#he’s so bury your bones coded

[ierofrnkk]

i am not so confident as thee.

[gladiatorcunt]

🍒🍦 ⸺ ᳂ cherry vanilla dr. pepper !!!

cw: afab reader, voyeurism, tashi and you make out while you get pounded, weird amalgamation of dehumanization/objectification/pet play, subby!art coded, spit roasting at the end, slight overstimulation, bizarre orgy vibes, mean dom!tashi to everyone but you <3, implied breeding/creampie kink, canon typical mind games, tashi sits in the cuck chair /j, implied romantic feelings but no mention of established romantic relationships, slight mxm, clit stimulation, one use of “mommy”

happy challengers day 🎾💚

consider commissioning me or leaving me a tip !

“Round 4 will be the last one, alright? Get ready, baby.”

You take deep breaths, clutching onto Patrick’s wrist. You lock eyes with Tashi, feeling syrupy sweet deep in your gut. She grins and unbuttons the top buttons of her shirt, leaving you three to your own devices for now.

The stretch of Patrick’s cock stings and burns a little but Art nipping at your hip bones helps distract you. Patrick pants against the nape of your neck, you feel so divinely tight he thinks he’s died and gone to heaven.

He keeps his voice low so Tashi can’t hear him, “Fuck-you feel incredible, i’d kill for this pussy, you know that.”

“Hook your arm around their neck, good boy.” Tashi instructs Patrick, leaning back in the hotel chair and palming her pussy at the sight in front of her.

“Yes, ma’am.” He swiftly calls back, acting like he hadn’t said anything to you at all.

Patrick has you in a headlock, pummeling his cock in and out of your pussy with reckless abandon. Art is beneath the two of you, suckling on your clit like it’s a nipple he’s trying to get milk out of. He licks where you’re stretched around Patrick, drawing groans from you both and a chuckle from Tashi.

“Be a good dog and lap them up, okay? I’d hate to have to take away your toy privileges.” She sneers, sliding her damp underwear to the side and stroking her slit.

The “toy” in the equation isn't you.

You’re dead to the world, eyes bulging out of their sockets and nails trying to rip the white sheet to shreds. Your head and tits rock back and forth with Patrick’s thrusts, already on the brink of your fourth orgasm. You try to scream that you can’t take anymore, but you wanna make Tashi proud so you shut up.

“ ‘s so good…” Art hums into your mound, pecking little kisses onto it here and there.

His sounds are muffled but the vibrations send your eyes to the back of your head. The chair in the corner of the room creaks as Tashi gets up, and the second you lift your head and open your eyes, she’s smiling down at you with all the warmth she doesn’t give the men pleasing you. This isn’t about them, it never was.

“Patrick’s so big, Tashi-he’s unggggh-he’s gonna kill me!” You whine, desperately pawing at her clothed breasts.

She coos and pulls her blouse up, bringing your hands to cup her tits and keeping them there, “Baby you know he’s not, this pussy can take a beating. I’d only give you the best toys.”

You nod wordlessly, pouting your lips. She gets the message and claims your lips in a searing kiss, luxuriating in the slick slide of your lips. She loves to make it messy, getting spit all over your mouths and letting it drip on the bed.

Art mewls and flicks your clit, trying to get your attention. You feel bad and try to pull away from Tashi, but she yanks you back into the kiss and bites your lip as a punishment. You hiccup into her mouth, startled when Patrick starts jackhammering into you.

Tashi typically has them alternate, but Art prefere to bury his face between your thighs and Patricks likes to play with fire by cumming inside your sore cunt. He doesn’t speak as much as Art does, but sometimes he holds Tashi stare as you two make out. They’ll have to retire from Tashi’s “employment” eventually, and they’ll be taking you with them when they do. All games of keep away end.

Patrick traces letters and shapes on the glistening skin of your sweaty back, sloppy hearts and ‘ I - L - O - V - E - Y - O - U ‘ s.

You gasp and wrench yourself back to breathe. Art flattens his tongue and licks broad stripes over your labia. He nuzzles his nose into you, stopping to pant and take in your smell. He may be delusional, but he’s convinced that every part of you is so sweet. He honest to God can’t get enough, he’d lie in a puddle at your feet if you wanted him too.

Sometimes you feel torn when you fall into bed with your lovers. You’re too soft to be like Tashi, but that exact softness is exactly why you can’t handle being away from her for too long. Maybe you’ve fallen under her spell just like all the rest, but she puts her career on the line to prove how special you are.

Patrick pulls you up to rest your back against your chest. You let your head fall onto his shoulder and you moan when he adjusts the angle of his thrusts to rub against your cervix repeatedly. He wasn’t like this when the evening started, Patrick only roughens you up when you’ve been thoroughly run through and can take it with a dopey smile and glazed eyes.

“Keep going, it’s okay- want it-want you.” You cry out to Patrick, reaching down to caress his hip.

He smiles and licks your cheek, complying with your request.

Art grins up at you with his eyes, mouthing ‘That’s my angel, only for us.’ into the flesh of your inner thigh. He moves to Patrick balls and takes them into his mouth, bobbing them up and down with his tongue. Patrick moans as Art laves his balls in saliva. Art lets them fall out of his mouth, curling his tongue around the inches peeking out of your pussy and hollowing his cheeks out.

“Shit! Stop, ‘m gonna cum!” Patrick hisses through his teeth.

He either empties another load into you or he just refuses to cum if your pussy’s not available, period.

“They’re so hungry for it, aren’t they? Well, can he? Can our dog cum inside you, baby?” Tashi tsks, cupping your cheeks and bringing your attention back to her.

“Yes, yes, yes! He can cum inside-please let him cum inside mommy-i need it so bad-wanna be stuffed full with it!” You whimper and arch your back, jutting your tits out.

Tashi laughs and leans down to suck one of your pert nipples into her mouth, bouncing your other breast in her hand. Tears spill from your waterline down to her freshly manicured nails. Art has since gone back to sucking the life out of your clit, and the little wink he sends you doesn’t help you hold back your impending orgasm.

Patrick thrusts a few more times and then you’re cumming in sync. You go brain dead and your body locks up in his arms. You’re out of it for a good few minutes, and when you have full awareness again you see Art kneeling in front of you. He holds his dick out for you to gawk at, slowly pumping himself for your amusement.

Patrick hasn’t pulled out of your pussy but he doesn’t fuck you again, he jostles his hips to find the most comfortable position for his softening cock to plug you up.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” He huffs and pushes you back down on all fours.

“You need your mouth taken care of too.” Art whines and squeezes his cock around the base, beckoning you closer with a ‘come hither’ gesture.

Said man is tenderly and carefully bundling up your hair in his arm and casting it aside, giving him ample space on your back to pet. He rubs the pink tip of his cock along your jawline, he gives you a fresh coat of lip gloss via his precum as he slaps your plump lips with his cockhead.

“It’s kinda like sucking off a dildo attached to a mirror, don’t think too hard about it.” Tashi tells you, crouching down to suck the small divot in your back.

She sits back in the cheap black hotel chair, shrugging her blouse off and pinching her nipples.

You moan at the first taste of Art’s cock, longer than Patrick’s but with less heft to it. You peer out of the corner of your eye to see if Tashi’s still watching, and you feel silly when you realize that she always is.

“Doing good, baby, keep it up.”

But that’s the thing, they’re all watching you now. It’s not hard to be a pathetic bottom that needs to be coddled and tended to at all times. It’s never difficult to stroke the fire in someone’s ego, you’ve had an easier job of that than anything else.

You saw them all together on the court, you were there for lessons that didn’t work out. Who knows how long ago, it feels like a lifetime, but all it took was one look to recognize what was destined to be yours. You couldn’t give less of a fuck about Tennis in actuality, but you sure do love the players.

They all have hearts in their eyes as they watch you. Art with his dick deep down your throat, his legs are trembling as he tries to stop himself from fucking your face. Patrick, still making a forever home for himself in your guts, his eyes are so dark you have to repress a shiver. And Tashi, knuckles deep in her pussy, finger fucking herself to the pretty little show her baby puts on with their toys.

When the boys are asleep, you’ll bounce on her ribbed strap until you shatter all over again.

Now, Is it cheating to win a game when people don’t realize that you're playing?

- faetreides 2024. do not repost, translate, or put my works into ai

[gutsby]

Seeing Pink

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: Joel steals more of your innocence every day. Fortunately, you love to give as much as he loves to take.

Warnings: 18+. DD/LG—DON’T LIKE IT, DON’T READ IT. This depicts two consenting adults in a fictional setting! Freeuse & somnophilia with a pre-negotiated safeword. Unprotected p-in-v/a. Soft dom!Joel. Corruption kink (!!) Reading a Regency novel while fucking…for the culture.

Note: ***Spoilers*** for Jane Austen’s Emma. The book has been out for 208 years, but I wanted to give y’all a heads-up.

Word count: 4.4k

You woke with your pants around your ankles.

You don’t remember falling asleep that way.

In fact, you’d always taken great pains to follow the rules: ‘Don’t play while daddy’s away,’ ‘Clothes on if he’s gone.’ So to find yourself sprawled out on the couch, just as you’d been when you dozed off waiting for him to come home—sans bottoms—was unnerving, to say the least. Glancing at your hand, you found your book was still in it. Only the words were harder to read now that your eyes were bleary and the letters were all…jumpy. Jumping?

Bouncing.

As your mind made the slow, steady descent back into your body, you sensed you were rocking back and forth.

Someone was rocking you with the force of his thrusts.

“Daddy!” you gasped, nose half-buried in a cushion.

You were lying face-down on the old, weathered sofa, and you could feel your old, weathered man behind you. Inside you. Stuffing that tight, shiny space between your legs as he straddled your hips from above. His own hips made a soft click, click, click with every piston of his weary bones. He said it’d been that way since the day he’d turned forty. You just might’ve giggled if the sound hadn’t been paired with the chorus of a soft, wet, and sticky-sweet pleasure you knew to be coming from you.

The head of his dick then carved a delectable path to the center of you, like he’d made it himself. You whimpered.

“‘M’sorry to wake ya, bug.”

You could hear his voice was strained.

Daddy never got a head start on playtime unless his day had been particularly rough—unless he really needed it.

Unless he saw pink in your hair, and knew this was okay.

It was your own, secret language, of course. A silly idea brought to fruition by an even sillier admission: when Joel had told you one night that there were times he just wanted to use your body to feel good. When his big one had been at work for hours, and you were so invested in your book and just couldn’t bear looking away, or you’d fallen asleep—would it be alright if daddy put himself inside you for a little while then? I’ll be nice and gentle.

The code was a pink satin bow.

When you tied that ribbon in your hair, Joel knew you were giving him permission to use you as he pleased.

And then there were other ways to make sure he only did what you wanted to do, even in this special ‘scene’; if it ever got to be too much, or you just didn’t want him to be in you or on you anymore, all you had to say was ‘cinnamon’ and your playtime stopped right there. Joel made sure of it every time, and he didn’t make you wait.

When you’d fastened the satin in your hair that night before nestling down to read, you hadn’t expected him to be taking you up on it, really. He’d been so tired lately.

“It’s alright,” you told him, while the air was knocked out of your body through the place he kept pounding you.

“I-I missed you, daddy.” You added, a bit sheepish.

At that—or perhaps just feeling your walls pulse around him—Joel groaned. He placed a broad, callused palm over your spine and held you steady while he fucked you.

“I missed you…more, sweet girl.” And it sounded like a confession. The smallest sliver of an apology: ‘I know I haven’t been here as much as I’d like to be—I’m sorry.’

You’d accept that attempt at making amends, and any other kind Joel would try to proffer, in a position like this. With his hand on your hip and the small of your back, wet member gliding back and forth between your folds, you felt useful to him. His sweet girl. No better thing to be.

Him filling you, and then you, in turn, filling the whole living room with your soft, staccato whines. So nice.

So kind of him to spend his days toiling in the heat to put a roof over your head, a book in your hand, and the silkiest, comfiest pyjamas that money could buy—pooling around your ankles now, but you didn’t mind.

You dropped the novel so you could use your hands. Try to lower your touch to the curve of your cheeks, then spread yourself open for his eyes to drink you in: your tight, dripping hole getting stretched around his cock.

That was what you’d wanted to do, anyway. What Joel liked to see, ostensibly. But the second your fingers lifted from the book, he tightened his grip and shook his head.

“Keep readin’, baby. Looks like you’re close to the end.”

You didn’t know what to say. His observation was correct; you were ten pages shy of completing Emma—but why finish now? Why read when he was right here? If you ever spread your legs while you read it was because you were too engrossed in the plot, and Joel needed release. It was rare he made the suggestion himself.

As if to answer your questions, he wedged his cock even deeper. Confirming his wants with a gentle authority:

“You do like your book, don’t you, sweet pea?”

He’d bought it just weeks ago. You nodded, emphatic.

“I— I do, daddy! I do. I just…” you trailed off, trying to find the right words while his cock made you dizzy with pleasure, “Just…like you better, is all. Wanna feel you.”

You suspected that would work. From the rhythm of his hips, you guessed he’d be likely to assent at any second.

Then he didn’t.

Joel picked the book up and pushed it back to you.

“You can feel me just fine with your eyes on the paper. You did say you wanted to read to be more like a…?”

Uh.

Your brain blanked.

Then you remembered.

“Like a big girl,” you said, in a breath.

Those had been your words. Hardly of note to you now, with your cunt so happily occupied, but ones that Joel wasn’t ready to dispense with yet. Not when you’d been so eager to read these last weeks, to try proving yourself.

You braced your knees against the leather. Tried to shift yourself slightly while Joel kept knocking you back, again and again, with his balls slapping hard against your rear.

Then he slowed, and lowered himself, and came to rest with half his weight blanketing your soft, prone body and his face closer to yours. He kissed the shell of your ear.

“You do wanna get fucked like a big girl, don’t ya, baby?”

And he drove his cock in all the way down to the hilt.

You felt him in your tummy. Your fingers trembled as you reached for the book again and tried to nod your head.

This was a game you liked. An angle Joel loved. A dynamic between you two that turned your insides to syrup and your mind a soft, compliant puddle. He’d shown you what kind of treatment big girls get, and you felt your body wilt with the idea. Joel was laying overtop you now, hips rutting mindlessly against your ass and his arms sliding under you. Grazing the skin and feeling your breasts and telling you again, ‘You can show me, baby. No need to be shy. Daddy’s right here. You’re alright.’

Now it wasn’t so much the command which compelled you but the praise in that sweet Texan drawl. The patience. You could feel him stiff and hard and aching, but he was disciplined enough to wait—let you take your own pace now and show him, in your own special way.

You opened your book to the last page you’d read. Joel stroked your hair, and he kissed the edge of your cheek.

“You’ve made it so far, baby,” he said, admiringly, “Barely been two weeks and you’ve already finished it, nearly.”

You nodded. You let him play with your hair and graze your soft skin with his lips, and when his hips had stilled, you tried not to betray your disappointment. Daddy just wanted to see you could behave—you definitely could.

Even if all you wanted him to do was hold your body to his and fuck you senseless, make you cry and whine and squeeze all down his big, leaking cock while you came for him, you could stay calm. Good girls always did.

Big girls knew how to listen, and when to hold still.

“I like it…like it— a lot,” you told him, and you knew he knew there was more to those words than just the book.

With his hands still underneath you, Joel propped you up to rest more comfortably against a pillow. He slid one hand down your tummy and in between your legs, while the other kept squeezing your breast—tweaking the pebbled nub between forefinger and thumb and feeling you squirm under his touch. You gripped your book tight.

“Keep readin’, sweet pea,” he encouraged, words gentle, “I’d hate to be the one…distractin’ you from all the fun.”

How he could be so calm while talking such nonsense was beyond you. Maybe he’d grinned, too. You didn’t have the strength to peek behind you while his index started rubbing between your folds, and your walls clenched tighter. You wanted to wriggle your hips for friction, but as it was, you knew what you had to do.

You had to try.

At first you read a couple words. A short fragment of a sentence. You yearned to get more, really digest what the passage was attempting to convey—a friend of Emma’s getting engaged, as it was—but prospects were poor. Joel kissed your neck and toyed with your wetness and made you want to whine from all the tension within.

His cock was nestled deep. The smooth, bulbous head had found reprieve near the cusp of your cervix, and with every flick of his finger, it was like you could feel him sinking deeper. Kissing the most intimate parts of you while you had only to breathe. And think. And try to read.

“Learnin’ a lot?” Joel hummed in your ear.

You bit your lip and nodded. He knew you were full of it.

Your legs were now trembling around his hand and your eyes hadn’t moved so much as an inch across the page.

“Enjoyin’ yourself?” he pressed.

“I— I— yeah. Yeah,” you whimpered.

“What’s been your favorite part to read?”

Not this one, that’s for sure. You swallowed.

“W— When…” Again, your mind was wiped of all memory.

“When…”

His index drew a slick, pretty lemniscate on your clit, and you wanted to cry. But you had to keep trying. For him.

“When— when Frank finally shows up,” you huffed.

“Frank who?”

“Frank Churchill. He’s…Emma’s old governess’s stepson. He visits for a little, and then Mr. Knightley gets jealous.”

You were out of breath. Joel was trying his best not to smile behind your back, but you could feel him now—there, and between your legs, making speech a struggle.

“Who’s he?”

The man sounded like a father with all his sweet and calm curiosity. Like he wasn’t balls deep in your heat.

“Old family friend. But he…he’s got a thing for Emma.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah—” And you had to pause to swallow. Suck in a breath when Joel nosed your cheek and told you softly, ‘Doin’ so good for me’ “—but he doesn’t know it at first.”

You felt encouraged by Joel’s words. Enlivened by the pulse of his cock inside you, and pushed toward release with every circuit of his fingers. He was treating you well, making sure it felt good no matter how much he teased.

And then he reached up, leaving your poor little clit to throb all on its own. Something caught between a moan and a plea—‘Joe-el’—bubbled deep in your throat. But Joel was too focused on the book in your hand; he had a wet, sticky finger flipping the page in a second. He’d turned it back, to a passage you had marked in pink.

The sight of the line you’d highlighted made your cheeks heat instantly. That made you want to wriggle away.

Joel held you closer.

“Why’d you mark this, honey?”

Again with the loving, probing tone. You couldn’t bear the thought of explaining your reasoning here. Not now.

But he urged you to read it. Pulled your body nearer to his and kissed the side of your head, while his body blanketed yours and his words were spoken as gentle as ever. He wanted to know what it meant. Why you’d marked it in pink, no less. No diffidence would do.

You balked. Blinked. Remembered that big girls listened.

‘If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.’

And when you said it, it almost felt like telling him yourself. Your grip loosened from the book as soon as the words came out of your mouth, leaving Joel to hold it

“Knightley said that to Emma, did he?”

His eyes were scanning the page, eyes alight and lips smiling. From between your legs, you felt full, and yet nothing was more hollow or harrowing than presently hearing this man chuckle at the words that had made your heart swell in your chest that night. It felt belittling.

And not in the way you liked. Joel reached for your chin to tilt your face to him, and when you mumbled a short ‘yes’ to his question, he softened his hold. He hummed.

“I’m sorry, baby. ‘M’sorry. Knightley’s sweet, isn’t he?”

He nudged your cheek with his nose.

“Uh-hm,” you said, low. Ignoring the urge to be mature.

“Sweeter’n daddy?”

“Maybe.”

Joel grinned again. He shifted his weight. You were just about to tilt your head more, when he sat up completely. You felt his pelvis prod the flesh of your ass, and he left your book to you. He readjusted his grip on your hip in his hand while he used the other to knead your skin.

You keened at the change of angle—feeling the friction between the coarse grey hairs at the base of his tummy and the swell of your bottom, the brush of his manhood.

“Yeah? He treat Emma like this?”

And, to punctuate the question, Joel withdrew himself to the tip and slammed back in. He groaned with pleasure.

“Daddy,” you hissed, and he started sawing back and forth, gently like before, “He just…I— I— I don’t know.”

“400 pages in and they still haven’t fucked?”

“Daddy!”

“What?”

“They don’t do that. Mr. Knightley is a…a…gentleman.”

His thrusts were shaking you again, and you struggled to hold your book. Joel kept his motions shallow. Teasing.

“Is daddy not a gentleman when he does this to you?”

You could’ve laughed at that question. You did, a little bit.

“Plenty gentleman-ly, daddy,” you giggled, “Plenty.”

“Good,” Joel returned, swift.

Then, without warning or ceremony, he spit in his hand. He slicked his fingers with the stuff and sank his index and middle fingers between your cheeks—right above the hole he was stretching with his cock—and pressed.

You jumped, still getting fucked face-down, but now with the tips of Joel’s fingers circling a tiny ring of muscles.

His favorite to tease you with, of late. He leaned in.

“Even here?”

But before you could respond, and while thoughts of love, betrothals, and Georgian-era decorum were still floating through your mind, you felt one finger breach your hole. As his cock continued to slide messily, greedily inside your cunt, you let out a whine.

“Da-a-ddy.”

He knew what it would do to you. What it always did. Particularly when he was taking you from behind and telling you sweet and dirty things. Making you feel it.

You hardly knew what else to do but hold your book to your chest and purse your lips, sensing a familiar sting.

“Did men like him do this to sweet little girls like you?”

“I— I—”

“Or is that just daddy?” He pushed the finger deeper.

Your tender, yet-empty hole sucked him in like a dream. You almost couldn’t believe how quickly you spread for him, having only gotten touched in that new, precious place with just the tip of his thumb before. It was tight.

And tighter still, with Joel’s cock gliding in and out of your cunt and his finger sinking further in a hole he’d never fucked. You pressed your cheek to the couch.

“Go on,” Joel urged, gentle, “Use your words.”

You tried. You parted your lips and squeezed a nearby pillow for support, and Joel even pushed your book down flat on the sofa in front of you so you could see the words more clearly. Focus on those instead of his finger.

He pushed in to the second knuckle, and you whined.

Your mind was blanking again. You had only to say:

“He’s…like you, daddy. Knightley’s kinda…like you.”

Joel didn’t hamper the path of his index, but he did slow his hips. He let them peter off to only the gentlest of thrusts, while the motions of his finger flowed like a white-hot stream between your legs. Petting that tender little ring while diving in and out, swiftly, and teasing.

He stoked the flames of desire inside you with each new touch. He flattened his one free hand beside your book, anchoring himself a comfortable height above, and while you tried stealing a glance behind you, he peered down. Reading—or appearing to, anyway—as he fucked one hole with a gentle resolve and caressed the other. You’d never felt more full, or fucking insane to feel more of him.

Before you could even venture to beg, though, Joel said:

“How are we alike, honey? Tell me.”

You almost wanted to cry as his finger wiggled deeper. You had to answer, though. Recollect as best you could.

Stammering only the slightest bit: “He’s, uh, o— older.”

“Older?”

You could feel the smile start to stretch again overhead.

“Yeah. Emma’s twenty-one and he’s…a-almost forty.”

Presently, Joel’s smile morphed into a chuckle. Low.

“Almost forty? That must make me a fuckin’ fossil, then.”

“No!” you squeaked. And just when you had, Joel’s finger breached your hole straight down to the last knuckle. He let it rest while you squirmed, then dragged it out a little.

“I only—” You quickly tried resuming, but your brain was fried. Your body was limp, and all you could feel, or think, was the slow, sweet, and wet sensation tingling between your cheeks as Joel pushed his thick finger in and out, “—only meant he’s a bit more…experienced…than her. Knows her better than just about anyone, and he— he—”

Made you think of Joel. Made you dream of your own fifty-something lover situated amidst a world more than two centuries old, rousing the most romantic notions. You felt silly. You wanted to bury your face in your hands, were it not for the fear that your cheeks might sear them.

It didn’t matter, at length. Your sweet old man ensured it.

“‘S’okay, little bug. It’s alright. Makes me glad to think you’re thinkin’ of me while you read,” he told you, calm.

He stroked your hair. He stalled his hips, momentarily. And just when you thought you might’ve mustered the courage to speak to him yourself, you heard him again.

Except it wasn’t a word you heard—just a wet noise.

A glob of spit hitting the small of your back and sliding down, crawling slow between your cheeks for Joel’s warm, waiting finger. He withdrew the digit, and then he smeared his saliva all over the place he’d pried you open. Likely knowing you’d be too stunned to talk, he went on.

He worked his finger back in, now coated with a sheen of spit: “Always readin’…feelin’ new things, ain’t ya, baby?”

You nodded, and you scarcely even knew it.

“Only natural it happens like that,” Joel assured you, soft, “Daddy teaches, and you learn…and learn…like a big girl.”

With each new word he wanted to drive home, he pushed his finger in. Dragged it out. Curled it gently, as though beckoning you to him, then watched you rut your hips at the feeling of needing more. He sucked a breath through his teeth when he felt you ooze more, warm.

Nectar trickled down his length while your lips above were drooling, too. Your face was smushed to the cushion below, and your hips were tilted up, desperate.

“Daddypleasejustfuckit—fuck—now,” you cried out.

In all the time you’d been together, Joel had never heard you beg like that. The sound was gratifying to his ears, and his cock grew even stiffer inside you. Just barely checking himself, he moved his other hand to your hip.

Squeezing.

Trying to chide your lack of manners, your swearing.

“That ain’t how you ask daddy nicely, little lady—”

“Just make it full like my pussy, daddy, please.”

Though it was clear you knew better than to interrupt the man mid-sentence, you had used your ‘please,’ at least. Joel was strong, unyielding, in just about every place but the one between your thighs—and with words like those, he had only a moment before his primal drive kicked in and he wouldn’t be able to say no after that, for anything.

He would try to sound stern. Gruff, even. Mumbling something or other about how you had to be sweet to get this dick where you needed it, but the truth was that Joel couldn’t wait much longer for you, either. He caved.

He withdrew his finger, quick. Grabbed your hips. Spit.

Spit again. Smeared again. Felt perfectly depraved making this mess, but you seemed to like it all the same.

“Need daddy to teach you that, too?” he asked, hasty.

“Yes. Yes. Yes,” you answered, helpless.

“Yeah? Teach you how to take it up the ass?”

“Please, daddy.”

“Dirty fuckin’ girl.”

He smacked your ass, just before poising his tip where his finger had been. He would’ve liked to drag it out. But as it was, the old man was probably four pumps shy of blowing his load; you were all but melted on the sofa.

Joel couldn’t deny it drove him out of his fucking mind to see you like that. Legs spread, slit wet, eyes glossy and listless and so wholly bereft of any other idea in the world but the need for him. It made him sick. He loved you so much. And he’d show you, in ways that any mentor worth his weight in salt was apt to do: he let you feel it.

Slowly, at first. Just the tip made you flinch, and your teeth grit together. Joel found your hand and held it.

“Nice and slow—you’re doin’ so good,” he said.

Even if you didn’t feel like you were in the moment, he always made sure to let you know how much he liked it. How nice you felt stretched for him, how good you took it, and how he had no doubts his girl was made for this.

“Made for me,” he added gently, feeding you some more.

And when he surmised from your soft, strangled sounds that this change was a lot, breaths fast, he knew better than to press again. He pulled out and turned you over.

He had your legs over his shoulders in no time at all and, afforded this new view, was delighted to find a trace of a smile still on your lips. He kissed them. Then he tried to make it fit again. He felt you tremble and held you closer.

“That’s it—that’s my girl—almost there.”

“C’mon baby, just a little bit more to go.”

When you keened at the stretch over halfway through, he brushed the hair from your face and kissed your forehead

“I know. I know. Keep goin’, little one. I know.”

Like he knew what to say to get you the wettest you could be. Your eyes winced, and your cunt dripped a dizzying amount—leaking liquid heat down your slit to coat Joel’s tummy, his overgrowth of hair, and your aching hole, of course. The whole thing was taking you out of yourself with every thrust, and your fingers were laced tight in his. Letting him shower you with kisses.

“Daddy’s so mean for doin’ this, isn’t he?”

He was teasing again, nipping at the hinge of your jaw and pressing kiss after kiss while he stuffed you full. Your eyes were ablaze and fucked-out of their mind, as it was, but still, you managed to smile when he spoke it so soft.

“Not— not mean at all, daddy.”

“You sure?”

Joel wedged himself in to the hilt and grinned back.

You might’ve whined, but you felt too full. Euphoric.

“Uh-huh,” you breathed, head reeling, “I like it.”

“How much?”

Your gut clenched with the punch of his thrusts. Lids fluttered as Joel trailed his tongue up your cheek—another mindless, feral tendency he had close to climax. He held your face and fucked you tender as ever, and when the feeling in your tummy grew and grew and almost bloomed, he slipped his tongue in your mouth. Groaning when your teeth met the muscle and bit it.

“I love it, Joel,” you corrected, panting against him.

He could’ve spanked you for saying his name—breaking character was your favorite way to get punished—but, at present, the man didn’t have the strength to do a thing. He just nodded, and grinned, and licked into your mouth and drove his dick so far up your body that he could’ve sworn he’d grazed your lungs. You kissed him again.

“I love you��” he groaned.

“I know, daddy,” you smiled.

“—so much.”

“I love you more.”

He spilled his warm, thick seed inside. You came undone. Your bodies melded and rutted together in a few last shuddering bursts, and with Joel pinning you down, kissing you more, guiding your lips against his own in a wanton tumult, you felt it—contentment. Full pleasure.

Another soft, dizzying, cum-drenched lesson with daddy.

You had to bite your lip to keep from laughing when Joel reached for you next, expression all smug and beaming.

Licking the sweat off your cheek like the freak he was.

“Did I ever tell you pink is my favorite fucking color?”

anyway this was my irl reaction to reading That Line for the first time:

#needthat

[erwinsvow]

𝐬𝐮𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥

summary: you were a pogue, and now you're a kook. just like how once you were no one's, and now you're rafe cameron's.

author's note: here it is!!! imagine like s1 rafe with the s2 hair, and basically just having a former-pogue girlfriend through out the whole season. i just think rafe would actually be such a good boyf, he just needs someone to settle him down when he gets a lil crazy. follows the sequence of s1 until about 3/4ths down, where i just started making stuff up. you might read this & think no one would act like this.. and that's fine, i know they wouldn't, but this is a self indulgent story for rafe <3 part 2 of the other seasons maybe? enjoy!!

now spinning: black beauty by lana del rey (soooooo rafe coded! he just needs a hug and some pussy!)

word count: 13.5k

warnings/tags: wheeze is a toddler for no reason. reader isn't the biggest fan of the pogues at this point in time. smut: oral (f receiving), fingering, degregation, use of daddy, rafe calls reader kid because <3, lemme know if i forgot something!

“So that’s it? Really? Your mom is marrying a Kook and you’re moving across the island… just like that?” John B speaks to you as if you had any choice in the matter. You look at him sadly, but you’ve cried so much the last few days, it’s hard to find any more tears.  

You want to tell him, want to explain everything. The way your mom has been so lonely for years, ever since your dad passed away. The way she would pull double-shifts every week just to make sure you had the nice, trendy shoes and hot dinner every night. The way you grew up in the cut but it never felt any different than growing up in figure eight, because she took care of you.

And now it was your turn, to take care of her. Blake Richards was rich, and he wanted to take care of your mom, which meant for the first time in a long time, she would be the one being taken care of. And you owed that to her, you owed that much.

“I-I don’t really have a choice, John B. I mean, this is my mom. And she’s getting her chance to be happy. I can’t ruin it for her.”

“Yeah, I get all that but, like, does this mean you’re gonna go full-Kook on us? Because I think that would just be disturbing,” JJ says, and you crack a smile, even as you feel a tear spill down your cheek. 

“I don’t think I could ever go full-Kook.” It comes out quietly, a notch above a whisper.

“Hey, hey,” you hear John’s voice again, as he stands up to get closer to you. You feel embarrassed, the way your cheeks flush and heat up when he’s only a few inches away from you. He wipes the tear away with his thumb. “No crying, okay? Nothing has to change.”

The way he says it, you almost believe him.

“Right,” you say, still quiet. There’s a sob stuck behind your throat, and you don’t want the boys to know how upset you really are. You’ve stitched up these boys more times than you can count, set shoulders and bones and nursed bruises for them. “Nothing has to change,” you repeat, trying to convince yourself. Everything was about to change, starting with your relationship with them.

And that’s the one thing you wish could stay the same. Deep down, no matter how many times you were teased and laughed with, there was a part of you, buried away, that thought you would end up with one of these boys one day. Sweet John, funny JJ, smart Pope. Well, maybe not Pope. You’ve seen the way he stares at Kie, even when no one else notices.

But John and JJ, the possibility of being with one of them always lingered in the air. Even when they’re flirting with tourists or cracking so-called boy jokes that you just wouldn’t understand, you always thought they were your endgame.

If only you knew. 

Pope and Kiara drive up, just as you’re wiping away another tear. You’re dreading repeating everything to them, shedding more tears. 

౨ৎ

“Who is that?” Topper asks, eyeing some girl entering the club. Rafe was getting sick of Topper crying over every pretty girl he saw on the street when he was supposedly dating his sister. He hardly cared about Sarah, daddy’s favorite, but that was his family, and he wouldn’t tolerate disrespect to his family. 

“She must be fresh meat,” Kelce says, “I’ve never seen her before.”

“Tourist?” Topper questions. Rafe downs the rest of his drink. 

“Nah, man, see that guy ahead of her? That’s Blake Richards. My dad works with him, he’s a big finance guy. He’s a widower, but I guess not anymore.” 

“Step-daughter? Jesus,” Topper says. “It’s like a cheesy porno. But I wouldn’t be surprised if he married her mom to tap that, I mean-”

“Enough,” Rafe snaps. “Shouldn’t you be in a fight with my sister?” Topper blanches. 

“I mean, look at her Rafe. That is something special,” Kelce says, and then finally, Rafe lifts his head to look at you.

You look… confused. Your head is turning, taking in everything about the club, like you’d never been there before. A waiter comes up to your family with tall glasses of water, little pieces of cucumber and lemon floating around in them with ice cubes. Richards—your step-father—takes a glass and hands it to a woman who can only be your mother, with the same hair and complexion. Before he can take a glass to hand to you, you take it from the tray yourself, smiling and saying thank you. The waiter, some teenage Pogue, blushes at your affection.

When you start walking, continuing the tour, the waiter turns to look at you walk away, gawking like men do when they see something pretty. Rafe feels an overwhelming urge to punch the kid, and cover you up with his jacket. 

You’re not in anything too immodest, compared to what he’s seeing girls at the club walking around in, but it feels like it’s too much for the leering eyes that follow you. Your jean skirt comes down a little less than half-way to your thighs. Your shirt is white, with puffy sleeves and little buttons that tighten around the chest.

He sees a glimpse of cleavage, which makes his chest tighten uncomfortably, not in the way he’s used to when he sees a pretty girl. He wants to take his shirt off his back and slide it onto you, buttoning it up all the way and making sure no one else looks at you the way he’s looking at you right now.

“Rafe?” his friend calls, and he’s not sure which one. In your glancing, you turn towards Rafe and you lock eyes for a second. You must have noticed him staring. You probably think he’s crazy, but he doesn’t seem to care much at the moment. Your mother must have beckoned you, because you turn away in a second, walking towards the older couple, trailing behind them again.

“Be right back,” he says, leaving a confused Topper and Kelce behind him at the table. He cuts through the tables near the bar, entering the walkway where your family is already, but coming out of the other end. He gets there just in time to run into Richards, who’s leading the little group.

“Hi, Mr. Richards, right?” he says, holding his hand out. “Rafe Cameron.”

“Oh, Rafe, hi,” the older man replies, shaking his hand. Rafe grips hard, making sure Richards doesn’t think he has a wimpy handshake. Otherwise he’s never gonna agree to what Rafe has in mind. “I haven’t seen you in years, I mean you were half your height last time I was over at Tannyhill.”

“Crazy, right? Well I just wanted to say hi since I ran into you. How’s, uh Benny and Brax?” 

“I can’t believe you remember them, they haven’t been to Kildare in years. They’re good, yeah, Benny’s in California now, and Brax is out at law school, at Oxford.”

“Oh yeah, international law, right?”

“Yeah,” Richards says, smiling wide. “You’ve got quite a memory, son, I’ll have to tell Rafe when I see him.”

“Oh yeah, he’s around here somewhere.” Then, he makes his move. He turns his gaze to your mom first. He thinks about it briefly, but if he addresses you before her, your mom will be on guard. He knows how their minds work. “I don’t believe we’ve met before, I’m Rafe,” and he shakes your mom’s hand, but turns back to Richards for the introduction—something else in his little cheat-sheet of rules. Let dad do the talking, so he feels like he’s in control. 

“Rafe, this is my wife, Anna-”

“Nice to meet you, Rafe,” your mom smiles at him sweetly, and he smiles back. 

“-and my step-daughter.” You smile, and hold your hand out. He shakes your hand, gently, and looks at your face, because he can tell the smile is forced. He wonders why. 

“Nice to meet you.” he says, and you smile that forced way again.

“You too, Rafe.” You let go of his hand, and it’s good, because if he held on any longer, the adults would get suspicious.

“First time here?” he questions, still looking at you.

“Yes,” your mother answers, laughing, if not a little uncomfortably. “Is it that obvious?”

“Nah, it’s a lot to take in, I remember that much.” Richards smiles at him, almost beaming. He knows Rafe has been coming here since he could walk. That means the old man appreciates him trying to comfort his new family. Another step closer.

“It is,” Anna says, looking at her daughter. She has those worried eyes, the one Ward’s new wife won’t stop looking at him with. 

“Well, it’s the perfect place to be all summer. I mean, pretty much everyone our age is at the pool or the courts.” At his mention of the both of you, you look up from staring at your shoes quickly to looking right at him. He smiles. You don’t smile back. 

“Really?” Richards asks, still openly friendly.

“I mean yeah, Mister R, I remember Benny on the golf course, like, everyday. And Brax, I mean he practically taught half of us how to swim.” Richards nods and laughs, continuing small talk about his sons. Rafe sneaks another glance at you, and you look back knowingly, like you can smell his intentions from a mile away. 

“Honey?” your mom asks quietly. “Do you wanna go with Rafe?”

“What?” you reply quickly, surprised. You weren’t listening, and he tries hard not to laugh.

“Well, I can take you ‘round, introduce you to everyone. I’ll finish the tour if you and Mrs. Richards are heading up to the course?” He nods at the golf clothes your parents have on, that you are lacking. 

“I think that sounds great, right, honey?” Anna presses, and after you lock eyes with her, you nod in agreement.

“Yeah, sure,” you say quietly. Rafe smiles again.

“Great, great, yeah. Well, it was great to see you Mister R. Missus R.”

“Thank you, Rafe. Kiddo, you can ask for the car to go home when you’re ready, okay? Your mother and I are going to get dinner here.” Anna looks up confused, probably wondering how they’ll get back.

“I’ll call someone to bring the car back, honey,” he explains, and your mom smiles.

“I can also take her back,” Rafe interjects. “Tannyhill is the same direction, and I’m headed back anyways. If you wanna leave the car here.”

“Really, Rafe, that would be great, thank you.” You look even angrier than before, but the plastic smile spread over your face doesn’t faze them.

“Right, thanks, Blake. Bye mom,” you say, and then lean over to kiss her on the cheek.

You watch them walk away, chewing your cheek and turning back to Rafe with anger splashed all over your pretty features. 

“I can’t believe that worked on them,” you tell him quietly, smiling when your mom turns back to look at you before they turn the corner. Your parents were too gullible sometimes.

“Yeah, me either, kid.”

“Don’t call me that,” you reply right away. “And despite what you think, I’m not touring this place with you. I’m probably never coming back here after today.” You start walking away, in the opposite direction of your parents, when he chases behind you.

“Y’know, I don’t get you. Every girl your age lounges around here all day, and everyone else wishes they could.”

“Well, you know what they say,” you start, smiling sweetly, though he sees through it again. “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop.”

“Really?” he shrugs. “Never heard that before.”

“Yeah, you wouldn’t have.” 

“Come on, you’re not even giving me a chance. You don’t even know me.” You laugh at that.

“Yes, I do, Rafe, you just don’t recognize me.” You continue your brisk pace, looking for the exit and getting closer. He reaches out to grab your forearm, holding you back for a second. He guides you into the corner, between the hallway where there’s no one else around.

“Yeah, that so?” Rafe is almost caging you in. He’s so close you can smell his cologne and the scotch on his lips.

“I’m from Kildare, Rafe.” You try to break free of his grip, but it proves even harder than you thought. He holds you in place without even breaking a sweat.

“No, no, no, because I know every pretty girl in Kildare. And you’ve definitely never been here before, so-”

“Really? Even the ones from the cut?” You thought that would be enough to get him to drop your arm, but he doesn’t budge.

“Huh. So that’s why you’ve never been here. Old Man Richards married a Pogue and made her daughter into a Kook? Did I get that right?”

“I’m not a Kook,” you say, squirming, because you still don’t want to be trapped by him. His cologne smells good, your mind wanders and thinks, like ocean air and sandalwood. You snap out of it at once.

“Not yet, you’re not.” 

“I’m not going to be, either. A little money isn’t going to change anything for me.”

“Yeah, yeah, kid. That’s what everyone says, ‘til it does.”

“Rafe, let go of me, I said let go-” And he does let go, quickly, and your arm falls. Faint red marks appeared when he was holding on, what can only be a bruise tomorrow. He’s marked you, and you’re not half as angry as you would have thought. 

“Come on, kid, we’re finishing this tour. I promised,” he says, and the last bit is so mocking, you can’t believe mom and Blake fell for his act. 

He takes you around the entire club, shows you the restaurants, the spa, the pool. At least a handful of girls stare at the two of you walking side by side, but Rafe doesn’t look back at anyone. You don’t know how to feel about that.

The oldest Cameron isn’t a mystery to anyone in Kildare, but you don’t know anything about him besides what the boys have told you. JJ hates him, naturally, John doesn’t let you look at him in passing, and even Pope can find a few bad things to say. But right now, he’s not doing any of those things you would have expected once he found out you and your mom are from the other side of the island. The crude jokes and gold-digger comments are nowhere to be heard.

But you can’t write him off completely yet. After all, this is Rafe Cameron.

He finishes the tour on the golf course, so you can wave to your parents on the course. You’re sipping on a lemonade through a little pink straw, and he finds it hard to look away when your cheeks hollow to draw up the liquid. Your mom and Blake wave back, and you smile—genuinely—for maybe the third time that morning. 

“They’re good together,” Rafe comments, on the walk back to the front door, where his truck is waiting. 

“Do you really think that?” you ask quietly. You’re tired, he can tell, drained from trying so hard to make sure he knows you hate him. 

“Yeah, kid, I do. He’s been a widower basically my whole life. And he married your mom, so he must really love her.”

You can’t tell if he’s just saying it to get on your good side. You hope he’s not. Through all of this, all the crying and the suffering and how much you miss your old life and your friends, if your mom doesn’t at least end up happy, it’ll all have been for nothing. You feel more tears brewing.

“Thanks, Rafe,” you end up saying quietly, as you put on the seat belt in the passenger seat of his truck. His music plays softly in the background of the drive - rap, something you've heard before but can't place - back to Blake’s house. With your window down, you stare out of it and try to pay attention to the breeze in your hair rather than the entirely overwhelming scent of Rafe, which is all-consuming in his car.

Rafe turns to look at you every few minutes. You look perfectly in place in his car, leaning against the panel with your eyes closed. That means you trust him, even though every word you say makes him think otherwise.

Your eyes flutter open when he puts the car in park, outside the door to your house. 

“Home sweet home, kid,” you hear his voice in your ear, but he sounds closer than he should be. When you turn to look, he’s leaning over you and so close to you, you feel the heat radiating from his body. 

“What’re you doing?” you ask quickly, heartbeat picking up and rocketing off. 

“M’just getting the door for you, kid.” His arm flexes, only an inch or two away from your chest, pulling the handle and swinging open the door. He leans back into his seat, smirking. “Why, what'd ya think I was gonna do?”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding in and swallow uncomfortably. Your throat feels dry and your palms are suddenly clammy.

“Nothing.” 

“Sure. Whatever you say.”

You climb out of his car, shoes hitting the ground a little too hard. He strains his neck, trying to make sure you’re okay. 

“Thanks for the ride,” you say, not meeting his eyes, closing the door behind you. 

“Anytime, kid. I’ll be seeing you around.”

You thought he would take over the second the passenger-side door was shut, but he doesn’t. He stays and watches you fix your skirt that had ridden-up on the drive, and walk into the front door, glancing behind you, just for a second, before going inside. And then you hear the roar of the engine, only after the door was closed and you were safely inside.

౨ৎ

You didn’t take it literally, that you would be seeing him again. Rafe seems like the type to play with his toys and get bored before long, but true to his word, you see him days later. And to his luck, you were feeling even worse than the first time you met him.

The morning started like any other—showering in a bathroom that’s just yours, and no one else’s, and attached to your bedroom. You can hardly remember the years when your dad was alive, but after he passed, you and your mom moved into a tiny two-bed, one-bath with your mom’s best friend. You were there for the next five years, until she got married and moved out, and it was just the two of you. But even in all the years since, you’ve never had your own bathroom until now. 

You shower as long as you want, whenever you want. Your room is in a completely different hallway than the master, where Blake and your mom sleep. You blast music at night, singing along off-tune from the bathroom, and would stay on the phone for hours with your friends. If anyone answered your calls anymore. 

It’s been three weeks since you broke the news to everyone that you were moving. Two weeks since you actually moved. One week since Rafe walked you around the country club and drove you back home, like you belonged to him. In that time, you’ve driven down to the Chateau twice, walked by Kie’s house, which is now just a few blocks away, and texted multiple times—all with no responses. At first you panic, thinking something’s happened, but then you realize this was what always happened. When you’re off on an adventure, you don’t think about who’s waiting for you back at home.

That’s what’s running through your mind when you run into Rafe again that day.

You had showered without interruption, taking your time doing your hair up just because you felt like it. There was no work to be done, no chores assigned to you anymore. Breakfast was always prepared when you went downstairs, so you took your time getting ready now. 

You missed a lot of things about your old life, but the limited time and constant rushing and anxiety were not among them. 

Your clothes were picked out with the anticipation of seeing your best friends again, your favorite overalls from the thrift store—which had been bought when you were still two sizes too small for them, and had been baggy on you until last year, but they were such a steal your mother refused to let you put them back—and a yellow shirt to match your ratty, yellow converse. They had been washed so many times they were more brown than yellow, but it didn’t matter much. 

This outfit was the old you, and it brought up feelings inside you that nothing in figure eight could change. You wore it because you wouldn’t look any different to your friends in this outfit, and for maybe a few hours, you wouldn’t be the girl in the fancy house with the country club membership anymore.

“You look nice, sweetie,” your mom says, when you head downstairs. She’s drinking her coffee at the table, your step-dad nowhere to be found. It’s eleven in the morning and she’s just woken up too, in her robe and slippers, and you smile, watching her more relaxed than you’ve seen in years.

You swing by her side of the table to give her a kiss, and steal a piece of toast from her plate. You’re relieved she doesn’t mention your clothes, not when she keeps offering to take you shopping with Blake’s money, which you keep refusing, but is getting more tempting every time you step in a puddle in these shoes.

“Thanks mom, I’m going to see the boys and Kie, I’ll be back later, don’t wait up!” and with that you’re gone, before you can discern the disapproving look in her eyes. 

Your junky old car, older than you by several years and still somehow the nicest thing you own—used to own, a voice chirps in the back of your head—is hidden around several fancy cars in the driveway. It’s intentional, you’re sure, and likely your mother’s doing. Nothing embarrassed her more than you handing out constant reminders of your old life to everyone around you.

And then you’re on the way to the Chateau, windows down and no music, since there was no way to connect your phone and the radio was busted by Pope a year ago, who claims he was trying to fix it. 

But it’s what happens when you get there that embarasses you the most—no one’s there, and no one will answer your call. You wait around for a half hour, trying to see if they come back, but they don’t. 

And that’s when it hits you. They were off on their adventures, and you weren’t just down the street anymore, which meant you weren’t invited. You get back in your car and slam the door, humiliated, tears falling down your face and probably ruining the makeup you had done, stupidly, this morning, because you wanted to look nice for them, like your old self for them. You don’t realize until later, after you were done crying, and seen Rafe again, that your friends didn’t want to bother you while you were adjusting to your new life. 

You feel betrayed, and the words that John had told you rattle through your head, because he was wrong. Everything had changed, and nothing would be the same. 

You take off, heading back home. There’s a big storm brewing and your Accord gets dramatic in the rain. It’s not until you cross the border back into figure eight that you realize two things. One, that you had just thought of your new house as home for the first time. And two, that you had never felt more alone. 

There’s not much to do about either of these feelings, besides stopping for the biggest bowl of ice cream you can reasonably carry back home, and eating it in your room, crying and watching You’ve Got Mail for the hundredth time.

So that’s what you do, pulling into the ice cream shop closest to home. Your car also doesn’t have the greatest functioning air conditioner, and you don’t need any more questionable stains in your seats, considering how many times JJ had borrowed it and returned it, promising you it’s nothing and that that spot in the back seat was always there!

In line, tapping your foot, calling your mom’s cell. Your eyes are puffy and your nose is red from crying. She’s not answering, but the unspoken rule of your little family is to always, always call when you’re getting ice cream in case the other wants something. You’ve only been gone something like two hours, and you can’t imagine what she’s doing that she can’t answer your phone. You dial Blake’s number, hoping he answers instead, and while it’s ringing you realize it’s your turn to order. You haven’t even looked at the menu yet. 

You turn to the people behind you, telling them they can go in front, but when you look up from your phone, you almost drop it. 

Of course it’s Rafe Cameron behind you. Of course. Who else would it be? Who else would keep catching you at your lowest moments? He’s with a little girl, who can’t be older than four or five, with dark hair and glasses, holding his hand patiently while staring up at you, while you stare at him and he stares back.

“Rafe, she said we can go in front,” she says, tugging on the hand she’s holding. 

“Yeah, Wheeze, I heard. Let’s go order and then thank this nice girl for letting us go ahead, right?” The little girl nods, and follows him up to order. Rafe looks back at you but then your step-dad answers, so you turn away, cheeks heating up. You don’t want him to see.

“Hi, what’s going on?” you hear his voice through the phone, sort of staticky and jumbled. 

“Hi, Blake, I just wanted to ask if you and mom wanted ice cream? I’m at the place… yeah, the one near the house.”

“Oh, yes, let me ask her, one second-” You hear him put the phone down, or cover the mic, and then, “Honey! Kiddo’s asking if you want ice cream.” 

You feel yourself soften a little bit at the nickname. And then you hear your mom and Blake talking back and forth, for what feels like ages. The girl behind the counter looks at you with a glare and you try to look back at her with an apologetic smile, but you’re a little fed-up from the emotional turmoil you’ve just endured. 

“Hi, sweetie, I’m okay, I had some at the club with lunch and twice in a day is just not a good idea-”

“Just get it, who cares? We can have it later tonight too-”

“What if the power goes out? It’ll melt, and then it’s just a waste of money-” Crap. You hadn’t thought of that.

“We have generators for that.” Blake picks up the phone again. “Hey, kiddo, get your mom her usual and make sure you use the card I gave you, okay?”

You hang up the phone, smiling, and then order. It feels weird, being oddly comforted by someone other than your mom or your friends for once. In your distraction, you don’t see Rafe and the little girl hovering near the freezer window that showcases all the ice cream they offer. When you’re reaching for the shiny black Amex, you hear him again. 

“I got it, kid,” Rafe says, pressing his matching card against the reader and pushing your wrist down and away. He does it so easily, without trying, just like he did in the country club. You look up at him stupidly, brain not registering what he just did and why he did it, and you don’t move for a moment. You don’t move until he leans down a little, close enough to smell that enticing cologne again but not nearly close enough. 

“I think the words you’re looking for are ‘thank you’. And you should probably get out of the way.” You blink back up at him, and he’s smirking again. You feel kind of stupid, the way he’s talking to you, but you also don’t mind as much as you thought you would. The girl behind the counter yells out Next! and that’s when Rafe takes you by the arm, just above where he had bruised you, and moves you away himself.

“You okay, kid?” he asks, and you feel yourself melt like ice cream left in your car for too long. You don’t know if he really means it, or if he really cares, but you do know Rafe Cameron needs to stop talking to you like he likes you, or you’re going to be in trouble.

“Fine, yeah. Thanks, uh, thanks for the ice cream.” You’re still blinking slowly, stupidly, stuck in a daze. You should really get it together around him. It’s a little pathetic if a strong grip and a couple of nice actions gets you acting like this. That’s a problem for another day right now.

“Is she okay, Rafe?” the little girl asks quietly from beside him. 

“No idea, Wheezie. Why don’t you sit and eat your ice cream?” he replies, and she sits down a few tables away, beginning to shovel chocolate ice cream with a tiny wooden spoon.

“Hey,” he says, and you begin to snap out of it. It’s raining outside now. You hear the pitter-patter of the drops on the roof. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yes. I am. I just had a bad morning. Sorry.” But you don’t know what you’re apologizing for.

“Well, are you gonna talk about it and shit? ‘Cause I don’t know you that well yet but you’re kinda freaking me out right now.”

“I-I…I just-”

“You, you, you just?” he mocks, and then when tears fill your pretty eyes and he sees one slip down your face, his own eyes panic briefly. “Hey, hey, I was just joking, kid-” He pulls out a colorful chair for you, and sits you down next to Wheezie, who is still eating ice cream at an alarming rate. Your ice cream is ready at the counter, and he brings it down next to you, holding his own strawberry cone in his hand. 

“Hold this for me Wheeze,” he says, not really asking, and the little girl shakes her head right away.

“How’m I gonna eat mine then?” 

“Wheezie,” Rafe says, in a voice that you haven’t heard him use before—and then you realize how stupid you sound. You’ve talked with him twice, you don’t know anything about the voices he uses or how he sounds when he’s talking to this girl who can only be his little sister. 

“Can I have some?” Wheezie propositions back, and Rafe nods. “Okay!” she says, taking a bite of the scoop with her front teeth.

“So, y’gonna tell me what’s going on or am I gonna have to guess everything?” 

“My friends, I just keep missing them, or they keep missing me, maybe. I just wanted to see them. It’s really lonely here, that’s all.” You’re staring into his eyes, his really, really blue eyes that are currently a little alarmed and concerned, and the fact that they’re that way for you is making you a little dizzy. 

“Yeah, I get that. Sorry, kid, that’s the lay of the land, right? Not a Pogue anymore, are you?” 

“I don’t know what I am.” You feel silly and embarrassed for pouring your heart out over ice cream with Rafe Cameron. He doesn’t know you, and he never will.

“Well, right now you have a choice. You can sit here and eat ice cream with us, or you can go home and cry about it alone. But if you choose the second one, Richards and Anna will see you, or hear you, and ask about it. And I’m not gonna keep asking if you don’t wanna talk. So pick one before this shi-stuff melts, okay?” 

You nod dumbly again. You’d like to turn your brain off and let Rafe decide for you. 

“I need a spoon.” He smiles, not smirks, for a second, before getting up to get you a spoon.

A few things float through your mind while you eat ice cream with the Camerons. First, Rafe remembers your mom’s name. Second, Rafe doesn’t swear in front of his kid sister. And third, and most important of all, Rafe Cameron cares about you.

“That’s a lot of ice cream,” Wheeze, or rather—as you’ve just learned—Wheezie, comments.

“I was feeling really sad,” you reply, shoving another spoonful into your mouth, watching the little girl eye your peanut and chocolate ice cream inquisitively. “You’ll understand someday.”

“Boy problems?” she asks, and you can’t help but crack a smile. Rafe looks up from his phone momentarily 

“Not really, but a good guess. This would also apply to that situation.”

“My sister’s always got boy problems.”

“Really?” you ask, and then look up Rafe. “You have another sister?”

“Yes,” he says, in between licks of strawberry ice cream. You should really look away when he does that, because your heart rate is picking up. “And she’s even more annoying than this one.”

You laugh while Wheezie frowns.

“If I’m so annoying, why do you always take me for ice cream, huh?”

“She’s got you there, Rafe,” and you resist the urge to look at him, even when you can feel his eyes on you. 

“Because you wouldn’t stop asking, dork, that’s why.” Wheezie shrugs in reply.

“I’m not gonna finish all of this. You want some, Wheezie?” you ask, offering her your spoon. She looks back at you smiling, and then at Rafe for permission, who nods.

She digs into the pile left, while you finally give into the urge to look up at her brother again. He takes another lick of his ice cream and you look away within a second. 

“Been eating that for a while, haven’t you, Rafe?”

“Yeah.” 

Somewhere in between Wheezie eating so much of the ice cream so quickly that she gets a brain freeze, and Rafe finally tossing his half-eaten cone into the trash, it’s time to go home. And as much as you hate to admit it, you don’t want to leave. The rain is coming down hard outside, a preview of the impending hurricane.

“Drive here, kid?” he asks, as your feet hesitate by the door. 

“No,” Wheezie answers, “I came here with you, dork.”

“Not talking to you, kid,” he replies, rustling the top of her hair with his hand, getting an ugh, Rafe, in response.

“Yeah. Yes, I drove here. But my car doesn’t do so good in the rain.”

“Huh?” he questions.

“It’s old, okay. Junky. The AC is broken. And the radio. Sometimes she just stops, y’know?” You gesture to your blue car parked out front, the rusty, tiny sedan two spots down from his shiny truck.

“No, I don’t know. Richards lets you drive around in that thing?”

“She.”

“It’s a car. Barely, at that.”

“She has a name, okay. HoHo. That’s her name.”

“Alright, well, you’re gonna have to ditch the hoe, because I can’t let you drive home in a hurricane in… that.” You turn to glare at him. “Her, sorry.”

That’s how you end up soaking wet in the passenger seat of Rafe’s truck, Wheezie secured in her booster seat and Rafe even wetter than you are. He drops you home and says the two of you can go pick up your car tomorrow—if it’s still there, he adds at the end, leaning over you again to open your door. You stare at him dumbly again, which has now become a bad habit, and it’s not until Wheezie says you’re getting her wet in the back that you finally climb out and close the door. You stand behind the front door with your mom’s melted ice cream in one hand, and your phone with Rafe’s contact saved in the other, wondering what exactly just happened. 

౨ৎ

The next few weeks pass through as quickly as they came. Your car—to your chagrin and your mother’s joy—does not survive the hurricane. Blake gives you a fancy, luxury car to drive around in that he just had laying around, which you don’t believe for one second. But, your mom is pleased when you actually start driving it, and you can actually listen to music from your phone and enjoy air conditioning and the most luxurious of luxuries—a backup camera. 

The night of the ice cream shop incident, Rafe texts you. You were completely ready to wallow in bed, waiting for the text from him that never comes, drowning your sorrow in more ice cream, but he does text you. First and right away. 

R: Is it wrong if I hope hoho drowns tonight?

that’s so mean. she never did anything to you.

R: She’s kinda ugly. And what was that about no ac?

so she deserves death????

R: The impound lot at the very least

if she dies, it’ll be because YOU manifested it

R: Never thought I’d believe in that manifesting shit, but here we are

did Wheezie eat dinner after how much ice cream you let her inhale?

R: No.

R: Ur fault. You gave her yours

you gave her yours too

and btw, I offered her a bite. she ate the rest. not my fault

R: She’s five, genius

R: I’ll come around noon tomorrow. Sleep tight kid

౨ৎ

Somewhere in between picking up your car—which entailed no less than stopping for lunch, even more ice cream that you can’t stand to watch him eat, and driving through town to see how bad the damage from hurricane Agatha was, and altogether three hours together ending with a wet, heated kiss in his truck with the windows fogged up—and today, you’ve been with Rafe more times than you can count. 

And you try hard to suppress the thought that it’s just because he’s available, that the availability is the reason for your attraction. And then you catch yourself trying to justify why you want to see Rafe so much, this guy that you had just been assuming was bad because your friends told you he was bad, without much in the way of an explanation. 

But Rafe is the furthest thing from bad. He’s so sweet to you it makes you delirious. He picks you up all the time, even when you tell him you’re just at home, and your car is right there. He pays for everything, he opens every door, the gentle but teasing way he is with Wheezie makes you even more head over heels.

But most important of all, he calls you first. He texts you first. He makes you feel wanted, and you definitely, definitely, want him, so you don’t think twice before saying yes to accompanying him to Midsummers. 

You actually don’t know what it really is, besides for a big party. It was always one of the worst nights at the hospital—litters of teens with alcohol poisoning and from car accidents— so your mom would be working. When you turned eighteen, your mom paid for classes to become a junior nurse, and so busy nights like the one of Midsummers usually was, you would get called in too. So before this week, you’d never spent Midsummers doing anything other than cleaning wounds and fetching suture kits.

You tell Rafe this and he looks at you strangely, another of his looks you hadn’t seen before, with furrowed brows, and you flush and apologize, regretting even opening your mouth. 

You know you’re deeper than you thought when he takes your head between his hands and kisses you—messy, with tongue and spit left glimmering over your mouth, so much so that he wipes the corner of your mouth with his thumb when he’s done. 

“Go get yourself a pretty dress, and we’ll have fun, yeah?” You nod stupidly again, the way you’re prone to doing around him. He must have realized you get a kick out being told what to do by him, what to worry about and what to focus on. 

You finally take your mom up on the offer to go shopping. Her and your step-dad are going to this thing anyways, but you can tell she wasn’t completely sure you’d go to something so Kook-y, maybe not just yet, and she doesn’t want to push it since your mood finally seems to have picked up. But then you tell her Rafe asked you to go with him, and the two of you smile and jump around the living room, laughing like kids. She’s happy for you and you’re happy that the two of you are happy at the same time.

Rafe sends you money for a dress—enough money to pay for a month’s rent at your old place. Your mom says your step-dad insists on paying. You feel like things are coming together for the first time.

You wander the stores, trying on different dresses and feeling like a scene out of a movie until you finally find the perfect blue dress. Blue for Rafe’s eyes and his suit jacket, because you’re not embarrassed to admit to him that you want to match for Midsummers. It’s patterned with little flowers, ruffles and lace moving in the wind when you twirl, and for once, you stop feeling like you need to pick a side to be on—Pogue or Kook—and you decide just to be Rafe’s for now.

The night of the party, Rafe offers to pick you up, but you tell him you’ll come with your parents. They’re both wearing shades of peach and salmon, the three of you together look like you’re headed to a baby shower, which you and your mom laugh about in the car ride there. 

You text Rafe to let him know you’re there, and tell your parents you’re going to walk around to find him. When you glance back, they’re talking with some of Blake’s friends, people he had invited to the wedding.

You see, what you can only think, is a glimpse of Pope, in his usual waiter get up, but he disappears before you can see where he was. His father is still there, though, and you make your way through the crowd to get near him.

“Hi, Mr. Heyward,” you say, smiling and unsure if he’ll recognize you. You don’t think he’s ever seen you in anything but your overalls or scrubs. 

“How can I help yo-wait, is that you, well I’ll be damned. You’re blending right in, aren’t ya?”

“Well, it took long enough.” You suddenly feel embarrassed, because he knows the old you, the one who wouldn’t be here in a million years. “Do you know where Pope is? I thought I saw him, I just wanted to say hi.”

“He just went off that way, but if you see him, tell him I still need his help over here, just like I did before he walked away—”

“Can I help with anything?” you ask quickly, but he shakes his head and tells you the direction Pope went in.

You follow it generally, trying to see where he could have gone in such a short time. But then you see all of them, and you can’t stop your feet from running over. Kie, JJ, and Pope, all standing and talking about something, but you don’t really care about interrupting. Kie’s all dressed up too, and you suddenly don’t feel so embarrassed.

“You guys,” you feel yourself gushing. “It’s been so long,” and you go in for a hug with each of them. 

“Wow, god, you look so pretty,” Kie says, and you hug her again. You don’t realize how much you missed her. 

“You too, Kie,” your smile is so wide it starts to hurt. “Isn’t this so weird, all of us here at this party? Where’s John B?” you ask, looking around. 

“So weird,” JJ says, and you notice the bruise around his right eye because he’s turning to look at Kie again. 

“JJ, what the hell happened to your face?” JJ doesn’t answer, he actually doesn’t say anything at all, which should have been your first sign that something was wrong. You look at him quizzically, before turning to Pope.

“Pope, your dad’s looking for you, I just went over to say hi-”

“Oh crap,” he says, heading back in the direction you just came from. “Sorry, be right back.”

“W-what the hell is going on?” you question Kie and JJ, searching for any answer, desperately hoping that it isn’t we don’t wanna tell you. Your phone goes off, twice, and you pick it up. The look on your face must have been beyond palpable to your friends.

R🧸ྀི: Come inside the house

R🧸ྀི: Got a surprise for you

“I-I gotta go inside,” you say, looking at the confused faces of your friends.

“What’s inside? I thought-”

“No, nothing, I don’t know, Rafe just asked me to go inside, and I haven’t even seen him yet-”

“Rafe? What, Rafe Cameron?”

“Y-yeah?”

“What are you, with him, or something?” JJ asks, and you feel your heart fall into your stomach.

“I-I yeah, maybe. I’m here with him tonight, he-” Your phone goes off again. “I’m sorry, I have to go find him, but I’ll come find you guys right after, okay?”

You leave the two of them there, looking at each other confused, looking at you like they don’t recognize you. And it stings, for a moment, until you get inside the mansion and find Rafe hanging out by the entrance, nursing a glass of scotch and eyes lighting up when they see you. 

Everything with him is like that scene from that movie. Lights go dim, you walk in slow-motion, the room goes quiet. He watches you walk up to him and his eyes take in everything—your pretty hair, your dolled up face, the way your dress moves when you walk, and most of all, that you’re here with him. He reaches his hand out to grab you by the waist to bring you in for a kiss. It’s not like the others, it’s chaste and soft and romantic. 

“Hi,” you breathe out, resting your forehead against his.

“Hi, kid. You look fantastic,” and he presses another sweet kiss to your temple. 

“We’re matching,” you say with a smile, taking in his blue suit jacket and the way you feel dizzy right now, and you feel his grip tighten around your waist. 

“Yeah, we are. Now get in line with me, we’re walking out together.” Your eyes are big like coins, because you understood that you were coming here together, but this is his family’s big night, if everything your mom and Blake told you was to be taken seriously.

You don’t have time to say anything, because Rafe’s nice parents line up ahead of you, and his two sisters behind you. Wheezie tugs on your dress and you turn to greet her and Sarah quickly, because then the doors open and you’re walking out, following Rafe’s lead, lots and lots of eyes on you, but only one pair of blue ones you really care about. 

You almost want to cry, the whole thing is so magical. You have a flute of champagne and a sip of Rafe’s scotch, and you are deliciously tipsy for the next two hours. Your parents come over to talk to you and Rafe, and you can see how happy your mom is in her eyes. You and Rafe dance until your feet hurt, and it’s only then, when he leaves your sight, that things seem to get back down to how they normally are. 

You can’t find Wheezie’s parents or Sarah anywhere. The little girl spilled ice cream on her dress and is crying quietly, fat tears rolling down her chubby cheeks. You want to get her parents, because you think they can help, but you end up taking her to the bathroom yourself. With a damp paper towel, you wipe as much as you can, and you promise to get her another ice cream if she stops crying.

“It’s just a stain, honey, don’t worry.” You toss the dirty tissue and grab another one, wiping the tears and then letting her blow her nose. “It’ll come out when you wash it. And no one will notice because it’s so dark now, right?” She nods in agreement. “Do you wanna go find your big brother?” Another sad nod. “Let’s go honey,” and you take her hand and lead her back out. 

You’re not entirely sure what you missed in the last fifteen minutes. Everyone’s gone quiet, staring at what you hope is a trick of your eyes—all of your friends running from the party, hooting and hollering. Kiara’s parents look hopelessly upset, Mr. Heyward downright disappointed, and your mom scanning the crowd, trying to see where you are, until she spots you and Wheezie.

Her and Mrs. Cameron come running over, and you instinctively flinch, thinking the giant headpiece she’s wearing will poke you. You hand off Wheezie and turn to look at your friends, and you think, for a second, they’re waiting for you. They are, you realize slowly, waiting for you.

And you almost take off right then and there, until you feel Rafe’s warm hand on your shoulder, and you look up to see him bleeding.

At that moment, you turn right back around and head inside to the nearest room, sitting Rafe down on the bed and scrambling to find something to clean his wound with, and something cold to help the swelling, and in your panic, you don’t realize you’re rambling.

“I mean, what the hell was all of that? I turn around for two seconds and everyone’s running from the party like there’s a fire, and destroying things and throwing punches, I mean, I get they hate the whole Kook thing, but it was never like this before, even when I didn’t know you yet, and I-” you drop the frozen bag of peas onto the floor in your sudden realization. “I just let them leave. They waited for me. I didn’t go with them.” Your eyes fill with years. That’s a betrayal, not all the stupid stuff you thought was happening before tonight. They waited for you, and you turned right back around to go inside with Rafe.

“Hey, hey hey,” Rafe says quietly, taking your head in his hands again. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay.”

“You’re bleeding, Rafe,” you say, voice trembling. Your tears are ruining your makeup. 

“I’m gonna be fine. You know why?” he asks, and you feel more tears rush down. “Hey, hey, no crying.” Rafe wipes away the tears with his hand, then he brings his hands to your back and rubs soothingly. “You know why, kid?” “Why?” it comes out a whisper.

“Because you chose me. We’re gonna be fine, okay?” 

The way he says it you believe him. 

You spend the next two days at Tannyhill with Rafe, wearing nothing but his t-shirts and doing nothing but rolling around in bed. It’s been a month, maybe a little bit more, and you haven’t even had the talk yet—the sex talk. There’s no doubt in your mind that he’s not ready for it, but you’re not ready for it, not yet. You’re working on it. He doesn’t make it easy for you, either. You’ve spent hours now, making out in his lap, grinding against each other until you make a mess all over his shorts and his hair is sticking up in every direction, and working your way up to telling him what you want. 

You’re almost there. You’re waiting for the perfect time. Which was almost right now.

“You like that? Shit-” he breathes into your ear, pressing a kiss to the tender skin of your neck right underneath. It makes you moan again, louder, until he clamps a hand—the one not three fingers deep inside your leaking pussy—over your mouth, barricading the noise from leaving. “Gotta be quiet, kid, you want the whole house hearin’ what a little slut you are?” 

His blue eyes, lustful and blown, stare into your own. You shake your head softly underneath the tight grip of his palm. You’re always obedient with him, but he really likes you like this. 

“Yeah? You gonna do whatever daddy tells you? Just so I keep my fingers in this tight pussy?” You nod compliantly, head falling back on to the pillow. His fingers are thick, and the cool of his ring rubs against your clit in the best way, in ways you didn’t even realize it could feel.

He keeps fucking three fingers in and out of you, moans muffled by his hand but not completely silenced. You must be making a mess, because it’s what he keeps talking about, rambling about your messy cunt, greedy and sucking him in, and how you’ve been cumming for him like a little princess for the last two days, but it’s never enough for you. 

It’s when he removes his hand and kisses you hard instead, tongue deep inside you mouth, the metal of his chain dangling on your chin, and you feel the similarly cool metal of his ring on you, you finish again, exploding around your boyfriend’s fingers and moaning into his mouth. He hears you, repeating his name over and over again, not Rafe, but rather daddy, and he swallows your chants into his mouth. When you calm down, he makes a show of licking his fingers off while locking eyes, and then you get flustered and bury your head into his neck. 

He laughs, because it’s so cute, but only for a minute. Then you two shower together and he makes another show, but this time out of you, kneeling on the floor of his tub while he paints your face with his cum, making sure to cover the necklace you’ve been wearing recently too, the silver, loopy little R hanging between your collarbone. 

Then you get dressed—a little pink dress that’s been his favorite recently, with buttons down the front and a pretty bow where your tits sit— and the two of you have lunch with his family like nothing ever happened.

Rafe drops you back at home later that day, gives you a kiss where he grabs the back of your head to bring you in, and then waves bye to your parents as he unlatches the door for you, in his usual way. 

౨ৎ

A week later, he does the same thing. Drops you off, drives away once you’re inside, and you’re starstruck walking back, so much so, you don’t realize there’s someone waiting for you.

It’s Kie, and Rafe’s sister, Sarah. You’re a little confused since you thought the two of them didn’t get

along,  but they look like they’re fine now.

“Hey, listen, we need you to help us. Can you come down to the Chateau later tonight, after sunset?” Kie asks, and you must look as confused as you feel, because Sarah speaks right away, before you can get a word out.

“You cannot tell my brother. Promise us you won’t.”

“Why are you asking me that? Why can’t I tell him?” Sarah and Kie exchange a look, and it’s clear to you that you are missing several pieces of the puzzle. “Guys! Come on, you-you can’t expect me to just be on board with lying to my boyfriend and showing up to help you guys without knowing what it even is, right? What’s going on?”

“We will explain everything, just please promise us that you’ll come,” Kie implores and you nod hesitantly. 

“And you won’t tell Rafe?” Sarah asks again.

“Come on. Pogues for life, right?” Kie says, and you get a flashback to your life two months

ago—doing anything for your friends and dreaming of how you’d end up with one of the boys someday. It all seems like a million years ago.

“Yes, yeah, yeah, I’ll be there. I won’t tell him.”

You guess that God was on your side today. 

R🧸ྀི: Hey kid. Busy with my dad today. Dinner tomorrow okay?

sounds perfect!! don’t work too hard! i'm gonna watch a movie with my mom and blake and stay in tn

R🧸ྀི: You got mail again?

you know me so well

R🧸ྀི: Have fun princess.

You set down your phone on your dresser, feeling like you could throw up your dinner. It’s just starting to get dark outside, and you’ve just lied to Rafe for the first time since you’ve met him. It feels terrible, like something’s gnawing inside you, begging you to come clean and confess, or not to go out at all. You think about it for a moment, maybe if he knows you’re with some of your old friends, it won’t be like a real lie.

Then you remember your old friends are the ones who punched him. You tell your mom you’re going to Rafe’s, and then you get in your fancy car that Rafe helped you christen the other day—in the backseat, specifically—and drive to your old life.

You park next to the Twinkie and get out, stepping into a slush of mud. Your shoes are new, and were clean, and you cringe internally at how much you started caring about these things. You don’t want Rafe to see you with dirty shoes.

The boys and Kie are sitting on the logs near the fire pit. Sarah is sitting right next to John B, looking at him how you look at Rafe, and then you realize the magnitude of just how much you’ve missed.

“Hey,” Kie says, looking up first, smiling. “You came.”

“Yeah.” You’re at a loss for words. Everyone looks the same. Everything feels so different.

A part of you wants to sink down between Pope and JJ, crack a beer, and laugh at jokes you think you would still understand. Another part wants to get into the fancy car and drive to Tannyhill. You opt for neither, standing a few yards away and letting the light from the fire cast its hazy glow over you and all your old friends.

“Did you tell him?” Sarah asks. She means it well, not in a rude way, but that’s how you feel. 

“No, no, I didn’t. He, he thinks I’m at home. With my mom and Blake.”

“Alright,” JJ says, tossing his empty beer can. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

“Listen,” John B says, getting up and sounding too sincere for your liking. “We all appreciate you coming. Because we need a favor from you, and it might not be easy.”

“I mean, I think it’s gonna be pretty easy. Unless Rafe is like, really, really crazy, like even crazier than we already know he is-” JJ says, but stops when Kie and Pope shake their heads. “What? She knows, she’s the one dating him.”

“Know what? I don’t even know what you want from me-”

“We need a distraction. For Rafe, okay?” John B starts.

“An hour, okay, that’s all we need, right guys?” Sarah asks, looking back at everyone. They nod, trying to convince you, except Jayj.

“Well, like, maybe a couple of hours. If he’s up to that, y’know, I don’t wanna assume shit ‘bout stamina and all that-”

“JJ,” Pope says, shoving the blond’s arm. “You’re not helping.”

“What?” you breathe out, even more confused than before. You start to get what they’re asking, you just don’t want to admit it.

“We need to distract Rafe, for an hour, or like two hours, and we figured you’re our best bet.” John B says, and you look at them with your mouth falling open a little.

“You want me to…sleep with my boyfriend, to distract him, so you guys can do something that you won’t tell me about?”

“Kind of, yeah. Pretty much.”

“And is, is this thing going to hurt him in the long run? Is he going to be upset? When he finds out what happened?”

“My Kook feelings radar is a little off, right now, but who knows, I mean hell, he might not ever find out,” JJ says, and you want to sit down, because your knees feel weak, but the ground is muddy and the logs are occupied. “If we do our job right, he won’t know for a long, long time, right guys?” A chorus of right, right rings around the fire. 

“And you’re not gonna tell me what this is about at all?” 

“Well, it might not be a good idea. Because, you’re dating him, and listen, we just need like an hour, and he never has to know you were a part of this, okay? I will never tell him, none of us will,” Sarah says, and you do believe her. But you can’t believe that they’re asking you to do this.

“And if he finds out, and he breaks up with me, then what?” 

“Yeah, I, uh, knew this was a bad idea. She’s not gonna do it, guys, so let’s just reformulate-”

“Oh, you knew I was gonna say no, JJ? Lying to my boyfriend? For the people who hurt him?”

“He hurt us too, y’know,” Pope says, and you feel your heart begin to race. 

“No, I don’t know, because no one tells me anything! No one answers their phone and no one’s here when I drive down. Kie, you live two streets away from me now. The first time I saw you all month was at Midsummers and then, today. Asking me to come here to lie to Rafe, to sleep with him to distract him.”

“No, no, we shouldn’t have asked you, because I knew you would say no, I told them-” and you can’t believe the words coming from your friend's mouth. “Look at you, you went total Kook on us.” 

And then you feel like they’re taking it all in. The R around your neck, the jewelry that sparkles in the light of the fire, all yellow citrine, for Rafe’s birth month. The pink dress that’s his favorite—you put it on this morning in case you ended up back at Tannyhill tonight. And worst of all, his white button up hanging from your shoulders, smelling like ocean and sandalwood and Rafe Cameron. 

“It’s like you belong to him now.” You feel a tear sliding down, but you wipe it away. 

“Maybe that’s because he was actually there for me, when I needed it. And I get it, maybe I should have tried harder. But you guys should have too.”

The group of you stand there in silence for a moment. Your phone goes off. You know it’s Rafe. They know it is too. It starts with Kie, and then a course of apologies from everyone. John B wipes away your tears like nothing has changed. JJ scratches his head, and then hugs you tighter than he ever has before. Pope tells you how much he’s missed you, how he had to start bandaging wounds in your absence. 

“I’ll distract him. An hour, that’s all you get. I’m not sleeping with him because you guys want me to, okay? So if he leaves, he leaves.” 

You take off for Tannyhill, leaving your old life behind and risking your new one all at once.

౨ৎ

Rafe’s phone goes off again, and he lets out a short, tight breath. 

Princess: are you still busy at home? i need you

Princess: please rafey

“I’ll be back,” he tells Ward, and before he can even respond, he’s out of the room, calling you. The line rings twice, and then you answer.

“Rafey?” you sound quiet, like you’ve been crying.

“Hey, hey kid. What’s going on? I told you I was working tonight,” and then he runs a hand through his hair, because he knows he’s fucked, if you’re crying and you need him, then he’s going.

“I know, Rafe, I just really need you, I had a really bad night-” “Woah, wait, I thought you were just with your parents?”

“I was, it just got really bad, I-I’m outside Tannyhill because I had to leave, and then I got lost and I was scared so I just came straight here.”

“Lost? Jeez, kid, it’s, like, down the street.”

“But I didn’t wanna bother you, ‘cause you were busy-” and then he hears a hiccup, and then a sob.

“Okay, okay, stay there, I’m gonna come get you,” and he hangs up the call. He darts outside, spotting your navy car and you inside, still in the same clothes from this morning, just wearing his shirt over it, like a jacket. He gets close and you climb out of the car yourself, jumping into his arms and burying your face into his neck, like you always do when you get like this. He can feel the way your body shakes under his arms, the wetness of your tears on his black polo.

“Okay, it’s okay now, come on, let’s go inside.” You make it up the stairs to his bedroom, when Rafe guides you inside and pulls his blinds, so no one peeks inside. 

He sits you up on the edge of his bed, squatting before you, hands in yours, arms resting on your knees. 

“You gonna tell me what happened?” You shake your head, another tear falling. You wish you could say you were pretending, but the tears find their own way when you think about the encounter you just had. You’re lying when you tell him it’s between you and your parents, but his reaction makes you regret it instantly. “Did they say somethin’ to you? Did they try something? I’ll go over there and sort it all out, okay, kid, don’t worry about a thing.” He stands up, running another hand through his messy hair, letting it fall in the moppy way it always does, over his forehead. “Stay here, okay, princess, I’ll be back.”

Then you realize he’s gonna go over there and talk to your perfectly happy, clueless parents, so you stand up and turn him back around.

“No, no, Rafe, don’t leave,” and then you melt into a hug, taking in everything about it. Rafe rests his chin on the top of your head, his arms tight around your back. He smells so good, and the way he’s taking care of you makes you realize a couple things. “Will you just…make me forget?”

Your boyfriend looks down at you, and you don’t shy away from his gaze like you often, when you get flustered. 

“Make you forget?” he questions. 

“I just don’t wanna think about anything else,” you start, undoing the bow of your dress, more cleavage revealing itself. “I just wanna think about you,” and then your fingers undo the buttons trailing down the front of your dress. It falls off your shoulders, and you stand before him, naked, certainly not for the first time but what feels like the most intimate it’s ever been. 

There’s a pretty lingerie set hidden in the back of your closet, what you had actually put aside for this moment, but you had no time to run home and get it, so you opted for the next best thing, taking your bra and panties off in the car ride here, shoving them into your purse, and hoping that Rafe was as tempted as you were.

“Just about me?” he questions, and you take his hand into yours, leaning in to press a soft kiss against his lips.

“Just you, Rafe. I’m ready, Rafey, I want you to fuck me,” and it seems like that’s all it takes. Rafe crushes his lips against yours, kissing you how he always does, tongue in your mouth and spit everywhere. He holds you by the back of your head and your hands run through his hair. You want him closer, even closer than he already is, than he possibly could be.

His hands leave your head and go down to your ass, grabbing both cheeks roughly and wrapping your legs around his waist. He drops you on his bed, head hitting the pillow, and you pull away for a second, to catch your breath. Rafe doesn’t let it happen, gripping your cheeks between his hand and bringing you back in for another kiss. You’re naked, and he’s still completely dressed, but you don’t miss the obvious way his hardened dick presses against your bare cunt.

You can’t breathe, and all your senses are overpowered by Rafe, but you also don’t really care. You keep kissing, moaning into each other’s mouths and gripping hair and skin that’s sure to leave a bruise tomorrow, until you feel him finally pull away for a second. You catch your breath, open-mouthed and heaving, eyes locked.

“‘M only gonna ask this once, kid,” he breathes, leaving another hot kiss on your neck, which makes you spread your legs further open with instinct. “Y’sure you want this? ‘Cause there’s no going back.”

You nod in that way you always have with him, telling him everything with no words at all. 

“That’s my girl,” he breathes against your neck, and you feel him bite down into the soft skin of the flesh there. You yell out, but it turns into a moan when Rafe licks his tongue over the wound. “That’s just so you can remember this night, okay baby?” You look back up at him, wet eyes, swollen lips, and flushed, sweaty skin. 

“Thank you, daddy.” He smiles, because you’re in for it now.

“You’re welcome, kid. Shit,” he breathes out, “I knew you’d like it, little freak.” He starts with more hot kisses, all the way down your neck, down your sternum, and stopping to press a kiss to each side of your ribs, before continuing down to your stomach. You whine from your position below him, one huge hand holding your hip in place and the other tracing the pattern of the kisses down, until he finally reaches where you want him to be.

“Gotta be quiet, kid, everyone’s home. You gonna let them all hear how much of a whore you are for me? Huh?” he mocks, and you shake your head fervently. “Good girl. You’re being so good, you’re gonna get a treat, okay?” You nod stupidly.

His breath catches for a second, when he gets down to your glistening cunt. He looks up at you from his position there, your chest heaving, tits bouncing with how much you’re squirming, how much you want him to do something. He moves his hands, one resting on your breast, pinching the nipple with his finger, and the other running a line down your pussy. Your whole body twitches up when he runs the metal of his ring over your clit, because he knows you really like it. 

“Rafe, please,” you cry, sounding stupid and fucked out, even though he hasn’t started yet. “Please, please,” and your hips jerk up. He pushes them down. 

“Be patient, kid. Gotta admire this virgin pussy for the last time before I ruin it, ‘kay?” You feel your walls tighten at his words, and you hope he missed the way everything just clenched, but it’s Rafe, and he didn’t miss a thing. “Like that, huh? You like being my little slut?”

You shake your head, trying to deny it, but the damage is done.

Rafe dives in, and you let out a moan that you didn’t realize you were capable of producing. You clamp your own hand over your mouth, because you know he’ll stop if you get too loud. His tongue licks you up and down, and true to what you had always thought, he does know what he’s doing.

The hand pinching your nipples doesn’t relent, and the weight of his arm holds you down when you buck up as he pushes two fingers inside you, scissoring them to stretch your walls out. It hurts, in the best way, and before you know it, he’s added a third.

His mouth stays focused on your clit, and your legs tremble, even though it’s barely been a few minutes. It’s all of it, all at once. Being naked in Rafe’s bed, his hand groping your tits, the way he holds you down without trying, the smell of his cologne and his skin and his sweat, making you lightheaded.

His fingers push in and out, and when he hits that sweet spot inside you, the one your own fingers have never been able to reach but somehow, Rafe’s have become well acquainted with, you can’t help the noises you make.

You repeat his name over and over again, and you think you’ve felt the height of this pleasure, that nothing could surpass this feeling, until your stomach tightens in an entirely new way. Your fucked out brain gets it together for a minute, to feel the overwhelming, ecstatic pressure of Rafe’s tongue on your clit, spelling out his own name. Your stomach tightens, unbearably so, that coil winding up, but before he even finishes the F, it snaps all at once. 

You let out a scream—which you think is so stupid of you. But it feels so good, there was no way around it. Rafe reacts instantly, grabbing your hand that’s pulling his hair and using it to snap over your mouth, all while he rides you through it. 

His nose presses against your clit while he slides his fingers out, your pussy walls clamping around nothing, missing him already. He laps up the mess you just made with his tongue, the noise being so overwhelming, you want to scream again. 

You use your other hand to yank his hair, pulling him up to look at you, because you know you want to see this. Rafe, your Rafe, your boyfriend, with blown, wide eyes and the entire lower half of his face glistening with your juices, with the mess you just made, and then you collapse back down onto the bed. 

Your breathing is heavy. You aren’t sure it’ll ever go back to normal.

Rafe pulls his shirt off by grabbing it from the back, yanking it over his head. Your hand floats up to

touch his chest, to make sure he’s still real and not just a vivid sex dream, but he slaps it out of the way.

“What did I say, hm?” he asks, leaning over you. His face is just an inch too far to kiss. Your limbs feel numb, and you can’t pull him down yourself. You want to cry, because you want to kiss him so badly. “I said you had to be quiet, or everyone’s gonna know what a little whore you are.”

“I tried, daddy, I did-”

“I don’t think you tried at all, kid.”

“No, I did, I swear-”

“You’re lucky that I-” and before he finishes his sentence, you pull him down into another kiss. He tastes like you and scotch, and the combination is so intoxicating, you can’t pull away. “Hey, hey,” he breathes. “I’m not going anywhere, okay?” and the soothing way he says it, you believe him.

“I’m lucky that you what?” you ask, unbuckling his belt and snaking it off the loops.

“That I love you, and I’m not gonna punish you tonight for not listening to me.” You drop the belt over your stomach, the melt part hitting with a little clink. You look back up at him, your eyes wide, you imagine, your cheeks flushed. 

“You love me?” you ask, quietly. You can barely hear yourself over the thud of your heart pounding in your chest.

“I do,” Rafe replies, running his hand to smooth over your hair, which you’re sure is a mess now. “Enough that I’m gonna fuck you now, but I had to say it first, because I’m gonna fuck you until you break.”

You’re speechless, watching Rafe unbutton his pants and kick them off, boxers going with them. He strokes himself once, twice, and you’re still staring up at his face, even though normally you would get distracted. 

He looks up again. 

“You ready, kid?” 

“I love you, Rafey,” you say, twisting your hands around to the back of his neck, pushing him into yet another kiss. You can’t pull away, even if you want to, you want him so close that you forget everything else in the world for now. While you’re kissing, he lines himself up with your leaking pussy, which has probably ruined these sheets, and pushes in the tip.

You pull back from the kiss, just to moan, but Rafe silences you with his mouth again. He pushes in more, and more, until you’re sure he’s bottomed out. Your cunt is so, so stretched, you can’t fathom this is what you’ve been missing out on, and it feels so good, like nothing has ever felt before, not his fingers, not his tongue, not any other part of him. 

“That’s halfway, kid, you doin’ okay?” and your eyes jolt up to his in a second.

“H-half?” you breathe out. “I can’t, I can’t take any more, s’not gonna fit Rafe, not gonna fit-”

“Hey,” he repeats, which always has that calming effect on you. “You let me worry about that, okay? Just relax this pussy f’me, okay?” and the way he says it, you do, because you have no other choice. He pushes in again, fast, hard, and then pulls all the way out. You’re too scared to look anywhere but his eyes, so you stay locked in on them, until he pushes all the way in again, and your eyes clasp shut.

“Oh, oh my god, Rafe-” And you don’t care who hears you this time. He pulls out again, just his lip still inside you.

“Look, princess, look down,” he urges, and you follow his instructions, because you always do. “Look where we’re connected, yeah?” He fucks in and out of you, slowly but then faster, and you do look, entranced at the way your pussy sucks him in, the way your cum is coating his dick, at the brutal pace he’s set. 

You look until you can’t anymore, leaning back against the pillow and watching Rafe above you, his face twisted in pleasure, eyebrows furrowed, mouth panting. He buries his face into your neck, and you grip the top of his shoulders, nails digging in, because you just need to hold onto something.

He told the truth, you think, in your fucked out, blissful state, that he was going to fuck you like he hated you, battering into your sore pussy over and over again. 

You repeat his name—daddy, not Rafe—until he shuts you up with a kiss, and he watches the strings of spit connecting your mouths when he pulls away.

“Just needed this dick, didn’ya princess? Just needed daddy to think for ya?” You moan in reply. “You got it then, kid, because m’never gonna stop fucking you. Y’never gonna think about anything else again.”

And then he finally does you in, because he presses down, right below your stomach, while he slams in, and you feel something inside you break, like a flood breaking through a dam. It washes out to every part of you, from your ears to your fingers to your toes. White hot pleasure runs its course through your body, cunt tightening and shaking, eyes rolling back, your spine arching forward. Through all of it, Rafe pins you down, and fucks you through it. And finally, deliriously, you open your fucked-out eyes, looking up at him.

“I love you, daddy,” and he cums before he can even pull out, messy rivulets shooting inside you, leaking out onto his expensive sheets. He moans into your neck, and his entire body slumps forward, and you giggle under the weight.

A few minutes pass by.

“Rafey, you’re gonna crush me,” you say quietly, sing-songy. You’re so happy, you’ve forgotten everything else that’s happened.

Rafe presses a kiss to your forehead and rolls off, slumping next to you. Your head lands on his chest not a second later, his arm around your shoulder and another kiss to your hair.

“Feel better, kid?” 

“So much better, Rafey.” 

You don’t know when you fall asleep, only that you woke up to the sound of your phone going on. You pick it up, trying to turn down the light so Rafe doesn’t wake up too. There’s one message.

JJ: I thought you said you weren’t gonna sleep with him?

౨ৎ

[ardensregias]

his songbird

contents!! yingxing x female reader. prone bone turned missionary. reader is shy :3 dirty talk. lots of teasing!!! sliight dacriphilia. edging. praises. tummy bulge mmmm. petnames: angel, baobei, darling. yingxing gege !! ૮꒰˶ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ˶꒱ა

my clit wrote this so this def sucks & not proofread & kinda selfship-coded . . ૮꒰ྀི⊃⸝ ⸝ ⸝⊂꒱ྀིა *runs away*

it's endearing, the way you tighten your hold on the silk sheets, buries the sweet face he's missed so badly into the feather-filled pillow, as if that'd help you to tone down the loud and obscene noises that escape your lungs.

"still so shy, hm?" he coos, slotting himself deeper into your aching cunt, "'s not like this is the first time we've done this, angel,"

too exhausted to form a coherent reply, a whine escapes your lips instead, giving yingxing all the answers he needs. the craftsman reads you like an open book. no matter how much you seldom admit to it, deep down you know that it's the truth—that he always knows what to do with you; the things you'd love to hear and feel, and all the right ways to turn you into putty for him with masterful ease.

such as right now; the way he brings one rough hand down from your breast to your hips, pressing down on the plush skin to stop you from squirming too much, pushing you into the edge and humming in satisfaction at each one of your adorable reaction. it fuels his ego to know that he's the only one who can mold and shape you into such a perfect doll for him to use and fold into any position he'd like.

"i can tell you're loving this. would you like me to go harder, baobei?"

from the mirth oozing from his words, you can already picture him wearing the cheekiest smirk that you so despise to see, waiting for any kind of response—which he's 100% sure will not be a comprehensible one.

"gege, i—please—nghh... i-if you do tha—haaah!" you cried out, hiccuping out little incoherent babbles and dragging your nails across the soaked sheets, seeking for any semblance of relief.

so predictable, he thinks. his lips curl further upward, grinning at your reaction, finding it difficult to resist teasing you further, "use your words, baobei, c'mon—or are you telling me that this is enough to break you?"

and as if to make it worse for you, yingxing rolls his hips up, pushing his pelvic bone flush against the swell of your butt until his leaky cockhead manage to kiss that soft spongy spot inside you, and your back arches alluringly in return, lips quivering in a struggle to keep your voice down—fearing the possibility of alerting the entire neighborhood of the debauched activities you two are engaged in.

your lover presses a series of chaste kisses on your shoulder blade like you are his revered goddess, seemingly unbothered by the sound of your wails and whines bouncing off the walls. if anything, he wants to show you off—after all, not everyone is lucky enough to have such precious songbird in their bed.

"still no answer, huh... need me to stop?" he queried, halting all movements as broad shoulders hunched down to loom over your smaller body, silver strands of hair cascading over your back—perhaps to purposely tickle the sensitive column of your neck, adding more stimulation and drawing out more of your sugary sweet voice he'd swallow like the wine he often shares with the quintet.

(your lover can be quite cruel sometimes.)

"g-gege!" you yelp, using the little energy you have left to find purchase in his arm and spoke between gasps, "no, nonono—don'... don't stop, gege, please... wan' you to go harder..."

(but he's never immune to your adorable pleas.)

he cannot help the chuckle that escapes his lungs, because finally, "that's my good girl—see, that wasn't so hard now, was it?" he croons, large hands finding purchase on your sides to maneuver you on your back, and you swore you felt his length twitches at the mere sight of you—mouth agape with a trail of drool running down the side of your mouth, tears clinging to your lashes and the apple of your cheeks, and—oh.

was that a little bump he's seeing on your tummy?

yingxing went silent for a few seconds, before he slowly—painfully so—slides his palm from down your torso, stopping atop your abdomen and pressing down on the slightly protruding flesh, successfully drawing out the most darling squeal out of your spit-slicked lips, followed by a subtle shudder of your body, "gege—! w-wait..."

the blacksmith pays you no mind as he begins moving again, battering your insides with renewed vigor, thrusting faster and shoving his girth deeper, relishing the sight of the bulge disappearing and reappearing with each jerk of his hips. you did beg for him for this, after all—he's just being a good husband and doing what his beloved wife wants him to do!

he gently cups your cheeks, admiring the cockdrunk look you have on your face before he shushes you with a light press of his lips against yours, "sshh, 's okay... cum for me, baobei—be a good girl and cum on my cock, will you?" the teasing lilt in his voice falters into a guttural groan as your walls constrict and gushes around his girth and triggering his orgasm. seeing how hard you're clamping down on him, it's safe to assume that you're trying to milk him dry, knocking the cockiness off his face as he pant on top of you.

once the blacksmith regained his composure, he brings his thumb down, rubbing hearts over your throbbing nub as he stills himself, gazing down at your juices mixed with his milky seed drivelling down your thighs and webbing his pubes. it's a sight awfully lewd and he can't stop the little aww it pulls from his lungs.

(you look your best when he's laid his claim on you.)

"are you alright?" he asks, keeping a close eye on your trembling form before he slather your smaller frame with his warmth, the plane of muscles serving as a shield and a reminder that you're safe with him, that he is here to take care of you.

you nod, dewed lashes fluttering up to meet his, "k-kiss—w'nna kiss, gege, please...?"

and of course he'd comply—when you're asking so politely even in this fucked-out state, colliding his lips with yours to devour the cherry-flavored drool that mingles with his own, eliciting a rather juvenile wish from the old man's heart; to stay this close for as long as forever.

[coryosbaby]

more nasty stoner!donnie darko smut pretty please

18+, MDNI !!

Blazing up was just an excuse to get you in Donnie’s room, sweat slick from the summer heat, your tank top barely covering your breasts and your tiny shorts leaving little to the imagination.

You’re sitting on top of the boy’s thighs, face buried into the musky scent of his neck. Cologne and sweat, salty skin. You breathe it in and lave your tongue over his jugular. His hands trail up and down your back, sensations of sparks and outer space curling up his arm. He’s never felt that before.

“You and Seth aren’t a thing, right?”

He says it casually, to mask the suspicion in his bones from seeing you talking to him today. You pull away to look at him with furrowed brows.

“No. Why would you think that?”

He shrugs, bottom lip poking out. He’s pouting.

“I don’t. Just saw you talking to him.”

“He was just being nice,” you reply. “At least, I think. He asked me out and I said no.”

Donnie sighs. His head tilts back against the headboard while his hands squeeze the soft flesh of your hips.

“You aren’t.. you aren’t jealous, are you?”

“No,” he replies. But honestly the mary jane is kicking in and now he can’t bring himself to question you any further. Instead, he focuses on the smell of your vanilla perfume, and the way you’re warm between your legs.

It doesn’t take that long for you to start getting needy. Hips gliding against his pajama pants, eyes red rimmed and watery. Donnie hardens within seconds.

“How bad do you want it?” He asks. You drop your chin onto his shoulder, cunt catching on navy blue fabric. You sigh.

“So bad, Don.”

“I wanna do it while you’re on your back,” he reaches over to light up a familiar skunk smelling substance, inhaling and then passing it to you. “Not like last time. I’m gonna fuck you for real.”

“Fuck you for real” is actually code word for “I want to see your face when I cum inside you because I’m so in love that no one else does it for me.” But Donnie doesn’t say that, doesn’t even admit it to himself. Just licks his lips at the sight of you pressing the joint to your lips and clouding his vision.

You crawl off of him, popping the button on your jeans and shoving them past your thighs, pink lacey underwear coming into view as you lay down on the mattress. Donnie holds the joint in his mouth as he crawls over you and peels off his pajama pants. He teasingly snaps the band of your underwear.

“These are cute.”

“Fuck you, Donnie.”

An amused smirk plays on his lips as he spreads your legs. The wet patch on your panties makes him drool. He passes the joint to his left hand.

“I’m gonna eat you out first.”

You clench, empty. Your face blazes with heat.

“Are you sure?” You ask. You’ve never done that before. Donnie looks at you like you’re stupid.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

You bite your lower lip, and after a moment’s hesitation, your fingers hook into your panties and slide them off. You throw them in a useless heap behind Donnie, spreading your legs even wider. The way he looks down at your cunt has you throbbing.

His hands splay across your thighs. He takes one last hit of the joint and sets it on his nightstand before his lips press against your inner thigh. Smoke still billows from his mouth.

“You sure you don’t like him?”

You roll your eyes at the mention of Seth again, but not before they’re fluttering shut when his tongue makes contact with your dripping core.

“Yeah, I’m sure. He’s a fucking prick, why would I—“

He licks a long stripe up your entrance, swirling around your aching bud before spitting back down on you. It’s disgusting, vulgar. You let out a whine, words becoming meaningless on your tongue.

“I don’t want you around him,” Donnie says. He’s teasing you, pulling away to conversate while your slick pools on his taste buds. “You’re never gonna talk to that prick again.”

“Okay,” It’s all you can say, breathy and desperate, hips moving towards his mouth. “Fuck, Donnie, please.”

“You taste so good,” he continues. Presses a kiss to your clit, makes you shake. “Little pussy’s so fucking pretty.”

He goes a little crazy, then. Just full on grabs you up by your ankles so your legs are over his shoulders, lower back lifted, and shoves his tongue deep into your hole. Your knees cage around his head, a gasp leaving your lips as he holds you close against his mouth.

You whine, listening to the sound of him slurping up your arousal, all spit slick with his dick hanging heavy between his legs. You don’t know if he’s ever done this before, but he’s pretty fucking good at it in a really messy, desperate way. He groans against you when your fingers curl into his hair, gently tugging.

Donnie’s cock is practically on fire from how horny he is. Humping against the empty air is all he can do, balanced on his knees as he eats you like a man starved. He can’t help it if his length finds its way into his hand and he jerks it to sustain himself, can’t help forcing cum out of you so he can get his fill.

“Jesus fuck,” you cry out when he massages your inner walls with his tongue, thumb coming up to rub circles over your swollen, achy clit. It’s embarrassing how quickly your orgasm is approaching, no matter how many weeks it’s been since your last sexual encounter. “Donnie.. wanna cum. Wanna get fucked, Donnie, can’t…”

He pulls his mouth away. Eyes glazed over, chin wet with slick. He’s so attractive that it has your head spinning.

“Be a good girl,” he coos. “C’mon, give it to me.”

Your vision practically whites out. Your body seizes up against his thumb, running away or running towards the sensations, you aren’t sure. When you come down, your best friend is grinning like a madman and laying you flat on the mattress.

When he fucks you, he fucks you hard and deep. You’ve grown to like it that way, despite ever thinking you would. It feels so good that while he’s balls deep, rubbing up against your clit and sucking on your neck to leave a mark— that fucker Seth will never be able to do this, will he?— you murmur out the words before you can stop yourself.

“Love it, Don, love you… cumming—i’m cumming, fuck..”

And you know then and there, as the truth falls from your lips, that you’ve probably fucked up this friendship forever. But the grin on Donnie’s face as you utter the words tells you all you need to know.

[silkjade]

THE UNBEARABLE LIGHTNESS OF A PORCELAIN HEART

alhaitham x reader ⤀ synopsis: even the most resilient of hearts must shed its armor, and despite your efforts to appear strong, alhaitham still senses your distress ⤀ cw: gn!reader, your heart is referred to as 'she', insecurity issues, fear of vulnerability, hurt/comfort — ꒰ 1.5k wc ꒱ ⤀ notes: this is a vent drabble, so reader is based on me. extremely self indulgent + selfship coded. ending edited 8.26.24, prev titled ‘still with hearts beating’

“tell me atlas. what is heavier: the world or its people’s hearts?” — darshana suresh

Although he prefers to keep his nose buried in a book, Alhaitham is still as perceptive as ever, taking note of all the minuscule changes in your demeanor, even whilst you don a mask to stifle your woes.

He sees it first in the wistful sighs scattered amongst your too calm breaths, in your crafted smile, too practiced to be natural, and the strained words that fall too heavily out your lips, each in a race to prove that everything is normal and fine — that any anomalous behavior might only be the ramifications of an exhausting day.

Your name rolls so naturally off his tongue, as he reaches out to you, catching your wrist before you can disappear into the bedroom and sleep away your swallowed emotions.

“Are you alright?”

He asks out of courtesy, but to him, the signs are clear as day: the sharp inhale and slow exhale as you rally to fabricate another facade, chin tilted just a smidge too high as you turn to face him, dull eyes glistening with the remnants of unshed tears, forced to retreat by the winged flutter of your lashes.

To him, the signs are clear as day that you are not, that you are only putting on a brave face, something which he finds odd within the threshold of your shared home.

“Just tired is all,” you reply, speaking in half truths. After all, it's exhausting trying to keep up appearances when all you wish to do, is to curl into yourself and rot into your bed.

You flash him a quick smile, small and devoid of warmth; a lame imposter to the very one he’s grown so terribly fond of.

He repeats your name, this time softer, brows knitted with equal parts skepticism and concern at your empty words. Empty words filled with even emptier spirit, he notes.

Nonchalant, rehearsed, refined — and yet, he can hear the melancholia that spills into your tone. see the downward twitch of your lead-laden lips and the watery shift of your eyes as you avert your gaze in self-consciousness.

“You don’t have to hide from me,” he murmurs, and you want to believe him, want to believe that you’re brave enough to lay down your defenses, that you can trust him to hold your porcelain heart in his hands without threat of endangerment.

You open your mouth to speak, but not a sound comes out as the words turn to bile in your throat. To swallow the bitter liquid, or to spit your heart out and lay it bare for him to see. For Alhaitham, who is more than just an Akademiya giant, but a cornerstone of Sumeru itself: brilliant and brave, kind in spite of his unconventional displays. The sun who shines by the heat of his own radiance.

His moon, he calls you. And yet the moon does not glow; the moon whose only light is a reflection of the sun.

You purse your lips, internally willing yourself to believe that these tears will not spill. It'd be egregious — like coughing up blood when you too have a reputation to uphold, a certain presence to be perceived. For even the moon, who shines by grace of borrowed light, is steadfast in its quiet elegance.

“It’s fine,” you insist, “really.” It’s heavy under the weight of your pride, but at least your heart is safe here in your chest, isolated and tucked away.

You push until he relents, relaxing his grip around your wrist. Good, you think, he's given up. But then why does it so painfully squeeze your heart in a way you cannot convey — like a hair-lined fracture upon your brittle bones.

But Alhaitham is no fool; he intends to prove he’d catch you before you can shatter, freeing your wrist, only so that he might pull you into his arms instead. There is no shortage to the vast infinity of words he can say, but matters of the heart have never been his forte… and so he hopes that his actions might speak more profoundly than his words.

The sudden impact blows your eyes wide with surprise, tears already threatening to spill from the solace of just his embrace. There are no sounds other than his steady heart and even breaths, no scent besides the faded woody fragrance of his cologne. It's safe here, cocooned in his arms, and you think that for a moment, perhaps everything is and will be fine.

You relax against him, basking in his warmth, as you rest into the crook of his neck, absentmindedly staring at the patterns on the floor.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” he whispers, “but please don’t hide from me.”

Your hands, pressed flush against his chest, curl into themselves, relieved that he cannot see the tears welling in your eyes. He does, however, feel that first crystalline droplet that slides freely down your cheeks, melting into the fabric of his clothes as more follow. Alhaitham runs his fingers through your hair, while his other hand hugs you by the small of your back, holding you ever closer. The occasional sob racks your body, silent and reluctant, but it’s a start.

A heart is a complex web of earnest emotions, floridly woven into secrets he cannot fault you for keeping locked away in a vault. Perhaps one day, you’d rely on him, let him in to share the burden. and if he should be so lucky, perhaps you'd deem him worthy to be your home, so that you might rest with him, without armor... but as for now, he’ll gladly cushion your fall, give you a soft place to land.

In the night’s dark embrace, the moon’s milky light paints patterns through the stained glass window of your bedroom, and behind you, your lover’s arms stay wrapped around your waist, holding you close beneath the blankets.

“… Alhaitham?” your voice is delicate, spun from silk amidst the quiet of the night.

“Hmm?” he peaks an eye open at the unfamiliar use of his full name.

“If I ask you something, do you promise to answer honestly?”

“I don’t see any reason not to.” The low vibrations of his tone tickles your skin as he replies with a kiss to your shoulder.

“Am I…,” you hesitate, voice wavering as you contemplate whether words whispered into the wind might write itself into stone. “Am I… enough for you?”

The seconds seem to stand still, as if all the world and even the sky itself, were holding its breath in bated anticipation.

Finally, a creak cuts through the silence as the bed shifts alongside Alhaitham, who now hovers over you, his body and arms trapping you in between. The intensity of his gaze prompts you to look away, but he reaches for your chin, holding you gently so that you have nowhere to look, save for his technicolored eyes.

Enough for him? Is that what you were upset about? What a shame, he thinks.

“If you could only see what I see,” he murmurs, with a kiss to your forehead. His moon, his stars, his entire night sky, who guides him in the dark.

“You're intelligent and intuitive,” he murmurs, kissing along your jaw, and down your neck in between each word. “Beautiful and independent—sometimes too independent—but that just means you're strong. Capable of anything…”

Alhaitham glances up, only satisfied once the insecurity is dispelled from your features, and replaced by an absolute reassurance.

“…which I knew from the moment you made me fall completely in love with you."

He peppers your face with little kisses, and you can’t help but let out a soft laugh, almost embarrassed. “Haitham…”

Alhaitham pauses at your first genuine smile of the night. “I mean every word — I love you because you're you. I know you like to pretend otherwise, but you have a gentle heart, and I only hope you'll deem me worthy of it one day.”

Guilt flashes in your eyes as you open your mouth to speak, but anything you had intended to say, is drowned in the depth of his kiss. A part of you wishes to stay like this forever so that you might melt into his embrace — he who loves you so dearly, he who hopes his true feelings are adequately translated into this kiss...

...but your heart sighs in understanding, finally calm as she's held afloat by the strength of his affection. It's familiar, it's safe, it's home.

And if not for the lack of air, Alhaitham knows he'd kiss you forever, irrational as it may be. Pulling away, he presses a chaste kiss to your forehead — another promise of his affirmation. “You don't have to say anything, I'm happy to wait. Just know you’re more than enough, just as you are. And no one should be able to take that away from you, so…”

He rolls back into bed, pulling you with him as he goes, so that you might drift to sleep with your head resting atop his chest, listening to the steady tune of his heart, as it sings to you in your dreams.

notes2: this was actually vrie therapeutic but i did not intend for it to get this long, and so i m a bit embarrassed (don’t perceive) however if u have made it this far, as always, thank u for reading ♡

© silkjade — do not steal, plagiarize, translate or repost any content onto any other platform

[st4rymoon]

hiii

can i request a smut where steven gets jealous of marc and he tries to be dominant with the reader but while he was being rough she calls him daddy by accident and then steven goes insane and he overstims her just to hear her say it again 😋

I yearn for Steven Grant. I know he's a FREAKK and would always be so touched starved that he takes absolutely anything you give him <3

𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 • 𝘚𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘎𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘹 𝘍𝘦𝘮 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

- 18+, unprotected sex!, creampie, teasing, daddy kink, slight breeding kink, jealousy, pet names, soft som Steven Grant!

Sorry for not posting recently I’ve been busy with mid-terms 😔💔

Steven will and always be a jealous lover. He hates the way Marc and Jake tease him about you due to the fact that you’re usually more dominant with Steven out of all of them.

Don’t worry Steven even if you tried she’d be yellin’ my name echoed in Steven’s head, marc was an ass and Steven was dedicated to showing both of them he could make you just as messy and submissive for him as you are for them.

It didn’t come to a surprise when Steven asked if he could try being in control, you would get hints of it here and there. But today, he didn’t want you doing any of the work.

You were sprawled on your back, legs spread to his sides as Steven rubbed himself through your messy slick folds, one hand holding your leg open and the other tease fucking your folds with his cock.

“Come on lovie, look at me” he pouted mockingly as you squeezed your eyes shut and whined at the teasing. You opened your eyes to the sight of Steven’s hooded eyes watching you intensely, his body glowing in the soft light being emitted through his dim lamp.

“That’s it bunny, jus’ keep looking at me” he smiled as he slid into your slick cunt. You mewled as he buried himself deep inside you, burning each vein and curve of his cock into your memory. “Remember the code word?” Steven hummed as he leaned towards your ear, his hands now running up your thighs and massaging your hips as he fucked you slowly.

You felt like your heart was beating out of your chest at Steven’s movements, so calculated and precise. “Uh huh, cherry” you moaned proving you remembered the safe word. His pace began to pick up “good girl” he smiled as he pulled his hips back and slammed into you brutally.

Steven knocked the wind out of you with each thrust, your eyes rolling back into your skull as his thumb rubbed soft circles onto your swollen bud. Steven was a man out of control as your pretty moans grew louder and louder.

His name spilling from your lips as he fucked you like he’s been dreaming of. “You like that huh? Look at you lovie, drooling and everything” he chuckled as your back arched at his pace.

“S- st- ohhh my go- ah!” You mewled as he rubbed your sensitive clit at the perfect rhythm with his thrusts. Steven almost choked on his spit as your walls squeezed around him, the mear sight of you going dumb almost making him cum.

This was the fastest you’d came with anyone and Steven knew it. He just broke a record for the both of you.

You were clawing at Steven’s back as he drilled you onto the sheets, your vision going blurry and thoughts going blank as he sucked onto your neck.

“O- feels so go- so good daddy” you gasped as Steven’s pubic bone rubbed against your clit.

The sound that came out of Steven’s voice was filthy, a gruntled moan spilling from his lips as your voice echoed in his head. “Yeah?” He seethed as he shifted himself up and wrapped a hand around your throat “fu- yea- daddy” you mewled as Steven’s hips rammed into you harder.

Your slick as all over the sheets, bed creaking as a warning of how rough he was fucking you. The noise complaints were the least of your worries as Steven continuously knocked at the spongy spot deep inside you.

“You like daddy fucking you don’t you love” Steven moaned as you nodded dumbly. He smiled at the way you mewled at his words “yes yes yes, love you so- so fucking much” you cried.

And with that Steven’s thick white ropes of cum painted your walls as a loud moan spilled from his lips. His orgasm hitting him hard enough to have him shaking above you.

Your nails clawed down his back as he let himself spill out of your puffy cunt. The moan Steven let out was pornographic as he pulled out, his eyes watching your cunt gush his sticky cum.

“Now that’s it doll, all lush and pretty” he cooed as he leaned into your lips and gently kissed you. Both of you know this wouldn’t be the last round tonight and neither of you have anything against it.

[st4rbwrry]

mocha ima need those audios u think eren sounds like 👀🤭

ALL MINE ☆ eren yeager.

☆. warnings: fem!reader, nsfw audios + vids, black coded, lowercase intended, headcannons, degradation, praise, dirty talk, impact play, pet names, p in v, minors aren’t welcomed!

☆. mocha’s note: babyyyy do i have some audios for you. i’ve been wanting to do this for a while. jus thinkin’ about how he sounds makes me dizzy. so here’s some different scenarios to go with them! some of them are pxrn vids too! <3 also any audio where he says ‘mommy’ replace that shit with mamas or even mami fuck it lmao.

there’s different ranges to how i think eren sounds. three, in fact. firstly, there’s his dominant, demanding range where he keeps you in whatever positions he’s feeling like at the moment, never allowing you do what you want because only things he allows are better. pining you down by your neck with his big hand in missionary while he strokes his dick to pound into your tight pussy, trying his best not to whine or bottom out. praising you in your ear as he lays all of his weight on your back, holding you close to him while grinding into you, telling you that ‘pussy too good to me, mamas.’ with a growl in his deep voice.

or when he’s giving you backshots but he’s holding you off the bed by pulling your arms back and your head is hanging low. he’s hissing, grunting, his eyes will roll back and he’ll toss his head to the side to watch how your pussy creams all over his dick with disbelief, becoming even more aroused than he was before. he doesn’t understand how you make that possible. eyes squinting with strands of his hair sticking to his dampened forehead, bun loosening from your frantic tugs. the clash of his hips to your ass becomes sloppier, harder at that. and it’s too much for you to take, whining and trying your best to squirm away, only to have him tsk and release one of your arms just so he can spank your pretty ass. ‘nah, you know better. don’t run away from me. be a good girl.’

secondly, his whiny, needy range. when your dropping your ass down crouched above him to ride his dick, he loses it completely. eren can never help but mold the flesh of your ass in his wide palms and drag you down with more force. whimpering underneath you the faster or even slower you fuck him. either rhythm has the man writhing and choking on his moans. pretty brown hair long around his face as his emerald eyes fixate on your face watching his. his eyebrows are frowning, his pouty bubblegum lips are separated as he gasps and tells you to ‘mm, shit. fuckin’ me s’good baby.’ then when you drop your body entirely on him from tiredness, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face there, he takes the initiative and lifts his hips to desperately fuck up into you. your cunt milks him for everything’s he’s got, and the feeling is so damn good he can’t help but tell you he loves you. tell you that ‘you’re all mine. this pussy mine. your heart is mine. say that shit to me, baby.’

and last but not least, his i don’t give a fuck range. when he’s too horny to talk, to care, if he’s mad, upset, or high, y’all just got into an argument or you made him jealous and he just really needs to feel a a sense of relief? oh, best believe he’s beating that shit raw. off the bone. what brent say? you come over here i’ll knock yo pussy out the damn frame? yeah. cause that’s how eren fucks you. rough, aggressive, choking you so you can’t do a thing but moan and claw at his stomach as he folds your knees to your ears and fucks you deep. his eyes are darker, that gorgeous shade of green no longer there. his chain is swinging in your face as he grunts in the air. his touch on your skin is sweltering, your inner thighs burning from how long he’s had you this way. he’d put his thumb in your mouth and make you suck on it while you cry about how good it hurts. or he slap his hand over your mouth and curse in your face while his eyes scroll back.

your poor little cunt is sore and puffy from the nonstop abuse. and it’s crazy how hard he fucks you because even if he’s treating you like a slut, he’s telling you a mixture of opposites. he’s the type to be like ‘such a pretty fuckin’ slut takin’ my dick like this. bet nobody else can fuck you this good, huh? n you better not fuckin’ let ‘em. i’ll kill him. swear to god i will, jus’ for you princess.’ and he’s constantly rambling because when you make him feel this fucking good he can’t SHUT. UP. he gets really cocky too, starts mocking you, will definitely degrade and praise at the same time. ‘look pretty as shit, mamas. don’t you? i’m sorry baby, daddy can’t help it. gotta fuck you like this real good. awe, it’s too much? yeah? you can take it, though. keep taking it. fuck my dick back. swallow that shit mhm. make it wetter.’ NSNSNSNSNDNDNNSNS AHHHHHHHH he’s such a shit talker bro. and he’ll laugh in your face, spit in your mouth, kiss you so sensually it don’t make senseeeee. gives immense aftercare. i love himmmm my man my man. <3

© 𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖆𝖛𝖎𝖑𝖊. please do not repost, steal, or modify my work simply because it is mine. stealing isn't cute. i'll ruin your life ♡

[kentocidal]

10:34PM || SAWAMURA DAICHI

users: sawamura daichi x fem!afab!reader

cws: marathon sex. daddy kink. dacryphilia. size kink. prone bone. use of stoplight system check-in. selfship coded.

from the program: whoops.

daichi sawamura has a lot of energy. he used to be an athlete, now working in a high-intensity position as a firefighter. his body, though not as lean as it used to be back in high school, is still muscular and well built. he moves like water, adrenaline on high when his phone pings and he gets up from the dinner table to rush to a fire call. despite being older now, he still contains that boyish energy, a part of him that takes a long time to extinguish. he does not get tired easily.

this directly translates into his sex life with you.

daichi holds you up by your hips and fucks into you with a fervor that should be incriminating. his cock is thick and hefty in comparison to his average length. you feel like you’re ripping in half every time the tip of his cock presses into your g-spot and fills you to the brim.

his balls slap against your twitching clit, overstimulation having already been pushed through your veins as he works you towards another orgasm. he can feel it in the way your thighs shake and your cunt clenches around the length of his cock, and he sucks in pants through his gritted teeth.

“c’mon baby, again, do it again for me.”

you’d already cum once, a frothy ring making the bedroom fill with wet sounds as his cock gets coated in your spend. he didn’t stop, and he clearly won’t, not until he’s satisfied and you’re fucked out of your mind.

“daddy-!” you cry into your pillows with a half-sob, nails curling into the sheets so hard you fear you might tear the fabric. he’d assured you, once, that he bought high thread count sheets so you could claw at them and they’d never rip. or maybe he was finding excuses to spoil you, since you always denied his attempts to do so.

you felt the telltale sign of your impending orgasm suddenly start spreading through your stomach, and you gasped before letting out a guttural moan as your high crashed into you like a bus. you shook, knees giving out from under you. daichi was there to keep his cock buried deep in your convulsing cunt by wrapping a thick arm around your waist, groaning from the feeling of you around him.

“thaaat’s it, babygirl. that’s daddy’s good girl, perfect. much better.”

your blood roared in your ears as he slowly lowered your body down to the mattress, your sheets feeling damp to the touch. it was probably from how sweaty you both were, not that you had the capacity to care after the mind-numbing orgasm you just had.

you heard the sniffles before you felt them, the wet tracks of tears starting to cool against your cheeks. you weren’t sad, far from it, and yet your body was reacting to the strong wave of emotion and feeling.

“daddy,” you whined out, dragging out the ‘y’ at the end, and daichi groaned low in his throat.

you felt his cock jump in your heat, still buried deep, and it made you whimper loudly.

“you okay baby? you crying over daddy’s cock?”

“i-…” you couldn’t find words, not when daichi was suddenly laying over your back and planting the balls of his feet on the mattress. his one hand found the back of yours and slotted his fingers between your own, holding your hand down to the pillows; the other shifted to swipe your tears away with his thumb.

“color?”

“g-green,” you hiccuped, and you almost immediately felt the slow drag of daichi’s cock pulling back before bullying its way back in. you punched out a warbled moan; he had you flat against the mattress, humping into you like a man starved. he was so big — he felt like a weighted blanket over your back and it made you almost feel tiny in comparison to his broad shoulders and softened stomach.

he still hadn’t cum.

“again. just one more. again.”

it would not be just one more. you prayed it wouldn’t be just one more.

[strawberrystepmom]

gojo x f!reader. self ship coded. wc 1.1k. cw: reader is referred to as "little snow angel" and is wearing high heeled boots. divider thanks to @/cafekitsune!

You are sixteen years old the first time Gojo uses your warmth for his own comfort.

He presses his cold fingertips against your sun warmed cheek on an early spring day and you squeak, furrowing your brows and pouting while the two of you walk down an empty Tokyo street. It’s midday and you were paired up for a mission that was completed as quickly as it started, now walking side by side and enjoying a light lunch of whatever you wanted to grab from the convenience store while returning to the train station.

“Why did you do that?” You lament, chewing the mouthful of onigiri you managed to bite off before he cruelly interrupted you with the icicles he calls fingers. You shiver exaggeratedly and he sticks his tongue out and laughs, shrugging. 

“Dunno. You looked like the warmest thing around.”

The compliment makes your cheeks further warm and he feels it. He’s seventeen and awkward, as inexperienced in matters of the heart as you are but he understands that despite his tendency to touch and need for physical affection, he wouldn’t be able to do this with anybody else. Your patience with his antics is a very small part of why he finds himself so drawn to you and it’s only a tiny piece of the puzzle of his feelings.

Years later, and after many additional pieces have been added to said puzzle of his feelings, he’s still seeking out your warmth. 

Namely today when the air is so cold each of your puffs of breath leave you with dramatic wisps, curling through the air like hot tea you wish were in your hand warming your bones. Instead your hands are buried deep in your pockets, your legs carrying you as quickly as they can into the warmth of the apartment you moved into around a year ago - Satoru’s. Well, yours too, technically, considering you receive mail addressed to both of you but you still call it his apartment. Maybe someday you’ll get used to the fact that you two share a life together and not just pieces of a puzzle still in progress.

You are 26 years old, a virtual lifetime removed from the girl you were a decade ago, a dedicated teacher at the school you attended through your teenage years. In fact, you’re headed home from there now, the chunky stacked heel of your winter boots clacking against the cold sidewalk below them with every step you take toward the building your high rise is situated in. It’s so close yet so far away and you whine quietly, hoping he remembered to turn on the kotatsu like you asked.

Out of the pair of you, you’ve always been the hot one.

In the early days of your relationship, you realized that you and Satoru both worked better when each of you maintained defined roles. You are the serious one (sometimes), he is the joker (always). He’s the cool light of the winter moon, you’re the warm first day of spring sun. He’s the protector, you’re the protected despite your protests against this status and his insistence upon its importance. These roles have evolved over time as you’ve come into your own and he has done the same, your relationship as fluid as each of you are, but there is one thing that is always true. You run warm and he runs ice cold.

Already beneath the kotatsu upstairs, he’s in the apartment impatiently awaiting your arrival, shoving his hands and feet beneath the most ingenious invention mankind has ever dreamed up. It isn’t as hot as it should be, he forgot to turn it on when you asked and managed to remember about ten minutes ago, but it’s warming up enough that he can get the slightest bit of relief. 

Off on a mission without you, he spent the whole day freezing inside of his oversized black jacket. Even three layers beneath it couldn’t keep the chill from seeping through and luckily he made it home hours before you, the danger eradicated as quickly as he could manage. Since returning home he has taken a shower with water so hot it bordered on scalding, thrown his softest and warmest sweater over his head, and moped around knowing he is missing out on the thing that keeps him the coziest.

“I’m home!”

His ears perk up as soon as he hears your voice, withdrawing himself from beneath the warmth of the kotatsu. 

“Oh thank god!” 

Shouting his response and scrambling to stand up, he makes it there finally and jogs across the apartment in socked feet. You grin seeing him, grateful he made it home in one piece even if it was hours before you, and you pull your boots off with an unenthusiastic grunt. He rushes to scoop you up and hold your body against his. He’s shocked when he feels how cold you are and he coos sadly, pressing his warm fingers against your cold face.

“Poor thing,” he mutters and you giggle with a shake of your head. Gojo helps you out of your coat and you sigh contentedly, letting him work each of the sleeves off of you and then go to work unraveling the scarf tied around your neck and throat. “If you’re cold it must be very cold.”

Another nod. You struggle to speak, your smile frozen on your face, because you’ve realized yet again that the roles in your relationship have evolved. He’s the warmth you’ve come home to, hands and arms and chest thawing out the frost that has developed over you throughout the day. 

“I’m just glad to be home.”

Patting your face gently, warm fingers replacing the cold ones of that decade old memory, you lean into his touch and he pinches the round of your cheek between his index and forefinger as he often does. You giggle and grin and without any additional thought, dive face first into his chest and the smell of your laundry detergent and the beating heart beneath it all. Whatever winter chill remains is slowly melting away with each breath you take and each of his you listen to. 

“Come on.”  Satoru wraps you up and holds you against him, letting you walk on top of his feet back to the main living area. This is also something the two of you do often because he cannot physically handle being away from you long enough for you to guide yourself. “Let’s go warm you up, my little snow angel.”

Rolling your eyes at the brand new nickname he’s come up with (something else that is a daily occurrence you’ve learned to love over the last ten years), you smile to show him the gesture is nothing short of joking. He lets his hands fall around the waistband of your pants and slips one of them beneath your shirt, a yelp leaving you when the cold appendages wrap around your hip.

“Satoru!” You squeak and he chuckles, humming a little song to himself as he does every time he hears you say his name in that tone of voice. “What did you do that for?”

“I wanted to.”

He leans down and kisses your forehead with exaggerated smacks of his lips against your still cool skin.

You’ve heard it a million times - to be loved is to be changed - and you never considered that a change as small as hot and cold would fill your heart as full as it is right now. Even the cold fingers resting beneath your blouse can be forgiven when he leans down to envelop your lips in a kiss, chasing the winter blues so far away they’re all but long gone.

[itsnathateasy]

Armin Week | Day 3 | SFW Prompts | Nerd Armin OR Exploring the Outside World

word count: 737 warnings: none author’s note: if my teammates found out i simped about asana online, they’d chop my head off, but it’s not my fault asana is such a useful and cool app, yk??

@armin-week-2024

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

nerd!armin carries his books around everywhere and i mean EVERYWHERE, you can never catch him not reading something, even when he’s out for coffee, he’s either reading, studying or taking notes on something

i feel that he prefers subjects that can spark moral or philosophical questions, not that he dislikes sciences or anything, but he finds subjects like latin and history more thought-inspiring (is that a word?) like you can read this very old piece of literature and talk about it, analyse for hours, compare it to how things are today on so many levels, these classes are giving him braingasms or something

nerd!armin keeps his glasses in his front shirt pocket. he used to hang them on the hook of his jeans or in his back pockets, but he kept either crashing or loosing them

he also pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose only using one finger

nerd!armin is the kind of guy to touch his forehead with his fingers and rub the area when he’s really concentrating or when he’s trying super hard to understand something

nerd!armin has the softest hands, i know he does! his hands are clean and tender, though his fingertips might display some paper cuts. when he pulls all nigthers in order to study, you'll simply know it because there's blue ink all over the side of his palm

he’s also the type of person to always have headphones on so his studying isn’t interrupted

whenever you come across nerd!armin he’s surrounded by various pieces of paper, how he manages to keep them all in organised stacks is truly a mystery

listen to me, nerd!armin is colour coding his notes, i know it in my bones

nerd!armin notices you but pays little attention, he just knows you’re a regular at the library and/or the study hall, but knows next to nothing about you

you approach him once and ask for his help, as you shared a couple of classes. in fact, this was only an excuse to talk to him, you really needed no help with the material. he took his headphones off, listened to you very carefully, asked a couple of clarifying questions, then brought out a fresh sheet of paper and started writing down a few keywords, as he explained to you what you already knew

“whoa thanks armin! that was so enlightening! fancy pairing up for the next assignment?” but your question was never heard, as armin had simply said “you’re welcome” and then popped his headphones right back on, the cue to leaving him alone

nerd!armin is definitely not mean or rude, but he enjoys his silence and has trouble working when interrupted, you know?

when you meet nerd!armin again after a few days, he waves hello and gives you an awkward smile before sitting right opposite to you on the library table. “mind if i sit with you?” he asked, to which you quickly responded with “not at all”, gave him an equally awkward smile and you both buried your heads in your books and notebooks

nerd!armin is so taken aback when, a few hours into your studying, you extend your hand towards him to give him a small chocolate. without removing his headphones, he pointed to his chest “for me?” and once you nodded, he ate it in a quick motion, because eating wasn’t allowed in the library

the next day, nerd!armin sits opposite of you in the library again and gives you a piece of chocolate as well. “it’s not like the one you gave me yesterday, but i hope you like it”

nerd!armin soon went as far as to exchange phone numbers with you, now you text a few times each day, mostly about the exact time you’d be at the library, how you did on this or that exam and whether you’d read that book he’d recommended

i think nerd!armin might ACTUALLY fall in love with you because you introduced him to asana and/or notion, these apps were second nature to you but armin mostly used his notes app or google sheets and the apps you showed him changed his life

a couple weeks later, nerd!armin texted you to “come over on saturday, let’s finish the politics assignment together?”

“sure but don’t try anything funny on me”

“now you know the objective of the mission “study date” WHO RU WORKING FOR???”

nerd!armin is probably more than meets eye

[barrenclan]

I've been thinking of this for so long and have only now mustered up the courage to send an ask here. The Nowhere Kings lullaby is so very Deepdark coded.

Thank you for sending in an ask! I always like receiving them.

I agree very much with you, so much that Nowhere King has been on the PATFW playlist for awhile now! Here is a link to it if you'd like to listen.

I like your analysis on it!

Oh, yeah, I can absolutely see this Rainhaze at the very end of his line, twisted by Defiance, and the last lines of the song about him singing to Slugpelt wondering if even she would take him back after everything he's done.

it goes on for so long and it takes so much goddamn shit and benzos to make the skin grow thick and to make the heart grow cold to make your heart grow cold

cover your ears Emily your weakened mind fears nothing i want to know if you'll still care for me if I left you to decay

emily will you bury me the purest sin that ive ever seen emily will you still love me

I like this version! Very mournful. I can see Defiance in it, with more specific Rainhaze bits mixed in.

In the land of Gods and Monsters I was an angel living in the garden of evil Screwed up, scared, doing anything that I needed Shining like a fiery beacon

"This is Heaven, what I truly want" It's innocence lost Innocence lost

I think I'd put it as a song sung by Pinepaw about Nightberry.

The old man next door says his house is haunted He says a ghost keeps him awake I think he's having a hard time, to be honest Since his darling passed away

I said Robert I'm so sorry Your house ain't haunted You're just not used to bein' alone

Every song is about Rainhaze.

I love this song! Actually, one of the main characters' theme songs - "Twelve Thirty (Young Girls Are Coming To the Canyon)" for Egrettail - is by the Mamas and the Papas, so nice choice. Fits well with Blacknose.

All the leaves are brown (all the leaves are brown) And the sky is gray (and the sky is gray) I've been for a walk (I've been for a walk) On a winter's day (on a winter's day) If I didn't tell her (if I didn't tell her) I could leave today (I could leave today)

You know the preacher like the cold (preacher like the cold) He knows I'm gonna stay (knows I'm gonna stay)

All Fleetwood Mac songs fit with Slugpelt, this is true. Of course I would always love to see an animation of my characters, but the song choice is very good regardless! I like the descriptions of Slugpelt as a "pale shadow of a woman", it fits her chracter very well.

Well, did she make you cry Make you break down Shatter your illusions of love? <- Dustfeather And is it over now, do you know how? Pick up the pieces and go home

Pale shadow of a woman Black widow Pale shadow of a dragon Dust woman

I was very fond of this song when the game first came out, especially a cover that sadly doesn't seem to be on YouTube anymore. Oh well, it still fits Pinepaw perfectly.

Stuck on this dead end street Where all the new kids come to play Stuck–where past and future meet Watching all our autumns drift away

And if they ever hear my name Will they know I walked alone Around these dusty streets–My Tired old home

And will they ever stop to think What was here before, no They won’t remember that I’m gone

[howlsofbloodhounds]

(I usually ask anonymously because I'm shy asf but I wanted to ask non-anonymously because I don't think anons get notified when their ask gets answered.)

I feel like you know enough about Killer to tell me If this sounds solid or if it's dogwater. (Also to know if this idea had already existed or not sksksk). Please tell me if I made any mistakes, though! My brain is kinda fried lately and I had the strong urge to yap :'D

So I think it has been established that Killer's bones are constantly melting due to the high amounts of determination inside of him, and he'll eventually melt away and die. I think it is also mentioned somewhere that Color promises to find a way to 'fix' his soul?

I think the viable solution would be the Determination (DT) Extractor machine. In the Undertale game, in Alphys's True Lab we see the DT Extractor machine, it is used to extract DT from the human souls to be later injected into monster bodies. I wonder if we hypothetically can use this to solve Killer's perpetually melting problem? Has anyone thought of it?

(I do think there's some sort of like Sans fights animation where Killer is thrown to the DT Extractor in the middle of battle and he loses his DT. But my memory is fuzzy...)

Thank you, have a nice day (⁠ﾉ⁠◕⁠ヮ⁠◕⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧

I suppose that’s an option they could try, especially since Color said he knows a guy and perhaps he meant his AU’s Gaster, but would it work, and would it work without killing him or grievously injuring him? Is killer willing to risk the possibility of being changed yet again.

Would it do anything to his code? That’s changed now too.

He’s arguably spent more time with DT as apart of his being than without it. Is it just a part of him now?

It invaded his soul like a parasite, perhaps it’d be hard to remove at all (almost like it doesn’t want to be removed) (stage 4 is described as pure Determination. perhaps in a way its also like rejecting 4.) and any intense pain and trapped feelings would provoke stage 3 into instinctively fighting back and trying to survive.

which is ironic, considering how 3 could remember the feeling of invasion and wants the invading parasite out.

Perhaps killer’s biggest struggle in trying to ‘fix’ himself is himself. And instead he should focus on trying to heal and recover.

I imagine it’d be a strange feeling. watching your body struggle and fight against something you wanted and willingly agreed to, as if it doesnt understand that this was going to (supposed to) help.

maybe they make or find a smaller syringe like version to slowly take out and remove small amounts in certain times of the day, if only to prevent more damage on his body and further slow down the melting and rotting.

I’d imagine this would not only bring up trauma around his soul and people touching it or injecting/extracting things in and from it; but may also bring up a whole lot of concerns about becoming weaker, unable to protect himself and worries about having to rely on someone else.

Not only do i still feel like 3-4 would cause rather violent resistance against the idea of extraction DT (one instinctual, the other because it means losing connections to chara/the player and failing the deal), and 2 wouldnt want it for the mentioned above.

1 likely would, even if it kills him and especially if it weakens him (he’s accepted death a long time ago, it’s the final rest for him, and losing DT just means freedom and less pain and less suffering for others and him he thinks), while 2 may bury his wants deep down and go along with it if it seems to make Color happy.

But of course, if Killer doesn’t seem fully on board and enthusiastic about it, Color’s not going to make him.

{ @dseval }

[callmelittlebuttercup]

Peace Offerings Pt. 14

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Chapter Summary: In the previous chapter, Reader was separated from Joel and placed her trust into another member of the group to find their way to him. When they stop into a house to find food and shelter, they run into a man named David and things take a turn for the worst.

Chapter warnings: MDNI 18+, Jackson! au, No Ellie! au, extreme angst, cannibalism, mentions of murder/death/loss, suicidal ideation, cursing, attempted SA, Reader is locked in a cage, broken bones, Reader is knocked out with chloroform.... lmk if i missed any other fun things! :)

Masterlist

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Part Fourteen

I didn’t know what to do. In the new world, it wasn’t a custom to politely introduce yourself anymore. Usually you’d hold a gun up and pray they wouldn’t shoot you first, but this man was standing in front of me and holding his hand out to shake. It felt completely unnatural. I couldn’t help but wonder what Joe would do in this situation. I concluded that he definitely would not shake the man’s hand, so I backed away and stood with my hands crossed over my chest. “Hello David.” I said, trying to sound as intimidating as possible, “To what do I owe the pleasure?” He chuckled lightly and began to pace across the living room, “Well, you see… You and your friend have wandered into my commune, and I take the safety of my people very seriously. I need to be sure you’re not a threat.” I swallowed. Commune was a scary word, and made the man’s welcoming, yet unsettling demeanor make sense. I couldn’t help but wonder if I was dealing with a cult leader of some sort. If so, I had to get out of there, and fast.  “Look, David, I can assure you that my friend and I are not a threat to your people. We were just passing through the town and hoping to find something to eat along the way.” I explained innocently. He nodded and stared at me as if he was deciphering me like some sort of code. “You’re hungry?” He asked, his voice lacking the enthusiasm it once carried. “Well, I’m okay but my friend is-” The man cut me off, “Well then you must come with me to our mess hall. There’s plenty of food to go around here.” He smiled. My stomach flip flopped, and upon instinct I blurted out a “No thank you.” His smile quickly folded into a frown. “You’re really going to pass up a free meal? Since when has anyone offered you one of those in the past twenty years?” He questioned suavely. He sounded like a salesperson. “I normally wouldn’t, but my friend and I are in a rush to get somewhere. Just point us towards the exit and we won’t be in your hair anymore.” I said. He pressed his lips together and turned to look over his shoulder into the kitchen. “I’m not sure if your friend will be going anywhere anytime soon.” He said wearily as he looked back at me. “Wha-” My question was caught in my throat when I followed his gaze around the corner and caught sight of Jacob who was sprawled across the floor with a knife buried into his neck. My heart began to pound in my chest and the familiar feeling of adrenaline pumped through my veins. I turned back towards David with my fists balled, but suddenly a strong, sweet smell filled my nose as a cloth was pressed against my face. I tried not to breathe, knowing it was a chloroform rag, but it was too late. My fighting slowed as my vision darkened and I fell unconscious. 

~~~~~~~~

The sound of a knife hitting wood rythmically slowly pulled me into consciousness. My head pounded and the sweet, alcoholic smell was stuck in my nose. Every limb ached as I  examined the small metal cell that encapsulated me. I stopped short when I saw where the noise was coming from. Horror filled my body as a human arm fell to the floor as the figure brought down the cleaver once more. My hand flew to my mouth to push the bile back down my throat. The dizziness from being knocked out caused me to fall back into the metal, causing the rungs to vibrate at the impact. The figure paused momentarily and then called out, “David! She’s awake!” I scrambled to sit up against the furthest side of the cage, ensuring that he had no way to get to me through the bars, and eyed him aggressively as he walked into the room. 

“How are you feeling?” David asked as he bent down to my level on the opposite side of my enclosure. My hands were pressed up against my chest, instinctively making myself smaller. “Super.” I blurted. He dropped a tray that he’d been carrying onto the ground and slid it through the gap between the bars and the floor. The gap I wished I was small enough to slip through and disappear. “Here, eat. You’ve been out so long… Must be starving.” He said softly. I stared at the contents of the tray. The majority of it was some kind of meat with a pitiful amount of rice. “What kind of meat is it?” I asked reluctantly. “Deer.” He answered stoicly. I scoffed at his blatant lie and kicked the tray with such force that the contents flew across the cell. Some even landed on his shoe. “You’re a fucking animal.” I grunted through my teeth. He leaned closer to the bars and his lip curled up into a sneer, “Oh… You’re awfully quick to judgement. Considering you and your friends killed how many of my men back at your little camp site?” My mind traveled back to that fight outside the tents. Those were his men? And then it all made sense. He captured me for revenge for killing his precious followers. 

“They didn’t give us a choice.” I said emotionlessly. “And you think we have a choice? Is that it? You kill to survive... and so do we. We have to take care of our own. By any means necessary.” He demanded. “So now what? Are you going to chop me into tiny little pieces because I killed a few of your delusonal prospects?” I questioned mockingly. “You killed husbands, fathers, brothers. That is nothing to joke about. But I’d rather not kill you. I figure you telling me your name would help me convince the others not to either.” He said in a dark tone, all while trying to keep his patience. I was sick of being looked at like his next meal so I shakily pulled myself up to stand in the center of the cell. David rose off of his knees and to my eyeline. “I’m not telling you shit. Killing me or doing whatever the fuck you’re going to do is not going to bring back your men, so just let me go.” I demanded as I stepped closer to him. He stood on the other side of the bars unmoving, but his lips curled into an even more threatening sneer. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. See, there’s this saying… ‘an eye for an eye.’ Ever heard it before?” He asked patronizingly. I gulped as I nodded slowly. “Right. Now, four men equals four eyes and unless I’ve counted wrong… you only have two.” My nails dug into the palms of my hands as I waited patiently for him to get to him to get to his point. He moved to the doorway, but continued, “Luckily, your brother counted as two more.” 

I hurled myself towards the metal bars, banging and pushing as hard as I could. “What the fuck did you do to him?” I growled at David. He walked over to me and wrapped his hands around the rungs. “Let’s just say… his life will help many others to prosper.” He whispered softly. My heart nearly stopped. Though nearly blinded by anger and adrenaline, I still saw an opportunity and wasted no time as I brought my elbow down onto his knuckles, slamming them onto the horizontal bar below. A loud cracking sound filled the air along with David’s pained scream. I reached through the cell door and ripped the key ring off of his belt loop and it ripped away as David fell to the ground. I kept my eye on him as I immediately began fumbling with the lock. David was snapping out of his pained state, but I was faster, and pushed the door open before sprinting down the hallway. 

My coordination was low from the dizziness as I tried to navigate our way through the kitchen and to the nearest exit. We ended up going further into the restaurant and found ourselves in the dining room. “I thought you’d be smarter than to think you’re getting out that easily.” David’s voice called out. I quickly crouched behind a booth and peeked over the seats to see him standing there with a machete hanging from his right hand. After throwing a piece of shrapnel away from me to make sure he was heading the opposite way, I began to move, lunging between boothes to stay out of sight. I neared him and planned to take him from behind with a strangle move I’d seen Joel do. 

I was inches away from him now, close enough to see the sweat gathering on the back of his neck. I seized the opportunity and launched myself onto David’s back and wrapped my arm around his neck, squeezing with all of the strength I had in me. Sickening gurgling sounds left his mouth as I continued to strangle him and I felt his knees buckling under him. The burning in my arms was only motivation to keep my grip on him, and he finally fell to the ground, taking me down with him. I gasped for breath as I stood up off of him and turned to run out of the door that was feet away, but a sharp sting spread through my calf. I cried out as I toppled to the ground, my head landing inches away from David’s. A sick smile spread across his face. “You’re weak.” He said through his teeth as he pushed himself off of the ground, “Just how I like ‘em.” I tried to sit up and grasp for my leg, but he pushed me down harshly by my shoulder and proceeded to push his body onto mine. I squealed, pushed, and kicked in attempt to get him off of me, but he was too big, too determined. “That’s it, keep fighting.” He breathed. Nausea filled my stomach as I felt him reach down and unzip his pants and began trying to rip my clothes off.  I continued to fight, digging my nails into the ground and bringing my knees into his stomach over and over again. Suddenly my hand connected with something hard. Something metal. It was the machete. I grasped it and wasted no time burying it under David’s ribcage. A look of shock occupied his face before his whole body fell onto me. 

I was numb. David’s limp body was still draped over mine, but I didn’t have the strength to move it. I’d begun to accept defeat. My brother was gone and Joel nowhere to be found. My last two motivations to be alive were now gone. So there I laid, under my captor on the grimy floor of a restaurant that was being engulfed in flames. The smoke burnt my lungs, but I didn’t care. I breathed in further, hoping it would make my demise come quicker. As I lay there, my mind went back to when Matthew and I were younger. Sitting next to our father’s strawberry plants and stuffing our faces, causing red rings to form around our mouths. I smiled at the memory and felt a tear drip down towards my ear. 

Suddenly a loud bang rattled the walls of the restaurant. I stayed still, figuring that it was the ceiling collapsing, but flinched when I heard my name being called. I thought I was imagining it, that I was finally letting go, but then I saw Joel’s face over me. His eyes were wild with concern. “Joel.” I choked. He grunted as he pushed David’s body off of me, his face dropping when he caught sight of David’s undone belt and zipper. My hands floated up to reach for him and he quickly obliged, gathering my quivering form up against his chest. “S’okay babygirl. I’m here. I’ve got you.” He soothed as I sobbed against him. I began to cough between sobs from the smoke gathering in the air, and he quickly moved to carry me outside. 

It had snowed more since I’d been captured, and the air stung my exposed skin. Joel set me down gently onto my feet and hurriedly shrugged his heavy jacket off before draping it over my shoulders. “Here.” He breathed before his arm moved to wrap around my shoulders and he began to coral me into the woods, away from the burning building. Suddenly, I dropped to my knees and my breathing became frantic. I was finally processing that my brother was gone. That he’d been murdered, chopped up, and eaten. Joel knelt down next to me and wrapped his arm around me once more as I sat there heaving. I tried to speak, to explain, but I could only manage one word at a time between gasps. “He…. they…” Joel pulled me against himself again and pressed my head under his chin and whispered, “God I’m so sorry.” He pulled away and wiped the wetness from my cheeks and under my nose. “But you’re not hurt.” He said weakly, “Thank fucking god you’re okay.” He pulled me into him again before pressing his lips to the top of my head. I let my body go limp against his. I was relieved to be with him again, to be safe in his arms, but I was so very far from being okay. 

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a/n: This was an INTENSE chapter but it's not a Joel fic without angst in every chapter lmao. I hope you enjoyed and as always thank you for reading!!

Taglist:

@ashleyfilm @ayamenimthiriel @demonsasss

Masterlist | Next Part

[jiveyuncle]

"Lance," Keith sounds breathless. "Back when we found my lion - the glowing symbols. What did you say about it?"

Lance is still staring hard at where Keith's hand rests on the control panel's screen, face scrunched in disbelief. "That is was written in code?"

Keith shakes his head. "No, no, about the Galra not being able to find it because of something to do with quintessence."

Lance's brow furrows further as he tries to recall what all he said so long ago, then his eyes flick up to meet Keith's. "Um? They were directions - quintessence infused." His lips purse as he tries to list everything. "The inscriptions would only be revealed in the presence of an Altean."

Keith removes his hand from the panel and the stars wink out. He strides toward Lance, mind racing. "Lance," Keith exhales. "I saw similar symbols back on Earth. Back when Hunk, Shiro, Pidge and I found the Green Lion in the cave."

Lance's eyes are flicking rapid-fire between Keith's, "But I wasn't there with you that time."

Keith grips Lance by the arms, hands squeezing tight. "Then why did the cave still light up?"

Lance almost looks as if he's stopped breathing.

Keith shifts his hold from Lance's arms, to hold his face. "The whole time I've been amazed at how much a couple of aliens look like us humans," Keith presses his forehead to Lance's, "but maybe I should've been thinking about how much we look like you."

And Keith can see it - in Lance's face - the moment the full meaning of everything clicks, and then Keith's being crushed in a bone-breaking hug. A wet laugh finds its way into the crook of Keith's neck. "Allura and I weren't the only ones to survive."

Keith raises his arms to squeeze Lance back just as tightly and buries his nose in his hair. "I think we're gonna need another look at the cave back on Earth."

A little glimpse at the Humans-are-the-crossbreed-descendants-of-Alteans-that-fled storyline reveal. I tried to layer so many hints and foreshadowing throughout the fic, and the reveal was just so satisfying to write. Idk if it’s been done before (probably) as I joined this fandom wayyy late but this AU is clogging all my brain space. I’m feral. If you ask me, I will scream your ear off about how this fills a ton of plot holes in canon and strengthens some of the choices made by different characters. Actually, I’ll rant about it on the next post since it’ll be the last batch of artwork for the fic. I’m so excited to draw more stuff within the AU. I just have so many thoughtsssss about how everything connectsssss ahhh

Fic: Sure and Indelible on AO3: