#Pulp Party Hard

[iamtryingtobelieve]

When the party's over

Will you come home with me?

[lavalampglobs]

[brown-little-robin]

another collage for Rudy!!

I like this one better than the first one :} the imagery of pomegranates and pomegranate jelly works better for him than strawberries. The heart dice, of course, evoke his unstable situation and his reliance on love and social bonds. I love the happily pining clown :') and the clown shoes, of course. The picnic blanket—he would have one of those, and he kind of is a picnic blanket at heart. The meat heart is delightfully unsettling and gives just a bit of a hint at the themes of Rudy's stories >:}

[jazdontgiveafuck]

BABY YOU’RE DRIVING ME CRAZY

[macbethz]

i like to live in my own little mental alternate universe where people treat britpop like emo and there are britpop nights or people will recognize when im doing an intentional britpop musical or fashion riff or i can just go up to people who like music and talk abt the big 4 of britpop the way ppl talk abt the emo trinity. but instead everyone i know just thinks im actually insane <3

[seasons-of-death]

in whose sheets

pairing: rafe cameron x exgf!reader

genre: smutsmutsmut, minors DNI!!! rafe is a munch (oral f receiving)

synopsis: you go see your ex-boyfriend after he calls you to come over

word count: 0.7k

a/n: a short little blurb inspired by bad idea, right? by olivia rodrigo because i relate to that song so fucking hard!

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩

He was so bad for you.

That was the reason you'd broken up in the first place. He was possessive, he had punched a hole into your wall more times than you could count, always making sure to pay to have it fixed, making sure to comfort you whenever you'd get scared by his temper; he'd never raise his hand at you, but everyone that knew you, knew that he was bad for you. It all ended at a party when some guy started hitting on you in front of Rafe and he lost it, the tall blonde beating the guy to a bloody pulp right in front of you, his knuckles bruised and bloodied. The next morning, you'd broken up with him.

So, when he called you two weeks after the breakup, you were expecting it to be nothing more than a random drunk call that had become a habit for him. And even though you had told all your friends that you wouldn't answer if he called, you found yourself in a quiet corner at the party you were in with your friends.

"Baby, please... need you to come over..." He was practically begging you.

"Rafe-"

"Don't 'Rafe' me, baby..." He said with a sigh, clearly drunk or high off his ass. "Need you to come over, come on..."

"I'm not coming over, Rafe."

"Please... can't even touch myself without picturing it was your hand... I need to taste you again, baby, you know no one can make you feel the way I do." You could hear the rustling of his sheets on the other side, and he let out a quiet groan. "No one can make you come the way I do..."

You felt a shiver run down your spine as your mind was filled with images of being in Rafe's bed, the blonde pleasing you until you were so overstimulated you were telling him it was too much, yet he wouldn't stop, wanting you to be nothing but a whimpering mess in his arms. You tried to steady your breathing, but you couldn't deny that the idea of him doing to you was making you wet.

"Rafe-"

"You know you want to."

And that's how you had ended up in your ex-boyfriend's bed, while your friends were blowing up your phone, asking you where you were, Rafe's head in between your legs, his strong arms wrapped around your thighs, keeping you still while your bad was arching off his bed in pleasure.

He was always so good at convincing you to do whatever he wanted.

You knew that it was a bad idea, that you shouldn't be here, but you really couldn't bring yourself to care, the way two of his fingers were pumping in and out of you while his lips were covered in your wetness, sucking your sensitive swollen clit into his mouth greedily, close to bringing you to your second orgasm, knowing that it wouldn't be your last.

"Fuck, Rafe..."

"You're mine." He said in a muffled voice before pulling away from you slightly, causing you to let out a small whine at the loss of his lips on your clit, meanwhile his long fingers continued their work on you, the blonde looking up at you, the desperation in your eyes only making him harder. "No matter what you do, you'll always be mine... No one is ever gonna be able to make you feel as good as I do."

"Rafe..."

"Say it. Tell me you're mine, and I'll continue."

"I'm yours..." You whined in a hoarse voice, so desperate to have his

His lips continued their previous ministrations, causing lewd moans to escape your lips as you looked down at him, your hands buried in his hair, pulling him closer and closer to your clit, the blonde picking up his pace, desperate to see you come for him.

And as you came undone on his tongue, arching into his mouth and letting out profanities and loud moans of his name, he slowed down his pace, letting you ride out your orgasm as he pulled his digits out of you, bringing them to his glistening lips and licking every drop of you, the sight more captivating than any painting that you'd ever seen.

"So, you ready for more?"

When he looked up at you with that familiar smirk, you knew that as soon as your friends found out whose bed you had spent the night in, they'd all be so disappointed in you, and you'd probably end up hating yourself as soon as you gpt home, but you simply couldn't bring yourself to care, nodding, silently to tell him to go on.

[kenobers]

Jason Todd Headcanons

just a few thoughts that help inform the way i write this doof. it's linked below as well, but check out jason's spotify wrapped if you have a minute! ;-)

Samsung User

Jason says he likes his coffee dark, but secretly orders flavored lattes (see that one Hozier photo)

Puts cinnamon in his coffee grounds

He may have good taste in books, but he's got shit taste in movies

Loves a few basic safe picks - Fight Club, Pulp Fiction, things you might expect from someone like him

But his "Watch Again" list is all cheesy action movies and wacky comedies. Mark Wahlberg appears a little too often.

Doesn’t watch a lot of television, but sometimes likes to fall asleep to Family Guy or South Park

Has one ear piercing he got on a dare, done by either one of his brothers or one of the Outlaws

Good gift giver, but only wraps things in newspaper

Really terrible about remembering to take his medication

To the point that Dick and Tim got him one of those every day of the week pill boxes as a joke - but it's actually been incredibly helpful

Is a regular at his neighborhood corner store

To the point where the guys at the counter don’t even card him anymore

He's the type of man to sleep till noon, 1:30 on Sundays

If he's sharing a bed, he will snuggle up to you in his sleep

Snores

Unfortunately uses 3-in-1 shampoo/conditioner/body wash

Has an high tolerance for weed, which annoys the hell out of him because he enjoys a joint but does not fuck with edibles

Every time he tries an edible, he stares at himself in the mirror for three hours and Does Not like it

Drunk Yapper

Beer Drinker

Doesn't always know his own strength

Not in the accidentally-break-someone's-arm type of way, but definitely in the sometimes-closes-the-door-too-hard-and-goes-"whoopsie daises!" type of way

Thankfully, he's become a pretty great handy man

Despite being a certified Car Guy, he did die at 15 and as a consequence is lowkey still how to drive a none military grade car (in other words, he's a shit driver) (but it's okay, he sticks to the motorcycle and public transportation)

He's not a hugger, but he is a leaner

Thrifts all of his clothes

Prefers to get his books from local indie/second-hand/new & used bookstores

But still has a Barnes & Nobles membership card

His bookshelf is not organized what-so-ever; it's started to operate as more of a gun rack while his books get stacked underneath his bed (he tells himself that this will make him get through his To Be Read list faster)

His top played song of last year was “Kiss Me Through The Phone” by Soulja Boy

His music taste can be divided into three primary playlists; East Coast Rap, Metal, Ear Worms

Is the family expert on the Gotham underground music scene

He isn’t big on social media at all, but he has a Twitter with like 15 followers he uses to keep an eye on whoever

(and also to keep up with music and book updates)

He’s occasionally very funny on it. But just occasionally.

Just Online enough to know who Trisha Paytas is, not Online enough to know who ClubChalamet is

He got his GED once he joined the family again

and yes, they threw him a little party to celebrate

Has the BatChat on silent, but still checks it regularly

Terrible texter; you’ll either hear back from him immediately or in three weeks time

“srry didn’t see this”

(he did see this, he just got anxiety about it)

Has a lot of anxiety about smalls things like that

Especially when it comes to the Bat Family

He’s not always sure where he stands with everyone - if they like him, trust him, want him there

Paranoid that they’re nosy because they secretly think he’s going to go rogue again

Has to constantly remind himself that they’re just nosy the same way that he’s nosy - because this is literally a family of detectives

[rafeandonlyrafe]

defending you (sfw version)

words: 1.6k

warnings: mentions of violence

taglist: @thelomlisrafecameron @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @winterrrnight @slut4drudy @drewsbabygirll @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450

nsfw version!

"rafe!" you yell, relieved to see him standing out on his dock. it looks like he's sorting through something in a box.

"rafe!" you yell again, waiting for him to hear you, but you know the sound of the whipping wind is carrying your voice in the opposite direction. 

rafe stands, and turns back towards tannyhill. "rafe!" you yell again, and he finally turns, having heard not exactly his name, but an unexpected sound from the water.

"y/n?" rafe screams, his face going pale seeing you swimming towards the dock.

"rafe." you smile, relieved to finally be done with your long swim.

"what are you doing?" rafe rushes towards the ladder as you begin to climb up, legs and arms weak. "the water is freezing and there's a storm coming in."

"i know." you shiver as you pull yourself onto the dock, with help from rafe. you can't even stand as your legs crumble. "i was paddleboarding before the storm came and someone came and knocked me off my board and took it and my paddle. i swam here because it was closest." 

you're kind of friends with rafe. he's never been mean or rude to you like you hear other people say, but there's a certain awkward tension when he's around.

you're not rich enough to be a kook but not poor enough to be a pogue, leaving you in a weird middle ground that you kind of love, getting accepted into both groups parties.

it's a party where you first met rafe. your kook friends all tried to convince you that he liked you, that he's been watching you the whole party, but whenever you looked his way, he was quick to advert his stare.

you became friends with his sister sarah quickly, and eventually began sleeping over at her house, using it as a safe haven especially when your parents would fight. rafe always found some sort of way to be involved in whatever you were doing with sarah, inviting himself out to the movies, or to get ice cream.

"who took your board?" rafes eyes flash with anger, the kind all the pogues tell you he's capable of, but that you haven't seen for yourself.

"kelces friend. i don't know his name. that blonde guy."

"topper?" rafe questions.

"no, no. that new guy. family just moved into that blue house."

"luke?" rafe practically spits his name out.

"yeah, him." you nod, and a shiver racks through your body. the water was frigid, but thankfully your hard swimming kept you from freezing. it's only now, on the dock with the harsh wind, that you feel the real chill.

"hold on, let me get you a towel." rafe runs onto the nearest boat, flipping open a seat and grabbing the fluffiest, most warm looking towel he sees.

rafe helps you stand and wraps the towel around you, pulling you into his arms to warm you up even more.

"what kind of boat was he driving?" rafe asks.

you don't want to talk, or think, just want to lay with your head against rafes chest and soak up his warmth, but you're eventually able to mutter out, "a black speedboat. i don't know more than that, it all happened so fast." truth was, you knew it was an expensive brand, way beyond anything your family would be able to afford, so you had no clue what it was.

"and he just came and knocked you off?" rafe curses himself as soon as he says it, because it sounds like he doesn't believe you, but really he just wants to get the story straight before he beats this guy to a pulp.

"yeah." you sniffle. "he made a huge wake that made me fall off, and then he just came along next to me and grabbed my board and paddle before i could get back on."

"y/n?" you hear your name called and turn and look down the dock, at mr. cameron.

you step out of rafes arms, suddenly aware of how it looks.

"hi, sir." you say as he walks closer.

"don't tell me you were swimming in this weather." it is unseasonably cold in the outer banks.

"not intentionally." you shake your head. "someone knocked me off my paddleboard and they took it. i swam here because it was closest."

mr. cameron looks at his son, and rafe gives a stern nod, a silent conversation happening that youre not privvy to.

"im gonna go get your board back for you, y/n." rafe says, effortlessly grabbing the boat keys his father tosses to him.

"rafe, i don't expect you to do that."

"we look out for our own here, yeah?" rafe says, hand coming to your face. you think he's going to rest a hand on your cheek, but his hand flinched and he pushes a stray hair behind your ear.

"thank you." you say with a tight swallow of your throat.

"ill be back, you go inside and warm up, okay?" rafe says, stepping back towards the boat. you nod, a weird feeling twisting in your stomach as you watch rafe going to defend you, going to get back what's yours.

you follow mr. cameron to the house, thankful as soon as you step in the door to be out of the wind.

"do you mind if i shower?" you ask, glad the wind had dried you a little to not be dripping throughout the whole house.

"of course not, let me take you there." mr. cameron loops through the huge house. you swear that you get lost every time you come here, only knowing the way from the front door up to sarahs room.

you meet rose halfway to your destination, and mr. cameron quickly explains the situation. she gives you a quick hug, apologizing for what happened. you're thankful you're already comfortable with them after spending time at the house with sarah.

mr. cameron leads you to a room with an attached bathroom, telling you he'll leave some clothes on the bed for you and then you can watch tv until rafe gets back. you thank him for the hospitality and head into the bathroom.

--

you're sitting on the bed, snuggled in under the covers, when the door suddenly opens. 

"rafe." you breath out, hopping out of the bed to go to him. he's soaking wet from the rain that came in from the storm, but he has a proud gleam in his eye.

"i got your board back." rafe says. "and that asshole won't mess with you anymore."

you gulp, hoping that just means rafe gave him a stern talking to, but as you look down at his knuckles, you can tell it's not true.

"rafe!" you gasp, grabbing his hand and lifting it up. his knuckles are red and look bruised.

"it's alright." he goes to shake his hand out of your grasp when he suddenly freezes.

"youre wearing my shirt." rafe says. you look down. you just put on whatever clothes mr. cameron had left for you. 

"i-" you're unsure if he's expecting an apology.

"in my clothes, in my room." rafe mutters, looking back towards the bed.

"i thought this was a guest room." you look around, realizing now that there are way too many personal items around for this to be a guest room, and that mr. cameron had led you to rafes room.

"it's no big deal." rafe says, this time putting his hand onto your cheek, rubbing it gently. it's cold from being outside but still warms you.

"i put your board in our shed. it'll be safe there for now. you're staying here though, the storms really bad right now." rafe says, backing you up further into the room and closing the door behind him.

"thank you but i don't want to impose." you shake your head.

"im not letting you leave in these conditions." rafe says. "now get back in bed and keep watching your show. i need to shower."

there's a new confidence in rafe that's shining even brighter than normal, and you wonder if it's the act of defending you that's caused it. you feel compelled to do whatever he says, so you nod your head and slip back under the covers, watching as rafe grabs a few items of clothing out of the dresser before heading into the bathroom. 

the lull of the shower and the tv show you've seen a million times makes you feel the exhaustion of the long swim. your head rests against the pillows, and you don't even realize you've fallen asleep until you hear the bathroom door close.

you sit up to see rafe standing there with a smirk on his face, your eyes dragging down his bare torso, to where he's only wearing a pair of basketball shorts.

you have to hold yourself back from drooling at his broad shoulders.

"didn't mean to wake you." rafe says, stepping closer as if he's going to climb into bed with you.

"that's okay." you whisper, suddenly feeling small.

"can i lay down? keep you company for the night?" you aren't sure what rafes definition of 'keeping company' is, but you nod anyways.

rafe smiles again and you feel your last bit of apprehension melt away.

rafe gets under the covers, and you sit there awkwardly for a few seconds before you lean over, placing your lips against his. it's a quick kiss, not even enough time for him to truly reach.

"thank you for defending me." you say.

"ill do anything for you." rafe says honestly, placing a hand on the back of your head and pulling you in for another kiss, this one much stronger than the last.

[pretty-little-mind33]

TANGERINE WITH A FEM!READER WHO LIKES TO PARTY

Ask : I need some pure protective Tan x reader when the reader just loves to dance! Pure unhinged dancing where they don't give a fuck just dancing but they still look good and sexy, but this random guy is trying to dance with her and Tan is so possessive and protective over her.

Warnings : swearing, harassment, non-consensual groping

~ hi anon! thank you for requesting! I'm doing this in the form of headcanons I hope that's okay ~

• Tangerine knows the difference between possessive and protective and he's very aware he can be both of them depending on the situation. He's a surprisingly a very self-aware guy for a contract killer.

• He's also not usually a jealous person. He's confident in himself and he knows you love him and he loves you. Whenever his possessiveness/protectiveness jumps out, it's mostly because he sense some kind of danger around the situation—and not because he's jealous.

• He has nothing to be jealous over! You're his girl. He knows very well you'll be coming home with him and he'll have you screaming his name all night. He knows he doesn't have to worry about other guys.

• Tangerine is 100% not the type of boyfriend to tell you things like; "You can't wear that dress out in public, it's too revealing. Go change." He likes when you wear the dresses and clothes you want because he knows it makes you feel sexy and happy and that makes him happy!

• He loves your happiness. He's cute like that.

• He has no problem fighting anyone who looks at you wrong! He will defend you no questions asked. You come up to him crying? No hesitate he'll make whoever was the cause pay dearly.

• So, when you go out the bar one evening and he sees you dancing, he's content watching you from the bar as he sips on his whiskey. You look so carefree and happy it makes his cold heart swell.

• He will be watching the way your curves look as you dance (he is just a man after all), and how pretty your hair falls, and all he's thinking of is brining you home and kissing you all over.

• He's completely whipped.

• However, the moment he sees a sleazy looking drunk guy dancing much too close to you for his liking, he's immediately on edge.

• Tangerine knows better than anyone you can take care of yourself, you're a smart girl, and still his hand grips the glass so tightly he's afraid it will shatter.

• It isn't until he sees your expression, one of fear and uneasiness, that he snaps.

• Tangerine doesn't hesitate to walk up to the man, snatching his wrist just as his hand goes to squeeze your ass and you spin around, confused and relieved to see your boyfriend standing in front of you. You'll say his name, his real name, in a hushed whisper.

• "I suggest you think before you decide to put your hands on a lady, mate," he snarls with fake kindness, his blue eyes narrowing coldly. He's pissed. He's beyond pissed!

• If the man doesn't listen and makes some snarky comment, his anger will only spike. Without realizing, he's pushed you behind him and he's keeping you close.

• "You're embarrassing yourself," her says, staring daggers at the man. "Can't hold yer liquor, can ya?" Now he's just plain making fun of him, enjoying tormenting someone who wanted to cause you harm.

• You squeeze Tangerine's arm in attempt to tell him you're okay, but he isn't having any excuses. He saw the guy try and touch you without your consent and he's furious.

• If the guy continues to taunt him and make comments, Tangerine has no qualms hitting him in the nose and sending him falling backwards and making a scene.

• He doesn't give a flying fuck.

• "Darlin', he was making you uncomfortable," he whispers into your hair, his back pressed against the dark bar hallway near the restrooms as you touch over his bruised knuckles from how hard his rings had scraped the man's face. "He tried to put his hands on you. He deserves to be beaten to a pulp and worse. Actually, 'll go back in there now and,"

• Tangerine really has no filter.

• If you tell him you want him to stay with you and he melts immediately.

• "I just don't like when arseholes like him think they can bother my girl when she's just having fun," Tangerine smoothes a hand down your cheek. "You look lovely dancing," he'll compliment you and kiss your nose, which makes you flustered and his grin widen.

• "Aw, luv, don't go all shy on me now," he chuckles and teases you. "I like your moves! Ya wanna go back and dance? 'M sure everyone has already forgotten I punched that bloke. I can dance with you this time?" he offers and then tilts your chin in his hand. "Or we can go home and we can do whatever you want," he smirks.

• When you tell him you want to dance, he's happy to oblige.

• And we all know Tangerine can dance! He just doesn't dance often because he likes keeping up his calm and cool assassin persona.

• But for you? For you, he would do anything.

[celestica-1988]

Some other Tokyo Revengers characters headcanon. There will be SPOILERS.

When Mikey left the Sano household he brought with him his towel and some pics of the people he lost. Almost every night when he's curled up in his towel ready to sleep he watches the pics and cries. Yes, even when he's in bonten.

Draken biggest regret is not confessing his feelings to Emma. So when he gets up and goes to bed he always says "I love you" to her pic on the wall.

Baji is so scared of his mother tears because when she cries she turns in a really strong opponent. She's the female version of the blue ogre.

Chifuyu thought that his mother hated Peke J till one day when he got home from school and found the two sleeping together snuggling.

Takemichi finds some notes of his past self in which he's confused about being friends with people he doesn't even remember he knew and lately being involved in a gang. Past Takemichi is afraid he's going insane so our Takemichi writes te a note in which he explains everything. Not surprisingly past Takemichi is even more confused and thinks he need a therapist.

Kazutora is proud of his tattoo. He just wish people in Japan wouldn't be so scared of tattoos because sometimes is tired of hide it with turtlenecks.

Takuya likes to watch wrestling.

Yamagishi dream is that his delinquent encyclopedia would be published one day.

Akkun dies his hair red by himself as a training to be an hairdresser.

Mitsuya is very good at karaoke, he likes to sing rock songs.

Hakkai is the first and more hardcore shipper of Mitsuya x Yuzuha. He really wants Taka-chan to be a part of his family.

Sometimes Taiju babysits Mana and Luna. One time they asked him to watch IT (the 90s version) with them since Takanii forbid them to watch such a scary horror movie, Taiju accepted but not much longer the movie started Mana and Luna started to cry and Taiju did his best to comfort them (he said he would punch any clowns that goes close to them or something similar). In the end the little ones fell asleep in his arms and Taiju had to live for a week with the Mitsuya because Mana and Luna felt safe only near to him. Needless to say an angry Mitsuya scolded Taiju.

When Pahchin gets released all the Toman members throw a party for him. He was sad Mikey was not there though.

When Yasuda confessed to Pehyan he malfunctioned and froze for a solid 15 minutes.

Angry thought for a while that he would be a nurse when he will be an adult. He changes his mind after seeing Nahoya smiling with his eyes wide in delight while eating the ramen that he prepared. Since then Angry wants to be a ramen chef.

Smiley once stole Angry favorite stuffed animal, Souya got so upset that accidentally unleashed the blue ogree. Since then Nahoya always politely asks to Souya if he can borrow one of his plushies.

Mucho goes to punk rock concerts, one time he brought Sanzu with him, but it wasn't a good idea. Sanzu beated almost all the people in the venue.

Sanzu ends up regretting killing Mucho, he misses the older brother he was for him. Especially when he feels lonely and he realizes he has got nobody to talk to.

When Kisaki reaches the afterlife Baji punches him in the face so hard that for a moment he was sure he would come back in the world of the livings.

Hanma likes to play shooting games at the arcade, but when he loses he usually punches the machine.

Kokonoi lives in a traditional house when he's in bonten. There are a lot of candles, lanterns and things that make it a cozy place. Only Miley is admitted in his house and only for urgent matters. The house is his sanctuary to find inner peace after dealing with his crazy coworkers.

Inui likes goth girls more because they understand and appreciate his hobbies.

When Izana listens to Queen the whole neighborhood listens to Queen.

Kakucho learned to cook from Mochi.

Mochi hates creeps who harass women and always beat them down to a pulp. Harassing a woman is not an honorable behavior for a man!

Shion always fails tests of courage since when he was a kid. He believes in ghosts and he's afraid of them.

Rindou panicked when Ran slept for a whole day, he thought he was dead or in a coma. That's when he realized how important Ran is to him. When Ran woke up he cried for joy and ran to buy a mont blanc for his brother.

Ran cut his hair because he was tired of Sanzu calling him Wednesday or Annabelle.

Never insult someone because they are not fully Japanese in front of South, he will punch the living shit out of you. Since he's also a mixed race person he hates when people are bullied for that reason.

Wakasa saved a stray cat once and let the kitten live with him. Now when he doesn't wanna hang out with Takeomi he said he's busy... Busy cuddling his cat that he treasures so much because it help him avoid unnecessary social situations. And because... Who doesn't love a cat?

Benkei likes to built copies of castles in miniature. It relaxes him cause it takes great concentration and ability to do that in the right way.

Takeomi gossips like an old lady with his coworkers (may God help them)

Shinichiro cried the first time he watched Titanic, it's one of his favorite movies.

Yuzuha meets with Emma and Senju every month to talk about how hard it is dealing with problematic brothers.

Hinata is a fan of Avril Lavigne and sometimes she dreams of touring around the world playing the songs she wrote. Unluckily she can't sing but she has got some alternative fashion clothes.

Emma talks and sleeps with the plushie Draken gave to her. She calls him Kenken.

Senju goes often to Harajuku to take inspiration for her outfits.

[abrunettefangirlnerd]

If You Love Her

Prompt: You are dating Rafe after JJ cheated on you... but you're still a member of the pogues. A party and the boneyard makes tensions rise between everyone.

Rafe POV

Her head rests against Rafe’s chest as they soak up the last bit of the sun lounging on the Druthers. It has been a rare peaceful day and Rafe is thanking whatever higher power there is that she has become his saving grace. He just hates the way that it happened.

               (Y/N) is originally a pogue, but it never mattered to Rafe no matter how hard he tried to deny it. Rafe never picked on her, only her friends. She became close with Sarah after saving whatever the latest sea creature was at the time. So she had been over a few times before Sarah started dating John B. Though it was the moment she stopped hiding behind the boys and found her voice, that Rafe has never stopped listening. He has been in a trance ever since. Her fire is what drew him in, but it is (Y/N)’s heart that melted his core. The only problem, she was JJ Maybank’s girl. “Was” being the operative word.

               Rafe will never forget her tear stricken face, red eyes, and piercing sob from that night. It took everything in him to not beat that punk to a pulp. Thinking about it even now gets Rafe all riled up. He hates that she is still around JJ, she never left the group. Rafe understands they are her friends, but he doesn’t like it.

“Come on,” (Y/N) stirs, still half asleep. “You promised we would go to the party.”

“Right, the boneyard party. With the pogues.”

“Hey, I’m a pogue.” (Y/N) angles her face to look up at his with a teasing smile.

“You’re my pogue.” Rafe smiles and leans down to place a kiss on her forehead.

               Yeah she is his pogue and he wouldn’t want it any other way. Any other party he would be excited to go. He loves parties with his girl, dancing the night away and playing drinking games. Tonight will be exactly like that, except he will have to see Maybank. I wonder if him and Kie have made it official yet, Rafe wonders to himself.

Your POV

               The music can be heard from a mile away in Rafe’s truck. My arm wraps around his as his hand gently squeezes my thigh. I know he doesn’t want to be here. He is doing it for me and I love that he is willing to entertain me for a few hours. I won’t make him stay long. I want him to see that my friends can be cool, and I hope one day they can put away their bad blood and get along.

Years of pent-up anger at both groups has been baking as long as I can remember. If it wasn’t for becoming secret friends with Sarah years before she joined the group, I may have the same outlook on Rafe as the others. Can he be a jerk and annoying as hell? Yes, but he can be sweet and at times my friends can be no better. Things between the kooks and the pogues have been quiet lately, but I know Rafe has it for JJ. I can’t blame him, I did too before I accepted that JJ deciding to cheat had nothing to do with me and everything to do with him. If I could have wished for anything that if JJ had to cheat, I would have chosen for him to cheat with anyone else but Kie. It makes the tension in the group that much thicker.

“Relax,” I giggle. “We’ll make an appearance. Stay an hour, two tops. Then we can go off on our own.”

               Rafe doesn’t say anything but I can see a hint of a smile at the corner of his lips. His thumb lightly brushes against my skin and I sense him starting to relax a bit. I just hope that tonight ends up being drama free.

               The truck is parked and Rafe is on my side opening the door. I learned early on that I am not allowed out of the truck unless he opens my door for me. Made that mistake and he wouldn’t move from his spot till I got back in so he could do it properly. I thought it was annoying and egotistical, but now I find it sweet. JJ never did that for me when we were dating.

               There are a lot of things that Rafe does that JJ never did. Aside from the whole cheating part, JJ was a fairly good boyfriend. He looked after me, was a good cuddler, made sure I had a good time. Being with Rafe though is so different. Sure he does look after me, kind of always has. We have the best time when together and I feel so safe in his arms. I’m not worried about a pretty blonde catching his eye. He is a complete gentleman making sure I am okay, respecting boundaries, going slow, being open. Something I did not expect is for him to communicate as well as he does. I guess once he knew I wasn’t going anywhere and that his feelings don’t scare me, he trusts me enough to talk about all the crap with his dad and if he is feeling insecure. He never freaks or overreacts when I have an issue with something.

“Hey boys!” I greet John B and Pope at the keg. I notice a small release of air leave Rafe’s chest at the realization JJ isn’t around yet.

“(Y/N) what up! I miss you at the chateau.” John B goes in for a hug and Rafe lets go of my waist to accommodate. The two shake hands after John B releases me. It is a simple gesture to an outsider, but with these two it means everything. John B is practically my brother and with him dating Sarah, and Rafe dating me, they both are trying to put in an effort.

“Here you two go.” Pope hands me and Rafe cups of beer that we gladly take.

A few drinks later, we depart for a dance near the fire. The music pulsates through my veins mixed with the alcohol and a nice buzz fills my senses. Rafe loops his arms around my waist and I pair mine around his neck. We sway to our own beat, not minding the people jumping around us. We are lost in our own world and we are the only two people who exist.

               Rafe’s eyes peer into mine as we rest our foreheads against each other. His lids close and I do the same, focusing on his hold on me. Warmth swarms over my body originating from his touch. I can’t wrap it around my head that I am with Rafe Cameron and that he can make me feel like I’m on top of the world. I only hope I can make him feel the same, that is often one of my insecurities. One that Rafe knows about and tries to assure me that I am more than enough for him.

“You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me.” Rafe whispers in my ear and places a kiss on the tip of my nose. I swear he can read my mind.

               Before I can say anything Rafe’s touch disappears from my body. I immediately open my eyes and find the back of a blonde standing between me and my boyfriend, JJ. The alcohol has me stumbling against the sand as I land against Rafe’s arm and he steadies me before putting my frame behind his. Always my protector.

               Rafe makes his stand but waits to see what JJ plans to do first. He knows that if he threw the first punch I would be mad. All I want is peace. Except I would not ask him to hold back if JJ started it first. He promised me, and so far he has kept his promise.

“You got the money, the job, and now the girl.” JJ’s words spread through the dry air, and people are beginning to take notice of a potential scuffle. Tears sting my eyes. Why is he making it sound like it is my fault I left him?

“Well Rafe if you plan on dating (Y/N) I want to fill you in on a few things.” JJ takes a step forward and I can feel Rafe’s muscles tense beneath my hands. JJ begins to speak but his gaze falls to me. “She always has trouble falling asleep, and she likes to cuddle while under the sheets.” JJ sends a wink my way and whistles from the accumulating audience fill the air. “She loves pop songs and dancing, and bad trash TV. There’s still a few other thin-“

“She loves love notes and babies,” Rafe interrupts. “And likes giving gifts. She has a hard time accepting a good complement. She loves her whole family and all of her friends… not that they deserve it.”

               I didn’t think it was possible for the air to get thicker than it has just now. JJ’s drunk eyes danced over me until Rafe unexpectedly interrupted. Both of our eyes cling to Rafe as he spoke but for two different reasons. My heart skips as Rafe reaches to grab my hand and gives it a light squeeze. I had no clue JJ was going to do something like this, but I am even more surprised at the fact Rafe has been paying attention this well. He continues to amaze me and all I want to do is kiss him.

“When she gives me her heart completely, I won’t break it like you did. (Y/N) is safe with me. I’ll stand by her side instead of sneaking off behind her back.” Rafe stares JJ down a few moments more before turning towards me.

His hands cup my cheeks and looks into my eyes silently asking if I’m okay. I nod to answer him and bring my hands up to rest against his wrists. Rafe places a soft but protective kiss against my forehead and whispers for us to go. Wrapping an arm around my shoulder, he pulls me in close and nods his head toward a stunned John B.

The walk to the car is silent. Rafe opens my door for me and waits for me to climb in before closing it. He quickly joins me in the driver’s seat but doesn’t start the car. Instead he turns towards me, he eyes furrowed as he contemplates what he is going to say.

“I’m sorry if I over stepped.” Rafe’s voice is a whisper. “I know you can handle yourself, but I couldn’t let him do that. Act like he still has claim over you, that he is the only one who can know you.”

“Hey, hey it’s okay. You did everything right.” I lean over and let my hand cup his cheek, bringing his gaze back to mine.

“I meant everything I said.” His beautiful orbs pierce mine. “I want you to know that. I’m in it for the long game. I love you (Y/N).”

               His voice cracks and I can tell how scared he is to say that last part. We’ve only been dating a month but we have known each other for years. Staying the night with Sarah has usually ended up with late night talks with Rafe after she fell asleep. We are the unlikely duo but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I trust you.” I say and my face heats up with my smile. “I love you, Rafe.”

               It takes a moment for the words to register in Rafe’s ears but once they do pure shock and adoration quickly take over his features. He leans in and gifts me with a soft but passionate kiss. All his love and vulnerability is wrapped in every movement he makes with me and I can already tell this is forever.

[callsignvenomcod]

a soft life

Prompt: Retired! Simon Riley. A slow life in a Manchester farm.

warning: mentions of PTSD, mentions of cartel related violence, mentions of violence, MDNI.

PS: Opening line is from the book "Jarhead" (2001) by Anthony Swofford.

______________________________________________________________

A story.

A man fires a rifle for many years, and he goes to war. And afterwards he returns the rifle in at the armory, and he believes he's finished with the rifle. But no matter what else he might do with his hands, love a woman, build a house, change his son's diaper; his hands remember the rifle.

Sometimes he could still hear the bullets.

For a long time, it was hard to convince himself he deserved to grow old. It might have been a given fact to some other people but not for those in the military, not for Ghost, at least; not after Tommy and Beth, or Las Almas or Johnny. It took him a lot of time to be grateful to be almost 40. For several reasons, he never saw himself living past 20.

And now he was opening up the crates of the chickens he kept in his very own farm, a piece of land he actually owned, without a mask on, very far away from the bullet sounds and a barrack, from the mud and the camo, away from everything and everyone, not sound in the horizon but the chickens and Riley, the border collie dog he got, barking at a three somewhere in the distance.

He retired the summer he turned 40, there was a ceremony and everything, with Laswell and Price and he got more chest candy that would eventually end up in a wooden chest, never to be seen again, under the bed. There wasn't a reason, he just had to. He was in his prime, physically, but his mind was made of glass lately, everything rubbed him the wrong way, couldn't even train recruits without snapping too hard at them, making them quit, yell at them too much, scare them too much, beat them up to a pulp too much.

Every man in the military had a story. A life before, a life after. And in the middle, sand, or mud, or just camo. A war that last years, a mission that lasts hours. Silence and nosie.

He, like other recruits, like other Sergeants, Lieutenants, Colonels, had shadows over them. It took months for him to stop looking over his shoulder while doing the big shop on a sunday, started going to those overnight groceries store to shop alone instead. The butcher's reminded him both of his adolescence and the carnage he had caused, flinched whenever he saw a mohawk kid walking down the street, looked twice sometimes only to find a stranger.

Sometimes he could still hear the bullets, aye.

He turned in his paperwork and retired silently with lots of medals under his name, lots of dead men and probably women under his knife, missing friends, missing nerves and too scarred to be a model now. Ha.

Oh, and Y/N's wanted to get away at some point anyway.

Y/N. The last drink he never should have had, the cut that made him hide his face, and the party that made him feel his age. Pulp's words, not his. All it took was a few nights shopping at the Tesco she was working in as a cashier, late night shift, for them to become acquainted.

A year of mutual pinning, a single night in which Y/N placed the bourbon bottle and the batteries inside of the paper bag and looked up at Simon, change in hand (because he paid in cash always, no traces behind) and smiled at him. COVID had made it easier to transition from the skull balaclava to a medical mask and then to a bare face, so Simon looked at her behind the black medical mask and stared at her while she opened her mouth.

-Why do bees have sticky hair?

Simon blinked, looking down at her. -Pardon?

No line behind him. It was the first time the cashier talked to him other than "Goodnight" and "Drive safe", or "It will be 5.66, please". There was a faraway sound of some sort of 80's American pop music, something to pass time by. Simon had noticed her since the first time he came into this very same Tesco a few months ago, had noticed how she sang along whatever music was on, how her Tesco blue uniform looked too big on her, making her look insanely small and slinky. He noticed how she was always almost without a medical mask and whenever she used it, it was laced around her chin; he noticed short, clean nails, and a heart necklace over her chest, a pair of dazzling dove eyes, full hips, a belly.

He really noticed the full hips.

The girl fucking giggled and repeated. She must had a bit of Irish in her judging by the sound of her accent. Simon felt as awkward as a teenage boy in front of any girl ever -Why do bees have sticky hair?

The man shook his head, still confused, a quid in his hand.

-Because they use a honeycomb.

Ah, a woman after his own heart. Such a lame joke.

He snorted out a laugh.

It simply slipped and he memorized the name tag before grabbing his shopping bag and shaking his head, hearing her giggle behind him as he exited the store, and he came back two days later after convincing himself he needed two jars of red bean jam instead of the usual one.

Sometimes he could still hear the bullets.

And now she sleeps here; and Simon had stared at her sleeping form wondering how much time it would take for her to start hating his way of loving, of being, how many times he would go silent on the phone, a bad texter, a worst caller, how he hated crowded places and loud noises and most of their dates happened in her flat, when her roommate was out, staring silently at a film on TV, her friends thinking she's getting her brains fucked out by an experienced, older, lust thirst Vet when in reality, Ghost was gathering up the courage to wrap his arm around her shoulders.

And now she sleeps here.

In the crook of his neck, his thigh over his hip, wild hair all over the bed, sometimes inside his mouth because he stopped using a mask a while ago.

In the mornings, tangled in their bed, warm sheets, the soft breeze of Riley sleeping under the bed, her sweet sweat and vanilla scented skin under his, it took Simon a few seconds to realize he was sleeping in the company of someone; in the arms of a woman and in his own bed, a king size bed with soft white sheets that were washed and changed every 5 days, not a twin bed in a barrack, that his years of active service were over, not forgotten, as if, but that he could allow himself to become whatever he might end up becoming if the 141 didn't happened.

-Come here, boy. Come here, Riley. Yeah, yeah...- said Simon scrunching down to caress right behind Riley's ear, the dog sticking out his long tongue and barking of joy mixed with the hyper sense of his breed, the soldier being careful not to break the eggs he held in a small basket. Simon had found him a puppy a few months ago, seemed like years really, in a litter box with 6 of his brothers and sisters, a beat-up cardboard sign reading "For adoption." And Simon picked up the only one with a lazy ear. He knew deep down that Y/N would appreciate that and simply put him in the passenger seat of the black Bronco truck he owned and drove all the way back home. -You're up early, eh? You having breakkie with us?

He had fallen into a comfortable routine now. He would wake up, crawl over Y/N's sleeping figure, careful not to wake her with the crack of dawn, 5AM with the BBC on his headphones, a 6'2 shadow jogging through the hills of the outskirts of Manchester, for an hour only the dark of the road, the eventual baby blue of the sky, the warmth of the sun. Sometimes Riley was up for it, sometimes he stood behind cuddled up in their room. And upon his return he would work out in their driveway for another hour, noticing the growing presence of what the media now called a "Dad Bod" (Y/N's words, not him) and eventually hearing soft barefoot steps coming from the room.

There was tea for two before he had to head out, get some tasks done, and a soft kiss hanging from Y/NS plush lips, and he would always try to push it, try his luck. He would smile against it, whispering "Good morning..." with a lazy voice, hands on Y/N's full hips, kneading them, in need of them, and Simon would press up with hard on against her stomach, while deepening the kiss.

It never failed to make her wet. It never failed to make her forget the kettle on the fire for a minute and simply give into his kiss, his embrace; him, overall. Simon would pick her up, easily, laid her on the counter, and her robe would open for him, with or without his help, and she was always so wet for him, so ready to do it.

-Simon...- she will say. - Breakfast...

And he wasted no time into twisting her words, dropping to his knees as if he was in the presence of a saint, of a virgin, of the end of the world, staring at her glistening cunt first thing in the morning, looking up with the adoration she deserved; she would gulp and argue it was not what she meant but she would recoil and whimper when Simon stuck his tongue inside his cunt anyway, overlapping her folds, blissfully eating her out before the sun was completely out.

The dog kept barking all the way down to the house, past the barn and the driveway, the small stable with the one horse they had, the pen he was building to eventually own sheep, and Simon felt the cold breeze of the early morning seeping through his black knit sweater and his jean jacket, as he walked all the way across the grass fields and into his porch, the swinging chair Y/N liked to read in, in a need of a reparation.

-Right...- he whispered to himself seeing the hammer he left outside to remind himself to fix the damn chair, bloody hell. Riley's nose peeked through the front door, opening it with ease and technique allowing themselves in, and the cold of the outside world was quickly gone.

Simon stepped into a cozy home, with a color palette he would have never picked, all warm yellows and oranges, pinks and whites, and soft cushions, warm blankets, a picknick turntable in the coffee table; and music, soft music he didn't recognize coming from it, a spinning record on it with yellow and pink lyrics, a girl signing about a loved one, and another voice, a present one, horribly trying to sing along.

He snorted out a laugh when Riley started barking and the voice was interrupted abruptly.

-Simon?...- Radio silence. -Babe?

Oh, the sound of his name in her mouth.

He crossed his living room, stepping into the kitchen, holding four eggs in a small bowl, one from each hen they owned, and he stood in the door frame, just a tad taller than him, admiring the view. He had endured white missions in the Russian winter, literal months of the gruesome torture and gory tasks and they all suddenly made sense because there was a girl.

Ah, there was a girl, alright.

Today was English breakfast. No peas for him, no sausages for her. It was stereotypical but easy to make and no one was around to judge them anyway. Next house was a few miles down the road, and even the road was far away, the town was a 30-minute ride. It was their little bit of heaven. The man stepped in, handing her the basket like every other day and kissed her temple, as she grilled some tomatoes slice ups leaning back against him. His hands would find her hips again and she would yawn with intimacy, hair still a mess, thighs still sticky. -Teas on the table, love. It's gone get cold.

-Ah, it's alright...- he said, hugging her tightly, as she kept leaning on him. -Slow morning today, eh...

She had been there and stuck around whenever the PTSD started acting up. She was the one that loved him when he started going fucking mental; and stuck around when she found her burning up SAS gear, a lost look in his eyes as he did so. He would throw in a Ghost mask and watch it burn for a moment, before murmuring a shocked sob and reaching out into the flames to retrieve it. She stuck around while he drank too much bourbon sitting on the porch, skull mask on, his dogs' tags held so tightly his knuckles will go white with force. Y/N even stuck around when the nightmares came, and she would wake up to Ghost whimpering on his side of the bed, breaking a cold sweat, his jaw tight and her brows furrowed, screaming out "Johnny! Johnny!" before waking up in tears, in raged hot tears down his cheeks, short of breath, his head a full of bullet noises and sirens wailings, pictures of his team and the blood and the grease paint. A mess. A shaking shadow.

Every October 11, she will make sure to hold him a little tighter, kiss him a little softer, love him, if it was possible, a little louder.

And she was here now, cooking breakfast, no peas for him; now he was living a soft life, with tea every morning, and a dog named Riley, with soft hands that wondered around his chest whenever he thought about Soap too much, about Gaz and that helo. But she was here now, and she had no sausages today, as they sat down on their small chair in their small kitchen in their small farm. He was living a soft life, and he didn't think of himself as worthy of it, but he must have been done something good to have her cooking breakfast and sleeping in their bed and caressing their dog under the table.

Tomorrow, Ghost would ask her to come out to the porch to find her reading swing fixed and a wedding ring.

She's going to say yes.

He didn't heard the bullets anymore.

_____________________________________________________________

Hello! Venom here.

Thank you so much to anyone that's been liking my story.

Happy 2024!

[lavalampglobs]

[gay-wh0re-slut]

God Sent

rhea x fem!reader

content: literally just smut, jealous dom!rhea smut with fingering, strap, spitting probably, definitely some degradation and praise, squirting, multiple orgasms with aftercare too hehe but i need it so i’m writing it

You and Rhea had been invited to a goth themed party at a friend’s house. It was easy for Rhea to find something to wear but your closet colors were the complete opposite of hers, so you asked to borrow something. Of course she complies because she loves when you wear her clothes, so you decide on a leather low cut top, a skort with a harness attached at one leg, some fishnets and a pair of her platforms. She wasn’t too comfortable with you wearing this knowing people would be staring all night but she wasn’t one to control how you look.

As soon as you arrive, friends began to hoot and holler at the two of you. You twirled around to show the outfit off with Rhea slapping your ass playfully to show the room that you were hers.

The party was going well, you had many conversations about many things with the friends including wrestling, backstories, and crazy imaginations with the people that were high instead of drunk. Of course you had a few drinks yourself so you were feeling a little tipsy. Rhea didn’t want to drink so that you were both safe going home.

You swayed your hips walking towards the australian on the other side of the room, “heyy baby,” you sling your arm around her waist.

She couldn’t help but notice the people staring at your ass that was barely peeking from under the skirt. She gently landed her hand on your lower back having it slide down to your ass, giving it a slight squeeze eying the people behind you; they immediately looked away. “It’s hard dating a hot girl,” she sighs.

“Mmm, why do you say that?” your words start to become a little slurred.

“Everyone looks at you all the time, you know how that makes me feel,” she grabs your almost empty cup and sniffs, “damn, what’s in that?”

You giggle, “Uhmmm I don’t know, Liv made it. It tastes like juice, so it’s dangerousss,” you boop her nose.

“Uh huh, that’s the last one for you then, love. We don’t want a repeat of last time,” she hands you back the cup.

“Aawwww okay,” you finish the last sip. You let go of her and sway your way to the kitchen for a trash can.

A guy you haven’t met sneaks towards you. He was pretty average looking, toned, and quite short but you could tell he was about to do something he shouldn’t: talk to you.

“Hey sweet cheeks, you here with someone?” he leaned on the counter.

You rolled your eyes, “Yes, her,” you point to Rhea who was already making her way towards you. She was moving slowly knowing that you could handle yourself until she needed to step in.

“Oooh big scary woman, what is she gonna do kick my ass?” he said sarcastically as he laughed.

“Yes, actually,” you couldn’t be more serious.

“Oh I’m sure,” he continued the sarcasm, “but, no seriously though, who are you here with?”

“No seriously bro, I’m with her,” you threw back at him.

“C’mon, baby,” he began to walk around the counter towards you as a strong alcohol smell followed him, “I could make you-”

“Make her what?” Rhea growled behind him.

You caught her eyes and smiled at her devilishly. You loved seeing her jealous, it turned you on more than any alcohol could.

He turned around and looked up at her, his head almost fully touching his back, “make her scream my name,” he said a little too confidently.

“I’m giving you three seconds to walk away before I beat your scrawny ass to a pulp,” she whispered.

People noticed the commotion, but immediately turned away knowing it would end one of two ways: him being knocked out, or him being thrown out.

“Or. What,” he whispered back. He was now standing on his toes and looked more ridiculous than ever.

You couldn’t help but laugh, “You better choose wisely, buddy,” you threw in.

“One,” Rhea huffed, her hands balling into fists.

He didn’t move.

“Two,” you could see her vision becoming red.

Stupidly, he still didn’t move.

“Three,” without hesitation she swiped his legs out from under him, landing on his stomach, she placed one knee on his neck and held his arms back, while twisting his whole body in a way it shouldn’t.

“Wrong choice,” you bent over him, smiling.

“Okay! Okay!” He strained to yell, “I’m sorry!”

“Now leave or I will beat your ass,” she forcefully let go of him.

He scrambled to get up, brushing off his shirt.

“Bye-bye,” you wave to him, as you give him a fake pout.

He quickly left as the crowd watched him leave laughing at him, “he should’ve known,” and “idiot” was heard from the partiers before they returned to their drinks and dancing.

“You okay?” Rhea asked.

“Perfect,” you walk towards her and move to whisper in her ear, “but if you don’t take me home right now and fuck me until I can’t walk, you will never see this ass again.”

And with that, she grabbed your wrist and dragged you to the car with you giggling behind her.

She basically sped home, luckily it was only about fifteen minutes away. The ride home was tough because you were already so uncomfortably turned on that you couldn’t help the squirming in your seat.

Finally, walking through the door, she slammed it behind you, “Bedroom. Now,” she commanded.

You were already on the way and you were basically sprinting. You cross the threshold and wait for your next command.

“Sit,” the tattooed hand pointed at the bed, closing the door as she entered.

You sit.

“Good girl,” she strides towards you then grabs your chin and tilts it up towards her, “you look so good tonight baby.”

“Thank you,” you smile.

“You always look so good in my clothes, huh?”

“Yes ma’am,” you squirm under her.

“Too bad you won’t be wearing them for much longer,” she lets go of your chin dragging her hand down to your tits then to the bottom of the shirt, “arms.”

You lift your arms and she pulls the shirt over your head and throws it to the side.

“Scoot back and lay down,” another command.

You do as you’re told keeping eye contact with her the whole time.

“How’d I get so lucky,” she climbs on the bed crawling on top of you, stopping halfway to leave a trail of kisses on your stomach, to your chest, to your neck, to your jaw.

Your hands were gliding up her muscular back and into her hair as she goes until she decided to grab your wrists and pin them down above your head. You huff at her.

“What,” she whispers in your ear, “my poor baby. All riled up for me and you can’t do anything about it. What a shame,” she coos.

“Please, baby,” you try to force your way out of her godly grip but to no avail.

“Uh uh,” she swiftly moved to grab the handcuffs from the side table and clasps them onto you wrapping the chain on one of the many metal rods coming from the headboard, “that’d be too easy.”

“Hmph,” you grump.

She chuckled at your attempt but continued her journey, leaving dark purple marks where only the two of you could see. You’re writhing under the muscular woman, begging for anything more to ease the pressure. Her hands were grazing your skin touching every inch of your torso, gently squeezing your tits as she went. When the hands found the waist band of the skirt, she carefully and painfully slowly, took it off of you, kissing down your thighs.

Once she threw the skirt to accompany the shirt, she took your boots off too. “Wait here,” and she started to walk to the bathroom.

“Like I can go anywhere,” you say under your breath.

She snapped her head around, “What?”

“Please hurry, baby,” you try to cover.

“That’s what I thought you said. Because if you said what you actually said,” she towered over you on the side of the bed and grabbed your face squeezing your mouth open, “it’s not going to be good for you.”

Your eyes were wide but you couldn’t speak.

“Are you gonna be a good girl?”

You nod your head frantically.

“Good,” she spit in your mouth and let go of your face, “now be the slut I know you are and swallow.”

You gulp it down and open your mouth displaying your tongue so she could see that you did.

“That’s my baby,” she patted you on the cheek and walked towards the bathroom.

You finally let go of the breath you didn’t know you were holding. A chill ran through your body as you lay there with nothing but fishnets and a thong.

A few minutes later the raven haired woman comes back wearing her sports bra and booty shorts with a strap.

You gasp at the sight, your heart was beating fast in two places. Your gaze flicks up and down her body, not being able to focus on one thing as she crawls back on the bed. Her hands glided up your legs to your thighs and forced them open.

Your back arched as the cool air hit your dripping center.

“You’ve already made such a mess and we haven’t even started,” her accent was thick and deep.

“It started before we left the party,” you admit.

“Oh?” the tattooed hand grazed your inner thigh, “who made you like this?”

You knew the answer she wanted to hear and you were more than happy to tell her, “You,” you gasp as her thumb barely touched your pulsing clit.

“Mmm,” she began to draw small gentle circles with her two middle fingers, “and what did I do, baby?” She already knew the answer, but she loved to hear you say it.

You could barely form words but you tried your best, “when you…were jealous and you…” your back arched as she added more pressure, “mmmmpinned him down… with your knee and… fuck,” her fingers danced on your entrance waiting to go in but was blocked by the lace. The fishnets wouldn’t be a problem though because they were the wide holed ones and she gave those to you for this very reason.

“You love when I get protective, huh baby?”

“Mhm,” your hips grinding for any possible friction.

“Good, because this,” she moved the lace to the side and easily pushed her fingers inside of you as she moved to be face to face with you, “is mine,” she growled.

You moan loudly as your back arched pushing your stomach into her. Her thighs were holding your legs apart, her hand was easily pumping in and out of you at a steady pace. Her other hand was planted near your shoulders, her baby blues staring into your soul. “That’s it…take it!”

You whined with every push gently bouncing on her hand as she quickened her pace. The sound of you against her hand sent you spiraling.

“God, you’re such a whore,” she pulled her fingers out of you causing a groan to fall out of you, “open,” she demanded.

You open your mouth and she slides her fingers in, letting you taste yourself, cleaning them off.

She pulls them out, “spit,” she ordered and she cupped her hand in front of you. You did as told, then she covered the strap. She readjusted herself, letting the tip barely graze your entrance that was now leaking onto the sheets. “D’you want Mami’s dick, beautiful?”

“Yes, god please,” you try to move yourself down onto it but was restrained by the cuffs.

“Such a desperate lil slut, pathetic,” but she slid it in anyway, guiding it and using your hips as a brace.

“Uugghh shit,” you moan as you take the full length. You felt it widen you, the pain was minuscule compared to the pleasure you felt.

She sat there a minute letting you get used to the size, watching you squirm under her, taking in every movement. Once she thought you were fine, she slowly moved her hips back and forth, pumping the dick in and out, in and out.

“Pleeease Mami, fuck me,” you whimper.

“Do you want me to fuck your brains out, princess?” she halted her movements.

You groan at the sudden stop lifting your head up to make eye contact, “do your worst,” you growl.

A devilish smirk grew on her face. In one swift motion she pushed your legs towards your chest folding you in half, and began to fuck you senseless. The bed was squeaking she was going so hard. You moaned loudly, and continuously as she wrecked you.

“FUCK,” you screamed, the pressure in your stomach was beginning to unfold, “Don’t…stop!”

“Never,” she barked.

Pretty quickly the pressure released as you screamed in pleasure with your eyes rolling back and your hands white knuckling at the rods above you. You breath left your body as it tensed. She quickly removed the silicone from you as you squirted all over the bed. “Holy fuck,” you breathe.

“Oh we’re not done yet, babygirl,” she released you from the cuffs, letting your arms go limp. She flipped you over so that now she was on her back with you on top of her.

You took the opportunity to land a sloppy kiss as you adjusted yourself to straddle her waist. Moaning into the kiss while trying to regain movement in your arms. She sits you back down onto the strap with ease, her hands smack onto your ass then guides your hips up and down to ride the dick.

“That’s it, baby,” her hair was sticking to her forehead from sweat but she couldn’t have looked any hotter, “if only that asshole could see us now, huh? You riding my dick, screaming for me, watching me make you cum over and over again.”

“Fuck…him,” you said between bounces. You sat up to fully ride her, leaning on your hands that were holding her thighs for stability. Your tits bouncing with every movement , so her hands gripped onto them holding them in place squeezing tightly.

“He’ll never know what it’s like to make a slut like you cum, right baby?” she continued.

“Never,” you forced out, “oh fuck.”

The knot quickly built up again inside you, “Mami, please let me-”

“Do it, show him who you belong to, baby.”

So you did and hard, “FUCK, RHEA,” you continued to ride out the orgasm, your legs quivering around her as you buckled over, shaking.

“Good girl,” she praised. You slumped off, lying next to her. “I know you have another one in you,” she sat up and rolled you over. She picked your hips up so you were face down in front of her, displaying everything. “You’re too much of a slut to not.”

She slapped your ass, leaving a handprint immediately causing a whimper to fall out of you. You heard her spit, not feeling it on you, so you assumed it was on the dick.

Your moans filled the room as she plunged into you, tears filled your eyes at the intense pleasure, “God YES… FUCK,” you screamed.

“C’mon baby, just one more. You’ve done so well for me,” her soft tone contrasted with how hard she was wrecking you.

It’s been probably thirty seconds and the pressure was already there. You sneaked a hand down to your clit for added pleasure, circling it lazily. Loud whines made music to the australian’s ears as she smiled wide at the sight of you unfolding beneath her. “Cum for me, baby,” she snarled.

You screamed immediately as the orgasm washed over you, squirting all over the dick once more. She kept pounding into you as long as possible until you let your hips fall sideways having the dick slip out of you.

“You did so well baby,” she crawled to your face and left soft kisses on your sweaty red face, “My lil whore.”

“Only for you,” you forced out as you tried to catch your breath.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” she took off the strap and dropped it with a thud. She scooped you up and carried you to the bathroom and set you down gently on the cool counter sending a shiver through you. She started the shower and let it get hot as she helped you peel off the tights and now destroyed thong. “C’mon baby,” as she helped you down and into the hot water.

[theresattrpgforthat]

do you know any games that would fit a film noir detective style game? especially one with a gilded age or art deco aesthetic

THEME: Film Noir

Hello friend! So I knew of one or two games - but my buddy Sean, well he knows way more. Most of the games on this list are games that he’s introduced me to or knows about. So shout out to Sean!

Noirlandia, by Turtlebun.

Noirlandia is a murder mystery roleplaying game played with an actual cork board. When you first sit down, no one knows the answers.

You'll figure out the way your city ticks—maybe it’s blanketed in white ash, maybe it’s built atop the back of an enormous dying beetle, maybe only a few non-synthetics remain.

Your story follows a group of interconnected characters, a mind-bending case, and the cold stiff that started it all. Roll well, and you'll be allowed to pin new leads to your cork board or string connections between them.

Find the truth, or lose yourself trying. It’s just another day in Noirlandia.

A GM-less game, Noirlandia sets up each of your characters as someone who is connected to the victim - someone who demands justice in a world that has none. The city is created by the players, which tells me that you can decide some details about what the city looks like. The city itself feels like a character in this game - it has defined sections that you build using a deck of cards, each with a distinct personality and a host of slang words.

Because this game is GM-less, everyone gets to participate in the construction of the mystery, from who the victim is, to why their characters are involved. If you like world-building as much as you like following a story, you’ll want to check out Noirlandia.

Urban Jungle, by Sanguine Productions.

The early 20th century of the United States was rife with fantastic change: from the rise of industry giants, to the great experiment of Prohibition, to the tragedy of the Great Depression, onto the dawn of the Atomic Age. The sky was tamed, the world was mapped, and the possibilities of science seemed limitless, all blue skies and buttered toast…

… for some folks, anyway.

A complete game in one volume, URBAN JUNGLE makes you a player in an anthropomorphic world of pulp-adventure, hard-boiled crime, and film noir. You’ll tangle with hardened gangsters, with jaded debutantes, with world-weary veterans, and with all kinds of shady characters.

Urban Jungle uses different sizes of dice to determine your level of skill. Character creation consists of distributing dice amongst your traits, and then choosing from a list of species, types, careers, and personalities. The type and career options open up a wide variety of backgrounds for your characters - you don’t necessarily have to be hard-boiled detectives. You could be a criminal, an artist, a member of the social elite, or a down-to-earth labourer of some kind, just to name a few. As a result, the differences between the characters in Urban Jungle could lead to a rather mis-matched party, so you’ll likely want to talk with your group about what kind of story you’re telling.

Judging by the skills available in this game, you’re likely going to begetting in and out of scrapes, chasing, running, fighting and investigating. You might tussle with the mafia, or hunt down missing artifacts. You might try to get inside a swanky party, or try to win at a game of cards. If what you want is a toolbox to create your own plots with, you might be interested in Urban Jungle.

Junk Noir, by JadeRavens.

Junk Noir is a cooperative, zero-prep, GM-less mystery game for 2 or more players. Players share control of Tracer as the titular robo-sleuth investigates mysteries, visits Locations, meets Characters, finds Clues, and triggers Events. In Junk Noir, you'll dramatize scenes, form connections, make moves, and play to see what happens! 

Junk Noir mysteries don't come with pre-written solutions — that's the detective's job! Solving a mystery is about more than just finding clues, since clues are only as good as the theory that connects them. Players connect the dots and discuss theories over the course of an investigation. 

This is a game for folks who like generative mysteries, such as Brindlewood Bay or Paranormal Inc. Junk Noir helps you generate clues that you as a group will have to put together, while each player embodies a part of Tracer’s programming. This is also a GM-less mystery game, which means you can all sit down and play with no prep required - the game will guide you as you play it.

Deadlands Noir, by Pinnacle Entertainment.

New Orleans, 1935. Whoever called this “the Big Easy” sure got that one wrong. Things are tough all over. Honest work is hard to find, and even dishonest jobs are getting scarce. The one thing that’s not in short supply is trouble. From shady thugs to crooked cops to Mafia soldiers, there’s plenty of characters out there looking to give an honest Joe a hard time. And that’s not the worst of it.

There are stories going round about things that go bump in the night. Things you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley on a darker night. And those stories aren’t just coming from rummies or saps who read that Epitaph rag.

Still, there are a few heroes left in the concrete jungle. Steely-eyed private dicks, fast-talking grifters, wild-eyed inventors, and shadowy houngans still struggle against the encroaching darkness. With enough moxie—and more than a little luck—they might just be enough to turn the tide.

Deadlands Noir is a pen-and-paper roleplaying game set in the world of Pinnacle Entertainment’s award-winning Deadlands universe. It includes new Edges, Hindrances, and powers, as well as new rules for handling detective work, the state of the Union and the CSA in the Depression-era, a complete Plot Point campaign, and of course, more monsters and ghouls than you can shake a smoking .45 automatic at.

Savage Worlds is a great system for pulp-action and protagonists that are good at what they do. Deadlands Noir is a setting for Savage Worlds, meaning you’ll need the core rulebook in order to use it. The Deadlands setting as a number of books that relate to each-other, including a Weird West and a Hell on Earth setting. This means that this version of Noir includes a supernatural element, and the people behind any big upset could have magical powers. The setting itself is based on the New Orleans that often shows up in popular media, with hauntings and monsters turned up to 11. If you want something paranormal mixed up in your noir, this is the game for you!

Sword Noir 2e, by Sword’s Edge Publishing.

Imagine a barbarian prince embroiled in the criminal underworld of a cosmopolitan city as they seek for an artifact in the shape of a falcon statue. Consider two accomplished thieves—one an urbane duelist and the other a brawny skald—hired by a wealthy retired general to deal with a blackmailer, only uncover multiple murders tied to the general’s children. Envision hardboiled crime fiction in the worlds of sword & sorcery.

That’s Sword Noir.

The concept of Sword Noir is a combination of hardboiled fiction, the film noir it inspired, and sword & sorcery. The setting is noir while the characters are drawn from sword & sorcery tales. The PCs live in a world filled with injustice and apathy. Treachery and greed dominate and hope is frail. Violence is deadly and fast. The characters are good at what they do. They are specialists. Trust is the most valued of commodities—life is the cheapest. Grim leaders weave labyrinthine plots which entangle innocents. Magic is real and can be powerful, but it takes extreme dedication to learn, extorts a horrible price, and is slow to conjure.Now is the time for your characters to walk down mean streets, drenched in rain, hidden in fog, and unravel mysteries, murders, and villainy.

Sword Noir is probably the biggest step from the original noir trope, placing your characters in a fantasy world, far removed from technology like telephones or sleek cars. However, the corrupted city still lives and breathes here, full of ne’er-do-wells and shady characters. If you want to revel in noir tropes but play with the setting a little, maybe try out Sword Noir 2e.

Noir World, by John Adamus.

WALK THESE STREETS. TELL YOUR STORY. MAKE YOUR MOVIE.

It’s raining. The alleys are as dark as the streets. You’ve entered a world where light and dark mix with gray and the unknown, where your past collides with your present and future, and it’s safe to assume everyone’s out for themselves.

It’s the stuff dreams are made of, it’s the stuff of old movies, classic movies. Great stories.

This is Noir World. And this is your world and your Movie now. Your story is worth telling, even though it’s not going to be pretty. You might not make it out alive, but it’ll be one hell of a ride.

It’s true what they say: the City is full of stories, and not all of them have happy endings.

As a PbtA game, Noir World calls back to Apocalypse World, Monsterhearts, and The Sprawl as sources of inspiration. This means that you’ll be building your setting together, using noir tropes as guides to construct the story you want to tell. If this game is anything like its’ predecessors, the primary thing you’ll be focusing on is relationships; what do your characters mean to each-other, and how do those relationships affect their ability to get what they want?

Fedora Noir, by Less Than Three Games.

In Fedora Noir, you create the story of a flawed private investigator in the style of a film noir. Players take on the roles of the Detective, their Partner, their Flame – and their Hat, the Detective’s sharp mind and inner voice. Together, players explore the Detective’s messy life against the backdrop of a difficult case.

In Fedora Noir, two players share control of the story’s main character: the Detective and the Hat.

The Detective role-plays a private eye on a case, narrating their actions and speech. But here’s the catch – the person role-playing the Detective doesn’t get to say what they think. That’s the Hat’s job. The other two main characters – the Partner and the Flame – provide the Detective with personal relationships. People to care about… or disappoint.

Fedora Noir is a game for exactly four players. It takes the form of a deck of cards, which provide prompts and references to help you navigate the story - great for folks who don’t want to keep track of character sheets. There’s a whole bunch of settings included - and if you want the art deco style, then the New Hudson setting is made for you. Each city comes with a piece of art to set the mood, a list of locations you can choose to visit, and a cast of characters that may be getting involved in the case. You also choose a Case card to represent the Detective’s mission, Actor cards to help you depict what your detective looks like, and a series of chapter cards that will bring you through the narrative beats of a detective novel.

Other Games to Check Out...

Hardboiled, by Fat Goblin Games.

Noire: Elle Est, Elles Sont, by Ursidice.

Nitrate City, by Evil Hat.

[annalandin]

The steady ticking of the broken-faced watch sliced the moment into ever-smaller fragments of time - every one a possibility becoming past. "Please," Andrey said, his voice like the first crack splintering the ice on a wintry river. - the Goncharov novelisation (1976). Novelisations of popular movies are usually garbage, but perhaps because it was released three whole years after the movie, the Goncharov pulp novel is unexpectedly good - though it's hard to get ahold of these days, since it was only sold in newspaper kiosks back in the day. A copy in good condition can run you several hundred dollars these days. (hello I am several days late to the party but I'm joining in the Goncharov-posting)