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jetii · 1 day ago

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Event Horizon

Chapter Twenty: Precipice

Chapter WC: 5,689

Chapter Warnings: This is a rough one, I think we all knew it was going to be rough but just reiterating, Jedi Council fuckery is afoot

A/N: We're back in the building again (emotional). This is where I flag that our girl is perhaps not the most reliable narrator, but damn if she isn't at least a little justified.

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Coruscant, 21 BBY

Anger.

It's all you can feel. It's the only thing that exists, all-consuming and burning hot, a fury that leaves you shaking. The rage is a living thing, a beast clawing at your chest, a monster tearing at your heart, threatening to swallow you whole.

You are standing on a precipice, a thin thread of sanity keeping you tethered to reality.

Your mind is a storm.

They won't listen.

They won't even look at you.

You knew it was a long shot, but still, you'd held out hope. Even now, when you're sitting in the middle of the Council chamber, staring at the faces of the men and women you once considered your family, a small part of you is whispering that it might still work.

It won't.

You can see it in their eyes. They won't even pretend to hear you. They've barely acknowledged the proof. The proof that Obi-Wan delivered personally. The proof that Rex has risked his life and career to find.

They didn't even bat an eye. It was like they'd known it was coming, like they'd been expecting it. Like it meant nothing.

But it's all you have.

Yaddle's lightsaber is clutched firmly in your hand, so tight your knuckles white and the metal bites into the flesh of your palm. Your eyes dart across the room. Each member is staring back at you, their faces blank. You're the only one standing, your legs carrying you restlessly from side to side. You can't sit still. Not with them looking at you like that. Not when they're acting like this.

Obi-Wan is seated a few feet away, his posture stiff, his gaze fixed on a spot somewhere behind your shoulder. He hasn't met your eyes since he'd shown the Council the evidence and taken his seat beside them. It was a choice, and a deliberate one. He'd made his decision. He'd chosen his side.

It shouldn't surprise you.

You'd known it would be bad. You'd expected hostility, and defensiveness, and a general lack of interest. What you hadn't expected was the silence, the looks of pity. The complete and utter disregard for Yaddle's memory.

It's as if they're only waiting for you to finish, waiting for you to walk away and accept the inevitable.

You're not going to.

"How could you?" you whisper. Your voice is hoarse, and raw, and you sound desperate, even to your own ears. "How could you just let her disappear like that? She was a Jedi Master, a member of this Council. After everything she's done, everything she's sacrificed, you're going to let her memory fade away? How can you do that? How can you do that to her?"

No one speaks. No one moves. You're the only one standing. You're the only one who cares.

The tears threaten to spill, and you blink rapidly, trying to keep them at bay. Your heart is pounding, and the air is thick with the Force, a pressure building in the back of your mind. For years, you'd been begging for a chance to make them listen. Now, it's all you can do not to scream.

"It was Dooku," you say, your voice breaking. "Count Dooku. He did this."

Still, no one moves.

You glance at Obi-Wan, and he winces, a grimace flashing across his features. You know he can feel it. The pain. The grief. It's eating away at you, devouring your soul. Your emotions are raw and volatile, and there's a crackling in your chest, a heat building inside you. You're shaking, your fists clenched, and the air around you seems to vibrate. The tight grip on your control is slipping, and a part of you doesn't care. A part of you wants to tear this room apart. To make them feel even a fraction of what you're feeling.

You can see Master Yoda watching you out of the corner of your eye, his gaze never wavering. He's the only one who hasn't looked away, and he's not moving, either. He's sitting as still as stone, his hands resting on his knees, his expression placid. If you didn't know better, you'd think he was in a trance.

You can't bring yourself to look directly at him.

"Answer me," you snap, and your head snaps around, glaring at each member of the Council in turn. "How could you do this? How could you ignore this?"

There's a long pause, and Master Yoda finally sighs, his ears drooping.

"Spoken enough, we have," he murmurs. His tone is calm, his voice low, spoken as if he were talking to a child. It's condescending. Patronizing. And it only fuels the anger. "Time it has come, for you to listen."

"Listen to what?" you snarl. "Your lies? Your excuses?"

"Yourself, young one."

The words are spoken softly, but there's a hint of sadness to them, a note of sympathy. It's enough to give you pause, the anger ebbing slightly

"What?" you snap.

"Lost in grief, you are." He closes his eyes, his lips pressing together, a crease appearing on his forehead. "Forgotten the wisdom of Master Yaddle, you have."

"I haven't forgotten anything," you hiss. "She was murdered, and—"

"The Council has decided," Master Windu cuts you off, his eyes flashing. "This matter is settled."

"Settled," you echo. Your mouth twists, and you shake your head, your brows furrowing. "No. No, it's not settled. Not until someone answers for what happened to her. Her murderer is out there, and he's still running free. We can't just sit here and do nothing."

His eyes narrow. "We are not doing nothing."

You stare at him, unable to comprehend what he's saying. You're breathing heavily, your body shaking, and it feels like your heart is going to beat out of your chest. You want to scream. You want to run. You want to throw something, or break something, or hurt something. Anything. Anything is better than this. Better than watching them look at you like this, as if they can't understand why you're upset. As if they can't comprehend why you would be so angry.

As if the fact that a member of their Order was murdered means nothing.

Obi-Wan shifts, his posture tense. His expression is pained, and his hands are clasped in front of him, his gaze fixed on a point behind your shoulder. He doesn't move, doesn't speak, and, for a brief moment, you think about reaching out through your bond. You think about demanding that he help. But, then you remember.

You remember that he chose this. You remember that he is, in fact, a part of this. A part of whatever game they're playing. A part of this lie.

The anger is replaced by hurt, and you're struck by the sudden realization that he's never been on your side. That, when it comes down to it, he's always been with them. Always. No matter how much he says he's your friend, no matter how many times he claims that he's looking out for you, it's not true. Not really. He's one of them, and he's always going to choose them. He's never going to choose you. Not now, not ever.

"Yaddle deserved better," you hiss. "She deserved justice."

"And she will get it," Master Windu says calmly. "In time."

Your eyes flash, and you grit your teeth, biting back the retort. Your fingers tighten around the hilt of her lightsaber, the metal creaking under the pressure. The pain is grounding. It's the only thing keeping you from breaking down, but you know that the moment you release the blade, the anger will take over.

You're not sure what will happen then.

"Time," you spit. "That's your answer? More time? Hasn't ten years been enough?"

"The Council has decided," Master Mundi snaps, his voice hard. "Your outbursts are a waste of time, and a distraction. I suggest you learn to control your emotions before you embarrass yourself any further."

You gape at him, your mouth hanging open, voice dying in your throat. A wave of shame washes over you, and you swallow. A distraction. That's all you are. An annoyance. A burden. Someone who needs to be controlled.

The truth stings, but it's a familiar one. You've been treated as a child, as an outsider, for most of your life. Even now, even after everything you've done, everything you've accomplished, it's still all they see. A lost, helpless, little girl.

You hate it.

"A distraction," you repeat, your voice soft. There's a hollow note to your words, a numbness that's spreading through you, and you can feel your anger dissipating, fading away into a cold, empty nothingness.

Master Mundi's gaze softens, and he lets out a sigh, his hands folding in his lap. "I didn't mean—"

"You're right," you interrupt, your eyes meeting his. You don't need him to explain. You know exactly what he meant. "You're right. This is a waste of time."

You turn and head for the door, walking briskly. You can't stay in here a moment longer. You can't look at them, or listen to them. It's too much. Too much, and not enough, and it's tearing you apart. You have to leave. You have to get out.

"Stop."

The command is firm, and it echoes in the chamber, reverberating through the Force. You stop in your tracks, your eyes closing. It's Master Yoda's voice. You can't disobey it.

"Leave, you will not," he says quietly, and there's a hint of something new in his tone, something warm and gentle and familiar. Something that sounds suspiciously like sorrow. "Your place, this is. Come back. Listen."

"My place," you murmur. The words are bitter, and they taste like ash in your mouth. You can't bring yourself to move. Your mind is screaming, and your body is frozen, your muscles locked in place. And you know that if you turn around, it will be worse.

"Yes," he confirms, his voice still low. "Your place."

You clench your jaw, and you shake your head, unable to speak. You want nothing more than to run, to get as far away from the Council as possible. From the Order. From all of it.

But, he's right. Your place is here. It's all you've ever known. And, the idea of leaving is unthinkable.

Slowly, you turn, your gaze drifting across the chamber, settling on Master Yoda. He's watching you, his expression neutral, but you can see it. The sadness. He looks tired, and old, and weary, his shoulders sagging beneath an invisible weight.

Your heart twists, and you feel a surge of empathy. You've never seen him look like that before. You've never seen him look defeated. It's unsettling, and you have no idea what to make of it.

You swallow, and take a deep breath, steeling yourself.

"Alright," you say, and your voice is calm, even. The opposite of how you feel, and yet, you find that it's not hard. Not as hard as you'd thought. Perhaps because you've spent a lifetime learning how to hide your emotions, to bury them, to bury everything. You've had a lot of practice.

The Council is quiet, and you can feel their eyes on you, but you keep your gaze fixed on Master Yoda. The two of you are locked in a silent battle, neither willing to break contact. Neither willing to admit defeat.

The silence stretches, and you shift your stance, leaning forward, your weight resting on your toes. Your hand tightens around Yaddle's lightsaber, and you take a deep breath, gathering your strength.

"Let's hear it, then," you say. Your voice is firm, and unwavering, and there's a confidence to it that surprises even you. You square your shoulders, and straighten, tilting your chin. "What is it that you need to tell me, Master Yoda?"

The corner of his mouth quirks, and his expression softens, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

"Good," he says. His ears twitch, and his gaze sweeps over you, assessing, evaluating. He gives a slight nod, seemingly satisfied with what he sees. "Better."

Your lips part, but no sound comes out. For a moment, you're not sure what to say, or if you should say anything. Then, you shake your head, and take a step forward, a scowl spreading across your face.

"Fine," you hiss. "I'll play along. I'm listening. Now, what is it? What is it that's so important? What is it that's been so difficult to tell me? Tell me, so we can get this over with."

You can feel Obi-Wan flinch, and his gaze darts to Master Windu, his expression uncertain.

"There is another matter," Master Windu speaks up. His tone is careful, and measured, his gaze darting to Master Yoda. He clears his throat, and looks back at you. "A personal matter. One that involves you."

A cold sense of dread begins to settle over you. A personal matter. One that involves you. You don't like where this is going. You don't like it at all.

Your mind races, trying to think of what else they could possibly want to talk about. What else could possibly be worth this, worth everything they've put you through.

And then, it hits you.

Your blood turns to ice, and a chill runs down your spine, goosebumps erupting along your arms.

Try as you might to stop it, your head snaps to Obi-Wan, finding his face. You search his expression, your gaze darting over every inch of his features, trying to read his reaction. He's not looking at you. He's staring at Master Windu, his lips pressed together, his hands gripping his robes.

He looks guilty.

Your stomach lurches, and your eyes widen, realization washing over you. You'd hoped. You'd prayed. You'd wished and wished and wished that it wouldn't come to this. That he wouldn't betray you like this. He promised. He promised that he wouldn't interfere with whatever you have with Rex. That he wanted you to be happy. That he would do anything to make sure you were safe.

But, here you are.

The betrayal is enough to bring the anger rushing back, and your hand grips the hilt of Yaddle's lightsaber, your nails digging into the metal. You glare at Obi-Wan, and his eyes flick up, meeting yours. He winces, but he holds your gaze, the sorrow in his eyes almost palpable.

You should have known. Of course he would do this. Of course. It's exactly what you'd expect from him. He's always been like this, always putting duty above all else, always prioritizing the Code, even if it meant hurting you. But, this...this is too far.

Master Windu speaking, saying something, but his voice is a dull buzz in your ears. You can't hear him. Your brain is screaming at you to leave, to run, to get out. Get out before it's too late. Get out while you can. But, your feet are rooted to the floor, and you can't move, can't look away.

Your eyes are locked on Obi-Wan's, and the fury is boiling over, burning hot, scorching.

"—promotion. It's time. You're ready."

The words snap you back to reality, and you blink, tearing your gaze away from Obi-Wan, forcing yourself to focus.

"What?" you ask.

"A promotion," Master Windu repeats.

The words break through the haze, and you frown, your brows furrowing. Your mind is reeling, and you try to make sense of what he's saying, but it's like your brain is short-circuiting, everything going fuzzy. The anger and betrayal is pushed aside for a brief moment as you find yourself staring at him, disbelief replacing the rage.

"What?" you choke out.

"The Council taken your recommendation into consideration, and we've agreed," Master Windu says. His voice is low, his gaze never leaving yours. "A new brigade is needed, and Commander Booker will lead it. You will be his superior officer, and he will report directly to you."

You gape at him, unable to respond. He's serious. He's completely serious.

The words echo in your mind, and you feel yourself go cold, your knees threatening to buckle. You fumble to keep your grip on Yaddle's lightaber, and you can hear your heart pounding in your ears, a rush of blood and static and white noise. It's all you can hear. All you can feel.

"What?" you breathe.

Your gaze darts between the Council members, and each one meets your eyes, their faces solemn. Master Plo's head dips in agreement, and Master Ki-Adi-Mundi is nodding, his expression serious. Even Master Windu is watching you, his jaw set, his hands folded. There's no malice in his eyes. No deception. They're serious.

The Council has decided.

It's too much. It's all too much.

Master Yoda is watching you, his eyes wide, his ears perked. His lips are turned up slightly, a faint smile on his face. He seems pleased with himself, with this turn of events. But, there's something else there, too. Something like regret.

He knows what this means.

"Surprised, are you?" he asks. "Happy, I would expect you to be."

"No," you reply. You shake your head, and take a step back, nearly stumbling. "I'm not happy. This isn't...it's not... This is a mistake."

"This is not a mistake," Master Plo speaks up. "This is well deserved."

"No," you say again, louder this time. Your voice cracks, and your throat is raw, tears pricking at your eyes. "No, it's not. I didn’t—I only meant to recommend Booker. To help him. I didn't mean— I didn't want—"

"You may not have intended to do so, but the decision was made nonetheless," Master Windu counters. He steeples his fingers and leans forward, his dark eyes narrowed. "There is no debate. Your role as General is essential."

"This is ridiculous," you snap. "I'm not—"

"You are," he interrupts. His voice is sharp, and the words cut through the air like a knife. You suck in a breath, and your jaw snaps shut. "You've proven yourself. You're capable, and you're intelligent, and you're more than deserving. You're ready."

Your breath leaves you in a rush, and you stare at him, blinking rapidly, trying to process his words. An entire brigade, a legion of men, all reporting directly to you. The responsibility, the pressure, the expectations. It's a nightmare. And, yet, here it is, standing before you, a reality.

"If it were up to me, this would have happened months ago," he continues. "I have no doubts, none at all, about your ability to command."

"This is insane," you mutter. "Completely insane."

"This is necessary," Master Windu says, his voice firm. "This is not a punishment. This is a reward."

"I don't want a reward," you manage, your voice barely a whisper. "Not like this. I just wanted—"

"You wanted justice," Mace says. He sighs, and he stands, his robes swishing as he walks towards you. He stops a few feet away, and he raises his hands, placing them on your shoulders. "And you will get it. But, not today."

You swallow, and you blink, tears stinging your eyes. The anger is gone, replaced by something else. Something worse. You feel helpless, and alone, and lost. And, above all, terrified.

"Not today, not tomorrow," you mumble. You shrug his hands off, stepping back, turning away from him. "Nothing ever—"

Obi-Wan stands abruptly, and the sound of his chair scraping against the floor cuts off the end of your sentence. He turns, his gaze landing on you, his eyes flashing. You can feel his anger through the bond, and it only fuels your own, a renewed surge of rage coursing through your veins.

"Enough," he hisses. His hands are clenched at his sides, and he stalks toward you, stopping just short of touching you. "We've heard enough."

His voice is cold, final. He's not asking, he's not giving you a choice. He's telling you to stop. To back off.

Your eyes narrow, and you glare at him, your chin jutting out. You're clutching it so tightly that the metal bites into your palm, and for a split second, you think about using it. The thought is extinguished a moment later, but not without consequence. You know he felt it. You know that he sensed it. He can't miss it. Not after all this time. Not with him.

"Enough, we have," Master Yoda murmurs. "Settled, this matter is."

"Yaddle's death is tragic, and her loss was a blow to us all. But, her legacy will live on. Her memory will guide us," Master Windu continues, his tone even. "The war will not last forever. We must focus on the future. And, the future lies with the Jedi. We'll discuss the details of your assignment later. For now, you're dismissed."

Obi-Wan's hand encloses around your arm, and he tugs, pulling you towards the exit. You stumble after him, struggling to keep up, still reeling from what's happening.

He's muttering something under his breath, his voice harsh and low. You catch the words 'ridiculous' and 'obstinate' and 'misunderstanding.' The two of you cross the room in a blur, and then the doors are opening, and the light from the corridor washes over you. It's blinding, and you shield your eyes, blinking rapidly.

Obi-Wan doesn't let go. His hand remains on your arm, and his fingers dig into your flesh, the pressure almost painful. He pulls you along, his strides long and purposeful. Your mind is racing, the events replaying over and over, the conversation playing on a loop. You're barely aware of where he's taking you. You're just moving.

The sound of the door opening pulls you out of your daze, and you realize he's taken you to his rooms. He releases you and steps back, the door sliding shut behind him. You spin around, glaring at him, ready to unleash a barrage of questions.

He's already speaking, his voice clipped.

"That could have gone better," he says. His arms fold across his chest, and he leans against his desk, his gaze never wavering from yours. "It could have gone much better."

You gape at him, momentarily speechless. Your jaw works, and you sputter, trying to find the words, to formulate a response.

"You—I can't—" You pause, trying to collect yourself. "You're lecturing me? You're actually lecturing me? After everything that's happened?"

"You need to learn when to give up," Obi-Wan shoots back. He runs a hand over his beard, a frown pulling at his lips. "You've accomplished nothing. Absolutely nothing. If anything, you've made it worse."

"You said you'd help me," you accuse. Your eyes narrow, and your fingers flex around Yaddle's lightsaber, digging into the hilt. "You said you would. You promised."

"I tried," he counters. He pushes off his desk, walking towards you, his shoulders tense. "I did. I did everything I could, but you—you weren't listening. You never listen. And you're going to get yourself killed."

"That's not your call," you snap. "That's not your decision to make."

"It's not mine," he agrees. He stops in front of you, his eyes blazing. "But, I won't let you jeopardize this, not anymore. The war is too important, and it needs your full attention. You can't afford distractions."

"My full attention," you echo. Your jaw drops, and you scoff, shaking your head. "Are you serious? You're not—you're not my keeper. You don't get to tell me what I can and can't do."

"No," Obi-Wan concedes. "But, I can tell you when you're making a mistake. And this, this is a mistake. You're letting your emotions cloud your judgment, and you're not thinking clearly. Again. This isn't just about Yaddle. It's more than that."

"More," you repeat. Your hands ball into fists, and your nails bite into your palms, drawing blood. The anger is boiling over, threatening to spill over. "You have no idea—"

"It's not just her," he says. His gaze bores into yours, and his eyes flash, a hint of fear in them. "It's him. He's clouding your judgment, and it's putting everything, and everyone, at risk. Including him. Including yourself."

"So you did do it," you whisper. Your eyes burn, and your throat closes, a lump forming. "You told them."

"What?" He frowns, and his brows knit together. He's genuinely confused, and it only infuriates you more. "Told them what?"

"About Rex," you snap. "About the two of us."

"What?" he repeats. Obi-Wan blinks, and he stares at you, his expression incredulous, before he lets out a bark of laughter. It's a short, sharp sound, and it's not a happy one. "That's what you think? You actually think I did that? After everything I said?"

"Yes!"

"Oh, my dear, you've really lost it," he mutters. He rubs his temples, and shakes his head, a weary sigh escaping his lips. "No, I didn't tell them. No, I wouldn't. Not now, not ever."

"You didn't—" Your lips part, and you gape at him, stunned. You'd been so sure. So certain. And now, you're not sure of anything. "How do I know? How can I trust you?"

"I haven't done a single thing to lose your trust," Obi-Wan says. His tone is sharp, and his jaw is set, his face hard. "Everything I've done has been for your sake. To protect you. To help you. All of it. And, this is how you repay me? With distrust and suspicion? I thought we were past this."

"We were," you say. You can feel the tears forming, and you blink, trying to hold them back. "We were. I didn't mean—I didn't think—"

"Exactly," Obi-Wan finishes. He runs a hand over his hair, and his eyes dart to the ceiling, his frustration evident. "You didn't think. Not once. Not until it was too late."

"That's not fair," you mutter.

"Life isn't fair," he shoots back. He glares at you, and his eyes are narrowed, his brows drawn. "I know you're angry, but this isn't going to help. It's not going to change anything. And, if you think that I would do this to you, to us, you don't know me at all."

"Maybe I don't," you snap. Your chin juts out, and your hands ball into fists, and you glare back, holding his gaze. "Maybe we don't know each other. Not anymore."

The words are meant to hurt, and they do. He winces, and his expression falters, a flicker of pain crossing his features. But, a moment later, his mask slips back into place, and he's staring at you, his eyes flashing.

"That's a cheap shot," he says, his tone flat.

"Yeah," you agree, and you shrug, your eyes burning. "It is."

The silence stretches between you, and you can feel his gaze on you, intense and searching. He's looking for something, and, after a moment, his expression softens, his mouth twisting.

"Is that really what you think?" he asks. His voice is quiet, almost a whisper. "That I don't care about you?"

You suck in a breath, and you turn away from him, your eyes falling closed.

"I don't know what to think anymore," you admit. You press your lips together, and swallow, trying to push down the emotion threatening to overflow. "You just stood there and let them do this to me. You didn't say a word. You didn't stop them."

"I tried," he protests. He takes a step toward you, his hands rising, as if to reach for you, before falling back to his sides. "What was I supposed to say? What was I supposed to do? I tried."

"Not hard enough," you hiss.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I am. I'm sorry. But, this is what needs to happen."

"You could have fought harder," you say. Yaddle's lightsaber is a weight in your hand, a physical reminder of what you've lost. Your fingers tighten around it, and your vision blurs, hot tears pricking at your eyes. "You could have done something. I thought...I thought..."

"You thought what?" Obi-Wan asks, his voice soft. "That I would go up against the entire Council? For you? What good would it have done? It wouldn't have changed anything."

"It would have mattered," you mutter. You scrub at your face, wiping away the tears, refusing to look at him. Though the anger is still burning, the pain is seeping through, and the words are tumbling out of you before you can stop them. "It would have made a difference. It would have meant something."

"It would have meant nothing," he counters. His hand closes around your wrist, and he gently pulls it away from your face, forcing you to look at him. "I'm sorry, but I can't do that. I won't. This is what's best, and, eventually, you'll see that. When this is all over, and we're on the other side of the war, everything will be different. Better."

"No," you whisper. "It won't."

Your shoulders slump, and the anger drains out of you, leaving you feeling hollow. You look down, unable to meet his eyes. You can't even bring yourself to care. Not anymore. The fight has gone out of you.

All the energy, all the fire, all the passion, is gone. It's like a switch has been flipped, the fury replaced by an overwhelming sense of exhaustion.

You can't do this anymore.

Obi-Wan lets out a shaky breath, and his hand drops, his fingers curling into his palm.

"This is too much," you mumble. You shake your head, and you run a hand over your hair, pulling at it. Your eyes sting, and your throat feels raw, a lump forming. "I can't keep doing this. I can't keep fighting for nothing."

"I understand," he says. He sounds tired. "You've been through a lot. We all have. It's not going to be easy, but we have to keep going. We have to keep fighting."

"Stop." The word is a whisper, a breath, and you shake your head, your gaze lifting, finding his. "Just. Stop, Obi-Wan. I can't hear it right now."

His eyes widen, and his lips part, surprise flickering across his features. He hadn't expected that. He hadn't expected any of this.

"Please," he breathes, his voice low. "Let me help."

"There's nothing to help," you say, the words catching in your throat. They're the truth, the bitter reality you've been ignoring for too long. "I'm tired, Obi-Wan. I'm exhausted. And I don't...I can't..."

"It's going to be okay," he says softly.

"No, it's not," you say. You lift your head, the tears drying on your cheeks, the hurt etched into your face. "It's not okay. Nothing's okay. Yaddle's dead. The Council doesn't care. Nothing's changed. And this war...I thought...I thought that if I came here, if I brought the evidence, that they'd finally listen. That they'd finally see what I've been trying to tell them."

"I know," he murmurs.

"But they didn't," you choke out. The tears start again, and your chin quivers, and it's all you can do not to break down. "They didn't. They won't. And I...I just can't...I can't keep doing this. I can't."

"I'm sorry," Obi-Wan says, his eyes searching your face. He takes a step forward, and his hands cup your cheeks, his thumb brushing over your skin. He's gentle, and warm, and his touch is soothing. But, it's not enough. Not now. Not after everything.

"I can't do this anymore," you repeat. You reach up and grasp his hands, prying them away from your face, holding them in front of you. You can't look at him, your eyes fixed on the tremor in his fingers, on the way his hands shake.

"I know," he repeats.

"No, I don't think you do," you say.

You let go of him, and the air rushes out of you, the tension draining from your body. You're empty. You're nothing. It's a familiar feeling, one you've felt before. One you've tried so hard to escape. But, here it is, back again. Taunting you. It's enough to make you want the anger back. The anger is better. It's easier.

Obi-Wan is watching you, his expression uncertain, his hands clasped in front of him. You can feel his anxiety through the bond, the fear, the worry.

"I have to go," you say.

You turn and head for the door, not looking back. There's nothing else to say.

"Wait," he calls out. He follows, his footsteps echoing in the room. "Just wait a minute. Please. Let's talk about this."

"What's there to talk about?" you ask. The door opens, and you step into the corridor, the bright lights washing over you. You can hear him behind you, and you can feel his panic, his desperation, but you don't stop.

"Where are you going?" he asks. His hand wraps around your wrist, and he tugs, his grip tight. "I said wait. Just a moment."

"Let go," you snap. You yank your arm out of his grasp, whirling to face him. He's standing in front of you, his brows drawn, his expression grim. You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. "I need some space. Please. Just. Give me some time. I need to clear my head."

"Let me help," Obi-Wan insists. His jaw is set, his gaze hard, but his voice is pleading, a hint of fear in his tone. You can't deny it might be warranted. He knows how you get. "You don't have to do this alone."

"You should have helped when it mattered," you say, your voice a hoarse whisper. "When I needed you. When it counted. But, you didn't. So, now, I'm asking you. Please. Just. Give me some time."

Obi-Wan inhales sharply, and the sound is like a knife to the heart. He's hurt. You can feel it. But, the guilt is overpowered by the pain, and you can't bring yourself to care. You're hurting, too. You're so tired of fighting. So tired of trying to fix something that can't be fixed. You can't keep going like this.

You don't know what else to do.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

"Yeah," you breathe. "Me too."

Without another word, you turn and walk away.

taglist: @baddest-batchers @lolwey @chocolatewastelandtriumph @hobbititties @mere-bear

@thegreatpipster @tentakelspektakel @notslaybabes @aynavaano @floofyroro

@ayyyy-le-simp @mali-777 @schrodingersraven @megmegalodondon @dangraccoon

@heavenseed76 @dreamie411 @sukithebean @bimboshaggy @bunny7567

@lostqueenofegypt @9902sgirl @jedi-dreea @salaminus @heidnspeak

@ghostymarni @gottalovehistory @mrcaptainrex @burningnerdchild @yoitsjay

@callsign-denmark @julli-bee @moonychicky @captn-trex @feral-ferrule

@webslinger-holland @marchingviolist @cw80831 @chaicilatte @somewhere-on-kamino

@silly-starfish @veralii @chubbyhedgehog @lordofthenerds97 @meshlajetii

@heaven1207 @808tsuika @aanncummings @lugiastark @maniacalbooper

@sensitive-shark @kashasenpai @kkdrawsdecently @isaidonyourknees @awkwardwookie

@sugarrush-blush @lunaastars

#the clone wars #captain rex #clone captain rex #captain rex x reader #rex x reader #roy writes #event horizon #the girls are fightingggg #i'm trying to stay on top of this fic but burnout is a bitch and we're getting to the point where i don't have everything 100% planned out #so don't be surprised if we skip a week or two #i have a good amount of time off in december though fingers crossed i can get it together then 🤞

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laugtherhyena · 13 hours ago

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I need to have ibis taken away from me so that i stop expanding Ayame's family tree-

Quite literally the most random thing ever, at one point earlier this week i remembered this throwaway from Asoot's puppetmaster arc at the scene where Akane goes to spend the night at Ayame's house;

This was, obviously, done because back then none of us had any ideas let alone designs and character traits for Ayame's family, hence the need for an excuse to why they're not present.

Cut to present year where i went and made characters for her parents and thought back to this line like "Hey i should make that", since i wrote Bashira as a single child that means this is an aunt from Ippei's side of the family; Mai Hatano!

And hey i was actually nice this time around so she's actually alive post-tragedy :] so here's some general info on her:

-She's 9 years younger than Ippei, the parents were going through a rocky part of their relationship and the mom thought maybe having another kid could save their marriage but it really only made everything worse and the husband left around the time Mai was turning 2 years old.

-The deal is that the father as some kind of businessman that was having an affair with a coworker and would excuse him coming up late or not even back home by saying he was piled up with work and blaming the wife or being “insensitive about his efforts”, but she knew he was bullshitting and could tell he had someone else. So again, she thought maybe if they had another kid that would fix things but it only led to somewhat constantly arguing for over an year until he left with his lover and cut contact with the rest of the family.

-This ties into why later in life Ippei choose financial stability over following his music career, the family struggled quite a bit over the years with just the mom and two kids, they had to move a few times and Ippei even got his job as a waiter during his mid to late teens to help out with money. I guess this also ties into why he and Bashira planned so much to have Ayame, i think his parents married pretty young and inexperienced so he wanted to avoid that and have a normal family.

-On Mai’s side she felt like she was at fault for “ruining her parent's marriage” for a good chunk of her childhood and early adolescence. She's over that as an adult, though it did lead to her avoiding serious relationships with anyone though most of her life. At most she's had some flings/one night stands, but never a proper boyfriend or anything official.

-On top of that Mai is generally pretty bad at dealing with emotions, both of other people and her own. She has no idea how to comfort anyone or help when they're in some emotional turmoil or need someone to vent to, so oftentimes she is kinda just changes the subject or gives a pretty standard response of like “Damn that sucks” before doing so and proceeds to ignore the issue as in sorta of a “forget about it” way. (As you can probably guess, she's not the one to show her hurt to others for a similar reason. When she received the news that her brother and his family had died she didn't express much of a reaction at all at the foundation and only cried when she was back home because she did genuinely care for them, though her odd reaction gave the impression to some coworkers that this wasn't the case.)

-She is a very stubborn person so she doesn't talk to people about this problem of hers, much less seek help when it comes to it because the fact that she can't truly help the people she cares for when they need emotional support really hurts her so she'd rather ignore and forget than deal with her lack of abilities in the area.

-Stubbornness and ignorance are notably her most negative traits (“I was never taught and I will not learn” sorta thing). This extends to circumstances other than her loved ones emotional needs because a lot of the time she will be dismissive or ignorant about certain things solely because they don't affect her directly nor anyone she cares for.

-That being said, she is very outwardly nice and shows care to others. Very chatty and outgoing, pretty much the opposite of her brother and niece since she can talk to people very easily. She's on good terms with pretty much everyone from Tsurugi's division and talks quite frequently to other foundation workers as well. Though she is rather blunt and says whatever comes to her mind at any given moment.

-Before the tragedy she worked as a personal bodyguard in Towa city, this busy and sometimes dangerous lifestyle led to her distancing herself from her brother a lot as they grew older. It wasn't anything intentional, just life bringing them in separate ways so while she did love her brother and his family a lot they didn't see each other super often, it was mostly during holidays, funerals or events like some of Ayame’s competitions or similar situations. This became one of her biggest regrets late in life as she wishes she could have spent more time with them.

-She broke her arm pretty badly when a client was getting ambushed and was set to stay out of business until recovered. Once she was dispatched from the hospital Ippei and Bashira came to drive her home and help her settle back, alongside doing some catching-up. That was the last time they saw each other.

-When the tragedy broke out she became stranded in Towa city because of all the chaos and the Warriors of hope hunting down the adults. Her arm was still broken then, but Mai is a rather reckless person and went around fighting despairs and rescuing other citizens in spite of her injury, which led to her injured arm getting broken and slashed in many other places which then led her developing a nasty infection that she just kept fighting on her own for months until she and a group of adults managed to leave the city.

-She was brought to a hospital pretty much immediately after by the group's leader and by that point she pretty much couldn't feel or move her hand anymore and the whole area around her arm gave her immense pain. When she started getting treated the staff tried to contact any family member which led to them contacting the Kisaragi foundation and upon informing them that she was in their care Rei requested that Mai should be moved to the foundation’s hospital facility, which was where she stayed for the majority of her recovery.

-There wasn't much Hikaru or any of the medical scaff could do to save her injured arm so she had to have it amputated to avoid further spread of infection, but at this point Mai couldn't even think much about the fact and just told them to do whatever it takes to make the pain stop. On top of losing her arm, she also became prone to infections out of how bad hers was.

-It was when she was recovering from surgery that Tsurugi came to speak to her, he apologized for the foundation taking so long to rescue her, alongside informing her how the place functions and most importantly letting Mai know that her brother and his family had died. It was only after he left that the weight of this information and everything Mai had gone settled in and, for the first time ever since the tragedy started, she cried.

-The thing is that unlike her brother, an overthinker who thinks ahead and carefully plans everything in life, Mai tends to throw herself into things head on just hoping that it will all work out in the end and while she's going through things she doesn't stop to think much about the details until it's over. So it was only as she was recovering in the hospital that she thought about everything she had gone through, everything she had lost, and for once tried to think of what her next course of action should be while going through these feelings.

-That being said, she never fell into a depression or took the loss as hard as someone like Keisuke did because that's just not the kind of person Mai is. Somewhat similar to her ignorant demeanor, her way of dealing with grief is mainly by occupying her mind with other things, like going places she enjoys or focusing on training and work. The last one being the reason she joined Tsurugi's division pretty much immediately after being dispatched from the medbay.

-Mai’s an action woman! She has a lot of energy and loves getting into fights, especially if it is to protect others, so it's no surprise she joined his division and not Rei’s or Teruya's. But when it comes to Tsurugi's ideals Mai is by no means a follower, she thinks he's insane, way too radical, but so far his black and white mortality hasn't affected her or anyone she cares for directly so she turns a blind eye to it, this is the guy who pays her after all. (This does change post Sdra2, especially after Keisuke almost shoots Midori)

-She was assigned to be in charge of the new members basic physical combat and self defense training, especially for those like Ryutaro and Keisuke who had no experience in this line of work before. This is part of how she ended up becoming a close friend of theirs, though Mai tends to treat Ryutaro (and Midori by extension) more like younger siblings rather than coworkers.

-The foundation provides her a prosthetic for use only during missions (by Tsurugi's orders). Mai doesn't mind that since she doesn't actually like having the prosthetic on, it feels more like a trouble to put on and use than it's worth, she much prefers not having one at all.

-On a similar vein, Mai isn't a fan of the work uniform, she finds it way too stuffy and clunky so she only puts it on right before going on a mission, alongside the prosthetic arm. Tsurugi doesn't take that well, as he sees it as Mai not taking work as seriously as she should, but she is one of his best soldiers so he refrains from picking up on her.

-Onto some more miscellaneous information. Mai’s apartment is rather disorganized and messy, but for her it’s fine because she knows where everything is, even if it's not in the right place per say. Bashira used to jokingly pick up on her over it.

-She’s also a pretty bad cook, can only really pull off simple meals which is why she's a huge fan of takeout and fast food in general.

-Back in Ippei's late teens/early 20s she was the one to keep pushing him to take initiative and ask out Bashira, though that help absolutely came alongside teasing her brother for being so shy.

-They were really close then, Ippei would even pick her up from school everyday n all. This strong care stayed strong over the years even after they started seeing each other less and less after moving out of their childhood home, and even less after their mother passed away from old age sometime around the late 2000s.

-She never spent much time with Ayame but oftentimes when she would feel self conscious about her lack of femininity her parents would mention how she's just like her aunt on that aspect

-Mai has her brother's collection of music vinyls at her place, she's not the biggest fan of classical music, but listening to it reminds her of him.

#for those who don't read the stupidly long under the cut rambles. this is the same character. not a twin situation #she just as a prosthetic on when out on missions #i feel like ever since i became friends with Poi I've grown more fond of making extended family characters #girl. what have you done to me 💔/J #i love tho it's fine #shout out to Bubbles and whoever that anon was for this thing's late creation #and since my last another series oc post was about character inspos i should note that Mai's are the random cop lady from Cyber sleuth #and Power from csm #hyena ramblings #hyena scribbles #edit #sprite edit #oc #dra #danganronpa another #ayame hatano #mai hatano #ippei hatano

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wolfwoocl · 1 day ago

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Vash already knows the answer to that one, so he doesn’t need to dignify that with an answer. If anything, Vash ought to be more impressed that he hasn’t fought anyone else either. Petty is the most he can reach for when he can’t in good conscience retaliate to Vash’s protective incredulity.

And then some.

Wolfwood sighs heavily, determined to take the hail of anxious questions in stride. In a way, it’s nice to be lectured instead of the other way around. It’s good. Good that Vash has something to focus on instead of his newfound doom and gloom, even if it means fixating on perceived self-neglect on Wolfwood’s part. He lets Vash fret all he wants.

Two hundred years, plenty worse for wear. He isn't a scientist. He doesn't know if he can fix Vash's erratic power surges. He just knows Vash doesn't have to figure it out or hide from it alone anymore.

“Oh, I was lookin’ to get started on self-care sometime this week or the next,” Wolfwood drawls lazily. He was in no particular rush to do anything but find Vash, and he’s accomplished that. The satisfaction of gazing back into Vash’s eyes, tinted a pretty shade of violet as they are like night blooms, is worth more than all the sleepless nights leading up to their reunion. There’s a certain thrill in their proximity and the frenzied ions in the air, like a two-step along the edge of a cliff in the middle of a burgeoning storm.

Zap!

Straight to his heart, that particular jolt of energy. Purple clings to the edges of his vision and he swears for a split second he can see the brilliant curving and angled Plant lines on Vash's skin, clear as day, and gone as quickly in the blink of an eye. Power: undeniably Plant, undeniably Vash.

Something else, too.

He'd go so far as to call it love, except it's not his. Vash's love. Tender, sweet, like everything he's ever convinced himself he didn't deserve. The way Vash is looking at him, he isn't hallucinating.

“Of course, ya damn idiot. And given a chance to do it all over again, I wouldn’t change a damn fuckin’ thing,” Wolfwood assures patiently. He leans his face fully into Vash’s hand, never once breaking eye contact from beneath his fringe of messy, dark bangs.

Funny, when he thought of the future, he never really considered picturing himself in it.

“I dunno,” Nicholas says slowly, taking a moment to really think about what he wants. Something that didn't involve the utter violence so much of his life was mired in. “Would be nice to just make stuff fer once.”

Woodwork was too personal. He had no desire to make his hobby into a profitable craft.

“Somethin’ lame, I guess. Like openin’ a bakery.”

"You've already fought some of them?!" Vash squawks in disbelief, concerned primarily with the priest's health above his own... as usual. It's Wolfwood... what did he really expect? Of course he won't just sit and twiddle his thumbs while the Eye searches night and day for Vash. He'll do quadruple the work with half the resources the organization has, that's just how he functions.

He pouts, his one hand holding onto the abrasive, yet gentle, palms that he loved what feels like thousands of years ago. Still loves. Still loves... Will love until he can't love anymore. Even then, he'll love and love again and if he's recycled into a new Plant or whatever happens to him after death Vash will still find a way to love Wolfwood.

"You gotta take care of yourself..." the pot calls the kettle black, "How much have you been sleeping?! Eating?"

Vash raises his hand to cup Wolfwood's cheek, pinching it slightly with his brows furrowed mid-pout. He meets his gaze for a long moment and searches it, seeing the exhaustion and relief in equal measure. Though his own eyes have been stained violet with exertion, there are still small flecks of marine blue for those close enough to examine them.

Subtle cracks of that same purple hue break along his jaw where his markings usually show. It's hard to make them go away these days. The stress he put on himself was literally enough to make him crack, yet he carried on anyway. He knew back then that it was causing his seemingly random outbursts of power, but admitting that it was a problem felt like tearing a fresh scab off of a bloody wound. Right now his power is dulled to a low sizzling static, raising the hairs on Wolfwood's arm and his scruffy facial hair to attention.

"I'm not letting them take you away from me again, Wolfwood," Vash tenses his grip slightly, remaining perfectly stoic. He doesn't go into detail about what he'd do to keep Wolfwood, the lengths he'd go. The priest doesn't know about what he had to do to save Livio, to save the one person that Wolfwood sacrificed himself for, and Vash isn't sure that he ever wants him to know. He supposes it will probably come up in conversation at some point, unfortunately. "I want you to live a life without worries for once. If this is—if I'm really part of the life you want to live, then I'll do anything to make sure you get to see it. Me. Wait—"

Vash pauses, allowing his head to empty itself of all thoughts. Blinking a few times, losing himself in those same whiskey-gold eyes, and putting puzzle pieces together, a small spark of pure inquisitive energy zaps the undertaker like a static shock. It sends with it the confusion and warm love that he feels in the moment, not that Vash is aware of it.

"You still want to—still want me even after all of this is over? I could really hurt you, you know! A-and, I mean..."

Of course Wolfwood still loves him, why else would they be like this? Why else would he come find him, search for years for him... Why would he do that if his only goal was to root out the Eye of Michael? Still... it's not like either of them ever really considered living a peaceful life after everything had been over. At least—well—he'd never thought... that far ahead. So he's only done the whole 'relationship' thing once in his life—they never really lived together and it was casual back then. What the hell does he do if all the trouble is gone, his bounty is cleared, and Wolfwood is back?

"What do you want to do when this is over?"

#vash.#typhoonvash #i broke my heart in two‚ one for me and one for you -- typhoonvash (200).

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dykedvonte · 23 days ago

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(abt my last ask) thank you for the answer, your understanding of charas is trully stellar!

I wanted to ask, what's your take on recovery!au (unless you intend to cover it in your fic)? In the universe, where Jimmy happens, but the crew somehow survives. Everyone is traumatised, Anya is pregnant, Curly is disabled (could he even be able to afford disability aids? Pony express in no more, would they even be paid a sufficient compensation?). There is also a question of p*lice investigation (or whatever agency is responsible for space crimes), even more trauma... Man, it's bleak.

-💀

I like them sad but for emotional and physical recovery reason rather than all the actual legal stuff that would ensue.

I like when Swansea relapsing is explored and Daisuke losing a little bit of his light. I am clearly a big supporter of Anya and Curly remaining close friend after but I think exploring the unhealthy dynamics of the trauma bond they’d develop should be played with way more. I think it’s a bit annoying when people are on the nose about Anya telling Curly he should’ve done more, especially when he’s struggling through recovery.

I feel like people really want her to be a character to rub salt into wounds, just to give her something cathartic, but it’s just OOC for me. It’s not a kindness thing but I don’t think she wants that sort of guilt to stay with him like that? He did not do what Jimmy did, he could’ve done more to stop it but she would not intentionally try to direct what she can never take out towards Jimmy at Curly. At least when they all make it out. This is not to say she doesn’t think he shouldn’t have any remorse but she understands that no one else could have foreseen Jimmy crashing the ship or getting that bad.

I like when it gets psychoanalytic in fics with the crew. Talk about Curly finally opening up on details on how he and Jimmy were friends, have the others realize how bad Jimmy was to even Curly, not a lot of people realize that they don’t know how Jimmy was to him. Have Anya be angry and snippy, have her worry she’s becoming like Jimmy even though she could never be like him, it’s that fear though, that she is owed that cathartic release and may take it out on others in some selfish subconscious desire to reclaim control for herself. Have her actualize-herself, is med school the only option? What does she want now? Does Swansea divorce his wife, give up on the life he created because he was just following the path of a good man, one he didn’t believe? Or does he stay and use the time he has left to make it something he believes in. How is Daisuke? Is he more mature or does he lose a little light? What are his new aspirations if any? His relationship with his parents?

Ultimately, I think a recover au should really focus on just them actually getting to know each other and filling themselves. So much of their interactions were likely based on coworker dynamics first. With that out the window they are now people who can’t really move on from each other but need to move on in life.

#ngl I’m a baby and do like recovery aus where jimmy dies and Curly is injured but not as badly #mainly because the theme of characters not getting what they desire both as like a reward and improper punishment hurt #like that should’ve been Jimmy in the damn cockpit like again wtf is wrong with curly cause he was just no fear or plan willing to risk his #life like again he would’ve eventually done the right thing and had to live with the guilt of not doing it sooner cause mans effectively #killed himslef with that stunt idk he’s an odd white fellow #I want Anya to be happiest in these aus because no one talks value the fear of becoming like ur abuser in a way like she’d be stuck on so #many ways he affected her and not know if she was like this before or he brought it out of her like would she feel like she gave curly to #him to abuse the bruises has to be obvious to a nurse did she really think they wouldn’t get into the med bay #was she being merciful to curly or not caring anymore like Jimmy wouldn’t? it’s not fair to her to have these thoughts #her attempts at doing the right thing were not misguided by selfish delusions but god she thinks they are for a bit Polle haunts her in a #different way as she realizes none of this was her burden and it shouldn’t be anyone else’s #idk post aus are fun but I just hate when people make it about punishing a character or overly pessimistic like damn get rid of that fix it #tag if nothing is resolved and everyon still wants to die 10 chapters in im trying to cry tears of relief i will be back for chapter 11 #mouthwashing #ask #💀 anon

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multeasers · 1 year ago

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[ b52 ] how would they describe themselves in as few words as possible? @/Toji 🤭

🐝 * ― 𝑪𝑶𝑪𝑲𝑻𝑨𝑰𝑳 𝑸𝑼𝑰𝒁. ( send one or multiple of these to learn a little more about my muse(s). )

He's the type of guy you'd have to press to do it, and if you manage to not annoy the ever living hell out of him in the process, he'd likely describe himself as a man too tired for anything, but still does shit anyway . If you do annoy him, though, he'll likely just give one-word answers : Diligent . Stubborn . Prideful . That sorta thing .

If you managed to get the real answer out of him, though, he'd describe himself as too fucked up . He's a man too fucked up who fucked up too much . He's desperate . He's remorseful . But he's also wholly selfish, and knows that what he wants he'll probably never get because of that, and of course much more . Again, he's a man who fucked up a lot .

If you really enforce limiting his words, though, and were still getting a legitimate answer, he'd just describe himself as sorry .

#mailbox : letter answered #known mailer : scintillate-stars #💔 ( blog lore )#i'd tag meta but :p #the way i tend to describe him though is a man who very much just wants his kids back in his life #and to have an opportunity for either some closure on it for them or just . a chance to fuckin fix it #it's the one damn thing in his life he wants to fix and it's the one thing in his life that has him describing himself in the ways #i answered above #the other shit he does beyond that is simply habitual and comforting because he'll only do shit he already knows #though now it's just . not at all good always but he can't help that it isn't because all the good shit he had all disappeared #at one point you might've been able to hear him describe himself as changing .#that he was a man striving for change because he found better in life #but now . well .#he's just sorry #can't exactly say that in a few words though and literally none of this answer is a few words but #i have many things to say is all (￣y~￣)╭#also none of this is at all to describe how he feels about like . everything in his life . like #he doesn't regret or feel sorry about all the shit abt gojou and getou and riko #he's family-oriented in the sense that he wants his family to actually be a damn family .#<- megs and miki i mean . since his wives are dead and there's no way in shit he's talkin' about the zen'in's ever #that's why he'd describe himself as selfish though :p he knows having a family likely isn't a reality for him now #let me stop talking though clearly i can't get prompts saying y'all want a few words AKLSDFMS #i swear i don't intentionally go against it it's just hard for me to stop myself 😭😭

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lumibuns-blog · 14 days ago

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Most desperate things the 141 boys have done for sex because I can't stop thinking about it <3

John's begged for it. I mean on his hands and knees begging for a taste. I know this man is an avid pussy pronoun user too. He has been on his knees in front of you as you sit pretty on his couch, trailing kisses up your soft belly to your tits and then back down to your thighs.

"C'mon sweet girl lemme' 'ave a taste of 'er yeah? Know she fuckin' needs me hm? Just look at tha'" as he runs a thumb of the wetness that's seeped through you thin panties, just waiting for you to say the words and let him tear them off.

He knows if anybody else in the 141 or if any of his fellow soldiers could see him now, the Captain Price practically drooling over you and sweet talking your cunt like it could hear him they would have a fit. But he couldn't care less because you looked so fucking good right now so "just let 'er 'ave what she wants alright sweet thing?"

I just know Kyle has spent 70% of his last month's pay check on hotel room because the 5 star pent house suite was the only hotel room in your area left available during the holidays. He played it cool with an arm around your waist assuring you it was fine, acting like this was the room he wanted to get, not the one he was forced to have. But if he was being forced to do anything thank god it was spoiling you.

"Don't worry 'bout it love. Just make 'urself comfortable" He'll say in a sultry sweet tone, planting kisses up the side of your neck before excusing himself to the lavish bathroom to check his bank account. He had to make sure he still had enough to buy you a nice breakfast in the morning.

And you're already layed out so pretty for him on the bed so he's not complaining about anything. Especially not the mirror situated on the ceiling right above the bed. Oh and don't you dare suggest splitting the cost, "just split your legs for me hun, 's all ya need to do"

Johnny is eager, like so so eager. When a passionate make out session on your couch got even more heated than either of you had previously expected and he now had his fingers playing with the waistband of your skirt, letting his cold finger tips splay themselves just below. When he got to the hem of your panties and began to hook a finger into the lace you had to stop him,

"Johnny"

"Yea?" He was breathless, chasing your lips when you pulled away to talk. You almost felt bad for separating but if he was going to touch you, there was one request you needed to make. You had felt his nails drag across your thighs moments earlier, it felt wonderful but they were...a little long.

"Do ya nae want this hen?" He'd ask, looking at you like you were a piece of art. Pleading with his eyes, shining like they'd spill tears if you said yes.

"No, no I want this, I want you so so much. It's just..." you trailed off

"Tell me what's wrong bonnie and I'll fix it, yeah?" his hands kept you grounded to his lap either a soft grip on you ass.

"It's just- you're nails, they're a little long" your request was nothing more than whisper.

'Oh' Johnny knew he probably should have just asked for clippers, but you felt so damn good on his lap. He could feel your warm cunt through the zipper of his jeans and with your tits brushing against his chest he couldn't bring himself to move.

You watched in shock as he just began to just tear his nails off with his teeth. Without a second thought his pointer and middle finger nails were bit off to the skin. He paused and looked at his right hand before ripping off the index finger as well.

"Johnny what's gotten into you-?"

But he's already got his hands back down your skirt. Soft finger tips slipping between your folds. "Feel better now eh?" And when you just nuzzled your nose into his neck and let out a little whimper he chuckled "I'll take tha' as a yes"

Simon swallows his pride for the first time in his life for a chance at hitting it raw. You tell him it's okay to not use protection, that you're on birth control. But you needed to make sure that he didn't have any stds seeing as they're even more of a pain when you're on birth control. Not that you don't trust him you just want to make sure and it's not a problem for him seeing as he has to get tested every other week being in the military.

He doesn't, however, have his records on him at the moment and with a girl already lying in his bed telling him he can cum inside. Plus a raging hard on, he doesn't exactly feel like running back to base to get the paper work. So...next best thing.

"Price-"

"Rare for ya to call on leave Simon, whatchya need?" Price responds, his voice cracking through the face time call, a cigar dangling from his lips.

"Sir I need..." he looks back at you, your eyes expectant and shining. You wanted him and he wasn't going to fuck this up. "Can you send me a picture of my last med check results?" He rushes out the last part, elbow on his knee and hand dragging over his face.

Price quirks one eyebrow but doesn't look like he's going to ask any questions. Unlucky for Simon though, Johnny was also in the room. His voice distantly coming through the phone,

"The feck ya need those for l.t.?" He questioned

Simon just groaned, soap's addition to this call just made it even more frustrating. But he snapped out of his frustration at the sound of price opening his file cabinet. "What part?" Price asked, dismissing Johnny with a wave of his hand.

"The-" Simon began, this was fucking embarrassing but when he looked back to you, now perched on your hands and knees, the plush of you hips resting on your ankles, he'd do anything at this point. "STD results." He responded plainly.

"Aye! No fuckin' way mate!" The sound of a chair scraping the floor could be heard as Johnny began to clammer over to his captain who pulled the sheet from his files.

"Ya didn't tell me he was in the room" Simon growled

"Ya didn't ask" Price droned

Johnny's head popped into frame "show me what she looks like ey l.t?"

"Not happening" Simon deadpanned

"Aw c'monnnn" The sergeant whined "just proud of you for finally getting some action!"

"Enough." Simon could see you biting your lip to stifle a laugh out of the corner of his eyes, a curious look in your eyes at his reddened face.

"Sent a picture to ya Simon" Price huffed, letting Johnny give him one last "good luck!" Before hanging up the phone.

You were a mess of giggles as he just shook his head and shoved the phone results in your face for you to look at. "See. Clean."

"Okay okay" you giggled, finally letting his form eclipse you back onto the pillows

"Went through a hell of a lot of trouble for ya, sweet girl" he whispered, nipping at the shell of your ear.

"I'll make it worth it" you said, kissing the corner of his lip and tangling your fingers in the back of his hair

"Christ woman" he groaned, feeling his cock twitch at your promise, "gunna' be the death a' me"

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poppyseed799 · 5 months ago

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I have this problem that’s like the opposite of nostalgia or something where some things I remember liking a lot as a child I look back and only remember the bad times.

This is specifically about Animal Crossing, loved that game as a kid, but I have literally no idea why, cuz it was just pure hell for me from what I can remember.

#also blues clues but less severe. I like blues clues. but my only childhood memories are when I was scared of it #YES I WAS SCARED OF BLUES CLUES. I HAD A HUGE FEAR OF MYSTERIES. IDK HOW OR WHY. ALSO MY MEGALOPHOBIA DIDNT LIKE THE CLOSE UP PAWPRINTS #the Halloween episode also scared me on several occasions. yes I was a baby. still kind of am.#but like I still have positive feelings about blues clues but ANIMAL CROSSING. ohhh man.#first of all that megalophobia I mentioned uh yeah not a big fan of seeing those big fish.#I was terrified of the rumor that you could see a GINORMOUS fish in the ocean. and I’ve been hearing it was REAL? worst thing ever.#but like. I couldn’t even take care of my irl self so you KNOW my village was totally trashed.#so I had to play while constantly getting told ‘everyone HATES living in this town’ and trying my best to fix it but it’s out of control and #I can’t bring myself to clean (I did it once. it was the happiest I’d been finally getting told positive things.)#my house always full of roaches too lol foreshadowing my life as an adult #ALSO THOSE FREAKING DANGEROUS BUGS WOULD GET ME ALL THE TIME I was always playing at night and getting terrified #I never had a ‘favorite villager’ in the traditional sense cuz none of them ever stayed long. they hated my town.#my fave was actually stitches but I never saw him. maybe I saw him once and he IMMEDIATELY moved out. that was my life.#I can’t name a single villager I ever had in my village cuz they always moved out. I learned not to form attachments even tho I wanted to.#and don’t even get me STARTED on Resetti. if you are a Resetti lover then WE ARE NOT MEANT TO INTERACT 😭#I’m joking I won’t judge you as a person if you like him but at the same time I genuinely on god hate him #opening up the game was a nightmare cuz I knew without fail every time I would have to see him.#‘just save’? it wasn’t ever ME that was doing it. it was my little siblings. and NO I couldn’t stop them. they were like GODS at stealing #not to mention parents would always side with them and make us share the games. they liked to delete saves and were gods at that too #but anyways so I was always stuck with Resetti cuz my siblings couldn’t leave my game alone and also couldn’t bring themselves to save befor #stopping. so every day it would be Resetti. I dreaded it so much because he is like SUPER reminiscent of my abusive step father at the time.#I often cried while just desperately trying to get thru his lectures. they were SO. LONG. and OH MY GOD the time he made me repeat something #I legitimately don’t know what it was but like I kept failing it. I know I was rlly bad with copying things as a kid #there was a time where I made the painful decision to quit in the middle of his rant. knowing that it would be worse next time but I was #simply unable to take it at that point in time. HOW EFFED UP IS THAT. THAT I JUST WANT TO PLAY A DAMN GAME BUT I CANT CUZ OF THE TRAUMA.#I hate Resetti I hate Resetti I hate him so much ‘oh he’s just a character’ THATS WHY IM FREE TO HATE HIM BABY!!! IT MAKES IT WORSE THAT PPL #DELIBERATELY CREATED A CHARACTER LIKE THAT HONESTLY! WHY WOULD THEY DO THAT TO POOR INNOCENT ME!!!#anyways yeah literally everything about animal crossing is so distressing to me and yet I remember loving it. no idea why.#my memories of it have like a dramatic and eerie vignette #and that newer one that came out and everyone was so excited. I can’t handle it cuz of the FISH AGAIN!!! MEGALOPHOBIA BE LIKE!!!!!!!

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alexiroflife · 5 months ago

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"tears"

fluff for the sukuna fans bc i've been in a soft sukuna mood

ryomen sukuna x reader

Synopsis: sukuna isn't a stranger to arguments with you, but when he catches you crying after a particularly harsh one, he finds himself scrambling to fix it... in his own way

to sum it up: sukuna is an asshole but he loves you, so he tries his best

WC: 3,296

Warning(s): a lil angst

You knew exactly what you were getting into when you first started a relationship with the infamous king of curses, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less when his tendency to be an asshole hurt your feelings.

You know Sukuna isn’t a sentimental person who cares much for things like verbal reassurance, or consideration for the way the things he says can impact you, or anyone for that matter, but damn! Sometimes, he’s just too much of a jerk for you to handle, and Sukuna himself has no idea why your fragile human emotions sway you to be so affected by him. He doesn’t even think he’s said anything wrong the times in which you grow angry with him.

Now, Sukuna can handle your anger. Anger is good. Anger means that there is something he can react to, something he can tame or involve into your intimacies when he takes your mind off of silly arguments or subdues your attitude over what he deems to be small inconveniences. Anger is the only human emotion that he has felt himself in his many years of existence, so he knows what to expect. He understands it. He’s not, in the slightest, intimidated by it.

But what Sukuna finds he can not handle is the sound of your sniffles that resound from behind your door after you’ve just slammed it into his face. Sukuna angles his brows, pressing his ear to the door in confusion. Are you… cold? Coming down with a fever? What the hell are you sniffing your nose so much for?

Then he hears the meek gasps that intercept, the vocalization of pain that creeps into your weakened inhalations that accompany your damned sniffling. That’s when he realizes that you’re crying, and his pupils shrink slightly knowing that he has gone a little too far this time.

Hell, how is he supposed to handle you crying? He can’t fuck your sadness away like he can with your irritation. He can’t mirror your sadness, since he has no clue what the hell it’s supposed to feel like. He can’t empathize with it either, for he has no idea what he could have done to bring tears to your eyes and empathy, well, it’s not in his vocabulary to begin with. It’s pathetic, he thinks, the way you have allowed him to bother you this much…

Yet it kills him to know that he’s the reason behind your tears.

He stands there for some time, unsure of what to do. Should he get Uraume to handle this? No, that may make things worse. You may want to be alone.

He turns to leave, but something stops him. He feels an ache in his chest, pressing his hand to his bicep. What the hell? What is this feeling?

He can still hear you crying, and somehow, it sounds like it’s getting worse, louder, or perhaps that is all in his head. He can no longer tell, but that sound you’re making is the only thing occupying his mind, and it’s ruining him. It’s making his chest tighten, his brow furrow, his lips press together tightly. He should leave, but he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to abandon you like this.

Never once in his life has Sukuna felt remorse. Not even for all the times he has made you angry in the past when you two have had arguments. He is so quick to blame your reactions to things on your feeble human emotions. He is so quick to evade responsibility, or more so, refrain from guilting himself over the things he is responsible for. He is so quick to dismiss you, but it’s always fine because he has never witnessed you grow sad over his behavior, not until now.

Sukuna turns back to your door slowly. His hand flies to grab the handle to throw the door open, but he hesitates. He’s unsure of what’s happening to him, for he’s never hesitated before in his life. This, you crying, him second guessing himself, it’s all so new and he hates it. He needs to fix this immediately.

What do you humans like when you are upset? There’s a word that’s slipping his mind, one he always hears you pester him for but turns down repeatedly. He had found the concept so irrelevant that he hadn’t even bothered to recall what it’s called.

He crosses his arms and stares ahead harshly in thought, then it comes to him. An apology! Yes, that’s what it is. But of course, you can’t expect him to verbalize such a thing. You must want something as a gift. A physical representation of his desire not to see you cry. He rushes off to locate Uraume for preparations.

About an hour later, you’re curled up on your bed and facing the wall with a blank stare. Your tears stopped a while ago, and since you hadn’t heard from Sukuna, you assumed he just didn’t care about your feelings. Like always.

“Oi,” a gruff voice through the door startles you. You jump and turn over, curling your brows in confusion at the sound of Sukuna’s voice. For a moment, you don’t believe he is speaking to you, so you wait some time to see if he will speak again. “I know you can hear me in there,” his voice sounds again, and you groan.

“Go away,” you tell him, flipping back over.

Sukuna, on the other side of the wall, clicks his tongue in agitation. “Quit your pouting and come open this door.”

“No. Until you learn how to treat me better, I don’t want to see you.”

Treat you better? Sukuna doesn’t understand this nonsense. You live in his large estate, you’re pampered by servants, showered with gifts and homemade meals, you sleep by his side every night, and he allows you to disrespect him far more often than he should. Not to mention, he has his arms full of presents at this very moment that are preventing him from opening the door himself. How can he possibly treat you any better than he’s already treating you?

He growls lowly and closes his eyes in irritation. “If you open the door, your mood will improve.”

“I don’t want anything other than what I just said.”

Sukuna’s eye twitches. Why are you so damn difficult? “What is your-”

“Go. Away.”

Oh. Alright, then.

You sit up abruptly when Sukuna’s foot breaks in the door with a loud crash. You stare with wide eyes, the door, now off its hinge, creaking open weakly to reveal the king of curses with his arms full of several bouquets of flowers.

“What the fuck, Sukuna?!” you cry. He only stares frustratedly as he walks into the space univinted.

“This was going to go on for too long if I hadn’t done something,” he says, approaching the side of your bed.

“You can’t just- fuck! What is wrong with you?”

Okay… this is already going poorly.

This is not the reaction he had desired from you, and perhaps he should have revisited the idea of kicking in the door, but he had been growing impatient. Despite his big talk, he doesn’t like when you speak to him in such a cold way. He doesn’t like being separated from you. He doesn’t like not being able to see your face, and after all the work he has just done to collect these plants for you, he can not tolerate being turned away.

“Must you be so dramatic?” he tsks. “Do you not see what I have brought to you? Don’t you humans like these things?”

You stare at him incredulously, mouth agape. Sukuna can see the tear stains clear on your face, and his heart clenches again. God, why is that sight so abominable?

He holds his arms out, presenting the flowers to you as if you could have possibly missed them. “They are yours. Take them and be done with this.”

“Be done with what, Sukuna?” you shake your head, face scrunched.

“With your tantrum- your tears, and the sniffles. Be done with them now. Here.”

You scoff. “Do you even know why you're giving these to me?”

Sukuna raises a brow. “To cease your tantrum. As I just said.”

“I can’t with you sometimes, Sukuna. Honestly.”

“This is really the thanks that I get for bringing you these damn flowers? I thought you were supposed to like things like this. Why would you make me waste my time?”

“If you think it’s a fucking waste of time to bring me flowers, then there’s your problem right there,” you raise your voice, pointing at him accusingly. Sukuna’s face hardens. He thinks you’re getting angry again, but he can still see the sadness behind your eyes. You look almost… defeated. “And if you knew me at all, you’d know that I never cared about any of that stuff. I never cared about the flashiness or the gifts or whatever the fuck.”

Sukuna lowers his hands, letting the bouquets drop carelessly to the floor. “Now you are accusing me of not knowing you?” he seethes. “I’m not sure when you decided that it was acceptable for you to speak to me this way, but I will not tolerate it. I do nothing but dote on you, you ungrateful brat.”

“Yeah, sure, you dote on me, and then you turn around and berate me and call everything I feel stupid because you don’t care to even try to understand why some of the things you say are not okay!”

Sukuna walks closer to invade your personal space, leaning in to glare angrily at you as you do the same. This is what he knows. This is what he chooses to respond to. Not the curl in your brow, not the tremble of your lips, not the unsteadiness of your voice, but your anger. “Why should I care if all you do is whine,” he grumbles.

You clamp your mouth shut as a lump forms in your throat. Sukuna watches you unravel before him, and while he tries to keep an unmoved expression, he is internally panicking when he sees your eyes gloss over again and your nose flare.

Shit. He’s supposed to be making you feel better. How has he gone and made things worse again? Why is he incapable of understanding how to be what you want him to be?

You take in a trembling inhale as your hands clench and unclench at your sides. You don’t want him to see you cry. You don’t want him to call you weak, but you can’t help the tear that breaks past your lashes and dashes down your cheek, a physical display of your heartache.

Sukuna’s crimson eyes fly to the tear, and his brows smooth out against his intent.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

You’re crying again, and it’s his fault. It’s always been his fault. What is this now that he’s feeling? Regret? Shame? Is that what is clawing at his chest and stripping him of his resolve? Making him wish to replay this entire interaction so that you do not appear before him with tears in your eyes once more? Is this what it is to fall?

You rub angrily at your eyes and huff, turning away from him and plopping back down on your bed, back facing him. You shut yourself away, close yourself off, and deprive Sukuna of your pretty face for the second time today. “Just leave me alone. You’ve made it perfectly clear that you don’t give a fuck about me or anything, for that matter.”

Sukuna’s eyes widen slightly with the deepening of his frown. That ache he has felt in his chest spreads throughout his body, serving as tension in his back, head, and shoulders. You think he doesn’t care for you? What nonsense. You’re the only being on this planet who has made a millennia of existence worth living, and you think he doesn’t care?

Sukuna can not even pin the blame onto you this time around. He can not accuse you of overreacting, nor can he evade such a thing that is so clearly his doing. He has made you feel uncared for, and while his temper may get out of hand, and his inability to fully comprehend the plagues of the human mind gets in the way, and he never tells you that he loves you, making you feel unloved is the last thing he ever meant to do.

“Hey,” he mumbles, but you do not move. You cling to yourself for comfort because you do not believe he can provide any for you. “Brat-” he starts, but rethinks. He reaches his hand out to you. “(Y/n). Enough of this.”

“I don’t want to see you right now, Sukuna. Can’t you respect at least that for once?” you croak.

His hand freezes and he lets it fall. Respect. Understanding. That is what you want from him, and he has not been giving it to you. He has not been giving you anything that you request of him emotionally, for that matter. He has been neglecting your mental needs whilst overpowering you with the physical, and it’s drawn you away from him.

He could force you to get up. He could drag you by your hair to his bedroom. He could make you look him in the eye, make you stay with him, make you stay silent about this from this point on and forever more. Sukuna has the power and the authority to do so…

But the idea is not appealing. Not in the slightest.

Sukuna wants you happy. He wants you to want to be with him willingly, and if he ignores your consent now of all times, it would be like throwing away the life he has built with you. Throwing away your desires, and Sukuna does not long for a world in which you are any more uncomfortable than you already are.

He takes a step back, looking over the flowers that he has dropped, and accepts the will of the mortal he fell in love with.

“I will be in my chambers if or whenever you wish to see me,” he says lowly, giving in. He moves to leave but stops himself once more. He never had stopped himself this much before. “...I apologize for making you cry. I will send someone to fix your door immediately.”

Sukuna is well on his way when he hears you shuffling behind him. He turns, admittedly hopeful for your reaction, and finds you peeking in confusion over your shoulder. “...What did you just say?” you whisper.

The king of curses stalls, looking directly into your eyes from across the room. He feels suddenly… weak. Vulnerable. For the first time, he has relented his power for you to take hold of, and it feels strange to say the very least. “Do you wish for me to repeat myself?”

You sit up slowly, turning around. You knuckle at your red nose, watching him suspiciously. “I do. I may have misheard you.”

He studies you for a moment until he realizes that you are being facetious. “You heard me the first time.”

“Maybe I just want you to say it again.”

Sukuna sighs heavily. “I did not intend to make you cry, nor did I intend to make you feel as though I do not care for you. That is a foolish thought, but I understand I do not convey the depth of my feelings for you the way you wish me to convey it.”

You look dumbfounded as you stare at him in silence. Sukuna clicks his tongue, unsure of how you are going to respond.

“Quit staring at me and say something, woman.”

“I just… never thought…” you trail off, swallowing harshly. “I never thought you would ever say something like that to me.”

“You will only hear me say such things when you are- when I’ve made you unhappy,” he clarifies firmly. Your nose twitches, an involuntary movement that Sukuna catches and finds entirely too adorable. Your eyes are still damp, but your breathing has evened out.

“That’s the first,” you quip.

“Enough.”

You press your lips together, glancing at the flowers Sukuna brought you. Just then, you notice that they are your favorite.

You tell yourself you knew what you were getting into when you first started dating the king of curses, but at times you forget that Sukuna is in fact a demon, and a king at that. He does not believe in any better than what he is.

“You hurt my feelings, Sukuna,” you say softly. “Don’t you get what that means? At least for me?”

“No,” he responds honestly. “But I do see now that you have different needs. And I understand that I refuse to watch you cry if there is something I can do about it.”

You try to remain angry with him. You try to keep yourself distanced, but you can not help the way that you are softening, and Sukuna notices. A hint of a smirk curves at the corner of his lips.

“Is that all I had to say to make this better?”

“Shut the hell up,” you hiss. “It wouldn’t have killed you to apologize for the hundreds of other times we’ve fought, you know.”

“You weren’t crying the other times, woman.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you roll your eyes.

Sukuna tilts his head, placing a hand on his hip. “You’re not still upset, are you?”

“Yes,” you pout, and he catches on.

“What is it you want now, to be pampered like a spoiled brat?”

He makes the suggestion as if to offend you, but the two of you both know that he is hardly making a joke. “What I want is for you to fuck off.”

A chuckle rumbles in Sukuna’s throat as he makes his way over to you. You immediately break and screech when he yanks you forward by your ankle and loops you up into his arms before sitting down on your bed and setting you in his lap.

He looks you dead in the eye and lifts a rough thumb, swiping stubbornly at your tear stains and your damp lashes. “Crybaby,” he mutters, and you swat his hand away.

“Whatever, asshole.” You push at his chest with weak contempt and he looks at you boredly.

“You’re pitiful,” he grumbles, gripping your chin securely and guiding it to him. His blood red eyes seep into yours, gazing intently. “No more tears, do you understand?”

“Then don’t make me sad.”

“I won’t,” he tells you confidently.

A smile twitches on your lips as you look over him, completely unfamiliar with this side of the king of curses. “Can you do one more thing for me, and then I’ll maybe think about forgiving you?” you bite your lip, pressing your finger to his broad shoulder.

Sukuna grunts. “More demands, huh? I suppose you know how to take advantage of a situation. What more do you want?”

You wrap your arms over his neck. “Tell me how much you care about me,” you sing.

“Did I not just do so?”

“No, I want you to spell it out. Tell me you love me.”

“I highly tolerate you.”

“Tell me you loveeee me.”

“You are the only human being I do not frown upon.”

“Sukuna.”

“Christ, woman, you’re mine. Isn’t that enough?” he grits his teeth and you snort, patting his cheek gently.

“For now.”

“Such a pest, you know that?” he mumbles, pushing in swiftly to press his lips firmly to yours in a swift peck. “Don’t ever say I don’t care for you again. It is the most false and offensive thing I have ever heard."

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfic #anime #jjk fandom #jjk #jjk season 2 #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #sukuna ryomen x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen x you #ryomen x reader #sukuna x reader fluff #sukuna x y/n #sukuna angst

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shellshocklove · 2 months ago

Text

moanin' & groanin' | logan howlett

pairing/AU: lumberjack!logan howlett/wolverine x inexperienced!female!reader

summery: working for your father's timber business isn't what you saw yourself doing, but when the wolverine comes looking for work it's suddenly not so bad – especially when he can teach you a thing or two.

warnings: this is an 18+ fic so mdni! age gap (in the way that his mutant abilities prolongs his life), swearing, use of pet names, smut, car sex, praise, a little dacryphilia, logan's got a dirty mouth, soft dom!logan, a little size kink (basically logan has a big dick), handjob, fingering, a little manhandling, unprotected sex (don't do it!!), no use of y/n

a/n: um hi! this is my first ever logan fic. i really hope i got him right! not beta read, and barely edited so any mistakes are my own. happy reading! <3

main masterlist / ao3

The pages crinkled under your fingertips as you turned another page. Over the top of your book you could see your father's men milling about, getting the timber ready for another outgoing truck. Day in and day out they worked like flannel-covered ants.

He wasn't here, your father, leaving you to hold down the fort, or office to be precise, as he ran errands. "I'll be back before lunch," he'd told you, a hand passing through the sleeve of his tan Carhartt.

The office felt bigger when he wasn't here, like his neuroticism took up twice as much space as he did himself. You looked around the room. It was small, more like a hut than anything else, raised up on cinderblocks. A tiny kitchen lined the front wall, the refrigerator had given out once this month already and something smelled like it had died in there, the white florescent light under the wall cabinets gave you a headache, and the tap drip drip dripped. The table and the mismatched chairs, your father had found at a fleamarked years ago, before you were born most likely, and they wore the wear and tear of years of use.

Every available surface was covered in papers, and the wooden shelves on the wall dipped in the middle from the weight of the binders. When you were little you'd been afraid the wood would break in two, but they were still standing (hanging?) – maybe they'd stay like that for the rest of eternity for all you knew. Your father's office had only one desk, which made your job as occasional office manager and full-time problem solver, problematic.

Your father would sit in his chair on one side, while you'd steal one of the mismatched chairs and occupy the other end. If you'd had your way, you wouldn't be working here. The timber business interested you just as much as your father was interested in the disco they played on the radio. "If it ain't the king of rock I don't want to hear it," he usually said and switched the channel.

But the town was small, and no one was hiring. The summer after you'd finished high school you'd dreamt of moving to the city, but the money had been tight and your father needed you. At least the work, if your father didn't meddle, was relatively easy: answer the phone, type out the invoices and salaries, keep an eye on logistics, and make sure whatever breaks gets fixed.

The radio hummed at a low volume, one of the singles from Tapestry, as you turned another page of your book. Leaning back in your father's office chair, you glanced at the clock over the door. He should be back by now. Just as the thought crossed your mind, the door swung open.

"Did you need something?" you asked, your book dipping down in your lap.

Logan raised an eyebrow at you as he walked into the office on heavy steps, that damn cigar hanging out the side of his mouth. "Nice to see you too, princess," he poked jokingly, tugging at his gloves, one finger at a time, and tucking them into his leather belt.

He sported the same outfit he usually wore; bootcut jeans, a white t-shirt under his flannel and a thicker wool-lined jacket. He must've been sweating in here with that on.

Autumn had claimed the trees and ground months ago, but this morning the frost had covered the ground and bit at the apples of your cheeks. Your breath had come out in swirling plumes when you'd locked yourself in this morning; the first glints of the sun peeking through the windows as it rose over the mountains. The first thing you'd done was crank the heater, and now as you approached midday, you'd shed your sweater long ago while the windows had fogged with condensation.

The smallest of frowns tugged at your brows, as a heat prickled up your neck to your cheeks. Logan made you a little nervous– not in a bad way, but in a way where your thoughts would wander in his presence, conjuring up scenarios of him and yourself in… comprising positions. Okay, maybe it was in a bad way. But who could blame you when he walked around like that?

He'd arrived only a few months ago, at the tail end of the summer, looking for work. He was strong, stronger than any of the other men working for your father, and although the work was hard, it seemed like he never tired. You didn't know much about him and he kept mostly to himself, hidden away in a cabin up in the mountain, but sometimes you'd see him down at the local bar, nursing a glass of whiskey in one hand and a lit cigar in the other. More than once you'd seen him chatting up Kayla Silverfox, and more than once you'd wished it was you in her place.

"Oof," Logan groaned as he opened the fridge, grabbing his packed lunch and closing it as fast as he could. You appreciated him for that; whatever had died in there should stay in there.

"Yeah," you said, "I'm not cleaning that again, not even for a million bucks."

"Can't blame ya."

He looked to the table for a second where the guys usually ate their lunches, before he decided to take your usual chair at your father's desk. As he sat down, you pushed the ash tray to his side of the desk, earning you a short smile in thanks as he rested his cigar. It wasn't unusual for him to talk to you on his breaks.

So, why did you heart beat so fast in your chest?

Because it was the first time you'd been alone.

"So, where's your old man?" he asked and bit into the sandwich he'd packed in an old newspaper.

"Running errands– he should be back soon…" you trailed off.

Logan hummed non-committedly. "So, you're in here sittin' pretty readin' your book while we're out in the cold slavin' away– maybe I should become the boss' daughter."

"Well, it's not easy," you sighed, feigning confidence, "and you gotta be pretty first of all," you front teeth dug into your bottom lip as you tried to hide your nervousness.

"That's true," he grinned, "I ain't got nothin' on you, princess."

Logan held your gaze with intent, and it was like something in the air shifted. It happened sometimes with Logan, like he had this power beaming from him that sucked you in. Erratic wings fluttered in your stomach, and you had to drop your gaze.

"So, how's the book?" he asked, taking another bite of his sandwich.

"Eh," you shrugged, dog-earing the page your were on, before throwing the beat-up paperback on the table. "Too many plot twists– first they're on earth, then there's this virus spreading– so they have to move all of humanity to the moon, but then there's this species that lives under the surface of the moon who they start a war with, but one of the main characters are in love with a moonie– that's what they call them– so, now they're in love and trying to stop the war and…" you shrugged again.

Logan chewed slowly as he nodded his head. "Sounds complicated," he decided, making you let out a small laugh.

"I guess so."

A grin washed over Logan's face at your small laugh, and you felt his gaze roll over you, over your exposed skin. When he looked at you like that, like a predator drooling for a meal, you felt a small damp spot stick to your panties. You watched as his nostrils widened, his jaw clenching shut as a pulsing vein protruded from his neck.

"So, science fiction," he started, clearing his throat, "Didn't know you liked that," he continued between the last bites of his sandwich

"Some kid at the library recommended it," you shrugged, "so I thought I'd try it out. And it's not like it's that far from the truth– we've got mutants."

Logan crumbled the newspaper hard and quick, the sharp sound making you jump. "Yeah," he said, and stood to his feet, "That's true."

He grabbed his burnt out cigar, and threw the ball of newspaper in the trash. You started to wonder if you'd said something wrong, but then he said, "Your father's back," and not even a second later you could see your dad's old truck pull up outside the window.

How did he even know that?

"Logan– wait," the words just fell out of your mouth before you could even think them through. He hovered by the door, raising a questioning eyebrow at you.

You could be brave– Just say it!

"Come by later would you? Before you leave for the day– I have something for you."

A gush of cold air blew in with the arrival of your father. He almost crashed right into Logan on his way out, nearly knocking him down the wooden steps. You thought you could glimpse a small nod from Logan, but he was out the door so fast you couldn't be sure.

The rest of the day went by slowly as a growing anxiety gnawed at your neck. With your dad back you slipped out to borrow the car, driving into town to pick up some lunch at the local diner. It was routine at this point, something you did without thinking, but today your thoughts couldn't stay still. You were pulling up outside the office when you realized you'd driven the whole way with the radio off.

What was even your plan?

You wished you were better at this. You could pretend, sure, put on a brave face to hide the nerves from surfacing, but how do you get a man like that to go for a girl like you?

You felt non the wiser when the sun had dipped below the mountains and he finally knocked on the office door. Your dad had left thirty-minutes earlier, stranding you at work with no way to get home.

If this didn't go well, you didn't look forward to walking home.

"What 's it you wanted, princess," Logan asked, leaning against the frame of the door with one knee popped. Your eyes couldn't help but run down the length of him – his broad shoulders, the bulge hidden below his big belt buckle, and the veins of his exposed arms as he slung his jacket over his shoulder.

"Oh, um," you tried to shake your thoughts, and you rummaged the desk for the envelope. "Here," you said as you found it, stretching your hand out for him to take it.

He pushed off the door frame with a raised eyebrow, the cold air from the open door taking with it the warmth of the office. "What's this?" he questioned, taking the envelope from your hand.

"It's your check– for this month's work," you explained.

His raised eyebrow pulled into a frown, "This is a week early," he questioned, "and I usually get these sent in the mail."

"Oh, I-I just thought I'd give it to you personally this time," you lied, fitting a shrug at the end for good measure, trying to sell how completely normal and nonchalant you were.

Logan raised a skeptic eyebrow at you, and you suddenly felt really really stupid. In your chest your heart could compete with a hummingbird's.

"Really?" he said with a smile before he dropped his chin, "Can I appreciate a little extra something in here, or…?" he trailed off, waving the envelope.

Letting out a shaky inaudible breath, you tried in your flirtiest voice, "Maybe if you give me a ride home…"

...................

The lights from the town below looked like stars scattered over the night sky, the yellow light of the roads connected them like on a string. You knew that Logan knew where you lived; the town was small, and even with the short time he'd spent here, it wasn't hard to get familiar. He'd stopped at the lookout point, about half-way up the mountain road. It was nice in the daytime, with a nice view of the town, the mountain and rivers, but at night it attracted a different kind of crowd: lovers. It was cheesy, and cliché, but clichés were clichés for a reason.

The Led Zeppelin tape whirled, and the music stopped.

Suddenly you felt nervous, fingers picking at a loose tread on your sweater. Logan leaned forward to flip the cassette, and his truck filled with a sound of organ, like you were back in church. When he leaned back he slung his arm over your seat. You watched how he spread his legs, getting comfortable, as his eyes found your face.

Under the wool, your heart picked up its beat.

In a brave move you shifted closer, the leather seat moaning under you, as a pleased smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. His big palm snaked around your shoulder, curling you closer to him until his lips caught your own. You only hesitated for a second before your hand found his neck, where your fingers tugged lightly at the hair at the nape of his neck.

A low growl huffed against your lips, and he deepened the kiss, pressing himself roughly against you as he licked into your mouth. You couldn't help the small whimper escaping you. His touch was rough, almost impatient, but tender all at the same time, and you felt yourself fall apart.

The air stuck to your skin, clammy and sticky with arousal and now you started to get impatient. With a loud smack you broke apart, your lips raw and spent from use as you caught your breath. A rough hand cupped your cheek, the pad of his thumb skated gently over your skin as he tilted your head towards him.

"Such a pretty little thing," he mused. His eyes had gone dark, pupils huge and filled with lust; yours must've looked about the same as they rolled down his body. He shifted closer to you, pushing you closer to the door, and you got a better view of the bulge hidden behind his jeans.

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, clogging up the sounds around you like you were underwater, pushing at your thoughts at the back of your mind. Logan moved with such ease, each touch natural and easy, like he'd done them a thousand times. Not like you, with only your short-lived high school boyfriend under your belt.

"Hey," he shook your head gently, "Where you goin', bub?"

"I'm sorry," you whispered, a heat coating the apples of your cheeks.

He shook his head, his face surprisingly tender for someone so rough, "Tell me, baby."

"I'm just…" you trailed of, trying to find your words, "I'm a little nervous– I haven't done this much," you said, avoiding his gaze.

"That's sweet, bub." The pad of his thumb rubbed the pet name into your skin as he leaned forward to catch your lips in a soft kiss, "But I wouldn't worry that pretty little head of yours 'bout it."

His breath was hot against your own, and an ache started to spread between your legs. The hand on your cheek travelled downwards to tug at your jacket, and you parted only for a second to rid yourself of it, but before you could lock your lips with his again he grabbed at your hands.

"I'll teach ya," he told you and guided your hands to his broad form.

He let you touch him as he shucked off his jacket, your fingers dancing over the soft flannel. He was solid beneath your fingers, hard muscles from hard work. A patch of dark hair curled at his chest, peeking out beneath his white shirt, and you found yourself wondering where it lead.

Curling his hand around your wrist, he guided your hand lower; down over his chest where you could feel the solid form of him. His bronze belt buckle burned you like ice, but the heat of him as he pressed your hand to the hard bulge beneath the buckle burned even brighter.

"You feel that?" He looked you straight in the eyes. He pressed your hand down harder and you could feel the shape of him against your hand, hard and thick, and big. You barely managed a nod through the wave of heat coating your cheeks.

"That's because of you, princess." His voice was low, almost like a growl, as he started to guide your hand to rub over the thick length.

"Me?" you questioned, breathless.

"Yes, you," he chuckled, a heavy hand petting at your head. "D'you want to take it out? Stroke it f'me?"

"Please," you begged, looking at him with moony eyes through your lashes.

"So polite f'me," he mused, his hands tugging at his belt before he popped the button on his jeans. Slipping off your shoes, you crawled up into the seat, sitting back on your knees as you watched him pull at his jeans. Peeking out from under the denim, you could see a dark patch of hair.

Logan was in no rush, revealing only an inch at a time of the base of his cock, making a show of it as the tension rose. A wave of tickling arousal washed over you, and it made you brave, reaching a trembling hand forward, you helped him tug at the fabric.

At last his cock sprung free.

You felt your eyes widen at the sight, as you involuntarily squeezed your thighs together. Even with your limited experience, you knew he was bigger than most. The thick length of his cock bobbed from the weight, hanging heavy between his legs. At the tip of his fat head, a drop of precum pearled, almost invisible in the dark truck.

"Come here, bub." He widened his legs as he reached out a strong arm for you, curling you into his shoulder.

"Put your hand on it," he ordered, "like this," he grabbed at your wrist and guided you hand towards his mouth. You let him move you around, eyes blown out and wide as you couldn't take your eyes off his impressive cock.

A wet blob of spit pulled you from your thoughts, it drew the slightest frown over your face until he guided your palm, now coated in his spit, to his cock.

Under your palm his skin was silky soft, but hard and firm at the same time. You found yourself mesmerized at the sight of your hand around him as you familiarized yourself with the heaviness of him in your hand.

"There ya go–" he cut himself off with a groan as you formed a fist around the head of him. Your fingers struggled to reach around him, but it didn't seem like Logan minded much when you moved downwards smearing his spit over his shaft in an experimental tug.

"That's it, good girl, just like that."

A warmth bloomed in your chest at the praise, wrapping itself around your heart. You wanted him to say it again– to be good for him. So, you reached forward with your other hand, wrapping it around the base as the other formed a fist around the head. Another pearl of precum beaded at the tip, and you took the opportunity to skate your thumb over it, massaging it into his spit.

A growl seemed to get caught in Logan's throat, and still riding off your high that the praise had sown in you, you started to pump his cock in slow strokes. A slick sound escaped under your fists with each stroke, and you watched how his head fell back in pleasure.

"Am-am I doing it right?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

At the sound of your voice, Logan sat up straighter, a heavy hand falling over your back to pull you closer. "You're a natural, princess."

You couldn't contain the smile from coating your lips as he brought you in for another searing kiss. It was hot, and suffocating, and all-consuming, all at the same time. It clouded your mind, and you forgot what your hands were supposed to be doing.

Logan's hand travelled down your body, his big palm grabbing at your ass. "Take of your pants," he ordered against your lips, "Panties too," underlining his order with a couple of light slaps to the flesh.

Shuffling out of his hold, you fingered at the button of your pants, pulling at them and your panties as quickly as you could. Goosebumps prickled over your exposed skin, the air suddenly frosty without Logan's touch – but that didn't last long.

The calloused pads of his fingers trailed up your thighs, pressing down into the flesh as he pulled you closer to him. "Come sit in my lap, princess."

He didn't wait for you to move, instead he manhandled you how he wanted. Spreading his legs wide apart he fit you between his legs, your back pressed against his hot chest with his hard and leaking cock caged against your ass.

"I'm gonna touch you now, baby, okay?" his deep voice whispered in your ear.

"Okay," you peeped, heart pounding in your ears at this new proximity.

He spread your legs, putting your wet and neglected cunt on display, hooking them over his knees. When his palms danced over your inner thighs, you felt yourself sink deeper into his chest, deeper into the safe scent of pine and man.

"Need to get you ready f'me, bub– stretch this tight cunt out for my big cock," he cooed.

You ached for him, a sticky wet feeling between your legs as you wished so badly for him to finally touch you. His touch was light, but teasing, drawing circles along the thin flesh, circling closer and closer to where you needed his touch the most, before he pulled away.

"Please," you whined, grabbing at his arm.

His breath felt hot against your neck, and you could feel the grin he pressed against your skin. He let you guide him upwards to hover his large palm over your mound, but he wouldn't let you have it. Instead, he pushed at your sweater. His hand spread across the skin beneath your belly button as prickled goosebumps followed the rough pads as they ran across your skin.

"Y'gonna feel me right here, bub?" he teased, "So deep inside your tummy?"

A whine caught in your throat and you felt like an exposed nerve. Arousal pulsated throughout your body, threatening to pull you apart unless he did something soon. Your neglected cunt dripped with an ache only he could sooth.

"Yes, please, Logan," you whined, tears threatening to spill.

His thick beard scraped against your cheek, and you almost trembled from anticipation as he slid his hands downwards. He raked his fingers through the curls of your mound, and a gasp fell from your lips when he finally pushed at your clit.

A wide smile reached across your face when he started to circle his fingers, tight with the perfect amount of pressure. Your hips bucked to meet his touch, your cunt eager and dripping for more of him. His other arm clasped around your middle, keeping your still and steady in his lap as he had his way with you.

A bold finger dipped lower, running through your folds and teasing at you entrance. A slick sound filled the car as he played with your cunt, circling his fingers around your hole, dipping a teasing finger inside you just to the first knuckle, before withdrawing it just as quickly.

"Such a messy pussy," Logan murmured in your ear, the deep bass of his voice vibrating into your skin. "Listen."

The sound as he played with your pussy was obscene, lewd, and so dirty you felt a heat crawl up your chest. A breathy gasp escaped you when he finally split you on his finger, and a satisfied smile coated your lips as he started to move it inside in a steady rhythm, prodding every so often at that spongy spot inside, the spot your own finger couldn't reach.

"F-feels s-so good," you managed to stutter out.

The heel of his palm pressed against your clit with every thrust, teasing at your insides and conjuring moan after breathy moan from your lips. He guided you closer and closer to the edge, and you wanted so badly to fall. When he pulled out to slide another finger inside you, you felt a tear roll down your cheek with satisfaction.

"I can feel that pussy clenching me– you close, bub?" he poked, never stopping his fingers.

Your head rolled back, resting heavy on his shoulder as you nodded franticly, mouth parted slightly, humming out small breathy whines. You were so close, the tension in your stomach twisting and aching for release.

But then he pulled his fingers, dragging them up over your mound leaving a wet trail in your curls. You couldn't help the disappointed sigh as more tears pressed their way down your cheeks.

"Shh," he hushed you, "you're okay, bub."

Under you, you felt him move, his strong muscles flexing as he shifted you on his lap. When you felt the blunt head of his cock slide between your folds, an eagerness came upon you. You grinded against him, making a small chuckle rumble from his chest. Logan slapped his heavy cock against your folds, coating his big cock in your slick arousal.

The first stretch of him knocked the breath right out of you, the fat tip of him splitting you in half as he helped you guide yourself down on him. You had to remember to breathe, your hand fumbling for something to hold on to.

"Fuck," you whimpered, eyes wide, "I-it's so big– it's t-too big."

His hand wrapped around your middle held you in place, keeping you still on his cock as you adjusted to the first inches of him inside you.

"It's not too big, princess, you're doing so well f'me," he praised, "just a little more, bub– you can do it."

With a wet whimper you lowered yourself, taking a couple more inches of him, as Logan pressed more fluttering praise into your skin. He let you take your time, easing yourself down on him at your own pace. When your thighs were finally flushed with his, he was so deep inside you, you jolted, trying to move back up, but Logan's hands held you down. You felt him in your tummy, like he'd said, his cock reaching so deep you were shaking.

"Sit still, get used to it," he told you, as you tried to catch your breath, "You're being so good f'me."

And somehow the burning stretch of him soothed away into a pleasurable pressure, one you couldn't help but chase. With an experimental rock of your hips, you felt the fat head of him prod at your spot, making you mewl. And when you started to swivel your hips, Logan groaned in satisfaction, meeting your movement with small thrusts.

Slowly, he picked up his rhythm, strong hands shifted to dig into your hips, holding you in place for him to move you as he wished. In your ear, you heard him growl, deep and animalistic as he fucked up into you.

It didn't take long until your breath came out fast between moans as the pressure built, and built, and built.

"Logan," you moaned, tethering right on the edge.

Another growl escaped his chest, as his strong arms hooked under your legs. He pressed them tightly to your body as he picked up his pace, bucking wildly into your eager cunt. You could feel him throb inside of you, and you couldn't help but clench at the thought of feeling him spill inside you, claiming you.

"Don't stop, please, don't stop," you begged, tears streaming down your face like two winding rivers, "I-I'm gonna come."

A hand slid between your legs to rub at your puffy clit, coaxing you closer and closer with winding circles.

"Come on my cock, baby, come all over that big cock."

It was hot, and blinding. Euphoric shocks pulsed through your body, as you fluttered and gushed around his cock. Logan's grip on your legs tightened as you shook violently with your orgasm – a million stars exploded behind your eyes.

"Oh, that's it, bub, such a good girl," he praised between heavy wet pants against your ear.

Fucking you through your ecstasy, Logan chased his own high at a relentless pace, and all you could do was take it, reduced to a ragdoll in his hands. In your ear he muttered nonsense interlaced with praise, telling you how good you felt, and how perfect you were for him.

With a deep groan he pulled out quickly, tugging at himself until he spilled his thick spend on the truck floor. With bleary eyes you watched how it pumped in quick spurts, dripping down his hand and soiled the knuckles in his own sticky cum.

Behind you, Logan breathed hard, nudging his nose against the column of your neck to press soft kisses to the hot skin.

A pair of bright headlights beamed down the road, pulling you from the moment with its blinding light. Logan helped you shift off his lap, reaching to hand you your discarded clothes before he tucked himself back into his jeans.

The cassette whirled in the car radio, and you couldn't remember when the music had stopped. Logan shifted back behind the wheel and an eerie silence grew in the distance between you.

"How 'bout I take you somewhere to eat?" he posed.

You smiled, "I could eat."

...................

hopefully this was okay? a comment telling me your favorite part is always welcome, and my ask box is always open to chat <3 and thank you for reading!!

#logan howlett #logan james howlett #wolverine #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #james logan howlett x reader #x-men fanfiction #lumberjack!logan #hugh jackman #*writing #wolverine smut #logan howlett smut

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sanarsi · 4 months ago

Text

Controversially young girlfriend

post-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Summary: Joel finally finds his brother. He's not too happy to hear how he got on with his life without him. But his brother is also not happy to meet his new partner - you. Or Joel fucks you to comfort you. Warnings: +18, MDNI, age gap (reader is 22, Joel is 56), soft!dom!Joel, maybe little angst, unprotected PIV, fingering, daddy kink, DAUGHTER ISSUES (pls it’s important), protective!Joel, no!Ellie AU, pet names (baby girl, kitty, daddy) Wordcount: 4,6k An: Soft Joel is definitely one of my favorites. It's a pleasure to write him that way. Music I worked with: Brooklyn Baby - Lana Del Rey

Masterlist

“Well…” Tommy started, looking away. His hand intertwined with the woman's hand next to him. “Maria is family, actually.”

There was silence.

The atmosphere became so thick that you felt uncomfortable even though you weren't part of their conversation. Joel's gaze was fixed on the hands of the couple next to him as if he was cursing them in every way. You noticed out of the corner of your eye how his jaw was clenching dangerously so you decided to save the situation before it became even more awkward.

“Congrats,” you said with a nice smile and they responded in kind.

But they didn't wait for your words.

They waited for Joel's words, but he still remained dangerously silent.

You looked at him, placing your hand on his in a comforting gesture. His fingers immediately tightened around yours as if they were the only thing that could save him.

“Joel, say congrats,” you murmured with an encouraging smile. You watched carefully as he clenched his jaw tighter, fighting with himself. His eyes finally fell on his brother and his partner.

There was a long silence again.

“Congrats,” a low voice cut through the silence like a knife. You wanted to roll your eyes at the way his words sounded. As if he wished them to fall out on the ice. So in Joel’s style...

You were surprised that his attitude towards the whole situation changed in just a few seconds. A moment ago he was hugging his brother with tears in his eyes and now he was looking at him with contempt. There was no positive emotion in his behaviour but you decided that you would ask him about everything when you were alone.

You squeezed his hand tighter as he leaned back, getting more comfortable. And it wouldn't be something special if that damn old man wasn't trying to show in this way his dominance.

This time you couldn't help but roll your eyes at his childish behavior. Grown up man.

Tommy and Maria exchanged knowing glances before he tried to break the awkward atmosphere.

“So…” he started with a smile, looking from you to Joel. “Are you two…” he started, pointing his finger at you. You immediately understood what he was trying to ask and you opened your mouth to answer him, but Joel was faster.

"Yes," he said coldly. You glanced at him as he continued to stare deadly at his brother. Tommy smiled awkwardly and nodded.

"He's annoying sometimes, isn't he?" he asked teasingly, wanting to relax the atmosphere. You chuckled, deciding that at least you, out of the two of you, would show some level of manners.

“Yeah, sometimes,” you nodded with a smile. Tommy quickly realized that he would rather talk to you than to his own brother. He smiled pleasantly at you, ignoring Joel's burning gaze.

"How did you meet?" he started, wanting to do a quick interview. And of course he wasn't doing it because you looked so damn young.

Too young…

You smiled wider, glancing out of the corner of your eye at Joel before you began to speak.

"Well... we happened to run into each other in the middle of nowhere," you said, feeling Joel start to gently stroke your hand with his thumb. A small gesture but it gave you a lot of comfort. “It won't come as a surprise that the first time we met, we pointed guns at each other,” you laughed softly at the memory. It seemed so irrational now. "But somehow he managed to convince me not to put a bullet in his head."

Joel finally glanced at you, and if it weren't for the whole situation, he would have started teasing you about what you said.

“He's been like my shadow ever since,” you finished saying and glanced at Joel, giving him a soft smile. His gaze immediately warmed. You were his weak spot and like a ray of sunshine, you warmed his broken soul. You were his cure.

Tommy noticed the way you were looking at each other and felt strangely uneasy. He hadn't seen Joel look at anyone like that since his daughter died. And he honestly didn't think it was a good thing.

"How old are you?" came the question from his mouth. Maria looked at him warningly, but it was too late. The words were spoken.

You looked at Tommy, smiling crookedly. You knew that your age was... a topic you preferred to avoid. Relationships with such an age difference were not perceived very well by other people.

“I-“ you started hesitantly.

"Twenty-two," Joel replied, looking intently at his brother. You swallowed, feeling a lump in your stomach as you heard Joel's confident voice. You tightened your fingers on his hand, searching for the comfort he immediately provided you.

For him, there was only you.

You and your comfort were his priority.

Tommy laughed nervously, his eyes darting between the two of you. He straightened up slowly and glanced at his partner as if she was about to tell him that it was all really a joke.

But no one else laughed. Maria looked at him knowingly, Joel looked at him deadly and you looked down. Everyone was dead serious and then Tommy couldn't stand it. He looked at everyone, getting more serious by the second.

“Are you fucking serious?” he finally asked in disbelief. He snorted dryly, focusing his full attention on Joel. You cringed slightly at his aggressive tone. His reaction didn't bode well and you honestly didn't want to witness it. “Joel, what the fuck?” he growled, pointing his hand at you. “She's twenty-two. She's a fucking child."

You blinked a few times, staring stubbornly at the discoloration on the table. Right now, anything was better than facing the situation that was happening.

But Joel was calm. At least that's what he appeared to be. He gently squeezed your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles. And he didn't seem at all concerned about his brother's reaction.

"If Sarah were alive-"

"Don’t," Joel interrupted him firmly. Tommy fell silent, knowing he had said a few too many words. But he wasn't thinking about that now. He was too upset about what his brother was doing. He snorted dryly, spreading his hands helplessly.

“What are you doing exactly?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “You’re playing family with her? Playing her daddy?” he continued with increasing disgust. “Treating your daughter issues?” he added with venom.

Tears appeared in your eyes. Was your relationship really that disgusting in the eyes of others?

"She is younger than her, Joel" he said a little more calmly, trying to make his brother realize that what he was doing was wrong. Your eyes met Maria's. There was no compassion in her for this situation, she looked at you with compassion as if you were unaware of the harm that was affecting you. As if you were… just a stupid kid.

You shuddered because of the negative emotions that filled the table. This didn't go unnoticed by Joel. He knew he had allowed Tommy's offensive comments to go on too long.

"She's happy with me," he finally said, his voice a little hoarse. This time you shuddered because of him. “You don't have to worry about the rest. I'm not hurting her.” He straightened up slowly and squeezed your hand before letting you go. "We'll replenish our supplies and leave in the morning," he decided, moving away from the table. Tommy looked at him, not knowing what to say.

"Joel-"

"Thank you for the meal," he said politely to Maria and stood up. His contemptuous gaze was fixed on his brother as he extended his hand towards you.

“It was nice to meet you,” you said, smiling politely at her and then without thinking, you took Joel's hand. In the blink of an eye, a jacket appeared on your shoulders as you stepped outside. Without a word, you tried to keep up with Joel as you passed the others people.

He was furious, you were sure of that. That's why you were afraid to even breathe for several minutes. The snow crunched under your shoes as you passed each street. You had access to the house at the very end of the town, so you had a short walk ahead of you.

Eventually, Joel slowed down a bit. His shoulders stopped tensing and the crease between his eyebrows disappeared slightly.

“Not so great orientation meeting,” you said jokingly. Joel raised an eyebrow, glancing down at you. And even though his emotions were swirling inside him, the sight of your sweet, innocent smile immediately brought him peace.

He sighed heavily, looking away. “Yeah, not very successful,” he replied with a small smirk on his face.

You smiled wider when you saw his reaction. You loved that Joel was like this just with you. As if he couldn't feel negative emotions around you. He really couldn’t. You were his cure for everything.

The rest of the way was spent in silence until you stood on the porch of the last house on the street and Joel opened the door for you.

“Woah,” you sighed, looking around the house. “A house suitable for living. I’m in shock” you marveled as you slowly explored each room and Joel watched your every move. He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms, and quickly looked around the interior.

“Yeah, not bad,” he nodded, making you look at him in shock.

“Dude, it's awesome here,” you said, spreading your arms with a wide smile.

“Language” admonished you.

“Yeah, sorry,” you nodded and started exploring the house again.

You spent the entire evening washing away the dirt from several months. Only after the third time, the water was clear. You sat staring at the water as Joel washed your hair once again. You didn't ask him for it, but you never had to ask him for anything. If he could, he would start breathing for you. It may have amounted to obsession.

But who could stop him? More than one has tried to take you away from him. And they all ended their lives.

Who could blame him? If he had to, he would kill everyone in the world, everyone infected, just to keep you safe.

"Can I ask you something?" you spoke up, breaking the silence.

“Anything,” he replied, automatically washing the ends of your hair thoroughly.

“You promise you won't be mad?”

“I can't be mad at you.”

And it was true. Even though you knew it, you still felt stressed. Joel was…allergic to certain topics and you completely respected that. But after today, you couldn't and didn't want to stay silent.

“How old would Sarah be now?” you asked quietly. His movements stopped for a few seconds, as did your heart. But Joel didn't let you live in uncertainty for long. He slowly started washing your hair again and sighed softly. You knew that this topic wasn't very pleasant for him, so you honestly spat in your face for needing to know the answer to a few questions.

"Thirty-two," he replied without much emotion.

You swallowed hard, realizing that Tommy was right. You were too fucking young for him.

His daughter would be ten years older than you.

His daughter.

And you were his… who? Girlfriend? Now that sounded pathetic.

You wrapped your arms around your knees tighter, resting your chin on them and remaining silent. You've never thought about it all this way.

Joel was always… good for you.

True, he had his weaknesses, but who didn't? His wounds didn't bother you. After all, you fell in love with him. With all his flaws.

"You're silent," he noted after a few minutes of silence.

This conversation was not in his favor, but he knew that there were reactions going on in your head that shouldn't be there. And he knew he had to make sure nothing stupid got into your head.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, starting to slowly rinse the lather from your hair. The warm water ran down your back, making you shiver with pleasure.

“I just… think,” you shrugged. Joel sighed heavily and you knew very well what that meant.

"Baby-"

"Do you think Tommy's right?" you interrupted him before he could get going.

"About?" he asked, squeezing the excess water from your hair. You straightened up, looking at him over your shoulder. You were upset by everything you heard and he couldn't bear it. He couldn't stand that his own brother had put you in such a state. A state of doubt.

Joel moved closer to you, groaning softly as he knelt by the tub. You watched his tired face with those innocent eyes of yours.

“Listen, baby girl…” he started and touched your cheek gently. “I'm not going to lie to you…Tommy's god damn right,” he nodded, and more emotions immediately appeared in your eyes.

Fear? Surprise? Uncertainty? Or maybe all at once.

Despite his words, he smiled at you, stroking your jaw tenderly. “I'm too damn old for you,” he laughed, following the movements of his fingers with his eyes. His worn hands against your silky skin.

Two contradictions.

“Fuck…” he sighed with a helpless smile and trailed his fingers down to your neck. “Baby, you are like a blooming flower. Young, beautiful, innocent," he said dreamily. "While I am a dried bush overgrown with weeds for a long time."

“You are not,” you denied, frowning in sadness. Joel smiled fondly at your words and stroked your cheek with his thumb. You unconsciously hugged to his hand. A warm, rough hand that brought you a sense of security.

“So what am I in your eyes?” he asked, looking at you with tenderness. You were so damn delicate that sometimes he was afraid he would break you.

“You are like a big oak tree at the very top of the hill,” you said with a soft smile. A smile that was intended only for him. “Your crown provides shade and shelter in the summer,” you continued, looking closely at every detail on his face. "And in winter your branches scare away all those who didn’t rest under you in summer."

His heart tightened in his chest as he listened to your words. In your eyes, Joel was a completely different person. In your eyes, he was good.

“You would be a good poet,” he replied, shaking his head with a smile. You watched as he slowly stood up, groaning at the slightest movement.

Good old oak.

“Get your ass out of it cause I want to wash up too,” he looked down at you with a smirk before walking out of the bathroom.

A few hours later you were lying in bed.

A soft bed.

A clean bed.

And yet you couldn't sleep.

You stared at the blank wall and thought about everything and nothing. Joel was long asleep. At least that's what you thought. You didn't know because you hadn't turned to face him since he laid down in bed. His calm breathing was the only thing you could focus on. No other sounds. You were... safe. This was rare.

So why did you feel so… bad?

Why his calm breathing didn’t bring you comfort like it always did?

Why you felt like you were in the wrong place?

Why-

“You've been silent for several hours,” Joel's hoarse voice brought you out of your thoughts. “It wouldn't be weird if you were sleeping, but you are not,” he continued, and the mattress behind you sagged under his weight. His arm wrapped around your waist as he leaned in, nuzzling your ear. “So are you finally going to tell me what this is about?” he whispered, sending shivers down your entire body. Your pulse immediately quickened at his proximity.

Then came a gentle kiss behind the ear.

And then on the neck.

And then his arm tightened around you, pulling you closer to his heated chest.

“I was sleeping,” you said quietly, hoping to avoid the conversation.

“Liar,” he whispered into your ear, his warm breath reverberating through your body in an inappropriate way. “Come on, baby girl,” he nuzzled you encouragingly. "Spit it out."

You lay there struggling with yourself for a while. You didn't want to talk about it now. You didn't want to talk about it at all. But something inside made you ask the question that was floating around in your head like a virus.

“If you think Tommy is right, then why-”

“Because I love you,” he interrupted you, knowing very well what your question would be. Even if he didn't know, there was one answer. “Because I can't imagine being where I am now without you.”

You fell silent, letting his words permeate the space around you. You believed him. Always and in everything. You pursed your lips into a line, wondering for the first time if you were stupid enough to trust him blindly with everything.

For the first time you doubted him.

“They looked at me like I was stupid for trusting you,” you whispered, huddling deeper under the blanket. Joel sighed softly and turned you towards him. You stared at his chest, not wanting to look at him. You were ridiculed just because you were young.

“Hey, baby, look at me,” he said gently, running his fingers down your cheek to your chin to force you to look up.

You were sad.

He hated when you were sad.

His sunshine couldn't hide behind the clouds.

“You're not stupid, you understand?” he started, looking at you seriously. You wanted to look away but he wouldn't let you. "Understand?" he repeated more firmly. You nodded weakly, but that was enough for him. “I'm the problem, not you,” he spoke softly, stroking your cheek gently. “I'm not a good person and they know it,” he smiled gently, wanting to reassure you. He tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. "I've done a lot of bad things you've never even heard of." He slowly traced your cheek until he finally removed his hand only to place it on your hip. “But you… You are good.” He pressed his fingers lightly against your skin and then moved down to your thigh. “And someone as good as you shouldn't be with someone as bad as me,” he explained and slowly pulled your leg on top of him.

“But-“

“Your age is just something they can pick on,” he answered your question before it left your mouth. You fell silent, feeling the warmth on your cheeks as his hand slowly began to stroke your thigh. “They don't believe that someone like you is with me by choice and not by force,” he explained with a soft smile on his lips as his hand moved up, sneaking under your shirt to your waist. “They explain everything using my trauma. And the fact is, maybe there is a fatherly instinct in me. But thanks to this, I can take care of you the way you need it.” His words crept into your head just as he wanted them to. You were fascinated by him. You looked at him again like you always did.

As if there was only him in the whole world.

That look healed another piece of his soul each time.

He couldn't lose you.

Even at the cost of his own brother.

“And the fact that you kissed me first was just an added bonus. I'm just a man and you knew exactly what to do to make me weak for you" he added with a smirk and you snorted under your breath. Your reaction was enough to make his heart beat faster. And the happiness in your eyes only ignited it.

He leaned towards you, nuzzling his nose against yours. You closed your eyes with a blissful smile.

“They may think you're stupid for me, but the truth is, I'm stupid for you,” he whispered before gently pressing his lips to yours. The warmth of his lips and the roughness of his beard warmed your heart. He kissed you gently and slowly. He always did it slowly. Enjoying every second of the closeness you gave him. He didn't know how many moments like this he had left so he enjoyed everything you gave him.

The softness of your lips.

The gentleness of your hands.

The sweetness of your moans.

His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you even closer until there was no space between you. Your hands came to his cheeks as he slowly deepened the kiss. Even in the kiss he could feel how delicate you were.

Joel was already too destroyed by life for his lips to taste like yours. But that's how you liked him. With heavy touch, rough beard, chapped lips and tired eyes. And all this with a pinch of love he had for you.

You moaned into his mouth as he pulled your hips closer to his. How could you not fall for him when he was perfect for you?

“Let me take care of you, baby girl,” he whispered against your lips and moved his hips gently, grinding against you. Your breath shuddered as he brushed against your pussy. Without thinking, you nodded.

“Okay,” your whisper disappeared into his mouth as he kissed you again. He ran his hand down your back to your ass until he disappeared between your thighs.

You moaned sweetly as he ran his fingers over your wet slit. He loved how wet you were for him. Always.

You made him feel like a man again.

You let him take care of you in every sense of the word. You trusted him. And this time he wasn't going to make the same mistake.

His fingers slowly dipped into your hole, triggering another moan that disappeared into his mouth. He slowly started fucking you with his fingers. Gently and with love. Takes his time with you.

You breathed heavily into his mouth, purring every now and then in contentment at his gentle touch. He experienced it with you, drinking everything from your lips.

“You're always ready for me,” he purred contentedly and rubbed the bulge in his boxers against your clit. You whimpered softly. “Such a good girl,” he nuzzled against yours and placed a kiss on the tips of your lips. You felt the muscles in your lower abdomen begin to tense with every movement of his finger.

And suddenly his fingers disappeared. You gasped, feeling the sudden emptiness. His hand disappeared between your bodies only to take out his ready cock. He ran his hand along his entire length a few times, placing another kiss on your cheek.

“Don’t worry, daddy will take care of you,” he whispered, running his tip over your slit and then dipping into you a moment later. You gasped, closing your eyes and letting him wrap his arms around your waist.

He pulled you closer, impaling you with his cock. He shuddered as he buried himself inside you. You always welcomed him with warmth and wetness. You clenched around him at the feeling of being filled.

“She's happy to see me,” he said happily, placing a trail of kisses along your jaw. He wrapped his arm tightly around your hips and slowly began to move inside you. His movements were negligible. He pulled out of you only a few inches only to come back in again. These lazy movements were beyond perfect. You felt him perfectly and constantly. Just like you should.

You moaned, tightening your leg around his hip to get even closer. To make it even deeper. His lips were on your neck, placing wet kisses inch by inch. And all you could do was melt in his embrace. Every lazy movement of his hips stimulated you non-stop. Your soft moans filled the room and his heart. He loved hearing you sing for him.

He kept thrusting into you, keeping the perfect pace. Zero breaks in stimulating your pussy. Lazy sex was definitely one of your favorites. The constant closeness you had then was something that made you forget for a moment that the world around you existed. His lips returned to yours, inviting you into a deep kiss. Perfectly coordinated from the very beginning. From the first moment your lips met.

“I love making love to you,” he whispered against your lips. All you could do in response was pull him in for a kiss again. The pleasure you felt between your legs, your heart and your soul made a single tear roll down your cheek.

Fuck, how could you ever give up on this man? The old oak tree under whose care you blossomed.

His fingers dug into your skin and his movements were more decisive. He continued to move lazily inside you, only to enter hard until the very end. You breathed heavily into his mouth, keeping your hands firmly on his cheeks. Your gasps and moans mixed together in perfect harmony.

“Fuck, dad-“ you trailed off as he thrust into you hard once again.

“Yes, baby girl, come on my cock,” he gasped, feeling your slit becoming more and more reluctant to let him come out of you. This was the only time he started fighting with you.

He held your hips tightly, trying to keep the same pace even though you weren't making it easy for him.

“Don't fight it kitty,” he said with a smile. You laughed softly against his lips and started moving your hips to help him. Your movements made him look forward to fulfillment as well. You both moved your hips in sync, moaning into each other's mouths.

“Daddy’s gonna fill you up, okay?” he gasped, feeling his movements become sloppier than he would have liked.

“Mhm,” you murmured, holding on to his neck like a lifeline. Joel began to moan louder and louder into your mouth, feeling his orgasm slowly approaching like a wave of fire. You sped up your hip movements, feeling him start to slow down. You had to catch up with him.

“Oh, fuck… Fuck,” he groaned in pleasure as he came inside you. His orgasm was like a rag to a bull for you. You rolled your hips a few more times before you came, panting heavily. You shuddered, moving your hips one more time before you collapsed, looking up at him, satisfied.

He watched you in silence, and the sight of your face after your orgasm was definitely one of his favorites. He leaned towards you, stealing a gentle kiss. His thumb stroked your cheek as if you were made of porcelain. His arms wrapped around you tightly, pulling you to his chest as he covered your bodies with the blanket. You snuggled into him, listening to his heartbeat as he stroked your hair gently.

"You know... you may be too old for me, but you're still doing pretty well," you admitted, and he laughed quietly.

"Yeah?" he asked, amused.

“Yeah,” you nodded with a smile. Joel leaned down to press a kiss to your head in response to your teasing. You were perfect. And you were his.

#joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #soft joel miller #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #sanarsi fic

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glitch-euphoria · 1 year ago

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Alright everyone, reblog this post and tell me the most annoying misconceptions in your fandom in the tags. It can be literally anything, as long as people actually think it's canon and it's not. Go forth.

#fandom #ushiwaka is NOT some one dimensional asshole #like he said some mean shit but that’s bc he’s way too damn blunt n serious #itadori is not a useless mc i will not stand for itadori slander #w/out him certain mfs wouldn’t be where they are today #like bro fr just got thrust into this shit he’s still learning n coping w all that #the other characters have had years of this. at most he has months #it’s a miracle he’s doing as good as he is #yall mischaracterize gojo sm #he is not some hot suave character #he is a loser (affectionate)!!#and he aint a total jerk either like wtf?? 😭#not standing for gwen stacy slander either #like girl was stuck between a rock and a hard place. she thought there was no other iption #yall will say he’s just a kid for miles but not apply the same understanding to gwen #yes she fucked up. but she’s trying to fix it.#one of the main differences between her n miles is that miles had a support system.#miles had supportive parents. friends. people #gwen had no one. she only had the society. if she lost them there’d be no one else #going back to miguel bc that’s the maim thing i can think abt #but he isnt actively trying to ruin miles’ life. yk who is?? the spot. yall keep forgetting abt hi #he literally says so himself. hes the one who kills miles dad.#the spider society is not a cult?? theyre a group of extremely traumatized ppl looking for a way to make things make sense.#and miguel while rough wasn’t trying to kill miles. he was js tryimg to restrain him. if he wanted him dead miles wouldnt have made it out #i feel like i have more to say but i forgot 💀

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peavhyshy · 1 month ago

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⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ - AFRAID

ᯓᡣ𐭩 paring ─ ୨୧ ─ dark!boyfriend!rafe cameron ⋆ reader

ᯓᡣ𐭩 summary ─ ୨୧ ─ in which Rafe hatches a plan to ensure you stay by his side, by making you dependent on him.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 warnings ─ ୨୧ ─ explicit language noncon/dubcon, smut, rafe drugs reader, substance abuse, toxic relationship, emotional abuse, baby trapping/forced pregnancy, possessiveness, controlling behaviors, threats of violence, loss of virginity, corruption, breeding kink, dirty talk (like a lot), abandonment issues, manipulation, rough sex, hairpulling, fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, powerplay, choking, semi public sex, car sex, creampie (please dni if your sensitive to these topics your mental health should come first)

ᯓᡣ𐭩 wc ─ ୨୧ ─ 8,960

⋆˚✿˖° a/n ─ ୨୧ ─ is there a plot not really, it may seem long but 80% of this is smut. this is unrelated but i think his season 1 & 2 rafe hair were elite to me but I just hate buzz cuts on everyone so my opinion doesn't matter here. The ‘Lila’ is now edited I use it as a placeholder (because for some reason I hate putting y/n while writing) before I replace it with y/n but of course my dumbass forgot to do that when I published this.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔.:･Afraid･:.ೃ࿔.⋆❀°

(༝༚༝༚ lana del rey)

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── Outer Banks Masterlist ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── Navigation ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Rafe sits across from you at your usual table in the country club, his jaw clenching rhythmically as he watches you flip through the college applications. His fingers drum against the polished wooden table, creating a nervous pattern that matches his increasing anxiety. The sight of all those prestigious university names makes his stomach turn - Harvard, Yale, Princeton - each one threatening to take you further away from Outer Banks, from him. He barely touches his plate of steak, too preoccupied with the growing unease in his chest.

"Why the fuck are you even looking at schools that far?" He snaps suddenly, his voice carrying a sharp edge as he reaches across to snatch one of your fries, popping it into his mouth with more force than necessary. His blue eyes darken with barely contained irritation, especially when he catches Topper's wave from across the room. He returns it with a curt nod, his attention immediately returning to you. "You know there's perfectly good schools right here in North Carolina. UNC's got a decent program."

You glance up from your binder, your eyes meeting Rafe's intense blue ones. You set down your fork carefully on your half-eaten Caesar salad, a soft sigh escaping your lips. The sunlight streaming through the country club's windows catches on your hair, creating a halo effect around your skin. "Baby, we've talked about this," you say gently, "These schools have amazing programs for what I want to study. And it's not like I'm making any decisions yet - I'm just looking at options."

The afternoon sun streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows catches on his rings as he reaches up to run a hand through his disheveled hair, a telltale sign of his growing agitation. The country club bustles around them with the usual crowd of Kooks - women in tennis whites gossiping over martinis, men in polo shirts discussing their latest yacht purchases. But Rafe's focus remains fixed on those damned college applications, his jaw working overtime as he grinds his teeth.

The cocaine from earlier isn't helping his paranoia, making his thoughts race faster than he can process them. The idea of you leaving, of losing control over this one good thing in his life, sends a fresh wave of anxiety through his system. His free hand unconsciously reaches up to rub at his chest, a nervous tick he's developed. The country club suddenly feels too small, too confined, and he can feel his breathing getting slightly erratic. "Just... just put those away for now," he demands, trying to maintain his composure despite the rising panic in his chest. "We're supposed to be having lunch, not planning your fucking escape route."

You reach across the table with your free hand, your fingers brushing against his chest where he's rubbing anxiously. The familiar scent of his cologne mixed with something sharper - probably remnants of whatever he'd been doing before lunch - fills your nostrils as you lean closer. "Rafe, you're spiraling again," you observe quietly, mindful of the other diners around them. Your eyes flick briefly to Topper and his mother as they pass, offering a polite smile before returning your attention to your increasingly agitated boyfriend. "And you know that's not fair. I'm not trying to escape anything, especially not you."

"Besides," he continues, his tone taking on that manipulative edge he's so good at, "You really want to leave all this behind? The island, the parties, me?" He leans forward, lowering his voice to that dangerous whisper he uses when he's trying to get his way. "You know I can't follow you out there. I've got responsibilities here, the family business..." His hand shoots out to grab your wrist, not painfully, but firmly enough to make his point. "And what about us? You're going to throw away what we have for some fancy degree you could get right here?"

The weight of his intense stare makes you shift in your seat, your sundress rustling against the plush cushions. You can see the telltale signs of his growing panic - the clenched jaw, the rapid breathing, the way his fingers keep twitching against the table. Part of you wants to close the binder, to give in like you usually do when he gets like this. But another part, the part that's been dreaming about life beyond the island since you were little, keeps your hand steady on the applications. "What about a compromise?" you suggest, your voice taking on that soothing tone you learned to use when he's on edge. "What if I apply to both - some schools here in North Carolina and some out of state? That way we have options to discuss later?"

Your free hand moves from his chest to his face, your thumb gently stroking along his clenched jaw. You can feel the tension there, the way he's grinding his teeth. The chatter of the country club fades into background noise as you focus solely on him, knowing how quickly his mood can shift when he feels cornered. "And hey," you add, your voice dropping to a whisper as you lean even closer, your lips quirking into a small smile, "No matter where I end up going, you know you're the only one I want, right? These other Kook boys could never compare to my Rafe Cameron."

The familiar weight of the promise ring he gave you three months ago sits heavy on your finger, catching the light as you move. You learned over your time together that sometimes Rafe needs this - needs to be reminded that he's your choice, that you're his. Even if the possessiveness sometimes scares you, even if his mood swings leave you walking on eggshells, you can't deny the way your heart still races when he looks at you like he is now - like you're something precious he's terrified of losing. "Can we at least look through them together? You might see something you like too."

Rafe lets go of your wrist his hand shooting out to slam your binder shut with enough force to make nearby diners jump. "Don't fucking patronize me," he growls, his voice low and threatening despite their public setting. The gentle stroke of your thumb against his jaw only heightens his agitation, like a match to gasoline. "You think I don't see what this is?" He leans forward, invading your space across the table, his blue eyes wild with a mixture of possessiveness and barely contained rage. "First it's just 'looking at options,' then suddenly you're gone, probably fucking some ivy league asshole who doesn't know you like I do." His breathing becomes more erratic, the hand on his chest pressing harder as anxiety mingles with his growing anger. The familiar scent of your perfume - usually calming - now seems to mock him with its potential absence.

"You're trying to leave me, just like everyone else. Just like my mom, just like Sarah..." His voice cracks slightly on his sister's name before hardening again. "Well, I won't fucking let you."

You tense at the sudden shift in Rafe's demeanor, your heart rate picking up as you watch him slam your binder shut. The warmth drains from your eyes, replaced by a flicker of fear you try desperately to hide. Your skin prickles with goosebumps as he invades your space, his paranoia rolling off him in waves. You’ve seen him like this before, but never quite this intense, never quite this threatening in such a public place.

"Rafe, please," you whisper, your voice trembling slightly as you glance around at the other diners who are now openly staring at them. Your sundress suddenly feels too thin, too exposed under his wild-eyed gaze. You can smell the mixture of his cologne and sweat, and see the way his pupils are dilated - clear signs he's high again. "You're making a scene. Can we please just discuss this somewhere private?"

A laugh escapes his throat at your suggestion of talking, the sound drawing more concerned glances from nearby tables. "Discuss? There's nothing to fucking discuss." His voice takes on that manipulative tone he knows works so well, mixing threat with vulnerability. "You belong here, with me. Do you think any of those places are gonna love you like I do? Understand you like I do?" His eyes flick to the promise ring on your finger, a visible reminder of his claim on you. "Or maybe that's what you want - to get away from the crazy boyfriend, right? Is that what this is about?"

The cocaine-fueled paranoia reaches a crescendo as he suddenly stands, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. He towers over you, his presence intimidating despite the public setting. "You're not going anywhere," he declares, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper as he leans down close to your ear. "And if you try, I'll make sure every single one of those fancy schools loses your application. Don't test me, baby." His lips brush against your ear as he speaks, a twisted mixture of threat and affection that's purely him. "Now get your shit. We're leaving." His hand moves to grip your upper arm, ready to pull you up from your chair, his entire body vibrating with barely contained violence and possessive need.

The promise ring feels like it's burning on your finger as tears start to well up in your eyes. "I'm not trying to leave you," you plead, your voice barely above a whisper. I'm not trying to leave you, I love you, Rafe. You know I do. But you're hurting me right now." You can feel your body starting to shake, whether from fear or adrenaline, you're not sure anymore.

You let him pull you to your feet, knowing resistance will only make things worse. Your college applications lay forgotten on the table as you stumble slightly, your legs weak from the sudden movement. "Okay," you concede, your voice small and defeated. "Okay, we can go. Just... please calm down. Please." Your free hand comes up to rest on his chest again, feeling his racing heartbeat under your palm. "Let's go to your family's place and talk about this properly. Just you and me, baby. Like we always do."

Rafe feels you trembling beneath his grip, and something in your tear-filled eyes pierces through his cocaine-addled rage. His breathing is still erratic, but the feel of your hand against his racing heart starts to ground him. The familiar scent of your perfume begins to cut through the paranoid haze, reminding him of lazy mornings in his bed, of your soft sighs against his neck. His grip on your arm loosens slightly, though he doesn't let go completely.

"Fuck," he mutters, running his free hand through his disheveled hair as reality starts seeping back in. The stares of the other country club patrons finally register, and he can feel his father's disapproval even in his absence. His jaw clenches and unclenches as he struggles to regain control. "Yeah... yeah, okay. Let's go home." His voice is still rough, but the dangerous edge has dulled somewhat. He reaches past you to grab your binder, shoving it under his arm - he's not leaving it here for you to come back to later.

The walk to his truck is tense, his hand moving from your arm to the small of your back - still possessive, but less aggressive. The cocaine is making him jittery, his thoughts racing between paranoia and guilt. Once you're inside his truck, he slams his palms against the steering wheel, making you jump. "I just..." he starts, his voice cracking slightly. "I can't lose you too, baby. I can't." His blue eyes, when they meet yours, are still wild but now tinged with desperation rather than rage. "Everyone leaves. Everyone always fucking leaves."

He reaches across the center console to pull you closer, burying his face in your neck. His breathing is still uneven, but slower now as he inhales your scent. "Stay," he whispers against your skin, his voice taking on that vulnerable quality that only you get to hear. "Just... stay with me. Please." His hand slides up to cup the back of your neck, his thumb stroking the soft skin there. It's the closest thing to an apology you’re likely to get from him, this moment of raw vulnerability between the storms of his temper.

Rafe paces anxiously across Topper's home gym, his footsteps echoing against the polished hardwood floors as sweat drips down his bare chest from their workout session. The late afternoon sun streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across the expensive exercise equipment. His muscles are tense not just from lifting weights, but from the constant anxiety gnawing at his insides about your potential departure. The cocaine from earlier is still coursing through his system, making his thoughts race faster than he can process them.

"I'm telling you guys, she's fucking leaving me," he complains, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair as he continues his relentless pacing. The familiar panic starts rising in his chest again, making him rub at it absently. "All these fucking college applications... Harvard, Yale, Princeton. She's planning her escape and I can't... I can't fucking let that happen." His blue eyes are wild as they dart between Kelce and Topper, sprawled across the leather bench press seats, watching their friend's mounting distress.

Kelce exchanges a knowing look with Topper before speaking up, his voice careful as he watches Rafe's increasingly agitated movements. "Man, you need to chill. Maybe if you weren't so fucking intense about it-" Rafe's sharp laugh cuts him off, the sound bouncing off the mirrored walls. "Intense? You think I'm being intense?" Rafe's voice rises as he spins to face them, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "My girl's trying to leave the fucking state, and you're telling me to chill?"

"Well," Topper drawls, wiping his face with a monogrammed towel, "you could always do what my cousin did when his girlfriend tried to leave for college." He pauses for dramatic effect, a smirk playing on his lips. "Got her knocked up. Can't exactly go to Yale with a baby on the way, can you?" He's clearly joking, but something in Rafe's expression shifts, his eyes taking on that dangerous gleam that appears when he's formulating a plan.

"That's..." Rafe stops pacing, his mind racing with possibilities. His jaw clenches rhythmically as he processes the idea. "That's fucking perfect." He starts pacing again, but this time with purpose, his movements predatory rather than anxious. "She'd have to stay. She'd be tied to me forever." His voice takes on that obsessive quality that appears when he's fixating on something. "No more fucking college applications, no more threats of leaving. She'd be mine, completely mine."

"Dude," Kelce sits up straighter, realizing Rafe's actually considering it. "I don't think that's what Topper meant-" But Rafe's already lost in his world, his cocaine-fueled paranoia latching onto this new solution like a lifeline. "She's still a virgin too," he continues, more to himself than his friends, his rings catching the light as he gestures animatedly. "Waiting for the 'right moment' or some shit. Well, guess that moment's coming sooner than she thought."

"No, no, this could work," Rafe continues, his voice taking on that edge that suggests he's spiraling into one of his episodes. "Her parents are traditional as fuck, they'd make her keep it. And Ward's always going on about wanting grandkids to carry on the Cameron name..." He's fully pacing now, his movements jerky and aggressive as the plan solidifies in his mind. "She's been hinting about wanting to do it soon anyway. Valentine's Day is coming up..."

The gym falls silent except for the sound of Rafe's footsteps and heavy breathing. Neither Kelce nor Topper dare speak, knowing from experience that trying to talk Rafe down when he's like this - especially when he's high - is pointless and potentially dangerous. They watch as their friend works himself into a frenzy, plotting the permanent capture of his girlfriend with the same intense focus he applies to everything he wants to possess.

"It's perfect," Rafe finally declares, stopping his pacing to face his friends. His chest heaves with excited breaths, sweat making his skin shine in the fading sunlight. "She'll never leave me then. She'll have to stay here, raise our kid, be the perfect fucking family."

The thought of you, permanently his, unable to leave him, sends a rush of possessive pleasure through his system. "You guys didn't hear any of this," he suddenly stops, fixing both Kelce and Topper with a threatening stare. "Not a fucking word to anyone, got it?" His voice carries that dangerous edge that reminds them why people are scared of him, why even other Kooks think twice before crossing him.

"Jesus Christ, Rafe," Topper mutters, running a hand through his hair as he watches his friend's descent into this new obsession. "This is fucked up, even for you." But he knows that look in Rafe's eyes. Once Rafe sets his mind to something, especially when he's high, there's no talking him out of it. The gym feels smaller suddenly, charged with the energy of Rafe's newfound determination.

Rafe stands at the door of the l/n estate, his tall frame cutting an imposing figure in his tailored black suit. His blue eyes are slightly dilated from the line of cocaine he did in his truck to calm his nerves, but he's made sure to eye drop and cologne himself thoroughly. The velvet box containing the surprise he has planned for later weighs heavy in his pocket as he shifts anxiously, his rings catching the light as he reaches up to adjust his tie.

When Paul opens the door, Rafe immediately straightens his posture, forcing his most charming smile - the one he uses when he needs to impress. "Good evening, Mr. L/N," he greets, his voice steady despite the cocaine making his heart race. The older man's scrutinizing gaze reminds him uncomfortably of his own father's disapproving stares. The foyer behind Paul gleams with old money - crystal chandeliers, marble floors, and family portraits that speak of generations of Kook legacy.

"Rafe," Paul acknowledges with a slight nod, his eyes narrowing as he takes in the young man's appearance. There's something about Ward Cameron's son that has always set him on edge, though he can't quite put his finger on what. Maybe it's the occasional wild look in his eyes or the way his daughter seems to walk on eggshells around him sometimes. "Y/N is still getting ready. Come in." He steps aside, allowing Rafe into the pristine foyer.

The sound of Rafe's expensive dress shoes echoes against the marble as he enters, his hands sliding into his pockets to hide their slight tremor - partly from the drugs, partly from anticipation of what he has planned for tonight. The house smells of old money and fresh flowers, much like his own family's estate, but somehow more sterile, fitting for a plastic surgeon's home. His fingers brush against the small packet of powder in his pocket, next to the ring box - just enough to keep him steady through dinner.

"I trust you'll have her home at a reasonable hour," Paul's voice cuts through Rafe's thoughts, making him turn to face the older man. "Of course, sir," Rafe responds, that practiced smile still in place even as his jaw clenches slightly. "We just have reservations at Le Rivage, then maybe a walk on the beach." What he doesn't mention is the rest of his plans for the evening - the champagne waiting in his truck, the blankets he's laid out at his secret spot on the beach, the pills dissolved in one of the champagne glasses that will make sure everything goes according to plan.

The sound of heels on marble draws both men's attention to the grand staircase, and Rafe's breath catches in his throat. You descend like something out of a dream, your skin glowing against the deep red of your dress making his hands itch with the need to touch you. His blue eyes darken as they track your movement, his mind already racing ahead to later in the evening, to all the ways he plans to claim you completely.

"You look fucking perfect," he breathes out when you reach the bottom of the stairs, catching himself too late to censor his language in front of your father. But he can't help it - the cocaine making him more impulsive than usual, and the sight of you making his blood run hot. He steps forward to meet you, one hand reaching out to brush against your waist, proprietary and possessive even under your father's watchful gaze. The scent of your perfume mingles with the lingering chemical taste in the back of his throat, making him dizzy with want and anticipation.

Tonight's the night, he thinks, his grip on your waist tightening slightly as Paul insists on taking pictures. Tonight you become his completely, permanently. No more college applications, no more threats of leaving. The thought makes him pull you closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "Ready for your Valentine's surprise, baby?" His voice carries that dangerous edge that anyone else would recognize as a warning, but he knows his sweet, innocent Y/N won't catch it. Not until it's too late.

Rafe helps you into his truck, his hand lingering possessively on your lower back as you climb in. The interior smells of expensive leather and his cologne, mixed with something chemical that makes you wrinkle your nose slightly. He slides into the driver's seat, his movements are precise despite the cocaine coursing through his system. The engine purrs to life, and he immediately reaches for your hand, intertwining your fingers as he pulls away from your family's estate.

"You really do look fucking incredible tonight," he murmurs, his blue eyes flickering between you and the road. His thumb traces circles on your palm, a gesture that would seem sweet if not for the slight tremor in his hand. "That dress is driving me crazy." His rings catch the streetlights as you drive through Figure 8, passing other massive estates and perfectly manicured lawns.

"Thank you, baby," You respond softly, your free hand smoothing down the red fabric of your dress. "You clean up pretty nice yourself." You glance at him, admiring how the streetlights cast shadows across his sharp jawline. "So, are you going to tell me where we're going for dinner? You've been so secretive about tonight."

Rafe's grip on your hand tightens almost imperceptibly. "It's a surprise, remember?" His voice carries that edge of control he can never quite hide. "But first..." He reaches behind your seat with his free hand, pulling out a small gift bag. "I got you something to wear at dinner." Inside is a delicate diamond necklace, the stones catching the light like tiny stars.

"Oh, Rafe," You breathe, reaching for the necklace. "It's beautiful. You didn't have to-" You are cut off by his laugh, that sharp sound that always makes your stomach flip. "Of course I did. Only the best for my girl." He pulls into a secluded spot overlooking the water, putting the truck in park. "Here, let me put it on you."

His hands are slightly unsteady as he fastens the necklace around your throat, his breath hot against your neck. "Perfect," he whispers, his fingers trailing down your spine. "Just like you'll be after tonight." There's something in his voice that makes you shiver, though you can't quite place why. "What do you mean?" you ask, turning to face him.

Rafe's eyes are darker now, pupils blown wide as he stares at you. "Just that I've got big plans for us, baby." His hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing across your bottom lip. "Tonight's gonna change everything." He leans in closer, his other hand sliding up your thigh, pushing the fabric of your dress higher. "You trust me, right?"

"Of course I do," You whisper, even as something in your gut tells you something's off. You can feel his heart racing where your bodies are pressed together and you can smell something sharp and chemical on his breath beneath the mint. "Rafe, are you okay? You seem...different tonight."

"Never better," he responds, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "Just excited to give you all your surprises." His hand moves higher up your thigh, possessive and demanding. "Now, how about we have a little drink before dinner? To celebrate Valentine's Day?" He reaches behind the seat again, pulling out an expensive bottle of champagne and two glasses.

Rafe pours the champagne with calculated precision, his hands steadier now as he hands you your specially prepared glass. The moonlight filtering through the truck's windows catches the diamond necklace at your throat, reminding him of how perfectly it marks you as his. His blue eyes track your every movement as you accept the glass, noting how the red fabric of your dress has ridden up slightly from your position.

"To us," he proposes, raising his glass with that dangerous smile playing at his lips. The cocaine makes everything feel more intense - the way your perfume fills the confined space of his truck, the soft sound of your breathing, the sight of your lips touching the rim of the glass. He watches intently as you take a sip, something predatory flickering in his eyes. "And to all the surprises tonight has in store."

"Mmm, this is really good," You comment, taking another sip. You don’t notice how Rafe barely touches his glass, too focused on watching your drink. "But shouldn't we head to dinner? We don't want to lose our reservation." You move to check the time on your phone, but Rafe's hand shoots out to stop you, his fingers wrapping around your wrist with practiced possessiveness.

"We've got time," he assures you, his voice dropping lower as he leans closer. His free hand comes up to trace the line of the necklace, fingers ghosting over your collarbone. "Besides, I want to enjoy this moment. Just you and me." He can feel your pulse racing under his fingers where they press against your wrist. "Finish your drink, baby. Then we can talk about dinner."

He watches as you obediently take another sip, then another. "You know what I love about you, Y/N?" His voice is rough now, heavy with want and something darker. "How fucking perfect you are. How innocent." His fingers trace patterns on your inner thigh, making you shiver. "How you trust me completely."

"Rafe," you breathe, and he notices your words are slightly slurred now. Your eyes are starting to look unfocused as you blink slowly at him. "I feel... strange." The champagne glass slips from your fingers, but he catches it smoothly, setting it aside. His heart is racing with a mixture of cocaine-fueled excitement and dark anticipation.

"Shh, baby," he soothes, pulling you closer as you start to sway slightly. "I've got you. Always got you." His lips brush against your neck, just above the diamond necklace. "And after tonight, you'll always be mine. No more college applications, no more threats of leaving." His voice takes on that possessive edge that would normally frighten you, but the drugs in your system are making everything feel distant and hazy.

"What did you..." you try to ask, your head falling back against the seat as your limbs grow heavy. Rafe's hand comes up to cup your face, his thumb stroking your cheek as he watches the drugs take effect. The moonlight casts shadows across his face, making his expression look almost demonic as he smiles down at you.

"Just making sure tonight goes exactly as planned," he whispers, his other hand already reaching for the blankets he has stashed behind the seats. "Don't fight it, baby. Just let go. Let me take care of everything." His lips crash against yours, swallowing any protest you might have made as the drugs pull you deeper under their influence.

Rafe watches with dark satisfaction as your movements become increasingly sluggish, your normally bright eyes growing heavy-lidded and unfocused. He shifts in his seat, reaching to recline both of your seats back to create more space in the truck's cabin. The moonlight streaming through the windows casts ethereal shadows across your skin as he positions your body how he wants.

"Rafe..." you mumble, your voice thick and confused as he spreads the blankets beneath you. "What's happening? I feel so..." Your word trails off as he captures your lips in another possessive kiss, his hands already working at the zipper of your red dress.

"Just relax, baby," he whispers against your mouth, cocaine making his movements more aggressive than usual. "Let me take care of you." His fingers trace the newly exposed skin of your back, savoring how you shiver under his touch despite your drugged state. "You look so fucking perfect like this. So helpless. So mine."

Rafe's hands slide possessively over your body as he peels the red dress from your drugged form, revealing the black underwear underneath. His blue eyes darken with predatory hunger as he drinks in the sight of you laid out beneath him in his truck, the diamond necklace glinting at your throat like a collar. The softness of your skin, the way your chest rises and falls with each shallow breath, the little whimpers that escape your lips as you try to fight through the fog in your mind.

"Shh, baby," he soothes, his voice rough with desire as his hands roam over your exposed flesh. "Just let it happen. You know you want this." His fingers trace the edge of your lacy bra, teasing your hardened nipples through the delicate fabric. "Been waiting so fucking long for this moment. To make you completely mine."

"Rafe, please," You slurred, weakly trying to push at his chest. "Something's wrong... I can't..." Your protests are cut off by his mouth crashing against yours, his tongue forcing its way past your lips as his hand slides between your thighs. He groans when he feels how wet you are through your panties, his cock straining against his suit pants.

"Look how ready you are for me," he rubs circles against your clit through the lace. "Your body knows what it wants, even if your mind's trying to fight it." He pulls back to admire his handiwork - your lips swollen from his kisses, your pupils blown wide from the drugs, your chest heaving as you struggle to focus. "Gonna fill you up so good, baby. Gonna put my baby in you tonight."

Rafe’s fingers hook into your panties, slowly dragging them down your legs as you weakly try to squeeze your thighs together. The moonlight catches on the wetness between your legs, making him groan. "Fuck, look at that pretty pussy," he breathes, his fingers spreading you open. "All perfect and untouched. Not for long though."

Rafe's fingers work methodically between your thighs, spreading your wetness as he watches your face contort with unwilling pleasure. His other hand pins your wrists above your head, his rings cold against your feverish skin. The truck's windows are starting to fog up from your heavy breathing, creating a private cocoon around you.

"That's it, baby," he growls, sliding two fingers into you, feeling how tight you are around them. "Gonna stretch you out nice and slow before I fuck a baby into you." His cock throbs painfully in his pants as he watches you arch beneath him, the drugs making you more responsive even as you try to resist.

"No... Rafe... please," You whimper, your head thrashing weakly against the leather seat. But your body betrays you, hips rocking against his skilled fingers as he finds that spot inside you that makes you see stars. The diamond necklace glints at your throat as you gasp, reminding him of his ownership.

"Look at you, taking my fingers so well," he praises darkly, adding a third finger to stretch you further. "Can't wait to feel this tight little cunt around my cock." His thumb finds your clit, rubbing circles that make your whole body tremble. "Gonna fill you up so good, baby. Make sure my cum stays deep inside you until it takes."

The way your walls clench around his fingers, the little sounds you make as he works your body, the perfect arch of your back as you fight between pleasure and resistance. He leans down to capture one of your nipples in his mouth, biting down just hard enough to make you cry out.

"Please," you beg, though whether you're begging him to stop or continue, even you don’t know anymore. Your body is on fire, every nerve ending singing from his touch as the drugs make everything feel more intense. "Rafe... I can't..."

"Yes, you can," he demands, curling his fingers inside you as his thumb speeds up on your clit. "Come on my fingers like a good girl. Show me how much you want my cock." His blue eyes are wild with possession as he watches you fall apart beneath him, knowing that after tonight, you’ll never be able to leave him.

Rafe’s fingers work relentlessly between your thighs. His free hand moves from your wrists to grip your throat, right above the diamond necklace, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp. "Let me feel that tight little pussy squeeze my fingers."

Your body betrays you even as your mind tries to resist, waves of unwilling pleasure building under his skilled touch. The drugs make everything feel heightened - the stretch of his fingers inside you, the pressure of his thumb on your clit, the heat of his breath against your neck. Your legs start to tremble as you approach your peak.

"That's it, baby," He watches your face contort with pleasure and confusion. His cock strains painfully against his suit pants, demanding attention. But he forces himself to wait, to savor this moment of taking your innocence piece by piece. "Give it to me. Show me how good I make you feel."

The sound of your heavy breathing fills the truck's cabin, mixing with the wet sounds of his fingers working between your legs. Rafe's eyes are dark with possession as he watches you fight against the inevitable, knowing that each moment brings him closer to his ultimate goal. The moonlight catches on the sweat beading on your skin, making you glow ethereally.

"I... I can't..." You whimper, your back arching off the seat as pleasure builds to an unbearable level. The drugs make everything feel like too much and not enough all at once. "Rafe, please..." Your fingers clutch desperately at his shoulders. "You can, and you will," he commands, his voice taking on that dangerous edge that brooks no argument. His fingers curl inside you, finding that spot that makes you see stars while his thumb circles your clit with practiced precision. "Come for me now. Let me feel it."

Rafe watches with dark satisfaction as your body trembles beneath him, your back arching off the leather seat as pleasure builds. His fingers work relentlessly inside your pussy, stretching and preparing you for what's to come. The way your walls clench around his digits, the little gasps and moans you can't hold back, the perfect arch of your spine as you fight between resistance and ecstasy.

"That's my good girl," his free hand moving from your throat to grip your hair, forcing you to look at him. "Watch me while you come. Want to see those pretty eyes when I make you fall apart." His thumb continues its relentless assault on your clit as his fingers curl inside you, hitting that spot that makes your whole body shake.

Your eyes flutter open, glazed with drugs and unwilling pleasure. The moonlight catches the tears gathering in your lashes as you stare up at him, unable to look away from his intense blue gaze. Your lips part in a silent scream as the pressure builds to an unbearable level, your body tightening around his fingers.

"Please," Her hands clutch desperately at his shoulders, leaving crescent marks through his expensive shirt. "Rafe, I can't... it's too much..."

"Yes, you can," he demands, his voice rough with desire and dominance. "Come for me now, baby. Show me how good I make you feel." His fingers speed up inside you, the wet sounds of your arousal filling the truck's cabin. "Let go. Let me see you fall apart before I fuck you properly."

The combination of his skilled fingers, the drugs in your system, and his commanding voice finally pushes you over the edge. Your whole body goes rigid as pleasure crashes through you, walls clenching rhythmically around his fingers as you come with a broken cry of his name.

"Beautiful," he breathes, working you through the aftershocks as you tremble beneath him. "But we're not done yet, baby. Not even close." His free hand moves to his belt, the sound of the buckle loud in the confined space. "Now it's time for the main event. Time to make you completely mine."

Rafe takes his time unbuckling his belt, the metallic sound echoing in the confined space of his truck. His blue eyes never leave your face as he watches you come down from your high, your body still trembling with aftershocks. Your chest heaves with each breath, the glisten of sweat on your skin, the slight quiver of your thighs as they remain spread for him.

"Look at you," he grunts, finally freeing his throbbing cock from his pants. "All fucked out from just my fingers, and we haven't even gotten to the best part yet." His hand wraps around his length, stroking slowly as he positions himself between your legs. The head of his cock brushes against your sensitive folds, making you whimper. "Been waiting so fucking long for this moment."

"Rafe," You slur, your drugged mind struggling to focus as you feel his size pressing against your entrance. "Wait... I'm not ready..." Your weak protests only serve to fuel his desire, his grip tightening on your hip as he holds you in place. The diamond necklace at your throat catches the moonlight as you try to shift away.

"You're more than ready, baby," he counters, using his free hand to spread your wetness along his length. "Your body's begging for it. Been begging for it all night." He leans down, capturing your lips in a possessive kiss as he starts to push inside your entrance. The stretch is intense, making you gasp against his mouth. "Gonna make you take every fucking inch."

His cock inches forward slowly, savoring the way your walls resist his invasion. The truck's windows are completely fogged now, creating a private world for just the two of you. Rafe's breathing grows heavier as he feels your tight heat enveloping him, his control starting to slip. "Fuck, you're so tight," he groans, his fingers digging into your hip hard enough to leave bruises. "Taking my cock so well, just like I knew you would."

Tears stream down your cheeks as he stretches you open, the mixture of pain and drugged pleasure making your head spin. Your hands clutch at his shoulders, nails digging into the expensive fabric of his suit jacket. "Almost there, baby," he pants against your neck, his hips still pushing forward relentlessly. "Just a little more and you'll have all of me." His free hand slides between them to rub your clit, knowing the added stimulation will help your body accept him. "Gonna fill this tight little pussy up with my cum, make sure it takes. Make sure you can never leave me."

Rafe's hips finally meet yours as he bottoms out inside you, a groan of satisfaction rumbling deep in his chest. Your walls flutter around his length as you adjust to being completely filled for the first time. The truck's cabin is thick with the scent of sex and sweat, the leather seats creaking beneath them with each subtle movement.

"There we go," he pants against your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. His hands grip your hips possessively as he holds himself still, savoring the moment. "Been dreaming about this for so fucking long, baby. About claiming you completely." You whimper beneath him, your mind is hazy from the drugs as your body struggles to accommodate his size. Tears continue to stream down your cheeks, your fingers clutch weakly at his shoulders as you feel him throb inside you.

"Please," you manage to gasp, though your drugged state makes it hard to form coherent thoughts. "It's too much... I can't..." Your protests are cut off by his mouth capturing yours in a demanding kiss, his tongue invading your mouth just as his cock has invaded your body.

"Yes, you can," his hips starting to move in shallow thrusts. "And you will. Gonna fuck a baby into you tonight, make sure you can never leave me." His movements gradually become deeper, and more purposeful, as he establishes a rhythm. "Watch me while I do it. Want to see those pretty eyes when I breed you." One hand slides from your hip to grip your jaw, forcing you to maintain eye contact as he fucks into you. "That's it," he praises darkly as your body starts to respond despite your protests. "Take it like a good girl. Let me feel that pussy squeeze my cock."

Rafe's movements become more intense, his hips snapping against yours with increasing force as he chases his release. The truck rocks with your movements, his hands grip your hips bruisingly tight as he pounds into you, watching with dark satisfaction as pleasure and pain war across your drugged features.

"Fuck, you feel perfect," he groans, one hand sliding up to wrap around your throat just above the diamond necklace. "So fucking tight around my cock. Like you were made for this." His thumb traces your bottom lip as he continues his relentless pace. "Made to take my cum, to carry my baby."

Your head thrashes weakly against the leather seat, your body overwhelmed by the mix of drugs and unwilling pleasure. Your walls clench around him involuntarily as another orgasm builds, making him grunt with satisfaction. "That's it, baby," he praises darkly. "Squeeze my cock just like that. Show me how much your body wants this." His free hand moves between them to rub your clit, determined to make you come around his cock. "Gonna fill you up so good," he pants, his rhythm becoming more erratic as he nears his release. "Gonna pump you full of my cum until it takes. Make sure everyone knows you belong to me." His fingers speed up on your clit as he feels your walls starting to flutter. "Come for me now, baby. Let me feel that tight little pussy milk my cock."

Rafe's grip tightens on your hips as he feels his release building, his thrusts becoming more desperate and erratic. "That's it, baby," feeling your walls clench around him as another orgasm builds in your drugged body. "Come on my cock like a good girl. Show me how much you want my cum." Your back arches off the seat as pleasure crashes through you against your will, your walls squeezing his length rhythmically. The sight of you coming undone beneath him finally pushes Rafe over the edge. With a guttural groan, he buries himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing as he empties himself into your pussy. "Fuck," he pants against your neck, grinding his hips to ensure his cum stays deep inside. "All mine now."

He collapses on top of you for a moment, both of you catching your breath in the steamy confines of his truck. The diamond necklace glints at your throat as he finally pulls out, watching with dark satisfaction as his release drips from your used pussy. "No more college applications, no more threats of leaving. You're stuck with me now, baby." Without a word, he starts fixing his clothes, already planning your next encounter in his mind.

"Let's get you home, baby," he says, his voice rough as he helps you dress on shaky legs. "Don't want your daddy getting suspicious." His hand rests possessively on your thigh as he starts the truck, knowing that after tonight, everything has changed. The drive back is silent except for your occasional whimpers, the drugs still making your head fuzzy as she processes what just happened.

A week later,

Rafe lounges against his truck at the Boneyard, The beach is relatively empty at this hour, just a few surfers catching the last waves of the day. His blue eyes track your movement, noting how pale you look, and how your usual confident stride seems shakier. A smirk plays at his lips, though he keeps his expression carefully neutral.

"Hey baby," he calls out, pushing off the truck to meet you. His hands immediately find your waist, pulling you close as he studies your face. "You sounded weird on the phone. Everything okay?" The concern in his voice is perfectly crafted, masking the satisfaction he feels as he takes in your distressed state.

Your hands tremble as you pull away from his embrace, wrapping your arms around yourself protectively. "Rafe, I... I need to tell you something." Your voice cracks slightly as you speak, tears already gathering in your eyes. "I went to the doctor today..."

"What's wrong?" Rafe steps closer, his hand coming up to cup your face with practiced gentleness. Inside, his heart races with anticipation, but his expression remains one of innocent concern. "You've been sick all week. Did they figure out what's wrong?"

"I'm pregnant," you whisper, the words carried away by the ocean breeze. Your eyes search his face desperately for any sign of recognition, any hint that he remembers your Valentine's night. "But I don't... I can't remember... The last thing I clearly remember is having champagne in your truck..."

Rafe's eyes widen in perfectly feigned shock, his hand dropping from your face as he takes a step back. "You're... what?" He runs a hand through his hair, the picture of a young man receiving unexpected news. "But we've never... I mean, I thought you wanted to wait?" His voice carries just the right amount of confusion and disbelief.

"That's just it," Your voice rises slightly, panic evident in your tone. "I don't remember! Valentine's Day is just... fuzzy. But the doctor said I'm about a week along, and you're the only one I've been with..." you trail off, tears now flowing freely down your cheeks.

Rafe pulls you into his arms, hiding his triumphant smile in your hair. "Shh, it's okay," he soothes, one hand moving to rest possessively over your still-flat stomach. "We'll figure this out together. I'm here for you, baby. Always." His voice drops lower, taking on that dangerous edge you're too distraught to notice. "Guess those college applications won't be necessary anymore, huh?"

His hand tightens possessively around your waist as you tremble against him, his other hand still resting on your stomach where his child is growing. The setting sun casts long shadows across the beach, the sound of waves providing a backdrop to your quiet sobs. His blue eyes gleam with dark satisfaction as he feels you collapse further into his embrace, exactly where he wants you.

"What am I going to tell my parents?" You whisper against his chest, your voice breaking. "My dad... he's going to kill me. And all my college plans..." You pull back slightly to look up at him, mascara running down your cheeks. "Rafe, I can't remember anything from that night. How did this happen?"

Rafe's jaw clenches as he maintains his facade of confusion and concern. "Hey, look at me," he demands softly, tilting your chin up with his fingers. "Your parents love you. And my family... well, Ward's always talking about wanting grandkids." His thumb wipes away your tears as he studies your face. "Maybe this is a good thing, you know? You and me, starting our own family."

"But I had plans," you protest weakly, your hands clutching at his shirt. "Harvard, Yale... I was supposed to get out of Outer Banks..." You don’t even notice how his grip tightens painfully at your words or the flash of possessive anger in his eyes.

"Fuck those plans," he growls, before quickly softening his tone. "I mean, things change, right? Sometimes for the better." His hand slides up to cup your face, forcing you to maintain eye contact. "You've got me now. Got us. Isn't that better than some fancy college where you don't know anyone?" He’s super hyper-focused on every detail - the way you unconsciously lean into his touch, how your body fits perfectly against his, the slight swell of your breasts that's already becoming noticeable. His other hand remains possessively on your stomach, imagining how it will grow with his child.

"I'm scared," You admit, your voice small against the sound of crashing waves. "Everything's happening so fast, and I can't remember... that night is just blank, Rafe. Doesn't that bother you?" You search his face for any sign of recognition, any hint of guilt.

But Rafe's expression remains carefully crafted a mixture of concern and determination. "What bothers me is seeing you upset," he lies smoothly, pulling you closer. "We'll figure this out together, okay? You and me and our baby. "No more talk about leaving, though. You belong here, with me. Got it?"

"We should tell our parents soon," he says, his voice carrying that edge of control he can never quite hide. "Get everything out in the open. But first, promise me something, baby. Promise me you'll stop looking at those college applications."

Your eyes widen with fresh tears as you stare up at him. "But Rafe, I can't just give up everything I've worked for..." Your voice trails off as his grip tightens slightly on your chin, his blue eyes darkening with barely contained possession.

"Those dreams were for the old Y/N," he states firmly, his thumb brushing across your bottom lip. "The one who didn't have a family to think about. Things are different now." His other hand presses harder against your stomach, a reminder of what's growing inside of you. "You've got bigger responsibilities. To me. To our baby."

The waves crash against the shore behind them as silence stretches between them. Rafe can feel your pulse racing beneath his fingers where they rest against your throat and can see the moment you start to break under the weight of reality. His plan is working perfectly - soon you’ll be completely his, tied to him forever through your child.

"I... I need time to think," You finally whisper, trying to step back from his embrace. But Rafe's grip remains firm, keeping you close as the last rays of sunlight disappear behind the horizon. His expression shifts into something darker, more possessive.

"No more thinking," One of his hands slid up to tangle in your hair. "No more plans that don't include me. You're mine now, Y/N. The sooner you accept that, the better." His voice carries a threat wrapped in velvet as he stares down at you. "Or should we talk about how convenient it is that you can't remember Valentine's Day?"

Rafe's threat hangs heavy in the air as your face drains of color. His fingers tighten in your hair, cocaine making his movements more aggressive than usual. The darkened beach feels suddenly oppressive as he towers over your trembling form.

"What... what do you mean?" You whisper, your voice is small and frightened as you search his face. The familiar warmth in his blue eyes has been replaced by something cold and calculating that makes your stomach turn.

"You really want to know what happened that night?" he asks, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. His hand slides from your stomach to your hip possessively. "Want me to tell you exactly how I made sure you'd never leave me? How I watched you drink that champagne, knowing what was in it?"

You try to pull away, but his grip is iron-tight as realization dawns on your face. "No," she breathes, shaking her head in denial. "You wouldn't... you couldn't..." But the predatory smile spreading across his face tells you everything you need to know.

"I did," he confirms, pulling you closer until your faces are inches apart. "And now you're carrying my baby. No more college applications. No more dreams of leaving. You're mine forever now, baby." His thumb brushes away a tear from your cheek with mock tenderness. "And if you ever think about telling anyone... well, who's going to believe the girl who can't remember her own Valentine's Day?"

The waves crash behind them as your world crumbles around you. You can feel the weight of the promise ring on your finger - once a symbol of love, now feeling more like a shackle. Rafe watches you process everything with dark satisfaction, knowing he's won completely.

"Why?" you finally manage to ask through your tears, your voice breaking on the single word. The hand in your hair tightens as Rafe's expression turns almost tender, though his eyes remain cold.

"Because you're mine," he states simply as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "And I take care of what's mine. You'll see, baby. This is better than any fancy college could ever be." His hand moves to rest on your stomach again, possessive and threatening all at once. "Our little family, together forever in Outer Banks. Just like it should be."

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