#they’re still stuck on the island

[qnpc04]

all the people whining and crying about bad ‘messing up the canon’ need to close their eyes and take a little breather … come on now follow me .. breathe in ……………….. breathe out

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

warning: dubcon, breeding, pregnancy, kidnapping

Yandere!megalodon hybrid… who’s the last of his kind… that keeps his cute little human mate trapped on a small island.

Grabs you by your shirt every time he wants to see you, pulling you into the waves and sitting you on his cock. The very tip can barely fit inside, and he cums so much that it spills out.

He brings you fish and fruit he hunts in the sea and scavenges from boats he destroys! They’re gifts, a show of his loyalty and care for you, but you’re just terrified every time you see him surface.

His upper half is human, but god he still has those giant sharp teeth and dark eyes that stare down at you as you eat.

One too many jokes that he’s fattening you up to eat and suddenly you’re refusing his gifts. Fortunately he genuinely cares about you and stops the jokes. Unfortunately, he WILL make sure you live and eat, even if that means forcing the food into your mouth.

It’s horrifying watching him hunt. Sometimes he’ll carry you on his back while he devours entire whales or other shark hybrids. Scary stuff, it’s even worse when he offers some of the flesh to you.

You wonder why he picked you. You’re not even sure you can bear his shark pups, yet he’s absolutely devoted to you and sees you as his mate. Wouldn’t it be better to… mate with something more his size?

Regardless, you’re stuck… might as well make the most of it and tell him what other gifts you want. A tent to block out the sun? Done. Alcohol? Done. Ice cream? It’s melted and mixed with salt water, but technically done.

He loves you, in his own strange way. You’re going to be pampered whether you like it or not!

Soon you get used to him, almost beginning to love him. He purrs so loudly while his upper half lays on the beach and you curl up on his chest that you vibrate.

Makes him hard when you begin to squirm and grind against him, and he’s quick to move you to his cock so you can ride him!

Eventually you’re able to fit a little more inside, and he’s overjoyed when you start to develop a bit of a baby bump.

Maybe it is possible to bear his pups after all.

Part 2? Send me a kofi and ask for it ^^

———————

YANDERE TAGLIST: @katerinaval @sunset-214 @avalordream @atransmuter @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @enchantedsylveon @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat @bubblez-blop @sunshineangel-reads @heroneki-neko @soapybabyboop @sandramalikstyles-blog @anonymouskiwi @pedropascalbabygirl @flamefoxx @swasti8854 @an-ever-angry-bi

[wonderjanga]

Island Retreat

Some JL members get stranded on an island.

Marvel: “I caught couple rats and a rabbit.” *holding the rats by their tails and the rabbit by its legs*

GA: “Ooh nice. I got a deer. Can I have a rat or two? They taste like stringy chicken.”

Marvel: “Sure!”

WW: “I brought back a bear.” *points behind her to a bear*

GA and Marvel: “Woah, Wondy you’re the best!”

The reason Marvel didn’t get anything bigger was because as Billy, he’s used to catching rats and pidgins so he stuck to what he was used to. GA just was just hunting, and Wonder is just Wonder. Now, of course as Marvel, he could’ve catch bigger things. This was utilized when Arthur, Diana, and him made a challenge of hunting and ran around trying to hunt the most. Diana won with a warthog, three deer, a rabbit, and a snake.

So, here’s the squad: Marvel, Green Arrow, Wonder Woman, and Aquaman.

They turned this into a vacation guys. They’re playing beach ball with a makeshift ball. They’re using the radio they’re supposed to be using to radio for help, for music. They’re chilling.

Aquaman: *stops paying attention to their beach ball game and doesn’t even notice as it smacks into his head as he’s looking to the water*

GA: “Dude…? Why’d you throw our game? Now we’re behind those two.” *looks to where Arthur’s looking*

Marvel and WW: *also look over to the water*

*silence*

Dolphin: *suddenly pops up out of nowhere tugging a crate with him*

Aquaman: “Oh my god…” *rushes over*

GA, Marvel, WW: *confused*

Aquaman: *opens crate* “Alcohol!”

All of them were later chilling on the beach, drinking cocktails of their choices…

GA: “The is the life…”

Aquaman: *Agreed. It’s nice to have a couple days away from Atlantis and being a hero. Speaking of which, Cap, I’m honestly surprised you’re so chill about this.”

Marvel: “Whatcha mean?”

GA: “Dude, you never take breaks.”

Marvel: “Wha? Of course I do.”

WW: “Brother, the other day I heard Bruce discussing with Clark about the fact that out of the six years you’ve been on the team, you’ve never once asked for some kind of leave.”

GA: “Wait really??”

Marvel: *silence* “I don’t see how it’s a bad thing.”

Aquaman: “It is a bad thing, pal. That’s not normal. You don’t have any family you need to visit or spend time with?”

Marvel: “No, not really. Junior and Mary are in the hero bizz so we spend a lot of time together already. Then, as for you guys, I see you almost every day since I go to the Watchtower a lot.”

GA: *gasp* “You consider us family?” *sounds touched*

Marvel: “Yes? Is that bad?” *sounds self conscious*

Aquaman: “Not at all. I for one am happy to be apart of your family.” *sounds proud*

WW: “As am I. I’m happy we’re siblings, brother.”

When the four were finally found, they got scolded by Bats and Supes.

Batman and Supes: *standing side by side*

Batman: *bat-glaring them all*

Supes: “What is wrong with you?! You can’t just shipwreck and then not contact us! Why didn’t you use the emergency radio?!”

GA: “There was an emergency radio?”

Supes: “Yes!”

Marvel: *whispers to Arthur in Atlantean* “Is he talking about the radio we used to play music?”

Aquaman: *whispers back in Atlantean* “I think so.”

Supes: “What’re you two saying?”

Marvel and Aquaman: *simultaneously, and in English* “Nothing.”

Supes: *starts ranting again*

WW: *whispers in Greek* “What were you guys saying?”

Marvel: *also switches to Greek* “The radio. We think it was the one we used to play music.”

Supes: “Guys! I can still hear you!”

Marvel: “Sorry Mr. Superman.”

WW: “Apologies, Clark.”

Supes: *starts ranting again*

GA: *in Italian* “What were you guys talking about?”

Marvel: *in Italian* “Remember the radio? We think that was the SOS radio.”

Supes: “GUYS. Stop whispering in languages we don’t understand—”

Batman: “I understood two out of those three.”

Supes: “—In languages I don’t understand!” *looks to Bruce*

Batman: “They weren’t using the SOS radio to signal for help.”

Aquaman: “We were using it for music.”

GA: “Arthur! You snitch!”

Aquaman: “What? They were gonna find out anyways.”

Supes: “Why were you guys playing music???”

WW: “We had what one would call a vacay.”

Supes: *takes a deep breath* “Okay. Marvel, go sit over there.” *points to a couple feet away from the other three*

Marvel: “What? Why?”

Supes: “Because you speak to many languages! Now go.”

Marvel: *pitifully walks over there*

Supes: “Now, back to what I was saying.” *starts ranting again*

[erwinsvow]

𝐬𝐮𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥

summary: you were a pogue, and now you're a kook. just like how once you were no one's, and now you're rafe cameron's.

author's note: here it is!!! imagine like s1 rafe with the s2 hair, and basically just having a former-pogue girlfriend through out the whole season. i just think rafe would actually be such a good boyf, he just needs someone to settle him down when he gets a lil crazy. follows the sequence of s1 until about 3/4ths down, where i just started making stuff up. you might read this & think no one would act like this.. and that's fine, i know they wouldn't, but this is a self indulgent story for rafe <3 part 2 of the other seasons maybe? enjoy!!

now spinning: black beauty by lana del rey (soooooo rafe coded! he just needs a hug and some pussy!)

word count: 13.5k

warnings/tags: wheeze is a toddler for no reason. reader isn't the biggest fan of the pogues at this point in time. smut: oral (f receiving), fingering, degregation, use of daddy, rafe calls reader kid because <3, lemme know if i forgot something!

“So that’s it? Really? Your mom is marrying a Kook and you’re moving across the island… just like that?” John B speaks to you as if you had any choice in the matter. You look at him sadly, but you’ve cried so much the last few days, it’s hard to find any more tears.  

You want to tell him, want to explain everything. The way your mom has been so lonely for years, ever since your dad passed away. The way she would pull double-shifts every week just to make sure you had the nice, trendy shoes and hot dinner every night. The way you grew up in the cut but it never felt any different than growing up in figure eight, because she took care of you.

And now it was your turn, to take care of her. Blake Richards was rich, and he wanted to take care of your mom, which meant for the first time in a long time, she would be the one being taken care of. And you owed that to her, you owed that much.

“I-I don’t really have a choice, John B. I mean, this is my mom. And she’s getting her chance to be happy. I can’t ruin it for her.”

“Yeah, I get all that but, like, does this mean you’re gonna go full-Kook on us? Because I think that would just be disturbing,” JJ says, and you crack a smile, even as you feel a tear spill down your cheek. 

“I don’t think I could ever go full-Kook.” It comes out quietly, a notch above a whisper.

“Hey, hey,” you hear John’s voice again, as he stands up to get closer to you. You feel embarrassed, the way your cheeks flush and heat up when he’s only a few inches away from you. He wipes the tear away with his thumb. “No crying, okay? Nothing has to change.”

The way he says it, you almost believe him.

“Right,” you say, still quiet. There’s a sob stuck behind your throat, and you don’t want the boys to know how upset you really are. You’ve stitched up these boys more times than you can count, set shoulders and bones and nursed bruises for them. “Nothing has to change,” you repeat, trying to convince yourself. Everything was about to change, starting with your relationship with them.

And that’s the one thing you wish could stay the same. Deep down, no matter how many times you were teased and laughed with, there was a part of you, buried away, that thought you would end up with one of these boys one day. Sweet John, funny JJ, smart Pope. Well, maybe not Pope. You’ve seen the way he stares at Kie, even when no one else notices.

But John and JJ, the possibility of being with one of them always lingered in the air. Even when they’re flirting with tourists or cracking so-called boy jokes that you just wouldn’t understand, you always thought they were your endgame.

If only you knew. 

Pope and Kiara drive up, just as you’re wiping away another tear. You’re dreading repeating everything to them, shedding more tears. 

౨ৎ

“Who is that?” Topper asks, eyeing some girl entering the club. Rafe was getting sick of Topper crying over every pretty girl he saw on the street when he was supposedly dating his sister. He hardly cared about Sarah, daddy’s favorite, but that was his family, and he wouldn’t tolerate disrespect to his family. 

“She must be fresh meat,” Kelce says, “I’ve never seen her before.”

“Tourist?” Topper questions. Rafe downs the rest of his drink. 

“Nah, man, see that guy ahead of her? That’s Blake Richards. My dad works with him, he’s a big finance guy. He’s a widower, but I guess not anymore.” 

“Step-daughter? Jesus,” Topper says. “It’s like a cheesy porno. But I wouldn’t be surprised if he married her mom to tap that, I mean-”

“Enough,” Rafe snaps. “Shouldn’t you be in a fight with my sister?” Topper blanches. 

“I mean, look at her Rafe. That is something special,” Kelce says, and then finally, Rafe lifts his head to look at you.

You look… confused. Your head is turning, taking in everything about the club, like you’d never been there before. A waiter comes up to your family with tall glasses of water, little pieces of cucumber and lemon floating around in them with ice cubes. Richards—your step-father—takes a glass and hands it to a woman who can only be your mother, with the same hair and complexion. Before he can take a glass to hand to you, you take it from the tray yourself, smiling and saying thank you. The waiter, some teenage Pogue, blushes at your affection.

When you start walking, continuing the tour, the waiter turns to look at you walk away, gawking like men do when they see something pretty. Rafe feels an overwhelming urge to punch the kid, and cover you up with his jacket. 

You’re not in anything too immodest, compared to what he’s seeing girls at the club walking around in, but it feels like it’s too much for the leering eyes that follow you. Your jean skirt comes down a little less than half-way to your thighs. Your shirt is white, with puffy sleeves and little buttons that tighten around the chest.

He sees a glimpse of cleavage, which makes his chest tighten uncomfortably, not in the way he’s used to when he sees a pretty girl. He wants to take his shirt off his back and slide it onto you, buttoning it up all the way and making sure no one else looks at you the way he’s looking at you right now.

“Rafe?” his friend calls, and he’s not sure which one. In your glancing, you turn towards Rafe and you lock eyes for a second. You must have noticed him staring. You probably think he’s crazy, but he doesn’t seem to care much at the moment. Your mother must have beckoned you, because you turn away in a second, walking towards the older couple, trailing behind them again.

“Be right back,” he says, leaving a confused Topper and Kelce behind him at the table. He cuts through the tables near the bar, entering the walkway where your family is already, but coming out of the other end. He gets there just in time to run into Richards, who’s leading the little group.

“Hi, Mr. Richards, right?” he says, holding his hand out. “Rafe Cameron.”

“Oh, Rafe, hi,” the older man replies, shaking his hand. Rafe grips hard, making sure Richards doesn’t think he has a wimpy handshake. Otherwise he’s never gonna agree to what Rafe has in mind. “I haven’t seen you in years, I mean you were half your height last time I was over at Tannyhill.”

“Crazy, right? Well I just wanted to say hi since I ran into you. How’s, uh Benny and Brax?” 

“I can’t believe you remember them, they haven’t been to Kildare in years. They’re good, yeah, Benny’s in California now, and Brax is out at law school, at Oxford.”

“Oh yeah, international law, right?”

“Yeah,” Richards says, smiling wide. “You’ve got quite a memory, son, I’ll have to tell Rafe when I see him.”

“Oh yeah, he’s around here somewhere.” Then, he makes his move. He turns his gaze to your mom first. He thinks about it briefly, but if he addresses you before her, your mom will be on guard. He knows how their minds work. “I don’t believe we’ve met before, I’m Rafe,” and he shakes your mom’s hand, but turns back to Richards for the introduction—something else in his little cheat-sheet of rules. Let dad do the talking, so he feels like he’s in control. 

“Rafe, this is my wife, Anna-”

“Nice to meet you, Rafe,” your mom smiles at him sweetly, and he smiles back. 

“-and my step-daughter.” You smile, and hold your hand out. He shakes your hand, gently, and looks at your face, because he can tell the smile is forced. He wonders why. 

“Nice to meet you.” he says, and you smile that forced way again.

“You too, Rafe.” You let go of his hand, and it’s good, because if he held on any longer, the adults would get suspicious.

“First time here?” he questions, still looking at you.

“Yes,” your mother answers, laughing, if not a little uncomfortably. “Is it that obvious?”

“Nah, it’s a lot to take in, I remember that much.” Richards smiles at him, almost beaming. He knows Rafe has been coming here since he could walk. That means the old man appreciates him trying to comfort his new family. Another step closer.

“It is,” Anna says, looking at her daughter. She has those worried eyes, the one Ward’s new wife won’t stop looking at him with. 

“Well, it’s the perfect place to be all summer. I mean, pretty much everyone our age is at the pool or the courts.” At his mention of the both of you, you look up from staring at your shoes quickly to looking right at him. He smiles. You don’t smile back. 

“Really?” Richards asks, still openly friendly.

“I mean yeah, Mister R, I remember Benny on the golf course, like, everyday. And Brax, I mean he practically taught half of us how to swim.” Richards nods and laughs, continuing small talk about his sons. Rafe sneaks another glance at you, and you look back knowingly, like you can smell his intentions from a mile away. 

“Honey?” your mom asks quietly. “Do you wanna go with Rafe?”

“What?” you reply quickly, surprised. You weren’t listening, and he tries hard not to laugh.

“Well, I can take you ‘round, introduce you to everyone. I’ll finish the tour if you and Mrs. Richards are heading up to the course?” He nods at the golf clothes your parents have on, that you are lacking. 

“I think that sounds great, right, honey?” Anna presses, and after you lock eyes with her, you nod in agreement.

“Yeah, sure,” you say quietly. Rafe smiles again.

“Great, great, yeah. Well, it was great to see you Mister R. Missus R.”

“Thank you, Rafe. Kiddo, you can ask for the car to go home when you’re ready, okay? Your mother and I are going to get dinner here.” Anna looks up confused, probably wondering how they’ll get back.

“I’ll call someone to bring the car back, honey,” he explains, and your mom smiles.

“I can also take her back,” Rafe interjects. “Tannyhill is the same direction, and I’m headed back anyways. If you wanna leave the car here.”

“Really, Rafe, that would be great, thank you.” You look even angrier than before, but the plastic smile spread over your face doesn’t faze them.

“Right, thanks, Blake. Bye mom,” you say, and then lean over to kiss her on the cheek.

You watch them walk away, chewing your cheek and turning back to Rafe with anger splashed all over your pretty features. 

“I can’t believe that worked on them,” you tell him quietly, smiling when your mom turns back to look at you before they turn the corner. Your parents were too gullible sometimes.

“Yeah, me either, kid.”

“Don’t call me that,” you reply right away. “And despite what you think, I’m not touring this place with you. I’m probably never coming back here after today.” You start walking away, in the opposite direction of your parents, when he chases behind you.

“Y’know, I don’t get you. Every girl your age lounges around here all day, and everyone else wishes they could.”

“Well, you know what they say,” you start, smiling sweetly, though he sees through it again. “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop.”

“Really?” he shrugs. “Never heard that before.”

“Yeah, you wouldn’t have.” 

“Come on, you’re not even giving me a chance. You don’t even know me.” You laugh at that.

“Yes, I do, Rafe, you just don’t recognize me.” You continue your brisk pace, looking for the exit and getting closer. He reaches out to grab your forearm, holding you back for a second. He guides you into the corner, between the hallway where there’s no one else around.

“Yeah, that so?” Rafe is almost caging you in. He’s so close you can smell his cologne and the scotch on his lips.

“I’m from Kildare, Rafe.” You try to break free of his grip, but it proves even harder than you thought. He holds you in place without even breaking a sweat.

“No, no, no, because I know every pretty girl in Kildare. And you’ve definitely never been here before, so-”

“Really? Even the ones from the cut?” You thought that would be enough to get him to drop your arm, but he doesn’t budge.

“Huh. So that’s why you’ve never been here. Old Man Richards married a Pogue and made her daughter into a Kook? Did I get that right?”

“I’m not a Kook,” you say, squirming, because you still don’t want to be trapped by him. His cologne smells good, your mind wanders and thinks, like ocean air and sandalwood. You snap out of it at once.

“Not yet, you’re not.” 

“I’m not going to be, either. A little money isn’t going to change anything for me.”

“Yeah, yeah, kid. That’s what everyone says, ‘til it does.”

“Rafe, let go of me, I said let go-” And he does let go, quickly, and your arm falls. Faint red marks appeared when he was holding on, what can only be a bruise tomorrow. He’s marked you, and you’re not half as angry as you would have thought. 

“Come on, kid, we’re finishing this tour. I promised,” he says, and the last bit is so mocking, you can’t believe mom and Blake fell for his act. 

He takes you around the entire club, shows you the restaurants, the spa, the pool. At least a handful of girls stare at the two of you walking side by side, but Rafe doesn’t look back at anyone. You don’t know how to feel about that.

The oldest Cameron isn’t a mystery to anyone in Kildare, but you don’t know anything about him besides what the boys have told you. JJ hates him, naturally, John doesn’t let you look at him in passing, and even Pope can find a few bad things to say. But right now, he’s not doing any of those things you would have expected once he found out you and your mom are from the other side of the island. The crude jokes and gold-digger comments are nowhere to be heard.

But you can’t write him off completely yet. After all, this is Rafe Cameron.

He finishes the tour on the golf course, so you can wave to your parents on the course. You’re sipping on a lemonade through a little pink straw, and he finds it hard to look away when your cheeks hollow to draw up the liquid. Your mom and Blake wave back, and you smile—genuinely—for maybe the third time that morning. 

“They’re good together,” Rafe comments, on the walk back to the front door, where his truck is waiting. 

“Do you really think that?” you ask quietly. You’re tired, he can tell, drained from trying so hard to make sure he knows you hate him. 

“Yeah, kid, I do. He’s been a widower basically my whole life. And he married your mom, so he must really love her.”

You can’t tell if he’s just saying it to get on your good side. You hope he’s not. Through all of this, all the crying and the suffering and how much you miss your old life and your friends, if your mom doesn’t at least end up happy, it’ll all have been for nothing. You feel more tears brewing.

“Thanks, Rafe,” you end up saying quietly, as you put on the seat belt in the passenger seat of his truck. His music plays softly in the background of the drive - rap, something you've heard before but can't place - back to Blake’s house. With your window down, you stare out of it and try to pay attention to the breeze in your hair rather than the entirely overwhelming scent of Rafe, which is all-consuming in his car.

Rafe turns to look at you every few minutes. You look perfectly in place in his car, leaning against the panel with your eyes closed. That means you trust him, even though every word you say makes him think otherwise.

Your eyes flutter open when he puts the car in park, outside the door to your house. 

“Home sweet home, kid,” you hear his voice in your ear, but he sounds closer than he should be. When you turn to look, he’s leaning over you and so close to you, you feel the heat radiating from his body. 

“What’re you doing?” you ask quickly, heartbeat picking up and rocketing off. 

“M’just getting the door for you, kid.” His arm flexes, only an inch or two away from your chest, pulling the handle and swinging open the door. He leans back into his seat, smirking. “Why, what'd ya think I was gonna do?”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding in and swallow uncomfortably. Your throat feels dry and your palms are suddenly clammy.

“Nothing.” 

“Sure. Whatever you say.”

You climb out of his car, shoes hitting the ground a little too hard. He strains his neck, trying to make sure you’re okay. 

“Thanks for the ride,” you say, not meeting his eyes, closing the door behind you. 

“Anytime, kid. I’ll be seeing you around.”

You thought he would take over the second the passenger-side door was shut, but he doesn’t. He stays and watches you fix your skirt that had ridden-up on the drive, and walk into the front door, glancing behind you, just for a second, before going inside. And then you hear the roar of the engine, only after the door was closed and you were safely inside.

౨ৎ

You didn’t take it literally, that you would be seeing him again. Rafe seems like the type to play with his toys and get bored before long, but true to his word, you see him days later. And to his luck, you were feeling even worse than the first time you met him.

The morning started like any other—showering in a bathroom that’s just yours, and no one else’s, and attached to your bedroom. You can hardly remember the years when your dad was alive, but after he passed, you and your mom moved into a tiny two-bed, one-bath with your mom’s best friend. You were there for the next five years, until she got married and moved out, and it was just the two of you. But even in all the years since, you’ve never had your own bathroom until now. 

You shower as long as you want, whenever you want. Your room is in a completely different hallway than the master, where Blake and your mom sleep. You blast music at night, singing along off-tune from the bathroom, and would stay on the phone for hours with your friends. If anyone answered your calls anymore. 

It’s been three weeks since you broke the news to everyone that you were moving. Two weeks since you actually moved. One week since Rafe walked you around the country club and drove you back home, like you belonged to him. In that time, you’ve driven down to the Chateau twice, walked by Kie’s house, which is now just a few blocks away, and texted multiple times—all with no responses. At first you panic, thinking something’s happened, but then you realize this was what always happened. When you’re off on an adventure, you don’t think about who’s waiting for you back at home.

That’s what’s running through your mind when you run into Rafe again that day.

You had showered without interruption, taking your time doing your hair up just because you felt like it. There was no work to be done, no chores assigned to you anymore. Breakfast was always prepared when you went downstairs, so you took your time getting ready now. 

You missed a lot of things about your old life, but the limited time and constant rushing and anxiety were not among them. 

Your clothes were picked out with the anticipation of seeing your best friends again, your favorite overalls from the thrift store—which had been bought when you were still two sizes too small for them, and had been baggy on you until last year, but they were such a steal your mother refused to let you put them back—and a yellow shirt to match your ratty, yellow converse. They had been washed so many times they were more brown than yellow, but it didn’t matter much. 

This outfit was the old you, and it brought up feelings inside you that nothing in figure eight could change. You wore it because you wouldn’t look any different to your friends in this outfit, and for maybe a few hours, you wouldn’t be the girl in the fancy house with the country club membership anymore.

“You look nice, sweetie,” your mom says, when you head downstairs. She’s drinking her coffee at the table, your step-dad nowhere to be found. It’s eleven in the morning and she’s just woken up too, in her robe and slippers, and you smile, watching her more relaxed than you’ve seen in years.

You swing by her side of the table to give her a kiss, and steal a piece of toast from her plate. You’re relieved she doesn’t mention your clothes, not when she keeps offering to take you shopping with Blake’s money, which you keep refusing, but is getting more tempting every time you step in a puddle in these shoes.

“Thanks mom, I’m going to see the boys and Kie, I’ll be back later, don’t wait up!” and with that you’re gone, before you can discern the disapproving look in her eyes. 

Your junky old car, older than you by several years and still somehow the nicest thing you own—used to own, a voice chirps in the back of your head—is hidden around several fancy cars in the driveway. It’s intentional, you’re sure, and likely your mother’s doing. Nothing embarrassed her more than you handing out constant reminders of your old life to everyone around you.

And then you’re on the way to the Chateau, windows down and no music, since there was no way to connect your phone and the radio was busted by Pope a year ago, who claims he was trying to fix it. 

But it’s what happens when you get there that embarasses you the most—no one’s there, and no one will answer your call. You wait around for a half hour, trying to see if they come back, but they don’t. 

And that’s when it hits you. They were off on their adventures, and you weren’t just down the street anymore, which meant you weren’t invited. You get back in your car and slam the door, humiliated, tears falling down your face and probably ruining the makeup you had done, stupidly, this morning, because you wanted to look nice for them, like your old self for them. You don’t realize until later, after you were done crying, and seen Rafe again, that your friends didn’t want to bother you while you were adjusting to your new life. 

You feel betrayed, and the words that John had told you rattle through your head, because he was wrong. Everything had changed, and nothing would be the same. 

You take off, heading back home. There’s a big storm brewing and your Accord gets dramatic in the rain. It’s not until you cross the border back into figure eight that you realize two things. One, that you had just thought of your new house as home for the first time. And two, that you had never felt more alone. 

There’s not much to do about either of these feelings, besides stopping for the biggest bowl of ice cream you can reasonably carry back home, and eating it in your room, crying and watching You’ve Got Mail for the hundredth time.

So that’s what you do, pulling into the ice cream shop closest to home. Your car also doesn’t have the greatest functioning air conditioner, and you don’t need any more questionable stains in your seats, considering how many times JJ had borrowed it and returned it, promising you it’s nothing and that that spot in the back seat was always there!

In line, tapping your foot, calling your mom’s cell. Your eyes are puffy and your nose is red from crying. She’s not answering, but the unspoken rule of your little family is to always, always call when you’re getting ice cream in case the other wants something. You’ve only been gone something like two hours, and you can’t imagine what she’s doing that she can’t answer your phone. You dial Blake’s number, hoping he answers instead, and while it’s ringing you realize it’s your turn to order. You haven’t even looked at the menu yet. 

You turn to the people behind you, telling them they can go in front, but when you look up from your phone, you almost drop it. 

Of course it’s Rafe Cameron behind you. Of course. Who else would it be? Who else would keep catching you at your lowest moments? He’s with a little girl, who can’t be older than four or five, with dark hair and glasses, holding his hand patiently while staring up at you, while you stare at him and he stares back.

“Rafe, she said we can go in front,” she says, tugging on the hand she’s holding. 

“Yeah, Wheeze, I heard. Let’s go order and then thank this nice girl for letting us go ahead, right?” The little girl nods, and follows him up to order. Rafe looks back at you but then your step-dad answers, so you turn away, cheeks heating up. You don’t want him to see.

“Hi, what’s going on?” you hear his voice through the phone, sort of staticky and jumbled. 

“Hi, Blake, I just wanted to ask if you and mom wanted ice cream? I’m at the place… yeah, the one near the house.”

“Oh, yes, let me ask her, one second-” You hear him put the phone down, or cover the mic, and then, “Honey! Kiddo’s asking if you want ice cream.” 

You feel yourself soften a little bit at the nickname. And then you hear your mom and Blake talking back and forth, for what feels like ages. The girl behind the counter looks at you with a glare and you try to look back at her with an apologetic smile, but you’re a little fed-up from the emotional turmoil you’ve just endured. 

“Hi, sweetie, I’m okay, I had some at the club with lunch and twice in a day is just not a good idea-”

“Just get it, who cares? We can have it later tonight too-”

“What if the power goes out? It’ll melt, and then it’s just a waste of money-” Crap. You hadn’t thought of that.

“We have generators for that.” Blake picks up the phone again. “Hey, kiddo, get your mom her usual and make sure you use the card I gave you, okay?”

You hang up the phone, smiling, and then order. It feels weird, being oddly comforted by someone other than your mom or your friends for once. In your distraction, you don’t see Rafe and the little girl hovering near the freezer window that showcases all the ice cream they offer. When you’re reaching for the shiny black Amex, you hear him again. 

“I got it, kid,” Rafe says, pressing his matching card against the reader and pushing your wrist down and away. He does it so easily, without trying, just like he did in the country club. You look up at him stupidly, brain not registering what he just did and why he did it, and you don’t move for a moment. You don’t move until he leans down a little, close enough to smell that enticing cologne again but not nearly close enough. 

“I think the words you’re looking for are ‘thank you’. And you should probably get out of the way.” You blink back up at him, and he’s smirking again. You feel kind of stupid, the way he’s talking to you, but you also don’t mind as much as you thought you would. The girl behind the counter yells out Next! and that’s when Rafe takes you by the arm, just above where he had bruised you, and moves you away himself.

“You okay, kid?” he asks, and you feel yourself melt like ice cream left in your car for too long. You don’t know if he really means it, or if he really cares, but you do know Rafe Cameron needs to stop talking to you like he likes you, or you’re going to be in trouble.

“Fine, yeah. Thanks, uh, thanks for the ice cream.” You’re still blinking slowly, stupidly, stuck in a daze. You should really get it together around him. It’s a little pathetic if a strong grip and a couple of nice actions gets you acting like this. That’s a problem for another day right now.

“Is she okay, Rafe?” the little girl asks quietly from beside him. 

“No idea, Wheezie. Why don’t you sit and eat your ice cream?” he replies, and she sits down a few tables away, beginning to shovel chocolate ice cream with a tiny wooden spoon.

“Hey,” he says, and you begin to snap out of it. It’s raining outside now. You hear the pitter-patter of the drops on the roof. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yes. I am. I just had a bad morning. Sorry.” But you don’t know what you’re apologizing for.

“Well, are you gonna talk about it and shit? ‘Cause I don’t know you that well yet but you’re kinda freaking me out right now.”

“I-I…I just-”

“You, you, you just?” he mocks, and then when tears fill your pretty eyes and he sees one slip down your face, his own eyes panic briefly. “Hey, hey, I was just joking, kid-” He pulls out a colorful chair for you, and sits you down next to Wheezie, who is still eating ice cream at an alarming rate. Your ice cream is ready at the counter, and he brings it down next to you, holding his own strawberry cone in his hand. 

“Hold this for me Wheeze,” he says, not really asking, and the little girl shakes her head right away.

“How’m I gonna eat mine then?” 

“Wheezie,” Rafe says, in a voice that you haven’t heard him use before—and then you realize how stupid you sound. You’ve talked with him twice, you don’t know anything about the voices he uses or how he sounds when he’s talking to this girl who can only be his little sister. 

“Can I have some?” Wheezie propositions back, and Rafe nods. “Okay!” she says, taking a bite of the scoop with her front teeth.

“So, y’gonna tell me what’s going on or am I gonna have to guess everything?” 

“My friends, I just keep missing them, or they keep missing me, maybe. I just wanted to see them. It’s really lonely here, that’s all.” You’re staring into his eyes, his really, really blue eyes that are currently a little alarmed and concerned, and the fact that they’re that way for you is making you a little dizzy. 

“Yeah, I get that. Sorry, kid, that’s the lay of the land, right? Not a Pogue anymore, are you?” 

“I don’t know what I am.” You feel silly and embarrassed for pouring your heart out over ice cream with Rafe Cameron. He doesn’t know you, and he never will.

“Well, right now you have a choice. You can sit here and eat ice cream with us, or you can go home and cry about it alone. But if you choose the second one, Richards and Anna will see you, or hear you, and ask about it. And I’m not gonna keep asking if you don’t wanna talk. So pick one before this shi-stuff melts, okay?” 

You nod dumbly again. You’d like to turn your brain off and let Rafe decide for you. 

“I need a spoon.” He smiles, not smirks, for a second, before getting up to get you a spoon.

A few things float through your mind while you eat ice cream with the Camerons. First, Rafe remembers your mom’s name. Second, Rafe doesn’t swear in front of his kid sister. And third, and most important of all, Rafe Cameron cares about you.

“That’s a lot of ice cream,” Wheeze, or rather—as you’ve just learned—Wheezie, comments.

“I was feeling really sad,” you reply, shoving another spoonful into your mouth, watching the little girl eye your peanut and chocolate ice cream inquisitively. “You’ll understand someday.”

“Boy problems?” she asks, and you can’t help but crack a smile. Rafe looks up from his phone momentarily 

“Not really, but a good guess. This would also apply to that situation.”

“My sister’s always got boy problems.”

“Really?” you ask, and then look up Rafe. “You have another sister?”

“Yes,” he says, in between licks of strawberry ice cream. You should really look away when he does that, because your heart rate is picking up. “And she’s even more annoying than this one.”

You laugh while Wheezie frowns.

“If I’m so annoying, why do you always take me for ice cream, huh?”

“She’s got you there, Rafe,” and you resist the urge to look at him, even when you can feel his eyes on you. 

“Because you wouldn’t stop asking, dork, that’s why.” Wheezie shrugs in reply.

“I’m not gonna finish all of this. You want some, Wheezie?” you ask, offering her your spoon. She looks back at you smiling, and then at Rafe for permission, who nods.

She digs into the pile left, while you finally give into the urge to look up at her brother again. He takes another lick of his ice cream and you look away within a second. 

“Been eating that for a while, haven’t you, Rafe?”

“Yeah.” 

Somewhere in between Wheezie eating so much of the ice cream so quickly that she gets a brain freeze, and Rafe finally tossing his half-eaten cone into the trash, it’s time to go home. And as much as you hate to admit it, you don’t want to leave. The rain is coming down hard outside, a preview of the impending hurricane.

“Drive here, kid?” he asks, as your feet hesitate by the door. 

“No,” Wheezie answers, “I came here with you, dork.”

“Not talking to you, kid,” he replies, rustling the top of her hair with his hand, getting an ugh, Rafe, in response.

“Yeah. Yes, I drove here. But my car doesn’t do so good in the rain.”

“Huh?” he questions.

“It’s old, okay. Junky. The AC is broken. And the radio. Sometimes she just stops, y’know?” You gesture to your blue car parked out front, the rusty, tiny sedan two spots down from his shiny truck.

“No, I don’t know. Richards lets you drive around in that thing?”

“She.”

“It’s a car. Barely, at that.”

“She has a name, okay. HoHo. That’s her name.”

“Alright, well, you’re gonna have to ditch the hoe, because I can’t let you drive home in a hurricane in… that.” You turn to glare at him. “Her, sorry.”

That’s how you end up soaking wet in the passenger seat of Rafe’s truck, Wheezie secured in her booster seat and Rafe even wetter than you are. He drops you home and says the two of you can go pick up your car tomorrow—if it’s still there, he adds at the end, leaning over you again to open your door. You stare at him dumbly again, which has now become a bad habit, and it’s not until Wheezie says you’re getting her wet in the back that you finally climb out and close the door. You stand behind the front door with your mom’s melted ice cream in one hand, and your phone with Rafe’s contact saved in the other, wondering what exactly just happened. 

౨ৎ

The next few weeks pass through as quickly as they came. Your car—to your chagrin and your mother’s joy—does not survive the hurricane. Blake gives you a fancy, luxury car to drive around in that he just had laying around, which you don’t believe for one second. But, your mom is pleased when you actually start driving it, and you can actually listen to music from your phone and enjoy air conditioning and the most luxurious of luxuries—a backup camera. 

The night of the ice cream shop incident, Rafe texts you. You were completely ready to wallow in bed, waiting for the text from him that never comes, drowning your sorrow in more ice cream, but he does text you. First and right away. 

R: Is it wrong if I hope hoho drowns tonight?

that’s so mean. she never did anything to you.

R: She’s kinda ugly. And what was that about no ac?

so she deserves death????

R: The impound lot at the very least

if she dies, it’ll be because YOU manifested it

R: Never thought I’d believe in that manifesting shit, but here we are

did Wheezie eat dinner after how much ice cream you let her inhale?

R: No.

R: Ur fault. You gave her yours

you gave her yours too

and btw, I offered her a bite. she ate the rest. not my fault

R: She’s five, genius

R: I’ll come around noon tomorrow. Sleep tight kid

౨ৎ

Somewhere in between picking up your car—which entailed no less than stopping for lunch, even more ice cream that you can’t stand to watch him eat, and driving through town to see how bad the damage from hurricane Agatha was, and altogether three hours together ending with a wet, heated kiss in his truck with the windows fogged up—and today, you’ve been with Rafe more times than you can count. 

And you try hard to suppress the thought that it’s just because he’s available, that the availability is the reason for your attraction. And then you catch yourself trying to justify why you want to see Rafe so much, this guy that you had just been assuming was bad because your friends told you he was bad, without much in the way of an explanation. 

But Rafe is the furthest thing from bad. He’s so sweet to you it makes you delirious. He picks you up all the time, even when you tell him you’re just at home, and your car is right there. He pays for everything, he opens every door, the gentle but teasing way he is with Wheezie makes you even more head over heels.

But most important of all, he calls you first. He texts you first. He makes you feel wanted, and you definitely, definitely, want him, so you don’t think twice before saying yes to accompanying him to Midsummers. 

You actually don’t know what it really is, besides for a big party. It was always one of the worst nights at the hospital—litters of teens with alcohol poisoning and from car accidents— so your mom would be working. When you turned eighteen, your mom paid for classes to become a junior nurse, and so busy nights like the one of Midsummers usually was, you would get called in too. So before this week, you’d never spent Midsummers doing anything other than cleaning wounds and fetching suture kits.

You tell Rafe this and he looks at you strangely, another of his looks you hadn’t seen before, with furrowed brows, and you flush and apologize, regretting even opening your mouth. 

You know you’re deeper than you thought when he takes your head between his hands and kisses you—messy, with tongue and spit left glimmering over your mouth, so much so that he wipes the corner of your mouth with his thumb when he’s done. 

“Go get yourself a pretty dress, and we’ll have fun, yeah?” You nod stupidly again, the way you’re prone to doing around him. He must have realized you get a kick out being told what to do by him, what to worry about and what to focus on. 

You finally take your mom up on the offer to go shopping. Her and your step-dad are going to this thing anyways, but you can tell she wasn’t completely sure you’d go to something so Kook-y, maybe not just yet, and she doesn’t want to push it since your mood finally seems to have picked up. But then you tell her Rafe asked you to go with him, and the two of you smile and jump around the living room, laughing like kids. She’s happy for you and you’re happy that the two of you are happy at the same time.

Rafe sends you money for a dress—enough money to pay for a month’s rent at your old place. Your mom says your step-dad insists on paying. You feel like things are coming together for the first time.

You wander the stores, trying on different dresses and feeling like a scene out of a movie until you finally find the perfect blue dress. Blue for Rafe’s eyes and his suit jacket, because you’re not embarrassed to admit to him that you want to match for Midsummers. It’s patterned with little flowers, ruffles and lace moving in the wind when you twirl, and for once, you stop feeling like you need to pick a side to be on—Pogue or Kook—and you decide just to be Rafe’s for now.

The night of the party, Rafe offers to pick you up, but you tell him you’ll come with your parents. They’re both wearing shades of peach and salmon, the three of you together look like you’re headed to a baby shower, which you and your mom laugh about in the car ride there. 

You text Rafe to let him know you’re there, and tell your parents you’re going to walk around to find him. When you glance back, they’re talking with some of Blake’s friends, people he had invited to the wedding.

You see, what you can only think, is a glimpse of Pope, in his usual waiter get up, but he disappears before you can see where he was. His father is still there, though, and you make your way through the crowd to get near him.

“Hi, Mr. Heyward,” you say, smiling and unsure if he’ll recognize you. You don’t think he’s ever seen you in anything but your overalls or scrubs. 

“How can I help yo-wait, is that you, well I’ll be damned. You’re blending right in, aren’t ya?”

“Well, it took long enough.” You suddenly feel embarrassed, because he knows the old you, the one who wouldn’t be here in a million years. “Do you know where Pope is? I thought I saw him, I just wanted to say hi.”

“He just went off that way, but if you see him, tell him I still need his help over here, just like I did before he walked away—”

“Can I help with anything?” you ask quickly, but he shakes his head and tells you the direction Pope went in.

You follow it generally, trying to see where he could have gone in such a short time. But then you see all of them, and you can’t stop your feet from running over. Kie, JJ, and Pope, all standing and talking about something, but you don’t really care about interrupting. Kie’s all dressed up too, and you suddenly don’t feel so embarrassed.

“You guys,” you feel yourself gushing. “It’s been so long,” and you go in for a hug with each of them. 

“Wow, god, you look so pretty,” Kie says, and you hug her again. You don’t realize how much you missed her. 

“You too, Kie,” your smile is so wide it starts to hurt. “Isn’t this so weird, all of us here at this party? Where’s John B?” you ask, looking around. 

“So weird,” JJ says, and you notice the bruise around his right eye because he’s turning to look at Kie again. 

“JJ, what the hell happened to your face?” JJ doesn’t answer, he actually doesn’t say anything at all, which should have been your first sign that something was wrong. You look at him quizzically, before turning to Pope.

“Pope, your dad’s looking for you, I just went over to say hi-”

“Oh crap,” he says, heading back in the direction you just came from. “Sorry, be right back.”

“W-what the hell is going on?” you question Kie and JJ, searching for any answer, desperately hoping that it isn’t we don’t wanna tell you. Your phone goes off, twice, and you pick it up. The look on your face must have been beyond palpable to your friends.

R🧸ྀི: Come inside the house

R🧸ྀི: Got a surprise for you

“I-I gotta go inside,” you say, looking at the confused faces of your friends.

“What’s inside? I thought-”

“No, nothing, I don’t know, Rafe just asked me to go inside, and I haven’t even seen him yet-”

“Rafe? What, Rafe Cameron?”

“Y-yeah?”

“What are you, with him, or something?” JJ asks, and you feel your heart fall into your stomach.

“I-I yeah, maybe. I’m here with him tonight, he-” Your phone goes off again. “I’m sorry, I have to go find him, but I’ll come find you guys right after, okay?”

You leave the two of them there, looking at each other confused, looking at you like they don’t recognize you. And it stings, for a moment, until you get inside the mansion and find Rafe hanging out by the entrance, nursing a glass of scotch and eyes lighting up when they see you. 

Everything with him is like that scene from that movie. Lights go dim, you walk in slow-motion, the room goes quiet. He watches you walk up to him and his eyes take in everything—your pretty hair, your dolled up face, the way your dress moves when you walk, and most of all, that you’re here with him. He reaches his hand out to grab you by the waist to bring you in for a kiss. It’s not like the others, it’s chaste and soft and romantic. 

“Hi,” you breathe out, resting your forehead against his.

“Hi, kid. You look fantastic,” and he presses another sweet kiss to your temple. 

“We’re matching,” you say with a smile, taking in his blue suit jacket and the way you feel dizzy right now, and you feel his grip tighten around your waist. 

“Yeah, we are. Now get in line with me, we’re walking out together.” Your eyes are big like coins, because you understood that you were coming here together, but this is his family’s big night, if everything your mom and Blake told you was to be taken seriously.

You don’t have time to say anything, because Rafe’s nice parents line up ahead of you, and his two sisters behind you. Wheezie tugs on your dress and you turn to greet her and Sarah quickly, because then the doors open and you’re walking out, following Rafe’s lead, lots and lots of eyes on you, but only one pair of blue ones you really care about. 

You almost want to cry, the whole thing is so magical. You have a flute of champagne and a sip of Rafe’s scotch, and you are deliciously tipsy for the next two hours. Your parents come over to talk to you and Rafe, and you can see how happy your mom is in her eyes. You and Rafe dance until your feet hurt, and it’s only then, when he leaves your sight, that things seem to get back down to how they normally are. 

You can’t find Wheezie’s parents or Sarah anywhere. The little girl spilled ice cream on her dress and is crying quietly, fat tears rolling down her chubby cheeks. You want to get her parents, because you think they can help, but you end up taking her to the bathroom yourself. With a damp paper towel, you wipe as much as you can, and you promise to get her another ice cream if she stops crying.

“It’s just a stain, honey, don’t worry.” You toss the dirty tissue and grab another one, wiping the tears and then letting her blow her nose. “It’ll come out when you wash it. And no one will notice because it’s so dark now, right?” She nods in agreement. “Do you wanna go find your big brother?” Another sad nod. “Let’s go honey,” and you take her hand and lead her back out. 

You’re not entirely sure what you missed in the last fifteen minutes. Everyone’s gone quiet, staring at what you hope is a trick of your eyes—all of your friends running from the party, hooting and hollering. Kiara’s parents look hopelessly upset, Mr. Heyward downright disappointed, and your mom scanning the crowd, trying to see where you are, until she spots you and Wheezie.

Her and Mrs. Cameron come running over, and you instinctively flinch, thinking the giant headpiece she’s wearing will poke you. You hand off Wheezie and turn to look at your friends, and you think, for a second, they’re waiting for you. They are, you realize slowly, waiting for you.

And you almost take off right then and there, until you feel Rafe’s warm hand on your shoulder, and you look up to see him bleeding.

At that moment, you turn right back around and head inside to the nearest room, sitting Rafe down on the bed and scrambling to find something to clean his wound with, and something cold to help the swelling, and in your panic, you don’t realize you’re rambling.

“I mean, what the hell was all of that? I turn around for two seconds and everyone’s running from the party like there’s a fire, and destroying things and throwing punches, I mean, I get they hate the whole Kook thing, but it was never like this before, even when I didn’t know you yet, and I-” you drop the frozen bag of peas onto the floor in your sudden realization. “I just let them leave. They waited for me. I didn’t go with them.” Your eyes fill with years. That’s a betrayal, not all the stupid stuff you thought was happening before tonight. They waited for you, and you turned right back around to go inside with Rafe.

“Hey, hey hey,” Rafe says quietly, taking your head in his hands again. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay.”

“You’re bleeding, Rafe,” you say, voice trembling. Your tears are ruining your makeup. 

“I’m gonna be fine. You know why?” he asks, and you feel more tears rush down. “Hey, hey, no crying.” Rafe wipes away the tears with his hand, then he brings his hands to your back and rubs soothingly. “You know why, kid?” “Why?” it comes out a whisper.

“Because you chose me. We’re gonna be fine, okay?” 

The way he says it you believe him. 

You spend the next two days at Tannyhill with Rafe, wearing nothing but his t-shirts and doing nothing but rolling around in bed. It’s been a month, maybe a little bit more, and you haven’t even had the talk yet—the sex talk. There’s no doubt in your mind that he’s not ready for it, but you’re not ready for it, not yet. You’re working on it. He doesn’t make it easy for you, either. You’ve spent hours now, making out in his lap, grinding against each other until you make a mess all over his shorts and his hair is sticking up in every direction, and working your way up to telling him what you want. 

You’re almost there. You’re waiting for the perfect time. Which was almost right now.

“You like that? Shit-” he breathes into your ear, pressing a kiss to the tender skin of your neck right underneath. It makes you moan again, louder, until he clamps a hand—the one not three fingers deep inside your leaking pussy—over your mouth, barricading the noise from leaving. “Gotta be quiet, kid, you want the whole house hearin’ what a little slut you are?” 

His blue eyes, lustful and blown, stare into your own. You shake your head softly underneath the tight grip of his palm. You’re always obedient with him, but he really likes you like this. 

“Yeah? You gonna do whatever daddy tells you? Just so I keep my fingers in this tight pussy?” You nod compliantly, head falling back on to the pillow. His fingers are thick, and the cool of his ring rubs against your clit in the best way, in ways you didn’t even realize it could feel.

He keeps fucking three fingers in and out of you, moans muffled by his hand but not completely silenced. You must be making a mess, because it’s what he keeps talking about, rambling about your messy cunt, greedy and sucking him in, and how you’ve been cumming for him like a little princess for the last two days, but it’s never enough for you. 

It’s when he removes his hand and kisses you hard instead, tongue deep inside you mouth, the metal of his chain dangling on your chin, and you feel the similarly cool metal of his ring on you, you finish again, exploding around your boyfriend’s fingers and moaning into his mouth. He hears you, repeating his name over and over again, not Rafe, but rather daddy, and he swallows your chants into his mouth. When you calm down, he makes a show of licking his fingers off while locking eyes, and then you get flustered and bury your head into his neck. 

He laughs, because it’s so cute, but only for a minute. Then you two shower together and he makes another show, but this time out of you, kneeling on the floor of his tub while he paints your face with his cum, making sure to cover the necklace you’ve been wearing recently too, the silver, loopy little R hanging between your collarbone. 

Then you get dressed—a little pink dress that’s been his favorite recently, with buttons down the front and a pretty bow where your tits sit— and the two of you have lunch with his family like nothing ever happened.

Rafe drops you back at home later that day, gives you a kiss where he grabs the back of your head to bring you in, and then waves bye to your parents as he unlatches the door for you, in his usual way. 

౨ৎ

A week later, he does the same thing. Drops you off, drives away once you’re inside, and you’re starstruck walking back, so much so, you don’t realize there’s someone waiting for you.

It’s Kie, and Rafe’s sister, Sarah. You’re a little confused since you thought the two of them didn’t get

along,  but they look like they’re fine now.

“Hey, listen, we need you to help us. Can you come down to the Chateau later tonight, after sunset?” Kie asks, and you must look as confused as you feel, because Sarah speaks right away, before you can get a word out.

“You cannot tell my brother. Promise us you won’t.”

“Why are you asking me that? Why can’t I tell him?” Sarah and Kie exchange a look, and it’s clear to you that you are missing several pieces of the puzzle. “Guys! Come on, you-you can’t expect me to just be on board with lying to my boyfriend and showing up to help you guys without knowing what it even is, right? What’s going on?”

“We will explain everything, just please promise us that you’ll come,” Kie implores and you nod hesitantly. 

“And you won’t tell Rafe?” Sarah asks again.

“Come on. Pogues for life, right?” Kie says, and you get a flashback to your life two months

ago—doing anything for your friends and dreaming of how you’d end up with one of the boys someday. It all seems like a million years ago.

“Yes, yeah, yeah, I’ll be there. I won’t tell him.”

You guess that God was on your side today. 

R🧸ྀི: Hey kid. Busy with my dad today. Dinner tomorrow okay?

sounds perfect!! don’t work too hard! i'm gonna watch a movie with my mom and blake and stay in tn

R🧸ྀི: You got mail again?

you know me so well

R🧸ྀི: Have fun princess.

You set down your phone on your dresser, feeling like you could throw up your dinner. It’s just starting to get dark outside, and you’ve just lied to Rafe for the first time since you’ve met him. It feels terrible, like something’s gnawing inside you, begging you to come clean and confess, or not to go out at all. You think about it for a moment, maybe if he knows you’re with some of your old friends, it won’t be like a real lie.

Then you remember your old friends are the ones who punched him. You tell your mom you’re going to Rafe’s, and then you get in your fancy car that Rafe helped you christen the other day—in the backseat, specifically—and drive to your old life.

You park next to the Twinkie and get out, stepping into a slush of mud. Your shoes are new, and were clean, and you cringe internally at how much you started caring about these things. You don’t want Rafe to see you with dirty shoes.

The boys and Kie are sitting on the logs near the fire pit. Sarah is sitting right next to John B, looking at him how you look at Rafe, and then you realize the magnitude of just how much you’ve missed.

“Hey,” Kie says, looking up first, smiling. “You came.”

“Yeah.” You’re at a loss for words. Everyone looks the same. Everything feels so different.

A part of you wants to sink down between Pope and JJ, crack a beer, and laugh at jokes you think you would still understand. Another part wants to get into the fancy car and drive to Tannyhill. You opt for neither, standing a few yards away and letting the light from the fire cast its hazy glow over you and all your old friends.

“Did you tell him?” Sarah asks. She means it well, not in a rude way, but that’s how you feel. 

“No, no, I didn’t. He, he thinks I’m at home. With my mom and Blake.”

“Alright,” JJ says, tossing his empty beer can. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

“Listen,” John B says, getting up and sounding too sincere for your liking. “We all appreciate you coming. Because we need a favor from you, and it might not be easy.”

“I mean, I think it’s gonna be pretty easy. Unless Rafe is like, really, really crazy, like even crazier than we already know he is-” JJ says, but stops when Kie and Pope shake their heads. “What? She knows, she’s the one dating him.”

“Know what? I don’t even know what you want from me-”

“We need a distraction. For Rafe, okay?” John B starts.

“An hour, okay, that’s all we need, right guys?” Sarah asks, looking back at everyone. They nod, trying to convince you, except Jayj.

“Well, like, maybe a couple of hours. If he’s up to that, y’know, I don’t wanna assume shit ‘bout stamina and all that-”

“JJ,” Pope says, shoving the blond’s arm. “You’re not helping.”

“What?” you breathe out, even more confused than before. You start to get what they’re asking, you just don’t want to admit it.

“We need to distract Rafe, for an hour, or like two hours, and we figured you’re our best bet.” John B says, and you look at them with your mouth falling open a little.

“You want me to…sleep with my boyfriend, to distract him, so you guys can do something that you won’t tell me about?”

“Kind of, yeah. Pretty much.”

“And is, is this thing going to hurt him in the long run? Is he going to be upset? When he finds out what happened?”

“My Kook feelings radar is a little off, right now, but who knows, I mean hell, he might not ever find out,” JJ says, and you want to sit down, because your knees feel weak, but the ground is muddy and the logs are occupied. “If we do our job right, he won’t know for a long, long time, right guys?” A chorus of right, right rings around the fire. 

“And you’re not gonna tell me what this is about at all?” 

“Well, it might not be a good idea. Because, you’re dating him, and listen, we just need like an hour, and he never has to know you were a part of this, okay? I will never tell him, none of us will,” Sarah says, and you do believe her. But you can’t believe that they’re asking you to do this.

“And if he finds out, and he breaks up with me, then what?” 

“Yeah, I, uh, knew this was a bad idea. She’s not gonna do it, guys, so let’s just reformulate-”

“Oh, you knew I was gonna say no, JJ? Lying to my boyfriend? For the people who hurt him?”

“He hurt us too, y’know,” Pope says, and you feel your heart begin to race. 

“No, I don’t know, because no one tells me anything! No one answers their phone and no one’s here when I drive down. Kie, you live two streets away from me now. The first time I saw you all month was at Midsummers and then, today. Asking me to come here to lie to Rafe, to sleep with him to distract him.”

“No, no, we shouldn’t have asked you, because I knew you would say no, I told them-” and you can’t believe the words coming from your friend's mouth. “Look at you, you went total Kook on us.” 

And then you feel like they’re taking it all in. The R around your neck, the jewelry that sparkles in the light of the fire, all yellow citrine, for Rafe’s birth month. The pink dress that’s his favorite—you put it on this morning in case you ended up back at Tannyhill tonight. And worst of all, his white button up hanging from your shoulders, smelling like ocean and sandalwood and Rafe Cameron. 

“It’s like you belong to him now.” You feel a tear sliding down, but you wipe it away. 

“Maybe that’s because he was actually there for me, when I needed it. And I get it, maybe I should have tried harder. But you guys should have too.”

The group of you stand there in silence for a moment. Your phone goes off. You know it’s Rafe. They know it is too. It starts with Kie, and then a course of apologies from everyone. John B wipes away your tears like nothing has changed. JJ scratches his head, and then hugs you tighter than he ever has before. Pope tells you how much he’s missed you, how he had to start bandaging wounds in your absence. 

“I’ll distract him. An hour, that’s all you get. I’m not sleeping with him because you guys want me to, okay? So if he leaves, he leaves.” 

You take off for Tannyhill, leaving your old life behind and risking your new one all at once.

౨ৎ

Rafe’s phone goes off again, and he lets out a short, tight breath. 

Princess: are you still busy at home? i need you

Princess: please rafey

“I’ll be back,” he tells Ward, and before he can even respond, he’s out of the room, calling you. The line rings twice, and then you answer.

“Rafey?” you sound quiet, like you’ve been crying.

“Hey, hey kid. What’s going on? I told you I was working tonight,” and then he runs a hand through his hair, because he knows he’s fucked, if you’re crying and you need him, then he’s going.

“I know, Rafe, I just really need you, I had a really bad night-” “Woah, wait, I thought you were just with your parents?”

“I was, it just got really bad, I-I’m outside Tannyhill because I had to leave, and then I got lost and I was scared so I just came straight here.”

“Lost? Jeez, kid, it’s, like, down the street.”

“But I didn’t wanna bother you, ‘cause you were busy-” and then he hears a hiccup, and then a sob.

“Okay, okay, stay there, I’m gonna come get you,” and he hangs up the call. He darts outside, spotting your navy car and you inside, still in the same clothes from this morning, just wearing his shirt over it, like a jacket. He gets close and you climb out of the car yourself, jumping into his arms and burying your face into his neck, like you always do when you get like this. He can feel the way your body shakes under his arms, the wetness of your tears on his black polo.

“Okay, it’s okay now, come on, let’s go inside.” You make it up the stairs to his bedroom, when Rafe guides you inside and pulls his blinds, so no one peeks inside. 

He sits you up on the edge of his bed, squatting before you, hands in yours, arms resting on your knees. 

“You gonna tell me what happened?” You shake your head, another tear falling. You wish you could say you were pretending, but the tears find their own way when you think about the encounter you just had. You’re lying when you tell him it’s between you and your parents, but his reaction makes you regret it instantly. “Did they say somethin’ to you? Did they try something? I’ll go over there and sort it all out, okay, kid, don’t worry about a thing.” He stands up, running another hand through his messy hair, letting it fall in the moppy way it always does, over his forehead. “Stay here, okay, princess, I’ll be back.”

Then you realize he’s gonna go over there and talk to your perfectly happy, clueless parents, so you stand up and turn him back around.

“No, no, Rafe, don’t leave,” and then you melt into a hug, taking in everything about it. Rafe rests his chin on the top of your head, his arms tight around your back. He smells so good, and the way he’s taking care of you makes you realize a couple things. “Will you just…make me forget?”

Your boyfriend looks down at you, and you don’t shy away from his gaze like you often, when you get flustered. 

“Make you forget?” he questions. 

“I just don’t wanna think about anything else,” you start, undoing the bow of your dress, more cleavage revealing itself. “I just wanna think about you,” and then your fingers undo the buttons trailing down the front of your dress. It falls off your shoulders, and you stand before him, naked, certainly not for the first time but what feels like the most intimate it’s ever been. 

There’s a pretty lingerie set hidden in the back of your closet, what you had actually put aside for this moment, but you had no time to run home and get it, so you opted for the next best thing, taking your bra and panties off in the car ride here, shoving them into your purse, and hoping that Rafe was as tempted as you were.

“Just about me?” he questions, and you take his hand into yours, leaning in to press a soft kiss against his lips.

“Just you, Rafe. I’m ready, Rafey, I want you to fuck me,” and it seems like that’s all it takes. Rafe crushes his lips against yours, kissing you how he always does, tongue in your mouth and spit everywhere. He holds you by the back of your head and your hands run through his hair. You want him closer, even closer than he already is, than he possibly could be.

His hands leave your head and go down to your ass, grabbing both cheeks roughly and wrapping your legs around his waist. He drops you on his bed, head hitting the pillow, and you pull away for a second, to catch your breath. Rafe doesn’t let it happen, gripping your cheeks between his hand and bringing you back in for another kiss. You’re naked, and he’s still completely dressed, but you don’t miss the obvious way his hardened dick presses against your bare cunt.

You can’t breathe, and all your senses are overpowered by Rafe, but you also don’t really care. You keep kissing, moaning into each other’s mouths and gripping hair and skin that’s sure to leave a bruise tomorrow, until you feel him finally pull away for a second. You catch your breath, open-mouthed and heaving, eyes locked.

“‘M only gonna ask this once, kid,” he breathes, leaving another hot kiss on your neck, which makes you spread your legs further open with instinct. “Y’sure you want this? ‘Cause there’s no going back.”

You nod in that way you always have with him, telling him everything with no words at all. 

“That’s my girl,” he breathes against your neck, and you feel him bite down into the soft skin of the flesh there. You yell out, but it turns into a moan when Rafe licks his tongue over the wound. “That’s just so you can remember this night, okay baby?” You look back up at him, wet eyes, swollen lips, and flushed, sweaty skin. 

“Thank you, daddy.” He smiles, because you’re in for it now.

“You’re welcome, kid. Shit,” he breathes out, “I knew you’d like it, little freak.” He starts with more hot kisses, all the way down your neck, down your sternum, and stopping to press a kiss to each side of your ribs, before continuing down to your stomach. You whine from your position below him, one huge hand holding your hip in place and the other tracing the pattern of the kisses down, until he finally reaches where you want him to be.

“Gotta be quiet, kid, everyone’s home. You gonna let them all hear how much of a whore you are for me? Huh?” he mocks, and you shake your head fervently. “Good girl. You’re being so good, you’re gonna get a treat, okay?” You nod stupidly.

His breath catches for a second, when he gets down to your glistening cunt. He looks up at you from his position there, your chest heaving, tits bouncing with how much you’re squirming, how much you want him to do something. He moves his hands, one resting on your breast, pinching the nipple with his finger, and the other running a line down your pussy. Your whole body twitches up when he runs the metal of his ring over your clit, because he knows you really like it. 

“Rafe, please,” you cry, sounding stupid and fucked out, even though he hasn’t started yet. “Please, please,” and your hips jerk up. He pushes them down. 

“Be patient, kid. Gotta admire this virgin pussy for the last time before I ruin it, ‘kay?” You feel your walls tighten at his words, and you hope he missed the way everything just clenched, but it’s Rafe, and he didn’t miss a thing. “Like that, huh? You like being my little slut?”

You shake your head, trying to deny it, but the damage is done.

Rafe dives in, and you let out a moan that you didn’t realize you were capable of producing. You clamp your own hand over your mouth, because you know he’ll stop if you get too loud. His tongue licks you up and down, and true to what you had always thought, he does know what he’s doing.

The hand pinching your nipples doesn’t relent, and the weight of his arm holds you down when you buck up as he pushes two fingers inside you, scissoring them to stretch your walls out. It hurts, in the best way, and before you know it, he’s added a third.

His mouth stays focused on your clit, and your legs tremble, even though it’s barely been a few minutes. It’s all of it, all at once. Being naked in Rafe’s bed, his hand groping your tits, the way he holds you down without trying, the smell of his cologne and his skin and his sweat, making you lightheaded.

His fingers push in and out, and when he hits that sweet spot inside you, the one your own fingers have never been able to reach but somehow, Rafe’s have become well acquainted with, you can’t help the noises you make.

You repeat his name over and over again, and you think you’ve felt the height of this pleasure, that nothing could surpass this feeling, until your stomach tightens in an entirely new way. Your fucked out brain gets it together for a minute, to feel the overwhelming, ecstatic pressure of Rafe’s tongue on your clit, spelling out his own name. Your stomach tightens, unbearably so, that coil winding up, but before he even finishes the F, it snaps all at once. 

You let out a scream—which you think is so stupid of you. But it feels so good, there was no way around it. Rafe reacts instantly, grabbing your hand that’s pulling his hair and using it to snap over your mouth, all while he rides you through it. 

His nose presses against your clit while he slides his fingers out, your pussy walls clamping around nothing, missing him already. He laps up the mess you just made with his tongue, the noise being so overwhelming, you want to scream again. 

You use your other hand to yank his hair, pulling him up to look at you, because you know you want to see this. Rafe, your Rafe, your boyfriend, with blown, wide eyes and the entire lower half of his face glistening with your juices, with the mess you just made, and then you collapse back down onto the bed. 

Your breathing is heavy. You aren’t sure it’ll ever go back to normal.

Rafe pulls his shirt off by grabbing it from the back, yanking it over his head. Your hand floats up to

touch his chest, to make sure he’s still real and not just a vivid sex dream, but he slaps it out of the way.

“What did I say, hm?” he asks, leaning over you. His face is just an inch too far to kiss. Your limbs feel numb, and you can’t pull him down yourself. You want to cry, because you want to kiss him so badly. “I said you had to be quiet, or everyone’s gonna know what a little whore you are.”

“I tried, daddy, I did-”

“I don’t think you tried at all, kid.”

“No, I did, I swear-”

“You’re lucky that I-” and before he finishes his sentence, you pull him down into another kiss. He tastes like you and scotch, and the combination is so intoxicating, you can’t pull away. “Hey, hey,” he breathes. “I’m not going anywhere, okay?” and the soothing way he says it, you believe him.

“I’m lucky that you what?” you ask, unbuckling his belt and snaking it off the loops.

“That I love you, and I’m not gonna punish you tonight for not listening to me.” You drop the belt over your stomach, the melt part hitting with a little clink. You look back up at him, your eyes wide, you imagine, your cheeks flushed. 

“You love me?” you ask, quietly. You can barely hear yourself over the thud of your heart pounding in your chest.

“I do,” Rafe replies, running his hand to smooth over your hair, which you’re sure is a mess now. “Enough that I’m gonna fuck you now, but I had to say it first, because I’m gonna fuck you until you break.”

You’re speechless, watching Rafe unbutton his pants and kick them off, boxers going with them. He strokes himself once, twice, and you’re still staring up at his face, even though normally you would get distracted. 

He looks up again. 

“You ready, kid?” 

“I love you, Rafey,” you say, twisting your hands around to the back of his neck, pushing him into yet another kiss. You can’t pull away, even if you want to, you want him so close that you forget everything else in the world for now. While you’re kissing, he lines himself up with your leaking pussy, which has probably ruined these sheets, and pushes in the tip.

You pull back from the kiss, just to moan, but Rafe silences you with his mouth again. He pushes in more, and more, until you’re sure he’s bottomed out. Your cunt is so, so stretched, you can’t fathom this is what you’ve been missing out on, and it feels so good, like nothing has ever felt before, not his fingers, not his tongue, not any other part of him. 

“That’s halfway, kid, you doin’ okay?” and your eyes jolt up to his in a second.

“H-half?” you breathe out. “I can’t, I can’t take any more, s’not gonna fit Rafe, not gonna fit-”

“Hey,” he repeats, which always has that calming effect on you. “You let me worry about that, okay? Just relax this pussy f’me, okay?” and the way he says it, you do, because you have no other choice. He pushes in again, fast, hard, and then pulls all the way out. You’re too scared to look anywhere but his eyes, so you stay locked in on them, until he pushes all the way in again, and your eyes clasp shut.

“Oh, oh my god, Rafe-” And you don’t care who hears you this time. He pulls out again, just his lip still inside you.

“Look, princess, look down,” he urges, and you follow his instructions, because you always do. “Look where we’re connected, yeah?” He fucks in and out of you, slowly but then faster, and you do look, entranced at the way your pussy sucks him in, the way your cum is coating his dick, at the brutal pace he’s set. 

You look until you can’t anymore, leaning back against the pillow and watching Rafe above you, his face twisted in pleasure, eyebrows furrowed, mouth panting. He buries his face into your neck, and you grip the top of his shoulders, nails digging in, because you just need to hold onto something.

He told the truth, you think, in your fucked out, blissful state, that he was going to fuck you like he hated you, battering into your sore pussy over and over again. 

You repeat his name—daddy, not Rafe—until he shuts you up with a kiss, and he watches the strings of spit connecting your mouths when he pulls away.

“Just needed this dick, didn’ya princess? Just needed daddy to think for ya?” You moan in reply. “You got it then, kid, because m’never gonna stop fucking you. Y’never gonna think about anything else again.”

And then he finally does you in, because he presses down, right below your stomach, while he slams in, and you feel something inside you break, like a flood breaking through a dam. It washes out to every part of you, from your ears to your fingers to your toes. White hot pleasure runs its course through your body, cunt tightening and shaking, eyes rolling back, your spine arching forward. Through all of it, Rafe pins you down, and fucks you through it. And finally, deliriously, you open your fucked-out eyes, looking up at him.

“I love you, daddy,” and he cums before he can even pull out, messy rivulets shooting inside you, leaking out onto his expensive sheets. He moans into your neck, and his entire body slumps forward, and you giggle under the weight.

A few minutes pass by.

“Rafey, you’re gonna crush me,” you say quietly, sing-songy. You’re so happy, you’ve forgotten everything else that’s happened.

Rafe presses a kiss to your forehead and rolls off, slumping next to you. Your head lands on his chest not a second later, his arm around your shoulder and another kiss to your hair.

“Feel better, kid?” 

“So much better, Rafey.” 

You don’t know when you fall asleep, only that you woke up to the sound of your phone going on. You pick it up, trying to turn down the light so Rafe doesn’t wake up too. There’s one message.

JJ: I thought you said you weren’t gonna sleep with him?

౨ৎ

[angelplummie]

here for revenge.

being lily's best friend - you grow up with her - you're in the donaldsons orbit for all your formative years. you develop a crush on art that turns into love as you grow older. your home life isn't so glamorous. you spend lots of weekends at the donaldsons. art has tucked you in. brought you snacks when you stayed up late for movie nights, making you and lily promise not to tell tashi. you were there when art and tashi got divored, held lilys hand and pretended not to be happy inside at the thought of getting closer to art.

lily gets into college - a big smart one because she has tashi's ambition and leaves you behind, you're still stuck at home because your dreams have always been smaller.

maybe its not appropriate, to still spend time with art. but he's lonely. tashi left, and now his daughter has and you're the only one left in his life that actually wants to be around him, that has always looked at him with stars in your eyes. its probably not healthy. there should be a boundary there. your lilies, not his.

but you like being around him and he likes having someone to take care of. you come over and he makes you eat something healthy and you needle him about spending all his time at home and how he should get out more, and he rolls his eyes, tells you he should be saying the same to you, you're young and beautiful and you should be dating around.

but how can you date around when art donaldson is your dream man? when you're happiest at his side, eating what he makes you. you want more though. you want to share his bed, warm it for him, you want to make him not so lonely, you want him to stop seeing you as a little girl and as the adult you've grown up to be - so you start wearing less and less around him. start acting more and more like a housewife.

art accepts it without even realizing. now you just need to find the right opportunity to pounce.

WHEW. this one is long so buckle up

“art?”

“mr donaldson.”

you roll your eyes.

“mr donaldson, how come you never started dating again?”

he chopped the lemon with a deft clunk, eyes never leaving the knife.

“never felt the urge.”

“what does that mean?”

“what i just said. never felt the need to.”

“hm.”

you sat on the island, next to the chopping board. your legs swung haphazardly, and you watched art as he chopped.

why was he playing this game? he could’ve told you to leave, to stop coming back and bothering him, that this was inappropriate. and yet. he didn’t even tell you to get your sorry butt off the counter, or some such dad-ism. the low glow of the many warm lamps that adorned such a luxurious house illuminated art so softly, he looked as young as the day lily was born. he was as fit as back then, if not meatier. he didn’t have the pouch your dad had, but the years had given him a thickness. instead of wasting away like most lean men did, he struggled to the other side. he got broader. layer upon layer of muscle encased in a thin finishing of fat. he was skinnier when you were a kid, but he had no reason to be lean now. under his chin a tiny hammock of pudge rested as his head tilted down, kissed by light stubble. his blonde hair was streaked in silver, but that somehow made him younger looking. made him glow. he had grown it out, by your suggestion. he was everything in the world a man should be.

“what about you?”

“i hate boys. they’re all stupid.”

“you got that right. you’re too good for all of them, never settle.”

“maybe it’s just boys my own age. theyre so immature.”

arts wide chest heaves. his eyes flick to you then flick back down. you see it all, and cross one leg over the other.

“maybe.”

“what were you like when you were my age?”

he laughs at the memory.

“stupid, immature, evil. if i was anything to go by you should swear off men entirely until menopause.”

air left your chest cavity.

“i don’t wanna wait. i want a fully formed one.”

you watched the muscles in arts forearms flex as he squeezed the lemon onto salad. the main course was cooking, was singing loudly on the stove. art had gotten into cooking after the divorce. it took all his attention and put it in one place, something complex and delicate and time consuming. it helped to clear his head. it wasn’t helping right this second.

“i shouldn’t say that,” he said curtly,”boys your age aren’t so bad. give them a go and quit hanging out with an old man.”

“but i like you, old man.”

art was so harsh on himself. he really wasn’t that old. and you really weren’t that young.

he pressed his lips together and kept squeezing. his pink lips, that gave his face the everlasting youth it held. he shrugged his shoulders in that way he did when he was confronted with the truth of your arrangement. there was something going on. something very, very, very wrong. you were the same age as his daughter. 3 months younger. he was the worst man in the world. the worst person to ever breathe. what could he do though? tell you to go? tell you to leave his house and never come back? what would become of you then? without him, what pillar of paternity would you rely upon? what new low would you reach? what men would you come across, and what would you do to please them? while he gingerly entertained you, you dangled something in front of his face that others would not have the restraint or morality to resist. if you had to move to another target, your next victim might not care so deeply for your wellbeing. were you not altogether safer, sitting in his kitchen, eating his caesar salad, rather than inhaling second hand cigarettes from old wrinkled fucks who might murder you, or worse-

“art?”

“mr donaldson.”

“you got a bunch of lemon pips in the salad.”

“oh.”

he set down the lemon.

“are you ok? you seem tense.”

“i’m good. are you cold? i can turn on the heating if you like.”

“no. it’s actually quite warm in here.”

he hears the zip of your hoodie and starts away from the island, under the pretence of getting a paper towel to deposit the lemon seeds on. your jumper clatters to the counter, and you watch his adam’s apple bob as he swallows. low cut top. he knows that’s what you’re wearing. because that’s all it’s been for the past 2 months. your mini skirt flowers around you as you sit, but when you stand each swish and sway of the fabric is a death sentence. god forbid you take the stairs for some ungodly reason.

“hey, you know what you said about never having the urge?”

oh, fuck off, he thought. fuck off. leave him be. leave him alone. release him.

“yes.”

“you can’t really mean that can you?”

“sure i can.”

“i mean, you can. but i don’t think you do.”

you twirled a strand of hair in between your fingers. your stomach grumbled, loud enough that he could hear. you were so hungry you could die, but if you ate what art was frying your breath would smell like fish all night.

“let me check the salmon.”

“i’m not that hungry. you can’t mean that you never had the urge to. everyone has urges.”

“well sure. but after tashi, i needed a breather. a grace period, if you will. you can’t go from marriage with a woman like her right into dating.”

“but it’s been 3 years. you must be over it by now?”

he ignored the hope in your voice. ignore, ignore, ignore.

“i am over it. but. women scare me.”

he walked languidly over the salmon. it was ready.

“i don’t scare you, i’m a woman.”

a woman. he turned off the stove, and turned to fix you with a stare for the first time tonight. a woman. that was not the word he would use to describe you. your eyes were the size of saucers, and you bat your lashes languidly, like you knew how much you were making him suffer. you sat up pin straight, and twisted your spine to make eye contact with him. your body. he tried not to look. tried not to look in front of you and see the twisted grin come across your lips. but he was a weak man. the weakest of men, and his eyes dragged over where a fatherly view should never cross. your perky new tits, the press and curve of your ass against the counter, the plush of your thighs. it seemed you had grown up overnight, and didn’t know you were still a baby. you’re a baby. you knew what you were doing to him. you knew. he blushed involuntarily.

“you scare me most of all.”

his voice trembled. he hadn’t meant to say that. hadn’t meant to dignify you will any response at all. it had crossed his mind and then it crossed his lips.

your eyes lit up with extreme delight. he liked to make you happy, but his stomach churned with the thought of why.

“why?”

he turned back around, and plated up your salmon, adding potatos and asparagus from the same pan, drizzling it all in the residual oil.

“why art?”

“mr donaldson.”

a twinge of irritation tickles your stomach. what was he fighting this for? you’re all grown up now. you both knew what was going to happen. he was resisting fate, the inevitable.

all your life you had known he was the man you were meant to be with. from that first time he kissed your forehead as you dozed off on the couch, thinking you were asleep. when his strong arms would carry both you and his daughter, flinging you around, threatening to dunk you in their backyard pool. when he would catch your eye in the rear view mirror as he drove you around and winked. he was so nice. so nice and brave and kind and warm, and if you had to be with any man it should be him because you’ve loved him since you were 8, and now you’re old enough to claim it. you’re not just a dumb kid with a crush. you love him. you understand it being one sided back then. but it isn’t anymore, and you wouldn’t let him deny it. with gliding footsteps you approached him, drawing closer every second he didn’t turn around. a hand rests on his shoulder blade.

“just stop,” you breathed after a pause.

his spatula clattered to the pan with a metallic thunk. you pull your hand away like he burnt you. he gripped the counter with a sigh and hung his head.

“you stop. stop it now,” his voice was stern. you felt yourself shrink. art was never stern.

“i know what you’re thinking, and it’s not going to happen. this has gone on far too long and it stops right now.”

a mere few paces from his wide curved back, you blink. the urge to touch him is overwhelming. you want to press your hand to his back, feel him under your palm and tell him you know he wants this. you know he wants this just as bad as you do.

but you don’t, because he’s angry at you, and he’s never been angry at you before.

“i’ve let you come here and cooked you food and watched movies with you because you’re a good kid. because i knew you as a kid and i know your problems with your father and i wanted to be there for you when lily is away. but you have taken this too far. you’re my daughters best friend. i have cleaned up your vomit twice, i baked you a cake for your 13th birthday- it’s not right. i’ve tried to be understanding, i’ve tried to ignore it, but you never drop it. never. your lack of self respect is staggering. you have to drop it right now or, im sorry but you can’t come back here anymore.”

every muscle fibre was clenched. if the counter top wasn’t marble it would’ve crunch and fell away under his grip. he couldn’t take it anymore. he didn’t know how much longer he could be good. didn’t know how much longer he could take resisting you.

maybe he was harsh. but it was the right thing to do. the only thing to do. he rested his elbow on the counter, and between his forefinger and his thumb held the bridge of his nose. he exhaled loudly. he hadn’t meant for it to come out that way, hadn’t planned it. but now it was out. he had stared the elephant in the room dead in its eyes. he felt lighter, somewhat liberated.

until he turned around after a few too many seconds of silence to see you turned away from him, slightly hunched over. he stepped closer, and saw your hands covering your mouth. you body jolted, and you drew in quick, grasping breaths. you were crying. he said your name, and you didn’t turn to look at him.

“i’m sorry. i’m sorry mr donaldson.”

all the relief he felt was replaced by swift, acute, crushing guilt. your hair fell over your face, shielding you from him. he said your name once more. you sniffed.

“hey, hey hey hey.”

against his better judgement, and because of the aching of his heart, he took you gently by the shoulders, and turned you to face him.

“i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.”

tears spill from your eyes and you wipe them away with a heavy hand, refusing to meet his eyes. his neck craned down to your eye level, his thumbs began tracing circle in your shoulders. a thoughtless gesture but one that made you cry even harder.

“i’m sorry. i don’t know what i was thinking. im just so sorry.”

“hey, it’s ok. it’s alright.”

“it’s not alright. i’ve ruined everything. i’ve made it- so- weird. i just thought that you- you wanted me. i’m so stupid.”

your mascara runs, painting your face with your turmoil.

how could you be so dense? you had been making him uncomfortable. he didn’t want you. the only reason he even let you hang around was obligation. because of what you meant to lily. you didn’t mean anything to him. you were just some kid. did he even think you’re pretty? you bet he didn’t.

worse than that, you had disappointed him. him. he was supposed to be everything your dad wasn’t. and now he was disappointed. you had failed. you had ruined everything. what even were you? were you even human?

“don’t. you’re not stupid. don’t say that.”

“i’m sorry. i just- i wanted to make you happy. that’s all i ever wanted. i wanted you to be happy with me. you were so- so- so crushed after the divorce, i-i just-“

he guides you over to the bar stool, and you let him. you sit across from each other. his hand touches your cheek, the other holds you shoulder still. the touch of his hand quietens your babbling, your eyes round and wet and open.

“you do make me happy.”

your lips parted, plump with crying.

“i do?”

he cringes at the hope in your voice, at the feeling in his chest that it stirs. the feeling in his whole body at touching, after so many years, your soft skin. the last time he held your face you were 8, crying over a bumped knee. he had very different feelings now than he did then. sympathy and concern had ebbed, making way for much darker, much more corrosive emotions. he felt guilt and want broil in the chambers of his stomach, and the evilness inside him told him how easy to would be to get what he wanted. how close he was.

“yes. you’re my favourite buddy, we have a great time together,” he ruffled your shoulder like you pat a dog, speaking quick to placate you.

the hope in your eyes dwindled.

“so,” you sniffled, “you don’t feel anything for me? you don’t-don’t want me at all?”

with your convulsive sobbing your chest rose and fell, and with each jolt you spilled further out of your thread bare top. he closed his eyes, and swallowed, adam’s apple bobbing. inhaling deeply, his fingers released your shoulder.

“it doesn’t matter what i want.”

“yes it does, it matters the most,” you answer immediately, tears gone from your eyes, now sliding down from your water line and down your cheek, “what do you want?”

what does art want? when was the last time he asked himself that question? years. at least. he drew away from you. you felt sick.

he turned on the stool, ducking his head and cradling his face in his hands

“i want…”

what the fuck was he saying? he couldn’t say this to you. he couldn’t. but he was.

“i… you’re a very gorgeous girl. you’re sweet. you’re smart. you’re funny. i like you very much.”

he said it like he was confessing to murder. elbow resting on his knee, his hand covered his eyes with splayed fingers. god, he was going to hell for this. even saying the words felt like the deepest sin imaginable, and he was sanitising his truth extensively. what he thought about at night, when you went home and his house became cold again, when he got into the shower and mechanically relieved himself into the drain, that was truly deplorable. when he touched himself, it was you he thought of. invariably. everything a man could possibly do to a girl, everything a girl could possibly do to a man, he had laid up in his bed and touched himself to with you in mind. ropes and ropes and ropes of cum in your honour, so gently splattered on shower walls and bedsheets he needed to wash anyway. sometimes he came on his torso, just to feel young and frivolous, like you were. and when he did his brain would turn back on, and he would feel so guilty that he would lay there to soak up his guilt, a punishment for himself from himself. so yes. he wanted you. he wanted you very, very badly. with every fibre of his being, he craved you. and with every fibre of his soul, he hated himself for it. but apparently he was still talking. what his morality urged him his mouth couldn’t hear, or wouldn’t obey.

“so don’t think you’re delusional. you had every reason to think i might reciprocate.”

you watched him, glossy eyes wide as ever. he peeked from beneath his fingers, immediately covering his eyes again when he saw you watch him. he shouldn’t have said that. he shouldn’t have. that was bad, it’s only giving you hope, and there is no hope. he can’t, he can’t. he want to so badly but he can’t. god, no he can’t. it would be so easy but easy isn’t right and how could he ever look his daughter in the eyes again if he did? how could he look at tashi?

“mr donaldson?”

“mm,” he replied miserably.

“kiss me.”

slowly, exhausted, he lifted up his head. mistake. now he was thinking about it as he looked at your face, puffy and damp and shining like a star.

why did he look so disgusted? what was so wrong with you? you couldn’t stop yourself from barreling ahead, feeling his premature rejection like a rock in your stomach.

“just once. then i’ll leave and i’ll never bother you and you won’t see me anymore and i’ll go to church and ill get a therapist, but just once.”

he looks so tired. so tired and so fucking good. his eyes smouldered with deep thought, the thought only a mature man can have. he was so mature. he was so much larger than you. he could hurt you if he wanted to. he could make you do anything but all he did was look at you so tired it made you squirm inside. as your sobs died in your throat, regret and embarrassment become indistinguishable from desire.

he blinked slowly, and opened his mouth. the white of his teeth glittered. his tongue pawed the inside of his cheek. he was thinking about it.

how could he be thinking about it? he was the worst person in the world. and yet. and yet. one kiss. he could control it with one kiss. one kiss wouldn’t hurt. one kiss. he had kissed your head before. your cheek. what was so different about this?

wordlessly, he moved off the stool. heart in your mouth you waited. a tremulous breath shuddered from your chest as he took one step. two steps. three steps. until he was stood above you. his face was unreadable. not cold. not warm. just looking, appraising from above his brown lower lashes, down his strong kissable nose.

“one kiss?”

his hand rose slowly, palm facing upwards. his finger tips grazed your jaw, your chin, tilting your head up. fireworks burst in your stomach, and you resisted the urge to moan.

“one. that’s all.”

one. that would be all. one kiss and he would put this silly fascination away for good. a kiss is deniable. a kiss is nothing.

he stoops down, can feel the nerves vibrating from your skin. his head tilts slightly, and your eyes lock as he descends to your level. his hand moves into your hair, a combing hold. and you kiss. no tongue. your lips connect, mush and expand over the others. his nose touched your cheek. your arms remained stiff by your side as they gripped the stool. you felt the pinkness of his lips, felt the edge of his cupids bow. and then he pulled away.

there. one kiss. he had done what he had to to get you to drop it. had fulfilled your criteria, and now you could move on. now he could move on.

but if that was true, why was he leaning in again? why did almost tasting your saliva, a substance he had thought about in great detail, make him hungrier for it? why was almost having it worse than never coming close? why did he pull gently on your hair, making your head tip back, opening you mouth so he could kiss the part of you he craved; the inside part? why was he hard if it was over?

his tongue flicked gently inside, asking permission. your mouths closed together, making the kiss noise you hate hearing but love making. they open quickly and in sequence. your hands rise up to gently hover over his chest, barely grazing his shirt. you didn’t want to touch him too hard in case he dissipated into a cloud of smoke, an illusion.

but he was very real, and under your timid girlish touch he was undone. a soft exhalation like a groan into your mouth, and his tongue protruded. it touched yours and you tasted the salt on it, shivering. his other hand fell back to your shoulder, gripping so hard it was like had no idea what he was doing. feeling your mouth against his was all that there was. there wasn’t right, there wasn’t wrong, there was only sensation.

all the want he had saved for solitary and depressing masturbation now burst through his veins, into his actions and he kissed you with all the passion in him. with everything he’s never said, with all the times he held back with you, with tashi. he kissed you like if he didn’t he would die, breathing and groaning and grunting involuntarily. he mashed his face to yours, crushing your lips, taking your bottom lip between his teeth before recapturing your mouth in a sloppy open mouthed kiss. it felt like steam evaporated from where your met, so hot and wet.

you didn’t know what was your and what was art, where you finished and art began. you meshed like the broken pieces of a vase slotted against each other. his tongue became so wild it clipped the side of your mouth in its frantic exploration, and you sighed.

ultimately it was you who had to pull away. you pulled your hands into your own chest, gasping for breath. he didn’t move an inch. he gripped your shoulder still, cradled your face the same. he opened his eyes, chest rising and falling graciously.

he surveyed you, still too high from your touch to feel guilt, with lazy eyes. he was so fucked. your eyes sparkled like glitter. your lips shined pearly with his spit. his.

“art?”

“yes?”

“it’s not just one kiss is it?”

despite himself, despite everything, he smiled.

“no. i don’t think it is.”

[ventismacchiato]

stuck with you — prologue !

scaramouche x gender neutral reader

FLASHBACK PART ONE: Windblume and Delusion PreDebut. Their Trainee days and before they were a group and how often you guys would fight.

FLASHBACK PART TWO: You and Scara both releasing your solo albums and how the rivalry between you both got worse. One year after your debut and two years into his. Plus some fun stantwt filler.

stuck with you !

masterlist — prev | next

LORD I HOPE THIS MADE SENSE AND WAS ORGANIZED I WANTED IT IN ONE POST.

trust the character development guys scarayn are both little shits for now

dispatch is supposed to be verified and *they’re in slide 21

also that’s not yn in the album cover pretend it’s fischl modeling for u 🙅 don’t come for me, but u can pretend it’s yn if ur comf i’m tryna keep it gn

pls lmk in the masterlist comments if i can use ur username and make you a fan in the au!

synopsis — after the disaster that was the live award show, where you and scaramouche got into an argument on stage after both of your groups got a tie for top artists, your guys' PR teams have been in shambles trying to scrape up your mess. that's when the idea to send you both off with some other idols to a remote location for a survival dating show to mend your public image comes up. before you know it your bags are packed and you’re on a plane to a remote island. the only obligation is you need to end up with scaramouche at the end of the show, whether you end up liking him or not doesn’t matter to your managers as long as the show’s ratings stay high. whatever you do in between to get there is up to you!

notes — my exams r over slayyy. editing this took forever i couldn’t find album covers i fucked with 🥹 anyway pls comment if ur enjoying guys it’s been a year do i still got it 😓

taglist — @na1lea @cindywasneverhere @lunavixia @sheraeera @aestherin @mlaakai @camvrin @retiredmommylover @iheartpieck @crystalcrys @cartierfiles @loveariel @silly-ez @mochipls @pomeiu @chuuismylife @flowerypesky @creammpuff @justanothertiredreader @boxdisappeared @kissmiere @kissingkzuha @webbywill @kazusboyfriend @s3xpistolss @pjsucks @bunns-wonderland @lordbugs @localgirlywithnolife @kosumos @danfelions @featuredtofu @pinxeajin @herebyaccident0 @haeunoo @scaradooche @pglt19 @chemiru @childesbabygirl @simonisferal @shutingstar @vxcmx @domimiki @ttalgi @esuz @tokkishouse @kitsuvil @scarasmood @ihearttori @nomurahayami @starringyau @androxphobic

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

He's My Man: That's My Girl Timestamp

Summary: Russell and reader’s casual morning plans turn into anything but when an unexpected visitor appears on their doorstep…

He’s My Man Masterlist

Pairing: Russell Shaw x reader

Word Count: 2,400ish

Warnings: language, gunshot wounds, life-threatening situation

A/N: Welcome back to more Russell Shaw! This story is considered a timestamp to He’s My Man and it’s highly recommended that story be read prior to this one. Please enjoy!…

____________

You stretched your arms overhead as you padded out in your bootie slippers from the bedroom. The smell of something yummy filled your nostrils and there was a faint melody in the air. Russell’s forest green tee clung to his broad shoulders, falling loose around his tapered waist, hitting the top of his charcoal gray sweats.

“Chappell Roan this early?” you teased. 

“It’s grown on me,” he said with his back to you, bopping his head back and forth. You hummed, walking around the kitchen island to spot him making two spanish omelets. 

“God, I love that you know how to cook,” you said, pecking a kiss on his cheek before going to the fridge to get out some orange juice.

“I’ve heard that once or…” he trailed off as he turned his head, jaw dropping slightly. You looked down, OJ in hand. You were wearing your favorite yellow pajama shorts but you had a feeling it was the peach bralette you wore he was stuck on. His lips curled up as you reached over, pushing the pan off the heat before he burned breakfast. “Where’s your shirt?”

“Huh. Must have lost it.” You looked up through your lashes, Russell smirking when you stepped back. “What a shame.”

“I might have to disagree with you there,” he said, pouting when you pointed at the skillet.

“Breakfast first, then dessert.” He grumbled to himself but smiled all the same. You scooted behind him and got out two glasses. “Do you want to eat on the porch?”

“Set us up at the island, qark. I don’t want you to get too cold outside,” he said, sliding an omelet onto a waiting plate. You worked around each other easily, Russell getting the food on the plates and dressing it with a creamy green avocado sauce he’d whipped up with the blender.

You took a seat, Russell taking a bow as he set it on the mat in front of you, kissing your forehead and taking his own seat beside you.

“So what’s on the agenda today?” he asked between bites. You shoveled a large bite in your mouth, a delicious explosion of flavors hitting your taste buds.

“After dessert,” you said, Russell brushing his leg against yours, making sure to touch as he cut off a piece of breakfast, “I was thinking I’d join you out at the brewery. They’re framing the building today, right?”

“Yeah. It’s starting to feel real,” he said, a quiet sigh under his breath. “I’m scared I fucked up. What if I threw all that money away on a pipe dream?”

You set your knife and fork down, frowning at him. “Russ. Your beer tastes amazing. You have investors, remember? They believe in you. If it doesn’t go well, then so what? At least you tried and I will always be proud of you for that. We’ll be okay. Now stop worrying about the money and let me handle the budgets, okay?”

“Alright,” he relented. “To be fair, I probably should let the woman that somehow had hospital grade medical equipment in the backroom of a warehouse run the books.”

“Exactly,” you said, Russell rubbing your leg with his left hand as he picked up his fork and ate again. “To be fair, it wasn’t that hard to get. The whole mob connection thing.”

“This is true. You’ve been running your own business for years.”

“Yes, which is why when I say to chill babe, chill. You have a great business plan,” you said. “Plus an amazing partner.”

“She’s so modest too,” he chuckled, wolfing back the last of his eggs. He clapped his hands together, turning to face you. “Dessert time.”

“Eh, I’m still eating,” you said, pointing at your plate. He faked a pout before he was up, cleaning up the kitchen and saving the leftover sauce in the fridge. You barely had your fork down when he was taking your plate and shoving it in the dishwasher. “Russell.”

He bounced around the island, far too adorable for a forty year old man, hands on your hips and a deep grin on his face. 

“Yes, wonderful?” he teased, pulling you to the edge of the stool. You wrapped your legs around his waist, Russell’s hands under your ass lifting you up as your gripped his shoulders. “New agenda. How about we make out a bit, let our tummies settle, then we can get our exercise in for the day-”

“Russell,” you groaned, pressing your forehead to his.

“Then we’ll pop over to the brewery for a bit, I can help you research your next job this afternoon, you can call Colter and harass him about making sure he’s still doing his stretches-”

“It is not harassment-”

“And then I’ll cook up that salmon in the fridge on the grill for dinner and we can watch X-Files on the back porch under a blankie.” 

“I love that you say blankie,” you teased, kissing the tip of his nose. “Sounds like a great day, Mulder.”

“Hey. I know things about the lizard people, Scully,” he chuckled, carrying you off towards the bedroom.

“Oh yes. I forget you’re such an expert,” you said as tires screeched outside. You shared a look for only a split second, Russell setting you down and grabbing the hidden gun safe from the end table. He had it in his hands in less than two seconds, nodding as you ran back into the bedroom and got yours out of the closet. 

Fists pounded on the front door, Russell’s weapon aimed at it when you returned, yours going towards the garage entrance.

“Russ! Open up!” Russell lowered his gun, scrunching up his face at the voice. “Shaw! Open the fucking door!”

“Stay back,” Russell said quietly. He jogged up to the front of the house, pulling back a curtain. “Jesus fuck.” He tore open the front door, two of Russell’s special ops friends standing there.

Well, standing was a stretch. 

“What the fuck happened, Hank?” said Russell, throwing his arm around Kelly who was very much actively bleeding from the abdomen. 

“I fucked up,” he said, Hank staring at you. “Can you fix her?”

You did a quick survey and spotting four, no five, bullet wounds littering the left side of her body.

“She needs a hospital-” Hank grunted, Kelly nearly passed out in his arms.

“They will find us there. Please. We knew the risk of not going. Please just try,” said Hank. You closed your eyes, setting the gun down on the island.

“She’d have better odds at a hospital,” you said, going to the pantry and grabbing the black bag tucked away at the top. You went to the dining room table, shoving chairs out of the way and ripping open the bag, pulling a blue tarp out and laying it out. “Don’t just stand there, get her down.”

You let the guys get her down, Russell shoving a throw pillow under her head while you washed at the kitchen sink. You snapped on a pair of gloves, digging through your bag and pulling out supplies left and right. Russell ran off into the garage, returning with one of his shop lights and attaching it to the light fixture overhead to give you more visibility.

“Russell,” you said, organizing your tools while tossing an orange box at Hank. “I need you to scrub your hands and put on gloves. Hank, cut off Kelly’s shirt and bra and open that box. Attach the leads to the right side of Kelly’s chest and then turn the box so I can see the numbers on the screen. What’s your blood type?”

“O positive,” he said, fumbling with his hands as she did as asked. “S-She’s A positive.”

“Good,” you said, pulling out tubing and handing it to him. “Tourniquet your arm and call Doug when you’re done. Tell him to break into the nearest blood bank.”

“Blood bank? Why not a clinic?” asked Hank as you got a good look at Kelly’s wounds. Her very, very bad wounds.

“Because I’m not fucking over some patient when a doctor in an emergency goes to their supply and finds it drained. Get it from the bank where odds are less likely it’ll impact someone,” you said, Russell appearing by your side, blood staining his shirt and pants already. He nodded, watching you grab the tubing and shove the needle into the exposed vein on Hank’s arm. “Let’s pray this fucking works.”

Twelve Hours Later

You checked Kelly’s pulse as she stirred awake, her eyes hazy from the strong pain killers you’d given her.

“Hey,” she whispered, glancing around. “Am I on your dining table?”

“Yeah. Sorry about that. Last second decision,” you said, adjusting the sheet over her body. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply. “Do you feel cold?”

“Just my feet,” she said. You looked down, smiling to where they were uncovered.

“I’ll get you some of my fuzzy socks. Nothing in your stomach, no chills?” She shook her head barely an inch but it was good enough. “Alright. Sounds like no internal bleeding right now then. I’m going to keeping checking every hour so you’ll probably want to throttle me by morning for not letting you sleep.”

“S’okay,” she mumbled. “How’m alive?”

You rested a hand on her head, stroking it gently. “You have either extremely shitty luck or extremely good luck. You were hit five times. Once in the arm, through and through, non life threatening. Three hit your rib cage and got stuck. A sliver more and that would have been it. The last one was tricky. Gut shot. Thankfully, it missed your digestive tract or you would have been septic or dead by now. Bad news is you no longer have a spleen. But again, in terms of if you have to get shot in an organ, the spleen’s a pretty good one to pick.”

“Thank you.” You hummed, Kelly forcing her eyes open. “I’m so sorry.”

“For what?” you asked. 

“I told Hank to let us take our chances, that Russ was out of this life. We should never have brought this to your front door.” You smiled, leaning down so she could see you better.

“You guys helped me with Owen and you didn’t even know me. I will always help Russell’s friends,” you said. She smiled a smidge, relaxing when you wiped a washcloth over her face. “You don’t have to worry. The boys are dealing with those guys that shot you right now. You’re safe.”

“I’m so sorry to make Russ-”

“Russell’s a big boy. He doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to and trust me, he was more than happy to go fuck up the people that tried to kill you. So you focus on resting and I’ll be right here, okay?” She hummed, her eyes darting down to where dried blood clung to your chest.

“Did you operate on me only wearing a bra?”

“...It’s a long story.” You glanced at the monitor near her head, her heart rate and blood pressure looking good at the moment. “So. When did you and Hank become a thing?”

“Me and Hank?” she asked with a pout. “We’re not…I’d like to be, you know, more but…”

You smiled, Kelly’s brow unfurling. “He has been a nervous wreck all day. You two ought to have that talk. In the meantime, let me walk you through next steps.”

The sun was just starting to break the horizon when the door to the garage opened. You sipped from your cup of coffee, glancing over Kelly’s wounds, no sign of infection by some miracle. She had a long road ahead of her but her making it through the night gave you hope she’d be able to recover.

“Hey,” said Russell quietly, giving you a small smile you returned as Hank trailed in on his heels. Russell nodded as Hank rushed over, taking the chair on the other side of the table and taking Kelly’s hand in his.

“How’s she doing?” asked Hank as you rose to your feet.

“Hanging in there. It’d be better if we could get her in a more sterile environment, had more equipment to monitor her vitals,” you said.

“We have a medical evac on the way now that the…issue’s been dealt with,” he said. You relaxed a bit at that. Her odds were much better if you could get her in an ICU with a dedicated team.

“Good,” you said when faint sirens sounded in the distance. “Let’s help clear a path so they can get her out of her fast.”

Thirty minutes later the house was quiet. You put a hand on your head as you looked around the room. Blood was everywhere. You were thirsty, starving, needed to pee and caked in dried blood that made your skin itch. 

“Come on,” said Russell, taking your hand and leading you back towards your bedroom. 

“I should clean up-”

“Later. You have more than earned a shower and some rest.” Russell tugged you behind himself, lifting you up and carrying you straight into the bathroom. “You didn’t sleep at all.”

“Neither did you,” you said, gently set down on the shower seat. 

“Yeah, well I didn’t perform major surgery in a kitchen yesterday for eight hours,” he said. You rested your head against the tile wall, Russell peeling your clothes away and tossing them in a pile on the floor. “Thank you for saving Kelly.”

“She could still die,” you mumbled.

“You did extraordinary for what we had on hand,” he said, arms around you again. “Now let’s clean you up.”

You peeled open your eyes around lunchtime, the air smelling of disinfectant. Rain was hitting the roof, Russell popping his head in just as you sat up. 

“Hey,” you yawned, holding the covers to your body. 

“Hello my queen of darkness.” He stepped in the room with a sleepy smile, kissing you before taking a seat on the edge of the bed. His long fingers fixed your hair behind your ear, grazing your cheek. “Jammies are on the bench when you’re ready to get up and the house is all set.”

“Russ, I could have helped-” He pressed a finger to your lips, shushing you.

“You did help. My friend is alive because of you. Now are you going to let me take care of you today?” You grumbled but nodded, laying back down in bed. “That’s my girl.”

“...Give me another hour of sleep,” you whispered.

“Whatever you need, sweetie. Anything at all.”

___________

[anonymous-dentist]

I’ve seen a lot of people genuinely and sincerely wondering why the Federation can’t heal Empanada back up to two lives using the Egg Hospital, and that just means that the Federation Propaganda is working.

So let me explain how the Eggs work within the lore of the QSMP:

The Eggs, in the beginning, were supposed to be a one or two week event. The parents with the happiest egg would get a prize. The parents with dead eggs would be punished.

Within Lore, these original eggs- Dapper, Leo, Chayanne, Ramon, Tilin, Flippa, Bobby, and Trump(et)- were the children of a “dragon mother” who had flown away from the island after the islanders blew up the wall. Tallulah was a later addition, but she is “biologically” (we’ll come back to the quotation marks in a second) related to the og eggs. So is Pomme, who had been stuck under the adoption center for over a month waiting to be adopted. Our outliers are Richarlyson- who wasn’t even supposed to exist yet, Sunny, Empanada, and Pepito.

And then there are the other Eggs. The dead ones. Like “Hope”, the egg the Federation left to die in the middle of nowhere waiting to be adopted. Or Egg A1, the egg ElQuackity was experimenting on that burned to death. Or the several dead eggs mentioned in the Maze Book, the ones who would be Sunny and Empanada and Pepito’s siblings if those three really are the three surviving eggs from the Maze Book.

You see, the Eggs aren’t real. They’re artificial. We’ve known this since May/June when SOFIA analyzed “Richarlyson’s placenta” (don’t ask) and found, wow! The Eggs are essentially artificial, inorganic lifeforms. And then we see ElQ experimenting on A1, and then we hear about the Maze Experiment, and then we find out about Egg Island and how the Federation technically owns it, and we realize, oh. Huh.

The Eggs have never met their supposed dragon mother. That’s because she doesn’t exist. The Eggs were created solely for the purpose of the experiment the islanders are unwillingly part of. They’re tools, and the Federation doesn’t care about them.

The Eggs, to the Federation, are more or less expendable. The Feds’ primary focus is the islanders and keeping them under control. The Eggs still being alive now is only because the Feds quickly realized that their test subjects would fucking lose it if the Eggs were taken away like they were supposed to have been.

But if the Eggs happen to die on their own, so be it. That’s fine. They’re kids, they’re fragile.

Tilin and Flippa and Trump and Bobby are all dead, and it’s been shown that the Feds could have brought them back permanently by putting them in the hospital they canonically have, or by bringing them back “by magic” like how Sapo Peta revived Flippa after the trial. This is why Cellbit infiltrated the Feds in the first place and it’s a HUGE part of why he hates them now! He knows that they could keep every egg safe and alive, but they choose not to because, again, the eggs are expendable!

If the Federation had their way, the Eggs wouldn’t have been retrieved at all when they disappeared. But the islanders started going berserk and rebelling and the Feds went “Oh, shit”, and thus the Eggs’ return was made a priority.

The Eggs are a form of control, and everybody even remotely questioning the Federation knows it. Keeping the Eggs around and alive serves to keep the islanders in line. If they rebel, the Eggs could die. This is why the Eggs were brought back in the first place, and it’s why the parents of dead eggs and those without eggs in the first place were the ones assigned to Sunny, Empanada, and Pepito. Those people couldn’t be controlled, but now they can be. People like Tubbo won’t mess with Cucurucho anymore because they don’t want their kids dead; it’s why Cellbit only started lashing out after Richarlyson had been gone for almost two months.

So… why don’t they just keep the Eggs alive?

Easy. Because the Eggs are expendable. Them living is the easiest option, but them dying isn’t really a huge issue. People like Jaiden have been easy enough to manipulate after losing their egg. Grieving parents so far haven’t had huge explosive reactions (except for Maxo, who very notably did have a huge explosive reaction.) Slime and Mariana fell into depressive states, Jaiden became easier to manipulate, Quackity was able to be kidnapped and brainwashed. Roier and Maxo kept their illegal rebellious activities under wraps, and neither really made any big huge moves against the Feds (again, outside of the nuke.)

If the Eggs die naturally, it’s fine. It’s the parents’ faults for letting their child die- just look at how nobody blamed the Federation for permanently taking Bobby away, but people both on the server and off blamed Roier for “getting him killed”, or how Mariana is the scapegoat for the Federation not bringing Flippa back to life when they easily could’ve done so.

Eggs dying naturally turns islander aggression inwards… with the exceptions of Cellbit, Roier, and Maxo, and now Bagi and Mousey. The Feds don’t want anyone getting angry at them, they want the islanders to get angry at themselves. That way, nobody can organize against them.

So the Feds won’t reverse a life lost. They won’t revive a dead egg. They don’t need to. The Eggs aren’t the experiment here. They aren’t important.

[lulunothulu]

“Uninspired”

Glen Powell x Reader

Summary: You’re a writer who’s feeling uninspired, and when Glen notices your frustration, he tries to help. 

“What’s bothering you?”

You blink shaking your head to try and make the blank thoughts go away. “What?”

Your boyfriend smiles, caressing your cheek with his thumb. “What bothering you? And before you say nothing, I saw the thinking face you were making.”

You’ve been staring at your laptop screen and frowning because you just couldn’t think. Every time you type something, you delete everything and then stare blankly at your laptop screen.

“Nothing,” You sigh, closing your laptop.

“Come here.”

You stand from the kitchen table, walking to where Glen stands by the kitchen island before being pulled into his strong arms.

His scent plus the warmth coming from his chest makes you sink deeper into him, allowing yourself to lean into his body. You feel one hand slip into your hair, softly rubbing your scalp; the other rubbing small circles on your back.

When you sigh in content, he asks, “So what was bothering you?”

“I can’t think,” you tell him. “Every time I try to write something, I feel like it’s terrible or it’s complete shit and I end up deleting it. It’s starting to piss me off because every time I want to write what I feel is a good line, I reread it and it’s terrible.”

“Would you like me to look at it?”

“No,” you sigh. “I think I just need a break. I’ve been there for a good half of my day.”

“Have you eaten?” He asks, pulling you back a bit.

“No.” As if on cue, your stomach grumbles loudly making him chuckle.

“Let’s get some food in your stomach and talk about it.”

~*~*~*~

After eating, Glen sits you down at the island and opens your laptop again.

“So let’s talk about where you’re stuck at. What’s going on in the story?”

“The two main characters just got back together after she thought that he was cheating on her even though they’re not actually dating.” When he gives you a look of confusion you add, “They’re fake dating to keep their exes away.”

“Okay gotcha,” he nods. “So what do you want to happen right about now?”

“I want to write some cute romantic stuff that they’ll go through since they’re newly together for real,” You start. “What I’m getting stuck on is how they should be acting. Because they’re supposed to be going to some party together, but I just keep blanking every time I try to add any sort of fluff.”

“Think of how we are, or should I say how we were, when we started dating.” And he sees that you’re starting to think he adds, “Now think of how handy we were. Think of how much I did not want to let you go anywhere alone.”

You smile, remembering how clingy and loving he was, and still is.

“You got it?” He asks, a smile forming on his lips.

“I do actually. Thank you, baby.” You kiss his cheek before turning to your laptop and beginning to type out the next scene for your book. When you feel his lips on your temple, you smile before facing him and puckering your lips.

“Thank you.”

“I’ll always be here to help.”

You smile sweetly before waving him off. “Now, shoo so I can continue writing. I’ll come get you in a little bit.”

He only chuckles before raising his hands in surrender. “Yes ma’am.”

Something sweet and simple because I’ve been uninspired and I needed to have a peptalk from Glen( aka myself 😂)

[moonbaby26]

Because @saracrossing02 and I were in the comments with this, but now I can’t stop thinking about it. We all know Doflamingo has ISSUES, all caps. But do we talk enough about the symbolism of his powers and the literal toys of Dressrosa?

Doflamingo was a spoiled brat. With his brat characteristics ramped up to infinity actually. Because he was raised in Mariejois to believe himself a higher being with no concept of self control or the word “no”. As everything he wants should always be his divine right to have.

And then he was ripped from that comfortable, albeit still toxic environment (as it was enabling all his worst traits) to do a speedrun of physical and emotional trauma on the surface world. And that, I think, is when he gets mentally stuck. At eight years old his mother dies, at ten he executes his father. He loses his brother to the marines.

He then finds the absolute worst option in Trebol who only doubles down in reinforcing his arrested development and childish mindset. The world is yours to command. If something doesn’t go the way you want, we’ll tantrum and destroy it (burning down whole towns because he skinned his damn knee for example).

He uses his strings to puppet others for his pleasure and his needs. He’s a bachelor living on an actual island of toys and fairy tales. And when those toys break or the game goes wrong, they’re quickly discarded by him. Even if they’re some of his favorite ones (like Vergo and Monet).

He’s a narcissistic man child that never grew up, still sulking in his room and playing with his disposable humans/toys.

Which is also why his implied fear and respect of Tsuru will always send me. Because a strict mother/grandmother is the perfect foil to the brat little boy he really is inside.

Enjoy this cover story of Doffy with more toys (that is also my icon). 🦩💗

[moonstruckme]

hiii i would love a tasm! peter where reader has just moved out of home for the first time and is feeling a bit lonely! peter comes over and keeps them company, maybe they make dinner or have a movie night :)

Thanks for requesting lovely!

cw: reader deals with loneliness

tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 753 words

You open your door to the smell of smoke. Instantly you beeline towards the kitchen, worried you’d left the stove on or your new apartment came with some faulty wiring, but you find yourself blocked at the threshold. A tall figure steps into your way. 

“Please don’t—” 

You gasp and jump at the same time, up and back, and Peter has to grab your arms to keep you from tripping over the couch. 

“Freak out,” he finishes. He grins as he rights you, eyes light with amusement. “Sorry, there were probably better ways to do that.” 

“Fuck,” you sigh, bending and setting your hands on your knees. “Peter, what the hell? How did you get in here?” 

“You left your window unlocked.” Peter lets you go, holding his hands aloft for a second to make sure you don’t topple before stepping back. “Super not safe, by the way. I’m not the only person in New York who knows how to climb a fire escape.” 

You shake your head, baffled, before remembering your original concern. “Are you burning something?” 

He winces. “Not intentionally.” 

You raise your eyebrows and move past him, into your kitchen. Peter follows behind. 

“It’s out,” he assures you. You spot a smoldering dish in the sink, the charred remains of what you suppose was once food submerged in cold water. At least the smoke seems to be thin, clinging to the ceiling and drifting slowly out your open kitchen window. “I thought I could be fancy and make something, but, uh, reinforcements have been called.” 

You turn. “Reinforcements?” 

Peter grins sheepishly. “Pizza.” 

A little laugh sputters out of you, and his grin softens around the edges. 

“Can I get a hug?” he asks. 

You step forward willingly, the remainders of the day’s exhaustion seeping out of you as Peter wraps his arms tightly around your shoulders. You squeeze his middle in return, resting your cheek on his chest and wishing stupidly that you could fall asleep just like this. 

“What’re you doing here?” you ask. 

“What do you mean?” Peter’s tone is teasing, but it’s still a bit gentler than usual, mushy fond. “Where else would I be? You thought you could move to Staten Island and get away from me?” 

“It’s kind of far,” you admit. 

“You’re delusional. You don’t get to have an apartment all by yourself, you’re stuck with me and my mooching forever. This is our new apartment.” 

“Really?” you ask, though the words have happiness and affection sprouting to life in your chest. When you’d moved here on your own, you’d figured it would seem empty without your family but you hadn’t known how much you would feel it. You like the freedom, having control of your own schedule and how you decorate and which things go in the dishwasher, but you miss having people around. It’s been so easy to fall into a routine characterized by solitude, with nothing but work to make you leave the apartment and no one to keep you company when you’re home. “You gonna pay rent?” 

Peter squishes his cheek into the top of your head. Unbeknownst to you, he’s picked up on all of this. You’ve been calling him more since you’d moved in here, late at night and in the middle of the day. He’s gotten the sense you just want to talk to someone. He’s always happy to be that someone, but sometimes the phone doesn’t cut it. The trip from Queens to Staten Island isn’t a short one, but he’s going to be making it more often. He’s missed seeing you, your sweet face and the way your eyes crackle when you look at him. 

He pulls back, and they’re doing it now. You’re smiling at Peter like he’s the best thing you’ve seen all week, which is very flattering, but it seems like a low bar. 

“I’m thinking I’ll pay thirty percent of utilities,” he says. “Sound fair?” 

“Totally fair,” you agree, rolling your eyes. 

He grins. “Perfect. You’re getting a great deal, here, sweetheart. I’m already providing pizza and a movie.” 

Your eyebrows raise. “A movie?” 

Peter goes to your couch, whipping up the DVD case. “Yup. Blu-ray.” 

You’re smiling so big he can see all your teeth, but you shake your head. “Oh, Peter.” 

“What?” 

“I just moved in here. Why would you think I had a DVD player?” 

Peter’s head rolls back, an odd breath leaving him that’s half sigh, half laugh. “I guess that’s another thing I’m getting you, huh?”

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 89

 The young justice team is in a bit of a pickle. It had been a usual mission, Klarion causing mischief again, before someone had mentioned the date. 

 The literal chaos lord had shrieked, stopping his attack, and asked for clarification. Maybe that wasn’t a good idea because one moment they were in Happy Harbour, and the next they’re somewhere else with green everywhere and floating islands. 

 And Klarion doesn’t explain- not that they were expecting him to- and just bolts into a… wow that is a very big and scary looking castle. Keep? Honestly it’s if someone combined a gothic citadel with a clocktower of some sort. 

 Not important, because they had chased after Klarion who uh… Oh no, that is a Very big entity, that is two Very Big entities that could crush them in their fingers. And they are now stuck in this place seeing as the portal closed behind them. 

 Honestly Klarion is happy he made it home before curfew! Even if he had to bring his sort-of-friends with him to make it in time. It’s not his fault, he’s not used to having a guardian, nevermind two! Not to mention siblings, which he’s now the oldest of too, so he has to be a positive influence. Like teaching them how to properly do chaos without destroying a world. 

 Oh, but this is perfect anyway, one of his dads has been wanting to talk to the speedsters anyway, and his other dad is still under house arrest for the whole, trying to take over the living realm thing. But that’s not important, he has little siblings to introduce! 

[moamidzyism]

pobrecito (c.sb)

☆。.:*·ﾟwc 1440 smut ౨ৎ minors DNI ˚⁺。˚ // repost ୨୧ brother's best friend!soobin x fem!reader, sub!soobin, perv!soobin [masterlist • reblogs + feedback appreciated]

going home for the summer was never your idea of a good time but your parents had begged you to, claiming that they never saw you anymore. little did you know that they just wanted you to house-sit while your twin brother was around because they had planned a weeklong getaway the one week you could make it back to the town you grew up in. so now, you’re stuck in your parent’s house all week long.

you thought that you could take this time to spend with your brother, given the fact that you hadn’t seen him since winter break, but he was more concerned with showing his college roommate around your hometown. soobin, the roommate, was quiet. he didn’t really talk as much as he just followed your brother around like a lost puppy.

it was a surprise how your loud, obnoxious brother got along with him, when soobin went by mostly unnoticeably.

mostly.

there were some things you couldn’t help but notice: like he never made eye contact with you when you spoke to him, or how he stuttered unbelievably when you asked him the simplest questions, or how his gaze lingered on you when you passed him in the hallway.

like tonight, for instance, the three of you sat together in the living room for the first time that week. you sat cross-legged on the living room floor around the coffee table, a box of pizza in between. they had spent their nights during that first weekend in the next town over but in your small town there was not much to do on a monday night other than watch high schoolers perform vape tricks in the mall parking lot, before they’re chased off by the night security.

so the three of you sat together in mostly awkward silence and uncomfortable small talk, the only sound coming from the sports game playing at low volume on the tv.

“so, did you guys do anything fun today?” you asked the two boys sitting opposite you. you leaned backwards to rest your back on the couch. you paid extra attention to soobin, and the way his eyes followed along the stretch of your body. his eyes ogled the way your t-shirt rode up, exposing the patch of skin right below your belly button. he took a long sip of his drink.

“yeah, we went to the old arcade on main street.” your brother responded on behalf of the two of them. then you fell back into the silence, picking the toppings off the slice on your plate.

when you were done eating you retreated to your room. the two of them dawdled in the living room for a while longer before withdrawing to your brother’s room. on his way to the bathroom, soobin stopped at your door to see that it was slightly ajar. he didn’t mean to peek through the slit. he didn’t mean to see you laying in bed with one of your hands under your shirt. and he definitely didn’t mean to follow your other arm to see it pressing on the pink vibrator that was between your legs, buzzing against your clothed cunt.

but he did and he couldn’t help but rush to the bathroom and turn on the shower to mask the sounds of his moans as he rubbed his hard length, his eyes rolling back in his head, thinking about what it would feel like to have his hands replaced by yours. what it would feel like to taste you. what it would feel like to hear your pretty voice moaning his name, telling him how good he is. 

his hips not-so-rhythmically met his fists, fisting his dick as if it were you. he just needed to feel something, feel good. his back was resting against the cold shower wall as he inched closer to his orgasm. the cold water ran down his face, which was contorted with pleasure as he bit his lip to stop a guttural groan from escaping.

the next morning, you went into the kitchen to make yourself a cup of coffee. you saw a note on the kitchen island from your brother saying he went to pick up breakfast for only him and soobin, who was still sleeping.

asshole, you thought as you went to the fridge to figure out what you were going to eat.

now, last night, soobin was blessed with post nut clarity, which is when he came up with his foolproof plan. it had only been three days that he had been in the house with you but he had already memorized your morning routine. he pretended to be asleep when your brother left. and then he waited for the sound of your bedroom door opening, indicating that you were no longer in your room.

then it was game time.

he snuck into your room, going through your laundry basket to see if you discarded your underwear from last night. even if you didn’t, he hoped that he would find another pair of cum stained panties that he could use to jerk off with.

after finding nothing suitable to eat in the kitchen, you decided to go back to your room and order breakfast from somewhere nearby. to your surprise, you see your brother’s tall friend standing in your room with something pink and lacy in his hands. “what are you doing here?” you ask, causing him to jump.

he quickly shoves his hand in his pockets when he sees you standing in the doorway, a look of confusion and intrigue on your face. “i- i thought you were in the shower.”

“that doesn’t explain why you’re in my room.” you inch closer to him. “what’s in your pocket, binnie?”

he feels his dick twitch at your use of that nickname, but that didn’t distract him from his plan b – if anything goes wrong, deny everything. “nothing.”

“now, you know i don’t believe that, soobin. show me what’s in your pocket.” he pulls out the underwear you wore two days ago, causing you to scoff. “you’re so pathetic.”

“i’m sorry.”

“you’re sorry because you got caught.”

“no, i’m so sorry.”

“but baby, you’re still holding my underwear.” he drops them instantly, making you chuckle. your laugh was full of venom as you lifted your hand to caress his face.

“i didn’t mean to.”

“didn’t mean to do what?” you asked in mock coyness.

“i’m sorry.” you scoff again.

“is that all you can say?”

“i need you.” he mumbles.

“oh, poor baby.” you push him onto your bed. “what would my brother say if he came home to see you in his sister’s room?”

“i don’t care.” his breath hitched in his throat. “i- i just want you to touch me, please.”

“aww,” you coo. “you want me to touch you, binnie. do you think you deserve it, baby?”

“yes,” he gulps, pulling you with his long legs so that you fall on top of him, your clothed heats coming in contact with each other. he groaned at the touch.

“ha! you definitely don’t deserve it after that.” you sit up straight, finding a comfortable spot on his knee, his arms holding you in place behind your waist.“but you’re lucky, i’m feeling nice today.” you palm his cock through his sweatpants, feeling it enlarge under your hands. “you come into my room, looking through my dirty laundry like a disgusting, little pervert. and now you’re so hard, but i barely even touched you.”

“it’s b-because of you.”

“hmm, is that so?” pull his dick out, slowly stroking it. his dick twitches at the contact and he lets out a whine.

“yeah, your… your boobs.” he looks down at your hardened nipples poking through the white t-shirt you wore to sleep. “bet they look better with nothing on them.”

“you want to see them?” you ask, to which he responds with an over-eager nod. as soon as you took off your top, his lips automatically attached to your right nipple, taking it between his teeth, while his other hand fondled your left breast. you leaned your head back in ecstacy. you messily grind on his thigh, craving the feeling of something on your heat.

“fuck, soobin.” you cry out, as he moans against your breast, sending chills down your spine.

you tighten your previously loose grip on his dick, stroking him to a steady rhythm. you could feel him get closer and closer and before you knew it, he was shooting his cum on your hands. “fuck,” he whined.

“we need to clean up, my brother is going to be back any minute.”

taglist: @dearlyjun @atinyniki @boba-beom

fill out this form to join my taglist! author's note :: this was the first thing i wrote for soobin and also the first smut i wrote for txt – i'm not very confident about the ending but i hope you enjoyed lol

[syrupfog]

The thing about being a pirate is that you can’t get too attached to anything you own. 

Ships go down. Ships get stolen or looted. You change crews. 

Maybe pre-pirating your whole island was razed to the ground and you escaped with only the clothes on your back and your odd hat. 

It’s just a known fact; don’t get too attached to anything. 

THAT’S why Law keeps his Sora collection a SECRET. 

He knows it’s not wise to keep on board the Tang. He knows he’s just ASKING for a leak. He keeps the comics in waterproof containers as if that will help if they sink.

Honestly rule number one of being a pirate is “don’t eat a devil fruit you dumbass you need to swim” but he’d already broken that rule so he might as well break rule number two; “don’t get attached to anything you own.” 

He got very attached.

When the Tang explodes, everyone makes it out. Which makes sense, because everyone (except for Law) are North Blue survivors, MADE for those icy ocean temps. It’s great, he’s eternally grateful he can trust his crew. 

He’s just a little devastated that his collection is gone.

In the mean time, while debating how to get ahold of a second ship (would Wolf be willing to come out of retirement…?), they’re stuck on the Going Luffy again. Fucking creepy ass ship. But at least Law spends enough time getting pissed at Barto that he barely misses his things.

(That’s a lie; he used to reread one comic a night. He misses them a lot). 

Two weeks into their stay, though, they finally catch up to the Sunny (which of the Straw Hats was dumb enough to give Barto their vivre card?) and as soon as they’re close enough, Law realises that he made a mistake, lounging on the deck to nap. 

Because, like some sort of beacon, Luffy spots him instantly as he slingshots from one ship to the other. 

“TraaaaaaaffFFFFFYYYYYY” 

Law makes a quick room and switches himself with Bepo, who screams as Luffy crashes into him.

“Bear!!” Luffy yells. “You’re not Traffy!” 

“No! Sorry!” 

Luffy gets up and brushes himself off. “Oh, Traffy! When did you get over there?” 

“When you decided to try to kill me with that landing,” Law says, cracking his neck. 

Luffy laughs at him. 

LUFFY is made of rubber. Law is not made of rubber and he does not think Luffy ever remembers that. 

“I’m so glad you guys are here!” Luffy says, ignoring the insinuation that he would commit murder. “It’s been so BORING lately! And Nami says you guys don’t have a ship right now!”

Ah yes, Nami does read the paper religiously. 

“We’re working on it,” Law says, ignoring Bepo’s sad expression. 

“Well until then, you should join us!” Luffy says. “Since we’re in an alliance and all!” 

“We are NOT,” Law snaps, “still in an alliance! That’s finished!”

Luffy laughs. “Okay,” he says. 

Law doesn’t think that okay is real. 

“But anyway, Sanji says you should all come over for dinner! He’s making meat!” 

Barto, who has only just appeared (probably doing his hair), perks up. “Me too, Luffy Senpai??”

“Uh,” says Luffy. “Yeah, sure!” 

Barto has stars in his eyes. 

Law sighs. Barto is too much to handle on the best of days. 

“Fine Straw Hat,” he says. “We’ll be there.” 

They eat on the deck of the Sunny, because there’s not enough room in the galley. It’s a clear, starry night.

The Sunny’s headed to Elbaf. 

Law sits at the edge and watches his crew make up to Usopp and Franky. Bunch of nerds, the lot of them. 

He watches Luffy, too, as he eats a mammoth portion and then immediately lays down for a nap. 

Law’s spent a lot of time watching Luffy.

He doesn’t get it, how one person can have such magnetism. Luffy could have the whole world bowing at his feet if he wanted. Law knows this because he could easily count himself among them. 

He doesn’t understand why Luffy continues to seek HIM out.

He’s a hell of a lot grumpier than Luffy’s acquired crew. He’s also clearly been born with bad luck; it follows him like a plague. He’s not fun to be around. 

But for some reason Luffy keeps finding him and looking happy when he does. 

It’s weird.

Tonight, after half the crews have retired and Luffy’s woken up from his food coma, he does the same thing. He zeroes in on Law and sidles up to him. 

“Hey!” He says, sandals slapping the deck. “You’re being all weird and lonely!” 

“Shut up, Straw Hat. You’re just too friendly.”

Luffy puts his hands in his hips as he laughs. “You’re friendly,” he says. “You’re just not happy about it.” 

That’s incredibly wrong. Law scowls. 

“Now come on.” Luffy reaches down and pulls Law to his feet. “Sanji’s doing dishes.” 

“So…?” 

Luffy puts a finger to his lips.

Then he makes an INCREDIBLE amount of noise as he runs across the deck with Law in tow (and protesting about it) down to the men’s bunk room. 

Chopper and Jinbei are already asleep but the light is on, and Zoro’s sitting in his bunk polishing his swords. He looks at them when they enter and snorts. “Stealing from your own crew, now, Luffy?” 

Luffy laughs and Law starts to protest— or question?— but he’s pulled over to the lockers and Luffy starts rummaging through one that’s full of suits and smells sickeningly of cigarette smoke.

From the bottom he pulls out a box of— 

“Is that— Sora?” Law breathes. This is the GRAND LINE. How did someone get SORA COMICS? 

“Yep!” Luffy opens the box and starts getting his sticky fingers ALL OVER THEM. “The bear said you love this stuff! And that you lost yours!”

“I—“ how did Bepo…? 

Of course Bepo knew. Damn him. Snooping bear. 

“Sanji hates these things. I dunno why he insists on keeping them.” 

Luffy gives up thumbing through them and instead sticks his GREASY HANDS IN and just pulls out 90% of the stack at random.

“Here you go!” 

Law gapes at him. 

“Straw Hat, you can’t just—“ 

Luffy grins. “Sanji won’t to notice!” 

There’s two comics left in the box. Sanji will definitely notice. 

Still, Law could never turn down this opportunity. He takes the stack with REVERENCE, realising these are the OLD ones, the ones with the much darker plot lines and terrible airbrush coloring. 

Holy shit. They’re first editions. 

He may have started crying right there, if not for the fact that he’s suddenly pulled out of his thoughts by incredibly loud, incredibly fake snoring.

He looks over. Zoro’s still holding his sword oil as he “sleeps”. 

If he were a better man, Law would talk to Sanji about this. 

But he’s not a better man. He’s a pirate. 

Law makes a room big enough to reach the Going Luffy and reaches out with his free hand, grabbing Luffy.

He switches them with a Luffy statue from his own “guest” room.

Luffy laughs as Law lets go. “That’s so cool, we should prank people,” he says. 

“Later,” Law says. He sits down on the floor in front of his hammock and starts carefully shuffling through the Sora.

Honestly he’s so caught up in finding out what volumes are there that he almost forgets he brought Luffy with him until the captain reaches out from next to him and points at one of the covers. 

“Hey that looks like Sanji’s brother!” 

Law rolls his eyes and starts talking about how it couldn’t possibly be whoever Sanji’s brother is because Sora came out when HE was a kid and Sanji’s too young for that, and anyway Straw Hat don’t you know anything about the LORE? 

He talks about the lore. 

He talks for a LONG time about the lore.

And the worst part of all is that Luffy pays attention for all of it, nodding like he’s listening. 

(He can’t possibly be) 

(But that’s okay) 

When Law is done going through each comic and explaining the plots in detail, he realises just how much he’s forced down Luffy’s throat.

He starts to apologise but then he looks up at Luffy and sees him grinning. 

“We should’ve taken all of them,” Luffy says. “You clearly care about them a lot.” 

Law… blushes. Gets bright fucking red. “It’s a hobby,” he says. “It’s not important.” 

“But you like it,” Luffy says.

“And that makes it important.” 

Law stares at him. 

He has the unnerving urge to kiss him. 

“Straw Hat…” 

Luffy leans forward, eyes wide. 

Shockingly, he does what Law would never follow through on. 

He kisses him. 

HE KEEPS HIS EYES OPEN, THOUGH. LAW DOESN'T LIKE THAT.

Law reels back after the initial kiss. “LU-YA CLOSE YOUR EYES WHEN YOU KISS SOMEONE.” 

Luffy pouts. “No! I wanna see you!” 

Law scoffs. His face is SO hot. “Shut up.” 

He covers Luffy’s eyes and kisses him back. 

Luffy’s a terrible kisser. 

Law likes that.

He likes that there’s something he’s bad at. Because everything else about Luffy is so incredible. 

Luffy goes to deepen the kiss but when he surges forward he knocks one of the comics with his foot and Law immediately stops the kiss to clean up everything.

When breakfast happens in the morning, Sanji complains briefly about someone breaking into his locker and messing sigh his stuff, but Zoro makes a remark that Sanji’s just upset because he hides sex toys in his locker and got found out. 

They start fighting.

Luffy sits next to Law and eats all his pancakes, while Law picks at the accompanying fruit and eggs. 

Then, under the table, Luffy grabs his hand. 

Luffy’s hand is SO sticky. 

Like, did he stick his hand IN the maple syrup? 

Law lets it happen, though.

It’s good. It’s nice. 

He fell asleep in the hammock last night with Luffy. Reading Sora. 

Pirates can’t afford to get attached to things. Things get lost and looted and stolen. 

But just this once. Just this once Law will try again.

[the-bitter-ocean]

ISAT AGESWAP AU MASTERPOST

SYNOPSIS: ISAT Ageswap Au is an au where the characters’ ages in the story of ISAT are swapped. In this Au Bonnie is the oldest in the group (the rest of the saviors of Vaugarde are kids) and they’re also the one stuck in a timeloop. This au has multiple collaborators working on it: @startagainaprologue (Pastell) @tealgoat (Teal) @basilpaste (Basil) @pixxyofice (Pix) and myself! This idea initially was a joke idea for fun that was brought up in a group chat and then quickly spiraled into something more complex later on. (THIS AU CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR THE FULL GAME, INCLUDING A6SE/“2HATS” + SASASAP SPOILERS).

Decided to make more of these little masterposts for the sake of organization and also so that way people who are new to the Au can figure out where to find all the posts about it. Like all the other master posts I’ve made before, these will be updated periodically as myself, or others who make stuff about the au. Art, writing and questions answered about how the Au works will be listed under the cut:

(ASKS)

So who’s the one looping in this au?

How old is The King in this au? Is he a kid like the rest of the saviors of Vaugarde?

How old is Bonnie in this au? (art by @/startagainaprologue)

Is feeding the kids Bonnie’s go to method in the ageswap au?

Does Bonnie tell anyone in the group about the timeloops?

Does Bonnie forget anything in the loops?

Out of the kids in the group who is the oldest/youngest?

Did Mirabelle ask for help from the Defenders? How did that go?

How did Odile get from Ka Bue to Vaugarde?

What is Odile Like in this au?

Does Isabeau still have a crush on Siffrin in this au?

(ACT 3 SPOILERS) How did Siffrin react to Bonnie losing their eye?

(ACT 3 SPOILERS) How did the group manage to get Bonnie to a hospital during the eye incident?

(ACT 3 SPOILERS) Does Siffrin end up saying the name of the island north of Vaugarde? If so how does that go?

(ACT 3 SPOILERS) What Does The King Do In The End Of Act 3?

(ACT 3 /A6SE SPOILERS) How recently did the island get [REDACTED] in this Au? What did Loop wish for?

(ACT 5 SPOILERS) Do the kids go on a mission to save their guardian?

(ACT 5/ A6SE SPOILERS) Is Loop shy with the other kids in the group?

(A6SE / SASASAP SPOILERS)Wait… So like what’s the deal with Loop in this au? (art by @/tealgoat)

(ACT 6/A6SE SPOILERS) How does 2Hats encounter go in this Au?

(ACT 3/ ACT 4/ A6SE SPOILERS) How would canon ISAT! Siffrin react to Ageswap! Au Bonnie (and vice versa)

(ART)

Ageswap Au Designs (Bonnie, Mirabelle, Isabeau, Odile & Siffrin)

Ageswap Au Designs (Petronille & Bonnie)

Ageswap Au Designs (Loop) ( art and design by @/startagainaprologue)

Ageswap Au Concept Doodles (art by @/startagainaprologue)

Odile Talk Sprites (art by @/startagainaprologue)

Mirabelle & Isabeau Talk Sprites

Siffrin Talk Sprites (edits by @/tealgoat)

Bonnie Talk Sprites (art by @/tealgoat)

Where Are Your Parents? (art by @/tealgoat)

Cool Rocks (art by @/tealgoat)

Nothing To See Here! (art by @/tealgoat)

Making Dinner (art by @/tealgoat)

Rainy Day (art by @/tealgoat)

Some Needed Rest (art by @/tealgoat)

Snack For You (art by @/tealgoat)

Misc. Ageswap Phone Doodles (art by @/tealgoat)

Sleepy Loop (art by @/tealgoat)

Loop & Bonnie (art by @/tealgoat)

Oops! (art by @/tealgoat)

Baby Dile Jordans (art by @/tealgoat)

Ageswap Odile Birthday! (art by @/pixxyofice)

Happy Birthday Odile (art by @/startagainaprologue)

Baby Dile Doodles (art by @/startagainaprologue)

Babybeau & Babybelle (art by @/startagainaprologue)

Happy Mira Monday (art by @/startagainaprologue)

Ageswap Isabeau Doodle (art by @/startagainaprologue)

Isabeau & Odile (art by @/startagainaprologue)

Isabeau & Siffrin (art by @/pixxyofice)

First Orb Obtained! (art by @/startagainaprologue)

Loop: Content vs Pissed (art by @/startagainaprologue)

Loop Gets A Toy (art by @/startagainaprologue)

Loop’s Hat Now (art by @/startagainaprologue)

Loop Is 1cm Tall (art by @/startagainaprologue)

Ageswap Au Cat Edition (art and designs by @/startagainaprologue)

Kitty Babydile doodle (art by @/startagainaprologue & @/tealgoat)

Kitty Babybelle Doodle (art by @/startagainaprologue)

Loop and Bonnie (cat edition) (art by @/startagainaprologue)

Powerful Trans Aura (art by @/startagainaprologue)

What’s My Bloodtype? (Art by @/startagainaprologue)

POV: You Are Mira And This Kid Skitters Over To Join Your Party (art by @/startagainaprologue)

Saviors of Vaugarde Naptime (art by @/startagainaprologue)

Croc-Odile! (Art by @/startagainaprologue)

(ACT 1 SPOILERS) Everything’s Fine! (art by @/startagainaprologue)

(ACT 3 SPOILERS) If The Universe Allows Me To See It (art by @/startagainaprologue)

(ACT 3 SPOILERS) Thank Change You’re Safe.. (art by @/startagainaprologue)

(ACT 3 SPOILERS) Accidents (art by @/tealgoat)

(ACT 3 SPOILERS) You Look Like A Pirate (art by @/tealgoat)

(ACT 3 SPOILERS) POV: You Ask Them To Say The Country’s Name With You (art by @/tealgoat)

(ACT 3 Spoilers) Mistakes Were Made (art by @/startagainaprologue)

(ACT 3 SPOILERS) Are You Okay? (art by @/startagainaprologue)

(ACT 3/4 SPOILERS) Ghost (art by @/startagainaprologue)

(ACT 3/ A6SE SPOILERS) Miscellaneous Ageswap Au Doodles

(ACT 4 SPOILERS) Are You In A Timeloop? (art by @/startagainaprologue)

(ACT 5 SPOILERS) Ageswap Au MDP Design

(ACT 5 SPOILERS) The One You Couldn’t Protect (art by @/startagainaprologue)

(ACT 6/ A6SE SPOILERS) A Bunch of Bonnie Loopers (art by @/startagainaprologue)

(A6SE SPOILERS ) Ageswap Au Loop Sprites

(A6SE SPOILERS) A Bad Dream (art by @/tealgoat)

(A6SE SPOILERS) Ageswap Au Guide (art by @/startagainaprologue)

(ACT 5/ A6SE SPOILERS) Grounded (art by @/tealgoat)

(ACT 5/ A6SE SPOILERS) Can We Talk? (art by @/tealgoat and @/startagainaprologue)

(SASASAP SPOILERS) An Ending[?] (art by @/startagainaprologue)

(WRITING)

Candy For You (writing by @/startagainaprologue)

What’s Your Name? (Writing by @/startagainaprologue )

(FANWORKS)

Bonnie (& Mirabelle & Isabeau & Odile & Siffrin!) (art by @/tawnysoup)

Poor Thang (art by @/tawnysoup)

Loop! (art by @/giftplane)

Opposite Ends Of The Shirt Sleeves Alliance (art by @/daily-odile)

Loop & Bonnie Reading Time (art by @/dailyloopdeloop)

Saviors of Vaugarde Doodle (art by @/monochrome-stars)

I Miss My Dad (art by @/eurydice-pens)

Konpeito Cookie Meets Ageswap Au Loop (art by @/metropolitankei )

(A6SE SPOILERS ) Some Mirabelle Doodles (art by @/mobblespsycho100 )

Universe’s Least Qualified Therapy Cat (art by @/iknowicanbutwhy)

A Bunch Of Odiles! (art by @/princess-self-shipping)

Sky Children of The Light Au Loop Meets Ageswap Au Loop (art by @/mossy-doodles85 )

[oddyseye]

Let’s talk about translations of the Odyssey for a second, because, honestly, I’m over here sobbing over how ridiculous some of these choices are.

Every time I pick up a new translation, I hope it’ll finally capture the true grit and messiness of Odysseus, but nope, every one of them polishes him up too much, turning him into either a tragic hero or a charming rogue. Where’s the Odysseus who lies as easily as he breathes, who manipulates his way through every encounter, and who leaves a trail of ruin wherever he goes? I want the man whose brilliance is as sharp as his selfishness, whose cleverness cuts both ways — not just a hero, but a survivor who’s as flawed as he is formidable.

Anyway, I’m gonna break down the biggest mistranslations that really make me want to pull my hair out and remind everyone how different the original Greek actually is. Prepare yourselves.

Let’s start with the absolute disaster that is Telemachus and Peisistratus’ bond. Homer used the word ὁμοφροσύνη to describe their relationship, a term that’s about fucking soulmates, alright? But what do these translators do? They water it down to “just good friends” or “nice companions.” It’s about a relationship where minds and hearts are aligned — telepathic level shit, not just a handshake between two dudes. Yet these translators just gloss over the whole thing, so you get this milquetoast version of their relationship when it’s actually so much more.

Homer says: "ὁμοφροσύνησιν ἐνὶ καρδίᾳ ἐνθα καὶ ἄλλων οὐδὲν ἐπέλθομεν" ("In like-mindedness of heart, where no other man could compare.") So, Telemachus sees Peisistratus as someone he’s totally aligned with, in a way that’s almost romantic in its depth. ὁμοφροσύνη is usually used for romantic couples most often.

Then, we’ve got Odysseus and Calypso, which — oh my god, don’t even get me started on this absolute trainwreck of a translation. The term ἀνάγκῃ is used when Homer talks about Odysseus’ “relationship” with Calypso, but translators somehow miss the force behind the word. It doesn’t just mean “necessity” like they’d have you think. It means force, violence, and distress. When Odysseus is on Calypso’s island, stuck there with her, it’s not this peaceful love story where Odysseus is some willing lover. It’s a prison. There’s no choice, and no one’s riding off into the sunset together. But translations just gloss over this desperation and make it sound so much more peaceful and comfortable than it ever was. It’s forced captivity, and the use of ἀνάγκῃ screams that: “ἔνθα μὲν ἀμφ᾽ ἀνάγκῃ, τῇ δὲ θεὰ ἐρῶσά μιν ἔσχε.” (“There he stayed out of necessity, for the goddess, in her love, held him there.”).

Homer uses the same word when Odysseus describes his time with Circe: “ἀλλ᾽ ἔμεν᾽ ἐν σπέσσι λαῶν ἀνάγκῃ.” (“But I stayed in her halls by necessity.”). Again, ἀνάγκῃ shows that Odysseus's relationship with Circe is dictated by forces beyond his control. His connection to her isn’t out of love or desire, but out of a divine obligation, a situation where choice is completely stripped away. It’s not love; it’s divine manipulation. So much for romantic freedom!

And let’s not forget how Homer actually portrays the suitors and their reaction to Antinous’ violence. After Antinous, in his full rage, decides to throw a chair at disguised Odysseus, other suitors chime in, disapproving of his actions. They say things like “ἀργὸς εἶναι,” which roughly translates to “you’re acting cowardly,” and “ἀτασθαλία,” meaning “reckless.” They’re still on the same side, sure, but they can’t quite get behind the utter savagery of his actions, and it’s maddening how this detail is often glossed over in some translations. They make it sound like they were all in on the violence, but in the original text, these suitors are not all cut from the same brutal cloth, no matter how much some translators want to make them seem like one big mob.

Homer uses the word οἰκέτες to refer to the people in Odysseus' house. "οἰκέτες" means slaves, people who are literally owned by the household. But oh, what happens in the translations? We get “maids” and “servants,” as if these slaves were just there because they wanted to be, doing chores like it was a normal job. But no, they’re not “maids,” and they sure as hell aren't "servants" in the modern sense. These people have no freedom — they belong to Odysseus. The translation of οἰκέτες as "maids" completely erases the brutality of the system that Homer is talking about.

Interestingly, Telemachus, who is often portrayed as rude or immature, calls these individuals “servants” or "maids" in a more respectful manner. This is the same guy who can barely get his act together most of the time, but here he is, calling the οἰκέτες — slaves, remember — not just slaves but “ἄνδρες ἰκέτες,” which translates to "men-servants" or “butlers.” Like, hello, Telemachus! For once, he’s actually treating them like people instead of just the property that they are in Homer’s original telling. Respectful? Who knew?

And lastly, let’s talk about Penelope. Odysseus, when he finally speaks to her, he says: "ἀλλὰ μὴ ἐπεὶ καὶ σὺ μὲν ἔμπεδος ἐν οἴκῳ, ἔτλησαν δ’ ἐμαὶ ἄλγεα." ("But you, steadfast in your home, endured my sorrows."). Odysseus sees Penelope as the rock, the one who has suffered patiently in his absence. Unlike the goddesses, she’s his equal in suffering, not a forced relationship due to divine will. He longs for her, and her presence stands in stark contrast to the chaotic, imposed relationships he’s had with Circe and Calypso. Penelope is the constant, the one Odysseus has chosen — no divine manipulation, just pure, enduring love.

Anyway, all of this goes to show that translations can twist what Homer was actually trying to say — especially when it comes to the relationships in the story. It’s frustrating to see these critical, subtle moments get flattened into bland, palatable phrases. Maybe if they spent less time trying to make everything sound "noble" and more time actually getting at the grit of what Homer wrote, we wouldn’t have to deal with these watered-down, emotionless versions of The Odyssey that everyone is so obsessed with.