#maybe that’s why he’s so fucking dumb

[2tarbell]

hiii star🥰 what do we think about toxic ex bf rafe + forced intox dubcon🫣 like he’s just a mess in shambles without his precious girl and she misses him too but he’s, yk, a controlling psycho (yet unfortunately we love him anyways😔) so he drugs her with some sex pollen / aphrodisiacs to make her come back to him😵‍💫

your mind…. i wanna try to see this with something like CRYBABY!READER!!!! okay so TOXIC!RAFE is a freak but once he’s in, he’s in. and the idea of his sweet girl — his — leaving him? it’s enough to drive him crazy.

it’s one of their many fights, her sobbing and him calling her dramatic. rafe had thought it’d end like all the others: reader wailing herself into a mess & falling into his arms for comfort. but when she turned on her little kitten heel & stormed out of his house, rafe was left astounded. who did she think she was dealing with? he wasn’t about to let her walk away from him, from them.

maybe his heart was in the right place, but sprinkling some aphrodisiac powder in her pink water bottle was saying otherwise. rafe cameron doesn’t beg and he wasn’t about to start. fuck flowers and chocolate — she’ll come crawling back because the ache between her legs is just too much bear & daddy is the only one who can fix it. he smirked as she sashayed out the house again a week later, water bottle held tightly in her manicured hands. now it’s the waiting game.

just like clockwork, she returned later that night with a red, puffy face and thighs pressing together. it was too easy & almost made him feel bad. she was just so dumb, so naive. there was no way in hell she was going to get away from him. so rafe welcomed her in with open arms and a faux concerned brow.

eventually he was knuckle deep in her sopping cunt, her chest heaving and hips arching forward, desperate for relief. his gravelly drawl mumbled reassurances & borderline threats as her eyes rolled back, the pleasure numbing her senses & leaving her only able to nod frantically. just begging him not to stop between sobs.

“shhh — ‘m not g’nna stop, baby. you know why? this is my pussy. a’ight? mine. dontchu ever think different.”

[oatmeal-stans-the-trash-rat]

Thinking about Fiddlestan but with Fiddleford struggling with an amnesia episode and Stan helping him out.

Major hurt/comfort, plenty of angst implications of what damage the memory gun does to Fiddleford, and plenty of comfort via 1980s Fiddlestan (bc I say so). Let's say Fiddleford is struggling through an episode where he forgets who Stan is, forgets what the shack/Mystery Shack is, and has a panic. He struggles with massive anxiety on a daily basis, because, y'know, I'm projecting, and so him having panic attacks isn't a new thing. So this is a very fucked-up episode Fiddleford is going through, and once he's out of it and back to the present and such, he feels so bad about the fact that he forgot Stan. He cries, he pleads, he's so sorry, he didn't mean to forget him, please don't leave--

And then Stan is there, a steady presence, helping him calm down because he can't blame Fiddleford for having fucked-up memory problems. He can't blame him for feeling so scared and unsafe that he felt a literal memory gun was the only way to cope. He can't ever blame Fiddleford for what he went through, especially since it's not his fault that he experienced terrifying things.

So, Stan helps him breathe, calms him down, and they rest on the couch together. He reassures Fiddleford that he's not going anywhere, it's not his fault that he forgets people sometimes, he doesn't have anything to apologize for, it's okay, why not watch some weird knock-off TV shows that only Gravity Falls has as a nice distraction? Maybe he can talk about how dumb some of the sci-fi shit is or how inaccurate the portrayals of Southern folk are in popular media.

And, yeah, hurt/comfort with an amnesiac Fiddleford. Bc I say so.

[chlobliviate]

Wolfstar Microfic - Floo

Words: 996 😮‍💨

@wolfstarmicrofic

🌙✨🌙✨🌙

It was like James had a sixth sense of when Sirius brought a man home, because the last eight times, he’d tumbled through the floo, needing help with something, or wanting to hang out or to check in on Remus. Each time Sirius had been utterly cockblocked by it.

The ninth time it happened, he’d had enough.

“How do you do it?” He snapped when Davey suddenly remembered that he had an early start in the morning. “How do you do this every time?”

James, to his credit, played dumb, “Do what? I’m just here to return Moony’s book.”

“Where is it?” Sirius said, looking at James’ empty hands.

“Where’s what?”

“The book.” Sirius growled, “The book that you’re returning to Moony, Prongs.”

“Oh, would you look at that? I left it at home.” James chuckled, “Oh well, no harm no foul.”

Sirius strode past him into the hallway and James heard his bedroom door slam. Remus poked his head into the living room a few seconds later.

“I think he’s onto you.” He said wearily.

“No idea what you mean, Moony.” James sat down on the sofa.

“What is it?” Something in the wards?”

“Nothing gets past you, does it?” James smiled as Remus dropped into the armchair.

“I just don’t understand why you’re doing it.” Remus frowned, “I’d ask if you fancy him, but you’re getting married in three months so I almost don’t want to.”

“No, I do not fancy Padfoot. Jesus.” James groaned, “But you do.”

Remus’ face dropped, “Don’t know what you’re on about.”

“Moony.”

“Prongs.”

“Remus.”

“James.”

“Look, I know sometimes I can be… unobservant, let’s say. But not this time.” James pointed at him. “I saw the two of you at our engagement party.”

Remus’ face suddenly went from very pale to very red. “Ah.”

“Yes, ah. It looked like the two of you were finally getting your shit together.” James looked at him over the top of his glasses. “So what happened?”

“Well, we came home, we… spent some time in Sirius’ bed. I woke up alone in Sirius’ bed and we’ve just… never spoken about it.” Remus shrugged, but James recognised that sad look in his eyes.

“Would it kill the two of you to have a conversation?” James sighed.

“Possibly.” Remus said, “It’s definitely been too long to bring it up now, though. And he clearly has no intention of doing so. If anything he’s bringing more men home than he was before.”

“But they’re not staying long are they?” James feigned confusion. “Fascinating.”

“This won’t end well.” Remus couldn’t help but smile. “I'm going to deny all knowledge. Wait, would me bringing people home trigger the same thing?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” James smirked.

“And that’s why I go to their place whenever the opportunity arises, instead of bringing them here,” Remus said.

“Well, that, and you’re not an asshole.” James’ smirk dropped. “I don’t get what he’s doing.”

“Oh, believe me, I’ve been over and over it in my head.” Remus said quietly, “If he regretted it, he could just tell me. It would suck for a bit, but I’m not a dickhead.”

“Maybe you just need to get drunk together again.”

“That’s a stupid idea.” Remus curled in on himself, tucking his feet under him. “Maybe I should think about moving out.”

“No!” Sirius stood in the doorway, wide-eyed and covering his mouth. James and Remus stared at him. “I don’t want you to move out.” He said quietly after an awkward silence.

“But you understand why he’d want to?” James frowned at him. Sirius nodded. “So, why?”

“I met Emmeline.” Sirius mumbled, “The morning after the party.” Remus’ mouth dropped open.

“Oh, fuck.” His head was in his hands, “Oh shit, oh fuck.”

“Yeah. She turned up for your coffee date wearing less than I enjoyed seeing on a Sunday morning.” Sirius came and sat on the arm of the sofa. “I may have been a bit snippy with her, honestly.”

“Wait, who’s Emmeline?” James asked, looking between them.

“She’s the woman that Remus brought home three days before your engagement party,” Sirius said, not looking at Remus, who was trying not to smirk.

“On a Wednesday, Moony?” James was bewildered.

“Sometimes trivia night is a good way to meet people,” Remus muttered. “I completely forgot that we had plans. Well, that explains why she blocked me.”

“That, and Sirius playing jealous boyfriend,” James added.

“I was not— I didn’t— Shut up, Prongs.” Sirius looked at Remus, “I figured it out afterwards that it was arranged before we… you know. And then I just felt gross for how I reacted.”

“You could have said something, you know.” Remus sighed, “You didn’t have to pretend it never happened and return to your carousel of men.”

“Yeah.” Sirius nodded, “It was shitty, and the shittier I felt about it, the more I spiralled, and then I thought you’d arranged this thing with Prongs to cockblock me, and then I was petty about it. And then I felt guilty about how petty I’d been, and then I spiralled some more, and yeah. I’m sorry.”

“Moony had nothing to do with it,” James confirmed.

“Yeah, I know that now.” Sirius pointed to the door. “Moody would have something to say about your awareness of your surroundings.”

“Moody can kiss my arse.” Remus shook his head, “We probably should talk about it then?” Sirius nodded.

“Well, that’s my cue.” James stood up. “You’re welcome. I’ll be around to fix your wards tomorrow. Please be clothed.”

“You’re lucky we love you, you know,” Sirius said as James waved before stepping into the fire.

“So at what point do we tell him that we’ve been together for six months?” Remus said as Sirius came to squeeze into the armchair. “He really thought he was onto something.”

“He means well.” Sirius kissed Remus’ forehead. “Love you, Moons.”

“Love you too.” He said, “Tell Davey we owe him a pint.”

Notes:

ha.

Also my headcanon (is it a headcanon if it's your own fic?) is that the first time it happened it was completely innocent, Sirius was just bringing a friend round for a drink or something, but then James showed up and was so pleased with himself that they concocted this plan

[princelylove]

Creep yanderes that just won't. stop. messaging you.

They just don't let up. Message after message after message of utter nonsense- it used to make sense. In the beginning, it was just double texting. Texts asking what you're doing, if you want to play a game with them, when's the next time you two can do something together, hey look an instagram reel or tiktok about some running joke you have together, or a funny tweet.

When you keep rejecting them, maybe even non intentionally, they start to get more passive aggressive. Why don't you ever want to talk to them anymore? Why are you acting this way? Did they do something, are you mad at them?

It's kind of insane how the same person can send a bunch of heart emojis and a "I fucking hate you you're a stupid whore" message in the same day. It's pure delusion. Your lack of a response allows them to project whatever thoughts they want to- if they're insecure, you obviously hate them and they're not enough and you should just block them already. If they tend to project, you're such a dumb whore that can't get somebody's dick out of your mouth for five seconds to answer them. It depends on the individual.

This concept reminds me of Pesci, Pesci, Pesci. He's worse than Ghiaccio. At least Ghiaccio has a sense of pride and boundaries- Pesci is about thiiis close from snapping on the daily and flat out killing his darling in a moment of passion.

He gets insecure fast. Well, "getting" insecure suggests that he was ever secure. Pesci is constantly comparing himself to the people he's closest to- Prosciutto, mainly. He misses the point of Prosciutto's philosophy entirely because he's fixated on what Prosciutto is to him instead of what he actually is.

Pesci is very pathetic. No matter what he does, he'll never be Prosciutto. He's just not the same kind of man. Not the type man to not fret about getting a text back, not the type of man to love his own reflection and check himself out every time he passes something shiny, not the type of man to just do what he wants and worry about consequences later, or never.

He's not really a texter- he's more of a an 'in your face, exhibiting worrying behaviors' type of nice guy. He psychs himself up to actually show up at your apartment but worries all the way up the stairs. Pesci is in a constant state of distress until he manages to shift his mindset. It's like a switch. A switch that's hard to break out of once he's in.

A mindset that doesn't mind breaking your front door, because mafiosi take what they want.

Not to mention someone like Hazamada. It's too obvious to be enjoyable, isn't it? He fantasizes about raping his classmate but he's too much of a pussy to do it, he gets into heated arguments about his favorite idols and anime in canon (if I'm remembering correctly, I don't pay attention to short 'men' often). He has the set up for this specific type of creep. It's a shame he's such a coward about it. And everything else.

Not on the phone, though. Or online in general. The beauty of going on anon, you can send whatever you want and never have to see the consequences for it. Not man enough to flat out tell you he's interested, not man enough to confront you about your "other" boyfriends, he's not even man enough to defend his own interests under his own name. None of his accounts have anything personal tied to it, he'll even use an alternate email to sign up.

He'll just keep buying burner phones to text you when he needs to get something off of his chest. Your outfit looked great today. He knows it's a uniform, but the way you wear it is adorable. He hates your friends. They're ditzy bimbos that are ruining you by association. Why don't you watch anything he likes? Your interests are trash, you should check out peak for once.

Josuke is a serial text spammer, but he doesn't quite fall into the 'nice guy' territory. He doesn't blame you for anything, but he does not respect your do not disturb, so it's yes and no.

It's debatable. Josuke doesn't say things that could be taken as insults, he'd never go for you personally when he's pissed off, but he's known to be a little passive aggressive in person. His texts are seemingly innocent enough- memes, tiktoks, asking what you're doing later, telling you he misses you, sending you something he thinks you'd like, picture of what he's doing, picture of something that was deep in his camera roll that he 'forgot' to send you a while ago. He hits your interrupt do not disturb button as a joke.

Heeey, it's super serious. It deserves to interrupt your whatever-you're-doing. Look, it's a fat baby animal. What are you doing, again? Why's your location off? You okay?

[honeyplus]

I feel like Damian would simply not give a shit about people’s sexualities and gender fuckery. Casssteph lesbians??? Cool, refrain from the noise. Tim wearing fem clothes? Amazing, that skirt is horrendous and it makes my eyes hurt. Dick and being into boys? So true, Richard, why are all of these men dumb as rocks? Bruce being bi? Father, please stop pining over these stupid men. Two face??? The ghost guy?? HAL JORDAN????????

people think he’d be prejudice because….his family is Arab? Because he’s a dick sometimes? No offense but Ra’s fucked a girl at Woodstock and that’s how he had Talia. He wants the universe to die, I don’t think he cares about gay people. He cares about killing Batman. I just don’t think Talia or ra would be instilling beliefs like that. I think they teach him humans are scum and shit but like not homophobia can u guys get fucking real. Like maybe a teacher he had could have persuaded him or he could come to these beliefs on his own from the hatred he is being taught but I really need some of you to get real. He’s not homophobic sasuke.

[itneverendshere]

invisible string - r.c series (three) (+18)

pairing: pogue!rafe x kook!sweetheart!reader warnings: angst; smut; fluff. part one; part two

Rafe rarely ever fought with you. 

Sure, he’d thrown his weight around with just about everyone else, but with you?

He’d dropped the whole tough-guy bullshit months ago. Hell, he’d even cried in front of you, ugly sobbing and all. He didn’t let himself be that vulnerable with anyone else, but today... today he felt like his skin was too tight and he was two seconds away from losing it.

He didn’t understand why you were pushing so hard. You kept going, saying the same things over and over, and he was trying so damn hard to stay calm, but every word you said just felt like gasoline on a fire.

He wasn’t even mad at you, not really.

He was mad at everything else—at himself, at how nothing ever seemed to go right, at how he always felt one wrong move away from everything falling apart. And now you wanted to talk about it again, like you didn’t see how close he was to just snapping.

It felt like you didn’t get it. No matter how many times you two talked about it, you still thought there was some perfect world where you could just be together out in the open, like it was no big deal.

But it was a big deal. A huge fucking deal.

He leaned against the wall of the shed, arms crossed, just watching you. You looked so damn hopeful like he was really about to show up to your graduation party and stand next to you like some lost puppy. You had this big party planned at your place. Parents, family, all your Kook friends. The whole scene. And you wanted him there. Like your parents weren’t gonna lose their minds if they saw him anywhere near you.

He could practically see your dad’s face already, that look of disappointment or disgust or whatever the hell he’d call it.

Rafe wasn’t dumb. He knew his place around here.

And sure, you knew the basics too: you were heading off to college soon, your life was on this perfect, shiny path, and his...well, his was a whole mess in comparison. But it was like you couldn’t see the bigger picture. Or maybe you just didn’t want to.

You acted like everything between you two would stay the same, like you could just waltz into your new life with him still in it, like he could just follow you there. But Rafe knew better. You were leaving in four months, and that thought sat heavy in his chest every time he was around you now.

And here you were talking about the party again, like his presence there wouldn’t blow up everything.

He wanted to be there for you, more than anything, but not like that. Not surrounded by your perfect little world while he felt like an outsider, waiting for someone to call him out. It was like you didn’t even see the bomb that was about to go off if he stepped foot into your life like that.

“Are you listening to me?”

He ran a hand down his face, trying to hold onto whatever thread of control he had left. “I am listenin',” he muttered, though his voice came out harder than he meant.

“No, you’re not,” you said, a little firmer this time. "You’re shutting down again, like you always do when I bring this up."

He didn’t want to fight. He didn’t want this to turn into some big blow-up. But damn, why couldn’t you just drop it for once? Why did you always have to dig, always push when he was hanging by a thread?

“Are coming tonight or not?” you asked for the millionth time, like it was no big deal. Just a party. “It’s nothing crazy.”

He let out a short laugh, not even bothering to hide the sarcasm. Yeah, right. “Like your dad’s not gonna lose his shit the second he sees me?”

“Rafe—” you started, but he already knew where this was going. Same conversation, different day.

You were standin’ there, looking at him with those big, hopeful eyes and it killed him. You were always calm, always trying to make sense of shit when sometimes there just wasn’t any sense to be made.

And right now, he didn’t have the patience for it.

He cut you off. “You really think it’s that easy? You think I can just show up, grab a drink, and blend in with your crowd like we’re in some damn movie? Tell everyone how ‘m your homeless boyfriend?”

You looked frustrated like you couldn’t wrap your head around why this was such a big deal. He wished you could see it from his side, but how could you? You weren’t a pogue.

You didn’t know what it was like being the guy no one wanted around anymore. Hell, he barely had anywhere to crash before you helped him out. And now, what? He was supposed to show up to your graduation party and pretend like he belonged?

He was getting worked up now. He knew it. But damn, how was he supposed to just walk into that house, standing next to you while everyone whispered about how he would be dragging you down?

“It’s my party,” you said, taking a step closer. “I don’t care what they think. I want you there.”

He clenched his jaw and looked away. You didn’t get it. This wasn’t just about your daddy or your friends or even you. It’s about the fact that no matter how hard he tried, he was always gonna be that guy they look at sideways like he wasn’t worth a dam.

“Yeah? And what happens when they start askin’ questions?” He asked, voice low, trying to keep the edge out of it. “When they find out we’ve been sneakin’ around for months? You think they’ll just be cool with that? You wanna throw all that away, for me?”

Your face tightened up, hurt showing in your eyes, and damn if that didn’t make his chest twist up inside. He hated seeing you like that.

“I’m just tired of pretending like I’m ashamed of you.”

That one hit hard, harder than he expected.

He dropped his head, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling like he was about to lose it. “M’ not doing this to hurt you,” he muttered, trying to pull himself back together. “I’m doing it ‘cause I care about you.”

He was protecting this.

You shook your head like you didn’t believe him. “No, you’re doing this ‘cause you think you’re protecting me from something that doesn’t even matter. None of this—my parents, the Kook bullshit—none of it matters to me.”

You didn’t curse often, but when you did, he knew you were upset. Rafe let out a frustrated sigh, looking down at his boots, the ones you’d bought him a month ago, kicking at some dirt on the ground. He hated this. Hated how you made it seem so simple. Like you could just snap your fingers, and everything would fall into place.

"Doesn't matter to you," he muttered, shaking his head. "But it matters to them. It matters to the people you gotta see every day. Your parents, your friends... hell, half the damn island. You think they won’t care? That they won’t look at you different if they see you with me?"

You were right there in front of him now, reaching out to touch his arm, but he tensed up, not ready for the comfort. Not when his head was a mess.

“I don’t care what they think. Why do you?"

That question. That damn question. It was always the same one, and he never had a good answer for it. He didn’t care what they thought, not about him.

But you? You deserved better. And even if you didn’t see it that way, he did.

“I care ‘cause you’re... you’re better than all that, alright?" His voice was gruff, trying to keep from saying too much, but it was getting harder. "You got your whole future lined up, you’re set. College, whatever the hell you wanna do. And then there's me, dragging you down with all my bullshit. You deserve—"

“I deserve to make my own choices,” you cut in, stepping even closer, so close now that he could feel the warmth of your skin, hear the frustration under your breath. “And I choose you. I don’t care about any of that other stuff. I want you there tonight. With me.”

The way you said it, it almost made him want to believe it. Almost.

Rafe clenched his jaw, eyes drifting up to meet yours. You really believed it, didn’t you? That this could work. That you two could just show up, be together, and it wouldn’t matter what anyone thought. Part of him wanted to grab onto that same hope, hold it tight, and say “fuck it” to everything else.

But the other part—the part that had seen how the world worked, how Kooks looked down on Pogues like him—knew better.

"Just 'cause you want it, doesn’t makes it real.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, "Like we can just walk in there and no one’s gonna give a shit that you’re standing next to me.”

You crossed your arms now, jaw set in that stubborn way that usually meant you weren’t backing down. “I don’t care anymore, Rafe. I’m tired of living by their rules. This is my life."

He felt a flare of anger burn in his chest. Not at you, but at the situation. At the fact that he couldn’t just be the guy you wanted him to be, the guy who could walk into that party and not feel like he was sticking out like a sore thumb.

“Yeah?” he snapped back, voice rough. “And what about next time, huh? What about the next party or when your dad finds out and says you’re not allowed to see me anymore. What then?”

You stared at him, eyes hard, like you were daring him to say more, but there was something else in your expression, something that made his throat tighten. "You’re just looking for an excuse," you said quietly. "You’re scared."

Maybe you were right. Maybe he was scared.

Scared that if he let himself believe this could work, he’d end up losing you in the end anyway. Scared that the moment you really saw how different your lives were, you’d leave, and he’d be the one standing there, broken.

“Can’t you just drop it?”

“You’re being mean.”

He wasn’t trying to hurt you—not really. But he didn’t know how else to get through your head, how to make you see what he saw.

“So what if I am. Maybe I need to be. You’re not listening to me.”

You didn’t flinch, didn’t back down, and that just pissed him off more. You should be mad. You should hate him for not just going along with this, for making it all so damn hard. But there you were, looking at him like you still believed in him. Like he was worth it. And fuck, that was the hardest part.

Your eyes were glassy, and he could see it—the hurt. The way you blinked fast, your lips pressed tight, like you were holding it all in, it killed him.

“You’re pushing me away,” you said, voice shaky as hell. “And I don’t get it. You’re actin’ like I’d be better off without you.”

He clenched his fists, feeling that familiar burn of frustration flare up. He didn’t want to yell at you.

Hell, he never wanted to make you cry, but you didn’t get it. Part of him wanted to shake you, make you see things the way he saw them. The other part? The part that hurt every time you talked about leaving, about how you had this whole future ahead of you... that part just wanted to pull you in and hold on tight.

He laughed, a sharp, humorless sound. “Yeah? Well, someone needs to. 'Cause you’re blind if you think this ends with us living happily ever after.”

You flinched, like his words had hit you straight in the chest. And then, the tears came, and he couldn’t stop them this time. You wiped at your face, trying to hold it together, but he’d already done the damage.

He was falling apart right in front of you, and he hated that you had to see it. Hated that you were the only person who ever saw him like this.

He hated himself for saying it, but he couldn’t stop now. Couldn’t stop the truth from comin’ out, no matter how much it hurt. “You’re leavin’ in four months, and I’m still here. Still... me. And I’m not draggin’ you down with all my crap. You deserve better than that.”

You reached out, grabbing his arm, and the way you touched him made somethin’ inside him crack. “I don’t want better, Rafe. I want you.”

“Yeah?” He barked out a laugh, bitter and hollow. “And what happens when you’re gone? When you’re off at college, livin’ your life, and I’m still here, stuck in this place? You think this... whatever this is, is gonna last?”

Your voice broke a little when you spoke again. “Why are you doing this?”

“I’m doin’ it ‘cause I care about you,” he said, voice dropping low, rough around the edges. “More than anything. But you... you got a future. You got everythin’ ahead of you. And me? I ain’t got nothin’ but a one-way ticket to nowhere.”

You were cryin’ now, and that damn near killed him. You never cried, not like this. “That’s not true. Why can’t you see that? I’m not leaving you behind.”

Rafe finally looked up, meeting your eyes, and he could see it—could see how much you meant it.

And damn, he wanted to believe it. Wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe, you were right. But he’d been around long enough to know how this world worked, and it never worked out for guys like him.

“I can’t be the one to ruin your life,” he said, stepping back, pulling away from your touch even though it felt like it was tearing him apart to do it. “I won’t.”

“Rafe,” you whispered, voice broken and pleading, but he shook his head.

“Just... let it go,” he muttered, turning his back to you. He couldn’t handle it anymore. Couldn’t handle seeing you hurt, knowing it was his fault. Knowing he was the reason your heart was breaking.

"Fine," you choked out, voice only just holding steady. "If you don’t want me there, then I’ll stop trying.”

You turned on your heel, storming off, but not before he saw your shoulders shake. 

Fuck.

That shit crushed him, but still, he didn’t move.

Just stood there, fists clenched, staring at the ground while you walked away from him. He knew he’d ruin the best thing that ever happened to him, he just didn’t expect it to happen this soon. He wanted to go after you, and say something to make it right, but what was the point? 

He always fucked it up somehow.

He leaned his head back against the shed, staring up at the sky, feeling like an absolute waste of space.

You had everything going for you—family, friends, a future—and what the hell did he have? Nothing but bad luck and a reputation that dragged behind him like a chain. He didn’t even know why you bothered with him sometimes. You were too good, too kind.

And he? He was the definition of a screw-up. Always saying the wrong thing, always ruining the good moments before they even had a chance to get started.

He slid down the wall until he was sitting in the dirt, head in his hands, wishing he could just be different. Wishing he didn’t care so much about what your dad thought or how your friends would whisper when you weren’t around. He wished he could just be the guy you saw, the guy you believed in.

Hours later, the party at your place was in full swing, and he knew you were there, trying to have a good time without him. He hadn’t shown up, of course. Just like he said he wouldn’t. Rafe stayed back, back in that stupid abandoned house, trying to tell himself this was for the best. 

He could hear the distant sound of music coming from your house, the laughter of your Kook friends echoing through the night air. It was the kind of party he never really belonged at—one where everyone showed up in their clean-cut clothes, fresh haircuts, and fancy cars. The kind of life he never had a shot at, not really. And here he was, stuck in the dirt, hands covered in grime, still trying to figure out why the hell you kept fighting for him.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew this was what was supposed to happen. You deserved to be there, with your people, not hanging around with someone like him. You’d be fine without him weighing you down. Hell, you’d probably be better off in the long run. He’d hurt you. He knew it. Saw it clear as day when you walked off, tears in your eyes, but he didn’t go after you. He didn’t know how.

But then his phone buzzed—the phone you had gotten him—and he looked down to see your name flashing on the screen. He stared at it for a second, his gut twisting, then picked up.

“Yeah?”

All he could hear on the other end was you crying. That soft, broken cry made his chest feel like it was caving in.

“Hey, hey,” he said quickly, standing up straighter. “What’s wrong?”

You didn’t answer right away, just kept crying, and that was worse than anything you could’ve said. His heart was pummeling to the ground, and he was already on his feet, ready to head over before you even asked.

“Sweetheart,” he tried again, trying to keep himself from sounding as panicked as he felt. “What happened? Talk to me.”

You sniffled hard, trying to talk through the sobs. “Rafe, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—” You couldn’t even finish the sentence, your voice all shaky and broken.

He couldn’t stand to hear you like that, not when he knew it was his fault. He ran a hand through his hair, pacing now, feeling like a total jackass.

“Stop crying, darlin’,” he muttered, voice softer now. “I hate when you cry.”

“I’m just so upset,” you whispered, still trying to catch your breath. “I didn’t want us to fight like that. I just miss you.”

Rafe clenched his jaw, feeling like shit. He could hear the party still going in the background, but all you wanted was him. He knew that, but somehow he’d still managed to mess everything up.

“Where are you?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“My room,” you muttered, “I couldn’t stay down there. I feel so stupid.”

His heart twisted, and before he even knew what he was doing, he was throwing on his jacket, heading out.

“I’m coming’ over,” he said, his voice firm.

“What?” you sounded surprised. “Rafe, you don’t have to—”

“I’m coming’,” he interrupted you, his voice low but serious. “Stay there. I’ll be there in a few.”

Twenty minutes later, he was sneaking around the side of your house, ducking behind bushes to avoid being seen. The party was still going, people everywhere, but all he cared about was getting to your window. He knew how to sneak into your room like the back of his hand by now. Too many months of practice.

He climbed through, landing quiet as a mouse, and saw you sitting on the edge of your bed, looking down at your hands. Your eyes were red from crying, and he felt that familiar guilt twisting in his gut.

When you looked up and saw him, you stood fast, like you couldn’t believe he was actually there.

Before he could say anything, you were in his arms, holding onto him tight, like you were scared he might disappear. Rafe held you, his chin resting on top of your head as you pressed into him, your fingers clutching at the back of his jacket like you didn’t want to let go. He knew he'd screwed up. He always did. But when you were there, clutching him like he was the only thing that mattered, it made him question everything he'd told himself.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your face buried in his chest, your body shakin’ from the sobs.

Rafe wrapped his arms around you, holding you as close as he could, like he was trying to make up for every shitty thing he’d said. “You don’t gotta apologize, alrigh’?” he muttered, his voice low and rough. “This one’s on me.”

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, tears still in your eyes, and damn if it didn’t make him want to punch himself.

“I don’t care about the party or the people,” you practically whimpered, “I just want you, Rafe.”

He stared down at you, feeling’ that knot in his throat. He didn’t deserve you. He never had. But here you were, saying you wanted him anyway.

“I’m sorry for being a dick,” He exhaled, “I just... I don’t know how to do this right. I’m scared I’m just gonna hurt you.”

You shook your head, your hands resting on his chest. “You don’t have to protect me. I just want you to let me in.”

He swallowed hard. You were all he wanted, but damn if it didn’t scare the hell out of him sometimes.

Still, he wasn’t about to lose you. Not like this.

The warmth of you against him, the way you fit so perfectly into his chest—it made him feel like he might just be okay. Like maybe, for once, things didn’t have to be so damn complicated.

But that didn’t mean the doubts were gone. He pulled back just a little, enough to see your face, brushing a tear away from your cheek with his thumb.

 “You know I’m not good at this, right?” His voice was low, rough, like he was almost ashamed to say it. “I don’t wanna screw things up, but I don’t always know how to… be better.”

You looked up at him, your eyes still watery but soft, full of that same stubborn affection you always had for him. “I don’t need you to be perfect. I just need you to let me in when it gets hard.”

He let out a slow breath, trying to wrap his head around how you could want him—still want him—after all the times he’d messed up. “I’m tryin’, alright?” He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself. “I don’t wanna push you away, but sometimes it feels like that’s the only thing I know how to do.”

You gave him this sad little smile, like you knew exactly what he meant. “I don’t care if you push sometimes,” you conceded, “Just—don’t leave. Don’t make me feel like I’m in this alone.”

That hit him harder than anything.

He realized then, as much as he was scared of dragging you down, you were scared of him disappearing. No matter how fucked up things got, no matter how much he doubted himself or the future, he wasn’t about to let you slip away.

You bit your lip, like you were debating whether or not to say something, and for a second, Rafe felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“I love you, Rafe.”

Those three words hit him harder than anything ever had. Harder than all the fights, the doubts, the shit he carried around like it was glued to his skin. His heart just about stopped in his chest, and he just stared at you like you’d knocked the wind out of him.

“What—what did you just say?” His voice came out hoarse like he didn’t trust what he heard.

“I love you,” you said again, a little more sure this time. You smiled, but your eyes were still searching his, like you were waiting for him to say something back.

Like maybe he wouldn’t.

His head started spinning, like the room had just tilted sideways.

He could feel his pulse hammering in his throat, and suddenly he wasn’t sure if he was about to pass out or just drop to his knees. How the hell were you standing there, looking at him, and saying that?

His mouth opened, but nothing came out. He felt his knees wobble for a second, like his legs were going to give out. Jesus Christ, get it together, he thought, trying to pull in a breath, but it felt like the air got stuck halfway down his throat.

“You love me?” His voice cracked, and he hated how insecure he sounded, how unsure. But it was like his brain couldn’t process those words coming from you.

You nodded, stepping closer, your hand slipping back to his chest, right over his heart. “Yeah. I love you.”

Rafe’s heart was pounding so hard now, he thought it might actually explode. He blinked, then swallowed hard, still trying to make sense of what was happening.

It wasn’t like he didn’t believe you—it was just, how the hell did he deserve that? Deserve you?

“Shit…” He whispered, almost to himself, and suddenly his legs felt weak again. “I... I—fuck, I don’t know what to say.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know.”

But he did.

He needed to say something, anything, to let you know what that meant to him. His throat felt tight, like he might choke if he didn’t get it out.

 “I—I love you too.” It came out fast, like he was scared if he didn’t say it quick enough, you might take it back. "I love you, too. So fucking much, I don't even know what to do with it half the time.”

He looked down at you, and for once, he didn’t care if he was being soft or vulnerable or any of that shit that scared him before.

He just wanted you to know how much he needed you, how much you meant to him.

And as soon as the words were out, you smiled, this big, radiant smile that lit up your whole face, and Rafe felt like he might actually faint this time.

His heart was gonna burst wide open. He pulled back a little, still holding onto you, his forehead resting against yours. 

“You don’t know how much I needed to hear that,” he muttered, “I’ve never—no one’s ever...”

You smiled, brushing your thumb over his cheek, and it was so gentle, so full of love, that it almost knocked him off his feet all over again.

“You deserve it,” you reminded him again, “You deserve to be loved.”

There you were, always telling him of what he was deserving of. 

“I love you,” he whispered again, just to make sure you knew. He buried his face in your neck, his arms enveloping you tighter than before.

You loved him. You loved him. And he loved you.

It felt like the confession had lightened up something inside you.

He’d thought about how it would go, the first time you two would be together like that. In his head, it was always this big moment, something special. 

He was rough around the edges, sure, but he wanted to do it right. He wanted it to be perfect for you. He'd even thought about planning something out—candles, a slow build, maybe a weekend when no one was around.

His breath was ragged as he felt you pull him closer, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt. He’d thought about this moment a thousand times—hell, probably more—but never like this.

Not rushed, not with everyone downstairs, and definitely not with you looking at him like you couldn’t wait any longer. You kissed him like you couldn’t stop, fingers already slipping beneath the fabric, making it hard for him to think straight.

“Sweetheart...” his voice was low with that familiar southern drawl, like he was trying to hold it all together. “You sure ‘bout this? We got a house full of people downstairs.”

You kissed him harder, pulling his shirt over his head, and he nearly lost his mind right then and there. He wanted to slow down, make this moment perfect for you, but the way you were all over him? It made him forget every plan he’d ever had. He let out a shaky breath, his hands settling on your waist, trying to ground himself. 

Jesus, this wasn’t how he’d imagined it.

He wanted to slow down, wanted to make this moment last, but you were already working your hands up his chest, and it was driving him insane.

“I don’t care,” you muttered against his lips, your breath hot and all desperate.

Damn, if you weren’t the most stubborn, determined girl he’d ever met. But he loved that about you. Loved how you always knew exactly what you wanted. And right now? It was clear you wanted him. His hands slid up your back, fingers tracing the curves he’d been dreaming about for months.

Rafe let out a groan, trying his best to keep it together, but you were making it damn near impossible. “I was... I was tryin’ to be romantic for once,” he mumbled as he looked into your eyes, practically begging himself to slow down, to make this right. “Was thinkin’ candles, music... not with your whole damn family downstairs, baby.”

You laughed, breathless, and pulled him even closer, your body against his. “You don’t want me?” There was a hint of challenge in your voice like you didn’t believe him.

His blue eyes went wide. “What? ‘Course I want you,” he said, almost shocked you’d even think that. “‘I’ve always wanted you. You gotta know that.”

You looked up at him and he nearly came on the stop, “Then stop holding back.”

Every last bit of control he had glided right out of his hands. You were there, right in front of him, pulling him into you, like you didn’t care about anything else. All his plans, all his ideas of some perfect first time? Out the damn window.

 “You... you look so damn beautiful. This dress— I can’t get over how good you look in it.”

You giggled, and for a moment, the heat between you two softened into something tender, something that made his chest ache.

He loved that sound. Loved the way it lit up your face, like you had no idea just how much you meant to him.

He kissed you again, slow at first like he was trying to be a gentleman, but the way you kissed him back, so eager, so damn hungry—it broke whatever restraint he had left. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer, feeling the soft fabric of your dress against his skin, and it sent a jolt through him, making him lose track of everything but you. The room felt too small, and all he could think about was how long he’d been waiting for this—for you.

His hands trembled as he reached for the hem of your dress, hesitating for a second before pulling it up, revealing the soft skin of your waist. He was trying to stay calm, to keep his mind from racing, but it felt damn near impossible with the way you were looking at him.

You were everything.

He swallowed hard, “I... I wanna take my time with you,” he murmured, like he was scared he’d crack the spell between you if he spoke too loud. His fingers brushed over your skin, gentle, as he lifted your dress the rest of the way, eyes flicking up to yours, searching for any sign that you wanted him to stop.

You didn’t.

If anything, you moved even closer, your breathing coming out in quick, giddy breaths. There was something endearing about it—like neither of you really knew what you were doing, but you both wanted it so badly. You were learning together.

Your dress fell to the floor, and he just stared for a moment, blue eyes all wide, like he couldn’t believe this was happening. “Goddamn..”

His hands hovered over your skin, like he didn’t want to rush, but you were yanking him impossibly closer, urging him on. He began to move again, gliding slowly over your bare skin, every touch reverent, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he wasn’t careful enough.

He kissed you again, deeper this time, his hands still roaming over your body, savoring every inch of you. The soft sighs you made only pushed him further, made him forget everything except how much he wanted to make you feel good, how much he needed this to be good for you.

His was light-headed as he whispered your name, “God, I love you— I don’t think you even know how much.”

“I think I do,” you whispered back, lips brushing his neck. “Show me.”

He reached for the delicate straps of your bra and pulled them down your shoulders, like he was unwrapping the most precious thing in the world.

He paused for a second, looking into your eyes, making sure you were still with him, still wanting this as much as before.

You nodded softly, your lips parted, your breath coming out in shallow gasps. His fingers found the clasp, fumbling slightly, and he cursed under his breath with a rough chuckle, “Sorry, baby… it’s just—damn, I’m mess right now.”

You beamed at him, all the tension melting away, “You’re doing’ just fine,” you whispered, urging him to keep going.

With one final tug, the clasp gave way, and your bra slipped off, falling to the floor. Rafe’s eyes darkened as he took you in, his mouth going dry. He swallowed hard like he couldn’t believe this was real.

His hands moved steadily, fingertips grazing your bare skin as he lowered them to your waist, where the last piece of fabric still clung to your body. He hesitated for just a second, his eyes coming back to yours, silently asking for permission.

 “I want you.”

That was all it took.

He hooked his fingers under the waistband of your underwear, sliding them down, savoring every inch of you as you were revealed to him. He let out a low groan, as he finally saw you—all of you.

He needed to remind himself this was real. That you were his. “Fuck,” His voice was filled with awe. "You’re perfect.”

Your fingers drifted lower, tugging at the waistband of his jeans and you felt noticed how his body tensed under your touch, his muscles rippling as he tried to keep himself calm.

“C’mon,” you purred, just teasing as you pulled at the button, “I think it’s your turn now.”

Rafe’s lips curved into that cocky grin he knew you loved, "You sure ‘bout that, sweetheart?" 

You nodded, small hands already working to unbutton his jeans. He almost let out a prayer, biting his lip as you slipped them down, his body shivering as your fingers brushed against his skin.

His jeans fell to the floor, and you took a step back, admiring him like he was worth all that staring. Rafe stood there in nothing but his boxers, chest heaving with all that uncontrollable love he felt for you.

His eyes were locked on yours, full of that same intense need, but there was something tender in them too, he still couldn’t quite believe you were here, undressing him like this. But you were real, standing there with him and undressing him like you wanted every single piece of him. 

With a soft smile, you reached up, fingers twitching at the waistband of his boxers, your eyes never leaving his. The way you looked at him as you slid them down slowly, revealing every inch of him? He was never letting that go.

Rafe just stood there for a moment, completely bare, his body a little rigid with anticipation, and you felt a shiver run down your spine as you took him in.

"You're perfect too," your eyes roamed over him, taking in the sharp lines of his body, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

When you stepped closer, hands touching his hips now, dragging him towards you, his fingers found your hair, tangling in it as he leaned down to kiss you, slow and deep, pouring everything he couldn’t say into that kiss.

"Jesus," he whispered against your lips, eyes closing as he tried to breath through his excitement, "You're drivin' me crazy.”

You just let out soft little laugh that made his stomach flip, your fingers mapping over his jaw, keeping him close. His whole body was buzzing with need, his skin burning wherever you touched him, but there was something else in the way you were looking at him—a kind of trust that he wasn’t sure he deserved but fuck if he wasn’t going to do everything to live up to it.

His hands skimmed back down to your hips, your bare skin against his, and for a second, he couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t breathe right. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling the familiar scent of you, trying to calm his racing heart.

“You know I’ll take care of you,” he promised, "I want this to be good for you— I’ve always wanted this to be good for you."

You tilted his face down, your lips brushing against his “It already is, Rafe. Just...just be with me."

That was all he needed.

Rafe’s hands touched all over you like he was trying to memorize every part of you, like he couldn’t believe you were letting him have this.

He kissed you, slow but needy, his tongue slipping into your mouth, and the way you responded made his entire body shake. His hands ended up back in your waist, thumb brushing the skin, lifting you just a little and guiding you to the bed, where you both sank into the mattress together.

His weight settled over you, your bodies fitting together in this perfect way that made his head spin. He leaned down, kissing your neck, your collarbone, every inch of skin he could reach.

Your breath came in short gasps, your hands gripping his shoulders as he kissed his way down your body, and Rafe swore he could die.

“You’re everything,” he whispered against your skin, voice hoarse with emotion. "You don't even know... how long I've wanted this. How much I want you."

His fingers moved down, brushing the inside of your thigh. He hesitated for a moment, eyes searching yours, needing that confirmation one more time. You nodded, biting your lip.

His fingers slid between your thighs, slow at first, the warmth of your skin making him shudder. He exhaled sharply, opening you up to him, feeling how ready you were, and it nearly drove him insane. His fingers moved carefully, testing the waters, the softest groan escaping his lips as he found that sensitive spot.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he whispered, like he couldn’t believe the way you felt under his touch.

Your breath caught, hips shifting toward him, a soft moan breaking loose as his fingers pressed against you. The sound of your voice, the way your body responded to him—it drove him wild. He wanted to make sure you felt good.

Two of his fingers slipped inside, careful, tentative at first. He watched your face, making sure you were okay, his other hand resting on your hip, steadying you as they curled slightly, finding a rhythm that made your body arch into him.

“Rafe…” you breathed out, your voice wobbly, eyes fluttering shut as the sensation overwhelmed you.

He worked a little faster now, getting even harder as he felt you tighten around him. “Like that, baby?”

You nodded quickly, biting your lip to stifle another moan, your hands latching on his shoulders as your body quivered under his touch. He groaned softly, his lips finding your neck, licking and sucking at the soft skin there as his fingers continued their slow, deliberate movements. 

Your body curved toward him, every nerve ending tingling as his fingers moved deeper, curling just right. He swallowed hard, his lips brushing against your ear, "Is this okay?"

Your heart thumped against your rib cage, every movement of his fingers making you gasp softly. You managed to give him a small nod, barely able to find your voice. "Yeah, Rafe... it's perfect."

His breath came out a little less unrestrained, clearly relieved, and he continued, the pace slow, testing. The uncertainty in his touch was endearing, but you wanted more—you needed more.

“Baby,” you murmured softly, biting your lip as a rush of heat stretched through you, “Maybe… one more?”

He froze for a moment, his voice coming out in a ragged gasp as he looked at you. “Are you sure?”

Your heart swelled at his concern, and you gave him a reassuring smile. "I’m sure. Just take it slow."

Carefully, he pulled back just a little, his fingers slipping out before he added a third finger. His brow furrowed in concentration, his eyes flicking up to yours, watching your face for any sign of discomfort.

The sensation was different, intense, but not too overwhelming. You let out a soft moan, your body adjusting to the new pressure as he filled you more.

“Does it—does it feel good?” Rafe asked, his face inches from yours, vulnerable.

“Yes,” you breathed out, “It feels amazing.”

His lips parted, a nervous smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He let out a soft laugh, almost as if he couldn’t believe it himself. “I was worried I’d mess it up.”

You shook your head, pulling him closer, your hand twisting in his hair. “You're doing great.”

He exhaled slowly, his body relaxing a little as he found a rhythm again. His fingers moved more confidently now, more certain, his jaw falling slack as he watched you react to him.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Rafe muttered, eyes glued to your face. “You feel that? You’re taking me so well.”

You whined at how deep his voice sounded, your body buzzing as his fingers worked in deeper, the pressure mounting with every movement. Your mind filled with nothing but the feeling of him inside you.

“God, yes,” you breathed out, the pleasure building to a point where it felt like you might break apart.

Rafe's pace quickened, as he pressed his fingers harder, deeper, hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over again. 

"Come on, baby," he practically begged you, voice hoarse. Your breath came out in short, shallow gasps as you felt yourself creeping toward the edge, every movement of his hand bringing you closer. His name fell from your lips in a breathless moan as the tension snapped, your body shuddering as the pleasure washed over you.

His eyes widened in awe, his fingers slowing as he watched you like he couldn’t believe what he’d just made happen. He groaned softly, feeling you pulse around him, "You did so good," he murmured, lips brushing against your temple. "So perfect."

You felt a shiver run down your entire being as his hands glided up your thighs, spreading them gently as he settled himself between them. He was shaking a little, and you could see the hesitation in his eyes—the nervousness that came with doing something for the first time, not wanting to mess it up.

But when he leaned down, kissing you slow and deep, all the apprehend melted away. He couldn’t help but take in every detail—the way your lips parted as you breathed him in. He felt like he was drowning, but in the best way possible.

“I don’t think I can wait any longer.”

You looked up at him, your own breath uneven, eyes wide and the way you saw through him—it was like you were giving him the world. His hand was still shaking slightly as he reached down, lining himself up with you, taking his time, not rushing even though every fiber of his being screamed to.

"I wanna make this good for you," he murmured, his lips brushing your ear. "I don’t wanna hurt you." 

There was a hesitation, a vulnerability that he only showed in moments like this. His focus was entirely on you, on making sure you felt nothing but pleasure. You gave him a small, reassuring nod, your hand finding his, fingers slipping through his, squeezing. "I trust you.”

He exhaled slowly, nodding to himself as he eased into you, inch by inch, watching your face the entire time, making sure you were still doing okay.

The sensation overwhelmed him, the warmth of your body, the way you welcomed him so completely. He groaned, low and deep, knowing he could do this for the rest of his life. You were so fucking warm.

"Fuckkk," he moaned, "You feel so fuckin' good, darlin'."

His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, his forehead pressing against yours as he sank deeper, the feeling of being inside you nearly sending him over the edge. He wanted to take it slow, to savor every moment, but the way you clenched around him, the way you whispered his name like it was the only word you knew—it made it impossible.

Your eyes fluttered closed, lashes brushing against flushed cheeks, lips parting in a soft gasp that made his heart skip a beat. His hips moved on instinct, slow at first, testing, his breath coming out in shallow pants as he tried to hold back. "Tell me if it’s too much," he managed to say, his voice strained.

“It’s p-perfect.”

His hips snapped forward, the movement more sure, more confident as he lost himself in the moment. A low groan escaping his lips as he buried himself deeper, his hands gripping your hips as he moved faster, harder, the need to be closer to you taking over.

You mewled pathetically at this point, nails digging into every bit of skin you could get your hands on, body arching beneath him as he hit that perfect spot over and over again. It wasn’t fair that he was a natural.

The way you responded to him, the sounds you made—it had to be the best day of his life.

“Touch me.”

He cupped your tit, thumb brushing over the hardened peak with a gentle touch that contrasted the desperate way his hips moved against you.

His eyes never left your face, watching every flicker of emotion as his hands explored you. "Like this?" he murmured, his thumb circling again as his hips moved deeper. The way your body reacted—sucking him in like a goddamn vice—it nearly undid him.

“Mmhp—Fuck. J—Just like that.”

He leaned down, like a man possessed, lips brushing the soft skin of your tit, his warm breath ghosting over your sensitive skin, sending a shiver up your spine. His mouth found the hardened peak, lips wrapping around it with a low groan, and his tongue flicked over it slowly, teasingly. You gasped, your hands entangling in his hair, holding him there as he sucked harder, his teeth grazing just enough to make you whimper.

He hummed in satisfaction, feeling the way your body responded to him. His tongue circled slowly, drawing out every sound you made, savoring each gasp, each moan as he lavished attention on your body. 

“Fuck, baby,” he muttered, voice muffled against your skin as he switched to the other breast, giving it the same attention, his lips trailing over your heated flesh. “You taste so good.”

You couldn’t help the way your body responded, pressing up against him, your hips rolling to meet his. The dual sensation of his mouth on you and the deep, steady thrusts left you tingling all over, beneath him, completely dazed by the pleasure he was giving you.

“Rafe—" you huffed, the word barely more than a breath as your grip tightened in his hair, pulling him closer. His mouth latched on harder, sucking with a fervor that left you breathless.

He pulled back just slightly, lips wet and swollen as he looked up at you,“I could do this all night,” he whispered, “You like that, baby? You like how I’m making you feel?”

He didn’t know where these surges of confidence kept coming from, but he never felt so relieved. It felt like his body knew exactly what to do when it came to yours.

His hand skidded between your legs once more, fingers finding your swollen, sensitive clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that matched the rhythm of his hips and mouth. You could barely think straight, couldn’t form a coherent thought.

When his lips finally crashed back into yours, the taste of him overpowered every sense as his hands pulled your hips tighter. His kiss was messy, all spit and need, like he couldn’t get enough of you—like he needed to feel you, taste you, breathe you in all at once. His tongue slid past your parted lips, slow and teasing at first, then deeper, as if he was trying to consume you whole.

He groaned into the kiss, his teeth grazing your bottom lip before tugging on it softly, then harder as he swallowed the sound of your whines.

When he broke the kiss, it was only to press wet, fevered kisses down your jawline, to your neck, leaving a trail of spit and heat in his wake.

“I love you,” he muttered against your skin, his lips latching onto your collarbone, sucking on the sensitive spot just below your ear, biting gently, “So fuckin’ much.”

“I love you,” You breathed out between kisses, his hands gripping the flesh of your ass and pulling you flush against him, the hard line of his body pressing against yours in a way that made you gasp, “Never g-gonna s-stop,” you whispered back, the taste of him lingering on your tongue as he kissed you harder, rougher, swallowing every sound you made.

"Fuck, I’m close," he gasped, his forehead resting against yours as he fought to hold back, to make this last, but you could feel him losing control, feel the tension coiling tight in his body. His hips moved with a relentless, desperate need, his breath broken and uneven.

“Rafe—” you nearly cried, your body shaking beneath him. Every thrust, every touch, every breath was pushing you closer to the edge, and you knew you weren’t going to last much longer.

“Let go for me, baby,” he encouraged you, two fingers still rubbing teasing circles over your sensitive clit, “Come for me.”

Your body tightened around him as you came undone with a cry of his name. Rafe groaned as he felt you clench around him, fluttering so perfectly.

His release was not far behind as he thrust into you one last time, before pulling out with a strangled moan, his body shuddering as he came all over your tummy, his head falling to your shoulder.

Rafe stayed there for a while, catching his breath, his body still shaking like a leaf as the tremors of pleasure coursed through him.

Taking his time, he lifted his head, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, and finally your lips. "I love you," he said it again, as he gazed down at you, his thumb brushing tenderly over your flushed cheek. "So damn much."

You never looked so heartbreakingly beautiful. Like a fucking painting.

You grinned from ear to ear, your heart swelling with affection as you held his face in your hands, pulling him for another kiss. "I love you too," you murmured against his lips, your fingers threading through his hair, "Always."

Rafe’s lips curved into a smile against yours, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close.

And in that moment, nothing else mattered. You were his, and he was yours—completely, utterly, and without question

[operationandre]

this bitch was that one kid in kindergarten who ate paper and told everyone that each color of paper had a specific flavor

[addicted-to-the-knife]

I think it's very important that we bring back this inherent understanding that actors are also just some fucking guys (gender neutral)

[crimsonmonsoon]

If you can’t tell I am entirely obsessed with this guy

[green-tea-lemonade]

C r o m c h

[raisinushigher]

fuck this show

[hella1975]

i cannot stand the aot fandom this is not a new take at all they are universally intolerable but oh my dayssss u are FORBIDDEN from making ANY take about the show it's actually insane to watch. 'aot is perfect' no show is perfect. 'tell me you didnt get the show 😂🫵' people have different opinions/interpretations about things. 'eren is a good guy they could never make me hate him' i think there's actually 4 seasons and two movies explicitely using him as a tool to show that no one is 'good' or 'evil' they are only trying to survive. hello. the fandom r all so far up aot's ass that they actually discredit its writing in the process and it would be laughable if it wasn't so frustrating

[hood-ex]

I have seen you talking about Dick & Dami's relationship and Dick & Tim as well,but what are your takes on Dick and Jason actually?

Like how you wish their relationship should be portrayed today and where are them missing when it comes to making those two acting like siblings?

Do you think in the past their dynamic was better?

How Dick views Jason and how Jason views Dick?

This is difficult to answer because there are like 8 different stages to Dick and Jason's relationship with various dynamics. They also view each other a bit differently depending on which stage we're talking about.

The way I would like their relationship to be portrayed today isn’t necessarily possible thanks to Jason’s integration into the family and acceptance of the no killing moral code. For me, their ideal dynamic is portrayed in Outsiders #44-46. And I know people are gonna find that regressive as hell but, tbh, that dynamic is far more interesting than the kinda awkward thing they have going on now.

Although, I don't mind that they acknowledge their brotherhood in a serious manner now. Like before they'd kinda be like, "Eh... I mean... we were adopted from the same guy but... brothers? Eh..." And now they're more firmly in the, "We're brothers," camp. So that development is interesting.

Character progression wise, it wouldn't feel right for for them to be super close in the way that, say, Dick and Tim are (unless we saw a lot of trust and relationship building between them), but at the same time, there is part of me that kind of wants them to have that older sibling bond (except Jason is closer in age to Tim than he is to Dick sooo actually let's just leave older sibling things to Dick and Cass... not that Cass is much older than Jason though so LOL this is why Dick has to lone the oldest sibling thing by himself... which is funny because Dick is technically no longer the oldest sibling, he's a baby brother now... except Dick and Melinda's relationship really hasn't progressed much sooo you could say they share blood but don't consider each other family yet, in which case, Dick is still the oldest... I mean, regardless, Dick is the oldest sibling of the Waynes... god why did they have to make all of this so difficult 😫).

[painalotwww]

[vermillioncrown]

snippet of tpac ch 11

who wants to see bruce being bullied? doesn't matter, here you go

...

“—per my last missive, Sir: if you want this equation to exist, then the principles of linear algebra must necessarily exist.” Korvin waves a thin stack of ruled paper—covered with sprawling formulas, symbols, bullet lists, and patchwork paragraphs on both sides—like he’s trying to banish a demon. That demon, in this instance, is “Batman being stubborn.”

Bruce looks taken aback, like something is happening outside of his set parameters. From how Dick tried to explain it: apparently, Bruce and Korvin have a whole “pen pals” routine going on, and it’s still thriving despite them sharing the same living quarters for the past few months?

Do they actually waste stamps on this? Where do they hide the envelopes?

(Dick raised his hands in surrender at that line of questioning.)

Tim knows Bruce is a creature of habit and standards of operation—of which he completely respects because it’s efficient—but his staunch adherence to routine is next-level neurotic. Normally, he'd be furious about being sidetracked.

Yet, Korvin’s thrown caution to the wind and got so mad over math, like the fussy nerd that he tries to hide being, that he’s directly confronting Bruce—full “David vs Goliath” vibes here. And he's winning.

“I trust your work,” Bruce finally says, holding his hand out for the papers.

That only makes Korvin’s face twitch harder. “Sure. Why not. Everyone needs a bit of make-believe. Escapism in these trying times and shitass economy.”

“‘Shitass economy,’” Cass murmurs, of course latching onto the bit that everyone reacts to.

Babs sighs in disgust.

...

[musubiki]

I’m assuming the m34ths knows who all (if not most) of the current are and their identities seeing as it’s their reason for existing. So now I’m picturing Lime very bored in one of these Don’t Fall For Witches™ lectures they have and when they show pictures of the witches to watch out for Lime sees a picture of Mochi (possibly up to date, after not seeing her for a couple years maybe the side braid does something for him) and has to restrain himself cause his grip strength just tore the arm rest off his chair.

It’s now a bit among some members that Lime has a crush on the cat witch and that she’s his type

And they’re right

I DO LIKE THE IDEA OF THEM SOMEWHAT REVEALING ACCIDENTALLY THAT THEY KNOW WHERE SHE IS (ASSUMING ITS BEFORE SHE WENT AND FOUND THEM) AND HE ALMOST LOSES HIS MIND MID-MEETING!!!!!!!!

but i think there are a few witches that are off their radar!! they knew about tiramisu but they havent followed up since it transferred to mochi so they dont know what she looks like yet!!! which is why after mochi/lime reunion, shes met some other members and they just go "oh youre the girlfriend? ok" with no suspicions (besides marshal)

also i love the running theme that anything cat-witch related, even if he tore the arm off the chair by accident, theyre so uncritical in their thinking that theyre like "Wow look how mad he is...he really does hate her..."

and i do like the idea of a mission briefing, something like "We think theres a witch hiding in [area], and we have this very blurry very obscure footage of what she looks like--" and shows a very low-res god awful photo, but lime can recognize the hair color and the little pink ball hairtie fast enough that he stands up before the guy is even finished talking and goes "I'll handle it."