#i looked at the mess in the house and said “yeah i can get this ready for hosting friends on short notice”

[capquinn]

cant stop thinking putting quinn in the dog house for something he did and him being super clingy and yeah😔😔(im down bad for this man)

STOP he’d be a freaking nightmare to deal with in the dog house and you’d get no satisfaction out of it 😭😭😭

So the thing about Quinn is that he doesn’t mess up often — not in the big ways, at least. So when he does, it hits him like a freight train. He’s not the kind of guy to brush it off or pretend it didn’t happen; he feels it. Deeply. Which is probably why, after whatever dumb thing he’d done, he’d been moping around the house like a kicked puppy for days.

And it wasn’t like you’d slammed a door or screamed at him when it happened. You’d just went quiet. Pulled away. You didn’t even mean to — it was just instinct. But he noticed, of course he did, because Quinn notices everything when it comes to you. And the worst part? You didn’t yell. You didn’t even seem angry. You just looked… hurt.

And that gutted him.

He’d tried giving you space at first, thinking maybe that’s what you wanted. But Quinn’s not a man built for distance. Not from you, atleast. So by day two, he was trailing after you like a lost child, his big, stupid, guilty eyes following you around the house, looking for any sign of forgiveness.

“Need any help with dinner?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“I can chop the onions? Or, uh, wash the dishes after?”

“I’ve got it, Quinn.”

It was killing him. Every clipped sentence, every soft sigh chipped away at him bit by bit. And yeah, maybe you weren’t outright ignoring him, but your responses were just polite enough to make him feel the weight of the distance between you. The worst kind of punishment, because it wasn’t really punishment at all — it was just the consequence of hurting someone you love.

By day three, he was in full-on grovel mode. Apologies spilling out of him whenever you so much as glanced his way. Little touches — on your shoulder, your hand, your waist — tentative and quick, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed anymore. And the kicker? He started leaving you notes. Notes. Like he was a middle schooler trying to get his crush back.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re right. I was a jerk.”

“I’ll make it up to you. Promise.”

They’d pop up everywhere — on the fridge, on your pillow, even in your bag when you were heading out the door. And it wasn’t even annoying; it was just… Quinn. Pathetic in the most endearing way, his guilt so genuine it practically radiated off him.

When he finally couldn’t take it anymore, he cornered you in the kitchen, his hands shoved into his pockets, his shoulders hunched like he was bracing for impact.

“I hate this,” he muttered, his voice quiet but steady. “I hate that I hurt you. I hate that you can’t even look at me without…” He trailed off, his brow furrowing. “I’ll fix it. Whatever it takes. Just tell me how.”

And how could you stay mad at that? At the man who looked at you like you hung the stars, who was so bad at being in trouble because the thought of being out of your good graces was unbearable to him?

You didn’t say anything right away, just stepped forward and wrapped your arms around his middle, pressing your forehead against his chest. His arms came around you instantly, like he’d been waiting for it, and you felt the tension in his body melt away as he buried his face in your hair.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured again, his voice breaking slightly, and this time, you didn’t just hear the words — you felt them.

“I know,” you said softly, and the weight of it all seemed to lift in that moment.

Quinn would hold you there for as long as you let him, his grip firm but careful, like he was still afraid you might slip away. And when you finally pulled back, his eyes would search yours, full of hope and relief and that quiet, unshakable love that made forgiving him the easiest thing in the world.

[kawoala]

⁝ KUROO TETSURO 𝜗𝜚 boxer! kuroo 𝜗𝜚

ᰔ word count ; 851

ᰔ content warning ; profanity 、 blood 、 boxer! kuroo 、 implied rich girl! reader 、 kindof poor boy x rich girl? 、 boxer! lev 、 mention of gambling?? (yaku, what r u doing my brother?).

you’ve never been to a club like this; the people here are a stark contrast to your personality.

whereas they are dark, broody, drugged-out criminals probably raised in trailer parks and trap houses, you were raised to be a good girl with perfect grades - and to never, ever go near drugs or alcohol.

whereas the people around you are dirty, wearing clothes they probably haven’t changed in a week, you’re careful of the people around you, careful not get dirt and muck on your very expensive shirt and your very tiny skirt.

but, you fell in love with kuroo.

four months ago, when your calculus teacher had shown interest in kuroo’s horrible math grades, she’d emailed you, asking if you would be able to tutor him until his grades improved. and of course you said yes because you’re a sucker for extra credit.

and then he was charming and he was funny and he was smart - something you hadn’t expected because, well, you were his tutor. every time you had a session, he made you laugh like it was his job.

so, of course you fell in love with him. and of course you only found out that he was in an illegal boxing ring until after you had confessed to him.

which is how you ended up here; standing in a crowd of criminals, watching your boyfriend beat the shit out of one of his friends for fun.

your brows are furrowed as lev - of all people - throws a right hook, resulting in a line of blood dribbling down kuroo’s upper lip. he’s hot, that’s for certain, but this is not making you happy. your boyfriend's pretty face is getting all messed up.

you blink and then lev is on the floor, sitting with his legs bent, forearms resting against his knees. there’s a smile on his face, despite the blood oozing from his… mouth? nose? you can’t even tell.

and then your eyes drift to kuroo, who’s holding his fists up in victory. you briefly note that they’re not even using gloves, but that thought is dismissed when you lock eyes with your boyfriend.

he’s bleeding, which would make you upset if he didn’t look so fucking hot. there’s a sheen of sweat covering his whole body, shining in the overhead light. his hair is messy - messier than usual, matted to his forehead from sweat. he still has his mouthguard in, but he’s grinning wide as ever. he points to you and winks and your knees are weak.

“lev lost!” yaku exclaims from beside you, knocking you from your trance. you turn to him and tilt your head. “he fucking lost! oh my god, i just lost so much money.”

he puts his head in his hands and curses again, which only makes you laugh. you can’t believe this is a thing that people bet on. and, no offense, but you can’t believe people bet on lev winning.

next thing you know, you’re sitting on a bench in the locker room of the grimy club, bouncing your leg as you watch kuroo unwrap his fists. your eyes are glued to his hands, bloodied and bruised.

“did you have fun?”

you look up to find him staring down at you, lazy smirk on his face. “what? o- oh, um, yeah, it was…” you trail off, eyes drifting down to your now ruined shoes. you hum. “it was kind of… scary, actually.” you can hear him stop moving, so you keep talking. “watching you get hit like that? yeah, that sucked. i mean, don’t get me wrong, you looked really fucking hot, but…” you shrug, sighing.

there’s a silence that hangs in the air. you can tell he’s trying to decide if he should be funny or genuine.

“y/n,” he says slowly. his shoes come into your field of vision, but you know if you look up, you’ll probably start crying. “hey, come on, sweets, look at me.”

as soon as you look up, his hands cup your face and he leans down to press a quick kiss to your lips.

when he pulls away, he smiles softly. “i’m okay. you know that right?” you nod and he laughs, pulling you into a hug, smashing your face into his stomach. “i’m okay. you hear me, lady? i’m alright.”

you laugh now, too, pushing away from him playfully. “ugh, i hate you!” you exclaim as he loosens his grip. the smile on his face lets you know that he knows you don’t really mean it. and, of course, you don’t.

he stares at you for a moment longer before jerking his head towards the door. “come on, let’s get out of here. we can go get ice cream or something.”

“ice cream?” you repeat, raising a brow. you stand up, not even reaching his nose. “and what are we going to do when the worker sees your busted lip and freshly bruised eye, hm?”

he inhales, puffing his chest out, holding his breath. he exhales on a laugh, throwing his arm over your shoulders. “yeah, we’ll go through the drive-thru, ‘kay?”

[durgetavoc]

Yes I really want to know the horrors of the shit bucket. I’m quite surprised that he isn’t obsessed with cleanliness. He always struck me as the type but then again… I guess I’m wrong.

Oh god, here we go then.

SPOILERS FOR THE HOUSE OF HOPE

(CW for...The Shit Bucket Guy, obviously)

So, if we ever decide to go steal the Orphic Hammer, we can go visit The House of Hope, there, we obviously find Raphael's collection of artifacts, his eternal debtors, and one of them is… This guy.

You should know that all eternal debtors are condemned to a certain task/action. It's difficult to know if this has anything to do with their contract with Raphael, if it is a distortion of an already existing trait of their personality (for example, the Perfect Eternal Debtor, the Theologist Eternal Debtor or even the Voyeur Eternal Debtor) or if it's a way to completely dehumanize them (Loyal Eternal Debtor…My beloved :( ). It seems to be a mix of everything, that wouldn't be surprising if Raphael did what seemed most entertaining to him.

But let's focus on the Shit Bucket Guy, since he's the one that interested us today.

As our affectionate nickname for him indicates, we find him in front of a chamber pot with a visible green odorous cloud above it, which confirms us that it has been used (when you interact with the pot, here what the game says : "An overpowering stench singes your nostrils. Nothing good happened here."). The debtor doesn't appreciate us getting closer to it, and if we ask him if he is its guardian, this is what he answers:

His "name" in the game is "Unclean Eternal Debtor" and if you're taking a look at his face... Yeah, I guess he's not just guarding the pot. When we observe the animation of the character, he walks around the pot, makes a hand gesture to smell it, and that's it.

It has become a running joke in the fandom, particularly for us, little mouses. Those who have been to the House of Hope know about the Shit Bucket Guy... But nobody talks about him.

(Yeah I couldn't help it.)

It's not really surprising, the presence of the chamber pot, and not just any one, RAPHAEL'S, raises other questions. One might wonder if it's not a little OOC coming from someone like him.

Let's take advantage of this question to dig... A little deeper.

Here's, imo of course, why it's somehow relevant to show Raphael's chamber pot and what this tells us about him.

Shall we?

1. Don't be fooled by appearances, he POOPS like us!

Raphael. Raphael. Raphael who embodies sophistication, intellect and danger... Alluring and at the same time fearsome, a fascinating mix. Goddamnit, he's a suave motherfucker, and he fucking knows it.

In video games, it's part of the suspension of disbelief to not talk/show toilet, unless you're in a life simulation game like sims. It's not just taboo since it's one of the most private aspects of our life, but it's also... Not relevant to the intrigue most of the time.

Showing us something that intimate about him disintegrate his mysterious aura. We learnt that Raphaels shits. Yeah, absolutely astonishing. Reminding us that he's exactly at the same level as us. Like the title said, despite his charming manners, his eloquence, his theatrical gestures... He's still human, hells, part human.

2. In the Devil's house.

The first time we meet Raphael, he wastes no time in bringing us to his home, on his own terms. We only see one room, and this is what we see:

Luxurious place, lavish displays of food, ordered furniture... Promising, right? This is how Raphael wants to give as a first impression. I think this scene is perfect as a metaphor. Remember what Gale said? He's taking us to dinner! Like a date, he wants to impress us, seduce us.

But when we're back to this place during our improvised visit, what do we see?

Rotten food. Blood. Skeletons. Mess. Remind me of my room before I have to rush to clean everything because a friend comes over.

By choosing to enter Raphael's home, into his privacy, the game takes us on a tour of his home: we discover what is hidden behind Raphael's character. It is of course expected that we discover his secrets and/or aspects of his personality that he would not wish to reveal, at least not before we make a deal with him.

Haarlep, his incubus, also participates in this demystification. Through them, we can learn about Raphael's sexuality (I'll be quick on this since @bitethedevil did some really good analysis posts about it):

Raphael is only attracted to himself (hence Haarlep's appearance)

He is a bottom pillow prince

And he doesn't last in bed (a valuable information that can be used to anger Raphael later)

Once again, this is another very intimate aspect that is revealed to us. I'm sorry to say it, but Haarlep basically plays the same role as the chamber pot to accentuate the intimacy of the place and also to ridicule Raphael, thus revealing to us what he really is.

3. Raphael hates his father.

Our favorite cambion is having daddy issues, and the chamber pot seems like a nice response to the statue his dad gave him. It's a "blink and you'll miss it" kind of detail, but it's funny to point it out. Show don't tell as it's finest.

4. How bad it is to sell your soul to Raphael.

This one is easy... The Shit Bucket Guy is an example of Raphael's cruelty : "This is what could happen to you if you make a contract with Raphael."

Sure, it's funny because the whole thing is ridiculous: "Guardian of his chamber pot? Seriously?", but it's hard to really laugh at it if you take into account the other eternal debtors. The whole place is designed to make you uncomfortable, because it's not treated as a joke. They had a life, had to ask Raphael for help, and are now reduced to doing something degrading until the end of time. They don't even have a name anymore. They could be your Tav/Durge or your companions...

Suddenly, the temptation to make a contract with Raphael is less appealing after seeing all this, isn't it?

Conclusion : Now the question that burns our lips : What could this guy have done to him to be reduced to this? And why?

My first instinct when I met this character was to think, "oh boy, you must have really pissed off Raphael..." let's be honest, it's the kind of torture you could imagine to your worst enemy or at least a very annoying one.

It could be that, or maybe, mayyybe...

Remember Mephistopheles' statue?

What if Raphael was SO annoyed by this gift that he woke up one day thinking "fuck my dad, fuck his gift" and decided to literally shit on him by putting a chamber pot in front of this statue to express his thanks. And just like any narcissist/paranoid guy, he named a "guard" to be sure no one would spy on him through this (it sounds delirious, but again, we learn that Haarlep was send to distract Raphael, so why not?)

Sure, maybe Shit Bucket Guy annoyed Raphael in the past, but wouldn't that be kinda fucked up that this guy didn't do anything that would justify this treatment? He's just a dude, and Raphael is just a pissed-off daddy's boy (and a very mature one).

Or maybe, Raphael just thinks it's funny. And who are we to discuss a devil's sense of humor?

In any case, sorry Shit Bucket Guy, but it wasn't your lucky day.

PS: Hush, I can hear you wondering "do you think Raphael is scat???" and on this subject I would say: I don't think so, his narcissism is there after all, but he also seems really into humiliation. So maybe it's for the best we don't really know the answer to this question.

After all, only Haarlep can judge him (so the bar is already on the floor).

[dollbon]

Imagine 🪽

First "I love you"

You were in your room listening to music from one of your favorite bands while watching a series on your computer. It was late at night, but you just wanted to relax a little. The rain outside was still falling, making the environment even more comfortable for you.

That's when you heard three knocks on your bedroom window. You quickly got up and grabbed your pocketknife from the dresser next to your bed. Walking slowly to the window, you slowly pulled back the curtain and then the blinds. Then you saw JJ.

"But what are you doing here?"

You said, opening the window and looking at JJ, who was soaking wet.

"Can I come in?"

He asked and you quickly grabbed a towel for him to dry himself.

JJ went into his room and closed the window. He quickly wrapped himself in the towel and dried himself, not wanting to make a mess in your room.

You approached him with another towel to help dry his hair. It was then that you noticed the bruises and injuries on JJ's face and body.

"JJ, what-"

You tried to ask what had happened, but he interrupted you gently.

"Your aunt doesn't mind if I spend the night here, does she? Please?"

JJ looked at you with that vulnerable and nervous look you rarely saw.

"You know you can JJ."

You said helping him dry his hair.

You looked at JJ as he sat on the chair in your room, his leg bouncing as he bit a nail. You sighed and then walked over to him and hugged him, JJ immediately hugging you back.

"I'm sorry Jayj."

You mumbled sadly and he just nodded.

"I'll get you some clothes to take a shower okay?"

You said again and he just nodded.

JJ grabbed the clothes and a new dry towel and then went to the bathroom, you went to the kitchen and grabbed one of the medical kits in the house before going back to your room and waiting for JJ sitting on the bed.

JJ soon came out wearing the clothes you gave him and threw himself back on your bed.

"So, are you my nurse now?"

JJ joked trying to relax a little weather.

"Don't get carried away, you idiot."

You laughed and patted your side of the bed.

"Sit down."

You said as you opened the medical kit and took out some bandages and ointments.

JJ rolled his eyes and sat down next to you, waiting while you finished getting your things.

"It's going to sting a little, okay?"

You said and then a wry smile appeared on JJ's face.

"I can handle it, babe."

JJ said puffing out his chest with his big ego, making you roll your eyes and laugh.

You calmly applied the ointment and laughed when you saw JJ holding himself back from cursing when he felt the slight burning sensation. Your eyes met his for a few seconds, and then JJ pulled you on top of him as he lay down on your bed, leaving you surprised for a few seconds.

JJ laughed softly at your reaction and ran his hands up and down your back.

"What's wrong? And that surprised look? Is it because of my beauty or my irresistible charm?"

JJ joked and received a slap on the shoulder from you.

"You're such an idiot, you know that?"

You rolled your eyes and continued applying the ointment.

"Yeah, I know, but I'm a complete idiot for you, and it's not like you don't like it."

JJ smiled as he looked at you.

"Stop staring at me."

You said and he just smiled more.

"No, I want to look at you."

JJ said still smiling at you.

"And why do you want to look at me, hm?"

You ask and then look into his eyes.

"I don't know, I just want to look at you."

JJ said just to tease you as he continued to caress your back.

You sighed and rolled your eyes and went back to taking care of JJ's wounds. Your eyebrows furrowed in concern as you looked at the purple bruises.

"I don't want him to hurt you anymore JJ..."

You said and he sighed lightly, tightening his arms around you a little.

You looked at each other again and then JJ smiled. He pulled you closer and then you hugged, JJ still rubbing your back.

"I think you'll have to do one of those preppy makeups on me tomorrow to hide these bruises on my face."

JJ said making you laugh, he didn't like tense atmospheres, so he always said something silly to get a smile or a laugh.

You sat down still smiling and started to put away the medical kit.

"I'm going to get some painkillers for the pain, okay? I'll be right back."

You got up and went to the kitchen again, JJ lay on his bed while looking at the walls of his room that were decorated with posters of bands that you liked, pictures of you with the pogues and your sisters and finally a picture of him. When you returned to the room JJ didn't miss the chance to tease you.

"I didn't know you were my fan."

He said, making you raise an eyebrow in confusion, then he pointed to his picture on your wall.

"Oh, that's it, those are my favorite memories, that's why the pictures."

You said, sitting down next to him and handing JJ a glass of water and the painkiller.

JJ sat down to take the painkiller and smiled as he looked at the funniest and funniest pictures of the group.

"Ah! Look here, my favorite!"

You said, picking up a picture where JJ was wearing one of your dresses. He quickly sat up and tried to grab the picture of you, but you got up and started running from him around the room, until JJ caught up with you and the two of you fell on the bed, with JJ on top of you. You stared at each other before starting to laugh. You sat back down on the bed and then you put the pictures back in place.

"I like you, you know?"

JJ said suddenly as he stared at you.

You were confused for a moment but then you said:

"I like you too, you're a great friend-"

"No, you don't understand, I really like you."

JJ interrupted you gently and approached, his hand touching yours.

"I've been keeping this to myself for a while, I really like you a lot, you make me feel things I've never felt before, you're so natural in everything you do, and man, when you smile at me and look at me like that, I feel on cloud nine."

JJ said still looking deep into your eyes.

"JJ, are you sure about what you're saying?"

You said as your eyebrows furrowed a little in hesitation.

"Hey, what's the problem? Don't you trust me?-"

JJ said but you interrupted him.

"It's not that JJ, it's just that I don't want to be disappointed. I trust you, but I want you to be sure about what you're saying."

You said hugging your knees and sighing.

"A relationship is no joke, I want you to be sure that it's what you really want with me." You said and then looked at him, JJ gave a small smile and got closer.

"I'm sure I want this for myself, for us. I know I can be an idiot sometimes and very immature, but I really want this. You're simply amazing, I like the way you get angry easily, I like the sound of your laugh, your smile, your orange hair that got that color because it wasn't bleached properly, I like how you get so excited when you talk about the things you like, how your eyes shine when you hear a song from the old bands you like, your style, just everything girl! I love just everything about you! I love you!" JJ finally said still looking at you. His eyes lit up and you felt your cheeks get red with the sincere words of how JJ felt about you. A smile appeared on your face and then you finally looked at him again.

"I... I love you too JJ-"

You tried to finish the sentence but JJ interrupted you with a kiss full of feelings that had been kept for some time.

You separated for a few moments to catch your breath, but soon JJ pulled you into his lap and kissed you again.

The next day...

Your aunt woke up early as usual, she took a look at your sisters' room and then went to yours.

As soon as she opened the door and took a quick peek into the half-dark room, which was being half-lit by the lamp on the dresser next to your bed, a smile appeared on her lips when she saw you and JJ sleeping peacefully.

JJ was clinging to you like a needy puppy, his face hidden between your neck and shoulders as your quiet breaths mingled.

Your aunt laughed and smiled before closing the door and letting you rest.

[venus-haze]

God's Got a Sick Sense of Humor (Father Charlie Mayhew x Reader)

Summary: Your decision to dress up as a slutty nun for Halloween has unexpected consequences when you make the acquaintance of an equally attractive and disturbed priest. (AO3 link)

Note: Female reader, but no other descriptors are used. Not entirely spoiler-free, but if you’ve watched up to episode 6, you should be good! Also I couldn't find what the parish name was, so I made one up. The gif doesn't really have anything to do with the fic, I just like it🤭 Please look at the warnings before deciding whether to read this fic.

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. Non-con involving degradation, rough oral sex (m. receiving); ambiguous ending.

You knew early on in the night you had made a mistake in costume choice. The vinyl skirt started pinching your waist after less than an hour of wearing it, the nipple pasties were slowly peeling off despite your best effort, and the platform heels weren’t forgiving after several shots of tequila. The vinyl habit stayed in place with the bobby pins you used, but after a while, it felt like it was cooking your head.

Your friends found your plight funnier as the night went on, cracking jokes about how it was God punishing you for wearing the costume in the first place. Lisa had little trouble with her Tinkerbell costume, a green mini-dress and sparkly heels she pulled from her closet and a cheap set of fairy wings from the same Spirit Halloween you got your costume from. Julie’s Bridgerton-inspired costume seemed a bit out of place compared to you and Lisa, but she got a lot of compliments on the details.

For the limited the fun your little desert town had to offer, something was definitely missing from the night out.

“Why did Merritt say she couldn’t make it, again?” Lisa asked, the three of you walking down the street to the next bar you’d inevitably terrorize. All the usual haunts, where the bartenders knew your order and half the patrons were people you’d gone to high school with and definitely didn’t want to see again.

You shrugged. “I texted her earlier, and she said she couldn’t make it, something came up.”

“It sucks she doesn’t hang out anymore,” Julie said. “Did we do something?”

“I mean, her dad’s in a coma, and her mom’s working all the time with those gross murders going on,” Lisa said. “She’s probably the only one keeping things together at home.”

The three of you had known Merritt for years, your friend group becoming tight-knit as time went on. Getting carted to and from soccer games turned into sleepovers and late nights getting fast food. You got to know the Tryons pretty well over the years. Her dad was nice enough, and you always found her mom funny, if not a bit overprotective, but Lois always remembered your birthday.

“I’m gonna stop by sometime this week. It’s been way too long since any of us have seen her,” you resolved.

Lisa and Julie agreed, though you weren’t sure Merritt would appreciate all of you showing up unannounced at her house. You figured you’d be better off going yourself and seeing what the deal was with Merritt.

Stumbling over your platforms, you struggled to keep up with Lisa and Julie until you tripped and nearly wiped out on the sidewalk. You caught yourself on a nearby telephone pole, the lights from the nearby buildings blurring the more you tried to focus.

“Fuck,” you groaned. “I’m gonna call it a night.”

“Are you sure?” Lisa asked.

“Yeah, I’m gonna find a convenience store and then get an Uber home.”

“We can go with you,” Julie said.

You shook your head. “Don’t end your night early because of me.”

“Alright, text us when you get home.”

When the world finally appeared upright again, you looked at the nearby street sign, recognizing where you were, at least. Not far to the nearest shop that you were certain would be open late. You checked your phone for the time and felt especially lame. It wasn’t even midnight yet.

With a sigh, you turned down the street, opening your messages to your most recent text to Merritt. Your FaceTime request went unanswered, so you opted for an audio message instead.

“Hey Mer, it’s me. We missed you tonight!” You paused awkwardly, wishing you could actually talk to her. “Look, there’s a Halloween party tomorrow night, something out in the desert. It’s not too late to get a costume. We could go to the Spirit Halloween in the old Bed, Bath and Beyond—“ A catcall interrupted your rambling. “Look, just call me or something, at least let me know you’re alright? Bye, babe.”

The fluorescent lights in the store were almost headache-inducing, but you powered through for a bottle of Gatorade and a protein bar that you hoped would mitigate the hangover you’d inevitably have in the morning. 

Gatorade in hand, you felt almost dizzy staring at the array of protein bars in front of you, wondering how there could even be so many and if they were really any different. A man walked down the aisle, standing a few feet away from you, though you didn’t pay him much mind until you grabbed a protein bar and noticed he was dressed as a priest.

“Hey, nice costume,” you told him.

“Oh, this isn’t a costume.”

You laughed. “Right.” Your inhibitions lowered, you gave him a once over, your gaze lingering on his handsome face, his muscular arms. “You know it’s a shame we didn’t run into each other earlier tonight, we probably could’ve won a couples contest or something.”

He smiled, though something flickered in his brown eyes that made your guts churn. Except, it likely wasn’t him, as you shoved what you were holding onto the shelf next to you and rushed out of the store.

You wretched, the contents of your stomach emptied onto the blacktop. Tears burned your eyes, your throat scratchy and raw by the time you were done. You felt a hand on your upper back, could barely hear the sound of a man asking if you were okay over the sound of blood pounding in your ears.

Glancing up, you were mortified to see the priest looking at you with concern, though disgust was nowhere in his expression.

He handed you the Gatorade you’d been holding in the store, apparently going ahead and buying it for you. Taking a swig, you swished some around in your mouth before spitting it on the ground. He gave you a handful of crumpled napkins as well, and you tried maintaining what was left of your dignity while getting yourself together in front of him.

You managed a mousy thanks, avoiding eye contact with him.

“Don’t tell me you plan on driving home,” he said.

You shook your head. “I came out here with my friends."

"And they just left you like this? Alone?"

"I told them I'd get an Uber.”

“They'll charge you double tonight," he said. "I can drive you.”

Accepting a ride home from a stranger certainly wasn’t the smartest choice to make, but he actually seemed to give a shit about your well-being. You agreed, if not for the fact that you were curious about him, and the horny part of your brain hadn't shut up since you saw him.

He kept his hand on your back as he walked you over to his car. Almost felt like his fingers were twitching against your skin. 

Getting into his car, you noticed the rosary hanging from the rearview mirror, a saint card clipped to his visor. 

“Oh my god, are you actually a priest?” you asked from the passenger seat as he turned the car on.

“I told you it wasn’t a costume.”

“Shit.”

“Father Charlie Mayhew, from Our Lady of Sorrows, if you don’t believe me.” He smiled, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “What’s your address?”

After giving him your address along with your name, realizing you hadn’t told him yet, you rolled the window down about halfway, finding the fragrant odor of incense and cologne a bit overwhelming for your queasy stomach. The cool night air gave you instant relief, and you laid back on the headrest, keeping your eyes closed for a few minutes. 

Father Charlie filled the quiet with a true crime podcast. Not a particularly odd choice, except that he was a priest, but Catholicism always lent itself to morbidity—his was more modern, you supposed.

“Have you heard about those murders around town?” you asked over the sound of a young woman giving the background of a triple homicide.

“Yes, our parish’s publication has been reporting on it,” he said. “I'm the editor, but one of our nuns is working closely with the lead detective on the case.”

You opened your eyes to look at him in disbelief. “Lois is working with a nun?”

“You know detective Tryon?”

“She’s my best friend’s mom,” you said. “I went to her house all the time growing up.”

“You must know her pretty well, then.”

“Yeah, Lois is one hell of a detective,” you said. “Still, I can’t imagine…whoever’s behind it must be depraved. What he’s doing—it’s not even human, it’s animal.”

“He?”

“I don’t think anyone but a man could be capable of that kind of barbarism, Father.”

“You might be right about that,” he said solemnly.

You drank more Gatorade, hoping to settle your stomach and ease your discomfort with the direction the conversation had taken. But you were the one who brought up the murders in the first place. All had some kind of religious connotation. No wonder the Catholic paper was eating that shit up. 

Catholicism was always predisposed to an especially grotesque morbidity. Open wounds considered blessings. Bones of the holy displayed with reverence. Even bread and wine transformed into the body and blood of Christ himself. Whoever was behind the recent murders was either observant or well-read.

Father Charlie pulled up to your building about ten minutes later, and you internally sighed in relief when he turned the podcast off. You couldn’t wait to get out of the damn costume and into bed.

“Thanks, Father Charlie,” you said. “I owe you one.”

“Actually, mind if I use your bathroom?” he asked.

You shook your head. “‘Course not. Come on up.”

Acutely aware of the costume you were wearing again, it was far too tempting not to show off on the way up to your apartment, swinging your hips a bit more than was warranted, knowing he was right behind you, the tight skirt giving him a full view of your ass. You privately bemoaned the fact that he was actually a priest. What a fucking waste. A guy who looked like him had no business giving himself to Jesus and denying the rest of the world the pleasure.

You took a selfie by your front door, a tired smile and a thumbs up that you sent to Julie and Lisa.

“Just letting my friends know I got home safe,” you explained, noticing Father Charlie staring at you.

You could barely hide your self-satisfied smile when you unlocked the front door. “The bathroom’s through the kitchen, first door on the right.”

“Thank you.”

Making a beeline for your bedroom, the first thing you did was take your heels off. Your feet were still sore, with a mean blister that made you walk funny when you brought the heels over to your shoe rack. You could hear the toilet flush and the water from the sink run in the bathroom. Chewing on your lip, you were almost tempted to ask Father Charlie if he wanted to stick around. If you could just brush your teeth and reapply some makeup real quick, you'd be good as new.

You never got a chance to.

“So, why this costume?” he asked, startling you.

You gasped, turning around to see him leaning against the door frame. “Oh, um—I thought it was funny.”

“What’s funny about it?”

“Well, nuns aren’t supposed to have sex, and this costume is—”

“Pornographic," he said. "I mean, it’s something you get fucked in.”

“Yeah,” you whispered, shocked at his bluntness.

“Chastity. The sacred vow to God that all women of the cloth take, and you—” he scoffed to himself, stepping into your bedroom so he was only a few feet away from you, “you mock it.”

You knew you should’ve picked the sexy nurse costume instead. “I’m so sorry, Father.”

“You will be. Get on your knees.”

“Ex-excuse me?”

“Don’t be crude. This is about repentance.”

The searing venom in his voice made your muscles contort to his will, and you found yourself on your knees. You should have been fighting back, screaming for him to get out, but in your heart you knew it was useless. Back in the convenience store, you noticed his fit physique, and you could hardly count on your neighbors to give a shit if you were in any kind of trouble.

"Do you even know how to make a sign of the cross?" he asked mockingly.

You shakily did so, bringing your left hand to your forehead, then your chest, then to each shoulder. He scoffed, apparently you messed something up, but he didn't elaborate, instead ordering you to repeat after him. The prayer came jumbled from your mouth, 'through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault' over and over until his voice was ringing in your ears like a broken church bell.

The bulge in his pants was impossible to ignore. You kept your eyes focused on his face, even when you heard the sound of his zipper and clothes shifting. But you couldn't help it, not when he was pumping his cock right in front of your face. Your repetition dipped with a slight whimper when you glanced at the size of him, foolishly hoping it was just proximity making his length appear so intimidating and angry, as if it wanted to hurt you just like he did.

“Simply praying won’t do someone like you any good," he said abruptly. "You need another form of penance, something more tangible."

Shoving his cock in your open mouth, you choked at the intrusion, attempted to shift backward and finally make a run for it, but he caught you by the habit you so stupidly kept in place with bobby pins and hit the back of your throat.

"Why don't you give me ten Hail Marys?" he mocked, his looming silhouette appearing outright demonic through your tear-filled gaze.

You didn't know the damn prayer. Couldn't even try to fake it when all you could manage was muffled pleas for him to slow down, go easy on you, have mercy. Your jaw ached, throat burned at the force he used to make you take as much of his cock as you possibly could.

He didn't show any signs of fatigue, save for the beads of sweat that rolled from his face and onto your own. He grinned at that, at you, the position you were in. The church was full of sickos, and he was certainly no exception.

Making one feeble attempt to fight back, your teeth grazed his cock, and just as you tried to work up the courage to bite down, he jerked his hips, cursing under his breath.

"Take it," his voice a low growl as he came in your mouth, ignoring your choking, spit and snot and cum leaking down your face and onto your vinyl costume and exposed breasts, "take your penance, slut."

Father Charlie hardly gave you a chance to catch your breath when he pulled his spent cock out of your mouth. You practically collapsed on your bedroom floor, each gasp of air painful against the back of your abused throat. Grabbing you by the habit again, he hauled you over to your bed, bending you over the edge of it.

He shoved his fingers between your legs and scoffed at the wetness that coated your thighs, your thong doing little to contain your subconscious reaction to the way he treated you. "Oh, that's just shameful," he drawled. "You're not repentant at all, are you? Leading a man of the cloth astray, causing me to sin…why else would you have put this costume on tonight?"

Straddling you from behind like a dog, his body was heavy on yours. With one hand squeezing your neck, the other pressed something against your throat. You reached for whatever he was holding, freezing in panic when you realized it was the hair scissors you kept in your bathroom. He must have swiped it while he was in there. They weren't even that sharp, but the extra effort he'd have to put in to mortally injure you with them would mean it would be all the more painful for you.

“Depraved, animal, barbaric,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “Is that what you think of me?”

You whimpered, feeling his cruel laughter rumble in his chest against your back. “No—no, you can’t be—”

“I was going to do something about that costume anyway, but having that mutual friend in common,” he mused, “I just can’t pass up the opportunity to leave Detective Tryon a personal message. Call it divine will.”

“I’m sorry,” you choked out.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. You can tell God yourself how sorry you are,” he whispered.

“No—Father, please don’t—”

[hauntingblue]

AAAAAAAAARRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH WE GOT ARCANEEEEEEEEEE

[iseeyoujon]

I might have finally found the winning combo of meds and dear god I forgot what it was like to feel like a real person.

It's genuinely baffling. I mean... I slept through the night and woke up rested? I got housework done? I took care of all my basic needs? My mood was stable? The paranoia was manageable? I don't think I've been this person in at least a decade.

[inbabylontheywept]

i once accidentally dated someone for a few months. its very difficult to explain how this happened, but the gist is that i thought we were hanging out, and she thought we were on dates, and it was just a very painfully highschool thing.

she was a little bit confused that i hadnt tried to pull any moves, at all, even a little. like, didnt even try holding hands because, and i cannot emphasize this enough, i did not know we were dating.

so, halloween rolled around, and she thought, you know, why wait for destiny, when you can grab it? so she hit me with a clue by four.

babylon, she said. babylon. my mom's gonna be out of town on halloween, and im gonna have the house to myself, and it's going to be kind of lonely. would you like to come to my house and watch scary movies with me?

you know, kind of a netflix and chill thing. except, and i cannot emphasize this enough, i did not know we were dating. also autism. so i took it at face value and said: oh! yeah! thatd be fun! and she thought she got her point across, but she didnt and it was a mess.

skip forward to halloween: my family has a block party every year, right? and at that point i was too old to really trick or treat, but we still wore costumes for our role in the block party, which in my case, was handing out cotton candy. so i took the first shift, and my costume was this homemade abomination minion thing. i had full yellow body paint, and goggles, and a bald cap, and overalls. the kids who saw it were like, uh, hm. overly realistic minion. and adults were like, oh, some kind of hills have eyes hillbilly with jaundice. very scary.

(it was not my best costume.)

my little brother swapped me out for second shift, and i was getting ready to change out to head to her house when i was like: no, she'll get a real kick out of this. this is one of the worst things i have ever worn. so i kept it on and just brought a change of clothes thinking i could shower real quick and change at her place after she saw my nightmare getup.

so i left after that, got there, knocked on her door, and she said come on in. so i went in, and there was this very long hall with an abrupt right turn into her living room where the tv was, and i went down the hall, and i made the turn, and my field of view went from beige drywal to her, on the couch, naked. naked in the paint me like one of your french girls pose. super naked.

i panicked. this was my first time seeing a real person like, full on sex naked,which is a totally different beast from other kinds of naked. you see one kind of naked and you think yeah, im ready for all the kinds of naked, but you arent. i wasnt at least. i really wasn't.

so my brain crashed to BIOS. she also crashed to BIOS, but for different reasons. of all the ways this could have turned me, having me show up in yellow body paint and overalls was pretty pretty low down the list.

so we sat there a while, and you know, she wasn't getting any less naked, which really wasn't helping me get my brain sorted out. it really wasnt much of a surprise when she got her bearings first and started asking questions.

"babylon," she said. "babylon. what are you wearing?"

and i was like, kind of rebooted, but i was nowhere near full functionality, so symbolic language wasnt loaded in yet. i had nothing running but my trusty autism.exe, so i said

"overalls"

and she looked at me like i was the dumbest person in the entire world, and i looked at her like she was the first naked person i had seen in real life who got naked specifically for me, and my upper level cognitive process went: "listen man, we are not going to get our shit together as long as 80% of your brain power is devoted to not blinking. you gotta get out of here."

and if id communicated that, maybe things would have been less of a mess, but instead i just kind of turned around and walked back to my car. i figured i could drive a few loops around the block, get my brain in order, and figure out what the hell we were gonna do.

the only thing i had said to her since arriving was, again, overalls.

first loop around, i was like: oh god fucking damnit. oh shit. oh shit. shes gonna get like, an eating disorder from this. oh no.

second loop around i was like: oh NOOOOO oh WHAT THE FUCK oh SWEET JESUS PLEASE. i dont wanna go back man. i just wanna bury this and forget about it. please. please. let this bitter cup pass from my lips.

and after my third loop, i went and i knocked on her door again.

she answered it this time, and i counted my lucky stars that she'd changed into some pajamas. she was all teary eyed which was the saddest thing ever, and we sat down in her kitchen and talked. it was pretty bad - i figured out we'd been dating, and she figured out that trying to jump from home plate to 3rd base is considered ballsy in baseball, least of all dating. no real winners there. and i can remember after all that, we sat there a bit a bit longer, just steadying ourselves, and i was like "well, im actually really glad we figured that out. guess i'll see you at school tomorow' and she said "WAIT. wait."

"lets watch shrek 2."

so we did and it was horrible. we did not look at each other. we did not say a word. we just sat in stony silence, while shrek 2 played in the background, and when it was done we shook hands. i think we might have been able to salvage that as a friendship if it hadnt been for shrek. as it was she turned white as a sheet and ran away every time she even got a glimpse of me at school, and that summer she moved to a new state to live with her dad. all her friends said she moved just so she wouldn't have to go to school with me anymore, and i dont actually think they were lying.

every time i hear relationship counselors talk about how important communication is, and i'm tempted to roll my eyes, i look back and go, alright. alright. theres probably some poor bastard, somewhere in the world, who doesnt even know that hes married.

and god help him when he figures it out.

other bad dating story here.

[hecksupremechips]

The most validating thing about having a brother in law is sometimes I’ll make a comment about my parents being kinda horrible and he’ll just be like "DUDE FINALLY SOMEONE SAID IT IVE BEEN THINKING THIS THE WHOLE TIME BUT DIDNT KNOW HOW TO ADDRESS IT"

[kyseya]

You reap what you sow

Yandere farm brothers x f.reader

—————-

Just your typical luck, your car had suddenly broken down in the middle of nowhere. What will you do now? You can’t stay there, there’s no food or water available. Luckily, you hadn’t run out of recourses just yet but it was very close to being gone.

You stepped out of the car and went around it, staring it down with waves of irritation rolling off you. You tried coming up with a plan. The next stop was miles away and it was nothing but a daydream that you’d be able to make it there on foot.

Right as you were about to give up and let the animals take you, the sound of wheels on gravel caught your attention. Turning around, you saw another car speeding towards you. Yes! You were saved! You waved at the person in the car and luckily enough it stopped. ‘I’m gonna pray it’s not Michael Meyers lost cousin or something.’

The door to the passenger side opened and you spotted a man sitting behind the wheel. He was young, around your age, probably a little older perhaps. He had dark brown hair and equally dark eyes. You instantly noticed a scar below his left eye as you glanced at his face. You had to admit, he was very handsome; in a rugged type of way. You couldn’t help but eye how his plain shirt hugged all the muscles on his body. You mentally slapped yourself, ‘Geez (Y/n), you’re here to ask for help not ogle him like the last piece of cake at the party!’

“Your car broke down?” He asked, looking at the worthless piece of junk that had decided to betray you just minutes ago.

“Yeah, it did.” You scratched the back of your head in slight embarrassment. “I couldn’t trouble you for a ride, could I?” He was quiet for a moment, in which you hastily added, “Not for long! Just so I can get proper help from a mechanic. I won’t be a bother I promise.”

The man nodded. “Alright then, hop in.”

Your eyes lit up at his response. You gladly took a seat beside him and thanked him again for his help. “Thank you so much. You’re literally saving my life.”

He nodded once more. Guess he wasn’t much of a talker. Well not that it mattered much. You’d only stick around until you got to a town and found someone who could fix your vehicle. You didn’t have to be all buddy-buddy with each other. You only had to be happy he didn’t seem to want to kill you and hang your organs like Christmas ornaments. The chance of you meeting again was down to basically zero.

Or that’s what you thought, but life has a funny way of messing with you. It must have a grudge against you or else you wouldn’t be seated in the same position you were previously, only it being about 3 hours later. The drive to the nearest town was long(you definitely wouldn’t have made it by walking) and when you got there, you found out the one mechanic they had was out of town.

You thought you were going to have to spend the night in a bush, but you were pleasantly surprised to have your muscular helper offer a nights stay at his farm. You were grateful(once more) and also confused. Why was he being so nice to you when he didn’t have any reason to? It didn’t make sense. The two of you had just met, plus that you’ve only spoken a number of times and none of the conversations were noteworthy.

It was after you accepted you got to know his name, Weston. It fit him quite well, you thought. He told you there was a spare room you could use. It would be further away from his, to offer you some sort of privacy. He also mentioned there was one other person living on the farm, his younger brother. If he annoyed you, you could just tell him off, Weston said to you.

Your butt was sore from all the sitting, both in your own car but also from this little trip. The sky darkened and the sun had nearly completely disappeared when you finally arrived at the farm. It looked like you imagined. There was a large house which you assumed was the main house. Behind it was a big, red barn. You thought you could hear the faint sounds of animals.

Climbing out of the car, you glanced expectantly at your host, waiting for his initiative. You didn’t want to be rude and march right up to the house. As you were waiting, another figure came into view. He was much like his older brother, with brown hair and eyes to match. He was smiling at the both of you, although you caught a slight suspicion towards you.

“Who’s the new kid?” He asked his sibling, who gave him a rundown of what’s happened. You were a bit annoyed at how he called you ‘kid’, you were very much a grown person. And he’s one to talk, you were sure he was younger than you, even through all that brawn. He wasn’t as tall as Weston but he was no joke either. The younger brother looked at you with sympathy, “Really? Well that’s unfortunate. What’re you gonna do now that the mechanic’s gone- since you need him I’m guessing you don’t exactly know how to fix cars.”

You sighed, “I’m not sure yet. I’ll come up with something tomorrow. I’m too tired from all the driving and thinking.”

“Alright, I get it. I’m Lucas by the way.”

You shook his hand. “(Y/n), and thank you for having me. You’re really saving me here.”

“Haha, well Weston likes to pretend he’s heartless, but he’s really just a giant teddy bear.” Lucas said and smirked as he received a glare from the ‘teddy bear’.

“Come in (Y/n), I’ll show you your room.” Weston led you into the house.

Right as you stepped over the threshold, you felt a slight chill. Something felt wrong. You turned around to see Lucas’ beaming face. He tilted his head in confusion.

“Everything good?” He asked, concern lacing his voice. You’d gotten the impression that he’s a chill guy, but now you started wondering if you’d made the wrong choice.

“N-no, everything’s great!”

There was no turning back now, you thought as you descended deeper into the house.

It was unfortunate that every time you followed one of the brothers into town again, for supplies and other things, the mechanic was never there. Sadly it seemed like his vacation wasn’t over yet which meant no way home for you. However, you didn’t have it so bad. The brothers had been kind enough to let you keep staying with them at their farm.

Honestly it was pretty good there. Sure, it wasn’t what you were used to, but some change of scenery was good for you. Not wanting to appear lazy, you helped them to the best of your ability around the farm. You couldn’t lift heavy things like they could even if you really put your back into it, and you certainly didn’t trust yourself to milk the cows; something you could do was cook! It’d become a routine for them to do their work during the day and you’d make them lunch and then dinner in the evenings. You’d never seen yourself as a homemaker, though this was kind of fun. Maybe it was the heat poking your brain or it was that you genuinely enjoyed their company.

Besides, it was really nice looking out the kitchen window and catching a glimpse of them at work. You weren’t proud, but it did something for you. The way droplets of sweat ran down their backs, not in a gross way though, in an appealing manner. During the instances they took of their shirts, you got a front row seat to see the muscles in action. You now knew Lucas had stone-hard abs and that Weston had a very nice back.

Despite the fun in getting to know both of them individually, there were some things you couldn’t deny making you uncomfortable. For example, there was the curfew. That one had a good explanation; there were wild animals sometimes running around and they didn’t want you to get hurt. That made perfect sense! Though you couldn’t shake off that one time you couldn’t sleep and had gone outside on the porch for some air. You were just relaxing and looking at the bright stars when shouting woke you up more than your insomnia. Lucas had come rushing towards you in panic. He’d frantically asked you what you were doing up. You responded honestly and he slowly calmed down. He said you shouldn’t go out by yourself anymore. If you can’t sleep you can see the stars perfectly from the living room window, or better yet, you can come to one of their rooms instead.

Then there was the room furthest back in the barn. Although it could be excused as well, they told you that’s where they slaughtered the animals. But you could swear you heard something from inside, something that doesn’t sound at all like a cow, a pig or a chicken. Suspicion arose in you, but fear held you in a chokehold and prevented you from investigating. However nice they were to you, there was no way you’d risk pissing them off. Especially since the mechanic still wasn’t back which meant you had no way to escape, if it would be necessary.

Lucas had been right, Weston wasn’t as scary as he seemed in the beginning. Sure, he was a bit rough around the edges but he had sweet moments too. Once during one of your little adventures on the porch, Weston had suddenly appeared by your side, giving you a scare. He apologised and asked why you were out. You were worried he would get angry considering you’d just recently had the ‘no more going out’- conversation with Lucas. To your surprise he chuckled at your nervous demeanor and did not reprimand you. He told you that in his opinion, Lucas was too paranoid for his own good and sometimes didn’t know when to stop. You don’t have to walk on eggshells, though you probably shouldn’t wander off the porch after dark. Better to be safe than sorry, right? Afterwards he declared he’s going to bed before wrapping you in a blanket, you didn’t even notice he had it with him until he turned you into a burrito. He was very sweet in his own way, you realised. From then on you paid more attention to the affection he undoubtedly showed. Sometimes it was hard to see, but it was definitely there.

Lucas on the other hand was more open with his affection; pulling you into hugs, asking about your day, petting your hair. All these thing he did daily. He, too, was incredibly sweet. Sometimes it was hard to comprehend that him and Weston shared DNA. They were so different. The only thing confirming their relation was little things how their eyes lit up the same way or how their smiles were similar(if you were fortunate enough to witness Weston smiling, that is). Lucas also had a protective streak. He constantly worried over your safety and wellbeing. Which was kind of nice, when he wasn’t nagging you about it every five seconds.

You better listen to them. It’s all for your best. Because if you don’t, you might end up walking into the barn, and then you might end up finding the remains of the mechanic you’ve been so desperately looking for. And that wouldn’t be very good now, would it?

[princessbrunette]

hi princess! I was just thinking about shy!reader ending rafe nudes for the first time 🫣 can u pls write abt it

⊹ ~ ⊹ ~ ݁. 🎀 ݁.⊹୨🐰୧ ⊹ . ݁🎀 . ݁~ ⊹ ~ ⊹

he wasn’t expecting it. he thought he’d have to work harder for you to open up like that.

it was toppers turn to swing, the group of them playing golf at the country club. rafe scowls in the sun, staring across the hills in thought knowing his younger friend often took ages to line up and get a good swing in. just as he was wondering what you would be up to right about now, lifting his wrist to check the time — his phone dings with a text and he reaches into his pocket, eyes lighting up in intrigue upon seeing it was your name on the screen, with one attachment.

he clicks on the picture and freezes.

it’s a selfie, you sat infront of the mirror in your bedroom. however, you look askew — clearly hot and flustered with your dress disheveled, one sleeve hanging off your shoulder nearly exposing your tit and the hem pulled up around your waist. you’ve got no panties on, legs open with your knees pointing up and feet flat to the floor and in the image you’re spreading your sloppy, wet cunt with your fingers, a mess of your own arousal coating you. the image is paired with a simple caption — ‘please come to my house i miss u :(’

now you were shy, like — hardcore shy. shit, it took you a while to even let rafe touch on you and fuck you without getting overwhelmed and wanting to cry everytime he looked at you. he couldn’t believe his eyes.

“holy shit. hooooly shit.” he drawls, beginning to pace a little, staring at the image and zooming in. topper gets distracted, turning his head.

“whats up?” he asks as rafe types a quick ‘Give me 15 mins baby’ into his keyboard. rafe glances up, lips parted at his two friends, staring at him for answers.

“shit uh, nah… nah don’t worry.”

he pockets his phone, looking to start packing up his stuff.

“nah c’mon man, what happened?” kelce comes towards him with a friendly grin and rafe lightly shoves him back by the shoulder, walking past to the golf buggy.

“i said don’t worry, alright? i uh, gotta roll though. see you guys around.” rafe punctuates his sentence with a scoffed chuckle of disbelief, swinging his golf bag over his shoulder.

“did… did something happen?” topper shakes his head.

“look, i gotta go see my girl alright, said she needs me. sending me pictures of her pussy all spread out n’shit. respectfully, m’not spending another minute with you suckers.” rafe holds up his hands, biting the bait and telling them anyway. he couldn’t help himself, at the end of the day; a boy.

kelce laughs in shock and toppers eyebrows raise, eyes widening as he says your name in questioning confirmation.

“yeah, who the fuck else?” rafe collects his last club from the buggy, slotting it into the bag.

“what— she’s like, the sweetest girl i know. super shy though, am i wrong?” topper seems in just as much as disbelief as rafe, who shrugs, beginning to walk backwards away from his friends.

“so i thought.” rafe calls out with a smirk, arms wide by his side before he spins around to make his way swiftly to your house to show him how much he appreciated your little text message gift.

⊹ ~ ⊹ ~ ݁. 🎀 ݁.⊹୨🐰୧ ⊹ . ݁🎀 . ݁~ ⊹ ~ ⊹

[rafecameronssl4t]

Yours to keep || Frat boy!Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: At a frat party, Rafe’s jealousy flares when he sees you talking to a new pledge. His possessive nature comes through as he asserts his claim, leaving no doubt about who you belong to.

Warnings: jealous/possesive!rafe 😝

Word count: 1,245

A/n: guys send thru frat boy!rafe requests xx

MASTERLIST (frat boy!rafe x reader au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

The party was in full swing, with music booming and laughter echoing through every corner of the frat house. Red cups were scattered across tables, and the place was crowded, the air filled with the energy of people letting loose. Rafe was in his element, the charismatic center of it all, playing the role of frat president to perfection as he laughed with his brothers and kept a watchful eye on the pledges.

You wandered through the crowd, occasionally glancing at Rafe, who seemed to command the entire room with his cocky grin and confident stance. As you made your way around, you ended up talking with Jamie, one of the new pledges, who seemed a bit overwhelmed by the night’s intensity.

He held his drink a little awkwardly, but his shy smile was endearing, and he seemed genuinely interested in getting to know you. “So, what’s it like dating Rafe Cameron?” Jamie asked, scratching the back of his neck with a sheepish smile. “He’s got… quite the reputation.”

You laughed, raising an eyebrow as you glanced over at Rafe, who was engrossed in a conversation with a couple of his frat brothers across the room. “You make it sound like he’s some kind of terrifying figure,” you teased, rolling your eyes.

Jamie chuckled, though he looked a bit nervous. “Well, he kind of is. I mean, he’s intense. People talk about him like he’s not someone you want to mess with.” Smiling, you shrugged. “Rafe can be a bit… possessive. But he’s not as scary as he seems. He just cares about the house and the people close to him. You’ll get used to him once you’re around him more.”

Jamie nodded, though he still looked a little unsure. “I hope so. He definitely seems… protective.” “He is,” you said, grinning. “But as long as you’re not on his bad side, you’ll be fine.” Just as Jamie was about to respond, you felt a familiar warmth against your back as Rafe slipped his arm around your waist, pulling you close.

He didn’t even look at you—his gaze was fixed on Jamie, his eyes cool and calculating despite the friendly smirk on his face. “Hey, babe,” Rafe murmured, his tone casual, but you could sense the edge in his voice. His attention didn’t waver from Jamie. “Who’s this?” “This is Jamie, one of the new pledges,” you explained, keeping your voice light.

“We were just talking.” “Talking, huh?” Rafe’s arm tightened around you, his fingers pressing into your hip as his gaze swept over Jamie. “Talking about what?” Jamie looked a bit flustered, shifting awkwardly. “I… uh, I was just asking about her classes. And, um… about you, actually,” he admitted, his voice quieter. “You’ve got quite a reputation.”

Rafe’s smirk sharpened, a glint of amusement mixed with challenge in his eyes. “Is that so?” He glanced at you briefly, raising an eyebrow, then looked back at Jamie. “Well, Jamie, reputation or not, this one’s taken.” Jamie chuckled nervously, nodding. “Of course. I, uh… I’ll just go check in with the other brothers.”

He glanced at you, managing a quick smile before practically retreating into the crowd. As Jamie disappeared, you turned to Rafe, giving him a look before walking off, him right beside you. “Rafe, he was just being nice.” Rafe shrugged, his eyes trailing after Jamie until the pledge disappeared into the crowd.

“Yeah, maybe. But the way he was looking at you? Like he thought he had a shot?” His jaw tensed, and he turned his gaze back to you, that familiar possessive glint lighting up his blue eyes. “That doesn’t sit well with me,” he murmured, his hand slipping lower on your back until it landed with a firm slap on your ass.

You shot him a playful glare, swatting his hand back up to your waist, but your laughter betrayed you. “Oh, you’re jealous, aren’t you?” “Jealous?” Rafe scoffed, though the smirk tugging at his lips said otherwise. “Please. I just don’t like the idea of some new kid thinking he can step in and flirt with you.” His fingers tightened on your hip, as if to punctuate his point.

“Flirt?” you echoed, crossing your arms and raising an eyebrow at him. “All we did was talk, Rafe. You really think he was flirting?” Rafe cocked his head, his smirk widening as he stepped closer, the warmth of his body pressing against you. “I know guys, babe. That ‘just talking’ look? That’s him hoping you’d suck him off,”

You rolled your eyes at his possessive streak, but the butterflies in your stomach betrayed you. Despite his bluntness, Rafe’s attention made you feel exhilarated in a way no one else could. “Maybe you’re just overthinking it,” you teased, your tone light. “Not every guy is out to steal your girl, you know.”

Rafe leaned in, his hand gently cradling your jaw, his thumb brushing along your cheek in a way that made your breath hitch. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice dropping to that low, dangerous tone that made your heart race, “but have you looked at yourself, babe?” You couldn’t help the small chuckle that slipped out, the warmth of his fingers and his intense gaze making you feel giddy.

“You’re impossible, you know that?” He smirked, eyes flicking between yours as if to prove his point. “No one steals what’s mine,” he murmured, the quiet confidence in his voice wrapping around you like a promise. His words sent a thrill down your spine, and for a moment, it felt like the crowded, noisy party faded away, leaving just the two of you in that charged moment.

“Possessive much?” you teased, though your heart raced at his words. “Maybe,” he admitted, his lips quirking up in a wicked smile. “But can you blame me?” His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you close until his lips brushed over yours, a gentle but unmistakably claiming kiss.

The sounds of the party disappeared, his attention drowning out everything else. As he pulled away, he kept his forehead pressed against yours, his smirk softening into a smile. “Just keep in mind who you came here with, alright?” “Trust me, I know,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him back into another kiss.

[hollandsangel]

voice | m. sturniolo

i had this idea a million years ago, please enjoy!!

summary: chris wonders if you can tell his and matt’s voice apart

warnings: super fluffy!! a bit suggestive at the very end, i’m questioning if it’s good or not

wc: 1.6k

gif by @mattsturnioloarchive !

“i call shower first!” you exclaim the second the garage door is open, sprinting past matt up the stairs to his bathroom.

“there’s three showers,” chris says matter-of-factly as you blow past him on the steps, holding a hand out in confusion.

matt sighs and follows behind you, passing chris as well, “yeah, but you don’t have to share,” 

you’re already on the mainfloor, running into matt’s bedroom to grab the change of clothes you’d left earlier.

“i’m so glad i don’t have a girlfriend,” chris mutters, earning a smack upside the head from nick, “jesus, fuck, what,”

“you’re just annoying,” nick says, deciding it’s a good enough explanation and getting a laugh out of matt.

“agreed,” matt’s still chuckling when they reach the kitchen table, setting down the take out the four of you had gotten on your way back to the house. he hears the water turn on in his bathroom, accompanied by the soft sound of your voice as you sing along to your music.

“oh she’s a nicki fan,” nick says to no one in particular, referencing the tik tok sound when he notices you’re listening to a nicki minaj song. 

matt looks up from the bag of food and laughs.

chris sinks into the couch but looks over at matt, arm slung over the cushions, “i wonder if she could tell our voices apart,” he says after a second. 

“what?” matt asks, thinking the question is mildy rediculous. 

“like do you think she could recognize your voice?” chris explains, wandering into the kitchen now. opening a pepsi and leaning up against the counter. 

nick chimes in now, having been fiddling with the vlog camera and battery, “like compared to you and me?” he asks chris, glancing back at matt as if to say ‘is this guy for real?’

“yeah,” chris nods.

“yeah, obviously she’d be able to tell my voice apart from yours,” matt is looking back at the food again, tone matter-of-fact, as if what he’d said was absolute common sense. 

chris is quiet for about half a second and matt thinks that’s the end of that absurd conversation. it isn’t, of course. 

“should we test it out?” chris asks through a sip of soda.

matt officially gives up on trying to set the food up, throwing his hands up in mock surrender before turning to chris, “and how are we gonna do that?”

chris shrugs, but nick has an idea, “chris, you could like, just go ask her for something, if you left something in the bathroom—“

“absolutely not,” matt shuts it down immediately with a shake of his head, “you're not going in the bathroom when my girlfriend is showering,”

“i won’t even go all the way in!! i’ll cover my eyes,” chris promises, but matt is still skeptical. “i’ll just like poke my head in the door and ask if i left like..a belt or some shit in there,” is chris’ next offer. 

matt sighs and thinks about it, weighing the pros and cons. of course you can tell his voice apart from his brothers…right? he’s making himself nervous, pysching himself out and worrying they all sound the same to you. it upsets him for some reason, he can’t quite decide why.

“fine,” he agrees after a beat of silence, convincing himself you know whis voice well enough to separate it from chris’, and if you can’t, he thinks he might actually feel a sick twinge of unjustified jealousy.

“yes,” chris mutters under his breath, always excited to pull a prank on anyone.

“this is definitely going in the vlog,” nick says, still messing with the camera and coming to sit at the kitchen table where matt is now.

“i can’t believe i agreed to this,” matt mumbles, rubbing his eyes and taking a deep breath. he stands from his seat and walks over to the wall where he can see the bathroom door, feeling some what protective, like he needs to supervise chris to make sure he doesn’t wander too far into the bathroom.

“what should i say?” chris turns back arms pulled in close to his body as if he’s nervous. he’s already grinning and trying to keep from laughing.

“ooh, call her sweetheart, matt always does that,” nick suggests, wiggling his brows in matt’s direction to tease him.

“oh my god,” matt groans softly, rubbing at his eyes, “i fucking hate you guys,”

“okay, i’m going in,” matt drops his hands at that, eyes on his brother immediately. chris puts a hand over his eyes, just as he said he said he would before knocking on the door. nick has the camera out to record and is trying to stifle his laugh in the collar of his hoodie.

at the sound of the knock matt hears your voice, calling out for him, no doubt thinking it’s him at the door. he has to cover his mouth, partly out of nerves but also to keep himself from saying anything.

“yeah,” chris starts, needing to take a second before continuing because he’s already making himself laugh. “yeah, sweetheart, did i leave my belt in here?” he asks, barely stood in the doorway of the bathroom.

“uhh, i think it’s in your bedroom?” you say after a slight pause, about to poke your head out from behind the shower curtain, but chris has already mumbled a ‘thanks’ and essentially sprinted out of the bathroom, closing the door and crumbling to the floor in giggles.

“you’re not fucking real,” matt shakes his head, laughing softly himself and pushing off the wall to go back to the kitchen table. he’s a bit bummed that you didn’t realize it wasn’t his voice, but he keeps that to himself.

nick pans the camera over to matt’s face, which seems expressionless, even with both his brothers cackling outside of the frame.

you come out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam, heading into matt’s bedroom to drop the clothes you’d changed out of. matt is instantly sitting back up, the legs of his chair scraping along the hardwood floors.

“ooh, someone’s pissed,” nick turns the camera to himself, eyeing the now closed door.

“that was too fucking good,” chris says after a deep breath, still recovering from laughing so hard. he pulls a chair out next to nick and the two start to explain what had happened to the camera, eyes flicking up to matt’s door every few seconds.

in the bedroom you’re putting your dirty clothes back into your bag when matt comes in, looking a little bit pouty, “hey baby,” you turn towards him, laughing at the slightly pathetic look he gives you, “what’s up?” you wonder.

“m’ tired,” he tells you, slumping up against you for a hug. you wrap your arms around him and rub his back, letting him lay his weight into you.

“we’ll eat and go to bed, yeah?” you give his back another little pat when he nods against you, “mkay, let’s go,” you kiss his cheek quickly, only to have him turn his head in search of a real kiss. you oblige of course.

nick and chris have already started eating and updating the vlog on their day when you and matt come out of the bedroom. matt joins them at the table but you head for the fridge to grab a drink. “oh, did you find your belt?” you ask matt, still digging around.

“what?— oh yeah” he mumbles, gaze turned down to his fries.

“okay good. by the way you sounded so much like chris when you came in— it freaked me the fuck out” you say with your head in the fridge, still searching for the diet coke you know you left inside the door, “did one of you drink my coke–”

“wait what?” matt’s head snaps up, food forgotten.

“hmm?” you turn around to find all three boys looking at you. nick’s mouth open in a half smile and chris clearly trying not to burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. matt’s just staring at you with eyes a little bit too wide before he speaks up.

“what do you mean i sounded weird?” he asks, leaning forward. you notice nick’s shut up about whatever he was saying to the camera earlier, pointing the lens at you now.

“i dunno, when you said sweetheart it just sounded super fucking weird— why are you guys looking at me like that–” you have to ask, feeling slightly weirded out by the intensity of their gazes

“i knew it!!” matt cheers, punching the air and doing a silly little dance as nick doubles over and starts hitting the table.

chris’ jaw drops and he presses his fingers into his eyes as he laughs next to his brother, leaning on him.

matt bounds over to you with a grin, arms wrapping around your waist and lifting you off the ground slightly.

“whaaaat,” you giggle, clearly confused by their reaction. 

“it was me,” chris manages to say between bouts of laughter, “we– we were trying to see if you could tell our voices apart.”

“of course i can tell your voices apart, especially your voice,” you turn towards matt, saying it like it should be obvious, like it’s silly they doubted you for even a second. 

matt’s just grinning at you, feeling a strange sense of pride swelling in his chest, “i knew you could,” 

“bullshit!” chris exclaims, both him and nick still leaning against each other as they laugh.

“he’s right, you were freaked the fuck out,” nick manages to say between giggles, “you watched chris like a fucking hawk when he opened the bathroom door,” he looks over at you, his smile contagious, “he was definitely freaked the fuck out,”

matt groans and drops his head against your shoulder. you brush your fingers through his hair and chuckle to yourself, “awe matt,” you coo, “i definitely know your voice, i’ll probably be hearing lots of it later anyways.”

tags ! @st4rswrld @urfavvev3lyn @mattsturnioloarchive @averysbestyears @its-jennarose

[joelscurls]

best kept secret

pairing: dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 6.7k

summary: In an attempt to keep your relationship secret, Joel agrees to a blind date set up by his best friend / your father. You don't take it well.

warnings: 18+ minors dni, pre-outbreak, age gap (reader is in her early 20s, Joel is 36), secret relationship, angst, explicit smut, oral (f!receiving), unprotected piv, semi-public sex, car sex, creampie, some fluff; lmk if I missed anything!

a/n: so sorry it took me almost a month to post something new ffs - life got busy and my inspiration simultaneously disappeared. but we're back, baby! anyway, dbf!joel owns my ass, so here's my rendition of him. as always, ty to my baby @javisashtray for reading this over for me and helping me through the creative process <3

Joel’s bedroom window offers a perfect view of the sunrise; of shy, pink light creeping over treetops and the roof of your dad’s house across the street.

It’s gorgeous — breathtaking, even — maybe because you can count on one hand the number of times you’ve actually seen the crest of morning. You’re far more privy to late nights and sleeping in as long as you can push it,  never been one to be up with the lark, so to speak.

You don’t mind the early wakeup call, though, not when it’s this: Joel’s head tucked between your thighs, his tongue rolling lazily over your clit, your eyes still adjusting to the light as he spreads you open for him.

He’s humming against you, his coarse beard tickling soft skin, thumbs dug into muscle to hold you in place as your back bows reflexively off the mattress. He looks so sweet like this, so eager to please, staring up at you with blown pupils.

“C’mon baby,” he purrs. “Just gimme one before you go.”

They’re the first words he’s said all morning, the first thought that’s necessitated utterance. His voice is hoarse and deep and drips honey-sweet at your core. 

Even so, despite how badly you want to — because you always want Joel’s mouth on you — you’re not sure you can. 

Because you need to get home before Denise next door leaves for her early shift. Before Susan a few houses down takes her dog out for a walk.

Before the neighborhood wakes and somebody sees you leaving Joel Miller’s house. Or worse, before your dad catches you slipping into the house in yesterday’s clothes, your car in the driveway still cold.

But with another experimental flick of Joel’s tongue, you forget all that, a content little sigh slipping past your parted lips, betraying you.

Just one, you tell yourself, and then you’ll head out.

“Fuck, okay — yeah,” you breathe, twisting your fingers into the roots of his curls.

With your permission, he buries his nose in your mound. Licks at you again — with more purpose, this time. One long, drawn out lap followed by another.  

He’s so gentle with you, so careful, caressing your folds with his tongue like they’re made of paper. It’s a dizzying juxtaposition to the way he laid you down last night and fucked you, teeth scraping your neck and cock bruising your cervix.

You’re still sore, your walls tender where he stretched them, but your pussy is drooling nonetheless, surely making a mess of the bedsheets underneath you.

Because you’re insatiable when it comes to Joel. 

For the past few weeks, since the first time you’d found yourself in his bed, you’ve craved him. Regardless of how sated he’s left you each and every time, you’ve needed more. 

It’s dangerous and stupid and undeniably wrong, having a fling with your dad’s best-friend. But you’re finding it difficult to consider the morality of it all when just his tongue makes you come harder than any other man’s cock ever has. 

That tongue, now dipping into your apex, drawing more slick out of you as his thumb finds your swollen clit — It’s overwhelming how good it feels, how good he is at this.

He’s bringing you to the edge languidly, savoring the taste of you, the feel of your silky flesh. It’s like he doesn’t want this to be over, needs to stretch the moment as far as it’ll go, milk every last second before you slip from his grasp.

But it’s going to end soon; it’s inevitable with the way he’s laving your pussy, the crushed velvet of his tongue gliding through your folds so wet and warm. Your orgasm is building, and you’re powerless to stave it off any longer.

“Joel,” you warn, his name a high-pitched whine. 

“Shh, I know babygirl; it’s okay.” 

Two of his fingers hook at your entrance and push in, pacifying you as his thumb continues working your clit. “I got you. Let go for me, sweetheart.”

The soothe of his voice floods your senses like nitrous; renders your body loose and your head foggy. You come apart with a string of shattered breaths, eyes rolled back and fingers twisted into the duvet.

Joel talks you through it: that’s it, pretty girl; so good for me; always so good for me, and though he sounds so far away, his words are the only thing keeping you tethered to reality.

The world comes back into view slowly. Air settles in your lungs. And you can’t help but laugh at how fucked-out you feel when you peer down at Joel, his gaze already locked on you, expectantly.

“Okay?” he asks, rubbing at your inner thigh.

“Yeah,” you exhale, corners of your lips pulling taut. “More than okay.”

He smiles back at you. Props himself up with hands planted either side of you on the mattress and hovers over your feeble form.

“Good,” he whispers, dipping his head down to kiss your forehead, your nose, your mouth. He licks into you, letting you taste yourself on him — a little sweet, a little bitter — and his lips are so soft that you nearly melt. “Did so good, angel.” 

You want nothing more than to spend all day in this bed with him. Return the favor a few times over. Learn what he looks like in the afternoon sun against the backdrop of navy blue sheets. What he tastes like after his coffee rather than before.

“I don’t want to leave,” you admit against his mouth and he frowns, taking one of your hands in his. He presses a kiss to each of your knuckles, one by one, his eyes never straying from yours.

“I don’t want you to either, darlin’. But you can come back tonight, yeah?”

Tonight. Hours away. A whole day between now and then. But it’ll have to do. 

“Tonight,” you repeat. Solidify it. 

You slink home just as the street lights dim.

The house is quiet when you enter, apart from the incessant ticking of the grandmother clock in the living room. It sets off a throbbing in your head, a dull pang right at the front of your skull that you massage with two fingers as you ascend the stairs.

You move cautiously up each step, wincing at every creak of old wood. It must take minutes to reach the second-floor landing, and then you’re tiptoeing past your father’s room, listening for signs of sleep behind the seal of his door. Sure enough, you catch it, a single, drawn-out snore, loud enough that you let your feet fall, shuffling the rest of the way to the bathroom across the hall.

You immediately crank the shower on, climbing in as soon as you see steam. Lathering your skin with citrus-scented body wash, the smell of sex washes off your body and down the drain.

The warm water soothes your sore muscles; bittersweet relief. You stand there until the stream grows icy, stepping out and toweling yourself off just as you hear the familiar blare of your dad’s alarm on the other side of the wall.

By the time you’ve dressed and made your way downstairs, he’s already in the kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee with his back to you. 

Sink empty, counters borderline sparkling, a coaster tucked under his warm mug — your father is a neat man. He does not take kindly to mess.

God forbid, anybody disrupt the sacred balance of his home; move something and forget to put it back, break something of his that should be kept intact.

“Hey.”

“Hey, kiddo,” he yawns. Turns to face you. “You were up early. Heard the shower going.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” you lie.

“Something on your mind?”

Heat blooms across your chest and up your neck. There’s no way he knows — you’ve been far too careful. Still, you’re on edge, and the question lodges itself between your ribs uncomfortably as you frantically search for an answer.

“Uh, n-no,” you stutter. “Just work stuff, I guess.”

He seems to buy it, reaching for the percolator and re-filling his mug with a sigh, “Just gotta give it time. You only just started. Plus, it’s your first job out of school. They don’t expect you to know it all right away.”

It’s good advice, if not misguided. You nod as if you’re absorbing it, taking it straight to heart. As if your mind isn’t preoccupied.

You grab a mug from the cabinet. Fill it with coffee and creamer. Perch yourself at the breakfast table and take a slow, steadying sip.

The caffeine has just about seeped into your bloodstream when-

-there’s a knock at the door.

Your dad shoots you a puzzled look, one which you immediately return. Who could that be, so early on a Wednesday morning?

And when he pushes open the door to reveal none other than Joel, you just about fall out of your chair. Your nails absentmindedly dig into the wood of the table in an attempt to brace yourself.

“Oh, buddy — hey! Come on in,” your dad says, patting him on the back as he steps over the threshold. “Wasn’t expecting you.”

You grasp the handle of your mug like a lifeline. For a fleeting moment, you worry the ceramic will shatter in your hands.

Joel is dressed — blue cotton t-shirt covering his broad back and the deep, red scratches you left there when you dug your nails into skin, your legs hiked over his hips and your face tucked into his chest.

The pair of boxers peeking over the waistband of his jeans are different from the ones you pulled off of him last night, the ones he shimmied back into before you slept cradled in his arms.

He’s a different Joel here, now — your father’s friend, your neighbor — not the man who breaks you down with his tongue or the one who calls you his good girl while you take his entire, throbbing length. 

No, this Joel, standing in your kitchen in the presence of your father, has never betrayed him. Hasn’t tasted his friend’s daughter or felt the tight embrace of her wet, warm cunt around his cock. This Joel is reliable, honest, not one to do harm.

You do not desire this Joel, cannot. You must look at him with apathetic eyes. Must keep the boat of your longing at bay. 

Easier said than done. It’s as if your desire for him is a feral beast, fed by his touch and left starving in its wake. You feel like you’ve just run a marathon, sweat beading at your collar as you not-so-subtly follow the subconscious flex of his hands, the bunching of fabric over his biceps.

His voice bounces off the backsplash, and your fingers tighten around the handle of your mug.

“Yeah, I uh — I went to make myself coffee and realized I was out. Was hopin’ you might have some to spare?”

He can’t be serious. He came over for coffee? He couldn’t get some on the road?

“I’m afraid she took the last of it,” your dad’s eyes point to you, and you ignore the burn of Joel’s gaze when his follow.

“Ahh,” he says. “‘ts okay. I’ll grab some on my way in.” 

His fingers taptaptap on the edge of the countertop, bottom lip tucked between his teeth like there’s something else. Another reason he came here.

And then you spot it — your wallet, dark red leather, poking out the top of Joel’s back pocket. 

You must’ve left it in his room before you hurried home. Somewhere amongst the mess of trinkets and trash on his dresser. You half-remember dropping it there last night as he’d kneeled in front of you and peppered kisses up the length of your leg.

Thankfully, your dad is oblivious as ever, giving Joel the perfect opportunity to inconspicuously slip you your wallet when he turns around and crosses the kitchen, placing his empty mug in the sink. 

Joel sidesteps once, twice, extending his arm and snapping it back as soon as you have the wallet in your grasp.

Your father clears his throat. Spins to find Joel exactly where he was. “I’ve been thinking,” he starts, wrestling a slice of bread out of the bag and dropping it into the toaster, “I gotta set you up with this co-worker of mine, Deb.”

Joel freezes. You watch as the color drains from his face and his large hand anxiously cards through dark curls. You’re pretty sure you freeze too, breath caught somewhere in your throat until your dad turns to you and you remember to exhale. 

“You know Deb, right, honey?” he asks. You mentally flick through the rolodex of your dad’s coworkers. 

There’s Leanne, tall redhead, hosted a potluck a few months back at which you tasted the worst mac & cheese you’ve ever had. And Barbara from accounting, who he got into a heated argument with over who makes the best BBQ in the city. You only remember her name because he hadn’t shut up about how wrong her opinion was for a full week. 

This woman actually thinks the Smoke Shop has got better ribs than Lou’s. I said to her, Barbara, your taste buds must be absolutely torched.

But Deb? You don’t recall a Deb. Still, you’re pretty sure you hate her, just in hearing her name in this context. 

You shake your head, no. 

“Well, I guess you haven’t seen her in a while. She was there that day I brought you into the office.”

“When I was ten?” you retort. 

“Yeah, I guess it was that long ago, huh?”

You shrug. He returns his attention to Joel. “Anyway, Deb – she’s around your age, just got divorced about a year back, and she’s a real nice woman. I think you two would really hit it off.”

“Is that so?” Joel replies. You swear his voice wavers. If your dad notices, he doesn’t say anything.

“You’ll like her Joel, I promise. I mean, when’s the last time you went out with a nice lady? Not since – what was her name — Jean? And if things were going well with her, I’d hope you’d tell your old friend.” The toaster pops, and he retrieves his slice of toast. Grabs a butter knife from the utensil drawer.  

“No, I ain’t seeing Jean,” Joel sighs. Flashes you an apologetic glance as your dad slathers his toast in artificial purple jam, blissfully unaware.

“Well, you gotta get back out there!” 

Joel’s gaze rolls to the ceiling. “I don’t know – I’m just not real interested in datin’ right now.”

You exhale, then — a quiet declaration of relief that seems to go unnoticed — unperturbed even when your dad continues his pitch. 

I’ve known this woman for years Joel, I’m telling you, the two of you’d be the perfect match; she’s a looker too, real pretty.

Ew. Tuning him out, you check the clock, find that you only have a few minutes before you need to get going. You stand from the table and make your way toward the sink with your now-empty coffee mug in hand.

Would I ever lead you astray? your dad is asking just as you brush past Joel. His hand, idle by his side, catches the fabric of your blouse and you have to fight to ignore the pinprick of electricity it ignites under your skin.

“No, I know,” Joel grumbles. “I trust your judgment ‘n all, ‘ts just-”

“Will you just give her a chance?”

“Jesus; fine.”

The mug slips from your grip, falls into the sink with a clang.

Your dad glares at you, expression softening only when you gesture to the still-intact ceramic lying on its side in the basin.

He’s quickly distracted, then, jotting a series of numbers down onto a scrap of notebook paper, the blue ink pressed in so hard that it’s beginning to bleed through. 

“Atta boy,” he drawls, sliding it across the counter. Joel pinches it between two fingers, folds the paper without looking at it and stuffs it into his front pocket. 

“Promise you’ll give her a call tonight? I may or may not have already talked you up, and I need to know you’re not gonna make me look bad here.”

Joel has to see you staring at him out of the corner of his eye. He must. If looks could kill, he’d be six feet under already. But he’s refusing to meet your gaze, eyes glued to the cabinet directly in front of him as he nods. “Yeah, I’ll call her tonight,” he says, a small, unconvincing smile pulling at the corner of his lips. 

He’s actually agreeing to this?

You need to get out of here before you say something rash.

The anger bubbles in you slowly, then all at once, threatening to boil over as you slip on your shoes and sling your bag over your shoulder. 

Marching toward the door, you offer a half-hearted bye, not bothering to look back before you leave.

The office is already milling with people by the time you stroll in, ten minutes late. 

The conversation between Joel and your dad is still running laps in your head as you sneak past your boss’s door.

It sticks there through the morning and well into the afternoon, your dad’s words an incessant earworm: I think you two would really hit it off.

The thing is — you can’t blame Joel for saying yes to the setup. Not really. Your situation is complicated, messy, bound to end badly.

Maybe he’d be happier with Deb. 

They could take walks together, stroll through the grocery store or down the street  hand-in-hand. Throw dinner parties and shamelessly gush about their relationship to their friends. All without fear of being caught doing something wrong.

Because that’s what this is, you and Joel — it’s wrong. Not like you weren’t already well aware of that. Leave it to some woman you’ve never met to rub it in.

The day passes infuriatingly slow.

The pile of emails in your inbox only grows larger by the time you’re due to clock out, stack of reports on your desk barely touched. You wince when your boss stops by your cubicle on her way out, eager for an update.

“Sorry, Linda; a couple of these were more time-consuming than I’d hoped,” you lie. But you can tell she doesn’t buy it, not one bit, her expression souring as you shuffle through papers.

“I need these done by the end of the week, no matter what.”

“Of course,” you mutter, face heating with embarrassment. “I’ll get them done and on your desk by Friday.”

“Thanks.” Her heels are already clacking on tile when you open your mouth to apologize again, your sorry lost to the ether.

You gather your things and scramble to your feet as soon as she’s out of view, not sticking around to watch your computer power down. By the time you get to your car, Joel’s number is already dialed on your phone.

He picks up after two rings.

“Darlin’ — are you okay?”

It’s admittedly uncharacteristic for you to call him so early. You usually wait until after dark, when you’ve both retreated to your respective bedrooms, away from listening ears.

But this can’t wait. It’s been eating at you all day, digging into your work. If you don’t talk to him about it, you’re going to end up unemployed. You don’t bother to ask if he’s still on the job site, around other people. “You’re going on this date.” It’s not a question. More of an accusation.

“Baby,” he sighs. You try your best to ignore his molasses drawl and the way it seeps into your chest. 

“Why didn’t you say no?” 

“How could I?” he groans. “There’s your dad, askin’ me if I’m seein’ someone, sayin’ he’s already told this lady about me – what am I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know.” Your voice comes out a whine. “Make something up. Tell him you’ve taken a vow of celibacy.”

He laughs, low and breathy on the other end. “Yeah, baby. Think he’d believe that one, f’sure.”

“Fuck,” you huff. “I just— I don’t-“

You want to tell him not to go. To cancel. Fake his own death. Do whatever it takes to get out of this. But you have no right, not really. The two of you aren’t dating. You don’t have any control over what he does or who he sees. And you don’t want that, no. You just want him to choose you.

“I don’t wanna go, darlin’. I really don’t. But if I do this, I think it’ll get him off my back for a while. He won’t have a reason to suspect that I’m foolin’ around with his daughter.”

Fooling around. His phrasing is a metaphorical punch in the gut.

It’s not exactly a lie. You haven’t put a label on this thing, whatever it is. It’s been purely physical: lips slotted to lips, tongues pressed together, swapped sweat and saliva. But hearing it reduced to two words, words with such a casual connotation — as if you haven’t been driven by overwhelming desire — makes your stomach churn.

Joel doesn’t seem to clock it when you go quiet, a cocktail of rage and sorrow sloshing around your insides. “It’s for the best,” he adds, a shot of hard, burning liquor. 

“Yeah,” you say defeatedly. Choke back the pathetic tears that creep up your throat. “For the best.”

He ends the call with the excuse of bad cell reception. Promises to talk to you later. You’re not sure that you believe him.

The phrase fooling around curls up in your head, a wet dog, its fur dripping into the crevices of your rattled brain the entire drive home.

You dodge Joel’s calls for the remainder of the week.

There’s no use in talking to him when you have nothing to say, when you know any words you attempt will be overtaken by tears.

Even so, it doesn’t stop him from trying. His number lights up the screen of your phone at least twice a day.

He leaves voicemails that you do not listen to. You can’t. The last thing you need is his syruppy drawl in your ear. You’ll break; you know you will.

So instead, you delete them. Rid yourself of temptation.

But you still ache for him — a devastating truth. You lumber through the days, bones heavy with hurt. Find yourself kept up at night by thoughts of Joel and the infuriatingly soothing timbre of his voice, the intoxicating callous of his fingertips against your soft skin. 

It’s a lonely thing, yearning for Joel Miller.

On Friday, your father beams at the dinner table. He’s grinning like a child as he stuffs a forkful of rice into his mouth.

“Joel and Deb’s date is tomorrow,” he says. “Think they’ll really hit it off, don’t you?”

You’re dumbfounded for a long moment — can’t believe that this is your life now: being asked about your thoughts on Joel and the ever-elusive Deb as a couple. When it takes too long for you to answer, your father’s fork stills pointedly on his plate, and you sputter.

“Oh! I mean, I don’t know. Like I said, I don’t remember Deb.” You can’t help your condescending tone. Your dad doesn’t seem to catch it anyway. 

“Well,” he says, “I think they’ll be a match. Hoping so, anyway. The man has been such a hermit lately — maybe if he has a lady, he’ll get out more!”

“You sound real excited,” you grumble. Stab four peas on the prongs of your fork.

“It is exciting. I’ve never set anyone up before. And the best part is, the place they’re going to — the Tavern — it’s got rooms you can rent out for wedding receptions. Just imagine if down the line, they got mar-“

“Dad,” you stop him. You think you’ll be physically sick if you let him finish that sentence. “Sorry, I just — I’m really tired, all of a sudden. I think I’m going to head to bed early.”

It’s not a complete lie. You’re emotionally exhausted as a result of the past couple days. Sleep sounds like a much-needed, blissful escape right now.

Your dad doesn’t question you. He just nods. Swipes your plate from in front of you and brings it to the sink along with his.

Of course, you find it impossible to actually drift off that night. Tossing and turning, you battle the glaring urge to get up, slink into the home-office and look up directions to the Tavern. 

Not that you’re planning to go there anytime soon — you’re just curious. That’s all. 

Around midnight, you give up, pad down the hallway and into the room parallel yours. The computer dials up slowly, and you chew your bottom lip as you wait. 

You snatch a piece of paper from the printer and a pen from the #1 Dad mug that sits next to the monitor. Click on the internet icon and type the words into the search bar.

This is definitely a bad idea. Maybe the worst you’ve had in a while.

You jot the address down anyway.

Downtown Austin is buzzing with life. 

Patrons spilling out of bars, tourists striding down the street in their brand new Stetsons – it almost distracts you from the task at hand. 

At just past seven, you’d told your dad you were going out, meeting a friend for drinks. He’d been a bit taken aback, seeing as you’re not very social these days, but he’d seemed happy. Relieved. 

That’s not what you’re doing, of course.

No – in reality, you’re turning into the parking lot attached to the Tavern. It’s packed to the brim with cars, but you still manage to find Joel’s truck, its license plate number burned into the back of your mind after countless mornings of absently reading it as you snuck past.

It’s idle and empty when you inch by, and even though you knew he’d be here, on this date, your heart still sinks. Because maybe a tiny part of you had hoped he’d stand Deb up. 

You should leave. It was stupid to come here in the first place. What are you going to do — storm inside and demand that he leave with you?

You consider it for half a second, groaning when you realize how pitiful you are. Defeated, you swing your car into a spot at the back, facing the building, and shift it into park. You hug the steering wheel dejectedly.

From here, you have a straight-shot view of the restaurant’s entrance, a set of double doors at the side of the building. Groups spill out every so often, every pair that emerges causing your back to arch reflexively.

Joel and Deb are probably discussing their interests right now, bonding over a shared connection with your dad. You can vividly picture the smile likely plastered across his face — the same one you’ve elicited with sweet filth whispered in his ear.

And you’re here, sitting in your running car, watching the door. Your pulse thumps obnoxiously loud in your ears.

Minutes pass like molasses, slow and thick. You watch the clock on the car radio obsessively, betting with yourself on what time they’ll leave. After thirty minutes of nothing, you’re convinced that they’re going to close the place out.

But then the door opens again, and you straighten up, immediately met with the sight of Joel and Deb. 

She’s talking animatedly, eyes widening every few words, blonde hair wafting around her narrow face. It’s undeniable that she’s stunning, even from far away; possesses the kind of beauty you see on magazine covers in line at the grocery store. The jealousy that pools in your gut burns like acetone in an open wound.

She takes his arm as they walk toward the parking lot, and he lets her, despite the rest of his body appearing strangely rigid.

You wonder if he’ll take her home. Lead her to his truck, help her up the step to the passenger seat and sneak a look at her ass under her dress before shutting the door. If they’ll leave her car in the lot for the night, come back to retrieve it in the morning once he’s helped her forget about her loser ex-husband; let the scent of her perfume seep into the bed sheets to cover up yours.

But he doesn’t lead her to his truck. You watch as they unexpectedly turn down a row of cars, disappearing from your view completely, his arm still locked with hers. 

He could still kiss her. Press her against the car. Promise her that he’ll call — and he will, first thing tomorrow. He’s probably just being a real gentleman. Treating her like a woman he might want to marry someday. 

Maybe he knows, after just one date, that she’s his soulmate. He’ll buy the ring in a couple weeks. They’ll be engaged in a month’s time, and he’ll say he just couldn’t wait any longer. 

She’s the one thing I’ve been missing.

You stew in the agonizing unknown for what feels like hours before Joel materializes once again, backside illuminated by headlights as he strides toward his truck.

And then — he stops. You see the exact moment he notices your car in the parking lot, his eyebrows threading together and his hands splaying over his hips.

He’s staring directly through the windshield. At you.

Fuck.

He takes a few slow steps. Stops in front of the hood. Narrows his eyes and flexes his jaw.

With a deep breath, you unlock the doors. Gesture for him to get in the passenger side. 

He immediately rounds the car, prying the door open and climbing inside just as a SUV pulls out the row he and Deb had walked down. 

The door slams when he yanks it closed. The sound echoes through the cab of the car.

“You wanna fuckin’ explain what you’re doin’ here?” he snaps. You’re afraid to look him in the eye, embarrassment and now, anger, spooling hot behind your ears.

You know you’re in the wrong. You shouldn’t have followed him. But does he have to be so hostile?

When your gaze finally meets his, he looks — distraught — jaw clenched and lips set in a straight line. His fingers absently dig into denim-covered thighs.

“I don’t know,” you mumble, “I just wanted to see how you were with her.” And it’s the truth; not one you want to be admitting right now, to him, but it’s the truth nonetheless.

“Doesn’t give you the right to spy on me.”

“So what was I supposed to do? Sit at home and mope while the guy I was seeing is on a date with someone else? Oh no, I’m sorry,” you throw your hands up, form air quotes with your fingers, “the guy I was fooling around with.”

This seems to strike a nerve. His jaw twitches, and his fingers still on his lap.

“It wasn’t like that,” he grits

“No? Isn’t that all this was to you: fooling around?”

There’s a beat. Joel sighs. 

“No — fuck, no. Of course not.”

His expression softens. A crack in solid stone. “I tried callin’ you,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” you admit.

He nods. Another beat.

“Did you kiss her?” you ask.

“No.” He says it with intent, with promise, eyes firmly locked on yours now. 

Your mouth goes dry.

“No?”

“No,” he repeats. “I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I didn’t want to.”

“You don’t want her?” 

“No,” he says flatly, his pupils bulging in the lamplight, black bleeding into the brown of his irises. “I don’t want her.” 

“Why not?” 

He leans forward. His weight presses into the center console and his breath fans your face — warm, tinged with the scent of cheap beer.

“I don’t want her,” he says, voice an octave lower, “because I want you. I thought you knew that?” 

The radio drones between the two of you, some classic rock song you think you recognize flitting through the speaker. Your pulse beats staccato in your throat, off tempo.

“You want me?” you ask, a little breathless, and the next words you say are beyond dumb, beyond reckless, but you say them anyway. “Prove it.”

Joel doesn’t hesitate. He closes the slight distance between you and kisses you, hard, his tongue frantically sliding against yours through parted lips.

It’s sloppy, and desperate, and you feel drunk on the taste of him, on longing laced with carnal need. He’s groaning into your mouth, grabbing your head with both hands, burying his fingers in your hair — as if he can’t get close enough, as if he’ll only be satisfied once he’s swallowed you whole. You’re pretty sure you want him to.

Your hands move frantically to his t-shirt, then, bunch into the fabric and pull. You need to feel the skin underneath, need to rove your hands along his bare chest. He accommodates, tugging the shirt by the back of the collar, lips separating from yours ever-so-briefly to bring it over his head and toss it onto the backseat. 

And then he’s back on you, licking into your mouth again, eliciting a whimper from you when his hand wraps around the side of your throat, just under your jaw. 

Your palms splay across his torso, wander over warm, golden skin. You’ve missed this, god, you’ve missed this — but it’s still not enough. You need to feel more of him. In your mouth, in your hand, in your cunt — you’re not picky. Just need him in whatever way he’ll provide.

“Joel,” you whimper into his mouth, fingers winding around his bicep. 

He pulls back. Peers at you through hooded eyes. “What is it, baby?” he asks through labored breaths. 

“Need you — please.”

He immediately unbuckles your seatbelt. Lowers his seat back and manhandles you onto his lap. You go easily; slot yourself to him with legs folded on either side of his thighs. 

Wrapping your arms around the back of his neck, you grind down into his lap. His cock strains against denim underneath you. He groans when you swivel your hips and brush the heft of it again with your clothed heat.

“You gonna let me fuck you?” he asks into your mouth, his forehead pressed to yours.

Your breath catches. 

You know what he’s really asking: are you going to  let him fuck you here, in the parking lot of a public establishment, where anybody could see?

But you don’t care. In fact, you’re way past caring, the emptiness of your cunt too painful to ignore any longer. Let them watch him take what’s his.

You nod frantically. “Yes,” you pant. “Please.”

Joel nods too, as if he’s accepting his fate. He’s going to fuck his friend’s daughter in the passenger seat of her car. There’s no way around it — not when you’re begging for it. He’s going to give you what you need.

“Okay,” he soothes, “I got you baby.” 

He helps you out of your pants, then; clumsily maneuvers them down and off your legs along with your panties and tosses them aimlessly into the back.

He doesn’t bother to take his jeans off. Lets you unzip them and pop the button open, your nimble fingers making quick work of it. And then you’re pulling his cock out of his boxers, stiff and leaking in your grasp.

You steady yourself with hands on his shoulders just as he begins to pepper placating kisses along your neck. “Go ahead baby,” he whispers into your ear. “Take it; it’s yours.”

His head falls back against the seat as you stroke him a few times and line his cock up with your dripping entrance, his hands clasped around your waist. 

You sink down slowly, savoring every inch of him as he burrows in deeper. He’s so thick, stretching you like it’s the first time again, your walls fluttering as they relax around his cock.

“Fuck,” Joel slurs, fingers digging into your skin impatiently when you still, fully seated on him.

“Gotta move baby — please move.”

He’s so fucking deep, though, his cockhead bumping your cervix, and your entire body feels gelatinous atop him. A cloying sort of heat hangs around your head. You swivel your hips weakly, your forehead falling to rest on his with a heavy sigh.

Joel is happy to take control, bucking up into you so hard you see stars. You can’t suppress the string of moans that spill from your mouth, and Joel doesn’t seem to mind. He’s just as loud, anyway, his broken sounds bleeding into yours, bouncing off glass and leather.

Neither of you can muster an actual word, though, not with him rutting up into you, sheathing himself in your pussy over and over again. He’s relentlessly hitting that spot — the one that has you practically clinging to him for dear life. 

It’s approaching too quickly; he’s going to make you come.

One of your hands flies to the roof of the car in an attempt to brace yourself, flat palm pressing into it so hard you worry it’ll pop. 

Joel takes the opportunity to drag you down in his lap, spearing you on his cock, and the sudden change in angle makes you cry out.

“Oh f— ahh, oh my—“

“That’s it,” he coos, “you got it, babygirl.”

His words tip you over the edge, your entire body locking up as you gush around him. You’re wetting his lap, slick splattering his thighs, and he loves it, his fervid moan telling you so.

His movements begin to falter then, hips stuttering underneath you as he chases his own high.

“Cmon, baby,” you goad, “please fill me up.”

He grunts when he spills inside, his face nestling in your chest, heaving as he works through it and begins to come down. You don’t move, not that Joel would let you, still holding you on his lap like he’s afraid to let you go.

You nuzzle into his embrace as his cock softens inside you.

You stay like that for a while, probably too long given that anybody could easily look into the car and see you straddling him. You don’t have the energy to care.

Eventually, you lift your head from its spot on Joel’s chest. Look up at him with bleary eyes.

“Joel,” you say.

He meets your gaze, face shiny with sweat and his hair a mess. He looks gorgeous like this, you think. The way only you get to see him.

“Yeah?” He grazes along your arm with featherlight fingers. His touch raises goosebumps on your skin.

“Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“About wanting me.” In truth, you’re not sure you want the answer. But you need to know, definitively, if Joel is yours. You’re done sharing him.

“Oh, baby,” he drawls. “Of course I do. You’re all I want. Do you want me?”

And it’s a stupid question. He has to know that. You’re nodding before he can even finish it. “Yes,” you breathe. “I want you, Joel”

“Then it’s settled. It’s me and you. No more…interlopers.”

You giggle. Reluctantly separate yourself from his body and re-dress. You settle back into the driver’s seat with achy legs.

You’ve never felt more content than you do in this moment.

Still, you’ll have to hide — won’t be able to share the news of your new relationship with friends or coworkers, your dad — and neither will Joel. 

You don’t care much, not as long as he’s yours, but you need to be sure he feels the same.

“Joel,” you stop him as he opens the passenger-side door to get out. He stills with one leg swung out the door.

“Yeah, darlin’?”

“Are you sure you don’t mind…being a secret? Don’t mind keeping me a secret?”

He looks at you like you have two heads.

He pulls his leg back into the car. Shuts the door and leans over the console again.

Taking your chin between his fingers, he forces your gaze. Makes sure you’re listening.

“I want you — doesn’t matter who knows or doesn’t know. Long as you’re mine.”

Your chest tightens, and your heart squeezes inside your ribcage.

“I’m yours?”

He smiles. Presses a chaste kiss between your eyes, on the tip of your nose, on your lips. The same way he did the other morning. 

It all feels somehow sweeter, now.

“Yeah, angel. You’re mine. My girl.”

end notes: tysm for reading! please consider commenting and/or reblogging if you enjoyed! I've been toying with the idea of turning this into a series so lmk if that's something you'd be interested in hehe.

Also, I hopped on the bandwagon and made a sideblog for notifs! I'll be doing away with a taglist from here on out, so follow @joelscurlsupdates & turn on notifications if you wanna be notified when I post a new fic :-)

tag list: @janaispunk @amanitacowboy @fhatbhabie @frannyzooey @lola8888673

[itneverendshere]

it's all you're good for, right? - r.c

pairing: bitchy!pogue!reader x rafe

rafe knew you wouldn’t take his disrespect lightly.

you never did.  

he’d expected you to blow up the second he pulled that ignoring shit at the dinning. he was ready for it—your texts coming in hot, maybe you showing up at his house, ready to tear into him like you always did when he pushed too far. he'd never say it out loud, but a part of him almost liked it, the way you’d get all fired up, spitting mad. it was hot.

but you didn’t call. not a single text. you didn’t show up to the party that weekend, and when he tried to hit you up, just looking for a booty call—because fuck, he was so hard thinking about you—it went straight to voicemail. he stared at his phone like an idiot, calling again. blocked.

you? block him? nah, that wasn’t supposed to happen. rafe was the one with the power here, or at least, that’s how it used to be. it was always this push and pull, but he was the one pulling the strings, right? no fucking pogue was ever going to order him around. right?

wrong. the next weekend rolls around, and there you are at one of his parties, looking good as ever, laughing with your friends like nothing happened. and still, not even a glance his way. for two weeks now, you’ve been completely ignoring him, and it’s starting to get under his skin. more than it should.

he watches you from across the yard like a fucking creep, sipping his drink and trying to act like he doesn’t give a fuck, but inside, he’s low-key losing it. he half-expected you to walk right up to him and give him hell like you always do. but no, you’re just... doing your own thing. 

but what’s really making his head spin is what you're wearing. the outfit is pure trouble—skin-tight and leaving almost nothing to the imagination. a barely-there black mini skirt, riding up just enough to make his jaw clench, paired with a tiny top that’s more like a bralette than an actual shirt. it’s low-cut and clings to your curves, thin straps barely holding it in place, and the way it hugs your body?

yeah, he’s fucked. the way the skirt moves when you walk, teasing just enough thigh? it’s like you knew he’d be watching.

he hates how much it turns him on.

every guy at the party notices. he can see the way their eyes follow you as you move through the crowd, laughing, like you don’t even care. but it’s the way you’re ignoring him that’s really pushing him to the edge. normally, rafe loves the attention despite the look of disgust he always greets you with when you show up. loves knowing you’re secretly going to end up in his bed. but tonight? he’s not so sure and it’s killing him.

by the time he corners you, all he can think about is tearing that outfit off. the silent treatment? that shit was way worse than anything you could've said. 

“alrigh’, i get it,” he starts, throwing his hands up like he’s already done with this conversation. “jesus christ.”

you just blink up at him, completely unfazed, like he’s not even worth a reaction. his words might as well be bouncing off a wall. the fact that you’re standing there looking so fucking good, and acting like he doesn’t even exist, is messing with his head more than anything you could’ve said.

he’s pissed, yeah, but more than that, he’s desperate. desperate for a reaction. for anything. but you just brush past him, your body touching his for the briefest second, like you’re doing it on purpose just to make him snap.

rafe stands there for a second, blinking in disbelief. did you just really blow him off like that?

before he even realizes it, he's following after you, shoving through the crowd like a man possessed.

“are you serious right now?” he hisses when he catches up, grabbing your wrist lightly but firm enough to make you stop. the emotion in his voice is undeniable, and everyone nearby is pretending not to watch the little scene. “you're really just gonna walk past me like that?”

karma’s a bitch.

you finally turn to him, but the look in your eyes isn’t anger—it’s indifference. that cold, detached stare that fucks with his head more than any of the shouting matches you’ve had in the past. you pull your wrist free with ease, like his grip is nothing.

“’m over it,” you say coolly, like you’ve already moved on from the whole thing, “whatever this is? it’s not worth my time.”

that does it.

he’s used to the back and forth, the fire between you, but this, you acting like you don’t care at all—it’s new, and it pisses him off more than he thought possible. he steps closer, dropping his voice lower so no one else can hear.

“bullshit,” he says, eyes narrowing. “you’re pissed, i get it. but don’t act like you’re done with me. you aren’t.”

the smirk that curls on your lips is almost cruel.

“watch me.”

you turn and walk away, leaving rafe standing there. he knows he should let it go, but every time he tries to convince himself of that, the way your body looks in that outfit, the way you shut him down so easily, keeps replaying in his head.

and instead of walking away, he’s right back where he started, chasing after you like he can’t stand the idea of not having you anymore.

before you even get two steps away, he snaps.

his patience has run out, and all that pent-up frustration? yeah, it’s got him seeing red. he doesn’t even think about it—just moves. his hand wraps around your arm, and in one swift motion, he’s hoisting you up like you weigh nothing, slinging you over his shoulder.

“what the fuck, rafe!” you shout, your fists pounding on his muscular back, but he doesn’t stop. eyes burning, jaw clenched—he doesn’t give a shit who’s watching. not his friends, not anyone at the party. right now? he’s too pissed off and turned on to think straight. 

you wriggle in his grip, your legs kicking, but he holds you tight, marching through the party like it’s no big deal, even though everyone’s definitely staring. he’ll deal with the fallout later.

“put me down!” you’re practically growling, and maybe under any other circumstances, he would’ve listened. but not tonight. tonight, he’s done playing nice, done pretending like he’s not obsessed with you or your body, done trying to act like he’s got control over this situation when clearly, you’re the one pulling all the strings.

his grip on you is tight, and possessive, and you’re too furious to care about how turned on you secretly are. he doesn’t stop until he reaches his room, kicking the door shut behind him with one solid thud. the sound of the lock clicking is loud in the tense silence. then, he throws you onto his bed, like you're nothing more than a ragdoll.

you bounce once, staring at him with wide eyes.

“what the fuck is wrong with you!” you snap, sitting up on the bed, glaring at him.

he’s pacing now, running his hands through his hair, wild-eyed, like he’s trying to calm himself down but can’t. he turns to you, his face twisted in frustration, like he’s been holding something in for way too long. and when he speaks, his voice cracks just enough to show how on edge he really is.

“you!” he explodes, pointing at you like you're the only thing in the room. “you’re what’s wrong with me!”

his pacing slows down, and suddenly he stops. he turns back to you, both his hands shooting up to his temples, fingers pressing into his head.

“you get in my fucking head,” he admits through gritted teeth, jabbing his fingers into his temples like he’s blaming you for every thought he's had for weeks. “i can’t think straight because of you. every fucking time, you crawl into my head and just—won’t—leave.”

instead of letting his little meltdown get to you, you lean back on your hands, with a bratty scoff. “how is that my fucking problem?” you snap, crossing your arms like you couldn’t care less about his breakdown. “that’s on you, not me. maybe you should try, i don’t know, leaving me alone.”

rafe stares at you, his chest heaving, his jaw clenched tight, “you think this is a joke?” he growls, stepping closer, closing the gap between you two, his presence almost suffocating. “you think you can just sit there and act like none of this is your fault?”

you give him a fake sweet smile, leaning forward just enough to be in his face, “maybe you shouldn’t have fucked me in the first place, hmm? god forbid your friends find out you’ve been slumming it with a pogue.”

it’s the fake docility in your smile that makes him want to break something. he steps even closer, his breath hot and heavy as his eyes lock onto yours, blue and furious.

"that’s what this is?" His voice is low, almost a growl. “you seriously don’t get it, do you?" he leans in, his face inches from yours, his expression almost daring you to keep pushing. "this—whatever the fuck this is between us—this isn’t about them. it’s about you." his hand shoots out, gripping your chin, forcing you to look at him. "don’t act like you didn’t know what you were getting into from the beginning."

you yank your chin free, rolling your eyes, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much he's getting to you. “right. you ignoring me at the dinner? guess i was supposed to just sit there and take it, huh? maybe you wanted me to be a good little bitch and not make any noise.” 

you might be pissed, but you're not just angry—you're hurt, and that fucks with his head more than he cares to admit.

rafe huffs, running a hand through his hair in frustration, looking away for a second before turning back to you. “what the fuck do you want from me? huh? you want me to call you my girlfriend? you want me to fucking introduce you like this is some kind of relationship? be fucking serious.”

"be fucking serious?" you repeat, "you gave me a 200$ tip, you fucking asshole!" you shove him hard in the chest, catching him off guard. “like ’m some kind of fucking whore!”

rafe's eyes widen as he stumbles back a step, “wait—what? no, no, no. that’s not what it meant.”

you glare at him, shaking your head in disbelief. “of course, it fucking was!” you shout, shoving him again, harder this time. “what else would it mean, huh? you throw money at me like it’s supposed to make everything okay, like ’m some kind of... some kind of pogue you can pay off and keep quiet.”

he looks stunned, his mouth opening and closing like he’s trying to figure out what to say. “that’s not—fuck, that’s not what i meant. i wasn’t thinking about it like that, okay? i was trying to help you!" he blurts out, his tone defensive, like he can’t believe you’re twisting his intentions into something they weren’t.

you laugh, but it’s sharp, biting. “help me?” you stare at him like he’s lost his mind. “oh, please. shut the fuck up. why would you ever want to help me, rafe? be real.” he tries to speak, but before he can you’re already stepping back. “if you want to fuck me, just get on with it. i need to leave. so, make it quick.”

what?

“is that what you think this is?” he doesn’t move to touch you, but the tension is strong enough to feel suffocating. “you think ’m just here to—”

“to fuck me? yeah. that’s what this has always been about,” you cut him off, “and you know what? it’s okay. let’s not drag it out. do what you do best—take what you want and leave me the fuck alone.”

he’s not ready to admit that this feels more than just a hookup. he’s not sure if he will ever get there. rafe’s chest heaves as he stares at you. he’s done trying to explain himself. 

“fine,” he snaps, stepping closer until his chest is almost brushing yours. “if that’s what you want.” 

your breath catches in your throat, but you don’t back down. not when you're this annoyed. “yeah, it is. stop wasting my time.”

in one swift motion, rafe pulls you to him by the waist, with his usual roughness that makes you drip between your thighs. his lips claim yours with a bruising force. it’s not soft or sweet—this is raw, messy, all tongue and teeth. his hands are everywhere, gripping your hair, your ass, pulling you flush against him like he can’t have any space between you. you’re both moving with frantic, desperate eagerness, like this is less about desire and more about proving a point.

“is this what you want?” rafe snarls against your lips, breaking the kiss just long enough to yank your top over your head, throwing it somewhere in the room. “to get fucked stupid and leave? that it?”

you let out a breathless laugh, but it’s overflowing with venom. “that’s all you��re good for, right?”

so much for making peace.

TAGLIST: @drewstarkeys-world @maibelitaaura @maybankslover @jkrafe @willowpains

[luveline]

Hotch request w Jack and new baby!!! Coming back from the hospital and reader is in bed with new baby and Jack while Aaron is in another part of the house (maybe making food in the kitchen) and reader starts crying because she’s in pain and jack is all concerned and sweet and goes to get Aaron??

thank you for requesting, sorry I messed up where everyone was! fem, 1.3k

“He’s gonna stab him!” 

You blink from the spot you’d been staring at, pain momentarily forgotten. “What! Where’d you learn that word?” you ask in surprise. 

Jack leans back against his big velvet pillow, blue with silver stars, looking as though he’s in the lap of luxury. “At school.” 

The cartoon mouse on the TV raises his fencing sword high in the air. 

“He’s not stabbing anyone, they’re fencing,” you say, reaching for his hand to hold. “Stabbing… that’s pretty scary. How did that make you feel?” 

“Well, I’m not gonna stab anyone,” Jack says. 

He’s confused that you’re making a fuss, just old enough to realise you’re poking around for his feelings. You worry lately that you aren’t paying him enough attention because of his new brother, and the word stab isn’t exactly age appropriate. 

But maybe that’s what the boys his age are talking about? You frown more, your hand slipping along his arm to curl behind him. You pull him toward you. “Come on, handsome. Cuddle me.” 

You’re too sore to move, so Jack has to come to you. He crawls across the couch until his arms can wrap around you and his cheek can rest against your chest. Stab is an apt word for the feeling in your stomach. Jack’s arm squeezes at you and the pain worsens, so you move it up your front and curl your arm around him. 

“Is it a bad word?” he asks. 

“No, it’s just like hit or slap, I guess. And I know you’re not gonna do any of that to anyone. You’re too gentle.” 

“Gentle is a good word.” 

“Yeah.” You kiss his forehead, a moment of self indulgence. You love your stepson, and he is oh so kissable. “Oh no, look at the mouse.” 

Charlie sleeps in his swing seat, the soft whirring of its constant motion almost as comforting as the sound of his soft breaths. You watch him for a while, Jack climbing up at your side to press his face to your neck, leg on your thigh, slowly pressing against the tenderness that is your abdomen. “Uh, Jack,” you breathe, trying to pick him up, “you’re gonna have to climb off of me, my tummy hurts too much.” 

“Sorry,” he says quickly, slipping off of you and onto the couch cushion. His foot kicks out as he rights himself, a jamming of his toes against the pain like a spike. 

You take a deep breath. Ouch. 

“It’s okay,” you say, groaning softly as the pain thrums, hand on your stomach as though your touch can make it stop, “just a tummy ache. I– I’m okay.” 

“You got little tears?” he says, his voice going wobbly. You try to blink away tears and end up with a straggler curving down the slope of your cheek. “I’ll go get dad!” 

“Jack, I’m okay,” you say. 

Too late. Jack scrambles from the couch and away from you, up the stairs to find his father. You’re not sure what Aaron’s up to, he’d only said, “I’ll be right back,” twenty minutes ago. You’d guessed laundry. 

You’re glad Jack’s run upstairs when you realise the pain isn’t going away. It’s not bad, not half as bad as your contractions had been, but the whole labour process has sapped you, and you feel weak as a willow branch in bad weather. You shift heavily onto one leg and cross them, uncross them when the pain spikes again, letting out a weird and breathless whine as it turns to a full blown cramp. 

Jack returns with Aaron in tow. His hair is dripping wet, soap suds on his neck and his shirt stuck to his chest. He’s rushed out of the shower to see you. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks as he rounds the couch. “Jack told me you’re not feeling well.” 

You hold your arms out for a hug. He doesn’t falter, simply does as you want, his hair wringing wet and dripping onto your shoulder as he gathers you in his arms. 

You hold onto him like a lifeline. The cramp curls, and tightens, has you seizing up against him. 

“What is it?” he asks softly. “Stomach pains again?” 

The nurse said it’s your uterus shrinking. Whatever it is, it’s sudden agony. You shudder into Aaron’s shoulder until the pain pangs and fades, leaving your stomach a tense mess. It hurts to move, so you stay clinging to your husband and let him hover over you. 

“Are you okay?” Jack asks.

You sniff. 

Aaron pulls away to take your face into his hands. He holds you with care, his thumbs under your jaw, index fingers running diagonally under each eye, tips at your brows. Just a stolen few seconds for him to check you over. No tears to be wiped away. 

“Still hurting?” 

You shake your head, eyebrows pulled down in a bad frown. 

“Okay. Alright. Motrin?” he asks. 

“No,” you whisper, “can you just stay here?” 

Jack says your name. 

You peek past Aaron’s body. “Jack, sorry.” 

“Are you okay now?” 

You grimace, “I’m gonna be fine, it just hurts sometimes and I didn’t have any medicine today. That’s all. Sorry, I scared you.” 

“You didn’t scare me,” he denies. 

You can’t help smiling, then. “Okay, I didn’t. Thanks for getting dad for me.” 

“He’s our hero,” Aaron says. He sits down beside you carefully, his voice quiet and his hand gentle as he holds your thigh. “I’m glad he did.” 

Jack climbs into his dad’s lap. Aaron wraps an arm around him, the other at your side, fingers tapping at you. 

You rub your forehead. Tip your head back and take a deep breath. 

“Jack,” you whisper, breathing out, “I’m sorry if I startled you. It doesn’t hurt anymore.” 

“It wasn’t scary, I said that already.” 

“Oh, you did?” Aaron teases. 

“It was okay, I just don’t want you to hurt.” 

“Only baby pains,” you say. 

For a few minutes, you and your small family sit there in silence. Aaron works a hand behind your back to hug you, Jack snuggles into his chest, and Charlie stirs in his swing seat. The quiet calms him, and he goes back to his soft snoring seconds later. 

“I’m sorry about your shower,” you whisper. 

“It’s okay. I’m sorry about my baby,” Aaron whispers back, drawing circles into your lower back, “he didn’t mean to chew you up.” 

“Ugh, I know.” 

Jack raises his nose. “What? Chew? Do babies bite?” 

“It’s an expression, babe.” 

“Oh.” He looks at his baby brother with suspicion anyways. “He doesn’t even have teeth?” 

“Buddy, it’s just a joke,” Aaron says, laughing as Jack slips out of his lap to go and look at Charlie in the seat. 

“Maybe he did have teeth,” you say. 

Aaron ushers you toward him, rests his cheek on your forehead. “It’ll feel better soon. You need to rest, that’s all.” 

“Your hair is so wet.” 

“I was in the shower.” 

“Sorry…” 

“Don’t be,” he says. “Don’t be.” 

You reach up to tousle his wet hair. “Miss showering with you.” 

“We showered last night.” 

“No, I stood there and you helped me wash my back, that’s not the same.” 

“Well, I enjoyed it.” 

“I bet you did.” 

Your fondness attracts many, many kisses, his nose nuzzling your cheek. You settle under the weight of him and watch Jack where he frowns at Charlie, big brown eyes squinted, waiting for a show of teeth that won’t happen. Aaron brings a hand to your tense stomach, waiting for you to lean back before he begins massaging the tensed muscle there with a slowness that borders unmoving. 

“Tell me if it hurts too much,” he says. 

“You can go finish your shower.” 

“I was finished. M’gonna start pressing in, okay?” 

You wince as Aaron begins, but slowly, slowly, the tenseness from your cramp softens. It still hurts, but he makes it manageable. Jack delivered your rescuer, and your rescuer loves a soft touch.