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em1i2a3 · 15 days ago

Note

can you do bob x reader where he sees us interacting with a child and it makes him want to be a father so bad?

It’s You I’m Thinking Of

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/ The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolt!Fem!Reader

Summary: Valentina organizes a PR event for the Thunderbolts and during the event Bob realizes that he may want more out of life than just saving the world.

Warnings: Semi-Spoilers for Thunderbolts because of Bob’s involvement and because some events are mentioned in passing. Fluff, a hint of Angst and an Established Relationship is at the forefront here.

Author's Note: Surprise, it’s double update day…Because I had this in my drafts and forgot to post it…YIKES. I found this to be so fluffy and cute to write! Thank you so much for the request! I loved writing this a lot!

Word Count: 3,805

Valentina had called it a “Visibility Effort,” which–as far as Bob was concerned–was just a polished way of saying: “I need people to stop thinking you guys are monsters, so go smile for the cameras and pretend you guys didn’t almost destroy New York City a year ago.”

The Thunderbolts had only just begun to scrape their way back into the public’s good graces after the Void. If grace could even be applied to a team that, not long ago, had been seen as volatile assets in containment rather than heroes in recovery. But Valentina didn’t care about semantics–she cared about optics. And what better way to scrub down their image than to host a carefully staged, feel-good community day in a public park–complete with banners, press kits, and security briefings disguised as media rundowns.

The day before, you and the rest of the team had been sweating under the sun, assembling the layout from the ground up. Tent poles groaned in the wind, tarps snapped against knuckles, and the oversized bouncy castle–more akin to a pop-up cathedral–took three hours to stabilize. It loomed over the field like a surreal monument to liability.

By sundown, the park had been transformed.

Face-painting booths stretched along the paved path like an art market in miniature, each tent hung with paper lanterns and garlands of plastic ivy. A ring toss area had been set up beside a small prize table, its wares still barcoded and smelling faintly of plastic and lemon cleaner. Further down, a row of food trucks idled along the lot’s edge, the air thick with fried batter and roasted peanuts, preparing for the next day. A banner, bold and hopeful, rippled above the main walkway: THUNDERBOLTS COMMUNITY GIVEBACK DAY!

The park was bustling before noon the next day.

Children darted between booths with faces half-painted and shoes untied. Parents loitered on benches, plastic cups of lemonade in hand, cautiously optimistic about letting their kids near a group of enhanced individuals who, six months ago, were being referred to as national liabilities. Still, smiles came easier than expected. The air smelled like kettle corn, sun-warmed vinyl, and freshly cut grass.

Valentina had positioned her pawns with precision, each member of the team slotted into a role meant to soften their image–familiar, friendly, safe.

Yelena was stationed at the face-painting table. She didn’t argue when she was assigned to it, though she rolled her eyes hard enough that everyone could basically hear it. Now, seated with a paintbrush balanced between her fingers, she looked…Focused. Delicate even. She painted dragons, daisies, and one incredibly accurate depiction of Bucky’s old Winter Soldier face paint layout. She didn’t say much unless spoken to, but the kids flocked to her. Her bluntness came off as hilarious to them. Her gentleness? Earned in silence.

Walker manned the obstacle course–one of the only areas Valentina trusted him not to overcomplicate. With his sleeves rolled up and clipboard tucked under his arm, he barked out encouragements that sounded suspiciously like bootcamp commands. But he was patient. He let kids redo the course as many times as they wanted. And when one boy tripped near the finish line, Walker helped him up without hesitation and whispered something that made the kid’s chest puff with pride.

Ava floated between stations like an unofficial supervisor. She had no designated role, but her presence was felt and it was heavy. She hovered near the cotton candy vendor long enough to be offered a free sample, then spent ten minutes helping a little girl reattach the wheel to her toy stroller. Ava didn’t smile often, but she kept her sunglasses off today. It mattered more than anyone would admit.

Alexei had placed himself right in the center of the park’s open lawn, surrounded by children wielding foam swords. He was absolutely in his element. Towering, loud, enthusiastic. He let them “ambush” him over and over again, dramatically collapsing onto the grass as they tackled him, crying out in mock defeat with every fall. When one kid asked if he was Santa, Alexei laughed so hard he nearly swallowed a whistle. He’d fashioned a red Thunderbolts cap to resemble something almost festive. No one stopped him.

Bucky was at the photo booth. Not because Valentina assigned it to him–but because he asked. Quietly. Just once. And when she raised a brow, he explained:

“Kids like the arm. Makes them feel like they’re meeting a real superhero.”

No one argued with that.

He stood beside the printed backdrop of a Thunderbolts mural, his vibranium arm resting lightly at his side. At first, only a few families came by. Then word got around. By midday, there was a line curling around the booth. Bucky posed with toddlers who clung to his leg, tweens who wanted to see if he could lift them with his arm alone, and teens who just wanted proof they’d stood next to him. He let them. All of them.

And you–you’d been running the craft tent since the gates opened. Low folding tables filled with paper crowns, pipe cleaners, sticker sheets, and markers with their caps long lost to time. You moved between projects with practiced ease, coaxing confidence out of even the shyest children. One girl in a purple tutu had stuck to your side all morning, proudly referring to you as “Miss Thunderbolt” like it was an official title.

Bob on the other hand…Wasn’t assigned a booth.

Valentina had called it a “strategic decision”–which meant don’t scare the kids. She hadn’t said it outright, of course, but Bob understood the subtext. The others had made peace with their reputations, learned how to bend their edges into something palatable. Bob’s problem wasn’t sharpness. It was scale. People didn’t look at him and see a man. They saw The Void. A storm in a body. The thing that turned Manhattan’s sky black almost a year ago. Or they saw him as Golden Boy Sentry, which he rarely presented himself as now because all of that was dormant since the incident, so he was just Bob, and unfortunately nobody was really interested in just Bob.

Except you of course.

You had grown extremely close to him throughout the time he was recovering from the incident. You would stay back from missions just to keep him company, and within those small moments, the two of you grew a bond and became inseparable.

It wasn’t dramatic. There was no big declaration, no kiss in the rain, no sweeping hand grab before battle. It was subtle–gentle, even. A shared quiet. The way you waited for him to speak on his own terms. The way you handed him warm drinks without comment and sat beside him on the floor of his room during the worst days, and just held him or smoothed his hair down. The way you always reached for his hand under the table when Valentina debriefed the team about “public image,” like you were grounding yourself in him, not the other way around.

It started with one date. A walk. A drink from the local coffee shop that you used two straws for. A movie you barely paid attention to because Bob had cried halfway through and apologized for it, and you’d told him, “I’d rather watch you feel something than watch the movie anyway.”

Now it had been nearly a year.

A quiet year. A healing one. A year where Bob–somehow–had begun to believe that maybe he wasn’t made just for disaster. Maybe he was allowed to want softness. Warmth. You.

So he stayed near you now, just like he always did. Even in the middle of this pastel-bright circus of a public relations stunt, even with the buzzing press cameras and the thunder of kids’ shoes over packed grass–he stood a few feet behind your tent. Watching quietly like he always did.

You didn’t need him to be part of the event. You didn’t ask him to engage. You just wanted him to be close and hover around you. And every so often, you’d glance over your shoulder and give him a little smile–soft, unhurried, like a tether that reminded him that he was still on your mind.

That’s what he was doing when it happened.

You were helping a child–maybe four, maybe five–cut out the outline of a star from glitter paper. She was sitting in your lap, legs swinging off the edge of the bench, her small fingers clumsy around the safety scissors. You guided her hands with your own, gentle and patient, your chin tucked down as you murmured something too soft for him to hear. The girl giggled. You smiled. And Bob felt something in his chest fracture.

It bloomed sharp and sudden, like a crack in glass that spiderwebbed behind his ribs before he could stop it. A low, aching pressure that pulsed under his skin and settled into his throat. He couldn’t look away from you. From the way the little girl leaned back against your chest, utterly content, while you helped her snip the edges of her glittery star. Your voice was low, your hand steady on hers, and when she got frustrated, you smiled and told her it was perfect just the way it was.

And the little girl–she believed you.

Bob watched her beam like she’d just won a medal, then twist to throw her arms around your neck. You hugged her back instinctively, without missing a beat, without needing to think about it.

And just like that, Bob saw it.

Not as a fantasy. Not as a warm, fuzzy, distant dream.

He saw you. Sitting in a living room. Soft lamplight across your shoulders. A child curled into your lap with a crayon clutched in one hand and a juice box in the other. Your hair a mess from the day, a blanket half-draped over both of you. And him in the doorway. Holding a book in his hand that he’d forgotten to read, too caught up in the simple, breathtaking fact that this was his life. That somehow, impossibly, he’d made it here.

His throat tightened.

The thought came quietly, like breath fogging glass:

He wanted this.

He wanted you. A child. A family. Not someday, not maybe. Just–yes. He wanted tiny shoes in the hallway. A swing set in a yard. A sleepy voice calling him Dad. He wanted your laughter in a kitchen filled with baby wipes and half-assembled toys. He wanted something that was his and yours and no one else’s.

But right on the heels of that beautiful, terrifying longing came something cold and heavy.

Fear.

He swallowed, hard.

His father’s voice echoed somewhere in the dark part of his memory–low, sharp, filled with the kind of disgust that was harder to forget than fists. He could still hear the way the floor creaked before a bad night. The sting of being told he was nothing. How love only showed up with bruises attached.

Bob’s stomach twisted.

What if I turn into him? He thought.

He didn’t think he would. He knew–rationally–that he wasn’t the same. He didn’t drink. He didn’t shout. He couldn’t even raise his voice without wincing at the echo. He loved gently. He loved softly. But fear didn’t care about facts. It sunk into his lungs anyway.

What if something in him broke? What if the Void came back and he couldn’t stop it? What if one day he opened his eyes and the sky was black again, and the only thing he’d ever loved was looking up at him, afraid?

He could never live with that.

Never.

And yet–

You turned slightly, and caught Bob’s eyes across the grass. You smiled at him–something so simple, so safe–and in that moment, the fear didn’t disappear, but it softened.

Because you weren’t afraid of him.

You’d never been.

Even on the days he didn’t like himself, you liked him. Even when he flinched at his own reflection, you reached for his hand and rested your chin on his shoulder. You didn’t see The Void. You didn’t see the Sentry. You just saw Bob–the man who carried your snacks in his hoodie pocket just in case you got hungry when you went out, who still got bashful when you looked at him for too long, who curled into you at night like you were the only thing that had ever made sense in his life.

Bob’s hand gripped the edge of the canopy pole beside him, just to ground himself.

He wanted to go to you right then and there just to say it. To whisper something clumsy like, “I want to build a life with you. A whole one. With glue-stained paper crowns and messy bedrooms and bedtime songs.”

But he stayed still.

Too scared to break the moment.

Too scared it might not be his to want.

—————————

Later, when the event was winding down, and the sky had shifted to gold and mauve and soft watercolor blues, Bob found you sitting on the grass alone near the now-abandoned craft table, peeling dried glue off your fingers and watching a few leftover kids chase bubbles across the park. He moved towards you slowly, and his looming presence immediately got your attention.

You stopped picking at the glue on your fingers and looked up at him instantly.

”Well, hey stranger.” Bob gave a quiet huff of a laugh at the greeting and smiled down at you, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets, “You gonna sit down or are you going to just stand there and stare?” You joked, patting the patch of open grass beside you. He hesitated for a second before lowering himself beside you, knees folding awkwardly in the grass. You watched him for a moment, then leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek–light, and lingering, your lips warm against the wind-chilled skin just below his eye.

“I haven’t been able to do that all day,” You said softly, almost teasing, but the affection behind it was unmistakable.

Before Bob could even respond, you leaned in and pressed another kiss to the corner of his jaw, then to his temple, and then one right between his brows where they had scrunched up, each kiss softer and slower than the last.

By the time you pulled back, Bob’s cheeks were as red as a rose, and they had become warm, and his smile had curled wide and helpless across his face, because to him your affections were always welcome.

”Y-You’re gonna make me explode,” He mumbled, voice thick with love as he turned to hide his burning face against the shoulder of his hoodie, “This is h-how I die.” He stumbled, looking over at you with those big blue eyes you couldn’t help but stare into every night.

“Death by affection sounds like a dream to me.” You laughed, slipping your hand up to cup his cheek, to turn his face towards yours so he was looking at you directly.

“Y-You know I’m a fragile m-man.” You snorted at his comment.

”I know Sentry is dormant but you’re technically the strongest person on Earth.” You said, giving him a knowing look. “I don’t think you’re fragile.” Bob gave a breathy little laugh, his pupils blown out from how close you were.

”Y-Yeah, well…D-Don’t flatter me too much…You’ll make me f-fall in love with you or s-something.” You raised your brows at him, seeing his cheeks go an even deeper red, “I-I mean–more. Like…More in love with you.” You smiled, so warmly it made his breath catch in his throat, you could hear it.

”Almost a year in,” You whispered, brushing your nose gently against his, “And you still get all flustered with me…I love it.”

And you kissed him–gently, fully, your mouth warm and sure on his. Bob melted. His whole body slackened like your kiss had pulled all the tension right out of him. He groaned quietly and let himself fall back into the grass with a helpless thump, hoodie riding up slightly at the hem, his eyes fluttering closed like he was physically overwhelmed. You laughed lightly and laid down beside him, turning your head so you were looking at him and all his glory, feeling his hand find yours, lacing his fingers between yours instantly.

The sky above you was dimming into deeper blues now, streaked with soft brushstrokes of pink and violet. The hum of the event had finally died out completely. You could still hear the occasional giggle of a child somewhere off in the distance, but for the most part, it felt like you two were the last ones left in the park. Like the whole day had been waiting to exhale.

Bob stared up at the clouds for a moment, before letting out a small sigh.

”C-Can I ask you something…Kind of b-big?” Your eyes studied him for a moment, tracing the way his brows furrowed gently, like he was already halfway to apologizing for whatever he was about to say. Like he was bracing himself to ruin something just by saying it.

“Of course,” You replied, your voice just above a whisper, slowly growing more and more concerned with each moment that passed in silence.

Bob just kept looking up at the sky like the words were written somewhere in the clouds and he just had to find them. His thumb rubbed slow circles against your knuckles.

”Have you ever thought about…Us?” He swallowed, “I mean–not just us, b-but more like…A family.” You raised your eyebrows slowly, turning onto your side so you could face him fully, still holding his hand, waiting for him to elaborate.

“I–I watched you today,” He whispered. “With that little girl in your lap. And it didn’t feel far away…It didn’t feel like someone else’s life. It felt like something I could…Want.”

Your heart gave a soft, aching pull at that.

“I want it,” He admitted, voice trembling. “I want it so bad it scares me. You, a kid–us. A home. Not perfect. Not polished. Just ours. Something warm. Something safe.”

You reached up and gently tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear, your fingertips trailing along his temple. He leaned into the touch like it soothed something he couldn’t name.

“I want that too,” You said. “Not tomorrow. Not next week. But one day. When things are a little quieter, when the world doesn’t need us to carry it. I want that with you, Bob.” He nodded, like he was trying to let the hope settle in–but his eyes were still stormy at the edges.

“But what if…” He swallowed. “What if I’m not good at it? What if I…Mess it up l–like I always do? What if I hurt them? What if something in me snaps and I—”

“Hey,” You cut in gently, reaching up to cradle his cheek. “Look at me.”

He did, reluctantly, his blue eyes wide and full of unshed fear, tears filling up in the corners threatening to spill at any moment.

“You’re not like your father at all Bob, you’re not him.” You said, your voice steady and firm.

”Y-You don’t know that,” He whispered, his eyes glancing away at you, making you chase his gaze a bit so he could look at you.

”I do know that…Because I know you. Because I’ve watched you fall asleep holding my hand. Because you carry two different granola bar options in your hoodie pocket in case I want a choice. Because you always refill the toothpaste without me asking. Because when I’m upset, you don’t try to fix it–you just stay with me. Quietly. Constantly.” Bob blinked, his lip trembling ever so slightly.

“You don’t lash out, Bob. You lean in,” You said. “You don’t shut down. You open up, even when it scares you. You feel everything so deeply, and you never make anyone pay for it.” His brow furrowed and he looked down, overwhelmed, like he didn’t know what to do with the weight of that truth.

You brought his hand up to your lips and pressed a kiss to his knuckles, then whispered into the space between you:

“You already take care of me in a thousand tiny ways. You love gently. That’s why I trust you with my soul.”

He let out a shaky breath, and the hand that held yours tightened just a little more. He nodded faintly, like he was still catching up to the truth you’d handed him–like he wasn’t sure if he deserved it, but he was holding it anyway.

You reached up, your thumb brushing delicately at the corners of his eyes, wiping away the tears that had gathered without pressure or embarrassment. Just care.

“You cry so pretty, you know that?” You whispered, a little playful, attempting to lift the mood just a bit.

Bob let out a short, breathy laugh–surprised and soft. “Th-That’s not a real thing.”

“It is when you do it,” You smiled, leaning closer, your voice light but laced with everything you meant. “You’re beautiful when you feel things.”

He looked at you like you’d just handed him a future and told him it already belonged to him. Like no one had ever said that to him before–and he wasn’t sure he’d ever recover from it.

You leaned in and kissed him, slow and sure, lips pressed to his like you had time. Like you weren’t afraid to show him just how loved he was.

And when you pulled back, your forehead stayed pressed against his, your breath brushing his lips as you whispered:

“You’d be the safest place a little soul could ever grow.”

Bob let out another shaky breath, and this time he smiled–full, unguarded, like something inside him had just settled for the first time.

“Only if it’s with you,” He said quietly.

You nodded, your fingers lacing tighter with his.

“Then we’ll build it,” You whispered. “Slow and messy and ours.”

And beneath a darkening sky painted with stars and leftover laughter, you lay together in the grass, your future unfolding between your palms like something sacred.

Just warm.

Just real.

Just home.

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dilf-docs · 3 months ago

Text

I Can Fix Her (No Really I Can)

jackson!joel miller x younger fem!reader

summary: jackson's loud mouthed spoiled princess has suddenly gone quiet. what or who could be behind such miracle?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (20s/50s), pwp, p. in v., oral (m. and f. receiving), brat taming, dacryphilia, pussy spanking, fingering, humiliation kink, dom!joel, sub!joel if u squint, soft!joel (look at that switch sandwhich fr), brat!reader (she's annoying and v mean, you've been warned), denial is a river so take this before the world mourns joel miller again

word count: 5,391 words

side note: new layout my citizens! will eventually update all of the blog but as for now, enjoy this one and the masterlist. quick thing, i just wanted to say that i had a very shitty week and for the life of me, can't find a way to make ttdik pt. 4 not oversaturated with angst bc i wish all men a very pleasant die or how to connect what i've written so far. note that this was kinda rushed; i feel confident of some parts and not the whole thing. just hoping it works for y'all! (based on this request)

Joel Miller isn't who he used to be before.

Life in Jackson has made him... soft. This version of him, tired of a life of killing and running, tainted with blood and regret. But he's now an uncle and a father. Well, used to be. Ever since Ellie had found out the truth and wanted nothing to do with him, he had somewhat become downright pathetic. Joel could be both Jackson's most useful man, even at his age, while also being their biggest wretch. Ah, yes: Joel Miller, the man who lived in the house down the street, alone and certainly worth the townsfolk's pity.

Maybe that's why you couldn't bother to be nice to him. In your eyes, a man like Joel just didn't deserve your time or respect.

But it wasn't personal, really. He happened to, unfortunately, be in charge of your patrol. That, in your eyes, made him your enemy: a person to be defied and picked apart. And the worst part is, in his current position, Joel just didn't have the energy to fight you back.

"You want me to cross that wearing this?" your protest comes in the form of a whiny pitch. "Ew, no. I'd rather be dead"

At least dead, you wouldn't be a bother. He rolls his eyes, rubbing his face tiredly. The rest of the group watches the interaction in silence, expressions pretty much the same.

"I promise 'cha, princess. Ya' wouldn't want that"

The nickname should irk you, but you let it pass. It is no news to anyone that you are indeed a princess: Jackson's resident little spoiled brat.

Sheltered from early starts of civilization's downfall, maybe your parents had done more bad than good trying to protect you and settling early on in Jackson. You had grown to be a pampered bitch who made Joel's patience wear thin. Of course, to keep him busy and distracted, Tommy had assigned you to Joel. And while he'd rather not spend his days on a house too big for a person, he too wasn't exactly excited about having to deal with you on your patrol shifts.

(If you could call them that. You did anything but patroling)

You cross your arms, petty. "I'm not moving unless you carry me"

Maybe your need to defy him also came, partly, because of this: the way he's looking at you right now, a quiet rage simmering in those big round brown eyes that remind you of a kicked puppy, but when they burn, they seem like a forest fire, old remnants of the hunter that had been tamed by domestic life and a broken relationship resurfacing.

It excites you.

All your life, people seemed to bend to your will-- a force of nature: to your cruel harsh icy wind. You kept Jackson down at their knees, but it wasn't kindness, rather your shoe up their throats what put them to your feet.

Yet, Joel... he could be a loser to you, but he was probably the only one you'd met to be insane enough to defy you. The only man who didn't succumb to your fluttering eyelashes, pink lips and princess manners. No, he ignored the way you looked at him and your constant begging for attention, leaving the job to those men who seemed to follow your every step, ready to be themselves a carpet for you to step in. He'd roll his eyes and walk past you like you were the most bland, boring and uninteresting thing in the world: not worth a second of his attention. Joel simply wouldn't entertain your spoiled attitude past replying to a few snarky comments.

And that revolted and aroused you in equal parts.

It's not like you could escape your obligation, but perhaps, the bigger reason you chose to not skip patrol like you used to before his arrival, is to see Joel Miller's sinking ships for eyes try to wash over your rebel flame.

"Be free to stay then" he replies, but you don't miss the way his grip on his rifle turns white. "I ain't carryin' no one"

"I can carry you" one of the guys from your group offers.

(You can't remember his name)

"Sure" you chuckle, victory smile dancing on your lips at the sight of him looking above his shoulder in a barely stolen glance, thinking you won't notice.

But you do.

Joel Miller fucking hates you.

After five decades alive, he simply can't stand the idea of breathing the same air as a spoiled little brat like you.

Joel's seen destruction, loss, hopelessness and blood up close, and the thought of you walking around like the world owes you a favor fills him with vitriol.

He's been alive for fifty-six years so he's simply just tired. Too tired to give a damn about your attitude, despite how you manage to press all his buttons every time you open your mouth.

He still remembers the first time he met you, how you laughed like people did before all civilization was destroyed. You walked with a confident strut, boots clicking against Jackson's streets, every step made with determination. Like you knew just where you were going.

He envied you, in a way. After Salt Lake City, he seemed to have lost his path, all in the name of love. Then, that warm feeling had turned cold and cruel like all things in this world ravaged by pain, and he felt even at more loss than the first time he experienced grief.

But you? You lived everyday with a dismissal so cold it seemed like nothing could hurt you.

He missed that part of him who just survived: hardened by the world around him.

But Jackson tamed him. Ellie made him soft.

And then you brought up that old dark part of him: the putrid black liquid that spewed through the cracks of his new character that made him loved by Jackson. The same one that made people fear one of Boston QZ's most brutal smugglers. It was that vicious anger, red on his vision like the ichor that would splatter on his clothes or cover his bruised knuckles.

He hated you for it.

But that was in the past, and Joel Miller simply didn't care.

Yet, you made him care. Outright forced him to.

In a way, it seemed like you enjoyed this: the banter of contained rage and practiced patience, dripping as a leak until it overflew. You'd shot your bratty remarks and petty complains until he'd turn around and see you. Then, you'd smile, like that's all you needed to feel better. Far superior. And he hated it. Knew your little game, and fed into it, even as he told himself he wouldn't. Like a drug: a destroying addiction.

Joel didn't understand why you took the time to enrage him, having even heard once when he was late for patrol (he overslept), how you talked bad about the, in your words, Lonely Pathetic Man From The House On The End Of The Road.

Joel Miller has been patient. God knows he has. But he isn't religious, and was never the type to let things pass by.

No. Joel Miller was born with impel, and no matter how many love he had to give, the world around him constantly reminded him of the power hidden behind the exertion over others, how alive he'd felt with the gift he'd been given by heaven.

He isn't patient. He isn't a fool. He isn't pathetic: and Joel Miller will take matters between his rugged hands.

Tommy had arched an eyebrow first, looking at just his and your name on the patrol schedule.

"What's going on?" he narrowed his eyes suspiciously at his brother.

"Found a cabin deep on the forest" curt, "I'ont need lot'a people to scavenge the place"

In the end, he agreed. Who didn't? You, obviously, the reason so many before him had gotten rid of their obligation of you. To flirt with you at the Tipsy Bison? Hell yeah. To have you in their patrol team? God, no.

"Where is everyone else?" you cross your arms above your chest, bracing yourself because of the weather. "Also, isn't this climate not patrol appropiate?"

Joel's not dumb, of course he knows that-- he can feel his aching joints shiver and bones creak because of the temperature. But he also knows he's sick of your shit.

"Ain't you little Ms. Know it all" he mocks, brushing past you, shoulders clashing with the same harsh force the icy breeze does to your face.

"And you're an asshole" you're quick to counter, "bringing us out here in the cold. If you wanted to kill me, you could've made it easier for both of us and done it way back in Jackson"

He rolls his eyes at your incessant bickering.

"Watch y'er mouth" is all he says, the brat hanging dangerously close to the tip of his tongue.

"I'd rather watch my step, thank you very much" you purse your plush pink lips, annoyed. "Have you seen the size of this roots? I will trip and break myself"

He chuckles at your hyperboles and the way you jump in a rather exaggerated manner, more in amusement than irritation.

"Don't think ya' can handle all'at?" Joel taunts. "Gon' break like a doll?"

Doll. It hangs in the air, like the snowflakes that fall into your hair and his eyebrows, the white fusing with his own.

"I'm strong" but it comes out weak.

"Don't seem like it" he's laughing at you again, a sharp annoyed edge to it. "With all that complainin' ya' do"

You huff, your incredulity condescing in the air.

"What's wrong with that?"

"With bein' annoyin'?" Joel quips.

"With voicing out my concerns"

He's walking ahead of you, yet you see his shoulders slump, like he does when he disagrees.

"Those ain't concerns, jus' moanin' and bitchin'"

It's still inside the fun banter you're carrying, harmless, but for some reason, it strikes you in the face.

"If you can't stand me so much, why don't you quit on me, like the others?"

You may seem cold, but there's that cut that always bleeds. Or it may be the need for something that blurs the line between you and those survivors out there who've outlived the worst a man can endure.

Like Joel.

You just can't help wanting it all.

Joel stops on his tracks at your words, response barely above a whisper:

"'Cause I ain't a quitter"

As if that could bring any sense into what had started the moment he layed eyes on you.

You finally reach your destiny in silence, the old cabin hanging by a thread.

"This looks like shit" you comment out loud.

Joel lets out a laugh, a deep rumbling sound coming out of his chest. For a reason, red dust makes it's way into your warm cheeks.

"No, doll. In this world, this ain't shit. It's decent"

You don't miss the way your breath hitches and heart skips a beat at the petname. He doesn't miss the way his tongue burns and his jeans squeeze at the sight of you: powerless.

God, Joel could go to hell for this. (But he'd probably be fine)

"Decent? You're one to talk" it spills out, your fear attacking the only way you know how when you're nervous.

Bite.

You hate feeling weak. You hate how your own game has turned on you.

It seems, Joel Miller isn't just a pathetic man but one who knows how to play.

(You knew this. But now, it's real, not the image you touch yourself to during nighttime, and it's equally both exciting and scary)

The red desire for hunger is there on his eyes. "What's that s'pposed to mean?"

You tilt your head, tone feigning innocence. "I think you know what I mean"

He paces around the room, like your floral scent is too suffocating and the cold isn't enough to shake the fire that burns inside him.

"Spit it" he dares, stopping midtrack. You remain silent, so he walks over to you, face so close, some spit lands in your face. "I said, spit it"

"I think you're pathetic, Joel Miller" yet, for some reason, your heart wavers. What were you even doing? Never had you doubted yourself once, sometimes even finding pleasure in the wicked cutthroat words you'd spew, but today, as his face stands dangerously close to you, his breath ghosting over your lips as his eyes roam over them and you count his wrinkles, it feels wrong.

"'S that what 'cha think, doll?" he chuckles, leaning forward. His lips barely brush against yours by mistake, yet it's enough to send shivers all over your body. "Wanna know what I think? I think you're da' real pathetic burden here. Fucken annoyin' and unuseful. All you know how ta' do is complain' and be a bitch"

"A bitch?" your voice is loud as your roar back, probably because it's coming into your face with the force of a train. But that's how truth feels, and it hurts like hell. "Did you just call me a bitch?"

He laughs, bitterly so, equally irritated as fascinated by how easy it's to see you crumble.

Joel made you out to be this unbreakable force, but at the end of the day, you're human, just like him.

"And y'called me pathetic, s' I guess we're even"

You look crazy: hair disheveled by the wind, chest going up and down and that same craze look on your eyes.

"Fuck you, Joel Miller" you seethe.

It's a simple comeback. No witty retort, no elaborated plot. Just four words, yet it's the way you said it, venomous, with such hostility, like his presence alone made you sick. Your skin crawl. Like the thought alone of being equals couldn't pass through your thick skull, and you had to get rid of just the concept; an ofense.

You pull back, realizing how truly close you were. You then march to the bedroom, slamming the door behind you.

With Joel, there's always a first when it comes to you.

(The first man to catch your attention. The first man to show lack of interest or amusement to your well-known tactics that worked every time. The first man to make your skin crawl like seeing yourself in the mirror. Like you would stare until your image would imprint on your brain, and you'd pick apart every small detail you don't like about you. That was Joel fucking Miller, rolling like thunder, ready to strike over your walls, like he knows where to hit to make you crumble, as if the façade you've built is as much in vain as the hate you carry even with the easy life that's been given to you)

He may be the first man to make you cry.

"Come here!" he shouts, roaring voice reverberating against the walls of the cabin. He swings the door of the bedroom open, finding your satisfied expression as you sit over the old worn out mattress, wiping your tears quickly with a harsh tug of your sweater, coat lying on the dirty floor.

"What?" you ask, as if you hadn't started the fight five seconds ago.

"Ya' think y' can shout and then leave like that?" he spits, "you fucken brat!"

A weird wild spark settles in the pit of your stomach.

"I can do whatever I want"

(The fire. It burns)

He scoffs at your childish response. "Not when y'er under my watch. Like it or not, y'r ma' damn responsability, kid"

Now it's your turn to sneer. "Don't call me that. I'm not a kid"

Of course you fucking weren't: he's got eyes. But goddamn, didn't you act like one all the time?

"Good" his voice adquires a weird tone to it, dropping. "Then strip"

It's like the air's been knocked out of your lungs.

You scoff. "Excuse me?"

"I know you ain't deaf" tone stern, "nor stupid. Are you?"

"Did you just call me stupid?" you raise your voice. Was he going to pull out every single insult from the book? Fair, you think, after you had told him to fuck off in the way you did.

(You were aware your words shoot to kill when you were mad. You had a lot of regrets about that)

"I asked 'cha if ya' were. If there's no answer, I s'ppose that's it"

"I'm not stupid" you counter.

"What?" he's asking you to say it again, like he hasn't heard you.

"You aren't deaf" you repeat his earlier words, eliciting a chuckle out of him.

The windows of the cabin rattle, the cold winter slipping inside the cracks. You shiver yet stand still, not wanting him to misinterpret your body language.

As if you'd ever surrender to him. As if.

"I'm sick of your bullshit" he seethes, "thinkin' ya' can make a clown outta me infront of everyone else, and then look at me like I'm sum piece of meat. Now it's your turn"

"My turn to what?" but this time, your voice wavers. You walk closer, eyelids fluttering.

His uneven breath condensces in the air with a shaky gelid exhale.

"Y'e don't know what you're gettin' into" he warns.

You smile at his barely contained temper. "I think I do"

Joel's body is completely surrounding yours in the bedroom. Before you register, he pulls you by your jaw with his hand.

"Still thinkin' that?" he mocks, thumb pulling your bottom lip down, forcing your mouth open. "Answer me"

But he's pressing his finger on your tongue. You feel yourself starting to drool.

"Ya' really want 'tis, don't 'cha?" his eyes darken, "droolin' like a fucken cockstarved slut. Now strip" his grip tightens, "I won't ask again"

Your body shivers, but no longer because of the temperature drop. A treacherous jolt runs in between your legs at the very first instance of someone putting you in your place. It feels too good to backtrack, but the last remaining drops of sanity plead you to quit.

"Joel" you say his name like a prayer, and he thinks he'd like to see you beg. "I was fucking around-"

"Don't make me repeat myself"

You sit on the edge of the bed, getting rid of your clothes. It's like your mind has stopped working and your body belongs to someone else.

But you want this. Fuck, you had begged for this: sharpening your knife to make your words cut deeper with him until the bleeding was too big to ignore.

You wanted this. Craved it. Needed to satisfy whatever foreign feeling you'd now attribute to your rebellious and spoiled nature.

(You had never been denied anything, and even now, Joel knows this, but can't help and too give in)

"Not so loud now, are we?" he jests, "but 's worth the view, lettin' 'cha run your spoiled tongue off"

He hums with approval at the sight of your body, your pliant energy making his hard cock twitch in his pants.

"You like what you see, Joel?" you ask softly, despite your resistence.

He groans at that, calloused digits grazing the soft skin of your virgin collarbones.

"I do, princess" he answers, lifiting your chin up. "I'll show ya'"

He takes your hand into his bigger one, moving it right onto the spot between his legs.

"You've been bad, little spoiled brat" Joel's voice rasps as your thighs rub together. Y'er lucky I like that"

He pats your cheek. "Wanna make it up to me?" you eagerly nod, desperate for Joel's approval. You hate not having the upper hand, and a part of you thinks you'd get it back if you behave well. "Good girl. Now sit"

He sits next to you, patting his thick thighs. You salivate just at the thought, moving your body over his denim clad lap. "Right'ere"

"Look at 'cha" he parts your legs, a hoarse tks falling from his lips. Joel chuckles at the wet mess that's created. "So fucken wet and I ain't even touched yet"

You feel his rough digits ghost over your dripping cunt, just as his lips had done minutes ago. The teasing sets you on edge, thrill coarsing through your veins. Without warning, his big palm slaps against your cunt, and you feel yourself soaking your folds like you had never ever before.

"Fucken dirty whore. You ain't no princess, gettin' wet to 'tis" he mocks, "what would daddy say"

"Shut up" you sneer, but your body is full of hormones and treason.

"Not when I'm above 'cha, darlin'. Wouldn't wanna piss me off when I'm the one who decides if 'tis pretty pussy comes or not"

"What makes you think I'll take shit from you?" but it comes out as a whimper. Smack. A jolt runs straight from your pussy, stinging from the contact. "Didn't take it when we where in patrol, why should I do now?"

He laughs, darkly. It's haunting.

"'Cause you want 'tis. And I know you'll be a good girl for me to get it"

You feel yourself dizzy, head spinning as you land on the floor.

"Let's see if I get 'cha to shut up if that dirty bratty mouth of y'rs is stuffed full of ma' cock"

He pulls down his worn-out jeans, getting rid of his belt on a harsh pull. The clinking sound makes you rub your thighs together in a new found anticipation, instead of taking the time to run away from this, whatever the hell this is.

No. He's right.

You want this as much as he does.

(Isn't that the scariest part?)

"Ya' like what 'cha see, y/n?" he's smart to use your same words back, but it's the way he's said your name, like he was always meant to say it, or the angry throbb of his cock, what makes you drool at the red furious tip, dripping with rage and need.

"I think it's your dick who's more excited than me" you taunt, tracing the inner soft skin of his thick thighs. "Practically begging for me to lick it"

His adam's apple bobs.

"Tell me, Joel, when was the last time someone made this pretty big cock feel good?"

"Enough" his fingers grab your hair, pulling you harshly until he drags your mouth onto his cock. "I'm tired of y'er bullshit"

You aren't a stranger, he thinks, with the way you kiss his tip, tongue making a wet circle through the head of his cock. You take him into your mouth, pulling out in a second.

"W-what you do that for?" he asks, breathing rapidly. Strained voice.

You smirk.

"To watch you"

To watch how his eyes had closed as soon as your breath ghosted over his leaking cock, how he threw his head back and gripped the sheets viciously at just your shameless lazy circling. Joel Miller could be in charge, but God, wasn't he touch-starved?

(And for a reason, that was so fucking hot. And, in a way, adorable)

"J-just 'cause I'm-" he cuts himself off, probably out of need or out of embarrassment. "You're not in charge, so don't fuck around with your chances, slut. Imma show you y'r place real quick"

His grip tightens in your hair, forcing himself back into your mouth. Joel was punishing, with the way he's pushing your head down until it was at the base of his cock. You gagged for a moment, eyes closing at the weight of his thick girth on your tongue.

"Takin' it like a champ, princess. Usin' that mouth of y'rs for good" and then, with a softer tone he adds, "like ya're made for me"

You moan around him as he starts fucking into your mouth, pulling you off quickly, saliva slipping out of your mouth as you gasp for air.

"Joel" you whine his name, legs pressing together in order to get any friction.

"Now you beggin'? 'S gonna take more than jus' that, doll" he taunts, but there's a certain wicked softness to the way he traces your cheek as you scramble an attempt. "Try harder, princess"

"I'm sorry, Joel-"

He moves his head, clearly dissatisfied.

"Not Joel. Ya' call me sir when I fuck you"

A mewl escapes your lips.

"Sir" comes out like a faithless prayer, begging to be heard. "I'll do anything, sir, please, touch me"

"Al'ight, but still, it ain't 'nough"

Oh.

The hot tears in the corner of your eyes shouldn't arouse him this much, but the watery promise makes his cock twitch.

"I-I'll do anything, I swear" you beg, the salty tears stream down your cheeks in cascades. "It hurts, Jo-" you whine, "sir, please. Just fuck me goddamit!"

Your once poised voice, now reduced to a whimpering begging mess. Your red rimmed eyes, beginning to puff. It's the way a gloss seems to coat over them, making you look like a doe-eyed deer and not the brat who challenged his every decision and word.

Fuck, isn't he aroused.

"Lookin' so pretty when you cry" he smiles, but instead of wiping the tears, it's his tongue that licks them off your face. "You beggin' that bad to take my cock"

You nod, eagerly so.

"Please, Jo- Just, please. D-don't make me beg" your face feels hot and wet again, "I-I can't take it anymore. Just fucking give it to me!"

"Easy, baby. Can't understand a thing you sayin'" Joel teases. "Where your manners at, besides?"

"Please, sir" he gently pulls you up, humming in satisfaction.

"Goin' crazy over my cock, baby? Y'sure have a nerve to call one pathetic if you gon' act like this, you little brat"

But he is the one moaning when his lips cature your mouth with a fierce impulse, like he wants to devour you whole and swallow your vocals, as to never speak up again.

(But then, he wouldn't hear his name on your sweet albeit snotty voice, and that's a privilege he can't forbid himself from, no matter how annoying you can get sometimes)

"Please" you whisper one last time. He wipes a stray tear with his rough thumb. "I'm yours"

"See, baby? It ain't that hard to shut that mouth of y'rs"

He guides you to the old bed while renewing the kiss, tongues now engaged on a battle for dominance, like even without using your words you'd still need to assert your power over the other. You moan into his mouth when your body slams against the mattress and Joel lands on top, his weight sinking you in the old bed, that creaks.

"I just want to be a good girl for you" you whimper.

"You sure of that? Not gon' be a brat?" and despite his harsh tone that seems to humiliate you, his wandering fingers are gentle with each touch, like if he were to put any more force, you'd break. Joel thinks it's not necessary with you: just with you begging for his cock, he's broken you.

"No, sir" and then you whimper as his mouth dives to the collarbones you had taunted him with before. Joel takes his time, inhaling the musk and savoring the sweet of your skin. Needy whines leave your lips, and he's having the time of his life seeing you surrender so easily, like you had no idea what limits to push, where they'd take you and how you'd pay for that.

"C-Can I touch you?" you whisper, hands itching to tangle on his grey parted hair. He chuckles at the eagerness and tenderness you don't seem aware of.

"S' you can be sweet if ya' want to, huh?" he leaves a fluttering kiss to your chin. "Needy and desperate too. Do ya' want to touch, princess? Remember to use y'r words"

"Yes, sir. I-I want to touch you"

"Thought I disgusted you, hmm? I take you've learnt y'r lesson now?"

"Yes, I've learned. Please, sir, won't do it again" you plead.

"I'll allow ya' to touch, doll" he gives you a smirk, "but 'ts all you get for now"

He lets your hands cling to his coat, taking it off. Then, you proceed to his buttoned shirt, fingers flidding with buttons until you grown annoyed and desperate, pulling the fabric over his head with need.

"Look at 'cha" but there's only adoration, proven so when he starts to kiss the trail of soft skin that goes from your neck to your stomach, making you squirm. "Easy, baby. 'M gettin' down there"

He finally reaches your core, kissing the inner side of your thighs with wet and sloppy lips. His hot breath tingles over your clit, and a beat later, his mouth presses into your cunt, your back arching at the cold contact of his chapped lips against the humid hot of your folds.

You muffle a moan, embarrassed at the whole situation.

"Ain't need to worry 'bout nothin', doll. Nobody can hear us" he grins, tongue flicking your clit. "Wanna listen to your pretty whimpers as I make 'cha feel good"

You cry out of pleasure, the sound escaping past your lips. Joel has a laugh.

"Good girl"

Joel rewards you with another series of minstrations on your bud, licks made with determination only the expert man knows of. He then slides one finger into you, slowly moving it in and out of your soaked trembling heat.

"M-more" you beg, eager to get more fingers inside you. "Please, more, sir"

You buck your hips to try to get closer to him, meeting his thrusts.

Joel tuts, "What're you doin', spoiled brat? Did I tell ya' to move? You were doing such'a great job... guess I gotta punish you-"

"No!" you shout. "Do anything you want, but touch me, please- touch me!"

He introduces a second finger, raising his brow at the immediate way you clench around him. Joel curls them, robbing another moan out of you.

"Feels good?" you can't answer, as a hard thrust robs another moan from you. "But I'ont want 'cha to think we done, princess. Think I'd let you come, jus' like that? After all's happened?"

"Need you" you tug him closer with your arms holding onto his. "Joel, sir- please"

"Oh, princess" he smirks, "I think you don't know what you askin' for"

Joel grabs his hand around his length, coating the tip in your slicky juices, and then, he presses his length into you in one thrust.

"You're big-" you pant as he gives you time to adjust to his size. Joel then picks up an unrelenting pace that makes moans spill out of you like a fountain, the pace of his thrusts sending you closer and closer to the edge.

"N-need to-"

"Don't" he seethes. "Ya' won't 'till I tell ya' can"

All you could do is moan, helplessly pinned between his body and the bed. Your whole body shakes in an effort to contain as his hips loose their rhythm, his groans louder as he gets closer and closer to the edge.

"Al'ight. 'Cause you've been good" his cock drives through your walls with rhythmic melodies. "Cum, princess, but when ya' do, look at me"

You're seeing stars the moment your toes curl and his head falls to clash against your forehead.

(The beads of sweat roll down out of him like trails to follow, and his scarred rugged skin doesn't compare to your soft one, painted with the maroon of his bites and kissing at the skin of your collarbone. The dried up trails of tears. Your begging and desperate voice. His name on your lips)

It only takes a few more thrusts before he spills in you, cock twitching until every last drop of thick hot white cum is pumped into you.

Joel then pulls out gently, pressing a kiss to your forehead before flopping onto you, the mattress dipping even further. With his hand, he removes a stray strand of damp hair, putting it behind you ear with such tender kindness, your heart strings pull.

"In fact, I want ya' to look at me next time y'even think 'bout defying me. See if that mouth of y'ers can talk after 'tis"

A week later, you're back at patrolling.

"Anyone got anythin' to say?"

The group looks at you. You're about to open your mouth, but Joel cocks an eyebrow.

Just like that, and you're gone. Great job, y/n.

"Whatever" you sound meek as you push past him, yet he catches a glimpse of your warm cheeks. "Let's go"

The rest are too stunned to speak, the silence only cut off by Miller's laugh.

"Would 'cha look at that?" he whistles. "Ain't nobody tell ya' miracles don't happen anymore on this goddamn world!"

credits: divider @kodaswrld / gif @chappellsroans

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danatron1 · 1 month ago

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Help trans people in the UK!

TERF island sucks, however thousands of innocent people are harmed by their tyranny. Have sympathy for brits like me who would rather be born anywhere else.

An unprecedented attack on trans rights took place last Wednesday, with the UK Supreme Court writing trans people out of the Equality Act by redefining "woman" to only mean assigned female at birth.

Protests erupted across the country, with thousands taking to the streets to fight for trans rights. With our current government, our suffering falls on deaf ears.

It won't be enough to just fight in the streets, but we need to fight in the courts. The UK Supreme Court is the highest court in the country, with no chance of appeal. However, there is hope.

The European Court of Human Rights can step in if we can get them to recognise this blatant violation of human rights. Leaving the EU doesn't get you out of it! This legal case will be time consuming and expensive, so please donate all that you can to help us win this fight. We're fighting JK Rowling money, but together we can make a difference!

If you can't donate, please share instead!

If you need to know how bad this situation really is, keep reading.

The Supreme Court's ruling, where 3 men decided what "woman" means, puts all women at risk. Male police officers in the UK now have the power to strip search any women they believe to be trans.

It is an offence to enter a single sex bathroom and changing room different from your birth sex, but also to enter one where your presence is "likely to cause offence". This leaves trans men and women with nowhere to go, as well as gender-non conforming cis people.

Non-binary people naturally have zero legal recognition whatsoever, the existence of trans men has been ignored again, and intersex people have been written out of existence.

Trans people are always sent to male prisons regardless of sex. If you don't know the horiffic ramifications of this, Google v-coding.

Gender Recognition Certificates, which were supposed to update your legal sex for all purposes, have been rendered functionally worthless. Trans people are being forced into their assigned sex at birth.

Trans women are banned from rape crisis shelters, domestic abuse protection, and discrimination claims such as equal pay. Trans women have also unsurprisingly been banned from Women's sports.

Trans women are banned from all lesbian groups and organisations, and not just that, cis women are too if they're dating a trans woman. The court ruled that "lesbian" means "AFAB attracted to AFAB", making cis women dating trans women legally straight. The definition also means bi women aren't a thing in UK law now - just a sidenote!

Trans people sent to hospital wards are now always housed according to their assigned sex at birth, regardless of their comfort.

If you're a trans minor, your life is even harder. Puberty blockers and HRT, despite being completely safe and legal for cis people, are banned nation wide for trans youth. The only "help" offered is conversion therapy, which the government calls "exploratory therapy".

And if you're thinking "well, people won't comply" or "My workplace is friendly," then I regret to inform you that this isn't allowed. The UK expects all organisations to update their policies to be trans exclusionary by this summer, and the so-called "Equality and Human Rights Commission" has announced they will persue any organisation which doesn't immediately comply.

By the way, earlier this year the EHRC made the trans panic defense legal. Even kissing someone without disclosing that you're trans is enough to get you convicted with sexual assault. Trans people must always out themselves before any relationship forms or be charged with a sex crime.

Any organisation with bathrooms, changing rooms, rape crisis centres, etc. will be for Ed to exclude trans people. If an organisation lets a trans woman (who in UK law is now legally a man) into a women-only space, they lose the right to operate the single sex space, and can be successfully sued for not letting cis men into it.

The EHRC's recommendation? Trans people use their "powers of advocacy" to request "third spaces" with regards to toilets. THIS IS NOT A JOKE.

We CAN put a stop to this. We CAN defeat transphobia. Bigotry has fallen before and it can fall again. Be the side history remembers fondly.

We'll let you mock our accent if you stop innocent people from suffering first.

DONATE

#transgender #trans #trans rights #uk politics #trans pride #lgbt pride #lgbtq #lgbtqia

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group4projectdevelopment · 4 months ago

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Group Progress and My Contributions/ Self Reflection (Part 1) - Yash Kunder

Group Progress: As of today ie the 10th of Feb, Group 4 has managed to complete and test a functional and well constructed Dome 360 video which is a day ahead of our deadlines. We were successfully able to setup an extreme synchronized process where every member took responsibility and performed to the best of their ability.

We started by first knowing each other, our strengths, our likes and dislikes etc. Next, we shared our previous work in order to get a clear picture of what we can all achieve together and that its realistic. It helped us avoid over expecting from each other and also to be in the same page. Based on this information, we decided to play to our strengths. Everyone had a role and everyone loved their roles due to which, we were proactively taking initiatives to progress with the project. Every member genuinely believed in what we wanted to create which reflected in our work too. Our Idea consists of having a 2D space and 3D spaces. For smoother functioning, we split into subgroups of respected mediums ie 2D (Me and Nita) and 3D ( Dylan, Gautham and Ana) to come up with events and ideas which are interesting and also practically achievable in the given deadline. We trusted each other and were confident with our skillsets to do whats best for our group. The First Phase of our project depended heavily on conceptualizing and scripting and communicating with absolute transparency to find out what works and what doesn't. We organized discord meetings and used Miro boards to collect our ideas, references etc. There was no unnecessary debates involved as we just went with a poll and each member voted for their favorite ideas without any bias or personal interest. We went with the ideas which had the most votes. The Second Phase was stitching all the ideas into one compelling narrative and we mutually decided that we would go for a humorous one. To do that we looked at our own experiences and found that Memes were the core aspect of our sense of humor ( and also the people with whom we hang out). We decided to craft a piece of artefact that would extend our sense of humor into multiple Universes. Despite being skeptical since it was a crazy yet effective idea, during our pitch we found that it did worked and people could relate very well to our idea. With that, the decision was made. The Final Phase of our project was straightforward. It was all about execution. Everyone was clear about what we wanted to do, and it was just a matter of managing time, sticking to deadlines, playing to our strengths and covering each other's weaknesses. I Feel this is what really made our group function at its peak. To put it simply, We adhered to a pipeline which had the following steps: > Brainstorming : Deciding Ideas, Knowing each other and our abilities, Fixing our respective roles.

> Pre-production : Concept art, Storyboards, Scripting and setting deadlines

> Production : Designing resources, backgrounds and Animation, Audio and Sound library , Recording voice lines. > Post-Production : Grasping the technicalities of accurately translating our Idea into a Dome, Editing, Compositing and Stitching everything into a final render. We also take pride in creating 97% of all the assets by ourselves that are used in the video. Other 5% include Sound effects and a single wave effect used in time leap which were all from stock resources or copyright free. The Output works as intended and We only need to adjust a few minor details before we present it on the 12th of Feb.

#group assignment update #teamwork #synchronization #creative process #trust the process

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oceantornadoo · 3 months ago

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the ex-wife chronicles pt.1 (ex husband!john price x f!reader)

masterlist | next

follow and turn on notifications: @tornadoowarning

John Price loves Kate Laswell. She’s like an older sister to him, a brusque sort of bond built by survival and betrayal.

He hates one thing about her: how much she loves her wife.

“You’re takin’ leave?” John huffs into the speak of his phone, his shoulder pressing it into his ear. “Soap’s going to be recovering for months, and Ghost with him. Our main enemy is dead. I was offered two months of leave as compensation for the past year so yes, John, I am taking leave so I can actually see my wife for more than a meal.” John sighs discontentedly, already knowing this means he’ll have to be interacting with others who don’t understand his team. It’s a sneaky mistake he tries to slip into the conversation, testing the waters.

“Not that my men won’t enjoy the two months of leave-” Kate cuts him off with a chuckle. Damn it. “I’m assigning a temporary contact for you. I trust her with my life and I think you will too. She will be giving me updates every week.” John sighs again like a disappointed grandfather. “She’s experienced in managing field trauma as well, so she’ll be like a field therapist but with my clearance. The higher-ups were shaken by Soap getting shot and reassurance that the team will exist in six months. She’ll help Ghost reacclimate, Soap recover, and put you and Gaz back together. Lord knows you need it.” John really can’t deny that. The shell-shocked look that hides behind Gaz’s eyes every time he enters the hospital. Simon sits vigil at Johnny’s bedside, scaring off the most seasoned doctors with one glare. John doesn’t even want to know what he looks like since he’s only shaved once since Johnny got shot three weeks ago. It’s like penance since one of his men almost died. “You sayin’ we’ll have two months of team bonding while you fuck off on your honeymoon?” He can hear a smile in Kate’s tone as she replies, “We’re calling it a vow renewal. I’ll send you a postcard.”

The next ten minutes are spent reading emails about the logistics of this ‘team-bonding’. Compulsory group activities made for specialized military teams. None of that holding-hands bullshit but real strategies to use on and off the field. Breathing techniques, yoga, massages, visualization techniques, while reacclimating them to a battlefield. Each team member will be assigned a different therapist and the woman Laswell is sending will be ensuring that therapy is attended. Laswell still hasn’t sent over the personnel file, something about ‘not wanting to ruin the surprise’ which John only grunted at, watching the end of his cigar burn closer and closer to his hand. The spark of him reminds him of the bullet-hole in Johnny’s head, a starburst of destruction. Maybe a little therapy wouldn’t hurt.

“She gets there tomorrow. She’ll be staying on base and in your section of housing, easier access for emergencies.” What emergencies? The constant nightmares that bleed into John’s days? “We don’t have an extra room.” Kate’s silent for a second. “Soap-” “Is off limits. Jesus, Kate.” She’s silent and he can hear her flipping through files, likely looking at the base’s layout. “Actually, I have a better idea. The isolation housing.” It’s usually used as punishment for unruly recruits, a bit like that Parent Trap movie his nieces used to watch. Ex-nieces.

Four bedrooms with a shared bathroom, updated plumbing but an isolated location. Perfect for forcing soldiers who don’t like each other together until they’re used to the smell of each other’s shit. Unfortunately perfect for two months of team bonding. “There’s no office.” Kate snorts at his protest. “Use Ghost’s. He’s required to show up but it’s not like he’ll be sleeping there. I bet he won’t even step foot into the room.” John sighs in defeat at her solution. A part of him knows his team needs this but it irks him, knowing they’re going to be fattened up like chickens just to be slaughtered the moment they’re able to fight. It doesn’t escape them that this is an investment that requires results. More time off means they’re expected to come back polished like new, shoving the memory of Johnny getting shot into a corner and compartmentalizing. Christ, that’s dark, even for him.

“Fine.” Kate hums. “She’ll be there at 0800 tomorrow. If you want to be a good host, I’d make sure the barracks are ready by tonight.” John murmurs his goodbye and wonders how the hell he’s supposed to get his team to report for duty tomorrow.

“Sir.” Heart machines beep in the background on Simon’s side of the call. John slides a hand down his desk, tracing the wood grain as he imagines the phantom pain the man is going through. “How’s Soap?” He can hear a ruffling of fabric, like Simon’s masked head is turning to confirm Johnny exists before replying. “They’re sayin’ it was a graze but the shock waves caused more damage.” Right. The image John sees every night, that of a gaping wound in Johnny’s head, is not actually true. The bullet only grazed, due to the reflexes of his sergeant, but all the blood at the scene made it look much worse. Doctors didn’t even need to do surgery, just a worrying amount of tests and shock at Johnny’s ability to survive. John knows all this information of course, but he also knows Simon needs to keep saying it to remind himself that it’s true.

“He starts therapy in a week.” John replies. Simon grunts. This timeline was suggested by the doctors but John has now confirmed it, something he knows Simon hates. “When he starts, you’re expected back on base.” Simon does not sputter. He’s not built for it. However, John knows the man enough to hear the instinct of doing so in the back of the man’s throat. When Simon doesn’t hang up, John continues. “We’re not gettin’ shipped out for a while. As long as you’re on base durin’ the day, I don’t care where you’re sleepin’. The PT facility is only a 15 minute drive from base.” Translation: I don’t care that you’re sleeping with Johnny. The biggest concession John can make without acknowledging it, something he knows Simon will hate. The speaker crackles, Simon muffling it with a gloved hand. He can imagine the man turning to Johnny, the two conversing in that language only they know. Finally, the speaker becomes clear. “See you in seven days, sir.” John says goodbye and the line cuts.

He dials Gaz next. Although the call connects instantly, he imagines the signal traversing north to Lancashire, where Gaz decided to take off after they were all given personal leave. His family home, not his usual flat in London. A choice John would make as well, if he had a family home to go back to. Not a tragedy like Simon but simply…unattached. His parents died from old age a few years ago and he was the only child of two only children. He’d gone back to his own London flat, but memories of his men playing poker in his living room, Johnny laughing and happy, had been too haunting.

“Sir?” Gaz greets him apprehensively. “Alrigh’, Gaz?” The man pauses, the check-in catching him off-guard. John mentally notes that’s a reaction he doesn’t want in the future. Something to bring up at this godforsaken team bonding experience. “Yessir.” He keeps going when John doesn’t say anything, trying to drag a response out of the sergeant. “Bit of rest and relaxation. Been checkin’ in with Soap when Ghost picks up his phone.” John hums, eyes flicking back to the team bonding itinerary in front of him. “Rest’s over, Gaz. There’s a flight for you at your old airfield. It’ll take off in four hours, 0800 sharp.” Four hours, the most he could give Gaz for some goodbyes, a sorely needed morale boost for the next few months. “Thank you, sir. See you soon.” For the second time today, John hangs up on a call he didn’t want to make.

The rest of the day passes in a haze of paperwork. John scrounges up a pre-wrapped sandwich from mess and eats it with two-fingers of whiskey. A feast fit for a king. Sleep overtakes him in fits and starts, a reminder that he needs a clear mind for tomorrow is the only reason he forces himself to slow his breathing and give in.

Gaz arrived late last night. They watch a helicopter land at exactly 0805, wind whipping around their jackets as they squint in the morning sun. Their hats do almost nothing to block it. A few familiar faces hop off, men who tagged along in the flight from the Manchester base back to London. It’s only after they clear the area that you emerge.

Standard base gear with a black hoodie thrown over your t-shirt to wear off the morning chill. You’ve got sunglasses on, blocking the glare that’s sent John squinting. It’s only when you pull them off your face and into the crown of your hair does John realize who he’s looking at.

It’s been ten years since he saw his ex-wife. He did not expect a reunion on a spring Tuesday morning.

John’s well-trained enough to swear in a low tone that doesn’t catch Gaz’s ears. The man has a sunny smile on his face, his hand stuck out for a handshake. “You must be Kyle Garrick.” You say, stopping in front of the men as you shake Gaz’s hand firmly. “Got our files memorized already, Doc?” You laugh, a sharp, tinkling sound that sends an almost-shiver down John’s spine. “No,” you pause to look John up and down, “call it process of elimination.” You don’t bother to shake his hand. Instead, you wait until your eyes catch and nod, like you are cordial colleagues. Like you weren’t his wife once upon a time (it was only a year, his brain whispers). John tips his hat and turns to lead you back to the isolation barracks. In the background, he can hear Gaz recovering well, asking questions about the flight and how you know Kate.

John gives a half-hearted tour, a hard feat to complete when he refuses to meet your eyes. There’s mainly a lot of gesturing and grumbling about how this won’t be a spot to frequent since you’re getting moved to the other barracks. John feels out of character, particularly moody on what was supposed to be a new start of a day. Instead, you, the woman he hasn’t thought about for years (well, maybe a little bit), is at his heels, expected to be his new boss.

The walk to the barracks takes half an hour. Gaz offered to take your bag and now he’s paying for it, his shoulder slumping as he carries the pile of bricks. If John still knew you, he would guess there’s a few of your well-worn books in there. But he doesn’t (know you, that is), so he pretends his sergeant needs to up his bicep routine. How should he kill Kate Laswell? Maybe not answer her calls until she shows up at base so he can get the drop on her. Or show up on her vow renewal vacation and dress her down in front of her wife. All terrible ideas, spun to distract him from the fact that you are hiking a grassy hill a meter behind him, about to enter your new cohabitated home for the next two months. And share a bathroom.

“Christ, Captain, they couldn’tve given it a new paint job?” The gray paint outside the building is flaking, but at least it’s updated inside. John guides them in, pointing out room assignments. You pass by him in a whiff of a new perfume scent he hasn’t smelled and silent outrage, a deadly combination. “Fancy a tea, sir?” John’s about to shake his head until he remembers. He rounds the hallway of bedrooms into the small kitchen, where empty shelves sit. “Looks like we need a restock, Sergeant.” Gaz sighs. John fishes out the new Visa Laswell sent over as part of their ‘bonding budget’. “Don’t steal from mess, go to the store.” It’s at least an hour trip to the parking lot, the shops, and back. Enough time for an argument with his ex-wife, hopefully. Gaz looks a little dazed at the sudden power in his hands. “How much can I buy, sir?” Ghost may love his tea but Gaz is obsessed with candy, always trying a new kind whenever they’re deployed. Somehow, the kid still has perfect teeth. Also, John is still mad at Laswell. “Whatever catches your eye, Sergeant.” He’s gone in a flash, the front door banging on the way out as he yells ‘thank you, sir’ over his shoulder. John sighs.

He finds you in your bedroom, predictably pulling out books from your go-bag. Your shoulders tense when he purposefully stomps up to your doorframe, waiting. You speak at the same time.

“Look, I didn’t know-”

“I don’t know what Laswell told you but-”

You stop at the same time as well, glaring at each other from opposite sides of the room. He gestures at you to go first, a gentleman move that has you rolling your eyes. “I didn’t know it was your team. I owed Laswell a favor and didn’t have anything on my docket, so when she said she needed me to piece some men back together, I volunteered for the challenge.” He takes you in as you talk. The confidence in your squared shoulders is new, no longer faked. Your hairstyle is different as is your makeup, a fact that shouldn’t surprise him. The only thing that stays the same is the bracelet at your wrist, a slim sentimental piece of metal.

“That what you do now? Piece men back together?” You shrug, turning away from him to unpack. “You know I was never meant to be a regular field doctor. I’ve got both my security clearance and psychiatry background - it’s a unique combination. I get to pick my cases without a lot of paperwork and without worrying whose war I’m fighting. I like what I do.” The message is clear. You are morally above John and you’re proud of it, a fact he sees in your now-relaxed shoulders. You stack books near your bedside, then toss a bag of toiletries on the freshly-made bed. Turning back around to face him, you cross your arms and raise your eyebrows. At least your frustrated look hasn’t changed.

“We gonna have a problem, John? I thought you were a Captain, all professional.” He edges closer into the room, crossing some invisible barrier. “No problem. I’m capable of burying a decade-old history.” You huff, tilting your chin to meet his eyes. It’s you and him for a second, staring. Not reminiscing but remembering. The ghosts of your past fights, long dead and forgotten, are suddenly brought back to life with one blink. Meeting when you were both young and dumb, a whirlwind engagement, an angst-filled marriage. The whole process of it is a two-year blip in his memory from nearly ten years ago. No prenup but no shared assets either, everything you both were and are belonging to the military. Like knocking two dolls together and being disappointed when nothing forms between them.

He only thinks about your marriage when he’s drunk. Drunk and alone. Drunk and with a pretty thing under him, only to blink and remember what you felt like.

Other than that, he doesn’t think about his failed marriage.

John sticks his hand out and you take it. Miraculously, your hand is not as callused as his and he wants to ask why, how you don’t bear the scars of sewing soldiers back together, occasionally pricking your own thumb and watching it bleed. The moment is gone when you let go.

a few things

i will not be doing a taglist, they stress me out

this has been in my drafts for weeks, i have one more chapter written but don't expect timely updates

this is mainly going to be fast-burn bc they have a history and i get impatient if there's no smut

no clue how long this is going to be but pls enjoy!

tag: fic: formerly mrs. price

531 notes · View notes

hunzzzzz · 2 months ago

Text

OBX TWEETS: part 12 (Rafe Cameron x reader x John B SMAU)

A/N: AHHHHH this is what everyones been waiting for!!!!

TW: SMUT/oral sex f!receiving/virgin reader/first time (kind of)

“Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!” The roar of the crowd was a physical thing, vibrating through your chest as you hung upside down, the cheap beer burning a cold trail down your throat. Two random guys gripped your legs firmly, while Amy your friend, held your skirt securely in place.

Finally, they lowered you back onto your feet, the world spinning for a dizzying second. Beer dripped from your chin, trailing down your cleavage, but you barely registered it, wiping it away with the back of your hand.

Six weeks. Six long, grueling weeks of therapy. Tonight, you needed this release, this explosion of carefree abandon. But a small, cautious voice in the back of your head reminded you to tread carefully. The last time you’d let loose like this, the intoxicating mix of alcohol and hormones had led to a regrettable encounter with a certain buzzcut and a whole lot of messy feelings.

Drama was the absolute last thing you needed tonight. You’d already crossed paths with Rafe near the keg, and thankfully, he hadn’t even spared you a glance. It was almost unnerving, this complete lack of acknowledgment.

Meanwhile, Topper and Kelce sent you pointed glares that you almost found comical. Whatever, you rolled your eyes internally. He was genuinely the last thing on your mind. You had enough of your own shit to deal with. And trying to decipher whatever had him in a pissy mood and blanking you was at the bottom of your list, in fact he was so irrelevant he wasn't even on the list.

Your gaze scanned the crowd until you found your familiar group huddled near the edge of the bonfire. A pang of longing hit you. It felt strange not having pre-gamed with them, but the thought of facing John B was too much to handle right now. You weren’t angry anymore, just… deeply, profoundly hurt. And tonight, more than anything, you needed a night free of that particular ache.

One by one, they noticed you and broke away from their conversation, their faces lighting up with genuine warmth. Pope gave you a cautious hug, his eyes searching yours for any sign of fragility. Kiara squeezed you tightly, whispering a welcome back. You noticed John B amongst them, but he remained a good distance away, thank god.

JJ was the last to reach you, and his hug was less of a comforting embrace and more of a full-body tackle. He lifted you off the ground with a grunt, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he spun you around in a dizzying circle. You leaned back, your hair tangling in the sand as the bonfire and the faces around you blurred into an upside-down kaleidoscope.

“Woah! Easy there, tiger,” he chuckled, his hands landing firmly on your back to steady you, pulling you back to an upright.

“I fucking missed you, you chaotic mess!” You grinned, reaching up to squish his cheeks together, your thumbs digging in playfully. “Rehab was like… a library without any good books.”

“Yeah?” He grinned back, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he finally set you back down. “Well, I fucking missed you more, you beautiful disaster. Every time I tried to pull a prank – and trust me, there were some epic ones planned – nobody would help me! They kept saying I needed to ‘mature’ and ‘think things through.’ Think things through? What’s the fun in that? I got my partner in crime back now. The world better watch out, we’re gonna be unstoppable.” He punctuated the sentence by gripping onto your arms and shaking you slightly.

That was the beauty of JJ. He never pried. Not once had he asked about the soul-crushing monotony of rehab. He just showed up every week, a whirlwind of unfiltered JJ-ness, not that you’d ever admit you looked forward to it. He physically couldn’t go seven days without updating you on the latest ridiculousness he’d gotten himself into: the assignments he’d spectacularly failed, the dating app disasters, the time he tried to ‘borrow’ a golf cart from the country club.

He was a glorious, unhinged escape from the sterile, suffocating world of recovery. An escape from the saccharine smiles of the therapists, the forced vulnerability of group sessions where you had to dissect your feelings like a goddamn frog in biology class, the endless mindfulness exercises that felt like a personal affront to your racing thoughts, and the daily affirmations that tasted like ash in your mouth.

You weren’t kidding when you said it was terrible; it was your own meticulously crafted personal hell. A six-week-long torture session of everything you actively avoided: talking about yourself, being forced to connect with strangers about your deepest insecurities, having your every word and action analyzed and interpreted. You genuinely would have preferred a lobotomy to another goddamn circle time where you had to share your ‘feelings flower.’

Kiara and Pope had cast apologetic glances your way before gravitating back to John B. You just waved a dismissive hand, a small, tight smile on your face. It was completely fine. Really.

You and JJ found a quiet spot by the water, a joint appeared seemingly out of nowhere between you two.

While JJ was animatedly recounting the latest escapades of his borderline-paranoid neighbor, Toby – something involving garden gnomes and accusations of spying – your attention kept drifting. You couldn’t help the magnetic pull of your gaze towards John B. He was perched on a log by the bonfire, the flickering embers casting dancing shadows across his face, and even from this distance, you could feel his eyes on you. A sudden, fierce longing surged through you – a desperate urge to run over, to bury yourself in his familiar embrace, to feel his lips on yours.

“Hello?” JJ’s voice cut through your reverie. He followed your gaze, “You should go talk to him, you know.”

You snapped back to face JJ, a defensive wall instantly going up. “Look, J, I know he’s your best friend, and I appreciate you… trying to be all mature and shit, but I don’t want you caught in the middle of this. I don’t want any of you to have to pick sides or anything. This is between me and him.”

“Hey,” JJ said, his usual goofy grin fading as he placed a hand on each of your shoulders. “Don’t be fucking stupid. Nobody’s picking sides, alright? We’re your friends. We’re all just… seeing two people we care about so upset. It’s kinda pathetic, not gonna lie.”

“I’m not upset,” you insisted, crossing your arms stubbornly, your chin jutting out slightly. “If he wants to be a little bitch about it. Then that's his personal problem. It doesn’t exactly keep me up at night.”

JJ looked at you for a long moment, his lips pursed in that way he did when he was trying to be serious but still couldn't quite suppress his inner chaos. “He misses you. Like, a lot. He’s been moping around like a lost puppy ever since you left. It’s actually kinda gross to watch.”

“J, you know what I love about you?” You shoved him playfully, a small smile finally breaking through your defenses. “We don’t do this touchy-feely, heart-to-heart, ‘let’s talk about our feelings’ gay shit.”

“Yeah, I know, I know,” he sighed dramatically, throwing his hands up in mock exasperation. “But I’m the one who has to be on suicide watch every night. It’s cramping my style, man! I can’t even get laid with him radiating all that sad-boy energy. Think of my needs here!” He pouted, his attempt at reconciliation somehow both ridiculous and strangely earnest.

“It’s too complicated, J,” you said, shaking your head, blinking back the tears that threatened to resurface. “This is exactly why I never wanted anything to happen between us in the first place. He’s my best friend. He was my best friend.” You quickly corrected yourself, clearing your throat.

“And now look at us. Look at this mess we’ve made.” You gestured vaguely behind you towards the bonfire where John B was sitting, and surprisingly, your outstretched finger made contact with something… or rather, someone.

Your eyes widened in dawning horror. It was a full-blown ‘he’s right behind me, isn’t he?’ moment.

“Hey, uh, can we talk?” John B’s voice, low and slightly hesitant, cut through the painful silence and the crashing waves.

You shot a death glare in JJ’s direction, silently screaming for a warning you hadn’t received.

“Yeah, go right ahead! Lemme just… uh… hosey on outta here.” JJ grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and with a quick, two-fingered salute, he jogged away.

You sucked in a sharp breath and whipped around to face John B. Before he could even get a damn word out, you held up a hand, like, 'Talk to the hand, buddy.'

“Don’t even start,” you said, your voice all tight and shaky. Ugh, get it together, you pathetic mess. “If you came over here to ask me how that little slice of hell they call rehab was, just turn your ass around and walk away. Right now.”

John B rubbed the back of his neck, looking all awkward and shit. “I didn’t,” he mumbled, his eyes searching yours like he’d lost his damn keys. “God, I fucking missed you. Every second.”

“Yeah, yeah, noted,” you said flatly.

He took a step closer, his voice all soft and pleading. “And I’m… I’m fucking sorry. Okay?”

“Okay,” you echoed, a bitter little laugh escaping before you could stop it. Yeah, right. Sorry my ass.

“Thank you for that groundbreaking revelation. Will that be all? Because honestly, I’m not really in the mood for a tearful reunion right now. Still kinda processing the whole ‘being ambushed by my friends and family’ thing.” His face actually fell, like a kicked puppy. Good.

“No, actually. No, I’m not fucking sorry! Not really. I take it back!” He huffed, running a hand through his already messy hair. “I’m not sorry that I forced your stubborn ass to get help! I’m not sorry that I couldn’t just stand by and watch you… slowly fucking disappear! And yeah, you wanna know what else, you oblivious idiot? I’m not sorry for being in love with you!” He was practically yelling now, his voice cracking. Oh, for fuck's sake. Here we go.

You shook your head, fat tears finally deciding to make an appearance, rolling down your cheeks like they had a goddamn agenda. “You sound just like my mom right now, you know that?”

You turned to walk away, your chest feeling like someone had stuffed it with barbed wire. You had to get out of there. But you couldn’t leave it hanging. You spun back around, your voice shaking despite your best efforts.

“That’s what you think I’m mad about? Seriously, John B? I’m not mad that I went to rehab. I fucking needed it, okay? What I’m hurt about… what I can’t get past, you dumbass… is the way you went about it! You lied to me. You went behind my back and planned it all with my mom? You fucking ambushed me! I trusted you. I told you shit I haven’t told anyone else. You were supposed to be my best friend.”

Without waiting for his pathetic reply, you turned and fucking bolted, shouldering past the surprised, nosy faces around the bonfire. Each step was fueled by a desperate need to escape the suffocating weight of your own hurt and his ridiculously timed, completely unwanted confession. Ugh, men.

You shoved past some meathead blocking your path, sending his lukewarm beer sloshing down his shirt. You spun around, ready with a practiced, “I’m so sorry—“ but then your eyes landed on Topper’s ugly, punchable face, and the apology died in your throat.

“Watch where you’re fucking going, asshole,” you spat, scoffing as you whipped back around, not giving a damn about the death glare you could feel boring into your back.

“Say that shit again,” Topper’s hand clamped down on your wrist like a vise. “I fucking dare you.” His face was so close to yours you could smell the stale beer on his breath and the faint hint of Axe body spray. Ugh, still rocking that middle school scent.

“I’m gonna give you five seconds to get your grimey hands off me,” you warned him. You started counting down in your head, each number a silent threat. One… two… three…

“Or what? Huh?” He gave your wrist another painful tug, his eyes narrowing into slits. “Can’t hide behind your phone and your little Pogue posse now, can you?”

“Where’s your precious princess, Ruthie?” you taunted, tilting your head and giving him your most saccharine, mocking pout. “Still busy servicing half of Kildare? Or did she finally dump your sorry ass so she didn’t have to sneak around anymore?”

His face contorted in rage, his grip tightening on your wrist until you could feel your bones protesting. “Where’s your fucking friends, huh? Did they finally fucking ditch your psycho ass too? Did they finally realize what a miserable, unlovable bitch you are? So unlovable that even your own fucking dad couldn’t handle your bullshit?”

You’re not entirely sure what happened in the next split second, everything seemed to blur. One moment Topper was sneering in your face, the next he was on the ground, clutching his nose and howling like a wounded animal.

You heard a sickening crack, felt a jolt of pain shoot up your arm, and noticed your hand was throbbing. There was a high-pitched ringing in your ears, a dull buzzing that drowned out the shouts and gasps around you. You didn’t stick around to analyze the carnage. You just turned on your heel and kept walking, the adrenaline coursing through your veins as you headed down the beach, leaving Topper and his wounded pride in the dust.

You finally stumbled to a stop in the deserted car park, the realization hitting you like a punch to the gut – your Aunt had dropped you off. No ride home. You kicked a loose rock, sending it skittering across the asphalt, a frustrated “Fuck!” ripping from your throat.

You repeated the action, again and again, until your foot throbbed in protest, joining the chorus of pain from your bruised knuckles. Fantastic. Just fucking fantastic. This was exactly how you’d envisioned your triumphant return from rehab: battered, bruised, and stranded. You squatted down, burying your face in your hands, hot, angry tears burning behind your eyelids.

John B, the guy you were harbouring some seriously complicated feelings for was still on the beach, half your heart hated him and the other half wanted to be back in his arms. Topper was another delightful trigger you’d have to unpack later.

And you were completely stranded, thanks to your current no-contact policy with your usual chauffeur, John B. You’d probably have to call your Aunt, drag her out of bed, further cementing your status as the family screw-up.

You forced yourself to get up, taking a shaky breath. You looked up, wiping angrily at your eyes, and saw him. Rafe. Leaning against his Jeep, his eyes locked on you. He didn’t make a move, didn’t say a word, just stood there, a silent, brooding figure in the dim parking lot light.

“What the fuck are you looking at?” you yelled, the raw edge of your emotions lashing out.

He still didn’t respond verbally, just pushed himself off the Jeep and walked over to the passenger side, opening the door with a deliberate, almost challenging gesture.

Your first instinct was to tell him to go choke on a bag of dicks, but then you spotted the flashing lights of a Sheriff’s car pulling into the beach access road. Topper, the little shit, had definitely called them.

Without another word, you scrambled into Rafe’s Jeep, practically diving into the passenger seat and reclining it as far back as it would go, hoping to disappear from view.

Rafe slid into the driver’s seat, giving you a deeply unimpressed look. “What in the actual hell are you doing?”

“Playing the drums! What does it look like I’m doing? Just drive!” you snapped, your voice tight with anxiety.

Rafe rolled his eyes, the interior light briefly illuminating his annoyed expression. He pulled out of the car park. “Where am I even going, exactly? Your place? Because I’m not wasting gas if you’re just gonna refuse to go in again.”

“Just drop me off right here.” You pointed to the side of the road when you were far enough away from the beach and any lingering law enforcement.

“Leave you in the middle of nowhere?” Rafe muttered, glancing at you. “Fuck no.”

“Pull over, or I swear to God, I’m gonna jump out of this fucking car,” you threatened, your hand hovering over the door handle. He sighed heavily, but begrudgingly pulled over to the side of the first deserted road.

You practically tumbled out of the Jeep and started walking, your pace bordering on a power walk. “Get back in the fucking car!” you heard him call out. You didn’t get far before he grabbed your wrist. A sharp hiss of pain escaped your lips, your skin already tender and bruised from Topper’s grip.

“What? What is it?” he asked, his hands held out in a placating gesture, like he was dealing with a feral animal.

“Nothing! Just leave me the fuck alone!” You huffed, whipping back around and breaking into a jog, but your tired legs were no match for his. He was suddenly in front of you, blocking your path.

“What the fuck is your problem? Huh?” he demanded, stepping right into your personal space.

“Rafe,” you spat, your voice low and trembling with anger and exhaustion, “I’m gonna be so fucking for real with you right now, I don’t have time for your bullshit!”

“Oh, so now I’m the bad guy?” he scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief, a sneer twisting his lips. “You’re the one who stood me up, disappeared without a word, and then show up here acting like the world owes you an apology!”

“Oh, okay, you wanna play this game? Fine! I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to our oh-so-important date, okay? I’m fucking sorry I have actual, real-life shit going on right now! I’m sorry if your pathetic little ego got bruised! There?! Happy now, you whiny little bitch?” you yelled, your voice raw with fury.

“You're unbelievable,” He shook his head, his eyes blazing with a mixture of pure rage and something that still flickered like hurt.

“That’s what I gathered from your emo tweets, princess.”

“I don’t give a flying fuck that you stood me up! But you didn’t even have the decency to tell me what the hell was going on. You could’ve just said something. Did you honestly think I wouldn’t understand?”

“No offense, Rafe, but I don’t owe you a goddamn thing. Least of all an explanation. And also, if I’m such a waste of your time…. Why are you still here?” You hadn’t forgotten about his text messages you had read once you got your phone back.

“You had every opportunity to tell me – anything – you could have said ‘my hamster died,’ I wouldn’t have cared! Maybe just a ‘hey Rafe, not doing so well,’ would’ve sufficed!” He was being deliberately sarcastic now, planting his hands on his hips, his jaw tight.

“Right, yeah, I should’ve just shot you a ‘Oops stuck in rehab’ text. My fucking bad. You’re so goddamn entitled, it’s actually hilarious. I didn’t have my fucking phone, dipshit. They tend to frown upon contraband in those places.” You spat, trying to sidestep him, but he moved with you, blocking your every attempt to create space..

“You didn’t even have the basic decency to text me when you got back.”

“What the actual fuck is happening here? What the fuck is this interrogation? Why do you seem to think we’re some kind of… couple? I think you’re severely delusional—” Your words were abruptly cut off as his lips crashed down on yours.

Your eyes widened in disbelief, your brain momentarily short-circuiting. Rafe’s lips were hard and demanding against yours, a shocking violation that sent a jolt of something akin to pure rage through your veins. It lasted only a split second before you shoved him away with all your might, your hand connecting with his chest with a forceful thud.

“What the actual fuck?” you panted, running your fingers over your tingling lips. Okay, not gonna lie, that wasn't entirely unpleasant.

Were you planning on kissing Rafe? Hell no.

Were you still hung up on John B? God, yes.

Did you desperately need a distraction from the swirling mess in your head? Fuck yes.

“Thought I’d shut you up for at least five seconds,” he smirked, a hint of his usual arrogance returning.

Before he could say another word, you wrapped your arms around his neck, your fingers tangling in the soft hair at his nape, and pulled him down. This time, you initiated the kiss, your lips crashing against his, a messy, desperate collision. His lips were surprisingly soft against yours, and his tongue slid into your mouth with a possessiveness that sent a shiver down your spine.

You were so lost in the sudden intensity, the unexpected heat that flared between you, that you didn’t even realize he had backed you up against the cold metal of the car door, effectively pinning you.

He finally pulled away, his face a mixture of confusion and something that looked a lot like lust. You were so fucking confusing, your mood swinging from ice-cold bitch to scorching hot in a matter of seconds.

“Thought you were done with me?” You taunted him, a smirk playing on your lips as you remembered all the unanswered texts he’d left. “Thought you were done with me for good?”

“You make it so fucking hard,” he breathed, his hand now resting on your neck, his thumb lightly trailing over your swollen lips.

“Ever heard of self-control?” You smirked, catching his thumb between your teeth and gently sucking on it, swirling your tongue around the pad, coating it in your hot saliva.

Rafe closed his eyes, tipping his head back slightly, a low groan rumbling in his chest. “I need a trip to rehab too, you’re fucking driving me insane.”

You let his thumb slide out of your mouth with a satisfying pop, keeping direct eye contact with him. “Get in the fucking car. Now.” He didn’t ask, he ordered, and for some reason, you didn’t argue.

You were a mess – upset, tipsy, high as fuck, heartbroken over John B, and furious at pretty much everyone. But in that moment, all of that was drowned out by a burning, undeniable desire, a raging inferno between your legs. And the solution to that particular problem was sitting right next to you, his hand now gripping your bare thigh possessively as he peeled out of the roadside and sped back towards his place.

“You do this shit on purpose, don’t you?” He gripped the steering wheel with one hand, his knuckles bone-white, his jaw clenched so tight you could practically see the muscle twitching.

His eyes, usually so vacant, were dark and intense as he briefly flicked his gaze towards you. “Showing up in a skirt that barely whispers hello to your ass, flashing half the damn beach doing a keg stand… you fucking crave attention. It’s almost pathetic how badly you want it.”

“Look at you, all hot and bothered right now,” you purred, shifting in your seat to angle your body more fully towards him, your gaze deliberately lingering on his clenched jaw.

“Poor baby, all worked up.” You trailed a finger slowly up his taut bicep, feeling the immediate tension coil beneath your touch. “I don’t even have to try, and I’m living in your head, rent-free.”

You leaned closer, your breath ghosting over his ear as you stroked a knuckle along his sharp jawline. “Must be exhausting, thinking about me day and night, but you’re barely a fleeting thought in my mind.”

He grabbed your wrist, his grip tight enough to make you gasp, pulling your hand away from his face. “Then why are you here right now?”

You shrugged, “Call it… sheer boredom.”

“Oh yeah?” A dark smirk played on his lips as he clicked his tongue. “Trust me, baby, you’re not gonna be bored after I’m done with you. I fucking promise you that.” His hand returned to your thigh, this time sliding higher, his fingers dipping under the hem of your skirt.

You gasped softly, a thrill shooting through you as his fingers pressed against the bare skin of your inner thigh, so close to the juncture that a faint heat bloomed between your legs.

He squeezed the flesh of your thigh impossibly tight, his pinkie brushing against the slick heat that had already gathered there. He almost swerved feeling your raw wetness, “Why the fuck do you have no panties on?” He demanded.

“I like to feel the breeze,” you said, your voice slightly breathless, your thighs involuntarily squeezing together around his invading hand. “It’s no-panties season, Rafe. You should try it sometime.”

Rafe ran every yellow light, the engine roaring as he sped towards his house. He didn’t even bother to offer to drop you home, and you sure as hell didn’t tell him to.

Was this an incredibly stupid idea? Most definitely. But you’d stopped giving a fuck about smart choices somewhere between your tenth therapy session and JJ’s detailed account of his neighbor’s alleged alien abduction. You just wanted to feel something good for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

The only reason you’d ever resisted this particular temptation with Rafe before was because your brain had been so thoroughly occupied with John B. It had always been John B, a constant, nagging presence in your thoughts. But now… now you didn’t really give a fuck.

The car screeched to a halt, tires spitting gravel, and Rafe was yanking your door open before the engine even died. “Jump,” he commanded, his voice rough, and you instinctively obeyed, wrapping your legs around his waist as he hauled you out of the car. The sudden rush of cold air against your bare ass made you gasp; your skirt had ridden up to indecent heights.

His hands immediately found purchase on your backside, gripping and kneading the bare flesh, his thumbs digging in possessively as he tilted your head back and shoved his tongue down your throat. You didn’t draw a proper breath until you felt the soft give of a mattress beneath you, his weight momentarily shifting as he broke the frantic kiss.

Rafe had one knee wedged between your thighs, pressing insistently against your damp heat. He watched you, a predatory gleam in his eyes, watching the way your chest heaved, your breasts threatening to spill entirely from your bralette top. God, you were a mess, a beautiful, insatiable mess. He pressed his knee harder against you, and you bit your lip hard, stifling a moan that threatened to erupt.

“Got nothing to say now?” He teased, his hot breath ghosting over your face as he licked your jaw, his tongue leaving a slick trail across your skin before his lips began planting slow, deliberate kisses down your neck.

“Shut the fuck up,” you managed to gasp out, your hips instinctively grinding against his knee, a slick heat building with every friction.

“Seem a little desperate, don’t you?” His hand trailed down your body, his fingers ghosting over your sternum, dipping into your navel, before finally bunching your skirt up to your waist, not wasting another second. His fingers slid through your wet folds, expertly teasing your clit. You bit the inside of your cheek so hard you tasted blood, desperate to keep the whimpers trapped in your throat.

“Yeah, you fucking like that, don’t you?” His fingers were at your entrance, prodding and teasing, and then his lips were back on yours, a smirk playing on his mouth as he tasted the copper from your bitten lip.

But now, with your lips moving against his, his index finger slipping inside you, a strangled moan finally escaped, his mouth swallowing the sound completely. Then a second finger joined the first, pumping at a relentless pace that had you gripping the bedsheets, your breath coming out in short, ragged gasps.

Rafe watched you writhe beneath him, a sheen of sweat slicking your forehead, your face flushed. He had you completely at his mercy, the incoherent sounds of pleasure bubbling up from your throat, he was in control now. “You close?”

He didn’t really need an answer; he could feel the insistent clenching around his fingers, your face scrunched up in concentration, your eyes squeezed shut. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of admitting how close you were, how his fingers had you teetering precariously on the edge.

And just when you were about to let go, a frustrated cry building in your chest, he abruptly pulled his fingers out, shoving them into your mouth. “Not yet, princess,” he murmured, making you taste yourself, lick his fingers clean of your slick juices. A frustrated whine escaped your throat around his fingers. “Wanna feel you cum on my cock.”

“You’re such a fucking asshole,” you glared at him, once he finally pulled his fingers from your mouth.

“Be patient, princess,” he smirked, patting your cheek lightly in a deliberately condescending manner. “I’ve got you.”

He stood up, stripping his clothes off in a haste that spoke volumes of his barely contained desire. Your moans, the way your mouth had greedily sucked on his fingers, had his cock throbbing with a primal urgency.

You were propped up on your elbows, watching him with this weird mix of ‘oh god, here we go’ and a slightly morbid curiosity as he gave his cock a few practice pumps. The head was all swollen and this startling shade of pink. It was… well, let’s just say it looked like it meant business. Your heart decided to stage a drum solo against your ribs, a frantic little beat of pure nerves. Holy shit, how the actual fuck is that supposed to fit inside you? You shoved that delightful thought down, right next to all the other anxieties you usually kept tucked away.

You were so fucking over being a virgin, tired of waiting for the right guy to come along. You just wanted to get it done, tick it off the life to-do list, right next to ‘learn to parallel park’ and ‘figure out what the hell a Roth IRA is.’ How hard could it really be? Every girl you’d ever semi-confided in about this whole virginity saga always said it only hurt for a hot minute, like a sharp little sting, and then BAM! Instant good times.

And God, you desperately wanted some instant good times, even if it was just for a little while and with the resident Kook prince. He fumbled with the condom wrapper for a sec, looking like a total doofus, but eventually wrestled the little rubber raincoat on. Right then and there, you kind of wished you’d paid more attention in sex ed.

Rafe grabbed your ankles, pulling you roughly to the edge of the bed. You still had your bralette on, your skirt a tangled mess bunched around your waist. He didn’t bother with formalities, didn’t bother to undress you further. He was feral in his need, and honestly, a part of you was too.

He spread your legs wider, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “Been wanting this for so fucking long,” he groaned, his voice thick with lust as he positioned himself between your thighs. The head of his cock slid through your slick folds, the tip brushing against your ridiculously sensitive clit, sending a jolt straight to your core. His grip on your hips was bruising.

“What you waiting for then?” You managed to get out through gritted teeth, the anticipation a sharp, almost painful ache. You were half-filled with a reckless excitement and half-terrified of the unknown. He was big, thicker than you’d imagined, and you had absolutely no clue what to expect sensation-wise. His prolonged teasing wasn’t exactly helping your nerves.

“So fucking impatient,” he hissed, kissing his teeth as he lined himself up at your entrance. “Need to fuck that bratty attitude right out of you,” he spat down at your opening, smearing it with his tip, a crude attempt at extra lubrication that did little to soothe your growing fear.

“I swear to you, if you don’t shut the fuck up, I’m fucking leaving—“ The threat died in your throat, your breath hitched as you felt him push inside. It was met with immediate, searing resistance. A sharp whimper escaped you, the stretching sensation intense as his thick mushroom tip tried to wedge its way past your tight walls. Your muscles clenched reflexively, your body screaming in protest, trying to physically force him out, “—fuck.”

“Fucking relax— you’re squeezing so fucking hard,” he grunted, pushing in a fraction more. The pain was sharp, like being torn apart. Tears burned in your eyes, and you squeezed them shut, but they still escaped, hot and wet against your temples. “Fuck— you good?” Rafe hovered over you, stroking your cheekbone with his thumb.

“It fucking hurts,” you whimpered, your voice small and shaky as he finally bottomed out, the sensation of being completely full almost unbearable. “Ow fuck, fuck, fuck.” He was so deep inside you, you could practically feel him pressing against your stomach.

“Just relax, you’re so tense,” he murmured, wiping your tears away with his thumbs. “Relax for me, princess.” He stayed still for a moment, letting your body try to accommodate his size, his impressive girth. It felt less like pleasure and more like a goddamn baseball bat was currently trying to tear you in two.

“Hey, open your eyes.” He demanded softly, and your eyelids fluttered open, your blurry vision focusing on his face looking down at you, his expression holding a strained restraint as he fought the urge to fuck you dumb.

“Just move— fuck—“ Maybe if he pulled out, you wouldn’t feel so stretched, so full. Maybe if you got a moment of relief, it wouldn’t feel so… “FUCK!” You yelped as he pulled out almost completely and then thrust back inside, the force sending another wave of searing pain through you.

“What? What? What’s wrong?” He stilled inside you again, his arms braced on either side of your head. “Just relax, you a virgin or some shit?”

“So fucking what if I am? It’s not your fucking business,” you snapped, even through the throbbing pain, your default defense mechanism kicking in.

“What the fuck?” He sat back on his knees, pulling out of you completely, making you hiss at the sudden movement. He looked down at the sheets, a prominent red stain blooming on the white cotton. The condom he’d used was stained a worrying shade of pink, and a few droplets of crimson were still trailing down your inner thighs.

“You’re a fucking virgin?” He stood back up, tossing the condom into the overflowing trash can and pulling on his discarded boxers. “Don’t you think that’s something worth mentioning?” His voice was tight with a mixture of shock and a definite hint of panic.

“The fuck is your problem?” You sat up on the bed, wincing slightly at the unfamiliar rawness between your legs.

You awkwardly adjusted your skirt back down over your hips, feeling exposed. One minute Rafe was inside you, all heat and urgency, and the next he was pacing around his room like a caged animal.

“If this is about the sheets, I’ll fucking clean them for you, you uptight prick.” You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to project an air of nonchalance that you definitely weren't feeling. He was being kinda melodramatic right now.

“You’re. A. Fucking. Virgin,” he said slowly, his voice laced with disbelief and something that sounded a lot like regret as he squatted down in front of you, his gaze intense.

“You don’t have to sound so disgusted,” you snapped, a defensive prickle rising up your spine.

“Why the fuck wouldn’t you tell me that?” He pressed his fingers to his temples.

“Why the fuck does it matter?” You retorted, avoiding his gaze. “How does it affect you? You still got your dick wet regardless.”

“It fucking matters because that shouldn’t have been your first time!” He exclaimed, his voice rising with genuine frustration, a look of self-disgust flashing across his face. He looked like he wanted to punch a wall, or maybe himself.

“I wasn’t exactly expecting fucking candles and rose petals from you, Rafe,” you shrugged, trying to play it cool, even though a small, wounded part of you was screaming. “This is just a hook-up, right? That’s how it’s supposed to be.”

“No. It’s not. That’s not how your first time is supposed to be… fucking hell, you’re so fucking annoying sometimes,” he muttered, running a hand roughly through his hair.

“HEY! If me being a virgin is such a fucking inconvenience, I’ll fucking leave,” you shot back, jumping to your feet. You managed to take a few wobbly steps before he was spinning you back around, his grip surprisingly gentle this time.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said quickly, his eyes pleading.

“No, I heard you loud and clear, fuck you—”

“No, hold up,” he cut in, his voice suddenly softer, almost… bummed out? It was weird. “Listen, I’m actually kinda feeling like a dick right now, not gonna lie. God, I would’ve totally done that whole thing differently. Like, way differently. That was a total shit show, my bad. I would’ve, you know, been gentler and stuff. Maybe even, like, actually kissed you properly, all over. Fuck sake, you’re making me sound like a total tool, and yeah, maybe I am one right now.”

He took a deep breath, his gaze losing some of that hard edge. “That’s why you should’ve told me, so I could’ve… I could’ve made it special for you. I don’t give a fuck if you’re a virgin. I just… I wish it hadn’t been like that for you.”

“Dude, it’s fine, you’re not my boyfriend. Doesn’t matter,” you said, trying to play it cool with a sarcastic little punch to his shoulder, shifting awkwardly on your feet. Okay, maybe it mattered a little. Scratch that, it mattered a lot. “Now that we’ve had the super fun virginity reveal, uh, can you maybe drop me home?”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. Fuck,” Rafe muttered, taking a step closer. When you didn’t bolt or even flinch, he took another, placing his hands gently on your hips. He backed you up slowly until the backs of your knees bumped against the edge of the bed. “Let me… let me make you feel good, first. For real good. Then I’ll drop you wherever the hell you want.”

“Yeah?” You ran your fingers through his short, spiky hair, the texture surprisingly soft.

“Mhmm,” he murmured, brushing your hair back from your forehead with a tenderness that made your stomach flip. “Let me spoil you, princess.” He kissed you again, and the urgency from before was completely gone, replaced by a slow, sweet tenderness that melted some of the tension in your shoulders. Your fingertips traced up his chest, drawing him closer until there was barely any space left between you.

He left a trail of soft kisses down your jawline, his lips lingering at the hollow of your throat before moving lower, towards your cleavage. Your lacy bralette shielded your breasts, your nipples already hard and poking against the fabric.

“I’m taking this shit off,” he grunted softly, his fingers fumbling slightly with the clasp before pulling the straps down, revealing your bare skin.

“So fucking perfect,” he breathed, his eyes dark as he admired your exposed breasts. The cool air was instantly replaced by the wet warmth of his mouth as he latched onto your nipple, his tongue swirling around the sensitive tip, his hand cupping your other breast, squeezing it gently. He swapped over, his kisses sloppy and adoring as he pushed your breast deeper into his mouth, savoring every inch of your skin.

It felt like a do-over, a second chance. Not one you’d asked for, but one that Rafe seemed determined to give you, like you deserved it. Before, he’d been so caught up in his own head, his own needs overpowering everything else. He’d been so consumed by the fact that he finally had you in his bed, a fantasy he’d chased for way too long, that he’d rushed it, been too rough. He’d seen the tough exterior, the way you acted like nothing fazed you. But beneath the sharp thorns underneath all that sharp-tongued, don't-mess-with-me attitude, he now sensed a delicate bloom, untouched and sweet.

And now, a newfound reverence stirred within him. He yearned to linger, to inhale the intoxicating scent of your vulnerability, to coax your petals open with exquisite care, until you unfurled completely beneath his touch.

“Rafe,” you gasped softly as he bit and nipped at your scorching skin, sending shivers down your spine. His free hand moved down from your hip, his fingers gently caressing your inner thigh.

“Hmmm?” He finally unlatched from your breast, his gaze now softer, more focused on you. He sat up on his knees, his hands hovering near the hem of your skirt before slowly, deliberately pulling it down your legs. “This okay?”

“You just had your dick inside me two minutes ago, and now you’re asking if taking my skirt off is okay?” you said, a hint of your usual sass returning, though your voice was still a little breathless.

“If you didn’t have such a sharp mouth, you’d be so much fucking hotter,” he grumbled.

You instinctively snapped your legs closed, giving him an unimpressed look. “Sorry,” he smirked, gently forcing your legs apart again. Lying completely nude in front of him felt surprisingly intimate, the way his hungry eyes were taking you in. He leaned down, leaving a trail of kisses down your sternum, his lips tickling your navel, making you squirm.

“Gotta taste you, yeah?” He looked up at you, his eyes full of a raw desire that made your breath catch. You gave him a shaky nod, and he followed the path of his kisses lower, towards your mound.

He took his time, his gaze reverent as he admired your body. Drool glistened on his lower lip at the sight of your swollen vulva, your labia glistening with the sticky residue of your arousal, your tight little entrance aching to be filled. Damn, you were pretty. Pretty, pretty pussy, and all his… well, soon to be his again.

He pushed his face into your heat, the softness of your inner lips sending a jolt of pleasure through his body. He stroked his flattened tongue up and down your folds, groaning loudly when you instinctively pushed at his head, a pathetic attempt to regain some control. Rafe gently but firmly kept your thighs apart, a cruel smile playing on his lips as he continued to lavish attention on your most sensitive spot, taking his time to savor the taste, the smell, the sound of your wetness splashing against his tongue.

His groans mingled with yours, the vibrations adding another layer of delicious torment. He sucked gently on your lips, humming against them before releasing you with a soft pop and then gently swishing his tongue around your tight little hole.

His tongue then lapped languidly over your pulsating clit, with absolutely no intention of rushing your pleasure. Tasting you, making you writhe beneath him, hearing his name fall from your lips in an anguished cry of need was all the reward he needed for his exceptional willpower in not just bending you over and taking you again.

He used his nose to bump teasingly against your clit while stretching your opening with his hot, wet tongue, sending a wave of sensation that made your eyes cross. You squirmed beneath his hold, a whimper escaping your lips, all semblance of control lost. You could only cling to his hair, your thighs trembling as you endured his loud, wet slurping and the intoxicating vibrations that accompanied his low growls.

Your desperate cries turned into breathless gasps as he ate you harder, your grip on his hair tightening as more moans bubbled up from your chest, slowly melting into the overwhelming stimulation, teetering on the very brink of release.

“Rafe, please,” you gasped, your head falling back against the soft pillows, your mouth hanging open as trickles of pleasure slowly seeped from your core, and Rafe happily licked them up.

“Can’t wait to make this pussy mine,” he breathed against your slick skin, planting one last, lingering kiss on your swollen clit, panting heavily from having spent a continuous, uninterrupted half-hour between your legs. It was a pleasure unlike any you had ever experienced; your thighs were still trembling with aftershocks, a light sheen of sweat glistening on your forehead and neck, which he was now licking off as he moved back up to your lips, planting a firm kiss, making you taste yourself.

Despite your attempts to pry his boxers off, Rafe restrained your hands telling you "not tonight". You didnt fight him too hard because your body was exhausted. After a quick shower with him, you were wrapped in a soft cotton shower gown and back in his bed. He’d followed you in, only pulling on a pair of sweatpants, and now he was wrapping his arms around you from behind, his chest pressing against your back under the covers.

“Stay,” he murmured into your hair, his breath warm against your scalp. “Just for a little longer.”

You didn’t immediately pull away, “I should probably get going,” you said, though the words lacked any real conviction.

“Come on,” he tightened his grip slightly. “It’s late. Just… stay the night. We can order takeout, watch some stupid movie.”

“And then what?”

He chuckled softly, his lips brushing against your ear. “Then… we can figure that out in the morning.” He paused, his tone becoming more serious. “I missed you, you know.”

You scoffed softly, though a small part of you felt a strange warmth at his admission. “Yeah, right.”

“No, seriously,” he insisted, his chin resting on your shoulder. “It was… weird without you around. Even with all the yelling and the drama.”

For some reason, with him, it felt different. With your friends, you’d plastered on a fake smile, told them it was ‘challenging but ultimately transformative,’ spewed all the therapy buzzwords you’d been forced to learn. But with Rafe… maybe it was because you’d genuinely thought he couldn’t care less, that you were just a fleeting annoyance in his life. Maybe it was the anonymity of his perceived indifference that made it easier. Whatever the reason, the carefully constructed wall you’d built around your rehab experience felt like it was starting to crumble.

“It was… awful,” you admitted, the words feeling surprisingly easy to say out loud to him.

“Awful how?”

“Just… everything,” you sighed, a wave of the remembered misery washing over you. “The forced group therapy where everyone shared their ‘feelings flowers’ and talked about their ‘inner child.’ The mindfulness exercises that just made my anxiety worse. The daily affirmations that felt like I was lying to myself twenty times a day. It was like… my own personal version of hell.”

You paused, then added with a dark chuckle, “I genuinely think I would have preferred a lobotomy or hardcore jail time.

Rafe was quiet for a moment, his arms still wrapped around you. Then he squeezed you gently. “Sounds pretty rough.”

“Rough is an understatement,” you said, a bitter laugh escaping you. “It was torture. Being forced to talk about myself, to dissect every single messed-up thing in my head with a bunch of strangers and some overly enthusiastic therapist who kept telling me to ‘embrace the journey.’ I just wanted to punch someone.”

“So you didn’t, though?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Tempted,” you admitted. “Very, very tempted. But surprisingly, I managed to restrain myself. Mostly.”

“Well, I’m glad you're back.”

“I'm not.”

He frowned slightly, his thumb gently stroking your arm. “Why?”

You sighed, the weight of the past six weeks suddenly pressing down on you again. “Honestly? Not really. It’s… complicated.” You hesitated, then decided to just lay it out there. You were so physically tired of the charade. “I’m staying with my aunt right now. Things with my mom… they’re not great.”

He didn’t pry, just nodded slowly, his eyes full of a surprising amount of understanding.

You continued, the words tumbling out now, a dam finally breaking. “God, I’m so sick of pretending everything’s fine.....” You trailed off, the raw honesty feeling both terrifying and liberating.

Rafe listened intently. He reached out and gently stroked your arm. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice low and sincere. “If you ever… if you ever need somewhere to crash, you can always come here. Seriously. I’ve got the spare rooms, plenty of food. I’ll even… I’ll even try not to be a complete asshole.” He nuzzled his nose in the crook of your neck.

Yeah, right. Rafe offering you a safe haven? That’s about as likely as pigs flying over the Outer Banks. You brushed off his words as some kind of weird post intimacy dream. There was no way he was that nice, no way he actually cared.

The exhaustion from the emotional rollercoaster of the day, finally caught up with you. Your eyelids felt heavy, and the warmth of Rafe’s body next to yours was surprisingly comforting.

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svnscape · 11 days ago

Text

i hate u ? i love u ? (lee haechan smau)

you don’t know what’s gotten over you to make you want to major in biochem but here you are, and top of your class as well.

well, second because for some reason the cocky and corny frat boy who’s almost never sober has taken the first place from you and you don’t know how. one thing you do know is that you hate him and his whole existence and.. maybe he does too ?

an academic rivals smau : biochem major reader x biochem major haechan

GENRE: enemies to lovers, comedy, humor, angst, college au with the full experience

WARNINGS: not a single redeemable character tbh…. mark x y/n drama and backstory (it’s messy), a lot of drama and curse words, mature themes (sex, alcohol, drugs you name it), sometimes angsty (blame it on mark), big friend group (frat boys oops)

FEATURING: other nct members appearances + other groups as well (katseye, aespa)

STATUS: on going (19-5-2025)

TAGLIST: reply to be added !

a/n: well hello!! this is the first time i post a smau i hope it goes well hehe, i hope you like it i have a lot of ideas and i’ll try my best to update regularly !

profiles: quadruple threat / sigmaphi gods

1) very chalant vs nonchalant

2) party with the hags

3) who the fuck is inside (written)

4) cockblockers

5) renjun’s grumpy friend

6) oopsie daisy

7) what’s wrong with my rizz

8) i’m getting harassed by frat boys

9) she’s in enemy territory for two reasons

10) okay princess (semi written)

11) is she coming to a game with assignments?? (semi written)

12) she needs that attitude fucked off of her

13) you’re not an alpha male

14) he’s back (written)

15) behave (semi written)

16) pu**y and power

17) two academic weapons locking in

18) you want that cookie so bad

19) nobody wants to see your a** cheeks

20) hold that thought (mostly written)

21) get out of my head, mission accomplished?

22) you make me nervous

23) did he just try to kiss me ? (semi written)

24) simp behavior 101 (semi written)

25) happy games season! (mostly written)

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prologue

#nct au #nct dream au #nct dream smau #nct x reader #haechan x reader #mark lee x reader #nct #haechan smau #nct dream x reader #haechan fanfic #haechan fake texts #haechan fluff #nct texts #nct smau

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gf2bellamy · 4 months ago

Text

protective — aaron hotchner

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: hotch doesn't let you do your job because he's too worried content warnings: reader is sort of aware of hotch's feelings, bau surrounding unsubs house, reader is irritated

The team stood huddled near the black SUV. The tension was palpable as Derek outlined the plan.

“We’ll go in from the left,” Derek said, his voice calm as he nodded toward you, his eyes searching yours for confirmation.

You shifted slightly, adjusting the weight of your vest as you nodded back, trying to push down the nervous energy thrumming in your veins. “Got it,” you replied, your tone firmer than you felt.

Before you could fully process the plan, Hotch stepped forward. “No,” he interjected, his deep voice calm but resolute. “I’ll go with Morgan.”

The words hung in the air for a beat too long. His dark eyes met yours, unwavering.

“Hotch—” you started to protest, but his sharp gaze silenced you. Not unkind, but firm.

He wasn’t giving you a choice.

“This isn’t up for debate,” Hotch said, his tone softening slightly as he turned back to the group.

He began giving instructions, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “Reid, take the back exit with JJ.”

The team dispersed quickly, each moving to their assigned positions. But as the group spread out, you remained rooted in place, realizing you’d been left without a specific task.

Hotch finally turned toward you, his expression unreadable. “You’ll stay here,” he said simply, gesturing to the black SUV. “We need someone ready to coordinate backup if this goes south.”

Your stomach twisted at his words. Stay outside? That was it? After everything—after proving yourself time and time again—you were sidelined?

Your jaw tightened, frustration bubbling under the surface. You opened your mouth to argue but stopped yourself at the last second.

This wasn’t the time.

Not with the unsub barricaded in the house, the potential for danger at its peak.

“Yes, sir,” you said tersely, your voice clipped as you forced yourself to fall in line.

You didn’t miss the flicker of something in his eyes—was it guilt? Concern? Whatever it was, it was gone before you could figure it out. He gave you a small nod and turned back to join Derek.

The others moved out, slipping into the shadows as they approached the house, leaving you standing next to the SUV with the bitter taste of frustration in your mouth.

You watched them go, your chest tightening as Hotch disappeared from view.

You knew better than to second-guess him, especially in the field. But as you stood there, gripping your comms radio tightly, you couldn’t help but feel like you’d been benched for reasons that had nothing to do with strategy—and everything to do with Hotch’s unspoken worry.

It was maddening. Yet, deep down, a part of you couldn’t entirely fault him for it.

Not when you knew the way he looked at you, how he couldn’t seem to keep the lines between personal and professional from blurring sometimes.

Even now, as irritation simmered under your skin, you couldn’t ignore the subtle warmth creeping into your chest at the thought.

Shaking your head, you forced the distraction away and focused on the radio, ears straining for updates. You couldn’t let yourself dwell on Hotch’s motives—not when the team was walking into the lion’s den.

Hours later, the case was over. The unsub was in custody, and the adrenaline that had fueled you during the operation had long since burned out.

Now, you sat in the team’s jet, staring blankly out the window.

A book rested in your lap, open to a page you hadn’t read a single word of.

Your thoughts circled back to Hotch’s orders from earlier, replaying his tone, his expression, his decision to sideline you.

You sighed quietly, shifting in your seat, and let your eyes wander to the empty one in front of you. You’d intentionally picked a spot away from the others, hoping it would help ease the frustration still twisting in your chest.

It didn’t.

You tilted your head back against the seat, closing your eyes for a moment.

The sound of soft footsteps drew your attention. You opened your eyes to see Hotch making his way down the aisle. His gaze swept over the cabin before landing on you.

For a brief second, you considered pretending to be asleep, but the intensity in his eyes made it clear that wasn’t an option.

He stopped next to your seat, his voice low enough not to draw the others’ attention. “Mind if I sit?”

You hesitated, but only for a moment. With a small nod, you gestured to the empty seat across from you.

Hotch lowered himself into the chair, his posture as straight and composed as ever, though his eyes held a flicker of something softer. He leaned slightly forward as he studied you.

“You’ve been quiet,” he said finally, his tone careful, probing.

You let out a dry laugh, shaking your head as you closed the book and set it aside. “Didn’t think I had much to say,” you replied, the words laced with more bitterness than you intended.

Hotch didn’t react, his expression remaining unreadable. “You’re upset about earlier,” he said plainly, cutting straight to the point.

“Upset?” you repeated, meeting his gaze. “I was benched, Hotch. What do you think?”

His jaw tightened slightly, and for a moment, he didn’t respond. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, almost gentle. “It wasn’t about your abilities.”

“Then what was it about?” you pressed, leaning forward, unable to keep the frustration out of your tone. “Because it sure felt like I was being pushed aside for no good reason.”

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face briefly before meeting your eyes again. “It was about risk. About keeping you safe.”

You stared at him, his words sinking in like a stone dropping into a still pond. Part of you wanted to argue.

But another part—the part that couldn’t ignore the way his voice softened when he looked at you—understood.

“Hotch,” you said, your voice quieter now, more measured. “I know you care about the team. About all of us. But you can’t make decisions like that—decisions that feel personal—on a case. It’s not fair. To me or to anyone else.”

He looked down for a moment, his lips pressing into a thin line. When he looked back up, there was something raw in his eyes—something he rarely let show.

“You’re right,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “It wasn’t fair. But that doesn’t mean I’d make a different choice.”

The honesty in his words caught you off guard, leaving you momentarily speechless.

“I can’t separate how I feel about you from the job,” he continued, his gaze steady on yours. “And maybe that’s something we need to talk about. But not here.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke, the hum of the jet filling the silence. Finally, you nodded, your frustration giving way to something else entirely.

“Okay,” you said softly, a small, tentative smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “We’ll talk.”

Hotch gave a slight nod, a flicker of relief crossing his features before he stood.

As he walked back to his seat, you felt the weight in your chest begin to lift, replaced by a nervous anticipation that you weren’t sure how to process.

#aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner x you #criminal minds x you

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myth1cs · 8 months ago

Text

Getting Revenge (Hirai Momo x M!Reader)

Don't ask (I'm sorry) Word Count: 2166

I was walking through the hallways before I suddenly got shoved into a wall.

"Hey Y/N so any updates on the group assignment?"

I groaned when I realized that it was Momo.

Momo was very popular. When I got assigned to be with her for the group project I was a little excited until I found out Momo didn't have any intention of actually doing any work.

Now I'm pulling her dead weight which isn't easy since I still have major projects from my other classes that I have to do.

"Yeah I'm almost done with it."

"Good anyways see you later Y/N." Momo said as she continued walking down the hallway.

Momo is every teachers favorite student. No one would believe me if I told them she wasn't pulling her weight and since I don't want to fail this assignment then I have no choice but to do it all on my own.

I swear if I ever get a chance to screw her over I will.

I went back to my dorm and saw that my roommate Kim Chaewon was already there.

Chaewon looked up from her laptop and looked at me "Hey Y/N how were classes today."

"You know the same." I said as I sat down next to her on the couch.

"Is that Momo girl still not doing her part of the assignment?"

"Yeah and I'm gonna have to stay up all night doing her part."

"That sucks Y/N. I would help if I could but I have my own class work to do."

I pulled out my laptop and started working on the assignment. Me and Chaewon worked next to each other in silence until she spoke up.

"Before I forget Y/N I invited my friend Yeji over so we can do some karaoke. Is that gonna be a problem?"

Yeji and Chaewon can get pretty loud when they do karaoke. And Chaewon knows that I am going to stay up all night doing work so she's probably asking cause she doesn't want to disturb me. But I didn't want to ruin Chaewons day as she doesn't have much free time and this was likely the only time she could hangout with one of her friends at least until exams ended.

I guess I can suck it up for one night.

"No problem Chaewon but can you try to keep it down this time."

"No promises." Chaewon said before she went back to doing her work.

"I shouldn't be up at this hour." I said as I looked at the clock and saw it was 1:30am.

I tried focusing on my work but I couldn't due to how loud Chaewon and Yeji were.

I texted my friend Haewon if I could stay in her dorm for the night and she quickly replied that I could.

I grabbed my stuff and made my way to her dorm but on my way I heard something coming from the floor below.

"Fuck I'm stuck."

The voice sounded familiar but I couldn't tell who it was because it was so quiet. I'm not sure why someone would be downstairs because the college is doing renovations down there so students shouldn't be their to begin with.

Just in case someone actually needs help I made my way downstairs and saw a bunch of incomplete walls and it looked like someone was stuck.

It was dark so I walked closer to see who it was.

"Wait is there someone there? ... YES I'm stuck can you pull me out!"

I paused as I realized I recognized that voice.

"Momo?"

"Oh great the last person I wanted to see, honestly I'd rather be stuck here until someone else arrives than be helped by you."

"Momo what are you doing here? Students aren't supposed to be down here."

"Well I got curious about what was down here and I tripped. Now I'm stuck in this wall. Happy now Y/N? Now if you can just pull me out we can both act like nothing happened."

I walked in front of Momo and we could barely see each other's faces because of how dark it was.

"I thought you said you'd rather be stuck than have me help you."

"Look Y/N I'm known as a popular student. If a teacher finds me it'll be embarrassing and if another student finds me they'll definitely take pictures and ruin my reputation. So how about you help me out here."

"Help you? Why would I do that if you have never made an effort to help me?"

"Ugh you're so needy. Fine I'll do anything you want if you help me get out of this wall except school work."

I pondered for a moment if I should help out Momo. I mean taking a picture of her stuck in a wall and spreading it to others would ruin her reputation. But on the other hand...

"I'll take that deal."

"Thanks Y/N now just get me out of here and I'll hold up my end of the deal." Momo said desperate to get out of the wall.

"I think you can hold your end of the deal just fine in the wall." I said as I started to pull my pants down.

"Wh-what are you doing." Momo said sounding both shocked and nervous.

"Momo as much as I hate you I can't lie. I find you extremely attractive. So I think I'll pleasure myself with you."

Even though I could barely see Momos face I could tell she was slightly blushing.

"Well ... Fine just know I'm only agreeing because I want to get out of here not because I have any feelings for you."

I pulled my pants all the way down and my cock sprung out. I started smacking it on Momos face which eventually made her groan.

"Y/N stop teasing me."

I decided to listen to her and shoved my cock deep inside her mouth.

Momo was trying to say something but it was muffled. I started to quickly thrust in and out of Momos mouth. I felt extreme pleasure from Momo. I shoved my cock as deep as I could inside Momos mouth and she started gagging. Her throat felt insanely good I didn't want to pull out.

Tears fell down Momos cheek and she tried to push me away but I kept my cock in her mouth.

Eventually I did pull out and Momo started gasping for air. I was more focused on how drenched my cock was. It was completely covered in her spit. I couldn't believe I got the most popular girl in school to choke on my cock.

I got on my knees so I could have my face on the same level as Momos and I started to kiss her.

Momo kissed me back and we started to make out. I slid my tongue into her mouth and our tongues started to fight. I won and the tongue war and started to kiss Momo more roughly.

Momo reached down and started to pump my cock and I moaned into Momos mouth.

My cock started twitching and I knew I was about to cum. I stopped kissing Momo and she looked at me confused.

"Y/N why did you stop? Was I not a good enough kisser?"

"Momo are you on birth control?"

"Yeah wh-" Momo cut herself off as she quickly realized what I wanted to do.

I went to the other side of the wall and pulled her jeans down. When I saw her big ass and her pink panties my cock got hard instantly, and I put my hands on Momos ass and started touching every inch of it.

"Fuck Y/N just do it."

"Well that isn't as fun Momo."

I started to lick Momos ass while rubbing her covered pussy.

"Y/N I fucking swear-"

"Fine since you're so impatient I guess I'll get on with it then Momo."

I decided to get on with it and took her panties off and aligned my cock with her pussy.

"Y/N this is my first time being penetrated by a cock." Momo said in an uneasy tone.

"First time by a cock? Has someone shoved something else in you?"

"Well ... My roommate Sana and I have had lesbian sex every now and then and she has shoved her fingers deep in me before."

I was a little surprised to hear Momo has had lesbian sex before. I thought if someone would be the one to have sex with her first it would be one of the popular boys in college like Lee Felix or Jeon Jungkook.

"So I'm your first guy?" I said as I started to slide my cock into Momos warm pussy.

"Ah ~ yes Y/N your cock is the first cock to enter my pussy."

Hearing Momo moans made me go crazy and it made me want to go rough on her. I started I increase my speed and the sounds of me slamming into Momo could probably be heard from the floor above us.

Momos pussy hugged my cock so tightly it felt like it cut off the blood flow to it. I struggled to even move my cock in her. I smacked Momos ass and left my hand print on it.

"How about you shake that ass for me Momo?"

Momo started to shake her ass and I couldn't help but to continue smacking her ass. Seeing her ass jiggle and get redder every time I smacked it was something I couldn't get enough of and I kept going until Momos ass went fully red.

I ended up cumming into Momo. I filled Momo with a big thick load of cum it almost leaked out of her pussy. I grabbed my cum and put it back into her pussy so it didn't go to waste.

I went back to the side Momos head was and saw that she was covering her mouth.

"Why are you covering your mouth?"

"I didn't want people to hear me."

"Why not I think everyone should hear your pretty moans."

"Don't say that Y/N." Momo looked away from me as she said that.

"So are you gonna get me out now?"

"How about you give me a boob job first."

"Make it quick."

I swiftly took Momos shirt off and saw how tightly her bra was squeezing her tits.

"How about we set these free Momo?" I said as I started playing with her tits with my hands.

"Mhm yes Y/N please take my bra off for me."

I unhooked Momos bra and shoved my face between her breasts. They felt extremely soft and I started to lick them. They tasted like heaven I couldn't get enough of them.

Momo tried to cover her mouth again but I grabbed her wrists to stop her.

"Let me hear your pretty voice Momo. Most people are sleeping at this hour so don't bother covering your moans."

"Agh ~ Y/N keep licking them."

I went back to licking Momos boobs and squeezed them. I pinched Momos nipples and she yelped.

"Y/N that hurts!"

I eventually pulled my face away and started to put my cock in between her soft boobs.

I grabbed both of her tits and squeezed them on my cock. I moaned from the pleasure I felt and started moving her tits up and down on my cock.

I kept going but I felt like I was about to cum. I didn't want to cum on her boobs as it would definitely spill onto the floor.

Momo how about we get you out of here and into my room?

"That'd be great Y/N let's go."

I dressed Momo back up and then helped push Momo free. Afterwards I led her to my dorm room where I was still able to hear Yeji and Chaewon going hard with their karaoke.

I led Momo to my room and we went back to kissing each other. We helped each other take our clothes off and went back to fucking each other.

We did a few more rounds with each other making each other cum.

Out of nowhere Chaewon barged through the door

"Hey Y/N wanna join- WHAT THE FUCK?"

Me and Momo looked at Chaewon and we felt embarrassed. I guess we were so focused on each other that we didn't notice they stopped singing there karaoke.

"I can explain-" but before I could mutter another word Yeji suddenly came into the room also.

"Chaewon what's wrong ... WAIT WHY IS MOMO BEING FUCKED BY YOUR ROOMMATE?!"

Both Yeji and Chaewon started screaming at me. I wasn't able to make out what they were saying but suddenly Haewon entered the room.

"Y/N you never came to my dorm are you-"

Haewon looked at me and Momo on the bed naked, then looked at Yeji and Chaewon before speaking.

"Am I interrupting something important?"

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

Stay tuned for part 2 where they all fuck each other (I won't post a part 2)

I was gonna originally name it "Getting revenge on my bully stuck in a wall" But that's just way too long and I didn't end up leaning into the whole "Momo being a bully" thing as much.

#twice smut #momo smut #kpop smut #fanfic #girl group smut #twice ff #twice imagines #twice #twice x reader #yeji #haewon #smut #chaewon

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