#swallows in the reeds

[blondebrainpowered]

René Lalique, Swallows in the Reeds’ necklace/choker, 1899 - 1900

Gold, enamel, pearls, mother-of-pearl, opal. Paris, France

[doddsmountain]

Nighttime in Martinaise

[dansnaturepictures]

Bempton Cliffs and Flamborough June 2024

The head iconic, the cliffs tall,

Covered in white, Gannets galore,

Kittiwakes too, with their soothing call,

Guillemots, Razorbills and more,

You have to examine the crevices for the sea clown,

Exotic billed Puffins that can hide,

Entranced by elegant Fulmars one could never frown,

As in the wind they effortlessly glide,

Tree Sparrows chatter, Swallows and House Martins attend the nest,

Short-eared and Barn Owl a captivating sight,

Seeing which can excite you best,

Yellow, pink and white meadows awakened by sunlight,

The sea an uplifting shade of blue,

Like seeing a marsh orchid, in the water is a treasure,

The intimate moment to have a Grey Seal stare at you,

Painted Lady and other butterflies add to the pleasure,

Silver Y, Sedge Warbler and Whitethroat,

Chiffchaff, Stonechat and Reed Bunting bringing more elation,

So relaxed I could almost float,

Vising Bempton Cliffs and Flamborough I feel a gratifying sensation,

[octarinespill]

Shelley Reed

Swallow (after Thorburn), 2018

[sun-ni-day]

[avid-idiot]

I AM SUFFERING IN BAND CLASS. I HAVE LUNCH BLOCK AFTER THIS AND I CANT EAT UNTIL 1:03 MY FUCKING GOD

Eesh. Tough. Steal a snack or something, idk

Anyways nighttt <3

[roosterforme]

Sugar and Lace | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: Bradley had a hot wife. He went wild for you in your work clothes and his worn out shirts. You didn't need any bells and whistles to look sexy, and you never would. But now that he knew what you looked like in a little lace, he needed to have that version of you, too.

Warnings: Fluff, adult language, drinking

Length: 3000 words

Pairing: Beer Boy and Sugar! Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader (former fuckboy college student Bradley)

This is a one-shot to accompany my fics Old Habits Die Hard and Right Girl, Wrong Time but it can be read on its own! Check out my masterlist

Bradley looked at Jake over his beer, and Jake looked right back at him. The Hard Deck was virtually empty this early on a Saturday in the middle of the blazing summer heatwave, leaving the two of them very much alone together with their drinks.

"So..." Bradley said, tracing a line through the condensation on his half empty bottle. It wasn't that he disliked Jake. Not really. But he didn't know how many times he could be coerced into hanging out with him for the sake of you having a 'girls day'. It wasn't like he could complain about work to the person who annoyed the shit out of him at work yesterday.

"So..." Jake replied, picking up his drink and chugging it before signaling to Penny for two more. When he turned back, he had a smug little smile on his face that let Bradley know he was about to get annoyed again. "I'm assuming by the way your wife looks and how fucking pussy whipped you are that she has good taste in lingerie?"

Bradley sputtered, almost knocking his bottle off the high top. "Jesus fucking Christ, Hangman. What the hell kind of question is that?" He could feel heat rising in his cheeks at the memory of you prancing around the bedroom last weekend in a lacy tie dye bra and matching boy shorts. Everything you wore was sexy.

"That's obviously what they are out shopping for," Jake drawled, handing the empties to Penny as she dropped off fresh beers. Bradley waved two fingers in a half-hearted salute and then glared at Jake as he added, "Jessica specifically asked your wife to go with her. She told me she's picking out some things for the honeymoon, and you and I both know what that means. They are trying on lingerie." His smirk was back. "Together."

Bradley swallowed hard, digging his fist into his thigh. His teeth were clenched as he said, "Stop picturing my wife in lingerie."

All he got was a jovial laugh in response. "Tell me right now to my face that you're not picturing both of them wearing something tight, cropped and lacy, and I'll stop."

Bradley raked his fingers through his hair, squeezing his eyes shut against the mental image of you and Jessica in a cute little fitting room, laughing together. "God damn it, Hangman!"

--------------------------------

You and Jessica were crammed into a fitting room together, trying not to laugh at the enormous stacks of cute things to try on. Your pile was on the left side of the decorative bench, and hers was on the right. You knew that Jessica Reed happened to collect lingerie in every color imaginable, but she was on a quest to find some unique things to take on her honeymoon. And you were on a quest to wow your husband with something more than a bra and boy shorts for once. 

Not that he complained. Not that he ever complained. Bradley went absolutely feral for you in your damn work clothes and loafers. He about lost his mind when you wore his ratty, old tie dye tee shirt to bed. He often sounded like he was going to need CPR when you put on his bathrobe and nothing else. It was hard to contain your smile when you just knew that something in this fitting room was going to blow his mind to the point that he would be rendered speechless.

"Try something on," Jessica suggested gently, and you took a step closer to your pile. "Then you'll get a better idea of what you like." 

There was red, green, black, white and pink fabric. There were nightgowns, thongs, bralettes and stockings. When you reached your hand out, you hesitated, confidence wavering. This seemed a lot more challenging than solving a linear algebra matrix.

Jessica whispered, "You'll look beautiful in anything, Advanced Calculus. I can promise you that." When you kind of shrugged in response, she said, "Do you want me to wait in line for my own fitting room so you can have more privacy?"

The two of you already agreed to help each other make selections, and the last thing you wanted was to keep opening the door so everyone else could see you wearing this stuff. "No. It's not that. I just... don't really own anything like this. I mean, I have a few things, but some of this is elaborate." You glanced at her over your shoulder and winced. "And this was supposed to be a shopping trip for you! For your honeymoon! Not for me."

She shushed you and then reached into your pile and pulled out a fairly innocuous looking nightie in a soft champagne color. "Start with this. Then you'll see how hot you look, and it'll be a gateway drug to you starting your own collection that will rival mine."

"I've seen your closet," you muttered, taking the hanger from her and holding the garment up in front of your body. It was pretty. The color even complimented your hair. It was a far cry from what you usually wore to bed, but you'd give it a shot.

When you started to undress, Jessica turned around and played with her phone, which you did appreciate. All of your bumps and lumps would be on display soon enough anyway, but at least you'd have a minute to straighten yourself out. The fabric was cool and slick against your skin, and you shivered as it settled high on your thighs. When you looked in the mirror and turned, you were pleasantly surprised with the result.

"It's not bad," you said, and she looked up and gasped, green eyes wide.

"It's perfect!"

"I wouldn't go that far," you muttered, smoothing your hands along your sides.

"Well, I would. And I'm sure Bradley would, too. Do you want me to take a picture on your phone?" she asked, and you nodded while she posed you with one hand on your hip. "Like I said, perfect," she muttered as she took the photo and then set your phone down again. "Try on something else."

"Okay," you whispered, reaching blindly into your pile and pulling out a black lace corset top.

Jessica jumped up and down and clapped her hands. "I love that one. I picked one up to try it on, too."

"I don't know about this," you said, holding it up in front of the nightie. "Not sure how Beer Boy is going to like it."

"You won't know until you try it on."

With those words of wisdom, you changed from the nightie to the corset, and your immediate thought was how cute this would look under your sweaters and tweed when you were at work. And it would feel amazing. It was snug and sexy, and somehow you felt like you could kick even more ass at work if you were wearing this thing.

"What the hell?" you whispered, and Jessica turned to look at you, clapping her hands once again. "I feel like I have super powers."

"Because you do! Look at you! Please let me take another picture of you to send to Bradley."

This time you posed yourself and turned so your tattoos were visible through the lace cutout on the side. Then you stood there and admired yourself before saying, "I'm definitely buying this. Catch me wearing it to work under my cardigans in the fall."

Jessica started digging into her own pile now as you changed from the corset into a bodysuit, but when she met your eyes in the mirror, she looked like she was going to freak out.

"What?" you asked. "The bodysuit looks that bad?"

She shook her head, and pressed her lips together before almost shouting, "When were you going to tell me you have a math tattoo?"

"Oh," you replied, not sure you'd ever heard her voice reach that octave before. "Euler's Identity? I've had it since I was nineteen."

"I love how you embrace your inner nerd," she said as if she was in awe of you, and you started laughing which made her laugh. "Now send those pictures to your husband and let that man worship you."

--------------------------------

Bradley had just buried his face in his hands while Jake laughed when his phone went off. You hadn't even bothered to inform him that your little 'girls day outing' was a quest to make sure Jake enjoyed his honeymoon with Jessica. Honestly, Bradley kind of hoped the other man was correct in his assessment that you'd be shopping for something for yourself, too. Not that you needed it. Holy shit, you still looked like the girl he fell in love with over a decade ago whenever you wore his old Grateful Dead shirt or his robe around the house.

But now he wanted something special, too. Why should Jake get to have all the fun when it came to having his partner all wrapped up in a pretty package that was specifically meant to be removed?

"Sugar," he grunted when he saw that you'd texted him. Jake was rambling about something across the table, but Bradley couldn't hear him. He could no longer hear anything. He couldn't process thoughts or form words. All he could do was stare at the two photos you'd sent to him. "Oh, fuck."

In the first one, you were wearing a shimmery light gold colored thing that looked soft. Like maybe almost as soft as your skin. His heart hammered up into his ears as he examined every inch of it on your curves. Your nipples were pebbled against the fabric, and he could practically feel them between his lips. When he swiped to look at the second one, he abruptly stood from his stool with his phone gripped tight in his hand, eyes bugging out.

"Let me guess... your wife sent you photos?" Jake asked, clearly amused.

Instead of verbally responding, Bradley made sure his phone was tipped away from Jake as he zoomed in for a closer look. Holy hell. Your tits were being pushed up in the sexiest black lace he had ever seen. It was sinful, and now he was imagining you wearing it under one of your tweed blazers while giving a lecture. He swallowed hard, realizing he could see the tiniest bit of your tattoos through the little cutout on the side, and he actually whimpered.

"Yeah... she definitely sent you photos," Jake murmured as his own phone chimed. "Oh, Jess just sent me five."

"How did you get five?" Bradley complained, swiping back and forth, desperately looking for more. "I only got two!" 

It was then that he noticed you texted him after you sent the pictures.

What do you think, Beer Boy?

Bradley laughed a bit maniacally. What did he think about the lingerie? Ha! He could barely think at all! He paced back and forth a bit, sweating as he wrote back.

You look fucking hot as hell, Sugar. If you don't bring that black top home, I think you'll break my heart.

Bradley cringed, because now Jake was the one who was whimpering. "They're sharing a fitting room," he whispered, and Bradley's eyes went wide with the realization that Jessica must have taken the photos for you. Then his eyes narrowed as he reached for Jake's phone.

"You better not be able to see Sugar in any of the pictures!"

-------------------------------

You and Jessica were wearing matching fluffy robes and sorting through everything you'd already tried on.

"You have to get that thing," you told her, pointing to the garters and stockings. "It fits you like a glove."

She nodded and added it to her 'yes' pile. "And you have to get the thong and bustier," she replied.

"I'm already buying four things," you reminded her. The bustier was nice, and your breasts looked good in it, but you didn't love the color very much. Besides, there was one last thing you hadn't tried on for fear of looking or feeling ridiculous, but there was a part of your brain that just knew your husband would love it.

"Missed one!" Jessica said, pulling on the bright pink fabric like she could read your mind. Always the best cheerleader, she held it up in front of your body and nodded. "It's bold, but I think you can pull it off."

You took it from her, but looked at yourself skeptically in the mirror. "I don't know... it's going to look bad. Like I'm trying too hard. I don't know why I even picked it up."

But you did know. Bradley was attracted to you in that dumb tie dye shirt like you were some sort of exotic bird whenever you put it on. All of the bright colors swirled into something that just lured him right to you. Part of it was nostalgia, sure, but you felt like there was something more as well.

"Actually, I do know why I picked it up," you told Jessica, holding the chemise closer to yourself. "Bradley really likes it when I wear his old shirt that I kind of held hostage for ten years. It's vibrant and bright, and I think this is the sort of thing he might enjoy?" You pursed your lips and sighed. "But, maybe I'm wrong, because he also just seems to like me how I am. No frills, you know? He's always been that way."

Jessica smiled. "Yes, I understand. And I hope you realize that you just described a man who is desperately in love with you, not just how you look. Sounds like the kind of man you should spoil a little bit." She tugged gently on the chemise and added, "This is a far cry from a tee shirt, but you won't know how you feel about it until you try it on."

"You're right."

Once you were out of the robe, you pulled the stretchy lace over your body, and gaped at the deep neckline as Jessica tied the satin ribbons around the back of your neck. You hadn't noticed before, but there were some yellow and orange threads woven in, making delicate swirls in the fabric. Almost like a different kind of tie dye. It actually looked stunning on you, and as you turned from side to side, you already knew you had to have it.

"I'm obsessed," Jessica said, bouncing excitedly as she clapped her hands together. "Should I take one last round of photos for you to send to Bradley?"

-------------------------------

Bradley was lightheaded. He sweat through his shirt, and he had his forehead cradled in his hand as he opened three photos of you wearing something so bright and pink and sexy, he wanted to lick it off of you. Everything was covered up, but barely. In the one shot, he could almost see your ass. In another, he could definitely see your pert nipples. In the other one, he could make out part of your titty tattoos.

It was a good thing Jake was staring at his own phone in amazement, because Bradley was pretty sure he was drooling and incapable of formulating a sentence. He had already written back to you, begging you to buy the pink thing. Telling you he needed it. Letting you know he wanted to peel is slowly off of your body in bed later. In fact, the last thing he sent was 'Buy everything in that whole fucking store, money is no object'. And he meant every word. 

Bradley had been crazy about you for so long, and most of the appeal came from how smart you are and the fact that you weren't fussy. You let him dote on you in your work outfits. You wore his clothing around the house. You didn't need all the bells and whistles to be sexy, and you never would.

But now that he knew exactly what you looked like in black satin and colorful lace, he needed to have that version of you, too. He needed it.

"Since when does your wife have tattoos?"

Those words snapped Bradley out of his lust filled stupor, and his brown eyes bore into Jake's green ones. How did he know about your titty tattoos? When his gaze drifted back to his phone, he turned the screen toward Bradley with a grin. Apparently you had taken a photo of Jessica, in which your reflection was visible in the fitting room mirror. You were wearing a bra, and you were as covered up as you would be for a beach day, but Bradley loathed the idea of Jake having any sort of access to those tattoos.

"Hey!" Jake complained as Bradley snatched the phone and deleted the photo. "What the fuck, Bradshaw? I wanted that picture of Jessica! You could have just cropped it."

"Hey, boys!"

Bradley turned in time to toss Jake's phone aside as Jessica headed through the nearly empty bar with you following behind her. There were two enormous shopping bags in your hands, and you had a smile on your face as you asked, "Ready to go home, Beer Boy?"

"Hell yes," he murmured, closing the distance to your lips and kissing you hard. "Did you buy that pink thing? And the black one?"

His hands wound around your waist possessively, and he got even more excited as you tucked the bags behind your back and whispered, "There's only one way to find out."

Bradley started guiding you to the door. "Yeah. We're going home. Right now." He ran his nose along your cheek and gave you one more sweet kiss before shouting over his shoulder, "Thanks for the beers, Bagman. Oh, and Jessica, I need you to crop your photos better next time you take my wife shopping."

---------------------------

I love Beer Boy for making Sugar feel so good about herself every day. She's a badass, and he knows it. I wrote this as a little wedding treat for @je-suis-prest-rachel Congratulations, Rachel! And thanks to @beyondthesefourwalls

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

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[luveline]

Idk if you've ever written it, but like, hotch having to save bau!r after she's been kidnapped and tourtered and shit and when hotch finds them, babes is BLEEDING and shit and like barely coherent but spewing the absolute most random bullshit to hotch bc their panicking and whatnot?

thank you for requesting 💌 fem, 1.2k

Hotch has felt sick for three days. 

He stands with his ear pressed to his shoulder, as though holding the ear piece further in will bring news of you quicker. His hands are up and ready, torch and firearm held aloft, wrists crossed. 

Morgan has to go in first. Morgan, because if you’re dead, Hotch will take actions that will disbar him from being Unit Chief. He can’t keep his head, not if you’re gone. His anger will swallow him whole, and he will do things that can’t be forgiven. 

His stomach churns, waiting, waiting, waiting. The sky is dark as pitch and the house they surround doesn’t stir for a time. 

Then, low and long, carrying heavy through the air like a sledgehammer to his chest, is the reed of your screaming. It’s a strangled sound, sobbing to begin with, begging as it ends. Hotch hears your, “No, no, please! Please! Please.” Your third please fractures into a writhing scream as the pain begins again. 

Hotch’s arms twitch, threatening to fall to his sides. You’re alive, but… 

“Okay, we’re going in,” Morgan says through the ear piece, clearly having heard the same agony as Hotch. “Right now. Team two with Hotch. Everyone ready?” 

You must have screamed so loudly for it to get through walls. That’s all Hotch can think as he follows behind the second team, the sounds of cracking wood and tight footsteps ahead.

He’s not in the room, but he’s down the hall, he can hear the fuss as he hurries forward. “Drop the weapon!” Morgan shouts, evidence of his own anger in the sheer booming volume of his voice. “Drop the weapon now! Drop it!” 

A sharper crack as a bullet hits something and a thud. Hotch forces himself into the room just in time to see a large, short-haired figure fall to the floor. 

You’re covered in red and purple and brown, blood in long lines and gushing from deep wounds, a mess of it. He doesn’t even know where to start, your gutted, exhausted sobbing like a knife in his stomach, your limp hands hanging either side of the strange chair you’ve been strapped to. “Morgan,” you say, audibly relieved and yet your pain obvious and electric as you gasp for air, “Morgan, you have to get me out.” 

“I’ve got you,” Hotch says, holstering his gun in one breath and by your side the next.

A SWAT agent begins to saw through your binds with a serrated knife. Hotch’s hands stutter on the metal ends of the chair, wanting to touch you but terrified he’ll put a hand in a wound he hasn’t noticed. 

“Hotch,” you say, and your relief is worse now. Like you aren’t covered in your own blood, like his being there has fixed everything. 

“Y/N,” he says back, holding your elbow carefully, “it’s okay, it’s all right.” 

“You have to get the straps off of me. I need to go home-”

“I know, that’s what we’re doing. We’ll get them off of you–”

“–I have to go home, Hotch. You have to take me home.” 

He knows that medical are close behind them, they’re coming in just as soon as the building has been cleared, and there’s more than enough agents to have it done in the next thirty seconds. He has to assess you in that time. He can take care of you. 

The SWAT agent cuts your last bindings and you immediately attempt to get up, gasping in pain when four hands push you down at the same time. “Sit down,” Hotch says, “Y/N, just stay there, just for a second.”

“No, no, let me down, I need to go home, I haven’t looked after anything and– and the laundry’s piled up, and–”

“Honey,” he says firmly, “I’m gonna take you home. I am.” He meets your eyes, panic and tears and concerning bloodshot clouding your vision. “I’m gonna take you home, but please stay still. Just until the EMS is here. Just so they can look at you.” 

“I want to go home now,” you say, nearly shrieking, grasping at his arm. It’s so loud in the room with so many people speaking that he’s almost glad for it. 

Your fingers slide down his sleeve and leave streaks of gore in their wake. Your hands are caked in your own blood. Done with his bargaining, you push up into his arms and get onto one of your feet, an incredible amount of force behind you as you get your way. Your knees buckle immediately —Hotch scoops you up and dumps you back in your chair, even as you cry and cry into his chest. 

“No, I need to go home, I have so much to do, I can’t stay here,” you whine, pain eating at your voice, your fingers weakening where they’re pressed to his stomach. 

“I promise I’m going to take you home,” he says, ducking to speak directly into your ear. “Do you trust me? I promise I’m going to take you back home. Please, please, sweetheart, trust me.” 

You hiccup, tears thick running down your cheeks, and orange where they collect at your chin, chest heaving as you border incoherency. “I do trust you. I– I trust you, I just–”

He takes a showful breath. “Deep breath. I’ll bring you home soon.” 

“All my plants are dead,” you mumble, blood smudging over your eyelids as you rub them harshly. 

Hotch holds your wrists. 

— <3 

He keeps his promise (though you don’t remember him making it, not beyond what Morgan recounts). Hotch takes you home when you’re well enough to be there, and he, done with pretences, stays for a while as you recover. 

“What are you doing?” you ask, more tired than you’ve ever been in your life, peering at him through sticky lashes where you lay in bed. 

He’s odd to see without shoes. “Nothing,” he says, misting the leaves of your window plant with a frown. “Just hoping I can bring this one back to life.” 

You’re not sure why he’s so worried about the plants. It can’t be judgement; he knows exactly why they died. 

Well. Whatever professionalism was between you is well and truly gone. You wonder what it is you said to him that made him finally snap, but it was nice to wake up with his hand in yours, and it’s nicer still to see him each morning. When you clear your throat and look at him longingly, you know without asking that he’s going to find his way back to your side, and kiss your cheek, hands smelling of fresh soil. He does it all with ease. 

“You brought me back to life,” you joke weakly. 

“I had much more help than the plants.” He’s been panicky around you sometimes since he found you again, but not scared. He tilts your face gently one way and then another. “You look pretty, but very tired. Why don’t you sleep some more, hm?” 

“Can I… I mean, do you think you could…” 

He takes your arm as he settles in to comfort beside you. His fingers begin to trace a gentle line down your arm, meandering around cuts and bruises. 

You close your eyes, hesitant of the darkness. “Are you sure I’m okay?” you ask quietly. 

“You’re home, honey. Safe and sound.” 

[deltaquadrantbaby]

Watching a different persons face each time is phenomenal

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 13)

first chapter >> last chapter

-

You could just tell him. 

You consider it at least once a day, particularly in the mornings when John sits up on his side of the bed and hesitates briefly before rising to his feet and going downstairs to start breakfast. You can feel the way he wants to lean over and touch you, and the way he holds himself back. The way he pulls his hand back at the last second from where it hovers over your prone body.

He leaves you in bed with an ache in your stomach so deep that you swear it’ll swallow you whole. But you have no choice but to sigh and sit up as he shuffles around downstairs, the morning well on its way in. There’s nothing to do now but move forward.

The atmosphere in the house is tense. You walk on eggshells around each other, unsure of how to bridge the divide. The eggs jump in the pan and brown at the edges, and outside the feather reed sways in the breeze. You’re weary of each other and yet hardly capable of being apart.

Maybe that’s just on your end. 

You’ve taken to watching him from afar in recent days. In the absence of his physical touch, which comes sparingly now, his hands always curled into fists like he’s holding himself back from reaching out and touching you, you’ve resorted to the only thing left to you: the visual realm. That’s what you glut yourself on now, and while it doesn’t fill the hole in you, it soothes the ache. 

You watch him with the horses in the paddock, always confident and sure-footed with them. Suspenders straining against the muscle of his back and his shoulders, sweat running in rivulets down his back, the sun golden on his face. At dinner, he collapses into his chair, exhaustion written into every corner of his being, and you drag your eyes over the jut of his stomach, the layer of fat over his muscled core. Hairy forearms braced against the table while he eats (no manners, that one). 

Any thought of bolting in the night now seems unwise. Your previous aspirations of freedom seem foolhardy in the light of day. You give it some consideration. Say you had succeeded in escaping—now where would you be? Alone wandering the mountains, parched and starving? Drinking from the ravine? Eating poisonous berries and hawthorn leaves in desperation to have something in your belly? Or hogtied in some bandit’s tent, enduring a fate worse than starvation or death? 

You shudder to think of it. 

In the days since John brought you home, you haven’t seen hide nor hair of Graves, nor anyone else in pursuit of a woman from back east. No bounty hunters, no officers of the law, no rogue agents. It’s as if they came, found nothing, and simply wandered on through.

You should’ve just waited them out. It’s clear now, what you should’ve done, but who can argue with the past? You’re sick of telling yourself that there might’ve been another way. It doesn’t change the way things are now. 

There’s nothing to do now but move forward.

The routine is the same. You head into town every morning and try to say as few words to each other as possible. You glance at each other when the other isn’t looking. The glances grow longer with the days, the stubborn sun refusing to set until well into the evening hours, and your own eyes refusing to part from his form. When you catch him watching you in turn, his eyes are always heady, filled with something like longing.

Outside, the sky is cornflower blue; clouds bulge and drift away. 

Life returns to some degree of normalcy, despite the sense of something unresolved hovering in the air. John’s deputies come over again for supper, and with them they bring better table manners this time. At least Soap doesn’t belch at the dinner table and Kyle leaves his hat at the door. Simon is taciturn as always, but that comes now as a comfort.

The men play cards in the living room until even the fireflies go to sleep, until the night is a thin paste spread over the world, the sharp edge of the knife scraping over the craggy limestone peaks and ridges and spreading it evenly. You go to bed alone, the bedroom door cracked open enough to see the flicker of lamplight against the wall, their shadows weaving in and out of it. 

He must come to bed at some point because his side of the bed is warm when you wake up the next morning. You put your hand there to soak up his warmth until you can’t excuse lying in bed any longer. Breakfast is, again, quiet, but you feel the compulsion to break the silence bubbling up in your chest. You think if he stares at you even a moment longer, you’ll have no choice but to belt it out. 

The brittle morning is interrupted by the arrival of one of John’s deputies. When Simon rips open the door and barges into the house, you nearly scream, watching with wide eyes as he charges towards the back, looking for John. You flit over to the window to watch him go. He finds John out back mucking the stalls in the stable and there’s a brief moment of intense conversation before you watch as John throws the pitchfork against the wall and hurriedly shuts the stables up, following Simon back towards the house. 

It’s a flurry of motion after that, John throwing on his clothes haphazardly, not even bothering to properly button up his shirt. You unconsciously follow him up the stairs to the bedroom.

“John?” you ask, uncertainly. 

He doesn’t answer you right away. The tension creeps up the length of your back the longer he goes without responding, his mouth set in a flat line. 

“John?” you repeat, more force behind your words this time. “What’s wrong?” 

“Passenger train up east is about to be robbed,” John finally grunts out in reply, checking his rifle to see if it’s loaded. “Simon got word.”

“How’d he know before it even happened?” you ask, stuck on conversation because you unconsciously want to delay the inevitable. Your heart pounds hard in your chest, images of gunfire and bloodbaths searing the backs of your eyelids. 

“Informant. He’s got ‘em all over the county.”

Not once does he slow down or pause to take a breath. You follow him back downstairs and through the house, watching anxiously as he loads his gun and tightens the belt of bullets around his waist. He plucks his hat from where it sits hung up beside the door and then exits out of the house, you trailing along helplessly behind him. The porch creaks ominously under his feet as he makes his way down the stairs towards the horses, where Simon already has John’s other horse saddled up and ready to go.

“When will you—” You can’t finish it. It hangs uselessly in your mouth. He doesn’t answer you. 

You follow him to the horses but stumble to a halt when he reaches them first, taking over from Simon and fixing the straps in place. Simon gives you a curt nod when your eyes meet before turning to his horse and heaving himself up onto it briskly, obviously in a rush to get going. 

John turns to you when the straps are fixed in place and he has one foot in the stirrups, brows furrowed deep enough to accentuate all the lines in his forehead. He gestures warningly at you with a finger. “You stay here, you hear me?”

Your brows furrow, affronted at the command. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t fancy havin’ to chase after you for a second time, but I will if you try anything funny while I’m gone.”

“Well, you just see here now—”

“You heard me, darlin’—”

“Price,” Simon growls, cutting him off, and it takes you by surprise to see his usual phlegmatic disposition traded in for something choleric. He’s never been one to talk back or act insubordinately, more of a guard dog than a deputy sometimes. His mouth is set in a hard line though, betraying the tension coiled in his bones. 

John nods and hauls himself up onto his horse.

“You be good while I’m gone,” John says, casting you one last parting glance.

You screw your lips into a scowl. “Don’t you dare die out there.”

That somehow gets a laugh out of him, as jagged as it is. It makes your stomach twist, the goodbye stagnant on your lips. You refuse to say it.

John’s horse whinnies when he pulls on the reins. He gives a sharp whistle, jolting it into motion, and you watch as he circles around and follows Simon down the path, their horses kicking up dust behind them. 

You stand there until their horses disappear over the horizon. Then you linger a little longer.

It dawns on you that John hadn’t said goodbye either. That has to count for something.

Still, you dwell on it over the next hour, hardly able to keep your breakfast down. Any lingering frustration melts away into dread the longer you think about John confronting a train full of armed robbers, his deputies accompanying him or not. The shotguns loaded and strapped to their backs told you enough about what they expected to encounter. The thought makes you shudder.

You try to distract yourself with chores, but that hardly helps. All you can think about when scrubbing the floors is whether someone will have to do the same on the train. You know how hard it is to clean up blood.  

Kate comes over later that morning while you’re still pinning the bed sheets and linens to the clothesline. The sound of horse hooves beating against the dirt elicits your attention first, and when you look down the dirt path leading into town, you see her riding towards you on horseback. A dapple grey gelding, bigger than Buttercup but leaner than the horse that John had chased you down on.

“Morning!” she shouts, still far enough away for it to be necessary. Your hand goes up slowly in a wave, half-shielding your eyes from the sun.

She comes up the path quickly, dismounting before her horse has even come to a standstill. It speaks to an element of comfort on a horse that you haven't acquired yet. Jealousy licks a hot tongue up your innards. 

“Morning,” you greet tentatively. “Not that I don’t appreciate spending time with you, but don’t you have a store to run?”

Kate shrugs her shoulders, sauntering up the walkway. “Folks chip in when they have to—I’ve got plenty of people in town willing to watch the shop for me. Besides, what’s the point of owning a business if you can’t take a day off every now and then?”

You frown, looking at Kate a bit suspiciously. “Did he tell you to come babysit me?” 

You don’t specify who, but it’s obvious enough.

Her lips flatten. “I offered.”

All that does is stoke the flames of your ire. “They seemed in a hurry to leave. Didn’t think John would have time to stop by and ask you to watch his wayward wife.” 

“John didn’t do anything. Simon mentioned that he was coming here to get your man.”

“My man,” you mumble a bit sardonically. Still, her words make you let go of some of your anger. “So he didn’t ask you to come?”

Kate shakes her head, lips finally curling up into a half-grin. “No, ma’am. Thought I’d just get Miles to mind the shop and come give you some company.”

Your frown keeps getting deeper. “Don’t ma’am me, Kate. And I don’t need your company if you’ve just come to make fun of me.”

“Hand to heart—I came only to make sure you were alright.” Her smile grows directly inverse to your frown. “Give me a minute to put the horses in the paddock and I’ll be right back.”

You could almost kiss her for that though. You’d been dreading the thought of having to bring Buttercup out into the paddock on your own, but the thought of leaving her in the stables all day had also felt immeasurably cruel. Since getting lost with her in the mountains, you haven’t felt confident enough to be around her on your own. At least Kate’s presence takes some of that stress away. 

Not all of it though. Stress eats away at you as the day goes on. You can’t seem to go long without returning to the thought of John being shot or stabbed by one of the bandits on the train. Your mind keeps turning to the image of him lying lifeless on the floor, blood seeping out of a wound in his chest, eyes glazed over and far away. 

You chew on your nails until they tear. Kate smacks your hands when she notices.

It’s well past dark by the time John comes home. You notice his arrival first as a flicker of light when you happen to glance out the window. You’d long ago pulled up a chair to settle down beside the window and wait, Kate in a chair on the other side of the room near the oil lamp, flicking through her book, and with the waiting had come a knot in your chest tighter than a fist. A cancerous lump metastasising in your belly, spreading out into every corner of you. 

And then someone riding up the path towards the house holds up a lamp that swings with the rhythm of their approach. Your heart all but stops in your chest, fingers halting in the middle of knitting. It beats a furious frenzy now, alert again, alive in your chest. The needles clatter to the floor when you rise to your feet, dashing over to the door to swing it wide open.

“I suppose he’s—” Kate says, but you don’t hear the rest, already gathering up your skirt to hustle down the porch steps and meet him halfway, heart lodged in your throat. 

When he notices you hurrying out the door and down the path towards him, John brings his horse to a standstill. 

Shadows engulf his form until you get close enough for the lamplight to slash across John’s face, illuminating the deep, sunken troughs under his eyes. He looks exhausted. The top button of his shirt is missing, perhaps ripped out in whatever altercation he’d gone to stop. Your eyes flit over him, looking for any sign of blood or injury, and you find it along the grooves of his knuckles, the skin there torn and bloodied. He hadn’t even bothered to wrap his hands in gauze before coming home. 

John smiles down at you. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

That’s almost enough to make you sway on your feet, lightheaded. You hadn’t realized the toll his sudden absence had taken on you, or the worry that’d been festering in your belly, but as it drains out of you, it almost brings you to your knees. 

“Are you well?” you ask, throat tight. 

He doesn’t answer you. Instead, he shifts his weight and swings his leg over his horse to dismount, eyes on you the whole time. You can hardly pull your eyes off him, not even for a second. His horse, well-trained enough to not wander off without its rider astride it, huffs out a breath but otherwise remains in place while John walks towards you. 

Your heart jumps in your chest when he lifts a hand to cup your cheek and drops a firm kiss to the center of your forehead, the heat of his kiss suffusing through you. The hairs on your arms and the back of your neck lift. Your arms erupt in gooseflesh.

“Never better,” he says when he pulls back. You can feel the warmth of his breath against your forehead when he speaks. It makes everything from your collarbone up go hot.

You hear the door open again. “Hi John,” Kate calls from the door.

“Hi Laswell,” John calls back to her, but his eyes never leave yours.

A heavy silence pregnant with meaning passes. You’re not sure what to read into it, but reading’s never been your strong suit. 

“I’ll see myself out then,” Kate says. “Leave you two lovebirds to it.” Her words make you bristle, but even that isn’t enough to pull your eyes off your husband. 

“Don’t look so put out—Soap’s just down the path waiting to take you home,” John scoffs. Sure enough, when you peek around him, you notice the slight flicker of light that burns at about the height of a man sitting astride a horse.

Kate rolls her eyes. “So chivalry’s not dead. Thank the Lord for small mercies.”

You don’t hear her go around the side of the house, but she must because she comes back a few minutes later with her horse, lead in hand. Her goodbye goes unnoticed by you or John, barely audible over the sound of the crickets in the bushes. You come back to yourself only when her horse takes off down the path towards Soap, and by then your voice is too faint, the words evaporating off your tongue. 

The moment finally bursts when John shifts his weight and winces. You frown. “You’re hurt.”

He huffs. “Just a sore rib. Nothing worth fussin’ over.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Your eyes flick down to his bloodied knuckles. “Your hands need tending to anyway. We should get inside.”

John nods. “I’ll put Chiron away and then come in.”

“Chiron?”

“This boy here.” His horse chuffs when John pats his neck lightly, smoothing a hand down the length. It slots into your mind—another piece of this place assimilated into your being. Another name you’ll never be able to shake. 

You hurry back inside while he takes Chiron around the side of the house towards the stables, the lamp still swinging from his hand. It’s how you track him from the window. It’s too late now for them, but you remember staring off into the distance earlier, watching the fireflies flicker in and out of view, gold will-o-wisps hovering over the fields. Now it’s quiet, and nothing outside moves. Even the moon hides behind dark clouds. 

You wait by the window until you see John come out of the stables, headed back towards the house. Only then do you exhale. 

He sits at a chair in the living room and spreads his legs, forcing you to step between them to get close enough to treat him. You bandage his torn knuckles under the light of the oil lamp in the corner of the room. John doesn’t so much as flinch when you clean them, gently inspecting the wounds to remove any debris that might’ve gotten in. He’s a good patient; hardly makes a sound as you wrap the gauze around his knuckles. 

“Do you want me to call the doctor in the morning?” you ask, then start a bit at the sound of your own voice, inexplicably loud in the relative silence of the room. 

John shakes his head. “Don’t bother. Wasn’t anything too serious.”

You frown. “Are you sure? I don’t want to risk it getting infected—”

He turns his hands over in your loose hold, curling his fingers around yours. You blink at the stark contrast between his and your hands. His fingers are thicker than yours, swollen at the joints, and the skin of his palms is calloused, rough to the touch. You’ve felt them over every part of you—loose at your waist, gripping the nape of your neck, prying your thighs apart. Holding your hand. Sunk deep into your quim. 

You can recall the feel of his touch from memory now. 

“It’s not that bad, darlin’,” he rasps, dragging his thumb back and forth over your fingers. “Y’did a good job fixin’ me up. You’re a good little nurse.”

“I’m no substitute for proper medical care,” you snip, still frowning. 

“Ah, if I die, I die.”

“That’s not funny,” you snap, abruptly incensed, and the joking twist of his lips unfurls at that, the creases around his eyes smoothing out. He looks at you like there’s something new writ large on your face.

There’s a tremble in your lower lip and a tremor in your hands that you hadn’t noticed until now. Once you notice it, it’s impossible to shake; your lip wobbles when you have to pinch back your tears. A stubborn one nearly leaks out until you sniff and blink it away. 

“Now where’s this all coming from?” John asks, voice pitched low and intimate, just for the two of you. 

His voice laps over your bones like bourbon on the rocks, glistening amber in the setting sun. Except it’s dark now and there’s not a drink in the world that could dilute the emotions welling up in you. You’d be a blubbery drunk anyway; you’ve always been something of a sad sack. 

“I thought you might come back hurt,” you whisper. “And you did.” 

His thumb strokes over your unblemished knuckles and he lifts your hands to his mouth to kiss the very same spot he just brushed. “I’m sorry to make you worry, darlin’. I meant nothing by my words. We’ll go to the doctor tomorrow.”

The bur of his beard tickles the back of your hand. His acquiescence brings some of your candor back. “Well, only if you want to.”

“Don’t get smart with me, wife—”

He stops short when you giggle, his eyes widening infinitesimally. You wonder if it’s the first time he’s ever heard you laugh. It’s not something you can help though. The joy spills up from you unbidden. 

John sighs. “We’ve been making a right mess of things, haven’t we?”

You go to say something, but all that comes out is a soft hum of agreement. 

It’s in front of you again. An opportunity to tell him everything, to make things right. To land in the soft sediment of truth and come out unscathed and better for it. All you need do is open your mouth and say it; say that there was a man back east that tried something untoward and you did what you had to in order to protect yourself. You think on some level John would understand that. 

Again you open your mouth. Again nothing comes out.

There’s love and then there’s thinness, words preserved in amber. He takes your whole world in his hands and you want to say, is it safe here? Can I call this a home?

There's love and then there's a heaving mass of recollection. It is an ancient thought: to love and be loved in verity, in one's own sphere of understanding. You don’t yet know if that’s possible for you, but you’re starting to think that maybe here is something close to that. Something gentle like wildflowers springing up from beside train tracks, the sprawling emptiness of the plains on either side. 

Still, it is not enough to make you tell the truth. Maybe now the consequences are different. You think less of a jail cell and more of being deprived of this man that holds your hands tenderly and looks up at you with such clear affection. 

If love has a way of speaking, it is marbles in the mouth; it masticates its own words. It chokes them back out of fear, out of longing to keep things right. 

So instead, you ask, “Can we just put it behind us and move on?”

John lifts a hand and slides it around the back of your neck, drawing you in for a kiss that makes your heart melt in your chest, caramel-rich. You moan into his mouth when his tongue traces over your lips, hands dropping to sink into the lapels of his shirt, pulling him closer to you.

When he pulls back, the folds around his eyes are crinkled, lips pulled up into a fond smile. “Already forgotten.” 

You exhale. This is reconciliation. It comes home limping and bruised, but it comes home to you. 

[starboye]

"𝖔𝖚𝖙 𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖓𝖔 𝖔𝖓𝖊 𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖗 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖘𝖈𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖒"

Day I - Older!Captain Price fucking femboy!younger!male reader

Day II - Rafe Cameron disciplining male reader because you were acting all bratty at one of his parties

Day III - Drew Starkey making male reader his bitch and dominating him after having a hard day

Day IV - Nate Jacobs choking male reader while fucking him

Day V - Stiles Stilinski rough fucking ftm!male reader and talking about how much he want you to get pregnant

Day VI - Gojo Saturo and male reader role playing you as the damsel in distress and gojo saving you and dicking you down as a prize

Day VII - Simon Riley breeding male reader over and over till you're filled with his delicious cum

Day VIII - Matt Sturniolo having a praise kink and top!male reader using that to your advantage throughout sex

Day IX - Tom Holland edging male reader so much

Day X - Chris Sturniolo fucking you till your an incoherent mess in front of a mirror

Day XI - Perter Parker orgasm denial from top!male reader

Day XII - remy gets jealous for whatever reason and he makes you watch him jack off and you can't touch him. You just have to sit in front of him and watch him and when he finishes he makes you swallow all of it

Day XIII - rough smut with Nicholas Alexander Chavez, maybe some guy tries flirting with reader and Nicholas gets pissed and rough fucks reader, maybe some daddy kink

Day XIV - Billy Loomis x SubTop shy nerdy Male Reader😭

Day XV - bellamy blake x thick fem boy reader, where everyone is having a party with drinking and dancing, and bellamy see reader dancing with other men and they keep grabbing his big ass bc it’s so big. so bellamy takes reader away and fucks that ass (also some face sitting 😏)

Day XVI - helping channing tatum at the gym and somehow stuff turns nsfw, do anything ya want with that, i'm just really REALLY desperate for stuff about him, can be short, can be long idc

Day XVII - cuck/stag fic with Charles leclerc the f1 driver, he seems like he’d be a huge cumdump behind closed doors and the reader could share him as punishment/desperation.

Day XVIII - Professor Miguel O’Hara and his student-boyfriend meeting up after class. Why, you ask? Well, the professor’s got a meeting. He’s gotta head home and take a shower. But a shower means washing away his glorious, glorious sweat and musk. He doesn’t want to deprive his good little slut of his favorite things in the world, so tells his boy to give him a tongue bath before his real one.

Day XIX - You want kinky? Musk kink, boot kink, choking kink, and of course knife play with Ghostface (whichever version) the ftm!reader fought back when GF tried to kill em, they all get sweaty and turned on so the fighting turned to fucking, Ghostface being Ghostface, he's all degrading, making the reader do stuff like grind on his boots, lick the blood off his knife and fuck themselves with the handle of it, all those good shit, what you think? Not too far?

Day XX - Sue Storm and The Thing are in an undercover mission which leaves Human Torch (Chris Evans), reader and Mr Fantastic (John Krasinski) alone in the same building. Johnny and reader use their free time to fuck, waking Reed from his sleep who is both frustrated and horny from reader's moans, he gets to the scene and finds Johnny fucking reader while holding him standing, this makes Reed turn feral and joins them to make a really dirty night

Day XXI - Mike Schmidt x kinky male reader who introduces him to the world of BDSM. Mike being a sub top with a praise kink, breeding kink, pet play (like having a leash on him and such) and other nasty things! Maybe even a bit of edging, like M/N punishing him by cockwarming him without letting him cum for a good while, leaving Mike needy and desperate to fill his boyfriends tight hole with his warm seed😮‍💨

Day XXII- ross lynch x onlyfans creator!reader, reader is recording himself for his only fans and as he is fingering himself ross walks in to his room and sees his roommate knuckles deep so reader gets an idea and stands up invites ross to come join and ross jumps on to the bed and start rimming him and fucks him like a slut and after they finish ross puts a cute little diamond butt plug

Day XXIII- soft dom soap x sub male reader where reader tries to be bratty to push soap but soap just treats him kindly like “oh you poor thing have I been neglecting you?” But like not in a mocking way and reader breaks kinda quickly and is good for soap enter babbling reader while soap coos praises

Day XXIV - Dom top Felix and bottom femboy male Reader where the middle of the night Felix catches reader in his bedroom fucking himself with a dildo moaning Felix's name saying fuck me Daddy so Felix steps into the room grabs Reader by the hair and starts fucking his face with big cock saying you want Daddy to fuck you and while Felix is fucking the Reader's face uses the dildo to fuck the reader then Felix is fills the reader's mouth full of cum and make some swallow then turns the reader on his hands and knees and just starts fucking the reader on the bed pulls him against his chest grabs his throat and just starts fucking him as hard as he can with the reader screaming Daddy Felix spanking the reader Felix just filling him full of cum reader belongs to Daddy now then the next morning Felix is fucking the reader as hard as he can against the window of the bedroom

Day XXV - Hiram Lodge and stepson femboy bottom male reader where Hiram has secretly been having sex with his stepson and turning him into his slutty bottom boy today alone for the whole month of October and Rita's dressing up in the slutty little school girl outfit with the mini skirt and thong and heels and Hiram and him want to try bondage so he gets all the equipment and Hiram ties the Reader's hands behind his back as Reader licks hiram's muscles and I'm face fucking male reader till he fills his mouth full of c** and then just starts fucking him while he's tied up pulling his hair and putting a ball gag in the Reader's mouth with bondage kink come eating muscle worship daddy kink and Hiram talking about getting reader pregnant if that's okay

Day XXVI - Logan howlette making ftm reader wear a bunny langire after his workout coming back all musky and sweaty all pent up and fucks male reader while male reader licks up logans sweat etc. Making logans smell kink and breed kink go off and fully breads male reader / size difference with Wolverine and an FTM reader. Logan is much bigger and stronger than reader and can pick him up, pin him down, and throw him around with ease and both of them go bonkers for it. Logan loves the control and power he has to play with reader as he pleases and reader loves feeling overpowered and in Logan's complete control

Day XXVII - sub!thicc femboy ftm reader x dom!homelander where reader is a supe in the seven who is stronger than all the heros and especially homelander but not strong enough in bed?? homelander finds reader in his apartment right in his room trying on the shortest skirts that shows his ass and pink high stockings, reader trys to explain before he gets his ass eaten and fucked raw until he cant breathe properly. i want some breeding kinks and alot of spanking, and ass worship if thats okay? i know ur busy but im just requesting this only if you have time, please and thank you.

Day XXVIII- X-Men 97 magneto and younger 18 year oldbottom femboy male reader loves that magneto so much older than him and has a daddy kink so when they're alone he catches magneto and nothing but a pair purple underwear so he starts kissing magneto licking down his muscles does magneto poses you sucking on his nipples and licking his abs body kissing down licking on his muscles drop to his knees and starts sucking magnetos big cock and balls magnet o moaning and calling reader a good boy grabbing his hair starts face fucking him then magneto pics reader up and starts fucking him right there till he feels him so full of c** and then throws reader over his desk and just keeps fucking him daddy kink breeding Kink and cum eating kink maybe you had Magneto's power somehow for bondage maybe readers power to make someone feel pleasure or pain how you want to do it maybe

Day XXIX - Step brother Tyler Lawrence Gray rough fucks his big bubble but step brother and cums in him

Day XXX - rafe cameron x thicc/male reader x topper x barry your dads is a football coach and rafe, topper, and barry are his star players so he invites them over and you get called down the stairs and they all just start staring at you and your juicy ass so as the night goes on whenever they walk by you they rub their bulges your ass or whenever you bend down to pick something up they always touch your ass…. After a while your dad goes to sleep and rafe, topper and barry goes into your room and they talk to you and rafe starts sitting on your bed and rubbing your thighs and then they finally convince you to have a foursome and they take turns eating your ass and while rafe is fuckin your ass he tells you not to be so loud your dad is sleeping so barry puts his dick in your mouth and you start sucking and your jerking off topper and they take turns and after awhile you are just fucked out with some many loads up your ass and rafe grabs his phone and spreads open your ass to take a video but after he’s done Barry and topper clean you out with their tongues and rafe helps you put your clothes on and in the morning your dad ask why are you limping and rafe laughs

Day XXXI - James mcavoy fic where James is reader’s dad best friend and he is coming over to stay for the summer reader and James don’t really get along at first. But one night James comes out the shower while reader is still awake and James ends up fucking him and eating him out hard and has him worship James body through scent and kissing etc

[whore-ibly-hot]

Post-Gym Shower

Yandere!Athlete Evan Reed x reader x Yandere!Gym coach Anatoli Sidorov

18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Multiple yanderes, non-con touching, dub-con, perverted thoughts, obsession, general perversion, dry-humping, voyeurism, controlling behaviors, power dynamics, panty stealing, typical yandere behavior.

(A/N: Another duo fic, giving some juice to the Evan girlies out there. Plus some attention for Coach Sidorov, I feel i haven't fleshed him out enough. It's not very long but...)

"Cmon, there's plenty of room," Through the steam of the bathroom and the 'woosh' of the shower sprayer, Evan's voice cuts through the locker room as he watches the warm stream of water dripping down in beads from your body.

"There's tons of other showers, Evan!" You squeak, grabbing the shower a bit to cover yourself with the flimsy plastic shower covering. "You don't need to come into this one..."

He scoffs and runs a hand over his curly mullet before he tosses his towel off, prompting you to look away with a squeak. "I'm not going to freeze my dick off waiting for one of these other showers to warm up, just slide over." He explains, face contorting to a grin when he sees you looking away. "What, cmon, I'm not that bad looking, baby." Pushing the shower curtain aside, he steps onto the slick tile of the shower floor, sighing as the warm water washes the post-practice sweat and excessive body spray from him.

"This is weird!" You exclaim, covering yourself up. "I'm trying to shower, and you're all gross and sweaty-"

"Oh my god, stupid, that's the point of a fucking shower, to get clean. Stop bitchin-" he gives you one of those hard looks you often see him cast at the poor victims of his bullying. It makes you swallow harshly. "-and hand me the soap."

With shaky hands, you pass the bar of soap and try to avoid gawking as he runs it over his pecs, groaning as he rubs some spots that obviously have some sore muscle lying below. "Coach has been running us like crazy for the swim meet coming up," he mumbles as he keeps cleaning. "Swear I hear the starting whistle when I'm fucking sleeping." He notices you're not saying much, and set away the soap before turning to you. "But... I heard Coach has been giving you some 'extra-lessons' too, huh?" He coos, and the insinuation makes you flush.

Smacking at his chest and watching the water on his skin react and fly off, you look aghast. "Don't make it sound weird, Evan!" You exclaim, voice squeaking with embarrassment. "I'm- He's not doing anything like that, I just joined P.E. late, I'm behind. He helps with stretch and stuff." You explain, and Evan leans in, grabbing your hips and grinding his limp but still impressive length against your front playfully.

"Stretching, huh? Yeah, I bet he's stretching you out." He chuckles. "So what's the play, you doing it for a grade? Can't imagine coach's limp old man dick is giving you what you need."

"No!" You squirm a bit, the way he's naked crotch is resting against your thighs send both a spike of arousal and fear to your core. "He's not doing anything like that, don't be weird. And let me go!" You exclaim. Evan ignores your pleas, hands moving from your hips to your arms, then chest.

"Well, whether or not Coach is dicking you down on the side, whatever he's doing is working." He mumbles, calloused fingers making you shake as little goosebumps start littering your skin. "You're getting some muscle, baby. Looking toned, I mean, you're not me, but you know..." A large hands fondles over your ass, groping as it's owner revels in how you squirm. "Real fucking fit, if Coach isn't actually giving you what you need after class, I'm always avaliable. Take you back to my dorm, and work that pretty-"

"Evan!" The metallic sound of the locker room door swinging open and Coach Sidorov's voice gives you a moment of hope.

Evan groans, "Cmon, let's stay quiet and split outta here once he leaves-" You cut him off with a surprisingly bold sudden shove, and you both just stare at each other for a moment, shocked at your resistance. Before his glare forms, you call out.

"In here, coach!" Coach Sidorov approaches the shower, and feels his blood boiling when he sees two pairs of feet stuck out below the shower curtain, and the voice of his poor little star calling out. "Reed. Out of the shower, now."

Evan groans and glares at you as he pulls aside the shower curtain. You know you'll be facing his wrath and frustration for this later, but you choose to just appreciate the moment you have now. Trying to shield his half-hard dick, Evan huffs as the bright locker room lights hit his eyes.

"Cmon, coach. I already know you're gonna try to make a big fucking deal of this- we were playing around-" He yips as he feels a sudden, sharp pain on his thigh and ass. Coach Sidorov is holding a wrapped up towel, which he smacked at the cocky star player. "What the fuck coach!?"

"Go, thirty laps in the pool, now. I'll see you after I deal vith your friend in the shower." He growls, and Evan blinks away. "And I'll be looking into changing your gym schedule!" He yells after him, rubbing at his forehead and brow with a frustrated sigh. "Dat boy..." He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself as to not scare you.

"Little star?" He calls out tentatively, turning so his back is against the curtain but he's faced away from you. "I'm not mad at you, okay?"

"I-I'm sorry sir, I tried to tell him there were other showers-" you start, leaning slightly around the curtain with a shameful tone to your voice. He cuts you off with a wave of his hand.

"No, no. Dat boy is a menace, is not your fault." He assures, trying to resist his own urge to meet your gaze, st the risk of catching a sight of your exposed cleavage and shoulders behind the curtain. "Are you clean?" He asks.

"Yes sir." You affirm, and he steps away to grab your clothes on the nearby bench, handing them to you and not letting his hands linger to long on the soft fabric.

"Dress. I von't look." He assures, and you nod. You begin with your top as he keeps talking. "I'll have a talk with him, I'll get your schedule shifted around to. I won't tolerate him dragging you off somewhere and trying to get you to... allow him to have his way with you." He hisses, fists curling as bit. "I'll try to get you your own shower stall, da?"

"That would be great, sir." You squeak, zipping up your tracksuit top. "I appreciate you being worried about me. He can be a lot..." you pause as you go to dress your lower half. "U-um, coach?"

He hums affirmatively. "My... my underwear is gone." You whimper out, horrified and scandalized. You seem Coach Sidorov visibly tense up, and raise his fist to his mouth to clear his throat.

"Ah, vell... Its possible he may have grabbed dem on the vay out. I'll give you a pass to get out of your next class, run back to your dorm and grab another pair, okay?" He offers, and you slip on your pants with a nod. He turns around once your dressed, and he smiles softly at the sweet of your dripping hair and awkward form. "I'll see you tomorrow for class, da?"

You nod, and in a bold move lunge to hug him, shaking a bit against his broad chest. "Thank you, for... for looking out for me."

He's shocked, eyes widen as he feels his heart melting at your affection. He wraps his arms firmly around your shoulders, keeping you flush to his chest. "Of course. You're my little star, no one is going to hurt you while I'm around. Now go on back to your dorm." He's reluctant to send you away, but he's still dealing with boiling anger towards Evan, and he's got a growing problem down below he'd rather not have you see.

He waves goodbye as he watches you depart, and once you're out the door his hand slips into the pocket of his tracksuit. He ignores his raging erection in favor of grabbing something from the pocket, a thin fabric garment, yours. He feels a little bad, snatching your underwear and sending you off, but... surely it's safer with him?

[astrofhobia]

Kat, Earth's voice actor.

So, recently Davis spoke out on a situation that came up in The Lunar and Earth Show fandom.

From what I understand, Kat, Earth's voice actor, is receiving a lot of hate, not only against her characters, but also against her for one of the most recent videos.

I never give my opinion so publicly but I think it would be good to show support for Kat.

It's stupid. All those people who come here to talk nonsense about Earth stepping out of her role of being the good and positive one are very stupid.

All or most of the cast have been through morally negative situations. Moon has abused his own brother for many years, and continues to do so. And it seems like the fandom is constantly covering its eyes to ignore this. But hey, Earth can't deny someone a hug because she becomes the mean girl and the worst character ever. Can you see how stupid this argument sounds?

Maybe, I understand that when the character was introduced it got negative reviews. Literally, they never worked with anyone other than Davis or Reed and introducing a new VA was to take you out of your zone. But, continuing to look at Kat in a bad way is the behavior of a child.

You can't expect an amazing story either, guys, specifically this group of people who are attacking Earth so much, you're not paying for a video service. You're not spending a single cent. As far as I know, Davis, Reed and Kat have spent money to maintain quality content day after day. The show has been updated every weekday for over two years.

Kat has done her best to adapt to the audience's tastes, not the other way around. She has done her best not to be an empty character. But the people who attack her don't even bother to see how their characters have evolved positively. Earth has such an empty story because the audience doesn't even pay attention to it.

You can't expect to have an amazing, original story if every time Kat holds the mic you look away. It's stupid.

Kat has been a great support for the story of like three different shows. I think these people who just want to hate something don't realize how boring the show would be without an intervention.

It's a disgusting thought to hate a fictional character just because she's a woman. And it's repulsive to hate a VA for being female. Are you stupid? Because that's the first thing I think if your main argument is "She's a woman, we don't need that"

I'm not a fan of any of the three VAs. I don't like them personally, but I'm going to defend them, especially Kat if they get any hate for this.

You can't put Bloodmoon, who tortured, manipulated, and murdered so many people, on a pedestal and throw trash and hate at Earth just for existing. It's stupid.

I understand if Kat has distanced herself from the fandom and doesn't want to have contact with the audience directly. Just because you are a public figure doesn't mean you have to swallow all the hate and keep smiling. Kat is not just a source of entertainment. She is a human being, who has emotions, thoughts and a limit.

If you have crossed her line, the only thing you can do is step back and leave her alone. No one would like to receive immense amounts of hate because their character is not to everyone's taste.

If you are part of this group of horrible people, I ask you to please leave. I don't want those people here.

[classyhoeeee]

SATIVA:: Rafe cameron

WARNING! :: smoking (weed) kissing, riding, unprotected sex, teasing, strangers to lovers, Heyward!Reader, Dom!Rafe, Aftercare, Rafe Cameron x Reader.

SUMMARY! :: The reader is new to town. She’s Pope Heyward’s long lost sister. She sees Pope and all of the pogues in poguelandia and realizes that he already has a family and she leaves. Somehow she ends up discovering the ship of Rafe Cameron. She’d thought it was empty, but she has no idea what she’s getting into. Especially since Rafe was already reeling from Sofia’s betrayal and him having to call off their engagement.

A/N:: I made this when I was faded…clearly. Thanks for the love on “betrayal”. I’ll be doing a continuation of it soon. Hope yall love this one too.

…………………………………………………………………………………

Title: Sativa

Fandom: Outer Banks

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Black Reader

Setting: Season 4

Summary:

It’s late when you arrive—too late for second chances. You’d come to Kildare with nothing but an idealistic dream of finding your family, searching for Pope Heyward, the brother you’d never met. But dreams are fickle things, and when you see him��laughing, happy, surrounded by his friends—you realize there’s no place for you here. You’re a stranger. Not a Pogue. Not a Kook. Just a ghost drifting through Figure 8.

So you leave.

You walk for hours, the night air heavy on your skin and tears stinging your eyes, until you stumble upon an unfamiliar boat. It looms in the dark, quiet and empty, promising a brief escape from everything that hurts.

But you’re not alone.

Rafe Cameron, unhinged and bitter from his own crumbling world, is already there. And tonight, for better or worse, he finds you.

Excerpt:

The firelight cast golden shadows against the Pogues’ faces. You stayed far enough back to avoid the glow but close enough to see them—Pope, your brother, sat at the center. He leaned back in his seat, grinning at JJ, who howled with laughter over something ridiculous. Sarah and Kiara were there too, tucked in close like they were all family.

His family, you realized.

It was a scene straight out of someone else’s life. You watched from behind the tall reeds, unseen and unnoticed, a silent witness to something you thought you’d be part of. That’s why you came here, after all—to find him. To find them.

But they were fine without you.

The truth hit you harder than you expected. You weren’t a Pogue. You weren’t a Kook. You were just… you. New. Rootless. And suddenly, you hated the way your chest ached at the sight of Pope’s happiness.

Your sandals crunched against the dirt as you turned to leave. No one heard you.

Good.

You walked until your feet ached, your tears drying into faint tracks down your cheeks. Kildare was suffocating even in the open night air, the sharp line between Pogues and Kooks dividing everything, including the ground you stepped on. You didn’t belong anywhere—at least not here.

Eventually, the lights of Figure 8 blinked into view on the horizon, and you thought about turning back. Your rented room wasn’t much, but it was better than aimlessly wandering.

No.

The boat caught your eye first, its dark silhouette bobbing softly at the end of a deserted dock. It wasn’t grand like the other yachts scattered across the marina. It was… worn, like whoever owned it didn’t care anymore. Or maybe that was the point.

You stepped onto the dock cautiously, the wood creaking beneath your weight. The air smelled faintly of salt and gasoline, and you shivered against the breeze. When you reached the edge, you hesitated, staring at the deck of the boat.

It looked empty. Safe.

You climbed aboard, carefully lowering yourself onto one of the benches. The silence swallowed you whole, and for the first time in hours, you allowed yourself to exhale.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, staring at the water, your mind blank and buzzing all at once. Kildare had been a mistake—coming here, believing Pope would look at you and see family.

Stupid.

Your eyes burned again, but you blinked the tears back furiously, hugging your arms around yourself as if you could hold the pieces together.

A sudden noise broke through the quiet. A shuffle. The scrape of a boot against the deck.

You froze, your pulse thundering in your ears as you whipped around.

He was standing there.

Rafe Cameron.

For a moment, neither of you moved. His face was shadowed in the faint moonlight, but you knew him—everyone knew Rafe. His reputation hung in the air around him like smoke, dangerous and suffocating.

“Who the hell are you?” he asked, his voice low and sharp, the words slicing through the quiet.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Rafe stepped forward, and your breath hitched when the light finally hit his face. His jaw was sharp, his expression unreadable, and his blue eyes narrowed as they dragged over you.

“I—” You swallowed, forcing words past the knot in your throat. “I didn’t know anyone was here.”

He stared at you like you were speaking another language.

“Yeah? And what, you thought this was your boat?” His voice dripped with sarcasm.

“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “I just… I needed somewhere to sit.”

“To sit?” Rafe repeated, a humorless smirk tugging at his lips. He looked at you for a long moment before scoffing, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I’ll leave,” you blurted, rising to your feet so fast you nearly tripped. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Sit back down.”

The command froze you in place. Rafe’s voice was firm, but not loud. Not angry. It startled you more than if he’d been yelling.

“I—”

“Sit.”

You hesitated, your legs trembling as you lowered yourself back onto the bench. Rafe watched you the entire time, his gaze heavy and unrelenting. When he stepped closer, you saw it—the shadows under his eyes, the faint lines of something bitter and broken carved into his face.

He looked just as lost as you felt.

“What’s your deal?” he asked suddenly, his tone quieter this time. “You don’t look like a Kook. Sure as hell don’t look like a Pogue.”

You blinked, unsure how to respond.

“I’m new,” you muttered finally.

Rafe snorted, a bitter smile twisting his lips as he dropped onto the opposite bench. “Figures.”

The silence stretched again, heavy and unfamiliar. You stared at your hands, your mind racing, waiting for him to tell you to leave. To yell. To do something.

But he didn’t.

Instead, Rafe leaned back against the bench, tipping his head to look up at the night sky. When he spoke, his voice was softer.

“You’ve been crying.”

It wasn’t a question.

You didn’t answer.

Rafe didn’t look at you, but his jaw clenched, his expression flickering like he was trying to decide something. When he finally turned toward you, there was no smirk, no cruel edge to his gaze—just a strange, unsettling curiosity.

“You should go,” he said quietly. “Figure 8’s no place for someone like you.”

You stared at him, confused. “Someone like me?”

Rafe held your gaze, his blue eyes sharp and unrelenting. “Innocent.”

It was the first kind thing anyone had said about you in a long time. And it came from Rafe Cameron.

You didn’t know whether to run or stay.

Neither did he.

———

The silence stretched, heavy and uncertain. Rafe leaned back, long legs sprawled, watching you like you were a puzzle he hadn’t decided to solve or destroy yet. The joint burned between his fingers, faint smoke curling into the air as his sharp features glowed briefly in the ember’s light. His blue eyes flickered toward you—soft yet cold, an unsettling contradiction.

“You’re still here,” he muttered, breaking the quiet. His voice was rough, low, and dripping with faint irritation.

You hugged your arms around yourself and muttered, “I didn’t think you meant now.”

Rafe snorted a laugh, his lips curling into that same cruel smirk. “You’ve got some balls, you know that?” He reached into his pocket, lazily pulling out a small crumpled bag and lighter. “But if you’re sticking around…” He tipped his chin, sharp gaze pinning you. “Get comfortable.”

You watched him as he rolled the joint with expert ease, his hands steady, the calloused pads of his fingers moving like he’d done it a thousand times. The flicker of the lighter caught the sharp lines of his jaw, golden skin kissed faintly by the glow. The scent hit you instantly—sharp, herbal, and dizzying. You flinched as he took the first long drag, exhaling the smoke slowly, his eyes never leaving yours.

“You ever done this before?” he asked, tilting his head, voice edged with something between curiosity and mockery.

You hesitated, fingers curling tighter around yourself. “Yeah.”

Rafe’s smirk widened instantly, lazy and knowing. He exhaled through his nose, watching you carefully. “You’re a terrible liar.”

You blinked, heat crawling up your neck. Before you could respond, Rafe stood, looming as his shadow cast over you. His frame was taller, broader, and sharp against the night. He moved toward you like a predator sizing up prey, the joint glowing between his fingers. You couldn’t help but notice the contrast—the strength of him, all sun-golden skin and dangerous energy, against you, soft and small in comparison, your deep brown skin glowing like polished onyx under the faint moonlight.

When he sat next to you, his thigh brushed yours, making you tense. The wood creaked slightly under his weight.

“Here,” Rafe said, holding the joint out to you.

You blinked, eyeing it warily. “I’m good.”

Rafe chuckled under his breath, the sound dark and amused. “Didn’t ask.” The ember glowed faintly between his fingers as he leaned closer, his voice a rough whisper. “Come on, one puff.”

You bit your lip, staring at it. His sharp gaze caught it instantly, lingering for half a second before his smirk grew.

You snatched it begrudgingly, holding it awkwardly between your fingers. It felt wrong—like it didn’t belong there. Rafe laughed again, deep and unrestrained. “Jesus, you don’t even look right with it.”

“Shut up,” you shot back, glaring at him.

“The fuck are you waiting for?” Rafe asked, tipping his head as if genuinely curious.

You sighed, bringing it to your lips and taking the smallest pull you could manage. Instantly, the smoke burned through your throat and lungs, making you cough violently as you bent forward, eyes watering.

Rafe threw his head back and laughed, loud and sharp, the sound vibrating through the quiet night. “Holy shit,” he said between breaths. “That was pathetic.”

“Shut up!” you coughed, swatting weakly at his shoulder.

He grinned, the joint pinched effortlessly between his fingers as he leaned back against the bench, watching you with a flicker of something softer in his sharp blue gaze. You wiped your eyes, cheeks warm with embarrassment.

Rafe took another drag, his head tilted as he studied you, that smirk lingering at the corner of his mouth. “So… who the hell are you, anyway?”

You swallowed, hesitating. “Y/N.”

He raised an eyebrow, waiting.

“Y/N Heyward.”

The smirk dropped from Rafe’s face instantly. His jaw went tight, the line of it sharper now, and you caught the way his fist curled slightly against his knee. The ember on the joint flared brighter before he exhaled through his nose, his blue eyes piercing into yours.

“What did you say?”

You frowned. “I said my name’s Y/N Heyward.”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment, just stared at you like you’d shattered something between you. “Heyward,” he repeated finally, his voice low, almost disbelieving.

You shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah. I’m Pope’s sister.”

Rafe scoffed, shaking his head faintly as he leaned back. “No, you’re not.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not a Pogue,” he said bluntly, his eyes dragging over you again—your radiant brown skin, glossy lips, and those wide, dark eyes that still managed to look soft despite the sharp edge to his tone. “Pope’s a Pogue. You look like you belong…” He gestured vaguely, his fingers trailing upward. “Over here.”

“Not everyone fits into your little Kook-and-Pogue boxes,” you snapped, defensive.

Rafe’s smirk returned faintly as he exhaled another cloud of smoke, the ember bright against the darkness. “You’re adopted then, huh?”

The words hit deeper than you expected, though his tone wasn’t cruel—just blunt, like Rafe didn’t care enough to sugarcoat it. You glanced away, tucking your arms tighter around yourself.

“Yeah. I found out about him recently.”

Rafe didn’t respond, though something in his expression shifted again—his lips tightening faintly, his gaze softening around the edges. He studied you for a beat longer before leaning in closer, the joint still glowing in his fingers.

“You want another puff?” he asked, his voice quieter this time.

“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head.

Rafe chuckled, his breath warm as he leaned just a little closer. “Don’t be a buzzkill.”

You frowned, but before you could protest, Rafe lifted the joint to his lips, taking a slow drag. Your eyes flicked to his mouth as the smoke curled between his lips, smooth and lazy. And then he leaned in—so close that the faint smell of smoke and cologne hit you like a wave.

“Open,” he murmured softly.

You froze, heart pounding, but you parted your lips instinctively, and Rafe exhaled the smoke slowly into your mouth. It was warm, soft this time as it sank into your lungs, and you exhaled shakily, the faint burn fading quickly.

Your gaze flickered up to his face—so close, his golden skin illuminated faintly by the glowing ember. His blue eyes were sharp, locked on your brown ones, but there was something softer beneath the surface, something unfamiliar and unreadable.

“See?” Rafe whispered, his fingers brushing against your jaw briefly—rough and calloused against your soft skin. “Easy.”

You exhaled slowly, your heart hammering as warmth spread through you—part Sativa, part something else. Something dangerous.

Rafe leaned back finally, the joint still glowing between his fingers, but his gaze never left yours. For a moment, it felt like you were the only two people left in the world—two strangers tangled in something forbidden and impossible.

And it terrified you.

———

You exhaled slowly, feeling the warmth settle in your chest as the faint buzz of the Sativa dulled the sharp edges of the night. Rafe leaned back again, one hand resting lazily on his thigh, the other holding the fading joint between his fingers. His sharp blue eyes flickered toward you, half-lidded and unreadable, though the lingering tension in his jaw never quite eased.

“So,” you murmured finally, breaking the silence. “What about you?”

Rafe’s brow furrowed faintly. “What about me?”

“Your story.” You met his gaze, your voice soft but steady. “You know mine now. Tell me something about you.”

Rafe let out a low chuckle—a sound that curled around your spine and made your heart jump in your chest. It was too dark, too hollow, like he was laughing at something only he could see.

“You wouldn’t want to know,” he said, shaking his head faintly. His voice dropped lower, rougher, as he added, “You’d run if I told you.”

You swallowed hard, pulse quickening. Maybe it was the way he said it—so matter-of-fact, like it wasn’t even a question—but it should’ve scared you more than it did. You forced yourself to hold his gaze, though the flicker of danger behind his eyes made it harder than you cared to admit.

“Tell me something anyway,” you said softly. “It doesn’t have to be bad.”

Rafe’s smirk faltered, and for a moment, you thought he’d brush you off again. But instead, he looked away, tilting his head toward the night sky as if searching for something in the darkness. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter—strained, almost.

“You know Sarah, right?” he muttered. “Everyone does. My little sister. Perfect Pogue princess now, I guess. Before she flipped sides, we were close.” His lip curled faintly, like the words tasted bitter. “At least I thought we were. That’s what pisses me off the most. She’s got that golden life now, living it up with John B and the rest of those idiots, and meanwhile—”

He cut himself off with a bitter laugh, shaking his head.

You stayed quiet, letting him fill the space between you.

“Then there’s Wheezie,” he continued after a beat, his voice softening slightly. “She’s my youngest sister. She’s… good. Too good for all this shit, you know? My stepmom’s got her now, though—keeps her away from me and Sarah. Guess I can’t blame her.”

The way he said it made your chest ache, though you didn’t dare show it. His voice had dipped into something raw, like he was talking more to himself than to you.

“And your dad?” you asked quietly.

Rafe’s jaw tensed, the muscle there twitching as his knuckles whitened slightly around the joint. He took another slow drag, exhaling roughly before finally answering.

“Gone,” he muttered. “Ward Cameron. Everyone knows him, right? The big man. Made his money, built his empire… and then left me to clean up the mess.”

You watched as he stared out at the water, his face caught somewhere between anger and emptiness. You didn’t say anything, afraid that if you did, you might shatter whatever fragile thing was holding him together.

After a long moment, Rafe chuckled again—this time softer, almost disbelieving. “Then there’s Sofia.”

You tilted your head. “Sofia?”

His smile turned cold, sharp at the edges. “Yeah. Sofia.” He paused, flicking the ash off the joint before continuing, his tone laced with something bitter. “I proposed to her. Thought she was it, you know? Thought I’d finally get something good.”

You blinked, startled by the admission. “You proposed?”

Rafe’s smirk returned faintly, but there was no humor in it. “Yeah. Had the ring and everything. Then I found out the bitch went behind my back for money.”

Your stomach twisted at the way he said it—flat and detached, like it didn’t hurt as much as it clearly did. You studied him for a moment, the sharp lines of his face softened just slightly under the haze of smoke and the distant moonlight. He looked tired. Worn. Like he’d been carrying the weight of the world for far too long.

“She wanted your money?” you asked gently.

Rafe scoffed, dragging a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Thought she could play me. Thought I wouldn’t find out.” He shook his head, his jaw clenching again. “She was just like the rest of them. Everyone wants something from me. I should’ve known better.”

You didn’t say anything, but you didn’t have to. For the first time that night, Rafe didn’t look at you like you were a stranger. He looked at you like you were something else—something safe.

“So that’s me,” he muttered finally, leaning back against the bench. He tilted his head toward you, his blue eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “Still wanna stick around, Heyward?”

You held his gaze, your heart pounding in your chest, but you refused to look away. “Yeah,” you said softly. “I do.”

Rafe’s smirk faltered, just for a second, and you swore you saw something flicker behind his eyes—something vulnerable, almost surprised.

And for the first time, he didn’t have anything to say.

———

The warmth curled inside you, spreading through your limbs and turning everything soft at the edges. You leaned back against the bench, fingers grazing over the wood as you stared out at the water. The buzz was heavy now, but not unpleasant-like floating just below the surface of reality.

Rafe sat beside you, still smoking, his frame relaxed but coiled-like a predator waiting for something to happen. His golden skin seemed sharper in the darkness, carved from firelight and shadow, while yours-deep and rich, glowing softly in the moonlight-looked impossibly smooth in comparison.

"You good over there?" Rafe muttered, amusement lacing his tone as he glanced at you. The joint was perched lazily between his fingers, smoke drifting lazily into the air.

You blinked at him, your glossy lips parting just slightly as you nodded. "Yeah."

He smirked, tipping his head as his gaze dragged slowly over your face. Your cheeks were flushed, your dark eyes softer now, half-lidded as the Sativa sank deeper into your system. He'd seen this look before. Rafe had done this before. But something about you-the way you looked so sweet, so innocent—made it feel different.

"Fucking liar. You're a lightweight," he teased, taking another drag as he leaned back, his blue eyes sharp and glittering against the dark.

"I'm not," you shot back, but the words slurred just a little at the end, and you hated how it made him grin wider.

"Right," he muttered, smoke curling from his lips as he exhaled slowly. He watched you with something unreadable-like he couldn't decide whether to push you away or pull you closer.

Maybe it was the haze of the weed, or maybe it was just you. "You want more?"

You hesitated. Your body felt warm, your head light, but you did want more-of the buzz, of the quiet, of the way Rafe's presence felt too big but strangely steady at the same time.

"Yeah," you said softly, your voice almost shy.

Rafe's brows lifted faintly, something flickering behind his sharp blue gaze. He tilted his head, that lazy smirk lingering at the corner of his lips. "Yeah?"

You nodded, and before you could change your mind, Rafe was leaning in again, the joint glowing between his fingers as he inhaled deeply.

He moved closer this time-so close you could see the faint shadows under his eyes, the way his golden skin seemed kissed by flame in the low light. His lips parted slightly as he exhaled the smoke toward you.

"Open," he whispered.

Your heart thumped hard against your ribs, but you obeyed, letting your lips part as Rafe leaned in closer. The smoke curled between you, warm and soft, sinking into your lungs. This time, it wasn't harsh. It wasn't uncomfortable. It was... easy.

And before you realized what you were doing, you'd closed the distance.

Your hand lifted to his face, your fingertips grazing over the sharp edge of his jaw as you cupped his cheek, holding him there. Rafe froze beneath your touch, his blue eyes flaring with something wild, something dangerous.

The moment hung between you, heavy and breathless.

What the hell are you doing?

You didn't know. Maybe it was the weed.

Maybe it was the way he was looking at you, all fire and tension and something you couldn't name.

Or maybe it was the loneliness-the same thing you saw in him when he talked about his sisters, about his dad…and Sofia.

Whatever it was, it pulled you forward, and Rafe didn't stop you.

Your lips brushed against his softly at first— tentative, uncertain-like you were testing the waters. Rafe inhaled sharply through his nose, his grip tightening around the joint, but he didn't pull away. If anything, he leaned closer, tilting his head slightly to deepen the kiss.

You weren't sure what you'd expected — something rough, maybe. Something overwhelming. But this... this was slow and deliberate, like Rafe was letting himself fall into it just as much as you were.

The buzz in your head turned molten, spreading down your spine as your hand slipped further along his jaw, fingers brushing over his golden skin. Rafe groaned faintly-a low, deep sound that made your stomach twist—and before you knew it, his hands were on you.

He moved quickly, his grip firm but not rough as he grabbed your waist, pulling you into his lap with a single motion that left you breathless. You gasped softly, your hands falling to his shoulders as you settled against him, feeling the solid weight of his frame beneath you.

Rafe's mouth found yours again, more insistent this time, his lips parting just enough for you to taste the faint bitterness of smoke on his tongue. His hands tightened on your waist, fingers digging into the soft fabric of your clothes as he groaned into the kiss.

You should've stopped. Every warning bell in your mind was screaming at you-this is Rafe Cameron. This is your brother's enemy. This is the guy everyone warned you about.

But none of that mattered now.

Not when his hands were on you. Not when his mouth moved against yours like he was starving for it. Not when the Sativa blurred the lines between right and wrong, leaving only this-this warmth, this closeness, this dangerous, thrilling something that wrapped around you both like a storm.

When you finally pulled back, breathless and dazed, Rafe stared at you like he couldn't believe you were real. His blue eyes were darker now, his lips slightly parted, swollen from the kiss.

"You're playing a dangerous game," he muttered, his voice rough and low, sending a shiver down your spine.

You met his gaze, your pulse pounding in your ears. "So are you."

Rafe's smirk returned faintly, but there was no humor in it-just heat. Just tension. Just Rafe, looking at you like he was trying to figure out how you'd gotten here, in his lap, on his boat, on his turf.

And for once, you didn't care.

For tonight, it didn't matter.

———

The buzz deepened, warm and heavy, drowning out every thought except the boy beneath you. Rafe Cameron.

You were still on his lap, his hands rough and deliberate as they traced over your body like he was memorizing every curve, every dip, every place that made you shiver. His touch was firm, bordering on possessive, and it made you feel things you hadn't felt before-things you hadn't realized you could feel.

Rafe was a man in every sense of the word.

Strong, commanding, dangerous. His broad hands easily spanned the small of your back, holding you against him like you belonged there, like you were made to fit into the hard lines of his frame.

"Rafe," you whispered, your voice softer now, a mix of surprise and something sweeter, needier, as his lips trailed along your jaw. The way he kissed you-slow and burning-left you breathless, the faint taste of smoke lingering between you.

He pulled back just slightly, his blue eyes locking onto yours, darker now, clouded with the same haze that tugged at your mind. He smirked faintly, though there was nothing light about it-just heat. Just Rafe, looking at you like he could devour you whole.

"You good?" he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, rougher than it had been before.

You nodded, your lips parting as you whispered, "Yeah."

The word had barely left your mouth before his lips were on yours again, hungrier this time. His hands tightened on your waist, sliding down, then back up slowly-pushing the fabric of your shirt just slightly to touch your bare brown skin. The callouses on his tan palms scraped faintly against your softness, earning a soft gasp that made Rafe groan low in his throat.

"You're fucking killin' me," he muttered against your lips, his voice dropping an octave. "You don't even know, do you?"

Your head was spinning, your fingers threading through the short strands of his buzzcut-soft and bristly under your touch.

Rafe tipped his head back slightly, exhaling roughly through his nose as you ran your nails gently along his scalp. His grip on you tightened, dragging you even closer until you could feel every inch of him beneath you.

The sound of your voice made something flicker in Rafe's eyes—a spark that burned brighter now. "Yeah?" he muttered, his lips brushing against yours. "You wanna help me?"

You nodded, your breath catching as you whispered, "Yeah. Let me."

The smirk that stretched across his face was sinful, sharp and lazy as his hands roamed higher, then lower, slipping under your shirt fully this time. His fingers danced along your bare skin, rough and confident as they grazed places you'd never been touched before-earning a soft, breathy moan that made his eyes darken even more.

"Fuck," he muttered, his voice thick with something raw and hungry. "You're somethin' else, aren't you?"

Your cheeks burned, but you didn't care-not when his mouth was on your neck now, sucking faintly, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. You squirmed slightly, your body arching into him as your fingers tightened in his buzzcut, dragging him closer.

"Rafe," you breathed again, his name slipping out softer this time-sounding almost reverent.

Rafe groaned, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. His blue eyes were sharp, flickering with a dangerous mix of lust and something deeper-something you weren't sure either of you could name.

"You like that?" he asked, his voice rough, taunting. "You like my hands on you, huh?"

"Yes," you whispered without hesitation, the word slipping out before you could stop it.

Rafe's smirk widened, his fingers sliding along the waistband of your shorts, toying with the edge like he was testing you, teasing you. "I’ll give you more," he muttered, "but you're gonna have to ask real nice, baby."

Your heart jumped in your chest, your cheeks burning as his words settled over you. Baby. That shit made you melt.

You weren't sure what had come over you— whether it was him or the Sativa or something else entirely-but you didn't want him to stop. Not now.

"Please," you murmured, your voice softer than you intended as you ran your hands along his jaw, his buzzcut. "I want more."

Rafe groaned low in his chest, the sound vibrating through you as he kissed you again-deeper, rougher this time. His hands slipped further, expertly tugging at the edges of your clothes until the fabric was no longer a barrier. You gasped softly against his mouth as his hands explored-trailing over bare skin in a way that sent heat pooling low in your stomach.

"Fuck, you're perfect," Rafe muttered, his voice almost a growl as his lips brushed against yours, then along your jaw. "Soft as hell. I could get used to this, y'know?"

You didn't respond-couldn't respond-as his hands continued their slow, deliberate path over your body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. You melted against him, every kiss, every touch pushing you deeper into something you couldn't name.

He's your brother's enemy, a small voice whispered in the back of your mind.

But you didn't care.

Not when Rafe's lips were on yours again.

Not when his hands were holding you like you were something precious and breakable, despite how rough his touch felt. Not when you could feel him-every inch of him-beneath you, solid and real and unrelenting.

You were down bad.

But as your fingers tangled in his buzzcut and his lips claimed yours again…and again, you realized you didn't want to get up.

The air between you crackled like a live wire

—hazy and heated, every boundary forgotten. Rafe's hands were everywhere, his touch confident and rough, but still so deliberate, like he was discovering every inch of you and getting addicted to what he found.

Your breath hitched when his fingers grazed along the clasp of your bra. His blue eyes flicked up to meet yours-dark and heavy-lidded, silently asking permission. You didn't stop him. Couldn't stop him.

With a single motion, the clasp came undone, so seamless it made your head spin.

Rafe smirked as the straps slid down,

his gaze dropping to admire what he'd just uncovered.

"Fuck," he muttered, his voice low, reverent.

His rough hands skimmed the sides of your soft brown breasts before palming them fully, his thumbs brushing across your sensitive skin in a way that had your back arching instinctively.

You shivered under his touch, heat rushing through you as his lips curved into that cocky smirk. "You're somethin' else, you know that?" he murmured, his voice rough and gravelly. "Such a pretty little thing..."

Your face grew hot, but you didn't have time to respond before you were tugging him closer again. Your fingers threaded through his buzzed hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp as you pulled his face to your chest.

Rafe groaned softly-a sound that sent a jolt of warmth straight to your stomach-before he let himself sink against you. His mouth pressed against your skin, warm and unrelenting as he nuzzled between the soft curves of your titties.

You giggled lightly, the sound bubbling up before you could stop it. You were high, and everything-his touch, the heat of his mouth, the rough scratch of his buzzcut against your skin-felt like too much and not enough all at once.

Rafe smirked against you. "What's so funny, huh?" he muttered, his voice muffled, before pressing a playful kiss there.

"Nothing," you breathed, tugging lightly at his hair again.

Rafe chuckled low, that dark, dangerous sound that always sent chills racing down your spine. Without warning, he buried his face deeper between your tits, shaking his head like he didn't care about a single thing in the world but you.

You gasped, giggling again as his stubble tickled your skin. "Rafe!"

He groaned loudly, pulling back just enough to latch his lips onto the soft skin at the top of your chest. He kissed and sucked there with a heat that left you breathless, leaving dark marks that you knew would linger for days.

"Rafe..." you whispered, your voice softer now, breathless as your head fell back sensually.

He looked up at you then, his blue eyes heavy and dark, the faintest smirk curling his lips as he pressed his thumb lightly against the fresh mark he'd left.

"Driving me crazy, Y/N." he muttered, his voice dipping into something deeper, rougher. "You know that? Fuck..." His thumb traced circles lazily over your skin, his gaze lingering on you like he couldn't look away. "So soft... so fuckin' perfect."

You shivered at his words, at the way his hands explored you without hesitation— rough, calloused palms contrasting against the smooth softness of your brown skin. It felt forbidden, unreal-like you'd stepped into a dream that neither of you wanted to wake up from.

"You're high," you murmured softly, though your voice betrayed you, breathless and full of heat.

"So are you," Rafe shot back, his smirk widening as he leaned in to press his lips against the mark he'd left. "And you fuckin' love it."

You didn't deny it. How could you? When his mouth was leaving fire against your skin, when his hands held you like you were his, when you were pulling him closer instead of pushing him away.

You'd never felt like this before. Never let someone touch you like this, kiss you like this.

And Rafe... Rafe made it impossible to stop.

His lips found yours again, slow and deep, his hands sliding back to your waist as he pulled you closer-like he couldn't get enough of you.

You kissed him back with the same urgency, your hands wandering over his buzzed hair, his shoulders, the sharp lines of his jaw.

Rafe groaned into the kiss, his grip tightening on you like he was afraid you'd disappear. "You're mine tonight," he muttered against your lips, his voice rough and possessive, sending heat curling low in your stomach.

"Yours," you whispered back before you could stop yourself.

And maybe it was the Sativa talking, or maybe it was just Rafe, but for tonight, you didn't care.

You were each other's Sativa-intoxicating, warm, impossible to resist.

———

The night had swallowed you whole. The only things left in the world were the rough hands gripping your body, the fire curling low in your stomach, and the way Rafe Cameron was looking at you-like he wanted to ruin you.

You sat in his lap, completely bare now, your soft brown skin glowing faintly under the dim light of the moon. The buzz of the Sativa clouded every thought, leaving you wrapped in nothing but heat and him-solid, unrelenting, Rafe. You could feel his dick right against you, thick and hard, pressing right against your throbbing pussy, and the sensation alone made you gasp softly, your breath catching.

Rafe groaned at the sound, his jaw clenching as his hands slid down to grip your cheeks roughly, his fingers digging into your soft skin. He adjusted you in his lap, pressing you down harder, teasing you slowly, deliberately grinding in a way that made your thighs tremble.

"Rafe..." you whispered, breathless, your voice slurred and needy as you clung to his broad shoulders. "I need it."

Rafe froze, his blue eyes snapping up to meet yours. A slow, wicked smirk stretched across his face, his lips curling at the edges in a way that made your stomach twist.

"Yeah?" he muttered, his voice low and gravelly, dripping with satisfaction.

You nodded faintly, your cheeks flushed and your lips parted, the faintest whimper escaping as his hands kneaded your flesh.

Rafe tilted his head, his blue eyes gleaming darkly as he stared up at you. "Tell me," he murmured, his voice dipping lower, rougher.

"Tell me exactly what you need, Y/N. Say it with that pretty mouth, or you won't get it."

Your heart pounded in your chest, your soft skin buzzing under the weight of his words. Your lips parted, but hesitation flickered in your wide, innocent eyes-something that made Rafe's smirk widen even more.

"What's the matter?" he teased, his voice softer now, taunting. "Can't say it? Hm?" His thumb dragged slowly over the swell of your glossy bottom lip, his gaze sharp and unrelenting. "I thought you needed me."

"I do," you breathed, your voice trembling.

"Then tell me." His grip on your cheeks flexed slightly, dragging you closer as his lips brushed faintly against yours. "I wanna hear you say it. Every fuckin' word, slut."

The haze of the Sativa dulled the last of your hesitation, pushing you further into the storm that was him. You swallowed hard, your fingers digging into the hard muscle of his shoulders as you whispered, "I…I need your dick, Rafe."

Rafe groaned loudly, the sound low and rough, vibrating through his chest as his grip on you tightened.

"Say it again," he demanded, his voice dark and breathless, like the words alone were enough to drive him crazy.

You inhaled shakily, your pulse thundering in your ears as you stared into his eyes. "I need your dick…please" you repeated, louder this time, every word dripping with the heat and haze you felt coiling inside you. “Give it to me.”

Rafe's smirk turned into something feral, his teeth dragging over his bottom lip as his hands moved to grip your waist. "Fuck, you sound so good saying that," he growled, his voice thick with approval. "What else, huh?

What else do you want, baby? Say it."

Your cheeks burned, but you didn't stop-couldn't stop-not when his hands were dragging you closer, pressing you harder against his big dick. The words fell from your lips without hesitation. "I want you to slut me out, Rafe."

He groaned again, his eyes squeezing shut for half a second like he was holding onto the last shred of his control before snapping them open and locking onto yours. "Jesus fuckin' Christ," he muttered, almost to himself.

His lips crashed against yours, hard and desperate, his hands sliding over your body as if he couldn't touch enough of you. The kiss was all heat and tongue, leaving you breathless as you tangled your fingers into his buzzed hair, tugging him closer.

Rate groaned into your mouth, his hands slipping down again to grab your plump ass cheeks and lift you effortlessly, standing with you still wrapped around him. The strength in his hold sent a thrill shooting through you, your arms clinging tightly to his neck as he smirked up at you.

"I’m gonna fucking destroy you," he muttered, his voice rough against your ear as he adjusted you again, pressing you against his cock exactly where you needed him most. "You want that?"

"Yes," you gasped softly, your voice breaking as your head tipped back.

Rafe chuckled darkly, his lips brushing along your neck, leaving faint marks that you knew would linger. "You wanted me to slut you out, huh," he muttered, his breath hot against your skin. "I'm gonna give you exactly what you asked for."

Rafe's grip on you was unrelenting, his rough hands kneading into your bare thighs as he held you effortlessly in his arms.

He tilted his head back, blue eyes dark and sharp as they dragged over your face. Your lips were swollen, parted, soft little gasps falling from them as you squirmed in his hold, trying to relieve the ache he'd teased into you.

"You need it so bad, don't you?" he muttered, his voice low and taunting. "Been whining and squirming all over me like you can't help yourself."

You whimpered softly, your nails dragging against the hard muscle of his shoulders.

"Rafe..." Your cheeks burned, your heart hammering, but you couldn't stop the words that tumbled from your lips, breathless and slurred. "I can’t wait anymore... Please."

His smirk stretched wider, sharp and feral as he gripped your waist tighter, adjusting you in his arms like you weighed nothing. "That's my girl," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. "Knew you'd sound so fuckin' sweet beggin' for it."

You gasped softly as he pressed you down on his dick just enough to tease you, the heavy pressure of him making your thighs tremble in his hold. The ache you felt turned sharper, pulling a high-pitched whine from your lips before you could stop it.

Rafe groaned at the sound, his fingers digging into your soft skin as he stilled again, watching your every move. "Hear that?" he muttered, his voice rough and teasing. "That little noise you just made? That's my new favorite sound."

You whimpered, your arms tightening around his neck as you buried your face against his shoulder, trying to hide the tears brimming in your eyes. He was too much-too big, too strong, too confident as he teased you like he knew every button to press.

Rafe wasn't having it. "Oh, don't hide now," he murmured, his tone dripping with satisfaction. "C'mon, baby. I want you loud. Don't be shy."

Before you could respond, he shifted again, pressing deeper in your pussy in a way that had your head snapping back, a broken gasp spilling from your lips. The tears spilled over this time, but the sharp edge of pain started to soften, blurring into something dizzying.

Rafe watched you, his blue eyes locked onto your face, drinking in every expression like he was memorizing it. "That's it," he groaned, his voice heavy with approval. "Look at you takin' my dick so good…fucking whore."

Your lips trembled, your breaths shaky as you started to adjust, your body slowly melting into his hold. You kissed him then, hard and desperate, your soft whines escaping against his mouth as the sharp ache faded and was replaced by a heat so overwhelming it made you dizzy.

Rafe smirked into the kiss, his hands sliding down to grip your ass, holding you steady as he started to move-slow at first, deliberately teasing as he tested you.

"You feel that?" he muttered between kisses, his voice rough and slurred, his breath mixing with yours. "Fuck, your pussy is so tight. Squeezin' me so good, baby. You sure you can handle this?"

You moaned softly in response, your fingers leaving scratches down his muscular back, digging just enough to make him groan against your lips. The sound sent a thrill shooting through you, the ache in your stomach twisting tighter as he moved you against him, holding you steady like you were weightless.

"Rafe." you gasped again, the word breaking as he gave a particularly sharp thrust that had your breath hitching and your eyes burning.

Rafe grinned wickedly, his teeth brushing your bottom lip as he muttered, "There's that noise again. Fuckin' perfect little slut."

He started to move faster then, the slow, teasing rhythm giving way to something rougher, more desperate. His strength was terrifying, the way he held you, bounced you on his dick like it was nothing. Your thighs trembled, your body completely at his mercy as you clung to him, gasping softly with every movement.

"You're so soft," Rafe groaned, his voice strained now, like he was losing control. "So perfect. I could do this all fuckin' night…"

Your breath came in short, shaky gasps as you nodded weakly, unable to form words.

Your body felt like it was on fire, every nerve lit up as Rafe drove you closer and closer to the edge.

"Say my name again," he muttered, his lips brushing against your ear as he gripped you tighter. "Tell me who's taking' your pussy this good."

"You, Rafe," you whispered, your voice breaking as he shifted again, pulling another soft cry from you. "You are."

Rafe groaned, his grip on you bruising now as he picked up his pace, holding you like you were his to claim, to ruin. "That's right, baby," he muttered, his voice rough and breathless. "Take this dick."

———

The sharp edges of pain had melted away, leaving nothing but pleasure and the haze of the Sativa coursing through you. Rafe's grip on you was still unrelenting, his strength terrifyingly easy as he moved you effortlessly, keeping you wrapped around him like you were his to claim.

Your forehead rested against his, breaths mingling, the heat between you crackling like a live wire. You could tell-feel-that he was holding back, and something about it made you bold. The buzz in your veins urged you to challenge him, to push him further.

"Rafe.." you murmured, your voice soft and teasing as your nails dragged faintly along the nape of his neck. "You can do better than that."

Rafe froze for half a second, his sharp blue eyes snapping up to meet yours. His smirk twisted into something darker, something almost dangerous as he pulled back slightly, tilting his head. "What the fuck did you say?"

"You heard me," you breathed, your plump lips curling faintly despite the heat rushing through you. "I said... you can do better. Harder."

Rafe let out a low, disbelieving chuckle, his grip on your waist flexing in a way that made your body tense instinctively. "Careful, baby," he murmured, his voice rough, edged with warning. "You sure you want that?"

You nodded, biting your bottom lip as you met his gaze, refusing to back down. "Yeah. I can take it."

Rafe's smirk faltered, just for a moment, before he shook his head faintly, a dark laugh escaping his lips. "You're gonna regret that," he muttered under his breath.

And then he slid his dick deeper in you somehow.

You barely had time to react before Rafe's grip tightened, lifting you higher against him like you weighed nothing at all. The sharp motion pulled a gasp from your lips, your arms clinging to his shoulders as he carried you across the deck, his strides purposeful, controlled.

"Rafe-"

"Quiet," he muttered, his voice a low growl as he smirked up at you. "You wanted it harder, didn't you slut? You're about to get exactly what you asked for."

Your heart pounded in your chest, heat rushing to your cheeks as he brought you to another part of the boat-somewhere darker, quieter, more secluded. He moved quickly, his steps barely faltering even with you still wrapped around him.

When he finally stopped, Rafe lowered you just enough to set you down, your back pressing against something solid. Before you could catch your breath, he was on you again

—hands gripping your hips, his muscular body fully on top of your soft brown curves, his dick buried all the way in you until there wasn't a single inch of space left between you. He had you in the mating press.

"You’re talking a lot of shit right now," Rafe muttered, his breath hot against your ear as his hands slid over your waist, his touch firm, almost possessive. "Let's see if you can back it up."

You gasped softly, your body arching instinctively into his as he pushed you further into the wall, his deep strokes deliberate, controlled, like he knew exactly what he was doing.

The way he touched you-how steady his hands were, how easily he found every sensitive spot-made your head spin. But when his palm flattened against your tiny stomach intentionally, pressing down just enough to remind you of how much space his dick took up in your body, it stole every ounce of breath from your lungs.

You let out a sharp gasp, your fingers digging into his shoulders as your knees went weak beneath you.

Rafe froze for a moment, his smirk growing wider as he tilted his head to meet your gaze.

"Feel that?" he murmured, his voice rough and low, satisfaction dripping from every word. "That's my dick your stomach, baby."

“Rafe…Rafe…you’re so deep. Fuck.” You whimper frantically, your breath coming in soft, shaky pants as his hand lingered there, deliberate and teasing. The fire inside you burned hotter, overwhelming every sense until all you could think about was him —the way he touched you, the way he teased you, the way he ruined you without even trying.

"You still think I'm holding back, huh?" Rafe asked softly, his tone taunting, dangerous as she lightly slaps her face making her whine.

You shook your head quickly, your lips parting as you whispered, "No…fuck…daddy”

Rafe chuckled darkly, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth as he muttered, "Good girl."

And just like that, the teasing stopped.

Rafe didn't hold back anymore-not when he gripped you tighter, not when he moved with a rougher, more demanding rhythm that sent waves of pleasure crashing through you. He was relentless, controlled but wild, his strength keeping you exactly where he wanted you-wrapped around him, completely at his mercy.

Your soft gasps and whines only spurred him on, his lips brushing against your ear, your jaw, your neck as he groaned softly against your skin.

"You're gonna remember this," he muttered, his voice rough and strained. "I'm not lettin' you forget how good I make you feel."

You didn't think you could. Not when your body melted into his, every nerve alight with sensation, every deep stroke pulling you further into the haze that only he could create.

He kissed you then, deep and unrelenting, his hands holding you steady as you wrapped yourself tighter around him, desperate to feel him closer.

Rafe was losing it. No one had ever made him feel this out of control before. The haze of the weed still wrapped around his mind, amplifying every sound, every movement, every little noise that escaped your lips as you clung to him like he was your lifeline.

And maybe he was.

"Fuck," he groaned, his voice rough and low as his hands tightened on your hips, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. "You're so goddamn tight. Bet no one's ever fucked you like this, huh?"

“No…only you Rafe.” You whimpered softly in response, your fingers slipping into the short strands of his buzzcut as your body arched against him.

His strength was overwhelming, his grip firm and unrelenting as he moved you effortlessly, the sound of skin meeting skin sharp in the quiet air.

"You hear that?" Rafe muttered, his blue eyes dark and wild as he tilted his head to look at you. "That sound? That's you, baby. That's all you."

You whimpered again, your brown cheeks flushing as his words sent a rush of heat curling low in your stomach. The buzz of the Sativa made every touch, every sound, every sensation feel sharper, more intense, and you couldn't get enough of him.

"Fuck," Rafe hissed, his teeth clenching as your body tightened around him instinctively.

His hands flexed on your waist, dragging you closer as he growled, "You do that shit on purpose, don't you?"

Your lips parted, a breathless gasp spilling from you as you met his sharp gaze.

"Maybe," you whispered, the weed making you bolder than you'd ever been before.

Rafe's smirk stretched wider, cruel and dangerous, as he pressed his forehead against yours. "You're a little fuckin' slut, you know that?" he muttered, his tone sharp but dripping with satisfaction. "Tryin' to get me to cum in you. That's what you want, huh?"

You nodded faintly, your breath hitching as his grip on your waist tightened again, holding you steady as he shifted slightly, teasing you with just enough pressure to make you gasp.

"Say it," Rafe demanded, his voice rough, taunting. "Tell me what you want, baby. Don't make me guess."

"I want you, Rafe," you murmured, your voice trembling but eager.

He chuckled darkly, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he muttered, "You've already got me. Now tell me what you really want."

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding as the words spilled from your lips before you could stop them. "I want you to nut in me…please."

Rafe groaned loudly, his grip on your waist tightening as his blue eyes blazed with heat.

"Fuck, baby," he muttered, his teeth grazing your jaw as he pressed you closer. "You want me to cum in you, huh? That's what you're beggin' for?"

"Yes daddy," you gasped, your voice breaking as his movements grew rougher, more deliberate.

The sharp slap of skin meeting skin echoed in the small space, sending heat rushing through you as Rafe groaned again, his hands gripping your waist like he couldn't get enough of you. The buzz of the Sativa only heightened the intensity, leaving you both drowning in the heat and fire between you.

"You feel so fuckin' good," Rafe growled, his voice strained as he held you tighter, his lips brushing against your neck. "Takin' my dick so well, baby. Fuck-squeezin' me like you don't wanna let go."

Your soft cries and whimpers spurred him on, his strength terrifying yet thrilling as he moved you exactly how he wanted, the rhythm relentless. The tension in your body built higher, every nerve alight with sensation as the fire between you burned brighter.

"Rafe," you gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders as your body trembled against his.

His lips curved into a smirk, his blue eyes locking onto yours as he muttered, "Say my name again, baby. Say it louder."

"Rafe!" you cried, your voice breaking as his grip on your waist flexed again, pulling another soft gasp from your lips.

"That's it," he growled, his teeth dragging over your bottom lip as his movements grew sharper, hungrier. "You're mine tonight, baby.

You know that? Fuckin' mine."

You nodded weakly, your breaths coming in short, shaky pants as the tension unraveled, leaving nothing but the haze of pleasure and the feeling of him everywhere.

When the tension finally snapped, pulling a soft cry from your lips, Rafe cursed loudly, his jaw tightening as his grip on your waist faltered slightly. "Fuck," he muttered, his voice rough and strained as his dick pulsed in you, making a mess in your pussy with his cum.

You intentionally tightened your thighs around him, greedy. You wanted every drop.

Rafe groaned again, his head falling forward against your shoulder as he muttered,

"Holy shit. You’re trying to drain my life away aren’t you?”

You giggle softly between rapid breaths as you reached up to run your hand through his hair until you both caught your breath.

The world felt still. The haze of the Sativa had faded, leaving behind only the soft sounds of the night and the steady rhythm of the waves rocking the boat. The intensity of the night hung in the air, thick and unspoken, and the heat that had once consumed both of you was now replaced with something quieter.

————

You lay against Rafe's chest, your body limp and trembling from exhaustion. Every inch of you ached in ways you hadn't expected. His strength had been overwhelming-almost too much-but somehow, he'd been everything you didn't know you wanted.

But now, the buzz was gone, and reality was creeping back in.

You felt his arm tighten around you as he shifted slightly, the movement careful, like he didn't want to disturb you. You weren't sure what to say-or if you even could say anything. Your legs felt useless, every muscle sore, and the faint sensation of him still lingering inside you made your cheeks burn.

Rafe noticed. Of course he did.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, his voice low and rough. He tilted his head to look down at you, his blue eyes darker now, softer in the dim light. "You okay?"

You hesitated, your lips parting as you tried to find the words. But instead of answering, you winced slightly as you shifted, your thighs trembling beneath you.

"Thought so," Rafe muttered, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. But the teasing edge was gone now, replaced with something quieter. Something almost...concerned.

He moved quickly, lifting you with the same ease he'd had all night, though his touch was gentler now. "You can't walk, can you?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.

You shook your head faintly, your body burning as you whispered, "No."

Rafe's smirk returned, just barely, as he carried you across the deck. "You should've thought about that before beggin' me for more," he muttered, though his tone lacked the sharpness it usually held.

You glared at him weakly, your voice soft but still defiant. "You didn't exactly stop me."

Rafe chuckled low, the sound rumbling in his chest as he stepped into the small cabin below deck. "Fair point."

He set you down carefully on the small bench near the bed, his hands lingering on your waist as if to steady you. His sharp blue eyes scanned over you, taking in every detail

-your disheveled black hair, your smeared lip gloss, your trembling legs, the faint dark bruises on your soft brown skin, the way you winced slightly when you moved.

"Stay here," he muttered, his tone softer now, almost an order.

You nodded faintly, your voice barely above a whisper. "Okay."

Rafe disappeared for a moment, and you heard the sound of running water from somewhere deeper in the cabin. When he returned, he was holding a damp towel, his expression unreadable as he knelt in front of you.

You blinked at him, startled. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" he muttered, his voice gruff as he lifted your leg slightly, his touch gentle. "You're a fuckin' mess."

“Thanks…I guess.” You say sarcastically as you rolled your eyes at the bluntness, but you didn't stop him as he cleaned you up carefully, his rough hands surprisingly tender as they worked.

The towel was warm, soothing against your sore brown skin, and you let out a soft sigh as the tension in your body began to ease.

"Better?" Rafe asked, his voice quieter now as he looked up at you.

You nodded, your lips curling faintly into a small, tired smile. "Yeah. Thanks."

Rafe didn't respond right away. He tossed the towel aside, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before he muttered, "You're leaking my cum, you know."

Your eyes widened and you had began to sweat almost immediately, and you looked away, embarrassed. "Rafe-"

"What?" he teased, though his smirk was softer now, less cruel. "It's true."

You didn't respond, your fingers twisting nervously in your lap as you avoided his gaze. But then you felt his hand on your chin, tilting your face up to meet his.

"Hey," Rafe muttered, his voice softer now, his blue eyes searching yours. "You good, Heyward?" You hesitated, the weight of the night pressing down on you as you nodded faintly.

"Yeah. I think so."

Rafe studied you for a moment longer before nodding, his hand dropping back to his side as he stood. "Good. Get some rest," he muttered, his tone gruff as he turned away.

You blinked at him, surprised. "You're leaving?"

Rafe glanced back at you, his smirk faint but still present. "I'll be right here," he said, gesturing toward the small chair by the bed.

"Just didn't think you'd want me all over you right now."

You swallowed hard, your voice soft as you whispered, "I don't mind."

Rafe paused, his smirk faltering slightly as he looked at you. For a moment, the sharp edges of him softened, and he nodded faintly before sitting beside you on the bench.

He didn't say anything else, and neither did you. The silence stretched between you, heavy but not uncomfortable, as you leaned against his shoulder, your body still trembling slightly from the aftermath of the night.

And for now, that was enough.

[iwaasfairy]

┌─ “ ! „ FLUIDITY

tw. dubcon, monsterfucking, explicit size kink, interspecies sex, reader has sex pollen like effects, communication barrier, manipulation, yandere (other parts will contain a lot more explicit dark kinks so please read every individual part's warnings!) wordcount. 8.7k

part 1 of —

a/n. ♡♡ thank you so much rhi for keeping me going through this, idk if i would have pushed through if not for you so ily ily ily and this fic is just indulgence as a period piece and a monsterfucking fic but i hope you give it a chance and like it bc there's moresomes a-coming and this is just the beginning so! yeA i hope you guys enjoy mwuah mwuah mwuah ♡♡

tachibana makoto x fem!reader ( x other characters coming)

Dragonflies glint the prettiest, richest silver you’ve ever seen under the right light. The rosy evening sun casts the entire river into a blooming glow— complete with a soft blanket of fog that rolls along the base of the trees. “Your maiden servants worry about you, you know,” a voice softly calls, and the rustle of shrubbery makes you turn.

You don’t really want to know how long the man’s been guarding you without a word. If it were anyone but one of your father’s most trusted men, you’d probably have some distrust. Instead you only pull your knees to your chest, and continue tossing rocks into the babbling brook.

“Lady, it’ll get dark soon. Your parents don’t want you playing out here so late.”

The small area isn’t open enough to lure any visitors. You’d be fine. Still, you slowly bob your head, waiting for him to step away from the tree edge into the river bank with you. “I had a weird dream, only it didn’t feel like a dream.” The reeds sway in the wind, and you almost let the perfect surrounding whisk away the thought. But the man’s hand drops from his sword, and he gives the faintest of nods. “There was a monster here when I fell asleep— one with a huge mouth packed full of teeth. I saw eyes in the water, and hair so long it covered its whole body.” The tart remnants of your delicately applied makeup wash away as you swallow. “I think- it was a yokai.”

“There’s no yokai here, lady,” he patiently responds, and you turn to him better. This time taking a proper look. If the damp hair tied in a bun is anything to go off of, he was most likely called out of his bath to come out looking for you. You bite your lip, apology lingering on your tongue. But that’s where it stays, as the man continues. “There’s monsters only where people don’t go. You needn’t worry.”

“Are you comforting me?” A slight giggle passes your lips before you can help it. “I know you think I’m lying. You don’t believe anything you don’t see with your own eyes.”

“... It’s not for a lack of trying.” He smooths a hand over his hakama, before resting it back on the pristine handle of his sword. The dragonflies buzz over the low edge of the water, and your feet ache a little from the cold. You’d love to ask to be carried right about now, but spare the poor man the effort. It’s the least you can do. After another few minutes of silence and watching the sun disappear entirely below the tree line, he finally clears his voice. “Come on, lady. We should really get back. You’re precious to your parents. You’re precious to us all. I can’t leave you here.”

This river runs from the high mountains all the way through the small lake that borders the gates of your home; and all the way down the lowlands— and it’s said that on the day of your birth the river flooded, and provided the most bountiful harvest of the last few decades. Even as a child, there was no ignoring the gleeful whispering of the ladies, nor the calculated introductions of sons of poorer lords at every birthday or feast. Some day not too long from now you will get married and spread providence over the land… and there won’t be time for napping by rivers or running off half-dressed into the forest.

Somehow, despite the honor, a small part of you goes cold at that. The water glistens under the last of the light— and you take a long look into the deep of it. The eyes the color of hot coals flash through your mind once more, and you start pulling the fabrics of your dresses aside to put your zori back on. “I know it was a monster- but-” The wind picks up when you turn over your shoulder and smile your most genuine smile. “I wasn’t scared, I think. Perhaps it was friendly.”

The guard is quiet as he watches you get up from the riverbank, and sticks a comfortable distance after helping you gently up onto your feet. You suppose he doesn’t really have the heart, or perhaps confidence, to tell you what he really thinks of your childish talk. The barely-there path back to your home has you growing much more tired— as if weights are tied to your legs. You wish you could stay. The moss crunches softly under your feet, and the dewy air starts to feel a bit cold to the touch. Despite everything, it’s always peaceful here. You cast a brief glance up to the man as he pushes the shrubbery aside. His face has a vacant sort of look, until he catches you looking, and his mouth curls up. “I’ll tell your maiden servants to prepare a purifying ritual for you.”

“Ugh, no, please. Anything but that.”

+

“The koi fish aren’t around anymore, are they, lady?” There’s a slight hesitation in her voice as your maid walks up.

You nod, lift your sleeves to brush your fingers through the water and wait. You got them as a present for your coming of age festivities— the most beautiful blue grey with red fins— much too expensive for your liking but a courting gift nonetheless. You’d been quite fond of the walks out of your houses’ walls because of them. The feed floats sadly on the surface of the inlet, where the clear river water shows no sign at all of the normally curious animals. “It seems like they’ve gone.” What a shame.

Your other maiden scans the area, before rushing to help you up onto your feet as she lowers her head. “Should we ask the master to procure some more? We know feeding the fish brings you much joy.”

The girl helps to fix your sleeves again, before awaiting your call. “No, that’s quite alright. There’s no use replacing a gift.” You cast a wary glance at the bay once more, not quite sure what you’re looking for; but fail to find anything out of the ordinary. A sight furrow comes to your brow, before you hike up your layers of skirts- much to the shock of your two servants- and turn to them with a softer smile. “I would like to be alone for a bit—”

“Lady!” one of them squeaks, but you only laugh.

“I am certain, Hitsu. Tell my father I will be home before tea and dinner, and if you could prepare my bath…” The dark brunette has a question on her tongue, but does nod with the same trained properness that you’ve come to know. “I simply wish to walk along the river, I won’t swim. It’ll be quick, I promise.” It’s not a lie. You have no intention of ruining your beautiful, expensive clothing by going any further than a shallow few steps. But there’s a nagging memory somewhere in the back of your mind— 

You used to have so many dreams, all of them now too faint to recall. Both young ladies give each other a look, before eventually bowing deeply and heading back towards the palace gates.

See, that nagging sense that you’re forgetting something important, something crucial, overcomes you. It’s almost impossible to ignore, and you kick off your shoes to tread carefully along the edge of the deep pool of fresh spring water. The moss is soft under your feet, keeping a tight grip on your embroidered silks.

When you were only a few years old, you used to have these dreams. Dreams of drowning, of ghouls and demons. They grew scarcer the older you got, and eventually even the weekly purification spells and chants became declared unnecessary. But where the memories once sat, now only a blank hole remains in your mind. And however hard you try to remember, you can never quite get there. You make it to the sloped edge of the river not much later, stepping up the small sputtering waterfall and a few round stones between stray bamboo— nearly still water pooling at your feet.

It’s chilly, but not freezing. Something scratches in the back of your skull, deep down. It trickles down your neck, and with a steady heartbeat, it breathes.

But you can’t catch the thought, and the harder you try, the cloudier it becomes— eventually you click your tongue and start walking along the water edge up stream. You should look for your fish. If they swam out of the inlet somehow, maybe they’d be around. They are, much like you are, bred for captivity and wouldn’t survive too long on their own. The sun casts warm spring rays onto your skin, walking in much needed solitude. When you barely realize you’ve spaced out, you’ve already made it to a bend in the river where peach blossoms float on the otherwise pristine surface of the water— and despite your previous care, you drop your dress.

The blossoms swirl in slow circles. And a raindrop lands on your nose. 

Arms, wrapped tight around your chest. Claws. Wide lashless eyes.

Something floods your brain so suddenly that you stumble back a few steps and gasp, sucking in a breath.

It was here. You can’t exactly make out what, but your gut recognizes the trees, the scraggly stones sticking out of the water. Your lungs full of water, and hands all over.

Bumps rise all over your back as you look around, and water seeps up along your tarikubi robe. It’s so quiet, and the stillness starts to trouble with each droplet that comes down. But you breathe. You’ve been here, perhaps more than once, and the aching, pressing itch deep in your head grows more unbearable. When a metallic flicker catches your eyes, you glance down. The rain now starts up more properly, and though the trees provide some shelter, there’s no hiding away from the cold as you walk in just deep enough to bend and pick up a dainty golden chain from between the smooth rocks.

It’s fine like thread, and cold to the touch, and though you can’t quite explain it; something about this finely crafted piece is familiar too. Even through the rain and the chills crawling all the way up your spine, you study the necklace closer. The intricate detail is almost too pristine.

A soft splash on the other side of the river startles you— The sudden scare makes you lose your balance and fall back onto your lower end. Hard. The ache immediately has you whimpering, but instead of worrying about the pain, you slowly try to catch yourself on the rocks; pained enough in the motion that you swear — you see a person diving underneath the water edge. Something pale and fast. You scream, and whatever you saw dashes away before you can think about doing different. The blossoms drift off as you scramble back up; your bruised palms sting, and your heartbeat still hammers hard in your throat when the silence returns.

But the blurry flash of maroon hair and fiery red eyes you caught is long gone.

And much too soon, the clouds that had seemed so fluffy and beautiful earlier turn a dreary grey. You turn on your heel and book it back down the river side on bare feet— still clamping the chain between your fingers.

+

The wick of your lantern splutters with thick oil as you fail to catch sleep. Even with the spring weather it’s chilly, with you remaining wrapped under a thick blanket. You breathe a long sigh, and listen to the crackling of the candle beside your bed in the absence of any other sound. The earlier lecture of your father, your mother, and even the normally quiet and collected matron of the house still lingers on your mind— it’s not like you can blame anyone. You wouldn’t be the first stupid, brazen young girl who happened to drown, and despite the quiet lives most girls like you live, you most likely won’t be the last.

You shouldn’t have been out there. Your servants had been ghastly pale from fright upon seeing the state in which you returned, and even the thorough scrubbing and hours-long bath didn’t do much to alleviate the ache in your lower back.

Despite all that, you’re stuck. Eyes -monstrous, unnatural eyes- appear in the crevices of your mind each time you close your own. No amount of prayer makes the longing fade, and the longer you lay here, the deeper they seem to dig into your flesh. Goosebumps crawl all over your skin once more. When you throw your blankets off you, you go digging in one of the woven baskets for the thickest bland garments you’ve got— tying them around your hips until you’re dressed enough to peer out into the hall. The frigid air current howls through the house when you gather your lantern, some woven socks, and after a brief bit of deliberation; snatch the golden chain from beside your pillow.

The palace is quiet at night, an almost eerie sort of calm that is broken only by the soft ‘pats’ of your feet on the hardwood— with the lanterns barely providing enough light to see a good arms length at a time. The wind pushes you forward, nuzzling deeper into the collar of your clothing until you make it outside. Even under the starry sky, there’s no doubt that this is a stupid idea. No good can come from nightly outings — though you’ve seen girls come and go in similar ways under the cover of night, you’re quite sure their purpose was less out-for-trouble than you are now. But what else can you do?

How could you ever sleep soundly not knowing what’s out there.

With only the flickering reflection on the water, you bow before your home— you’d be back soon enough. You love your clan— and you have no intention of getting caught in long lectures twice in a night. The guards at the gates have no way of noticing you as you slip into the brush and cover the lamp from sight, as cold breaths form clouds before your eyes.

Your legs move almost instinctively until you come upon the peach tree, and the pretty white flowers rain down with the breeze. You place the candle by your feet; and hesitate before taking your own seat on a round rock right by the water edge. You’ve never seen a yokai. Not that you can remember at the very least, but if you would have-you didn’t expect to here. Not the river that blessed your birth, or the one who gives everyone life by way of harvest. Maybe what you saw was a farmer bathing, or a particularly pale, large cod— wouldn’t that make more sense. Isn’t that exactly why you didn’t tell your father?

Because naïvity and silly wonder seems better than monsters lurking among the shrub.

Sadly, but perhaps unsurprisingly, a soft splashing in the water sets every hair on your body upright— and your mouth goes dry. It’s so dark. So awfully dark that it’s hard to see even past your own feet, if not for the broken reflection of your candle in the water. You know it's there. You feel it, by the rancid sort of churning in your stomach, the rapid beating of your heart. You swallow the tightness in your throat as best you can. “I’ve come to return your necklace. I didn’t mean to steal it, so I’ve come to give it back.” You wish you could let your eyes grow used to the dark, but without candle light, it’d be so much harder to get back home in one piece.

After just the sounds of the river drag on, you slowly take another breath, and try to bite back the wetness that rises every time you try and fail to find the eyes you know are looking at you. “I don’t wish to harm anyone.” The wind seems to howl harder across the river, and you can’t fight the horrible visions of monsters all around you, just there in the darkness; tightening your hands into fists. “So I wish you would not harm me either. You can have it back.” Your hand shakes when you hold out the chain above the water— not nearly far enough for anything to reach it without coming into your sight. But you’re too frightened to go any deeper, and your lungs tighten.

“Please, I-”

The peaceful spluttering of the water is suddenly disrupted by a much louder splashing, and you freeze up with a sharp gasp, shoulders trembling despite yourself. You don’t dare move any more than that— only after a minute or so of silence, you continue. “Hello? Don’t you want your necklace back?”

The reeds shake in the wind, and one of the blossoms brushes along your cheek as it falls into your crouched lap. Your breathing is tense enough to almost hide the little mumble that reaches back. It’s soft, sweet like dripping honey, and makes your whole spine tingle. “We want.”

If you had any less sense, you’d probably run right back home. But the idea of moving is too terrifying, so you’re stuck rooted in place as you take a breath. The voice sounds young enough, but the Japanese is distinctly older than your own dialect, rolling off the tongue with a vague foreign lilt— and it takes your frightened brain a little longer than you want to process that the voice isn’t simply human. When another little splash sounds a bit closer, you pull your outstretched hand back to your chest. “Can you see me?” Your own voice wavers when trying to make out any shape in the river. Alas, it’s just so dark that any further effort hurts your eyes.

“Yes.”

“I’ve come to give back your necklace. I got scared and took it, I’m sorry. I mean no harm-”

“He told.” The voice is unbearably clear. Almost like it’s being spoken directly into your head, even though it’s just a mere whisper among the rippling water. It’s distracting, and feels ice cold between your ears.

“Who’s he?” you try, biting your lip. The river seems to stare back at you, and you can’t do anything but hope you aren’t making some horrible mistake. Are you supposed to talk to the monsters that go bump in the night? “I- I don’t know where you are, I can’t see you.” Despite the soft, gentle nature of the voice, your heart patters wildly, unable to let go of your fear when there’s another closer splash. You must only be a dozen feet away from each other now, and still you can’t even see past the water at your toes. The voice stays quiet for a while.

“You don’t see is … better.”

You don’t respond for even longer. But for whatever reason, you almost want to agree. Not seeing, he almost sounds like a childhood friend of yours. The soft, honeyed words aren’t so frightening when you can’t see what they’re being spoken by; and you gather your last bit of courage to softly open your palm out again towards the night. “I’ll throw it over to you. Can you catch it?”

“No ‘throw’.” The -whatever- struggles with the word as he says it, before going quiet. You’re not sure if he doesn’t want you to throw it, or he simply doesn’t understand— so you just bite your lip and wait for any further comments that eventually do follow. “You put paw- h-hand.” Then, after another breath, “Come.” With a slight tremble in your voice, you breathe out a little laugh. You are really being asked to be braver than any girl with sense would— dragging your lantern closer over the pebbles until it’s right by your feet. Cursing yourself, you blink back nervous tears, trembling as you hike up the edge of your skirts, just the tiniest bit, and place only one foot into the shallowest part of the river for stability.

Your hand drops halfway outstretched, and you watch the flame where she glints back on the chain.

More splashing makes way for a more disturbing sound once it surfaces, of a body dragging over the shallow of the river towards you, scraping along the blunt stones— and you almost dart away when the sound comes close enough to reach. But your fingertips are almost frozen solid when another hand comes ever faintly into view, and wetness drops into your palm. To call it a hand is gracious, you decide. There’s longer digits, clawed, and webbed between each bony finger, and the wet glossy skin is more curved spike than thumb. The paw slides carefully along your hand, swiping up the chain as it goes— and leaves a cold coating all over your palm that you snatch back too quickly.

It’s unbearable to stay so close to something and not see it now, and you quickly hurry back to the safety of your rock as the same shuffling goes back to the water. Your heartbeat’s in your throat, and you can’t find any polite words to offer it until the yokai speaks again.

“Rin present, with- no, f-for you. You give present back, make happy. I am thank you.” You’re welcome, you think, but you barely manage to paint on a little smile before wringing your hands together and picking your lantern back up for safekeeping.

“I’m heading home now. If I’m not back soon my guards will find out.” It doesn’t feel entirely appropriate to thank it for not killing you when it had ample chance to, so you stay quiet. But there’s also a sense of gratitude that washes over you. Soon you’ll be back in bed like all of this was a dream. That seems right. That seems good. Your tongue lingers on your words. “You … What's your name?” The river bank feels much safer now you’re back on solid ground, and you can see the peach blossoms you almost slipped on.

There’s another long pause, where you almost make a run for it back all the way home, before the voice sounds out again from the dark— sugary sweet in its tone.

“Makoto.”

+

You’re pretty sure you should be questioning your own sanity. Everyone else wouldn’t hesitate to, and after the few restless nights you’ve had, you should be staying as far away as you can. But curiosity, mixed with a slight sense of obligation, has you walking the river bank like a little droplet flowing back to the sea. The quiet, scruffy man following behind doesn’t say much… never does, and you can’t say you dislike it. But you feel the glances your way, distracting you. Soon you find yourself clearing your voice. “You’re wondering why I’m walking this same path again?”

The older man only hesitates for a moment. “No, lady.”

“Sure you are. I would wonder if I were you.” There’s a faint smile that makes its way up, glancing out over the babbling brook to your left as grass tickles your ankles. “Not too long now and I’ll be engaged…” The peach blossoms above are almost done blooming— and you’ve never known your father to be an indecisive man. “Walking gives me a little break from all the fussing attendants, and father's advisors. Which is why it’d be even better if I were alone-”

It doesn’t take much pushback at all for the man to stop in place and give you a little look, resting his hand on the handle of his sword. “Lady.”

“Oh, please Azuma-san, we’ve had this same conversation for years.”

“I am not to leave you unprotected-”

You turn on your heel to face him. “I want to swim.” The stubborn frown on his face doesn’t move an inch, as your eyes go a little more puppy-esque. You have to know, so you have to lie. It doesn’t bring you joy either, but you might go insane if you have to live with questions for the next twenty years barred in some fancy prison of your future husband’s making. “-Swim right here. Without my very expensive clothing getting ruined.” Still that stone wall refuses to budge, and you throw your last bit of dignity into the ring. If this was anyone else you’d never hear the end of your unrefined words. “So I am going to get undressed.”

“—Ag-lright, just quiet. Your servants hear you and I’ll be lynched in the square.” He sighs deeply, rubbing his hand over his scruff, then gives a little bow. He wants nothing more than to roll his eyes when you offer back a self-satisfied grin, but instead takes a few steps the way you came with a stern look. “I’ll ask one of your maiden servants to make her way over here.”

“Don’t tell her to hurry!” you chant back, only taking off the heaviest layer of clothing once he’s out of sight. You lay it safe out of reach, before kicking off your shoes and socks and waddling towards the big stones again. Sure enough, the river here is a lot deeper than it looks. There’s a ledge in the pool that’s dark enough for almost any kind of monster to hide. This at least means your midnight escape wasn’t a total delusion. The peaceful sway of water grass settles when you dip your toes in the water, and wonder. There’s only a brief few minutes where you sit to think, before a slight thrashing once again captures your attention.

Only when you look up, the river is still, safe for a few tiny fish jumping out of the water. You get up, and tie your skirts up higher to inspect. A large maroon shape darts away into the darkness before you can take a good look, splashing droplets all over the river bank— and you hold your breath. You aren’t crazy. That definitely was much larger than any fish you’ve ever seen, and such a brilliant color that nothing but yokai could possess it. Brighter than all the finest silks, shimmering like a mirror. You wait for what could be a few seconds or an hour, before… someone- something else starts coming up from the darkness.

The olive-golden glitter rises so slow you have no choice but to take in another breath, but luckily don’t scare it away. His light chestnut hair is chopped short-ish, and a strangely human face— with cloudy black eyes, and green gashes either side of his neck— where he hovers below the water surface. It’s not human though. The eyes are big, round and deer-like, nose flatter, and his skin seems almost pearlescent. You don’t have the ability to think if you’re brave or just frozen solid. But whatever the case, the humanesque monster seems to stare for quite a while before judging it safe enough to approach.

It’s only then that you get to see the full extent of his body, scaled from ribs down, with a snake-like bottom half that’s at least longer than your entire body, and ending in a beautiful fish-like tail that feathers out in glittering threads. “Oh…” you breathe, and your arms wrap around yourself for protection, but you still don’t move further. Can’t, more like.

The half-man is close enough -and real enough- to feel a bit nauseating. Close enough to set every hair on your body on end and have your heartbeat a wild patter. But it’s the voice that really makes you feel frigid, gulping for air when that soothing tone comes out of a monstrous mouth. Whatever you had expected to see… wasn’t this. You can’t make out if the near-resemblance is comforting, or more frightening. You shiver at the black tongue, against porcelain white teeth.

“You come back.”

Your nod is hesitant, and you fidget with your jewelry in an attempt to calm your nerves. “I- wanted to see who I’d been talking to, that night. I haven’t slept well since then.”

He hoists himself a little further out of the water onto both hands, clawed and boney. “That was you, right? Makoto?” The brunet only gives a single nod of response, and doesn’t take his dark eyes off you for a second. And you want to laugh, though it isn’t too funny. The scene is just so absurd that you have nothing else to do, but laugh. “Isn’t this weird, talking to each other? How come yokai speak Japanese?” your voice comes, and you only hear how childish you sound when it seems to hang over the river without answer.

Out of all the questions you can ask, that’s what is most important to you? Makoto is gracious as he scoots a little closer once again, scraping his long, heavily muscled tail up over the pebbles and stones. “I listen very many year. Always listen, listen woman, listen warrior, listen you.” He blinks, and blondish lashes are the only normality you have staring back at him. “All can’t speak like me. I -hmm, pras-”

“Practice?” you try, and he clearly agrees when his tail pats happily on the ground. When you smile, he grins back wide and kind, his teeth are much sharper than yours. There’s something so human about the look, that you feel your muscles unwind a little further. You suppose, if he wasn’t so strange looking, with the wrong shades and fins here and there; he’d be quite handsome. He’d go over well with the maiden servants in the clan, too. “Many years, huh? Then- How old are you?”

“Hmmm- old. Very…” He doesn’t seem it, though. You avert your eyes when the water flicks over your feet, slowly dropping your shoes to the side. When you look back, he’s gotten closer yet, and is reaching out his hand towards the edge of the water, towards you. Despite your hesitation, and slight disgust— scaly and seemingly frost bitten pale lips, and unnatural greenish marks along his neck that flare out and in— there’s something that makes you want to follow.

A call, or instinct, to glide into the water and feel it embrace you. “You want come in?” he prompts, softly, and you do. You aren’t much of a swimmer even in high summer, and yet. You find yourself closing the distance and reaching out for his hand, letting your fingertips glide along as you get up to your knees into the water, and then get pulled along further step by unsure step. “Good, come.”

“Ah- it’s cold!” you squeak, but Makoto’s fingers wrap around your hand to support you even when you get almost up to your chest into the river, water crawling up your clothing and making your chest feel tight. “Sh- it's so cold.”

“Water not cold. You warm.” Only when he comes up in front of you do you truly notice how much bigger he is. His hands dwarf yours, and even though you’re higher up, his tail is curved aside to fit on the ground so he stares down at you— covering the sun from your view. He towers over any man you’ve ever seen, and his human-esque top half is still much broader than most. Like a hard plane of muscle, marked with thousands of golden freckles that shift in color the longer you look.

Shivers climb up your legs, and the water seeps your energy out of you. Wrapping your free arm around yourself, you rub some heat into your skin. Those pale lashes flutter as he gives you a half lidded glance, and the freckles that also go across his cheeks color a little more amber. “Lady is … cute.” Large hands suddenly slide along your sides up, before dragging over your shoulders and slowly taking your clothing with it, removing one of a few layers as he leans in. “Here, better without.”

“Oh. No- I don’t- think-”

“Shhh. Better, I know,” he seems to get closer, even though you are too busy staring back into the darkness of his eyes to really notice; and let him untie the robes enough to toss it towards the water edge. Then he pauses, and gets up higher onto his coiled tail to pull another layer off and throw it. Until you’re left standing in only your flimsier linen undergarb, and you’re suddenly much too aware of how peaked your nipples are against the scratchy fabric. But his hands slide up along your thighs to start peeling that off too, when you grab for him and shake your head.

Makoto insists. “No cold when not -this.” His hands keep going up even with your pressure on them.

Having a night encounter with a man is one thing, but you don’t know how you’d ever explain this if someone saw. You can’t dart away in a flash and escape the consequences. You have to go home after this. “I need my clothes to go back—” you quickly beg, ignoring the soft pads of his fingers along your upper thighs, “and if people see- Makoto, please.” Your whole body aches with the cold, and though the touch feels nice, it doesn’t seem right. Your nakedness isn’t a simple thing, even if his is.

“Clothes heavy. Water don’t like clothes.” He turns you around and you lose your footing on the stable flooring, arms quickly clinging onto his wide shoulders for support— it does make his point. Your clothes are incredibly heavy soaked, and pull down on you as strong arms ever so slowly wrap around your waist; nose only a few inches from yours. You can’t help it, your face gets hot. Cheeks, ears, nose- everything starts getting a distracting warm glow that you do your best to ignore, pulling your lip between your teeth. Even so, he seems to look down at you with intrigue, water reflecting in the black of his eyes. “What?”

“You’re very close…” you confess, and also try to release some of the tightness of your embrace— but amusement only brings him closer. He tilts his head, before leaning in until your foreheads meet, and the cooler skin consumes you. “Makoto-sama-”

“Human kiss, hm?” He’s so close, and his mouth is right there -and though you have no clue why, you really want to. The thought is almost as real as the air you breathe, feeling his hands roam all over your body through the soaked linen. Your voice doesn’t make it out when you nod, but he still lifts you into his chest, and your fingertips dig into his shoulders instinctively. “Show me how to kiss? You little one -hmm- good- fit.” You can’t help it, in place of physical heat there’s a sort of aching fire that spreads through your limbs the longer you stay close— and once you start you can’t stop.

Your mouth meets his first, lips moving with yours as his arms squeeze tighter; but when your tongue brushes his lips and meets his, he makes a noise. A low sort of purring that rattles his chest, and has him leaning in harder, trying to bury you into his body as your tongues brush and you suck and moan. His taste is mild but his tongue is heavy, and much longer than yours when it slips further into your mouth. Much longer, bigger, and the wetness soon has you feeling like you can’t breathe.

You pull back with a gasp, staring at the way his long tongue brushes along those sharp teeth before he leans in more. “Again.” You try to make some separation between your two bodies, but clearly Makoto doesn’t care for it when he clamps his hand down around your hip and kisses you more, melting to you as his tongue brushes against yours. He kisses like you’re the first and last thing he’s tasted, even when you moan a little whimper at the lack of air. His cold skin prickles against yours, grinding his waist against you slowly as your head pounds. Still, it feels good.

You don’t ever want to leave— and it’s this exact feeling that has you pulling back for air. You must be out of your mind. He stares with a blown out sort of hunger when you say his name again, and run your fingers along his shoulders up a little. “I’m going to get in trouble if someone finds me here- and- it’s not like we can—” Your cheeks get even hotter when you try to say the words, not even sure if he’d understand. Does a yokai’s understanding include human nighttimes? When he shows no intention of putting you down, you bury your face into his chest, feeling even smaller than before.

Though his skin is cold to the touch, there’s an intense amount of heat surging between you two, almost impossible to ignore— and the way you’re positioned against him, large arms caging you against his waist that pushes into you— doesn’t help anything. You can feel yourself get more slick each time you move your legs. He seems to chuckle when you groan- and as if sensing your train of thought, he rubs his nose along your ear and down the sensitive of your neck with a lower voice. “I want see. Human body so little. Want see it.”

That’s the tipping point. Every fiber in your being aches to obey, to let yourself get touched, seen, taken by him— and your mouth drops open a sliver as you struggle to find words. Your feet can’t reach the bottom here, and Makoto seems content to keep rubbing against you in a slow sea-saw motion that makes your center feel entirely hot. And eventually you crack. Blinking up at him, you breathe a faint “okay”, and let him turn you around. His hands are quick in their exploration, sliding under the last layer up your thighs, squeezing every few inches as he goes up. When he gets to your center, there’s a little flutter of his eyes, before those digits slide in and brush over your pussy, rubbing just soft enough to leave you wanting. “Warm,” he breathes, and then pulls you a little closer. “You do me too.”

As he pushes your last layer of clothing open fully and starts sliding it off your shoulders, you allow yourself just a little curiosity. He’s handsome, and he’s close, and you just feel so needy. Your breathing is still short against his chest, but your numb fingers glide down his sides with purpose as the muscles flex under your touch. His chest rumbles when you whine at the prodding and circling of his fingers around your dripping pussy, and you glide your hands down to his tail. The touch feels a little coarse, but he’s warmer there, and when you rub your palm over the area he’d been grinding into your waist, your fingers feel a softer, spongey slit. Makoto hisses when you rub a finger up and down, and you feel more heat burn onto your face. “Here?”

The question is answered when your finger slips in and is all hot, and something bumps you. But he picks you up and with one swift dash, lays you down on the river bank to get up between your legs. You need to open wide to allow him to fit, and can only whine out his name when the weight of his body over yours pushes you into the cold stones. He licks the air a few times, before grunting. You wish you could do anything other than just flush and look away when his hands descend onto your tits and start touching and rubbing, and the pressure leaves you all exposed. But it doesn’t take long for his attention to shift back to between your legs, and now with a better angle, he sinks down to nose below your navel. “Hmn-”

The purring is paired with a flaring of the gashes on his neck, and his eyes roll back. When his hands spread your legs up as wide as you can go, he nuzzles into you, and that long black tongue peeks out to lick slowly. You can’t help it, you moan. Loudly. It feels like a million pinpricks are traveling your body, as the very long, heavy tongue drags a long strip up your center, and then the tip of it laps at the wetness coating your hole— that quickly gets pushed open further with each sloppy lick. His tongue pushes inside you as he sucks and the feeling of something so hot and so- squirmy makes you squeeze your eyes closed. It’s too strange, but you can’t pull back.

Your hands even reach for his head to tangle your fingers in his hair and whine, your back curling from the floor. You’re drenched- no longer just water as your pussy clenches around his tongue that he forces in to lick places you’ve never been licked. Makoto wraps an arm around your thigh to pull it over his shoulder when you curl and wiggle against him- you can’t help it, it feels so good. Everything’s so sensitive, like your entire body’s been doused into hot water and you’re drowning— only difference is, you’re actively longing for more.

It’s better than any drink-induced daze, late night tussle with a stable boy. It’s even better than your own touch and mind, because he’s just so big and you’re so full, so hot. Your hips grind against his face when he sucks again, and his nose brushes your most sensitive area— and try not to let the water into your mouth when you yerk again. “Ah, ahg, Makoto-sama. I can’t- I can’t handle this much, please. Oh dear gods, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Ah-ughhh, f- ah, please -keep going.”

Your lower belly is wound so tight, and even the sound of his breathing against you feels good. You could melt into the floor with how much slick is coating your insides, dripping out of you around the suction on your cunt. And Makoto doesn’t have any intention of moving. Your mind aches— you want more. You want to wrap your entire body around him and come apart— as his large hands squeeze your thighs tight and wrap them around his head like he can’t get deep enough.

The sloppy, wet sounds of his face burying between your legs to stuff you full of tongue, licking and sucking at your sensitive pussy. It has your muscles so tight as you roll your hips against him, and you can’t stop shaking. “Oh, I’m g-gonna cum— I can’t! I can’t. It feels so- gud. Ah, ahh. What is happening?” When your fingers clench in his hair, he lets out a long, animalistic groan as he glances back up. Still his tongue isn’t fully inside you. “I can’t- Makoto, I can’t!” Even though he’s reaching further than fingers can, he’s still able to fold the deft black muscle over your clit and slot his lips around it to suck. Hard.

And your body can’t handle any more. While his heartbeat pulses through his tongue against your clit, everything goes white, your muscles clenching so hard it hurts. And your heart beats so hard it feels like it stops altogether. If you make any noise at all, you can’t hear yourself over the pounding in your head, rattling your body so hard that nothing except you and him exist. Your eyes are shut until you’re aware of how he grunts against you and pinpricks get too unbearable. But he doesn’t stop, lifting your body to his face and allowing you to ride out your orgasm against him for what feels like forever.

When you feel like you can hear yourself breathe again, you unwrap your legs from around his head. “I thought my heart was going to explode. If Hitsu knew…”

Your eyes are teary when they flutter open against the light, and the black abysses that stare back are barely narrowed slits. Dipping his gills into water briefly before getting up above you again, Makoto seems different. There’s something predatory that wasn’t there before. You can’t help but go quiet. As his hands drag your body down a few inches, you swallow. “Are you okay? Sorry. I feel like I should thank you— I haven’t come that hard, ever. I don’t know about yokai but I don’t think I could feel that good.” His muscular body covers most of the river from your view, but you find it almost too hard to look at him. You’re still hot; but your skin feels cold.

His fingers slide down along your side when he lets out a little groan. “Yokai don’t do this.” Then he goes to brush his face and mouth along your throat, and you shiver a little at the feeling. “So pretty. Warm. I like warm. Stay with me?” You let him grind himself on top of you and embrace him the best you can, only fitting around the narrow of his waist, but after just a second you yerk up. Makoto pulls his head back when he notices, and you get another brush against your slit that makes a cold shiver run up your spine. Where the slit sat before, a dick has emerged- and your mouth drops open a little. The thing is vaguely dick shaped, but has spurs at the base like an anchor, is more pointed at the tip; and it also pulses with each breath.

“Pretty warm body, good. Smell good too.”

You can’t help but swear when you avert your eyes, and instead wrap your arms back around his neck. “Oh, fuck.” Surely, this is where you’d draw the line. Right? But the touching of that against you doesn’t make your body react the way you think it should. The prodding along your inner thighs just leaves you feeling empty, like you’d like to start all over again. Makoto grunts out a little breath when your tits brush his chest, before staring down at you.

After a few seconds of studying your face, and probably the heat that’s flooding your features, he licks his lips. “Human men have… hm-”

“Yes,” you quickly say. He smacks his lips and grinds against you again. “They uhm- put it inside.” If the answer shocks him, he certainly doesn’t show it— looking like he’s barely holding back from crashing his face back to yours and turning you over to fuck you like the begging whore you feel like. The longer he just keeps his solid body against yours, the harder it is to ignore yourself getting wet again against the pulsing of his cock. The purring, clicking noise coming from him feels nice, and you pull at him. “You’re not done yet, right? I can do more.”

You angle your hips a little, and try not to sound so desperate when looking up at him for a kiss. “Please- put it inside me. I- I want to feel you.” Your hands slide over the rougher scales down between you two to reach for him, and hesitate a little when his cock is heavy and covered in some sort of slime; and it seems to follow your touch. But you’re too far past embarrassment to truly care, and Makoto groans when you wrap your fingers around him to squeeze softly. “I need you.” You really don’t know what’s wrong with you. You feel like your body’s being torn apart. You want to be filled, fucked full of him, and get pumped round of his kids— all things that you shouldn’t be thinking about. You didn’t with any men you’ve been with. You can’t.

Even though you know you’re being ludicrous, when he goes in for a kiss, you cling onto him hard; digging your nails into his back. You don’t even know if he could fit. His cock is proportionate to him- but it’s big and long and girthy enough to put any man to shame. You should care. You should care that you could regret being filled up to your breaking point, but you’re just so, so desperate. You might die if he doesn’t fuck you. You can feel it. “Please, please, please—”

—You slide a few feet across the floor, angry thrashing scaring you up into a flounder as you breathe in deeply. Makoto’s dragged off of you and down before you can even blink, water splashing everywhere; and you struggle back to the riverbank with wide eyes. Now you’re no longer side by side with another person- no, creature- you suddenly feel the entire ache of the cold water. The shortness of breath, the numbness of your lips and hands and feet. You feel the painful sting of your back where you’ve been sliced by a dozen sharp rocks, struggling to keep your head above water. And you feel the soreness between your legs of having been filled by something too big.

When you get over the pure shock, you notice the struggling has stopped, and you notice your creature’s golden shape next to someone else. They glitter and glint even in the low light of the afternoon, and you furrow your brows. The second shape only gets clearer when the light shines through the water and colors the flickers a blinding maroon. Your tongue feels cold.

Your arms wrap over your chest and cover up the best you can when Makoto surfaces again and gives you a kind smile, but you take a slight step back. His long, pale lashes flutter when he reaches out a hand. “Sorry. Rin don’t want to bleed you.” Your back and your painful scrapes are the lesser of your worries though. Whatever spell you were under, you’ve been snapped out of. You feel entirely strange- enough to have hot tears welling up along your waterline. What the hell have you been dragged into? You were going to… do things with some monster you didn’t know existed until today. Your brain screams and pounds, and your stomach is entirely flipped. But the brunet softly continues. “He don’t like I take you. Can you come here?”

“No.” Your hair now sticks to your neck and chest, and every second you’re out of the water, is one where the feeling comes back to your limbs. Your arms are so heavy as you keep them up. “There’s more of you?” You don’t know what you expected, really. Maybe you should have known. Maybe you should have questioned. But how could you have truly known?

“Yes.” he answers after a beat, and swims up a little closer with a frightening ease. “Shhh, okay. He will come. You stay.” You try to tell him not to, but he dips below the water surface before you get the chance to ask him not to, splashing water all over as he does— and you don’t know what else to do but to stare at the small bubbles that pop as peach blossoms wash over your feet. Before too long, the reddish shape surfaces alongside Makoto. He lingers in the deep of the river however; fiery eyes zeroing in on you without blinking at all. He stays submerged from the nose down, and you can’t help but feel too watched. 

Your heartbeat doesn’t calm when the brunet swims up closer, and you take a little breath. “Who’s that?”

“Rin,” Makoto softly, sweetly answers, as if he was expecting the question all along. He smiles wide like a saint, and you have to ignore the voice in the back of your head that tells you to get back in the water. His hand reaches out though, and you almost want to. Almost. Your arms and back break out in goosebumps. Then Makoto looks back at the other yokai, and gives you a smiley once-over. It takes you a little too long to recognize something else that plays over his features though. A strange sort of knowing, like he’s seeing right through you. “You Rin’s mate.”

You don’t know why you don’t get up and run.

“Come back in?”

Only that the voice in the back of your head gets more unbearable. You wrap your hands over your ears, and try to hang on.

All Rights Reserved © IWAASFAIRY 2023. Works are exclusive to this Tumblr.

[tangerinesgirl]

Forbidden Fruit

Mr Reed x Fem!Reader

Rating: 18+, explicit

Word count: 1.4k

Summary: Mr Reed invites you into his house to discuss polygamy and the flaws of virginity.

Warnings: smut, virgin/inexperienced reader, age gap (reader is of consensual age), creampie (reader on birth control), dirty talk, blasphemy, possible spoilers for Heretic (2024)

"My question is how do you feel about polygamy?"

The snowfall gently beats against the tiny windows as you nurse the cup of tea Mr Reed has prepared for you. Using it as warmth rather than to quench your thirst. Even if he did seem like a pleasant man, you didn't entirely trust a drink a stranger has made for you in another room. You fear your instincts may be right when he asks you this question.

You place the cup down and clear your throat as you process his personal inquiry.

"Well, it's forbidden in the b-"

"Yes, but what do you think?"

He emphasises that word, pointing his index finger at you, before resting it on his lips, waiting for your answer.

A beat. Your eyes widen as you try to think of a tactful response.

"I um, I can't really say, it's none of my business what other people decide to do with their lives."

Mr Reed narrows his eyes slightly, not the answer he was looking for apparently.

"Hmmm", he takes a moment to have a swig of his tea from his inscribed 'hubby' mug. You look over your shoulder as if his wife would magically appear behind you.

"And I thought it was just because you've never felt the touch of a man."

You snap your head back around to face him, your cheeks instantly turning red.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm sorry, I may have overstepped", he places his mug down and makes eye contact with you, emphasising his apology.

"I think I should leave", you start to get up, your legs shaking slightly from his statement.

"I understand my dear, let me just get your coat."

The couch creaks as Mr Reed also stands up, promptly leaving the room. Walking over to the door you watch the snow hail down. Not ideal biking weather but it's still better than being in here with him.

"Here we go, one coat", he holds up your woolen jacket passing it to you.

As you take it, he starts to wrap your scarf around your neck. You can feel his breath tickling your hair.

"You know", his deep voice echoes in your ears, "many religions don't believe in virginity. The Virgin Mary simply a mistranslation with the meaning changing over the years."

He takes your coat and starts to help you put it on over your arms, patting down the collar, hands lingering on your neckline a little too long.

"I think waiting for marriage is simply outdated, people should just seize the day. Life is too short for their lives to be dictated by an invisible omnipotent force with historic rules."

You cringe internally hearing him blaspheme your religion, you're just about to interject when he continues.

"It's simply too good to miss that closeness of two people becoming one", he walks in front of you as he starts to button up your coat. He looks down at you, still maintaining eye contact every so often while he fastens the clasps.

"The warmth of each other as you melt into one another's skin. The ache in your bones of needing them inside you."

You break the eye contact as you watch the veins in his hands clench with each turn. Your imagination in overdrive, you wipe your palms on your coat, nervously. Mr Reed notices and tilts your chin up to face him.

"The taste of them on your tongue, as you swallow each other's moans..."

His eyes drift towards your lips. Your body is screaming at you to leave, but part of you wants that sin, that forbidden fruit. You wrestle with your demons, but you find him oddly hypnotic and attractive. You guessed he was in his 50s or 60s, definitely older than you in your 20s, but that only adds to the temptation.

"... as everything builds and builds into one big explosion of ecstasy. That white heat of entering Heaven."

Your thoughts start to drown out as your lips crash into his. Head empty as your tongue starts to swirl around his, gripping the back of his head as the kiss grows deeper.

Mr Reed yanks off your coat, buttons popping off onto the carpet, but neither of you care. He breaks the kiss briefly, only to remove his glasses, before resuming with just as much vigor as before.

You can feel that heat starting from deep inside of you, just as Mr Reed was explaining, as you start to remove your blouse and skirt. His hands start to wander around your bra before unclasping the back.

Mr Reed starts to guide you back towards the sitting room as you continue to undress, removing your tights and underwear. You notice he doesn't remove his clothes as you feel the weave of his jumper, rough against your bare skin. You don't mind, you're too busy thinking of other things right now.

He quickly sits down on the sofa, holding your wrist, motioning for you to sit on top of him. Slightly apprehensive about riding him for your first time, you trust him and place yourself onto his lap, and resume the kiss.

Your hands start to pull down his trousers as his cock bounces free. Your eyes widen when you realise how girthy he is, his dick already rock hard and twitching with anticipation. He can't help but smile when he sees your reaction, as gently guides himself through your folds. The veins of his cock drag along your clit as wetness seeps out of you, preparing yourself for him. You hum at the feeling while he contently sighs at your warmth coating him.

After a moment, Mr Reed positions himself at your entrance and gently pushes you by the hips, guiding you onto him. His eyes roll into the back of his head as your cunt engulfs him, fitting around him tightly yet perfectly. You wince at first, but the further you sink down onto him, the better it feels.

You pause when he is fully seated inside of you, feeling his cock teasing at your cervix, before slowly starting to grind on his lap. You place your hands on his forearms for stability, as he starts to kneed at your ass with his fingertips, bruises threatening to surface under his grip.

The sofa creaks with every thrust as you ride his cock, your breasts bouncing with the effort. You let go of him to grip onto the back of the couch instead, his tongue licking at your nipples as you lean over him. His hands start to trail up your back, pushing you slightly closer towards him.

Your lips meet once again, but feels like you've never been apart. Your mind starts to wander again, thinking about what God would think seeing you give away your virginity to the first man to look at you with lust in his eyes. Then you think maybe God shouldn't even be looking in the first place as it's none of his business. You both wanted this, what could be more natural?

As your mind wanders, your body starts to tense up. Your orgasm creeps up on you, before you realise what's happening as your pace starts to stutter. Your walls clamp down around him, arching your back as you let out a guttural moan from deep inside you. You shake and pant as your cunt pulses out your release, soaking Mr Reed's cock.

He isn't far behind you as he leans back and moans in return, releasing warm ropes of his cum inside you. You don't mind as you have the implant, feeling his seed drip out of you and onto his trousers, as you start to come down from your high.

You straighten yourself up, tucking your distressed hair behind your ears, watching him finish inside you. He lightly groans at the effort of filling you, it's almost enough to make you aroused again.

He slowly exhales and opens his eyes. They crinkle as he smiles at you, laughter lines standing out, you begin to memorise each wrinkle. Tracing your fingers along them, almost like reading a palm. Neither of you care that he's still seated inside of you, growing soft. Or that the snow has eased off and your bike was just outside the metal lined walls. Mr Reed grins at the fact he has you wrapped around his little finger, knowing now that you could never leave. Proving that control really is the one true religion.