#fun fact i fucking hate this fic!

[rafeandonlyrafe]

ponytail

words: 1k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, blowjob, face fucking a bit, hair play?, mentions of thigh riding, public sex

“can i join you today rafey?” you ask, plopping down on his lap. 

“join me for what?” he questions, dropping his phone onto the couch, the weather app still opened up, checking the radar and wind direction.

“golf, duh.” you say like it's obvious. he does usually go on fridays, so it's no surprise that he would be going today, especially since it was pretty sunny out

“oh.” rafe says, his eyebrows raising in surprise. “you really want to go with me?”

“mhm.” you nod. “i bought a new golf skirt.” 

“ah, now it makes sense.” rafe laughs, pulling you into his chest when you pout. “of course you can come baby.”

“yay!” you press a kiss to his lips, your hands coming to rest on his strong jaw. “im gonna go get ready.”

you hop up off of rafes lap, but not before giving him another kiss. you head upstairs, excited to get dressed in your new golfing outfit. you apply makeup, figuring you'd get rafe to take some cute pictures of you for instagram.

you tie your hair up in a ponytail before adjusting your skirt and putting on your golf shoes.

“all ready, rafey.” you bound back down the stairs. rafe perks up instantly when he sees you in your tiny skirt.

“you look hot.” rafe says as he stands, coming over to deliver a kiss.

“thanks baby.” you smile, rafe still managing to make you blush even after you've been together for over a year.

“come on, let's go before it gets too busy.” rafe says, taking your hand in his as he leads you out the door.

--

“rafe, cut it out.” you say with a laugh as his hands find a way to your waist again.

“i can't help it baby, you look so good.” he groans, pulling your body against his, not letting you swing your club and hit the golf ball.

“i know, but i gotta hit this! don't you wanna move on to the next hole?” you question. it's an easy putt, which is all you really like to do. you always start your turn from where rafes first hit lands, it makes golf easier and more enjoyable for you. rafe even lets you drive the cart from time to time. 

“wanna move on to your next hole.” rafe says, making you lean against him as you howl with laughter.

“that was so stupid!”

“shut up.” rafe groans, burying his head in your shoulder, glad that you wore a tank top today that didn't cover too much of your skin as he kisses where your neck meets your shoulder.

“you are corny, rafe cameron.” you say with a roll of your eyes, pulling away from his grabby hands so you can finally make your putt.

you line up your shoot before tapping the ball into the hole, letting out a whoop in happiness at getting it in.

“good job.” rafe says, giving you a high five.

you retrieve your ball before heading to the next hole, frowning when rafe turns the golf cart the wrong direction.

“uh… rafe?” you question as he pulls behind a patch of woods.

“wanna suck me off baby?” he questions as he puts the cart into park, looking over at where you are perched on the golf cart next to him.

“oh!” you squeal, now understanding why he took you to the one secluded part of the course. “yes!”

rafe laughs, stepping out of the cart and moving to the other side. you get on your knees in the cart, not wanting to dirty them in the grass.

rafe tugs his zipper down as you work the button open, mouth already salivating.

you pull his pants down to his thighs, his underwear coming with it as his cock perks up, already hardening. rafe glances around, double checking that no one is around as you grasp his cock. 

you open your mouth, stroking over his cock as you rub the head against your tongue. rafe lets out a quiet moan, his hand moving to grip your ponytail.

“gonna fuck your mouth, yeah?” rafe questions. he wants to let you take your time, but he also doesn’t want to get in trouble with the country club if he gets caught. 

you nod, opening your mouth as rafe pushes your head down on his cock, his hips pushing forward at the same time. you place your hands on his thighs to keep yourself steady as he uses your ponytail to guide you up and down.

rafe only takes it slow for a minute before he begins to snap his hips forward, his cock growing inside your mouth.

he wraps your ponytail around his head for a better grip. you squeeze your eyes closed at the pain of your hair being pulled, you panties flooding with wetness.

“good girl.” rafe praises you, pumping faster. you moan around his length, glad that you have enough practice on his cock to accommodate him easily, remembering when you first blew him and was unable to take him all the way into your mouth.

you whine as rafe yanks on your hair, using your mouth to get himself off. your throat constricts around him as you resist the urge to cough, managing to squeeze your fists tightly and avoid gagging.

rafe picks his head up from looking at you to glance around again, but he sees no carts or players nearby. 

“gonna cum in your mouth baby.” rafe warns, imagining if you did get caught, if someone saw you being such a good slut for him, your jaw slack as his cock pulses in your mouth.

rafe releases quickly after his warning, cum spurting into your mouth. you moan around his length, sucking gently as you help him ride out his high.

rafe pulls you off by your ponytail, tucking his cock back into his pants and redoing them.

“you messed up my hair.” you pout, trying to smooth out your ponytail.

“sorry, baby.” rafe says, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. you wipe your mouth and move to sit back on the seat of the cart, stretching your legs out.

“wanna ride my thigh to make up for it?” rafe asks, sticking his leg out.

“oh, yes!” you squeal, sliding over to push your crotch into his thigh, straddling him.

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @rafecamerongirl @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @drewsbabygirll @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre

#fun fact i fucking hate this fic! #i just had a different picture in my mind but ugh whatever #i wanna move on #rafe smut #rafe cameron smut #obx smut #outer banks smut #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fic #rafe fic #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe fanfic #rafe cameron x you #obx x reader #obx fic

[starlooove]

No bc fuck tim but it really really bothers me how people ignore his growth like he used to be an asshole and I’ll give tim Stans one thing: now he’s so so so stale but what I disagree with is that this staleness is bc nobody likes him like it’s in fact the exact opposite where everyone likes him so much they dont want to do anything. Even when it’s him surface level challenging Bruce it’s when everyone else is doing it too; but he’s still the backbone of the fam! Etc. and it’s so irritating bc him gaining more compassion and empathy even for people he doesn’t fw is so fun to watch and that’s why the captain boomerang thing was so out of character! (Not in a from the author way but in a tim wouldn’t do that and he and Bruce both knew it which is why it went down like it did. Same way dick killing joker was ooc; not in fanon sense but in a he would hate himself forever for this sense) and speaking of that it’s such an interesting mirror to Bruce who genuinely believes that everyone can grow vs Tim’s it doesn’t matter if they grow it’s not my decision to make like it’s the same but it’s not AND WITH CASS’ IT DOESNT MATTER IF THEY CHOOSE NOT TO GROW I WONT DO IT! like ugh. And anyways even when people acknowledge it they boil it down to “Janet and Jack taught him that the capitalist pigs that they are” like no. This is who tim was. Tim was the kind of guy who’d blame a dead kid for dying. That’s ok. Also Janet and Jack? Please reread anything involving them that’s not a fic like Jack had anger issues and they were both aloof at worst like relax.

#the Jack and Janet thing is both an understatement and an exaggeration but I don’t think anyone reads enough to care #some tim stan might get all pissy and be like ‘no look this is everytime jack yelled at him and boarding schools are abusive’ to which #and its like narratively that means nothing bc the tim you made up to justify the Drake parents you made up by blowing shit out of #proportion is also made up and if all of that was abusive there’d be smth to show for it besides ur homophobic Jack #too girlboss to care but still terrible Janet bc god forbid a woman have a personality from ur fics #anyways that’s also the reason I’m ignoring the council of spiders #well two reasons #first is that was just a moment to make tim look cool and did absolutely nothing for him or his character moving on #like at all #I’d say it fucked with his previous established dislike of killing for his own reasons #and while that COULD be interesting it’s not bc they didn’t do shit with it #and fanon doesn’t do fun shit with it either #nothing about how tim in his most manic state did shit he doesn’t want to remember shit he’d HATE other ppl for #just “’remember what I did to ur base Ra’s? mess with me again and see what I do next 😼’ #like ok can you be real and genuine? #anyways I think #AND NOT IN A HATER WAY #Tim would benefit from being humbled #like genuinely I detest the world can’t move without tim running it but the idea that tim thinks that way is so good to me #and #I think next step being him realizing that’s not true would be a BIG push for his character #bc like I said tim Stans are right in the fact that he’s stale as hell rn #but that’s bc there’s nothing to say bc there’s nowhere to go! y’all want a tim action story where he shows off how badass he is reread #the Bruce quest and maybe it’ll remind you he’s not ceo lmao but anyways there’s nothing internal to say about him atp bc nobody wants to #say anything that’s not propping him up. same with Bruce! Gotham war was such a copout but it’s like ppl are saying he’s stale and it’s bc #god forbid he makes a lasting fumble. and I’m not under the illusion this is new I’m just saying it’s weird that fandoms not clocking it #anywayyys I really do like thinking about the No killing rule and how different it manifests for each perosn #like the way each distinct difference tells u so much about them #UGH ONLY SLIGHTLY RELATED BUT DUUUUUKE BEING LIKE IDGAF ABOUT GUNS LIKE UR SO REAAAL #anyways enough tim positivity for today FUCK THAT NIGGA!

[denimpera]

hi. so. swissdew huh.

beta'd by the lovely @cirrus-ghoulette and @alas--pringles. thank you both <3

2.1k of frottage n fuckin

Swiss is in the process of wiping off what's left of the black smudge around his mouth when he hears the knob to the door turn, open, and promptly smack into the wall before being slammed shut. He knows who it is without even having to look up from his wipes. He grins.

“Y’okay there, spitfire?” He goads.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Swiss, embarrassingly, lets out the most imperceptible gasp when he's wrenched back by the shoulder and cruelly shoved back onto the couch in the dressing room. He gives the same sly grin up at Dew nonetheless, chuckling at Dew as he pushes Swiss back so he has enough room to straddle one of Swiss’ thighs, small hands either side of his thigh to keep himself balanced. He glares up at Swiss as he sets a slow rolling pace with his hips. He hasn't even taken his helmet off.

“You think you're so fucking funny?” Dew breathes, gasps, shifts a little further onto the couch, knee dangerously close to Swiss’ balls.

“My, Dew, I've no idea what you're talking about.” Swiss chances, settling his hands on Dew's thighs, before doubling down and sliding them up to his hips in a loose grip when he's not batted away or snarled at, lifting and pushing the thigh Dew's perched on on the next roll of his hips, providing the little guy some friction.

He's rewarded a breathy tease of a moan, followed by a hiss as he tightens his hold on Dew's hips and pulls him along his thigh, getting one solid grind in before Dew knocks his hands away, leaning back slightly to finally rip off his helmet and balaclava, grumbling in frustration at the laces on the back until he throws it to the ground and lets his hair down.

Swiss takes a moment to admire him, his skin flushed peach with sweat, damp hair cascading down his shoulders, little chest heaving rabbit quick with his shallow breaths. Swiss sneaks a hand up to push a strand of hair behind Dew's ear.

Who quickly slaps his hand away.

“Don't fucking do that,” Dew growls at him, “Not tonight, not after that.”

Swiss pouts, “After what?”

Dew deadpans.

Until, of course, he snakes a hand between them to cup Swiss over his pants, half hard, taking as much of Swiss in his hand as he can and squeezing, groping, before he starts jacking him through the material.

Swiss groans, head tipping back to fall on the back of the couch, nails digging into the sides of Dew's thighs. Dew drops his head to Swiss’ shoulder, biting harshly through his shirt, pulling back a moment later to glare at Swiss’ stupid pleasure stricken face.

He lets out a gut punched sound as Dew speeds his hand up on Swiss’ cock before taking his hand away.

“That ring a bell?” Swiss nods stupidly, hands squeezing and releasing over and over at Dew's sides. Kneading him. “Uh huh,”

“Good, because that's all you're getting.”

Swiss doesn't even get the time to protest before Dew's back to rolling his hips, holding Swiss’ thigh down with his hands so he stays still. So he can go at his own pace, seek his own friction. So he can use him.

He lets out a broken little whine when he gets a good pace going, raising himself up a little as he gets to the top of Swiss’ thigh, bearing down and dragging his cock closer to his knee on the down-roll. Swiss is still kneading at his sides, grateful for the point of contact that Dew hasn't shoved away yet, and he wants nothing more than to pull and push Dew's little hips how he wants, bounce him on his thigh, get him real fucked up.

Dew seems to be doing that just fine on his own, though. He looks pained, brows pinched together, mouth pulled into a tight frown where he's breathing out clipped grunts and pants between his teeth. He's clenching his jaw, hair bouncing around his shoulders as he rides Swiss’ thigh. He's sweating, even more than he was, there's glistening spots on the hook of his jaw and his cupid's bow that Swiss wants to clean away with his tongue.

Dew digs his nails into Swiss’ thigh and grinds hard, slow. Dragging his hard little cock along the top of Swiss’ thigh where there's a small spot of pre that's soaked through Dew's pants, he always gets so wet. He lets out the sweetest whine, brows upturned, mouth open wide. Satanas.

“Yeah, that feel good, baby?” Swiss moans, squeezing his hands at Dew's waist, taking the moment to lift his thigh, pulling Dew across it, feels the head of his dick catch on his pants, wincing in sympathy.

He's so caught up in watching the patch of pre spread across the front of Dew's pants that he doesn't notice Dew glaring down at him, chest heaving, sneering at him. “It did.” Dew digs his nails into the back of Swiss’ hands, then, waiting until Swiss is forced to let go from pain alone, all but throwing Swiss’ hands away from him. “Then some useless fuck interrupted,”

The way Dew talks down to him does things to him, makes his cock twitch in his pants, sweat pricking at the back of his neck.

Dew waits until he's sure Swiss won't try to get handsy again to start the snaps of his hips back up, desperate little humps while he squeezes his eyes shut. Swiss lets him go for a few minutes, hissing and cooing at particularly rough thrusts of Dew's hips, there's a wet line of pre seeping into Swiss’ pants where Dew's carving away. That does it.

“Dew, baby,” Swiss looks up at his face, hopeful, frowning when he sees Dew's expression unchanged, eyes still closed, if anything- he's frowning a little more.

“Baby, querida, take it out, wanna see-” Swiss cuts himself off with a moan as Dew's hips stutter, thighs squeezing around Swiss’, spasming.

“Wanna see you get my fuckin’ pants all messy, baby,” Swiss looks back up at Dew the moment he opens his eyes, bleary and lidded, letting out a pained groan. He tosses his head back, arches his back, panting up at the ceiling, hips still moving in small little jerks.

Swiss thinks he's going to ignore him until Dew scrambles to stand, getting up quickly and stumbling a little, nearly falling backwards when his boot gets caught on Swiss’. He fumbles with his belt, nails catching under the clip until it's free. Dew shoves his pants down to his thighs and Swiss drinks him in. He's not wearing underwear. Of course he's not. Milky thighs and ruddy little dick on full display in the dim yellow light.

Swiss waits until Dew's stepped closer, fully intending to straddle Swiss’ thigh again, to knock his foot out from under him- sending him careening to the side before Swiss catches him by the waist, turning him around and bringing him down into his lap. He wraps an arm around Dew's chest, pinning his arms to his sides while Dew writhes, calling Swiss every name under the sun.

He's hissing out "get the fuck off of me-” as he squirms, pushing his weight back into Swiss, trying to wiggle free. It only serves to give Swiss the leverage to pull Dew back and down. Dragging Dew's barely there ass across the front of his capris, where he's fattened up under the material. He groans low in his throat, repeating the action until he's steadily grinding up into Dew's ass, a mirror of his antics on stage, until Dew's head falls back on his shoulder, his body goes slack and he exhales a moan.

“There you go,” Swiss coos, “That's a good girl, yeah?” He purrs into Dew's ear, licking up the lobe.

“Swiss-” Dew arches his back, keening deep in his throat before his brain seems to catch up with him, “you fucker,”

Dew sways hard to the right, managing to wriggle one of his arms free from Swiss’ hold, grabbing Swiss’ hand where it's resting on his hip, and drags it up to wrap around his little stiffy.

“finish what you fuckin’ started.”

Swiss growls, burying his face in Dew's neck, squeezing the comfortable handful that is Dew's dick. He drops his hand to cup Dew's balls for a moment before squeezing and sliding up from base to tip, polishing the head and spreading the beading pre back down his shaft to slick the glide. He huffs into Dew's neck, breathing in Dew's cinnamon-citrus scent.

Dew keens above him, turning his face into Swiss’ neck, breathing out wet little puffs of air against his cheek, sporadically rutting up into Swiss’ fist, his thumb sliding over the head on every upward thrust of his hips. Swiss still grinding up into his ass as Dew writhes around in his lap until he lets out a moan that makes Dew scoff.

“Don't you dare fuckin’ cum, you asshole.” he pants, holding Swiss’ wrist still with one of his hands so that he can fuck his fist at his own pace, his other hand coming up behind him to thread into Swiss’ hair, tugging hard. “you can't fuckin' do anything right-”

Swiss mewls, nosing under Dew's jaw to hide how red his face must be- and, of course, Dew notices, laughing cruelly.

“don't tell me you fuckin’ liked that,” he bites out, speeding up just a little. He scoffs again at Swiss’ lack of denial. “you're fucking pathetic.” Swiss nearly cums on the spot; groaning deep in his chest, arm dropping from Dew's chest to wrap a hand around his bony hip, dragging him hard across the front of Swiss’ pants, nails biting into his skin. Dew moans, high and breathy, and Swiss knows he's close.

He doubles down, puts his all into jerking Dew off, tightening his fist at the base and twisting his wrist at the tip, drinking in the choked, punched out whines as Dew tries to squeeze his thighs together, fingers shaking around Swiss’ wrist where he's still holding him in a loose grip. His other hand pulls harder at Swiss’ hair, drawing his own occasional whines as he pants into Dew's neck, sweating head to toe.

Dew suddenly lets out a short burst of “uhn, ah, ah,”, wriggling around in Swiss’ lap like he can't decide if he wants to be closer or get away from Swiss working him over.

He stutters out a stupid, mumbled “Swiss, gunna cum, fuck-” as he heaves, the back of his head digging painfully into Swiss’ shoulder. As payback, or maybe just to help him along, he drops his mouth to bite at Dew's shoulder through his shirt, almost exactly where he bit on stage. Dew cries out, a raspy shout followed by him sharply arching his back, holding his breath while he cums hard into the slick hole of Swiss’ fist, shivering and pulsing hotly in his palm as his cum dribbles over Swiss’ fingers to pool onto the couch and floor below them.

He sags into Swiss as he whines through the aftershocks, thighs jumping and hand coiling around his wrist in a vice when Swiss dares one final tug of his spent cock before he lets Dew go.

He kisses Dew's shoulder, leaving a path of sloppy kisses up his neck to his jaw, mouthing just under his ear as Dew catches his breath. Dew sighs, rolling his neck off of Swiss’ shoulder, cringing at his sweat sticky hair and how it clings to the back of his neck.

And, because Swiss has never been good at saving his own ass, he brings his cum covered fingers up to Dew's mouth.

Who, of course, slaps his hand away so hard he winces.

“Never know when to stop, do you?” Dew's voice is husky, raspy, and appropriately annoyed. Swiss hums his apology.

Dew stands, then, stepping around the drying cum on the carpet, pulling his capris back up, fastening the belt. He picks his helmet off of the floor, tucking it under his arm as he shakes out his hair, trying to at least look a little presentable. He makes a show of looking around to see if he's forgotten anything, humming and walking over to the door of the dressing room when he's decided that, no, he's got everything, hand pausing on the doorknob when Swiss speaks. “what about me?”

“What about you?” he turns to look at Swiss, thoroughly annoyed.

“Y’gonna leave me here?” Swiss gestures to the obvious bulge at the front of his pants.

“Take care of yourself.” and with that, Dew opens the door and slips out a lot quieter than he had entered.

Swiss sighs, deciding to palm himself through his pants before he undoes the buckle to his belt, pulling himself out- and, because he can't help himself, sticks his still cum coated fingers in his own mouth.

#swiss ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #swiss/dew #the band ghost fanfiction #hi genesis #i dont write smut so if its evident just ignore it and be really nice to me #i am just a girl #fun fact this was titled 'i fucking hate swiss' in all three of my drafts #not doing my usual layout because its 6am and i have been up 23 hours. im lazy. spare me. #still dont know how to fucking tag 👍 #fic #denim writes

[twig-gy]

throwing this out there for no discernable reason. thoughts?

#one of those posts where i am begging for validation #fun fact: doing this is really hard so if you give me criticism #in any way #i will immediately die #anyway probably not posting fics bc i still feel like i am Wrong At All Times about The Lore #and Characterization #and idk how to write plot #and i hate sharing my writing #well i want to but i am so c #scared #i am just a level 1 goblin i will not give any exp #anyway don’t kill me please #AAAAAAAA reconsdering #feeling productive might fake my death so no one hears about this #okay alright this. is fine #WAIT SHIT FUCK I ADDED MY ADDICTION IN THERE #tw sh #tw self harm #self harm tw #cw sh #cw self harm #self harm cw #is that good #okay this. is fine #sorry y’all i completely forgor #i just add the sh stew into literally anything i write #it is called projection #anyway really sorry if that triggered anyone

[insertsickusername13]

Promises Made on October 30th

title is the concept and summary bc i thought of the title before the concept of the fic. whoops.

warnings: implied abuse, alcohol is referenced and consumed but not in like a bad way (most of the time), no smut but there's one scene where they kiss and i describe it in a gross way for some reason and sex is talked about once or twice

word count: 3.6k

 Jake spent most nights alone. He had friends, sure, and plans most evenings. Dates with girls, parties to attend, and though he’d like to spend the rest of his life swimming in a fuzzy unconsciousness where he was only just aware of his existence, half passed out on someone else’s couch, dawn always sunk her rosy fingers into the horizon and one hostess or another was forced to give Jake a pitying look as they showed him to the door.

 My parents will be home soon, some would say, and Jake would leave with a bitter laugh. If he was lucky, he’d get to stay and help clean up. On the best days, he could sometimes sneak in a quick fuck with whatever girl was still around. 

 Most nights, though, he left before anyone had the chance to kick him out. He spent hours sitting on the floor of his living room, staring at the front door and waiting for them to come home. If he pretended hard enough, the pictures on the walls weren’t the most terrifying thing he had ever faced. Photographs from family weddings, birthdays, anniversaries, and award ceremonies all taunted him. His parents’ faces stared at him, scrutinizing every move as he trembled, cried, and broke down. Every sob echoed back like a bullet ricocheted off metal. He was sitting expressionless in the middle of a war zone watching soldiers (read: dreams) and civilians (read: his future) bleed out and die on the floor around him. 

 Despite holding onto the childish hope that things would get better, that the future held something more than loneliness for Jake Dillinger, there was still the undeniable truth that it wouldn’t. Jake was doomed. Life wasn’t going to be anything special for him—he was going to suffer and he was going to have to get used to it young. He hated his parents, himself, his girlfriend, his life, and his house. He wasn’t going to kill himself, he wasn’t a coward, but he wasn’t going to wake up every morning and fight to be okay. He was resigned to his sadness.

 Until Rich Goranski knocked on his door at 10 pm on September 17th and showed Jake that silence wasn’t the only thing that could exist in his house. 

 He didn’t wait for an invitation inside. The second Jake had opened the door, Rich pushed past him and into the kitchen. He wasn’t quite fast enough for Jake to miss the bruises on his cheekbones or the way he favored his right leg over his left. Jake cataloged the injuries and promised himself he’d ask about them later. 

 “The hell are you doing here?” Jake called after him, his tone tipping over the border between annoyed and concerned.

 Rich shrugged and settled on the kitchen counter. He seemed to only be slightly aware of Jake’s presence, more focused on the empty floor in front of him. His eyes were glassy in a way that suggested he’d already been crying and was done with it. Jake studied him, searching for his next move in Rich’s body language. If Rich looked like he was going to cry again, Jake could probably swoop in for a hug without being called gay. If he didn’t, Jake would probably offer a drink. Or a movie?

 “Stop looking at me like that,” Rich snapped. He was looking up at Jake, his eyes narrowed and lips pressed together, almost like he was challenging him. Jake flinched back, unsure of what he’d done to deserve such treatment. 

 ���Like what?”

 “Like I’m a fucking math problem or some shit. I’m not. Just fucking talk to me.”

 Jake considered him. Though it was invisible to Rich, Jake could still see bullets and spears flying through the air as people screamed out war cries and fought with everything in them for land or oil or their families. Metaphorical war didn’t end just because a friend had shown up. Jake was always surrounded by imagined violence; always on the verge of fleeing. 

 “I don’t know what you want from me,” Jake answered. His voice was barely loud enough to be heard over the sound of a bomb going off in the distance.

 Rich forced out a bitter laugh and hid his face behind his hands. 

 “God, fuck, me either. I don’t know why I’m here. Just fucking distract me. Do whatever the hell you want.”

 Jake found his parents’ record player in the living room and hit play. It was the only thing he could think to do—why, he wasn’t sure. But Rich had said anything, so Jake did anything. Some song by The Police (god, the irony) drifted through the room, a byproduct of his parents’ last anniversary together in the house. Jake had long since stopped caring—it didn’t even hurt to know they’d danced in this room, laughed in this room, raised him in this room. 

 He turned back to Rich and was met with a small, borderline amused, “What the hell, Jake?”

 “You said I could do whatever I wanted.”

 “This is what you want?”

 “I dunno.”

 Rich laughed as he hopped off the counter. The sound was so pure Jake watched the blood-soaked carpets go from crimson to pink as the rain washed away the worst of it. A white flag waved in the distance. Rich swayed to the music mindlessly, still favoring his right leg. 

 “Dancing?” Jake asked, the single word enough to get across his message. Rich nodded as he took Jake’s hand in his own and pulled him in close. 

 “Why not? We’ve got nothing better to do.”

 So Jake learned about music and dancing and how small Rich could feel when Jake had his hands on his hips, fingers digging into his skin just to convince himself Rich was real instead of some fantasy made up as a coping mechanism for his parents’ leering memory. Silence wasn’t the worst thing to exist. Jake knew how to make it go away.

 Still, that did nothing to dispel the obvious and ever-painful emptiness. Jake could play record after record as loud as he wanted until he had every song memorized and could sing it from any room in the house, but it was still empty.

He stumbled into the kitchen, drunk and disoriented, his feet dragging across the tile floor. Each step was like wading through the ocean, sea monsters grabbing at his ankles and trying to drag him under. He gripped counters and walls to keep himself afloat just long enough for Rich to knock on his door and saunter in, his presence a song in and of itself. 

 Jake followed his every movement with every sense: his ears, listening to the sound of Rich’s footsteps. Taste: kissing the corner of Rich’s mouth—never his lips, Jake wasn’t gay, but close enough that he could convince himself there was something like love brewing between them. Touch: holding onto Rich’s hand, his clothes, his hair, latching onto the warmth of him to convince himself the air conditioner wasn’t too cold or the empty spaces too vacant. 

 Sight: looking at Rich and only Rich. If he only looked at his hazel eyes and dyed-red hair and, on the days when Jake was weak and scared, his lips, then the shadows in the corners of the room lightened into something manageable and the photos on the walls that functioned as the closest thing Jake had to family faded into… well, photos. Just photos. 

 Rich helped, but he wasn’t enough to make the emptiness go away until October 15th.

 He showed up in the same way he had before. Glassy-eyed, hurt, and willing to do whatever Jake wanted to make everything slightly okay for a little while. 

 Tonight, Jake chose balloons. 

 “You can’t be serious,” Rich groaned. He was on Jake’s couch, a glass of white wine in hand. Something imported from Italy, or maybe France? All Jake knew was that it cost four hundred dollars.

 Jake shrugged. “Isn’t Brooke’s birthday coming up? It could be for her party.”

 “This is literally just a fucked up coping mechanism, don’t pretend it’s anything else.”

 Jake sighed disappointedly and leaned back against the couch. He was on the floor in front of it, a pack of two hundred balloons in his hand. They were all different colors—some neon, some pastel, some black, and others white. He’d bought them on a whim at a Walgreens for twenty bucks with no particular plan. Faced with his barren living room, the only signs of human existence the expensive vases on the end tables and the overstuffed throw pillows, he’d decided he’d blow them up and throw them around just to add a splash of color. 

 Jake looked up at Rich. He was half asleep but tense, his face scrunched up and hands clenched. It’d been bad this time around. It hadn’t just been Rich’s existence that pissed his dad off—he’d done something. Probably something minuscule, like broken a glass or clogged the toilet, but it was enough that what was usually a couple of light bruises and a limp had turned to black and blue blemishes over his right eye and up his chest. His lip was busted and every breath seemed labored and painful. Jake, unsure of what else to do, ran his thumb over Rich’s pulse and whispered, “Please?”

 Rich opened one eye to look down at Jake. Amongst the annoyance and pain, Jake saw a flash of pity. Rich shifted uncomfortably. 

 “Fine, but I have at least two broken ribs so you’re going to have to accept the fact I’m only blowing up one or two of these.”

 “Of course,” Jake rushed out, his hands already fumbling with the packaging of the balloons. “I wouldn’t—if it hurts, you don’t have to. Obviously. Just—”

 Rich thoughtlessly threaded his fingers through Jake’s hair. Jake’s voice gave out. 

 “I don’t understand you,” Rich whispered, not even bothering to look at Jake. “You’re confident all day, and then the second it gets dark you freak out. I’m the same person I am all the time. I know you don’t want to hurt me. Calm down.”

 It was, of course, a trend Jake had noticed as well. At school, he could control his tone and inflections to the point he sometimes wondered if he was accidentally manipulating the people around him into loving him. Then at night, when his defenses were already broken down by hours of facing the empty, stormy seas that were his house, he could barely find it in himself to get out a sentence without stuttering. 

 He blamed it on the one lie Rich had told in his claim: that he was the same person. He wasn’t. There was something different about nighttime Rich that had Jake’s face feeling too hot and the silence turning into the sound of his heart beating circles in his chest. 

 “Sorry,” Jake replied softly, “I dunno why it happens. You make me nervous.”

 Rich raised an eyebrow. Jake shoved a purple balloon in his face and hoped that would be enough for the topic to be dropped. It was still too sensitive, still too in the early stages of development, for Jake to be prepared enough to vocalize the worst of it. Someday, maybe. Probably. Once he didn’t have Christine to distract him or Jeremy’s constant insults to scare him into suppressing every urge that didn’t perfectly line up with the picture everyone else had of him in their minds. 

 Rich took the balloon and started to blow it up. For Jake, the process was effortless. Rich struggled through it tediously, taking small breaths and wincing after almost every one. Jake hated to say that he’d originally interpreted Rich’s complaints as a joke, but his worry hadn’t really spiked until Rich choked out an awkward, muffled cough and pained groan. 

 “Do you need—”

 “No,” Rich breathed, “No, I’m fine. Shut up, Jake.”

 Jake turned back to his neon green balloon without a word. He’d blown up almost twenty by now, enough to coat half the living room in a thin layer of color. He thoughtlessly kicked one with his foot and smiled as he watched it hit a picture of his mother and uselessly bounce off. Smiling, he kicked another one. It hit a picture of himself as a child. 

 He turned to Rich to tell him—about what, he wasn’t sure. Kicking balloons? Hitting pictures of himself and his family? His coping mechanisms were getting more fucked up by the second—and was almost immediately paralyzed by… fuck, by Rich. Just Rich. 

 He was sitting crisscross on the couch, a balloon in his lap. He’d spent the last four and a half minutes blowing it up to just a little bigger than Jake’s head. It was still smaller than it was supposed to be but Jake wasn’t going to complain. It was physically impossible when he could barely get enough oxygen in his lungs to speak. It wasn’t that there was a crushing panic on his chest stopping him from breathing, it was something much brighter. There were so many butterflies in his stomach they were flying into his chest and choking off every inhale. 

 Rich’s lips were wet. That was really what doomed Jake. He’d previously been unaware that every time Rich removed the balloon from his mouth he felt the need to lick his lips, but now that Rich was focused purely on tying the balloon off and was giving Jake ample time to stare, Jake was forced to acknowledge the way his vision tunneled at the sight. The way his whole body seemed to go warm. 

 Jake turned fully to face Rich, the balloon in his hand completely abandoned in lieu of watching Rich stick his tongue out in frustration as he struggled to keep the balloon inflated while tying the knot. When he finally succeeded, he burst into a smile louder than any record Jake had played over the past month.

 Rich looked up, eyes bright, and faltered when he found Jake already staring at him. He cleared his throat as his face flushed red. 

 “Uh, hi,” he squeaked out. Jake wanted to scream. This was one of the differences that left him speechless. Daytime Rich would smirk and call him gay. This Rich just looked flustered. 

 “Hi,” Jake whispered back. 

 “Whatcha doin’?”

 Jake considered his response carefully. One song or another was playing softly in the background, the balloons were filling up the emptiness. Everything was kind of okay. Jake had nothing left to cope with. He just… 

 “I really want to kiss you right now,” he answered. Rich froze. 

 “What?”

 Jake got up just enough so he was kneeling, purple and green and red balloons gathered around his knees and feet and the coffee table his back was pressed up against. He leaned up so he was close enough to run his pointer finger down Rich’s jawline and nudge his nose against Rich’s.

 “You heard me. You can tell me to stop.”

 Rich remained silent. Jake thought he felt ocean waters rising around his waist, drowning his balloons and pictures in stormy salt water. So he did the only thing he could think of.

He kissed Rich like his life depended on it, because it did, and felt his heart start beating again for the first time in months when Rich kissed him back just as desperate and soft and messily. 

 Hands tangled in Rich’s hair, mouth open and his tongue practically shoved in Rich’s mouth, licking at teeth like they were nectar or ambrosia, he scrambled onto the couch, limbs slow and unsteady as he climbed over Rich and forced him back against the couch. He tried to get himself closer to his paradise, his respite, his island in the middle of the ocean, but all he got was a wretched screeching sound and the feeling of air-filled plastic against his chest. 

 He pulled away just enough for Rich to let out a small whine as they lost contact with each other.

 “Rich.”

 “Yeah?” Rich asked breathlessly, already trying to lean up and kiss him again. 

 “Get rid of the fucking balloon.”

 Rich’s eyes widened, almost comically so. Jake wanted to cry at the way that sent his heart into overdrive.

 “Yeah, yeah, right, hold on—”

 He threw it across the room. Jake found the balloons kind of useless now. He was so filled with giddiness and hope that he couldn’t even comprehend how anything could ever be empty. 

 Until October 30th. 

 Rich didn’t need to knock on Jake’s door or let himself in. Jake was at Rich’s house, banging on the door repeatedly, each knock echoing and panicked. He didn’t stop until Rich swung the door open, rumpled and half asleep. 

 “What the fuck?” 

 “I need to talk to you.”

 Rich glanced back inside—presumably at his dad—before nodding. 

 “Yeah, okay, lemme get changed and put on my shoes, then we can go.”

 Jake nodded rapidly. His mind was racing beyond what he could understand, landing on panicked responses before he even knew what had triggered his fight or flight. He didn’t stop moving even as Rich disappeared back into his house. His foot tapped against the concrete. His fingers picked at his nails and the fabric of his shirt and his hair. Curses ran through his mind like a broken record, repeated until the sound was imprinted on Jake’s brain. 

 Rich appeared and suddenly everything in Jake’s mind went silent. 

 “So… are we doing this here or…?”

 “My house. Not uh—” Jake glanced back behind Rich. Not near your father was the implied statement. Rich sagged with relief.

 “Okay, yeah. Let’s go.”

 Jake could feel Rich’s concern in his gaze. He was watching Jake’s every move as if preparing for something, like Jake was going to swerve the car off the road and into a ditch or shoot himself. It made Jake want to laugh. Or scream. Or cry. He was going to die. 

 He didn’t even make it back to his own house. It was only a six-minute drive and he only made it four minutes in before he pulled over on the side of the road and stormed out of the car, his whole body trembling. He didn’t know where he was going, just that he needed an escape from the cramped driver’s seat of his car. He needed the autumn air to stop him from overheating and the wide expanse of stars to talk him down from an anxiety attack. 

 Rich fumbled after him, too confused to be panicked and too disoriented to be calm. 

 “What the hell?! Slow down—”

 Jake halted and spun on his heel, eyes wide. They were by a pond with benches and a dock and a parking lot only twenty feet away. There were grills along the beach and a football in the grass. Jake almost screamed. Every sign of humanity felt like too much. If he was going to do this, he needed it to be in the middle of the desert or the empty expanse of space with no one but Rich around to hear his confession.

 No. Fuck it. He needed to do this now. 

 “I’m gay.”

 Rich seized up. He was only a foot away from Jake, close enough so when he finally regained control of his muscles, he was able to reach out and take Jake’s hands. 

 “Really?” he whispered, looking up at Jake with eyes that literally shone like gold or diamonds. Jake wanted to drown in it.

 He swallowed his shame, not caring that it burned at his throat, and said, “Yeah. Yeah, fuck. Not all the way. I like girls. But I like kissing you and I like boys and I… I just like you. All of you. All the way. I like you. I’m really sorry.”

 Rich broke out into a grin. 

 “Yeah?” he asked just for confirmation. Jake nodded again. 

 Rich jumped up into Jake’s arms, fully committed to getting as physically close as he could. He wrapped his legs around Jake’s waist and his arms around his neck and fingers in his hair and kissed him hard on the lips. Jake felt like he was at home for the first time in years.

 “Me too,” Rich said between kisses, “Me too. So much. So fucking much.”

 Jake smiled into every kiss, so ecstatic he could barely keep himself standing. He fell back into the grass whispering, “Run away with me. Forever. It’s terrible here. It’s so terrible.”

 Rich nodded in agreement and pressed a gentle kiss on Jake’s neck. 

 “They hate us and we’re gonna find someplace better. I have enough money. Just run away with me, please. We can go anywhere you want.”

 “Anywhere?” Rich asked. He sounded pained, like the word burned as it came out. Jake nodded and propped himself up on his elbows. 

 “Anywhere. Just promise me you won’t leave.”

 Rich smiled and kissed him again. 

 “I promise,” he murmured, “I promise you’re beautiful, I promise I’ll run away with you, I promise I won’t leave, I—”

 He paused. Dread burrowed itself like a bullet in Jake’s chest. He searched Rich’s expression for answers before Rich had the chance to start speaking again. 

 “Not… not tonight, though, okay? There’s something I gotta do first.”

 “Is it—?”

 “Don’t worry about it, Jake. It’s nothing. How about Sunday? Give me tomorrow to take care of things, then we’re gone.”

 November first. The day after tomorrow. 

 Jake could handle it. He’d host his Halloween party, break up with Christine, and tie up any loose ends he had left. He’d be gone before he ever had to clean up the hell of a mess his friends were sure to leave behind in his parents' house.

 “Promise?” he whispered.

 Rich nodded. 

 “Promise. I just need tomorrow.”

#yes there is an extended metaphor but it's super super vague and barely there #if anyone can figure it out i'll... i don't know i'm not giving you money but i'll do something bc i'll be very impressed #richjake #rich goranski #jake dillinger #bmc #squipped rich #be more chill musical #sparkly star fanfic #FUN FACT I FUCKING HATE THIS #i actually wrote a whole other fic before this today (i did so much writing from 8-10 pm my fingers hurt) #and i hated it so much i deleted it and started over and wrote this #I WAS FOUR THOUSAND WORDS IN #i don't think people realize i'm not joking when i say i hate my writing idk #like i try to phrase it in an at least somewhat funny way but i hope you all realize i know its bad #like i am completely aware of how utterly shitty it is #the only reason i post it is bc. i don't know actually #it just happens #my brain goes quiet when i write and it goes even quieter when i share it with people #so. yeah. i. i am in a mood rn lmao #i tried to hide the ranting deep in the tags hopefully no one notices #if you're still here fuck off this is my therapy

[little-orphan-ant]

remember that time Gavroche, a literal 11/12-year-old child, took in two little kids he stumbled across and helped them get food and let them stay with him overnight and told them the next morning that they should come back that evening if they couldnt find their parents and he did it without even knowing that they were his brothers?

yeah, i think about that a lot

#and then fucking victor went and put a chapter about them slowly starving to death right after gav dies and oh my god i hate him. #i have MANY feels about these guys #also some fics in progress #(not that ill ever finish them lol) #anyways #les mis #les miserables #les misérables #gavroche thenardier #gavroche #thenardier boys #why dont they have names #fun fact: i named them etienne and xavier #if anyone cares

[maulfucker]

Pretty funny to have this character who features as a kinda main character in two fics but has no name and only a vague description (taller than Maul, strong enough to carry Obi-Wan, actually pretty handsome)

#hm i should make an original post tag #mr sexy clawdite I'm so sorry. you are not gaining the title of oc. #fun fact my original concept didn't even involve a clawdite it was just gonna be gratuitous maul porn. he was gonna be like. a twi'lek maybe #because i defend that twi'leks should have two penises. to match. this is not based on any facts but it is a belief i hold. #and the idea was just. maul fucking some guy. hence the title for the fic. but he'd be thinking about kenobi the whole time. #hating him for cutting off his legs. wondering what he'd do if he was in maul's place. wondering what he'd do if he was in the guy's place. #and then he'd do the [forehead touch] [evil bell sound] thing and feel/see into the guy's mind. to feel him getting fucked. #and then i thought. you know what would make him worse. if the guy was a shapeshifter. shifted into kenobi. #and thus this saga was born

[mockingbirdshymn]

slamming my fists on the metaphorecal table right now

why in the name of FUCK are there not more nerrison/harriston/presner/nerriston fics on ao3. nerrison has the most because theyre obviously amazing and also not the most uncommon camp camp ship out there

but theres still so little. ive literally read all of the ones that dont include heavy angst/arent nerrison focused. IVE READ THEM ALL. AND YET. AND YET. theres nothing. theres nothing new for me to read

which is probably why im making my nerriston fic, out of spite for the lack of nerriston fics on ao3, but if any of you have a fic idea that you dont want to/cant write yourselves for any of the ships above, ill write it /srs

#if nobody else is going to write about these little goblins ILL DO IT MYSELF #this is because i absolutely hate it when i love a pairing and then. theres nothing left #its a fucking drought #and before you know it youre rereading the same 3 fics every night #or maybe i just have no real life #one or the other #but fun fact the reason i started writing fanfiction was out of this #“UGH theres no fics with my pairings” and then i remembered i had the ability to press keys on a keyboard and make words appear #and PSHHH grammarly and my beta can deal with my dyslexia #so here i am #woah #camp camp #cc nerris #cc harrison #cc preston #nerriston #nerrison #presner #harriston

[yououghtaknow]

sorry for being a jess mariano kinnie in public. as if it’s my fucking fault.

#annotating poetry whilst blasting punk music in my headphones as i sit on a park bench in the small town i hate...... #after my beloved brunette gal left for university and i am left to be an angsty dropout writer boy all on my lonesome #fun fact: i was specifically annotating my mary oliver collection because in a gg fic jess annotated his #i am hanging by on a fucking thread rn (and that thread for some reason is fucking gilmore girls) #ANYWAYS onto watching my comfort twitch streams and organising pinterest boards to Cope With Life

[elvisabutler]

would you ever consider proofreading/editing for other writers?:)

i mean maybe? trust me when i tell you that i'm a shit editor, though. like i can catch proofread issues easily, my brain thrives on doing nitpick-y things like that, so i'll catch your misspells, your repeated words your i forgot a word here and there bits. but overall while i have been known to help people get unstuck with fic/push people to get going through them i can barely help myself through my own issues of pacing/chopping off bits that might be unneeded.

but you only live once and i never really did get to beta read the last time i wrote fic so sure i'd consider it. with the other asterisk of me not being willing to look over minors' fics because i'm old and this isn't a minor safe blog. and you know, when my time allows me to in between my own life and everything.

so, yes i'd consider it!

#not to humble brag i guess but i don't really edit my own fics. #when i say it's not beta read i also mean it gets a basic run through and then i post. #so tbh y'all pretty much get my raw output. #though i have been known to cut down stuff. or switch it up. #usually that's because eurus gives me a flash of inspiration or like in the case of last night angelina was like WELL ACTUALLY DO THIS. #basically things occasionally get rewritten but yeah no i think the last time i had a proper beta read or edit was my star trek #big bang back in fuck 2010? #idk it was this big winona/george/pike thing. do not try and find it. that was 2010 me and i am not that person any more. #because that was over a decade ago and i've had multiple relationships under my belt. and some very fucked up relationships at that. #see also: i have grown as a person. #also fun fact: you can't find the fic. for i have it locked in my old lj account. #also it was 2009. #sorry ramble tags over i swear. #and oh if you happen to think i meant to brag there i really wasn't meant that way. i just hate editing my own fics and i'm impatient. #so i've never been good with other people editing them. #ally answers asks

[akuma-tenshi]

doing that "my otp is awful" thing with characters i don't even ship is A Time

#yet another joke that went way too fucking far #fun fact the “toxic trope” i listed was heteronormativity bc void and i were joking that if this fic was like. a show or smthn #these two would wind up together in the end even though they have no chemistry and hate each other's guts for most of the story #they're divorced despite never even being a couple #rambling #i'm not even gonna give the pairing

[nostalgia-tblr]

( @mylittleredgirl I was gonna reblog ur RWH reblog but than I was like no that is drawing attention from Real People and that is Scary, so I made this new post instead. )

Is it too Controversial Hot Take to say J/E would get less singled out as The Bad Ship if the fandom wasn't 96% dedicated to Garashir Endgame with which it obvs conflicts? I mean there's a lot of lacklustre pairings in DS9 (in Trek in general really) but they don't usually conflict with anything important to the fandom(s) so we don't have to spend as much time reassuring each other that they couldn't possibly work out and they would def split up within a week? The notable exception is probably C/7 and that one... yikes, I do very much feel for anyone who actually liked that and goes looking for fic about it because it's NOT popular. (The 'all the jezri on AO3 is tagged because it's a background pairing that gets split up in the opening paragraph to get to the ACTUAL ship the fic is about' problem but EVEN MORE SO.) Anyway I don't think it's an inherently bad pairing (despite writing fic where it's fucked up in some way because well That Is What I Tend To Do) but the common take is that it's The Worst and I am still not convinced that's not partly (largely, maybe) because it gets in the way so it needs to be Objectively Bad.

#jezri #ds9 #fun fact: i scrapped a few Fucked Up Jezri fics because i eventually felt like i was just adding to the problem u kno? #like i was giving people extra reasons to call it Bad even though those reasons were just in fic and i felt kind of weird about it? #i know 'i hate this ship but this fic is aces' is a go-to for many of us but the amount of that was off-putting in some ways? #or rather the ones that went 'thanks for proving this ship is TERRIBLE' when that's not really what i was going for usually? #(relatedly I avoided some F'd-Up Garashir ideas lest anyone took that as me attacking the ship not playing with wrongness and angst-fuel) #DS9 fandom is great and doesn't have shipwars generally (no hate) tho i do a bit wonder if that's just because We All Agree on the OTP? #i don't expect ppl to LIKE jezri i just don't actually think it really is the worst pairing on that show and doomed to failure #however at least people aren't mean about Ezri herself as is the usual way of things #'the woman in the way of my m/m OTP is actually gay' may not be a perfect answer but there isn't one and it's way better than 'THAT BITCH!'

[pbaintthetb]

It hits Wuxian like a bullet to the brain, Jiang Cheng sneers when Wuxian says he thinks he might have an idea as to how to walk through the herd, and it just hits him. "You think I caused this, don't you?" His brother doesn't say anything, just wipes the viscera off his knife and scowls at the heavily barracade door. Heavily barracaded it may be, they both know it won't be enough. Not for long enough. The sneers, the looks, the- the everything. "I would never," Wei Wuxian insists hotly. Because sure, things had been bad, ruined- not ruined before the world had imploded itself, but they've taken a new turn. And Wei Wuxian doesn't want his brother to think him capable of this- doesn't want to belive his brother could believe him capable. Not really, not truly. But the evidence is here. He does. "What's the genius plan then?" Jiang Cheng asks, pushing forward, ignoring. Just ignoring. Never listening. Taking and- Not before, not when- "I wouldn't do this." Wei Wuxian reiterates. "And you have to know that." Maybe death is better than living when his brother thinks this of him. His brother's eyes sweep up and over, calculating and brimming with ice. "No, I know you never stick around to deal with your messes." Jiang Cheng sweeps out a hand, at the barricaded door, the starving mass outside, the weapons bedecking their person. For a brief hysteric moment Wei Wuxian can envision Jiang Cheng making the exact same gesture to Jin Ling to get him to clean up his room. Then the reality quickly rolls back in. And the relief. Because- "You-" "You just create them. And you never think about the consequences you create. And you mess with things you shouldn't." Jiang Cheng speaks over him, smile terrible and wide. "Don't worry, A-Xian, I know this isn't your mess, but that doesn't mean it isn't your fault."

when you have a fun idea but wwx would never explictly call JC out on his bullshit so. rip. so OOC for wwx alas

#vibe was (probs modern) zombie au #where actually wwx and jc find each other as survivors like to think jc (and friend?) accidentally stumbles across wwx's group #obvs iwth all their histor #and it's very awkard #and at some point wwx starts to realise/wonder if the reason jc is so extra petty at him is like #also because it's fun i should clarify just becuase jc doesn't think wwx is the necromancer who created the apocalyspe #he does stil think it's wwx's fault in the sense that he thinks someone tried to imitate wwx and fucked it up #so he blames wwx for messing around with this shit in the first place #he also kind of doesn't blame him but where most people may blame god for inconvienieces jc blames wwx #tumblr fic #to jc's surprise wwx does not leave him there to die despite him being a prick #admittedly jc was sceptical wwx would really have a way out cos he considers himself a thorn in wwxs side so he's like rip im dying here #wwx does not consider him a thorn more like a misplaced rib #jc thinks wwx should be worried that he (jc) is going to fuck up wwx's life and reputation with his group #wwx doesn't really ahve the capacity to worry about things jc will or he won't but he hasn't so he probably won't #also if jc calls him out then they have to TALK about it and he's banking on the fact that JC hates talking as much as he does

[singmyaubade]

Shades Of Cool

toxic!dark!rafe cameron x female!pogue!reader

summary: you are just living your life, completely normal and free. but, what happens when rafe cameron decides that you are his? he's danger.

warnings: smut! 18+ stalking, manipulation, rafe is obsessed with reader, fingering, swearing, unprotected sex, slight breeding kink, praise, oral (male receiving), dark!rafe cameron, choking, jealousy, violence, heavy smut..

a/n: i'm delighted I'm finally starting this, even if it took me so long. i genuinely hope you all enjoy this series. i understand that this a bit short, but the narrative is only getting started, so things will only get wilder! however, it is to be expected—this is a rafe cameron fic.

series

One thing that you hated about Outer Banks was how the heat still radiated at night, causing excessive amounts of water to be drank and a great amount of fans that blew hot air into your face.

It only made everyone irritable and only caused more arguments like now,

"I swear to god JJ, I am about to fucking murder you if you say another word," You hissed, giving him a glare as he mockingly grew scared.

"I agree," Cleo said before falling back into her nap.

"All I'm saying is that we have been moping around here for hours meanwhile we could be partying on the fresh beach and cool water," JJ replied, using his hands to represent the scenery to all of you.

"I'm going to have to agree with Y/N," Pope said, turning his head to JJ, "I'm already in tough shit with my parents for when you knocked over my great-grandmothers vase," Pope glared.

JJ put his hands up in defense, "I told you tequila makes me clumsy,"

"Besides every single Kook is there, including Rafe and if he sees Sarah with us, it will only bring another fight and you are not going back to jail," Kie warned, still closing her eyes while the fan blew the air in her face, blowing her hair.

"When have we ever been scared of Rafe?" JJ asked.

"When he gave me a full smackdown for doing my job," Pope scoffed.

"And when he almost drowned me," Sarah chimed in from across the room where she was laying on John B's legs on the carpet floor.

"And when he shot Sheriff Peterkin in front of us," John B added.

"And when-" Pope began.

"Okay that's enough," He said as you giggled, turning your head back to the fan.

You didn't know much about Rafe Cameron since you had moved to Outer Banks only last year and you had met the "star Pogues" a few months ago.

You had never really seen Rafe's face ever, only heard of him honestly.

But you didn't know if it was a bad thing.

All you had heard about was how evil and villainous he was which caused some places to be off limits for the fact that the boys couldn't handle another beat down with the Kooks and there was a greater matter at hand.

But still, you always were curious about "evil" Rafe Cameron.

"You guys are no fun," JJ pouted, sitting beside you on the couch.

You patted the lower part of his leg, "Poor baby," You sarcastically said to which moved his leg swiftly causing you to laugh.

Suddenly the lights and fans turned off as you all except for JJ groaned, knowing that meant the electricity was off you and you would have to deal with the heat and darkness.

Which meant the only choice was the beach party,

JJ cheered, "I win!"

You crossed your arms as you walked on the warm sand, lots of cheering and loud music around you. You could see the Kooks and the Pogues in their own groups, not daring to interact with eachother.

It was hard to get used to the fact that there were two groups of people based on economic statuses and that it meant that if you were one thing, the other one hated you.

You had never been to a place like that but you just kinda got used to it.

Yet you still could never tell which group was really which sometimes.

You were forced to walk around by yourself as John B and Sarah wandered off to a quiet spot while JJ started drinking with Kie as his babysitter and Cleo and Pope wandered around.

All of it sounded like a lot of third wheeling which made you stay away.

But you didn't mind being alone, you liked listening to the waves and watching the festivities that went along with a party.

And you knew that a beer would help you get more into the party festivities.

You walked over the keg where a man with a shaved head and a matching tank top and shorts poured himself a beer as you curiously looked at him.

You had to admit that he was one of the most attractive men you had seen before.

His lips were a perfect shade of pink and they were smooth like sucking on a cherry. His veins were bulging from his hands and you could see the peach fuzz on his jawline that you could only really see upclose.

You snapped out of your analysis as he looked at you as you waited there awkwardly, forming a smile on your face.

"Sorry to creepily stand here, I'm just trying to get a uh-" You said, pointing to the keg.

His face studied you for a second, almost as if he was trying to figure you out. You could tell by his face that he had never seen you before and he looked as if he was trying to figure out if you were a Kook or Pogue.

He chuckled, "Didn't mean to take so long, I wouldn't have if I had seen your pretty face sooner," He smirked, looking you up and down, causing you to blush.

You felt stupid for blushing over something that a man probably said to every pretty girl he saw but you felt something different about him.

You were taken aback by his boldness, "Do you say that to every women that waits for her turn on the keg?" You teased.

"Only the pretty ones," He replied, causing you to laugh.

"Smooth talker I see," You smiled.

"Always," He joked, "I swear I've never seen you around and usually, you know everyone in Outer Banks," He probed.

"Yeah, I just moved here last year," You answered, "I haven't made my rounds yet,"

"Figured," He said, "I would've definitely noticed you,"

"Pfft," You beamed, "I'm sure you would've walked past me on the beach, there are many beautiful girls here,"

"Nah," He laughed, looking off, "You are different from them,"

"How could you already assume that?" You asked, curiosity biting at you.

"For one, you aren't stuck up and preppy which is most the girls on this island," He grinned as you giggled.

"Ay, they aren't all like that," You replied.

"Most of 'em," He added, "But I don't pay much attention to them,"

"Figures," You said, eyebrow raising.

He saw your eyes move the keg and his cup before he offered his cup forward.

"Might as well take mine, I wouldn't feel proud of myself if I let you pour one yourself," He winked.

Great attempt at being a gentlemen.

"No no, I got it," You said before he shook his head.

"I insist" He said, his thumb grazing yours.

"Thank you," You smiled, "I'm Y/N" You introduced, taking the cup from him while extending your other hand for him to shake.

He shook your hand, "I'm Rafe," He replied with a smile as yours slowly fell.

The Rafe? The Rafe you were basically supposed to never interact with and who was the supposed devil? That Rafe?

"Rafe Cameron?" You asked, standing frozen.

"Guess my reputation precedes me," He joked as you didn't laugh but instead cleared your throat.

You took your hand back quickly, "Oh, i-it's nice to meet you," You cleared your throat, "My friends are waiting so I'm gonna-"

He clearly figured you out, "Pogue, I'm guessing?" He snickered.

Your face wrinkled, "Is that supposed to be a funny thing?"

"Hilarious actually," He answered, only angering you more.

"I don't see what's funny about that?" You crossed your arms with ur drink resting in your hand.

He wiped his jaw, "Must be tough at the bottom of the food chain,"

Your nose flared, "Must be tough being an elite asshole,"

He laughed, "I just think it's an unfortunate cause, I mean it's just unlucky," He smirked.

Asshole.

"Unlucky?" Your lip pursed, " I think what's more unlucky is thinking that your cool for a fucked up economic status that has been perpetuated on an island,"

"I just don't believe your friends belong on Outer Banks," He said, not a hint of hesitance in his voice.

He really believed in this bullshit.

"I mean you would really rather hang out with a group of dirty Pogues?" He snickered, looking off.

"Well I am one of them and they are my friends," You scoffed, "You seem more dirty than us," You insulted.

"Is that so?" Rafe mocked.

"Do you wanna talk about your father's dirty money?" You asked.

"I would watch that pretty mouth," He replied, inching closer.

"Or what?" You hummed, acting braver than you usually would.

"Fuck around and find out sweetheart," He came closer, breath fawning on your face.

The whiskey on his breath kissed your nose but not breaking your eye contact with him as you inched closer, eyes on his lips.

As he tried to close the gap, you threw the drink in his face. "Oohs" and snickers filled around the both of you as you stomped away from him.

He smirked, wiping the alcohol off of his face.

'What an asshole,' You thought,

Little did you know that Rafe only grew to like you more.

You found JJ and Kie sitting by the beach together as she laid her head on his shoulder. You were thinking about interrupting them but tarnish their moment, you choosing instead to call it a night and also you didn't feel like trying to find the rest of the group.

You were glad that you knew yourself enough to drive to the party considering that you got tired fast. You couldn't really see in the parking lot due to how dark it was and away from the lights.

You digged in your back pocket for your phone to pull out of the flashlight as you reached for your keys but dropped them instead in the process.

You audibly groaned as you searched on the floor in the darkness for the keys. You went on your knees with your flashing light, searching on the ground as you heard footsteps behind you, darting your flashlight behind you but seeing nothing.

You had a bad feeling but you thought it was paranoia because you were alone in the parking lot and maybe a little due to the interaction you had earlier with Rafe.

You couldn't stop thinking about how he came off as nice but switched so quickly into an elitist piece of shit.

Sounds like how they described him.

But still, there was a pit in your stomach that felt like butterflies when he grazed your thumb.

You sighed, pushing the thoughts out as you finally grabbed your keys, using the concrete-sanded floor push yourself back up off the ground.

Suddenly, you felt a cloth on your mouth and a hand covering your waist as your muffled screams filled the parking lot, trying to kick your attacker behind you.

You felt yourself drifting into the darkness as you screamed one last time,

And everything went black.

tags: @hysteriahall @avengersassemblee @lighttism @whereismymindnow @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @vi06ma01 @haven247 @vanessa-rafesgirl @blvebanisters @riordanness @aleidag1rly @muzanjackson22

#dark obx #dark!rafe #obx #rafe cameron #dark rafe cameron #drew starkey #outer banks #dark fic #rafe cameron x reader #toxic!rafe #toxic!rafe cameron #toxic relationship #obx2 #rafe obx #obx3 #obx fic #outerbanks rafe #outerbanks masterlist #rafe cameron imagine #rafe outer banks #outer banks smut #rafe cameron smut #rafe x you #rafe x reader #rafe smut #rafe fic #rafecameron #rafe #rafe fanfiction #singmyaubade

[bucks-babe]

Friends Don't Lie

Paring: Bucky x f!reader

Summary: Wanting to know if your crush likes you, you go to Bucky for help, the only problem is, Bucky is your crush

Warnings: Slight angst, fluff, Smut (oral f receiving, p in v), unprotected sex (don’t do that), friends to lovers, crying, praise kink, soft!Bucky is a warning, Roommate!Bucky, Bucky calls reader kid just to piss her off for a bit but not when they’re doing the thang thang, no actual age gap though, no use of Y/N

Word count: Over 5k Idk what happened

A/N: This is my first ever fic so please go easy on me. If I missed any warnings, please let me know. Any and all mistakes are my own

Sighing, you walk into the apartment you share with Bucky. He’s sitting on the couch sporting his signature grumpy frown. Your heart beats that much faster when you lay your eyes on him. Honestly, you don’t know how he looks that hot with just a black t-shirt and jeans on. 

“Hey, what’s got your panties in a twist, Buck,” you chime as you plop down onto the couch next to him, now noticing the bottle of whiskey in his hands. He only glances at you before taking another swig of his whiskey.

“My panties aren’t in a twist, kid,” he huffs.

You cringe at the nickname he gave you. In all reality, you were only 3 years younger than him, but he knows how much you hate being called kid. In true Bucky fashion, he calls you kid all the time, just to get under your skin. “Really, then why are you drinking at,” you check your phone for the time before cocking your eyebrow, “2 o’clock in the afternoon?”

He completely ignores your question so you press on. “Well since you aren’t doing anything, I need your help.”

This seems to catch his attention just a little, “With what?”

“Well…” you trail off only to continue when you catch his eye, “I need some relationship advice and I can’t go to Sam about it because he is the worst.”

“I’m supposed to be good at relationship advice? I’m not the right person to come to, kid.” He replies, seemingly even more annoyed than he was before you walked into the apartment, and takes another swig out of his bottle.

You snatch the bottle out of his hand (ignoring Bucky’s Hey! That’s mine!) and take a swallow, “You know how much I hate being called kid, Buck. But yes, I need relationship advice”

“Why can’t you go to Sam about this; he seems to think that he is an expert at everything?” he practically whines as he rolls his eyes and leans back into the couch, spreading his legs and giving you a great view of his thick thighs in those jeans.

“Because, Buck, Sam will just make fun of me, and I know for a fact he cant help me with this.” To be fair to Sam, he would probably give you good advice, but he would make fun of you for your crush on Bucky.

“And I won’t?” Bucky scoffs before taking the bottle back from your hands. 

“Well, you would make fun of me, but Sam would never let me live it down, okay,” you can already feel your cheeks starting to heat up and regret seeping into your pores for talking to the very person you want to be in a relationship with about relationship advice.

“I think I already know who you need the advice about, don’t I,” Bucky turns his head toward you and cocks an eyebrow.

“What!” It feels like ice is coursing throughout your entire body. There is no way that he knows you're talking about him. “Uh… wh-who do you think I’m talking about?” Nice save, dipshit. You are mentally punching yourself in the face.

He takes one final gulp of his whiskey, wiping his mouth with the back of his palm, and sets the bottle on the coffee table, “I’m pretty sure I know who you have feelings for. The question is, do you really think you have a chance?” Oh my God - he knows and this is his fucking warning to walk away. Pretend like this never happened and leave - now

“Who-who do you think I’m talking about.” Wow, nice save. Always repeat the question, it never makes you look more suspicious. If he wasn’t onto you already, he sure as hell knows now.

“It’s rather obvious, don’t you think?” God you hope not, “Let me guess, Rogers?”Huh? an amused, little smirk appears on his face, blue eyes waiting for your reaction.

“St-Steve?!” Okay, not where you thought this was going but at least he doesn’t know you like him.

“You’re blushing,” he puts an arm over the back of the couch and crosses one leg over the other, “and stuttering. Seems like I was right, huh?” that stupid, gorgeous smirk is still on his lips.

“No! I do not have a crush on Steve Rogers! Ew, no. Why would you even think that, Buck?” Maybe you shouldn’t have had such a visceral reaction to him thinking you liked Steve, but you’ve never seen Steve as anything other than a great friend; however, once you started talking, you couldn’t stop. “I do like someone, Buck, but the thing is… well I don’t know how to tell if they like me back. I mean, every relationship I’ve been in has been so…so superficial. I would like them, but I don’t think they ever liked me, you know? It was always about the sex and what I could give them.” Shut up Shut up “This is why I need your help. I’ve never had someone like me for me and I don’t know how to tell if what I feel for this guy, who is most definitely not Steve, is reciprocated.” Why are you still talking?!

“Calm down, kid,” Bucky’s hands on your shoulders cut you off from your rant. The smirk is gone from his face, replaced with a look that is slightly less grumpy looking than his normal face. “It’s only me, remember? I’m sure whoever this guy is, he likes you for who you are, kid.” He once again leans back against the couch.

Your scoff brings the smirk back to his face, which is now more annoying than pretty.

“You know what, I think I’m just going to go to bed.” As you go to get up from the couch, Bucky grabs your wrist and pulls you back next to him, much closer than you were before.

“Who is it, kid? I can help you, only if you tell me who it is.” It feels like he is staring into your soul, like he can see right through you and you hate it. Fear bubbles up inside of you.

“Why do you need to know who the guy is, huh? I need advice and you said you would help me.” He’s getting too close to the truth; if he keeps pressing the matter, he’s going to find out that it's him you like, and that will not end well. You can feel the heat coming off of his body just like his stare is heating your cheeks.

“Kid, just tell me who it is you like and I can help.” He leans forward in his seat and you can tell that he is getting pissed off. Maybe you're reading too much into the situation, but Bucky might be getting mad because he likes you? Impossible.

“Help how? Do you know who likes me?” Smooth 

“I can tell you if this guy, who isn’t Steve, likes you, I just need a name first, kid.” He crosses his arms in front of his chest, making it very clear that he is not happy with how the conversation is going.

“Wait! You do know if someone likes me!” You’re desperately clutching at straws to keep his attention off of who you like, knowing that it’s fruitless.

“Yeah, I do. But right now I don’t care because you still won’t tell me who you like.” Bastard! That stupid, pretty smirk is back and he knows he won.

“I’ll make you a deal, you tell me who already likes me, and I’ll tell you who I like.” 

“Deal.” Rolling his eyes, Bucky finally leans back and it feels like you can catch your breath again. “It’s Sam, he likes you, kid.” Bucky knows that he is lying through his teeth, but he is a great liar and this will get you to tell him who your crush is.

“Sam?” You can’t help the way your face falls or the disappointment in your voice. You knew it was a long shot, Bucky liking you that is, but he didn’t even bat an eyelash when telling you that Sam of all people liked you.

“Yep,” he pops the p. “Sammy boy likes you. Now, who do you like?” He can’t even pretend to care about throwing Sam under the bus or who he will now hate for the rest of time for taking his girl from him before he could make you his.

“Uh… it’s Sam. Yep…Sam. I like Sam, so this actually works out really great… thanks, Buck.” It sounds like a lie even to your own ears, let alone to Bucky’s.

“Come on, kid. Spit it out.” Somehow Bucky’s final braincells piece together your reaction. You like him. That is the only explanation as to why you won’t tell him who you like. “Kid, do you like me?”

You start to choke on your own spit and if you weren’t blushing before, you definitely are now. “Wh-wh-what? You? No!”

Bucky’s eyes light up just a fraction and his right hand cups your chin. “You like me, kid.” It’s not framed as a question, but rather a statement. Maybe it was the whiskey finally taking effect, but he tilts your head so you are looking directly at him and your breath hitches in your throat. “I like you, too.” It’s a whisper, but it pulls you out of your stupor.

You wheel back and jerk out of his grasp. “That’s not funny, asshole. Who said that I liked you?”

“Me.” Was his only response. “Didn’t you hear what I said, kid? I like you, too,” a chuckle left his lips.

“That is not funny, Buck. Don’t play with my feelings like that.” You don’t know why, but you feel tears begin to well up in your eyes. For a second, you thought that Bucky liked you back, but this was all some cruel joke. Of course Bucky was just messing with you.

“Hey, kid, look at me. Don’t cry.” The smirk on his face is gone, leaving only concern; this is worse, those pretty eyes looking at you with pity. “I wasn’t joking. I actually like you back, okay.” Guilt bubbles up in his chest when he sees tears fall down your cheeks. “Aw, sweets, you’re too pretty to cry.” He coos, wiping your tears with his thumbs.

“What did you just call me?” The pet name seems to bring you back to the moment. You’ve never heard him call anyone sweets, and the name made you feel special inside.

“Huh?” Now it is Bucky’s turn to be confused.

“You called me sweets, not kid.” You tilted your head, feeling your heart rate pick up.

“Well, it would be a little weird if I called you kid when I do this.” His face was only centimeters away; you could feel his breath on your lips. He was waiting for you to give the all clear, a sign that this was okay. You were the first one to make a move, closing the gap between you two. 

When your lips connected, you let out an involuntary moan; you’ve dreamed about kissing him and what he would taste like but nothing could compare to the real thing. He tasted of the whiskey he was sipping on and something distinctly Bucky that you couldn’t put your name on, but frankly you didn’t care when he was kissing you so good.

With his hands still on your jaw, he tilts your head to where he wants it, making you gasp. His tongue enters your mouth and now it’s his turn to moan. One of his hands falls down to your thigh and he pulls you into his lap, not breaking the kiss.

You were the first one to pull away, regrettingly, but you needed oxygen and as much as you wish you could breathe him in, it wasn’t possible to sustain life. You wrap your arms around his middle and bury yourself into his neck, and the arm around your thigh travels up to your waist, while his other hand goes to the back of your head.

“Hey, easy, sweets. I can barely breathe.” You can feel more than hear Bucky’s chuckle, but you only bury yourself deeper into his shoulder, feeling a sudden rush of emotions. Never in a million years did you think that Bucky would kiss you, or that you would be on his lap. “Are you okay, sweets? Come on, talk to me.” Bucky can feel how tense you are on top of him, and it makes him worry.

Once again, there are tears in your eyes. At this point, you don’t know if they ever went away, “I just never thought that you would like me, you know?” The hand on your head doesn’t try to pull you away, but rather massages where it lays.

“Well, I do, sweets, so you’re gonna have to get used to me. How about that?” You just nod into his shoulder and wiggle deeper into his embrace. Bucky lets out a low groan and the hand on your back drops down to your hip, holding you in place. “You’re gonna have to stop moving, sweets.” You can feel the hard bulge in his pants from you moving around, causing a giggle to leave your lips, the tears once again subsiding.

“Oh, you think this is funny, huh, kid?” He brings back the nickname just to tease you and you know it.

“Hey! I’m sitting on your dick right now, please don’t call me kid, Buck.” Bucky throws his head back and the most beautiful laugh leaves his mouth. He’s laughing so hard that you are slightly bouncing on his lap and your core hits the raised zipper of his pants. A whine leaves your lips while his laughter turns into a choked groan.

“Fuck, sweets, come here.” He pulls you back in for another kiss while he leans back into the couch. Involuntarily, your hips grind against his and he is swallowing your moans in his mouth.

You sit up a little and pull him up with you. Tugging at the bottom of his shirt causes him to break your kiss, “You want my shirt off, sweets?” You can only whine in response and tug on it again, but Bucky isn’t helping you take his shirt off until you speak.

“Please, Buck.” God you’re already out of breath and he’s only kissed you.

“That’s a good girl. See that wasn’t so hard was it?” Oh fuck. A high pitched moan leaves your throat at his praise. Bucky chuckles, he’s found your praise kink and he’s not going to let it go now.

He takes pity on you and takes his shirt off, but doesn’t give you time to ogle at his shirtless body before his hands are underneath your hoodie, warm palms running up and down your naked skin. “Can I take this off, pretty girl? Can I see my pretty baby, huh?” You nod your head so fast you make yourself slightly dizzy, but he makes no move to actually remove your top, waiting for you to speak.

“Yes, Bucky. I want you to take it off please.” A hum of approval leaves him as he takes your hoodie off.

“Fuck,” it comes out under his breath when he sees you in just your bra and pants. “Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. You know that? You know how pretty you are?” Fuck, you can’t do this. He’s saying the things you always wanted him to say to you, but now you don’t know how to handle it. He lays you down on the couch and you can feel the outline of his hard cock through both of your pants.

When his hand goes up you back to your bra, your brain goes into overdrive. “This isn’t just sex, right?” You need this to mean something to him too. It can’t just be sex; you can’t do just sex. It would break your heart.

Bucky chuckles a little before giving you a chaste kiss, clearly missing your desperation for it meaning something more. “Let me show you how much you mean to me, sweets? Let me make you feel good.” His hands are on your leggings, fingers in the waistband. 

“You won’t leave me after, right? You’ll stay with me?” God, are you crying again? This might be your only chance to be with him and you’re blowing it! The crack in your voice gets his attention and his hands leave your bottoms to cup your face once again, thumbs wiping your tears.

“Hey, sweets, look at me?” You meet his eyes; they are filled with a softness you’ve never seen from him before. “Of course I won’t leave you. I just got you, and now you’re going to be stuck with me for a very long time, okay, sweet girl? You’re mine and I’m yours.” He rests his forehead on yours after kissing all of your tears away.

“You’re mine?” 

“All yours, okay?” After you nod, he pulls you back up so you're sitting on his lap and holds you close to his chest. “How about we just calm down for a little bit, okay? I didn’t mean to push you too far, sweets.” He’s so perfect. How did you get him?

“No. I’m okay, it’s just that…well I don’t want you to leave me after you get what you want, Buck.” This is so unsexy; there is no way he is going to want to sleep with you now

“Look at me, sweets.” You look at him, “Good girl.” Fuck. “I want you. Not just your body. I want to take you out on dates and annoy all of our friends with how cute we look together. I want it all.” He’s looking into your eyes with such sincerity that it feels like you could break and all of your doubts leave your mind.

You grind your hips against his still hard cock, “Will you make love to me, Buck?” 

He groans lowly before gaining his composure again, “Are you sure, sweet girl? We don’t have to do anything, you know that?” But you want to, so bad.

“I know and I’m sure I want you.” He’s looking into your soul; he never wants to hurt you. “Please?” It’s the doe eyes that break him and he picks you up and carries you to his room like you weigh nothing.

“I’m gonna make love to you, sweet girl. If you want me to stop, just say the word, okay? But I promise it won’t change how I feel about you.” He is looking into the depths of your soul, making sure this is what you want; there is nothing you want more in this moment than Bucky finally loving you.

Instead of a verbal response, you wrap both your arms and legs around him so his whole body is on top of yours on his bed and you kiss him again. You are surrounded by everything Bucky; his room smells so good that you want to spend forever in it with him. 

Calloused palms slide up your back to meet the clasp on your bra and Bucky breaks the kiss, staring at your swollen lips before catching your eye, “Can I take this off, sweets?” Taking your bra off swiftly after he hears your breathly ‘yes,’ his hands find purchase on your ribs.

“Fuck,” his groan makes you attempt to close your legs to find some release, but his waist stops your legs from moving even an inch. “Your tits are absolutely gorgeous, you know that? God, sweets, do you feel how hard you make me? This is all for you.”

You arch your back, pushing your breasts further into his field of view, gasping when his right hand cups your breast, tweaking your nipple and rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. 

“Please, touch me, Buck!” You already sound cock drunk and he hasn’t even done anything to you, but you can’t find it in you to care. 

Cocking his head to the side and chuckling, he whispers in your ear, “I am touching you, sweets.” That son of a bitch! “Where do you want me to touch you, huh?”

You grab his unoccupied hand and lead it down to your pants but he doesn’t budge, refusing to touch your clothed pussy. “Touch you where, sweet girl? I need words or I can’t please you.” 

Cheeks heating up, you finally give up, just wanting him to touch you, pleasure you, anything. “My pussy, Bucky! Touch my pussy!”

“Atta girl. I knew you could do it.” How does he know all the right things to say?

He leaves a trail of kisses from your neck, to your chest, down your belly, until he reaches the hem of your leggings; looking up at you, waiting for your permission, “Take my pants off, please.”

Another wave of slick goes straight to your core when he whispers, “Such a good girl, using her words,” as he takes your pants off, leaving your panties on your core. Shit, I don’t think I’ve ever been this wet in my life.

Bucky’s thumb goes up and down over your pussy, slightly pushing down over your entrance, making your panties that much wetter, then sliding his thumb up to your clit. Your thighs unconsciously tighten around his head and hips jerk up when he does it again, and again, and again.

Breathy moans and gasps leave your lips before he gently pushes your thighs back with a small chuckle, and pushes your panties to the side, getting his first glance at the pussy he has been dreaming about. 

“Such a pretty pussy to match the prettiest girl in the world, don’t you think?” He doesn’t wait for a response this time, instead his mouth latches onto your clit and the moan that leaves his mouth is almost louder than your own. 

He can’t bring himself to pull away for a single moment, rather speaking into your pussy, sending vibrations throughout your entire core. A small huff leaves his lips when your thighs wrap around his head again; he’s going to make sure you stay put right where you are so he can keep licking your pussy until he is satisfied. He laces both of his hands with yours when you reach down toward him, because you need to be able to ground yourself.

So lost in your own pleasure, you almost don’t notice that Bucky is grinding against the bed, desperate for any type of friction, dick being the hardest that it has ever been. He’s sure that he could blow his load at any moment, but he wants this to be good for you, needs it to be good for you, so he is holding back with all his might, but fuck if he can’t stop moving his hips he won’t make it inside of you. And the sounds that are coming out of your mouth are making it almost impossible for him to do that.

Your thighs clamp around his head somehow even harder when you feel your orgasm approaching, effectively suffocating Bucky. He doesn’t care; he can breathe when you come on his tongue. You don’t even have time to announce that you’re going to cum before the strongest orgasm of your life rips through you. Bucky’s muffled moans are even more distant over the blood rushing through your ears, eyes finding purchase in the back of your head, you don’t know if you went silent because the orgasm knocked all the wind out of your, or if you are going to get a knock on the door from the police because they think you’ve been murdered.

When Bucky comes back up for air, the whole of his lower face is covered with your slick, and that gorgeous smirk is back on his face. “Thank you, sweet girl. That was amazing.” Did he cum, too? Please don’t tell me I missed seeing his face when he cums.

Seeing your dilemma, Bucky chuckles, “Don’t worry, sweets, my cock is still rock hard for you. Although, I did almost cum watching you. You have no idea how pretty you look when you cum.” You’re too fucked out to even be embarassed at how easily he can read you, or his knowledge of how much you want his cock.

While you're still coming down, Bucky finishes taking off your panties and the rest of his clothes. The moment he pulls his jeans and boxers down and his cock springs up, you gasp. You’ve never seen a prettier cock in all of your life: thick and long with a vein that you want to spend hours licking goes from base to tip, flush head partially covered by his foreskin, heavy and full balls that you know wouldn’t even be able to fit in your mouth rest at his base.

Your eyes never leave his cock as he climbs back into bed, salivating at the way it bobs as he walks and the precum dripping from his tip. “Can I suck your cock, Bucky, please?” Damn, you’ve never begged to suck a cock in your life.

Moaning at the way it twitches at your begging, you reach out for it but Bucky stops you.

“Next time, sweet girl, promise. I need to be inside of you right now and I won’t last if I let you do that, okay, sweets?” You whine in disappointment but nod nonetheless. You groan and wiggle your hips when he is finally on top of you again and you feel his cock slide up and down your pussy.

“Can I have it, Bucky? Can I have your cock?” Bucky looks like he is about to blow a fuse as he grips the base of his dick to stop himself from cumming.

“Sweet girl, you’re gonna have to stop saying things like that if you want this to last.” He is lining up with your entrance and you immediately shut your mouth. There will be another time to be a brat and tease him, but right now you need his dick.

“I’m ready, Bucky, I want it.” Your breath catches in your throat when his tip slides in, for all the staring you did a few minutes ago, you vastly underestimated how fucking big his dick was and now it feels like you’re being spilt in two - in the best way.

“Shit! Sweets, you’re so -fuck- you’re so tight. Choking my dick so good, baby fuck. Best pussy I’ve ever had and I’m only halfway in.” He’s mouthing at your neck while you're grabbing onto anything you can.

“Please, Bucky, more! Fuck, I want it.” You feel like you could cum again just at the sheer stretch of his cock inside of you, his deep groans spurring you on. 

As he bottoms out inside of you, you feel the heavy weight of his balls against your ass, twitching wildly as he tries to stave off his own orgasm. “Oh god, you’re so fucking warm. Fuck, feels like I’m gonna blow before I even move. Shit!” Bucky is so pussy drunk he can’t even think straight, but fuck if you don’t love it. 

“Please move, Bucky, please, I need you to fuck me, please!” You weren’t fairing much better, cock drunk out of your mind.

Bucky is scrambling against the sheets, trying to be closer to you somehow, as if having his impossibly thick length inside of you wasn’t enough, he wraps your legs around his waist as he starts to rut into you.

He is barely pulling out of you, not that you would let him go very far anyway with how tightly your legs are wrapped around him. “Pussy is so fucking good! I just wanna stay here forever, sweets. You want that to, fuck, huh? You want me to stay in this little pussy?”

Clawing at his back, you were a babbling mess, crying out for him, never having been in so much pleasure before. “Yes, Bucky, I want that so bad, yes.” Tears were welling up in your eyes from the sheer amount of pleasure that you were receiving from Bucky. 

Rutting into you faster, his hand slid between your bodies and thumb rubbing your clit in fast circles, Bucky’s calm demeanor was gone, now he was begging for you to cum with him.

“Come on, sweets. I need -fuck- I need you to cum for me. I need to feel your little pussy cum on my cock.” His balls were slapping against your ass, making a vulgar sound, as they were covered in your slick that had trailed out of your pussy.

“Can feel you clenching around me, pretty girl.”

“Need you to cum first, please.”

“Want you to soak my cock.”

“Be my good girl and cum.”

Maybe it was the good girl, but the second orgasm that tore through your body was even better than the first and the clenching of your pussy sent Bucky over the end, into his own orgasm.

“Fuck, sweet girl, I’m gonna cum for you. I got so much fucking cum and it’s all for you. Shit, I’m cumming!” You felt his cock twitch once, twice, and balls pull up before his cum was coating the inside of your pussy.

After you both came down from your highs, Bucky slowly pulled out, catching the wince that left you at the emptiness of your cunt. “Sweet girl, I’m going to get a cloth to clean you with and some water, but I’ll be right back, okay?” Bucky wanted to make sure that you knew that he was coming back, that he wasn’t like all of those other assholes who didn’t treat you right.

Your faint ‘okay’ was the green light for Bucky to dash to the bathroom to clean himself up, get a rag for you, and then head to the kitchen to get a glass of water for you. He paid special attention when wiping you clean, not wanting to overstimulate you after having multiple orgasms.

He helped you sip your water before covering you both up and holding you close to his chest. Never in your life had you felt so safe and loved than you did at this moment, wrapped up in Bucky’s arms, confident that he would stay with you even after having sex with you. 

“You know that I love you, right, sweet girl? And I’m not going anywhere.” He whispered into your hair.

“I do now. And I love you, too, Buck.”

After a little while, you raise yourself on his chest a little so you can look into his eyes, “Hey, Buck?”

“Yeah, sweets?” No one has ever looked at me with so much love.

“Does Sam actually have a crush on me?” Bucky throws his head back into the pillows with an exaggerated groan while you try to muffle your giggles. For once, you actually have what you’ve always wanted.

#bucky barnes smut #bucky smut #bucky barnes #bucky imagine #bucky x reader #sebastian stan x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes oneshot #smut #bucky x y/n #bucky x female reader

[star-girl69]

I Did Something Bad

Clarisse La Rue x Fem!Demigod!Reader

—-

synopsis: you somehow become the target of a deadly vendetta, and it ends in an overnight stay in the infirmary, a lot of blood, and a lot of your scary girlfriend being her scary self.

a/n: save me clarisse “touch her and die” la rue save me save me save me save me save me save me… this is a completely self indulgent fic and no i will not apologize. love y’all!!!!!

inspired by an ask @nvirskies sent me

I Did Something Bad - Taylor Swift

warnings: not proofread, VERY VIOLENT AND GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF Y/N GETTING INJURED!!!!! BLOOD!!!!! WOUNDS!!!!! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED, anyways…. DANNNNNYYYYYY MY BABY!!!!! HES BACK!!!!!, ares cabin bonding time <3, FOUND FAMILY, y/n is crazy too, insane power couple who are insane together!!, y’all know what’s going on…… protective clarisse, possessive clarisse, insane clarisse, murderous clarisse, again clarisse gets a bit too into capture the flag, swearing, attempted murder!, LOTS of violence, kissing, clarisse hates talking about her feelings but she will do it for y/n, tell me if i missed anything!!

—-

Clarisse loves capture the flag.

It’s the one place where she really gets to be in her element. That’s where she prefers to be- in the moment, hard and fast, a flurry of swords and adrenaline and the feeling of someone surrendering.

Of course, Clarisse is never the one surrendering. You don’t think you’ve ever seen someone surrender to her.

Clarisse loves capture the flag.

And that love is also shared by her equally violently-minded siblings, which is why you’re sitting on her lap in the middle of the Ares cabin, listening to everyone scream and shout about tactics and plans and things that are just general boring.

Clarisse, of course, listens to everything. Silently humming to herself, drumming her fingers against your stomach, rolling her eyes and scoffing silently at some of her siblings ideas.

They all shout out ideas, but everyone knows that Clarisse has the final say.

You should probably be preparing with your own cabin- but this is just so much fun.

The tension in the room rises significantly after Nelson shuts down another one of Carrie’s ideas. Carrie has a mind made for the strategy of battle, where Nelson is all tough war and pain.

Clarisse likes to brag that she’s the perfect mix of both.

“I’m bored,” you huff, leaning back into your girlfriend. “Can they start punching each other again? Or something entertaining?”

She laughs and wraps her arms around your waist, kissing your shoulder. “You’re so violent,” she mumbles. “I’m supposed to be the violent one.”

“I jus’ think it’s really funny,” you shrug. “Like, can you blame me? It’s objectively funny.”

Danny, your favorite of Clarisse’s siblings, skitters through his older siblings and throws himself onto the couch next to you.

“Did they start fighting yet?” he asks, practically bouncing in his seat.

“No,” you sigh, dramatically.

Clarisse puts her arm around his shoulder, and you know she feels ridiculously proud over the fact that she’s the favorite of the most lovable member of the Ares cabin, and the fact you’re literally draped over her.

Not your fault she’s so comfy.

“Hey, how you feelin’ about tomorrow?” you ask Danny.

His face hardens. “I’m gonna fuck a bitch up.”

“Oh, my Gods,” you mutter, listening to Clarisse chuckle and pat his back.

“Hell yeah,” she smiles.

“Good!” you say after a second, feeling slightly disturbed over the 11 year-old’s colorful language. But, who are you to stop him?

Clarisse sighs after a moment, and you look up to see Carrie and Nelson finally at each other’s throats. Besides for the fact it’s just so funny when the siblings fight, they should get all of the anger out now so they can work as a team tomorrow.

“Well, no, Nelson, we aren’t gonna fucking ‘kill them with kindness,’ because that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Hey, fuckers,” Clarisse says, but they’re too absorbed in the fight to hear her.

You scramble off of her, climbing over Danny, watching in amazement as he opens the bag of pretzels he did not have in his hand a second ago- stuffing one in his mouth and holding it out to you.

These pretzels might have been buried in between the couch cushions. But they’re sealed, so who cares.

“You know what, fuck you, Carrie!” Nelson shouts, pushing her back.

“Askin’ for it,” she laughs, winding up and punching him straight in the face.

You can’t feel bad for the crunch, because Nelson should have know Carrie was gonna punch him- he could have at least put in an effort to stop her. Instead, he just stood there and took it.

“Oh,” Matty winces, sliding next to you. Why the hell are random things just appearing? Did he come out of the cushions too? Probably, seeing as he’s always falling asleep. “Askin’ for it,” he mumbles, shaking his head.

Nelson recovers from the hit and jabs at Carrie- but she stands there, hand on her hip, completely still.

Clarisse catches his arm.

He’s breathing out heavily, and the room goes pretty much silent- except for you, Danny and Matty chomping on pretzels in the corner of the couch.

“You’re fuckin’ embarrassing, Nelson.”

He pulls himself away from her and huffs, heading to the bathroom to deal with his bright red cheek.

Clarisse sighs heavily.

“Gods, can’t have one night without someone punching someone.”

Carrie looks around the room with a smug smile, scoffing when Clarisse shoulders her as she walks past. She lays down in your waiting arms, kissing your hand as you wrap them around her.

“Gettin’ on my nerves,” she mumbles, closing her eyes and leaning into you.

“I know,” you soothe, turning around and making a silly face to Danny at her dramatics.

—-

Nelson is obviously still angry the next day. His helmet doesn’t cover all of the nasty bruise on his cheek, a sickening purple against his tan skin.

Him and Carrie swap glares across the the throngs of red helmets.

“Okay, Carrie, stop,” you huff. “He might actually kill you. You’re the one who got a punch in- let it go.”

She turns to glare at you, now.

“Tell him to stop staring at me.”

“Well, you can help by looking away first.”

“Fine,” she mumbles, putting her helmet on and tightening her grip on her sword. Chiron made his usual speech around 10 minutes ago, and Clarisse has finally finished updating everyone- more like yelling incoherently at everyone- about their positions.

But you have a similar strategy.

The blue team has the brains of the Athena Cabin, but the red team has all the brute strength.

Clarisse huffs, walking over to you and Carrie.

“Okay, ready?” she asks, reaching over to tighten the straps of your armor- even through they’re perfectly fine- by habit.

Carrie let’s out a deep breath. “Yes. Very ready to fuckin’ pummel those blue shits and pretend they’re Nelson.”

“That’s the spirit!” you smile, slapping her shoulder. She rolls her eyes and steps away from you, smiling slightly.

Danny and Matty walk over, and your little band is complete. You hunt in the woods just south of the flag, deterring a lot of hopefuls. The older campers know to come up with sneakier ways to get by, but Clarisse is otherwise confident in those she placed by the flag to really protect it.

You strike out into an offensive stance, pointing the end of your blade straight at Danny- and he quickly counters with his own impeccable stance.

“Oh, yeah, they don’t stand a chance,” you smile, and he returns it.

—-

You take your normal routes through the woods.

With the added weight of you and Danny, the group is not as stealthy as they could be- but Clarisse is a secret teddy bear who doesn’t like to be away from you for long, and Danny is too young to be set loose, left to watch the big kids work, occasionally jumping in for a few swings.

Leaves crunch under your feet in the otherwise silent forest. You’ve already come across a few stragglers, and before you could even raise your sword the Ares siblings had disarmed them. Your heart squeezed seeing the absolutely heartbroken look on Danny’s face- he was promised that this time he could really fight.

And after you pulled Clarisse off to the side and reminded her of her deal- Danny was leading the group, with you and Clarisse behind him.

He marches tall and proud, sword pointed out, even though Clarisse scolds him and says his arm will get tired- he’s young and doesn’t listen to his half-sibling.

You smile, watching him, admiring how carefree he is. The walk continues mostly in a stealthy silence- Clarisse, Carrie and Matty has mastered the art of walking silently- so your cover is lost by you and Danny.

Of course, whenever you try to convince Clarisse that maybe you should go somewhere else- she looks at you like you’ve suddenly turned into a female Minotaur.

Clarisse, her hand in yours right now, has a hard time understanding the concept that she can’t be with you all the time. That you might get hurt, that she can’t always stop it.

It’s sweet how constantly concerned she is over you, it makes your stomach twist so good.

She squeezes your hand, bringing you out of your reverie. Voices.

“Danny,” you whisper, almost silently, kicking the back of his leg. When he turns around, frown on his face, you point towards the direction of the voices- and now footsteps.

You all stop in your tracks.

Danny practically jumps up in down, you smile wide, and Clarisse signals to Carrie and Matty, urging you and Danny closer to the action.

When they come into the clearing, a few Hermes kids dressed in blue bandanas, swords in their hands. They’re all strong, you’ve seen them around- recognize them vaguely as potentials that lost to Clarisse in ugly sparring matches.

The siblings have disappeared into the trees.

So it’s just you, unsuspecting, and Danny.

You can see the triumphant looks on their faces.

Except for one of them.

Nicky, maybe? You don’t care enough about him to know his name. But there’s something more in his eyes that you notice immediately, something similar to the passion Clarisse gets in her eyes at the mention of this game.

Danny jumps forward, sword swinging just the way his blood knows, the way his siblings have taught him meticulously.

They seem momentarily surprised at the force his small body can produce, quickly countering with their own jabs, swords clashing together. The other focuses on you.

You’re not worried, you know the siblings are just letting the two of you have your moments before they really come in and you can sit back and watch Clarisse fight. Muscles rippling, sick smile on her face, spear glowing with electricity.

He comes at you and your swords clash together, the force of it making your teeth ring- Gods, he’s strong. He pulls back and you do the same thing a few more times, neither of you able to get the upper hand- until he finally seems to realize his height advantage.

He swings his sword down on you, pressing down hard- and with gravity on his side you have to put all of your focus into stopping that downward sword.

You don’t see his foot coming out to kick you back.

You only feel it, boot in your chest, wind knocked out of you, groaning as you slam into the ground.

“Fuck,” you breathe, tasting blood in your mouth.

“Y/N!” Danny shouts, and that’s when you see his sword coming down on you again. He does it on purpose, that much is sword, the strategic placing of his sword slicing through the top of your arm.

He doesn’t mean to kill you. He means to hurt you.

His purpose isn’t winning the game, you realize as the blade tears through skin, his purpose is to hurt you. That’s what you saw in his eyes.

Delight that his prey was right in front of him.

The realization washes over you like a wave- but like the real ocean, another one comes- an overwhelming feeling of pain, blooming outward like a flower.

He bites his lip in concentration, standing over you as his blade sinks into the dirt. He smiles wide, hitting his target.

You scream.

It’s a quick stop. The clearing is filled with the sound of your screams, swords stopping in midair- everyone realizing simultaneously that you’re really hurt. That this boy hurt you on purpose.

Something cuts through the air, wind in your ears, swiftly burying itself through Nicky’s armor and into his side.

You’ve realized in the last day that men are stupid. First, it was Nelson not expecting to get punched, and now it was Nicky not prepared for a retaliation after hurting you.

The thick armor slowed down the spear, so it unfortunately stabs his side and falls right out.

He yells in pain, ripping off his armor, revealing a small cut. Nothing compared to yours, but you can faintly recognize the fire in his eyes before Matty is leaning over you and Carrie is wrapping a bandana above the pain in your arm.

You hear the sounds of something happening, someone fighting, skin on skin.

You hear all of this, you see all of it, but all you can feel is the burning, burning cut in your arm. It feels like he cut it off. Your mind is hazy, you know blood is gushing, you never knew something could hurt this bad.

You faintly realize you bit your tongue when you went down. Blood spurts from your mouth when you cough, when you groan in pain, when you say her name like a prayer over and over again.

“Clarisse,” you moan, legs twisting around, trying to get away from the pain that you can’t escape from. “Clarisse, Clarisse, please, Clar…”

Matty pulls your head into his lap.

You can tell it’s bad, you can see the queasy look on his face. You clench your fist- the one you can feel, at least- to keep from screaming, heels digging into the dirt. You’re still trying to get away. But you can’t. You can’t get away from this all consuming pain.

“It’s okay,” Danny whispers, suddenly appearing next to you. He voice shakes, he doesn’t know, he can’t tell you anything reassuring.

“Can you go find someone, Danny? One of the Apollo kids, anyone?”

He ignores Carrie, starring at you for a second longer.

“Y/N,” he mumbles, his voice quiet, finally able to act like the young boy he is.

“You can go,” you breathe, somehow finding the strength to make him believe you’re okay. “Go help me, okay?”

His little footsteps disappear into the woods faster than you’ve ever heard him run, even when they have his favorite brownies for dessert.

You let out a sob.

“D-did he cut it off?” you moan. “It feels like he cut it off, please tell me he didn’t… he didn’t cut my arm off…”

“Oh, fuck, no,” Carrie breathes, pressing down agains the wound to try and stop the blood from gushing out- but it doesn’t really help. It’s just too much. “I mean, it’s deep and it’s nasty, but you’ve still got an arm, don’t worry.”

She laughs, awkwardly, nervously. You can feel even more of your arm drifting away, blood pouring out onto the ground.

“Hey, hey, no,” Matty mutters, lightly hitting your face.

“Wha-”

“Can’t fall asleep, Y/N,” Carrie says, nervously. “Sit up against Matty, come on, huh?” you lean against Matty, head clearing now that there’s fresh air in your system.

Your eyes focus on Clarisse.

Except she’s not anywhere near you, she’s 10 feet away, punching Nicky so hard you’re surprised he’s still standing.

Carrie cringes. “Okay, maybe don’t look at that.”

But you’re sort of entranced by her. She’s not outwardly angry, her face reveals nothing- just a mask of hard, unrelenting focus. It should scare you, how much concentration she puts into her deadly punches, blood flying with each hit she lands. Her knuckles are red, his face is a mess, but it’s exhilarating to know she would do this for you.

A sickening crack rents the air. “My fucking nose, fuck, fuck, screw you, you fucking bitch! Fuck-”

The smallest smile creeps it way onto her face. She wipes her mouth, leaving blood on her lips- but she doesn’t seem to notice.

“I can keep going!” she shouts back, grabbing his shirt. “You wanna do that shit? I’m only getting started. I’m gonna throw you around, then I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you.”

“Wait! Wait, okay, wait, shit,” he breathes, holding his hands up in surrender. Blood pours from his nose, down to her hand bunched in his shirt. He’s taller than her, yet he’s surrendering.

“You’re pathetic,” she hisses, pushing him back. He hits the ground with a groan, trying to grab for a rock, a sword, anything to defend himself against Clarisse and her fury.

Clarisse loves capture the flag.

One of the reasons why she does is because she gets to let out all her anger. She looks at you, but not in your eyes- she looks at the wound on your arm. You can see the red pouring out of the corner of your eye- but you choose to ignore it, instead focusing on the way the fire inside of her gets relit at the sight of your blood. She has plenty reason to be angry now.

She grabs her spear, sauntering over to him, laughing at the way he can’t even try to get up.

“So fuckin’ stupid,” she smiles, tilting her head. Then the tip of her spear is pointing right at his neck, she’s standing over him the way he did to you. “How’s it feel?” she smiles.

He coughs, hissing in pain.

“I’m scared, Clarisse, okay? You got your fucking revenge, but it wasn’t me.”

She laughs, loud and boisterous. “I just saw you cut her, dumbass. I really should kill you, just as a favor to the world.”

“Paid me,” he coughs. “Drachmas, in exchange for hurting your girlfriend-”

She presses the blade against his throat, he yells out.

“Who?”

He stays silent.

“Who?!” she yells, kicking his stomach.

“Nelson!” he screams. “Nelson! Nelson paid me, please, Clarisse-”

She moves the blade away, and he hisses- she probably just barely drew blood.

“I’m not done yet,” she whispers, deadly promise dripping from her words. She turns around, fades out of focus for a second, and then she’s right next to you.

Her hands are cupping your face, she looks sick, seeing you like this up close- but all she does is kiss your forehead. Like you, she doesn’t want to look at your flesh and blood.

“I’m here, I’m here, oh, fuck. Gods, what the fuck,” she mumbles, looking very pointedly away from the wound, finally seeing how bad it is up close.

“Clarisse.”

“I know,” she whispers, smoothing your hair back. “I know, baby, I know, but it’s gonna be okay.”

Danny runs into the clearing, shouting “just over here” while healers follow him, immediately groaning at the smell of blood, the sight of it.

Clarisse switches places with Matty, holding you against her, kissing your head again and again, muttering about how brave you are.

You almost laugh at the odd looks the Apollo kids give her, unused to seeing the big bad Clarisse so soft. But they just don’t know her like you do. She doesn’t love them like she loves you.

One of them starts to clean the blood, and your eyes drift shut as the other starts to mend your skin back together.

—-

You wake up with familiar curly hair in your face.

You spit it out, groaning, mouth feeling fuzzy, everything feelings fuzzy.

“Clarisse?” you mumble, eyes not even open, but you wake up with that hair in your mouth everyday, and you’ve memorized the weight of her arm around your waist.

She sits up immediately, jumping out of bed, standing up and fixing her messy hair like someone’s gonna be there.

“Um, hello? I was speaking, crazy girl.”

“Oh, thank Gods,” she mumbles, blowing hair out of her face and sitting back down. “Thought we got caught.”

You look at her, then your surroundings-

“Oh, holy shit,” she says, staring at you like a deer in headlights. “Wait, you’re awake. You’re awake!”

She throws her arms around you, burying her face into your neck, reverberating with the sound of your laughter.

“You make it sound like I’ve been in a coma for 10 years.” Your heart drops. “Have I… been asleep for a while?”

“Um,” she says, softly, biting her lip as she extricated herself from your neck. “Capture the flag was yesterday, so… no.��

“So you’re just being dramatic?”

“Possibly,” she smiles. “It’s not my fault you’ve taken over my entire brain.” She shows her bruised knuckles, split open, already starting to scab. “I said not to fix ‘em up. They don’t hurt that bad, and they look fucking cool.”

You grab her hands, relieved it’s only been a day, kissing the rough scabs. She blushes, although she tries her best not to, breathing in deeply.

“How are you feeling, baby?”

You look towards your totally healed arm, finally realizing that you know have full control of your hands, unlike yesterday. It’s wrapped in a bandage for precautions, but it feels totally healed.

“All good,” you smile.

“You gotta take it real easy for the next week or so, yeah?” she fusses, brushing hair behind your ear. “So you call me, or one of my siblings, anyone to help you with anything. No lifting heavy stuff, don’t do anything too fast- you might tear the healing.”

“I don’t suppose you’ll carry me around like a princess?” you giggle, laying back, inviting her into your arms. She gets back under the covers, head against your chest so she can hear your heartbeat.

“That’s not a bad idea, actually. Practical. Very safe.”

You hit her shoulder. “I’m joking.”

“Eh, I’ll change your mind.”

You smile, running your hands through her hair, enjoying the early mornings with her warmth against you, soft sunlight peeking through windows.

She sits up after a moment, laying her head back on the pillow, arm back around your waist. She just sits there for a moment, you can feel her admiring you. Clarisse doesn’t look at you. She traces your face with her eyes, imagining it was her hands, her lips, she admires you like she sees a reverence in your eyes that has nothing to do with your godly parent.

“Can you promise me something?” she asks, whispering softly, even though you’re the only two people around.

“What?” you say, staring at the ceiling, feeling like you might fall back asleep.

“Don’t get hurt. Like, ever again, please.”

You smile. “Okay, baby,” you mumble.

“I’m serious,” she smiles, nudging your cheek with her nose. “I… I was really scared. And I don’t like to feel that way, especially when it comes to you. I was angry, too. I was so fuckin’ angry I’m surprised I didn’t kill him. You can’t get hurt like that, not again, you just gotta let me protect you. Or else I might actually kill someone, Y/N.”

“I know,” you mumble. “I watched you.”

“Did I scare you?” she asks, voice soft. There’s no hint of your loving, smiley Clarisse in this bed right now. She’s worried, as if she could ever scare you.

“No,” you say, honestly. “It’s sweet how far you’re willing to go for me.”

“Yeah,” she mumbles. “You better like it. Do you know what I got for that? Eight months no dessert. Five months cleaning the fuckin’ stables.”

You barely hide your laugh. “Oh, my Gods, are you serious?”

“Yes,” she grumbles. “But, I’ve decided it’s fine. You’re my loving girlfriend, right? You can sit there all pretty so I have something to look at when I’m cleaning. And you’ll share your dessert with me, won’t you?”

“Yeah,” you mumble, turning your head. “I will.”

“I really love you. My perfect pretty princess,” she jokes, smiling lopsidedly, and you return it. “You’ll let me protect you, and maybe I can get some decent sleep at night, huh?”

When she presses her hand to your face and her lips to yours, you think nothing could possible ruin this moment. It’s just you and her, and everything that’s beautiful.

“You always protect me, Clar,” you smile.

She smiles, lips grazing yours. This is your Clarisse. The one who smiles just for you, who puts her rough hand softly against your face. This is your Clarisse, the one who would do anything for you, the one who wants to carry you around, the one who wants to protect you and hold you and never let anyone fuck with her baby.

The door slams open, someone is laughing boisterously, another person is groaning in pain, and a familiar voice is shouting your names.

“Clarisse! Y/N! Clarisse, Clarisse! Y/N, Y/N, Y/N!” Danny shouts, dragging out the last syllable of your name. He jumps onto the bed by your feet, even when Clarisse frowns, looking at you like a puppy dog who’s just brought a dead bird to your doorstep.

And as you look at the scene behind you, Nelson being laid on another bed, Carrie being helped into the corner- laughing hysterically, knuckles split open.

Nelson’s face is practically unrecognizable.

You suppose Danny really did bring something unsavory like a dead bird, dropping it right at your feet.

“So, we all woke up right?”

Your eyes whip to Danny, shocked as he know launches into a story about Carrie waking up to Nelson saying he hadn’t been called to the Big House yet, maybe he would get away from it- but swiftly received punishment in the form of Carrie’s fists. With Clarisse in your bed, no one had the guts to stop them, and they fought for what must have been 10 minutes- Nelson very obviously losing.

“And, now we’re here,” Danny sighs, breathing out after his long and embellished rant. “But you’re awake, Y/N!”

He looks at your skeptically- specifically, at your arm.

“Can I hug you?”

“Oh,” you smile, your heart twisting with such a fondness for this wonderful little kid. “Of course you can, Danny,” you smile, opening your arms wide.

“Yes, just be careful,” Clarisse cautions, her arm around your waist. “Watch the arm, huh?”

“He’s just a baby, Clarisse,” you mumble, breath messing his hair.

“He’s 11.”

“Baby,” you reinforce, squeezing him tighter.

“Y/N… you’re crushing me,” he groans.

“Oops,” you say, letting him go. “You’re just too cute,” you coo.

Clarisse scoffs from next to you. You smile, kissing her cheek. “You’re beautiful. Scary, dangerous. Not cute, though.”

She hums. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Carrie walks over, sporting her split knuckles, also opting to let them heal naturally like Clarisse. She shows them off with a wide smile, even as Nelson screams in the background when they reset his nose.

Matty rubs his temples.

You smile, looking around at your very dysfunctional, very awkward, but loving family-adjacent.

“Hey, did we end up winning the game?” you ask.

Clarisse snorts. “Oh, nah. Without us, they were lost. Who cares, though?”

“Yeah, I liked beating Nelson up much more than I would have liked winning,” Carrie smiles.

“Next time,” Danny starts, “Can I lead again?”

Clarisse squints at him. “…Maybe.”

You wink at him, nodding subtly.

“Okay!” he smiles.

Clarisse kisses your forehead.

“I love you, pretty baby,” she mumbles.

You smile. “I love you too, scary baby.”

—-

clarisse when she sees y/n get hurt: oh so the only natural response to to THROW A FUCKING SPEAR AT SOMEONE

appreciation for the fact she threw it from like really far away and just tore through his armor likkkkeeee

nelson and nicky sitting in the infirmary together hugging each other terrified clarisse and carrie are going to come back for more

nicky does not sleep at night anymore SHE SAID SHE WASNT DONE

—-

shout out to my baby danny he carried this fic fr

shoutout to y/n for getting WRECKED so we could have this beautiful moment w clarisse

shoutout to matty for being his beautiful self

shoutout to carrie for being her violent self

and finally shoutout to clarisse for being overprotective and insane

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clarisse after she actually convinced y/n to let her carry her around everywhere: 🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗

bitch is so happy…

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taglist:

@lvrue @t-wylia @laughingcheese037 @kroumi @urdeadpoet @colezb @rey26 @harmzilla @elliewilliamsbae @amberfreemansburntface @kyuupidwrites @neverwaakeme-up @shark1008 @liballer @heyimadison @nvirskies @pnsteblnme @mar2ss @restellsss @ravisinghs-wife @marsconer @evangelinexo @randomhoex @luvrrish @rebecca37 @saltair-and-palemoonlight @ace-spades-1

#clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue x y/n #clarisse la rue x you #pjo tv show #pjo x reader