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princessbrunette · 22 days
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NEVER LOSE ME ♡
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♪ flo milli — never lose me ♪
TELL ME YOU DONT NEVER WANNA LOSE ME!
pairing: rafe cameron + bunny!reader જ⁀➴₊⊹ ♡
synopsis: being in a relationship with rafe, things are always easy on you and your bunny brain. until they’re not.
cw: butt stuff, violence, blood, alcohol mentions, reader is kind of a bimbo, kind of dumbification? mean!rafe, canon spoilers, shoupe, criminal activity, manipulation/threats, slut shaming, mentions of drugs. the ‘dad’ nickname and daddy kink ♡
Your vanity table was your place of peace.
Pink powder puffs and abused beauty blenders. Shimmery MAC gloss. That one blush pallette with the rabbit engraving that was too pretty to use. When you were sat at that table, everything was okay. You were in girl world, with glitter particles floating like fairies in the air around you and that one lipstick swatch on the back of your hand. It was easy to lose time, there were just so many important decisions to make. What lipliner with what gloss? Are you doing glitter in your inner corners today or not? Probably yes, there was never a wrong time for glitter. However it was only the country club you were visiting, and you were meant to be there twenty-five minutes ago. Being a girl is hard.
The country club was where you and Rafe had locked eyes for the first time. You remember it so clearly, not so much like a fairytale but more so like a sexy 2000s movie where the hot people end up together. You were new to the neighbourhood, a pretty young thing wandering into the Kook club with nothing but a shoulder bag and a skirt that clung to your ass cheeks.
Rafe did a double take when he first saw you, the sort they do in cartoons. You were the first girl he’d seen that dressed skimpy and yet still looked expensive, all dressed in virginal white with endless amounts of skin on display. He’d licked his lips, squinting across the golf course as he aimlessly swung his club in circles, tuning out of whatever-the-fuck it was Topper was complaining about this week. At first, for a few seconds anyway — he didn’t know if he wanted you or hated you for walking in here looking like that, knowing you’d be the talk of the town and the visage behind every guy at the country clubs wet dreams. You’d looked back at him and nervously bit at your manicured finger nail, offering a demure smile. There was something unsure and innocent about you, which confirmed how he felt — if his dick jumping in his pants wasn’t enough. He had to have you.
He vowed to get to know you, force his way into your life — and that’s exactly what he did. He would have felt like a creep, eyeing you from across the bar and asking everyone he could what they knew about the new girl — if you didn’t make it so apparent you were doing the same. You made friends quickly with that bubbly, ditsy, happy-go-lucky attitude of yours— and were soon to sit at the tables outside overlooking the golf course in clusters, whispering through cupped palms and giggles when Rafe and his crew would pass by. He’d act all nonchalant at first, but as he chews at his gum obnoxiously, he couldn’t stop the smirk from curling his lips up. Even his friends would shove at his shoulders excitably. This shit is so high school, he’d think. It was time to make a move.
And so he did — he made sure everyone saw too. Pulling up in his truck out the front of the club, graciously turning down the Future song booming from the speakers to wind his window down and lean out of it with that million-dollar Cameron-man smile. “You leavin’ here by yourself? Look, let me drive you, ‘kay? Been meaning to talk to you anyway, beautiful.”
He’d made sure everyone saw you climbing into the passenger seat of his car. Rafe and the new girl. If Rafe had swooped on her, she was pretty much off the market. Word spread fast, and you were his before he’d even asked you to be. Things took off fast, and with Rafes status came your own. You were untouchable, unpunishable, Kildares sweetheart. A mystery to some. Where did she come from? Is it true X tried to take a shot at her? Everyone knows she’s Rafe Cameron’s girl.
The rest is history — dates, excessive spoiling, meeting The famous Ward Cameron, Rafe breaking that virgin cunt in the same night. Things moved at the perfect pace and you couldn’t be happier. Rafe just made life so easy for you, to the point where around him — you were completely on auto pilot, letting your boyfriend do all the thinking. You figured that’s where you earned your nickname and likeness. A bunny, he’d always compare you to.
Whilst you had this Marylin Monroe sort of allure about you that never failed to draw him in, you were wide eyed and innocent like a bunny rabbit. That, and the way you bounced on his cock, and lest he forget the way your nose twitches when you’re upset. Those were recognised as bunny-like tendencies, so for Rafe — the designer shoe just seemed to fit. You sigh, reminiscing on when Rafe had pushed that bunny tail plug into your ass for the first time as you walk through the gates to the County club. Clearly, you were in a mood today.
“People are lookin’ at me.” You giggle with your cheek to his chest once you find him, careful not to smear your blush on the delicate fabric of his polo once more.
“Maybe it’s ‘cos they can practically see your tail stickin’ out the bottom of your skirt. Pull that shit down, would you?” He complains, but does it for you all the same— ringed hands sliding round down your ass to yank the material down enough for him to be satisfied. You let him, enjoying the feeling of his coarse hands on you— knowing the material was only due to slide right back up as soon as you take a few steps.
The sun burns bright that day, and as Topper approaches the two of you on the grassy hill of the golf course— he holds his golfing glove above his eyes as a makeshift protection from the sun. He wears that expression that’s 90% teeth, smiling as he slides over. “And will I be seeing this lovely lady at the party down at Crystals tonight?”
“A party?” Your back straightens in excitement, neck craning to look up at your boyfriend, who’s jaw tightened at his friend.
“I’m there on business, remember Top?” He blinks a couple of times like he was trying to send a message telepathically, and Toppers face falls a little. Your boyfriend looks to your hopeful expression, sighing a little exasperatedly. “Gonna be there for like an hour. Max. Just pushin’ product, baby. Shits boring.” He waves you off and your brows furrow, following him when he peels away to line up his ball.
“But I like parties! What product Rafey?” You mewl, laying a gentle hand on his playing arm, making him briefly stuff his tongue between his lips to concentrate extra hard. He looks around for listeners before turning his attention back to you.
“Got some yayo on me. ‘Kay? Gonna make us a shit tonne of money.”
You furrow your brows. You couldn’t remember which drug ‘yayo’ was, and you wasn’t even aware of the fact he was selling again. He said he was stopping all that, but as he constantly drilled into your head — you supposed Rafe knew best. It wasn’t your business, and wasn’t anything you had to worry about. Truthfully, you cared more about putting together an outfit to wear to the mentioned party in question.
“Can I still come? I wanna come.” You bounce on your glittery sandals with a ditsy smile, the action making your tits jostle in your little top. Perhaps that was what convinced him, the boy squinting thoughtfully out across the golf course.
“Aaah…” He stresses quietly, lifting his arm to scratch the clammy skin of his forehead beneath his floppy bangs.
“Please dad, won’t get in the way.” You pout, standing on your tiptoes pleadingly. Topper coughs awkwardly at the nickname, still standing near by, rifling through his clubs. Rafe licks his lips before rolling his eyes.
“Alright, okay. But no gettin’ involved, a’ight? Got a little chatty with my customers last time. No more of that, got it?” He warns, throwing you a look over his shoulder as he begins to stance up, gesturing for you to move back so he wouldn’t hit you with his club.
Truthfully, Rafe didn’t like bringing you to parties. As much as he loved parading you around, he knew what he was like — and seeing tens of guys ogling what rightfully belonged to him got tiring. Especially when you were so oblivious, bouncing around pool parties with your tits nearly escaping your bikini, or dancing with your friends to the point of your skirt flipping up — giving everyone a show. He knows you didn’t mean it, you were ditsy as it was so with alcohol added you were a complete loose cannon. However, with each sip he’d take— his rage would only grow, always having to deal with your pouting when he’d make the two of you leave early so he didn’t pummel someone’s face in.
Plus, he was trying to mature now. Step into his father’s shoes. He didn’t even like partying at all the way he used to— it was strictly business now. An in and out job. Was harder to do that with you there.
You always forgot how well loved Rafe Cameron was until he brings you along to a function. His hand staying glued to the small of your back as he walks you through, heads turning — his name being called from all angles like he’s a celebrity. It made you snuggle up harder to his side, which he was alright with — he had no problem being extra touchy with you tonight whilst you wore that baby pink IAMGIA Demie set like you were doing it a favour. It shows more skin than Rafe was okay with people that weren’t him seeing, but he’d be with you all night, so he assumed it would be fine.
You fiddle nervously with the diamanté Hello Kitty sat on your chest when your boyfriend started to pull out the small bags with white powder inside. You didn’t quite understand the whole drug thing, but you knew for a fact you wasn’t the biggest fan of the way people acted when they were on it. They were loud, too grabby, scary. You push your cheek against Rafes side as people swarm him, asking for his supply. He’s cool and calm as ever, smirking in that way that made you want him all to himself.
“No hogging my shit this time a’ight? You get what you pay for.” He drawls playfully to the crowd, his hand thoughtlessly sliding to your waist to drag you gently out the way of the group that was forming near him. He turns his body a little, leaning down to your ear. “Wouldn’t mind grabbing me a beer would you baby? Got big boy business to attend to.”
You swan off to complete this task in a bit of a haze, you always got sort of dazed when you were with Rafe— mostly because being with him meant you got to switch your brain off and have him do all the thinking for you. It was a blessing and a curse, because now it’s been an hour and you forgot all about getting Rafe his drink, having found some friends to take some shots with instead.
You’re warm, stumbling giddily away from where everyone else is dancing as you approach the drinks table, pondering another. As you feel a presence appear up by your side, you tug your top up thoughtlessly, humming as you rub your glossy lips together. The strangers eyes fall to your little get-up, lip clamped beneath his top set of straight white teeth like a predator.
“I really love that little outfit. Looks great on you.” He calls out, with a friendly voice matching a friendly smile. It captures your attention and you whip your head to him, earrings jangling from the movement. You take the chance to look down at your ensemble before raising your glassy gaze up to him, ends of your lashes kissing your eyebrows.
“Oh my gosh, thank you!” You grin, wiping your clammy hands on the ruffle of your skirt. It was a compliment, sure — but in the back of your mind you surveyed the situation and he truly seemed like he liked the outfit, and didn’t seem creepy at all. He’s polite, keeps his gaze respectful (until you turn away, and he can catch a glimpse at your cleavage.) and friendly. You exchange names, before he ensues with the conversation.
“So where’s your friends? Left you all by yourself?” He reaches forward, pulling a piece of rogue fluff from your hair, chuckling adoringly at your carelessness as he tosses it aside. You spin around to where they previously were, met with no familiar faces and an empty space. You frown, glossy bottom lip sticking out when you turn back to him. Of course, it’s adorable.
Too adorable, thinks your boyfriend who watches you from across the room. He’s tightly clutching his own beer, stood chatting with his friends as he observes the situation — losing interest in the surrounding conversation all together. It had been an hour since he’d last seen you, and now here you were — parallel to him with some guy in your ear, making you laugh, fluttering those eyelashes like you always did. He ticks his jaw, tongue in his cheek as he stares you down. Waiting for you to come running over all guilty, ready to fawn over him.
The guy is suggesting your friends disappeared upstairs, perhaps a bathroom, a bedroom — anywhere he can get you alone to eventually work you out of your panties. You’re totally oblivious to it, shaking your head — having a reason against each of his suggestions. It’s frustrating, the way you won’t take the hint— but also the whole ‘bimbo’ thing was kind of doing it for him, unable to work out if you were a total slut or a total virgin, those doe eyes and innocent aura contrasting too heavily on the way your tits practically spill out of your top for either to give him a clear conclusion.
Rafe is mildly irritated, watching the way you bounce with each move you make— one wrong pose from your ass cheeks spilling from the bottom of your skirt. He keeps a watchful eye, until finally — your dopey expression meets his and your face lights up, traipsing over. Much to the Cameron’s surprise— you audaciously loop your arm around the guys bicep, dragging him with you.
“Rafey! Hi! Sorry about your drink, I forgot all about it.” You blink up at him, happy as a clam as you free your arms to affectionately stroke at his chest. He nods, lips parted as his eyes flicker over to the guy at your side— who’s face is slowly dropping in realisation.
“Yeah.” He responds, and doesn’t get to say much else because you’re dropping this sucker in it.
“This is my new friend! He’s helping me find my girls ‘cos I lost them.” You pout, and Rafe’s lip curls up into a smirk— gaze now completely fixated on the stranger.
“Friends huh? You uh, you makin’ friends with my girl, man?” He smiles, but it’s malicious— taking a step forward causing you to move aside. Your brows furrow, sensing the sudden shift in atmosphere, especially when Rafes two Kook attack dogs, Topper and Kelce tune into the conversation, which attracted even more eyes.
“I didn’t know, dude.” The boy seems to have lost all his confidence from before, shrinking several sizes as your tall boyfriend closes in on him.
“Ah, he didn’t know.” Rafe shrugs theatrically before turning to his friends— smarmy smiles on both of their faces at the interaction. “Guys he didn’t know.”
“Come on, man.” The stranger seems uncomfortable with the amount of attention the scene is already creating, more and more heads turning by the moment. You fiddle with your necklace again, twirling the thin chain around a manicured finger as you watch— unsure just what was happening. Your boyfriend claps a seemingly friendly hand onto the man’s shoulder, holding him tightly.
“Nah, man— tell me. You usually walk around at parties… alone… making friends with drunk chicks? That’s uh, yeah that’s a little weird man.” Rafe laughs, so naturally everyone laughs. It’s clear your boyfriend is set on humiliating this guy for talking to you, and you’re not quite sure how you feel about it.
“Maybe you shouldn’t let your girl walk around dressed like a hooker if you don’t want guys—” The boy doesn’t get to finish his sentence, because in a moments notice — Rafe has swung his fist back and pummelled it into his face, hard. A crowd forms, and you nearly get shoved out the way by the sudden rush of jeering, drunk party goers. You gasp, watching the way Rafe straddles his squirming body, a meek attempt at fighting back.
“What was that? You wanna say that shit again, huh? Huh?” Rafe continues to beat on the guy who insult you, teeth grit, jaw tense. The victim attempts to push Rafe off, but Rafe pins him again — bigger and stronger by a mile. This only seems to anger him more, and you watch as Rafe wraps two hands around the guys neck, holding down until his face turned pink.
That’s when you notice that Topper and Kelce aren’t smiling anymore, instead pushing through the crowd suddenly to grab a hold of their friend, yanking him off the man on the ground. Rafe only shrugs them off once before letting them drag him away.
“Yeah? Yeah? Maybe you’ll think next time you try ‘n make some fuckin’ friends, bitch.” He spits as his farewell, before shaking free of his friends and grabbing a hold of your upper arm, all but hauling you out of that party at a speed and strength to where you were certain your feet were barely touching the ground.
The drive home is silent, and only then you start to realise that you might be in trouble too. You didn’t like when Rafe got like this, mad and scary. His temper was no surprise to you, he was always storming around with a sour look on his face, or slamming doors after the daily argument he’d hash out with Ward. All of these examples seemed like mild irritation in comparison to the rage you saw him succumb to only moments prior. He had this look in his eye when his hands were around that man’s neck, his pupil overtaking his iris. It was like he really didn’t mind hurting this guy real bad, and you wondered what would have happened if no one stopped him. Usually, for the most part he kept his anger relatively far from you. Now, with just the two of you alone— you were facing it head on.
The car is even more silent once he puts it in park on the Tannyhill drive. Both of his hands are on the steering wheel, knuckles split and bloody still from his attack, and you notice a speck of blood that didn’t belong to him on Rafes cheek, making you pout— fighting the urge to reach out and brush it away. Instead you stare, waiting for him to speak.
“You know, you — you really gotta be more careful with who you make friends with, baby. Look at this shit I… I had to beat his ass because of you bein’ too friendly. Me. I had to handle shit.” He bites, and you sink back into the seat, ashamed and upset. Perhaps he was right, maybe you did need to keep your wits about you more.
“Oh…” Is all you manage, sad and whiny like a kicked puppy. He licks his lips, shaking his head and finally turning his body to face you.
“What did I say about making friends with guys? Huh? Tell me what I said.” He tilts his head, blinking at you with wide impatient eyes as he waits for an answer. You suck in a shaky breath, wracking your brain for the last time you’d had this conversation.
“Um… I don’t—” You swallow thickly but it’s cut off by your boyfriend grabbing your jaw, forcing you to look at him. As if he’d hit some kind of panic button, two fat tears roll down your cheeks, bottom lip wobbling.
“What did I say?” He raises his voice and you let out a sad sob, sniffling as you try to compose yourself— speaking as clearly as you can.
“You— you said— any guy that approaches me doesn’t wanna be friends. He just…” You sniffle.
“He just what? Go on, finish that shit.”
“He just wants to fuck me.” You cry and he nods, letting go of your face to push his floppy, slightly sweaty bangs away from his face, puffing out a breath through his mouth.
“Get your ass inside.” He mutters, and you’re quick to do so, hopping up out your seat and to the front door, fumbling for your obnoxious keychains in your shoulder bag.
He follows closely once you’re by the door, oddly gentle hands on your waist from behind that guide you all the way to the stair case, giving your ass a pat as he sends you off to his room. You’re standing pathetically when he enters a moment or so after you.
You clasp your hands at your front, the picture of innocence. You weren’t crying anymore, but still looking devastated by Rafes unfortunate mood. He approaches you, looming over you with an unreadable expression and you yearned to reach out and touch the warmth of his skin through his shirt, or to kiss his naturally flushed lips— but you wanted to be a good girl for him. Make things right.
“Y’know the polite thing to do is apologise, sweetheart.” He drawls and you nod vigorously, words taking a moment to find you.
“M’sorry daddy! Really didn’t mean—”
“Actions…” He cuts you off, eyes fluttering. He places two hands on your bare shoulders. “Speak louder than words. Understand?”
“Huh?” You pout, and he presses on your shoulders just a little.
“You know what to do. On your knees.” One hand leaves you, beginning to work at his belt making you have a Pavlovian-like reaction, mouth filling with drool. You realise you’re just staring and he blinks at you. “What are you waiting for, huh? Now, please.”
You quietly drop, shuffling to get as comfortable as possible and begin eagerly fumbling to help with his belt, blinking up at him with wet doe eyes. You were surprised to see that your boyfriend was already hard — not just a halfie as things begin, fully hard. Maybe something to do with the adrenaline, maybe he thought you were sexy when you cried— who knew.
His pants drop to his ankles and he widens his stance a little, licking over his sore lips and softly grasping the back of your head, easing you closer to press kisses to his covered cock. Your need to please got the better of you and you impatiently tugged off his boxers too, starting to leave a trail of glossy pink kiss prints all over him as you let out your own moan of relief.
You were thrilled he was letting you do this. You didn’t like arguing, never able to think of the right words and always crying too much just like a baby. You couldn’t stay cross with Rafe, you simply loved him too much — so you were happy to skip all the hard parts and head straight to the end, where you got to make it all better and earn his forgiveness. Rafe was always happy after you gave him head, especially when you worked super hard, giving him plenty of attention where he needs it. You couldn’t wait to watch him relax.
It wasn’t long before you had the tip of his cock bruising your throat, spit bubbling at the corners of your mouth when you gag around him, trying your very best to get him to cum. It seemed he was close, letting out quiet groans and even stroking your cheeks with his thumbs soothingly which was your favourite thing he did. Your nose twitches, sore and watery as you pull back once more — gazing up at him with gloopy eyelashes and flooded eyes, all sweetly, searching for his approval. He gives you a lazy smile and it’s enough to encourage you to head back down to take him as deep as he’ll go.
You clutch his balls and massage as you deep throat him once more, and this time — the burning of your mascara infiltrating your eyes gets too much to handle and you close them, squeezing them tight as you pull back ever so slightly to work your tongue over his shaft. You’re met with a light slap on the jaw, causing your eyes to spring open— staring up all wide like you’d been caught with a hand in the cookie jar instead of wrapping round his ballsack.
“Open your eyes, yeah— fuckin’ look at me. Good girl.” He grits his teeth, and you know he must be close. You keep sucking until he’s milked dry, Rafes pretty bunny and her favourite carrot — swallowing every drop he had to offer.
All is forgiven, and the incident is forgotten about within a few weeks. It was a hectic time, Rafe barely having the time to bring up something that seemed so menial whilst dealing with the death of his father and the feud between his sister and the ‘pogues’ he always seemed to complain about. Rafe seemed to believe there was something gold that he was owed, a cross or something like that. You wasn’t sure. You’d only picked up enough information through overhearing phone calls to his old dealer Barry, in which he’d promptly close the door to obstruct your thoughtless eavesdropping when he’d realise you might be listening.
He seemed to have moved on very quickly from his father’s demise. Oddly enough, his grieving period only seemed to last a few days. You didnt press him on it, it didn’t feel right to do so. You’d learnt from some reality TV show about rich housewives that sometimes when someone loses a person close to them, they don’t even act that sad at all because they don’t want to deal with the big feelings. You wondered if that’s how Rafe was feeling. However, you couldn’t help but also wonder if your boyfriend was in a way relieved to finally be the man of the house. Maybe that’s why he’d started wearing some of Ward’s clothes, demanding you call him ‘dad’ more often.
♪ ‘WHEN I SUCK IT I LOOK IN YOUR EYES
YOU BETTER FUCK ME LIKE YOU MEAN IT!’ ♪
You hum along happily the song you’d grown so fond of playing from the AUX of Rafes truck. Saturday, your favourite day of the week. Your boyfriend had been doing a lot of stuff, lately. Going to a lot of places without you. There was something secretive about the way he’d disappear into his father’s office with Barry, ‘handling business’ for hours and hours on end. Again, it became clear that all of this kerfuffle was clearly about the mysterious gold you’d hear about. Honestly, you didn’t care to ask questions. The only gold you cared about was the glitzy gold chain delicately wrapped around your ankle, a sparkling ‘RC’ pendant dangling off it, Rafes initials. You stretch your leg out in the car, admiring the way it hangs off your smooth limb.
He could spend all week handling business and getting shit done, but Saturdays? They were your days. Days and nights spent out together, always winding up back at your place where he’d stay round. You always had a free house at the weekends, so what better way to spend it than wailing into a pillow with your boyfriend balls deep inside of you?
The journey is cut short when Rafe slowly pulls up outside your house, putting it in park and yet making no move to even remove his seatbelt. You look out the window at the familiar setting before whipping round to look at him in confusion, batting your fluffy eyelashes.
“I’m… afraid you’re gonna be on your own tonight, bun.” He scratches his cheek, a guilty habit you were usually too flustered to pick up on.
“Huh?” You mewl, brows furrowing, body sinking down into the seat in refusal. “But… it’s Saturday. Did you forget, silly?” You pout, your words doing nothing to convince either of you that he had simply forgotten.
“I’ve got business to handle tonight. Really important stuff that you cannot get involved in. Okay? Need you to be at home, and stay out of it alright?” He’s serious, wide eyed and speaking slowly to ensure not a drop of information slips away from you as you blink at him all lost and sweet. He didn’t like disappointing you, and sure — he would rather spend his evening with his dick nestled in your wet warmth, but this was something that had to be done— whatever it was.
“But Rafe—” You go to protest, but he cuts you off with a firm hand on your jaw stopping your speech all together.
“Alright?” He searches your eyes for confirmation. The way he grabbed you reminded you of the time he was mad at you, and if he was really going to leave you lonely tonight — you figured it was best you leave things on a positive note and behave yourself. You blink sulkily at him and nod.
“Yes, dad.” You sigh out your nose and his expression softens, nodding in approval with a small smile.
“Thats my good girl.” He uses his grip on your jaw to pull you in, delivering a sloppy kiss to your lips and even rewarding you with the wet warm muscle of his tongue rolling over yours a few times for good measure — yet pulling away before you got too needy, because then he knew you’d never let him leave.
You’ll admit, you started to huff and puff once you’d left his side. It was Saturday, your Saturday — and maybe you were spoiled, but going out for brunch with your boyfriend and then having him drop you home was not nearly enough to satisfy your needs, especially after he’d been gone so frequently lately. You’d gotten yourself into quite a mood, nearly stomping right past the package that had arrived through your door.
You tear it open, alone in your house and for a brief moment your face lights up — the new butt plug Rafe had purchased for you online after you’d begged and begged sat in the cardboard box. Much like your other one, it was a bunnies tail— but instead of pink, the obnoxious puff on the end was fluffy and white, like a real Easter bunny. Your grin melts off your face right back into a sullen pout when you remember that Rafe wasn’t here to help you put it in, or play with it, or tell you how pretty it looks in your ass. You stomp your foot, anklet jangling. This wasn’t fair.
The sun goes down after hours upon hours of boredom, and you try to preoccupy yourself. You redo your hair all pretty, you fix up your makeup, you play dress up in your closet. The new plug is slicked up between your fingers, your bottom lip tugged between your teeth as you ready yourself. You never had to put your own bunny tail in, Rafe was always around to do it for you — have you sprawled over his lap, his hand pulling your cheeks apart and saying “Good job, stop tensing up would you?” You’re squirmy and whiny all alone, upset and petulant about the fact he wasn’t around. You felt… what was the word again? Neglected.
You press your cheek to your pristine bed covers, arching your ass in the air with an arm snaked uncomfortably round yourself, the difficult angle making it hard to push your tail in. You groan at the stretch from the cool metal, pussy drooling as your eyes flutter closed and you imagine your boyfriend doing it all for you, as intended. When it was snugly pressed inside of you, you giggle hazily — waving it in the mirror to get a good view. Pretty, you can almost hear his voice tell you how pretty that tight ass is, and you yearn to hear it in person.
You decided you weren’t going to take no for an answer. Rafe needed you, you knew it — perhaps he’d been isolating himself to deal with his big feelings, and you couldn’t take it any longer. You’d come to the decision that you were going to dress up so sweetly for him, march over there and make him feel all better with the warm embrace that was your cunt— or your mouth, or even your hand. Whatever your man needed, you would deliver.
You slide on some white, lacy lingerie. When you’d purchased it, you’d hoped it would remind him of wedding-wear, planting the idea that he should totally marry you, put a big glittery rock on your finger. Something that signified that he never, ever wanted to lose you. It was bunny-like in nature too, a hole slotted in the panties especially to fit the puff of your bunny tail through it— perfectly cohesive with your whole look. You’re quick to drag on more white, taking the form of a tight crop top and a skirt that unsurprisingly barely covered the fold of your ass cheeks where your thighs begin. In no time, you’re tottering down the street in kitten heels, clutching your purse to your side. You’d decided to walk— and by decided, you meant you didn’t have much choice — bound to being Rafe’s pretty passenger princess, full time.
An all white outfit was innocent, virginal, wedding-like. He couldn’t say no to you like this, surely not— you convince yourself as you stride street to street beneath the lights of street lamps. Kildare was safe, you seemed to think so anyway. Rafe disagreed, said there was lots of stuff you didn’t know— but you’d never seen anything too bad with your own two eyes.
Half way into your journey, your quiet muttering to yourself going over what you’d say when you got to Tannyhill was interrupted by your surroundings suddenly being tainted with a flashing blue and red glow. The rumble of a car pulling up beside you alerts your attention and you whip around to look, being met with the concerned gaze of Shoupe in his Sheriff car.
“Hi officer.” You wave politely.
“Can I ask what you’re doin’ wandering the streets at night by yourself? Not safe to be walkin’ about with next to nothing on, young lady.” He appears stern and your brows furrow, wondering if you’re in trouble. You hadn’t been questioned by a police officer before, they had come sniffing around after Wards death, but Rafe was always there to answer all the tricky questions for you. You whimper like a confused puppy.
“I—I missed my boyfriend so I wanted to go n’see him.” You whine, fists balled nervously at your side. It probably didn’t help that you were already riled up, so this was just immediately too much for you.
Shoupe recognised Rafe Cameron as your boyfriend and his eyebrows raise, purely at the fact that whilst he respected the Cameron family — he couldn’t fathom missing a spoilt brat like that.
“You know I got a niece of my own, about your age — I wouldn’t be lettin’ her walk the streets like this alright? Why don’t you give someone a call? Where are your parents?” He shakes his head, and now you’re super fed up.
“I don’t — am I in trouble? I had to walk because I failed my driving test and— and my parents go away on weekends I— I just miss my boyfriend and I want to go to his house! I don’t understand why you’re asking me stuff—” You start to cry, stomping a mini heel on the ground making the officer sigh, closing his eyes for a moment regretting stopping all together.
“Not my circus, not my monkeys. Don’t get paid enough for this crap.” He mutters to himself before opening his eyes and plastering on a forced smile and leaning his elbow out the open window. “‘Know what? Don’t you worry that head, young lady. Be safe, I’ll let you get on with it.” He waves before pulling out the parking space, leaving you waving him off tearfully— continuing your journey.
You wipe your tears, happy that you’re finally approaching Tannyhill— not long now until you’re back in your boyfriend’s arms. Sure, you were directly disobeying his one rule to stay home and mind your business tonight, but it wouldn’t be the first punishment you’d faced from Rafe — and the thought of having his hands on you in any way was delightful — so you’d be more than happy to pay the price.
Your shoes crunch carefully down the drive, blinking up at the grand historical home before you. You always loved being there. Being at Tannyhill with Rafe made you feel like he was the president and you were his first lady, ruling over Kildare in your very own White House. The fantasy whisks you away for a moment, and it takes you a couple of slow seconds to realise no one has responded to your knock at the front door. You wiggle the handle, and for once — it doesn’t open. You frown. Rafe was home, right?
You hum in confusion, trailing around to each window — looking for any signs of life as you call his name. “Rafey, are you home? It’s me…” You all but whine, growing increasingly more frustrated. Had you really walked all that way in the dark for nothing?
You puff out a dramatic breath, gathering yourself. Take a look around, you command yourself — use your big girl brain for once. Rafes truck was on the drive, and the lights were on in the house — so you figured it was fair to assume he was indeed home. The only thing out of place was the large van parked haphazardly on the drive. It wasn’t unheard of for unknown vehicles to be at Tannyhill. All sorts of people were in and out the gates for transport purposes whenever Ward would find something new and extravagant to auction off— but Ward wasn’t around anymore, and something tickled your curiosity enough to step towards it, questioning what it contained.
The large back doors are left ajar, so nosily you tiptoe over— fingers wrapping around one to pry it open some more, standing on the toes of your kitten heels to look at what would remain inside. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust, and for a few seconds you’re not met with anything of interest. Boxes, crates— nothing extraordinary. Your eyes drop down to the floor of the van, and you freeze. Surely not.
The body of a man lies dormant in a pool of distinctive crimson. He’s frozen up, like he’s scared or had been turned into a statue. His skin is pale, and his eyes are open— unblinking. You hadn’t seen many bad things in your life, hell— Rafe had even put you on a restriction from horror movies because you just couldn’t handle them — but what you were looking at was unmistakable. You were staring at a dead body.
You draw in a shaky gasp, and a heat wave of panic overcomes your body. It begins in your chest, and spreads through you like a virus — to your stomach, and then your arms and legs all the way to frozen stiff fingers and toes. You jerk back, hand flying up to cover your mouth as you stumble back a few steps, fresh hot tears brewing in your waterline. “Oh my g—”
Your whimper is cut short, the sound punched right out of you when you back up into something hard and firm. You jump out of your skin, yelping as what you walked into sprouts arms and whips you around at lightening speed to face it. Rafe, your boyfriend holds you infront of him, enraged. For the first time in your life, he terrifies you. “Told you to stay home, kid.” He spits out before spinning you back around and manhandling you into a lift, arms round tightly around you as he lifts you off the ground.
You go to scream, you even go to run— from your own boyfriend, something even a few moments prior you wouldn’t be able to fathom. He only grips you tighter, and this time covers your mewling mouth with a firm hand as he wrestles you inside, dragging you through the house.
As he tugs your flailing, panicking body up the stairs — you catch sight of Rose who lingers on the stairwell, watching with wide eyes.
“Rafe? Rafe what did she see?” She hisses urgently, alarmed by the way her step-son was handling his girlfriend.
“I’m handlin’ it.” He drawls out, seemingly irritated by her presence as he pushes you down the hallway.
“Don’t hurt her, Rafe.” Hurt her?
He all but launches you into the bedroom and you fly away from him, on the verge of hyperventilation. You paw at your eyes, wiping away the tears as you sniffle watching his every move. He moves slower now, locking the door which causes your heartrate to spike once more.
“Why the hell are you here?” He blinks at you irritably. “Huh? After I specifically told you to stay home.”
“I missed you.” You cough out a wet sob, trying to gather your thoughts enough to ask the valuable questions. Like, what was going on? Who was the dead body?
“You missed m— so we’re just… disregarding my rules now. The — the shit I tell you to keep you safe? Keep you out of allllll the dirty work I gotta do to keep shit afloat?” He’s mad, squinting and shaking his head.
“Did you kill that man?” You raise your voice ever so slightly, coming right out with it. The forwardness shocks you, but Rafes expression simply flattens, shoulders dropping a little before he sighs, shaking his head with his hands on his hips.
“No, I didn’t.” He makes a point to emphasise the ‘I’, which only reels you off into more confusion. “But… it’s my problem now. A’ight? So — so I gotta step up and handle it alright, look at — hey, look at me baby— okay, I’m a proactive person — I — I was handed a problem, and now I’m fixin’ it. Me. You understand that?” He’s walked right over to you now, and you’ve backed up away until your legs hit his bed causing you to sit down with a bounce. He crouches over you as he rambles, a hand on your shoulder to keep your attention. He has thrown a lot of information your way, and you try to follow along — eyes wide and head shaking slightly in response.
“Rafe— you’re scaring me. That person was dead you — you have to tell the police! I saw Shoupe on the way here, even talked to him — why — why don’t you just call him up n’tell him?” You whimper, breath catching in your throat between every couple of words.
Your boyfriend stands up straight suddenly, blinking like he’d been snapped out of his wide, watery eyed trance.
“You— you saw— what do you mean you saw Shoupe on the way here?” He glares and you shrink, feeling like you’ve done something wrong but not quite knowing what.
“He stopped me on the way here n’I told him I was comin’ to see you.” You pout.
“Oh, that’s…” He begins to pace, before barking out a soft laugh, hand rising to scratch his cheek. “Yeah that’s uh, that’s perfect really.”
You tilt your head, jostling your hoop earrings in the act. “What are you talking about?” You felt nervous for his answer, and unsure as to why that was.
He stops his incessant pacing, turning to you with an amused and yet somewhat deranged grin. “You’re in this now, baby. You n’me.” He gestures to the two of you with a finger as he slowly prowls closer. “So— so Shoupe knows you were on the way here at,” he lifts his arm, checking the watch beneath his Northface fleece. “Around this time frame. Right? So really…” He closes in on you fully once more, bending at the waist to look at you eye to eye. “If… if you turn me in, we’re goin’ down together. How’s that sound, huh— think you could handle jail baby? You think they do mani-pedis in prison?” He jokes, smirk only growing when your eyes widen. He was being cruel.
“Stop! I— I would never tell on you Rafey!” You start to cry again, and he nods slowly in approval, licking his lips. “Don’t wanna get locked up.”
“Yeah, well. All you gotta do is keep that pretty mouth shut. Think you can do that for me baby? Think you could… keep this little secret just for me?” Even now, he had a way with words. He made you feel special, like teaming up with him was something to be so proud of. There’s a warmth in your chest from the way he speaks to you, but a pit in your stomach at the guilt from feeling this way. You were dizzy with conflict.
“S’just too much, daddy. I dunno, what if I make a mistake? Just so dumb sometimes.” You sniffle, going to cover your face but he bats your delicate hands out the way with his own palms, cupping your cheeks to force your attention on him.
“Hey, hey. Gotta… use that bunny brain sometimes baby. Yeah? Gotta think about what might happen… if anyone finds out.” His voice softens with each word, invading your personal space until his warm breath fanned over your face comfortingly. He had a way of breaking you down to something so regressed and yet primal, pure putty in his criminal hands. Somewhere in the back of your hazy brain you felt this might be a tactic to get you on his side with all of this, but the words wouldn’t find you. “You’re my good girl, alright? Know you can do it…” His lips softly press to yours, and he starts to kiss you slowly, sensually, like he had all the time in the world.
You get lost in the kiss, it’s only natural — with the way his tongue wrapped itself skilfully around yours. He finds himself sat on the bed beside you, pulling you to perch on his leg as you succumb to the makeout session. He was really good at it, so talented at getting you wet and squirmy with just his mouth on yours. It feels like ten minutes of this have possibly passed by when your brain starts to ring out the alarm bells once more, warning you of your predicament. Your heart starts to pound and you pull back a little, eyes shiny and wide as they gaze into his lustful pair.
“M’scared.” It comes out quiet and he shakes his head, in total refusal of this.
“Shh, shh. How ‘bout you turn that brain off for a while. Yeah? Let me handle it.”
You suck in a shaky breath, swallowing thickly as you try to keep the panic at bay in his tight hold. “Can’t.”
“Yeah. You can. Can start by taking all these clothes off.” He drags his hands over your body, messing up the fabric in its wake. “Came over just lookin’ all pretty… would hate to ruin a night like this, right?” He talks slowly like you’re dumb and it only makes you ooze more, finding yourself nodding eagerly, sniffing back the tears and hopping onto your feet to kick off the kitten heels, dropping an inch or so in height.
Rafe tugs your skirt down as you pull your top over your head, and he hums in appreciation at the white lace adorning your body. “Mm, s’fuckin’ sexy.” He whispers, turning you by your hips to do a little spin for him, not able to help himself from giving your ass a sharp little smack and jiggle when he spots the new bunny tail poking through. “This one’s new, huh?” He drawls, giving it a little tug making your knees buckle, turning to clamber back onto his leg.
“Mhm.”
“Yeah. Wanna keep these on, yeah?”
You nod, and he’s kissing you again, handsy as ever as he caresses your soft skin. He’s being nice, for now. It usually started off this way before he’d get too impatient but you knew he was being extra nice for the purpose of persuading you to side with his unforgivable actions. Your criminal boyfriend drags his hand down your stomach, two finger pads rubbing circles over your clit through the lace making you groan out a cracked and desperate sound against him.
“Turn around.” He whispers, aiding you to sit between his legs, leaning back against him. Once in this compromising position, he peels your soaked underwear to the side— sliding his fingers through your messy folds. “God damn, weren’t lyin’ when you said you missed daddy— that right?”
“Just… just missed you so much.” Your eyes flutter shut, and you do find yourself relaxing more and more against his warm body, a clammy hand clutching the zip of his grey fleece, shuddering from his skilful touch.
After stroking your clit, causing you to clench and cream around nothing for a while, desperate moans sure to be heard by Rose if she was worriedly lurking in the hallway, Rafe started to push his thick fingers in, humming and licking his lips hungrily as your greedy hole swallowed him up, the long digits squelching from your copious tsunami of arousal.
“Oh daddy!” Is all you can say as he curls them just right, working you quickly towards your finishing point. As you drop into that Rafe-obsessed headspace, nearly at the crowning of your orgasm— his deep nasally voice rumbles from behind you, attracting your attention. As he speaks, he pulls his fingers back just so only the tips still remained inside you, and kept them there even when you wriggled your hips trying to get them in further.
“So… what are you gonna say if someone asks you where you were tonight? Huh?” His voice carries a threatening tone, which makes you pout at how totally unfair of him it was to work you into brainless mush and then ask you such an important question.
“I— uhm, I don’t—” You whimper as you writhe in his lap. He pulls his fingers out of you completely and in one fluid movement slaps your pussy, causing you to cry out in sensitivity at the harshness on the cunt he had spread open on top of him.
“Where?” He grits his teeth and you pant.
“At home, daddy!”
He seems satisfied, and slowly he sinks his fingers back inside you, causing you to release a relieved whine, liquifying against his body once more. “See? Not as dumb as you look, bunny girl.”
The words cause tingles to run through your very being, and as he continues to finger fuck you— you’re brought very close to the edge, very soon.
“Mmph— dad, g’nna cum!”
“Yeah? Gonna cum just for dad?” He lilts sympathetically in response.
“Yeah!”
“Yeah?”
Just like that, he pulls his fingers out of you — and before you have the chance to complain or even let out a petulant whine, he’s forcing your mouth open and stuffing his soaked fingers inside, all the way down your throat.
You slap at his wrist, gagging wetly as he holds your head against him keeping him still. “Yeah, that fuckin’ hurt? They’ll do a lot worse to you in prison, sweetheart. Can tell you that for free.” He finger fucks your throat for a few quick beats before drawing them out, letting you suck in harsh breaths. He wipes his fingers on your cheek before giving it an affectionate pat. “Haven’t earned the right to cum just yet. You understand right?”
You sniffle, starting to cry again. This whole ordeal was clearly upsetting to you, and Rafe was just treating it like it was one big loyalty test. All you wanted was to be with him, kiss him, touch him — and he was just being so mean.
Your tears do nothing for your case. Suddenly and aggressively, your boyfriend grips the back of your neck and forces you down into the mattress on the bed, your ass lifted obscenely in the air — panties still forced to the side with your tail-stuffed hole and drooling pussy on full display to him. Glitter refracts off your cheek when you turn your head on the bed, trying to get a look at him.
“Would you look at that?” He twiddles with the fluffy tail and you groan, body softening slightly and pussy dribbling. “Doesn’t take much. Does it baby? Yeah. Dressed up all sweet for me, you uh—” He chuckles at the cruel joke before it leaves his mouth. “Wouldnt take you for an accessory to a crime.”
You let out a pitiful sob and his jaw ticks in irritation, leaning right over you, jostling you a little so he could talk right in your ear. “Quit. That guy you saw in the truck was a bad man, alright? Worlds better off without scumbags like him. I don’t… I don’t wanna hear you’re feelin’ all bad about it. I always make the decisions, right? Daddy always knows what to do, right?” He demands aggressively, spanking your ass hard when you don’t respond immediately.
“Yes daddy you— you always know!” You wail, distraught and he nods, lips parted and jaw slightly agape — fighting his belt off his body to yank his pants down just enough to pull his dick out.
As much as you enjoyed showing your tail off to Rafe, wiggling it against his pelvis, tickling his tanned skin with the fluff each time he draws his hips in — you were actually a little disappointed you weren’t getting to be on your back today. You craved the closeness, the kisses, getting to see his pretty cock collect all your glittery slick as he fucks into your glossy hole. Instead, he pushes in from behind and sets a punishing pace, balls slapping against you as he holds you down, forcing your arch into place. With each thrust, comes a quiet grunt of his own exertion — the days frustration being worked out on you.
This lasts for a few minutes, Rafe slightly changing things up like adjusting your position or putting a foot up on the bed to dig you out even deeper. Your cunt was so sloppy it was audible, squelching with each roll of his agile hips. From the way he had previously stolen your much needed orgasm, you could tell you weren’t going to last much longer, fucking desperately back against him as you sobbed.
“Shit, why you fuckin’ crying so much huh? This not enough for you, princess?” He taunts breathlessly, squeezing your hips for an answer.
“Miss you Rafe, want you— want you nice!” You’re shaky, forcing in a painful breath as you cry— mascara making a mess of his sheets but he didn’t care about that right now— too focused on the way your ass jiggled against him with each thrust. As perfect of a view this was, he couldn’t tolerate the tears and flipped you onto your back, forcing your legs up over his shoulders.
As he slots himself back in, he shakes his head— floppy hair sweaty, some of it stuck to his forehead. “There? Happy? Y’gonna stop cryin’ now, hm?” He drawls, speeding up his pace once more, indulging in the way your tits are escaping the lacy cups of your bra. He palms at them greedily, helping free them out the top and he disappears into your neck, groaning as he hits a new spot, your hole sucking him in like it had a mind of its own.
He sucks marks on your neck. Proof you were here, he thinks in the back of his mind. He draws back to admire his work and is met with your tear-stricken, devastated face. All pretty with doe like eyes, gloopy runny mascara framing them, a single mink lash on your cheek. He swipes it away, unable to control the urge to press his body right onto yours and envelop your lips with his own.
He sucks on your tongue, holding you there with a hand gently round your neck as he possesses you entirely. The continuous slapping sound of his cock bruising your insides becomes music to your ears as you float away on a cloud, eyes struggling to stay open from the sheer amount of pleasure you were facing. As he softly holds you by your throat, like a farmer handling its first baby bunny — he feels that remaining amount of tension coursing through you. That last inkling of resistance, even if you didn’t know it was there. He slows his pace, grinding his cock inside you, massaging the tension out.
“Oh, little girl. Poor bunny, huh?” He coo’s, cradling your shaking, clammy body as you whimper, puffy walls spasming around his length. “All caught up in big bad Rafe’s problems, aren’t you. Yeah… well, it’s okay. I got you baby. You’re never gonna lose me, okay? You’re all mine.”
With your bodies connected, you gaze up into his eyes. All his, the words you adored more than anything. Your eyes drift over to his left shoulder where your anklet swings with each jostle of your body. ‘R.C’, the initials catch the light through blurry tearful eyes. All his.
A hand snakes between you, and when he presses down on your clit — your body finally gives in and you squeeze out a gut wrenching moan, legs shaking violently as you grip him, cumming hard and abundantly around his slick cock. He’s talking you through it, rolling his hips determinedly as you cum. You briefly catch his voice groaning out a “Thats my good girl. S’me and you baby. Don’t you forget it. Me n’you.”
You squirt out around him, soaking his abdomen, and whilst you might usually be concerned and embarrassed— you can’t think straight enough to consider that. He doesn’t seem to mind either, fucking into you as he chases his own high, mumbling words you couldn’t hear into your neck or mouthing at the fat of your tits as he’s spurting out his own thick, hot release.
Everything feels dreamlike after that, from the way he pulls out and smothers your hot face in sloppy kisses — to the way he lazily mops you up with a towel. You can’t process the pleasure you endured, and soon you fall asleep right there on Rafe’s bed, hot and feverish.
It must’ve been a good few hours you slept for, because when you wake to the soft warm touch of your boyfriend and his rings gliding up your back— your bleary eyes find the clock at his bedside to read 5:30AM. Rafe is dressed differently to how he was before, a black shirt you recall noticing in your immediate vision. He’s scooping you in his arms, sitting you up as you let out a disorientated whine, having trouble letting your brain catch up.
One hand strokes your cheek, to keep you awake— and the other strokes the fat of your hip, self indulgently. “So turns out, we’re uh— goin’ on a little trip. You like vacations, huh?”
You blink your sticky eyes at him, hand grazing the buttons of his shirt as your voice attempts to croak out a response. “Rafe, what’s —” Your brain starts to catch up, an unfamiliar and harrowing feeling spreading through your stomach— sinister and dooming as you remember the events that occurred before he’d fucked you and gotten you to fall asleep on his bed. Where had he been? So many hours had passed.
He cuts you off with a smile, a relieved smile — like all his problems had vanished, the corpse you’d found having just gotten up and walked away.
“Goin’ on a big boat. How’d you feel about the Bahamas, baby?”
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trashmouth-richie · 8 days
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this comes from @serasvictoria with this ask the prompt words were: pillow, caught, crush
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18+ no minors, angst leading to smut, vulgar, eddie talks about his dick and steve’s 😌
2.1k // eddie x fem reader
your ex hears you’ve moved on; is he ready to let you go?
send me a prompt!
“Don’t be a dumbass.” 
Ringed hands were folded together, glistening from the makeshift dramatic lighting in Gareth’s basement. 
In the summer, Hellfire moved locations from one member's place to another, rotating every Friday to a different place. A new aroma to tickle one’s nostrils upon entering whichever home was the designated spot for the evening, to host Hawkins very own hell bound teens. 
Some homes were kept nicer than others, while Eddie’s trailer smelled like stale cigarettes and bong water, the Sinclair’s living room was pristine with updated furniture, smelling of warm vanilla and the smell of dinner still lingering in the air. 
Gareth takes another gulp of Mountain Dew, wiping the lime colored beverage from his lips. Belching on the spot. 
“Why would I lie about that?” 
Eddie shifts in the folding chair leaning forward— the chain from his waist clinking on the metal, “whatever man, don’t fuck with me.” 
Gareth grins, hands up in surrender, “listen dude, I’m just telling you what we saw,  no need to shoot the messenger.”
What Gareth and Jeff had seen weighed heavy on their minds. They had even contemplated on keeping it secret. The two couldn’t decide if Eddie should know or if it would hurt him— in the end Gareth opened his big mouth and blurted it out, in the most repugnant way imaginable. 
The painted tin container used to hold dice was crushed under the weight of Eddie’s fist as he hammered it onto the table. 
Jeff shook his head, sucking in a breath between his braced teeth, looking away from the soon to be manic Munson. 
Eddie’s temper ran hot when it came to one thing—and one thing only, you. 
Raking his fingers through his scalp, he kicks the back of his chair upon standing, ragged breaths in and out, eyes to the ceiling. You still had a hold on him, it had been months—and the only one who seemed to not be able to move on was him. 
He chuckled, pinching the inner corner of his eyes and shaking his head, “one of you take over as DM, I gotta go.” 
Bounding up the stairs before he could hear any bitching from his two longest standing friends, the carpeted steps squished under his quickened boot steps. Stealing a cookie from an iridescent colored decorative plate on the kitchen counter, Eddie stomped out the front door and to the paved driveway, starting his van with a flick of his wrist, pedal to the floor as he reversed onto the street, running over flower beds in his wake.
The daffodil warmth of the sun was high in the sky, a small stitch of wind blew the blades of grass gently, feathering the soft pages of your book every so often. 
It was a perfect summer day as you laid out on your driveway, ass parked in a tiny kiddie pool from your youth, blue in color, the flimsy plastic circle was filled with cool water straight from the hose. 
A few shots of spiced whiskey danced on your tongue and tangoed with the carbonated bubbles of the mixed in Coke, fizzing with each slurp from your straw, you don’t have a care in the world. 
Admiring your freshly painted nails in the pastel bubble gum shade he had picked out— it was a stark contrast to the ruby reds you had been accustomed to— but those days were long gone, and things were finally starting to look up for you. 
It had been four months since Eddie broke things off, claiming he needed ‘space to find himself’ and although you spent a majority of that time wallowing in ice cream containers and mopping up tears when you saw a brown set of curls, or heard the jingle of a chain wallet— you moved on. 
He wasn’t from Hawkins. Didn’t know of Eddie at all, and you preferred to keep it that way. You were never ashamed of the boy you loved for so many years, the only embarrassment you felt was the night he ended things like someone would end a call after placing an order for pizza. 
Like it meant nothing to him, like you meant nothing to him. But that was then, and you were happier now.
So when you looked up to see Gareth’s wide eyes staring in shock was not at all how you imagined your date would go. You had been caught red handed by his best friends, and you knew it was only a matter of time before he found out. 
Toes twirling in the water you bobbed your head along to the music playing on the portable radio, sunglasses perched on your nose— not a single care in the world. 
Until the music turned to something more familiar.. the screech of guitars and aggressive tempos, you could practically feel the warmth leave your skin as the dark cloud of Eddie’s van cast its shadow on your skin, parked in your driveway like he belonged here. 
By the way he tore around the corner and through the stop sign— you knew he was pissed. The clunk of his rings scraped against the paint as he reached through the window to open the door—still broken. 
“I don’t smoke anymore Munson, but if you’re offering freeb—”
“Who is he?” he interjected, in no mood for your joking tone. 
Sucking your drink until the ice clinks together at the bottom—whiskey making you ballsier than you ever had been—you finally answer, “Who is who?” 
He crosses his arms, trying to stay calm, although all he wanted to do was scream, “the guy, cmon princess, don't play dumb with me.” 
Staring at him you can’t believe the audacity of the boy standing in front of you, coming here, demanding to know what’s going on in your life when he’s the one who practically skipped on his way out of it. 
instead of stomping around and causing you a scene, you simply ignore him, “you’re in the way.” 
“Huh?” 
Pointing with a lazy finger to the sky you watch as his eyes follow, “don’t tell me you came here to bitch me out, you’re wasting your time.”
He leans in over your body so close that you can see the chocolate color of his eyes, eyes that you'd lose count of the times you’d stare into them. 
“I’m not leaving until you tell me who he is.” 
“Okay.” You say nonchalantly, unbothered. 
“Okay?”
“Yeah go ahead, stay. ‘s long as you want,” you push yourself up from the pool, standing in a string bikini that matched your nails, “I’ll be the bigger person here, and I’ll leave.” 
Water dripped down your thighs as you walked to the front porch and pushed the door open, ready to slam it shut and twist the lock upon entry—but a dark boot prevents your dismissal.
Rolling your eyes you try to kick his knee to get him to move but he wouldn’t budge, and you huff in annoyance. 
“Pretty sure this is harassment.” 
You ignore the way he walks in your house like he knew his way around, even though he did, your house was a second home to him for years.
Shutting the door with dramatic flair, Eddie leans into your space, inches from your nose, “just answer my question sweetheart— and I’ll be on my happy little way.” 
“You’re deranged if you think I’m telling you anything.”
He cocks his head and laughs like a jerk, mocking you.
“Thata more than likely, but I know better than anyone,” his eyes undress you, fingernails skating across your thighs, “how much you like it.”
You turn and shout over your shoulder, “go home Eddie— I’m not in the mood for this!” 
He barrels around you, demanding your attention. 
“Aww you’re not in the mood?” his voice dipped to a gravelly bite of anger as he put his hand over his heart, “my sincerest apologies to your feelings baby…but I somehow don’t give a fuck about your little feelings when I find out from Gareth that you were sucking some guy’s dick in the Starcourt parking lot.” 
Your face heats in embarrassment and Eddie’s eyes are glassy, coated with pain. You never wanted to hurt him, never wanted him to look at you the way he is right now. 
“Ed—” 
He smirks.
“I think it’s cute…honestly, still doing the same shit you did with me…” he moves to brush your cheek with his thumb, “I’m flattered.”
“Get out,” you bite back, making to shove him to the door but you’re no match for him. 
“D’dya swallow for him like you did for me?” 
“Get..” 
“He bigger than me?” 
“…out!” your shoves are fruitless against his broad shoulders.
“Last I checked Harrington was the only one who had me beat… unless you’re fucking him too.”
The slap startled him, but he knew he deserved it. The torment in your eyes was fueled by his words and he fucking hated himself for making you feel that way. 
He was hurting too, body shaking with rage and swallowing tears the whole drive here. But, when your tears fell on the apples of your cheeks— all his pain turned to gloom. 
“I’m sorry— I— That was a dick thing to say.” 
“Do you think getting over you was easy for me?”
“I don’t know.” 
“It wasn’t.. and truthfully I don’t think I am yet, but what fucking choice did I have?!”
“Babe—.” 
“I loved you, Eddie… I still fucking love you. Why isn’t that—”
His large hands clutch your cheeks, warm lips press into yours with a magnetic force you had forgotten about. Eddie’s tongue tasted like the tobacco spice of a camel, and a subtle hint of mint, and you devoured it like you were starved. 
He whispers and groans how he was so stupid, a real dumb mother fucker, and that he never should have ended it. 
Accepting his apology—for now—you pull him towards the couch, heels rocking on the carpet until they hit firm on the plush sectional, still lip locked with the man you swore, that you hated to your friends but your pillow heard a different plea ever since he broke your heart.
His arms wrap around your waist, fingers daintily pulling the string from your bikini bottoms until the soft fabric hits the floor.  His Hellfire shirt joins them before you both collapse into one another on the cushions, Eddie’s hair draped into your face hiding you both away from consequences and the reality of bad decisions. 
He breaks away from your lips to lick up the slope of your neck, and your head angles back in ecstasy. His body temperature was like fire against your skin, curling your legs around his back you couldn’t get enough of him. 
“So fuckin’ beautiful,” Eddie grooaned, grinding into your naked cunt, his tongue kitten licking around your neck, working his signature hickey into your skin, “my angel.”
You moan feather light in his ear, fingers twisted into his curls. His hand works down your front, sliding between your slick folds with skills you swore only he possessed. 
He played your body like a guitar, knew how to tune you up, the proper way to hold you. A true expert of his craft— your pretty little noises would harmonize from the simple touch of his fingers, your sweet cunt clinching onto him like vice. 
“Missed that sound,” he chuckled, his bangs pushed up from the angle on your neck as you came undone, “so pretty like this… drunk on how I’m making you feel.” 
Your eyes were pinched shut, chest heaving from the breath shattering orgasm you haven’t had since you got dumped by him. Nobody came close to the way Eddie could do it.
Kissing him square on the mouth, you twist your tongue with his, massaging them together as if a flame could spark from the pink wet muscles.
Intimacy with Eddie felt like home, like a warm blanket straight from the dryer when you were freezing. A cup of soup to soothe an itchy throat. 
He melted into you, collecting each gasp you choked out with a kiss from his lips, doing a poor job of hiding the smirk on his face when your breath was stolen from his pistoning hips. 
New— but entirely the same, your bodies fell back into each other like no time had passed and he made up for what was lost, twice. Each time your cries rang out like music to his ears— his favorite song. 
You slept now, adjusting to his arm wrapped around you, a kiss to your forehead, and a new plea in your pillowcase— for Eddie to stay, forever. 
466 notes · View notes
inkykeiji · 6 months
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character: haitani rindou x fem!reader warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, cum feeding + swallowing words: 682
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just,,, rly badly need rindou feeding me his cum :( because he cums so much it’s almost concerning; it’s so thick, so bitter, so silky smooth that it slips easily from fingertips to tongues, from tongues to throats, from throats to tummies, and oh, it’s such a shame to let it go to waste, isn’t it, sweetheart?
he’ll spurt a load anywhere on your body—keeps things interesting, he had claimed, followed swiftly by a stern warning that you’d better not spill a single fucking drop; his cum is precious, after all—and he’ll clean it up and feed it to you from anywhere, too.  
because rindou loves feeding you his cum. he’ll gather it up on two fingers—index and middle, smeared with big fat, globs of cream that dribble and curl around his fingertips, gleaming almost prettily in the dim evening light—and push them into your patient mouth, opened wide and waiting like the good, good girl you are, tongue stuck out just a little; inviting, begging.
sometimes he’ll let you suck his fingers clean, mouth closing tightly around the third knuckles as your lips pucker into little petals and your cheeks hollow, sticking to the sides of his fingers, tongue winding, whirling, wreathing as it siphons the digits further down your throat, wrapped almost protectively around the bones. lilac turns to violet as he watches you drag your mouth off of his fingers almost completely before keenly sucking them back in, swallowing the cum your lips have scoured from his flesh. the tip of your tongue traces the seam of his fingers, soaking up whatever remnants of the substance have pooled in the cracks and gaps, greedily ensuring you don’t miss a single drop.
other times he will force you to stay still, mouth stretched open as far as the hinges of your jaw will allow, tongue unfurled from your mouth desperate and diligent as he drags goopy fingertips slathered in cum along the saliva-coated muscle, depositing streaks of cream. he rubs them on the inside of your cheeks, your gums, beneath your tongue, and all over your teeth, effectively coating your entire mouth in his essence, and doesn’t permit you to lick it up or swallow any of it at all until he’s finished painting your mouth with it, until your cunt and your thighs and your tits are clean, not a single stroke of his cum left. 
but no matter the method, it always leaves him higher than heaven, pupils blown to hell as he watches your mouth, gaze unblinking and gluey, exhaling an airy little fuck through parted lips when you finally swallow, muscles contracting gently around his fingertips. 
because he loves feeling you, loves feeling the way your tongue twines with, over, under, and between his fingers, slick muscle smooth and soft; loves feeling that tender, thankful hum vibrate around the tips of his fingers as your tongue twitches with a swallow. 
he loves hearing you, loves hearing those precious little noises muffled by his flesh, oozing past his fingers with cum-tainted spit as you drool them out of the corners of your mouth, sweet little whimpers and desperate little mewls as you suck him in further, as you beg him for more. 
he loves seeing you, loves seeing the way your lashes flutter and gaze glitters, heavy and lidded but never dull, as you stare at him so lovingly, so dreamily, like he’s some sort of fucking god, or something. he loves seeing the way your mouth puckers, loves seeing the thick coat of saliva you leave shimmering across his knuckles as your mouth pulls back, slow and steady, scraping them clean. 
it all has him instantly hard again, raring and ready to go another round, and you’re already dripping wet—you’ve been dripping wet for a while now, drenching your inner thighs and his cotton sheets—but rindou doesn’t mind. it helps dispel the cum, at least, and he always feeds you until your slick runs pure, untainted with his seed, and all done; how ‘bout some more, baby?
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discoten · 4 months
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Lost you once
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After your death, Akechi struggles to make the right choice.
Goro Akechi x Reader <3k words, angst, P5R spoilers, acceptance of death, Akechi cries a lot>
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It’s the first time he sees you in months and it feels just like the first time he ever met you.
You’re lost in the station, looking around in confusion as you try to decipher signs that don’t look familiar. You accidentally bump into him and Akechi has to stop himself from letting out a yell, to stop himself from unleashing the culmination of a bad day onto some unsuspecting stranger.
Besides, you were already terrified enough, having gotten off at the wrong stop with little to no money left on your train card.
You chided yourself while explaining the situation to him- rambling self deprecating thoughts about being stupid for not refilling your balance, for falling asleep on your original train ride, and for bumping into him from behind.
He thought you were pathetic at the first meeting. A bumbling idiot, sweating with every word you rambled out- he had to hold himself back from letting his inner annoyance leak into his eyes.
Something about you sparked something strange within him. You reminded him a little too much of who he once was. And maybe that’s why he helped you that day. Why he bought you a ticket to Yongen-Jaya. Why he sat next to you on the train. And why he let himself accept your thank you gift of a half finished pack of gum.
Akechi made a joke that just one piece would have been less sad than a half eaten pack and he could see your lip tremble at his words. Akechi chose to ignore the strange guilt that came with the sight.
Following that, you promised one day you’d give him a proper thank you gift the next time you saw him. Akechi didn’t really believe there would be a next meeting, but it didn’t hurt to entertain the thought.
It’s the first time he sees you in months and it feels like the first time he saved you.
In another stroke of bad luck (or maybe fate), you find yourself falling into the Metaverse as you run away from some creeps trying to rope you into a ponzi scheme.
You’re terrified, shaking at the surreal and unfamiliar setting of a twisted version of Shibuya. From the corner of your eye you see running figures of blacks and reds. Out of instinct you hide, afraid of whatever monsters this strange world possesses.
That’s where he finds you. Hiding in an alleyway from sentient ATMs and shadowy businessmen. You’re just as scared as the first time he saw you, even more so in fact.
Once again he finds you pathetic, shaking like a leaf in the wind. But the sight of someone like you alive in the metaverse is a fascinating one he can’t help but admire. Deep inside he wonders if you’re different from others, but he squishes that thought.
He would have just killed you there, had you not immediately jumped into his arms when he first spotted you. Even worse- you had somehow guessed his identity under the mask- claiming the surprised sound he made was the exact same as the one from the train station.
He had every reason to kill you then and there, end your existence as he continued his mission to run away from the thieves, and no one would be the wiser as to where a pathetic nobody like you ended up.
Yet he didn’t. And that might’ve been the worst mistake of his life.
Because maybe if he killed you he wouldn’t have gone to dinner with you after. Maybe he wouldn’t have taken you home. Maybe he wouldn’t have spoken more and more with you.
Maybe if he killed you then he wouldn’t have fallen in love with you.
Maybe he wouldn’t desire your touch through every hour of every day. Maybe he wouldn’t go to sleep drifting to dreams of you. Maybe he wouldn’t live the rest of his days craving your form.
And maybe if he killed you, he wouldn’t have lost you.
It’s the first time he sees you in months and the way you run into his arms has never felt so wrong.
The last time he held you, he knew it would be the last. He spent the day showering you in love, kissing you all over, holding you as to savor everything you had to offer. He wanted you to feel safe in his last moments with you, how you always felt when you were by his side.
Going into Shido’s palace, he had every intention of never coming back.
He expected you to be devastated. Spend days crying in your bed over his disappearance. Be upset, maybe even angry at the thought of him abandoning you for his selfish goals. He expected you would be devastated, but he also expected you would move on eventually. That maybe your anger towards him would turn to hate, that your upset would turn to disdain. That you would look upon his imprint on your life as a dark part you would never long for again.
It’s for the best, he said to himself. As always, he ignored the guilt that came with knowing he would cause you turmoil.
But Akechi never expected you to come to Ren, begging him to help him. He never expected you to force them to take you, for you to venture willingly into the dangerous world of the metaverse- just for him.
Akechi looked into your eyes through his red mask and saw a flash of bravery that was never there before. The spark made him stop in his tracks, pause in his monologue, freeze over as he realized the best of you only came when he was at his worst.
But the guilt is squashed as soon as Ren opens his mouth. And all hell breaks loose.
The battle between the thieves and himself is something he wishes you never saw. Seeing his humanity break, letting loose the feelings he tried to keep you safe from, his desperation to prove he was worth living-
He tried not to look at you throughout the struggle. If he did, he knew his resolve would fall apart and he’d do nothing more than cry in your arms.
As he stands beaten and defeated in front of you and the thieves, he still doesn’t meet your eyes. Even as you try and comfort him with words of love and assurance the ringing in his ears tunes them out. He doesn’t hear your chiding, your cries, and he certainly doesn’t hear the first “I love you” towards him that slips past your lips.
As he accepts his defeat and his own inferiority, he notices a familiar presence creep out from the shadows.
The foul words that his shadow spits out make Akechi want to claw out of his own skin. Towards the thieves, towards himself, towards you- horrible words and terrible truths fill the air. Things he tried so desperately to hide from you.
His killings, his past, his life as a living puppet for Shido to toy with as he pleases- all of it is laid out for you to hear.
He notices the pistol attached to the shadow’s waist and recognizes the glint in his empty eyes. He swallows the defiance that rises from his throat, the part of him that wants to prove the monster in front of him wrong. Through it all Akechi realizes this is where he dies.
Acceptance is what causes him to raise his own gun towards the him in front of him.
And when his gun raises, you run.
It happens in a flash.
Two gunshots.
One towards him, one towards the button to raise the wall that separates him and the thieves.
Two people move.
You push him out of the way, he falls to the ground.
One wall.
And he can’t see you anymore.
Laughter in a mockery of his own fills the side of the wall inaccessible to him, descending in tone as they slowly disappear into the floor along with the source. Your shocked gasps and painful winces follow in turn.
He screams until his throat is raw, pounding at the wall as he tries to claw his way to the other side. He promised your safety, not this.
You speak to him the best you can, over the pain in your stomach and the agony in his heart. Shakiness lines your voice as you chide him, telling him to shut up and listen to you. Through your sentences you cry. And you let out the second “I love you” directed towards him, and the first “I love you” he actually hears.
By the time he can reply with his own declaration you don’t have it in you to answer. And despite his acceptance of his own death just seconds prior, acceptance at his own survival makes him want to do nothing but scream.
The months that follow leave him hollow, an empty shell at who he once was. He watches from the sidelines as the thieves save the world. He watches from the streets as Maruki makes a mockery of Tokyo.
And Akechi watches as you cry into his scarf, scared and terrified just as he remembered you to be the first time he met you. He holds you and he knows this isn’t supposed to be. He shuts his eyes tightly, squeezing your shaking form.
Akechi brings you to Ren because he doesn’t know what else to do.
But Ren’s changed. There’s a new sense of melancholy that’s settled in his soul, different from the overwhelming grief that’s taken over Akechi’s. The first words he speaks explain everything about this ‘new’ him.
“So this is what he meant.” Monotone. Void of all the underlying confidence and ego he used to carry himself with. Filled with nothing but acceptance of something the two of you cannot comprehend. Ren urges the two of you to come inside Leblanc and sit with him at a booth.
Akechi takes the inside of the seat and you grasp his hand as you sit down. After a moment of silence you’re the one that chooses to speak first.
“Why am I here?” The crack in your voice makes Akechi want to shatter.
You look up at Ren and your eyes plead in desperation for an answer. Akechi can’t help but look away, staring at the table as he refuses to bear witness to the cruelty of your situation.
Ren sighs and twiddles his thumbs on the wood. “Maruki came by yesterday. He offered me something in exchange for allowing him to merge mementos and reality together. I-”
Akechi sees red and stands up, letting go of your hand, pointing an accusatory finger towards Ren. “So you let this happen? You allowed him to do this?!”
“I didn’t! But I woke up this morning and everything… Everyone was different. All of my- our friends are somehow in these idealized, contradictory lives. It doesn’t make any sense… And I- I don’t know how to fix this.”
“And why aren’t you the only one affected huh? He offered you something but you’re still here-”
“It’s this. He offered me this.”
The walls of the cafe seem to dissipate as you soak in the information Ren just revealed. Akechi quiets, eyes widening as his hands fall to his sides. Ren looks away, a grimace finding itself on his features.
“I just wanted you to be happy, both of you. All of us. You shouldn’t have been involved from the start y/n. I- I shouldn’t have brought you with us and I regret it every single fucking day. It was my fault, I’m sor-”
You reach over the table and place a comforting hand on his own. “Please don’t apologize.” Despite the sadness that laces your words you’re smiling.
Ren returns your smile with a solemn one. He turns to Akechi, “When you disappeared after it felt like that dream was as good as gone. I didn’t know you were even alive until today…”
“So by bringing me back Maruki thought that would…”
“Fix us…” Akechi cuts in and his hands are shaking. The anger that claws up his body is familiar. It’s visceral, and he still refuses to look at you. “That bastard…”
The two of you leave Leblanc shortly after, accepting an invitation to come back tomorrow to discuss the situation further with Ren. The streets are quiet as Akechi leads you home, holding your hand but not looking at your stare.
“Goro…” He doesn’t need to meet your eyes to know you’re looking at him in pity. “I…” Your hesitation makes his throat close. Are you scared of what he might do? Are you thinking back to the last time you saw him angry? The last time you saw him ever?
“I… don’t want you to accept this reality.”
“What?” The smile that finds itself on his face is a front for his disbelief. His eyes are closed despite turning towards you and that makes you frown.
“Look at me, Goro.”
He doesn’t want to. The last time he stared at you up close was the morning of your last. The last time he looked in your eyes was moments before your passing. The last time he looked in your eyes was the day a part of him died.
But your hand gently grasps his chin and forces him to drown. He can’t stop the tears that fall from his eyes as his eyes finally meet your own.
“Reject this, please…”
Akechi doesn’t say more because if he does it’ll be a verbal acknowledgement that you weren’t supposed to be here. He doesn’t say more because if he does he doesn’t know what’s going to happen to you.
He was supposed to be your protector, but he’s reduced to a shaking child desperate to cling onto the one source of love in his life. The more you take him into your hold the more he crumples, letting out sobs in a reply he can’t bring himself to speak. He must look pathetic, he thinks to himself.
“I-”
Your hand comes to his head, caressing his hair as he cries. Through sniffles and hiccups he allows himself to hug you back.
“I’m so, so sorry,” His voice is lined with water as he feels himself begin to grovel.
“I know,” your voice is soft yet all it serves is to intensify his turmoil.
“I don’t want to lose you again, I-”
“It’s alright.”
“Is it selfish that I want to say no?”
You pull away from him, holding him by the shoulders and looking up at him with your wonderful, shining eyes.
“It’s not selfish Goro. It’s just love.”
You kiss him, and your lips are just as soft as he remembers them to be. The same lips that would bring him out of nightmares and darkness. The same lips that would manifest a sense of love for himself that never existed without your presence. It’s innocence that lines your movements, just like the innocence that has followed you since the first day he ever met you.
When you draw back to take a breath he finds himself chasing after you in desperation. His hand comes to your chin as he tries to pull you closer to him, to try and merge your souls so yours can’t escape from his again.
There’s a sick feeling in his stomach that if your lips represent innocence, his represents the ever growing darkness seeping out from within him. With the merger of your love, Akechi doesn’t want to know if the product is something that can withstand what has to come next.
His lips supplement all the words he refuses to say. They pour apologies into your being and with every movement he hopes you understand just how much he missed you and how much he needed you.
When you part you’re panting, staring up at him in awe and wonder and it makes him want to sob.
“I…” Akechi wants to move away from your gaze, from any possible judgment he feels you may let out. Ironically, it’s the intensity of your look that keeps him chained to eye contact. “I cannot live in a world without you.”
“But you have to.”
He can’t bring himself to say that he knows but you know it’s there anyways.
“It’s going to be okay Goro.”
“How do you know that? It hasn’t been okay since… I haven’t been okay since.”
“I know because I believe in you,” your thumb rubs his cheek, red from the cold and tears. “I know you think that what happened is your fault but it was my choice Goro. You can’t take that away just so you can deny yourself the chance to live.”
The shine in your eyes is unmistakable. The same look you gave him before he never saw you again, bravery. Akechi grabs your hand because he knows what’s going to happen next.
“You can’t do this,” he chokes up, “You can’t sacrifice yourself again for me.”
You take a step back, still holding onto his cheek and looking at him with those incredible, shining eyes. “I love you, Goro.”
“I love you too. I love you, I love you, I-” He hopes if he repeats it enough it’ll convince you to stay.
“And because I love you, I can’t stand to see you this way.”
You kiss his cheek for one more time and whisper in his ear.
“Live your life Goro. Help Ren and save the world. And when we see each other again, tell me everything,” your lips leave his cheek so gently it's like you were never there.
“I will, I promise, I promise you I will,” his gaze glosses over as he takes in all of your form. Your warmth, your eyes, your kindness, your lips, your bravery, your smile, all of you. Akechi closes his eyes and there’s a silent I love you that doesn’t need to be said.
The embrace of your arms dissipates, his hand closes around nothing, and all that’s left in your wake is the glitter of sparkle and shine. It’s the last time he ever sees you in this life, but it’s nothing like the first time he lost you.
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RAHHHHHHh !!!!! I hope you guys enjoyed this !!!! I enjoyed writing this GOD I LOVE MT BAB TGEFUWHFIWEHFJQI !!!
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songofsoma · 5 months
Text
bound to me
kinktober day 19: bondage
featuring @ladiemars's durge ronin <3
pairing: shadowheart x f!tav words: 1,144 rating: explicit
read it on ao3
Ronin always tried so hard to be good.
She spent every waking moment trying to be better than the horrible urges that overtook her mind. Hells, she was crafted by the Murder God himself like some sort of fucked up puppet. All she wanted in life was to be good.
It was so damn hard when her lover looked this delectable bound and spread open just for her.
Ronin ran her fingers over Shadowheart’s pale inner thighs, lingering on the places where rope bit into the plush skin, basking in the way she trembled with the lightest of touches.
Her legs were tied so they were forced to be bent and spread, wrists bound together and behind her back. The cleric was completely at her mercy.  
At first, Ronin had wanted to use something softer to tie up her partner. The thought of the roughness of the rope rubbing her perfect skin made her cringe. Shadowheart had insisted, shoving the rope from their packs into her hands. She probably would have tied herself up if she could judging by her eagerness.
She was usually so supportive in quenching Ronin’s vicious urges. But when she had described the dream she had where Shadowheart was tied down and used like own personal plaything, green eyes had blown black as she crashed into a kiss that was more teeth and lips. 
“I want to be helpless to your touch.” Shadowheart had murmured into her ear. “I want you to use me, please.”
Ronin’s cunt still ached at the breathiness of her words. 
Her hand must’ve developed a mind of its own as she fantasized about how they even ended up in this situation, for it fell to the apex of Shadowheart’s thighs. 
She stroked the length of her cunt, watching as her fingers parted the dewy folds. Shadowheart was so wet already and all Ronin had done was tie her up.
When their eyes met, Shadowheart’s lips were parted and her gaze hazy with arousal. 
“You like this?” Ronin purred, but to her, it sounded like someone else. It was as if she was outside her body. “You like being bound and helpless? I could lose control at any moment and you could do nothing to stop whatever came about.”
It only prompted a whine and a pathetic attempt at bucking her hips for more. 
Ronin felt herself grin around teeth that suddenly felt sharp in her gums. Like she could bite down and tear the woman below her apart with just her teeth. She wouldn’t go that far, of course, but a little biting never hurt anyone. 
She bent down, hands pulling Shadowheart’s hips into the air so her mouth could connect faster. Ronin’s tongue dragged sloppy lines over creamy thighs. The salt of her sweat danced on her tongue. She loved the taste of her flesh and the scent of her musk penetrating her senses. Ronin bet she could get drunk on it. 
Finally, she bit down. Not hard enough to draw blood, but enough that left the indents of her teeth when she pulled back. Shadowheart gasped and squirmed in her grasp—not to get away, but to get closer.
“You sick freak,” Ronin’s laugh rumbled low.
Shadowheart went to make a smart quip but was cut off as teeth sank into the opposite thigh. 
Her tongue soothed the angry marks left behind. They would fade. Hopefully, they would bruise so Ronin could look at them the next time she went down on her lover. 
While her mouth worked Shadowheart’s thighs, her finger slowly circled her clit. It was just enough pressure that it made her breath turn uneven, though not fast enough to truly build any mounting pleasure. 
“Ronin—” The plea was brief. Ronin knew what she yearned for. “Ronin, please.”
She said nothing, choosing to listen to Shadowheart beg instead. And still, she kept that same maddening pace. 
Shadowheart groaned in frustration. “I’m begging you—”
“Then beg.”
Half-lidded eyes widened a fraction. 
“I can make you come like this…eventually. Or you can beg for me to fuck you.” she snarled, the hand holding a leg squeezed hard. 
“By the gods, Ronin,” she whined.
“You wanted this. You wanted me to tie you up and fuck you however I wanted. If you want something, beg for it.” It was a matter-of-fact statement. There was no wiggle room in her words. 
She huffed and closed her eyes, apparently weighing her options. It wasn’t like there was much she could do. Her hands were, quite literally, tied. 
Ronin chuckled and opted to catch her off-guard by slipping a finger inside her to the knuckle. Shadowheart gasped, eyes flying open. But that was the most she would get besides the slow, drawn-out thrust of her single finger. “It’s a shame too because your pussy looks so pretty around my finger.”
Shadowheart shuddered and tried to arch her back, tried to search for more. She found nothing but the ropes biting into her skin. “Dark Lady forgive me, Ronin please!”
She didn’t respond.
“Please fuck me harder. Please use me like I want you to. Please just fuck me—oh!”
Ronin pressed Shadowheart hard into the cot as she added another finger, giving her no time to adjust to the brutal pace she set. Her arm thrust wildly, fingers crooked inside her as she drew moans from her partner’s lips. 
Ronin fucked her hard, only slowing to push a third finger into her cunt which earned her a strangled cry at feeling so utterly full. She wanted to live inside Shadowheart. She would if it were possible. Truthfully, a life with her hand permanently inside her cunt sounded like a good one. 
She could feel Shadowheart tightening around her. 
Even when her face screwed up in pleasure and her bound body trembled around her, she didn’t stop. Ronin was suddenly ravenous for Shadowheart’s pleasure. She couldn’t bring herself to quit even as she begged for her to slow down.
The noises her fingers thrusting into the wetness of her cunt were delicious. She could hear how much Shadowheart wanted her. 
Soon, the vicious rhythm made Shadowheart cry out wildly as a gush of fluid erupted around Ronin’s hand, soaking her chest and abs. Only then did she stop.
Her eyes floated back and forth to the mess that was Shadowheart and the nectar running over the muscles of her forearm.
“I’ve never,” she gasped and took a large breath, trying to steady herself. “I’ve never done that before.”
Ronin grinned that same wicked grin, wiping her wet hand down the front of Shadowheart’s body as slowly lowered herself down. “Well now, I’m going to have to clean up the mess you made. You know how I hate a mess.” And gods, did she enjoy the moan that echoed through the room when her tongue swept through those soaked folds. 
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billysbabyy · 1 year
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12 Days of Billmas - Under the Mistletoe (Day 10)
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warnings: 18+ (minors dni), swearing, smut, oral/fingering (f receiving).
You couldn't help but giggle as Billy held the mistletoe above your head. Staring up at it before glancing at Billy who was smirking down at you.
"You have to kiss me now. It's the rules." He said smugly.
You roll your eyes before leaning up and pecking him gently on the lips.
"No, a proper kiss, gorgeous."
You lean up and press your lips against his again, this time Billy pulls you closer with his free hand, pulling your body against his and kissing you back hungrily.
Billy holding you close as he looks you over.
"Undress. Now." He demands softly.
You waste no time listening to him, quickly shedding every item of clothing. Kicking it carelessly around the living room and Billy biting his lip as he took in your naked figure.
"Best Christmas eve." He mutters to himself, pulling you closer to him once again.
HIs hands travelled down and groped your ass tightly, kneading the supple flesh between his strong hands before giving you one innocent little smack.
He grinned as he laid you down on the couch, you staring up at him as he still held the mistletoe above you. You watch with wide eyes as he moves the mistletoe above your bare body before it rests above your pussy and Billy clicks his tongue.
"Looks like I have to kiss whatever's under the mistletoe."
He has that familiar hunger in his eye, the look that made you know you were in for a long night.
The boy had a damn oral fixation. You'd learnt that just after you started dating him. He was either smoking a cigarette, chewing eagerly on gum, whatever piece he could find to put in his mouth and if that wasn't enough than it would be you.
Not that you ever complained.
You watch as he carefully places the mistletoe on your stomach before pushing your legs open and licking his lips as he takes in your already wet pussy. Groaning softly to himself.
"Billy." You breathed as he began kissing your inner thigh, your body stiffening as the soft, delicate kisses sent sparks coursing through your body, before moving to the other leg and kissing his way down your inner thigh. You could feel yourself getting wetter with each gentle kiss.
You glanced down, seeing Billy smirk up at you before licking his lips eagerly.
He began eating you out like a man starved, his tongue pushing past your folds, moving in and out of you as you gripped the couch tightly. Moaning beneath him as your eyes clenched shut, trying your best to keep your voice down. You'd already had numerous complaints from the neighbours and they probably didn't need to hear this on Christmas Eve.
Placing a hand over your mouth as you arched your back off the couch, groaning around your hand as you rutted against his face. Your other hand tangling in his curls and tugging on them roughly, causing him to groan into your pussy.
Him pushing two fingers inside you as he began sucking on your clit. The overwhelming sensations causing your body to jerk as you tugged ruthlessly on his hair.
"Fuck!" You cry out, unable to stop yourself from being quiet any longer. Neighbours be damned for all you care.
Him moving his fingers inside you at a relentless pace, your stomach contracting tightly as you do your best to rip out each piece of his hair but needs something to ground yourself at the same time.
"Don't stop, baby. Fuck." You mewl out, still pushing against his fingers, wanting to feel as much of him as possible.
You were so close to that beautiful, dangerous falling cliff but couldn't quite there, no matter how hard you pushed against his hands or how much he sucked your clit.
Billy glanced up, seeing your frustrated expression as you tried desperately to get your happy ending.
"My desperate little baby. Don't worry, I know what you need."
It's when he curls his fingers upwards, hitting that beautiful little spot inside you, that you feel your legs shake and you gush around his fingers, no doubt making a stain on the couch but you didn't give a shit.
All you can do is writhe and moan his name as he continues moving his fingers inside you before pulling them out. Staring in wonderment at the wetness on his fingers.
Watching as he places the two fingers in his mouth and moaning as he licks them clean.
"Who needs fucking Christmas cookies when I can taste you?"
You lay on the couch, the light sheen of sweat evident on your body as you attempted to catch your breath.
Watching Billy through half-lidded eyes as he smirked at you and began undoing his belt and jeans.
"I'm nowhere near done with you yet."
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whirld-of-color · 7 months
Text
"Dad?"
Except- there's something wrong. There... that isn't him. There's something wrong with his tongue, with the teeth, like- like Purple can see the worms squirming from inside the gums.
"Come along now."
He thinks of the training room- bloodstained, then clean, then dusty, then with that heaping pile of abandoned bouquets, spilling dirt that was more a clump of insects than soil onto the floor, and then of that... that blurry nothing-thing, that... that...
What was it?
.
Dad leads Purple into the room and the door closes behind him on its own. Purple suddenly feels like a little kid again. Something about Dad always made him feel so small.
Dad says something.
Purple doesn't catch the exact wording, too focused on the way Dad's lips aren't moving quite right. He can't quite pin down the voice, the specific way he said the words.
It's... Dad's voice, of course, except- He doesn't recall quite what Dad sounded like when he wasn't yelling, and even then it's still just...
Mom is singing. He walks into the kitchen, clean and pale. There's something wrong with her hair, clean and pale. shifting.
her eyes are so bright. Her face is
a spider crawls up the wall behind him, legs running over the crackling inner peritoneum of the walls.
He asks, where did dad go?
Orchid instead says, hello, dearest. i missed you and she is sobbing into purple's shoulder, all a fleeting mist.
.
she says, please don't leave me again. I missed you so much, it was so lonely, never go again and Purple-
purple says nothing.
It tastes like bile.
He glances out the window: it's all wildflowers out there and he is almost back,
back outside,
it is almost raining again and he can smell the stench of sickness and the dirt under his nails, dark brown crescents staining his skin, itching.
He wants to throw up.
Instead, he hugs his mom. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
she cries more, at this, whispering some small thing purple cannot discern. Is it angry? Is it sad?
.
it runs in the family, the way they cling to each other until nails tear and skin breaks. and yet they are always leaving, always going, never happy to be here, tearing away from each other- skin breaking, nails snapping, sickness festering in the blankets. always leaving, always coming back.
coming back, too.
always coming back like a sickness always coming back like a fever she came back she came back and now he is back too and it is again happening again always leaving always always
she just wants to be happy. all she wants all she wants it's all she wants
the plates shatter again, dripping down the wall in a puddle
it's happening again
he flees
flighty thing
but that's alright.
she can fix it
.
dad is in the hallway, staring at Purple with nothing eyes. The air is thick and cloying, the dust motes are heavy with pollen. Purple pins himself to the wall by instinct; dad watches him with a toneless expression.
dad's saying something, maybe- or the sound is emanating from him, noise like a muffled speaker. it isn't words, just noise, a mumbling groaning noise. a noise like grinding teeth. like crumbling bone or hunger. (Like the scratch of ants in the walls- he can hear them- but maybe this too is fake.) he can't
the noise says that dad will be waiting, that he can't escape it.
he can't
Purple turns tail and retreats into his old room. The door creaks accusations of cowardice as he shuts it.
that runs in the family too. after all, dad left first.
.
in childhood bedroom
Purple stops his recording- it's about a half hour's worth of audio (it feels longer). If he replays whatever Dad was saying, would it show up? or would it just be howling wind and static noise, like Mom?
would it even be there?
He skips through the tape to find a time where Dad speaks. It's- the noise is real, thank god, not imagined at all but sounds in a mimicry of words, wrong, sticky with flesh. It changes each time he replays it, like...
The noise doesn't mean anything through the recording. It's like... The tape won't- can't- pick up on the whole noise, can't parse the meaning like a human can. It hisses and grinds, spitting out fragments of words that have been chewed up and thrown away, butchered carcass of a sentence.
"I- k- he/ shhhh- c- an/ hello, purple: hell/ooooooo-"
says the tape
it begins to smoke and burn; suddenly the whole thing is alight in his hand: acrid and searing as Purple jumps so badly his heart nearly hits his ribcage: Now he is scrambling, breath coming in short and thick as he frantically ejects the tape, as the entire thing melts into burning: it isn't plastic that isn't plastic: how is it still talking!?- stomps out the noise with his foot, tries to suffocate it in his hands, as quiet as he can- at last it lays still at his feet.
Smoke fills the room, foul and choking and burning teeth. The corpse of the tape is burst onto the carpet now, all stretched out like a spider's legs, on the verge of twitching again. purple doesn't have his shoes on, he thinks numbly as he stares at the remnants of the tape. it's going to worm its way into his lungs through the air, he thinks. his hands are sticky it's under his nails he can't touch anything, he thinks. does the house still have bleach?
Is dad still in the hallway? oh, god- did he hear?
.
purple used to sneak out of the house at night as a kid- feet quiet and making as little noise as possible down the stairs. to get away from it all. once, mom caught him, dead of night when she was up brewing a cup of tea. he was slipping back inside, past the light of the kitchen, but she turned her head and caught him. neither of them said anything. after a moment of frozen terror, he sprinted up the stairs and back into his room. no one said anything, but he spent the entire day with the knowledge that she knew.
the next night, his door was locked. purple stopped sneaking outside.
.
1 part bleach, 9 parts water.
one part bleach, 9 parts water and claw at your hands and under your nails and it's everywhere, filth and grime spreading on contact as you dip your hands in and out of the solution (too dilute) even as it burns like hell because that means it's cleaning that means it's working and the filth will be gone it won't be there, clinging to your hands hiding in all the corners soil in your eyelashes making everything unfit, unclean, bugs in your pillowcases and crawling up your legs.
Scratch and scrub 1 part bleach 9 parts water foul foul foul foul still there is more and the floor still has that twitching organic corpse of a tape recorder you need to kill it kill it kill it
.
he uses paper towels dipped in bleach to try to wipe the tape's carcass out from the carpet. then disinfectant wipes on the floor, door handles, cabinets, sink handles, anything he touched. he's tempted to open the window but bugs might get in again. he takes more disinfectant to the walls and almost out into the hallway, picking at his skin absentmindedly, before he remembers the time.
the time, the parameters. The time limit. He has to tell Mom.
.
Recorder's running.
"I... hey, mom."
She says, hello, sweetheart. What is it?
"I."
"There's..."
He should say it. He should. He can't delay, he doesn't have long.
But...
He misses his mom, is all. he misses being home. he misses it so bad, he'd do anything to get it back. and he has it, doesn't he? he has it now.
he has it.
it's hard to describe but home is so good. it's so warm and comfortable and happy, gentle hands and people meshing together, comfortable and warm. a gentle voice and a quiet happiness, sunlight falling through the window.
he just doesn't want to lose it.
and he's already lost it once, and then run from it a second time-
it's like standing on the edge of a cliff, except the problem isn't that the cliff will kill him. how absurd, you know death isn't real anyway
the problem is that once he jumps down, he doesn't have a way of getting back up, and when he does he will be further down in the ground, alone and aimless, closer to the dark.
he doesn't want to ruin this for a third time. he knows in his gut that home won't come back if he does.
things come in threes. chances come in threes
so he should say, we need to leave.
he should say, if we leave before three days pass, you will be free and we'll both be alive.
he should say, i want to go.
but this is home.
where else would he go?
"Can- is... is the stuff in the fridge still... good? Could we... bake a cake?"
she says, of course! everything is just as it's been left, still fresh
That can't be right. It all rots so quickly. Remember going through the fridge and clearing everything out because mold was sticking to the inside? Insect parts in the flour and sugar.
He nods and smiles, pulling open familiar wooden cupboards.
the measuring spoons are just where they should be.
.
Audio log number it doesn't matter
"It's... it's funny. I was so... certain, that I had to go back to get mom, right? I had to save her, get her out of this house, and, make her- make her stop, stop rotting, except- I don't think I really wanted that."
"I just wanted to go back. Because I don't want to leave her there, but I don't want to leave."
"I. I have to leave. This is... it's- untenable. Nothing was- I remember it all going bad, it- it doesn't stay good for long, but-"
"No. No, it can't come back, except it's here, and it should be dead and it's not, and."
Heavy breathing.
"I don't... my head isn't working right."
"It's like... I don't... it's all blurring together. I can't keep hold of everything, because... because..."
"The house, it... I thought it would have gone to hell. Maybe it has. But I can't... the space isn't making sense. And I'm losing time, and, and I don't know where I... where am I? In the house, I mean, I don't recognize this room, I."
"No, no that's not what I was talking about I wanted to talk about-"
Silence for 1 minute, 4 seconds.
"The house. I think it. It was good at first."
"When Mom came back after it rained. She taught me how to garden and sang lullabies. When I went out for groceries, I'd bring back little novelties, right? New recipes, or some weird food thing from the market. New clothes and bright patterns, weird teas. Records and paintings. And we'd listen to them."
Song (https://youtu.be/zgsfWSx9Apw?si=qooA5K-1pj0Ze-R1) plays down the recorder. The noise is fragmented.
"Except... it was rotting, I think. It was always rotting. Even back when things were alright, it was still... decaying."
"Home, I mean. It had already died."
Startled pause.
He whispers softly, conspiratorially into the recorder, like a child expecting to be caught.
"I didn't mean to say that but it's true."
"It died when Mom did. When I had to bury her all alone and no one came to the funeral even though I send Dad so many letters. When I had to bury her alone and I did it and... and it died. Because I was all alone. But I've still... and everyone's here- but it's still..."
"It's still here."
That wasn't Purple's voice. The tape recorder
Crackles
Hisses
melts
.
purple turns and the cake is finished. mom rushes over and takes the whole thing out, hands not burning.
it smells like sugar and caramel, like sweetness. he breathes it in like incense.
the window streams in sunlight, rays curling around his hand and arms like a contented cat.
orchid asks if he wants to frost the cake, sweetheart?
he pulls himself out of his reverie, and says sure, but he hasn't gotten any better at it.
mom says that he doesn't have to be good at it. he just has to like to do it. purple doesn't know if he agrees.
.
purple hears his voice down (down) (get digging) the hallway.
it's a recording.
its
A tape.
On the coffee table.
It's rewinding and playing again, fragments of noise and his voice, caught in the tape.
"Entry number one. Entry number one. Entry. Entry. No- Entry."
It's rewinding and starting and stopping again, on it's own. No one else is in the living room.
Something isn't right- he can feel it now, rising up in his stomach- something isn't right.
----
notes: so the reason the tapes are like clawing purple back into lucidity is because he's been using them to keep stringent track of things for absolute ages, to prove to himself that he isn't, you know, going insane! so he can use them to keep track of time and of what's going on- and the house is very, very disorienting. so it'd be real good to be able to do that!
(also from a meta standpoint- the narration for the house excludes dialogue. you'll note that orchid never "says things like this", using actual quotes. the narration just says she says stuff. and the tape recorder transcripts are entirely dialogue. so there's a bit of at-odds thing going on there, as well.)
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pieground · 1 year
Text
In Which Food Got Stuck In Between Their Teeth
Isaac, Vincent, Napoleon, Dazai, Leonardo
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⚘ Isaac
He tried using his tongue to remove the beef shred, he failed.
His tongue only hurt. But there is plan B; face the mirror, locate it, and remove it using the tip of his pencil—or maybe a thin wire if he has one in his room. *Note: he wants ultimate and absolute privacy doing this, he wouldn't make it out alive if Dazai catches him removing a piece of "apple" from his teeth.
(•○•) *mouth wide open in front of the mirror—he stands really close to it for 42k Ultra HD viewing.
Struggling but it's okay. Just a littleeeee more poking and he'll be free from the infernal strip of beef stuck between his teeth.
He's really into this task. His day will be ruined if he won't be able to take it out right now.
He's even starting to get irritated and sore from staying still in his position.
Of course, when he finally got it, he still ate it. Like... that's how it should be done, right??? Right?????
⚘ Vincent (●ᴗ●)
Another one who'd attempt removing it with his tongue. Even though he looks like an idiot doing it, you'd see his cheeks puffing.
Yes, that makes up for it. And ooh, leave him alone pls, he won't be able to talk to you with beef tickling his gums. Otherwise, he'd talk to you while picking on his teeth with "Aygh yagahyad aahyagya." Which translates into: I'm sorry, I can't talk right now.
This would result in him picking it out with his fingers. It kinda tastes like thinner but doesn't matter.
He just wants to take it out, it's distracting him from focusing on his painting.
Several rounds of pulling and poking his own mouth is making the corners of his mouth and his jaw feel stiff so he'd take a few breaks before doing it again.
He won't gulp it, hell throw it out of sight and starts to gather materials to paint but I'm about 80% sure he'd end up falling asleep.
⚘ Napoleon
How he removes it depend on its location.
If it's in the roof of the mouth, he'd be picking it with his index finger. If it's on the floor of his mouth, guaranteed that he will use his tongue.
Knows he can use a toothpick but wouldn't because: 1. He doesn't know where it is, 2. He doesn't want to look for it, and 3. Where's the fun in that?
Unlike Isaac who gets irritated with something stuck in his teeth, Napoleon is chill about it. You'd see him either flexing his jaw or walking around the mansion with one finger inserted inside his mouth. (He will suck that finger later on and it'll make a chuu sound)
Would talk to you while picking it and is surprisingly audible, but his mind would be somewhere else, he's pretty invested in what he's doing. "Hey, har you seen Sehastchan?" (Hey, have you seen Sebastian?)
No to toothpick.
⚘ Dazai
Chii and chuu sound everywhere because he's sucking it. You know when you do that wacky face with your lips puckered and only your front teeth showing?
He'd either be seating somewhere uncrowded while doing it or somewhere with people basking in peace like the parlor just to annoy them with the sound of him sucking whatever entity had befallen stuck in between his teeth.
And he considers this a bonding time.
Sebastian washing the dishes? Chii. Comte drinking tea in the garden? Chii. Jean bonding with his inner demons? Chuu. Isaac in the verge of his sanity because he keeps hearing chii chuu chuu chii chii outside of his room? CHUU.
Would end up using a toothpick. He knows where it is because he hid it from everybody else, he's actually saving it for a pick-up-sticks match with everyone.
⚘ Leonardo
This man regularly gets something he ate stuck in between his teeth. You can't convince me otherwise. Like, three times a week, something must be in between there. (Wait woah, what's in between there? <(O.o)> )
Tongue to locate, toothpick for removal.
This man always got something tucked in his mouth. If not cigarillo, it's either toothpick or hay—sadly, it's not me. Good for me, it's not you either.
Since a toothpick is a rare item in the mansion (thanks to a certain cutie), he mostly uses hay.
He raids the stables regularly, those haystacks are not just for the horses, it's for Leonardo too. Comte once neighed upon catching Leonardo talking to a horse with hay tucked in his mouth.
Having a debri stuck on his teeth does not bother him in the slightest. He also does that chuu sound every now and then.
Does he eat the debri? Swallows it. It's nothing.
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yeehawbvby · 4 months
Text
It Was Always You | Ch. 2*
(Piers x OC Maxine)
Rating: Mature/Explicit
Summary: “It was almost surreal to taste herself on him. She felt spent, but she needed him more, and that took priority.
Lucky for her, Piers had no plans to stop.”
Author’s Note: Oh boy, this went longer than I thought it would ٩( ᐛ )و
I’m posting this from my phone lol so I’m sorry in advance if any of the formatting gets messed up!! I’ll be able to fix whatever later
Enjoy and take care x
Check it out on ao3!
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“Please, ” Max breathed against him. The neediest whisper he’d ever heard in his life.
Holy shit.
Piers couldn’t stop his heady groan as he captured the brunette’s lips, and it prompted one right back from her. 
Max weaved her fingers through Piers’s mane — which, similar to her own, was loose rather than styled as usual. Only his fringe, which usually draped over the entire right side of his face, was pinned back. It all acted as a veil from the outside world when she allowed the strands to float back down, shifting her hands to cup his cheeks. Her own little black and white bubble that smelled of mint gum and a sweet shampoo, with a vague hint of cigarette smoke.
Piers resumed his hold around Max’s back, pulling her as close as he could manage with one arm. He ground against her again, his movements more calculated than before the Misdreavus’ interruption.
He knew he had no more need to be sneaky in wringing any noise out of Max that he could with just the outline of his cock. There was nothing forbidding Piers from baring himself to her. Nothing preventing him from sliding into her wet cunt and fucking her until she saw stars. 
That didn’t stop him from wanting to indulge in this just a little longer, though.
In succession, Max did her best to raise herself to him with both legs draped over his waist. A lost cause, really, but she wanted to gain as much contact as possible, gravity be damned. Memorize his length, width, and curve to the best of her ability within the confines of pants.
Piers took control though, removing his hand off her back to pin her hips down to the cushion. It prompted a whimper that grew airier as she unlocked herself from him, so he teased her with an extra roll of his hips. This elicited a similar response.
“You like that?” Piers asked lowly.
Just like the first time he “experimented” on her, albeit that was a much less risqué scenario. Sure, they were hornballs back then, but nothing came of it. Not like right now. This was years of sexual tension built up that was finally coming to a head.
Max nodded, rendered speechless. 
She needed him, oh my god he was driving her fucking insane. She had a hard time meeting Piers’ gaze until the hand supporting his weight shifted to tilt her head back just enough. 
Piers, either being a shit or just wanting more confirmation, repeated the thrust as he whispered, “Yeah?” 
Max gasped, her azure irises all but engulfed in black by now. He did it again, and Max cut off her sounds this time by chewing her bottom lip. She answered him with another nod.
“Just like…” again, “that?”
Oh he was definitely just being a shit. A shaky breath escaped Max and she propped herself up ever so slightly in an attempt to kiss Piers again. To evacuate herself from the embarrassing situation she was in. To distract him into, hopefully, fucking her silly.
Piers’ smirk widened and he pulled back. Max couldn’t help the whine that followed.
“Nuh-uh,” he taunted with a dastardly grin. 
Piers kneeled back to sit on his calves, scooting a bit closer afterward so as to still leave his nether flush with Max’s. His hands roamed her: cupping her inner thighs, dragging up her hips, splaying across her tummy and sides. Finally, he used the tips of his fingers to tease the hem of her tiny shirt before sliding it up.
Her breasts had grown since he met her — not that he’d been paying attention, or anything — but were still small. A good size on her, he thought, entranced by the Gooserene bumps that prickled Max’s skin as he gently toyed with one of her nipples. The other hand shifted back down to rest against her ribs.
He always had a secret thing for how little Max was in comparison to him. Sure, she was far less bony and toned than in the past, but that just made Piers more attracted to her: It meant she had the means to take better care of herself. That she was doing (relatively) well. That she had enough money to feed herself and have safe shelter, something that was a struggle back in their earlier years of knowing each other. Her wellbeing was all that really mattered to him in the end.
…Besides, he’d always have a strong height advantage, regardless of how many kilos she’d gain or lose over time. That was more than enough to scratch the itch.
Max wriggled herself against him. She was desperate for a much quicker pleasure than Piers was offering. He huffed out a small laugh and met her gaze, but ultimately ignored her, biting his lip as he squinted her way, then proceeded to pore over her chest some more.
Piers put his hand fully around the boob he’d been playing with. His cock twitched as he noticed how large his hand looked around it. The small movement had Max shutting her eyes and bringing her fist to her face, nibbling at her knuckle to self-soothe. She was so filled with need that it almost hurt.
She let her eyes trail over him. Conveniently, his thin sweatpants left little to the imagination, now that he was hard. And god, he seemed long. Max was so damn excited for this. Wanted so badly to just reach out and cup him, to maybe make him feel as desperate as she did; but, she knew on the basis that he denied her more kisses in favor of exploring her body that he would probably oppose that too. At least for now.
Her eyes scanned upward, admiring how goddamn pretty Piers was. His wavy, fluffy, and haphazardly layered hair reached all the way down to his mid-bum. Neither of them were sure if he would keep growing it out, but they both thought it would be goofy if he did. Like they traded hairstyles. 
His porcelain skin was reddened around his cheeks, and his purplish bags and black, smudgy eye makeup somehow complemented it. It didn’t make him look sickly, but rather like a particularly stunning apparition. A siren out of water.
Max’s view veered back down. Roamed over his skinny arms. They were slightly toned from how wildly he wielded his guitar during his shows. They needed to be, lest he break the damn thing. She began to observe the size of his hands compared to her smaller frame. She was into his size advantage too, and the mere sight of his large hand on her bare chest was driving her wild.
Arceus.
Piers had to feel how wet Max was at this point if he hadn’t already seen it through the vibrant pink of her shorts. She couldn’t take this shit anymore. She exhaled an audibly shaky breath to try to ground herself. Accidentally snapped Piers out of his trance by doing so.
His eyes locked onto hers as he lowered himself again, kissing her once more before beginning to trail down her jaw, then onto her neck, where he decided to hang out for a bit. The hand that had been playing with her tits was now working with his forearm and elbow to support his weight by her side, and the fist that had been cozy on her ribcage sunk downward. Max tangled her fingers into Piers’ hair, writhing with every small nip and lick he made. 
He experimented a bit, as he enjoyed doing. Leisurely worked his lips around her, trying to figure out which spots made her squirm the most. He noticed a particularly harsh shudder when he licked just beneath the corner of her jawline, then heard a tiny gasp as he began sucking the sensitive skin between his teeth. A reflexive tug to his tresses accompanied it, eliciting somewhat of a growl from him too.
By now, Piers’ hand was resting against the top hem of Max’s shorts. He teased her a bit, playing with the fabric, dipping his fingertips just barely beneath the trim only to bring them back out. Finally, he dragged himself knuckles-first down to where her thigh met her torso before stretching his hand across her, his touch featherlight. 
Piers paused his war on Max’s neck as he slid his thumb up her clothed slit. She drew in a sharp breath, the softest little moan escaping as he added some more pressure. 
God, she was wet. And he loved knowing that he was the one doing it to her. 
Max felt an amused huff of Piers’ breath on her skin. He pressed down a little harder, likely not realizing that he was pretty much in the perfect spot. Her responsive moan quickly morphed into a shy hum.
Piers pulled his hand away and, careful to mind her piercings, he left a whisper of a kiss to the curve of Max’s ear. In succession, Max felt a tug at the spandex-cotton blend covering her lower half.
“Oi, help me out here,” Piers mused.
Snorting at the casual nature of the rock star’s demand, Max created a mediocre bridge. It was short, but it was enough to allow Piers to move her bottoms down for easier access. He practiced patience, not stealing a peek yet in favor of reading her by touch while he trailed kisses horizontally across her throat and to the other side of her neck. Now on her right, Piers lazily rested his forehead against Max’s cheek and left a kind peck on her shoulder. 
His fingertips grazed the shaved skin just above her lower lips, then trekked down, purposefully avoiding her clit. Neglected the pink folds around it too. Max bit her lip, doing her best to hold back just how badly she wanted him to just fucking touch her already. 
As if he read her thoughts. Piers went straight for Max’s entrance. He didn’t dip inside just yet, tracing the rim with his middle finger instead. Max felt him grin against her skin as her breaths quickened and her hips writhed. Finally, he slowly — so painfully slowly — slotted the digit inside. 
“Fuck,” Piers whispered. He was done for. Max was tight. Had she not been so wet, this would’ve been a lot harder to maneuver.
Piers could barely hear her small, reactionary “Ah” as he nudged his way in. Probably wouldn’t have been audible at all if he wasn’t this close to her face. All the adorable little breaths he’d coaxed out of her so far had been doing things for him, but they also served as motivation for him to try to break her. To have her crying out his name in the same way he’d imagined during his late-night fantasies time and time again. 
…But there was still time for that. For now, Piers opted to move at a Sliggoo’s pace. He worked slowly and gently, pumping his digit in and out of Max with an occasional curl to spice things up a bit. His fingers were long, and he was reaching all the right places. One spot in particular wrung a heady noise from Max. 
“Right there?” Piers murmured. Max could hear a smile in his voice. He was having the time of his life.
“Mm— mhm,” she hummed her affirmation, a barely-there nod accompanying it.
Piers repeated the action, earning the same reaction. “God, listen to you,” he cooed. 
It wasn’t meant to be condescending in any way. If anything he was impressed by how easily he was learning her body. The comment still made her blush, though, with a mix of embarrassment and arousal as fuel. 
She managed to squeak out, “Sh— ah, shut up!” 
“Well that wouldn’t be fun, would it?” 
Max smiled in spite of herself. She did her best to shift her hips, wanting him to go deeper, to go faster, anything. He was practically torturing her. Seemed like that was the point, which was sexy in its own way, but she could only deal with so much more of this.
Too shy to communicate further, her next rebuttal came out as more of a whine. Piers lifted himself away from the crook of Max’s neck, finally getting a good look at her.
He was absolutely obsessed with what he saw. Max’s cheeks and neck were a deep pink, her thick eyebrows were upturned, and she was practically panting. Her eyes looked a little watery, and for a moment Piers feared he’d hurt her, but that was quickly dissipated as she whispered his name, gripping onto his tee with one fist and his busy wrist with the other.
It was time for Piers to be a shit again. “What? You need something?”
Max grinned, biting down on her lip to stim for the upteenth time today as she rolled her eyes at the comment. Then, she looked down, her grip around his ivory skin tightening at the sight of Piers knuckles-deep inside her. She mewled, her mouselike voice raising and lashes fluttering as he began to curl into her faster. 
He pried, his voice gravelly with desire, “S’that better?” 
She moaned again, her eyes rolling shut now as her head lolled back. It was the closest thing to a “yes” she could give him.
For the first time since he’d taken off Max’s pants, Piers looked down at the space between her legs. 
Genitals were rarely good-looking, at least in his opinion. Maybe his judgment was clouded by infatuation, or maybe the following thoughts held truth, but he couldn’t help but think she had the prettiest pussy he’d ever seen.
Piers dipped down to Max’s neck again, leaving a shudder inducing kiss in that one sweet spot before murmuring against her ear, “Mind if I have a taste?”
“Fuh—“ she half-cursed before stuttering, “y-yeah.” 
Piers slowed to a halt, and pulled his face away from Max’s just a smidge. He could still feel her breath on his lips.
“Wait, ‘yeah’ like you do mind, or…“ he trailed off. He felt silly asking this, kind of laughing it out, but needed confirmation. Wanted Max to feel safe and comfortable with him. Or, at least more than she already did. 
Lifting her hand from his forearm to his cheek, Max giggled, “No, like, I, uh... I want you to.” 
Piers’ smile widened, still feeling tickled, but something sinister took over. As he resumed his handiwork, he also added some slight pressure to Max’s clit with his thumb. It caught her off-guard, and her laughter quickly morphed into a moan.
He lilted, “Do you, now?”
“Mhm.” Another nod.
He dipped back down, licked a short strip up her neck, sealed it with a kiss, and worked his way south. Kissed her collar, her shoulders, and rolled her top up a little further to fucking finally kiss and nip at her boobs, Arceus he’d been waiting for this since he saw the damn things. All the while, he was absolutely ravaging her with just his fingers.
Max was close. She needed him down there fast. She needed to feel his tongue against her before it was too late.
At this point, Max’s right hand had been fidgeting with the strap of her shirt, and her left was busy playing with the ends of Piers’ hair. She shifted her left up to his scalp, trying to discreetly encourage him down. 
He noticed. Still took his time, though.
Piers continued the trend of alternating sporadically between licking, kissing, biting and sucking. She now had a hickey to the left of her right areola, as well as one closer to the center of her collarbone, and an even newer one just above her left hip bone. She didn’t doubt that he left a few splotches on her neck as well.
It excited Max; the idea of being marked as his, in a way. 
By the time Piers made it to Max’s thigh, his body sort of scrunched to fit on the sofa, she was about to burst. 
She lightly tugged his hair. “P-please,” she begged, hiding the lower half of her face behind her other fist now. “I’m— ah!—”
Max cut herself off, flattening her palm against her mouth as her orgasm quickly built itself up, her eyelids shutting in tandem. 
Piers was having none of it.
He swiftly reached up with his unoccupied hand and wrapped it around Max’s wrist, gently pinning her hand against the back cushion.
Max’s eyes shot open. That was her breaking point.
“Ah— fuck!”
“There she is,” Piers cooed. “Let me hear you, love.” 
She mewled out his name. Her voice was still quiet, but definitely a smidge louder than it had been prior. Her back arched, her fist tightened in Piers’ hair, and Piers dragged his hand from her wrist to her palm, giving her something else to hold onto as he worked her through her high. All the while his cheek rested lazily on Max’s left hip, his crystalline gaze intently studying her every movement. 
As the tension in Max’s walls started to recede, Piers slowed his pace.
That didn’t mean he was finished, though.
He removed his thumb from Max’s folds, but kept his finger inside her.
…Hm. Scratch that. He decided after a brief moment to remove that from her too. 
Max felt hazy as she retracted her fingers from Piers’ locks, then raised her forearm to rest against her damp forehead while she caught her breath. 
Arc’s sake, dude. He didn’t even take out his dick yet and he still rocked her world.
Like night and day, though, Max became as alert as ever while she watched Piers wrap his lips around his slickened digit.
She took a mental note of how absurdly hot he is. Not the first time she’d thought so, by any means. This one was a reminder, if you will. One to store in the perv folder of her brain for later.
His lustful gaze met hers just as his black-painted nail became visible again. He grinned, feeling a little smug about how she was looking at him: clearly foggy, definitely still turned on, and her head completely void of any thoughts other than those about himself.
Without a word, he lowered himself, pressing kisses along Max’s left thigh, then her right. She shivered as his breath momentarily hit her core. Lowered her hand down, resting it just above her breast with her wrist in a comfortable curl. The other hand remained intertwined with Piers’.
Her breaths became audible as he bit down on her inner thigh while simultaneously digging his middle finger back inside her. It took her a moment to gather her bearings, but they were lost again as he decided to push a second finger — his ring — in alongside it. 
He soothed the bite he’d made with a kiss, and then worked his lips inward, hovering just barely above Max’s pussy. 
“W-wait, I’m mm—“ she took a second to hum, her eyes momentarily stuttering shut at a particularly nice curl, then finished, “M’probably gonna be too sensitive.”
Piers kissed Max’s right lip, then removed his other hand from hers, bringing it south to rest on the plush, pale skin just below her belly button. “Try for me.” He looked up at her with lustful, pleading eyes, resting his cheek against her inner thigh. Offering some support, he now uttered,  “I know you can give me one more. Please?”
Holy shit. 
“I, um, mm—“ Piers mercifully slowed down so that Max could speak coherently, albeit meekly, “I want to with you, though.”
The corners of Piers’ lips curled up again. “You will.”
Max’s brows furrowed and her mouth mimicked his. “What?”
His brows furrowed, but it provided more of a goofy, mischievous look than Max’s perplexion. “Trust me.” 
“Pfft! So ominous…”
“It’s part of the brand.” 
His smile remained as he flickered his view between Max’s bright eyes and dripping cunt.
Gave her another curl, looking up to watch her response. 
For good measure!
He drank in the sight of her as she tensed, using her newly freed hand to grip the armrest she’d been leaning against. Piers bit his lip and offered another curl, Max tugging upwards on her shirt this time. Seemed to only still be on at this point to serve as a source of comfort for her.
He stilled for a moment, wanting to see what would happen if he stopped when Max had been expecting something. She wriggled a little, impatiently pushing his fingers further inside her. 
“So?” he asked, pulling them out just a smidge, a shit-eating look plastered on his face. Max exhaled through her mouth as Piers’ toyed with her. 
She nodded. The action seemed more antsy than timid this time around.
“I’ll stop if you need me to, yeah?”
The trainer nodded again, a smile of appreciation gracing her features. 
Piers was ecstatic to finally do this. He retracted the fingers that had been inside her out and used them to gently trace her folds. Took a moment to lower his hand from her tummy, wrapping that arm around her corresponding side’s thigh. He heard her hum as he found the exact spot he’d been in search of, used the two fingers to spread her apart a little, and finally, he dragged his flattened tongue across the area. 
His gaze rose, and Max had now tugged her cami over her chin a little, her lips parted just above it. She seemed more focused on what the lower half of his face looked like than the fact that he was staring at her, if she even noticed he was.
He gave her another swipe, finishing the action by seeing how she would react to a side-to-side motion. She was a big fan of that. Could barely keep her eyes open, but seemed to force it. 
Same went for when he used just the tip of his tongue to trace tiny shapes and letters around her clit. 
Piers wondered how many times she’d imagined something like this happening. If she was more intent on watching because it was sexy, or because it’s something she’s thought about before. 
He’d have to ask her about it when his mouth was less busy.
Piers placed his lips against her, sucking her sensitive bud ever so slightly, and felt her thigh muscle tense in succession. He gave the thick limb a reassuring squeeze.
Satisfied with how well he was doing, and how well she was doing, Piers re-inserted his fingers, scissoring them as his tongue danced around her. 
Every little movement Piers made had Max seeing stars. It was a lot , but she had never felt something like this before. She’d never seen something like this before.
Sure, she had been eaten out by Leon during their short few months together, but he hadn’t been this delicate, this calculated. He would often decide what he thought would work best, rather than getting a read on her and working according to that. And he wasn’t bad, but…
She hated to think about him at a time like this, but it was such a stark change that the thought wormed its way into her mind. She quickly shooed it away, shifting her focus up to see more of Piers’ face.
Oh god. He was looking right at her.
Why’d I moan at that? she wondered after the reflexive noise escaped her.
There was something inexplicably erotic about how deeply he was boring into her while he devoured her. She normally couldn’t do eye contact unless it was in brief bursts, but she was hypnotized by Piers’ icy gaze. By the proud smile that met his eyes once she started to reciprocate. By the way his lashes fluttered here and there, indicating he was enjoying this just as much as she was. 
She brought her shirt over her mouth, a poor attempt to hide in plain sight. Her opposite hand betrayed her, almost working on its own volition to reach into Piers’ tresses, gripping onto them for dear life as her next wave approached.
Without stopping his onslaught, Piers leaned into her touch. One of his favorite feelings was having his hair played with, and this was apparently no different. He hummed against Max’s core, and the vibrations immediately tipped her over. Hit her hard, considering she didn’t expect it to creep up so quickly.
“Ahh— oh god, Piers!” 
Piers was happy to hear Max get considerably louder this time. He was unsure if it was out of her control or if she was just opening up to him, but he felt satisfied by it regardless. Didn’t mind her thighs squeezing around him too much either. Enjoyed it, even.
He could only wonder, as he found himself lost in how Max’s dark gaze glazed over and prickled with tears, what she would look like in a few moments — if she was still able and willing — while she took his cock. While she came on his cock.
How it would feel to be gripped by her, what noises she would make, how pretty she’d look as she clutched onto him, whimpering and bouncing and moaning and tightening and—
Fuck. He needed this.
Just like before, as Max settled, so did Piers’ movements. Didn’t wanna overdo anything. 
He gave her one last lick though. Liked how it tasted. Got a silly “Ack!” out of Max as she twitched herself away, too.
“Sorry, couldn’t resist it.”
Max laughed but was clearly feeling shy again. She was still trying to hide her face, sorta. It was half-assed. The kind of nerves where she was excited but terrified at the same time. She couldn’t help but wonder if he liked how she looked through all that. If he was having second thoughts, if she had an ugly expression while she came…
Her insecurities were chased away as Piers yanked her closer to him by the thighs. Her sopping wet bottom half was flush against his hardened one — still in pants, unfortunately — and he caged her in, readjusting his hair to only drape over one shoulder on the way down. 
He did a quick scan of her body before his eyes landed on her face again. Was still wearing a dumb, cocky smile, too, as he leaned in closer. The tip of his nose was touching hers now. “Hey.”
Max smiled, but the laughter that followed was nervous and airy. “Hi,” she chirped. 
Her eyes flicked down to his lips. She was kinda hoping for a reward, or something. Some sort of, “Congrats, you came twice already! He’s a smooch!”
Instead, she got, “Need something?” 
Of course.
She inhaled, shutting her eyes to contain herself. A feigned anger seeped through her chuckle as she huffed out the rest of her breath. Piers flashed a toothy smile after that, instantly softening Max.
“You’re so handsome,” she shyly told him. Made him smile wider. 
His heart stuttered at the compliment… seemed so genuine.
He teased her back, “You’re not half bad.”
Made her snort. Piers’ smile calmed before he touched his lips to hers. He gave her a brief kiss, before curtly and quietly laughing at himself, “Ha..” His eyes were still closed and his lips brushed against Max’s as he finished, “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
They’d both tossed compliments back and forth for what felt like forever, but this was different. God, it was so different.
Max grinned and raised her arms to rest around his neck, pulling him closer. Her heart felt so full… like, yeah, she’d had feelings for him for years, and knew she was in love with him for a few, but she’d never felt so filled to the brim with affection. She didn’t have the courage to say it, so she kissed him again instead.
It was almost surreal to taste herself on him. She felt spent, but she needed him more, and that took priority. 
Lucky for her, Piers had no plans to stop.
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gracefulsunflower · 2 years
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CONTRARY - FINN SHELBY X READER; PART 6
PUBLISHED: 17/05/2022
!!FIRST PART HERE!!
Part 1
MASTERLIST
READER'S POV
(A/N: I have absolutely no idea what wedding dress shopping is like lmao bear with me here pls)
I paced back and forth, waiting for Polly and the rest of the girls to arrive.
"Keep on going and you'll tear a hole in the carpet." Finn said, lighting up a cigarette.
"Shut up! I'm going shopping for a dress everyone will see me in, it's stressful!" I snapped, turning around to face him.
He shrugged, "I'm going shopping for a suit today and I'm not walking a quarter mile."
I rolled my eyes as I unwrapped a piece of gum, "The suits are all the same, no one ever looks at suits, it's the bride's dress they all look at."
Finn hummed in agreement, and placed his hands on his stomach as he bounced his leg.
"I've been thinking," He began as I threw the gum into my mouth, "We agreed to be civil, so we called a truce but we don't have terms for the truce. We should make some."
"How smart, do you want a medal?" I snarked, sitting on the coffee table in front of him, crossing one leg over the other, trying to be mindful of the fact I had a dress on for once.
"I'm just saying, it would make stuff a lot easier if we knew what to expect from each other," Finn pointed out.
"That does make sense," I admitted, tucking my hair behind my ears and smoothing it down.
Finn produced a comb from his inner coat pocket and offered it to me. I took it wordlessly, and used it to tame my hair somewhat.
"Maybe you should tie it up?" Finn offered, making me scowl.
"No!" I snapped loudly, making him jump.
"I wasn't gonna fight you over it," Finn grumbled, making me throw the comb at him.
"So, say we do call an official truce, what happens if one of us breaks it?" I asked curiously, leaning forward, placing my forearms across my legs to support my weight.
"Whatever the other says — If I broke the truce you could tell me to run down Watery Lane wearing nothing but a smile, and the other way round," Finn decided, making me smirk.
"That sounds like a spot of fun — let's start making the rules, then," I agreed, and he got up, grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil off of the top of the fireplace, and sat back down, leaning on the coffee table.
"I'll write it up and stick it on top of the mantle so we can always see it, and so you can read it later on," Finn explained, already writing the number one.
I giggled as I realised I read the number — I learned my numbers from one to ten last night, as well as all my letters — Jeremiah called me a fast learner, a praise that kept me in a good mood all last night, even after Finn started on me because I dropped a plate.
"Okay, number one, no stirring each other up," Finn announced, writing it down.
"Number two, no touching me unless I say so," I supplied, leaning back onto my palms.
"I'll make it no touching each other unless the other says so. Number three, don't let the other get insulted in our presence, it will save a lot of fighting." Finn said, writing it down.
I frowned as I thought about how Finn didn't say anything to Linda yesterday.
"Number four, we have the right to walk away during an argument and the other person can't follow us," I added, watching the pencil glide gracefully across the page.
"Number five, look out for and protect each other — we're in the middle of a vendetta, the Italians probably know your family is working with mine, so they could target you too." Finn explained, making me purse my lips and nod.
As Finn put a full stop a knock sounded on the front door, along with Polly calling out. I got off the table, and walked over to the door, opening it.
Ezzie, Saoirse, and Lizzy were all standing there. Saoirse ran forward and cuddled me tightly.
"Are you off then?" Finn asked from behind me, coming to stand next to me.
"Yeah, busy day." Lizzie replied, "We'll see you after, come on (Y/N)."
"See you later," I said to Finn as I linked arms with Ezzie and grabbed Saoirse's hand.
"Miss Polly is driving us and Ezzie's getting in with Miss Ada and Miss Lizzie," Saoirse babbled, walking me over to Polly's car.
"Hey, Poll," I greeted, letting Saoirse slide across the brown seat before hopping into the vehicle.
"Morning," Polly replied, sending me a small smile and setting off, "I heard from a little birdie that you wanted a yellow dress?"
"Yeah, it's my favourite colour," I admitted, "But if I can't find one it's not the end of the world, I don't think we'll find one anyway."
"We'll do our best, my girl," Polly reassured me, making me grin.
"Saoirse, guess what I did last night?" I said to my little sister, watching her fiddle with the end of her coat.
"What?" She replied curiously, looking up at me.
"I learned how to read and write the alphabet, and my numbers up to ten," I said, watching her eyes widen and her jaw drop slightly.
"Can you teach me?" She asked excitedly, bouncing up and down.
"I can try," I replied, turning my eyes onto the road.
Within a few minutes we were outside a boutique named 'Susanna's Seams'. It looked nice enough. Polly stopped the car, and we all hopped out.
"Yellow dresses aren't common, so don't get your hopes up," Polly informed me, and I nodded.
The woman fixing up a mannequin in the window looked like she was going to faint when she saw us all. Polly strutted up to the door and opened it, Saoirse right behind her. I followed the pair, holding the door open for Lizzie, Ada, and Ezzie.
I shut the door behind Ezzie, and looked around. The older, frumpy woman behind the counter looked bewildered.
"(Y/N), flip that sign on the door to closed," Polly instructed, and I did as I was told.
"But we're open!" The woman in the window protested.
"Not until we leave, by order of the Peaky fuckin' Blinders." Polly said, pulling a flask out of her fur coat and taking a swig from it, then pointing the sliver object in my direction, "This young lady needs a wedding dress, something in a yellow shade."
The older woman rushed to the other side of the store, grabbing some dresses off of the rack.
"Sophie, come help," The older woman hissed, making the younger woman dart over and grab another, empty rack and wheel it over to the older woman, who started placing the dresses she gathered onto it.
I sat on a seat next to Polly, watching them scramble around for us. Once that rack was full, Sophie wheeled it over to us, the dresses ranging from a bright, eye catching yellow to a toned down, barely there yellow.
"Here you are," Sophie said, sounding breathless.
I stood up and started looking at the dresses, arranging the ones I liked to one side and the ones I didn't to the other side. I only liked three dresses.
"There's a fitting room over there near Susanna," Sophie pointed over to where the frumpy woman was, and I nodded, dragging the rack over there.
"Ezzie, get up and come help me with the zips." I commanded, and Esmeralda didn't hesitate to jump up and come over.
I grabbed the first dress and headed inside the room, Ezzie hot on my tail. I gave the dress to her, and she hung it behind the door. It was a nice dress, very much like a ball gown, with no straps and a big tulle skirt.
I started getting undressed, and, once I was in my under layers, Ezzie handed me the dress, and I undid the zip, then stepped into it, then she did it up.
"Oh, God, the material's not right, get me out," I urged, and Ezzie leaned over and undid the dress with ease.
I stepped out of it, and Ezzie hung it back up, and opened the door, grabbing the next dress. I tried it on, and the material felt fine, but it was unflattering.
"You look like a half plucked chicken," Ezzie snorted.
"Shut up," I grumbled as she undid me.
She passed the last dress, and I stepped into it, then looked at myself in the mirror in front of us, and I gasped.
It fit me like a glove, and wasn't unflattering in the slightest. It was an off shoulder gown with sheer sleeves ending at my wrists, and a tulle skirt, but it wasn't too big, just right. It had gold detailing on the bodice, which trailed down the dress.
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(A/N: This is just the dress that came closest to what I imagined, you can envision your own)
"I feel like that fairy princess in the bedtime story your Mum used to tell us," I murmured, as if being loud would break the magic and the dress would turn into something horrid.
"You look gorgeous, (N/N)," Ezzie whispered as she did up the zip, "Let's go show everyone else."
She led me to where the other women were sitting, and Saoirse squealed.
"(N/N), (N/N), you look — you look so pretty!" She gushed, bouncing in her spot next to Lizzie.
"Gorgeous," Lizzie said sincerely, giving me a small smile.
"You look a vision," Ada confirmed, "If my brother seeing you like that doesn't make him want to skip the ceremony and consummate the marriage I don't know what will."
I blushed and looked away, not used to being complimented.
"Give us a spin, love," Polly encouraged.
"Yes, spin!" Saoirse shouted, clapping her hands.
I spun on the spot, giggling at how the skirt billowed around me.
"I never want to take it off," I told the girls, making Ada ‘aww’.
I felt truely and utterly gorgeous in this yellow wedding dress.
"It doesn't look very yellow," Sophie stated, making me scowl.
"It'll look yellow in the light of the sun, so shut your mouth you ignorant fucking cunt!" I snapped at her, Ezzie placing a hand on my shoulder.
"On the house," Susanna said as I stormed back to the fitting room to get dressed.
"We're Peaky Blinders, it's never any other way." Polly said flatly as Ezzie closed the door behind us, making me snicker, "And that girl there, Sophie, she needs to go — permanently."
Ezzie unzipped the dress, and I stepped out of it, pulling my other dress back on and slipping my feet into my shoes, and we walked back out to the women, Ezzie holding the dress. Sophie came over and Ezzie handed it to her to be bagged.
"Now, I don't want to have all the same style dresses, because what will suit one of you mightn't suit the other — Just pick whatever dress you want, preferably in your favourite colour," I informed the group, "The men can match a tie to a dress."
That had been a detail Finn and I had discussed last night after coming home from Jeremiah's. I didn't want everyone looking the same, we're not fucking blades of grass.
Everyone started getting off the seats and looking for dresses. Ezzie set off towards the green dresses.
I lead Saoirse over to the kids dresses, looking for a white one — Another detail we had agreed upon, the kids wearing plain white and black instead of colours. Saoirse was going to wear a dress that was white with a black sash around it, and Karl was going to wear a plain black suit with a black bow tie. I had no doubt they would have everyone clucky.
•••
We managed to get everyone the dress they wanted. Polly had picked a gorgeous purple dress, Ada snagged a dark blue, Lizzie grabbed a deep red, and Ezzie picked a bold green. The best part was that everyone looked absolutely, effortlessly beautiful in their dresses. That and the fact that we got all of the dresses for free.
I decided to keep my dress up in Polly's spare room. She didn't want me keeping it at the house in case Finn saw it.
The girls and I discussed my somethings; something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue, and I had picked them out successfully, except for my something new, because apparently Finn was covering that for the pair of us.
The something old was going to be Birdie Boswell's pearl earrings. I was hesitant to wear them, but Polly said that they were passed down to her and she could therefore pass it down to whoever she damn well pleased. My something borrowed was going to be the tie from Dad's own wedding suit that he wore when he got married to Ezzie, Bonnie, and Saoirse's mother, Rose. I was going to wrap it around my bouquet. My something blue was going to be my undergarments.
On the way home, Saoirse jumped in with Ada, and the rest of us women went to go get my something blue — nice looking undergarments, with a matching garter set. I was planning on burning them as soon as I got home.
I could just wear a blue ribbon on my wrist. What the girls didn't knew wouldn't hurt them.
§§§
I couldn't find any nice obviously yellow dresses 💔💔 buttt champagne is still technically yellow lol
Love y'all ❤️
- Sunflower x
NEXT PART
Part 7
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plungelo · 7 months
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i wrote this for tumblr and then i wrote it for class and now i'm putting it on tumblr too
(the references to beat generation poets is because of it being an assignment but for the most part they do genuinely relate.)
(none of these words are mine but the ones that especially don’t belong to me are in italics.)
i try to hold a grip on my inner monologue to keep myself from self-talk. to vocalize my thoughts would be a sure sign that i’ve lost it. that i am a person who talks to their self. in the during-times, i could carry full dialogues between my selves since i had a mask on––inside and outside. no one could see my grocery list on my lips, or the proper response to that thing that person said to me eight months ago, or two years ago, or back in elementary school spoken in such delicate and conscientious detail under the breath within my mask.
when i inhibit all intention to speak, when my thoughts slow from words to moment, to senses, my mind falls to a blissful quiet. when my head is free from words, i am at peace. this brings me into flow. i may extend and contract time at the will of my activity. too much talk hurts because my state of mind without it is peaceful.
this state is outside the verbal processes of my mind. it washes the gum from my eyes. it’s something distinct from bliss that is not positive or negative. but why? why do purely nonverbal moments in my day feel so freeing? maybe i should explore what words do to me and what i can do with them. then maybe i’ll come out the other side with an understanding of why their lack has such a sobering effect on me.
speaking is the origin point of word-thoughts. i used to think it was the other way around. there’s this understanding of speaking as expression; Ginsberg confessing out his soul and Kerouac’s rhetorical exhalations assume that words are drawn from within us.
i reject this. it’s the words which came first, not the thoughts. my mind had no thoughts before it had words. thoughts are just invisible words. words are not inside of me. only soul, energy, emotion can be found there. words are on air, paper, and computers. they are the bridge Whitman crosses in order to bear his soul. the tool for Bukowski’s matter-of-fact expression. the drug that Kaufman smokes and drinks. they do not come from me but i make use of them like any technology.
like any technology, language is outside of me but feels connected to my body. so connected that some people think they started from language—i.e. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God (i say whatever happened to the heaven and the earth?). my soul pushes my heart to pulse my blood to my lungs which entrap the air through my throat who, on the exhale, conspires with my mouth and nose to form the strangest of sounds—the multi-millennia-old vestiges of barbaric yawps and bird cry copies––that i call words.
but they are not my blood or heart or lungs or throat or mouth or nose. they pass through me like a worm in the dirt. earthworms beneath me earworms inside me. the breath mists of introspection in my throat throughout my body and across the air spread these strange sounds within and without me. if i’m close enough, i physically strike the ear of another, and it casts a spell on them. this spell is the real concern. this spell is meaning.
i don’t care about “the meaning of life”. life is everything, it can’t mean one thing. my question: what is meaning? i could continue with my somatic understanding of language by calling meaning ‘electrical neuron signals’ but that’s so unsatisfying. (by the way, i want to make it clear that i am not taking this purely physical approach to language in the interest of science. fuck science. focusing on the material is my way of validating the immaterial.) that approach is unsatisfying because it doesn’t account for the telepathic shock of creating/receiving meanings. maybe i should explore what meaning isn’t to find out what it is.
those who spit anti-poetry for poetic reasons find meaning through nonsense. before and after frinking, Abomunists sing Derrat slegelations and Geed bop nava glid. i should take a page from their book. such dedicated use of nonsense is impressive in a world governed by reason. but it is not just noises. Kaufman’s maybe highlighting the nonsense of the invisible manifestos i’ve been subscribed to since birth. rulesets that i adhere to out of fear. meaning comes from reception and connection. when the only emotional connection between those unwritten constitutions and me is fear, my receptive ability is inhibited.
a different kind of nonsense is what some call flub. literary filler content which is relatively meaningless compared to the (usually weak) argument it surrounds. does Kerouac’s infantile pileup of scatological buildup words drain meaning from their sentences? or is there meaning in the scat? Burroughs may agree with the latter. reading Naked Lunch can feel like consuming a whole lot of junk. but meaning-excitements zap me at every word-image, bringing my mind from high to low and back up again. this takes place over the course of a chapter, a paragraph, a sentence. so many meanings strike me that i’m enveloped in the moment rather than a grander picture. regardless of what scale it’s on, my own human mind imagines meanings from Burroughs’s many words.
if sense can be made out of nonsense then it can be made out of anything. in everything there is meaning waiting to be sensed. such an overwhelming amount that, in order to relate all of the meaning, we need a logical system of communication. but if my conditioning differs from yours, so will my communication.
the voice of a writer. simultaneously their least important and most important quality. after reading thousands of words written by Kaufman i still have no idea what he sounds like. i don’t know the depth of his timbre or the speed of lips. but somehow i know his voice.
this is an extremely fascinating element of writing. i can have a voice without speaking at all. my conditioning led me to this specific voice and Bukowski’s conditioning led to his. he comes over with his violin and sad music while Kaufman spits culture seeds and eats poetic loaves of bread. i know their voices are distinct without having heard either of them. we can distinguish one writer’s voice from another because everyone’s relationship to language is their own. and when voices clash, magic happens.
language is shared, it is constantly collectively reproduced and readapted every time one person talks to another. with each word spoken, language is once again contextualized anew. old middle early late and modern english are all re-contextualizations of a similar structure. but so is the hello how are you of my barista and the how you doin’ of my pizza guy. no matter what level you look at it on, language is changing thanks to its communal existence. voices from unique conditions can converge into a synthesis in one second or over a thousand years.
the zeitgeist that the Beat writers lived through conditioned each of their voices. their attitudes on the world converged to create the Beat movement. they are all the writers, but the space between their writing is the movement. it’s this invisible cultural vibration that inspires new work—work which goes on to make its own vibrations that infinitely ripple through culture in the same way its inspirations did. new and old, new and new, old and old, all merge in their own specific ways on top of one another at a speed and size that human logic can’t keep up with. everything builds on top of everything, producing a new thing that will be layered on top of sometime in the future.
talking, word-thoughts, these produce. my words create a separation (i.e. my body) which then creates something new. creating my self. with each word i write i build upon my self. my voice is constructed by my words and their organization. so is my voice me? is On the Road Jack Kerouac? i know it’s by him, but is it him? is Walt Whitman Leaves of Grass? he would certainly say so. the work of a writer is made from their voice and their voice is made from them. they are made from their conditions and their conditions are made from chaos. so where does the person start and end? how far does their voice carry them?
for me, it’s either all or nothing—there is not a certain point where you can say that a thing someone creates ceases to be a part of them—and between the two, i would choose all. people extend infinitely in all directions. my voice my art my mark is me. it will be me after i die. i am comfortable with this conclusion because i know that i am actively creating myself in every moment, through both conversation and craft. this active creation will ripple for some time, and those ripples will be me. at a certain point my ‘individual’ voice will be washed away and unrecognizable, but it will still be me whether i know it or not. Kaufman certainly doesn’t know that the bits of him in the air have been inhaled by millions of people since his death. yet he lives on through the effect those bits have had.
you speak to me. i speak to you. i speak to me. you speak to you. we participate in the collective experience of language. even on our own. what does this make me? i know that i am i, but grammar makes me me. obviously by nature of communication we must separate each other between you’s and me’s. but do we have to separate our selfs between me’s and i’s?
i feel like i but apparently i’m me. the grammar of my existence schisms me into object/subject. big rule: reject binaries. any sign of division today is an unresolved representation of tomorrow’s singularity. what is the tomorrow of today’s object/subject division?
Find tomorrow a cincophrenicpoet pleas. a million tomorrows. “Plea” is a critique of the logical conclusion of the object/subject thingamabob. when we speak to train our brains to signal ourselves as separate from each other, we are able to commit the atrocities which haunt so much of Kaufman’s poetry, especially “Plea”. language governs the modern mind, and so division is inherent to our reception of stimuli––the world––and thus our perception of others.
di Prima would agree that these linguistic practices are connected to our political understandings of each other. but, in the interest of the revolution, she takes it more domestically. in her thirty-sixth letter of the revolution, she asks who is the we, who is the they in this thing? we must declare our independence, we must not accept a share of the guilt they want to lay on us. our linguistic relation to institutions is an unbalanced power dynamic. by making them them and us us, our brain makes division palatable. another revolutionary letter begins with a quote from the Tibetan Book of the Dead, may it come that all radiances will be known as our own radiances. this idea opposes the inherent division in language. if everything belongs to us then it negates the need for a possessive view of property, people, bodies. di Prima’s revolutionary drive is to initiate us into this possessionless state. poetry and spirituality––both concepts which utilize words but whose affect can’t be put into words––allow her to pass through the object/subject wall that divides us all.
words can unite, but not if we aren’t conscious of their tendency to fracture.
we tend to fracture one another using categories. introverts and extroverts are important categories to social life. but i see introversion/extroversion as verbal concepts, not social. to be social is to enjoy the company of people. but if you are silent and social, you may still be considered an introvert. your words determine people’s perception of your social inclination.
i believe people just participate in the collective experience of language in dynamic, situational ways. natural participation. compulsive participation. careful participation. these uses for language all happen simultaneously in the flow of conversation, pleasantries, or in the practiced dedication to it through art.
artists reveal a problem with the introvert/extrovert binary. for months a writer may work in seclusion on their masterpiece. for example they might spend a couple of weeks straight writing their work on a single scroll of paper. it is a lonely act to create something. it’s like inspecting a mirror and making meaning out of what you see in yourself. but when that art is consumed by its audience, suddenly the artist is an extrovert. their deepest desires and secrets are made totally public. their readers form relationships with them––often parasocial. they are influenced––economically and perhaps aesthetically––by the reaction to their art. their work may become a conversation between artist and audience. the process of creating and releasing art requires both a strong relation to one’s self and one’s audience. if you are an artist, you cannot be categorized as an introvert or extrovert.
the interviews the life the reality of an artist are of utmost importance now. Youtube is bursting with videos like “Jack Kerouac’s top 5 writing tips!” or “Write a novel in THREE days using William S. Burroughs’ secret strategy: benzedrine.” there is a need to know artists personally. it is no longer absurd to touch their books and dream of Californian supermarket odysseys. at a certain point, the words they’ve provided are not enough. i must know them––how they ugh’d how they umm’d how they err’d; how they blinked how they coughed how they slept.
everything between their words is of interest now.
words cast meaning-spells and make us become apart of each other. the act of writing this dug up meaning that already existed. i’ve learned a lot about words thanks to my use of two-thousand four-hundred of them so far. but that’s made it clear to me that the not-words are what we use words to describe.
so silence. the lack of words. the in-between. that is where i find peace. in between words is invisible meaning. so when i am in between my use of words, when i try to hold a grip on my inner and outer monologue, when i inhibit all intention to speak, i am in meaning. and that’s a nice place to be in my opinion.
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day0walkersdrafts · 1 year
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The first time Lark notices her, it’s just a flash of red hair.
Something about that sticks out in his mind. Not a lot of redheads on base but Baby; just a rare breed, he supposes. At least, not the dark haired kind, like him and whoever this new stranger is.
Shadows have been onboarding a lot of contractors lately. Something about that wiggles at the reptilian part of his brain, the fear cortex that says, something is wrong here. But he ignores it. Always had, always will. Lark did not get where he was paying any mind to the smarter side of himself.
The house is on fire again, inside his head, warming winter cold skin. It’s curling up higher and higher, dancing little sparks up into the sky. His hand, stuck in the gate, unable to get free as the sirens pull closer and closer.
Never. Lark never saves himself.
The next few times he sees her and she’s still a slip of woman with the shock of dark red. Sometimes it’s artfully tied up. Little strands that fall to the sides of her face, or the pale nape of her neck. Other times, it’s down and it swings as she walks. Purposeful strides of importance, confidence, clarity. He doubts that somehow. No civilian actually knows what they’re doing here on base; lost up in a black sea, they’re dressed the part because Graves is single minded about that.
Uniform. Lark smooths his own black turtleneck down. Looks at himself and the way the material clings too much around his thin frame. Shrugs on a black jacket that engulfs him. Makes him bulkier. A little bit of a bug show, that. Insect wings flicked out to appear larger than life. Threat! It yells. I am big and threatening. Lark zips it, caustically frustrated by his own inner monologue and the fact that he’s missed an opportunity to approach her again.
She doesn’t look at Shadows. Not really. She seems to dance her vision around them, find a spot where they don’t linger.
Lark wants to ask her to look at him. Notice me, he thinks. Like I’m noticing you.
When he and Benson have to carry crates across base, she’s there and he’s feeling that sensation of heat spread up his chest.
“Switch crates with me.”
“What?”
“Dude, put yours down. Take this one. I get that one.”
“Why?” Benny is looking at him like he’s half way to insane and that’s really funny, considering, they’re all insane. They’re mercenaries. But Benson had picked up that crate because it was bigger, a little more cumbersome and he’s got long arms, even if they are rail thin. He carries it easier. Not nearly as tall as the Corporal, but more inches on him than Lark.
“Man, like you wanna fucking carry it anyway—Just give me it.”
The switch and Lark almost regrets it because it pulls him forward a little. He’s strong—not self conscious about that part of himself at all. He’s built more for sprinting, long distance running. He’s built for wiggling into vents, dropping into electrical rooms, cutting wires. Mbabazi had used him, more than once, to bring an entire building into Shadow darkness, out of commission. All because Lark could worm his way in through a grate in the side of the office building.
Still. It’s a very fucking awkwardly loaded crate.
Makes Lark’s biceps strain hard against his short sleeve, Shadow black shirt. He puffs out a little breath, glad the baseball cap is keeping his hair out his face, tucked backward as it is. One strand seems to poke through but, whatever. Can’t all be perfect.
She passes them then and for a very brief moment, Lark’s looking at her and she’s looking at him. It makes him a little dizzy that she tilts her head down slightly to observe him—and on her face, those pretty lips turn into—well. It looks like a smile. But she passes too quick for him to actually memorize it. And the second she’s out of the hallway, he drops the crate.
“Jesus. What is in this shit?”
Benny is looking at him. He’s chewing gum in that annoying Benny way, where he’s open mouthed and twisting it around his tongue. He’s smiling too, big, twitchy guy smile. His big, pale blue eyes make Lark feel far too seen.
“You tryin’ to be like Baby or something?”
Lark’s heart lurches a little.
“Girls like that, don’t look at guys like us, Lark.” Then he picks up the crate (that Lark is now, woefully looking at and wishing he’d kept) and begins the long trek across the base.
They call me Lark, is what he’d planned on working courage to say. Like the bird, you get it? But he picks up the crate, has to use his knee to knock it up further. The baseball hat nearly slips off and he ignores it, because, fuck it. Doesn’t matter anyway. Shit to do, places to be, things in motion on base. No time to worry about any of it.
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The Princess and Pauline: A Short Romance
Happy pride month, everyone! 🏳️‍🌈
I hope you enjoy this remixed one-shot of one of my favorite ships, Princess Peach and Mayor Pauline. 😊💞
Pauline felt like she was on top of the world.
The wooden plaque on her desk looked awfully nice, proclaiming that this scrappy young girl from the inner city was now a powerful councilwoman. And when she stepped in front of the mirror, she had to admit that her pantsuit looked very fine indeed. The bold fuchsia color made a statement, letting everyone and their plumber know that Pauline had ambition to spare, and she was bound to intimidate a few men while wearing these sharp, blue heels.
Her new office even came with a view. Granted, all she could see was another skyscraper under renovation, complete with builders shouting at one another and hoisting barrels up the side, but it was definitely a step up from a secretary's cubicle.
It was hard to fathom how things could get any better... unless, that is, she ran for the only position above her: the office of mayor.
Pauline leaned away from the mirror, closing her makeup palette and giving her voluminous red hair a swift brushing. “Now where did that idea come from?” she asked herself, an amused smile flickering at the corner of her lips. “Mayor of New Donk City, eh? You’re really getting ahead of yourself, girl.”
There was a knock at the door. She stood upright, taking a moment to examine her reflection and straighten her shoulder pads. “Yes?”
The door opened partway and a young man leaned into her office, chewing his gum in a cavalier manner. He certainly was a handsome specimen—wavy brown hair, chiseled chin, and a choice bod decked out in a three piece suit. She had forgotten how charming her boyfriend Kevin could be when he put in the effort, and Mr. Keene was pulling out all the stops today.
“Hey there, beautiful,” said Kevin, letting his eyes drift up and down her figure. “Just thought you should know the ambassador’s on her way up. A legit queen, by the looks of her.”
Pauline's mood soured almost instantly. “She’s a princess, Kevin,” she said, turning back to her reflection and buttoning up her suit jacket. “Try to get it right, would ya? We don’t need to screw up our relations with the other kingdoms just because you failed to do your homework.”
“Please, you think I got a seat on the council without putting in the effort?” he asked, flashing that irresistible smile her way. Playing fair was never his style, and Pauline knew it. She knew the man very well indeed.
“I think you dazzle everyone with your looks and win them over with your charm,” she said, not even trying to hide the snark in her tone. “As to whether or not you actually read the memos, I seriously doubt it.”
“Whatever works, right? You don’t seem to mind the way I look.”
The councilwoman glanced at her peer, unable to suppress a smile as she thought back on their night of passion. They had just received word of their promotions, and it seemed like a good time to celebrate. And boy, did they celebrate. Once they had popped the champagne, they made quick work of one another’s clothing, stripping naked and making sweet love on her new desk.
She had only just finished putting everything back in order when Kevin decided to interrupt her morning routine.
Pauline stood there for a moment, undressing Mr. Keene with her mind’s eye. She idly wondered if he was wearing another pair of those sexy, leopard print speedos underneath. “I never said it was a bad thing,” she confessed, “but let’s not forget who ran the errands and worked her tail off to get this promotion, shall we?”
Kevin snapped his fingers. “That’s right. Before I forget, the mayor wants somebody to give the ambassador... Excuse me, princess... a tour of city hall this afternoon. I told him I’d toss the ball in your court. You’re free, right?”
Pauline groaned, loudly. “Kevin, you know I’m swamped with permits to review. They’re breaking ground on the new power plant next week, remember?”
“Come on, babe, I wouldn’t ask if you weren’t the perfect woman for the job. You said it yourself—I’m no good with foreign dignitaries, and you know how cranky the mayor gets around women in power.”
“Yes, I’m well aware,” she said, the look on her face speaking to her long and storied history with that cantankerous ape.
“Besides, you’ve been on that power plant project for weeks now,” said Kevin. “I’m sure you’ve got all your ducks in a row, all ready to hunt. You’re always on top of that stuff.”
“Yes, I have to be. I’m a woman, after all. I can’t just jump to the top with the rest of the boys.” She took a deep breath, closing her eyes and repeating her mantras. “Fine. I’ll be out in a minute, but you owe me big, ya hear?”
“No problem. I can do big,” he said with a wink, stepping away from the door.
“Oh, and Kevin?” She waited for him to lean back in. “Don’t go around calling me ‘beautiful’ or ‘babe’ in city hall. As fellow council members, we need to treat one another with respect. Capeesh?”
“You got it, ma’am. We still on for dinner tonight?”
Such arrogance, but it did make her smile. “I’ll be sure to wear something nice.”
“And something exciting underneath, I hope.”
“Get out of my office, you cad.”
She may have found him amusing, but the councilwoman could not deny how good it felt to say it. This was her office, her little piece of the kingdom, so to speak, and even if she had to pick up the slack and cater to the whims of a spoiled princess, Pauline still felt a shiver of satisfaction every time she laid claim to the power she had earned.
With one final look in the mirror, she knew in her heart of hearts that she couldn’t stop now. First, she would stop dyeing her hair red to impress the men in her life. She would be a natural brunette with a natural talent for leadership. And the next time they told her to jump, she would defy their expectations and smash through the blocks in her way.
“Mayor Pauline,” she declared, and somehow, saying it aloud gave the dream substance. “It does have a nice ring to it.”
Guided by her ambitions, she left her office behind and marched out into the wider kingdom. Business meetings and matters of state swirled about her, punctuated by the endless chatter of landline phones and the buzzing rhythm of fax machines. But no matter how preoccupied the inhabitants of city hall appeared to be, they were never too busy to spare a moment for a rising star like Pauline.
True, she had become something of a legend in these halls of white and gold—the first woman to ever be appointed to city council, and under someone like Kong, no less. There was a great deal of respect evident in the faces around her, but perhaps it also had something to do with the way she looked at them in return. Rather than holding her eyes aloft, ignoring the secretaries and mailroom clerks like so many of her peers, Pauline repaid their admiration with a winning smile and a nod of recognition. These were her people, after all, and she would never forget how she had once toiled away as one of them, all in the name of New Donk City.
With several strides down the paneled halls, she soon found herself standing in a grand foyer. A beam of summer sun poured down from the skylight, giving a lustrous shine to the brass elevators and the flattened globe on the atrium floor. There were already Security Toads posted on either side of the elevator, serious as can be in their black suits and shades. In spite of their small stature, Pauline had no doubt these little guys would stop at nothing to protect their dear princess. All the more reason to pull herself together. She nodded to the guards, reassuring them that there would be no international incidents on her watch.
The councilwoman stepped forward with purpose, planting her feet next to the globe and straightening the corners of her suit jacket. She breathed in, calmly watching the fancy arrow rise above the elevator. She was ready to make an impression.
When the elevator chimed and the brass doors parted, however, Pauline Verducci knew that any impression she hoped to make would only be eclipsed by the beautiful woman standing before her.
A stunning white dress drifted downward, and the councilwoman found herself falling through curvaceous clouds of fabric and ruffles. Her gaze finally landed in a brilliant field of candy red, the color sweeping around the hem for eternity. Pauline couldn’t resist the urge to climb through the clouds once more, admiring full hips and a trim waist, feeling her mouth grow dry at the sight of the royal bosom. She almost forgot to climb higher when she saw the woman's cleavage, two half moons of perfect skin rising from the top of a white bodice. It was a good thing she remembered herself, however. Looking back on this moment, she would not have missed the view above for anything in the world.
At first, it was difficult to make out the facial features of this lovely woman, seeing as the bronzed surface of her tiara had so perfectly captured the summer sun. Pauline could only hold her breath, waiting for the light to dissipate, waiting to see beyond this castle in the sky. And when the princess stepped forward, she finally gasped.
Wow. Kevin didn’t say you were gorgeous.
Even as the thought crossed her mind, she knew the term gorgeous didn’t even begin to describe the princess of the Mushroom Kingdom, not in the slightest. How could a mere word describe this sensational beauty, whose strawberry blonde hair tumbled over her shoulders in a sweet, whimsical way? And that face. Damn, that face was doing a number on Pauline’s emotions. Those baby blue eyes made everything seem new. The soft pink hue in her cheeks left a feeling of a summer in the air, and those lips, those cherry red lips smiling so innocently in her direction... I would give anything to kiss those lips right now.
“Stop it,” she mumbled to herself, doing her best to hide such strange desires. “What are you even thinking? You like men. You have a boyfriend, and just because a beautiful princess happens to walk into your life for one day—Holy tanooki, she’s coming this way.”
Pauline snapped out of it, stepping forward and extending her hand as any good ambassador should. “Welcome to our fair city, Princess Toadstool. I hope you are enjoying your visit.”
Offering a delicate curtsy that would melt a heart of steel, the princess offered her right hand to Pauline in greeting. “Very much so, Miss...?”
It was obvious from the angle of her hand that a certain gesture was expected of the councilwoman, and it was only now that Pauline realized the princess was not wearing any fancy gloves. Her smooth fingers were exposed to the sunlight, inviting a response so wonderful that Pauline could hardly believe her luck.
While it seemed unusual to approach another woman in this manner, she ultimately decided that this was neither the time nor the place to question another’s customs. Pauline could only hope that she did not appear too eager as she grasped the royal hand, gently and ever so slowly pressing her lips to the royal fingers.
“Pauline Verducci, your highness. On behalf of the New Donk City Council, it would be my honor to show you city hall and anything your heart desires.”
As the princess did not immediately lower her hand, Pauline could not hold back from kissing it once more. A tiny spark traveled through her as she did so. For some reason, she imagined sharing this energy with the princess, who raised her eyes to Pauline and smiled warmly as she accepted this promise of something wonderful, something that would only grow with time.
“You are too kind, Miss Pauline. I am at your disposal. Please, lead the way.”
With a final curtsy to her host, the princess revealed candy red heels underneath her dress, along with a marvelous view of her perfect ankles. Pauline was not sure if the revelation meant anything, but it did nothing to dispel this feeling that fluttered inside her chest, trembling at the prospect of new life. There was no escape from the feeling as she led the princess and her entourage through the halls of white and gold. With every word that passed between them and every introduction to the history of her beloved city, Pauline found herself falling under the spell of this delightful woman.
She could not explain it. She didn’t want to explain it. She just never wanted it to end.
As Pauline guided her guest to the top floor, carefully steering the group away from the mayor's office, she felt a sudden urge to share something beautiful in return.
“Princess, you must be tired of people leading you around the city. Would you like to take a break? I know the perfect spot, and it comes with a great view.”
The princess glanced at the councilwoman, and for the first time, Pauline could see a hint of exhaustion on the woman’s face. Now that she thought about it, those were some seriously high heels she had seen under the woman's skirt. The poor thing must be wiped out, putting on a show of elegance for everyone around her. It made Pauline feel somewhat special that the princess would appear vulnerable to someone like her.
“That would be lovely,” said Princess Toadstool. “Where did you have in mind?”
“It’s right this way. Trust me, you won’t be disappointed.”
While they waited on her entourage and the guards to take position, Pauline turned her attention to a red door nearby, completely unadorned save for a small keypad. She went to work on punching in the code, moving her fingers up twice, down twice, and a couple of times to either side. Once she entered the last two digits, the door swung open automatically, revealing a paradise on the other side.
“Oh my stars,” said the princess, gazing in awe at the tropical scenery all around them. Pauline loved the look of wonder on the woman’s face, her blue eyes exploring every detail of this lush greenhouse. Although she seemed timid at first, the princess soon felt at home in this astonishing landscape that was somehow contained at the top of a skyscraper. Without a moment’s hesitation, she leaned over the tropical flowers along their path. She took in the sweet fragrance of an orchid, and Pauline simply stood by her side, marveling at the beauty of Princess Toadstool.
When she found her gaze drifting recklessly down the woman’s bodice, Pauline coughed gently and turned on her heels. “Ah, can I get you anything, princess? Coffee? Tea?” Me?
Of course, she caught herself before saying that last part aloud. What was she even thinking? What would the princess think? Such a ridiculous notion!
Princess Toadstool turned her attention away from the orchid and smiled. “You mean, there are refreshments in this wonderful place, as well?”
“Of course. Mayor Kong had this greenhouse built so he would feel more at home, but it can also serve as a decent party room in a pinch. The kitchenette is top of the line. I was thinking about making a cup of cappuccino, myself.”
“Oh dear,” said the princess, her cheeks turning bright pink. “I honestly don’t know. A cappuccino does sound delicious. Would you mind making one for both of us?”
“It would be my pleasure, your highness,” said Pauline, placing her hand gently on the princess’s arm and guiding her into the room. “Besides, I promised you a magnificent view. We might as well relax and enjoy it.”
Even as she spoke, the room gradually opened up before them, revealing a glass window that stretched from floor to ceiling. Tropical trees framed this majestic panorama, a vision of New Donk City in the waning light of day. The skyline was positively breathtaking from the top floor, a silver city rising in the sun, banners and billboards and neon lights telling stories of great success and even greater passions.
“Sweet mushrooms,” said Princess Toadstool. “It’s... it’s...”
“I know,” said Pauline. “There’s something magical about the place.”
“Truly. I’ve never seen anything like it, Pauline. I can see why you’re so devoted. The city must hold a special place in your heart.”
The councilwoman felt a blush rising in her cheeks. She stepped forward, hoping the princess had not seen, but when she stood before the window and stared out at the city she loved, she knew it would be impossible to hide.
“There’s just something about it,” she said, placing her hand on the glass. “The city means a lot of different things to a lot of different people. Some find it stressful, a rat race of sorts, but they miss out on the magic. Some businessmen just see a bunch of dollar signs, as if there could ever be a strong, lasting industry without caring for the people. You know what I see?”
Pauline turned from the glass and smiled at her guest, completely unaware that she was glowing in the light of this glorious skyline. “I see a place where anything can happen, where the great and small may stand on a star and blaze a trail of their own desire. I see a place that gave me a chance to be something more, and now, I want to help make this place more beautiful than anyone ever dreamed possible.”
Silence hung in the air, and the women stared at one another for what felt like an eternity. Pauline suddenly felt embarrassed. She didn’t mean to babble on, revealing her heart and all its inner workings to someone she had only just met. She hadn’t even told Kevin her true feelings about New Donk City, afraid that her peer and lover may no longer see her as a serious politician. So why on earth did she feel the need to lay her cards on the table now?
Before she could apologize for that sappy speech, Pauline found herself stepping aside to let the princess join her in front of the window. Princess Toadstool reached out, touching the glass just like Pauline, resting her palm on the handprint left behind.
She looked out at the skyline for a moment, and then she looked back at Pauline with a warm smile, filled with such wonderful promise.
“I think I see it now,” said the princess in all sincerity, “and it is magical, because I got to see it through your eyes.”
There was something else hanging in the air now, a force that tugged at Pauline, drawing her closer to this woman, and her inner voice wasn't helping. Go on. Kiss the girl.
“Princess?” The scratchy voice of a Security Toad surprised them, dissolving any sense of this newfound energy. They looked down to find the little guy holding a giant brick of a phone, with an antenna nearly as tall as he was. “We just got word. Negotiations are breaking down in the Sand Kingdom. I’m afraid you’re needed in another castle.”
A great sigh escaped from the young woman, and Pauline immediately recognized the weight of responsibility that must be hanging over someone in her position. Princess Toadstool reached out and touched the councilwoman on the arm. “I do apologize. I was hoping it could wait for a few days, and you’ve been such a lovely host.”
“Please, no need to explain. Believe me, I know what it’s like to be interrupted. We have a job to do, and there’s no way around it.”
“Yes, that is true, although I do wish...” The princess trailed off. There was something else, something important she wanted to say. Pauline could see it in her eyes. “I do hope we will meet again, Pauline Verducci. Perhaps then we can have a nice talk over a cappuccino.”
Again, there was the urge to be closer to her, to tell this woman how she felt. It would be so nice to schedule a meeting now, and if the meeting suddenly turned into a night on the town, so be it. Pauline vetoed the idea before it could flourish. Honestly, this was their first meeting, and she needed some time to grapple with all of these new feelings.
Pauline shook her head. “No worries, princess. Drop by anytime.”
Her heart did a somersault as the woman took her hand. “Please. Call me Peach.”
As Pauline watched this beautiful woman walk out of her life, perhaps forever, she still found it within herself to smile. Peach. It was sweet, somewhat whimsical, and yet it suited her guest perfectly. She had always been a dreamer, aiming for the highest position and devoting herself to the Metro Kingdom way, but now this one girl, this lovely Peach, had given her a new dream to while away the hours.
When the last Security Toad had filed out of the room, shutting the red door behind the entourage, Pauline stood before the window, gazing at the horizon and the setting sun. “Come back soon,” she whispered, but in her heart of hearts, she knew the truth.
She would not see the princess again for many, many years.
Pauline turned back to the window, preparing herself for matters of state. She would not walk out of this room like some lovesick teenager. She would face the world as a councilwoman, blazing her own trail to the top.
A final look at the skyline would do the trick. The view always made her feel powerful, and then she would turn on her heels with ambition as her guiding star.
And perhaps the next time a princess walked into her life, she would truly be on top. She would be the mayor of New Donk City.
Until we meet again... Peach.
You can read more of Pauline and Peach's ongoing romance in the AO3 series Super Lesbian Odyssey, which features a remixed version of this story.
**Warning: Series contains explicit sexual content
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unknownjpegs · 2 months
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like the bird
The first time Lark notices her, it’s just a flash of red hair.
Something about that sticks out in his mind. Not a lot of redheads on base but Baby; just a rare breed, he supposes. At least, not the dark haired kind, like him and whoever this new stranger is.
Shadows have been onboarding a lot of contractors lately. Something about that wiggles at the reptilian part of his brain, the fear cortex that says, something is wrong here. But he ignores it. Always had, always will. Lark did not get where he was paying any mind to the smarter side of himself.
The house is on fire again, inside his head, warming winter cold skin. It’s curling up higher and higher, dancing little sparks up into the sky. His hand, stuck in the gate, unable to get free as the sirens pull closer and closer.
Never. Lark never saves himself.
The next few times he sees her and she’s still a slip of woman with the shock of dark red. Sometimes it’s artfully tied up. Little strands that fall to the sides of her face, or the pale nape of her neck. Other times, it’s down and it swings as she walks. Purposeful strides of importance, confidence, clarity. He doubts that somehow. No civilian actually knows what they’re doing here on base; lost up in a black sea, they’re dressed the part because Graves is single minded about that.
Uniform. Lark smooths his own black turtleneck down. Looks at himself and the way the material clings too much around his thin frame. Shrugs on a black jacket that engulfs him. Makes him bulkier. A little bit of a bug show, that. Insect wings flicked out to appear larger than life. Threat! It yells. I am big and threatening. Lark zips it, caustically frustrated by his own inner monologue and the fact that he’s missed an opportunity to approach her again.
She doesn’t look at Shadows. Not really. She seems to dance her vision around them, find a spot where they don’t linger.
Lark wants to ask her to look at him. Notice me, he thinks. Like I’m noticing you.
When he and Benson have to carry crates across base, she’s there and he’s feeling that sensation of heat spread up his chest.
“Switch crates with me.”
“What?”
“Dude, put yours down. Take this one. I get that one.”
“Why?” Benny is looking at him like he’s half way to insane and that’s really funny, considering, they’re all insane. They’re mercenaries. But Benson had picked up that crate because it was bigger, a little more cumbersome and he’s got long arms, even if they are rail thin. He carries it easier. Not nearly as tall as the Corporal, but more inches on him than Lark.
“Man, like you wanna fucking carry it anyway—Just give me it.”
The switch and Lark almost regrets it because it pulls him forward a little. He’s strong—not self conscious about that part of himself at all. He’s built more for sprinting, long distance running. He’s built for wiggling into vents, dropping into electrical rooms, cutting wires. Mbabazi had used him, more than once, to bring an entire building into Shadow darkness, out of commission. All because Lark could worm his way in through a grate in the side of the office building.
Still. It’s a very fucking awkwardly loaded crate.
Makes Lark’s biceps strain hard against his short sleeve, Shadow black shirt. He puffs out a little breath, glad the baseball cap is keeping his hair out his face, tucked backward as it is. One strand seems to poke through but, whatever. Can’t all be perfect.
She passes them then and for a very brief moment, Lark’s looking at her and she’s looking at him. It makes him a little dizzy that she tilts her head down slightly to observe him—and on her face, those pretty lips turn into—well. It looks like a smile. But she passes too quick for him to actually memorize it. And the second she’s out of the hallway, he drops the crate.
“Jesus. What is in this shit?”
Benny is looking at him. He’s chewing gum in that annoying Benny way, where he’s open mouthed and twisting it around his tongue. He’s smiling too, big, twitchy guy smile. His big, pale blue eyes make Lark feel far too seen.
“You tryin’ to be like Baby or something?”
Lark’s heart lurches a little.
“Girls like that, don’t look at guys like us, Lark.” Then he picks up the crate (that Lark is now, woefully looking at and wishing he’d kept) and begins the long trek across the base.
They call me Lark, is what he’d planned on working courage to say. Like the bird, you get it? But he picks up the crate, has to use his knee to knock it up further. The baseball hat nearly slips off and he ignores it, because, fuck it. Doesn’t matter anyway. Shit to do, places to be, things in motion on base. No time to worry about any of it.
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smilestylen · 1 year
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Best Clear Braces in Yorktown Heights
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opponentcompel · 1 year
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‘ Upon this a question arises: whether it is better to be loved than feared or feared than loved? It may be answered that one should wish to be both, but, because it is difficult to unite them in one person, it is much safer to be feared than loved, when, of the two, either must be dispensed with… ’
The discordant  (  albeit no less intricate  )  notes of La Campanella drift from down the hallway from an adjacent set of three grey walls that temporarily belong to him, a fractured CD player hooked up to a mini speaker scarcely held together with an improvised means of binding in the form of ripped fabric from a blue uniform, inner batteries gradually depleting as the music drones and wavers. A segment of a muculent button mushroom touches his lips, resultant distaste seeing a plastic spork placed back onto the listless tray atop a bed once more - tongue poised on the bulbous flesh as he allows for its dull so-called marinade to grace a sophisticated palate  (  not exactly  冬蟲夏草  but he can’t be picky these days  ),  a huff of bemusement is expelled whilst experiencing the telltale aftertaste of a tin can and its murky fluids. It’s an odious flavour he’s known well over the course of a few hellish years, one that had been overwhelmed by the scent of surrounding taraw palms, towering branches and splayed waxy leaves that had courteously shrouded khaki fatigues in the dead of night—
        Gelid eyes slowly blink as they trace over the printed words, an echo of ink on the page faded with the number of decades which had passed since this particular edition had been printed, a vague sense of surprise initially igniting as to why the correctional unit’s library would carry such a book  (  a means of inspiring twisted aspirations to manifest for the average joe with no future?  ).  It’s one that he’s read before during a phase of attempted… self actualisation, enlightenment or whatever bullshit term is relevant these days with the changing tide of therapy fads, one notion alone ringing true - apparent purpose and focus was flung about in all the wrong places and directions, a lack of clarity only heightening in its dim grasps of foreboding influence. That was then and this is now, no longer alternating between the strung out moments of self-inflicted extreme lows and euphorically explosive highs, the latter’s segues having coursed through his veins and rested on his gums with such erratic repercussions during bouts of apparent earth shatteringly defying invincibility.
                  A deft fingertip turns the page of the hardback as crimson seeps through the dogeared corner, the digit retracting a touch to pass a cleansing thumb over it, the reddened blot seeping into the grooves of natural curves and indentations, lithe frame readjusting against thin and stiff bare sheets such is their overly starched state, a creak of the bed accompanied by a loud groan emerging from the squalid ground within the elderly man’s disinterested periphery. A stocky figure struggles to stand from a faltering crawl on all fours, the deepening hue of contusions across his jaw and neck reminiscent of Isabella grapes from the Black Sea, just ramifications for trying to jump an old man seemingly past his prime  (  all actions have consequences, but their root doesn’t necessarily lie within morality or justice  ),  broken ivories scattered like  шагай  from blunt force as forcibly clenched teeth marks remain embedded in the book’s cover. A trembling hand reaches for the side of the mattress for purchase and grazes the edge of the tray, a choking mouthful of cruor effusing as bleary eyes peer upwards into the spiralling gloom to meet with the looming visage, blanched hair and lightly tanned skin merging into one menacing haze.
        Opposing lips twitch into an aloof smirk with an indifference to the spectacle, a slightly raised corner of an upper bleach white incisor catching the light - Terry has no intention whatsoever of spending the final chapter of his life within these confined and joke-worthy punitory walls, underlying springs squeaking as he stands to leave, not before eyeing a cup of red jello standing in the tray, a sly grin tugging into place as long fingers take a hold of it with a brandished flourish, humour dripping from mocking words.  “I think you’ll need this more than me.”
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