#i almost cried because it's not my choice

[my-eyes-burn]

cw: afab reader, pure smut. noncon / dubcon, stepcest, alcohol abuse, intoxication, fingering, dirty talk, P in V, degradation. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

pervy stepbrother!suguru who gets hard seeing his step sister in her halloween costume--a slutty school girl outfit, with a short, short skirt and a teeny tiny top, tits on full display. braided pigtails and thigh-high, white socks. he knows that you're wearing it just for him.

pervy stepbrother!suguru who can't stop staring at you, his step sister, who he's lived with since he was a teenager. you're both in your 20s now, but he's never gotten over his fascination with you. he's stroked his cock and cum on his fist countless times to the image of you bouncing on his cock. and the fact that you call him stepbrother gets him off more than you can possibly imagine.

pervy stepbrother!suguru who is drunk as fuck at the halloween party and can't take it anymore. next time you walk past him in that skimpy, sultry little costume, he grabs a handful of your ass. no one notices where his hand is, no one hears the little gasp you let out that makes his cock twitch.

pervy stepbrother!suguru whose cock is so hard and who has so much liquor inside of him he can't control himself. you're just as drunk, almost stumbling but not yet. he's as tall and hot as ever, no halloween costume on because he doesn't care and it's you who insisted on hosting the halloween party with all your friends. he's only... supervising. that's what he told himself. and he watched you like a hawk the whole evening.

pervy stepbrother!suguru who pushes another drink into your hand and watches you down the whole thing, then drags you by your waist to the bathroom. the music is loud and the lights are dim, the house is packed with people, so no one pays any attention. your cheeks are ruddy and your teeny tiny top has ridden down so your tits are almost popping out.

pervy stepbrother!suguru who pulls you into the bathroom and locks the door so fast you can hardly register what you just did. he pushes you up against the wall, presses his body flush along yours, and you can feel his huge, hard erection press onto you. he's aching for friction.

pervy stepbrother!suguru whose hands creep to grab hard and rough fistfuls of your tits as you start to protest weakly. he knows that you want it, that you're pretending to protest because you want to ease your conscience before fully giving into his advances.

pervy stepbrother!suguru who gets even harder when you say "suguru stop, we shouldn't" and "it's wrong" and "stop, you're my stepbrother." he groans at each word and his hands knead harder. when one of his hands sneaks down, under your skirt, pulling it up, he places his fingers over your clothed cunt and he can tell that you're already soaking wet.

pervy stepbrother!suguru who chuckles, feeling your juices seep onto his fingers as he moves them. you squirm and protest some more before moans start to escape your lips. you can pretend like you don't want it, but he sees how big your pupils are, how you're practically shaking, how you're about to start begging for more. he purrs in your ear, "don't pretend like you don't want it, sweetheart. you're dripping wet already. god, you're filthy. i know you've wanted me this whole time. wanted to fuck your stepbrother like the slut you are."

pervy stepbrother!suguru who pulls your panties down and admires how his hand looks, rubbing on your sensitive, sopping wet folds while you squirm. your whines and cries are like music to his ears. the more he rubs his fingers, the better it feels. and with all the alcohol going to your head, more sparks and blood rush to your pussy. your stomach feels like its on fire, and his fingers feel dangerously good.

pervy stepbrother!suguru who tells you that he knows how badly you want his cock, and now that your arousal is running down your thighs and starting to saturate the fabric of your thigh-high socks, you have no choice but to beg for his cock. his smile is downright sickening, his cock is weeping, his hand is wrapped around it already and he's lining it up with your red, inflamed, desperate slit.

pervy stepbrother!suguru who finally pushes his cock into you slowly while you let out depraved moans. you were telling him to stop a few minutes ago but now you're begging him for it shamelessly and digging into his biceps with your fingernails. his hands are on your hips, your skirt is flipped up, and he's entered you now. when he starts moving his hips, your whines get louder. someone knocks on the bathroom door and you ignore it, trying to stay quiet, but the slaps of his cock and balls on your pussy are squelching, wet, and nasty.

pervy stepbrother!suguru who glowers down from above and calls you names. "you're so fucking needy and pathetic. such a slut for your stepbrother's cock. how about i tell mom and dad?" when you cry and beg him not to, tears streaming down your face, he responds. "as long as you don't tell anyone about this, i won't tell mom and dad. and i'll keep fucking you whenever i want. because you're begging me for it. and your cunt is so tight and wet for me." you nod and frown and a smile creeps over his lips. "does it feel good? be honest with me. be honest with your big stepbrother."

pervy stepbrother!suguru who fucks you faster and harder until your eyes roll back in your head. he cant stop staring at the drool dripping out of the corners of your mouth and your tits bouncing, so he pulls your top down and your tits spill out. you blush crimson and tell him to stop, but he leans his mouth down and starts sucking on one of your nipples and biting it. he can feel your pussy clench around his cock and your moans get more desperate. you're seeing stars. he knows you're going to cum on his dick and like it. he knows you want it.

pervy stepbrother!suguru who feels your juices trickle down his shaft and coat his balls. "you want my cock that bad? i bet you'd get wet if i told mom and dad. you'd get off on everyone knowing i put my cock in you whenever i want." when you tell him no and say that he's lying, he lets out a deep groan. he loves it when you pretend like you wouldn't get off on that. he's spied on you, seen you masturbate, listened to your fantasies, the ones that slip out of your mouth when your fingers are in your cunt. he knows that you'd like it.

pervy stepbrother!suguru who angles the fat, defined tip of his cock into your gspot and presses so hard into it that you practically scream. you tell him that you're about to cum and he does it again. "cream for me. you want it so bad, don't you? fantasize about it all the time? show me how fucking nasty you are. show me how good your stepbrother's cock makes you feel." when you start to convulse and writhe on his cock, he keeps fucking you. your orgasm is so good your mind goes completely blank. and he's saying nasty things to you the whole time. he keeps fucking you even when you cry from overstimulation. he likes to see your face twist up, likes to watch your tits bounce and your thighs shake.

pervy stepbrother!suguru who shoots his cum inside of you, white ropes filling you up as he groans loud, long, and gravelly. he shakes as his cock pulses inside of you and he watches his white seed leak out of your folds.

pervy stepbrother!suguru who pulls out of you and lets you slide down the floor with shaking legs and rolled eyes, mouth hanging open. he pulls his pants up and smirks. "might want to lock the door after i leave." he leaves the bathroom like nothing happened. when you scramble to lock the door, you look into the mirror. your pigtails are askew, your hair is fucked up, your makeup is smudged, and you realize your tits are out. you stuff them back in your top and then try to get all of suguru's cum out of you, but you know you didn't get all of it.

pervy stepbrother!suguru who watches in satisfaction as you hobble out of the bathroom (which now smells like sex and sweat and cum) on wobbly legs. he pretends like nothing ever happened and bides his time until the next time he decides to pull you away and fuck you even harder. he'll never let you live down the fact that you came on your stepbrother's cock. and every time you touch yourself, you remember how he fucked you on halloween, when you were drunk and hesitant, when he had to force himself on you until you started begging him for more and telling him to not stop.

pervy stepbrother!suguru who, weeks later, makes you finger yourself in front of him, but instead of degrading you, he tells you that you're being so good for your older stepbrother, so good because you're touching yourself in front of him, so good because you're getting off when he tells you that you're being a good little stepsister, so good because you suck your own juices off your fingers while he watches with hungry eyes. the more wrong and nasty he makes you feel, the wetter you get.

[jarognieva]

Something petty and silly completely devastated me for few days (and I still feel like a shit). So. I remembered that there's a pocked in a wallet in which I haven't look at for few years. And there were photos of my family members and... my FormerBestieWhoAbandonedMeForBetterAndCoolerPeople. I don't know what to do with this photos. Discard? I can't. Idk why. She probably doesn't even though about me for single time from the time she "unfriended" me. And I can't forget, I have dreams about her and now this. Idk. After this finding I have an avalanche of bad thoughts about myself. Like I'm too dumb and autistic to live in society, or that I hurt people without realizing or I can't make any relationships because I'm too dumb and I don't get social cues. I feel like a terrible and shitty person again.

[hal-o-ween]

Sweet Dreams <3

[masked-alien-lesbian]

HLAW Day 5: Relationships

Anytime you need a friend

I will be here

You'll never be alone again

So don't you fear

Riley Rys

There isn't anything I wouldn't do for you

We stick together and can see it through

Cause you've got a friend in me

You've got a friend in me

You find out who your friends are

Somebody's gonna drop everything

Run up and crank their car

Hit the gas, get there fast

I am here, if you need me, yeah

I'm in the wind, look for me friend

I'm in the stars, when you need me

When you have a friend

By your side

That helps you to find

The beauty of all

When you'll open your heart and

Believe in

The gift of a friend

Raelyn Lee

And I can't be without you

So don't go anywhere

You show me love like no one else has done yet

And with the road ahead

This is the beginning

Of this love story

Knowing clouds will raise up

Storms will race in

But you'll be safe in my arms

Rains will pour down

Waves will crash all around

But you'll be safe in my arms

Castles they might crumble

Dreams may not come true

But you are never all alone

Because I will always

Always love you

I wanted to do one for Lorelai and Xinghai but I couldn't find a full body sprite for them, but if I had been able to make an edit for them, their song would have been Perfect by Simple Plan.

@hanaleeappreciationweek

@lizzybeth1986

@sazanes

[erinravenseeker]

look you guys don’t understand i know Dan Feng comes off as really cold in the short but imagine how experiencing the universe outside of the xianzhou and away from the responsibilities imposed on him SINCE BIRTH, with the express crew to guide him, has given Dan Heng a chance to grow into and act on his own emotions. ofc DF is cold in the short, it’s DH’s perception of him, and outward temperament is not your inner self especially if you’re a political figure your entire life and are forced to do things you may not necessarily want to because your duty demands it (i am very normal about them i swear)

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

Futures | BODY BACK

As Harrison mentally connects the umber flecks of Jeremiah’s eyes like they’re constellations, he imagines a future where he follows him to Maryland.

He could take the first leg of the trip, tune the radio to throwbacks, belt Bon Jovi’s Livin’ on a Prayer in a Burger King drive-thru just to make Jeremiah laugh. They could rest at a motel similar to Greta—the same stuffy wallpaper, the same berber carpet. Surprise each other the next morning with bagels from the bakery a block away. Go crabbing at Point Lookout on their first weekend in the state. Pose next to each other with their catch for a photo snapped by a stranger.

Jeremiah might even invite him to his grandmother’s birthday party, introduce him to an aunt as his boyfriend. They’d link arms the entire night, feed each other spoons of sherry trifle. Harrison could bond with a cousin over their shared interests in bushcraft forts and Neo-Dada art. Jeremiah’s mother would invite them berry picking the next weekend, serve blueberry buckle after Sunday mass, everyone still suited and skirted around the kitchen table. Harrison could cameo in their Christmas card photo. Spend the next year’s labour day weekend at a lakeside cottage. Grill chicken thighs with Jeremiah’s father. Play Marco Polo with his younger brother. It’d all feel like an airy vacation.

today's excerpt. specifically to hurt the jeremiah boys. <3

[aromanticannibal]

The pattern is that people straight up do not read™. or they read a 3-5 tweet summary of what happened and treat it as if they did. or because shonen expectations based on "the classics" is bullshit and significantly rotted people's brains when deciding wether an ending is good or not.

Which could be nothing right

yeahhh. i will forever regret reading the last chapter through leaks because it was a dreadful experience, and watching everyone ever shit on it for like a week after genuinely made me want to just get off the internet forever or something because i felt like an idiot for liking the ending (all this is my fault for getting too invested in both tumblr and mha etc etc).

All the "it's rushed" and pacing complaints barely matter to me at this point because you just cannot feel the pacing of something correctly when you're reading it exclusively through leaks. you can't absorb info like that. And don't get me started on the number of complaints and criticisms I've seen of the last chapter that are just provably bullshit (I saw someone say Izuku didn't get a statue lmao. yes he did, you just read the fucking leaks and watched twitter drama unfold instead of reading the actual chapter i fear).

[oof-i-did-it-agaaiiin]

I saw Hadestown on tour and in it when Orpheus turned it was when they were almost all the way home. Orpheus was in the world of the living but Eurydice hadn’t stepped through the threshold yet. Orpheus made it and searched the room before turning to see Eurydice, still just barely within the maws of hell.

It felt like impatience and relief and celebration. He had made it. He thought she had too.

It’s a mystery what really happened that day. Every story tells it differently. Every Orpheus turns at a different time, for a different reason. All we know is Orpheus turns. But we all seem to agree it was because he was overcome by emotion. Orpheus is a lover. Orpheus is an artist. Orpheus is defined by emotion.

In the safety of reflection and speculation it’s easy to identify the logical choice, but in the moment emotions can have you in a chokehold.

one thing about orpheus and eurydice is you guys are all like “i’m different i wouldnt turn to look at her” because you are all familiar with the story of orpheus and eurydice. but orpheus wasnt familiar with the story because he was in it lol.

[resonabilis-echo]

.

[naamahdarling]

I was shocked to my literal core when someone told me they thought I was manipulative and, when I asked why they would say that, cited me crying during extreme emotional distress.

Like, I'm sorry my instinctive response to pain is to cry about it? I try to contain it as best I can and still hear you out even when it hurts so bad? If I wanted to manipulate you, I wouldn't choose tears? Trust me. If for some reason I want to play someone like a fiddle, I wouldn't choose a response I cannot control!

Y'know, some people do have a strong crying response to stress, and they might cry (even against their own will) when faced with an upsetting situation and that doesnt mean they are “gaslighting” or “manipulating” you.

There are people who use crying as a manipulation tactic? Absolutely. But that doesn’t mean that every person that cries during a heated argument is trying to get under your skin. They have their own emotions and issues, and frankly, not everything other people do is a personal attack on you.

[luveline]

hey jade! maybe this is a tad more angsty than you'd like but could I request prison!Spence getting a visit from bombshell!reader and Amy? or a phonecall with them? q

ty for your request <3 mom!reader, 1.4k

“Best behaviour,” you’re whispering, hand on Amy’s small back, her shoe digging into your hip. “I’m serious, baby. Big feelings are okay, but we can’t be loud. We can’t shout.” 

She frowns. Amy’s been a little against you these last few weeks. “I’m not shouting.” 

“I know.” You try and fail to divide your attention between her and the line you’re following. You almost miss the sound of the buzzer that ushers you forward. “Okay, I’m right here. I know everything has been super scary, and you’re my brave girl, but I’m right here. You can tell me anything. Okay?” 

She rubs your chin with her nose. “Okay, mom.”

“Okay. Let’s go see daddy!” you cheer under your breath, enthusing your voice with some false joy. 

Your nerves threaten to make you sick, but you have to be the put together one. This is the strife part of the marriage you’d signed up for. Though no one can blame you for handling it poorly —who could ever expect Spencer to be where he is right now? 

You carry Amy into the penitentiary visitor’s room with apprehension, shoulders stiff, fingers aching against your little girl’s rough denim jacket. The room is laid out strangely, but there’s a clear division between the prisoners and the visitors, though there’s no overarching perspex. There are dividers, sure, but you can touch him. You can see him sitting near the middle of the room, his hair in violent disarray, his eyes locked onto you already. 

You speed up your walking. 

Desperate, your knee knocks into a chair as you try to touch his face. 

Spencer lets you for a half a second, before he moves away. “You’re not allowed to touch me,” he says, voice laden with a raw apologeticness that threatens to trip you up immediately. 

“Daddy!” Amy says, squirming in your arms, her foot on the desk as she tries to shove herself over the short partition. 

Spencer, in a dads instinct, reaches for her without thinking. “Amy, Amy,” he says. 

“No touching!” a guard shouts clearly. 

Spencer pushes Amy gently back into your arms and holds his arms up in surrender. The guard veers his way, but walks off again when he sees Spencer’s compliance. 

“Daddy,” she whines, holding out her hand. 

“Sit down,” Spencer says to you. 

You sit down. The gap between both you and Amy and Spencer widens, her little legs pumping restlessly into your thighs. You’ll be bruised as a soft pear when you go home, but you barely feel it now. 

“Shh,” you say, wrapping your arms around her like a straight jacket. You don’t really have a choice. “Shh, baby, shh. Remember what mommy said, okay? We have to be quiet, or they won’t let us see your daddy anymore. We have to follow the rules.” 

“It’s okay,” Spencer says. He clears his throat. “Hey, Amanda?” 

She looks up in surprise at her full first name. “What?” she asks. 

“God, it’s so good to see you.” His voice thickens with emotion, but he keeps a tight handle on it. “I miss you so much, sweetheart. So much.” He looks at you. “I miss you,”  he says again. 

“We miss you too.” You wipe your nose. “It’s weird just being mom and Amy at home.” 

Weird isn’t the right word. Amy has cried herself sick five nights a week for the last month, because if her mom is home, why isn’t her dad? Why can’t she talk to him? Where did he go? 

“When can you be home?” Amy asks, reaching toward the glass again. 

Spencer looks around the room before he reaches over the half-partition to hold her hand. He gives you a look: watch my back. 

“I don’t know yet,” he says, holding her hand tightly, and giving her fingers little squeezes, “I’m sorry, princess.” 

You give him a look of your own: change the subject. 

You miss Spencer more than you’ve ever missed another person. There’s never been a feeling as acute as this in your life, you don’t know what to do with yourself when you aren’t with him. The only thing you can do is be Amy’s mom, and you’ve always felt that Spencer made you better at it. Without him, you’re struggling. 

He looks like he can tell. 

He diverts his attention from you to Amy again, ducking his head, his face posed into his most loving smile. “You’re so pretty, just like your mommy. You’re getting prettier every day, aren’t you? Mommy told me you’ve been helping make your own dinner. That’s amazing. You’re my smart girl.” 

“I make– made our favourite last night.” She struggles over ‘favourite’, but she’s as smart as her father. The words come easily. “We had, uh– butter chicken! And mommy made…” 

You blink a small tear from the corner of your eye. “I made garlic naan. We toasted them under the grill, didn’t we?” you ask with a sniffle. 

“Yes!” She looks back at you. “Dad’s plate.” 

You wipe your cheek quickly. “We kept you some,” you say, fighting as hard as you can to stop yourself from crying at the table. You can’t break down here, and you won’t. “Amy was worried you’d come home and be hungry, so we saved you some.” 

Spencer leans far over the table to squeeze your wrist. Behind him, the prison guard begins making their way to your table.

“Spencer.” You lean away before he can get caught. 

Spencer snatches his hand back to grip the partition. 

He smiles. “Angel,” he says clearly, looking you straight in the eye, “you’re doing so good. I can’t believe how amazing you are.” 

“I’m gonna fix this,” you promise. 

“No, no, angel, I just need you to look after yourself, and my princess.” He gives Amy a smile dripping with affection. “She needs lots of looking after. Don’t you, Amy? I know mommy’s doing such a great job looking after you.” 

“I miss you,” she says. 

“I miss you too.” 

“Can I have a hug now?” 

He looks back, right into the watchful gaze of the guard. He turns back with a smile that’s nearly convincing. “Not right now, I probably don’t smell very nice, and they don’t want me to get my gross smell on you.” 

“Ew, daddy.” 

“Ew,” he agrees, wrinkling his nose. “I wish I smelled like you and mommy. What smell is it today, baby?” 

“Persimmon,” she says. She preens at the suggestion that she smells good, relaxing against your chest. 

You kiss her temple. 

“Persimmon,” Spencer says. He couldn’t sound more proud. “You know what? Persimmons have lots of meaning. They’re a symbol of perseverance.” He remembers to dumb it down. “People who eat lots of persimmons are strong, they can get through anything. Maybe when you and mommy go home, you can share a persimmon, and I can eat one here, and together we’ll be strong while we wait for me to come home.” 

“You can come home now,” Amy says. “Come home with us!” 

“I can’t,” he says gently. “It’s complicated.” 

“I think daddy has the right idea,” you say, interrupting his explanation unapologetically, “I think we should go to the market when we leave and pick all the different fruits, and I’ll send some for dad here, and we can eat them at the same time.” 

“Like a picnic?” 

“I can make little sandwiches, and we’ll get your teddies,” you agree. “Whatever you want. But first, I think you need to tell daddy all about this week. What book have we been reading? Oh, and we got you some new shoes ‘cos your feet got bigger!” 

He smiles lovingly. “Oh, they did?” he asks softly. 

You know he’s gutted.

(Spencer gets out of prison almost two whole months later. He gives Amy a huge box of tangerines (with the white lie that they are persimmons, hard to find in DC, and your sweet girl doesn’t know the difference yet) with a new pair of converse wrapped in a red silk bow, promising that he will never miss another fitting. He doesn’t know where to start with you, that much is obvious, he’s so grateful to be home and he’s sick to his stomach with guilt, too. He doesn’t realise the only thing you needed was for him to come back. 

The diamond necklace is a nice gesture, though not half as valuable as his face pressed to your neck as he sleeps, Amy on his stomach, their long fingers sticky with orange peels. It makes all your silent crying worth it.)

[simonbrain]

to the person who wanted a continuation of soapgaz from this, here you go <3

truthfully, you weren't that mad at johnny.

yes, it hurt, but could you fully blame him? he looked like he was getting his brain fucked out of his head, having no choice but to take the cruel thrusts his lieutenant was laying on him. you swear he slurred out a few apologies before simon stuck his fingers in the poor man's open, drooling mouth, and then you couldn't process anything other than your tears and the overwhelming urge to kick simon's head in.

but just because you weren't too pissed at johnny, that didn't mean the other two members of the team were okay with it. after all, this was his punishment just as much as simon's. what good would it be if he got away with every little thing he did?

"take good care of him, will ya?" price hums, patting kyle's back. the latter nods obediently and mutters a hoarse yessir, already eager to get his hands on the bastard and ruin him.

—

johnny doesn't know how long they've been at it; he only remembers kyle giving him a very brief, sweet kiss before he was pushed down on the bed and his pants were being tugged off, long forgotten on the floor of kyle's room.

"garrick, fuck—" he wheezes, fighting against the urge to roll his hips up. he received a slap to his cock along with a harsh hair pull when he first tried that and had no choice but to take kyle's snarled warning to heart. fuck, he's sweating so much, globs of pre-cum and lube creating a filthy, sticky mess all over his lap and the bed as kyle works his hands over his weeping cock.

"can't keep it in your pants, eh? jus' had to let this cock o'yours think for you," kyle teases, drinking in the way it twitches and spills in his hands. "and you upset the poor bird—sweet thing was all dewy-eyed. that what you were going for, tavish?"

before johnny can deny his words, the fist that holds his cock in an iron grip begins gliding up and down, and he just about chokes at the feeling of kyle's palm sliding over his sensitive tip.

"c— cannae take it, garrick, please—"

"i asked you a question."

"nae, for fucks sake!" johnny cries, letting out a pitiful little whine when the latter squeezes tight, almost too painful for him to handle. he whimpers out a soft sorry and grits his teeth when kyle clicks his tongue, shaking his head.

"behave. should be thankful 's me and not the cap, or even ghost." kyle huffs, loosening his grip just a little. "better hope he's nice to you at training tomorrow after his lil meeting with the captain."

tears clump johnny's eyelashes together as he's denied yet another orgasm, thighs shaking and chest heaving when kyle removes his hands right before he can peak, cock twitching uncontrollably on his belly. "'m sorry, kyle, jus' wanna cum," he groans, loud and unabashed. his hands itch to grab onto the other, but he's not allowed to touch, so he settles for putting on a pathetic display of rolling his hips, poor cock bouncing against him. the movement feels good, but it's not enough, and he swears he'll get himself off if kyle denies him again.

"you solid?" kyle's sweet voice melts away the heavy feelings swirling in johnny's chest, and he nods, forcing his hips to still. "need words, mactavish."

"i'm fine." johnny musters up what he hopes is an acceptable answer, not keen on being edged any longer.

kyle hums, sliding his hand over johnny's thighs, eyes trailing down appreciatively at the mess they've made. "i could let you cum, but..." he sucks in a breath—at the same time, johnny lets out a soft groan, warm hands working his cock again. "i'm a bit offended, soap. was i not good enough last time we shagged? is that why you went after ghost?"

"yer wrong, gaz, it isnae my fault—"

"shut it," kyle snaps, squeezing a fist around the head, fluids coating his hand as johnny thrashes against the bed. "i thought i was a good lay, apparently not. or are you that much of a slag?" kyle croons condescendingly, chuckling lowly at the sounds tearing through the other's throat and the desperate shakes of his head, denying it.

his poor cock's not helping his case, though. it throbs intensely at the dirty words and drips all over kyle's pretty hands, balls aching for release.

"is that it, johnny?" he purrs lowly, sliding up next to johnny on the bed, hand still wrapped tightly around his cock. he leans down to kiss him, swallowing all the sweet little sounds spilling out johnny's mouth. his hand moves a little faster, granting the smallest amount of relief, but it's just not enough.

when they break apart, johnny grits out his denial. he knew that simon had a sweet thing at home, but he was told that she was okay with it. he's not totally at fault; it's all simon.

gaz just tuts when he attempts to explain.

(johnny does feel guilty, though; he didn't stop his lieutenant from ravaging him right in front of you or shy away from your gaze. in fact, he became even more shameless, shoving his hips back and whining out barely coherent apologies. he hopes you'll let him make it up to you properly some day. preferably between your legs.)

"nah, i think you're jus' greedy. is it cause i'm not taken? that why you said yes to ghost?" kyle huffs, cruelly twisting his fist around the head of johnny's cock. the pretty smile on his face sharpens into something mean at the broken sob he gets in return.

johnny doesn't know anything anymore; he can't even decipher left from right. all he can process is kyle lifting his hand off a second too late and the unsatisfying feeling of a ruined orgasm rolling over him in ferocious waves, not nearly enough to satiate him for even a moment.

kyle shushes his heavy sobs, whispers promises that he'll let him cum next time as he slides down the bed, and picks his sensitive cock back up. this time, kyle actually puts his mouth on him, searing hot and so soft, and johnny's seeing white.

[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

[thedevilspearl]

prone to bone — all brothers

author’s note ʚɞ i’ve been seeing prone bone floating around recently and also can’t get the brothers out of my head so here is my take on how the brothers feel about the position. spoiler alert: they fucking love it.

tags ʚɞ female reader x lucifer, mammon (filming during the act), leviathan, satan (power play), asmodeus (crying), beelzebub (size kink) + belphegor. explicit smut, minors do not interact!

𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐑 feels an immense surge of control when he towers over you, his thighs on either side of you resting just enough weight on you to trap you underneath him, but not enough to hurt you. he doesn’t need to trap you; he knows you’d never try to move away from him when his cock is filling you up so well. but there’s something about you not having the choice to that adds to his total control over you. his hands rub up and down your back, taking a moment to grope your ass while he slowly drives his cock in and out of your pussy, grinding his cock to the hilt and ascending to a higher realm when he hears your lustful cries muffled by pillows. “my sweet darling,” he pulls away the pillows with a deep rut, causing you to yelp. “don’t hide your voice. i want to hear how dirty you are.”

𝐌𝐀𝐌𝐌𝐎𝐍 one hundred per cent records you in this position every single time. it’s the same position but each occasion that calls for it is a whole new experience. he just loves when the base of his cock presses against your perky ass. he loves the way your ass cheeks jiggle when he speeds up his pace, when they mould into his hands while he grabs them roughly. but most of all, he loves the strangled cries sounding from the body beneath him. oh, he knows he’s fucking you good; so deep and intimate is the way his cock buries itself in your pussy, dragging against all the right places. he can go round after round in this position, filming it on his ddd so he can watch it on repeat when you’re not around. “fucking hell,” he grunts, chuckling while holding handfuls of your ass. “ya look so pretty for me, don’t think i’m stopping any time soon.”

𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 loves the prone bone. it’s one of the positions where his confidence and self–esteem rockets sky high. he usually gets a bit shy being on top but he appreciates having your face hidden in the cushions while he does all the work, blushing the entire time; and it’s a relatively easy position, not too strenuous for him and his debatably poor stamina. but god, he just loves when you wear his shirt in this position, completely naked underneath but every thrust has him losing himself in the sight of your body as his shirt inches its way up your back. and along with his fingers interlacing with yours as they push down into the mattress and your ass bouncing up into him as he fucks you deep, it’s enough to make him finish in seconds. “i’m cumming!” levi cries, body collapsing on yours but he doesn’t stop fucking you with his twitching cock. “holy shit, it feels so good.”

𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐍 leans over you with his hands latched on each of your wrists, burying them in the bed sheets and with his thighs holding your lower body in place, there’s no way you can move. you desperately want to writhe and twitch in pleasure but he holds you perfectly still. your body shakes in the ripples of pleasure shooting through your body, a bliss only satan can bring to you as every grind of his hips is precise and perfect hitting your sweet spots again and again. it’s almost torture when he treats you like a toy, putting you in the perfect position for his greedy cock to fuck. you lay flat but your ass tilts upwards just the slightest bit, giving him the perfect angle to drive you both to insanity. “fuck! shit!” satan growls, so close to cumming but you defiantly fidgeted and disrupted his rhythm. “stay fucking still if you want to cum.”

𝐀𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐔𝐒 has a particular taking to this position because it’s so easy to fuck you into oblivion and back without draining too much stamina from either of you. but that doesn’t mean you won’t end up with tears dripping down your face and drool spilling from your lips. it’s the way you scream his name extra loud as he ploughs into you from behind. his hands grip your ass tight while your head hangs off the bed, bouncing with each thrust. asmo loves fucking you in the collapsed doggy style, and as you squeeze the bed sheets for dear life while your body lays flat and twitching, asmo continues fucking you from behind and he can’t find it in him to stop. the position turns him into an insatiable devil “aww sweetie, i know you’re tired,” he whispers gently in your ears as your body wracks with sobs. “but you can take a little more, can’t you?”

𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐙𝐄𝐁𝐔𝐁 loves putting his big body to the test, especially when he’s fucking you dumb on his huge cock. every position is a reminder of how huge he is compared to you, so it would be blasphemy to talk about beelzebub and the prone bone without mentioning his raging size kink. his fat balls rub against the back of your thighs while his thick cock stretches you open. it lays heavy in your pussy as he slowly grinds it back and forth, grunting each and every time. the way your pussy engulfs a beast like him, coating his cock in your arousal, it’s a marvel to him. his breath is hot and heavy, a signal that he’s extremely turned on. whether he’s towering above you or leaning over your shaking frame, he feels so fucking huge and that’s enough for him to want to fuck you in the position forever. “fuck, mc....you’re so tight, ‘s driving me crazy.”

𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐏𝐇𝐄𝐆𝐎𝐑 is a lazy git who prefers positions where you do most of the work. however, prone boning you is a compromise. he’ll put in the work while you melt into the bedsheets, but it’s also a relatively low effort position that doesn’t tire him out, and that means he can last longer. and he loves lasting long in this position because the view of your ass between his thighs and the expanse of your back on display for him is addictive. for once, he loves that you’re the one squirming underneath him, crying out his name only to be muffled by the blanket tugged between your teeth because his cock is fucking you so deeply. “fuck baby,” he grunts rutting his hips quicker and harder as the minutes pass. belphie loses his mind when you quivers around his cock. “gonna make me cum so hard.”

[ilydeku]

"Yuji, It's not even that serious," you banter, having no choice but to watch as the scenery passes you by. Pretty patches of red and white petals littered around their origin, the roses glistening with rain felt dew. The light breeze of the April spring blew through your hair, with occasional droplets of puddles kicked up by Yuji. His grip on you was that of an iron hinge, yet it was gentle—like you were of fragile gems he handled with care, lest they shatter and burst before him. It was almost funny how this impregnable man could be disturbingly exorcising curses with great strength one day, blood-stained and unscathed, and all submissive and sweet to you the next.

"I barely twisted my ankle. I'm fine. Just put me down, I'm too heavy anyway."

He paused. Maybe out of pity or because what you said was so stunning to him, he glanced down at you with a comically doubtful look. Calling him weak or penetrating your own insecurities? Either way, that statement wasn't being overlooked. Oh no, Yuji wasn't going to let that slide.

"Heavy," Yuji echoed, in shock that you'd actually say that to him. He laughed in dismissal of your proclaimed flaw, adjusting you in his arms so that you were held like a troubled cat. "Pretty girl—look at me—heavy?" he repeated with the tilt of his head, an obvious riposte now centered over his objective. He lifts you up, having you dangling above him and you roll your eyes in defeat, crossing your arms. "Pfft. I don't think so," he retorted, a sly grin plastered on his face.

In a split second, you were no longer in Yuji's arms. The ability to react or reconcile was stripped from your hands and replaced by a sudden blur of motion. And that's when you found yourself way up in the air, only surrounded by wind and that nervous thrill of falling, except it wasn't at all thrilling. Your arms flailed in an awful attempt to slow your fall and you cried out Yuji's name in dismay. If you squinted hard enough, you could almost taste his humored expression.

With a subtle "OOMPH", you fell back into his arms and he held you tightly, your hands shakily clutching onto the fabrics of his clothes.

"Hehe, what's s'matter, y/n? Too light-headed?"

"..." You sigh, looking away with a slight smile on your lips and he grins in response, continuing his pace as if nothing happened.

[lionneee]

Your sworn sword

English is not my first language, please be kind

Masterlist

Taglist

•Warnings: fingering, degradation (just a bit), 'just the tip', talking of sexual themes, piv, smut.•

Part 1 -> Part 2

{Request: I have a request! Aemond is send across the narrow sea to be the sworn sword/knight of a (verryy beautiful) princess from a noble house is esso’s. As punishment what he did to lucerys Thanks for reading dear 💙}

To say that Prince Aemond was grumpy was an euphemism.

He was rigid, stoic, and rude.

But your father loved him.

You couldn’t understand why, not after his most recent kill: his little nephew.

You remembered meeting Luke Velaryon once, he was a nice, gentle, kind boy.

His brother Jace was just the same.

Princess Rhaenyra had been invited as a guest at your father’s name day feast with her family, and you remembered spending a nice afternoon with her sons.

You actually kept contact with her youngest child, Jace. You two sometimes sent letters to each other, talking of your days apart.

You would have never said it outloud, but you had a weakness for the boy’s dark, beautiful hair.

But he was promised to her cousin Baela.

As soon as you heard the news, you thought he would have stopped sending you letters, but he didn't, and you almost cried of joy when the next letter came.

Then, your father sided with the greens.

He sided with rude, dangerous people, and named the worst of them as your sworn sword.

When he told you about his choice you begged him, you cried, you did everything you could to try to change his mind but it was all to no avail.

Now, all the other Ladies never sat with you, they were afraid to speak with you, all because of some dark, evil, scary person standing behind you, following every step you took.

It was so obvious how much he hated being a night, yet, he stood his role perfectly.

Aemond was always there, lurking like a shadow behind you, his presence cold and heavy, suffocating your every breath. He never spoke to you unless necessary, never showed any warmth or softness in his voice. There was nothing but formality and distance, a thick wall of indifference that made your skin crawl whenever he was near.

To be fair, the only thing you thought interesting of him was his dragon Vaghar.

Your days had become a game of silence, your once carefree nature now replaced with the constant awareness of his eyes on you. You missed the days when you could write to Jace without a worry, when his words brought you comfort and a glimpse of hope. Now, the letters felt like a secret rebellion, something dangerous, but you couldn’t give them up. They were the only link to a world that still held some warmth.

You still wrote to him, though your letters had become shorter, more cautious. You dared not mention Aemond, or your isolation. Instead, you spoke of mundane things, of books you were reading, of the changing seasons. Jace’s responses, too, had shifted, though he remained kind and attentive. There was always a note of tension, a hint of restraint. You knew he was aware of the shifting tides, of your father's allegiance to the Greens.

 You happily walked in your room, smiling as you held the newest letter on your hand from Jace.

Aemond was walking right behind you, but you couldn’t care.

Jace's letter had just come.

You chuckled to yourself as you closed the door of your room behind you, leaving Aemond outside, guarding your door. 

You jogged to your desk, sitting down on the chair and breaking the sigil, opening with trembling hands the letter.

There were only a few lines written.

You furrowed your brows, confused. He usually wrote at least one page.

Dearest friend,

I assume you have heard of my family’s recent loss, my sweet brother Luke, gone by the hand of my uncle Aemond. 

It saddens me to tell you this, but due to your father’s allegiance and your newest sworn sword, I believe it is time to end our communications.

Jace Velaryon

You felt a pain in your chest.

A deep pain.

You weren’t going to receive any more letters from him. 

I believe it is time to end our communications.

You stood up from your desk, leaving the letter to hit the floor as you ran to your bed, laying face down, your arms crossed under your face as you bursted into tears.

You didn’t eat lunch, you didn’t have dinner. You didn’t want to get up from your bed.

Your maids, even one of your closest friends tried to walk past Aemond to check on you, but he was impenetrable, he wouldn’t let anyone in, not if you didn’t want them to.

His behavior left you speechless.

You knew he was loyal, you knew he was one to do his duty, but the way he stood up for you, not letting anyone in just as you asked, left you almost flattered.

The hours dragged on as you laid in your bed, the room dark and suffocating. The weight of Jace's words still lingered, pressing down on your chest. It was as though the last thread connecting you to the warmth of your past had been severed. You felt utterly alone, the castle walls seeming colder, the silence more deafening.

But outside your door, Aemond remained, steadfast and unmoving. His presence felt different now, less like the shadow you despised and more like an unavoidable part of your life. He had become a constant, whether you liked it or not, and now, oddly, that constancy brought a shred of comfort in your moment of loss.

By the time the moon rose high in the sky, you hadn’t moved from your bed, save to cry quietly into your pillow. The pain of Jace's rejection, not just of you but of the friendship you had cherished, was overwhelming. You couldn’t bring yourself to think of anything else, let alone leave your room.

A soft knock echoed through the thick wooden door. At first, you ignored it, thinking it was another maid or friend trying to check on you, Aemond would have taken care of it in a moment. But after a moment, there was another knock, firm yet measured, followed by a voice, calm, collected, and unmistakably Aemond’s.

 "You haven't eaten." He said, his tone devoid of his usual coldness, though it was still restrained. You laid still, wondering if you could pretend you hadn’t heard him. But the silence lingered too long, and it was clear he wasn’t going to leave. He was your sworn sword, after all, bound to you, whether you liked it or not.

"I’m not hungry." You muttered into your pillow, your voice muffled and thick with the remnants of tears.

There was a pause, a moment of hesitation, which was unlike him. Then, Aemond spoke again, quieter this time. "It has been hours. You should take something, if only to keep your strength."

His words were filled with disinterest despite the meaning of them. He made impossible things possible.

"I don’t want anything." You repeated, more firmly this time. 

The door opened with a loud creek, and Aemond just walked inside. You scoffed, annoyed, but you felt too sad to think about him pissing you off.

“Leave me alone!” You groaned on the mattress, clenching your hands into fists. You could hear him moving in the room.

“That puppy of my nephew is what has reduced you in this state?” He asked, scoffing. You turned your head to look at him, and you saw him looking down at a letter in his hands.

Jace’s letter.

You bolted upright on the bed, fury boiling inside you at the sight of Aemond holding Jace’s letter. His tall, imposing figure seemed even more oppressive in the dim light of your room. His one good eye flicked over the page with a mixture of disdain and cold amusement, while the sapphire in his other socket glinted in the low light.

"Give that back!" you demanded, your voice cracking from the tears and frustration, but Aemond made no move to return the letter. He dropped the letter, letting out another scoff.

“You’re a fool.” He said, his rudeness making you red to your ear.

“How dare you talk to me like that?” You exclaimed, indignited.

“He’s a bastard. You’re sweet on a bastard, the son of my whore sister. That’s foolish.”

You felt your blood boil at his words, each syllable a sharp jab to your heart. “You don’t know anything about me! You think you can judge me just because you think you're so much better than everyone else!?”

He stepped closer, towering over you, his expression a mixture of contempt and something unreadable. “I am better than everyone else. I’m surely better than that boy who has no right on the throne he wants to claim so much.”

Your anger flared, but underneath it was a deep sorrow. “He’s more than just a name or a title! Jace has been kind to me, and you—” you pointed an accusing finger at him, “you are the one who brings darkness wherever you go.”

Aemond’s eye narrowed, the air crackling with tension. “Kindness won’t save you, and neither will that bastard. This world isn’t built on sentiment. It’s built on strength and blood.”

“Strength?” you spat, incredulous. “Strength that comes from killing boys? That’s your idea of strength?”

He looked unfazed, his expression hardening. “Luke was weak. That’s why he’s dead.”

“You’re twisted.” You hissed. “It brings you pleasure, doesn’t it? Being feared, see people looking away from you –” He pushed you back before you could continue, as he started pulling off the upper structure of his armor.

You stumbled back as you looked up at him, confused and stunned, but he pushed you back again as he took off the lower part of his armor, making you fall back on your bed.

“You want to know what brings me pleasure?” He grabbed your ankle, dragging you down the bed until your butt was almost over it. He pushed the skirts of your dress up, exposing your legs.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You tried to close your legs, or pull down the skirts, but he raised your legs up, then he leaned down to grab both your thighs, spreading them apart, pressing his face against your underwear.

“This.” He mumbled against the thin clothing, his nose pressing against a funny spot against you, that made a strange sound come out of your mouth. “This brings me pleasure.” He growled as he pulled down your underwear along with the stockings. “Teaching stupid ladies their places.” He said as he dived his face back between your thighs, now his mouth pressing on that same spot, sucking and rubbing with his tongue, leaving you breathless for a moment, the pleasure was so high and so good you couldn’t speak.

You couldn’t see him, your skirts were covering the view, but you didn’t really care. Not when it felt this good. 

You didn’t think you'd ever felt this good. 

The one who was making you feel good, was a Targaryen Prince, a child murdered, the rider of the largest dragon in the world.

You could only squirm, your mind numbed by the pleasure, slowly overcoming all the alarms your brain was sending you, telling you to push the prince away, to not let him touch you in such an appropriate manner.

But then, all so suddenly it stopped, leaving you panting heavily. You saw Aemond raising his head from between your legs, coming into your field of vision.

His chin was wet, his only eye almost completely black as he looked down at you.

His hands moved on your skin, almost gently, caressing your skin as they moved up, your knees, your ankles. He wrapped his fingers around your ankles, securing your legs raised, your feet by each side of his head.

You should have stopped him.

This was improper, it was a sin. A sin you were committing with the worst man in the Seven Kingdoms.

You wanted to move, kick him back, telling him to stop touching you with his filthy, blood-stained hands, but under the dark gaze of his single eye you couldn’t move.

Aemond tightened the grip on your ankles, suddenly pulling you up so your hips lifted from the mattress. Startled, you let out a weak squeak, gripping the sheets tightly as your body moved forward, the back of your thighs landing harshly against him, your core rubbing against a protuberance on his pants, the impact sending another jolt of pleasure through your body.

“Yeah, you like it.” He hummed to himself as he dropped you back on the mattress. He leaned down, his body making space for himself between your legs as his face came to hover yours. “And you want to feel it more, don't you?” He smirked, looking down at you.

You could feel your face burning because of his words, more likely because of the truthfulness of them, because yes, you wanted to feel it again.

“No-” You mumbled as you looked up at him, directly in his eye, trying to sound firm, but he simply chuckled, grabbing your face with his hand, his fingers digging in the soft skin of your cheeks. “Such a liar. No wonder why my sweet bastard-nephew doesn’t want you.” 

That stang.

Your eyes immediately filled with tears and anger.

“How dare you?” You hissed as you tried to push him off of you, slapping his chest repeatedly, but he only smiled even more.

“There, there…” He hummed as his hand went back underneath your dress, finding you private again. No matter how much you fought, his body was keeping your legs apart, and he seemed impossible to move.

You only stopped when you felt a strange feeling, something filling you in a way you’ve never felt, that made you gasp out loud. You unconsciously let out a moan, your back arched instinctively, as your body almost contorted as he started moving his finger inside you.

“So easy to shut you up, mh?” He asked as he followed your face to be able to see every expression you made. “So easy to put into place.” He added then in a low voice.

You gritted your teeth together, trying to find in you the force to push him off, to not give him the satisfaction he was showing with that damn smile of his, but you couldn’t. The only sounds that came out of your mouth were whines or soft moans as his finger moved faster inside you, caressing everywhere inside you, and eliciting a pure bliss of pleasure.

“Jace is a fool for leaving you.” He said as he looked at you, your eyes half closed, your head leaned back, your lips apart. He didn’t even look like he realized he said that, it was like he was talking to himself and accidentally said it outloud. You turned your head to look at him, finding his eyes fixed on you, staring in appreciation. “You’re a rare beauty.” He said, his voice low and rough.

You blinked slowly, the weight of his words sinking in. A warmth spread across your chest, but you weren’t sure if it was the pleasure or the way his gaze lingered on you. 

No.

You thought to yourself.

Not him.

Please.

But the way he looked at you, like he was looking at the most beautiful thing in the world was doing something to you. It made your stomach clench, your head dizzier.

You’ve been told countless times by suitors that you were a sight to see, a beauty, but it did nothing if not make you blush or feel appreciated.

With Jace you felt your heart beat so loud you feared it could jump out of your chest.

You too were aware of your beauty, but you never thought of it as a rareness.

But now with Aemond Targaryen, the cold, mean, cruel man, who was doing unspeakable things to you, who looked at you like a Goddess, you truly felt like one.

Aemond’s gaze pierced through you, a silent intensity in his expression that made your breath catch in your throat. You wished you could deny the way his presence and actions were affecting you, wished you could ignore the way his words stirred something deep inside. But the truth was undeniable. 

As he slipped his second finger inside your thigh core, you felt it crushing on you. You didn’t know what, but for a moment, you forgot about everything, Jace, the war, Aemond’s sins, your worries, your anger and your sadness, it all vanished by the newfound feeling of ecstasy. You whined louder, making aemond clamp his other hand immediately over your mouth to muffle your sounds as he kept moving your fingers. You looked at him with wide eyes, you didn’t know what had just happened to you, but you wanted to keep feeling it, no matter what cost, you wanted to feel that good again.

He kept pumping his fingers inside you as you saw him starting to move, rub, against your thigh, some hardness pressing and caressing your skin. His brows arched slightly, his eye narrowing slightly as he pressed his hips harder against you, seeking more friction and pressure. 

You’ve never seen a man do a face close to that one.

You’ve never seen Aemond make a face like that, and it was beautiful, it was breathtaking, hypnotizing, you felt like watching him all day as he experienced his pleasure.

He didn’t miss the way you seemed affected, obviously. He looked down at you and found you staring at him, his eye darkened even more, his pupil dilating even more if possible as he clenched his jaw.

“You like this?” He looked down at you, moving his hand from your mouth to your neck, gripping it tightly, but not enough to actually cut your air off. You tilted your head back, wrapping your hands on his wrist and arm, gasping as he slipped his fingers out, passing them over your pearl just to see you squirm, his lips moving into a smirk. “No.” He said as he sat up in his haunches between your legs, forcing you to spread them to make room for his body as he started to undo his pants. “You love it.”

You tried to look down, trying to understand what he was doing but he squeezed your throat into a warning, keeping your head in place. “What are you trying to see, uh?” He growled as he pushed his pants down enough to let his cock spring free. “Such a curious menace, always getting into trouble.” He hissed as he leaned over her to look at you from above. “Always sneaking around, making my life harder.” He gritted his teeth. “Making me chase you.” He raised her skirts to your waist as he aligned his cock to your core, wet and warm, hot.

“No – “ You mumbled as you felt the tip pressing on your skin. “Y-you can’t- We’re not married-” You mumbled as you panted, shaking your head. Aemond smiled down at you, his thumb caressing the skin of her neck. 

“No one will notice.” He said firmly, pushing slightly, making his tip grace the inside your core, just slightly, enough to hear another moan from you. “Just…” He groaned as he repeated the movement, moving his hips forward as his face contorted in pleasure. “... the tip – Fuck –” He groaned as he started moving his hips, the tip of his cock was being sucked in every time by your cunt, as if it was trying to keep him inside. 

It didn’t feel bad.

She did feel like her cunt was being torn apart, but she found the pain mixed to the pleasure extremely pleasing.

It was good.

It was so good.

The pleasure was so overwhelming, so strong, so blissful.

“A-Aemond – “ You bit your lower lip as you arched your back, jerking your hips to find more pleasure as his tip kept slipping out and back in.

Aemond couldn’t tear his eyes off the sight, your core making a wet sound every time he slipped in, your walls forced open to make space for his thick cock, his red tip being welcomed in the warmness of your body, and then the sound of your weak wail every time he pulled back, only enough to be able to push back in.

“Yeah like that –” He growled as he tightened his hand around your neck, his eye still fixed on how your bodies connected, his thrusts regular, calculated and hard.

He was hanging by a thread, and he was showing a great amount of control, just by not slamming his whole long cock inside you, and making you scream in pain and pleasure.

“Grind yourself like a whore –” He snarled as he started rolling his hips faster, the wet sound growing louder along with his pace. “Fuck youre so tight – You’re squeezing me inside - ”

It didn’t bother you the way he called you, the way he spoke. If not, it only aroused you more.

You bit your lower lip harder, and no matter how low you tried to keep your noises, it became impossible as Aemond moved his free hand, using his fingers to circle your pearl, putting just the right amount of pressure. Your back arched violently as you threw your head back, your mouth open in an oval shape, grunts and moans coming out one after another as Aemond tightened his hand around your throat, starting to cut some of your air supplies, your eyes rolled in the back of your head.

It was all so much.

It was all so good.

“Come.” He growled as he finally looked up at you. “Come, before I lose it.” His eye fixed on yours. He looked feral. He looked like a chained animal, that once set free, would have hunted and killed everything in its path. “Come, before absolutely ruin you.” 

It wasn’t like you had any control over it, because when the pleasure reached you in such a hard, strong frisson, you could only surrender to it. Your eyes widened, your mouth opened, but Aemond tightened his hand on your throat even more, killing every sound you could have let out. Your eyes watered as your hips jerked, the pleasure washing over you in devastating waves.

He snarled, letting go of your throat, but you barely had the time to take a deep breathe because you felt a stinging pain, barely muffled by the aftershocks of you climax, as Aemond grabbed tightly your hips and harshly pulled to him, making you slip down on the bed and making his cock thrust completely inside you, as he moaned on top of you.

“So fucking tight.” His voice was strained, his breathing heavy, then, you felt a strange sensation of wetness inside you.

You whined as the bliss of pleasure slowly faded away, leaving you in an uncomfortable pain, so you pushed Aemond away, who retrieved with a groan, slipping out of you.

You slowly sat up, looking at him as your mind slowly registered the last moments. 

Aemond stood up from the bed, tucking himself inside his pants and starting to put his armor back on.

You didn’t say anything in the meanwhile, you just stared down at the bed covers, where you and Aemond were laying till a few seconds before, committing one of the worst sins ever.

A sin that felt so good.

You snapped out of your moment of trance only when you heard the door slam shut, and a strange smell of burned paper in the air. You moved to the end of the bed, on the floor, there was a piece of paper on fire.

Jace’s letter.

Part 2

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