#it’s just the outer circles so far

[the-worms-in-your-bones]

I love writing in Gallifreyan. It has taken me all day to draw eight circles

[estaticheart]

ᥫ᭡. THAT’S MY SISTER YOU BITCH

Summary: Despite Sarah and Rafe’s volatile relationship, that’s your sister.

Warnings: Violence, illusions to sex, swearing.

You had a great day so far. You'd woken up to Rafe in between your legs, waking you up in the best way possible before he made you both breakfast as you watched him from the island. Sometimes you just liked to ponder on how lucky you were to have a boyfriend like Rafe. To everyone else, you were far from lucky but you liked it that way- knowing only you got the real Rafe Cameron.

Now, you were on your way back from grocery shopping, planning to make Rafe a romantic meal when he arrived back from work. Blasting music from your car speakers, you were completely in the zone. Until you drove up to the City Hall, glancing ahead you saw Kelce's red truck, which you thought nothing of until you saw him and his idiotic friends surrounding John B and Sarah.

Alarmed, you pulled up next to the truck, gathering the attention of everyone. Despite being a kook yourself, you were far different from the rest of them. You didn't care about pogues, to you they were like anyone else, in fact often you preferred the pogues in the Outer Banks to the kooks. Rafe's circle exclusively consisted of kooks, meaning you often received a lot of respect from kooks even though you spent a lot of your time arguing with them. Rafe didn't mind it, you were his girlfriend and lover, so if you wanted to yell he wouldn't stop you.

"Problem?" You asked, slamming your car door shut behind you. Just as Sarah hit the ground. Immediately you rushed towards Sarah. Yeah, Rafe and Sarah had problems they needed to get past but to you, Sarah was still as important as she was 2 years ago. You were proud of her for finding her true love and true friends, and you always let her know that you would always be there for her. And this time was no exception. Putting two and two together, you saw Ruthie standing much closer to Sarah than the other kooks who looked at her in shock.

They all stood stunned at your arrival, to be honest, you were probably the worst possible person to show up at that exact moment. Everyone knew your opinions on the Pogues were far more empathetic than the other kooks. "No, no problem" Kelce muttered, beginning to pull Ruthie and the others back from Sarah and John B, to which they happily obliged. Not on your watch.

"Oh no, don't stop on my accord guys. Please whatever you were going to do next. Do it." Walking over to them, Ruthie stood stunned at your arrival. Since she started dating Topper, you got a lot of joy out of berating her, publically. For once, she didn't back down at your words. "She needs to watch herself. She pushed me first, it was self-defence." Ruthie said, glancing behind you to see John B pulling Sarah to her feet.

Snorting you replied, "Ruthie, I'm not Shoupe. Don't start pleading your case, I don't care." She stalled at your response, for a moment thinking that you were on her side for pushing Sarah before you pulled her back to reality. Walking closer to her, edgingly slow, you pressed, "You think you're all big and mighty for pushing Sarah? She's 19 Ruthie, you're what? 21? Don't you think you should play with someone your own size?"

Behind you, John B and Sarah smirked at the group. Unbeknownst to you, Sarah was pregnant and John B was far too occupied to make sure Sarah was okay than to pick a fight with Kelce and his goons today. But you happily would, and even better so because who was going to fight back against the kook princess? Definitely not these ones.

“Well?” You pushed, as you stood toe to toe with Ruthie. You were growing impatient, Rafe would have finished work by now meaning that soon he’d come looking for you- and you’d rather give Ruthie a good couple punches before Rafe showed up.

“Okay times up.” Before she could even think, your fist sent her backwards onto the floor, just how Sarah had been when when you arrived. Groaning, she lifted her hands to cover her nose, assumably bleeding- hopefully broken if Rafe’s self defence lessons had done some good. “Oh my god- I think you broke my nose. You bitch.” She shrieked, pulling her hands away to reveal blood beginning to pour from her nose.

Ruthie was nothing but a bully, a bully you’d had enough of tormenting the island. Your legs either side of her chest you crouched over her, “Don’t worry you still look just as bad as before.” You muttered as you flew your fist back into her face that she left unguarded. Idiot. Her screaming began again, as you moved off from her, deciding that your two punches had done enough damage. Wow, you’d really have to thank Rafe for those lessons.

“Just wait until Topper hears about this, he will deal with you.” One of the other kooks muttered from behind Kelce. “Yeah I’m sure Topper will be sure to deal with me.” You laughed, Topper wouldn’t touch a hair on your arm as long as you were dating Rafe- everyone knew that.

“You want to fuck with someone, not Sarah.” You spat at them, watching Ruthie sadly pull herself to her feet, with the help of no one. “That’s my sister you bitch. Now fuck off.” At your command, Kelce briskly walked back over to his truck, as the others followed just as fast, allowing you to turn back to John B and Sarah.

You were greeted to their smiling faces, both as grateful as each other. But you noticed, a twinge of emotion still lingering on Sarah’s face. Hearing you call her your sister in combination with her pregnancy hormones, was due to set her off to cry. Before she could get out any words, you spoke for her. “You are my sister regardless of whatever is going on between you and Rafe. You’re family.” Turning to John B, you continued, “That extends to you, hubby.” You winked looking down at the ring on his finger.

With a red blush covering their faces, they praised you in thank yous. “Don’t need to thank me for doing something I’ve been wanting to do for months.” Glancing back to see the red truck had disappeared.

“Now, you can thank me for warning you that Rafe will be here any minute and I’m not sure you want to see him.”

—————————

“Baby, please be more careful next time.” Rafe muttered, as he wrapped your knuckles in bandages. He was more than shocked to find you outside the city hall- alone- but with bloody knuckles. Only with the explanation, that you had an altercation with Ruthie, surprisingly over Sarah. He was confused to say the least, he wasn’t even aware that Ruthie had a problem with his little sister. But the more he thought about it, of course she did- Topper still hadn’t gotten over her.

“In fact, there will be no next time. Ever.” Kissing your knuckles, he pulled you onto his chest as he lied back on your shared king bed. Stroking your hair, he let his mind wonder. Should he have been there to protect Sarah? But they hadn’t had a good relationship in years, he couldn’t just suddenly start caring for her. He also couldn’t let you get into situations that could get you hurt over protecting Sarah.

You noticed his body still and you knew instantly his mind was wondering thinking about Sarah. Without moving your head from his chest you spoke, “Rafe. I love Sarah. I know you have a difficult relationship at the moment and whilst you can’t protect her I will.” Letting the silence sit between you for a moment, you decided to continue.

“She’s our only family, Rafe.” He didn’t move, but you both knew how right you were. She was all you had left. “I know baby, I know.” He whispered, laying a kiss on the top of your head, before he let his mind slip back into imagining how he can rectify this broken relationship with his sister.

[thoughtssvt]

suguru conditioned you to get wet every time he tied his hair up.

over the years he got into the habit of letting his hair relax. he wore it down with the new found confidence that came from your compliments and 'hey handsome's.

the only time he wore his hair in a bun was when he was shirtless between your legs.

if there was one thing he hated it was getting interrupted while he ate. he could allow his hair getting in the way when he was kissing you, holding you close. he liked the feeling of your fingers running across his scalp. he especially liked the tug you gave it when he sucked your nipple into his mouth, tongue laving and circling. a chuckle buzzing through his lips as you arched up into him.

that he could handle, but once he was face to face with your pussy he wouldn't allow it. he'd sit back on his haunches, skillfully gathering his hair into his palms with his thumbs. maybe it was just something about the way he looked down at you, carnally, ready to devour you with no restraint. maybe it was the way you knew he would do just that like he'd done so many times before.

he would run his hands up and down your thighs once his arms dropped to his sides. he'd leave soft kisses against your knee, guiding them down as he laid on his front. if your head wasn't so cloudy you would whine at the shit-eating smirk he wore as he looked at your glistening cunt.

"i haven't done much and you're already this wet?" he'd chuckle softly, so close to your skin that it felt like love wiring running under your skin, your hips bucking up into him. he'd hush you, reassure you that he'd give you everything you needed as he kissed just right above your twitching button.

"always so needy," he commented leaving open mouthed kisses on your outer lips, and though it was meant to come off snarky you couldn't help but keen like it was praise.

the first lick was always mind numbing. you held your breath as you felt his thumbs spread you open, watching his eyes flutter closed as he guided a flat tongue between your folds, the muscle giving your clit a gentle flick before he sucked it into his mouth. it was then you let your breath go, a whiny moan forcing it out.

"mmm," he hummed around you making your legs snap around his head as it shot pleasure down to your toes. "ah, ah, don't interrupt me while i eat, honey," he scolded softly, large hands prying your legs open so he could spread you up and open, pushing your knees to your chest so he could feast uninterrupted.

maybe it was better he kept his hair up despite how much you liked to tug on it. it let him focus in on your pleasure. he took his time, each move slow and calculated. he knew exactly what made your legs shake and what to do when he wanted you to suck in a deep breath, hands shooting up to the sides of your head to grip your pillow for stability.

he'd lightly scrape his nails against the sensitive skin of your thighs as he switched between slow, broad stripes against your clit to lip-bitingly quick flicks with the tip of his tongue. he'd bob his head, the gentle suck on your bud a tantalizing combo with the way the muscle swirled around it.

"so good, can't get enough of you," he'd sigh as he dropped down to your hole, gently kissing your clenching entrance before pushing his tongue in as deep it could go. he moaned at the way you twitched around him, hot and wet on his tongue.

he'd reach a hand up so his thumb could toy with your clit as he drank down your juices, steadily tongue-fucking you until your climax.

when you got your vision back there he was again, looking down at you with carnal desire, biceps bulging as he scooped his hair up into a secure bun once more, because he was definitely far from done with you.

A/N : i may have gotten carried away, i was about to go to sleep... and this was so not planned, I was supposed to write cute headcanons of how the jjk men start your apples for you. anyway I hope you enjoyed, reblogs and comments are always appreciated

j‹𝟹

jjk men x reader masterlist

mdni banner by hitobaby

drip divider

[eowynstwin]

peristalsis - vi

selkie!soap x reader. depression. strangers to "lovers." somnophila. dubcon. smut. manipulative soap. unreliable narrator. terrible food. social isolation. suicidal ideation. suicidal resolve. . Running away from life to the Scottish Hebrides, you meet a man who won't leave you alone. . Masterlist. Ao3.

previous

A hand pets between your legs sometime in the early morning, fingers searching for tender flesh. The other slips up the front of your naked body, cradling one breast, thumb flicking gently across the nipple.

The covers over you are warm with yours and Johnny’s shared body heat, the both of you having gone to sleep naked. His body curves around you, the hair of his chest and thighs tickling your bare skin. Water laps at the outer hull in quiet breaths.

You’d dreamed. You don’t remember exactly what of. Only impressions are left behind—the rocking of the trawler following you into sleep. Darkness. A sense of displacement. Your throat closing and opening.

When you crack open your eyes you feel it in the pit of your stomach. A storm to match the one that blew across the night.

If you give into it—it will hurt. You recognize it in your bones.

Johnny groans behind you when his callused fingers find your cunt warm and soft for him. His cock is a column of heat against your low back, morning-stiff. He circles your clit, mouthing the back of your neck and nudging his knee between yours, hooking your leg over his thigh to spread you open.

Fresh arousal wells up to coat his fingers. You hear him huff behind you, amused; he reaches down between the two of you to palm himself, cupping his shaft up between your folds and thrusting shallowly between them. Catching the flow along the length of his cock.

You don’t move, other than to breathe.

He toys with the breast in his hand as he tracks humid kisses up behind your ear. When he angles the head at your entrance, he slides in with minimal resistance—seats himself to the root.

You release the airy moan it draws from you. Snug—he’s snug inside you, cockhead sitting against your cervix. When he rolls his hips, he barely pulls out, just far enough that you feel where his cock begins to widen, thickest in the middle, before pushing back in again.

He rocks against you, playing with your clit. His other hand moves to your leg, drawing it outward a little farther. You stay limp in his hold, eyes closed.

He can do what he wants with you. Anything. If it keeps what’s happening in your belly contained—anything.

It doesn’t take long—you’re not awake enough to brace against it. He winds you higher and higher until your spine goes-arrow straight, your climax spilling through you, drawing you tight around him, and Johnny pistons into you with a few rapid thrusts before groaning, long and satisfied, as liquid heat fills you once again.

“Mm,’” he murmurs, “mornin,’ bonnie.” Angling himself to kiss the corner of your mouth. “Gonna get us goin,’ hm?”

You’re not entirely sure what he means until he pulls away from you. He stands up from the bed and tugs the sheets back up over your naked shoulders, humming some tune you don’t recognize—it sounds vaguely like a hymn—as he dresses and disappears up the stairs.

You feel the trawler rock and shift as he takes it away from the pier, back into the open water. Gray morning light shafts in through the small window triptych above the head of the bed.

You turn onto your back. Johnny’s spend seeps out of you slowly as you shuffle into the heat his body left behind on the sheets. You look inward.

It’s still there. Quelled—for now. If you think too hard about it, you might summon it up.

But Johnny is just upstairs, and the last thing you want is for him to hear you, to hear the poor, crazed animal you can become. There is only so much of you that you are willing to inflict upon him. There is only so much you would ask him to tolerate.

Although it strikes you, as you stretch under the covers, that you don’t believe he would resent you for it.

Probably, he would just wrap his arms around you, and coo at you in that smarmy way of his. No big deal. You can have a breakdown, bonnie, and he’ll make you something for breakfast after. And do you want him to eat your pussy again? Bet you’ll feel better after that.

You almost give in then and there just thinking about it. Wind shear pressing against the inside of your tear ducts.

That would make it worse—if he were to comfort you. You don’t think you would make it out to the other side.

So you swallow hard. Swim your legs through the tangled sheets and find the floor with your bare feet. Your carry-on still sits up in the bridge, so you drag a blanket around your shoulders and climb the stairs to retrieve it.

“There she is!” Johnny exclaims as you surface. He looks over his shoulder at you, one hand on the wheel, the other holding a cup of coffee. He grins at you. “Hell’s bells, don’ you look beautiful.”

You sneer at him, knowing your hair is a rat’s nest and the bags beneath your eyes have had no chance to deflate. Another drop of his cum falls down your thigh; you grab up your bag and retreat back into the bedroom.

When you return to the bridge dressed and brushed, face washed and moisturized, Johnny brings you a second steaming mug, white ceramic, with “Hers” in black cursive printed on the side.

“Stupid,” you say, when you see it.

Johnny kisses the side of your head. “I’ll make eggs.”

“Shouldn’t you be driving?” you ask, as he sets a pan down on the stove. You eye the trawler wheel nervously, waiting for it to spin.

“Is no’ a car, bonnie,” Johnny snorts. “Dinnae have to watch for traffic.”

You eat the breakfast he makes you in disgruntled silence. Overhead, clouds pass, intermittent gaps allowing yellow sunlight to peek through, though never for more than a moment. You might’ve expected the day to be clear again, after the storm.

Six hours is six hours. You return to the novel you began yesterday, perched on the booth couch, though every time the hour changes your stomach draws tighter, as if winched.

At the end of the trip awaits more of the solitude you’ve been seeking. Johnny will deposit you onto the cove, and traipse off to his boy’s night. Possibly his old squad mates—team members—whatever they are, will be staying for more than one day.

You know. You know how it goes.

It’s better this way, you remind yourself. It’s what you wanted.

You pass the crags you saw on yesterday’s journey, and today they are vacant of their pinniped occupants. The island wildlife overall seems to be absent, perhaps hidden away in whatever sanctuary they found during the storm. A few seabirds circle above the dune grass, or trail after the trawler, but other than that, sky, sea, and land are vacant.

You reach the naval battle, and discover what the author spent the most time researching. She describes in exhausting detail how long it takes to load cannons, the role of current and wind speed in the maneuvering of ships, the bailing-out process of a breached hull.

It’s dull, and completely incongruous with the romantic melodrama of the previous chapter. You can see exactly why a former soldier would enjoy it.

You do not tell Johnny you’ve reached it.

Finally, sometime after noon, the cove comes into view. Johnny brings the trawler as close to shore as he can get it, and then drops anchor.

You sling your bag over one shoulder as you stand, lungs shaking in your chest.

“Well,” you say, “have a good time with your friends.”

He pauses, and then looks at you. The expression on his face is completely nonplussed, lips pursed, brows raised.

“What?”

“Your guys’ night.”

“What about it?”

You frown. “Aren’t you taking me to shore?”

“Why would I do that?”

Apprehension trickles down into your belly.

No. Oh, no.

“So you could go meet them?” you say, with growing trepidation.

Realization opens up his expression. Brows lift over blue eyes blooming. “Aw, bonnie, s’that why you’ve been cranky? You think I’m gonna abandon you?”

No—oh, no.

He comes over to you and gently nudges the strap of your bag off your shoulder, smiling.

“Course you’re invited, hen, what kind of bastard would I be if I left you all alone?”

Something breaks.

“No,” you say.

“Yeah,” he croons, bringing his hand to your jaw. Caressing the curve of it with his thumb. “Want you to meet my mates—”

You slap his hand away.

Panic, fully formed, climbs up your trachea.

It’s one thing to be left behind for better friends. It’s quite another to be subjected to them.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you snap. Fury boiling. “What the actual fuck is wrong with you?”

Johnny blinks. You wrench yourself away from him, shoving against the pull of his gravity—smacking him in the chest with both of your hands.

“Was it getting shot?” you snarl, pickaxing your temple with two fingers. “Was it drowning? Because something made you fucking delusional, and I don’t know what it was, but I’m fucking sick of it. I don’t fucking like you.”

Johnny’s expression flattens. The gleam dulls in his eyes as he gazes at you.

“I don’t give a shit about you,” you tremble on. “You’re nothing to me. You’re a hookup. You’re good dick and that’s it. You don’t mean anything to me. Nothing.”

He takes a step toward you. You step back.

“And you don’t give a shit about me either! You’re such a fucking asshole, you know that? You don’t have to act like this is anything but you do anyway, and you make fun of me the whole time, because you know I’m easy, because I’ll still let you fuck me, because I don’t have—because I’m just convenient pussy to you.”

He advances. You retreat. The cocky, confident Johnny that has been your unwelcome companion these past three days now is gone, as if a mask tossed away.

The line of his mouth is sharp and straight. His nostrils flare. A severe crease cracks the space between his drawn-together brows.

You’re not seeing the thing you saw on the beach, that first day. You’re not seeing the carefree bar cook or the island enthusiast.

You’re seeing the special forces soldier. Advancing on a target.

And you can’t stop yourself, even as terror runs a live wire up your spine.

“Like what do you think this was, Soap? I don’t care about you. I don’t care about your friends. I don’t care about your life. You’re wasting your fucking time. I don’t give a shit about you, and I never have, and I never will, and you’re too fucking stupid to notice—”

You run out of room to retreat. The backs of your knees run into the booth seat, but Johnny keeps coming. He invades every inch of your personal space, getting right up into your face, staring down at you with a hard jaw and sharp, spear point eyes.

“Stop it,” you flounder, “just stop it, just leave me alone, just—”

He closes thumb and forefinger around your chin and presses his warm mouth against yours.

You fight him. You clench your fists and beat their heels against his chest, but he wraps his other hand around the back of your head and sweeps his tongue between your lips. You screech into his mouth, but he hums back, the subvocal tones of calming an animal before it hurts itself. You sink your teeth into his bottom lip, seeking to draw blood, but it only eggs him on, makes him slant his head to kiss you deeper.

Even as you wear yourself out against him, his grip doesn’t loosen. He holds you in place as you struggle. Frighteningly strong—utterly indomitable; he overwhelms you with seemingly no effort on his part at all.

There’s bitter, black coffee on his tongue. Acidic. He presses it into yours, circling inward, making space for himself where you would give him none—

Insisting on it.

You gasp hard. Whimper futilely against his mouth. A few sharp tears escape the clench of your eyes, cutting down your cheeks.

Your fists land on him one final time, and then remain where they are. Your entire body slackens, submitting. Your lips find the curves in his where they fit the closest, and stay there. Bokeh spots dance across your closed eyes as your alveoli demand oxygen.

When you pull your mouth away from his to breathe, he lets you. Johnny rests his forehead against yours, hands coming around to cup your cheeks.

“Feel better?” he murmurs lowly, caressing the corners of your mouth with his thumbs. “Now that you got that all out?”

You take a shuddering breath. “You’re an asshole,” you repeat miserably.

Johnny kisses you softly again, first on the mouth, then the tip of your nose, then between your brows.

“Don’ be scared,” he says, mouth still on your forehead. “It’s gonna be alright.”

You sniff. “I hate you.”

He huffs—a small laugh, one that lacks his usual good humor. His hands slide down your shoulders to wrap his arms around you, and he tucks you beneath his chin, against his body. Even after so little time, the bulk of his frame is familiar, aligning with the shape of your body.

You don’t hug him back. You let your arms hang at your sides. If you nuzzle your face in between the soft slopes of his pectorals—you will take the truth of it to your grave.

John Price shows up in a motorboat, bringing along with him several grocery bags and a young man close to Johnny in age.

The two grin at each other and embrace, slapping backs in the masculine fashion and making loud, friendly noises as Price sidesteps them to bring his goods to the kitchen, where you’re hiding.

When he catches sight of you, his step falters.

“I don’t know why I’m here either,” you say, preempting him. You’re cloistered on the booth couch.

His mustache tilts at an angle. As with every other expression you’ve seen him make, you have no idea what it means, and it makes your stomach clutch.

Price is saved from having to respond as Johnny drags the other young man in behind him, beefy arm around his neck in a headlock. They’re laughing together, smiles wide as Price sets his bags on the counter.

The three of them populate the tiny space with the ease of years spent sharing little room between them, and you’d be shrinking back into the couch if Johnny’s friend hadn’t already caught sight of you. The surprise on his face is evident, even as he greets you with a polite, “Oh, hey!”

You make yourself stand up, pasting on a smile that feels more like a grimace. “Hi,” you say.

Johnny gestures at you with a proud, open hand, saying your name as fondly as if he’d just had it in a chokehold. “Stayin’ at the croft, the one I told you about? Just got back from Lewis today, we did, showed her the stones and everythin.’”

He winks at you. You fight not to scowl at him.

“Nice to meet you,” the young man says, disentangling himself from Johnny and extending a hand. “I’m Kyle, but everyone calls me Gaz.”

You shake. “Sorry to interrupt your, uh, your reunion.”

You can’t tell how sincere the smile is that Gaz gives you. Are the corners of his mouth too tight? The polite look in his eyes too saccharine? “The more the merrier, aye?”

“That’s what m’saying!” Johnny enthuses.

“Soap been behaving?” Gaz asks.

“Uh,” you say.

“Soap, you got a griddle on this dinghy?” Price calls, setting out packages of meat and buns. He bends down to root around in the under-cabinet, stored cookware clanging as he digs.

“Cap, tell me you didn’t get the patties,” Johnny complains, picking one up. Ground beef pre-molded into burger pucks, shrink-wrapped in their own thin red juice.

“What’s wrong with patties?” Price asks, still half-submerged. “Easy, innit?”

“For kids’ birthday parties, maybe,” Johnny protests.

“When’d you get so fussed about food?” asks Gaz, sipping from his can. “Not like this is London, mate, you get what you get.”

“Some of us have time to eat like human beings,” Johnny snipes. “You might have to choke on MREs, not like the rest of have to as well.”

“Soap,” Price says, “griddle.”

“Oh, nowhere near there.”

“You fucking muppet…”

Gaz and Johnny cackle. Price straightens, frowning gruffly, in a way that suggests he has regularly endured this hazing from the two younger men and no longer has the patience even to scold them for it.

Walking paths made together, now retread. Old stone, formed when the earth was young.

You step backward. Find the edge of the couch with your calves. None of the three men look at you as you settle back down into your seat. Your book lays half-open on bent pages.

“No Simon still?” asks Johnny as he cracks a beer off the pack.

“Still no word,” says Price. “Said he’d try, last we chatted, but wasn’t sure.”

“Hm,” says Johnny, sipping his beer.

His gaze slips over to you. You feel it like a rasp over your bare skin.

He cracks another can off and brings it over, sitting down to sling a heavy arm over your shoulders. You take the beer and open it, but do not drink.

“Not the same out there without you, mate,” says Gaz, folding his arms comfortably over his chest. “Neither of you, really, Cap.”

“Ah, you’re doin’ just fine, I bet,” replies Johnny. “You and Ghost? Dream team, right there.”

“Never gonna be you, Soap,” says Gaz.

Johnny’s replying smile is—contented. Satisfied. As if he’s hearing news he expected, but is pleased to hear nonetheless.

His arm hangs loosely over your shoulders as it continues like that. Johnny and the other two men punt the conversational shuttle back and forth, voices weaving with the cadence of an old scarf unraveling; the yarn thread frozen by time and tension into a shape that can wrap back around its fellows as easily as it came undone.

Unfamiliarity with their rhythm transforms the bridge—which has been, if not a safe space, at the very least something of a sanctuary to you for the past twenty-four hours. Someplace you could be your worst self without much worry of offending.

But Johnny’s old team members are not Johnny. You can’t speak to them the way you have spoken to him. They do not share his knack for inclusion—

At least, they don’t seem to, until, without you expecting it, the shuttle passes to you.

“What made you come out here?” asks Gaz, startling you.

You look up from the can of beer you have been staring at the whole time, warming between your palms, to find Gaz, Price, and Johnny all looking at you expectantly.

“Um,” you say, flushing with embarrassment. Completely unprepared to be treated like a conversational prospect.

“The quiet, didnae you say?” Johnny supplies, laying his hand along your upper arm, rubbing up and down.

He might as well have shoved that hand down your shirt instead—you catch the other two men seeing it. Noting it. Reevaluating who you are, who you might be, and why you’re intruding on their day together.

And Johnny mustrecognize it too, because he squeezes the soft part above your elbow.

Warmth like a candle flame in your chest.

“Yeah,” you say, lamely. “Just—tired, of the city, I guess…”

“I like the quiet too,” Gaz says diplomatically. “Bet it’s good surfing here too, in the summer.”

“No’ much,” says Johnny. “The wildlife’s the point here, innit, bonnie? Great seal watching, out here.”

You meet his gaze. Edges of sapphire blue are soft in your direction, mouth corners curled.

No obfuscation. No derision.

“Yeah,” you find yourself saying—and meaning. “The seals—the seals are cool.”

“Birds, too,” Price says, unpeeling patties after finally locating the electric griddle.

“How can you tolerate mucking around with two old codgers like this?” Gaz laughs.

Something effervescent infuses your bloodstream. Light and bubbly.

“As if Johnny has let me hang out with anyone but him,” you say, as if it has been a desire of yours in the first place.

You hear Price snort at the griddle. Gaz quirks a brow at Johnny without making any effort to hide it, and then clinks the belly of his can against yours before drinking.

You finally have a sip. It’s nice—hoppy, lightly sweet, fizzing on your tongue. Still cool enough to enjoy.

“Might take ya diving tomorrow,” Soap begins, fingertips twirling up your shoulder—

But then a distant voice cuts through the afternoon.

“Oy! Johnny!”

The three of you look around. Soap pulls away from you, warmth retreating with him, as he goes stick his head out of the door.

And then he dashes toward Price’s motorboat.

The engine revs as you, Gaz, and Price follow him out, watching as he speeds toward the shore. On the beach, a large man in dark colors, half his face covered by a black surgical mask, angles toward him, hands on his hips.

Johnny stops just shy of beaching the boat before he leaps out into the water, wades up the sand, and launches himself at the man.

They embrace like tectonic plates colliding. Even at a distance, you can hear the sound of hands slapping backs, feel the way their bodies meet and sway—so resonant with shared affection that you can feel the shocks of it across the water.

Glacial ice pushes through your veins.

“There he is,” Price says fondly. “Knew he wouldn’t miss this.”

“Ghost’s always gotta make an entrance,” Gaz agrees.

Ghost.

Or, as it must be—Simon.

Simon turns the snugness of four bodies into an overcrowd of five. In the bridge, there is little room to maneuver around him, massive as he is, and he seems disinclined not to claim as much space as there is available.

“Bonnie!” Johnny exclaims. “Want you to meet my old partner, Ghost.”

His eyes are dark, the color of a full whiskey bottle. They gaze at you without interest, even as he proffers his huge hand.

“You’re Johnny’s tourist,” he says, in a flat, brassy tenor. The sound of a metal grate closing.

Johnny.

Johnny.

“Yes,” you say, in a voice as irrelevant as a minnow’s.

He shakes your hand with a perfunctory grip, and says absolutely nothing more to you. He turns, and leans his bulk against the counter in the kitchen—galley, Johnny informs, as he explains the ship, and its story, to Ghost in rapid fire.

Had he been as excited to introduce it to you?

Ghost swigs from his beer, mask hooked under his chin. “What the fuck you even do on this thing, anyway?”

“Fish from it,” Johnny says. He’s standing close to Ghost, second can in one hand as he gestures with the other. “Got crab and lobster traps all over the place, that’s where the money is.”

“Always did like fishin,’” says Ghost, as warm to Johnny as he had been uninterested in you.

You cloister back in your place on the booth couch.

You can’t blame him. You can’t blame either of them. You can’t. You can’t. You are extraneous in this situation and always would have been.

“This isnae really fishin’ though, see?” Johnny goes on. “I mean, I use the dragnet time t’time, but rich tits on the mainland, they can get cod anywhere.”

“Become a real foodie, he has,” Gaz chuckles.

“Knob,” Ghost agrees.

Johnny grins. It’s a soft thing, an expression of sinking into warm bath water in a familiar tub. Ghost grins back at him, more with his eyes than his mouth.

If what’s between Johnny, Gaz, and Price is an unraveled scarf, easily knit back together, then what’s between Johnny and Ghost must be the tight-woven threads of fine, raw silk. It’s visible to the naked eye; if you reach out, you think you could brush against it with your bare fingertips.

Impenetrable. Gleaming.

You, a loose, dropped thread.

Price announces that the burgers are ready, and the men crowd the counter before he snaps at them to back off. You hook one heel around the other, twisting your fingers in your lap. An invisible wall between you and them.

The men bring the food over, setting down plates of sliced onion, limp lettuce, squishy tomato. Everything has been sitting out too long. Price sets down a platter of patties, cookie-cutter uniform, some blanketed with yellow, processed cheese.

Your empty stomach cringes in on itself. You don’t want to eat. Johnny slides in beside you, trapping you in, and his friends drag chairs over. Ghost claims the head of the table. They dig into the food with gusto.

“This is awful, Price,” says Johnny. “Told you, shoulda had seafood.”

“I’m sick of fish,” Price grunts.

Something about fresh oysters is at the tip of your tongue, but it’s trapped behind the bars of your teeth. And anyway, Gaz beats you to speaking.

“So you decided to kill the lot of us?” he asks. “Forgot we never let you cook in the field.”

“Nah, that was Johnny’s job,” Ghost says. “Where’s a meathead Scot learn to cook anyway?”

“Quite disrespectin’ my mum,” says Johnny.

They all chuckle at that. It loops around them, that ripple of laughter, and they go on to bandy stories about their captain’s culinary misdemeanors on deployment.

You shrink.

You look at Johnny. His face is animated; vibrant. The lines at the corners of his eyes have not smoothed once, with how much he’s been smiling. It’s as if sunlight is radiating from his chest, warming the room.

It visibly brightens his friends, sitting around him. Price’s gruff demeanor has softened. Gaz leans inward, elbows on the table, as if magnetically drawn. And Ghost—

You catch them exchanging a look. Speaking without words.

You don’t belong here.

The few bites you’ve managed to take of a burger surge against the walls of your stomach. Your trachea quivers against your spinal column.

“I need to use the bathroom,” you say. “Excuse me.”

It halts the flow of conversation. The four men look at you as if suddenly remembering you’re there, expressions paused in whatever shape they’d been in before your interruption.

No one says anything at all.

And why would they?

Johnny stands to let you out of the booth. You extricate yourself, and hold your gaze on the stairwell, refusing to look twice at them.

The belly of the ship swallows you with a whirlpool’s vacuum; you veer into the bathroom and lock the door behind you. Overhead, the conversation resumes, as if you left no empty space within it to compensate for.

Heat leeching up your face. Heart beating against your sternum, so hard it must be about the split the bone.

You don’t belong here.

You start heaving. Big, hard breaths, truncated, refusing both to be drawn in or released without a fight. You stagger to the sink and grip it with both hands, shaking so hard you can barely stand.

You don’t belong here. You don’t belong with anyone. You don’t deserve—

Your stomach shoves upward. You tip your face over the basin, throat convulsing, but nothing comes up.

Your vision swirls. You feel Johnny’s hand on your back, but it’s only a ghost of his touch. He’s still upstairs, with his friends.

You hear a sunburst of laughter above you, hearty and deep and shared by four voices.

Tears start streaming from your eyes, though you can barely feel them. You vibrate. It builds and builds inside you, a scream, a hurricane, gale forces whipping around and beating the inside of your skin. The quiver of your skull sends a high-pitched squeal up through the canals of your ears.

You sink to your knees.

“No,” you whimper, in the midnight zone of your voice, so that no one can hear you. “No, no, no, not again, no…”

The bath mat touches your forehead. Your shuddering mouth hangs open. You dig into the soft skin of your forearm with the nails of one hand, seeking blood.

You are a wound in the world that refuses to close. A cyst. Something here that should not be. Wherever you go is a mistake.

Heartbeat like a drum in your ears. Entire body drawing up, higher, tighter, trembling, seams pulling, self receding, bones exposed, so far out you will never make your way back.

You’re going to burst. You’re going to make a mess, right there on the floor, and they’re all going to come down and see it. It’s building in your throat. It’s at the dam of your teeth.

You wrap your arms around yourself, gripping tight.

You don’t belong here. You don’t belong here. You don’t belong here—

You don’t belong anywhere.

Suddenly, you go still.

Flying debris settles. Your airways open.

Stillness. Quiet. The next breath you take is slow and smooth.

You hear the far-away slosh of the ocean moving beneath the hull of the trawler.

Yes, of course.

You clamber upward, using the counter as leverage. As you rise, you catch yourself in the mirror.

Your face glistens. Your eyes are swollen, bags heavy beneath. It does not reflect what’s behind it—

Tranquility.

It isn’t about resolve, after all.

The truth of it settles gently in your chest. Of course. It’s about certainty. It’s about knowing, in your bones, what should and shouldn’t be. What is and what isn’t.

The way things will be, and the way they won’t.

Simple. Natural.

The evolutionary processes of your body simply hadn’t caught up. The genetic predisposition toward persistence, the silly, reactionary aversion to pain, to danger, the biological imperative of a time before now.

Now—

Turning the cold tap, you wet your fingers and dab at the puffy skin. You pull some toilet paper from the roll and pat at your face. You breathe easily through your nose, and on steadied feet, you leave the bathroom.

“You haven’t changed a bit,” you hear Gaz saying as you climb the stairs.

“Aw, gimme some credit,” Johnny protests.

You stop.

“No,” Ghost says, and it’s odd to hear contemplation in the knife’s edge of his voice. “Somethin’s changed.”

“What’s that?” Johnny asks.

“You’re…calmer,” says Ghost. You hear Price hum. “Never seen you sit this still, not long as I’ve known you.”

You hear Johnny huff a little laugh. “Guess this place’ll do that to you.”

“Hey, Johnny?” you say, surfacing.

The conversation pauses again. He looks up at you. Blinks beautiful, blue eyes.

The rueful smile you give him is easy.

“I don’t feel very well. I’m sorry. Can you take me back to shore?”

Some tiny muscle at the edge of his expression shifts.

You don’t know what, exactly, it could mean, but it doesn’t matter.

“Sure, bonnie,” he says slowly, setting down his half-eaten burger.

“It was nice meeting you all,” you say to the three other men.

They echo something back—insincere. Obligatory, you know. They’ll forget about you the moment you leave their view.

That doesn’t matter either. Nothing does.

You don’t think about it at all as Johnny helps you down into the kayak, taking your overnight bag first and then your hand. It’s cloudy overhead, cool without being cold. The wind is gentle.

He stares at you the whole time he rows. You don’t meet his gaze. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see his eyes narrowed, the line of his mouth tight again.

“Thank you,” you say, when the kayak reaches the beach. “Have fun with your friends, Johnny.”

“Sure, bonnie,” he says.

You indulge yourself—you look him up and down.

He really is an attractive man. Beautiful. Like the crash of a wave. You get that sense again—that he’s more real than anything surrounding him. More real than the ground beneath your feet. Than the ocean behind him.

More real than you.

“See you later,” you say, and turn away from him.

You walk the trail back, thinking about the anonymous feet that carved it into the grass. Years, generations walking the same way, down to the beach and back up. People you’ll never know. A part of something you never will be.

When you crest the rise, you see the cobbled siding of the cottage. You’d never looked at the back of it before—never thought to. It was unimportant in the face of everything else, irrelevant.

Maybe that’s why you look now. The finiteness making room for it.

At the cobbled wall’s base is a little mound of piled sand.

You go to your knees in front of it. The soil is cool to the touch, loose. Easily disturbed.

Somehow, you know what you’re going to find, even as you dig. Your fingers brush against it even before you uncover it fully, and it doesn’t surprise you at all.

Folded tightly, in a divot in the ground, is the paint-splash riot of Johnny’s pelt.

next

a/n: had to add one more chapter because otherwise this would have been 9k words long lol

forreal this time—two chapters left!!

[spatialwave]

don't stop.

➸ ask: "Hey could I request “just a little more. you can take a little more, can't you?” and/or “don't stop. please, don't stop.” for Jayce? Thanks!" – ➸ pairing: jayce talis x fem!reader ➸ word count: 733 ➸ tags: mdni! nsfw, shameless smut, porn w/o plot, rough, dominant jayce, praising. ➸ notes: honestly, this is just short and filthy… and it was too fun to write lol. once my asks are open again i hope to get more smutty requests, hehe. ask came from this prompt.

You loved being lost in Jayce, or better yet, him lost in you. Cock deep inside your aching cunt, stretching you so far that tears stung the corners of your eyes. It was an addictive feeling, the way he growled into your ear as he fucked you from behind, hand in your hair and tugging with a vice grip. Pulling you back to his chest, your fingers hardly able to touch the bed.

It was the better side of Jayce when he was pent-up and desperately craving release. Gentle touches were non-existent and replaced with someone who desired to make you shatter and whimper. Rough touches and filthy words spat in your ear.

Sometimes it was a lot. Enough that you squirmed beneath him, crying out.

“Baby,” he whispered sweet praises into your ear, tongue licking along the outer shell before nibbling on your lobe, warm breath sending shivers down your spine,  “fuck, you’re doing such a good job. Taking my cock so good.”

His hips snapped into yours at a ruthless pace, the sound of skin slapping against skin as you were filled with his thick cock. Twitching inside of you–penetrating. A rugged hand clawed at your hip, nails digging into your soft flesh as you whimpered and dug your heels into his back.

“Jayce–” you begged, “don’t stop, please, don’t stop–” 

It was a pathetic display of desire, you being a whimpering mess below the man who had a particularly bad day. Too many people on the council talking his ear off, proposing horrible ideas while throwing his own aside. Too many misgivings and annoyances that left him with enough frustration to take it out on you.

He bit and sucked at your neck as you tilted your head back, offering him the skin. He left a scattering of bruises and bite marks in his wake, all the while fucking you hard enough that you were nothing short of cock drunk. Your lips parted while gasps of pleasure escaped between each harsh snap of his hips, hands grabbing at his shoulders and pressing into his skin.

The hard scratch of your nails roused a deep grumble from his chest, and he moved to sit back on his knees, still fucking you with ease. Now, he had the perfect view–your body splayed back on the messy bed, tits bouncing with each thrust, neck covered in hickeys and legs spread wide open so he could see his cock push through your folds.

His thumb rubbed harsh circles on your clit that had gone untouched for far too long, causing you to croak out. You tried to push his hand away, overstimulated, but Jayce smirked and pinned your hand to the side.

“Take it,” he demanded, taking pleasure in the way you writhed, body twisting as your release neared.

Slowly, he pulled himself out, so the tip of his cock brushed against your swollen, red cunt that was dripping juices down the curves of your ass and thighs. He grabbed at the base of his cock, holding it as he filled you at a leisurely pace that made you want to push him to the bed and ride him until you came.

“Just a little more,” his faux-gentle voice coaxed you through the intense feeling of being filled, hips stuttering as he fucked into your tight, clenching pussy as his thumb continued its attack on your clit, “you can take a little more, can’t you?”

Your eyes, half-lidded, stared up into his. A pout on your lips as you nodded–anything to please him.

“Just like that,” he purred, pushing his cock so deep you felt your tummy bulge, “so good.”

Mewling, you writhed as one rough hand grabbed your hips to keep you still, so he could fuck you with ease, the other leaving your clit to wrap around your throat and force you to choke on your moans. Grunts rumbled from his chest as his hair fell in front of his eyes, which watched yours roll into the back of your head.

It was so much–you could only take so much, and Jayce always gave it to you. Fucking you so good until you were screaming for him to cum inside, filling you with his hot cum that he loved to see spill from your pussy and finger back inside so he knew you were taking it all.

You were Jayce’s good girl.

[iveleftitwithyou]

casual | paul lahote x reader smut

NSFW | 18+ | minors DNI | word count: 2.38k

warnings: smut, dom!paul, slight angst, mention of fighting, i think that's it?

------

i asked you guys if i should post this now or incorporate it into ruderal, and the result was overwhelmingly to post it now, so here it is with some plot adjustments! i've been OBSESSED with this song by chappell roan and knew i needed to make it into an imagine, although this song is probably about a woman lol. highly recommend listening to the song as you read this. this is my first time EVER writing smut so i hope its not too bad - as always, let me know what you think :)

ALSO this is in an alternate timeline where the guys are all like 21+ and so is y/n :)

------

Paul’s hand lingered on your thigh as he drove the winding road back to Forks, his thumb rubbing small circles on your outer leg. the radio hummed with a song you couldn’t manage to pay attention to, instead focusing your gaze on the motion of his finger on your bare thigh. while you assumed the gesture was meant to comfort you, it did a lot more than that. you hoped that the darkness would obscure Paul’s peripheral vision enough for him to not realize you were ogling his muscular arms and unusually large hands. his veins protruded in a way that drove you crazy for some reason, and as much as you were still upset with him, you couldn’t help the rush of hormones that flooded at the sight.

Embry had made some stupid joke about you at the bonfire at Emily's that night, a common occurrence when you hung out with the pack. he didn’t mean anything by it, you joked around with each other like that all the time, but Paul had been extra sensitive for the last few weeks as he spent more hours on patrol. Victoria’s looming presence and the mystery murders happening around Washington meant the reservation needed increased protection, and the men in the pack had to step up. Embry’s comment led to a fight where the pair both phased, snarling and snapping until they both came to their senses and things went back to normal. you hated when Paul shifted because of you, even if it was just indirectly your fault like it was tonight. 

you two were meant to be casual, despite Paul having imprinted on you, as you had just gotten out of a long-term relationship and weren’t ready to commit to someone again. you’d been seeing each other casually for months, hanging out, and getting to know each other better. as much as you were hesitant to let him into your life completely, you couldn’t deny your attraction to Paul. he’d been nothing but a gentleman thus far, bringing you flowers on dates, opening doors for you, and following your boundaries to a T, terrified to mess anything up with you. of course, his physical form was unlike anything you’d ever seen - you were lucky that he preferred to hang out without a shirt on. things had gotten hot and heavy between you two a few times but hadn’t gone farther than some very intense making out. though, the way Paul’s hand touched you now was enough for you to throw those boundaries out the window; you wanted him - no, needed him.

you focused your eyes back on the road in front of you, only being able to see as far as the truck’s dim headlights illuminated. breathe in, breathe out, you reminded yourself, trying to calm down the butterflies in your stomach. you were unsuccessful, and it didn’t help that Paul’s hand was inching closer and closer to your hips.

suddenly, his hand snaked further inward and his grip tightened, engulfing your inner thigh. your breath hitched, and you unsuccessfully tried to mask it as a cough. you saw Paul smirk out of the corner of your eye, but he didn’t look over at you. 

you once again reminded yourself to breathe as the ache between your legs became more apparent. his hand loosened its grip and continued its journey towards your core. half of you thought about stopping him purely as punishment for fighting with Embry, but the much louder other half wouldn’t dream of it right now.

you couldn’t help but let out a small groan as his hand finally reached your jean shorts, his fingers tracing the seam that ran between your legs. the slight pressure he applied drove you absolutely crazy as you wished for more friction.

the sound that escaped your lips seemed to do something to Paul as he let out a breathy groan of his own. “alright, that’s it,” he mumbled, turning the wheel toward the side of the road. he must have known exactly where you were because he easily pulled the truck behind a set of bushes that obscured most of it from the road. any passerbys, which were few and far between at this time of night anyway, wouldn’t notice the vehicle.

almost as soon as he slammed the gear shift into park, his lips were on yours. he kissed you with a passion you’d never felt before. you melted into his lips, reminding yourself for the third time that night that if you didn’t start breathing, you would pass out. he gripped the back of your head, tangling his fingers in your hair as you continued to make out. his other hand traveled down your arm, to your hip, and unbuckled the seatbelt you’d been wearing. in one swift, but slightly awkward motion, he disconnected your lips for a brief moment and grabbed each side of your hips, pulling you across the center console onto his lap. you were careful not to lean too far and hit the horn with your back as you settled onto him, silently thanking Paul for owning such a spacious truck. your knees settled on either side of his legs. 

as you sat down on his lap, you brushed his hardening length with the same seam of your shorts his hand was just on, eliciting a quiet moan from both of you. impatient, Paul once again gripped your scalp and slammed your lips together. you allowed your hands to slip underneath the hem of his shirt, feeling the outline of the muscles on his bare abdomen. this feeling, combined with the warmth radiating from his bare skin, drove you insane. 

“take- it- off-” you mumbled in between kisses, tugging the hem upwards. you were unsure of where the forwardness came from, but you didn’t stop long enough to be embarrassed. 

“you don’t get to tell me what to do,” he snarked half-jokingly but obliged.

the moonlight streaming in from the windshield was just enough for you to be able to see the outline of his pecs and abs, and you really couldn’t help but stare.

“like what you see?” he chuckled, noticing your eyes widening at his physique.

you nodded, unable to form words, instead opting to smash your lips back together with all of the strength you could muster. you’d had enough of looking flustered - you wanted to take initiative.

you raised your hips again, pushing your abdomen against Paul's and lowering yourself onto his member. you rocked your hips back and forth as he moved his lips down your cheek, then your jaw, and eventually to your neck. the friction as you continued to grind against him elicited a low growl against your neck as his lips attached to your skin. you moaned embarrassingly loudly as he sucked at the delicate skin, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to be sheepish. in fact, the only emotion surging through your body right now was pure desire for the god-like man leaving a series of hickeys on your neck.

“Paul, that’s gonna leave a mark,” you whined. you knew you’d regret letting him do it in the morning but right now you wanted nothing more than for him to mark you as his. you wanted to be his.

“don’t want anyone else getting any ideas. you’re all mine,” he retorted, lifting his head up to look you in the eyes. his were almost completely black with lust. “say it.” he commanded, holding your jaw tightly in his hand. “say you’re mine.”

“i’m all yours, Paul” you panted, your hips continuing to move back and forth on Paul’s lap as you stared into his dark eyes. despite your relationship still being undefined, truer words had never been spoken.

“good girl. now shut the fuck up and get back in the passenger seat.” his harsh words did nothing to discourage you from obeying as you scrambled to sit back where you were a few minutes prior. this was a side of Paul you had only seen when he was angry: dark, commanding, dominating. usually, you would have to try to calm him down when he got like this, but right now, you were very much enjoying him telling you what to do. you already missed the warmth of his body on yours as you climbed back over to the other seat, but you instinctually knew better than to voice your complaints right now.

Paul leaned across the console, reaching his hand between your knees and under the seat to move it back as far as it would go. once he was satisfied with that, he reached across your lap and pulled the reclining handle, his other hand helping to lower the seat back slowly so you weren’t sent flying backward.

“scooch back” he ordered again, and you moved your hips backward on the seat, supporting yourself with your elbows on the very edge of the seat near the headrest.

you were confused as he opened the driver-side door and hopped out of the truck. you watched as he opened the passenger-side door, it becoming clear now what his plan was. you pulled your knees towards your chest as he climbed back in, kneeling on the floor mat in front of you. god damn, this truck was spacious, and you were incredibly grateful for that right now.

his large hands fumbled to unbutton your shorts. he pulled the zipper down and you lifted your hips, followed by your legs, so he could slide them off. not wanting to wait another second, he pulled your underwear to the side and connected his thumb to your clit. you let out a loud gasp at the sensation and he chuckled proudly, knowing how good he was making you feel. Paul rubbed small, tight circles on the sensitive nub for a few seconds before you felt a finger dip into your wet folds. a guttural moan escaped your throat as you finally got the sensation you had been waiting for since his hand had rested on your thigh earlier in the night.

he added a second finger shortly after and continued to pump in and out of your heat, his thumb continuing its circular motions on your clit. you could feel your orgasm building inside of your core, and it was almost euphoric knowing it was Paul making you feel like this.

“Paul, i’m gonna-” you moaned, getting close to the edge. “what the fuck?” he’d removed his fingers altogether upon hearing this and you were not happy about it. 

“patience, princess.” he chuckled, making eye contact with you once again as he raised his fingers to his mouth to taste you on them. you were still pissed at him for teasing you like that, but the sound he made as he licked your wetness off himself almost made it worth it. almost.

“let’s take these off, shall we? or should i rip them off?” his fingers slipped under the waistband of your underwear.

“don’t you dare,” the one rational brain cell you had left replied, lifting your hips for him to slide them off like he did the shorts. you liked this pair. Paul held your hips back down as he spread your legs open, leaning his torso over the seat until you could feel his breath between your legs, amplified by the wetness that had come with the teasing.

“god, you look so fucking good” he took a second to admire the sight before him before he groaned lustfully and connected his tongue to your cunt. he made quick work of finding all the right spots to hit, causing your legs to tremble and your eyes to roll back in your head. at this rate, you wouldn’t last long, but you never wanted this moment to end.

“oh, fuck,” you moaned as he continued to circle the sensitive nub with his tongue. you had never felt this connected to someone before, not any of your exes. no one had ever made you feel as good as Paul was in this moment. as he continued the motions of his tongue, you realized Paul was perfect for you in every way, including this one. it was like pre-nut clarity.

you felt the pressure building up again, somehow even stronger than last time, unable to contain your moans. “fuck, Paul, i’m gonna cum” you groaned, arching your back against the seat as Paul continued to hold your hips down harshly against it. you figured there would be bruises there tomorrow, and the thought of him marking you up even more only exacerbated your growing orgasm.

“cum for me, princess” Paul mumbled against your clit, giving you permission to let go. it only took a couple more swipes for you to come completely unglued against his mouth.

Paul gradually slowed down his motions, guiding you through your orgasm as your hips attempted to buck against his face, craving the stimulation. eventually, your brain started to function again, and the first thing you thought was that that was definitely the best orgasm you’d ever had. you couldn’t tell Paul that, though - it would boost his ego way too much, and he already had a huge one to begin with. the second thought that went through your head was that you were ready for Paul to be your boyfriend. no man could eat you out that good and get away from you.

he admired his work as you panted in front of him, a smirk of pride on his face. he loved knowing he was the one who made you feel so good. he raised himself up on his knees to hover over you, one arm resting on the seat to support himself as the other snaked behind your back to pull you to his chest. you wrapped your arms around his back, settling your face in the crook of his neck. your breaths were soon in time with each other, basking in the body heat radiating from the both of you.

you could have stayed like that forever, but after a few minutes, Paul pulled back slightly to look you in the eyes. he seemed deep in thought before he smiled and opened his mouth to ask you a simple question: “is it casual now?”

------

part 2 here :)

[writingroom21]

Stepbro Rafe talking you through it

A/N: Finally feeling better and was so excited when I saw this! Got me in the writing mood so fast

“Rafe.” A moan slips past your lips. His eyes flick up to look at you. The sun casting a glow behind you causes him to squint his eyes from the intensity. He hums around your clit as he keeps sucking it. 

Today was a hot day in Outer Banks and Rafe thought it was a good idea to take out the boat. The idea was posed as a bonding activity for the two of you since your mom and his dad keep hounding you. They think that since the two of you are step-siblings that you need to get along. Well this probably isn’t how they imagined it but it was one hell of a way to do it.

The moment the boat was far enough that no one could see, he was on you. “They want us to get along. I think I got the perfect thing for us to do.” Your shorts were tossed aside and your bikini bottoms were pushed to the side. Even though you were reluctant, your thighs spread open for him. His tongue teased your folds before he dived in like a man starved. “Fuck baby, taste like heaven.” You let out a moan at his words, moving your hips. The friction from his tongue as you glide your hips to match his pace.

“If I had a last meal it would be this pretty pussy. Look at how she drools for me.” Rafe takes a moment to stare at your folds, catching the way you clench around nothing. His right hand moves up the inside of your thigh. Placing his thumb on your clit, he moves in soft circles. The barely there touch short circuits your brain. All of the worries of someone catching you dying down in the back of your brain. “Rafe, I.”

When your words are cut off with a moan Rafe laughs. He audibly laughs in your face as you can’t help but to moan. “It’s okay princess. Feels good right?” You can hear the ruffling of his pants as he pulls them down. Using his left hand he lazily jerks himself off as he fingers you. “Mmmm.” Light kisses are placed on your lower abdomen trailing all the way down to your clit again. The combination of his fingers and lips could be lethal.

“I can feel you squeezing the shit out of me.” He hissed as he pulled his fingers out again. Kneeling between your legs he replaces his fingers with his cock. Your walls flutter around him violently as he pushes his way in. Resting his forehead on your shoulder he takes a deep breath in trying not to cum. His thumb strokes your clit, building up the orgasim that keeps refusing to happen. “Just relax princess, let me take care of you.”

Slowly he thrusts into you. It’s a steady slow pace so you can feel every inch of him. The boat rocks with each movement. The sound of water splashing along the sides fills your ears as a tingle forms in your lower abdomen. “That’s it.” Rafe murmurs along your skin. His teeth sink into your skin as he holds back his moans. He wants to hear you, feel you, know that he’s the one who broke you. “Feel so fucking good. Your pussy keeps pulling me back in.” A loud moan comes from you.

A smile spreads across his face and he moves into your view so you can see. Holding your cheeks, he forces you to look at him. “Eyes on me princess. You like it when I use you right?” He uses his grip to nod your head as you moan. “I know you do. Like knowing that your stepbrother is the only one who could fuck you properly.” You clench hard around but still you teeter on the edge of an orgasim.

“I wonder what your mom would say seeing how much of a whore you are. Practically begging me to knock you up.” Your whole body goes numb as your orgasim racks through you. Moans keep falling from your lips as the pleasure feels never ending. “There you go. Did such a good job for me.” You wrap your arms around him as he keeps thrusting into you. Each thrust prolongs your orgasim until you are jelly in his arms.

“That’s it, relax. I got you.” His hand pushes some hair away from your face and he places a kiss on your forehead. “Fuck you feel so good. I’m about to cum.” A few more thrust and he’s pulling out. Ropes of his cum covers your skin and he massages it in. “Don’t worry next time, I’ll fill you up.” A finger soaked in cum makes its way back inside you. A small part of him is satisfied that he got you to break and now there’s a piece of him left behind.

Taglist : @rafedaddy01 @rrafeswhore @10ava01 @selfcontollover07 @akobx @starkeysbebe

[itneverendshere]

INVISIBLE STRING - r.c series (five)

pairing: pogue!rafe x sweetheart!kook reader. chapter warnings: angst

part one; part two; part three; part four

Rafe could still feel the salt air on his skin, even if he was a thousand miles away from that damn island. It sticks to him, the way the Outer Banks does. Like he could never really shake it off, no matter how fast he ran or how far he got.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not for him, not for you.

The bus rattles down the highway, windows fogged up from the heat inside, condensation mixing with the dirt. It stinks—of sweat, of old clothes, of people trying to disappear. Like him. Rafe sank deeper into his seat, arms crossed over his chest, hat pulled low so no one got a good look at him.

He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t have to do this.

They were going to ship him off like a stray dog. Get him out of sight, out of mind.

And Rafe almost did it. For you. He was this close to turning back and going along with it, just to make sure you were safe, make sure your parents didn’t take it out on you. But he knew he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t let them win. Couldn’t let them pull him out of your life just like that.

The bus jerked as it hit a pothole, snapping him back to the present. There was an old guy sitting across from him, his head lolling to one side as he snored. People getting out, getting on, moving like ghosts through the aisles. No one looked twice at him, which was exactly how he needed it. He couldn’t take risks of someone recognizing him, not yet. Not while he’s deranged mother could still ship him back wherever she wanted.

You’d think he’d be scared. Rafe didn’t have a car, a plan, not even a place to sleep that night, or the next.. But scared? At this point, he was drained. Tired of running in circles, tired of people telling him who he was, and what he should be. Tired of feeling like he didn’t belong anywhere, except maybe with you.

But that was over now.

And fucking god, he hadn’t slept since. Not a minute. Not since he left. Every time he closed his eyes, all he saw was you. Lying there in his bed, so peaceful, so damn beautiful, tucked under his arm like you always did. You looked at him that night, just before you drifted off, and smiled like everything was fine. Like you had tomorrow. Like you had forever.

But Rafe knew. He knew it was the last night he’d hold you, the last night he’d wake up next to you. And he didn’t say a fucking word. Didn’t tell you he was leaving. Didn’t tell you that he had no choice but to go. He just watched you sleep, memorized every inch of you—how your hair fell across your face, the way your hand clutched his shirt in your sleep, the way you always stole the blankets.

He could’ve woken you up. Could’ve told you he was running, that he had to leave. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Rafe just couldn’t watch your heart break. 

He glanced out the window, watching as the big trees blurred past, the town behind him fading as the distance grew. He didn’t know where he was headed. The only thing Rafe knew is that he couldn’t go back. Police would be looking for him, no doubt. Tony would get them on his case, only for the sake of keeping the money from your parents. Your dad would find another way to keep him as far away from you as possible. He’d probably already planned to shut down any chance of you hearing from Rafe, anyway. 

And your dad? He’s probably already planning to shut down any chance of you hearing from him.

Rafe shifted in his seat, pulling his hoodie tighter around him as the bus slowed down at another random stop. Somewhere off the highway, another town that looked just like the last one. The bus groaned as the doors creaked open, and a few people shuffled on. His stomach growls. Haven’t eaten since… well, he can’t remember when. But food wasn’t the priority right now. Staying off the radar for a while was. That, and trying not to think ‘bout you.

But you were all he thought about. All he could think about was you, still wrapped up in those blankets, still asleep, still not knowing it was goodbye. It was driving him out of his mind.

The bus shuddered to a stop again, and he saw a sign out the window. Lincolnville. Some small-ass town that probably only got one diner, one bar, and a bunch of people who didn’t care about strangers. Perfect.

Rafe grabbed his bag from the floor, slinging it over his shoulder as he made his way to the front. The driver gave him a half-assed nod as he stepped off the bus, gravel crunching under his boots. The air was cooler there, crisp and clean, like a different world from the sticky humidity of Kildare.

It was also quiet. Too quiet. Just the sound of the bus pulling away, leaving him behind with nothing but the clothes on his back and a couple of crumpled bills he saved up from work, in his pocket. He glanced down the road and spotted the diner. Neon lights flickering, the kind of place that was open 24/7 but never full. His stomach growled again, and he figured he might as well get something in him.

The bell over the door jingled as Rafe stepped inside, and it was exactly what he had expected. Old-school booths, sticky linoleum floors, and a waitress who looked like she had been working here since before he was born. She eyed him as he slided into a booth by the window, but didn’t say nothin’. Just grabbed a menu from the counter and plopped it in front of him.

“Coffee?” she asked, barely looking at him.

“Yeah, sure,” Rafe muttered, running a hand through his hair, after taking the hat off. “Black.”

She shuffled off, and he stared down at the menu. It was all the same greasy food he’d seen a hundred times before, but it’d do. He ordered a burger, something cheap, and leaned back in the booth, staring out at the empty street.

He thought about you again. Wondered if you were okay, safe. If you’d figured it all out by now. Maybe you did. You were the smartest person he’d ever had the pleasure of loving. The only one really. He wondered if you were still thinking about him. 

The waitress sat the coffee down in front of him, steam rising from the cup. He took a sip, the bitterness waking him up just a little. But it didn’t stop the thoughts from spiraling.

Rafe would figure it out. He always did. And maybe, one day, when the dust settled, he’d come back for you.

Time feels different out here, like it slips through his fingers faster than Rafe can keep up. But maybe that’s just how it goes when someone is trying to leave their past behind.

He ended up in a place called Huntsville. It’s about as far from the Outer Banks as he could get without leaving the South. Small town, but big enough where people mind their own business. There’s something peaceful about that—being able to disappear into the background, no one asking too many questions. Just another face in the crowd.

He got a job working at a garage off the highway. Nothing fancy, but it pays the bills. He was lucky enough to find the place when he did.

The owner, Jerry, took him in because he had experience working on engines back home, thanks to his old boss’s obsession with boats and making him learn how to fix them. Jerry didn’t ask much, just showed Rafe what needed fixing and let him do his thing. He’s got a gruff way about him, but he’s fair. Sometimes, Rafe thinks he knows he’s running from something.

Most days, it’s just him and the smell of oil, grease, and old tools. He doesn’t mind it. It’s simple. Clear. He fix what’s broken, and it works again. Not like life. Not like the mess he left behind.

He lives in a run-down apartment above the garage, just a one-room deal with a bed, kitchen, bathroom, and a busted TV. But it his, you know? He doesn’t owe it to anyone. No one can take it from him. He makes more than enough to keep the lights on, and keeps some food in the fridge, and that’s good enough. He never needed much to survive. 

He's changed. The baby face he used to have? It’s gone now. Got a scruff of a beard that he can’t be bothered to shave most days. His hair’s longer, falls into his eyes when he’s working. Somedays he feels like shaving the whole thing off, but it doesn’t really matter. He likes it that way—keeps people from getting a good look at him. He’s leaner too, but stronger. Not the gym kind of strong, just the kind that comes from hauling parts and wrenching on cars all day. His hands are even rougher now, calloused from hours of work.

Sometimes, Rafe catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and hardly recognizes the guy staring back. It’s weird, though. He thought if he could change what he looked like, maybe he’d stop feeling like he was still stuck in the same old skin. But that shit doesn’t go away. No matter how much dirt you pile on top of it.

Every now and then, someone’ll ask where he’s from. He usually just says “down east,” keep it vague. The southern drawl gives him away, though. He can’t help it, still talks like he never left the island. He figured it didn’t really matter here—nobody was going to connect him back to Kildare. Back to you.

And that’s the part he still hasn’t shaken.

You. No matter how far he goes, no matter how many miles there are between you, you’re still there. In the back of his mind, in the dreams he has when he’s dead tired from a long day. He tried to let you go. He had to. But it’s like something inside him refuses to forget.

He tried to visit you once. Maybe a year and a half after he left.

You’d gone off to college like you always talked about, following your dreams, doing the things you said you would. He wanted to see you, just one last time, see if you were okay. He figured maybe he’d catch you on campus, just watch from a distance, y’know? See if you were still thinking about him, if you missed me like he missed you.

He didn’t tell a soul where he was going that day. He’d packed up early, threw on an old flannel and a baseball cap, and drove for hours. His heart felt like it was going to give out the whole time, like it was trying to talk him out of it, but he didn’t listen. He couldn’t. All he could think about was seeing you again.

He had to know.

He pulled up to your campus, parked the truck a few blocks away where nobody’d notice him. It was a hell of a lot bigger than he imagined, all these buildings, students walking around like they had somewhere important to be. He felt out of place the second he stepped foot there. His boots scuffed against the concrete, and all he could think about was how different your world was from his now.

He wandered around for a bit, keeping his head low, his cap pulled down over his eyes. He didn’t want anyone seeing him, didn’t want you seeing him. Not yet. He wasn’t ready for that. 

Then he saw you.

You were sitting outside with some friends, books spread out on a table in front of you, the sun hitting your face just right. Your laugh carried over to him, soft and sweet, and jesus fucking christ, it was like a shot to his chest.

You looked... free. Like everything was finally falling into place for you. Like you didn’t have a single worry in the world.

He couldn’t move. Just stood there, hidden in the shadows of some tree, watching you. You were so beautiful it damn near took his breath away. You were smiling and it hit him then.

He’d been holding onto this idea of you—of who you were when you were together—but maybe that wasn’t you anymore. You’d moved on. You had a life now, one that didn’t have space for a guy like him.

You were really doing what you always said you’d do. Living your dreams. Being somebody.

He thought about what would happen if he stepped out from behind that tree, if you saw him. You’d probably cry, maybe even run up to him, throw your arms around him like old times. But then what?

He knew you. Knew how you were. You’d ask him where he’d been, what happened, and before he knew it, you’d be trying to figure out how to fix everything for him. That’s who you were. You’d sacrifice everything, drop all the shit you’d been working so hard for, just because you thought you could save him.

He couldn’t let you do that.

So he stood there, taking it all in—how happy you looked, how light you seemed without him. It hurt like hell, but a part of him was relieved too. You were okay. Better than okay.

You were doing fine without him. He could live with that.

He drove back to Huntsville that night, the road ahead of him hazy with tears he refused to let fall. By the time he got back, it was late, the town quiet, the lights in the garage flickering like they always did.

Rafe parked the truck, and just sat there.

He hadn’t seen you since. Never tried again. You were better off without him. Shit, maybe that’s what he needed to believe to keep going. Because if he didn’t, if he let himself think about how good it felt to see you again, even from a distance, he’d never be able to stay away.

And hell, maybe that’s why he’s been stuck here, never really able to shake it. Even now, when he closes his eyes at night, he thinks about what it would’ve been like if he’d stayed. If he’d found some way to fight instead of run. But he was too scared.

Scared that you’d grown to hate him for what he did. 

He tried to move on. There’ve been other women. Just passing flings, nothing serious. They come and go, and none of them stick around long enough to really matter. Not that Rafe ever let them. It’s easier that way—keeping things light, keeping things simple. But every time he looks at one of them, he’s thinking about you. Every time they smile at him, he’s thinking about your pretty grin, about the way your eyes lit up when you two were alone, just you and him, like the world didn’t exist outside of those walls.

But he knows he can’t get that back. Fuck, maybe he doesn’t deserve to. He left. He ran. And that’s on him. He didn’t tell you, didn’t give you a chance to follow him.

The morning is already sweltering by the time Rafe gets to the garage. Another scorcher, sun beating down like it’s trying to fry him alive. Sweat clung to him before he even started working, so he decided to strip his shirt off, letting the heat hit his bare skin. His shoulders are broad now, tanned from long hours out in the sun, grease smeared across his chest and arms from a morning spent elbow-deep in some busted old engine. He runs a hand through his hair—it's shorter than the day before. He’d cut it himself last night and shaved the beard too.

First time in months he’d even thought about doing it. He grabs a rag, wiping the oil from his hands as he bends against the open hood of the car.

“Rafe!”

Jerry’s voice snaps him out of it, the old man waving him over from under the hood of another car. “Need a hand with this transmission. You gonna help me with this, or you gonna stand there daydreamin’?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m on it,” Rafe mutters, shaking his head and bending back over the engine, grabbing a wrench from the toolbox and heading over. The work is good for him. Keeps his mind off everything, keeps his hands busy and his head clear.

Jerry grunts, sliding further under the car on the creeper. “Pass me that ratchet, will ya?”

He grabs the tool from the bench and hands it over. “Here.”

The old man doesn’t even look up. Just keeps working as he rambles away.

“Transmission’s shot to hell, but we’ll get it runnin’ again. Always do.” He grunts again as he tightened something, then mutters to himself, “Damn thing’s been makin’ more noise than my wife at a family reunion.”

Rafe can’t help but chuckle. “Yeah, well, you tell her that, not me.”

Jerry’s laugh rumbles out from under the car, "Boy, if I told her that, I’d be sleeping in this garage for the rest of my life."

Rafe smirks as he watches him  work. Sweat trickles down his back, and he wipes his forehead with his arm. The summer heat’s brutal, like there’s no air left to breathe.

“Speaking of wives,” Jerry starts, sliding out from under the car, cleaning his hands on a dirty rag. “You ever think about it? You know, settlin’ down? Gettin' yourself a girl, maybe even kids someday?”

The question catches him off guard. He huffs out a breath, avoiding Jerry’s eyes as he fiddles with a wrench, trying to act like it doesn’t mean much to him. “Nah, not really.”

The older man raises an eyebrow, giving him one of those looks like he’s not buying it.

“Don’t gimme that. Every time we go down to Smitty’s for a drink, you start lookin’ all mopey. Especially after a couple beers. Start talkin’ about this girl you left behind.”

He tenses. He doesn’t like where this is going, and he sure as hell doesn’t want to talk about you. Not here. Not now. He sets the wrench down with a clink and leans against the car, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “That was a long time ago.”

“Maybe.” Jerry shrugs, grabbing a cigarette from his shirt pocket and lighting it up. “But from the way you talk about her, she still rattlin’ around in that head of yours.”

Rafe stays quiet, staring at the oil-stained floor, the cigarette smoke swirling in the humid air. He can’t deny it. You’re always there, no matter how far he runs, no matter how hard he tries to forget.

Jerry takes a long drag from his cigarette, exhaling slow, like he’s thinking about something “Look, I ain’t tryin’ to pry, but you ever think about goin’ back? Maybe fixin' things with her?”

He snorts, shaking his head. “Nah, she’s better off without me. She’s got a whole life now. College, friends, probably some new guy too.” His voice sounds bitter, even to him, but he can’t help it. “No reason for me to go screwin’ that up.”

“Maybe. But from the way you talk, sounds like she was pretty important to you. And if she was, maybe you oughta stop runnin' and try to figure out if there’s still somethin’ there.”

It’s not that simple. It’s never that simple. He left for a reason. 

“Besides,” Jerry continues, a little grin tugging at his lips. “I ain’t never heard you talk about another girl the way you talk about her.”

Rafe shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t talk about her.”

“Oh, you do,” Jerry chuckles, flicking his cigarette butt onto the ground. “You just don’t realize it. Especially when you’re a few beers deep. Start mumblin’ about ‘the girl.’ Always ‘the girl.’ Like there ain’t no other one that ever mattered.”

He’s never meant to say anything. Those nights at the bar, when the drinks start flowing and the memories start flooding back, he tries to keep a lid on it. But sometimes, it slips out. And it’s always you.

He pushes off the car, grabbing the ratchet again, trying to ignore the mess of feelings inside him. “That’s just the way it is.”

Jerry nods, but there’s a knowing look in his eyes. “Well, you do what you gotta do. Just don’t wait too long. Life’s funny like that—if you don’t grab what you want when you have the chance, sometimes it’s gone before you know it.”

He knows the old man’s right, but what the hell’s he supposed to do?

Show up at your door, after all this time, after all the silence, and what—ask you to throw it all away for him? For a guy who ran at the first sign of trouble?

They work in comfortable silence for a bit, the hum of the fans and the clang of tools filling the space. He likes it better this way.  But then the sound of tires crunching on gravel gets his attention. A car pulls up outside, engine smooth as silk. Not the usual beat-up trucks or clunkers they got in this place.

Jerry’s voice is muffled, back under the car. “Go check that out. Might be my 4 o’clock appointment.”

He stands, stepping over some scattered tools as he makes his way toward the open garage door. “Yeah, I’m on it.”

As he gets outside, the sun hits him full force again, baking his skin. He squints against the glare, but his eyes are already on the car parked just outside.

“Damn,” he whistles, low under his breath.

It's nice. Real nice. Some high-end, foreign model he didn’t see around these parts. Glossy black paint, chrome accents. Clean, like it’d just rolled off the lot. Whoever owns it has money. More than anyone he has ever known in this town.

He steps closer, his eyes running over the curves of the car. He can almost feel the engine purrin’ from where he stands. He hasn’t worked on a car like this in a long time, not since—

But before he can finish the thought, he hears a voice.

“Uh, excuse me?”

It’s soft, hesitant. 

Wait a fucking minute.

His body moves before he can think about it, and when he finally locks eyes with the person standing a few feet away, he nearly passes out on the spot.

He must be hallucinating.

It’s you.

[mintyys-blog]

I wanted to ask if you could pls do a blue diamond or garnet like reader for main mark and the variants. Im in love with your writing and steven universe

HEADCANON | mark variants with garnet/blue diamond! reader

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST 2 | WARNINGS: ooc, dark themes?

MAIN MARK + GARNET! READER

The warehouse had long since emptied out. Blood, thick and half-dried, painted the concrete floors in haphazard splatters. Light filtered in through shattered skylights, dusty and golden, illuminating the wreckage of a fight that had been over for hours.

Mark sat on the edge of a loading dock, elbows on his knees, knuckles scraped raw. He wasn’t breathing hard anymore, but his eyes still trembled like he hadn’t stopped running inside his own head.

You approached from the far end of the warehouse, each footstep quiet but steady. There was a rhythm to the way you moved—measured, assured, like the universe itself might pause to keep time with you.

You didn’t ask if he was okay. You never did. You didn’t offer him comfort wrapped in lies or false hope. Instead, you sat beside him, your posture as still and grounded as a statue, as if your presence alone was a promise: I’m here. I won’t move.

Mark didn’t look at you. Not right away.

“I didn’t want to kill him,” he said after a long silence. His voice cracked—just a little. “But he wouldn’t stop.”

You nodded once. No judgment. Just acknowledgment.

“I’ve done this a hundred times now. And I still feel sick every damn time. Isn’t that supposed to stop?”

You turned your head toward him. Your voice, when it came, was low and unhurried.

“If it stops… that’s when you should worry.”

His laugh was bitter, but short-lived. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

“I know what needs to be heard,” you replied. “Even when you don’t want to hear it.”

He finally looked at you. In your eyes, he saw no fear. No pity. Just a reflection of himself—every version, every failure, every victory you had already seen. You bore them all without blinking.

He hated that. And he needed it more than anything.

“I think about all the futures you’ve seen,” he murmured. “All the ways I break, or fall, or become him—my dad.”

“I’ve seen them,” you said quietly. “And I’ve also seen the ones where you don’t.” The sun had dropped lower. A shard of golden light framed your silhouette, painting you in warmth he didn’t think he deserved. “Why do you stay?” he asked. It wasn’t a plea, not exactly. Just exhaustion dressed up as curiosity.

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you reached out and rested your fingers over his—solid, grounding, still. “Because you keep choosing not to be him.” Mark’s hand turned beneath yours, hesitantly curling around your fingers. There was blood beneath his nails, but you didn’t flinch.

SINISTER MARK + BLUE DIAMOND! READER

The room was dark, save for the hum of the containment field keeping the outer wall sealed. Metal walls pulsed with dim red lighting. It wasn’t a cell, not technically. Sinister Mark had designed it himself. But the way you sat—elegant and composed on the stone bench, hands folded in your lap like a queen before her mourning court—made him feel caged.

He stood just far enough away that he could watch without being noticed. Or so he thought.

“You’re here again,” you said, your voice like slow-moving water, soft but commanding. “You always return when someone cries.”

Mark stepped forward, the sharp lines of his black and red suit reflecting cold light. His eyes, cruel in every other context, were oddly curious when they settled on you. Like a child poking at something fragile just to see what would happen.

“You always cry,” he answered.

A small, knowing smile ghosted across your lips, but it held no amusement. “And you always want to know why.”

He circled you slowly, like a lion with too much time on his hands. You didn’t watch him. You didn’t need to. Your presence was heavy, like the gravity of a dying star. Even the air changed around you when your sorrow deepened.

“You could level cities,” he said. “Flood the skies, drown the earth. Your grief could kill a thousand men.”

“I know.”

“Then why don’t you?”

You turned your head, the weight of your gaze falling upon him like a velvet shroud. “Because they are already dying,” you whispered. “What use is vengeance on a world already bleeding?”

Something twitched in his expression. Not quite anger. Not quite empathy. Confusion, perhaps. Frustration.

“You’re lying,” he accused. “You’re pretending your sorrow is strength. But it’s a chain. You want to be broken. You like it.”

“And you want to break me because you don’t know what to do with your own pain,” you replied softly, cutting him with kindness he didn’t understand.

That stopped him.

He didn’t flinch—Sinister Mark didn’t flinch—but the air thickened between you. He could feel the emotion radiating off you like heat from smoldering coals. It was more than sadness. It was centuries of quiet mourning layered into something beautiful and terrifying. He wanted to hate it. He needed to.

“You grieve for people who would never grieve for you,” he said, stepping closer. “You cry for monsters. The most ugliest kind.”

“I cry for what they could have been. What you could have been.” He knelt before you, then—mocking at first, until he wasn’t. Until he was just tired. He stared into your eyes and whispered, “Why does it hurt more when you’re sad than when they scream?”

You reached out, your hand hovering just over his cheek but never touching. “Because when I weep… you finally feel human.” His breath caught. For a moment, he hated you more than anyone else he had ever known. And for that same moment, he wanted nothing more than to stay.

OMNI MARK + GARNET! READER

The moon hung low over Earth, casting silver light across the Viltrumite base suspended in orbit. Inside, silence ruled—a cold, artificial kind of stillness that came from power, not peace.

Omni Mark stood with arms crossed behind his back, his cape trailing like blood across the polished floor. The stars shimmered outside the observation deck, but he wasn’t looking at them.

He was watching you.

You stood as if you belonged there—solid, still, a pillar carved out of time itself. The shadows curled around you but never consumed you. Your face betrayed nothing, your posture straight, unmoved by the weight of his gaze or the threat of what he was capable of.

“You’re not afraid of me,” he said.

It wasn’t a question. It was a challenge. “I’m not,” you agreed, your voice even and calm. “You don’t frighten me.”

He turned fully to face you then, expression unreadable. “I’ve torn planets in half. I’ve left suns to burn out and watched life die without blinking. And you—” his eyes narrowed—“stand there as if none of it matters.”

You didn’t look away. “It matters. But fear is a choice I made long before I met you.”

He stepped closer, slow and deliberate. “I know what you are. I’ve read the reports. Future sight. Emotional fusion. Strength nearly on par with mine. You should be more—angrier, louder, desperate to stop me.”

“I’ve already seen what happens if I try to stop you.”

His lips curled slightly. “And what happens?”

“You kill me,” you said. “Easily. Brutally. The floor stains red, and you don’t flinch.”

That didn’t shake him. But what came next did. “And I’ve seen what happens if I don’t fight you. If I stay.”

A pause. Then: “And?” You took a single step forward. “You break.” Mark’s jaw clenched.

“In one future,” you continued, quiet but unrelenting, “you keep winning until you’re alone. No voices left but your own. You sit on a throne of corpses, and there’s no one to tell you the truth. No one left who dares.”

“And in the other?”

“In the other,” you said, “you learn to listen. You look at what you’ve done—not with pride, not with regret, but with understanding. You break, and then… you change.”

He laughed—sharp and hollow. “You think I want to change?”

“No,” you replied. “You want control. You want order. But deep down, under all that weight and fire… you want someone who sees you and doesn’t run.”

You stopped a breath away from him now. He didn’t move. Didn’t dare. “I don’t run,” you said. “Even when I should.”

His voice was low, almost reverent. “And what if I kill you anyway?”

“Then I’ll die knowing I told the truth.”

Silence stretched between you like a taut wire. He hated how steady your heartbeat remained—how still your face was even as he considered vaporizing you on the spot. But he didn’t.

Instead, he stepped back. “You’ve seen my future,” he said. “I’ve seen many,” you replied. His eyes locked onto yours. “Then why do I feel like I’ve finally stepped into yours?” You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to.

MOHAWK MARK + BLUE DIAMOND! READER

The sky above the battlefield still burned, streaked with fire and falling debris. Ash floated like snow, soft and silent, in the aftermath of another senseless slaughter.

Mohawk Mark stood at the center of the ruin, blood drying on his gloves, his breathing steady. He looked victorious—shoulders back, posture loose, satisfied with the devastation. Bodies lay scattered behind him like forgotten tools, none worth mourning in his eyes.

And yet… you knelt.

You always did.

At the edge of the wreckage, your robes dusted in soot and singed at the hems, you folded yourself beside a fallen soldier whose name you didn’t know. Your head bowed, your fingers brushed the man’s forehead, closing his eyes with a reverence that made Mark grit his teeth.

He stalked toward you with the same swagger he carried into battle. His boots crunched over bones and metal, but you didn’t flinch. You were too wrapped in grief—too far away in the ocean of it.

“I told you not to follow me,” he said. “This isn’t your place.”

You looked up slowly, your eyes wet but calm. “Isn’t it?”

His scowl deepened. “What’s the point of this? He’s dead. They’re all dead. You crying over them isn’t going to change that.”

“I know,” you said.

“You always know. That’s the problem.”

He crouched beside you now, eyes sharp with disdain—and something else. Fascination. His tone was mocking, but quieter. “You’re too delicate for this. You shouldn’t be here.”

“I shouldn’t have to be.”

Your answer was soft. Unapologetic.

He leaned closer, testing your reaction like a child pushing against something breakable. “You wear your sadness like armor. But you’re not a warrior.”

“I don’t need to be.”

“Then what are you?” he demanded. “Some saint? Some cosmic therapist for the war-torn? Is that what you think you are?” You finally turned your full gaze on him.

And Mark—vicious, reckless, blood-hungry—felt his breath hitch.

“I am what’s left after people like you are finished,” you whispered. “I’m the silence that follows screaming. The sorrow no one else wants to feel. The one who stays to remember when everyone else forgets.” Your power lingered in the air like a low hum, subtle but endless. A pressure behind the eyes, a heaviness in the chest. His smirk faltered.

“I’ve seen your mind,” you continued. “You kill because it makes you feel alive. You mock sorrow because it reminds you what you lost.”

“I haven’t lost anything,” he growled.

“Not yet,” you said.

Silence.

Then: “You think that makes you strong? Weeping for people who would’ve slit your throat five minutes ago?”

“I don’t weep for what they were,” you said, rising to your feet with slow grace. “I weep for what they could’ve been. What you still could be.”

Your presence towered over him—not physically, but spiritually. Regal, tragic, unbreakable. And it infuriated him. It pulled at something he didn’t want to name. “You pity me,” he spat.

“No,” you said, turning away. “I grieve for you.” You walked off into the ash. And for the first time since his first kill, Mark didn’t follow. He watched you go. And hated how empty the silence felt once you were gone.

PRISONER MARK + GARNET! READER

The apartment was dark except for the soft, warm glow of the bedside lamp casting faint shadows on the walls. The night outside was quiet, the city just a hum beneath the weight of silence. Mark lay in bed, his back against the cool sheets, but his eyes were wide open. He hadn’t meant to stay awake. It was becoming more frequent, though—these restless nights that refused to let him slip into the darkness of sleep.

Beside him, you slept soundly, your breathing deep and even. It was a comfort, in a way, knowing that you had found peace even when the world seemed to spin out of control. Yet, despite the tranquility, he couldn’t shake the restlessness gnawing at him.

He turned his head toward you, his eyes tracing the curve of your profile in the dim light. There was something steady about the way you slept, something grounded. You were the calm to his storm, and it was easy to forget that even you had your own weight to carry.

As the minutes stretched on, Mark found his gaze drifting from your form to the clock, to the stillness in the room, to the faint sound of your steady breathing. He felt the pull of something unsaid between you—something heavy, but quiet, like a storm waiting to break.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

Carefully, he shifted, easing himself out of bed. The sheets rustled gently as he stood, walking across the room with quiet steps, trying not to disturb the peace that seemed so fragile in the air.

But as he passed by the doorway, his eyes landed on you again.

You hadn’t moved.

You were still there, but not there. The soft rise and fall of your chest, the calm expression on your face—you seemed at peace, but something in the air told him otherwise. He lingered for a moment, watching you. His instincts, sharp and practiced, told him something wasn’t quite right.

He couldn’t help it—he crossed back to the bed and leaned down, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re not sleeping.”

Your eyes fluttered open, slow and deliberate, but not startled. You always seemed to know when he was awake, even when you were in a deep sleep. You didn’t look surprised to see him beside you again, didn’t sit up or ask him why he was watching you.

Instead, you just blinked and turned your head toward him, your gaze steady.

“I don’t need to,” you replied, your voice as calm as ever, filled with that quiet certainty that was so you. “I’m not tired yet.”

Mark didn’t answer right away. He wasn’t sure how to explain it—how the weight of the night had felt too heavy, too oppressive, now that he was so close to it. There was something about you, about how you held yourself, that made it impossible for him to ignore.

“You need rest,” he said after a long pause, his voice unsteady despite the firm words. “We both do.”

“I will rest when I need to,” you replied, your voice still calm. “But not yet.”

Mark tilted his head, confused but not frustrated. You never got frustrated. You always knew, always held that composed air about you, like you could see the outcome of any situation, even the ones where he felt lost. He admired that, in a way. But tonight, tonight he was tired, not physically, but emotionally, mentally. The weight of everything was finally hitting him, and he felt it pressing in, an ache he couldn’t shake.

“Why are you awake?” he asked quietly, his gaze softening as he sat on the edge of the bed beside you. His voice was gentler now, as if he were asking a question he didn’t really want to ask, but couldn’t hold back anymore.

You didn’t move for a long moment. But then, in the silence, you finally spoke.

“Because sometimes, I need to be awake to see. To feel where things are going.”

Mark’s brow furrowed, but you placed a hand on his arm, the touch calm and steady.

“I know you think I don’t need sleep, that I’m unaffected. But I need to stay awake for both of us—for you, when you can’t sleep, and for me when I feel like I’m losing my way.” Your voice softened, even further now, like a gentle breeze. “I watch the future unfold, and sometimes… it’s easier to be awake than to sleep through it.”

He felt something shift in his chest then, an ache that was deeper than any physical wound he had ever known. There was a quiet burden you carried, one that you never spoke about. You were always the constant—never wavering, always steady. But tonight, he saw the cracks beneath that surface, the weight of your role that you never let anyone see.

“I don’t know how you do it,” he whispered.

“You don’t have to,” you replied, your voice soft but sure. “But I will always be here, Mark. Even when you can’t sleep, even when you can’t keep running anymore.”

He leaned in slightly, his hand brushing yours, hesitating for a moment before closing the gap between you. His fingers rested gently on yours, the warmth of your touch grounding him. It was simple, this connection, but in that moment, it felt like the most honest thing he had ever known.

VILTRUMITE MARK + BLUE DIAMOND! READER

The silence between them was thick, like a palpable thing that filled the room with weight. Mark stood by the observation window, staring out at the stars, his posture rigid, his expression unreadable. The cold expanse of space stretched out before him, endless and uncaring, a reflection of everything he had become.

The Viltrumite empire had molded him into a weapon, a tool. Emotions had no place in his world—only strength, only purpose. He had been trained to suppress every weakness, to ignore anything that might make him falter. And yet, there was a part of him, buried deep down, that longed for something more. Something different. He didn’t know how to feel about that.

Across the room, you sat on the edge of the bed, your figure draped in soft, flowing robes, the gentle glow of your presence filling the space with a warmth that felt foreign to him. You were quiet, your eyes cast downward, as though lost in thought. The contrast between you and him was striking. He was stone—unmovable, hardened by years of combat, war, and conquest. You, however, were something else entirely. Softness, vulnerability, a tender sadness that radiated from you in waves.

Mark’s gaze shifted from the stars to you. He noticed how still you were, how you hadn’t moved in what felt like hours. It was unusual. You were always so full of quiet strength, yet tonight, something about you seemed… off. He wasn’t sure what it was. He couldn’t place it, but something about the way you held yourself told him you were breaking, little by little.

He didn’t know how to fix it, how to reach you. But he didn’t have to. Not tonight.

Without a word, you stood and walked toward him, your steps light but deliberate. Mark didn’t move, didn’t speak. He couldn’t. There was no need.

You reached him, standing in front of him for a moment, your gaze lifting to meet his. There was a vulnerability in your eyes now—something he wasn’t used to seeing. It felt raw, fragile, and it unsettled him. But before he could say anything, before he could try to piece together what was happening, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him.

Mark stiffened in surprise, his body rigid against the unexpected touch. You pressed your forehead against his chest, your breath shaky, and it took a moment for him to process what was happening. You weren’t trying to comfort him—you were seeking comfort from him.

It was strange, and yet… not. His heart clenched in a way he didn’t understand.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t mean to burden you. I just… I can’t help it. I feel everything. All the time.”

Mark stood frozen, his hands hanging by his sides. He wasn’t used to this. Emotions had always been foreign to him—especially emotions like this. He had been raised to lead with logic, to dominate, to crush everything in his path. And yet, here you were, trembling in his arms, your tears soaking through his uniform.

It wasn’t just your sadness that unsettled him. It was the way your emotions seemed to reach inside him, affecting him in ways he hadn’t expected. His eyes narrowed as he looked down at you, his chest tightening, not with sadness, but with something else.

You sniffled against his chest, and for a brief moment, Mark considered pulling away. He didn’t know how to help you, how to fix this feeling inside you. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Something in him stopped him from retreating, from shutting you out. Your tears… they were like a silent storm, washing over him, and in their wake, something shifted within him. Something he couldn’t ignore.

He clenched his fists at his sides, fighting the urge to look away. His breath was steady, but his heart was racing—unfamiliar, untamed.

“I’m not like you,” he said, his voice rough and distant, like he was trying to convince himself more than you. “I don’t feel… the way you do. I don’t understand this.”

“I know,” you whispered. “I don’t expect you to.”

You didn’t pull away, and neither did he. Your presence was gentle, unyielding, even as your tears continued to fall. Your emotions—so vulnerable, so unguarded—seeped into him like a quiet flood, tugging at something deep inside him. His mind screamed at him to stay stoic, to remain unaffected. But in the face of your vulnerability, in the weight of your grief, he couldn’t shut it out.

He inhaled sharply, his eyes narrowing, his jaw clenching. “You don’t have to do this,” he muttered, his voice barely a whisper.

“I do,” you replied softly, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “I need to let it out. And I need you to know that I trust you, even when I’m breaking.”

Mark’s heart thudded painfully against his chest. There was something about those words—something that cut deeper than any wound he had ever received. His hands, which had been at his sides, now hovered uncertainly. He didn’t know what to do. He had never known what to do with tenderness.

You reached up, placing your hands over his, and even though your fingers were trembling, you held onto him. “I’m sorry, Mark. I just… I feel everything. And I’m scared.”

You weren’t afraid of him, he realized. You were afraid of everything else. The weight of the universe. The crushing loneliness that came with being the one who had to carry it all.

For a long moment, Mark stood there, his gaze fixed on yours. You were a stark contrast to him—vulnerable, raw, unafraid to show your emotions. He had never known someone like you before, and it scared him. But as the moments stretched on, he found himself not wanting to pull away.

He couldn’t fix you. He couldn’t make you feel better. But maybe, just maybe, for once, he didn’t need to fix anything.

Instead, his hands slowly wrapped around you, pulling you closer, his embrace firm but careful. You were the one who was broken tonight, but he didn’t have to be. He wouldn’t fix you. He wouldn’t try to fix you.

But he could hold you.

And for now, that was enough.

[cutielando]

against all odds | rafe cameron

synopsis: in which Rafe doesn't care about what other people have to say about your relationship

a/n: based on this request!

pairing: rafe cameron x pogue!reader

my masterlist

The salty breeze of the Outer Banks wrapped around you as you walked along the shoreline, your fingers intertwined with Rafe's.

The golden light of the setting sun painter the sky in hues of pink and orange, casting long shadows across the sand.

It was moments like this that made everything else - the whispers, the judgment, the glares - feel so small in comparison.

"You're quiet" Rafe murmured, his thumb tracing circles on the back of your hand.

"Just thinking" you said, shrugging your shoulders before looking up at him.

"About what?" he asked, his voice softer than the usual cocky drawl he carried around his friends.

You hesitated, knowing the answer wouldn't be one he would want to hear from you. But honesty had always been the foundation of your relationship, even if it sometimes made things more difficult.

"About us. About how much everyone hates our relationship" you confessed, your voice small.

Rafe's jaw clenched, and you felt his grip on your hand tighten for just a second before he exhaled slowly.

"They don't get it" he said, simple as that.

"They don't want to get it. You know what they say about me and about us" you stopped walking, forcing to stop as well and turn around to face you.

His blue eyes darkened, and you could see the storm brewing behind them.

"I don't care what they say, you know that" he said.

"But I do" you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I hear it all the damn time. From the Kooks. From the Pogues. They think I'm crazy for being with you. They think you're only using me until you get bored of me. They think this is just some kind of game to you"

Rafe let out a harsh laugh, shaking his head.

"That's bullshit" he said.

"Is it?" you studied him, searching for the answer you already knew deep down.

Rafe wasn't perfect - far from it, even. He was reckless, temperamental, some people might even call him dangerous. But he was also the boy who showed up at your house in the middle of the night at 2 am when you couldn't sleep, the boy who traced patterns on your skin like you were something fragile and precious. The boy who looked at you like you were his salvation - his entire life.

"I love you" he said suddenly, as if saying it out loud would make it more real, as if it could drown out all the noise around you.

"Rafe-" your breath hitched at his words.

"I don't care what they say about us" he cut you off. "I don't care if my friends think I'm throwing everything away. I don't care if your friends think I'm the worst mistake you've ever made. I love you, and i that makes the whole damn world hate me, then so be it" he said, a deep passion in his voice as he spoke.

Tears burned at the corner of your eyes as you took a step closer to him, pressing your palm against his chest.

His heartbeat was steady beneath your touch, grounding you in a way nothing else ever had.

"You make it sound so easy" you whispered, biting your lip at the end of your sentence to stop yourself from breaking down completely in his arms.

"It is easy. You and me, that's all that matters, baby" his hand came up to cup one of your cheeks, tilting your face to look up at him.

You wished it were that simple, you really did. Wished that love alone was enough to silence all the whispers, to erase the lines drawn between Kooks and Pogues.

But life in the Outer Banks wasn't a fairytale, and you both knew it. It was never that simple.

Still, when Rafe leaned down to kiss you, slow and deep like he was trying to etch himself into your very soul, you let yourself believe - even if it was just for a moment - that love could be enough to make the angels cry.

The waves crashed against the shore behind you, a steady rhythm that marched the pounding of your heart. Rafe pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours.

"Let them all talk. Let them say whatever they want about us. They don't know what we have, they don't understand it" he muttered, his voice soft and quiet.

You swallowed hard, nodding as you squeezed his hand tighter.

"What if it gets worse?" you asked before you could stop yourself.

His expression hardened slightly, determination flashing in his eyes.

"Then we fight harder. I'm not letting you go, Y/N" he stated.

A small, shaky breath left your lips before you managed a small smile.

"Promise?" you whispered, hope slowly starting to fill your body once again as you looked at Rafe.

He smirked, but it was softer than usual, more genuine.

"I promise" he declared, sealing the promise with a fierce kiss.

And as you stood in his embrace on the deserted beach, his arms holding you like he never wanted to let you go, you decided that maybe - just maybe - love could be enough after all.

As long as it was your love.

comments and re-blogs help us grow!

much appreciated!!

REQUEST HERE

[glossykissies]

in the mood to have a snotty nosed, thick-saliva, hot faced tantrum infront of anakin. ꒰꧞ ˃ 𛱊 ˂ ꒱ྀི

it was a long time coming, infact it had been brewing all week. you liked to remain poised around him — seeing as he seemed to keep his cool around you in that disciplined jedi way you knew too well, but as your week got harder and harder it got increasingly more challenging to keep your emotions in check.

infact, you’d even go as far as to say it had been the worst week ever, but atleast when the end of the week came, you’d have some time to recollect yourself and be taken care of by your loving boyfriend. right?

during the worst of your moods, he’s striding casually toward the door — barely having taken a moment to read your emotions and notice that you’re at your breaking point. he hadn’t sat down since he got to your apartment, ranting and raving about the council and obi wan and the likes of them. he hadn’t realised he was being, well— selfish.

“theyre calling me in for a briefing.” he places his holopad down with an exhausted sigh, rolling his shoulders in mental preparation. “i sense they’re going to send me on yet another trip to the outer rim.”

panic and fury soar through your chest so hard it makes you stumble, forcing your way toward him in the living room.

“no.” you breathe simply, following him to your hallway.

“ridiculous, i know. i just got back.” he grumbles, unhooking his cloak from the coat hanger contraption by the door. you crumple, covering your eyes with the heel of your hand, mouth turning downward into a devastated sob. this finally makes the man turn around, unravelling himself from his own thoughts to realise your overwhelming waves of negative emotion. “what’s the matter?” he steps towards you to embrace you, but you freak — smacking his chest and collapsing to the floor.

“no i’m— you can’t! you won’t! i need— you need to be here i can’t do it after this week i can’t —” you wail, releasing any sense of control over your emotions, and admittedly it felt kind of good. anakins brow frowns and his mouth sets in a straight line as he watches the tantrum unfold, your hands occasionally reaching out like you want to smack him again. he sighs, lowering himself to a squat next to you.

“you’re beside yourself. atleast let me hold you until you calm down.”

“no!” you whinge, too immersed in the tantrum to understand how embarrassed you’d be on a later date for acting like a complete youngling. in all honesty, you thought anakin would maybe scold you for all the ruckus when he’s already likely stressed too, and you thought perhaps a scolding would snap you out of it— putting things into perspective, but instead he perseveres, dodging your hands and yanking you to his chest, holding you even when you squirm.

“there. settle down.” he commands, but its gentle. you’re not yelling anymore atleast, more so just sobbing in utter despair, he even sensed confusion at your own emotions. his brows furrow in sympathy at this, rubbing your back in big circles. “baby, it’s just the way things are. i don’t have a say in the matter.” he explains, voice gentle if not a little exasperated.

you cry out at this, clutching his robes in frustration, wiping your snot into the lapel. “‘need you more than them.” you refer to war torn planets, species on deaths door, which sadistically anakin wanted to chuckle at due to how dramatic that statement was.

“you sell yourself short. you’re my strong girl, are you not?” he tilts his head, hoping to peel you away easily but you hold on. feeling you overheat, he uses a little more force to pull you off, cupping your warm, tepid cheek with a hand. you look wrecked, and he hates it.

“no.”

“i must disagree. now breathe. i wont be leaving tonight anyway.” anakin instructs and you mellow ever so slightly at this, guiltily sucking in a breath. “there you go. another big breath, that’s it. all that fuss and noise for nothing, hm?” he teases, but wipes your tears and snot affectionately with little judgement.

“i just don’t want you to go. i’m sorry.” you mutter dejectedly. anakin stares for a moment, unsure of what to say, so he scoops you onto his lap and lifts you as he stands, cuddling you like that.

“they wont keep me for too long. i’ll make sure of it.”

[4vanaa]

WHILE YOU WERE SLEEPING, rafe cameron, 21

summary: y/n left the outer banks years ago, determined to build a life far from the memories of her childhood love, rafe cameron. now a botanist, she's moved on-though a quiet part of her still clings to the past. when an event brings her back to OBX, she's forced to confront the one person she never truly forgot.

cw: none | masterlist | 20 | 22 |

The first thing you felt was warmth. The kind that made it impossible to move, the kind that made you want to stay wrapped up in it forever.

Noah’s arm was heavy around your waist, his fingers tracing absentminded circles on your skin. His heartbeat was steady beneath your ear, the rise and fall of his chest lulling you into that hazy space between sleep and wakefulness.

You sighed softly, nuzzling closer. “Morning.”

His lips pressed against the top of your head, lingering. “Morning,” he murmured, his voice low and scratchy with sleep.

For a while, you just laid there, wrapped up in quiet, in each other.

“I don’t want to get up,” you admitted.

He chuckled, tightening his hold. “Then don’t.”

You smiled against his skin, but reality crept in slowly, reminding you of the hours ahead. “Sarah texted me last night,” you said carefully.

“Mmm.” His fingers brushed up your spine, slow and lazy. “About?”

You swallowed, pressing your palm against his chest. “I have to walk with Rafe.”

His hand stilled for just a fraction of a second before he exhaled softly, his lips brushing your temple. “Okay.”

You pulled back slightly, searching his face. “You’re not… mad?”

Noah’s brows furrowed, like the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. “Y/N, it’s a wedding. It’s just a walk.”

You let out a small, nervous laugh. “Right. Just a walk.”

His fingers tipped your chin up, his dark eyes locking onto yours. “Hey,” he murmured, “I trust you.”

Her breath caught in your throat.

It wasn’t defensive. It wasn’t forced. He wasn’t saying it just to say it.

He meant it.

Something swelled in your chest, an emotion so deep it almost hurt.

“You do?” You whispered.

He smiled softly, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “Of course I do.” His voice was gentle, certain. “I know how you feel about me.”

You held his gaze for a moment, then let your lips curl into a teasing smile. “I guess I love you.”

His eyes narrowed playfully. “You guess?”

You bit back a grin, dragging your fingers down his jaw. “Yeah, I guess.”

Noah let out a dramatic sigh, rolling onto his back like he was genuinely wounded. “Wow. And here I was, thinking this was real.”

You laughed, leaning over him, your hands splaying against his chest. “Alright, alright. I love you.”

His lips twitched, eyes softening as he looked at you. “Yeah?”

You kissed him then—slow, lingering, your answer pressed into the curve of his mouth. His hands slid up your back, pulling you closer like he never wanted to let go.

When you finally pulled away, your foreheads rested together, breaths mingling in the quiet space between them.

“I love you,” you murmured again, just to make sure he knew.

His smile was immediate, effortless. “I love you more.”

For a moment, you let yourself believe that love was enough.

That no matter what came next—no matter the tension waiting just beyond this room, no matter the emotions stirring where they shouldn’t—everything would always lead you back here.

Back to Noah.

Always.

The music swelled softly, the faint hum of guests murmuring in anticipation. You stood at the entrance, smoothing the fabric of your dress as the bridal party lined up.

Then you felt it. A presence just behind you.

“You have something—”

Rafe’s voice was quiet, his fingers brushing your bare shoulder before you even registered what was happening.

Your breath hitched. You turned slightly, catching the moment he fixed the delicate strap of your dress, his fingers lingering just a second too long.

“There,” he murmured, voice lower now.

You should have stepped away. Said thanks and left it at that.

But you didn’t. You looked at him. Really looked at him. And the way he was looking back made your stomach tighten.

His gaze dragged over you slowly, deliberately—like he was memorizing the sight of you. His lips parted slightly, like he wanted to say something, but no words came.

The air between them felt charged, heavy with something unspoken.

“Rafe,” you started, your voice barely above a whisper.

Then the music changed. Your cue.

His expression flickered—something unreadable passing through it—before he offered his arm. You hesitated for half a second before slipping your hand into the crook of his elbow, your pulse thrumming.

Just as you stepped forward, he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear.

“You should’ve worn your hair up,” he murmured. “Would’ve been a shame if I had to fix that too.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs. You turned to glare at him, but he was already looking ahead, jaw set, the ghost of a smirk playing at his lips.

And then you walked.

a/n: ngl i need noah gone like yesterday 🙏

🏷️: @xoxo-ada @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @sleepiibunniiii @urbrunettebombshell @sideboobrry11 @acidfeens @marleymarleymarleymarley @hadids-world @ursogorgeous1313 @louxmcl @cyberkitty1 @pogueprincesa @drewrry @the-oracle-at-delphinitely-not

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

I'm half delirious from lack of sleep.

And I love you guys.

So please accept these smutty headcanons about what that mouth do as a token of my appreciation.

This is a direct result of an anon ask reminding me about a previous mini-headcanon thing and me being completely unable to get it out of my head.

And maybe also a little because of that little tongue thing that Peter keeps doing like sir if you do not put that back in your mouth this fcking instant—

Going Down

Zoro, Sanji, Shanks, Buggy, Crocodile, Mihawk (OPLA or anime) x AFAB!Reader,

Absolutely shamless NSFW smut

♫♬Me and the Devil— The Fratellis♬♫

Call my name when the line goes dead

I'll be fire, I'll be rain, I'll be joy I'll be dread

Zoro

Goes down on you like he's been lost in a desert and you're the only source of water he's seen in weeks.

A little clumsy, but more than makes up for it in enthusiasm.

Genuinely wants to make you feel good but gets so turned on by your moaning that it's hard to focus.

His hands wrapped so tight around your hips that its almost painful, his breathing just as shallow and uneven as yours.

Letting out a little growl of satisfaction as he brings you over the edge, so hard from building you up that he has to have you right now.

Sanji

Oh so slow and tender, worshiping every last inch of your folds.

Brushing soft little kisses against your thighs and outer lips, caressing your stomach, lacing his fingers with yours.

Massaging your hips and your thighs and slowly as his tongue brushes back and forth across your clit, letting out quiet moans to match yours.

Slowly taking you to the pinnacle of physical pleasure, making sure you enjoy every last segond of the slow build-up.

Expelling a slow sigh when you cum, moving his tongue in rhythm with your throbbing clit, drawing out your pleasure for as long as possible.

Shanks

Complete and utter tease, master of edging.

Pulling back and smirking at you every time you get close, commenting about how adorable you are when you're oh so desperate.

Revelling in how you push your hips up and tug at his hair, how you whine and beg for more.

Ever so lightly flicking the tip of his tongue against your clit when you're right at the edge and chuckling at how you whine and writhe under him.

Laying his cheek against your thigh, gazing up to watch you struggle to breathe as he slowly circles a finger around your entrance.

Giving a low purr and smirking when he finally lets you slip over the edge, rubbing his hand across your breasts, squeezing your ass...

...But not letting up, continuing with the same slow and teasing pace after your orgasm until you're building toward another. And another.

Won't stop unless you outright tell him to, honestly; he's having too much fun making you squirm.

Buggy

Kinky, kinky. No point in having detatchable limbs if you don't know how to use them.

Hands all over you the whole time, smacking your ass, squeezing your tits together, finger-fucking you while he worships you with his mouth.

Might even detatch his dick and let you use it as a toy, if he's feeling generous.

Pulling back every so often to rub your clit and talk dirty, to tell you in detail what he plans on doing to you.

But making damned sure to lower his head back down before you cum so he can feel your clit throbbing in his mouth and your pussy clench around his tongue.

Sir Crocodile

Doesn't waste a single second teasing you, just dives right in, intent on making you scream.

His hook wrapped around your waist, sucking your clit into his mouth, pushing a finger inside to rub against your g-spot.

Pulling back now and then to tell you what a good little slut you are, but never quite long enough to let you catch your breath.

Feeling you squirm in his grip, hearing you moan and cry out his name over and over, is really the ultimate ego trip.

It's doubtful he's going to stop after getting you off once unless he's incredibly wound up. It's far too fun having you at his mercy.

Mihawk

Full, unrelenting focus, turning you into an absolute mess within seconds.

Kowing exactly what you like, exactly what makes your eyes roll back and your soul leave your body.

Keeping his gaze turned up to yours the entire time, keeping a steady and unrelenting pace.

Holding your hips down with one to keep you from grinding against his tongue, controlling every moment of your building pleasure.

Bringing his other hand up to brush across your nipples, to grasp your hair and make sure you can't look away for even a moment.

Making sure you're incapable of forming a single coherent word or phrase or thought, that you're unable to do more than moan incoherently or stammer out his name, that you're barely even able to breathe.

May not stop until you outright pass out from oxygen deprivation, and he's definitely going to tease you about it afterwards if you do.

[peachdues]

IN THE NETHERWOOD

2.5 NSFW ONESHOT ♤ KINKTOBER 2023

RED RIDING HOOD!READER X WEREWOLF!SANEMI

This is an absolutely filthy nasty smut scene that I have decided to cut from Part III of In the Netherwood. Part III is going to be long, so this is ultimately for the best, but I shan’t deprive you heathens of your monsterfucking tendencies.

Part III is still in the works but will feature Red Riding Hood!Reader fucking Sanemi in his full Wolf form.

CW: explicit sexual content • MDNI • knotting/mating • breeding • milking • Reader begs Sanemi to knock her up • possessive Sanemi • heat/discussions of heat

“Genya, fuck off,” Sanemi snarled, his arm tightening possessively around your waist.

You whipped your head toward the Huntsman, ready to give him the good verbal lashing he apparently needed, but the young boy smiled sheepishly.

“Sorry, Aniki,” Genya rubbed the back of his neck. “I forgot.” 

“Don’t apologize,” you chastised the boy, gently. “It isn’t your fault your brother has lost all sense of decorum.” 

Genya flushed. “N-no, it’s not,” he stammered in agreement. “B-but you see — well, when a wolf takes a mate…”

The younger boy’s blush deepened to a near purple, his mouth opening and closing like a fish’s as he struggled to find the appropriate words.

Growling slightly under his breath, though more so in annoyance, Sanemi shifted himself behind you, pressing his hips against your backside. You felt his length, hard and throbbing against his breeches, as it dug sharply into your backside. 

Your mate’s silent explanation made your cheeks warm, and you wondered whether your blush matched Genya’s.  “Oh.” you managed to choke. 

Genya rocked awkwardly back on his feet. “I’ll come by later, Aniki,” he croaked. “Y/N,” he added, nodding at you though still unable to meet your eyes. 

The boy turned sharply on his heel, half-stumbling out of the small cottage in his haste to get away, proverbial tail tucked between his legs. 

The door had barely banged shut before Sanemi had you pressed up against the wall, hauling you up so that your legs had to wrap around his waist. 

“I shall explain in full later,” he promised, fingers ripping the cord out of your corset so he could yank it down along with your blouse, exposing your breasts. “But right now I need to claim.” 

“S-sure,” you stuttered, gasping as the Huntsman’s hot mouth closed around one of your mounds, his hands working to shove your skirts out of the way. One arm remained under your backside, keeping you propped up against the wall, as the other moved to shove his breeches just far enough down his hips to free his cock, already standing taut and ready to fill you. 

Sanemi did not warn you before plunging his rigid length deep into your walls, though you were surprised at how readily you took him, your cunt sucking him right in as though it too, had been waiting for him to remind you exactly whose mark you bore on your skin.

The Wolf nudged your head to the side with his nose so he could bury his face into the side of your neck, inhaling deeply. With a low growl, his tongue flicked out and caressed the crescent-shaped mating mark at the juncture between your neck and shoulder before he nipped lightly at your skin. 

“Mine,” he snarled. “You’re mine.” 

Despite being pinned against the wall by his hips, you managed to spread your thighs wider, opening yourself up further to allow Sanemi to pound into you without restraint, but he pulled away. 

You cried out at the sudden, cold emptiness you felt as Sanemi pulled out of you, leaving your core wildly clenching around nothing. The Huntsman soothed you with hot kisses against your throat, his thumbs rubbing circles into your outer thighs as he pivoted you away from the wall. 

Sanemi crossed the small room easily, making quick work in removing you of your skirts and corset. Once the last of your attire had been discarded upon the floor, he tossed you onto the delightfully plush bed standing against the middle of the wall, his gaze locked on the way your breasts bounced as you settled. 

Eyes lifting back to meet yours, he wrapped one hand around the base of his engorged length and pumped, the other shoving the waistband of his breeches down his hips and legs until he could kick them off. 

“On your knees.”

With excitement fluttering in your stomach, you complied, rolling to your front and balancing your weight on your spread knees, holding your rear high up in the air.

You looked over your shoulder back at your mate, eyes too wide and too innocent as you wiggled your hips at him in invitation. 

Despite having only been intimate with him for a few days, you already had a good read on what made the Wolf tick. 

And the best way was this — to beg for more while offering yourself up in total submission.

He may have been the Wolf, but you held his leash; and you knew exactly how to pull it to get what you wanted. Right then, you wanted him to fuck and fill you until your brain went numb, and your lower belly bloated with him — just like it had in the cave den. 

“Beautiful,” Sanemi crouched behind you, breathing in the scent of your musk. You moaned loudly as the Wolf’s tongue flattened against your leaking folds and dragged up, gathering your pleasure into his mouth.

His hands ran down the backs of your thighs, nails dragging lightly along your skin. “As much as I love when you hold yourself up high for me, I think I want try something new.” He purred, running his hot mouth up your spine. “Do you think you can handle that, Lamb?” 

You ground your hips against the feathery bed, nodding furiously. “Yes, Wolf. I can take whatever it is you give me.” 

“Sweet little thing,” Sanemi praised, his hands easing you flat against his — your — bed. “You’re such a good Lamb, always eager to take care of her Wolf.”

“Her mate,” you corrected, moaning into the blanket. 

Sanemi’s hands smoothed up the inside of your thighs as he pushed your legs wider apart, guiding them into a wide “v” spread across the bed.

 “My apologies, Lamb,” his fingers wound in your hair and pulled your head back, the Huntsman leaning over top you to graze his lips against yours, your neck straining and your throat utterly exposed. “You take such good care of your mate.” 

Sanemi released the hold he had on your hair, allowing your head to fall forward against the blankets. 

You felt him press his engorged tip flush against your entrance, the two of you hissing at the friction sparked as his member met your waiting, sensitive flesh. He nudged forward slightly, just past that first ring of tight muscle before stilling so he could get himself into position. 

Your legs were spread wide, but Sanemi stretched his even further, placing one knee on either side of yours where they laid flat against the bed. One muscled arm wound around your front, resting across your collarbone until his hand could grip your shoulder and the other went to wrap around your middle, his fingers digging slightly into the sensitive skin of your waist.

His torso was pressed flush against your back, every hard groove of his muscles pressing into each sensitive spot along your spine. With his teeth against your ear, Sanemi then allowed his body to relax, his weight pushing his cock in and in until the base of his groin was flat against the soft curve of your backside. 

“It is my duty as your Mate to make sure  I fill you up with pups,” his breath was hot against your ear and it made you shiver, the tremors cascading down your body going right to where you were joined, making the Wolf at your back rumble. 

“And that is a duty I take very seriously, little Lamb.”

“This position,” he grunted, rolling harder into you for emphasis. “Is said to ensure my seed takes in your womb.”

You moaned as Sanemi began to roll steadily into you, his cock so heavy and thick, you thought you could feel him in your chest. “Without your knot?” 

Sanemi laughed quietly, the darkness of the sound making you even wetter between your legs. “I don’t need my knot to fuck you full of my pups, Lamb.” He gave deep push of his hips, his cock prodding the spot inside you that made your toes curl and your mind blank. “I can fulfill that duty any time I want.”

Sanemi groaned, loudly. “But feel.”

He rolled his cock even harder and faster into you, and between the sticky taps of his heavy, full balls against your clit, you could feel the tell-tale shape of that hardened gland beginning to swell at Sanemi’s base. 

You gasped. “B-but — oh — I thought!” You choked off with another breathy sigh as the force of Sanemi’s movements made your body buck hard into the bed, the slightly stiff fabric of the quilts chafing against your peaked nipples and giving you much needed stimulation. 

Sanemi’s breath was ragged, little snarls and growls tearing from his throat in time with his deep thrusts. “Apparently my heat is not over,” he said thickly, arms tightening around you. “Not until I’ve bred you full.”

Your eyes rolled back at the term “bred.” Once upon a time, you would have balked at the idea of being treated as little more than breeding stock; you would have rebelled against it, fought it tooth and nail, even if it meant spending your life alone.

But the Wolf promising to fuck his own litter into you was different; he was your mate. You’d claimed him as much as he’d claimed you. 

And you loved him. 

And with that truth echoing in your mind, you lifted your face from where you’d buried it into the blankets. 

“Do it, Wolf — breed me!” You cried, hand flying behind you to tangle in his hair, desperate to find purchase in anything that could tether you to reality the faster your mate brought you closer to heaven. “Give me your children — your pups!“ 

A cross between a growl and a groan tore free from Sanemi’s throat, his arms almost painfully tight around you as his hips rolled faster and harder against you, his balls slapping lewdly against your soaked cunt. 

Your thighs burned as Sanemi’s weight spread them even further apart as he bore down hard against your back. The fat of your ass jiggled with every lurid, deep roll of his hips, his pace increasing as his climax drew closer. 

You thought back to the night you’d spent in the cave den; how it felt to feel him unload rope after rope of his hot, thick seed deep into your womb, so much so that it couldn’t help but drip down your thighs.

You needed it; more than anything, you needed to feel his claim over you, hot and sweet and him. 

“Sanemi, please!” You thought you might die if he didn’t fill you up, if he didn’t push that aching knot inside you to lock his hot, rich seed deep within your womb. 

You felt his teeth sink into the side of your neck, his responding growl deep and vicious. 

Your cunt seized around him with a force that made you scream as you approached the precipice of your release. “My love — please!” 

Sanemi’s eyes flew open as the words my love left your mouth, and with a snarl, he pressed you deeper against the mattress, fucking into you so hard, your breath choked out in broken, strangled gasps.

Two sharp, bruising thrusts later and the Huntsman erupted. 

With a roar, Sanemi shoved his cock as deep as it could go, the hardened member pulsing as you felt the first rush of his pleasure begin to fill you.

Your eyes rolled back into your head and your walls clenched down, keeping him still as your own climax slammed into you with dizzying force. Some choked, broken sound stuttered its way out of your throat, the corners of your mouth turning up in pleasured delirium, satisfied to finally be given what you’d so desperately begged for. 

Still lost in the rolling waves of your euphoria, you felt the hard lump of Sanemi’s knot push against your entrance. Your cunt resisted at first, too busy gripping Sanemi’s twitching length like a vice, but he persisted. With a grunt, Sanemi nudged the knot in and sighed as your walls finally gave way, allowing him to lock his cock — and the seed still spilling from him — deep inside you. 

Your hand blindly felt behind you for him, patting its way to his hip. Weakly, you pulled him harder against you, as though every ounce of his weight was not already seared into your skin as he pressed you deeper into the mattress. 

It still wasn’t close enough; you didn’t think it ever would be. 

The heavy, ragged sounds of your mutual breathing was interrupted only by the occasional soft moan from the wolf behind you as his seed continued to fill you. Eventually, your thighs began to tremble from the strain of having been spread wide, but the way Sanemi was positioned over you, knees on either side of yours, his shins pressed against the back of your calves, kept you from being able to close them. 

You whimpered into the bed, legs vibrating from the strain. 

“I know, sweetling,” Sanemi said roughly. “Just hold on a little longer.” 

A low whine escaped from your throat. “Sanemi — I can’t-“

The Wolf rolled his hips against your backside and you squealed at the slight burn of his knot tugging against your walls.

“Yes you can, Lamb,” his head dipped into the crook of your shoulder to pepper the side of your neck with wet kisses. “You can take it. You’re my mate — my girl.” 

His praise sent a flurry of butterflies rippling through your stomach and made the walls of your spent cunt flutter and clench around his aching length once more.

“Fuck,” Sanemi groaned against your skin, dragging his tongue over the back of your neck before nipping at you. “Fuck, don’t do that Lamb — not unless you want me to keep going.”

Your hips involuntarily twitched as your muscles tightened around him once more. “I can’t — ngh — help it,” you couldn’t stop the whine in your tone, but nor could you be embarrassed by it. “F-feels too good.”

Your muscles continued to spasm around the Wolf’s pulsating length, and the coil in your gut built fast.

“Y/N—“ came Sanemi’s warning growl, but it was too late.

“I-I’m!” It was all you could choke out at your cunt seized around him like a vice. Your scream of pleasure was muffled by the blanket you sucked into your mouth to quiet yourself. Your third climax of the night rocked through you with earth-shattering strength, and a gush of fluid surged forth from between your legs, soaking your groin and the bed below you. 

Behind you, Sanemi whimpered, the sound strangled and uncharacteristically high. Whether it was intentional or purely reflexive, Sanemi began canting his hips against your rear, his dwindling knot still causing your muscles to stretch and pull. 

Your muscles continued to clench and flutter around Sanemi’s length, causing you to reach yet another climax before you were hissing at the over-sensitivity between your legs. After a long while, the knot locking Sanemi within your molten heat finally eased, and the Huntsman withdrew, exhaling through clenched teeth.

The weight at your back disappeared, and you fell into the mattress, your limbs unable to hold you upright any longer. 

For a moment, there was no sound but your mutual ragged panting, as both of you sought to catch your breath. Before long, a warm, calloused hand gripped your hip and gingerly flipped you over. 

“You,” Sanemi accused shakily, though any threat in his tone was undercut by the softness of his expression. “You are an utter menace, Lamb.”

[forgingtheblade]

WOO YEAH OH YEAH CLOAK TIME BABY

i should have posted this before the beadwork one but i forgot so you’re getting it here

my primary goal with the cloak was creating something elegant and intense. i wanted it to look weighty and give it a lot of attention.

i started with a velvet upholstery fabric because it has a very particular stiffness and weight to it, and because i thought the crinkle texture it had was interesting without being overwhelming. the whole cloak is a massive half circle to create volume without it sitting too far forward on my shoulders and covering too much of the front of the costume.

the inside lining features a golden bug wing embroidery. i achieved this with couching two different weights of metallic threads. my thought process with this was that it’s the elytra—both a nod to technoplane and UHC, and a reference to how elytra in the real world are the outer shell of beetle wings!

after attaching the lining to the outside of the cloak i added a black and gold trim down the front edge. it originally had rectangular beads on it but i ended up taking those off for a cleaner look.

i also briefly toyed with the idea of sandwiching this beaded trim into the hem above the fur trim but a friend pointed it out to me that it would be really annoying to detangle the beads from the fur, and I had other hem details I wanted to add later down the line so I nixed it.

i always knew that the AE banner was going to hang from the back, but I also wanted the collar itself to be huge. I played with stuffing it or including shoulder pads under the cloak to balance out the silhouette of the cloak and the head, but I think it ended up being just fine without either of those details.

i did a LOT of handsewing on the cloak. all of the fur is hand sewn in place, as well as the trims and embroidery. my cat decided that she was obsessed with the cloak on the days i brought it home to work on in my lap. i still have to use the fur for another part of the project, but if i have enough left after that i plan to make her a cat bed using leftover fabrics.

for the clasps on the front, i knew the chain wasn’t going to be load bearing. while i’ve made cloaks like that in the past they were always made of much lighter materials. if this chain was actually holding weight, it would pull everything up into my neck and be very painful. i wanted them to be decorative, though!

i 3d modeled and printed these medallions based on the antarctic empire motif. i sanded them thoroughly and primed with plastidip before airbrushing them in gold. the “aging” was accomplished just using a drybrushed brown on top of that. for the blue, i knew i wanted to emulate the look of poured resin (which i would have just used if mine had not gone bad), which would be emulating the look of enameled metal. i ended up using clear gloss varnish mixed with a few drops of acrylic inks, to preserve translucency.

i ultimately installed a crossbody strap to actually bear the weight of this already incredibly heavy cloak.. that i still plan to add several more pieces of beaded appliqué to.

i’m very happy with how it all came together, i think the look strikes exactly the weight and ornamentation i was looking for, especially once i actually add the roses to the hem.

yay cloaks!!

[rafeandonlyrafe]

out for a run

words: 900

warnings: established relationship, catcalling, physical violence!!!, description of blood, reader kinda crazy as well as rafe lolz

“you ready?” you ask rafe as you finish tying your tennis shoes before making sure your watch is strapped tight to your wrist.

“yup.” rafe says, still leaned up against a wall, not so subtly checking you out as his eyes look up and down your body, dressed in tight fitting leggings and a sports bra.

“earth to rafe.” you wave your hand past his face as you head towards the door, taking a final sip of water before you start your run.

“yeah, yeah.” rafe jogs to catch up to you, again admiring your body, this time from the back.

you go through a quick stretching routine once outside, warming up your muscles. you walk to the end of the driveway, occasionally swinging your knee back to kick your butt and warm up your thighs. 

rafe is right by your side as you start to run, keeping pace with you, even though he could probably go faster. rafe insists it's the perfect pace for him, but you know it's just because he wants to stay by your side.

you fall into a comfortable silence. you used to like listening to music during runs, but you've come to enjoy just the sounds of the outer banks, whether it be the distant waves or dogs barking, even the cars driving past provide you a bit of interest as your feet pound against the pavement.

a car horn suddenly beeps out, causing you to look over, making sure it's not directed at you.

you twist your face in disgust when you see a guy smirking at you out the window. he even has the audacity to roll down his window and shout. “nice tits!”

rafe doesn't hesitate, turning up his pace as he sprints onto the road after the truck, but it tears away, blowing through a stop sign.

“it's okay rafe.” you reach your hands to his shoulders, legs burning slightly from the sudden stop as he rejoins you on the sidewalk. “he's just some asshole, okay?”

“im gonna find out who he is and fucking kill him.” rafe grunts out, eyes staring into the distance like his glare can cause the man pain.

“alright, you gotta run your anger out.” you shove slightly on rafes shoulders. “go faster, it's okay. just circle back to meet me.”

rafe looks at you, then back in the direction of the truck, wondering how far it's gone. hopefully it's parked somewhere close and rafe can confront the asshole.

“call me if anything happens.” rafe says, planning to just run up and look down the streets of a couple blocks before rushing back to you.

“of course.” you give him another gentle shove, and rafe takes off.

you give your legs a little stretch, shins hurting slightly before starting to jog again, heading the direction rafe went. you always switch up your route, but it doesn't matter because you're always together. you figure the best thing to do is just stay going straight.

you get back into your groove quickly, listening to the birds chirping, the wind rustling through the trees, only for it to be interrupted by a quiet thud of skin hitting skin.

you look down the side street, eyes widening when you see the same truck as earlier, the driver now splayed out on the grass, rafe standing over him. 

you turn quickly in his direction, pushing your legs as hard as they can go as rafe kneels down over the guy, fisting one hand in his shirt and pulling his other arm back to punch him again.

“okay, rafe.” you grab his elbow when he raises it up to swing again. “i think he's learned his lesson.” the guys face has turned black and blue, blood dripping from his nose onto the green grass.

rafe stands, turning to place his hands on your shoulders, blocking your view of the creep with his wide chest. “come on baby, you don’t gotta see this.”

rafe turns to spit at him before leading you back in the direction you came when the guy has the gall to speak again. 

“your ass is as nice as your tits.” the words are slurred, rafe clearly did a number on him.

rafe turns, clearly he hasn't beat him well enough if he can't shut up even when he's lying on the ground bleeding, when you stop him with a hand on the bicep.

“i got this.” you say, turning towards the man, looking down at him with disgust, sorry you have to dirty your favorite pair of running shoes with his filth as you swing your leg forward, connecting your toe with his side.

he lets out a loud groan, twisting to cover his side, but it just gives you a better angle as you muster everything you learned from playing soccer in elementary school and kick again, directly in his stomach.

“you need to learn how to treat women with respect.” you spit onto his face as well, landing on the opposite cheek that rafes had.

“you're lucky i don't let my boyfriend at you again.” the guy is sobbing into the ground now, but you're not satisfied, giving him a kick right in his crotch to finish off your point.

“come on, rafe.” you begin to walk away as he looks at you with wide eyes.

“baby-” rafe hurries after you as you start to jog, turning back down the street like nothing happened.

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @rafeyslove @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart @pradabambie @tobesolovelysstuff @alexiskirkland @rafestar @brioffthegrid @juniebugg @magicalyoura @cokepewpsii @mysticallystilinski @luvdella @aerangi @vogueprincess @auryyz @raysmayhem-72 @thestarlithideout @marvelfanfics1recs @rafesgiirl @ditzyzombiesblog @chiaraanatra @tobiaslut @winterrrnight @bejeweledreverie @drewsephrry