockey, especially not when it’s captain has anything to do with it.

#when will i ever be happy with my endings?#not today #but anyways #i need quinn to teach me about hockey asap #even if i already know how it works #hockey #nhl #quinn hughes #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes fluff #quinn hughes blurb #quinn hughes one shot #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes x you #quinn hughes x y/n #vancouver canucks #qh43

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mushgloomz · 2 months ago

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A New Perspective

Joel Miller x F!Reader OneShot

• an: y’all i have been GAGGED over some of the sex pollen fics I’ve read recently and i truly couldn’t help myself. as usual, this is not proofread whatsoever and was merely written in a horny-for-Joel-Miller induced haze, so apologies for any errors you may come across <3

• warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI - SMUT/NSFW CONTENT. SEX POLLEN (DUBCON). unprotected p in v (not worth it irl!! don’t do it!!), reader is afab, able-bodied and has hair. language, descriptions of genitalia, pet names (baby, baby girl, sugar etc.), joel has a fat cawk but what’s new, creampie

• wc: approx 5.2k

Late spring had washed over Wyoming, introducing a plethora of flora and fauna to what was a barren waste of ice all but a few months earlier. Luscious greenery stretched as far as the eye could see; the snow-capped mountain range barricaded by acres of plentiful forestry. It was beautiful. A soft breeze swilled around your head as you took in the view from your vantage point.

“Would’ve asked for a different partner if I knew you’d stand around gawpin’ all day.”

Reality trickled back into focus as the grumble from your foraging partner reached your ears. Joel Miller, Jackson’s own resident asshole, had been paired with you four days prior to complete a week-long expedition. You’d been sent off to retrieve anything of value from abandoned settlements, and to stock up on ingredients for herbal remedies. How you’d fallen under the misfortune of being partnered with the most miserable bastard in the county was beyond you.

Joel hadn’t even turned to voice his complaint, continuing to walk toward the tree line. You mentally weighed up whether being left to raiders could really be that bad, before scampering off to rejoin him with a huff. “Didn’t exactly choose to be here myself, dickwad”, you hollered, falling on deaf ears as you closed the distance between yourself and the man ahead of you.

You reached the tree line, standing to inspect the foliage before you.

“If you’ve got anything stupid to say, get it out your system now. I ain’t dying on your count ‘cause you can’t keep your mouth shut.”

He couldn’t be more condescending if he tried. He stood at arm’s length beside you, rich brown eyes staring you down, arms crossed across his chest in a display of patronising authority. A singular eyebrow raised in your direction, prompting you to break the silence. “Oh fuck off already”, you mumbled as you barged past him and onto the dirt path, intentionally knocking into him with your shoulder as you went.

The woods were thick. Shrubbery of all varieties grew between the trunks and twisted roots of staggeringly tall trees as you edged your way further inwards. Insects provided a constant thrumming sound, broken only by the twittering of small birds, high above the underbelly on which you walked. Once in a while, a twig would snap underfoot, followed by a hushed shut up from Joel trailing behind you.

You peered through branches, your mental checklist of ingredients being ticked off gradually as you foraged through the underbrush, scoping out your remaining items. The ground was unforgiving, swelling and receding with reckless abandon, threatening to throw you off balance at any given moment. You continued your trudge, until you came across a small and unusual clearing.

You kept your volume low as you enquired about the strange plant ahead of you. “What… what the fuck is that one?”, your curiosity piqued by the shrub in the middle of the clearing, seemingly warding off any and all other vegetation. You stepped forward, wanting to get a closer look at the vibrant blooms spreading across the tangled mass of deep green leaves and twisted branches.

“Christ, don’t you have any survival skills? Where’d you learn to stick your nose into plants that you don’t recognise? G’damn FEDRA didn’t teach you shit, clearly.”

The hiss of Joel’s words were delivered straight into your ear as you were yanked backwards by a firm hand on your shoulder. Not to give him any credit, but you hadn’t realised quite how close you had gotten to the bright red petals in front of you. You jerked your shoulder from his grasp and shot him a warning glare.

“Get movin’, next settlement should be ‘bout a half mile from here.”

It was Joel’s turn to barge past you, leading the way around the small glade and past the shrub. You couldn’t tear your eyes from the blossoms adorning it’s branches, the crimson colouring almost magnetising to your eyes. You hadn’t been paying attention to your footing as you passed, and before you could rebalance, you stumbled over an overgrown root and found yourself tumbling into the sprawling clump of petals and greenery.

Despite the prickle of broken branches, toppling over had been less of a pain in the ass than a majority of the expedition. The smell, for one, was divine. It was powdery and light, yet simultaneously heady and almost nauseatingly sweet. You couldn’t describe it even if you tried. And tried you did, as you sat and breathed deeply through your nose, not even attempting to right yourself. A calloused hand breached the branches directly in front of your face.

“Get. Up. Now.”

But even Joel’s sour tone couldn’t distract from the aroma. You clasped both hands around the one ahead of you, and with a grunt coming from the other side of the branches, you were hauled up and out of the bush onto your feet. The smell clung to your clothes as you brushed twigs and squashed petals from your body. Joel did the same, having leant a fair distance into the centre of the plant to retrieve you.

As soon as you were stable again, Joel took off without another word. You didn’t care particularly. You trailed a few feet behind, cautiously watching your steps to avoid another fiasco. You walked in silence, arms swinging gently by your side, ambling along. You sighed. As you scanned the environment, you realised that everything had become slightly hazy, the borders of your vision tinged with a fuzziness that hadn’t been there before.

“Did I hit my head on the way down?”, you questioned out loud. It was the only explanation you could think of; the only answer as to why everything in your field of vision had taken on an almost shimmering iridescence. Sunlight breaching the canopy of trees beamed down and quite literally sparkled. Warm hues were more pronounced - an ambience that you hadn’t noticed before surrounding you as you continued to sidle along the path. Joel didn’t answer, remaining steadfast in his pace.

Ten minutes passed, and you noticed that your skin felt hot and clammy underneath your clothing. Trailing a hand toward your neck, you unclasped the buttons of the denim jacket that suddenly felt all too much for this weather. Shit, maybe you did hit your head. But this didn’t feel like a typical concussion; everything looked far too pleasant, the melding shades of green and brown making you hum unexpectedly, as if you were purring. Everything felt… good.

“Sh-should be five minutes from here now.”

The sound reached your ears, a rumble from just ahead of you. It was warm, much like yourself, like everything else; viscous like honey and borderline blissful to hear. Heavy eyelids lifted from the path in front of your feet as you glanced toward the source. Joel. Unlike everything in your periphery, Joel was crystal clear.

You took him in, in all his glory. And glorious he was, as he swaggered in front of you, strong legs stepping rhythmically across moss and detritus. You’d never noticed quite how broad he was across his shoulders as your eyes worked their way up his back. Curls sprung from his nape, perspiration making unkempt hair even more unruly. It made you salivate. A source of light just beyond him let you know that you were nearing the edge of the forest, the settlement you’d be pitching up in for the evening just ahead. And that’s when he turned his head, painfully slow, to glance over his shoulder at you as he walked.

It was like you had been electrocuted, or stung, or something. Eyes that had rarely held anything but disdain for you now frenzied looking, pupils blown out. Ravenous. The glance lasted far, far too long, or at least it seemed like it did. A plush pink tongue swept over parted lips and you damn near gasped. A singular bead of sweat sat atop his usually furrowed brow, now knitted in a delectable blend of need and desperation. That’s when the ache started, deep in the pit of your stomach, inescapable. Your breath sat heavy in your chest, each inhale seemingly adding to this godforsaken pressure now lingering between your legs.

Not once had you thought of Joel in a sexual manner, you thought to yourself as you stepped into the sunlight beyond the tree line. He was always so unimpressed by you, so harsh and scolding. He was handsome, no one would argue that point, but his sharp tongue and unrelenting judgement of others made him unapproachable. How stupid of you, to overlook something quite so beautiful. Your stomach knotted, painfully aching as you continued to watch him head toward the small building a mere few metres away.

Each step became arduous as you reached the abandoned house, your thighs rubbing in your jeans. Joel didn’t hesitate to enter, swinging the door open, mumbling bathroom in your direction before slinking off upstairs. It was so unlike him, to act so precariously. Why did it make you wet? You eyed an armchair, hideously upholstered in a carpet-like fabric, before approaching and resting. As soon as your ass hit the cushion, your thighs pressed together as though your very own body may betray you if you didn’t seek to contain yourself. Teeth clasped your bottom lip, a stifled whimper echoing in the room. Did you just make that noise?

You were desperately uncomfortable. The armchair played no part, the discomfort stemming purely from yourself. You rubbed your legs together, the friction offering no relief. Hazy-eyed, you peered around the room. Joel hadn’t returned. God, how long had it been since he went upstairs? You crossed your legs, your core hot with an unrelenting need to act. The thought of touching yourself, slipping a hand under the waistband of your jeans, sprung to mind. You shook it off, and no sooner had you done so, you whined. Animalistic, like a bitch in heat. You were no better than any wanton animal, desperately seeking out relief from the ache that consumed you.

What the fuck was going on? Why were you acting like this, so uncontrolled, so unhinged? Your back arched against the chair behind you, eyes squeezed shut and inhaling deeply. You had to do something, anything, to settle the ache inside you. You hesitantly unfurled your legs, biting your lip harder. Your thighs trembled as you stood, and you willed them to carry you toward the staircase that Joel had disappeared up.

After braving the stairs, you could see a number of doors. One was open, a trail of wet footprints leading from it and toward another, the end of the path being cut off by a closed oak door. You followed the footsteps in reverse, heading toward the bathroom. You could smell the pine shower gel that had been wrangled from the mirrored cabinet above the sink, the cracked tile underneath you slippery.

You closed the cabinet and looked at yourself. Staring back at you, eyes wide and dazzling, pupils stretching your irises into a thin circle of colour around a bottomless pit of pitch black, was a version of you that you’d never seen before. Your hair was windswept, flyaways sticking to damp skin on your face. There was something feral about the woman that looked back at you. She was beautiful. Without thinking, you reached out to touch the cool surface of the mirror, in awe of how her lips parted just so, cheeks flushed and chest heaving. The ache returned and interrupted your admiration with a ferocity unmatched.

You wanted relief. No, needed relief. As you stood, you trailed a hand down your chest, past your naval, and down to the button of your jeans. Your fingers fumbled for just a moment before threading the button through its hole, immediately seeking out the metal zipper after. You didn’t even bother with shedding the denim from your legs. A supple hand slid its way over your mound and toward your clit, slick and saturated with want. Bracing yourself with one hand on the porcelain sink, forehead pressed against your own cold reflection in the mirror, you began to draw slow circles around yourself.

A heady moan left your mouth, your clit sensitive under your touch, the relief your fingers could offer barely scraping the surface. The frustration swelled inside you as your fingers drew tighter circles, adjusting both pressure and pace in a bid to meet your climax. A strangled sound escaped your throat, high pitched and breathy, as you came, the ache inside you merely ebbing before burning brighter than before. This wouldn’t be enough, you thought, as you rinsed your fingers under icy water from the tap and wiped them on your jeans.

That’s when you heard it. Quiet, muffled by brick and wood, coming from a different room. A groan, somehow both pained and yet drowning in bliss. You’d barely finished re-buttoning your jeans before your feet had moved of their own accord, seeking more of the sweet sound that you knew could only be coming from one person. There was something so wrong, so obscene, about you stood outside of the doorway, ear pressed against chipped wood. The breathing inside was laboured, part grunt, part sigh. It may as well have been a live wire entering your eardrums, the way that it electrified you and made the hair on your arms stand on end.

You pressed harder against the door, pleading for more of the delicious noises to reach you. Your stomach coiled and churned, painful and hot, tension brewing across your shoulders as you fought to keep yourself upright. Teeth found your bottom lip once more, stifling your own lewd sounds, praying that you wouldn’t be caught in such a compromising position. It was then that you heard it, quieter than any noise that proceeded it, but it was there. Your name, moaned at a volume no louder than a whimper, intoxicatingly melodic as it reverberated inside your head. Your jaw was slack, spit pooling, and a moan left your mouth with no warning.

You clapped a hand over your mouth the moment it had happened, but it was too late. The sound of springs shifting, of feet making contact with floorboards, replaced the lusty melody as you span on your heels and pressed your back against the wall beside the door. You sank to a crouch as footsteps neared the doorway, and clarity breached your mind just for a moment, the consequences of your voyeurism being weighed up. Joel was a dangerous man, that much you knew, and you silently hoped that he would be forgiving as the doorknob twisted.

The door cracked open ever-so slightly. You could hear panting through the gap as you willed your own chest to settle. Door edging open, you squeezed your eyes shut, as if not seeing Joel would make the whole scenario better, as if you hadn’t just been caught in the act. With your eyes closed, you could smell him, like your remaining senses had been switched on for the very first time. He smelt of vetiver and musk, of leather and whiskey. Had your eyes not been shut, you’re sure you would’ve seen stars.

The crouch that had been holding you against the wall failed you, your thighs trembling and buckling, and your knees made contact with the hardwood floor underneath. Head ducked, you opened your eyes slowly and were met with the view of unlaced boots. Your gaze lingered as you raised your head, taking in strong thighs wrapped in starched denim, a shirt thrown haphazardly over an otherwise bare torso. A trail of dark curls closed the gap between naval and waistband, a runway for your eyes to follow, leading you to the thick imprint of a cock aching to be released from its confines. You drew your eyes away from it after a moment, and with your heart hammering inside your chest, you glanced up to Joel’s face.

“Get up.”

His voice was commanding but non-aggressive. There was a hint of desperation, as if you needed convincing. He looked down at you, soaking you in, and you wondered whether he too saw the beauty in the wild woman you’d seen in the mirror. Cheeks and neck pink with warmth, he held out a hand, which you took gratefully. Touching him, touching skin that wasn’t yours, was exhilarating. His hand swallowed yours, the skin of his palm firm and coarse, fingers thick and long. He hoisted you up to your feet, dropping your hand and scanning your face.

“Can’t be around you. Ya gotta go downstairs, can’t trust myself.”

Joel could’ve been speaking in tongues for all you knew. All you had heard was a throaty grumble, your attention all but consumed by the shape of his mouth as he spoke. The way his jaw tensed as he paused, Adam’s apple bobbing as he gulped in air. You swear his cock twitched in his jeans as your name left his mouth. You felt hotter than the sun, resisting the urge to double over as pressure reached a crippling peak between your thighs. “J-Joel, I need you to help me”, your voice cracking, pleading with him. You watched pink swipe over his lips, now glistening, hand reaching out and clutching at his bicep to steady yourself instinctively. “I don’t know what’s happening to me, please. Please, just-“.

Your sentence was cut short as a firm thumb found its way to your lips, coaxing them to part as it pulled the lower one down. Strong fingers held your chin up. Muscles flexed beneath your hand, tensing much like the ones you watched in Joel’s jaw. Tears welled in your eyes, threatening to escape as your insides boiled, only fueled by the contact on your skin.

“Shhh now baby. You feelin’ it too? Reckon it was that damn plant, not been able to walk straight since you fell in it.”

Baby. The way it rolled from his tongue so naturally, like he’d always wanted to call you it. It made you feel giddy, head lulling harder into his grasp. You didn’t attempt to stifle the whine that left you. His fingers flexed around your chin, and he hummed his approval, the sound emanating from low in his throat.

“Oh darlin’, gotten yourself in a real state ain’t ya? Tell me what you need. Tell me how I can make it better.”

Was this really happening? His thumb brushed over your bottom lip before he removed his hand, placing it on your upper arm and squeezing gently. Your breathing was shallow, words unable to form. A wave of pressure swelled low in your abdomen and without thinking, you tip-toed, tilting your head up to reach Joel’s, and kissed his cheek. Stubble scratched at the swell of your lips, and the smell of him so close drove you to the brink of frenzy. It appeared the same happened to Joel, as he tightened his grip on your arm, bringing his other hand to sit flat on the small of your back and pressing you toward him in one fluid motion.

His mouth met yours with a vigour unparalleled; his tongue forcing its way into your mouth, all-consuming and dominant in its nature. You were putty under his touch, his hand following the arch in your spine up toward your hair. Breathing was no longer a priority - you needed this man more than oxygen. A fistful of your hair found itself wrapped around Joel’s hand, and with a firm tug, your neck was exposed. You were his for the taking.

Lips traced along the length of your neck, occasionally nipping and sucking as they made their way down to your clavicle. Flat-tongued and panting, Joel worked his back up toward your ear, licking as he went. Any self-restraint you may have possessed was long gone; begging him to give you all that he had. “Please, I need - oh fuck - I need you”, your hushed tone perceptible only to his ears. He stopped his attack on your neck and collar, eyes dark with desire, releasing his grip on you only for a moment before grabbing at your wrist and pulling you into the room that he had left.

The room contained little more than a double bed, a nightstand and a dresser. The bed was in a state of disarray, sheets peeling at the corners, a pillow lost to the floor. The smell of sex hung in the air, the aroma giving Joel and his earlier activities away. You squirmed from his grip to remove your jacket, far too aware of its weight on your aching body. Hands deftly made their way to the hem of your t-shirt, before lifting and shedding yet another layer. You stood, your upper half bare, and looked at Joel.

“Fuck, look so pretty for me baby. Gonna make you feel so good, promise.”

The words fell from his mouth, rumbling and low, and it sent chills up your spine where his hands had not long been. You’d no doubt soaked your panties, and at this rate, your jeans wouldn’t be far behind. With an almost pained expression, Joel tore his eyes from you and moved toward the bed, shrugging the shirt off of his bare torso and letting fall to the ground. He turned, facing you again, and sat himself on the edge of the bed, patting his thigh, beckoning you over. He leant back on a single propped arm, shifting his hips to accommodate the somehow still growing bulge in his jeans. It was vulgar to witness, and you moved quickly toward him.

Hands found your hips as you stood before him, feet planted between spread legs. He worked one hand over your zipper, and tucking both thumbs into your waistband, pulled both your jeans and panties to the ground in one fell swoop. He drew his lips toward your stomach, placing wet kisses in a downward direction, his breath hot against your exposed flesh. Goosebumps prickled along your legs, blood replaced entirely by red-hot adrenaline, as he neared your core.

“S’all mine, you hear me?”

No sooner had the words reached your ears, did you feel Joel’s hand snaking it’s way up your inner thigh toward your cunt. In a desperate bid to stop yourself from rocking your hips forward, you instead opted to nestle your hand into thick brown curls, tugging hard and reaping the rewards - a moan cascading from Joel’s mouth. “Please, Joel, I can’t - need something, anything”, you begged, as though your life depended on it. It very well may, you thought; the heat in your core reaching a precipice and threatening to bring you to your knees with its blistering pain. You felt a number of fingers drag through your folds, hot and slick, before two were pushed inside you without warning. You yelped, not with pain, but with a scorching desire for more.

“So fuckin’ wet for me baby. Must be hurtin’ real bad.”

You whined as the fingers inside you curled, brushing against the velveteen walls of your cunt, deeper than you’d ever been able to reach yourself. You felt yourself clench around the soaked digits, pumping themselves in and out, stilling only to drag themselves across your g-spot.

“Make me wanna cum just watching you, sugar. See what you’re doin’ to me?”

You glanced down past the curls still tangled around your fingers. Joel had unbuttoned his jeans, his cock thick and leaking, almost purple and just begging to be attended to. He held the shaft steady around its base, his other hand continuing to unravel you from the inside out. “P-please, I need-“; your words were cut short as Joel moved his thumb to your clit, nothing more than a strangled moan escaping you. He pressed firmly as he swept the digit left to right, his fingers now curling inside you - you felt as though you’d left your body as your orgasm drew closer, grounded only by the rhythmic motion of thick fingers and the blissful sounds of Joel’s humming.

“Cum for me baby, I know you’re needin’ it. Wanna see you make a mess of this pretty little pussy.”

Spurred on by the obscenities leaving his mouth, you held your breath as your orgasm rushed through you. As the wave of pleasure hit, momentarily replacing the ache in your abdomen, a cry left your parted lips, your head tipped back. Joel’s fingers worked you through the bliss, coaxing every last sound he could from you, murmuring as he went.

“Such a good girl for me.”

“That’s it darlin’, gonna make it all better.”

“So tight around me baby, don’t think I can hold on much longer.”

Your breathing was rapid, your chest rising and falling in shudders, knees desperately trying to refrain from buckling beneath you. And yet, before you could discern exactly what had just happened, your stomach tensed with a vengeance - it simply wasn’t enough. With his jeans still around his thighs, you gawped at Joel, sat cock in hand, precum dripping in glistening beads from its tip. Your fingers unwound themselves from his head as he slipped his fingers from your heat, slick release coating your inner thighs. You stepped out of the remaining clothes that sat bunched around your ankles, and made for Joel’s lap, wide and inviting.

He leant back further, using both arms to hold himself upright, as you climbed across his thick thighs and sat on him. Your chest was at his eye level, and he took full advantage of such a fact, dipping his head toward your breasts and nipping at the swells. God, if only you had the foresight to see what you’d been missing out on this whole time.

You weaved your hand between your bodies, further down until you made contact with his cock. It was girthy and solid, the weight of it surprised you as you curled your fingers around its length, your thumb not quite reaching the other side of your hand. Hesitation zipped through your mind, questioning whether or not you could actually take him, but the visceral groan that met your ears was enough to dismiss any and all doubts.

Steadying his shaft in one hand and balancing yourself on your knees, you lined him up with you. He stared up at you, brows pinched and pleading, surely feeling the heat radiating from your core. Hands remained at his side as you made your descent, the stretch as you engulfed him inch by inch borderline painful, but oh so worth it. The gasp he let out as you reached the hilt of his cock was downright criminal, his face flashing with both shock and desire. You let yourself adjust to his size, the fire in your belly quelled for now.

“Don’t know how long I’m gonna last; been a while since I last-“

You’d rocked your hips as he was speaking, and in turn had unintentionally cut him off, your name interrupting his flow of words, jolting out of him as if it were the most obscene curse word he could muster. It was music to your ears. You’d never felt so full, packed to the brim with Joel, cock-drunk and giddy as though you’d been fucking him for hours. He’d not done so much as thrust, and yet he had you enraptured.

“You’re so tight baby girl, I can’t - Christ - I can’t think straight.”

You rolled your hips, not just once but repeatedly, making light work of the friction that the smattering of curls at the base of his cock offered against your throbbing clit. You mewled as you pushed your hips down harder, seeking as much purchase as physically possible, Joel twitching against your walls.

“Such a pretty girl, making me feel so good. Always knew you’d take me so well.”

If it weren’t for your state of bottomed-out delirium, you’d have questioned Joel on what he meant by always. Had he pictured this exact scenario before? Was it as good as he’d imagined it would be? Selfishly, you didn’t care. You had started to lift yourself along his length, finding a pace that quickly filled the dank room with a cacophony of moans. Your knees ached against the mattress as you brought yourself up and down repeatedly, thighs trembling once more. You couldn’t be contained; a woman unraveled. Joel dug his nose into the crook of your neck, breathing you in deeply, muffling his groans of pleasure with your shoulder. He filled you to such a degree that you could feel him pressing against your cervix, hard and wanting.

“That’s it, fuck yourself on my cock, sugar. Gonna squeeze the cum straight outta me, so g’damn tight.”

The crude description alone would’ve been enough to send you tumbling into your next climax, even without the swell of Joel’s cock inside you. You bore down and rutted against him, dizzy and blissed out as you sought out your release. You choked on his name as you came, bracing yourself against his tensed shoulders, milking his cock as your walls quivered and clenched around him. As you rode out your climax, Joel wrapped an arm around your waist, holding you in place. He lifted you ever so slightly, creating just enough leverage for him to buck his hips up into your pussy, chasing his own orgasm.

You watched as he set a ruthless pace, sloppily thrusting upwards, eyes screwed closed. The slapping sounds as his hips met your own nearly overpowered the guttural moaning escaping his mouth. “Cum for me Joel, p-please - fuck - please fill me up”, you babbled, too enthralled by pure lust to consider the consequences. You needed him to fill you, claim you.

Your begging tipped him over the edge, and with a groan he shuddered his hips up, painting the walls of your cunt with hot, thick ropes of cum. You could feel him pulse inside you with each spurt, the muscles in his chest and stomach tensing, shoulders heaving with strain. He pressed his damp forehead against your chest, still hard inside you.

“Don’t think I’ve ever cum so hard - damn near knocked me out, pretty girl.”

He chuckled, still panting as he spoke. You shifted your weight and leant against his shoulders as you lifted yourself off him and to your feet. No more than a minute after you had unsheathed him from your walls, his spend still dribbling down your thighs from your slit, did the ache return. It brewed inside you, bubbling low in the tender flesh of your stomach, freshly bruised from the frivolities you had just taken part in. The building pressure made you whine, and as you glanced at Joel, cock still throbbing and stood to attention, you realised that your evening was far from over.

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rafey-baby · 4 months ago

Text

hidden 5

outlaw!rafe x pogue!reader

c/w: mentions of murder & violence, barry making an appearance, closure on the hostage/stockholm syndrome situation, slightly suggestive, 18+ mdni!

wc: 3.3k

sooo this is the actual last part! (might write some blurbs for them at some point idk) thanks for reading love u <3

also him getting jealous was inspired by this ask

series masterlist

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

Consciousness drags her out of the comfort of her slumber, forcing her to blink her leaden eyelids open to Rafe’s heavy and very much naked body weighing her down against the couch cushions.

She can feel his chest expanding with each lethargic inhale he takes and she’s momentarily disconcerted while her entangled thoughts desperately try to make sense of her current situation.

However, all too soon, the memories of last night cause her to let out a tired groan. What on earth was she thinking? Why would she let Rafe of all people fuck her? And more than once. She can’t even recall how many times she—

Suddenly, she’s reminded of the reason she stirred from her state of dormancy in the first place when she feels Rafe’s sturdy abdomen pressing down on her bladder.

“Ugh,” she lets the back of her head hit the armrest before trying to pry him off, albeit to no avail. “Rafe? Can you...” she shoves at his shoulder once more. However, he merely takes in another sleepy breath.

“Rafe, wake up,” she tries again, this time pushing at his face that’s resting comfortably in the crook of her neck, which causes him to let out a drowsy hum before he’s pasting a palm over her lips to make her go quiet.

“Shh.” he silences her and she feels like slapping him because she’s about to pee on her couch and he’s hushing her.

Therefore, she has no choice but to wrap her fingers around his limp wrist and yank it away from her mouth with a huff. “I need to pee, can you get off me, please?”

He lets out a dozy grunt before groggily raising his head to look at her—squinting due to the daffodil-colored rays of sunshine peeking from the windows and appearing just as foggy as her a few minutes ago. Then, he rubs a hand over his face while mumbling something incoherent under his breath before finally removing his limbs from restraining her capability to move.

She merely mutters a quick thank you before getting up and scurrying off to the bathroom—hearing him slump back down immediately after.

- - - - - - - - - - -

After rinsing off the stickiness of last night in the steaming shower and changing into something comfortable, she realizes she’s starving. Hunger is eating away at her insides and along with the graphic recollections of her and Rafe’s late-night activities vividly jumping around her skull, she can already feel a headache lurking around the corner.

She’s in the process of cracking eggs on a pan when she hears Rafe entering the shower—the pitter patter of water droplets hitting the tiled floor following soon after. She then begins to cut up some tomatoes to add into the mixture, when all of a sudden, the doorbell rings.

She doesn’t think Rafe hears it since the water is still running in the bathroom, which is why she’s not entirely sure what she’s supposed to do. She figures that if it’s the police again, it would seem suspicious if it took her longer than normal to open it twice in a row now. Therefore, she turns off the stove and takes tentative steps towards the door.

Fleetingly, she wonders if she should simply act as if no one’s home since opening doors for strangers was what got her into this mess in the first place. However, at this point she doesn’t necessarily have the mental capacity to care.

She gingerly unlocks the door with her lip worried between her teeth and behind it, stands a guy with dark hair and eyes as brown as coffee beans.

“Where’s Rafe?”

And he doesn’t seem like a cop. But wouldn’t Rafe have told her if he was expecting someone?

“I don’t…I don’t know what you’re talking about. He’s, um, he’s not here,” she decides to play it safe, the lie clumsily rolling off her tongue. She can tell he’s not buying it.

“You sure? You, uh, you tellin’ me he gave me the wrong address then?” he wonders with a lazy furrow of his brows.

“Um, I don’t—”

“Told you to call before you get here Barry,” Rafe’s low rumble suddenly interrupts her—making a shiver trickle down her spine because him being right behind her, freshly showered, reminds her a little too much of his first night here.

“Country club! Was sure they got your ass already, good to see you not in jail,” Barry exclaims loudly and takes the liberty of inviting himself in as if her home has turned into a public building free for anyone to just come and go as they please. At least he had the courtesy to close the door.

He greets Rafe with a heartfelt pat on the back and she’s momentarily stunned when Rafe’s mouth twists into a smile that would be considered warm and genuine; something she’s never had the luxury of receiving.

“Why you didn’t tell me you were stayin’ with a princess?” Barry pushes at his chest playfully.

“Leave her alone, man,” Rafe rolls his eyes in annoyance.

“I didn’t do nothin’ just stating the obvious here,” Barry raises his hands up in defense and the unexpected compliment makes her suppress a smile.

“Whatever, jus’ get your ass here, I need your help,” Rafe grumbles while walking towards her bedroom—not even asking if they can go there because why would he?

“Ain’t nothin’ new about that,” Barry chuckles, revealing a golden tooth that glints under the light when he grins at her. And the familiarity in which they interact makes her figure they’ve known each other for a long time.

“We have to, uh, talk about some shit. So, go do somethin’ else, yeah?” Rafe looks over his shoulder at her.

“Right, um, okay,” she mumbles before turning around to return to the safety of her kitchen.

“Damn, Rafe. That how you talk to her even though she’s lettin’ you hide here?” Barry questions as he follows after him.

“Shit, man, can you just— let’s jus’ get this over with, alright? Don’t have all day,” Rafe merely mutters in response.

“Well someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed, huh?” Barry’s humorous tone is the last thing she hears before the door closes—leaving her to continue preparing her breakfast with a weary sigh.

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

A few days later, she hears Rafe’s voice from the living room while she’s thoughtlessly reorganizing her closet; folding shirts and pants and taking out clothes she no longer wears, since he still doesn’t allow for her to leave the house without him.

“Hey, come watch this for a second?” his tone sounds almost excited when she pads over to stand next to him before looking over to him for an explanation. However, he merely nods towards the television screen and turns the volume higher.

“And then onto some more interesting news. The charges for Rafe Cameron, owner of Cameron Development, have been dropped due to no significant evidence found to prove him guilty. However, the investigation is still open and the police are doing everything they can in order to find the criminal behind the devastating murder that has shaken up the entire island for weeks now. In order to ensure everyone’s safety, we hope that you keep your eyes open for anything out of the ordinary and…”

Everything after that turns into muffled background noise when her jaw drops.

“You’re lookin’ at a free man, puppy,” he turns to face her with a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“How did you even…” she’s momentarily stunned, words withering away while she blinks up at him in surprise.

“Don’t want you t’worry about it, alright?” he’s quick to dismiss her before clicking off the TV.

“I’m, uh, happy for you…even though you did kill the guy and—”

“Already told you, he wasn’t a good person ‘n an even shittier cop, remember? And m’gonna need you to never mention that shit again, you think you can do that?” he turns serious all of a sudden; looking into her eyes with a warning.

“Y— yes,” her voice falters when he steps closer.

“Cause if you can’t, I’m gon’ have to do somethin’ you won’t like, you understand?” he gazes at her with such intensity, she can’t do anything but nod with tense shoulders.

“You sure? Cause you’re kinda my only loose end here ‘n we wouldn’t want anythin’ to happen to you, now would we?” his tall frame hovers over her when he leans down to mutter out the words, causing her to flinch.

“No, I promise. M’not gonna say anything,” she squeaks out and means it.

Who would even believe her? After all, she doesn’t have any actual proof and even if she did, she thinks Rafe could easily just pay himself out of it—and she’s not particularly keen on finding out how far he’s willing to take his vengeance.

“Good,” he seems to relax some but a sense of dread washes over her anyway.

“But what if…someone threatens me or something?”

“Tha’s not gonna happen. You always worry so much, just chill out for a bit, yeah?” he shrugs it off with an air of indifference she wishes she could possess.

“But it’s a possibility. How do you know someone didn’t see us together when people were looking for you?” she asks with caution.

“Listen, if someone threatens you…you come to me ‘n I’ll fuckin’ kill them for you, okay?” he says with complete seriousness.

“What? No! That’s not what I meant at all. I don’t want you to—”

However, she’s interrupted by amused laughter bubbling from his chest. “M’joking. Stop being an annoyin’ pogue for one second, yeah? Think we should go out for dinner, hm? Let me, uh, thank you for your hospitality ‘n shit,” he says, smoothing a palm over his buzzed hair.

“Like at a restaurant? You and me?” at the notion of them spending time together outside all this, confusion tangles up her thoughts—making her forget all about her previous concerns.

“You’re so fuckin’ weird. Yes, you ‘n me. Who else? Can get whatever expensive shit you want too, how’s that sound?” he coaxes her to agree with the mellow tone he adds.

“Um, okay…sounds great?” she can’t really grasp onto his motives in the headspace she’s currently in, merely assumes he wants to be on her good side so she wouldn’t change her mind about opening her mouth.

“Great. Need to, uh, take care of some things over at Figure Eight first, but be ready at seven,” he almost makes it sound like a threat, even if he’s not trying to scare her with a gun anymore.

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

She doesn’t think she’s ever been at a restaurant this high-end, everything on the menu more than she could ever afford. Rafe practically demands her to not pay attention to the price and get anything she wants, however, it’s proving to be quite challenging while she scans over the list of dishes in front of her.

“You ready?” he asks with a hint of impatience.

“No, I can’t decide. There’s so many options and I don’t even know what half of them mean,” she mumbles out in distress.

“I’ll just, uh, order for you, yeah?” he suggests with a raise of his brows.

“Okay, thanks,” she graces him with a grateful smile, feeling out of place with rich Kooks all around nearly suffocating her.

Being here with Rafe, of all people, still feels strange. Not even a day ago, she was still practically held captive by him, even if the leash of his strict rules around her throat had loosened up considerably, and his overly aggressive tendencies had dwindled down to grumpy mutters and displeased glares over the course of the few weeks they’d known each other. Now, she’s only bound to him by this muddy, grimy secret that she’ll probably take down to her grave.

And despite everything he’s done to her, in some peculiar way, she’s beginning to understand him. Because against all her morals, in a killer, someone who other people would consider a monster, she sees someone simply trying to survive in the harsh world with the crumpled cards life has dealt with him. And she isn’t all too sure how far her feelings of care towards the man branch out but what she does know, is that she doesn’t want him to go to prison. No matter what he’s done.

And she’s never even met Rafe’s father, but she has this feeling that to be so violent and hostile, has to be learned from someone. Because no one is born evil, even if she wouldn’t necessarily describe him as that. In Rafe, she sees a boy who was forced to grow up too quick—someone with the burden of his father’s legacy weighing down on his shoulders with every breath he takes. Therefore, she can’t find it in herself to be entirely too upset with him for the way he treated her, thinks she can live with it, even if it was wrong.

“Are you guys ready to order?” the server’s voice pulls her out of her thoughts and makes her look up at a familiar face slightly covered by sand-colored curls.

“Y/N? Long time no talk! How you doing?” Lucas, a guy she had a fling with last year meets her eyes with his surprised ones.

“Oh, hi. I’m good. What a crazy coincidence, didn’t even know you worked here,” she forces out a strained laugh because had she known, she would’ve asked Rafe to pick another place.

“Actually, just started a few weeks ago. But since when do you eat on this side of the island?” he gives her a curious look.

“I don’t. Just a…special occasion and stuff,“ she steals a glance at Rafe who’s quietly observing their interaction with narrowed eyes.

And him talking to her right now feels entirely too humiliating because when she told Rafe about him, she assumed the two of them would never meet.

“Right…anyway, haven’t seen you at the surf shop in a while, you still work there or?” Lucas continues with an enthusiasm she can’t quite reciprocate.

It’s not like they ended up on bad terms—they weren’t even officially together to begin with—she just sort of withdrew from him because despite being an overall nice guy, she kept feeling like there was something missing.

“Yeah, yeah, I do, just had a little, um…family emergency and it was this whole thing, you don’t even wanna know the details,” she lies through her teeth, picking at the corner of her napkin as a distraction.

“I’m so sorry to hear that. Is everything okay now?” his jade eyes are sympathetic as he peers down at her.

“Yes, everything’s good. Think I’ll be able to return next Monday,” she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and tries to appear nonchalant.

“Cool…hey, I was actually wondering if you’d wanna catch up some time?” he scratches at the back of his head; seemingly nervous about her answer.

She blinks. “Oh, um—”

“You gon’ take our orders at some point or jus’ flirt with her for the next hour?” Rafe invites himself into the conversation with a scoff, tilting his head in intrigue.

And at that, Lucas finally turns towards him. “Wait a second, weren’t you just suspected for murder?” he asks with slightly wide eyes.

“Nah, they dropped the charges cause they were tweaking, I didn’t do shit,” Rafe huffs out, the lie rolling off his tongue far too easily.

“Oh, right, right. That must, um, suck.”

“Yeah, yeah, it does,” Rafe mutters, and him clearly trying to fight off a roll of his eyes doesn’t go unnoticed by her, even if she’s not entirely sure why his mood has suddenly turned sour.

Lucas is quick to fill in the silence that follows. “Right, so, what would you two like to eat?”

And after he’s left with their orders, Rafe turns to look at her with an annoying smirk crossing his features. “That the guy who couldn’t make you come?”

“Rafe! He can still hear you,” she hisses and looks over her shoulder; relieved to discover he’s already out of earshot.

“Don’t really care. That shit’s just embarrassin’ for him. What’d you see in him anyway? Seems like an ass,” he furrows his brows at her.

“You’re talking as if you’re any better?”

“At least made you come, no? Multiple times, may I add. Or you need a reminder?” he nudges her foot under the table—the self-satisfied smirk plastered on his face making her subtly kick him back. However, he merely wraps his fingers around her ankle, ceasing her futile attempt at bruising his leg with a chuckle. “You seriously jus’ tried to kick me? Didn’t seem to be complainin’ when you were beggin’ me to—”

“Rafe! Why are you talking so loud?” she whines, trying to release her foot from where he’s captured it. However, his grip is strong and she’s not getting free until he decides she is.

“Calm down, no one here cares. You pogues never know how to relax, do you?”

“I am relaxed!”

“Yeah, I can see that,” he taunts before finally letting her go.

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

“Can I ask you something?” she swallows something akin to sand in her throat—disrupting the sound of the silverware clinking against the ceramic plates while they fill up their bellies.

“Yeah?” his eyes flicker over to meet hers.

“After this, um, are we just gonna go back to our sides of the island and never talk again?”

“Tha’s what you want?” he raises his brows and she blinks; slightly taken aback by him not immediately answering with a yes.

“Um, I don’t…know. What would we even do?” she takes a sip of water to appear indifferent. However, she’s failing miserably.

“I mean, could think of a couple of things…” he trails off with a smug grin, causing her to huff out a soft laugh.

“Thought you didn’t hang out with pogues?” she narrows her eyes, trying to figure out if he’s even taking this seriously.

“Yeah, well, guess I could make an exception. After all, you did help a kook, so you’re not really a pogue anymore, are you?”

“Okay first of all, that makes zero sense and I only helped you, cause you were gonna kill me,” she states, lowering her tone towards the end.

“Stop saying that shit,” he hisses, looking around to ensure no one heard her. “Wasn’t gonna kill you, jus’ needed you to listen, alright?”

“Well, you could’ve been a bit more polite about it,” she rests her elbows on the table, tone accusatory.

“Listen, m’sorry, okay? That what you want me to say? A lot was goin’ on ‘n I wasn’t thinkin’ clearly. Sometimes it’s, uh, hard for me to control my anger ‘n shit,” he mutters out the last part, as if it’s difficult for him to admit.

“Yeah, I figured,” she’s smiling now, her attempt at making him feel guilty going down the drain because him trying to defend his behavior for once, is sort of entertaining.

A scowl covers his face at the realization that she’s merely trying to make him sweat for her own enjoyment. “You know, I still think I should’ve picked another house,” he grants her a lighthearted glare.

“Yeah, me too,” she nods in agreement.

And at the sight of her barely contained grin, he can’t stop his mouth from curling up as well—both of them quietly giggling at the entirely too bizarre of a situation, that for some reason, feels far too much like a first date. It’s almost as if they’re meeting for the first time all over again.

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otaku553 · 3 months ago

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New blorbo :)

Also a silly interaction with this piece

#cardcaptor sakura #eriol hiiragizawa #I wish I had the big hat big robe flowy cape drip. I wish #spoilers so don’t read further if you haven’t reached the end of sakura (looking at you whery)#but I enjoy him immensely and it makes me so sad to see how much he’s shipped with tomoyo #in old fanfics and stuff I mean.#like I don’t agree sometimes with the show’s direction of romantic relationships (rika and terada sensei come to mind)#but to me tomoyo is a diehard lesbian and you cannot convince me she’d be happy with Eriol #that aside I do think eriol is the most fascinating character and also a dead ringer for most of the traits I like in characters lmao.#if I had a nickel for every time I enjoyed a character who is mature for his age and has more power than he knows what to do with #I think a character study on him would be cool #like when did he realize he wasn’t aging. was his aging restricted because of his magic or an intentional choice from the memories of clow.#where does clow end and eriol begin and how much does memory contribute to identity #I’d really like to see a fic just about his interactions with fujitaka and the kinomoto family as well

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jesuistrestriste · 3 months ago

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nsfw (18+) cw : switch(sub leaning)!art donaldson, switch!fem!reader, art is a sensitive softie, dry humping, cumming in pants, mutual orgasms, fluff, porn with some plot

wc : 3.3 k

"Did you have fun?"

Art's words sound out softly against the background hum of his car's engine. You rub your hands together between your thighs, trying (and failing) to properly warm them up after being in an ice rink for over an hour. You look to him from the passenger seat and smile at his slightly eager-to-please tone, your cheeks burning from the cold. You should have worn a scarf.

"Yeah," you hum, "I did.. I haven't been ice skating in forever, it's been years.."

He laughs softly and nods, almost sheepishly, "yeah, same.."

It's the end of November, nearing the start of December, and tennis season is well over. Art still goes to the indoor courts pretty consistently, but he's decided to shift all of his focus to you now that he has the free time to spare.

The two of you met about a month and a half ago; he'd been rushing to meet Patrick at some restaurant near campus, and he had slammed right into you when he'd been looking down at his phone to text Pat back. Wide blue eyes met yours and his tender hands had come up instantly to steady you on your feet as he stuttered out at least five 'im so sorry's. Somewhere in between those apologies, he'd gotten ridiculously lost in your features. The way your lashes batted up at him, the soft smile on your lips, the way you chuckled at his idiotic carelessness.

And you had forgiven him pretty quickly, so that helped.

The whole thing was incredibly cliche; the both of you could see that now.

He'd gotten your number that day only because he had practically begged to get you a coffee sometime to make up for the whole ordeal. His wind-swept blonde curls and furrowed brow made him look just like a dumb little puppy, pleading with you to keep him and collar him, so it wasn't hard for you to rationalize giving him your digits then and there. He seemed genuinely sweet, unlike so many other guys at Stanford. You'd give it a shot.

Seven dates later, and you two were officially toeing the line between "what are we?" and "let's move in together". Art, in particular, was completely infatuated. He would always look at you like you were the only reason he was breathing and moving. It was a little bit insane how hard and fast he fell for you.

And so he resisted the urges.

The ones that would coil in his lower stomach when he held your hand, and the ones that would throb in his veins when he pressed his lips to yours. All of them. He'd move at your pace. He wasn't one to push.

You nod and smile, before you pull your clasped hands from your lap and attempt to blow hot air in between them. Art's car was taking longer to warm up than normal.

He watches you for a moment before he shakes his head and tugs his hands out of his coat pockets.

"I told you to bring gloves," he jokes lightly, reaching over to envelop your hands in his warm palms, his calloused fingers curling over yours.

Your face heats slightly, and you chuckle as you look down to his grasp on you. After a long beat, your eyes raise to look up to his again, and he swallows thickly before his left thumb strokes over one of your knuckles. The little touch, the gesture, is so him. Always wanting to provide and comfort, but never wanting to risk shaking the foundation.

He’s never made the first move, it was always you.

"Thanks," you breathe out, your gaze darting just momentarily down to his pink lips.

It's hard for you to ignore the way he quickly wets them while the tense silence hangs in the air.

Art's feeling a steady thrum of tightness in his chest. How is it that he still gets nervous around you? He's kissed you lots of times before now.

And yet, here he was: still shy, still tense, still nervous.

"No problem," he whispers, hearing his heartbeat pound in his ears, "is.. is this better..?"

A gentle nod from you is all he perceives before he feels the warmth of your lips press against his own, and the tension that’s been brewing all evening finally reaches its boiling point.

He melts into it instantly, into you; leaning in to breathe into your open mouth when you pull back for just a moment to tilt your head the other way. His hands leave their position around yours, and move to clutch your waist as he pivots in the driver's seat to face you more. He's never felt so on-edge in his entire life, the sensation of a familiar sort of hunger starting to ignite in his belly.

Your touch moves to the back of his head, pulling off his thick beanie and tossing it to the back of the vehicle as you kiss him with rapidly increasing passion. You feel his tongue slip out to lick over your bottom lip, and you slack your jaw to let him taste you better. He laves his soft tongue over yours, moaning into your mouth. You swallow that noise down, and the next one that comes right after; just like you always do.

He tastes faintly like sweet peppermint gum, which he had been anxiously chewing earlier on this particular date in order to self-soothe. You had just looked so pretty with the cold first nipping at your skin when he came to pick you up; it scrambled his brain on the spot.

"Ahh," he whines shakily as he feels you tug his head back, your left hand tenderly fisting his curls, "hngh.."

You hum and smirk before you lean in to lick over his neck. He has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop any more needy sounds from spilling out, and his hands pull at the sides of your coat. Shit, he can feel himself swelling in his jeans. For a second he thinks the zipper might pop.

Once your tongue finds his weak-spot, right below his ear, he's jerking forward in his seat and letting out a choked moan. His hips rise desperately, trying to seek out some sort of friction, but all he can feel is his cock rubbing against the inside of his briefs — not nearly enough to put out the fire in his gut.

"You okay?" you breathe out lowly between kisses to his pulse, "this okay?

He nods feverishly. A reflexive buck of his pelvis follows suit.

"Can we... I dont know-" you whisper against his skin, and Art thinks he might die. He's so keyed up right now, he'd do anything to get to feel you under all of the layers.

"Please."

And there it is. He couldn't even stop himself before the word was already out and drifting into the minimal space left in between your bodies. You pause your lips and pull back to look to his eyes.

A hand moves from his hair to his cool cheek. "I- I'm ready to do more... If you are too, I mean.."

He's nodding before you even finish; and his pupils dilate into big, black, iris-eclipsing saucers as his brows pinch up and he whispers back to you.

"I want to touch you," he trembles, "I really, really, really wanna touch you..."

You feel a sticky heat cling to the inside of your panties.

Ugh, he's always good at making you feel this way, even if in the past it was relatively unintentional. Sometimes he's been too innocent for his own good.

"Can I?" he whispers, breaking apart your thoughts, like the very syllables have been beaten out of the depths of his desires.

You let out soft sigh through parted lips, taking in the look on his face before you're crawling over the center console and into his lap. Your body settles comfortably over his thighs, and then your head bumps up against the roof of the car. You make a slight noise of surprise, ducking down with a soft giggle, and Art's right hand instinctively raises to protectively cup the spot on your head that had hit the interior. He looks up at you, letting out a breath of a laugh before lifting his brows to wordlessly ask if you're alright.

You kiss him again instead.

He gasps and swallows as he feels you further straddle him, and his hands move to start unzipping your puffer as he kisses you back. It's easier said than done when his hands are shaking, but he manages and then helps you shrug off the coat before it gets tossed into the oblivion to meet his hat from earlier.

A string of spit connects your mouth to his as you pull back, and he drinks in the sight of you above him; your thermal long-sleeve clinging to your skin so tight that he can see the outline of your bra underneath.

You lean in once more and kiss his jaw twice before letting your hands wander down to help him take off his own jacket. Once it's off and on the car floor with the other pieces of discarded clothing, your palms move up under his shirt to caress his bare skin. You feel his abdomen shudder as your nails graze the pale flesh there.

"Where do you want me?" he asks breathlessly, his eyes already glazed over with arousal and a wish to please you.

"Anywhere.."

".. Here..?"

His hands reach up to palm your breasts over your top, and he relishes in the soft moan it elicits from you. The sound of it rings out in his head and then he can't help but whimper as he leans into your body, his cheek to your jaw. Art's hands slither hastily under your shirt and then to your back before he fumbles with the clasp of your bra. You smirk softly and fondly as you feel him struggle, and you decide to maneuver your touch up to the back of his neck. Your fingertips tease the back of his hair. Teasing turns to stroking, and suddenly you're petting him to ease his nerves. If he had a tail, it'd definitely be wagging; you can feel him buzzing with eager energy all over.

Once the bra is popped open, he gently pulls back to look up to your eyes and then he's huskily whispering up at you, "can I take this off of you?"

"Yeah, take it off-"

He doesn't waste a second once he sees you raising your arms, nearly tearing the top in the process of getting it up and over your head. The bra comes off quick right after; he doesn't even notice that it's red (his favorite color). With how much is going through his head, it's a miracle he can even manage to undress you without losing it...

The moment that you're bare in front of him from the belly-button up, he sags back in his seat and takes you in. His lips parted in a gentle 'O'. "Fuck, fuck, fuck..." he moans lowly, his palms pressing to your lower stomach before they slide up and cover your soft tits, "you're so beautiful, oh my god.."

You moan when you feel him start to knead your breasts under his tender touch, nipples pebbling in response, and you roll your head back with pleasure.

"You're.. s-so sweet," you groan.

He squeezes your chest again before he leans in and presses a kiss to the right side, and a kiss to the left (it's only fair). He looks up to you through heavy lids before he surges forward with a renewed sense of passion and attaches his lips to one of your nipples.

"Shit-!" you gasp, and your hands tighten in his blonde locks, "ugh, don't stop, Art.. that feels nice.."

He moans around your squishy flesh and then his eyes flutter shut as he flicks his tongue over your bud and suckles. His mouth is warm and wet and perfect. His teeth brisk your sensitive skin.

A sharp moan slips from your lips in response, and then your hips jerk over his quickly. Just once; just enough. It's denim on denim, thick fabric dulling the sensations, but god- the pleasure bites perfectly at the both of you.

Art can barely process how good it feels before he's drooling around you over his tongue and rolling his own body up, trying to meet yours again. Wordlessly begging you to keep going.

Please, please, please do it again.

You breathe heavily and then rock down over his lap again, chasing the stream of electricity that it sends up your spine from your cunt. There's a mess of slick seeping from you as you push your clothed clit against Art's bulge, humping him like some sort of depraved teenager, but it's going to get you there.

Hell, it's getting you there quicker than you thought.

"Ooh, fuck," he hiccups out against your skin, releasing your breast from his mouth as his eyes fly open and then promptly roll back into his head, "ohh god, oh g-god.."

You rock a bit faster over him, a little moan escaping with each needy motion, and you move your hands to hold his shoulders for leverage. You feel him wrap his toned arms around your middle.

"Sh-Should I move too?" he gasps.

You can feel his thighs quivering.

If you really focus, you can even feel his dick throbbing in the confines of his pants.

"Yeah, ohh, yeah.. yeah, move, move.”

In an instant, Art's hips are grinding up to meet yours while his hands move urgently to hold your waist. He buries his face into your neck and tries to bounce you on his lap in his grasp. Up, down, up, down, over and over and over. Like he’s fucking you; buried deep inside your oozing pussy.

"you feel so good," he breathes out, hardly taking enough air into his lungs to get the words out, "this feels... f-feels so good.. ohhh-"

A few stuttered whines slip from your mouth and then you're working harder to press yourself further down over his erection, trying your best to relieve the scorching heat building in your core. More, more, more, you just need more.

"fuck me..!"

It tumbles from you unexpectedly, and the young man under you chokes on a guttural groan that's already halfway out. His nose crinkles with pleasure, and he swivels his hips harder to rub his boner against your crotch. He tries to speak, he really does, but all of the words get swept away on broken, strung-out whimpers that clog his throat.

You two are fogging up all four windows in his car, and anyone who's looking on from the outside will know exactly what's going on just from the shaking alone.

"Shit, you're gonna make me—“

Art cries out as he digs his heels down into the mat below the pedals; his toes curling as he registers the rapid feeling of boiling tension brewing in his balls, seeping out and pulling his limbs taut against yours. He's so close.

"—you're gonna- 'm gonna come—“

He tries to warn you, shuddering when he hears you squeal in response, and he has to force his eyes open and crane his neck back so that he can savor the sight of you falling apart on top of him when he tips over. A small part of him wishes he was being hugged by your tight, gummy walls; but this was perfect for now. It was what you wanted, so it was what he wanted too.

"Fuck, Art! I'm almost—!"

The sound of his name coming out of you like that sends him spiraling, his cock pulsing in his boxers with want.

"Me too, me too, oh god, pleasepleaseplease-"

You two are rutting and thrashing against each other like a couple of animals, breathing heavy and moaning as you both try to maintain eye contact in those split few seconds before everything fades away.

"Can I come?" he trembles, and you can see wetness glistening over his lash line, threatening to spill. He can’t say it now, but he's barely holding it all in.

For you, he'd wait.

Even if it felt impossible.

You speed up your humping, the seam of your jeans slotting perfectly against your swollen clit as the warmth of his cock sends you hurtling towards the finish line. You nod down at him, moving your hands from his shoulders to his flushed face, "yes, god, please come with me!"

It only takes three more snaps of his pelvis against yours before the both of you are gasping and crying out simultaneously as the hot coils burst loose; Art's back arching up from the seat as you curl over his chest and yelp. He's moaning, voice cracks and all, as his legs shudder under your seat over them. His hands fly up to hold you close, almost like he's scared you'll somehow slip away.

"fuckyesfuckyesfuckyes, please, god, i'm coming so hard..!”

He whimpers helpessly, feeling sticky heat bloom against his kicking length as each wave of his orgasm floods his system. It's wholly all-consuming, his vision whiting out around the edges before he has to squeeze his eyes shut and give up the sight of your face as you climax. He thinks he might legitimately pass out.

You're left wheezing over his lap, groaning pitifully as you feel a wave of slick and wetness drench your underwear while the height of your own peak ebbs, and you finish yourself off fully against his thigh as you come down. One of your hands reaches down to rub yourself over the soaked fabric, and you twitch before falling forward into his frame.

You both jolt a bit while the aftershocks keep you feeling pleasantly numb, but it's blissful.

It's completely and utterly blissful; it just feels right.

Him being so close to you, you being so close to him. Sharing something so deeply intimate and yet feeling so comfortable and so safe— it was like something clicked into place.

One of Art's hands reaches to your upper back, rubbing it comfortingly as he tries to steady his breathing.

".. Woah," he whispers in awe, fingertips tracing soothing patterns on your skin, "that was.. really.. haah.."

A little shiver passes through him and he then decides to cut himself off before he lets slip something dumb and ruins everything.

You gain some semblance of consciousness back and lift your head upright slowly, gazing down to him. His hair’s a mess, his blue eyes shining with low lids, and his bottom lip looks freshly bitten.

"That was really good," you chuckle breathily, finishing his sentiment for him. You were good at that- helping him feel whole.

He just nods and you get to watch his cheeks turn a deeper shade of red.

"I... I was thinking.." he starts, only to shy away from your gaze by looking down.

"Yeah..?"

You stroke his hair, pushing it back from his sweaty forehead.

"Well, I just, we've been, like, 'seeing each other' or whatever," his eyes reluctantly raise again to look up into yours, "and, I just thought that.. we might..."

"We might...?" you smile as you urge him to speak up for himself.

He can only muster a soft, shy chuckle at first.

"I just thought that we might be.. together.."

Your breathing catches, only for a moment, as the word—and the weight of it—sits heavily in the dense air being kept trapped in by the car's doors. Art swallows thickly.

"You wanna be together?" you whisper, barely audible.

He seems hesitant to answer that.

But he does anyway.

"Yeah, I do."

A soft smile creeps onto your face, and then you lean in to brush your lips against his. He closes his eyes in preparation for a kiss, but it doesn't quite come. They flutter back open, and his fingers twitch idly on your lower back.

Please say something, he thinks. He's holding his breath.

You murmur against his mouth, delicate and earnest, with a shrug almost gracing your shoulders as you speak to him. You want to let him know that he doesn't have to be scared to tell you what he wants.

That it's okay.

That you want the same thing.

"Okay.. then let's be 'together'.."

#🩷 - thirsts #fic #this was meant to be a drabble #but its basically a full fic whoops #im trying to get back into writing full pieces instead of short ones #also i never know exactly how to end fics like this lol #reader and art are just cheesy !#let them be cringe #art donaldson smut #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #art donaldson x female reader #challengers smut #challengers x reader

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