#and you should definitely check it out...

[pedroscurls]

love at last (one-shot)

summary: harry’s never been in love before… until he meets you, which awakens a part of him that he never thought he was capable of.

pairing: harry castillo x fem!reader content warning(s): minor spoilers so please beware!, love at first sight trope, harry is charming and completely smitten, mainly harry POV, harry + reader go on dates!, no use of y/n. word count: 4.6k a/n: i just finished watching materialists and i'm OBSESSED with harry so obviously the next best thing is to write for him. please heed the warnings, there will be a few spoilers mentioned in this story!!! hope you enjoy nonetheless bc i'm gonna be dreaming about harry for a long time (look at those CURLS in that second pic tho jfc 🥵)

Harry had given up on the idea of love. He hadn’t felt it before and he felt like life was just passing him by. Was something wrong with him? Was he just not capable of falling in love—being in love? 

Lucy was a good match for him, but it felt forced. There was a mutual attraction, but something had been missing and he wasn’t sure what it was. 

Not until she said that she didn’t love him. Harry realized at that moment that he didn’t love her either. Lucy said it was supposed to be easy, but he wasn’t sure anymore. He tried Adore’s services, but the matches didn’t feel real, didn’t feel authentic. These women just wanted him for his money, his height, his job. He checked a lot of the women’s boxes—he was a unicorn, which Lucy liked to put it. 

But it never felt easy. He looked at each woman from a business standpoint, something transactional, but Harry yearned for something more. 

Something deep. 

Something real.

So, he canceled his membership and decided that maybe love was just never going to be in the cards for him. 

And maybe that he didn’t need it anyway. 

The dating scene in New York was horrific. To you, it felt like every nice man in the world didn’t exist. All the dates you had been on ended terribly—with some even ending early. 

The men were either too judgmental or too self-centered, or worse—just wanted one thing and one thing only. Was it this hard to find someone nice? You thought maybe you had been too picky, so you lessened your expectations—that didn’t work either. 

So, you decided to stop dating altogether and instead put your focus into work. If the universe wanted you to be in love, then maybe you should just be patient and let life do its own work. 

Harry had felt instant attraction before, but the first time he laid eyes on you it felt like time stood still. You were laughing at something someone said and he felt a flutter at the pit of his stomach. He’s never seen you at any of his family’s parties before, he would have remembered you. 

He ordered a drink at the bar as he glanced at you from the corner of his eye. Your smile was so warm, so kind, so genuine. He normally has this natural confidence in him, but when he saw you walking towards the bar, he straightened up and felt his heart race faster. 

Maybe you were a friend of his sister-in-law, he wasn’t sure. His family’s parties were usually so big that he doesn’t remember who’s who. But he knew that he was definitely going to remember you. 

The party was for his brother and his wife—a baby shower and gender reveal. A year after their wedding and they’re already expecting. 

He felt you stand next to him and then he heard your voice, which only made him even more nervous because you sounded so sweet, so nice. Harry had taken a deep breath and then finally turned his body to face yours, but when your eyes met his own, he felt his stomach do flips. 

“Hi,” you said with a small smile. 

“Hi,” he replied with one of his own. 

“Friend of the family?” you asked. 

Harry shook his head. “Older brother.” 

You widened your eyes and reached out to rest a hand over his forearm—a natural reaction from you. “Oh my god, you’re Harry.” 

Harry looked down at your hand briefly and smiled, nodding in your direction. “That’d be me. Are you friends with my brother or…” 

“I’m friends with Charlotte,” you answered, dropping your hand from his forearm. “I was teaching English abroad so I couldn’t make it to her wedding. I’m just glad I could make it for this event.” 

“Where did you teach?” Harry asked. 

“Philippines,” you smiled brightly. “It was amazing. I loved it there.” 

Harry couldn’t help but smile too. You made him feel comfortable, despite the nerves he was feeling before you walked over. “And now? Are you going back there to teach?” 

You shook your head. “It was only a two year contract. I have my certification now to teach English to non-native English speakers here in the States, so New York is home for now.” 

Harry could hear the passion for your work in your voice and the way your entire face lit up. It was refreshing—talking to someone who actually enjoyed what they did for a living. “So you’re teaching at a school? Elementary?” 

You let out a quiet laugh and shook your head again. “As much as I loved teaching younger kids when I was in the Philippines, my focus now is teaching adult learners. I work at a local community college.” 

Harry smiled to himself. He heard the bartender set your glass of wine next to you and you turned away from him to thank the other man from behind the counter. The same genuine and kind smile lining your lips. 

“You sound like you love your job,” he said. 

“Oh, I do. It’s a lot of work, but it’s so rewarding. I try to tell my students that learning English shouldn’t ever replace their native tongue,” you continued. “That their native language is something to be proud of and that just because they’re learning English doesn’t mean it replaces the language they know and grew up with.” 

“You must be an amazing teacher,” he grinned. 

“I try to be,” you laughed quietly. You could feel your cheeks heating up as you took note of just how handsome he is. You had heard about Harry from your dinners with Charlotte, but she didn’t say how extremely handsome he was or how deep his brown eyes were. 

“And I’m just in private equity,” he sighed teasingly. 

“Well, at least you’re rich,” you laughed quietly. “I bet that’s nice.” 

Harry shrugged. He wondered if this is where the conversation will shift, if the genuine authenticity he felt from you will disappear. “It’s a family business.” 

“Oh, so it’s not what you would have wanted to do?” You asked, taking a sip from your glass. You lean against the counter of the bar and stare up at him. “If it isn’t, what would you have wanted to pursue?” 

Harry tilted his head as he brought his own glass to his lips. He stared at you from the rim of his glass and then dropped his eyes momentarily to look down at his feet. “Not sure. I haven’t really had the chance to even think of what I would want to do if I wasn’t in the family business.” 

“Hm,” you said, eyes looking up at him from top to bottom. “Maybe a model?” 

He grinned. “Are you hitting on me?” 

“And if I am?” you smiled, eyes staring deeply into his own. 

Harry’s brows slightly raised at your forwardness and he glanced off to the side when he heard his name being called. Then, he looked at you and shot you an apologetic look. “Could I get your name?” 

You smiled and shrugged. “Find me later if you really want to find out, Harry.” You turned on your heel and left him at the counter of the bar when the other guests approached Harry. You glanced over your shoulder to see his eyes staring directly at you as he nodded at whatever the other person is saying. 

You and Harry kept stealing glances at each other from across the room. You could see the way his eyes lingered along your frame and you’re already three drinks in and feeling very brave. 

When Charlotte and Peter found out they’re having a boy, the music only became louder and everyone began dancing. Harry’s eyes stayed focused on you as he walked through the crowd straight to you. He sat next to you and smiled to himself, tilting his head in your direction. 

“Will you tell me your name now?” Harry asked.

You smiled and nodded, telling him your name as you turned your body to face his. You drape one of your legs over the other as you set aside your finished glass of wine. 

Harry smiled. “It’s nice to officially meet you,” he nodded.  “Now, would you like to dance?” 

“Oh, I don’t—” 

Harry interrupted you by standing up. He extended a hand out for you and maintained that charming smile. “If I say please, will you reconsider?” 

You bit your lower lip and shook your head, slipping your hand into his own. He helped you to your feet and then led you onto the dance floor. One of his arms snaked around your waist, pulling you closer to him as he kept a tight hold on your hand. You bit your lower lip and moved your free hand to rest on his shoulder. 

Being this close to him was intoxicating—feeling his broad chest remain flush against your own, his deep brown eyes staring directly at you as if you were the only person in the room, and god he smelled so good. You inhaled quietly and let your eyes fall shut, allowing him to lead you through the slow dance. 

“Can I take you out to dinner?” he whispered into your ear. 

You pulled back and opened your eyes to look at him. He’s still fucking smiling. 

“Are you asking me out, Harry?” 

“Would that be a bad thing?” 

You stared into his eyes as you both sway side to side to the song. You had sworn off dating after so many failed dates, but Harry… Well, there was something about him that piqued your interest from the moment you laid eyes on him today. 

“Well, no, but—”

His smile dropped and his eyes softened. “Oh shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t even ask if you were seeing anyone.” 

You could feel his hold around you loosen, but you tightened your grip around his hand and pulled him back flush against you. “I’m not seeing anyone.” 

“Oh,” he nodded slowly. “Okay, great. That’s—That’s great for me,” he chuckles quietly. 

“But I kind of sworn off dating… at least for a while,” you admitted. “Lots of bad dates and I just—”

Harry spun you around and pulled you back into his chest, holding you tighter now. “I’ll take you anywhere you want to go,” he whispered. “Do whatever you want to do… and if after that date you decide you want to officially swear off dating, then I’ll go my own way and you’ll go yours.” 

“You’re charming, you know that?” You smiled, biting the inside of your cheek. 

Harry shrugged, though a large grin lined his lips. “So, is that a yes?” 

“Okay, one date.” 

“One date is all I need,” he smiled, kissing your cheek and holding you firmly against him as he continued to dance with you. 

On your first date with Harry, he had taken you to one the finest restaurants in New York. It had taken you by surprise and you felt very out of your element. You weren’t used to dates like this. He was very chivalrous—he showed up with flowers, opened doors for you, pulled out your seat, and even offered his coat when he noticed you were getting cold. 

And the conversation came easy. He made you laugh and you made him blush. How could someone like him be single? When he reached for your hand during the walk around the park, you looked up at him and found him smiling in your direction. 

He didn’t kiss you on the lips when he brought you back home. Harry had just cupped your cheek, whispered that he had a great time, and kissed your forehead. It was the simplest gesture, nothing too grand or over the top, but you felt your stomach flutter with butterflies. 

Then, you asked him out for a second date. He was grinning—dimples deep in his cheek as his hand dropped from your cheek to wrap around your waist. His strong embrace filled you with so much warmth, so much anticipation because for some strange reason, it felt like you belonged there. In his arms. 

He insisted that he take you out to one of his favorite restaurants and you agreed with a smile. Harry kissed your cheek that same night before walking back to his car. He waited until you were inside before driving away. 

On the second date, Harry wanted to surprise you. He took you to a sushi restaurant—something more casual, but still romantic nonetheless. He rented out the entire small restaurant just for the both of you. The look of surprise on his face made him feel proud, more confident that maybe you wanted to date him more exclusively. 

Harry enjoyed spending time with you and how you had always given him your sole attention and focus. It even brought a smile to his face at just how kind you were to everyone you encountered. During the date, you were intrigued and interested in how the head sushi chefs were making the food. 

It was such an intimate setting and it felt easy. Harry had to wonder if this was what Lucy said a year ago—love should be easy. With the right person, love can be the easiest thing in the world. 

Throughout the date, you were becoming more touchy. A hand on his forearm or leaning against him as you let out a laugh that wracked your entire body. Even after the date when you both were walking around the same park again, he had taken your hand and you laced your fingers with his. Then, he felt your head rest against his shoulder and it made the flutter in his stomach more noticeable. 

When he dropped you off at your front door, you had stared up at him with your big eyes and he wanted nothing more than to pull you into him and press his lips against yours. 

But Harry didn’t. He wanted to respect you and your boundaries. You were playing with the lapel of his jacket before gripping it and pulling him against you. Harry’s hands had darted out to rest on your hips—to steady you, to ground himself. 

“Are you gonna ask to kiss me, Harry?” you had whispered. 

Harry’s lips parted as he stared into your eyes. The grip on the hips tightened and he gave you a single nod. He had taken a step forward, eyes completely dark and filled with desire. “Just wanted to make sure you were comfortable.” 

You smiled and moved your hands to play with the hair at his nape, the curls at the back of his head. You leaned in—just enough for the tip of your nose to brush against his. Harry inhaled sharply. 

“If you don’t kiss me now, Harry, I’m gonna think you don’t like me.” 

Harry tilted his head and leaned forward, nudging your nose with his own. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?” He moved one of his hands to your cheek and leaned in to press his lips firmly against your own. He remembered how soft and warm your lips were, the sound of a quiet whimper escaping you, and the way his heart was racing. Harry hadn’t felt like this before—how even when he wasn’t around you, all he could do was think about you, or how the butterflies in the pit of his stomach fluttered whenever he saw your name flash across his phone. 

It also made him feel special whenever you were together. You were kind and generous to strangers, but he always felt like the luckiest person whenever your attention was shifted to him. This was only the second date and Harry found himself wanting this to be more exclusive as the date continued. 

The kiss lasted only a few more seconds—the both of you getting carried away before you pulled away from him. Harry remembered the look on your face. The small smile that lined your lips, the way your arms had loosely wrapped around his shoulders, your eyes gazing repeatedly down to his lips like you wanted more. Needed more. 

“Where do you want to go for our third date?” he asked, whispering quietly as he brushed his lips with yours.

“How about I plan it?” you replied, pursing your lips to capture his own in a gentle kiss. 

“Yeah?” Harry asked, dropping his hand from your cheek to join his other at your lower back. He laced his fingers and pulled you flush against him, the feeling of your body heat radiating against his own awakening something deep inside of him. Yearning. Desire. Need. 

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Let me take you out this time.” 

Harry smiled. He had always been the one to plan the dates, to cater to the other person that he was slightly taken aback at your offer. It made him feel giddy, excited at the possibility of what you would plan. “Okay,” he answered. “I’ll let you take me out this time.” 

“Good,” you smiled and pecked his lips. “I’ll see you then?”

Harry nodded, but pulled you back into a deep kiss. This time—it was intense, more intimate, urgent. His lips moved with your own and his hands drifted lower until the tips of his fingers rested just above your ass. He wanted to reach down and squeeze, but he didn’t. Not yet, he told himself. Not yet. 

“I’ll see you then, baby.”

On the third date, you had told him to dress casually. He called you just before he was about to pick you up, asking just how casual he was supposed to dress. You had smiled to yourself and told him casual enough to the point where he wouldn’t care if his clothes would get wrinkled. 

So, when he picked you up—dressed in a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt with sneakers, you practically wanted to pull him back into your apartment. The date could wait a little longer. You loved seeing him in a suit—had gotten used to seeing him dressed so formally—but seeing him like this, so relaxed and casual just made him sexier. 

“This casual enough?” he asked, presenting you with another bouquet of flowers. 

“You look hot,” you complimented and leaned in to peck his lips. He smiled when you pulled away and then took your hand to lead you outside of your apartment. 

“So…” you told him. “We’re having a picnic.”

Harry grinned and pulled you close to him. You hadn’t yet closed the door to your apartment, but he leaned in and pressed his lips eagerly against your own. Without hesitation, he had moved his lips with yours, hand moving to rest on your hip. “A picnic sounds nice.”

He didn’t know what to expect, but he certainly didn’t expect to be lying on a large blanket with you next to him. You both were looking up at the clear, blue sky talking about something so random. He felt his heart skip a beat when he heard you laugh—it filled his senses until all he could hear was you and how happy you looked. He wondered if this was what other couples felt like, if this is what they would normally do—have a picnic in the park, eat some food, then lie down in each other’s arms just embracing each other’s company. 

When your laughter died down, Harry had moved to rest his hand on your cheek. You stared up at him, the smile still remaining on your lips. He felt like he could sense what you were thinking about, communicating with you through his eyes. 

His thumb had brushed against your lower lip and he leans in, pecking your lips lightly. 

“Can I ask you something?” Harry whispered. He felt the nerves begin to build and looked away from you for a moment. It wasn’t until you replied with a soft and quiet yes that he looked back at you.

“Would you want to date more exclusively? More seriously?” he asked in a rush. Harry’s eyes softened and the smile on your lips never faltered. 

“I’d like that,” you answered instantly. “I’d like that a lot actually.”

“Really?” 

“Really,” you repeated. 

Harry let out a sigh of relief and leaned in to press his lips against yours again. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders as you lay on your back with him propping himself on his side to kiss you. He felt a huge weight lift off his shoulders—he couldn’t help but feel extremely overjoyed and happy that the feeling was mutual. 

Almost six months later and now in a fully committed relationship with you, Harry finally understands what Lucy meant—love was supposed to be easy… and loving you felt like second nature to him.

You had been spending most days at his penthouse. There’s already a space in his closet for you and extra counter space in the bathroom. You manage to make this place a home—he’d come home and you’d be there in the kitchen, making dinner. Or on some nights, he’d catch you grading some papers. This felt easy. Being with you was easy. 

Harry knew that he loved you the moment he laid eyes on you. It’s cliche—he knows—but every time he’s around you, his heart races. When he sees you smile or hears you laugh, it makes his stomach do flips. And when he’s holding you in his arms, his life feels complete—like the one thing that had been missing in his life is now here with him. 

He hadn’t yet said he loved you because he wanted to do it right. He wanted it to be perfect. Harry had an entire date planned—he was going to take you out to the same restaurant from your first date. Take you for a walk around the park afterwards and then, he’d tell you how much he loves you. It was going to be romantic—something to remember for the rest of his days, but that morning… His entire plan was thrown out the window. 

You were in his kitchen, dressed in one of his shirts, making breakfast. Harry had gotten used to this, but for some reason, that morning, he felt his breath catch in his throat. The sun shone through his large windows, illuminating you in a warm glow. He was dressed in a pair of sleep pants and a worn t-shirt as he stared at you, a smile slowly lining his lips. 

He walked over to you and watched as your eyes moved from the pan and over to him. Harry bit his lower lip at the sight of your broad smile. You dropped the spatula and walked over to him, wrapping your arms loosely around his shoulders as you pecked his lips lightly.

“I was going to surprise you with breakfast in bed,” you said. “Since you always like to surprise me, I figured I could return the favor this time.”

Harry chuckled and allowed his arms to wrap loosely around your waist. He held your body firmly against his own as he leaned forward to rest his forehead against yours. “Why are you so good to me?” he asked quietly, hand coming up to rest on your cheek. 

“Hmm,” you answered. “Maybe because I really like you.” 

Harry grinned and pulled back to look into your eyes. His thumb brushed against your cheek as he tilted his head. “Yeah?” 

You nodded, leaning against his touch. “Yeah,” you answered. “Consider yourself lucky, Mr. Castillo.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed as he reached behind you to turn off the stove. He lifted you off your feet to set you on top of the kitchen counter, moving his hands to rest at either side of you. He moved to stand between your legs as he felt your hands move to card through his hair. 

“I am,” he whispered quietly. “Very lucky.” His eyes stared deeply into your own. His heart felt like it was beating out of his chest—the nerves slowly beginning to build as those three words settled on the tip of his tongue. There was a tense silence that filled the air and it was almost like you could anticipate what Harry was about to say next. 

Your hands moved to his cheeks, feeling the bristles of hair underneath your fingertips. You leaned down to kiss the tip of his nose as his hands moved from the edges of the counter to his rest on your hips. 

“Baby,” he said softly. 

“Harry,” you replied. 

“I’m in love with you,” he blurted out as he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. “I thought I’d never be capable of love. It just always seemed so difficult for me, but you—loving you is easy.” Harry couldn’t help the tears that build in his deep brown eyes. The way you were looking at him now eased so much of the nerves and worry that he felt. “You make me feel—baby,” he sighed—his breath catching in his throat as he brought a hand up to wipe the fallen tear that trickled down his cheek once he blinked.

“Hey…” you whispered, kissing his cheek lightly. “I’m in love with you too, Harry.” 

He pulled back. Eyes wide, features etched with shock. “You make me feel good,” Harry continued. “Valuable. Seen. Heard. Special. Every moment spent with you is always better than the last, and when I’m apart from you, I’m always counting the minutes until I can see you again.” He let out a shaky breath as he leaned in to rest his forehead against yours. His nose brushed against yours as he whispered, “I love you. I think I loved you the first time I saw you.” 

“God, I forgot how charming you are,” you teased, hands moving to his shoulders as you slowly wrapped your arms around him. “You made me believe in love again, Harry. I’m so glad I said yes when you asked me out… and to think, I could have missed out on this, on you.” Leaning in, you pecked his lips lightly. “And loving you is easy too. You make me feel safe and I’ve never felt that before… with anyone.”

Harry smiled and gently pulled you off the counter, your legs easily sliding around his waist as he walked you both to the large couch. He sat down with you on his lap as he brought a hand up to your cheek. “Move in with me?” 

“Didn’t you know?” You smiled, leaning in to brush your lips with his. “I was slowly beginning to move my things in anyway,” you grinned. 

Harry chuckled, firmly pressing his lips against your own. “I love you, baby,” he mumbled. “So much.” 

“Mmm,” you smiled, pulling away briefly. “Gonna show me how much?” 

His eyes darkened instantly and he wrapped his arms around your waist to swiftly lie you on your back against the couch. Harry settled himself between your legs as he leaned back in—eagerly pressing his lips along your jawline down to the side of your neck. 

“Oh, baby, you know I will,” he grinned against you, peppering light kisses against your neck. 

The feeling of his stubble tickled your skin, causing a fit of giggles to escape your lips. He smiled to himself and pulled away from you briefly to look into eyes. 

“I love you,” he whispered, a content smile lining his lips. 

“I love you too, Harry. Now get back here and kiss me,” you giggled, linking your hands together at the nape of his neck and pulling him back down to press your lips with his. 

Harry smiled against your lips—contentment, relief, and happiness filling his entire soul. 

Lucy forgot to mention that loving was only easy if it was with the right person. 

And you—you were the right person for him. 

[7-deadly-cats]

killing me softly | extra

aftermath of the events at the open air event

K M S M A S T E R L I S T | <- C H . 1 9 | C H . 2 0 ->

✿ C O N T E N T W A R N I N G ✿ swearing, suggestive themes and implications, sexual jokes, pic of reader not depicting her appearance just the vibes, rafe ovulating again, jealous!rafe, kinda angsty but mostly fluff and giggles, honestly this doesn't really push the plot forward so it's just them being them, description of bruise, reader drinking a little

✿ W O R D C O U N T ✿ max use of images + 7k written story

✿ A / N ✿ well, i guess this actually counts as a chapter bc it's basically just a continuation of the main story and long af for an extra, but, yeah, no, actually no clue why i called this an extra lmao. also i kinda rushed the ending but guess it will do. ok, talking too much again, so, ANYWAY, enjoy, and lmk what you think <33

++ don't get confused pls, rafe refers to cara as hall aka her surname

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

// PLEASE READ CH. 19 BEFOREHAND OTHERWISE THIS WON’T MAKE ANY SENSE

// STRONGLY RECOMMEND READING THIS BEFORE CONTINUING WITH THE MAIN STORY, AS IT ADDS A LOT TO THEIR DYNAMIC + PLOT

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

W E E K O N E // S U N D A Y 9 : 5 5 P M

“Kinda toxic,” you said with a chuckle as you watched Rafe switch off your phone and place it on the little side-shelf on his side of the lounge bed.

Rafe let out an amused scoff as he turned back to you, catching the teasing glint in your eyes. “These rats? Yeah. Being nosy as fuck, spamming your phone.”

Like, seriously. He’d only caught a glimpse of your screen—something about someone shrieking (which, yeah, someone actually had)—and then freaking Kie dared to ask if you were okay?

What the fuck.

Did they think he’d beat you up in the parking lot or some shit? Especially Kie saying that, of all people. Like, come on. She should know best, he at least could keep his damn hands in check during arguments.

Fuck her. Especially for sending that dumbass chicken or whatever-the-fuck creature pic directed at him that looked like one of yours. (Which, others using those pics with you? Yeah, nah. That didn’t sit right with him at all.)

Anyway. Fuck those other clucking little nosy rats too. Fucking great that those were your friends now. And dragging Molly, the only tolerable girl after you, into Sarah’s shitty-ass group? Shit was getting worse by the day.

“They’re just worried,” you said, amused, a small smile tugging at your perfectly shaped lips. “Pretty sure also about you.”

Shit. Rafe was staring again.

His eyes flicked back up to yours, and he rolled them with a small nod. “Yeah, sure. The only thing they care about is squeezing some gossip out of you. Bet all the previous messages were about me.”

Just imagining how they'd probably flood you with questions later: Why Rafe had left. What you two had talked about. Why he'd punched Topper. Blah blah blah.

Typical nosy girl bullshit.

And Rafe swore to God, he really hoped none of those stupid little mind-minions of yours were buying into that crap. He didn’t need anyone knowing what kind of shit he was caught up in now. Especially not Princess Sarah.

Fuck. If she found out, she’d go straight to Dad and—

“Probably, yeah,” you chuckled, and Rafe felt a crease forming between his brows. “But I’m not gonna share anything you don’t want me to.”

Huh.

He hadn’t expected that. He was used to girls rushing to their friends the second they had a crumb of “tea to spill” or whatever the hell you girls called it. But you claiming not do so...

He raised a brow, fingers absently twisting the little key charm on your bracelet. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, of course,” you replied, sounding genuine. “I mean, personally, if it were me, I’d probably at least tell Topper and Kelce. They are your best friends after all, and they both know Ruthie better than either of us. Plus, I’d say they’d definitely want to help you out with this mess.”

You pressed your lips together for a moment before continuing. “But I totally get it if that's something you’d rather keep to yourself. And obviously I’m gonna respect that.”

Rafe grimaced.

Tell Topper and Kelce? Sure, he’d probably rant to Kelce about this fucked-up situation—Kelce always listened, and when it came down to it, the dude knew how to shut the fuck up when asked. But Topper?

It was bad enough he’d agreed to tell that fucker he didn’t deserve the punch in the face (even though, let’s be honest, clean hit), and now he was supposed to reward him with some kind of answer?

Hell no. Topper had been hanging out with that bitch Ruthie way too much lately. Couldn’t be trusted even if he claimed he didn’t know what was going on.

“You don’t agree.” Your soft voice pulled him back and he stopped fidgeting with the bracelet.

Rafe furrowed his brows, rubbing his jaw. “Topper’s a backstabber. Don’t give a shit if he’s involved or not. He still hung out with that bitch.”

He almost laughed at your frown. You looked like an angry cat.

You tapped his chest lightly, shifting upward and—Fuck.

He could feel your boobs pressing into his side now.

Shitshitshitshit. Please just say what you wanna say and move back.

“He probably just didn’t wanna be alone tonight,” you said (Jesus Christ, Rafe wasn’t even sure he had the brainpower to follow you right now). “Cara stuck with JJ, Kelce with Molly, and well,” You gave him a sheepish smile. “You with me.”

Rafe’s lips twitched with amusement, but before he could say anything, you beat him to it.

“What I’m trying to say is,” you continued, sounding a little awkward, “I can’t really blame him for wanting to be with someone tonight. Yeah, sure, Ruthie wouldn’t have been my first choice, but—”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Rafe cut you off with a tight nod, nudging you back with two fingers to your forehead. Because holy fuck, he could feel his blood heading straight to the wrong places again. “Enough talk about those two.”

You blinked at him, surprised, and shifted your upper body slightly away. Rafe had to fight the strongest damn urge not to glance at the view the movement of the blanket offered him in that moment of the shape of your boobs in that sweet little dress of yours.

Shit.

He could see the little minions in your brain scrambling, trying to figure out what was wrong. And then he saw the exact second one of them got it.

“Shit, relax,” he said, half amused at your reaction and half irritated at his own almost-reaction. “I just—”

"You know, if you need a minute in the toilet stalls, just say so," you said, dry amusement clinging to your voice.

YO, WHAT.

That—shit, what??? Had Rafe just missed something or had you actually just offered him the chance for a quickie?

"For yourself!" you added, almost panicked, eyes wide, and Rafe could practically feel the heat radiating off your face.

Shit was hilarious.

And yeah, of course you hadn’t meant it the way he’d first thought. Besides the fact that you'd made it very clear you weren’t interested in him like that (why the fuck, though???), no way you'd want your first time to happen in some filthy toilet stall where any random loser could listen if they wanted to.

Nah, Rafe had decency. He wouldn't have let that happen. Even if you’d insisted. Okay, maybe he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to resist if you'd actually wanted to go through with it, but he’d have at least had the patience to wait until you two had a room.

“Sure.” Rafe raised his brows, a slow grin tugging at his lips. And then, fuck it, he let his right hand wander—just a little, just a tiny inch—from your waist toward your hip. Surely that wouldn’t—

Shit.

Okay, never mind. He moved it back to its original spot because he could basically hear your minions screaming inside your head, sprinting around in full panic mode and about to throw themselves down a deep, shitty spiral. He definitely didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable, or worse, have you bolt.

Or even worse, end up in another long-ass conversation with you.

“Sorry,” he muttered with a tight chuckle, already questioning his own self-control. Still, he couldn’t help being a little disappointed by the way you’d looked at him like a deer about to get shot.

And then—he almost thought he misheard it. A tiny “No, it’s okay,” slipped past your lips, soft enough to make his heart straight-up skip a beat. Big eyes locked on his, full of uncertainty and… something else.

Now Rafe was fucking confused. Because what?

What.

You'd claimed he was sending mixed signals, but you? Shit, you were a traffic light flashing both red and green at the same time.

At least Rafe had had the balls to tell you he was attracted to you. But you? You only ever admitted to enjoying hanging out with him. Nothing more. Okay, sure, you’d complimented his looks—like, twice—but only after he’d done so first. So that was probably just some polite etiquette bullshit.

Fuck, Rafe couldn’t make sense of you. And it kinda made him feel like a joke that the one time he felt this insane pull toward a girl, she didn’t feel the same.

Shit felt fucking unfair.

Whatever you’d meant with that little sentence, though, Rafe forced himself to keep his hand in the appropriate zone. No point pushing his luck. Also, he’d probably misheard it anyway, ears still ringing from leftover coke in his system. Last thing he wanted was for you to think he couldn’t control himself.

That would just be pathetic.

So he shook his head, lips tugging downward. “Nah, don’t wanna wake one of your fuckass minions.”

Not waiting for your reply, his hand slid up to your shoulder, gently nudging you back against his chest. Better play it safe than risk chasing you off with one stupid impulsive move. (Which—he, not taking a risk? Might as well accept he was going completely nuts.)

Thank God, you did lean back into him, a chuckle slipping from your lips. But Rafe didn’t miss the twitch of your brows or that almost disappointed glint in your eyes just before.

Shit, you were confusing the fuck out of him, but somehow that only made the pull toward you worse. There was something thrilling about it. Almost like a shot of adrenaline—having to play with a new set of rules with you. The fact he didn't even know if there was a playground to begin with.

But that only made you more interesting. Because with you, he had no choice but to hold back. Flirt a little, sure. But anything more? He had to keep his fucking cock in check unless he wanted to ruin whatever this weird little friendship was.

And well, he guessed actual friends didn’t let their hands wander like that. Shit, no—just the thought of doing something like that with Kelce or—

NAH. Fuck that. Eugh.

Okay, at least that image helped kill the very real problem in his pants threatening to rise again.

Shiiiit. Right!

He just had to start viewing you like one of the guys. A very cute, girly-looking guy who happened to look way too good in that dress, whose boobs had been pressed against his chest a minute ago and had threatened to make him hard again for the second fucking time tonight.

Fucking hell, you weren’t making it easy for Rafe.

Fuck it. Maybe he should look for another girl to hook up with on the side. Just to relieve this stupid pressure he seemed to feel because of you. Shit was starting to make even him uncomfortable. And the last thing he wanted was to ruin this friendship thingy with you just because some other part of him had other plans.

Huh. Nah.

What the fuck. What was wrong with him?

The idea of getting a side chick just to stay sane around you??? What was he, some horny fucking dog? Shit. Fuck. What the hell. Besides, he was done with girls like that anyway. He had way bigger problems than this suddenly raging sex drive.

But he also didn’t wanna waste another second thinking about that psycho bitch Ruthie either. She’d already ruined this little “bonding moment” of yours (still kinda cute that you called it that). Rafe had zero desire to keep stewing in that mess. He couldn’t change anything about this fucked up situation right now anyway. No point wasting more energy on that bullshit.

Jesus Christ—no, for real now—what the fuck was in your goddamn perfume?

And when your head tilted up again, eyes moving from the shitty-ass robot car movie to his face, Rafe could feel the way his nerves lit up.

He fully expected you to question what that little move of his had been about, ask why he'd said he wanted to be friends but then acted like that (which, honestly, he didn’t fucking know either lol), but thank God you didn’t.

“So, just to be safe,” you said with a sheepish smile, “if they ask about what happened, which I’m 99 percent sure they will—Cara at the very least—what do you want me to say?”

Somehow, the fact that you asked him how he wanted the situation to be handled, without pushing your own opinion on him, without instantly running off to your annoying friends to spill everything…

Shit made a very weird feeling rise in his chest.

Besides Kelce and maybe Wheezie, no one ever talked to Rafe about things without just going ahead and act on their own. No one ever bothered to involve him or ask for his opinion. Even his dad—Rafe always came up with solid ideas and plans that could actually push Cameron Development forward in the long run, but he never listened.

No one ever fucking listened to what Rafe had to say, and he was so fucking sick of it.

All of them acted purely out of self-interest without a second thought, doing dumb shit that could’ve easily been avoided if they just fucking used their brains.

But you... every second Rafe spent around you, every time you said something or did something or revealed more of yourself, it felt like he’d finally found someone who got him. Someone who just knew. Someone who—

“Rafe?”

He blinked.

Shit. You’d caught him so off guard, he’d just stared at you.

“Uh, yeah,” he mumbled, letting out a startled little laugh, his thumb brushing over the soft skin on your wrist for a second before he realized what the fuck he was doing and let his fingers drop beside your hand again. “I—sorry, what?”

Shit, what the fuck was up with him? He still had some leftover coke in his system, and he still acted like this.

Your brows twitched for a moment, and he thought you’d back off now, but instead you just chuckled, that mix of embarrassment and amusement so sweet in your tone.

“What do you want me to say if someone asks what happened?” you repeated. “I mean, they know you left because someone texted you.”

So you had spilled a few details to your new shitty-ass friends earlier, but Rafe guessed he could live with that.

In hindsight, he did feel kinda bad for not telling you why he'd left. If you had pulled that shit, he probably would’ve gone after you and demanded to know what the fuck that had been about. And, well, in the end, you did chase after him and snapped at him, but as soon as he'd explained the problem, you immediately switched.

Straight into solution-mode. Proactive.

Shit, that’s what Rafe needed. Someone who offered him ways out of this fucked-up mess. Someone who showed him what to do next, how to tackle something, not some whiny bitch crying about how sorry they were for him.

He knew the situation was fucked up already.

“Dunno.” Rafe scratched his jaw, brows furrowed. “It’s none of their business. So probably that.”

“Uh, yeah, no, pretty sure that’s not gonna satisfy them,” you said with dry amusement, twisting his polo fabric between your fingers.

Rafe slapped your hand lightly, frowning. “Stop that. You’re creasing it.”

You let out an amused chuckle and stopped fidgeting. “They won’t be happy to hear you used violence against me.”

Ha. Ha.

Rafe scoffed but then his expression dropped almost instantly when he remembered how harshly he’d grabbed your wrist earlier when you'd stepped to his side as soon as the security guards arrived. He’d expected stupid Kelce or Topper but then saw your big scaredy eyes and it felt like someone had smashed a fucking sledgehammer against his face.

“I was joking,” you said softly now, those same big eyes on him, only this time without the fear from earlier.

Rafe’s chest clenched. “Yeah, no, I know, I just…” He furrowed his brows, glancing at your wrist, looking for any kind of bruise. “Earlier, when I grabbed you. I shouldn’t have done that. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

For a moment, you just looked at him. Almost stunned. Then you shook your head with a soft smile, and somehow Rafe knew things were okay.

“It’s alright,” you said gently. A chuckle escaped your lips. “I mean, you do have a firm grip, but you didn’t actually hurt me. And I know you didn’t mean to.”

Rafe didn’t even— Jesus Christ, somehow your understanding made him feel worse than if you’d actually guilt-tripped him.

This sudden urge to apologize arose in him. To say he was sorry for leaving you behind, for keeping you in the dark, for yelling at you, for being sorry about every shitty thing he’d done this week that might’ve made you feel like you were anything less than you actually were.

Because the truth was, as crazy and messed up as you were, you were still better than him.

You were sweet and gentle, polite and kind, and you had this way of handling him so effortlessly (when your little minions weren’t going wild, at least), it felt like he could breathe around you. He didn’t feel like he had to prove anything to you.

And the words were sitting right there on the tip of his tongue, but he knew he’d mess it up. He didn’t know how to actually say what he meant, how to express how much he appreciated you still sticking around. He’d just stumble over himself and end up sounding pathetic.

So all he did was nod, eyes fixed on the heart charm on your bracelet he was currently fidgeting with, and said, “Still, I’m sorry.” His gaze met yours again. “About everything.”

Fuck, he was so bad at this shit, and it pissed him off that he couldn’t just say what he meant. How the fuck did you always know exactly what to say?

To his surprise, you just nodded—no big speech, no dramatic nonsense, just a soft smile on your lips as you gently smoothed out the wrinkle you’d made in his polo. And all you said was, “Apology accepted.”

Again. How the fuck did you always manage to say exactly what Rafe needed to hear? Seriously. Shit was crazy.

“Now I kinda wanna watch that movie you claim is so terrible,” you added with a teasing glint in your eyes, and shit—Rafe couldn’t help but wonder what that playful little spark of yours would look like in the bedroom.

He grimaced—both because yeah, the movie was garbage, and also because he couldn’t go five fucking minutes without one of those images popping into his head.

“Shit, it is,” he said. “Barbie was better than whatever this crap is. Fucking robot cars from space. Like, who the fuck came up with this shit? One of your fuckass minions?”

You raised a brow. “Funny, coming from the guy who missed half the Barbie movie.”

Oh you—

“Sorry,” you giggled, the sound vibrating softly against his ribs. “I mean, you’re right. Barbie did have way more important things to say than whatever the hell Optimus Prime is talking about right now.”

Rafe snorted. “Aight, I think you better stop talking now before this bonding moment turns into a breakup moment.”

“Hah. That’d be the record for the shortest friendship I’ve ever had,” you replied with soft amusement, tapping once on his chest. “Thirty-two hours.”

Dude.

"You for real right now?" No fucking way you counted the actual hours.

You just stared at him, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

Rafe's lips parted in disbelief, because what the fuck.

"Just kidding," you chuckled.

"No the fuck you weren't."

“No, I wasn’t.” You shifted slightly, turning your upper body toward him, brows raised with a cheeky smile. "Okay, listen, there's this tracker app—"

"Aw, shit, no," Rafe laughed, absolutely baffled, his voice cracking halfway through, as he playfully nudged your head off his chest. "You're fucking crazy."

You (not so gently) slapped his hand away with a scoff. "I do the same with Cara. It's cool knowing the exact day we became best friends."

Jesus Christ. What the fuck had he gotten himself into here?

Rafe’s face twisted into whatever emotion existed between being weirded out and somehow enjoying the fact you tracked your new friendship.

He let out a heavy breath and nodded. "Shit, I guess. I hope you know this is insane, though."

"Okay," you mock-sighed with a shrug. He felt his nerves buzz when you shifted back onto his chest, eyes back on the shitty-ass movie. "Guess I’ll go ahead and delete our entry then."

Huh? What. No!

Rafe frowned, staring at the back of your head, hating himself for what he was about to say. "What’s this fuckass app called?"

He felt your chest rumble against his as you chuckled again. Without even glancing his way, you said, "TrackerBuddies."

Aw, hell no. Fuck that.

Kelce had begged him to download that shit back in like 8th grade or so. Rafe hadn’t thought much of it and then he had to listen to Kelce whining for weeks about why Rafe never watered their digital plant that was apparently supposed to symbolize their friendship or some bullshit. Honestly, what the fuck.

Deleted that app immediately.

"Nah," Rafe said. "Kelce uses it. If he sees me on there again, he’s gonna start bitching about why I haven’t added him back."

Rafe already knew the second you tilted your head back to meet his gaze that he wasn’t gonna like whatever you were about to say.

"I know", you said with a smug smile. "I saw your sad, dried-up little plant in his friends' library. Didn’t even make it to level 3."

Shit. What.

"You two are friends on there?" he asked, staring at you blankly, his voice way drier than intended.

Your lips twitched into a downward smile. "Well, yeah. We kinda ended up talking about it in History on Friday and then I added him."

Hah. Funny. Fucking hilarious.

Not only had you and Kelce become friends before you and Rafe—apparently in real life and on this fuckass app—but you had added Kelce willingly.

A deep, ugly feeling spread in Rafe’s chest, his brows twitching in confusion. "And which level are you two fuckers on?"

"Five."

FIVE? In three fucking days? How— What—

"You’re bullshitting."

You laughed. "What?"

"Yeah," Rafe said, brows furrowed. "That’s impossible."

"Well, we got an early friendship boost for watering Willy for three days. Lots of XP."

Willy? You named the fuckass plant you shared with Kelce Willy?

Rafe just blinked at you, a deep scowl forming on his face that he couldn’t stop if he wanted to. That awful feeling in his chest only got worse.

"Fuck that," he finally muttered, pulling his right hand away from your waist to fish his phone out of his pocket. "What’s your friend code?"

You giggled as you shifted position, hugging your side of the blanket to your chest as you sat upright next to him. "You really wanna add me or do you just wanna beat Kelce’s level?"

Rafe nodded, frowning, eyes glued to the App Store as he re-downloaded this stupid-ass app. "Yes."

"Alright," you chuckled, leaning against his shoulder to peek at his screen. "I think you just need to click on Kelce’s profile—yeah, there—and then in his friend library—yes, that’s my profile."

Rafe’s frown deepened when he saw your whole friends list on this cursed app. Your crazy-ass best friend, of course. Shitface Kelce, obviously. Molly. Fucking Topper, who probably only downloaded it to follow the trend. Even pogue rat John B, what the actual fuck, and that Heyward boy.

And worst of all: Sarah.

Seriously, he couldn’t even describe how much this pissed him off. Every idiot in the damn universe seemed to be on your friends list—except him.

But the funny thing? He didn’t see any of those fuckers’ bracelets on your wrist.

What a fucking joke.

"Give me my phone," you said, amused. "Then I can add you back."

Rafe wasted no time. But apparently your shitty phone did, taking forever to boot back up after he’d turned it off earlier.

"Jesus," you muttered with a laugh as Rafe hovered over your shoulder to make sure you actually added him back.

He shifted back just as his phone vibrated with a notification from that fuckass app. Rafe’s heart skipped a beat (fuck, what) as he read the message:

yourusername just added you as a friend [+50 XP]

And then another:

yourusername promoted you to their Best Buddy [+100 XP]

Rafe’s head snapped up, meeting your amused grin with a baffled look. Shouldn’t that title go to—

"Cara doesn’t take this as seriously as I do," you said, chuckling sweetly and nodding toward his phone. "So you better prove yourself worthy."

Oh, you could bet your sweet little ass he would.

Rafe couldn’t even stop the smile from creeping onto his face. Just the fact that you were now officially friends—Best Buddies, even—on this dumb fucking app honestly excited him almost as much as the fact that you were wearing his bracelet around your wrist.

I’m fucking losing it, dude.

"Also, I assume your account’s pretty old," you said, face twisting into an amused grimace.

Rafe narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

You pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh as you looked at your screen. "DarthDude."

Shit.

He scowled.

Yeah, fuck. He’d kinda forgotten about the username he’d made in 8th grade. Had some cringe-ass Star Wars phase back then because of Kelce. Eugh. He had the full package—lightsaber, posters, even a couple helmets in his room.

Embarrassing as hell.

Though he had kept two of the red lightsabers above his bedframe since it made a pretty cool LED for when some girl came over.

Anyway, no chance in hell he was addressing that. Way beneath him.

So he just shook his head with a frown, grabbed both your phones despite your protests, set them aside on his end, and leaned back against the bed frame, his right hand finding your waist again.

“Enough of this shit now,” he muttered and scowled as your body seemed to resist when he tried nudging you back onto his chest. “What? Gonna miss the second shitty-ass movie thanks to you.”

You just chuckled, murmuring a quiet “Drama queen” as you thankfully settled back against him.

Rafe exhaled.

Peace settled back into him with you curled up on his chest again, your perfume lingering in the air.

As much as this movie sucked, he was already dreading its end. Because that would mean the end of this. And then he’d have to face a swarm of annoying-ass people again, all ready to bombard both of you with questions and stupid jokes (honestly, he was still surprised Kelce hadn’t gotten up from his lounge bed to go check on Rafe).

The only good thing about all that?

You’d be there, too. And Rafe would damn well make sure not to leave your side again.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

"Shiiit, you half-blind now or what?" Rafe asked, chuckling as he eyed Topper's bloodshot left eye.

Fucker looked busted. Left cheekbone red, already hinting at a nasty bruise forming. Looked worse than Rafe’s own, and he hadn’t even hit Top that hard.

After that not-so-shitty-movie had ended, Kelce and Molly had immediately jumped from their lounge bed over to the one Rafe had shared with you, grinning at you two like a pair of fucking idiots.

Thank fuck they'd held back on questions about earlier. Just a few comments about you and Rafe cuddling, and Kelce asking if Rafe was alright. That was it.

That was actually one of the few things Rafe appreciated about Kelce. No whiny, unnecessary bullshit.

Shortly after, you’d called Hall to ask where she was, and you all met at the bar on the side of the venue, now sitting at one of the wooden picnic tables. Rafe had immediately taken the seat to your right on one of the benches, Kelce scooting in right after (did he seriously rather sit next to Rafe than his new girlfriend, dude, what the fuck).

And the first thing Rafe had noticed as the other three sat down across from you: Topper’s sorry-ass condition.

Shit sure as hell wasn’t that bad, and Rafe figured the fucker was just playing it up to get some sympathy from your best friend. Apparently, it worked because they’d spent the second movie together in the first aid tent.

Great. Another annoying couple.

“Seriously?” Cara said before Topper could even start complaining. “I’d say 100% blind, considering he believed Ruthie to be good company.”

A baffled laugh escaped Rafe’s lips (shit, maybe your friend wasn’t all that bad). He could even see you out of the corner of his eye suppressing a chuckle beside him.

Idiot Topper sulked, raising the cool pad back to his cheek. “She asked me to go join them, so I did. Would you guys have preferred I cuddled up to one of you?”

“Fuck no,” Rafe shot back in sharp disbelief, only to glance at you as you kicked him gently under the table. Your eyes said something along the lines of “Remember what we talked about.”

Aw, shit. Right. He’d promised you earlier he’d show some remorse toward Topper (why the hell had he agreed to that again?).

Eugh. Rafe didn’t wanna do that shit. Saying anything remotely apologetic out loud would mean he’d be submitting to fucking Topper of all people. That guy was a whiny little bitch, and Rafe had no intention of giving him any kind of satisfaction. Especially since there was still a chance he’d been involved in that Ruthie bullshit.

But for you? Rafe would do it. He owed you that much.

So before Kelce could open his mouth to say some shit like Could’ve squeezed in between me and Molly, blah blah she’s wonderful, blah blah, Rafe gathered all his strength and willpower, ffurrowed his brows, and said, “But you could’ve joined some other chick in the front rows. Would’ve spared you that unfortunate bruise.”

What?

He’d said what you asked of him, but everyone still looked at him like he was speaking in riddles. Especially Topper—squinting like he couldn’t make sense of Rafe’s words. The fuck.

“I think he’s trying to say he would’ve rather not hit you,” you said with a smile.

Hah. See. You always knew what to say. Why even make Rafe do it?

Then came another kick to his leg, followed by you giving him that way-too-sweet smile and raised eyebrows. “Right?”

Not just a Crazyhead, but a stubborn one too. Alright.

Rafe didn’t wanna drag this unnecessary topic out any longer, so he just nodded, reluctant as hell. “Uh-huh. Yeah, sure.”

That's all Topper was getting. And thank god, that idiot just responded with a slight smile and a nod. “Maybe next time, though, let me know what’s wrong before going all in.”

Rafe almost laughed out loud. If he’d gone all in, Topper would be in the hospital right now. But sure, let this idiot believe whatever the fuck he wanted.

“Yeeaahhh,” Hall said, curling her lips and raising her brows directly at Rafe. “I meaaaan, what did happen?”

Oh, you’d been right about this one too. Your nosy friend being nosy. Fucking great.

Funny enough, Molly shot her an uncharacteristically sharp side-eye. Aight, those chicks had definitely been chatting behind Rafe’s back, and he was willing to bet their whole convo was sitting in that stupid little girlie group chat he’d caught a glimpse of earlier.

Rafe rubbed his jaw in annoyance and leaned back against the cushioned backrest, his left arm resting behind your shoulders. “Some fucker decided to annoy me mid-movie and I had to take care of a few things. Shit’s solved now.”

Kelce raised his brows. “Who—”

“Ruthie?” your best friend blurted out.

Shit, what. How had she— what the fuck. How had both of you caught on that fast?

Rafe furrowed his brows, scratching at the label on his flask. For some reason, he felt the sudden urge to play with your bracelet, but he resisted. Instead, he said, “Yeah, but like I said, I took care of it.”

No point denying what everyone already seemed to know. Not that they needed to know he was knee-deep in that shit.

“So that’s why she left,” Topper muttered, looking like some sulky crybaby. “Just giggled to Gracie and Samantha and then dipped. Didn’t think she’d talk to you.”

Just drop this shit already, Jesus Christ. Hadn’t Rafe literally just said it was dealt with?

Kelce nodded. “Must’ve been something bad, the way you stormed off your seat.”

Shit, him too now?

Rafe could feel how this was making you uncomfortable, the way you quietly fidgeted with the straw in your drink. Your brain probably spiraling again over the whole fact of Rafe leaving you behind.

Alright, fuck that. You two didn’t come here for some kind of interrogation.

“I said it’s been handled,” Rafe repeated, sharper now. “So quit pissing me off. Had enough of this shit tonight.”

Luckily for them, everyone shut the hell up. Otherwise, Rafe might’ve actually crashed the fuck out.

“O-kayyy,” Hall said with a tight smile, blinking as she clasped her hands. “Sooo, how did everyone like the movies?”

Great. Female Kelce, apparently.

At least that finally shifted the convo to something that didn’t involve Rafe, Ruthie, or Rafe and Ruthie.

And since he was done talking for the night, Rafe just relaxed in his seat, took a sip of this cheap-ass pogue beer, and listened to whatever the idiots at this table—and you—were chatting about. Occasionally, he’d throw in a comment.

Whenever you giggled at something, he soaked it all the way up, letting himself smile along when you started rambling about which Barbie movie was your favorite as a kid (fucking Kelce joining in for some reason).

And when Rafe caught himself absentmindedly toying with the fabric of your dress near your shoulder—somehow calming to his brain—he cursed himself for doing that in public. But he didn’t stop. You didn’t seem to mind.

As a matter of fact, you didn’t even pull away when Rafe rested his knee against yours—just needed to scoot closer after Kelce decided to manspread for no goddamn reason (though Rafe was pretty sure that grin Kelce shot him was confirmation he did that on purpose).

Fuckass.

Annoying as hell, but Kelce always knew how to be the best wingman when Rafe needed it (not that he needed it with you as he had no intention of using you for a hookup, okay!). Maybe that dumbass really was the closest thing Rafe had to a best friend (god, what were you doing to him, making him think in cringe-ass terms like that).

“…and when Ryan Gosling showed his abs I was like—” your friend babbled, stopping mid-sentence when her phone rang with the loudest, most annoying ringtone ever (some Nicki Minaj song). “Oh wait, Sarah’s calling.”

Fuck no. Absolutely not. Rafe already knew what she wanted.

“We’re literally at the bar,” Hall said, looking around. “Girl, you stupid? Yeah, wait, no—turn the other way. No, not—there. Pope spotted us.” She waved, then blinked at whatever Sarah said next, glancing at Rafe for a second. “Uh, yeah.” Then to him: “Can they come over or are you gonna kill them?”

Rafe’s whole body tensed at the idea of Sarah and her shitty pogue rats joining their table. Hell no. Now she wanted to infiltrate his friend group too? That was the last straw.

“I’m sure they’ll find another table,” he said dryly, earning a few blinks in return and a “Come on, dude” from Kelce.

Cara turned back to her call, babbling on, but Rafe’s focus shifted the moment you turned to him. His expression softened instantly when he saw your almost disappointed face.

You tilted your head slightly and said quietly, “They’re not as bad as you think.”

“What, you want them here?” Rafe scoffed, irritation bubbling. The way you were getting close with Sarah and her fuckass friends really didn’t sit right with him.

“I wouldn’t mind,” you replied softly, making Rafe frown while Hall continued loudly yapping in the background.

Oh hell no, he didn’t—

“But if I’m honest,” you continued, voice still quiet, a sheepish smile tugging at your lips, “I also wouldn’t mind if we dipped.”

Rafe blinked, twisting the fabric of your dress between his fingers. “You wanna leave?”

“No, I mean—yeah,” you said with an awkward chuckle. “This whole night’s been kinda a lot and I could use some desocializing.”

Oh. So you wanted to go home.

A sinking feeling spread in Rafe’s stomach almost instantly, disappointment settling deep in his bones. He didn’t want to leave. Or go home. Or say goodbye to you. Not yet.

The frown came naturally. “And how exactly do you plan on getting home? We all came with Topper’s—”

“No, no,” you cut in with a sheepish smile, shaking your head. “I don’t mean home-home. I actually thought we could, you know… I mean I liked our little drive-around last night. Thought maybe we could repeat that or something.”

So desocializing only meant ditching the annoying idiots—not him.

Ha.

Rafe grinned. “Same question. How you planning to get away from here? Unless you feel like stealing a car.”

That made your face light up, and something warm and electric bloomed in Rafe’s chest.

“There’s this app called Uber,” you said, laughing.

Rafe wrinkled his nose. “Oh fuck that, I don’t—”

“I think you can go ahead and call them over, Cara,” Kelce announced from Rafe’s right, making both of you snap your heads around. “Looks like these two are making space.”

Fucker had been eavesdropping.

Cara blinked, Molly giggled, and Topper gave you a raised brow. Then your friend’s face twisted into the biggest grin like she’d just won Miss America.

“Okii,” she chimed, turning back to her phone. “Come over, babes.”

Alright, that was enough. If Rafe had to sit through more of this bullshit—or see Sarah and her little pogue crew crowding into his space—he was gonna lose it.

So before he had to deal with his nosy-ass sister and her swamp rats, he nudged your shoulder with a quiet “Let’s go,” urging you to move.

Which, thankfully, you did, with an awkward chuckle and your bag slung over your shoulder. Rafe grabbed your jacket off the hook at the table and turned to the four grinning idiots now watching the two of you.

“Have fun,” Molly said first with a soft smile, shifting over to sit next to Kelce.

That idiot’s grin deepened as he threw an arm around her and waved. “Don’t go too crazy though.”

Shut the fuck up.

Topper only nodded with a “See you tomorrow,” while your friend hopped up to hug you goodbye like a buzzing hamster.

“Have fun, remember what JJ said yesterday, and love you,” she said as she pulled away, making Rafe wonder what the fuck that pogue rat had told you.

You just nodded, a little overwhelmed. “Uh-huh. Yeah. Love you too, C.” Then turned to the others. “You guys enjoy the rest of the night. See you at school.”

And before another round of cringe goodbyes could start, Rafe placed his hand on your lower back and nudged you toward the exit, turning around one last time. “Yeah, yeah. Hope you all have the time of your lives hanging out with fuckass swamp rats.”

“Hey, you better shut up,” your friend replied with the least intimidating glare Rafe had ever seen. “Or else we’ll be having a nice little chat about how to behave properly around women.”

Now Rafe got why her and Barry got along so well apparently. Throwing threats around like confetti.

Whatever.

He just grimaced at her, and finally, you started moving, clutching your bag and laughing under your breath.

Once you’d made it out of the venue, Rafe helped you into your jacket, even took your purse because despite what that loudmouthed boxer-friend had said, Rafe knew how to be a gentleman when he wanted to.

Hell, he even called the fuckass Uber himself, held the door open for you as you slipped inside, and tipped that old lady driving well enough that she could probably take three days off next week.

And when you’d arrived at your place, Rafe held the fucking door open for you again—of course—and even took charge of driving your dad’s shiny white Corvette (fucking hell of a beauty, by the way), because there was no way in hell he was gonna let you drive, especially not after you’d had a drink.

You did protest, since he’d done coke earlier (and half a beer), but that shit had already been processed by his system and Rafe could drive a car blindfolded if he wanted to.

“Okay, Leclerc,” you said with dry amusement as you handed him the keys. “But just know my dad’s gonna kill you if you put even the tiniest scratch on his car.”

Honestly, that did make Rafe’s nerves spark for a second, but more than that, it snapped him more sober. So, a win.

And as the two of you climbed into the car (after Rafe had held the door open for you again, obviously), he let out an excited chuckle as the Corvette’s engine rumbled through the garage, sounding almost as beautiful as your laugh.

“So,” he said with a crooked grin as he pulled out of the driveway, “where do you wanna go and desocialize?” (Rafe hadn't even known that fucking term existed)

Oh no. That cheeky smile of yours did not mean anything good.

“Kinda feeling like a McFlurry right now.”

Rafe almost cried out loud at the thought of having to steer your dad’s precious Corvette through the tiny-ass McDonald’s drive-thru.

But he wasn’t fucking whiny Topper, so he just forced a smile and said in a mockingly polite tone, “Sure. Whatever the lady desires.”

And the sweet laugh that escaped your lips after that made it almost worth the risk of scratching your dad’s goddamn Corvette in a shitty-ass McDonald's drive-thru.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

K M S M A S T E R L I S T | <- C H . 1 9 | C H . 2 0 ->

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

T A G L I S T F O R M (taglist for this series is CLOSED but you can sign up for my other stuff through this link)

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[dixonsdarkelf]

This was such a fucking hot read 🥵

"Looks like we're in here for the time," Daryl said, walking over to a window and looking out through a gap. "They ain't goin' anywhere anytime soon."

-with sarcasm- Oh no...whatever will I do...stuck with Daryl somewhere overnight...oh no...🤭

He glanced over at you, his eyes not giving away anything. "Just stay outta the damn way."

Awfully rude to someone who's gonna be doing you a favor here soon 🙄

You didn't reply; instead, you watched him, noticing the way his muscles moved under his shirt and the way his eyes darted around, constantly on alert. It was almost hypnotic—this man who lived on the edge of survival, so strong yet so guarded.

Oh baby, they’re hypnotic indeed…

As the minutes ticked by, you couldn’t help but glance at Daryl’s stomach, where his shirt had risen slightly when he sat down. Your eyes were drawn to the trail of hair that led from his belly button downwards, something you couldn’t ignore, and the more you tried to focus on something else, the more your gaze kept drifting back to him. Daryl shifted again, his eyes catching yours. "Got a problem or somethin'?"

-clears throat- Umm, no. Definitely no problems here, sir 😳

You didn't respond. You went down to your knees in front of him, your eyes locked on his and your fingers brushing against the skin of his stomach. His muscles tensed under your touch, but he didn't push you away. Instead, he watched you with curiosity.

Oooh Reader is so bold I love that.

"Ya keep makin' me harder," he said, his voice breaking. 

That would be the goal, babe 🤭

Daryl groaned loudly, his body arching due to the ruined orgasm. "Fuck, don't stop," he pleaded, his hands gripping your hair tighter. "I'm so fuckin' close."

Fuck that's hot 🥵

His moans grew louder as you finally gave in to him, your tongue swirling around his cock like a snake, leaving nothing untouched. Daryl gripped your hair tighter, and his thrusts grew more insistent, pushing you further on his cock as you gagged on him, and you took him deeper still while you could feel his balls tightening and the base of his shaft tensing.

Ho-ly Je-sus fucki-ing Ch-rist 🤯🤯🤯

Brushing the dust off your clothes when you got up as well, you turned to Daryl with a little bit of a spark in your eyes. "By the way, Daryl, I hope this check-up was thorough enough for you." He looked back at you with a confused expression on his face. "This check-up? What are ya talkin' about?" He asked, taking a step back from the window. You smirked as you got closer again, both your hands running over his belly one more time. "Well, considering how things went down, I think we both should consider this our routine maintenance from now on, don't you think?"

I, too, am looking forward to the next one 😉

Incredible, amazing, hot, and such a fun read. Thank you for writing this 🖤

𝐂𝐥𝛐𝐬𝐞 𝐐𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 ⋮ 𝔇𝔞𝔯𝔶𝔩 𝔇𝔦𝔵𝔬𝔫

𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: Trapped overnight by a horde of walkers during a supply run, you and Daryl Dixon find yourselves in close quarters with nothing but time on your hands. And the problem that you can't keep your hands to yourself.

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: Smut ⋮ Language ⋮ Oral Sex ⋮ Belly Kink

𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 2.664 𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: Fem!Reader

𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ⋮ 𝑹𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝑮𝒖𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔

"Keep ya eyes open," Daryl grunted and kept walking. His crossbow hung over his shoulder as his eyes looked left and right in search of any danger. He wasn't much for words, more action than unnecessary chit-chat, but you didn't complain. 

Today's task had been simple: Scavenge for as many supplies as you could until night began to fall, and then get back to the safety of the group. And that's exactly what you did, with your supply run partner being once again: Daryl Dixon.

You only nodded, holding your own weapon tightly. For all his rough exterior, you trusted him with your life. Over the last months, you've seen Daryl in action a lot of times already; to your eyes, he seemed to be one of the best survivors among the group. But tonight felt a bit off. It didn't feel like any other supply run; you were uncomfortable, and you just couldn't shake the feeling that something was likely to go wrong.

As the last rays of daylight finally vanished, sudden growls came from out of nowhere. You and Daryl immediately stopped dead in your tracks, your hearts racing in your chest as you realized that a small horde of walkers approached. Still, there were too many to take on, and running was definitely out of line. You had to find shelter, and fast.

"This way," Daryl whispered, tugging at your arm to lead you toward a building. He pushed open the door, and both of you slipped inside, shutting it as quietly as you could behind you. The room was dark and full of dust and the familiar smell of decay.

"Looks like we're in here for the time," Daryl said, walking over to a window and looking out through a gap. "They ain't goin' anywhere anytime soon."

You sighed, trying to steady your breathing. The reality of the situation was hitting you. Being stuck in this tiny, dark room with Daryl Dixon—with a horde of the undead outside—was just what you needed. 

Daryl, meanwhile, turned away from the window and explored the room further, but then he suddenly stopped and faced you. "Gonna need to check for scratches," he said, leaving very little room in his tone for argument. "Help me with my shirt."

"Okay, I guess..." You stepped closer, your hands shaking slightly as you reached for the hem of his shirt before you lifted it slowly to reveal his stomach. His skin was rough and scarred from the years of survival, but to you, it was mesmerizing.

"See anythin' on my back?" He asked, his eyes boring into yours.

You shook your head, trying to focus. "No, you're... definitely clear."

"Thanks," he said gruffly, pulling his shirt back down. His fingers brushed against your hand as he did, and for a brief moment, you both froze, but the sudden sound of a distant groan made Daryl’s eyes snap back to the window. "Damn it," he mumbled, annoyed. "We should make sure this place is safe."

You followed him as he began to inspect the room, moving from one corner to another. "You need any help?" You asked, trying to keep the stutter out of your voice.

He glanced over at you, his eyes not giving away anything. "Just stay outta the damn way."

You took a step back, feeling a bit disappointed. There was something almost painful about the way he kept you at arm’s length, like a barrier you could never cross. Yet, it only intensified your need to break through his walls.

He still hadn't found anything, so you turned your attention to an old armchair in the corner of the room. You walk over to it, brushing off some of the dust, thinking it might be a good place to take a seat and wait out the night. But in your approach, you had knocked over a few empty glass bottles, which shattered on the floor.

"Be careful, woman," he snapped at you. "Ya wanna attract more of 'em and get us killed?"

You immediately apologized and bent over to pick up the pieces, your face blushing with embarrassment. "Sorry, I didn't mean to."

Soon enough, he was done checking out the room, and he sat down in the armchair that you cleaned off. "Looks like we're stuck here for the night," he said, though not to you in particular.

Meanwhile, you sat down on the floor across from him, trying to get comfortable. Daryl's eyes looked at you, though he didn't really manage to hide behind his usual stoic expression. "Ya cold or somethin'?"

You shook your head. "No, I'm okay. Don't worry."

He nodded, and for a moment, you thought the conversation might end there. But then he shifted around in the chair, as if uncomfortable with the silence. "Ya’ve been quiet," he said, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Usually ya've got somethin' to say."

You hesitated, unsure of how to respond. "Just… thinking, I guess."

"Thinkin' 'bout what?" He asked, still looking at you.

You shrugged, trying to seem casual. "Everything. How things have changed since all of this started."

Daryl grunted, his eyes returning to the window. "Yeah, things've changed alright. Ain't much left in the world."

You didn't reply; instead, you watched him, noticing the way his muscles moved under his shirt and the way his eyes darted around, constantly on alert. It was almost hypnotic—this man who lived on the edge of survival, so strong yet so guarded.

As the minutes ticked by, you couldn’t help but glance at Daryl’s stomach, where his shirt had risen slightly when he sat down. Your eyes were drawn to the trail of hair that led from his belly button downwards, something you couldn’t ignore, and the more you tried to focus on something else, the more your gaze kept drifting back to him.

Daryl shifted again, his eyes catching yours. "Got a problem or somethin'?"

You looked away quickly, feeling your heart race. "Nope."

He raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, well, ya can't just sit there starin' at me like that."

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"

He sighed, leaning back in the chair and crossing his arms over his chest. "Alright. What is it ya wanna say?"

You fidgeted around, trying to find the right words. "I just… I guess I'm curious about you. About who you are when you’re not out fighting walkers or scavenging for supplies."

Daryl stared at you, his eyes darkening slightly. "And maybe I don't see the point in talkin' 'bout that."

You shifted on the floor, your movements restless. "Maybe we could make this night less pointless."

Daryl’s eyes narrowed. "What're ya talkin' 'bout?"

You hesitated, then took a deep breath. "I mean, we could talk about something else. Anything, really."

He studied you for a long moment, his expression guarded. Then, unexpectedly, he broke the silence. "Alright, fine. What do ya wanna know?"

You nodded. "What about before all this? What did you do?"

He seemed to ponder the question before answering. "Didn’t do much beyond huntin'."

You smiled faintly, lost in thought. "Sounds like a simpler life."

"Simple don't mean easy," he answered back quickly, looking away again.

Without even thinking, you closed the distance between the two of you, your heart racing in your chest and your hands shaking just a little bit as you held them out to him. Why? You didn't really know it yourself. You just did.

"What're ya playin' at?" He growled and narrowed his eyes.

You didn't respond. You went down to your knees in front of him, your eyes locked on his and your fingers brushing against the skin of his stomach. His muscles tensed under your touch, but he didn't push you away. Instead, he watched you with curiosity.

"You like this?" You asked, your whisper barely audible over the far-off moans of the walkers outside.

Daryl's jaw clenched, his eyes darkening. "What're ya tryin' to prove?"

You ignored his question, pressing your lips to his stomach in a matter of seconds. His skin was warm and slightly wet with salty sweat.

"Stop," he growled, but without conviction.

But you couldn't. You did not stop and continued to kiss and lick his stomach while your hands searched for every inch of his body. It was in the way his muscles twitched at your touch, the way his breath hitched—that really turned you on.

"You want this," you whispered, more a statement than a question.

Daryl's eyes blinked fast—part need, part hesitation. He was already at the edge, his breathing ragged, his eyes on you as if he willed himself to fight but failed.

"Yeah," he mumbled, his voice shaking. "Goddamn it… I want it."

That was all the motivation you needed. You reached out and placed your hand on Daryl's thigh, feeling him tense up slightly, but he still didn't pull away.

"I want to suck your cock," you whispered, your hand sliding up his thigh, closer to the bulge in his pants. As you reached for his belt, your fingers fumbling with the buckle, he helped you with shaking hands.

You smiled up at him, your fingers soon enough wrapped around the base of his cock, and slowly you leaned forward and pressed your lips to slide over the tip.

You teased him with soft, slow kisses, using just the very tip of your tongue to outline his head. His moans were very low and almost barely audible, but they fueled your lust all the same when you licked off the pre-cum.

"Fuck!" Daryl gasped, his hands gripping the sides of the chair. "Just get on with it."

Your mouth opened wide, and you took him in almost immediately, starting with just the head and letting it slide slowly past your lips. It was almost too much, that feeling of his cock in your mouth, and so you pulled back a bit, swirling your tongue around the head before trying to take him in further.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," Daryl mumbled, his eyes closed, as he fought to hold on to some sort of control.

Your hand didn't stop stroking the part of his shaft that wasn't in your mouth, moving in rhythm with your lips and your tongue's movements.

Daryl's hips bucked involuntarily with short thrusts, and every time he pushed forward, you took him deeper, feeling your throat expand around him.

"Ya keep makin' me harder," he said, his voice breaking. 

"Good. I want you to be," you grinned around him, and without hesitation, you dove back down on him, taking him in as deep as you could.

"Fuck, keep goin'," he urged. "Ya gonna make me lose it."

You were more than happy to obey, and you quickened the pace of your movements, your mouth sliding up and down his cock. His hands were gripping your hair now, guiding you and pushing you to take him even deeper. His groans were getting louder, sounding more desperate, and you could tell he was close already.

"Jesus, I'm gonna cum," he moaned, his voice trembling. "Gonna blow my load."

You smirked around his cock, but you certainly didn't mean to let him come just yet. Drawing back a bit, you let your tongue slide along the underside of his cock before swirling around the sensitive skin just below its head.

Daryl groaned loudly, his body arching due to the ruined orgasm. "Fuck, don't stop," he pleaded, his hands gripping your hair tighter. "I'm so fuckin' close."

At those words, your lips parted slightly, teasingly, allowing a strand of spit to connect you to his cock before you leaned forward again, but not taking him fully into your mouth.

"Goddamn it," Daryl groaned, his hips bucking reflexively. "Don't play 'round."

But you continued teasing him, your tongue playing with the pre-cum, letting it gather in your mouth before you let it drip back onto his cock.

"Tease me like this," he gasped, "and I'm gonna go fuckin' crazy."

"You want more?" you asked. "You want me to make you come?"

Daryl nodded desperately, his eyes half-closed. "Yes, fuck yes."

Instead of giving him what he wanted, you pulled away once again and began to kiss and lick his cock from the base up, sliding your tongue around his shaft and softly nibbling on it as you moved slowly back up, paying careful attention to every inch of his throbbing cock.

"Shit," Daryl moaned, his hands gripping your hair harder. "Fuck, stop teasin' me."

His moans grew louder as you finally gave in to him, your tongue swirling around his cock like a snake, leaving nothing untouched. Daryl gripped your hair tighter, and his thrusts grew more insistent, pushing you further on his cock as you gagged on him, and you took him deeper still while you could feel his balls tightening and the base of his shaft tensing.

"I'm gonna come," he warns, but you don't stop. You want to taste him and feel him explode in your mouth. "Oh, fuck," he cried out again, his grip on your hair tightening as he cursed. "I'm gonna fuckin' come!"

You sucked hard and long, your tongue twisting around the ridge of his cock, teasing the sensitive spot beneath. With every suck, you could feel the pulsating veins in his shaft, and finally, Daryl came. His cock throbbed and pulsed in your mouth as he shot thick ropes of cum, filling your mouth with the salty, bitter taste of it.

You pulled off of him with a smirk, having swallowed the last of Daryl's cum, your lips glistening with the remaining drops before you wiped it off with the back of your hand.

"You okay?" You asked as you leaned in to press a soft kiss to his stomach.

Daryl looked at you, a half-smile on his face as he met your gaze. "Yeah, I'm good."

You leaned in closer, letting your fingers explore the warm, sweaty skin of his belly. "So," you said, your voice playful, "since we're still trapped here, do you want to know what got us into this mess?"

Daryl's eyebrow arched upward in confusion. "What do ya mean?"

You pressed your lips lightly against his belly. "I was just thinking about how all this started. It was your belly that got me going in the first place."

Daryl's eyes narrowed slightly. "Oh, so that's why ya were starin', huh?"

"Yeah, I guess so. Your belly's kind of a big deal to me, but I can't really explain," you grinned up at him.

He smirked back in amusement. "Fine, if ya don't wanna."

You laughed softly, shaking your head. "No need to explain. Only appreciating the view."

"Well, don't get too distracted. We've still got loads of shit to do," he answered, getting up from the chair to prepare to take a quick look outside the window to see how many walkers are still outside and roaming around.

Brushing the dust off your clothes when you got up as well, you turned to Daryl with a little bit of a spark in your eyes. "By the way, Daryl, I hope this check-up was thorough enough for you."

He looked back at you with a confused expression on his face. "This check-up? What are ya talkin' about?" He asked, taking a step back from the window.

You smirked as you got closer again, both your hands running over his belly one more time. "Well, considering how things went down, I think we both should consider this our routine maintenance from now on, don't you think?"

Daryl's eyes widened for a second before he suddenly let out a small laugh. "A routine maintenance, huh? Alright. But next time, maybe we'll save the check-ups for a safer time. Now, get ya ass up and follow me."

"Deal. But I gotta say, I'm looking forward to the next routine check-up already," you laughed, following him to the door and closing it slowly behind you.

[yokedtablet]

Ellie asks Abby for advice on how to up her strap game and Abby volunteers to help her practice before her date (with Dina?)

-🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈

Off Limits

Contents: cursed roommate situationship, TENSION, teasing, minor humiliation, cheating, bad decisions, strap-on sex, strap sucking, dom bottom Abby, sub top Ellie, big clit Abby (it’s canon I swear), the boxers stay on during sex, overstimulation, unresolved feelings wc: 3.6k

“You’re wearing it wrong.”

This is the worst idea she’s ever had. 

Ellie’s standing in the living room, purple silicone strap jutting from her fully-clothed hips like a flag at half-mast. Abby leans over the kitchen counter, scrolling on her phone, eating chips with the other hand.

Ellie turns to head back to her room. Terrible, terrible fucking idea, asking Abby for help. “I’m just going to—”

“Don’t go anywhere, Williams.” Abby sets down her phone, stretches. She’s wearing a black tank top that clings to her abs, arms and shoulders on full display—not that she usually covers up around the house, anyway. “Let me see.” 

Ellie just stands there, face turning progressively more red as Abby crosses the living room with no urgency. And then she gets on her knees. 

That makes her feel something she absolutely, definitely, should not feel. 

Because this is for Dina. It was Dina’s idea in the first place, when they stopped outside the sex shop window and Dina dragged her in. Dina was the one that picked it out, and Ellie didn’t buy it then—she had to order it online, so that the cashier with the cool lip piercing wouldn’t know it was her. And also so she could surprise her girlfriend.

The problem is, she has no idea how to use it. Apparently, she doesn’t even know how to wear it.

Abby doesn’t seem to feel weird about this interaction at all, though. She tugs lightly at the harness, pulling Ellie’s hips toward her. Ellie tries to stay stable, balanced, as she loosens them, then pulls the strap downward so that it sits lower, almost between her legs. 

When Abby cinches the harness tighter, she feels the soft plastic settle against her clit, which is probably an indication that it’s in the right place. It also makes her suck in a breath, blush deepening. 

“Yeah, that’s better.” Abby stands and heads back to the counter, this time facing away from Ellie. She leans over to grab another chip, thighs and glutes stretching through jogging shorts. 

Ellie doesn’t really remember how to breathe. 

She reaches down, not really thinking, and strokes the shaft of the strap downward, testing the friction against her body. It gives her a warm, tingly feeling. Abby’s not looking—but she still shouldn’t be jerking off in front of her. 

They’re roommates. They’ve lived together for four years, and Ellie’s gone through several different girlfriends in that time. Dina for the past two. Dina is the only one who’s stuck. Abby never really warmed up to her, just kind of tolerated her presence through silent movie nights and awkward morning-after breakfasts. 

Why she agreed to help Ellie with her little problem, Ellie has no idea. 

Abby turns, still leaning over the counter. Her eyes flick to Ellie’s hand on the strap. Her expression doesn’t change. Not much.

“Do you know how to use it?”

“Would I have asked you if I did?” 

Ellie hates this, hates the way Abby needs to feel superior no matter what it is they’re doing—has to drag the admission out of her that she’s actually pretty lost and incompetent. Usually it’s about stupid things, like how Ellie doesn’t know what the check engine light on her dash means, or how to change the tire on her bike, or how to put together their IKEA coffee table. That night, Abby came home after she’d been working on it for hours, grabbed one of the legs out of her hands, re-attached the bracket she’d had on backwards, and handed it back. Then gave her a shrug to say, it’s easy when I do it.

Abby settles onto the couch, thighs spread wide, staring her down. “Show me.”

“You—what?”

“Show me what you’re going to do with it.” 

Ellie doesn’t know exactly what she’s asking for, and thrusting her hips into the air with the strap attached feels like potentially the most humiliating act on earth, aside from that one time she slipped and fell in the shower and had to talk Abby out of calling the fire department. 

Ellie groans, shoulders collapsing. “This is stupid. I’m not doing this.”

Abby softens, but just a little. It feels immediately condescending. “You need to get over whatever weird hangup you have about this if you want my help. Seriously. It’s not a big deal.”

When Ellie doesn’t react, she gives her a gentle nod. “C’mere.”

Ellie approaches, slowly, like she’s afraid Abby will reach out and bite her at any moment. 

“So, you want to surprise her. You want fuck her with it for the first time, like she’s been begging you to. Right?” 

The way she says it is so… clinical. Her eyebrows jump, waiting for Ellie to respond. 

“Yeah.”

“You’re gonna have to be more confident about it than that. Say it like you actually want to fuck her. Just pretend I’m her for a second.” Abby shifts on the couch, straightening her back, sitting more upright.

Ellie laughs. “Is that supposed to be Dina?”

“Yes. Shut up.”

Ellie hums in the back of her throat. She studies the purple cock between her legs. She shifts her hips back and forth lightly, making it swing a little. Then she steadies it with her hand, allowing herself just a little bit of brushing contact with her clit. “Yeah, uh. Gonna fuck you so good, baby.”

Abby collapses back against the couch cushions. “Jesus, Ellie. No.” 

“What?!”

“Does that usually work with girls?”

“I don’t usually talk… that much.”

“Okay, fine.” Abby composes herself again, trying and failing to look like she’s not enjoying this. “No talking, then.”

Ellie slumps onto the couch beside her. She feels completely stupid, utterly ridiculous. “Maybe I shouldn’t even do this.”

It’s quiet for a minute, before Abby’s warm palm meet’s Ellie’s thigh, just above the knee. She squeezes lightly. It’s a kind of tenderness Abby doesn’t usually show her. “Ellie. You’ve been talking about this for months.”

She has. She’s been practically bouncing off the walls with nervous energy, waiting for it to arrive, thinking over and over about how Dina will react when she sees it. The surprise, those dark eyes glinting darker. The thought alone makes something in her stomach twist. 

Abby’s hand slides up her thigh, over her sweats, then boings the strap with one finger. It vibrates against Ellie’s pelvis, sending waves of not-quite-enough pleasure through her core.

“Besides, I think you look kinda cute with it on.”

“Abby. Stop.” Ellie hides her face in her hands, trying to ignore the warmth in her stomach—which is inevitably spreading to her cheeks. She’s always been extremely easy to fluster, and Abby knows exactly how to take advantage of that.

“I’m serious.” From behind her hands, Ellie feels the change in Abby’s tone. No longer teasing or condescending. Like she actually means it. “You could be a real menace with that thing if you wanted to.”

Twist and click. Something settles in Ellie’s mind, some knowing she’s always had but never looked at head-on—like she can’t look at Abby now. She’d hoped, always telling herself this was off limits, it could never happen. It’s wrong because Abby’s her roommate. It’s wrong because of Dina.

But suddenly Abby’s coldness toward her first real girlfriend makes sense. Abby, ever dissecting, can see her starting to understand. Seeing the threads come apart.

“Abby—”

“You wanted me to show you, right?”

She’s always been impulsive. It’s how she ends up working odd jobs she hates, or smoking cigarettes with strangers, or driving out to the country for no real reason. She acts before she thinks. It’s very her.

So she nods, body reacting before her brain can process what this really means.

Abby stands, this time a little more stiffly. She spends an unnecessary amount of time tightening her braid, and then she settles into a low kneel—between Ellie’s legs, nudging them apart slightly to make more space. 

Ellie can’t breathe. She can’t move. She sits there, completely still, just staring. And Abby stares back, eyes so hard they burn. 

And then that hand on her thigh again—this time on the inside edge, this time inching upward slowly, as a question. 

“Tell me to stop.”

She wants to. She should. But her throat is dry and whatever the fuck is happening right now is something she doesn’t want to end.

The pressing thought of Dina flutters and dissipates the moment Abby’s hand reaches the base of the strap, holding it gently. Looking up. She gives Ellie one final moment to resist, then places a soft kiss on the silicone tip. 

Ellie slaps a hand over her mouth to cover the pathetic sound that was about to come out of her. It’s not like she can feel it. But it’s exactly the absence of feeling, the promise of feeling, that makes her shudder. 

Abby smiles at her, sharp and devious. “Jesus, you’re a mess. I haven’t even touched you.”

Ellie’s hips push into Abby’s hand, thrusting the strap toward her—asking, begging, for something more. She knows how pathetic she looks. She knows it’s exactly what Abby wants, and she can’t bring herself to care. 

Eyes never leaving Ellie’s, Abby lowers herself until her cheek rests in the crook of Ellie’s hip—the warm, heavy weight of her, dampened through Ellie’s sweats. Then she licks a slow stripe from the base of the strap to the tip. 

She can’t hold it in this time—a moan that’s half curse and half nonsense and half “Abby,” which is too many halves, because Ellie is in pieces. She grabs for Abby’s hair as some kind of anchor, pulling her head back a little too hard. 

Abby’s teeth are gritted, eyes hard. She lets Ellie hold her there for a minute too long, and then Ellie lets go, and Abby is pulling away from her, and fuck, Ellie feels like she’s been punched in the gut. 

Taller, bigger than she’s been, Abby towers over her. Her face is flushed with something like anger. 

“Room. Now.”

Words mean things, right? These words definitely mean something. Things that Ellie isn’t quite ready to make sense of. She is, however, leaping off the couch, following Abby’s fast clip to her bedroom, and stepping inside before Abby slams the door shut.

It’s warmer in here. The smaller space traps both their body heat against them in the layers of clothes on the floor and stacks of Abby’s books and bath towel on the wall and powerlifter posters on the walls. She feels Abby’s heat even before she gets close to her, and now she’s closing in, so close that Ellie can feel her breath on her forehead.

Thick fingers pinch the waistband of Ellie’s sweats. “You can keep these on, but it won’t feel as good.”

Ellie lets out a breathless laugh, trying hard not to press herself up against Abby’s toned body right now. “Are you trying to get me naked?”

Abby’s thumb brushes her jaw. “I don’t care—” Voice tense, full of care.

It shouldn’t be this easy. It shouldn’t feel this natural for Ellie to shrug the harness off her hips, and then her sweatpants, kicking them away, until she’s just in her boxers and a t-shirt that’s too thin. Abby’s thumbprint is searing into her skin, and she’s so close and too far away, and not touching her enough. Why won’t she touch her?

She doesn’t ask. She stands on her toes, reaching, and kisses her. Abby’s lips are hard, unresponsive for a moment, before they softly open. Ellie’s tongue slips inside. 

Firm hands pull at her waist, her hips, until their bodies are flush, and Ellie feels like she might catch on fire. She squirms, hand tensing in Abby’s tank top for dear life, when Abby dips a hand lower, between her thighs. She murmurs something into Abby’s mouth.

Her touch is blunt, antagonistic, fingers working over her underwear. Ellie’s knees give, only held up against Abby’s bodyweight. 

And then the touch is gone, and Ellie stumbles. Abby nudges her backward a little too hard, making space between them, just looks her over, up and down. Wipes her mouth on her forearm.

“That’s not what you asked me for.” 

It’s like a tearing, wrenching feeling in her gut. She fucked it up. She shouldn’t have kissed her. But then Abby’s eyes drift to the floor where the strap lies, discarded.

“Put it on.”

Abby peels off her tank top—she’s not wearing anything underneath—then her shorts and underwear in one smooth movement. And Ellie chokes on air.

It’s not like she’s never seen her half-naked. Abby’s not really huge on modesty. All those post-shower occasions Ellie ran into her in the kitchen, towel wrapped around her hips with nothing covering her top half, and tried incredibly hard not to stare. But now she sees it, the way Abby’s eyebrows arch—the way she dares her to look. It’s always been an invitation, a dare, and Ellie is the most oblivious fucking person in the world. 

She dares—allows—Ellie’s gaze to drift lower, to the light curls that start at the v-line of her hips and intensify over her mound, clenched between thick thighs. And—holy fucking hell. She’s imagined it, and she was actually right. The tip of Abby’s clit pokes through her curls, even standing like this. She would be on her knees with her mouth on it, right fucking now, if Abby didn’t clearly have other plans for her.

“Sit.” 

She makes it to the edge of the bed, just barely, before her knees give. She wants to collapse, but instead she props herself up, now sitting flush with Abby’s hips. There’s that thumb on Ellie’s jaw again. Brushing. It slips toward Ellie’s lower lip, urging her mouth open.

Then Abby is climbing on top of her, straddling her hips, weight sinking into the mattress. Her warm thighs frame Ellie’s, the weight of her hips coming to rest on Ellie’s pelvis. 

The purple strap rests between them, against Abby’s abdomen and mound. Ellie can only admire it there, the way it brushes soft curls with the gentle movement of their bodies. 

“If you don’t want—”

“Abby.” It’s all she can get out, and Abby knows exactly what she means. How fucking dare she think Ellie would back out now. 

That’s all it takes. 

Abby rises to her knees, all concentration and flexed muscle, and positions the strap where she needs it. The moment Ellie feels the tip meet resistance, base rutting low into her clit, she starts to whimper. She grabs onto Abby’s ass just to have something, anything solid to hold onto, and Abby hisses as she sinks down onto it, silicone stretching that ring of tight muscle. 

“Fuck, Abby.” Wetness spreads inside her boxers. She knows she’s ruining them. She’s just barely holding it together, because Abby is giving Ellie her full weight, the strap buried inside her. They barely move, Ellie just feeling the pressure against her, watching Abby’s chest tighten, her breaths get shallow. 

Abby grabs the back of her neck and pulls her into a kiss. She’s rough, needy, tongue searching. Abby lifts herself and sinks back down, and all the warmth and clenching sends ripples down the shaft and straight through Ellie’s core. 

Her hips rise to meet Abby’s—at first tentative, then giving her more. More impact, more depth, until she feels Abby growl against her throat. Ellie grips her ass tighter, soft and tense all at once, and uses it to thrust herself upward until she’s doing most of the work. 

Every thrust sends a spasm of need through her cunt, the strap hitting the top of her clit, not giving her enough. She’s sweating and Abby’s sweating and she needs more skin, so when Abby pulls her shirt over her head, she doesn’t resist. Abby’s fingers roll over her nipples, hard and pinching, like she’s trying to pull Ellie up into her harder. Her hips work frantically, not enough space under Abby’s, not enough—

“Can we—”

Abby’s nodding, stray hairs plastered to her scalp with sweat, and lifts herself off of Ellie’s lap slowly. Ellie nearly cums just from the sight of the strap, now slick with Abby’s juices, glistening. She pumps it in her fist, shameless, grinding the base into her clit and feeling her own wetness soak through her underwear. God, she needs this, she needs it so bad.

She needs Abby, who sprawls out on the mattress, knees bent so that Ellie can see exactly what she’s doing to her. 

She surprises Abby and herself, lifting Abby’s hips so they rest over her own. She wants to rush, heart and cunt throbbing in equal rhythm, but forces herself to slow down. To savor. She runs her hands up Abby’s thighs, thumbs coming to rest in curls that are already wet. Massaging slowly, inching toward the place Abby needs her most.

She watches Abby’s head fall back, abs clenching, hands grabbing blindly at the bedsheets. And Ellie is the one doing this to her. If she had known… If she had known, this would have happened a hell of a lot sooner. 

She sinks two fingers into Abby’s cunt in a way that makes her clench down instinctively. Fuck. The warmth, the sheer strength of Abby’s muscles, gripping her tightly. She can barely move inside of her, so she drags her other hand over Abby’s clit, which makes her hips buck into Ellie’s touch. 

It pulses against her palm. Abby makes low, desperate noises, hips grinding for more friction. Lost in it. 

Ellie savors this as long as Abby will let her. The teasing, the probing of Abby’s body for tender spots that make her twitch and whine. Using her wetness to slick her pulsing clit, stroking its underside, thumbing over the tip until Abby tries to jerk away, only succeeding in pressing herself harder into Ellie’s fingers. 

And she’s fed up pretty quickly, because Abby can be patient, but not that patient, and Ellie’s own need is rolling through her with a new intensity. So when Abby rasps out, “Just fuck me already,” Ellie does exactly what she asks. 

The strap sinks into her easily, this time with a thrust of Ellie’s pelvis, so hard it makes Abby gasp. There’s a momentary pause—a glance, a nod—another yes, another yes, I’ve been waiting, I’ve been trying to tell you, I need—

Ellie fucks into her fast and hard. This new angle brings the base of the strap against her perfectly, sliding against her clit until she’s climbing faster than she means to, nails biting into Abby’s thighs. Her pace gets erratic and reckless, knowing she should slow down, but fuck fuck fuck

She doesn’t mean to, she usually doesn’t, and it happens too quickly, and her own thighs are shaking under Abby’s as she comes, clit throbbing hard against the strap. She’s been holding her breath and lets it out, fingers scrabbling to ground herself, trying and failing—

Abby isn’t finished. She rolls her hips in slow circles, watching Ellie twitch and shudder. 

It’s too much. She burns hot, almost doubling over, but Abby’s ankles lock behind her. 

“Abby, I can’t—”

Abby pushes herself up just enough to yank Ellie down on top of her, legs still sealed around her hips. Ellie sinks deeper. Her open mouth meets Abby’s chest, tongue slick, tasting salt. 

“You will.”

Ellie tries to find her pace again, hips stuttering, head and gut swimming with too much, and she chokes out a sob as Abby rushes to meet her—harder, unforgiving. 

“Good, Ellie.” Her voice is tight and thick, and Ellie can feel her tensing erratically. “Just a— little more.”

And she tries, she really tries, redoubling her efforts, finding her rhythm despite the burning ache that threatens to rise up and overtake her. And it is, it will, she can’t—

She’s not sure if the wetness on her thighs is Abby’s or her own, because Abby grips her tightly, trapping her inside while she comes. Ellie can’t untangle herself, can’t possibly find her own limbs, the ends of her body, and doesn’t want to. She’s melted, fucked-out, not a thought in her mind besides this this this over and over. 

It’s Abby that moves, finally. Abby that lifts Ellie effortlessly off of her, out of her, Ellie whining at the loss of contact. Ellie can only flop into the bed as Abby draws herself up, stands naked in the room, lingers there.

“I need a shower.” She says it plainly, like she’d say to her any other day. Like she’s her regular roommate again, not the roommate who just fucked her until her brain stopped working. 

Abby grabs her towel, and then she’s gone.

Ellie listens—sounds of the faucet running, the shower turned on, water splashing at regular intervals. Abby washing her off. Her skin is still sticky with sweat, her lips raw, her boxers soaked with her and Abby all over them. She won’t ever take them off. 

This means something. There’s a shift, something falling, blankets sliding onto the floor. Ellie has broken something open inside herself with sharp edges that will cut whatever she touches. Abby, Dina, anyone who comes close. She knows this. She knows she’ll have to face it.

For now, she lets the rushing of the shower fill her ears, drown the buzzing in her mind. For now, she lets herself sink. 

-------

Taglist: @smellslike-updyke @ellies-moth-to-a-flame @cinnamonstrr @elliemulate @gardengnosticator @arabellyn @abbysreal-wife @winestainedwhiskers @thenameissnix @enmauchimaki @rareanduselessbird @justanotherabbystan @glass-apothecary @hostileplanets (reply to be added or removed!)

[taodarlington]

LOVE. , wave to earth .ೃ࿐ todoroki shoto

SYNOPSIS : todoroki shoto just can't seem to find the perfect time to tell you how he feels.

NOTES : ask and you shall receive, pt 2(ish) to HARVEY, no use of y/n, fluff

"midoriya."

the freckled boy look up with wide, curious eyes. "hey, todoroki! what's on your mind?"

todoroki shoto blinked. "how do you tell someone of your feelings?" he asked without missing a beat.

midoriya blinked back in equal confusion, completely misunderstanding his words. "..huh? todoroki, are you feeling okay? do you need someone to talk to?" the boy asked, worried about his friend's wellbeing.

todoroki shook his head with an adamant frown. "no. i need.. i need to tell.. someone.. that i have.. feelings for them." he struggled out. cue midoriya's excited stuttering.

"oh! is.. is it-" the poor boy could barely get his own words out, too excited for his friend. "ah, uh, i don't have much experience with things like this.. but maybe you should.. get flowers! yeah, flowers sounds right. or a more personal gift. or food. food always works, right? i don't know, maybe a letter-"

"i don't want it to be big or anything. it just has to be perfect. it has to be. nothing less of that is worthy." todoroki stood with his hands clenched by his sides, a determined look on his face. midoriya nodded. "okay, let's do it! i'll try my best to help!"

the heterochromatic boy didn't need to say anything for izuku to immediately know who he was talking about. it was you, definitely you. the seemingly stoic boy never talked about anyone else the way he'd talk about you, with such care in his voice and that gentle warmth in his eyes.

the next day came around. todoroki knocked on your dorm door very early in the morning, as usual, asking you if you wanted to eat breakfast together like you always did. you nodded with a grin, fixing your hair one last time before grabbing your bookbag and heading down with him into the lounge.

he stood close to you in the elevator, closer than usual. not that you minded. he tended to drift towards you naturally, you noted. he was noticeably quieter, despite the default questions about if you had rested well last night.

when you reached the lounge, he set your usual breakfast of cut fruits and yogurt parfait down in front of you, opting for cold soba himself.

you were in the middle of joking around about how you never saw him eat anything besides cold soba when you noticed a peculiar sight.

todoroki shoto was fidgeting. you went silent, chewing on a slice of apple. "sho, you're super quiet this morning. is something on your mind?" you asked, a bit concerned.

todoroki immediately snapped out if his daze, subtly shaking his head no. "i'm okay. i actually wanted to ask you-"

"hey, good morning!!" a voice suddenly called, interrupting todoroki and forcing his next words to die on his tongue. the both of you turned to see kirishima coming down the stairs, dragging a half-asleep kaminari with him. you and kirishima shared two identical smiles before he saw the food on your plates. "cool, breakfast! is there extra?"

todoroki silently glared at kirishima for unknowingly interrupting him, but it went unnoticed. "no, sorry. i only made enough for two." he replied in a tight voice.

kirishima didn't seem to notice, instead nodding wholeheartedly. "that's fine, todoroki! it's really nice of you to make breakfast for someone else besides yourself! i'll just go check the pantry." he replied, sitting kaminari down at the kitchen island (said blond slumped over and fell asleep on the counter with a quiet complaint about how early school was).

you turned back to todoroki. "shoto, what were you going to say?" the boy sighed. "it.. wasn't important. i'll tell you later. after morning class."

and so, once the bell rang for lunch time, shoto immediately beelined toward you to grab your bookbag, slinging it over his shoulder along with his own backpack.

"are you going to tell me what's been running around in that head of yours, now?" you teased him, walking side by side with the boy.

he nodded, leading you towards your usual table. because the rest of your friends were all in the lunch line to order, you had the table to yourselves for a moment.

todoroki sat down across from you, reaching into his pockets and pushing little origami lilies towards you.

you looked down at his hands, which were fumbling with the trinkets. "sho, what are these for? did you get bored in class?"

todoroki shook his head again. he's been shaking his head a lot today. "i made these all for you." he replied softly, his voice lowering to a soft murmur.

you were lost for words, not expecting the sudden act of affection from him. this never usually happened, as he was always paying close attention to the lectures during class and used study hall to do his homework instead of chatting with others like everyone else. "really? thanks. they're, uh, they're pretty."

the boy visibly brightened at your words again. "listen, i really needed to talk to you about something. it was what i was going to tell you this morning. you see, i actually-"

"hey, you two! what do you think you're doing!? this is lunch time! heroes in training need to have a sufficient amount of food in order to maintain their energy, especially for our classes later in the afternoon!" iida called out as he speedwalked towards the table, with uraraka and midoriya (who had an apologetic look on his face) following.

todoroki was about to tear his hair out. scratch that, he's going to singe it from annoyance and then tear it all out.

he finally found you sitting alone on the steps to the dorm building after classes and afternoon training had ended. he sat down next to you, hands folded in his lap and thumbs picking at his cuticles. you glanced over at him, opening your mouth to speak--

"i have feelings for you."

todoroki paled. he wasn't supposed to say that.

he was supposed to tell you about how beautiful the late afternoon sky was. he planned it all in his head. every detail. he was going to compare you to the sun-- no. he was going to tell you how the sun was merely background in comparison to you. present you with a heartfelt confession. not like.. this. not like he was a stupid little two year old toddler who could barely form coherent sentences.

he tried to save himself. desperately. "i mean, i feel a certain way around you- wait, no-"

you cut him off with your hand placed over his, stopping him from picking at his nails in anticipation.

"shoto, i like you, too."

todoroki stopped miserably sputtering, a bit of color returning to his face. "you.. you do?"

you nodded firmly. "yes, i do. is that what you've been trying to tell me all day?" you asked him with a small smile.

todoroki quickly looked away from you and down at the concrete steps, but you could tell he was a bit flustered by the way his shoulders shrugged up the slightest fraction. "yes. but i was always interrupted, or it was never the perfect time."

you offered him a sweet smile, one of the ones that had his entire world lighting up at the thought of you. the one that was what he was supposed to describe to you about. the one that made the sun look dull and gloomy next to you.

todoroki visibly flushed this time. your other hand reached up to brush his bangs away from his face, your eyes locking with his. "it didn't have to be perfect, shoto. it just had to be right. and this feels right. so, to me, it's perfect."

todoroki shoto returned your words with a wobbly smile. "i'm glad you feel the same way i do."

yeah, this was right. this felt right.

about four hours later, todoroki looked in his mirror to see that the red locks of his hair had, in fact, singed themselves on the ends.

do not copy, translate, or repost my work.

masterlist ༊ requests

xoxo, tao

[rainrot4me]

Hii!!!! I really like your stuff :3

How do you think the pastas would react to their S/O wanting to try period sex?

✦ . jeff the killer

“Blood doesn’t scare me, sweetheart.”

Jeff just raises a brow like, “That’s supposed to stop me?” This is a guy who’s usually covered in some other kind of blood.

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even hesitate. If anything, he gets a little smirk on his face. “Kinda metal, honestly.”

But he will make a few jokes about it—“Should I light some candles or summon a demon?”—and you’ll have to swat at him to get him to behave.

Will 100% brag about being unbothered.

✦ . ticci toby

“…Uh. Yeah. I mean—if you’re comfortable, I’m good.”

He’s a little flustered. Not because he’s squeamish—he’s seen far worse—but because you’re the one asking, and that sends his thoughts spinning.

He’ll ask a lot of questions to make sure you’re okay, and he’ll be a bit awkward at first, but he wants to make you feel wanted, no matter what.

The moment you reassure him, he’s all in. Just…maybe don’t joke about red wings. He’ll die on the spot.

✦ . eyeless jack

“You’re asking a surgeon if he’s bothered by blood?”

Jack tilts his head and hums like you’ve just proposed something mildly interesting.

He’s the definition of unbothered. Will keep the same calm tone and intense gaze, like he’s analyzing your comfort more than anything else. He does appreciate your vulnerability in asking, though. Might even praise you for being open.

You get a little extra softness from him afterward—gentle cleanup, checking in, maybe even cooking something for you.

✦ . masky (tim wright)

“You’re serious?”

Masky looks at you like you’re testing him. At first, it’s that quiet stare of “why are you telling me this” but it quickly shifts to “…Wait, you’re serious?”

He doesn’t care about mess—he’s practical, intense, and if it brings you comfort or closeness, he’s not backing out.

He probably won’t say much, but the grip he has on you says more than enough.

✦ . hoodie (brian thomas)

“If that’s what you want, then it’s what you’ll get.”

He doesn’t blink. He just leans in close and says it low. He has a quiet, collected dominance about him that makes you feel safe even when asking something vulnerable.

He might pull you into his lap, tuck your hair behind your ear, and murmur, “Just say the word.”

He does keep a towel nearby. Man’s prepared, respectfully.

✦ . kate the chaser

“Finally, someone who doesn’t flinch at a little blood.”

Kate grins, a little wolfish. “Messy? Sure. Problem? Nope.”

She’ll pin you down just to watch your reaction, hands gentle but grip firm. It’s kind of a bonding thing to her. She appreciates the honesty and boldness of asking—and respects that you know what you want.

She might even make a ritual out of checking on you afterward, cleaning you up, and curling up close in an almost protective way.

✦ . ben drowned

“Aren’t we like…already in a horror movie?”

Ben is a bit of a menace. He’s not grossed out, but he will make jokes. The first thing he says is probably, “Hot,” just to watch you squirm. He’s weirdly comfortable with the concept and makes it less awkward by not treating it like a big deal.

“Blood and gore? Boring. You being into it? Now that’s interesting.”

(He might even pause the game for you—maybe.)

✦ . clockwork

“You’re seriously worried about a little blood? Look at me.”

Clockwork gives you a look. She’ll lean in, smirk curling sharp, and tap her clock eye with her fingernail. “Honey, I’m literally part machine.”

She finds it kind of empowering, actually. You trusting her enough to bring it up? That earns you her full attention.

She’ll make sure you feel in control the whole time—gentle where it counts, but rough enough that you feel wanted.

✦ . laughing jack

“Darling, you think that’s gonna scare me off?”

He bursts out laughing, throwing his head back like you just told the best joke.

Then he wiggles his fingers and gets real close: “I’m already a monster, sweets. You think a little natural disaster’s gonna stop me?”

He’s dramatic, teasing, but also surprisingly attentive. Will make sure you’re cozy and comforted. Might bring you candy afterward just because he’s still Jack.

✦ . slenderman

“…If this is your desire, it is no trouble.”

Slender speaks calmly, formally, and never once lets you feel ashamed. His aura alone says this is natural, this is safe.

He respects your autonomy and doesn’t recoil or hesitate. You’ll find his movements slower, more purposeful, like he’s hyperaware of what you need.

And afterward? He brings you warm tea, clean clothes, and wordlessly braids your hair if you let him.

꩜ .ᐟ

[ysrjune]

SCOTT BARRINGER X PREGNANT READER @ MT. HORIZON.

• Scott isn't pleased to hear that you're pregnant. He knows that this falls on him for the most part because he didn't use protection, but he's still upset. Despite the way he feels, he does the right thing and stays with you.

• He has now become even more protective of you. Anyone who dares to make any sort of joke about you or the baby growing inside your tummy is 100% getting checked by him. Your pregnancy isn't a joke to him, and he won't let anyone else take it as one either.

• Shelby and Juliet are upset once they find out you've been knocked up by Scott. The guy they both had before you. They don't exactly like each other, but they do enjoy talking about you.

“She probably trapped him.” Shelby rolls her eyes. “Yeah. There's no way Scott wanted to stay with her. She did this on purpose, knowing that he'd stay because he'd feel bad..”

Even though Jules is jealous, she's not that bad. If she sees that you're having trouble because of the baby, she'll put on a fake smile and warm tone and help you out. She's mad at you, not the baby.

Shelby, on the other hand, will just stare and smirk, watching you struggle with whatever you're doing. “Should have thought twice before deciding to let him do it without a condom.” She says while passing by you.

• Peter and the other counselors let Scott into the girls' cabin ONLY because of you. He told them that if anything were to happen to you and he wasn't the first one to know, he wouldn't feel right. He needs to know how you are 24/7.

• He ignores all the girls in the cabin if they aren't talking to him about stuff the group is going to do the next day or during the day. He's also not in the cabin much. If you're not in there, it makes him uncomfortable to be in there all by himself with the other girls.

• None of the girls can ever hear what he says even if they're a bed away from you and him. Scott talks in a very low voice because he doesn't want them to know what he's saying. He keeps your business on the low: Appointments, the day that you and him are leaving Horizon for the day of your baby shower/gender reveal, and the gender of the baby.

• When the guys ask him what the baby is, he simply shrugs and says he doesn't know, and you won't tell him because it's a surprise. He doesn't want to get into the "Well what if it's a girl and when she's this and that -" blah blah blah. He doesn't want to discuss it with them. Although he's glad that you're having a boy, he would be okay with a girl.

“What should we name him?” You ask. “Definitely Junior.” Scott winks with a chuckle. “Oh, sure.” You roll your eyes. “Be serious, Scott.”

“Matthew?”

“That's my ex-boyfriend's name.”

“Oh, right.” Scott icks at the reminder. “Something with an L? I like L names.”

“Landon? Lawrence? Leslie?”

“Leslie?” He almost looked offended. “No. No to all of those. What about Leonardo? That's not a bad name.”

It was really that easy and quick to choose the baby's name.

• Waking up at three in the morning in a rush to go tell one of the counselors that you needed to go to the hospital ASAP because you were in labor was not fun at all. He was so stressed and tired.

• He had to stay at Horizon while you were taking care of Leo back at home. He wasn't happy at all about it, but his parents and the staff of Mt. Horizon thought it was best for him to get better before really becoming a father. He thinks it's so stupid because you and Leo need him. He has a fear of Leo not remembering who he is.

• Thankfully, you and Leo are allowed to visit every Saturday. Scott thinks that he should at least get both days out of the weekend, but if this is what he has to deal with, he accepts it.

@bxbyysstuff @anakinstwinklebunny @lovethestarrs @valloos @anisangeldust @xo-yaaaaaas-xo @anakinca @dollfilmz @gothams-sweetheart @sockiess @sythethecarrot @speaknow-sw @loveamira @alealuvshayden @mvst4far @prettiestmini @amiratheangel @blckberrie @literally-izzyy @litt1e-misssunsh1ne @chanelluvstvd @hearts4sammonroe @fratbrochrisgf

[orbitalwings]

'Now hounds of love are hunting, I've always been a coward, And I don't know what's good for me...'

Lace Harding | Mabari of Love

My piece for @datvcompanionweeks' Harding Week 2025.

Full credit to @circesoracle for the idea. She also wrote this fantastic fic and made a Harding playlist (which yes features Hounds of Love) so you should definitely go check those out too!

[hatethysinner]

if you take little prompts, could i propose a jealous remmick drabble with a breeding kink? 👀

"I’m gonna fill you up, make sure you carry somethin of me forever"

ᴍᴇᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱ

ᴡᴄ: 6.9k (i giggled too)

ᴀ/ɴ: the title choice... if you know you know. anyways, i needed to get my freak on and god damn did i do just that. i adore fluff but sometimes i just can't say no to my pussy. please don't talk to me about the mental state i was in while writing this. i simply have no excuses, take me to horny jail. though i will say i feel WAY more confident about writing smut now. i think i should do these more often because it's kind of an outstanding way for me to stretch my legs if you will. THAT SOUNDS SO CRAZY LAMFJDJHVHBJDV but i even got over my fear of em dashes just a tiny bit. also, this was a combination of like 3 asks in 1 and you'll definitely SEE which ones i'm talking about when you check the warnings. anons, you know who you are!

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: 18+ MDNI (!!!), filthy disgusting shameless smut, minimal plot all porn, exes, stalking, very rough sex, p in v, cunnilingus, fingering, spit kink, degradation kink, breeding kink, dumbification, sadism, masochism, choking, spanking, biting, dacryphilia, overstimulation, eye contact, drooling, cuckolding, infidelity, bloodplay, threats of violence, fantasizing about violence, graphic violence, murder, dark!dom!remmick, sub!fem!reader, reader is just as freaky, vague setting, excessive use of pet names, excessive use of italicization, read at your own discretion

The night was quiet. Too quiet.

Not the kind of quiet that came with peace. Not the softness of contentment or rest. This was the kind of silence that felt like it was waiting. Like something pressed against the windows, unseen, watching the curve of your back as you moved through the hallway in your robe, your bare feet barely whispering against the floor.

You should’ve been asleep. But the bed felt too big tonight.

Your husband was out, running one of his rare late-night errands. Something about a friend’s stalled car, a favor owed. He’d apologized for leaving, pressed a kiss to your forehead, a hand brushing the side of your face like he always did. “Won’t be long,” he promised. “I hate sleeping without you.”

And he meant it. He always did. He was that kind of man.

You loved him. You did. He was good. Honest. Steady. The kind of man who brought home your favorite pastries without being asked, who offered to do the dishes before you even touched your plate. You didn’t marry him expecting fireworks. You married him because you were tired of chasing smoke.

But some nights, like tonight, you still missed the fire.

You leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping lukewarm tea you’d already forgotten to drink, robe slipping off one shoulder. The tile was cool beneath your feet. The hum of the refrigerator filled the space like static, soft and constant.

And then, like it always did when you let your mind wander too far, the memory of him crept in.

Remmick.

A name you hadn’t spoken in years. A man you hadn’t touched in longer.

You cut him off like you were supposed to. You did it for your own good. Your sanity. Your future. But Lord, if there wasn’t something in the way he ruined you that no one else had been able to match since.

He didn’t beg. He didn’t need to. Just looked at you in that way that made your stomach knot and your thighs press together. He touched you like he was claiming something. Deep, slow, maddeningly precise. He didn’t fuck fast. He fucked full. He filled you, stretched you, split you open in ways that made you forget your own name. And when he looked at you—

God, when he looked at you.

It was like you were his favorite meal. His last drink. His only prayer.

Your husband never looked at you like that. He looked at you with kindness, sure. But never hunger. Never need. Never like you were something to be devoured.

You closed your eyes, set your mug down. The ache between your legs pulsed, low and steady, like a bruise remembered. You shouldn’t miss him. You shouldn’t want him.

But you did.

You always had.

And it had been so long since someone made you come the way Remmick used to. Effortlessly, endlessly, like he knew every part of you before you even touched yourself for the first time.

You shivered.

Outside, thunder rumbled low in the distance.

Somewhere, not nearly far enough, Remmick was still out there.

Waiting.

And, of course, it had to be tonight when he came.

The knock was sharp. Not loud. But sure. Like whoever stood behind that door knew you were already halfway toward it, breath stuck somewhere between your ribs. You froze in the hallway, mug still warm in your palm, heart already catching on a beat you hadn’t felt in years.

Three more taps followed. Firm. Even. Familiar.

You didn’t need to check the window. Didn’t need to ask who it was.

Your feet moved on their own.

When you opened the door, there he stood.

Remmick.

Older, sharper, polished like glass but dangerous like a blade. He leaned against the frame like he owned it, like he’d been here before and would be again. That light blue shirt was pressed clean, top buttons undone just enough to show a sliver of white undershirt and the chain you remembered. Gold, delicate, glinting faint in the porch light. Black slacks. A belt with a gold buckle. Suspenders hanging easy off his shoulders.

His hair was slicked back, still dark, still wild in places where the waves refused to be tamed. But it was his eyes, those deep sea-blue eyes, the unmistakable red glow, that made you forget how to breathe. That looked at you like you were the only thing that had ever made him feel.

He didn’t just see you.

He devoured you.

“Well, hey there, darlin’,” he said, low and slow and unmistakably him. He didn’t bother hiding the curve of his grin. Fangs bared. Sharp. Bright. Gorgeous.

Your pulse tripped over itself.

“What…” You swallowed. “What are you doin’ here?”

That smile stretched wider, lazier. He stepped forward just enough for the porch light to catch the edges of his collarbone, the hollow of his throat.

“Y’know damn well why I’m here.”

There wasn’t an ounce of shame in his voice. Not one drop of hesitation. Just velvet certainty, dragging you backward into something you’d spent years clawing your way out of. Something you never stopped missing.

You blinked at him, trying to level your tone. “My husband—”

“Ain’t here,” Remmick said quick and flat, like it was obvious. He glanced down the street. “Car’s gone. Bedroom light’s off. Not a single trace of that man in this house ‘cept that little ring you’re tryin’ to hide behind your fingers.”

You dropped your hand before you could stop yourself.

He tilted his head. “Still nervous, huh?”

“Remmick—”

“You alone?”

Your lips parted, but the truth had already settled between you like smoke. You knew the question was redundant. That he was simply trying to drive home the point.

“…Yeah.”

His mouth twitched. Not a smile. Not exactly. Something darker. Warmer. Hungrier.

“Knew it,” he murmured. “Knew he didn’t know what to do with ya.”

Your breath hitched.

He leaned forward, just a few inches, but it knocked the air right out of your lungs. The air between you changed. Heavy. Hot. Close. The kind of air that pulled your thighs tight and made your stomach knot with something sharp and sweet and old.

“Ya look beautiful,” he said, his eyes raking over you. “But y’knew that already.”

You should’ve closed the door. Should’ve told him to leave.

But you didn’t.

Remmick’s voice lowered, slow and syrup-thick. “Let me in.”

It wasn’t a question.

The muscles in your arms tensed, fingers still on the knob like you weren’t sure who you were anymore. Every part of you said no. But your body, your breath, your blood? All of it whispered yes.

He waited.

And waited.

His eyes burned into you, red flickering hotter now. Not loud, not angry. Just patient. Starved.

“I ain’t gonna ask again,” he said, voice soft, almost sweet. “Don’t make me beg, baby.”

Your throat went dry.

You didn’t shut the door.

You didn’t step back.

You didn’t even breathe.

“…Come in,” you said. Quiet. But clear.

And he did.

The moment he stepped inside, the door shut with a thud behind him.

Remmick laughed.

Not a sound you’d heard from him before. It wasn’t warm or familiar. It wasn’t charming or even cruel. It was cold. Final. Like something had been waiting, watching, for the moment you said Come in, and now that you had, it didn’t have to pretend anymore.

“You’re just as desperate as I remember,” he said, still smiling as his boots landed slow and heavy on the floor. “Knew y’would be.”

Before you could even blink, he had you. A searing kiss, full and crushing and greedy. No warning. No space to breathe. His hands gripped your jaw, thumbs pressing your cheeks, mouth sealing over yours like he’d gone too long without it.

You should’ve pulled away.

You should’ve shoved him off, reminded yourself of the ring still sitting on your finger.

But your lips parted.

Your breath caught.

And when his body pressed against yours—hard chest, long arms, belt buckle cold against your stomach—you melted into it with a sound that betrayed every shred of shame you still had left.

You hated how much you missed this.

How much you’d been starving, too.

Remmick’s hand slid down the front of your robe. He didn’t waste time. Not even a little. Fingers traced the curve of your stomach, the ridge of your hip, and then dipped between your thighs like he already knew what he’d find there.

When he felt how wet you were, he growled.

Actually growled.

“Slut,” he muttered, dragging his mouth along your cheek, jaw, ear. “My married girl, touchin’ herself to the thought of me. Makin’ them soft sounds every time y’say my name.”

You trembled.

“I heard ya,” he whispered, voice all breath and bite. “Every damn night. Ya don’t know how many times I nearly came through that window just to shut ya up the way ya wanted.”

His fingers were still there, not moving much, just resting. A threat. A promise.

You could feel your heartbeat in your throat, in your fingertips, in your thighs. Your robe slipped further open, the air cool against your chest where the silk parted.

“I didn’t—” you tried, but the words caught somewhere deep. You couldn’t lie. Not to him. Not with your legs shaking and your lips kiss-bruised and your entire body leaning into him like it had never wanted anyone else.

He chuckled again, quieter this time. Darker.

“Ya did,” he said, kissing the side of your neck, lips soft now. Tender, even. “And I ain’t mad, darlin’. Y’think I don’t dream ‘bout this too?”

His other hand came up to cradle your face, thumb brushing beneath your eye like he hadn’t just dragged twenty years of buried longing to the surface in a single kiss.

“I just didn’t think,” he murmured, eyes glowing as they flicked to yours, “ya’d open the door so easy.”

And then his hand moved.

Two fingers, thick and slow, slipped inside you with a precision that made your knees lock and your breath shudder out in a gasp you didn’t mean to make. No warning. No teasing. Just in, to the knuckle, deep and deliberate, like he’d never forgotten the exact shape of you.

You jolted forward against his chest, hips stuttering, thighs pressing shut on instinct. But his arm wrapped firm around your waist, locking you there, helpless and pinned against him as he crooked his fingers just right and pulled another sound from your throat you didn’t recognize.

He groaned low. “Still so fuckin’ soft. Still open for me like I never left.”

Your hand slapped the doorframe for balance, fingers scrabbling, mouth half-open, trying to find air. But Remmick wasn’t giving you space. Not anymore.

His mouth brushed your ear. “He ever touch ya like this?”

You didn’t answer.

His fingers stopped.

Completely.

The stillness was brutal.

Your body rocked against him, desperate, aching, but he didn’t move. Not even a twitch.

“Answer me,” he said. Calm. Almost bored. “Your good man. Your sweet husband. He ever make ya feel like this?”

“…No,” you whispered, too soft.

Remmick clicked his tongue.

“I said speak up, baby. You know better.”

You swallowed hard, voice shaking. “No. He—he doesn’t.”

A satisfied hum rumbled from his chest. “Didn’t think so.”

He thrust his fingers deeper, slow and grinding, pressing against that spot that made your spine curve and your mouth fall open.

“Ever make you soak through your sheets just from thinkin’ ‘bout a look?” he asked. “Ever make your legs shake ‘cause you wanted it so bad you thought you’d die from it?”

You whined. Tried to shake your head. But again, he stopped.

Not a flex. Not a curl. Nothing.

“Remmick—please—”

“Answer me.”

Your voice broke. “No. Never. Not once.”

His mouth split into a grin so wicked it made your whole body clench around him. “Didn’t think so.”

He fucked you slow, fingers curling in a rhythm that felt like a secret being pulled from your bones. His hand on your waist held you still, anchored you to him as he worked you open with ease, with arrogance, with that goddamn patience that made him feel like punishment and prayer in equal measure.

“Y’ever beg for him?” Remmick murmured. “Cry for it? Lose your fuckin’ mind just ‘cause he looked at you the right way?”

You didn’t want to answer.

You didn’t want to admit any of this.

But the pause was longer this time. The stillness unbearable. Your body was screaming for it.

“No,” you gasped. “Only you.”

“That’s right.” His smile pressed into your neck. “My good little wife, moanin’ for the wrong man.”

His thumb found your clit and circled it once, just once, enough to make your legs buckle.

“Ya feel how wet you are?” he whispered, nose brushing your cheek. “This for him?”

You shook your head. “No.”

He paused.

You whimpered.

He pulled back just slightly. Not out. Just enough to make you feel the empty stretch behind it.

“For who?”

Your voice cracked. “You.”

“Say my name.”

“Remmick.”

He groaned against your throat, fingers thrusting again with filthy, exquisite control.

“Fuck, that’s it. That’s my girl.”

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. He didn’t just touch you, he worked you. Drew out every forgotten ache, every unsaid word, every damn piece of yourself you’d buried under decency and dishes and folded laundry.

“Ya ever fake it?” he asked, lips at your jaw. “For him?”

You nodded.

He stilled again.

You whimpered, panicked. “Yes! Yes, I—God, I have, I did—”

Remmick chuckled darkly, fingers starting to move again, slick and obscene.

“Course ya did. Poor thing. Never stood a chance.”

You clenched around him, helpless against it. Your head dropped back, vision fogging.

“That’s it,” he cooed. “Y’remember how this ends, don’t you?”

You couldn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

He already knew.

And so did your body—traitorous, needy, too honest for its own good.

You were close.

You were so fucking close.

And just for a moment, you let yourself believe he’d let you finish.

Just as your stomach curled, breath catching, thighs beginning to tighten—he pulled out. Abrupt. Cruel.

Your whole body jerked like he’d ripped something vital out of you. A desperate, broken whimper escaped your throat before you could bite it back.

And Remmick laughed.

“Oh, baby,” he said, voice thick with mock-sympathy, “that little sound right there?”

He licked the tips of his fingers slow, eyes never leaving yours.

“That’s the sound of a girl who forgot who she was dealin’ with.”

You hated the way your body trembled. Hated that your pulse was still stuttering out of control. Hated that he was right. That your cunt was still clenching around nothing, already grieving the loss of him like he’d been inside you for years instead of seconds.

Before you could think to curse him, slap him, beg him, he moved.

Remmick grabbed you by the hips and lifted.

Effortless. Like you weighed nothing. Like this wasn’t the first time he’d thrown you around.

Your legs wrapped around his waist on instinct. Old muscle memory. Dangerous muscle memory.

Your arms clung to his shoulders as he walked, carrying you like a man on a mission.

And you knew.

You knew where you were headed.

The moment you saw the edge of the dining table come into view—solid oak, the one your husband insisted was “too nice to actually use”—your breath hitched, legs squeezing tighter around his hips.

“Still remember, huh?” Remmick muttered against your jaw, setting you down with zero gentleness. Your back hit the wood hard enough to knock a gasp out of you, the cool polish biting into your skin through the robe’s thin silk. “Told ya once I’d take you on every fuckin’ surface of that house. Never broke that promise.”

You barely had time to adjust before he gripped the hem of your robe—what little of it still covered you—and ripped.

The bottom half tore clean off, jagged and loud, silk whining in protest before it fluttered to the floor.

You were bare beneath it.

You always had been.

Remmick groaned like he was seeing it for the first time. “Goddamn, darlin’.”

Then he dropped to his knees.

Didn’t say another word. Didn’t tease. Didn’t breathe.

His mouth found you like it belonged there.

Hot tongue, open mouth, greedy hunger.

No hesitation. No warm-up. He dove in like he was starved, like he’d been dreaming of this every goddamn night since the last time he tasted you. His hands gripped your thighs, spread them wide, fingers digging in like bruises he meant to leave.

And his mouth—

You screamed.

Low and sharp, head tossed back as he licked through your folds with the kind of practiced ruthlessness that made your vision blur.

He devoured you.

Sloppy. Loud. Wet.

His tongue flicked against your clit with obscene precision, slow and steady until your hips bucked. Then he sucked it between his lips and groaned like it was his favorite flavor.

You clutched the edge of the table with both hands, knuckles white, legs already shaking against his shoulders.

“Oh my God—Remmick—”

He didn’t slow.

Didn’t stop.

Didn’t even look up.

You felt him groan into you, like your taste alone was something holy. One hand slipped down to grip your ass, yanking you closer to the edge, forcing you to take it, to feel every roll of his tongue like a punishment you’d begged for.

You wanted to run.

You wanted to cry.

You wanted to come.

You could feel it, spine curling, fingers digging into the table hard enough to leave crescents. Your breath came fast and ragged, hips rolling helplessly against his mouth as he sucked and licked and fucked you with his tongue like he meant to ruin you.

And he did.

Because he always did.

The orgasm hit you like nothing else ever had. No slow climb, no gentle crest. Just an eruption, pure and bright and violent, ripping through your entire body like lightning set to music. You screamed. You sobbed. You shook, thighs squeezing around his head as your back arched clean off the table.

You came so hard you forgot your name.

And still, Remmick didn’t stop.

His hands held you open, mouth insatiable, tongue dragging through the aftermath like he was trying to clean you out, like he couldn’t stand to waste a drop. You cried out again, voice cracking, body too raw and too sensitive, but he kept going, sucking and lapping and groaning like he’d never get enough.

You tasted yourself on the air. Felt the heat dripping down your thighs. Felt your soul start to float.

Until finally—

“Please,” you gasped, sobbing now, voice broken. “Please, Remmick—s-stop—‘s too much—please—”

You were crying.

Tears streaked your cheeks, your chest heaving as your hands tried and failed to push his head away.

And that’s when he looked up.

Face soaked.

Neck wet.

Shirt clinging to his chest, sheer with your slick.

But it wasn’t just you.

There was drool.

An obscene amount.

Slipping from the corners of his mouth, glistening down his chin in thick, silvery ropes. So much spit you couldn’t even understand how it kept coming, gluing him to you, shining like filth made holy.

He stared at you.

Eyes glowing—red, hungry, starved.

And then he smiled. Real slow. Real soft.

“Ya always look the prettiest when ya cry.”

That broke you.

Something in you cracked wide open. You whimpered, too weak to fight, too full of him to think.

And then he moved.

He stood in one smooth motion, grabbing you by the waist, and lifted you off the table like you weighed nothing. Again. And you went, limp and ruined, legs instinctively wrapping around him, arms slung over his shoulders.

This time, his tongue shoved its way into your mouth the second he caught your lips.

And you drowned.

In yourself. In him.

The taste was unbearable. Your come and his spit, mingled and messy, wet and wild. It filled your mouth, coated your tongue, slid down your throat as he kissed you with open-mouthed desperation, feeding it to you like it was a gift.

You choked on it.

You loved it.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, still damp with what you’d given him, and he kissed you harder, tongue claiming you like he needed it to live.

Then, he turned.

He walked.

Straight down the hall, not even breaking the kiss.

And you knew where he was taking you.

The bedroom.

Your bedroom.

Where you and your husband lay in false comfort night after night.

Where your hand slipped between your thighs in silence after the lights went out, tracing your own skin as you bit your tongue to keep from whispering the name of the man you really wanted.

Remmick didn’t speak as he pushed the door open with his shoulder.

Didn’t look around.

Didn’t hesitate.

He set you down hard on the edge of the bed, the marital bed, the sacred shrine of everything you pretended was enough, and looked down at you like he was ready to burn it to the ground.

You were on him the second your back hit the bed.

Fingers trembling but fast, grabbing for his belt buckle like it was the only thing tethering you to sanity. You needed him out of it. Needed him inside you, now, needed to feel every inch of him stretch you open until you forgot the name of the man who actually slept in this room.

The metal clinked once before you got it undone, hands sliding down to shove the leather free.

Remmick chuckled.

Not the amused kind.

The mean kind.

“Christ, slow the fuck down,” he snapped, voice a blade slicing through the haze. “Ya always were a needy little thing. Sloppy hands, pantin’ like a bitch in heat.”

The words should’ve shamed you.

They didn’t.

They burned.

Hot. Dirty. True.

You didn’t look at him. Couldn’t. But you heard the rustle of his slacks hitting the floor, his boxers following quick after. He didn’t bother with his shirt. Didn’t even unroll his sleeves. He climbed on top of you half-dressed, his chain swinging low and his breath heavy as his body pressed yours into the mattress like he was settling back into something he’d missed.

He didn’t have to try. Didn’t need force.

His weight alone pinned you down.

One arm slid beneath your back, the other caught your wrists, locking them overhead with no more effort than it took to breathe. You couldn’t move. Could barely think.

And God, it was familiar.

The ache of it.

The sheer rightness.

The feeling of his body covering yours, his mouth close enough to taste your thoughts, his cock heavy against your thigh as he lined himself up with no warning, no softness, no pause.

This was love, wasn’t it?

Not the gentle, tepid kind your husband gave you—bedtime kisses and surprise bouquets.

This was Remmick love.

Cruel. Honest. Brutal.

“I shouldn’t let you fuckin’ have it,” he muttered, eyes burning into yours, “after the way ya ran. The way ya begged me to stay, then slammed the door like ya meant it.”

You squirmed beneath him, already gasping at the feel of his tip pressing just there, your cunt still soaked, still trembling, still too raw from what he did to you on the dining table.

“But y’want it so fuckin’ bad, don’t you?”

He didn’t wait for your answer.

He slammed into you.

One sharp, vicious thrust.

You cried out, body arching up as your walls struggled to take him, stretch for him, remember him. You weren’t ready. You couldn’t be. Not after what he’d already done to you. But that didn’t stop him. Didn’t even slow him.

“Fuck,” Remmick growled, hips pulling back only to rut forward again, deeper this time, harder. “Still tight. Still fuckin’ perfect. Like this pussy never forgot me.”

Your eyes rolled back.

Your hands clawed uselessly at the sheets, wrists still pinned tight in his grip. His other hand caught your jaw, forcing your face toward his, making sure you didn’t dare look away.

“Ya let him fuck you in here?” he hissed, voice venom. “In this bed? These sheets?”

You whimpered.

Remmick’s thrusts got rougher. Barbarous. He was fucking you like he owned you. Like he was carving himself back into the spaces time tried to seal shut.

“Answer me.”

Your voice came out a rasp. “Y-yes.”

He spat, not even trying to hide his disgust. “Bet he couldn’t even make ya come.”

You shook your head, biting back a sob.

“And now look at ya,” he snarled, dragging his hips slow this time, a deliberate grind that made your body sing. “Lettin’ me fuck the truth outta ya like always. Like nothin’s changed.”

Tears welled again.

Because nothing had.

Because it had always been like this with Remmick. Not gentle. Not sweet.

But real.

He fucked you like he was never going to stop.

Eyes locked on yours.

Not blinking. Not flinching.

Just watching as your mouth parted, as your body opened for him, as the ruin of you spilled across the sheets that had never seen this kind of worship.

And still, Remmick didn't slow.

Not even close.

Not when your eyes rolled back. Not when your body clenched tight around him like you’d never learned how to let go. Not when the air left your lungs in staggered, helpless sobs.

Remmick fucked you like he hated you.

Like he’d missed hating you.

And then—

His hand let go of your wrists.

Only to move to your throat.

Fingers curling slow around your neck, the pads of them warm, calloused, unforgiving.

Your body froze beneath him.

Not in fear. Not exactly.

Something darker. Deeper.

You looked up into his eyes.

And he looked back like he wasn’t really there anymore.

“Y’know,” he said, voice calm, like he was talking about the weather, “there were so many nights I thought about killin’ ya.”

Your breath caught.

His grip tightened.

“After ya left,” he murmured, hips still driving into you like punctuation, “after y’said all that pretty shit and slammed the door—when you thought ya’d won—I used to lay awake, hand on my dick, thinkin’ about wringin’ your pretty little neck.”

You whimpered, legs trembling around his hips.

He leaned closer, chest flush to yours, breath hot against your lips.

“Not just ya,” he added, almost like an afterthought. “That man of yours, too.”

Your stomach flipped.

“I thought about what his blood would look like on your white fuckin’ comforter. What your scream would sound like. If ya’d still cry my name with his body lyin’ cold at the end of the bed.”

His fingers pressed harder. Just enough to make your vision shimmer.

“Y’don’t believe me,” he whispered. “But I still think about it.”

Your heart stuttered.

“And right now?” he said, grinning. “Right now, I could do it. So easy. You’re lettin’ me fuck you raw in your husband’s bed, cryin’ beneath me, beggin’ for it. What’s one more sin, huh?”

His grip cinched tight.

Your breath stopped.

The room swam.

He didn’t blink.

Didn’t move.

Just held you there, trembling beneath him, his cock still buried deep inside you as the world slipped sideways.

Your pulse pounded in your ears.

Your fingers spasmed.

And just before the edges went black—

Smack.

A vicious slap to your thigh, loud and hot, snapped the air back into your lungs. Then another, this time across your ass, hard enough to sting. Your throat opened on a strangled gasp, your back arching as your body reeled from the sudden shock.

“There she is,” Remmick said, laughing low. “Didn’t want ya driftin’ off just yet, darlin’. We’re just gettin’ to the good part.”

You choked on your own breath, eyes wet, chest heaving.

He let go of your throat, dragging both hands down your ribs like he hadn’t just threatened to kill you. Like the idea still wasn’t sitting there behind his eyes, twitching like a secret.

You were dizzy. Raw. Split open and trembling and soaked.

And Remmick looked like he'd never been more in love.

Which is exactly when the front door opened.

Just a quiet creak. A shift of hinges.

But it shattered the world.

You went still.

So did Remmick.

The sound of keys hitting the bowl by the entryway echoed like a gunshot through the hallway. A low thud as shoes hit the mat. A familiar voice, soft and unsuspecting, humming the tail end of some commercial jingle. Your husband.

Your husband was home.

And your heart plummeted.

The blood in your veins iced over. Your breath caught. Every nerve ending snapped taut, your body trembling beneath Remmick in frozen disbelief. You were still spread beneath him, raw and soaked and filthy, your thighs trembling and your breath caught somewhere between a sob and a prayer.

Remmick blinked.

Once.

Then again.

Then he looked at the door.

Then at you.

Back to the door.

Then you again.

And then that grin split his face.

Wide. Sharp. Wrong.

It wasn’t the cocky, teasing smile he wore when he knew you’d already given in.

This was different.

This was a grin that made something ancient and terrified curl up inside you and scream.

“Y’ain’t tell me he was gonna be early,” he whispered, voice light, sing-song. “How rude.”

You couldn’t speak.

Could barely breathe.

But Remmick moved with purpose now—sat up, still inside you, dragging your body with him. He flipped you like he owned you, like you were just a doll to be repositioned. Hands grabbed your hips, yanked them up beneath him, forced your knees into the sheets until your back arched and your cheek was pressed flat against the mattress.

Doggy style.

Exposed. Helpless.

His cock dragged out slow before slamming back in with a wet, brutal sound.

You gasped, eyes squeezing shut.

“No no no,” Remmick said, voice a low hum as he gripped your face, twisting it until your eyes were pointed toward the bedroom door. “Keep ‘em open. He deserves to see it.”

Your name echoed from down the hall.

“Honey?” your husband called, so painfully unaware. “You home?”

Another thrust.

Louder this time.

Obscene.

The slap of his hips hitting your ass echoed off the walls like thunder.

You whimpered. You couldn’t help it.

“Sweetheart?” the voice came again, closer now. Footsteps.

Remmick picked up his pace.

Flesh on flesh. Sharp. Wet. Merciless.

You heard a pause outside the door.

Then the knob turned.

Then the door opened.

Your husband stepped into the room.

And froze.

His eyes landed on yours first—your face, contorted in shock, shame, raw pleasure.

Then his gaze moved.

To where Remmick’s hands were fisted in your hips.

To the way your body shook with every loud, violent thrust.

To the way your mouth hung open in a sob you hadn’t let fall yet.

The look on his face could’ve killed you.

Confusion.

Betrayal.

Then—horror.

Like something inside him snapped.

And still, Remmick didn’t stop.

He slammed into you again, harder than before, dragging your face further toward the edge of the bed, forcing you to watch.

“Smile for him,” he said, voice thick with a darkness that made your stomach turn. “Show him how happy ya look when you’re finally bein’ fucked right.”

You looked into your husband’s eyes.

Wrecked.

That was the only word for it. Wrecked in a way you’d never seen before—like someone had cracked open his ribcage and yanked his heart out with their bare hands. He looked lost. Pale. Mouth parted. Staring at you like he couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing.

And for a second—for one brief, trembling second—you wanted to believe in him.

Wanted to believe he’d fight.

That he’d do something.

That he’d cross the room, fists swinging, screaming, snarling, crying, clawing Remmick off of you like the man he was supposed to be. Like the husband he was supposed to be. That he’d fight for his wife, no matter how futile, no matter how ugly, no matter how late.

You wanted to believe he’d choose you.

But instead—

He covered his face with both hands.

And sat.

In the chair at the corner of the room, opposite the bed.

Chest heaving.

Shoulders shaking.

Not saying a word.

Not making a move.

And just like that—

Every drop of love you had left for him died.

Turned to ash in your mouth.

It wasn’t just disappointment. It wasn’t just betrayal.

It was hatred.

Hot. Immediate. Unforgiving.

And Remmick saw it happen.

Felt it bloom in your body beneath him.

He laughed.

Not playfully.

Not even cruelly.

It was disgusted.

A laugh like spitting. Like rot.

“That’s the man ya chose over me?” he said, thrusts still pounding into your cunt, hands bruising your hips as he snapped his hips against you with brutal rhythm. “That little fuckin’ coward?”

You didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

The silence screamed.

“Jesus Christ,” Remmick muttered, breathless and gleeful, “he can’t even pretend to care. Ya ruined him, darlin’. Just like I knew y’would.”

He pulled out of you without warning, grabbing you by the waist and flipping you again, dragging you half off the bed until your head dangled over the edge, hair brushing the floor, throat exposed, everything upside-down.

And there he was.

Remmick, towering above you, cock flushed and leaking, sliding back into your wrecked cunt with a force that rattled your teeth. The angle sent lightning up your spine, your toes curling, vision swimming. He gripped your thighs and pushed them wide apart, spreading you open, fucking you down against the edge of the bed like you were just a hole to conquer.

But your eyes?

They were locked on him.

Your husband.

Still sitting there.

Hands still over his face.

Until they weren’t.

You saw the moment shame turned to something else.

Curiosity.

Then heat.

One hand dropped to his lap.

You didn’t want to believe it.

Didn’t want to see it.

But you couldn’t look away.

The outline of his cock, straining against his jeans. The way his chest rose and fell faster. The way his fingers hesitated—then unzipped.

Remmick saw it, too.

“Oh fuck me,” he laughed, cruel and delighted. “You’re hard, aren’t ya?”

Your husband flinched.

Remmick leaned over you, one hand grabbing your jaw, tilting your face so you couldn’t look away, even though he knew you weren’t.

“He’s hard, baby,” he sneered. “Your good little husband, sittin’ there watchin’ another man ruin his wife and he’s got his fuckin’ cock out.”

You whimpered.

Remmick thrust harder.

“Go on,” he said over your shoulder, loud enough to sting. “You’re already sittin’ there. Might as well enjoy the show, huh?”

And then, your stomach dropped.

Because your husband did it.

He pulled his cock free.

Hard. Strained. Already wet at the tip.

And he started stroking himself.

Right there.

Right fucking there, watching you be destroyed.

Something inside you shattered.

But Remmick’s grip only tightened.

“See?” he breathed, voice low in your ear, hips pistoning into you like he wanted to leave dents. “Told ya no one would ever love ya the way I do.”

And as your tears slipped backward into your hair, as your cunt pulsed around Remmick’s cock and your husband’s soft, broken moans filled the room—

You realized something sickening:

You believed him.

And the second you did, everything shifted.

Remmick’s voice fell away.

Replaced by sound.

Raw, filthy, feral sound.

The slap of skin against skin. The wet pulse of your cunt around him. His groans—deep, guttural, half-choked—as he rutted into you with a new kind of desperation. Like something had cracked inside him too. Like he was breaking right alongside you.

His hips lost rhythm.

Gained need.

The drag of his cock turned erratic, heavy, slick. His breath stuttered against your neck, hot and shallow, teeth grazing skin in the warning way. And you felt it—his weight pressing down, arms sliding beneath your back, legs shifting to cage you in, his entire body wrapping around you until there was no air between you, no space left untouched.

He was everywhere.

Crushing.

Consuming.

Yours.

“Gonna fill ya up,” he slurred, voice strained, drunk on you, on this, on everything he hadn’t let himself say until now. “Gonna—fuck—gonna put a baby in ya, darlin’.”

You gasped, eyes wide, your arms sliding up around his back without thinking.

He didn’t stop.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t care.

“Make ya a momma,” he panted, forehead pressed hard against yours, sweat dripping from his brow to yours. “My fuckin’ housewife. Keep ya barefoot and full for the rest of your goddamn life.”

Your thighs clenched around him.

Your fingers dug into his back.

“Just how y’should be,” he growled, pace stuttering. “No more runnin’. No more pretendin’. Just me with ya and a whole house full’a kids with my fuckin’ eyes.”

You cried out, your body already tightening again, trembling.

And then, one last thrust.

Devastating. Bone-deep. Final.

He came with a groan that barely sounded human, hips locked in place, cock pulsing inside you, spilling heat deep into your cunt like it was a claim. Endless. Relentless. It spilled out around him, a mess between your thighs, and still he didn’t stop.

And with it—

His fangs sank deep into your neck.

No warning.

No care.

Just sharp, precise, possessive puncture.

You screamed—and came. Hard. Wrung-out, shattered, blinding.

The orgasm ripped through you like it had teeth. Your walls fluttered around him, milking every last drop. Your back arched, pinned and blood-warm, as his mouth sealed over your skin and drank. Long, greedy pulls. Like he needed it more than breath.

Your heart stuttered. Your eyes rolled back.

And in the haze of it, another sound.

A choked gasp. The sharp, wet rhythm of a fist meeting skin. Then a broken, pathetic groan as your husband came too. Facing you both, cock in his hand, shame on his face, guilt dripping down his knuckles.

Remmick pulled back from your neck, blood staining his lips, breath heaving.

Then he angled to look.

Smirked.

Spat.

“This the first time y’ever came with her, huh?”

He thrust once more into your ruined cunt, slow and deep, just to emphasize it.

“Had to watch me do it for ya. Pathetic.”

And you?

You didn’t even blink.

Didn’t even look at the man you once thought would love you right.

Because Remmick was right about that too.

This was where you belonged.

He stayed inside you for a moment longer, just long enough for you to pretend it would never end. Your walls still fluttered around him in soft aftershocks, your body unwilling to believe it was over even as your mind tried to catch up.

Then—

He pulled out.

Slow. Measured. Intentional.

A sound escaped your throat—broken, needy, trembling. Not quite a sob, not quite a plea.

Your hands caught his hips weakly, as if you could keep him, tether him, keep that full warmth inside for just a moment longer. "Please…"

“Shhh,” Remmick cooed, brushing a thumb beneath your eye where your tears had dried and cracked. “It’s alright, baby. You’ll get it again.”

The emptiness hit harder than anything else had.

A cavernous ache. Raw. Desperate. A void nothing else could fill.

You didn’t realize you were crying again until your vision blurred.

You watched as he stood.

Watched as he moved across the room toward the man still sitting dumb and wide-eyed in the chair.

Your husband.

Your witness.

There was a single second.

A flash of recognition.

His eyes met Remmick’s.

And that was all.

The claws flashed.

Once.

Ripped.

There was no scream. No fight. No time for last words.

Just a sound, wet and ugly, as his throat was torn open. Gutted clean from beneath the jawline, near-severed, a geyser of arterial red splattering across the walls, the chair, the floor.

And still, for one sickening second, his body twitched.

You screamed.

You screamed with everything you had left, dragged yourself backward across the soaked sheets until your spine hit the bedframe, until your limbs locked up with exhaustion and fear and your own slick still coating your thighs.

Remmick turned to face you.

Blood painted his chest, his jaw, his hands, dripping from his fingers like it had always belonged there. His eyes were gleaming, that familiar, terrifying red turned brighter now, like it fed off what he’d just done.

And then he crawled.

Across the bed.

Staining the sheets with long streaks of crimson, smearing every part of the room you once thought of as yours. As his.

Now defiled.

Claimed.

Ruined.

His hands—slick, sticky—cupped your face with impossible tenderness.

And then he kissed you.

Slow.

Deep.

Unforgiving.

Spit. Blood. The coppery tang of death. And beneath it all, still the faint, almost-sweet taste of you on his tongue.

It coated your teeth. Filled your lungs.

You let him.

You kissed him back.

When he pulled away, his voice dropped low, affectionate, almost reverent.

“Guess it’s just us now, darlin’,” he whispered. “Us. And our little thing growin’ inside ya.”

Your mouth parted, but no sound came.

He leaned in again, brushing his blood-wet cheek against yours, dragging his tongue slow along the edge of your jaw.

“Gonna make sure y’never forget who you belong to.”

You didn’t speak.

Couldn’t.

There were no words left.

Just slick cooling on your thighs.

Just sheets ruined for good.

Just the memory of your husband's eyes, wide and broken, moments before he died doing nothing.

And a part of you—that sick, lost, unredeemable part—knew:

That was exactly how you wanted it to be.

Forever.

[bewitched-hours]

Hi, I hereby request you to do the Part 3 of Yandere! Alien Paycheck x Reader with Smut Please.

But its okay if you don't want to

Anyways Ty and Bye!

-Anon💗🖌️

"Open my shell? Why of course~" /ref Seriously though, Idm. I may feel like a nun writing smut but the best way to get better at something is through practice. I've also had @rhaine16 waiting for this and a couple more anons so now to throw this into the enclosure like I'm feeding lions- /j

Like the previous two times, the reader's pronouns are She/They (Which I totally didn't mess up on with part two-)

The day of the double moons was drawing closer and closer, reducing your time to decide.

You knew that you wanted to be with Elliot and Chance forever at this point but were you ready to see your new body in such... Action..?

You felt like this was a more difficult question than it probably should be. But your reactions to the topics were so adorable to Elliot and Chance with one of them always teasing you about it.

They knew it was a hard decision and assured you you had more than enough time to think on it, considering life on this planet could survive for hundreds of years, sometimes even thousands.

But you only grew more curious and needy as you thought about it.

It even got to a point where you'd cling to them and ask them to stay home with you which Chance had surprisingly more trouble saying no to.

But how could you blame them for finding your needy state adorable?

It wasn't until you finally decided to take home a book on anatomy that you began to understand.

Of course, you'd hide this from your boyfriends. The teasing that would ensue would probably turn your entire body red...

So you read it in secret, setting yourself alarms to make sure they wouldn't catch you studying your- and their- anatomy down to the reproductive system. It was surprisingly similar to how it worked back on earth but for some reason the antennae on top of one's head played a big role in it all.

For females, it apparently had the ability to surround oneself in some sort of scent to express lust and attract her partner(s)'s attention.

For males, it can be used to find a partner's sweet spots and help deliver immeasurable pleasure.

The parts themselves were interesting to see in pictures though.

Apparently you now had retractable teeth hidden in your fleshy walls in case any male is thinking of taking advantage of you.

Maybe that's why you hadn't found many cases of... Actually, maybe that's a topic for another time.

But the males? Their dicks were apparently split... Tentacles- it was straight up tentacle-esque dicks that were able to form together for the 'normal' way or split into little tentacles for hitting multiple spots at once.

The thought made a shiver run down your spine. Was it one of curiosity, horror or perhaps even some excitement? Why not all three?

Some days you'd find yourself trying to work off your ever-growing needy behaviour but to no avail. It would only ever drive you to climax and then leave you wanting more. It really was hard to ignore, especially with Chance and Elliot definitely knowing about it and just not bringing it up out of respect for you.

And even though you did read about how common it was on this planet to have sex regardless of relationship status- especially with the fact religion was nearly non-existent- you couldn't help but feel a guilty pleasure thinking about your boyfriends dressing fancy for a ceremony and then getting messy all for you...

One evening, they noticed you were a little more quiet than usual and had paused the movie you were all watching to check on you. You were all sandwiched together so Elliot and Chance could have equal parts of your affection without worries so they only had to sit up to give you a proper look over.

"[Reader], is something on your mind?" Chance's worries shone through his face so obviously with you...

"I've... Been thinking..." You started quietly, knowing they were fully focused on you as they held you with such gentle hands that made you guilty for what you were about to say next.

"I need you both to fuck this need out of me before I go crazy..." You barely choked out the words with a sheepish look on your face, watching them get flustered over your request before Elliot took a deep breath.

"Sweetheart, we could get you checked on if you feel something's wro-" He wanted to speak, clearly believing you must be mistaken with your wants but you cut him off with a passionate but quick kiss on the lips.

It satiated your grown need for them just a little but it was all the confirmation you needed for your decision. "I want you both inside of me... How we do it is of little concern to me but I need it..."

A silence feel amongst the three of you with Elliot and Chance giving each other a look before carrying you off. "Luckily it's already a double moon so we could consider the day our ceremony~" Chance chirped happily as you practically melted in Elliot's arms as he was having you in a bridal carry.

The heat of your collectively growing lust actively fed into the tension as you internally reminded yourself of what to expect.

Gubby was on the sidelines just meowing angrily until her automatic feeder went off and she practically dashed to the kitchen... She really just became a glutton ever since she got here...

Luckily you were too caught up in your own excitement to care.

And it wasn't like your boyfriends were gonna let you escape now.

By the time you've all gotten to the bedroom and undressed, your face flushed at the sight of them wasting no time to make sure you were comfortably squished between them with Elliot making sure to sing little praises into your ear from behind and Chance gently holding you at the front to let you watch his tentacles carefully slide into your entrance.

It was exciting, you were nervous but it felt so right that you let out small whimpers which only seemed to encourage them to go on.

You soon felt Elliots tentacles joining too, a small gasp escaping your lips as the two of them made sure to carefully look for all of the right spots. All the little sweet spots this species had at various points within your new reproductive system. And the way they felt around for them made you whine and whimper more for them.

It was hard for them not to lose themselves over how cute your noises were.

"You're doing perfect, [Reader]~ Just a little longer~" Elliot whispered softly, holding you in place to start marking your skin with little bite marks. "Our perfect little wife~ Just as it should be~"

You felt a short moment of bliss, followed by the two of them grinning. They've found the first one and you could no longer tell which one of them had which tentacle as one of them began caressing and teasing it to make you squirm in Chance's grip.

Your breath grew more desperate and sharp, their names coming out of your mouth like honey as you whined and begged for them not to stop.

Not like they were planning on that anytime soon though...

They could tell you were enjoying it, letting them feel around and practically abuse your sweet spots until you could only think about them.

"Look at you~ Taking us with such a pretty face~" Chance cooed, a low chuckle escaping him as you watched him with pleading eyes. "Fuck... I'm gonna lose my mind..."

It wasn't long by now until you could tell them apart inside you.

Chance was more eager and impatient but Elliot was the complete opposite. Patient and gentle.

It drove you insane and you weren't even ashamed to admit it.

They could tell how you melted under their care and revelled in your cries of pleasure and anticipation.

Then, just as you were getting close... They slowed down.

You whimpered and begged, looking at them both as you saw their playful smirks.

"Nuh-uh-uh~ We want to have some more fun with you before you get your release~" You heard Elliot whisper with a sudden hint of hunger lingering in his voice.

"As much as we would love to, you're simply too adorable like this and we gotta make sure you'll be as obsessed with us as we are with you~" Chance chuckled, the hunger in his gaze even more intense than you'd have guessed...

"No... Please..." You begged, squirming as you tried to get them to move again. Instead, they lightly played with your sweet spots to make sure you'd be driven to the edge but never truly feel the sweet release of that building orgasm.

They were being cruel on purpose at this point. But before you could protest, Chance began nibbling at the other side of your neck while Elliot simply moved his head down to do the same.

They were both leaving their marks on you while toying with your pleasure.

"We've gone all this way... So, who do you belong to~?" Chance's words snapped you back out of your pleading state. "Don't be shy~"

You almost didn't hesitate, knowing what they wanted to hear. "You guys~ I belong to you..." You whimpered, your mind being filled with nothing but that chase for pleasure.

Filled with nothing but them...

"Good girl~ But we want our names~" Elliot's sudden assertiveness almost made your arousal deepen.

This time, you didn't hesitate. "It's you~! Elliot and Chance-" you let out a sharp gasp, feeling your sweet spots being attacked again.

"Come on~ Say it again~ We didn't quite hear it~" Chance chuckled, listening to you whimper some more as you were driven to desperation.

"Elliot~! Chance~! I belong to you~!" You finally managed to get it out fully, quickly feeling their tentacled dig deeper into you and stimulating all of your sweet spots at once to finally allow the built up pleasure to release in a cry of ecstasy.

Unfortunately... Something told you this was just the beginning of a long night with your new husbands...

Not like you minded it though~

If y'all ask for any more I might have to start a series with a Masterpost lmfao (Like I'm not already planning to do for the Mina stories)

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

[thaplugdaughter]

Sweet Like Honey.

elias stack moore x black!fem oc. honey willams.

synopsis : honey finds herself back with her parents again in clarksdale, mississippi. new york wasn’t going so well for her as she expected leading her back where she started. only this time, she didn’t have in mind she’d be messing with some she always seen as trouble.

ps. this is written in modern times boo!

honey stood on the porch of where she grew up at, the feeling of the blazing sun hitting her caramel skin. her brothers were carrying her stuff into her old bedroom where she’d be renovating cause she didn’t find herself leaving here anytime soon. this was all crazy to her cause she found herself thinking a couple of years ago she’d be somewhere big with her talent.

see, honey wasn’t no ordinary girl. could dance, sing like a angel. and she was pretty, her momma blessed her with big talents. the only thing was honey couldn’t control the sass she had & she wouldn’t accept no bullshit from anybody, which held her back from a lot of opportunities unfortunately. but honey knew she’d find better one day. she was only 22, she has much time to figure it out.

“honey, close that door and come in you lettin’ bugs in here girl.” her father said, honey hurried in closing the door. the creaking wood making a noise as soon as she stepped on it. “dang daddy, i thought y’all said y’all was gone fix this. that noise is dreadful.” honey’s father quinton laughed.

“it’s in the process. besides you know we gettin old and your brothers don’t wanna do nothin round here. your sister neither. y’all all lazy!” amir rolled his eyes at your fathers words. “technically, we do be helping around here but i got more things to worry about then fixing a old house.” oh amir, honey’s smartmouthed brother. he was going into his sophomore year & currently playing basketball.

honey’s younger brother, malakhi. going into his freshman year right along honey’s sister tiana. malakhi, only God knows what he does. he’s good at football, basketball was never his thing, and tiana? she’s just a copy and paste of honey. but a sporty version, the sass way worse though.

“amir, this house may be old but its built and has plenty of love within these walls. you should appreciate it more, this house would go for so much money these days.” honey’s mother jacqueline said. amir sighed and walked off in the hallways to his room. jacqueline continued stirring the lemonade to go with the dinner she prepared for tonight. opening her mouth to ask honey a question, “how was new york? did you miss home?”

honey sucked her teeth and fidgeted with her finger nails. “it was beautiful, certain parts were. homesick a little, but i could always come back anytime and here i am. so i’m not worried.” honey’s mother finished her lemonade and placed it in the fridge to save. “do you have any plans for down here honey? you know you could put that singing to use. them twins done opened a juke joint.” twins?

surely she wasn’t talking about elias & elijah. honey hadn’t seen them in years, they had left before she left for new york. she dreaded them, well used too. she couldn’t lie, they were sexy as hell but damn so troublesome always in something. nothing was ever done about it either, it was so weird down here honey wondered what power they held over clarksdale.

“you talkin’ bout the moore twins momma?” honey asked shifting her position in the chair she sat in. jacqueline nodded. “it’s going good, i think you should try it out honey. no funny business though, if you’d stop bein’ so rude all the time you’d be somewhere in new york and not here.”

“your momma’s right honey. you gotta watch your mouth, you sure as hell ain’t set no good example for tiana cause that’s all she know how to do is run her mouth.” honey couldn’t do anything but agree with them, honey definitely had a way with words. she had a issue with violence too but she learned to calm it down over the years.

“i know, i know. i guess ill check the juke out sometime this week.” honey replied. she still didn’t know how to feel about working for the twins though, well that’s even if she got a spot there. “momma, how you know they gon’ accept me?” she asked confused. her momma looked at her in her eyes and said “cause you gone show out & give them a reason to hire you honey.”

although jacqueline & quinton wanted honey to be the best of herself, quinton didn’t trust the smokestack twins one bit. mainly stack, and what’s understood doesn’t have to be explained. stack’s just pure trouble & evil. it didn’t take much to know that. but, he wasn’t gonna stop honey from chasing after her dreams.

honey found herself walking upstairs into the hallway where her room was, she looked at the yellow walls she had painted when she was 13, she felt it fit her name honey well. now she wanted to redo everything, she felt she was a bit too grown for something like this. but, only time will tell what decisions honey decides to make.

honey found herself in bo chow’s grocery store chopping it up with cornbread. she wondered why cornbread was over here when he should be working with his life, but she wasn’t the questioning type.

“well honey, what you doin’ back down here? i thought you left us for the big city.” cornbread asked, honey chuckled. “what can i say, i missed home. the big city will be there waiting for me, i wanna try some stuff out down here. besides, y’all don’t want me to be here or something?” she asked, obviously joking. bo stood behind the register counting bills when he turned up to look at honey.

“of course we want ya’ here. you always welcome.” he smiled, “i figured.” honey replied. “but um, what’s this about this new juke joint? y’all know if they hiring?” cornbread and bo looked at her. “you, you wanna work for the twins? with the mouth you got?” cornbread asked. honey playfully slapped him on the shoulder, “well duh? ain’t that why i’m askin? they gone accept me anyway im like.. sent from heaven literally.” they laughed at honey.

“well, honey i think you gone get it. the only thing you gone have to worry about is competition with mary cause she gone think you out for her stack.” lisa said, you laughed at lisa’s comment, like you would be worried about some fucking mary. “thanks lisa, i really appreciate that. you speakin it into existence unlike cornbread and your father here.”

“you know they think they know everything.” lisa said, her father shooting her a glare cause he knew she was right, she hurried out of them room before bo could say anything because.. let’s be honest here.

“you might as well go tonight honey & see what the juke talking about. i work the doors so i can let you in for the free this time.” cornbread said, honey hugged him “i wasn’t gone pay anyway.” honey said before grabbing her bags and heading on her way back home. honey walked here in the blazing sun which was crazy because, damn was it hot. but honey ain’t have on no bundled up clothes like she usually did so honey didn’t really care.

honey dropped her bag on the porch to take her keys out to unlock the door & walked in carrying her bags to her room. she had bought some stuff to put in her room & a couple of paint cans to repaint her room soon with the help from her father. she laid back on the bed and stared at the ceiling wondering how tonight would go & would she make a good impression.

ain’t nobody seen her in 5 years, honey’s grown a lot. curves gotten different and all that, she looked good & grown now. she found herself at her sisters door knocking to ask her to help find a outfit tonight, honey was just going to check it out to see if she liked it, if she didn’t.. well she would leave it alone but if she did she’d be back tomorrow looking for a job.

“tiana, open the door i need your help.” she heard a groan and tiana got off her bed opening the door for honey, “what you want?” tiana said, the sass in her voice at an all time high. “for you to help me pick out something to wear tonight to the joint, don’t be doing all that your wanna be mean ass.” tiana scoffed, “i guess honey. you act like you going to impress somebody or something.” honey stared at her and just headed to her room with tiana following behind her.

“listen, you need to wear a dress. one that gives off sexy, cause i feel like you tryna impress somebody but i can’t put my finger on who yet.” honey laughed, “i’m tryna leave a good impression cause if i like it im coming back tomorrow to apply for a job there, but i got some dresses for you to pick out let me get them.”

honey searched through her bags picking out some dresses for tiana to choose and laid them out on the bed, tiana got up and looked at all of them. “some of these kind of boring, but this one is perfect honey.” she picked out a mid-length dark red dress, the dress backless & perfect to show off honey’s curves.

honey picked it up and looked at it, “you don’t think this a bit too much? i don’t even know why i bought this.” tiana sat back on honey’s bed and sighed “you just think it’s too much cause you bein’ boring. i don’t know why you tryna act so Godly now.”

“i ain’t actin, i am. im changing for the better.” honey smirked, “most definitely not but you need to be getting ready cause it’s getting late and you right here tryna talk up a storm.” tiana said as she exited honey’s room closing the door behind her.

honey sighed and placed her stuff on the bed & walked into the attached bathroom turning on her shower and dropping her clothes, as she got into the shower the lukewarm water hit her skin. she grabbed her loofah & squeezed out her favorite scented cocoa butter wash.

all she could think to herself is, how did she find herself back here and was it because she was moving too fast? it most definitely was because she was moving too fast. but maybe this was apart of a plan God had set for her. maybe, or maybe not?.

she rubbed the lotion on her skin, making sure to get every part of her body along with the cocoa butter oil. putting her deodorant on, and sliding into her dress.

she called tiana back in to help her tie the back, tiana looking at her up & down. “see i told you it would look nice, you most definitely have grown into your grown woman body.” honey laughed at tiana, she looked in the mirror at herself though and damn did she look good. her natural curls in a flip over a the top and the rest is laying on her shoulders. her caramel skin shining due to the oil, her chest popping out more than usual.

she walked over to her dresser and attached her bracelets, putting in her diamond earrings & slipping on her open toed laced up black heels. grabbing her purse and putting all her things in, she hugged her sister goodbye and went on her way.

────────────

as she reached the juke joint she could hear the loud southern blues being played, she seen slim and cornbread at the door of course a whisky flask in slim’s hand, and cornbread cracking another joke. people on the sides of the building laughing & some arguing.

honey got out of the car, locked it and walked over to the entrance. cornbread looked honey up & down, “well hello to you also honey.” he shook her hand, “hi cornbread, and hi slim since you acting like you seen a ghost.”

he took another sip of his flask, “i thought i did, i might be seeing a ghost i thought you was in the big city.” cornbread laughed, “uh, annie and them inside. you should go check it out.” he said as he let honey in, letting her wander around.

people were dancing, some at the bar. some making out & she seen someone singing, and honey noticed it was little sammie, and damn does he have a voice on him. she walked through the crowd and took a seat at a table, and there he was. on the side of the stage matchstick in his mouth, gold grill shining and dimples showing. standing next to his twin brother, the more sophisticated one in honey’s eyes.

she rolled her eyes & turned the other way and seen pearline & annie. she hadn’t spoken to them in years. honey got up out her seat and made her way to the table they were at, they looked at her in shock. “honey, you back? since when?” pearline asked.

honey sat down answering pearline’s question and greeting them, “what you doing here honey?” annie asked, “my momma told me to see if i could get a job here, and cornbread recommended me to check it out.”

“well he did the right thing, but i don’t see you working here ending in somethin’ good honey. you and stack don’t mix well at all, and he one of the owners.” pearline said, annie shaking her head to agree with her.

“man ain’t nobody worried about no damn stack, what are they doing back here anyway?” honey replied, “they was done doin’ business in chicago i assume. and smoke probably missed him some annie.” pearline said, a laugh followed behind. annie blushed, “pearline rest your mouth, please.” they shared a laugh, but annie and pearline looked behind honey to see the twins standing behind her, “why the hell y’all lookin’ like that?” she turned around.

stack stared in her eyes, she stared in his. the empty soulless eyes he had, and the pretty brown ones she had. “didn’t think we’d see you again, big city girl.” stack said, smoke made his way over to where annie was & sat beside her. stack pulling out a chair beside honey.

honey scoffed, “i don’t know why the hell you speaking to me, damn devil reincarnated.” stack placed his hat on the table turning his attention to honey, “you always so feisty with me girl, i ain’t do nothin’ to ya.” pearline chucked, “stack you always tryna make your move on someone, you know you got crazy mary on your side leave honey alone.”

stack rolled his eyes at pearline, “pearline be worried about that sorry ass excuse of a husband you have.” everyone laughed, “but preacher boy always waitin’ for ya.” he grinned, honey couldn’t lie elias was something sexy but his personality.. just no.

but as soon as honey looked up, she seen smoke and annie over there eye fucking each other. she supported them 100% but she couldn’t witness this so she made her way to the bar, stack following behind her. why? she didn’t know but she wished he’d stop.

“stack, what the hell do you want?” he grinned at her, “you what else?” she rolled her eyes, “i’m not finna be one of your lil toys, i’m just here cause i wanna work here. so interview me.” he laughed, “okay your hired, work the bar.” she was confused

“you didn’t even interview me, you don’t even know if i have bar experience.” he pointed at the bartender, “he can teach ya, but back to our conversation. why you think ima play with you?” he looked at her up and down, admiring every curve honey had.

“because, your stack. i’m honey, and you know what honey don’t do? mess with no nigga named stack.” she grinned, “you gone be up under me one day, just know it.” he grinned at her, grabbing her chin and then letting go to wander off.

“tuh, i wish the hell i would.” she mumbled, but she couldn’t lie the interaction just gave her that feeling in her lower stomach, he might just be right.

ion write, so i think i over did it. but these dividers aren’t mineee, credits too @cursed-carmine .

[mischievousmoony]

haiiii, can i request a burger? jily with “look, our swimsuits match!” ?? thank uuuu

yes ofc! i loveeee jily

jolie's summer kickoff a 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐫 fresh off the grill ⋮ aka a short blurb contains: poly!jily x reader, suggestive content but nothing explicit, reader wears a (tiny) bikini

James is already buzzing with excitement when his alarm wakes him up, bright and early, before the sun has even had a chance to rise.

Today is going to be a scorcher, the first one of the season. And his first chance to get to the beach this summer. For far too many weekends in a row, either his busy schedule or the weather has gotten in the way of the beach day he’s longed for since there was still snow on the ground.

But the day has finally come, and he is determined to be the first to hit the sand. Which is why he’s awake at five in the morning, packing the car, making sandwiches for today's lunch, filling a cooler with ice and sodas and plenty of water, and letting his girlfriends sleep in as long as possible.

He wakes you and Lily up with loving kisses and hushed sweet nothings, coaxing you gently into consciousness with just enough time for you two to get ready before you have to leave. The two of you sleepily head to the bathroom to start getting ready in front of the big mirror.

James is double-checking that he packed both of your beach bags with everything you’ll need—your favorite pairs of sunglasses, big fluffy towels, the fancy face sunscreens, etc—when he hears the snap of your flip flops coming closer.

“My loves,” James calls from down the hall. “You ready? We’re sure to beat the lads there if we leave within the next 10 minutes. I’m sure Remus is fighting to get Sirius out of bed as we speak.”

“Look, Jamie,” he hears your beautiful voice from behind him. “Our swimsuits match.”

James’ breath hitches in his throat when he turns around. You and Lily are wearing nearly identical string bikinis (ones that don’t leave much to the imagination, he notes). The only difference is that your pair is pink with white strings, and hers is white with pink strings.

“Do you like them?” Lily asks, her tone borderline seductive, and James finally picks his jaw up off the floor.

“You two are breathtaking,” he says, and you know he means it, because he sure does sound like he needs some air. His large hands find a spot on each of your waists, eyes still glued to your figures.

“They’re new,” Lily tells him, her smirk evident in her tone.

“Yeah, I know, because I definitely would have remembered if I’d seen them before.”

You spin around, swiping your hair out of the way as you say, “I tied mine too tight around my neck, though, could you redo it?”

“Uh-huh,” James replies, his voice slightly pitched as he tugs the string loose, looking over your shoulder, his eyes glued to the way you hold the bikini over your chest as it comes undone.

Lily is questioning him about how he’s packed for the beach, making sure he’s checked everything off the list. Not because she thinks he would’ve missed anything, but more so because of how amused she is by James’ absentminded nodding an humming to whatever she says, completely distracted by the way your ass looks in your swimsuit.

Lily doesn’t blame him—you look divine. She told you so as soon as you put the bikini on. A compliment which you returned, of course, right before she propped you on the bathroom sink and made out with you for a couple of minutes.

“You should hurry up, yeah? Don’t want to be late?” Lily asks, nodding at James’ idle hands while dragging a hand down his bicep.

“Yeah…” James murmurs, not seeming to be in any rush to tie your swimsuit back in place. Instead, he lets the strings fall from his fingertips, arms closing around your middle as he hugs you tightly from behind, dropping his face to the crook of your neck.

Needless to say, the three of you showed up at the beach much later than intended. And you and Lily somehow ended up swapping bikini tops.

Sirius and Remus end up beating you guys there by fifteen minutes. And James gets to listen to them ridicule him for it all day because he made such a big deal about getting there early.

But James seriously doesn’t mind.

[yuurivoice]

Sorry I've been MIA, I felt like giving a stressful update on Finn's birthday (happy solstice!) would have been a bummer.

Haru got worse on Friday morning, with no appetite and a poo situation I will not give details on, just know that what came outta him was a sign that his lower intestines were now also inflamed.

So began the most stressful day of Haru's illness. The situation was hilariously fucked.

Haru is being treated with a steroid. We sent it in to be compounded (turned into a liquid) because he's bad with pills. Unfortunately, that takes 24-48 hours WITH priority notice.

Juneteenth meant pharmacy was closed because federal holiday (as it should be, you orange rat fuck).

So multiple days after our visit, still no meds. Then, booty blast on that morning and I'm like okayyyyy that's not good and this steroid might take an entire day still.

Call Big Vet. Big Vet off work AND on vacation until WEDNESDAY. They say just bring Haru into the emergency center. Problem is, we literally already know what's wrong, we just need the medicine and maybe to switch to a shot to get the fastest results because he has gotten so bad. Spending 1k to be told "give him the medicine you need to give him" is the dumbest solution, though I was willing to do it if I couldn't find a more reasonable option.

I call Local Vet. Receptionist is a saint. She makes phone call to Big Vet to see if she can get something done. I bring up doing the prednisolone as a shot, she asks in the back. Maybe, but Local Vet wants to talk to Big Vet first.

Remember how Big Vet is long gone? Yeah. Not happening.

So I check on Haru. He's rough. Not too interested in food, and barfed for the first time in days because I couldn't give him his meds he needed without eating + the food helps keep the juices down.

I enter freaked out cat dad mode, am determined to get meds in him asap, even if it requires special trip to urgent care even though that's SO FRUSTRATING.

I call Local Vet again to see what we might be able to do. I give all the info as quickly as I can to a new receptionist, and she says she'll speak with Local Vet.

Finally, after days of keeping it together, I'm a sobbing mess as I sit with the cats. Fleaona looks at me like omg what is wrong with him, Haru is staring at me really tired. I compose myself.

Receptionist calls back. Local Vet is saying hang in there and we'll discuss when she talks to Big Vet. At this point I'm like okay, cool. But if he's not eating, ass exploding, and declining, what happens when I wait until Wednesday? You see the issue.

I'm definitely like voice cracking and choking back my tears as we hang up. Haru has been sick likely for weeks as we've tried all these different things. We finally know exactly how to give him some relief and I'm at the mercy of a pharmacy that might take an entire 24 more hours. I get frustrated that I didn’t just take the pill form, or at least ask to have some administered that day to hold us over. I could have also pushed for the shot instead of either of those options.

I'm fucked up. Get a call from the Big Vet herself, she wants to get the info from me directly. Very sweet, understanding. I'm going through the explanation and she goes "......wait. He HASN'T had a dose of his medicine yet???" and I'm like no girl that is the problem!!!!!

She immediately tells me to bring him in and apologizes for the runaround, now realing why I'm tripping. Says she'll examine him for free just to make sure he's not critical or anything, and give him a pill version just to get him started asap.

She gives me a big ass hug when I arrive and honestly gave me some aftercare for all the fucking life has been giving me. lmfaoooo

She's a gem, told her this haircut I got (spoiler) while trying to play phone tag ended up looking like a fuckass bob. She's like girl pls I love your cunty little bob! 😂 I realize that I've 100% made the right choice with this specific local vet, felt like we should have been yapping over margaritas. She literally spent most of her lunch break with me just letting me ramble about Haru's health history.

Got to give her the tea about when I broke up with that specific clinic before when Haru almost died as a baby. She was mind blown. Also says she isn't shocked because some of the older folks in vet care refuse to be wrong. Ends with saying my cats are lucky to be loved by me and that I give off incredible vibes. Didn't cry again, but a bitch thought about it. 😂

Also profusely thanked the receptionists for their help, and for dealing with me when I was getting tense and explaining at 100mph. They were lovely.

Then, as I turn onto my neighborhood I go "wow wouldn't it be fucked if I got a call about the other meds being ready for pickup?" and as I turn onto my street....the call comes. It's ready.

So like........thank you for being patient with me. I hate that the timing has been like this and that it's all such a mess. There is important shit I need to be doing, I just gotta get Haru on the mend. And I think FINALLY we are.

Dude has been through so much in his little lifetime, and it all feels like it could have been avoidable. My biggest goal is just to make sure we get whatever it is that's going on with him managed and monitored for good. He has such a good poker face. His guts must have been fucked up for weeks to have gotten this bad, but he's only just now showing the wear and tear.

We are on track now, and I'm trying to allow myself to rest long enough to get back on my feet soon. Today I sold off another round of my Pokemon cards. I found some heavy hitters in boxes tucked away in my garage. There was a TCG Buy Sell Trade event at the local arcade (where I bought Stanley with my tickets lol) and ya boy made out like a bandit. It was really fun and the community is really cool. 😭 I also got some good friend time at a Witchy Market.

So now.........I'm gonna chill. 💖

[collucis]

DREAMING

Had the amazing opportunity to make an illustration of Shadow (and a small simple gif) for @creativepot4to's heart touching fic as part of this years Sonic Big Bang event @sthbigbang!! ⭐🙏 You can find the link to the fic here!! You should also definitely check out other artists works that i collaborated with!! Cause they are so breathtaking!!! 🖤💙 And these ofc are @okawiko and @thegreengoose22 ✨💗

Also included static versions!! One is 16:9 if anybody would like to grab it as a wallpaper and one is a 1:1 closeup! 🖤

And at last I'd like to thank everybody working on the project as it has been a pleasure to collab with all of you and would like to thank to the moderation team for the event and their hard work put in it!! ✨🙏

[goodkushnalchohol]

SOUND OF LOVE ‧₊˚ੈ steve rogers x fem!reader. smut / steve’s a little freaky / fresh out of ice cap / glazed donut ahh / maria hill mention / intentional use of lowercase / not proofread

there were many things you could be and most definitely should be doing right now, like completing those progress reports fury asked for last week, or doing a background check on tony's new intern that he wanted done two days ago, or maybe just returning your mom's call she's been so desperately wanting since you moved to manhattan a couple of weeks ago.

you could be doing all those things right now instead of sitting here, with steve, naming songs, movies and events he should catch up on if he wanted to fit in smoothly. you don't know why you found yourself here. you could've went home a long time ago, yet your feet had a mind of their own when they led you to the couch beside him two hours ago.

almost seven months ago, nick fury had been kind enough to drop another important task on you. mentor captain rogers. it was heavy at first, teaching a war veteran who was actually the same age as you all about the world and it's drastic changes since the 1940s. but as you got to know him and work with him and eat with him and see movies with him and go shopping with him, it got a whole bunch easier. yet not with your friends barking down your ear how handsome he was.

and it took every fibre in your being not to act upon that fact. because he was just handsome. he was sweet, and kind, and caring, and charming and all the right things, but you couldn't. your boss depended on you to take this seriously, and it would be unprofessional to do otherwise.

so about once every week, you do a run-down of all the new topics and learned and all the new topics he could learn, like right now.

"uhh... michael jackson! you should definitely know him, he's like one of the greats."

laying sprawled out on the couch of the S.H.I.E.L.D compound with your legs thrown over steve's lap was a lot more comfortable than you thought it would be. "I've heard of him, don't know much of his work though." steve responded, scribbling down the musicians name in his small notepad.

he sat at the bottom end of the sofa, rubbing an absentminded hand over your calf, waiting for you to name another as you held your phone over your face, searching through your playlists like a files room.

"do you know fleetwood mac? stevie nicks and all them?" you moved your phone slightly, peering at him as he shook his head, jotting down the band again. "god that's so upsetting." you muttered lightly, continuing scrolling through the lists of songs. he scoffed quietly, tipping the top of the screen down so you could see his face that was etched in confusion. "how so?"

you smirked at him, lifting your body up to lean against the couches armrest. "well it's just kinda sad how you've never heard such great music before, i mean... silver springs, the chain and dream are all fantastic songs that you have never even heard of, let alone listened to, so it's pretty clear you haven't found good music yet." he shrugged his shoulders and shook his head in disbelief, laughing as he did so.

"i've been here eight months with sam constantly giving me new sources of media to consume. trust me, I've found good music."

his confident expression almost made your knees weak, lucky you were sat across the sofa. "really? like what?" you challenged him, tilting your head to tease him, edging him on to take your bait. "nirvana, acdc, queen, the eagles, kate bush." he listed them off with ease, smiling at you while doing so. "any more?"

he pursed his lips, before nodding his head and continuing. "david bowie, radiohead, oasis, blur, the beatles, lauryn hill, metallica." your brows raised, and a surprised gaze played across your face. metallica. huh. you wouldn't have pictured him to like them. "what was that last one?" he smiled slyly at you, his fingers now following a steady flow of drawing spirals on your leg. "metallica?"

you nodded, folding your arms across your chest and gesturing to further explain. "yeah i like them, and i think they're music is a very different to what i know, i guess that's why i took an interest in them." you laughed at him slowly, a small chuckle escaping your lips.

"i like em too, what's your favourite song? mine would probably be enter sandman." steve hummed in agreement, stroking his chin in a train of thought. "master of puppets. i even learned it on guitar." his words made you scoff and your sure he gave himself whiplash with how fast he turned his head to look at you. "now what?"

you shook your head, grinning at him. "nothing! i just - didn't expect you to play the guitar is all. didn't know you had it in you." steve smiled at you, unaware of the heat pooling in your chest and in your stomach. dirty thoughts swirling in your mind, picturing his fingers playing with the strings of a guitar, then playing with your pussy like a fucking toy, having you however he wanted. it was disgusting, and the image of his hands drawing patterns into the fabric of your jeans right infront of you drove you insane.

it was vile. it was gruelling. it was sickening. it was - "well after i came out of the ice i had a lot of time to myself, y'know, recovering and stuff. so i taught myself how to play one of the best songs in the world." steve pulled you from your mind and you caught his eye, awaiting an answer. you stood abruptly, hoping to clear your mind in a new atmosphere. "come on." you spoke smoothly, walking past his body on the couch.

he followed soon after, catching up quickly. "where are we going?" the blonde asked, casting you a questioning look. you exhaled heavily, leading him farther away from the living area. "my office. you're in dire need of finding a better song to call 'best in the world.'" he snickered at you, figuring out the path to your office. "and you have music in there?"

"of course i do. cds upon cds upon cds of beautiful songs."

the office was cold, with metal filing cabinets against the walls and a large desk in the middle covered in stacks of papers and folders. dim light casted through windows from behind the table, so you moved to turn on the small desk lamp. "cozy" steve mumbled.

two large shelves on the wall held a large sum of cds and cassettes, all organised into alphabetical order. as you beelined for that, the large man found his way around your desk, picking through bundles of sheets and examining reports. you flicked through the abcs and found your way to the middle, finding your disc of choice.

'the only exception' - paramore.

"found it!" you spoke, voice echoing down the empty hallways of the building. you pull the cd to your chest while facing steve. he smiles fondly at you, leaning against the desk as you giggle to yourself. "paramore. one of the best bands to come out within the last few years." you hand him the cd case and let him examine it, reading the song names from the album typed on the back of the plastic. he dips his head in approval, flipping it back around to look at the cover.

you bite your lip in anticipation, hoping for him to be interested in it. "looks good. any songs in your favour that you want me to like?" he responds in a sincere tone. you nod, taking a step closer to him and turning the cd over one last time, pointing to the song. "the only exception. it reminds me of you for some reason."

"really?" he asks, glancing down at you with an expression you just can't make out. "hmm." you murmur quietly, before continuing. "i guess it's because you're one of the few people from work i like, and i mean actually like because i don't make friends with anybody here." you look up at him, and he'a still staring down at you with his strong blue eyes with a smirk playing across his mouth.

you both pause, standing in silence as his hand wraps around yours that previously gestured to the disc. your breath goes shallow as he stares, like he's debating something he shouldn't do. he opens his mouth to speak slowly, as it it's paining him to do so. "and that's it?" you nod carefully, keeping your mouth shut. "no other reason?" he swallows when you shake your head, his adams apple bobbing slightly and you try to ignore the dampness building in your core and his husk voice.

"well, there - there might be one other reason." you whisper, breaking eye contact and instead gazing out the window to avoid awkwardness. his brows furrow but his eyes don't leave your face for a second, and he prays you keep going. "go on."

his voice is needy, yet you don't want to admit it. not when this could ruin the sacred job fury gave you and absolutely tarnish all respect people have for you. but you can't. you cant go on for any longer without him. you want him so bad, and right now its clear steve wants you too. "what is it? please just tell me." his voice breaks and it comes out a little whimpered, and all you want to do right now is sit on his face until the only thing you hear are those sounds from underneath you.

jesus christ.

your hands find the collar of his shirt and you pull him down like a fucking starved woman. your lips meet in a clash of tongue and teeth, but it doesn't matter. there's a chance you won't ever have this again, so you're making it matter. your on your toes, his neck his craned to hard it looks painful, but he doesn't care. not when he's getting what he wanted since that first meeting.

his hands are splayed across the surface of your back, pushing you against his body like he'll never feel you again. your tongue slides across his lips, and he forces his mouth into yours - something you hadn't expected from captain fucking america.

those long, rough, calloused fingertips graze the fat of your ass, yet pull back quickly like he's dancing on the edge of impurity. you moan unintentionally into his mouth, making his hands grip your hips tightly and a pained "fuck." is muttered quietly. But you still hear it. steve grasps the nape of your neck, holding you against him like he needs it.

the sound of breathy exhales and deep groans echo down the hall, and you only hope no one came in to get last minute paperwork. you try to hear it, his laboured breathing and whimpered whines, you try to feel it, scraping your nails down his chest through his button up and grip his biceps harshly, yet nothing beats the taste of it. his sweet mouth working against yours, like he's savouring it, and you are too.

his knee presses between your legs, and you nearly cry out at the feeling of his muscled thigh. "please." you don't know what your begging for, but you need it now. you rock against his leg, pleasing the ache in your core. a hand makes it's way to the bulge in his jeans -

its fucking huge.

his body stutters with yours as you palm him slowly, and a soft groan bounces of the walls. "god - sweetheart, y-you're so good." his words go straight to your head and you almost feel dizzy, riding his thigh harder like a rabbit. he lifts your body up with ease, hands placed tightly on your waist as he places you on the desk.

theres a pause in the air as you both catch your breath, a piece of saliva connecting you two as you were before. his leg is still between your heat and your hand is still rubbing him slowly, like two teenagers fucking for the first time. his chest is rising and falling rapidly while you lean against it, and your eye catches the weekly mission report you're supposed to send fury tomorrow. "this is bad, this is so so bad." you glance at his concerned face, his head already thinking the same as you. "fury would kill us if he finds out." you whisper, head dipping lowly like a sad dog.

you're both still, yet the feeling of need still lingers in the air. "do we stop..? the farther we go the more likely he'll know and i -" his breath falters and bucks up into your hand as you press harder onto him. "shit. I don't want to stop." he says quietly, gazing into your eyes with such desperation you think you might cry.

you shake your head aggressively and your hands close around the back of his neck. "neither do i."

your lips trailed down his neck, sucking, biting and kissing all you can get your mouth on as his hands hold your thighs and he grinds against your hand. you exhale shakily when your other hands moves down to undo the buttons of his shirt, exposing more and more skin for you to get your hands on. when you get the last button, the shirt is gone immediately, thrown behind him somewhere as you bring both your hands to his chest and claw down it.

steve sighs in discontent when he loses the friction, but he grows more satisfied once your fingers find the hem of your top and pull it over your head, revealing your chest that's only covered in a bra. his tongue makes its way to your chest, licking and suckling all down your breasts.

you feel his growing tent and its urge for release, your hands just barely unclips his belt and he's already humping your hand, begging for your touch. he whimpers into your chest needily, practically having dry sex with your hand, you couldn't care less though, his mouth his hot and wet and it makes your cunt fucking drip.

his hips grinding against your hand speed up, yet you don't notice with the sounds of his moans ringing in your ears. "fuck, keep going, so beautiful sweetheart, you're so good, god."

both your jeans are still on, and he's blabbering over your tits, and it's so fucking hot. his work on your chest freezes and he lets out a guttural groan as his hips continue fucking into your hand while he comes, a large damp area spreading over his bulge. "shit." steve rogers, captain america, just came in his pants. and it was the most lewd, hot and sexiest thing you've ever seen.

you both catch your breath again, and your replaying that moment in your head over and over again to remember it well, because you will most definitely be thinking of it every time your hands are buried in your panties while you're a moaning mess.

steve swallows watching your face with slight embarrassment in his eyes. "i'm sorry, it's just uh.. it's been a while." he says slowly, a small awkward smile playing across his face. you giggle, rubbing soothing circle into his shoulder. "don't be sorry, that was so fucking hot."

a loud door bangs closed at the end of the hallway, startling you and steve. the following footsteps makes his head shoot up and look at you with wide eyes and an open mouth. "quick!" you utter quietly, jumping off the desk and pulling your shirt on over you head and fixing you hair.

steve takes longer, fumbling with the many buttons of his shirt and you know he won't look ready quick enough so you usher him behind the door, hoping whoever it is won't peer in as you sit at your table, pretending to be working.

the footsteps pause right at your door, knocking twice before opening it, and hiding steve from your view. you glance up, holding a pen over a page in a fake act, smiling at the person across from you. "maria! what are you doing here so late?" you question the woman, eyes following the sheets of paper in her hand. "hey, could ask you the same question." she says skeptically, looking at you with a funny look. "just dropping in some forms fury wants everyone to fill in, nothing special."

you nod along as she hands you the form, turning around swiftly and walking back out the door. "i'll see you tomorrow then, you too steve!"

©veluques - please do not copy or post my works on any other platforms!!

[geddyqueer]

I’m in my prog era. I’m listening to King Crimson. What else should I be listening to? Yes, Genesis, Rush of course… but what albums? And what else? I want to follow the the arc that leads to the industrial stuff I was listening to as a teenager, NIN and Tool and such. What can you tell me?

early prog: did you ever get into camel? I think the snow goose is a good album, and raindances. otherwise gryphon is a sublimely fun band and really captures the wizardly feel of 70s prog, and they’ve released a couple new albums in the past few years on bandcamp!

you lived through the 80s and 90s prog years… I think if you haven’t re-examined primus (autocorrected to pronis) since then they’re probably worth a revisit. the bridge between prog and industrial was mostly built by californians; mr bungle’s album california still hits, I think. and if you want mr bungle without the vocals, look up secret chiefs 3.

current prog is basically synonymous with prog metal at this point. you could take a gander at the following bands (album suggestions in parentheses): gojira (start with the most recent and work backwards); haken (vector, virus); leprous (aphelion, whatever the newest album is called); symphony x which is more metal than prog but definitely comes from a proggy place (paradise lost, iconoclast). if you want to listen to a Rush album but you ran out of Rush albums, check out crown lands: they’re doing a Rush pastiche, but they’re really cute about it. and opeth is still around doing what they do!