#Hey if he can split like this we about to have a real good time

[rafeandonlyrafe]

daddys home

words: 1.8k

warnings: 18+ only!, smut, establish relationship (theyre married!), dad!rafe, mom!reader, p in v sex (protected), female receiving oral, mentions of pregnancy/breeding, readers stretch marks are described briefly

“when is daddy getting home?” your daughter asks for what feels like the millionth time since rafe left for work this morning.

you sigh, rubbing your forehead, hoping it alieves your splitting headache. “any minute now, poppy. why don't you go get a cup of water for him and leave it on the counter?”

you know that the task will occupy her for some time, having to drag her step stool that she uses when helping you cook around the kitchen to get a cup and fill it.

you let out a breath of relief when you hear rafe pull into the driveway.

“daddy! daddy!” poppy hears the noise as well, running to the garage door, jumping up and down excitedly as she waits for rafe to come in.

she jump-tackles him as soon as he opens the door. rafe laughs, catching her in his arms.

“hi baby.” he presses a kiss to the top of her head, toeing his shoes off onto the mat.

“welcome home.” you say, moving over to rafe, pressing your face into the shoulder that poppy isn't currently resting hers against.

“you okay?” rafe whispers into your ear, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. he sets poppy down carefully, only half listening as she begins to tell him about getting rafe a water all by herself like a big girl.

“yeah, she's just been… a lot today.” you sigh, wrapping your arms around rafes waist, snuggling into his warm body.

“hey, poppy. wanna spend the night at aunt wheezies?” rafe asks.

“yes! yes! yes!” poppy screams, quickly flying up the stairs to her room with her unstoppable toddler energy to pack a bag.

“thank you.” you look to rafe, taking a moment to press a kiss to his lips.

“wheeze has been begging to have her over, she'll be so happy.” rafe says, rubbing a hand up and down your back. “and you can get a real break.”

“god, i need it too.” you laugh, pulling away from rafe but not before giving him another kiss. “i love poppy to death, but she can be so exhausting some days.”

“aw, baby.” rafe coos. “why don't you go get in the bath, ill help poppy pack a bag then take her over the wheezies.”

“mmm, sounds perfect, can't wait to spend a night just us.” you wink at rafe before both heading further into the house and up the stairs. poppy has had a string of clinginess lately, especially at night knowing you and rafe are just down the hall, so she fakes nightmares to sleep in your bed.

it's nice having her so close, but at the same time you haven't been intimate with rafe in months.

“poppy.” you call into her room, seeing her stuffing pajamas into her backpack. “you be good for auntie wheezie, okay? ill pick you up in the morning and if you behaved, we can go to the park.”

“okay, mommy.” poppy nods, a serious look on her face.

“daddy is gonna help you pack then take you over.” you finish, looking to rafe.

“thank you again babe.” you whisper, rubbing your thumb over his cheek before heading towards your bedroom. you turn on the hot tap in the master bath, letting the jacuzzi tub fill as you scrounge in the cabinets for your epsom salt.

you let out a groan when you sink into the bath, eyes closing as you relax into the hot water, your muscles finally getting a break after entertaining poppy all day.

you relax in the bath until the water starts to turn room temperature. you pull the drain before getting out, toweling yourself dry. you go through your skincare routine quickly before pulling your robe on.

you exit the bathroom to see rafe on the bed, back against the headboard, having changed out of his work clothes to sweats.

“was she excited?” you question.

“poppy or wheezie?” rafe jokes, a soft smile on his face. “both of them were so excited, but i think wheeze might have more fun than poppy does.”

“that's good.” you laugh before taking a deep sigh.

“how are you feeling now?” rafe asks, swinging his legs off the side of the bed. you move to stand in front of him, letting your knees press into the side of the mattress.

“a million times better. no more headache.”

“good.” rafe tugs at the strap on your robe, not hard enough to undo it, but making his intentions clear. “wanna lay down?” 

“just lay down?” you smirk, raising one eyebrow.

“if that's what you want,” rafe takes your hands in his, bringing your knuckles up to his lips, pressing kisses along your skin. “mrs. cameron.”

“i want you.” you tell rafe, taking your hand out of his grasp to tug your robe open, revealing yourself to him. you slide the fabric off your shoulders, letting it drop to the floor.

“you're so beautiful.” rafe says, eyes sweeping over your naked body. he rubs a hand over your stomach, the small lines running over your skin, the physical reminder of your pregnancy.

“this part of you is the most beautiful.” rafe leans forward, kissing the stretch marks. “because it shows that you carried our daughter. kept her safe inside you for nine months until he she was ready to see the world.”

“you're gonna make me cry.” you sniffle, feeling tears start to form.

“wanna make you cry a different way.” rafe says, standing up suddenly while turning you swiftly, pushing your hips down so now you're the one sat on the edge of the mattress.

rafe sinks down to his knees, spreading your thighs open for him, revealing your cunt.

“you know-” you gasp when rafe begins to kiss along your inner thighs, inching closer to your center. “i was worried when i first got pregnant that you wouldn’t be attracted to me after i gave birth.”

“really?” rafe questions. “why would you ever worry about something as impossible as that?”

“pregnancy brain.” you shrug, eyes fluttering closed as rafe spreads your thighs further, wrapping his hand around your ankle and bringing your heel up onto the bed.

“well, mrs. cameron-” rafe leans in, licking a stripe straight through your folds. “no need to worry anymore, i find you very attractive.”

you smile, bringing one hand to rafes hair, clutching it between your finger as he dives in, tongue swiping through your wetness, tasting you on his tongue. rafe works his way up from your entrance to your clit before lapping over the sensitive skin there.

“taste so good mama.” rafe hums, letting his tongue flick and play with your clit. you let out a cry, glad that you’re able to be as loud as you want with poppy out of the house.

“more.” you whine.

“all these years later, carrying my baby and you're still my little slut.” rafe tsks, bringing his finger to your entrance and plunging it in, thrusting in and out slowly as his lips wrap around your clit, giving gentle sucks to build you up, tease you.

“can’t wait for you to fuck me.” you toss your head back, pushing your hips even further into rafes face.

“yeah, you miss my cock?” 

“all the time.” you whine, bringing your other foot onto the bed as well, spreading your knees wide open to give rafe even more space to work into you as he adds a second finger.

“you think after being married for five years you’d be sick of me.” rafe jokes, but you shake your head.

“never, daddy.” the nickname impacts rafe differently now that he is actually a dad, knowing it comes from a different place.

“god, i was gonna have you cum on my tongue three times before i fucked you, but i need you too badly.” rafe stands up, but not before pressing another kiss to your clit, now puffy and red from the attention.

rafe hesitates before reaching for the nightstand drawer, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by you, but before you can comment on it, he is removing his clothes and rolling the condom onto his length and lining himself up with your cunt. 

he rubs briefly through your folds before pushing in, sinking into your pussy. you let out a loud moan, unafraid to get interrupted by your daughter as rafe copies your moan right back.

“such a perfect pussy for me baby.” rafe coos, beginning to pump his hips forward. you wrap your legs around his hips as he leans forward, pushing until your back is resting against the sheets. he hovers over you, pressing your lips together. 

you moan into his mouth, moving your hips up and down in sync with his thrusts. your bare chests are rubbing together, yours still slightly damp from the bath. your nipples catch as rafe moves, making you whimper.

“so big.” you cry out, hands moving along rafes back, feeling the cords of muscles as they stretch with his movements.

“filling you up real good, huh?” rafe smirks, cocky that he can still get you in this state just from his dick.

“so good.” you turn your head to bite rafes earlobe, tugging on it. “you know,-” you gasp when rafe speeds up. “this is the same position we were in when i got pregnant with poppy.”

you remember the night well, when you ran out of condoms and decided together fuck it, were married, and you were blessed with your little girl soon after.

“yeah? want me to take the condom off mama? fill your belly up again?” rafe asks, moving a thumb to your clit, rubbing it quickly.

“yeah, daddy, yeah i do- fuck!” your back arches off the bed as rafe pumps faster, your body quivering as his thumb strokes you to orgasm, the tightening of your cunt causing him to spill into the condom.

rafe breaths heavily, hips slowly grinding into you as you work through your highs.

rafe pulls out as you try to stop your deep gasps of breaths. he pulls the condom off and tosses it in the trash can before climbing back onto the bed, flopping down next to you.

“were you serious?” rafe asks.

you don't need any more context to know exactly what rafe is referring to.

“i wouldn't mind having another baby.” you say honestly. “besides, poppy will start kindergarten in around a year, so think about in around nine months having another little one.” you feel yourself already beginning to tear up at the thought, wiping a tear from your cheek.

“oh, baby.” rafe coos, pressing a kiss to your forehead and pulling you into him. “well, since poppy is still at aunt wheezies…” rafe trails off, moving his hand from your waist lower to cup your pussy. “we can get trying right now.”

“it only took you one try for poppy.” you remind rafe, slinging your leg over rafes body, twisting yourself to sit on top of him, rubbing your cunt over his length.

“yeah…” rafe places his hands on your hips, flipping you over so your back is against the bed. “but maybe i want more than one try.” rafe says as his cock slides back inside of you.

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#rafe smut #rafe cameron smut #obx smut #outer banks smut #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fic #rafe fic #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe fanfic #rafe cameron x you

[personasintro]

Mutual Help | #03

𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭: @kithtaehyung

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; in order for you to pretend to be his girlfriend, he helps you with your sexual desires ⏤ he calls it mutual help

⇢ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: jungkook x reader

⇢ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fake dating au, fluff, angst, smut, slow burn

⇢ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: explicit language

⇢ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.1k+

⇠ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯. | 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐱 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ⇢ 

One week later and you're walking into the club, hands in hands, trying to act like a real couple. It feels weird, although it's not the first time you're holding Jungkook's hand. But this time, it's a different concept and his fingers are tightly laced with yours. On the other hand, it does feel nice. His hand is way bigger than yours, and it's almost ridiculous how much comfort and security you feel.

It happened too fast. You haven't got the chance to talk about basic rules or how this is going to work. But apparently, Mr. Mutual Help thought it's a great way to show yourselves off when Jimin asked you both to go clubbing. One thing is sure – they can't know your relationship is fake. Of course, at first you were against it. You can't lie to Jimin and Taehyung, they're your friends. Although, Jungkook made sure you knew he doesn't want to lie to them either, but it's the only way to make sure it's believable. Words spread fast, and it doesn't matter if you trust that person. It can slip out accidentally and the whole plan would be useless.

"It's only for a month. We'll say we just wanted to try it and that there was no spark." he told you before you got out of the cab, lacing your fingers together that made you jump in shock.

"Stop jumping whenever I touch you. This has to be believable." he even scolded you.

That audacity.

You've never liked clubs that much. Besides the smell and proximity of sweaty and horny bodies, you never got the thrill behind it either. There's no toilet paper in the restroom which is always annoying, especially when you spend the rest of the night drinking and having to use the restroom all the time. But this is your chance to show yourselves, as a couple.

Jungkook leads you through the crowd, holding your hand even more tightly while he glances over his shoulders at you from time to time. Two minutes later, he manages to find Jimin sitting in a booth with Taehyung and some woman you've never seen before.

"Hey guys!" Taehyung waves excitedly, his cheeks slightly flashed showing off his boxy grin that makes you grin at him.

"Finally!" Jimin yells over the rap music, waving at you before his eyes drop to your locked hands. It's only a matter of a split second, before he smiles back at you as the both of you greet them properly.

"Oh, this is Hattie," Jimin says, introducing the woman with beautiful dark skin and curly hair that's sitting beside him. "We just met her before you guys got here, she's visiting for a few days." he explains, letting her introduce herself more properly.

As you're sitting down, Taehyung goes to order some drinks while you listen to her. She seems to be super nice, explaining how this is her fourth time visiting Seoul before Jimin starts to talk about Busan, his hometown, trying to persuade her how she should visit it as well. You talk back and forth for a couple of minutes, or at least try to through the loud music, before Taehyung is back and you're sipping on your drink.

There's slightly more alcohol in it than you'd appreciate, but you don't mind it that much.

Jungkook's hand is outstretched behind you, something you haven't noticed, until he taps your shoulder causing you to glance at him. He's sitting so damn close that you can smell his cologne that you've always loved and see his soft skin illuminating in the gloom lightening.

"I don't think we're doing a good job." he leans, lips brushing against your ear as you hear his husky voice causing you to almost shiver.

"What do you mean?"

You know exactly what he means by that. You've been in the club for a few minutes, but nobody can tell that you're dating together. Fake dating, of course.

"I think," he says, fingers brushing over your exposed shoulder since your denim jacket slipped down. "You know exactly what I mean." he breathes into your ear, your eyes anxiously dancing between your friends.

Your breath gets caught in your throat when you notice Jimin's eyes on you, watching how close Jungkook is. From his angle, it might look like Jungkook is kissing your neck or whispering sweet things into your ear. You shudder, staring with widened eyes when Jungkook pulls away, satisfied smirk adoring his lips. And then you get it.

He knew Jimin was watching. He wanted him to watch.

"You're a better actor than I thought." you comment, making sure he's the only one who can hear you.

"You've no idea." he smirks, licking his lips before he reaches for his drink.

Jeon Jungkook is going to be the death of you.

It seems like Jungkook has it all planned out to the details. Considering Hoseok, Jungkook's and Kiko's mutual friend that introduced them to each other, is here as well. He walks up to the booth you're all sitting in, grinning at everyone with red cheeks that mimic Taehyung's. He's not drunk though, speaking perfectly fine as he's catching up with everyone. You almost forgot how social and happy he is all the time.

He talks with all of you for a few more minutes, before he checks the time on his watch causing his eyes to slightly widen. 

"It was so good to see all of you again! But I'm supposed to bring drinks to friends I came here with, they're probably gonna kill me." he explains, glancing at everyone.

"Oh, with whom are you here with?" Taehyung asks cheerfully, back straightening in an almost cheerful manner of the thought of meeting new people. You know it's just a pure curiosity.

Hoseok says names you don't know, but when Jimin lets out an occasional Ah, you know he must know some of those people. It's that moment when Kiko's name leaves Hoseok's mouth, his own eyes cautiously glancing at Jungkook who seems to look unbothered. Although, you feel his shoulder tense against you. Still, he doesn't react to it verbally, calmly sipping his drink as Hoseok excuses himself.

"You wanna dance?" Jungkook asks loudly, leaning into you while you can smell vodka on his breath. It's not strong, nor uncomfortable. It's very faint.

"I can't dance," you almost whine, protesting at the idea of you dancing.

You're confident in a lot of things, but unfortunately, dancing between a bunch of bodies that can dance way better than you, is not one of them.

"I need more booze for that." you tell him, knowing he's aware of your drunken phase.

You don't care about dancing, as long as you're drunk enough not to care. It barely happens, but still.

"Oh, come on. I'll lead you." he insists, already standing up as he outstretches his arm for you.

Well, you can't say no now. So with a roll off your eyes and telling him how annoying he is, your hand clasps into his before he leads you into the crowd. Luckily, he stays at the edge, so no one's pushing into you as he grabs your hips. Your arms automatically wrap around his neck, trying to follow the way his hips move before he presses you closer. Your chests bump against each other, causing you to let out a surprised gasp while you're looking into Jungkook's eyes. He's grinning at you, leading your hips with his hands.

"You knew she's here?" you ask him, having an urge to say something.

You don't have to say her name, he knows exactly who you're talking about.

A soft sigh leaves his  mouth, almost unnoticeable but you still notice it, before he nods curtly. "Yeah, Hoseok texted me over the week and he might have mentioned he's gonna be here tonight. Usually, where Hoseok is, Kiko is there as well." he explains.

For some reason, you just wished he'd tell you. You'd appreciate to be included in his small plans because now, you just feel like a figure in his own game. You're supposed to be in this together, whilst you're completely clueless about what's going on. It makes you more annoyed than it should have.

"Are you mad?" he asks, eyes watching you with worry, noticing the sour look on your face.

"I just wished you'd tell me, that's all." you tell him, voice almost inaudible because of the loud music that makes your whole body vibrate with each bass.

He turns you around, quickly catching you when you almost stumble from the sudden movement, your back pressed against his firm chest. Your naked back brushed against the material of his black dress shirt, his silver necklace cold against your skin. He leans down, lips brushing against your ear once again while you're trying to distract yourself from the way his belt digs into your lower back.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes quietly, but still loud enough for you to hear him. "I'll tell you everything from now on."

With a quick nod, that's all he needed for him to relax, intensifying his dance moves as he rolls his body into yours. He makes it feel easy, leading your body as if you were some doll, while you brush against him. You don't think you've ever danced with him this hard, especially when his belt brushes against your ass every now and then. He turns you around, your forehead almost bumping into his chin, while your eyes meet right away.

"Hi," you blurt out, blinking at him as he grins at you.

"Hello," he tells you back, reaching for your denim jacket that managed to slip off your shoulders as he puts it right back, covering your skin. He cups your face, while his other hand is placed securely on your hip. "I think it's time for me to find out what kind of kisser you are."

Wait, what--

Before you can react in any way, his head dips down as his lips softly brush against your own. You almost flinch back, but he holds your face close to his, nose brushing against your cheek before he pokes your nose with it. It's cute and you'd almost giggle at the soft touches, but he presses his lips more firmly now, moving them much more eagerly and harder. You gasp, feeling him to lick your bottom lip. You can't even react, standing there in pure shock at the way he's kissing you because fuck, this man can kiss really good. You've never been kissed this way. So passionately and impatiently, yet with elegance and no imposition.

He takes your moment of surprise to invite himself, tongue slightly brushing against your own. It's not uncomfortable and he's not forcing his way inside, letting himself to test waters with you. He's back with kissing you, biting into your lower lip before he tugs it, eyes boring into yours. Your whole body feels hot, insides quivering with anticipation mixed with lust. But he pulls away, catching a breath which you do as well, noticing you held your breath this whole time.

"Sometimes it's good to dominate your partner," he tells you, causing you to blink at him in confusion before it clicks. He's giving you advice, doing his part of the deal. "And stop staring at me so shockingly. We're supposed to be dating." he jokes, brushing his dark locks out of his eyes, that are currently crinkles in amusement.

"How can I not? My best friend just kissed me out of nowhere!" you exclaim, realizing what has just happened.

Your best friend just made out with you and it left you breathless, and not just because your air was cut off for a minute.

"You better get used to it," he tells you with a grin, his body moving against your own again. "We're dating now." you hear him say, his eyes moving somewhere behind you.

The slight shock is switched with dark eyes on the same spot, causing you to subtly turn around. You don't see it at first, eyes following his line of vision before you notice Kiko standing just a few meters away from you, her eyes boring into Jungkook's before one of her friends catches her attention.

"I didn't know she was there." Jungkook tells you as soon as you turn back to him, and you almost laugh at his sudden distressed face. He's really being honest with everything right now.

"I mean... It's a good thing that she saw, right?"

He lets your words sink in, eyes flickering between yours before his lips curl into a satisfied smirk. "Yeah."He's not sure whether she saw you two kissing, but he could recognize her shocked eyes from miles away. Bingo.

#networkbangtan #ksmutclub #ficswithluv #btswritingcafe #bts smut #jungkook x reader #bts angst #bts fluff #bts au #jungkook fic #jungkook au #mutual help #personasintro

[puckinghischier]

Prison For Life

Luke Hughes x fem!reader

summary: anon request for a luke fic based on olivia rodrigo’s “prison for life”

notes: not gonna lie, y’all, i’m not too happy with how this one turned out, but i got tired of trying to re-write it, so here it is. as usual, hope you enjoy.

[1.7k]

~

I’m a feminist, obviously

But I wouldn’t really mind him saving me

You had always been the type to handle your own problems. A guy that doesn’t know how to take no for an answer? You knew exactly how to bruise his ego enough to have him tuck his tail and run away. Someone getting too handsy while you’re out with your friends? A swift elbow to the gut will do it every time. Grown man yelling at yourself or your friend over virtually nothing? Ask him why he feels the need to yell at women to compensate for the fact his mother didn’t love him as a child. It was too easy, really.

You never hesitated to run to the defense of your friends anytime they needed, getting a rush out of watching men deflate at your comments.

That is, until you met Luke.

Your relationship with Luke caused you to discover you actually enjoyed having someone rush to your defense, for once.

The first time you felt the unmistakable burn in your stomach at the act of Luke rushing to defend your honor was when the Devils were playing against the Flyers in the stadium series. You were in awe of the sight before you, the Metlife stadium alive with the screams and cheers of nearly 83,000 hockey fans. You were down near the ice in a designated viewing area for friends and family of the players, ready to cheer on your boyfriend in one of the biggest games of his career so far.

You were walking over towards the Devils bench, wanting to wish Luke good luck before the team returned to the locker room after warm-ups, when you heard someone shout out to you.

“C’mon, sweetheart! You can do better than that! You’d look so much better in orange!” a man standing near the Flyers benches grabs your attention, your head snapping in the direction of the noise.

“Excuse me?” You shouted back, disgust showing in your tone and on your face.

“The jersey, sweetie! You know he’s got about a million other puck bunnies fawning over him, right?” He calls back, referencing the Hughes jersey you’re wearing for Luke. “Maybe you should come sit with us! We’ll show you what a real hockey team looks like. And if you’re still not convinced after the game, I can think of a few ways to persuade you!” The heckler continued, elbowing the man next to him in the ribs, winking dramatically at you.

Is this really happening? Is a grown ass man, one who looks old enough to be your father, harassing you right now? Over what team’s jersey you’re wearing? You had to bite back a laugh, the situation simply comical to you.

You had the words ready to go on your tongue, a split second from putting the man in his place, when you heard a different, much more recognizable shout from the ice behind you.

“What did you just say?” Luke shouts as he skates up next to you.

“Luke, I’m fine, really it’s okay-“

“I was just telling the lady here how much better she’d look in orange! Don’t tell me you’re actually thinking about taking her home? Go pick one of the other hundreds of bitches here wearing your number! We picked this one!” the man cuts you off, earning a chuckle from his partner in crime.

You look over to Luke, noticing how his features were darkened and he was nearly shaking with rage. You were surprised with yourself when you found his reaction a turn on. Your face turned warm, your insides lighting on fire at the vein popping out of Luke’s forehead, watching the thoughts form behind his red face.

“Yeah…that’s what I thought you said,” Luke surprised you by speaking calmly. Too shocked by your own thoughts about how much you enjoyed Luke coming to your rescue, you hadn’t noticed that he removed his gloves and was making his way over the wall surrounding the ice until it was a moment too late.

“Hey, woah, slow down there, hot shot.” You grabbed his arm just as both skates hit the ground.

“Y/N, let go of me.”

“No. Look at me,” you requested sternly, tugging at his arm.

Luke looked down and met your eyes, his gaze immediately softening. You had an eyebrow cocked, the look on your face silently asking him what in the hell he was doing.

“Luke, first of all, you’re going to ruin your skates, you don’t even have your guards on. Second, what do you think you’re doing? You can’t go over there and engage with those guys, you could get hurt. You’re getting ready to play a game, you don’t need bruised knuckles or a black eye affecting your skating. Plus, you can’t exactly win a hockey game from jail with assault charges, now can you?” You ask him, hands on your hips, scolding him like a child.

“Y/N, they can’t just get away with saying those things to and about you. Or any woman around here for that matter. Someone needs to go over there and shut their mouths for them.” Luke’s fists clench, jaw so tense you’re worried he’ll break a tooth. “And if I end up in jail, so what? I can post my own bail. It’s worth it, for you,” Luke continued, throwing a glare in the direction of the Flyers fans every few seconds.

You stare at him in disbelief. On the one hand, you find it kind of hot he just said he would literally go to jail for you, if it came down to it. The anger radiating through his body a testament to how much he cares for you. On the other hand, you’re appalled at how stupid your boyfriend is. He’s about to play in one of the biggest games of his career, and he’s trying to throw it all away over a couple of drunk men?

“No, not so what. If you would’ve given me five seconds I would’ve handled it on my own, but instead you came over here and got me all hot and bothered because you decided I needed saving.” Luke’s eyebrows shot up at your confession. “Even if you think I’m worth it, they’re not. So you’re going to get your lanky ass back on that ice and beat the shit out of Philadelphia so they’ll shut the fuck up.”

“Hot and bothered, huh?” Luke smirks, ignoring everything else you just said. You rolled your eyes at him. Typical Luke behavior.

“Not the point here,” you chided him. “The point is, no one is going to jail tonight and Philadelphia is going to lose this hockey game. Plus, at the end of the night, I’m going home with you. Not some random ass-hat that’s old enough to be my dad. No matter how much he wants to waste his breath on how I’m a jersey chaser for the wrong team.”

“Damn right you are.” Luke agrees to your statement about going home with him. “And now that I know you like it when I play the macho boyfriend role, I might have to do it more often. I don’t care if you can defend yourself, it’s my job as your boyfriend to run dickheads like that into the ground when they open their mouth at you,” Luke’s tone turns dark once again, causing a jolt of electricity to shoot up your spine.

“Alright, I think it’s best you get back on the ice, now, before you go missing from the starting line-up for another reason other than being in the back of a cop car,” you all but pant.

Even though Luke let’s out a chuckle at your response, you don’t miss the excitement that flashes across his eyes at your words.

“Yes ma’am,” he mock salutes you. “Hold on, something I gotta do first,” he mumbles, hand reaching out to wrap around the back of your neck, pulling your face towards his.

His lips meet yours in a searing kiss. Your mouth parts in shock only slightly, but enough for Luke to slip his tongue inside your mouth, meeting your own. For a split second you forget where you are, savoring the taste of him. When you hear the whoops and hollers of his teammates behind him, you come back to your senses and pull back from the kiss, resting your forehead on his.

“Alright, easy there, tiger. You’re supposed to be working, you know?” You say, trying to catch your breath, dodging Luke’s lips as they chase yours.

“I don’t really care. Needed my good luck kiss,” he tells you, stealing a small peck from your lips, stepping back and over the short wall, putting himself back on the ice.

You look behind him, seeing Jack and Curtis making kissing faces in your direction, never missing an opportunity to poke fun at Luke.

“Yeah, with an audience, right?” You were referencing Jack and Curtis, nodding your head in the direction of the two man-children behind your boyfriend, but as you look up at his face, you notice his gaze was set on the two instigators of the whole situation.

“Just wanted to show them you’re mine. Not some puck bunny they can harass,” Luke shrugs, looking down at you once again. Your cheeks heat at his words, a smile finding its way on your face as he skates away from the wall, still facing you.

You assume that’s the end of the conversation, turning to walk away, when you hear Luke’s voice shout once more.

“Quit harassing my girlfriend, jackass, or your team won’t be the only thing getting beat tonight!” Luke belts out, throwing up a middle finger behind him as he skates towards his teammates.

You watch the two Flyers fans laugh, clearly not very threatened by the rookie hockey player. One of them notices your attention on them, placing a hand in the shape of a phone at his ear, mouthing “call me, babe” at you. You roll your eyes at the both of them, mimicking your boyfriend and flipping them the bird as you walk back to join Luke’s parents before the game starts.

Later in the evening you watched the two drunk men’s reactions to the game in front of them. The confidence in their stances lost after Nico scored less than a minute after the match-up started. You continued to watch their reactions throughout the game, the Devils absolutely crushing the Flyers.

The two men storm off halfway into the third period, slinging beer cans and throwing their hats on the ground in frustration. You laugh at their distress, wishing you could go back to two hours ago and throw the win in their faces.

And, when the whole ordeal of Luke running to your defense ends up plastered all over social media the next day? Well, let’s just say you and Luke didn’t make it to any celebratory get-togethers his teammates were hosting.

#luke hughes #luke hughes blurb #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes fanfic #luke hughes oneshot #luke hughes x y/n #new jersey devils #luke hughes x you #hockey #nhl blurb #nhl fanfic #nhl fanfiction #nhl oneshot #hughes brothers

[questionableratatouille00]

𝘖𝘯 𝘈𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯 (𝘖𝘧𝘧 𝘈𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Your relationship with your boyfriend had only gotten better. At least, until a new part of the equation came along.

Warnings: unwanted erections, discomfort, past SA (no graphic descriptions), hurt/comfort, shame/humiliation, fluff. As always, let me know if more needs to be added.

[Series Masterlist]

It had been a month since your shared shower, and things were going great. You and Bucky hadn’t been intimate, but there was an insanely higher amount of intimacy between you.

He held your hand, rested against you. Hell—the two of you even cuddled most nights. And you reveled in it.

And part of you knew he did, too.

You walked into the kitchen, your phone and some other random items in your hands. Bucky was always astounded by the fact that you could hold so many things in one hand. You were positive it came from a lack of pockets for so many years.

“Hey, Buck.” You greeted as you set all of your junk onto the island to be later forgotten.

“Hi.” He said awkwardly as he shuffled around.

You felt your brows furrowing. “You good?”

He nodded, but shuffled off into another room quickly. You didn’t follow, positive he was just having an off day. It happens.

And that was the end of that.

Your arms slid up his chest, wrapping around his neck and resting on his shoulders as his hands stayed planted on your hips.

The kiss was loving, and downright passionate—like it came straight out of a fanfiction, regardless of if those kinds of kisses were even real.

It lasted a while, both of you pausing for split seconds just to breathe before returning to the kiss.

Until he pulled away suddenly, a strange look in his eyes.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” You asked softly.

“Nothing.” He rushed the word out. “I think I left the oven on from when we made that pizza earlier.” He said as he pulled away and walked out of the bedroom.

You stood there, entirely unsure of what you did wrong.

You snuggled up against him as he wrapped his strong arms around you. Your back was pressed against his chiseled chest, one of his knees resting on top of yours as he clung to you like a koala.

You closed your eyes, just about to fall asleep. In that same moment, he pulled away and rolled over.

“Woah—are you okay?” You were startled by the sudden movement.

“Yeah. It’s just hot tonight.” He murmured, not turning to look at you.

“Bucky, it’s cold tonight.” You couldn’t help the frustration that leaked into your voice. You instantly regretted it.

“Listen—I’m sorry. It’s just that you’ve been randomly running away and I’m not sure what I’m doing wrong.” You confessed.

He sighed. “You’re not doing anything wrong, dollface.”

You paused, waiting for him to continue.

“I—God, this is stupid.” He rubbed at his face.

“It’s not, baby. Just..can you tell me what’s wrong?” You gently prompted.

“It’s not you. I swear.” He assured you, before taking a breath. “It’s—I’m hard.”

You blinked. “What?”

He rolled over to face you, the blanket pulled up on him, resting just under his ribs. “I mean I’m hard, honey.”

“Okay. That—I’m lost.” You told him.

“It’s another shitty thing HYDRA ruined for me.” He began to explain. “Whenever I got—I got like this, there was like, six ways it could go. Sometimes they’d get me like this on purpose then shame or beat me for it. Sometimes they’d do it to me and then fuck me—as a reward, I guess. Sometimes it’d just happen naturally and it could go either way.”

You frowned, letting him continue.

“So..I think now that every time it happens, I just assume..there’ll be some kind of consequence.” He finishes his thought.

“There won’t be,” you murmur, offering your hand. He takes it. “I will never lay a finger on you in anyway that’s not gentle. And I’d never touch you in that way without your explicit permission.”

“I know,” he hummed. “I know that. I don’t think my brain does.”

“Me and your brain will just have to have a ‘stern talking to’ session.” You teased, instantly lightening the mood. He cracked a small smile.

“Can..can we still cuddle?” He asked. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable—“

“We can.” You chuckled. “That stuff doesn’t bother me. It’s just your body doing what it knows to do, babe.”

“I feel like a preteen boy.” He grumbled as he tucked his face into the crook of your neck.

You chuckled, not at all bothered by what’s pressing against your thigh. “Womp womp.” You said in a goofy voice, one you knew would make him smile. And he did.

“I love you, Buck.” You hummed into his hair.

“I love you too.” He answered back. And then you shut your eyes, and began to fall asleep.

A/n: another part! I love this series. If you enjoyed, please REBLOG. likes do nothing 😊

graphics by @saradika-graphics

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #marvel #mcu

[laiiaaa]

LOVE WILL TEAR US APART — CARMEN BERZATTO (part 1)

summary You come back to Chicago for the first time since Christmas five years ago. Seeing Carmen might just split you wide open.

length 5.4k

contents angst, childhood friends to not friends not lovers but a secret third thing, very deeply requited love and everyone knows it except them, family troubles/fighting (giving y’all the Berzatto special), takes place the year of Mikey’s passing so everything is still fresh n rly painful, reader has the nickname ‘Birdie’, there's some fluff dw, happy endings are overrated we die like men

note this was originally going to be 1 part but seeing as the doc is reaching 13k words…here’s just the beginning :)

Wind comes from the pale gray sky and bites at your cheeks and the tip of your nose. Fingers go stiff, a chill runs from the nape of your neck down your spine. Maybe you should’ve worn more than just your jacket; Chicago’s always been a little colder than New York, anyway. You tend to forget the little things.

The windows of the Berzatto house glow yellow with company, and you can hear the bustle just by standing at the door, frosted glass animated by guests. You can picture it like it was yesterday: white yellow lights around every corner, the table set in full with porcelain and silver, hollow presents under the tree, too much talking to hear yourself think. You can still go home to at least save yourself the trouble. Can’t lose if you don’t try, right?

For once, it’s Richie who greets you—not like Mikey’s around to do it anymore, to pull you into a bear hug and tell you how much you’ve grown up, to ease you into the chaos he struggles to navigate himself. Struggled, you have to remind yourself. Past tense.

“Birdie!” he calls out to you, opening the door wide before you can knock, half-expecting you to walk yourself in before meeting you on the porch instead with a big smile.

You look up at him as he plants his warm hands on your shoulders. He’s taller than you remember, but five years time leaves a lot in the ruins. “Hey, Richie.” You lean into the hug and into his chest to at least try to catch your breath, to try and slow down your heart’s racing.

He rubs your back ever so slightly. “It’s good t’see you, kid. ‘S been a while, I missed you ‘n that smile ‘f yours.” He gives you two pats and pulls back to hold you by your arms as he gives you a good look. His brows twitch, subtle enough to nearly miss it, with a sympathetic curve to his mouth. “You doin’ alright?”

Since Mikey died is what he means to add to the end of the question. Maybe it’s Since you up an’ left us. Or Now that you’re finally free.

You stick with the first one and just nod. “I’m okay.” Your eyes flit back to his face before landing on the front door, unease pooling in your gut. “A little nervous to be back in so long.” You let your voice go quiet, and you look at your hands and with wet eyes while your fingers fidget like a tall child. “And I…I miss him, y’know?…I should’ve—” you’re getting choked up now, throat growing tight— “I should’ve been here, or—”

His brows really furrow this time, head tilting to the side before he looks to the sky to bite back any real sadness that could come through in his voice, to keep you from seeing it. Bringing you into a hug again, he mutters, “Shhh, don’t beat yourself up about it, sweetheart. I know you miss him, I know.” A gentle kiss to the top of your head. “We all do.”

Growing up across the street from the Berzattos led them to be a second family to you—and, by extension, Richie, for how inseparable he and Mikey were. Much of your memories as a kid were the two older boys, already teens by the time you came into the picture: Mikey and Richie taking you out to ice cream, Mikey and Richie pushing you on the swings down at the playground, Mikey and Richie teaching you to ride a bike. They might as well have been your older brothers by blood. They always cherished and doted on you, and while it changed in manner as you grew older—from piggy back rides to intimidating prom dates—it was always there. They always cared. Richie still does. Maybe double as much to make up for what’s been lost.

You don’t cry so much into his chest. A few tears fall, sure, but you use the time to just breathe, to close your eyes, to stall. Sniffling, you pull away, wipe your eyes, and straighten your clothes, smoothing creases. “Okay,” you huff. “I’m okay. I’m ready.”

A knowing look. “You sure?”

You nod. “Yeah, I’m good.” Another sniffle. “Promise.”

Richie turns to face the house with you, opening the door while the other hand stays hovering by your shoulder. With the smallest shift in the hinges, noise spills out the door. Small talk in the living room, clinking of glass against tabletops, boisterous laughter, timers ringing in the kitchen, Donna’s voice rolling in. It’s more than you remember. Heavier. Hotter. Richie motions to take your coat and you happily oblige, left to pick at the hems of your sleeves rather than buttons and pockets.

“So,” Richie starts, and with the way he says it you’d think you look like you’re about to pass out, “How’s New York treatin’ ya lately? You a hot-shot lawyer yet?”

You laugh softly, partly to be nice and partly to stave off the awkwardness you feel, like you’re being watched by the rest of the family. “I just passed the bar this year, Richie, I’m barely an associate—”

“Right, right, right—all that stuff goes over my head. Whatever, you’re a genius in my book.”

You smile sheepishly. “Yeah, well the people I work with are just—they’re incredible, how smart they are. I’m a baby compared to them.”

He waves it off as if to say Fuck ‘em. “How’s the livin’ situation, then? You affordin’ it okay, eatin’ good, all that?” He looks a little more stern, more brotherly when he asks it.

“I’m fine.” You look up at him and smile to let him know you’re honest, that you aren’t just saying it to get him off your back. “I really like it out there. I made decent enough money as a paralegal, and I have a roommate with a cushy job in finance. We’re pretty close, but we don’t see each other often with our hours ‘n stuff. Not the best,” you shrug, “But I’m doing pretty well, all things considered.”

He pauses, looks you over to see you’re genuine. “Alright,” he sighs, pulling you into his side and squeezing you tight because he knows you hate it. “I believe ya.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, fuck you.” You’re laughing a little harder for the first time since arriving in Chicago, and it reminds you that it can be close to normal, coming home. “Where’s Nat? I haven’t talked to her since I got off the plane.”

“She’s upstairs resting.” He lets go and starts drifting to the kitchen absentmindedly—why, you’re not sure. “The baby’s got her in a mood, kickin’ ‘n all that, the little fucker—but Pete ‘n Carm ‘r down here somewhere—”

Your heart stops, and for a moment you can’t hear anything but your own thoughts, fragments of his voice and his laughter from memory. Your chest goes tight, your throat runs dry. You knew from Nat and Richie that he’d come back to Chicago a while ago, after Mikey’s funeral, but never in a million years did you think he’d come to Christmas dinner. Richie doesn’t seem as shocked as you think he should be. “Carmen? He’s here?” You nearly whisper it, afraid to be heard if he’s nearby.

He stops walking. “In the kitchen, yeah, why? You talk to ‘im in a while? Figured he’d’ah told ya, me ‘n Nat had to convince ‘im. A real jagoff about it, by the way.” His tone doesn’t say anything more than his words do. Maybe he’s forgotten about everything, or he’s trying to spare you. Maybe he never knew all that much to begin with.

“No,” you answer, quiet with an ache in your chest you haven’t felt in years. “We don’t…we haven’t really talked since the last time I was here…” And I don’t want to change that at the moment is what you don’t say, bile in your throat at the thought of peeling back scabbed wounds.

Before Richie can comment, a loud voice comes to you from the front room: “Is that my little Birdie?”

Cicero. You missed him, honestly.

He huffs himself out of his seat in the living room and welcomes you in the foyer, bringing your attention away from Richie like you’d been hoping to. “Oh, I missed you,” he says, giving a brief kiss to your cheek.

You hug him in return, but really you’re just hoping to get away from the kitchen. “Missed you too.”

Resting his hands on your shoulders, he smiles and looks at your face. “You’ve only gotten more beautiful since the last time I saw you. Like an angel.” He doesn’t let you protest, he only peeks behind you to look at Richie, who leans against the wall with his arms crossed. “Ain’t she beautiful, Richie?”

“Yeah,” he deadpans, unamused. “A real treat she is.”

Cicero looks back to you and speaks lowly. “Ignore that son ‘f a bitch. He’s just jealous ‘cause you’re my favorite.” He winks, gestures to the living room, and takes a few steps while he brings his voice back to a normal volume. “C’mon, tell this ol’ geezer about New York—can’t even remember the last time I was there, musta been ‘83—”

If the rest of the night is like this, you think, Carmen might not be so much of an issue. He could be nothing at all, like he always wanted to be.

He promises himself that he’ll say something by the end of the night. He has to, he thinks, and if not to avoid being an asshole, then to avoid getting reamed by Richie. Carmen realizes he has the upper hand, too, whether he likes it or not: he at least expected you to be here. That doesn’t make it any less terrifying to hear your name. 

The first time is when he’s cutting onions as Richie opens the door, and he gets lucky enough to hear nothing else but the door shutting afterward. An afterthought, a mirage maybe. 

In between that and the second, his name slips by your lips. You whisper it, of course, because you hate him—you hate him for the way he treated you, and for the way he didn’t, and for the fact that he wasn’t man enough to ever speak to you about any of it, or speak to you at all. And despite the fact you try to hide it when you say it, he hears you; he doesn’t think anything could keep him from doing that much. Especially not when it sounds just like you did years ago on those half-broken steps to the back porch, after everything went to shit and there was a hole in the fucking house and you couldn’t stop crying if you tried. He was there for you like he always was: letting you lean your head on his shoulder as you wept, one arm holding you tight to keep you grounded while the other hand nursed a cigarette to keep himself sane. And his name sounded just like it does tonight when you turned to look at him with bleary eyes so many years ago, whispering Carmen? so sweet he wanted to taste the lip gloss that flavored it. That night he did, for a fleeting moment. Before he ruined it.

So of course, he hears you say his name, and he knows it’s you. He doesn’t think anything could keep him from knowing you.

The second time he hears your name it’s like a confirmation. A confirmation that it’s real, you’re real, and you’re here, and it isn’t his mind playing tricks on him like it does when it’s late at night and he’s walking the streets and thinks he sees a girl that looks like you. The rest of the dialogue after the fact goes blurry, the timers going off turn into a monotone buzz, all he hears is chopchopchop against the cutting board until Uncle Jimmy calls you beautiful. He’s sure you are, but he doesn’t want to see it and believe it even more. Your heels click against the hardwood a few times, and he’s not sure where Ma went, but Richie’s standing behind him saying something he can’t decipher and he wants to tell him to Fuck off but he can’t, not now, not tonight.

“Cousin!” Richie snaps, pushing his shoulder. “Did you hear a word I just said?”

He sighs and looks over his shoulder but stays gripping the knife. “No, sorry, say it again—‘m listenin’.”

“Right. So when’s the last time you talked t’her?”

His hand squeezes a little harder, the knife suffers for it. “Talk t’who?”

A quick bang of a hand to the counter top leaves the onions rattled. “Don’t play stupid with me right now, Cousin—” a harsh finger points in Carmen’s face— “or I swear t’God I will fuck you up once this dinner’s over.”

He pauses. He looks past Richie into the foyer where you once stood but quickly goes back to work. Chop. “Look, I dunno, it—it’s just been a while, I dunno the exact fuckin’ date, alright?” Oh, but how vividly he does.

“Yeah? How’s five years to the fuckin’ day sound? Pretty damn accurate, or what?”

No response. Chop.

“You’re a real piece’ah fuckin’ work, y’know that, right?” Richie sounds about as angry as he’s ever been, but it’s different this time: it’s quiet, it’s controlled, it crawls up Carmen’s spine.

“It’s not—it’s not like I meant to, to, uh—”

“ ‘To, to, uh’ what?” he mocks. “To pull the shit you did then go fuckin’ AWOL on ‘er?”

Another beat of silence. Laughter trails in from the living room, and he starts to wonder if it’s you who made it ring. He shakes his head, scrunches his nose. “H—…” Rethinking whether he wants the answer to his question, he puts the knife down and leans into his hands before looking over Richie’s shoulder again. “How, uh…how is she?” It’s muttered, ashamed, the way he asks it, brows furrowed with regret and slithers of hope. “ ‘S she doin’ alright?” He heard bits and pieces of the conversation from just a minute ago, but part of him needs this: to hear it crystal clear, to have it branded beneath his 773 tattoo you traced with an anxious finger, to have the pain be inadmissible such that he can’t forget it.

Without needing to look him in the eye Richie knows to soften his approach. Carmen’s eyes are wet, he’s got that solemn air to him that he gets when he’s thinking about something that forms lumps in his throat, he swipes his hand by his mouth like the words were bitter to say out loud. 

He turns over his shoulder like he’ll get caught and looks down at the chef. “She’s good, Carm,” he sighs, nodding his head slowly and with raised brows. “Real good…Like Cicero said, she—she’s beautiful, ‘n she’s gotta career lined up for ‘er. But—” he hesitates when Carmen looks up— “The look on ‘er face, man, it—it changed when she found out you’re here.”

Something indescribable flows through his veins. “Wh—what d’ya mean?” He shakes his head in denial. “Like, like, it—what’d she look like?” He waits expectantly, and part of him hopes something hard and fast’ll put him out of his misery.

Richie swallows. He smooths a hand over his hair, lets it fall to the nape of his neck while his eyes dance elsewhere. “Listen, she…she just looked like—” He kisses his teeth, unsure of how to phrase it, weary of the first thing to come to mind and whether the subject was worth mentioning at all. He should lay it to rest.

But Carmen is ever the stubborn boy at heart. “Cousin.” Fingers drum against granite. “Looked like what?”

“...Like I’d just stabbed ‘er in the gut.”

The rest of the family is enthralled by you, though whether it’s because they haven’t seen you in five years and miss you, or because it finally gives them an excuse to make Lee let someone else talk, you’re not sure. But by the time they let you get a breath in it feels like three hours have gone by, though when you peek at your watch, it’s barely been thirty minutes. You’d forgotten how exhausting the family is when they’re all together. Your head hurts. It’s too hot. You could use a nap.

Cicero looks at you a little softer from his chair. “Would you like a drink, hon? I should've asked ya before we sat you down for an interrogation.”

“Oh, well,” you start, pausing to let it seem like you aren’t dying for that opportunity, “I’ll have one. Is there wine?”

“Of course there is. I’ll grab a glass for ya—” he begins rising from his chair, but you stop him.

“It’s alright,” you insist. “I don’t mind getting it—in the kitchen?”

He nods, and you’re on your way. You pass by Richie and the Faks in the foyer and try to hide the deep breaths you’re focusing on, eyes shut and shoulders shrugging as Richie eyes the kitchen before you enter like you’ll be walking into a war zone.

It’s exactly what you’d expect: Donna with a glass in hand, Carmen assisting, an ashtray full nearby. Natalie has joined them, so you must have missed her on her way downstairs, and Pete hovers beside her as she speaks to him with a worried look on her face, disjointed from the other two Berzattos.

You’ve nearly psyched yourself up enough to interrupt when Donna notices you, almost instantly placing her glass on the counter. “Oh, Birdie, I—” She looks happy, you think, but with her it’s never been easy to tell. “C’mere, honey.” She opens her arms to you and gifts you a hug, patting your back as she says, “It’s been so long, my beautiful Bird—” she pulls away to get a better look at you and plants a kiss to your cheek, just like Cicero— “Oh gosh, you’re so beautiful, all grown up.” She smells thickly of tobacco.

“Thank you,” you laugh, dazed by so much affection from her, “Cicero said the same, it’s just been a while.”

“Well—” she picks up her glass promptly after her hands leave you— “It’s true, you’re practically glowing. He knows what he’s talking about.” She takes a hefty sip like she can’t get enough, and quickly looks to her son. “Isn’t that right, Carmen?”

From where he stands nudged into the corner, focused on the countertop with nothing to do but wring his hands, his attention perks up to his mother. “What was that, Ma?”

You can’t ignore the fact that she hasn’t acknowledged Natalie nor Pete since you arrived; you’re stuck, looped in with Donna and Carmen and somehow obligated to stay there until you’ve been dismissed. You know how she is. Carmen won’t look at you, either.

“Look at Birdie,” Donna coos, and she gestures to present you to him. Your stomach turns. “She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?” She smiles coolly, looks to Natalie only for a brief moment to rub salt in the wound.

Carmen, reluctantly, looks at you. His golden brown curls are disheveled as always, made messier by anxious runs of his fingers every few minutes. His mouth seems caught in a persistent pout that he won’t let up, and if it were years ago, you’d stay by his side until he broke you just to keep someone in his corner. Beneath his eyes rest dark circles, and he wears a forest green sweater you’ve never seen before. There’s a split second of eye contact that has your breath caught in your throat. You haven’t been able to look at him in what feels like a lifetime, let alone hear his voice—not even over the phone. It’s different than you remember, a little huskier, more fatigued. You wish you couldn’t care.

He gives a shallow nod and a shrug to Donna’s question.  “Yeah.” His eyes meet yours accidentally again before looking back to his mother, apathy bordering on distaste. “She looks nice.”

You look nice. You don’t know what you thought he would say. Part of you wished he would’ve said exactly as Donna did, or that he’d use the word beautiful, or stunning, or pretty, even. But he’s never been one for words—his consolation offerings were limited to a shared cigarette and sitting beside you, and you’ve always resented that part of him since your last Christmas together. If he’d been better with words, it would’ve been just that; there wouldn’t have been the hand on your back turning into an arm wrapped around your shoulder, he never would’ve pressed his lips to your temple for the first time since you were in kindergarten, you would’ve never been close enough to smell tobacco on his breath. You never would’ve known what American Spirits taste like off of anxious lips or what it feels like to be worth everything and then nothing at all.

Donna kisses her teeth and gives you a sympathetic look as she cups her hand to your neck. “Oh, sweetheart, don’t listen to him. He’s just in a mood today.” She sips her wine again, which quickly turns into the rest of the glass.

That’s not a mood, you think. That’s just Carmen.

By the Berzatto standards, dinner preparation blows over without a hitch. The house smells divine, nothing is broken, no one has stormed out. Ma sits down with only five glasses of wine in her system. No one mentions the gaping hole in the seating arrangement at one head of the table—not even Lee.

Carmen feels the weight of it on his shoulders, and he thinks you feel it too. You sit for a few minutes as everyone settles with your head in your hands, eyes closed as you breathe. Every time you open your eyes they shoot to Mikey’s seat, only for your hands to cover them again with a sniffle. Richie keeps a good eye on you, even though they’re getting glassy from watching you, and he rests a soothing hand on your back before leaning down and whispering something Carmen doesn’t catch. You shake your head, perking back up again as you dab at your eyes with your sleeves, looking to Richie and mouthing the words I’m okay with a smile plastered on. Carmen’s skeptical.

Uncle Jimmy insists on saying grace as a way to honor both you and Carmen being in Chicago for the holiday, and instinctively he looks to you, looking for something to hold onto to let things feel normal with you, but you keep your eyes closed. Since you walked into the kitchen nearly an hour ago he hasn’t been able to get his mind off of the sweetheart neckline of your dress, or the locket pendant hanging close to your chest. Mikey gifted it to you, he remembers, when you earned your undergraduate degree—presented in a black velvet box when you saw him after the ceremony, you cried. Carmen wasn’t there; he was in Copenhagen, doing other things. He can’t quite remember what.

Grace gives way to a more quiet bustle of the dinner, where talking is more or less limited to passing plates and taking first bites, making sure everyone has said hello to everyone. He sits almost silent, taking a measly bite every few moments to avoid an excuse to talk. He notices you don’t navigate this dinner like you have the countless ones before: you’re engaged tonight, laughing with Richie beside you and looping Sugar and Pete into your banter; you’re no longer the teen you once were, who would sit at the end of the table with him to stay quiet and barely munch on dinner, the two youngest with Mikey to your sides, pestering the both of you to Eat, ‘fore Ma tells you to. And it’s not a bad thing, either. You always had that way about you like Mikey did, where you could make conversation with anyone, make them fall in love with you, make them think you’re their best friend. He’s always thought you were his, anyway. You look happier than he’s ever seen you. Ever since he could remember, he had a feeling you’d outshine him.

It’s like Ma said—you’re glowing.

It’s nearing fifteen minutes since the food being served when Sugar nudges him on his right. “You alright, Bear?” She keeps it quiet, under the radar. “You haven’t eaten much.”

He nods and takes a bite to cover his tracks. “Yeah, yeah—just not that hungry, ‘s all.” He hasn’t eaten today. It’s the nerves, really, of seeing everyone—of seeing Ma, seeing you. Brings him back to New York, where his morning ritual included huddling over the toilet and rinsing his mouth until he couldn’t taste stomach acid anymore. He’s hoping that with being in the kitchen all day, she doesn’t pry. “Thanks, Sug.”

She furrows her brows but drops the subject with a bit of a pout. “…Okay.”

“So,” Stevie starts, at the opposite corner of the table, leaning over his plate to smile at you from down the table. “Birdie—can I call you Birdie? Is that okay?”

You smile that smile you always do when you’re caught off-guard before shrugging lightheartedly and taking a bite. “Uh, sure. I mean, everyone here does.”

Richie makes eyes at you, weirded out, and Carmen tries to follow, but you only link with the older of the two. He’s shut out.

“Great. I’ve been wondering—why does everyone call you that? I mean, I know Sugar here’s got an origin story, so what’s yours?”

“Oh, this is such a sweet one,” Ma chimes in, hands over her heart. “They was so adorable, her ‘n Carmen.” The words have warmth blossoming in his chest and rising to his neck.

“Yeah,” you laugh, “I’m probably not the best person to tell you; I was really little.” You try to stifle a smile at the thought, and Carmen knows it’s the same thought as his: Mikey loved that story. “Richie’s probably man for the job.” You look up to the man on your left and pat him on the back to startle him. “Aren’t ya, Rich?”

“Uh, yeah, fuck that.” He nods to Carmen. “He can tell ya, Stevie, he was the one dancin’ with ‘er like an idiot, not me.” He shoves three bites’ worth of food into his mouth so he won’t have to talk anymore.

Sugar cuts in, “He was also five, he had nothin’ to do with picking that name.”

“Yeah?” he taunts, mouth still full because he can’t help but put up a fight, “Then you were eleven, missy, so you can tell it. You remember.”

The room starts spinning, there’s back and forth between Sugar and Richie, and Neil’s roped into it, and then Michelle’s convincing them to calm down, but Richie’s still going at it, starting to tell the story, but Ma says it’s not right, and Sugar cuts in again, and the room is still spinning and his head won’t stop pounding and there isn’t enough water in the world to clear his throat.

“Alright, alright!” It’s Uncle Jimmy now, almost shouting, waving his hands to simmer the room. Carmen would thank him if he could speak. “I’ll tell the damn story, you all settle down, eh?” He clears his throat, sips on his drink. “Our Birdie here, when she was real young, now she was a singer. All the time, some tune. Didn’t even have t’be a real song, she’d be hummin’ it anyway.”

You’re sheepish as Uncle Jimmy praises you, grinning to yourself and rolling your eyes at the embarrassment. Cute, Carmen thinks. He smiles and takes a bite of his food.

“An’ remember,” Uncle Jimmy continues, “This was late ‘90s, we didn’t have none’ah that YouTube, Spotify music bullshit, whatever’s popular with you people now—so anyway. We had this boombox for the longest time—”

“Yeah,” Richie interrupts, “Was a real piece a shit, that’s for damn sure.”

Cicero points to Richie while looking at Steve. “Correct. So one Christmas, many, many years ago—”

“Don’t make it sound so cryptic,” you giggle, and Carmen has a tiny fire lit in his chest, eyes trapped on your smile. He remembers that night—not so vividly, but enough.

“Right, right. I apologize, sweetheart.” Uncle Jimmy turns back to Stevie. “One Christmas the weather was especially bad—snow storm, crazy winds, Christmas lights flyin’ everywhere—and the power goes out. An’ our boombox ain’t workin’, got jammed or somethin’.” He shrugs, makes a face that’s unassuming. “So whatta ya do for the music, then? Everyone knows you need holiday music, eh?”

With you, Carmen laughs for the first time tonight. He likes it that way, uninterrupted by the noise of the other guests, who are all listening fondly and eating their meals. It’s like that special Christmas all over again. You’re so pretty when you’re laughing, part of him is a little jealous that anyone else gets to see you like this.

“So Mikey comes up with a great idea. We already got a singer, right? So we just need ‘er to do the holiday songs. So we get ‘er, ‘n we ask her to sing for us all—me, Donna, Mikey, Richie, Sugar, ‘n Carmen, that was it ‘cause ‘ah the storm—but she won’t do it.”

“They were tryin’ to force me, Stevie!” You smile up the table and back at Uncle Jimmy. Carmen beams back at you even though you’re not looking. Richie is.

“An’ she’s cryin’,” Uncle Jimmy continues, “An’ she’s all nervous, she can’t do it, whatever. Then our little Carmy Bear over there—” he shoots him a look with a smug and pointing finger, and Carmen flushes, grinning at his plate to hide from you— “Now he’s her knight in shinin’ armor.”

Everyone smiles at that—you, Richie, Sug, Ma, and Carmen, and everyone else—because that’s the truth. At least it was, for a while. You and Carmen keep your smiles downcast, hidden from the other, and Richie and Sugar make eyes at one another, looking between the two of you.

“He gets ‘er outta her hidin’ spot behind the couch where she was cryin’ an’ he brings ‘er a wooden spoon for a microphone, and he whispers somethin’ to ‘er—to this day I dunno what, coulda been anythin’ for all I care—and all of a sudden she wants to sing again. She sings Rudolph, Jingle Bells, Frosty the Snowman, all the stuff the kids knew, an’ she does it all with this wooden spoon, with our little Bear holdin’ ‘er hand the whole time.”

“An’ he didn’t even do anythin’!” Richie points out. “Just stood there, swingin’ ‘er arm like a jagoff—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Uncle Jimmy waves off, “But he did it for ‘er. And so,” he says, a finality in his tone, looking back at Stevie across the table, “Birdie is born. Our little Christmas song bird protected by the Big Bear. An’ the rest is history.”

Stevie smiles and nods his head. “That was sweet. Really, really sweet.”

“Oh,” Ma laments, “I just love that story. They were such babies then, so cute. It was always Birdie ‘n Carmy doin’ this, Carmy ‘n Birdie doin’ that. Always on their little adventures together. He took her everywhere.”

Carmen smiles to himself, head down as he eats his food. He doesn’t think of his childhood often, more so the teenage years if anything, when he was failing school. Hearing back such a memory brings up a sense of nostalgia—not necessarily for being a kid again, or doing those stupid things, but for how easy it was.

Ma is right: it was you and him together for the ride, up until it wasn’t. He never cared as much after reaching high school. You were in different buildings, and he saw you around but didn’t spend as much time with you anymore. He outgrew you, it seemed. Even in his early twenties when that fire rekindled, he devoted himself to his work. You were still close, closer than you were with anyone else in the family, and nothing would ever change that. But life ran its course.

And it ran pretty damn fast.

#carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto fluff #carmy berzatto fluff #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto x you #carmen berzatto fic #carmy berzatto fic #carmen berzatto imagine #carmy berzatto imagine #carmen berzatto angst #carmy berzatto angst #carmy x reader #carmy the bear #the bear #the bear x reader #the bear fx #the bear season 2 #carmen berzatto x y/n

[luveline]

we've seen bodyguard!james being soft and sweet on r, but can we possibly get more of r being soft and sweet on him? <<<<3 like she cleans and patches him up after some sort of scuffle or close call? tysm! but no pressure if you don't want to! (p.s. would that be where they'd have their first official kiss, you think? lol)

thank you so much for your request! bodyguard james forever | fem!reader ♥︎ 1.6k

James' hands shake after events. Adrenaline, no matter how many times he's defended you, will run its course. 

"Are you okay?" you ask him worriedly. 

He presses a hand, trembling still, to his forehead. A cruel looking cut tugs with the movement, scabbed over and black-crimson. 

"Fine," he says, following up with a low groan. 

His knuckles are split from an unfortunate sucker punch that had, undoubtedly, protected you from a similar facial injury. 

"You gonna go clean up?" 

He sits up. "Yeah, sorry. Just waiting for my hands…" 

You put your hands on each of his shoulders and push him back gently into your settee. "I wasn't trying to get rid of you. I don't want you to get an infection." 

His shoulders relax ever so slightly. 

"Hey," you say, "I could clean you up. If you want me to." 

"No, you couldn't. It's a mess, I don't think your pristine bathroom would survive it." 

His eyes crease with his smile. It quickly fades, an injury strained. You offer your hand to him, waiting in a tentative silence until he takes it. His fingers move to your wrist and you take his, pulling him up off of your settee with a happy sigh. 

"I'm a great nurse," you promise. "You'll be brand new by tonight." 

He lets you take him into the bathroom, a generosity to pretend you're strong enough to force him, your link tugging between you with every step. He sits on the lowered toilet seat lid and his hand forgets to let you go as you walk away. 

"I need the first aid kit," you say. 

He clears his throat, dropping your wrist. You think about it too much, the pleasure of his naturally wanting to hold onto you a blooming light you suspect radiates from your appled cheeks. You tamp down your smile and get back to business, retrieving your immaculate first aid kit from the cupboard under the sink and popping it open next to the sink. It's a huge kit, James instated, with silver sealed bandages, sterile gauze and wraps, tiny scissors and huge fabric shears, everything you could ever need to perform minor surgery. 

"Face or hands first?" you ask unsurely.

"Face is easier. It just needs disinfectant, and a butterfly stitch." 

He sees your eyes widen and laughs, though his laugh makes him wince. "Butterfly bandage, angel. It's not a real stitch. You've seen them, they're those grey plastic strips." 

You try to laugh your embarrassment away as you wash your hands. "Right, I know." 

First, you wipe the blood away from his face with a warm towel. He's gracious, closing his eyes as you lean in toward him. You're conscious that he can smell you, and you wonder if you smell good. You probably smell like sweat from all the panic, and that makes you cringe. 

"Sorry if I smell bad," you mumble. 

He opens one eye to squint at you. "You smell bad? Why would you smell bad?" His eyes close again as you wash over his mean cut. "You smell really nice. Like flowers." 

"It's the lilac and mandora perfume, in the fancy bottle." 

He hums. "Remind me again what mandora is?" 

"Citrus," you murmur, more focused on his skin than his question. 

His blood stains your face cloth, muslin slowly changing from a light cream to rusted orange. You set it next to the kit and rip open an alcohol wipe next. 

"I'm sorry," you say preemptively. "I know it'll sting. I'll be quick."  

He shakes his head. "Don't be. You couldn't hurt me if you tried." 

Why would he say that? You want to ask him. Jamie, why would you say that? It's nearly cruel, because what are you supposed to think? You bite your tongue and hold your breath as you clean the length of his wound, cringing at the feeling of the split in his skin. His tone had been so soft, a juxtaposition when compared to the ruggedness of his appearance. 

"Don't get blood on your sleeves," he says. 

"Does it matter? I'll never wear this dress again. God forbid I wear the same thing twice." 

"I wish they'd let you." 

"I'm sure you do," you mutter sarcastically. 

"I do. I'd want you to wear the one you had at your fathers Christmas Ball, the silver-gold one, with the tiny sleeves, that one was–" He hisses at your last tugging wipe. "It was beautiful. You looked beautiful." 

You stroke his forehead lightly, a stolen touch you shouldn't take. Your fingertips kiss his eyebrow, and then you force yourself away from him. 

You can't bring yourself to say thank you. Words feel impossible. 

His cut bleeds again, but it's a sluggish droplet that rivers down the slope of his temple a millimetre a second. He stays perfectly still as you pinch the skin ever so gently closed with one butterfly stitch. 

You wipe away the blood with another alcohol wipe. 

His hand is a more intricate affair. It's not shaking anymore, but it's clearly amazingly sore. You wipe off all the blood with a wipe, and apply a disinfectant cream over the worst of it. You run out of things to do. 

You're not eager to let go of his hand. 

You let your fingerpads slide over his uninjured skin until you're holding his wrist in two hands. You squeeze. There's a reverence to your touch. 

"Thank you for looking after me," you say. 

You both look up from your contiguity at the same time, comfortable enough with one another that your eyes lock and there's no awkwardness or tension. 

"They pay me," he says, "to do so. Please, don't say thanks." 

He's right, they do. They pay James to take care of your physical wellbeing. But all his compliments, all his sweet caring, that's for free. He might've taken a punch for you because he had to, but he'd hugged you in the car on the way home because he wanted to. He'd rubbed your arm, whispered, "Don't worry, sweetheart. It was a fluke, huh?" 

A fluke is the word he uses for stalker situations, people that have deluded themselves into thinking they know you, or that they need to talk to you. Now that you're in the public eye it happens more and more, and it sucks, but a fluke that grows aggressive after rejection will always be better than people who want to hurt you from the get go. Kidnappers, 'assassins', if they actually exist. 

"Can I give you a hug?" you ask him.

He lifts his chin. He has a pretty chin, a lovely jaw, and you know in your heart what you're going to do before you do it. 

"Course you can," he says cheerily. "Bring it in." 

Your arms fall over his shoulders, your wrists crossed. You rub your cheek against his mildly and breathe in his smell. The disinfectant stick tickles your nose, but his real smell, his rosemary hair oil, his lotion, has you breathing him in greedily. 

"You should change out of this uncomfortable thing," he says, big hands feeling huge as they smooth down the dip of your spine. Calluses over silk. 

"I will… It's not fun getting changed when you aren't on shift." You squeeze him tighter, wishing immediately that you could disappear. "That's not how it sounded in my head." 

"How did it sound in your head?" 

"I don't know. I like asking you what moisturiser to use, and… what nightgown to wear. I like having you there to help me out of my bracelets and necklaces." 

"An attendant can be sent up–" 

You groan wearily. "No, it's not like that, James." You pull back just enough to see his face. You're pouting, annoyed at yourself for messing it up. "This isn't as easy to say as I'd thought. I like having you with me because it's you. And it's an excuse." 

"For what?" he asks. 

Your heart hammers in your chest. You can feel it, your heart the hammer, your chest a thin piece of metal. It's thumping. You wouldn't be surprised if James could feel it too.

"Can I do something? Just this once. And if you hate it I'll never do it again. Please." 

He looks at you for long, crawling seconds. You worry he's seen straight into your head and he's unhappy with you, but he tips his head in toward yours, your foreheads a mere inch away, and says, "Alright. I trust you. Do what you want to do." 

You breathe in. You pull back your hands, leaning against the circle of his arms. Terrified, you lift your hands to his cheeks, force them trembling into the softness of his skin to hold him still. 

You lean in, and you kiss him. Shy of his lips, the slope of skin beneath them and to the left. You're too scared to go any higher. 

He makes a sound you've never heard from him before. It doesn't make it past his lips, but you're so close you hear it loud and clear. A catching breath. A smothered groan. 

You hide your face in his shoulder. 

"Princess?" he says quietly. 

"Yeah?" 

"I want you to do it again. Please."

"Maybe tomorrow," you murmur. 

He rubs your back. "Alright. I can't wait 'til tomorrow." 

#james potter fic #james potter #marauders era #marauders #james potter x reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter fluff #james potter blurb #james potter drabble #james potter imagine #james potter fanfic #james potter fanfiction #the marauders #bodyguard!james potter #bodyguard!james #bodyguard!au

[22back]

Being assigned Brandon as your partner on your first college assignment seemed like the worst case scenario for you.

It’s not bad enough the guy who tormented you in high school was in the same class as you but now you had to work with him, you thought well it can’t be that bad still, you’re not in high school anymore, things for sure will be different, and things definitely were different. You texted him trying to set up a time for you to meet at the library, texted him for a week straight with no response and you never had the nerve to go up to him when you actually saw him in class.

He randomly texts you one to meet you in his dorm room in 30 minutes, scared you weren’t gonna get any other chance to meet with him and split up the work you responded immediately and showed up in 20.

“Hey Brandon, how are you? So I wanna let you know I’m chill about how we split the work, just tell me what part you wanna do and I’ll do the rest”

“What part I wanna do? I’m not gonna do shit, you’re gonna finish the assignment and get me an A, don’t forget who you’re talking to faggot, just cuz we’re out of high school doesn’t mean I’ll pretend we’re equal now”

You were shocked and a little shaky, you couldn’t believe nothing was gonna change and you were gonna have to follow his orders just like all those years before. You look at the ground and nod your head defeated.

“Don’t pull the sad shit, you’re only doing what’s right, you should thank me actually, here I know what’ll cheer you up, I learned this trick since coming here”

He put his feet up in front of you and just looked down on you.

Confused by what’s happening you ask him “what’s the trick? Putting your feet up?” Trying to hide the boner you were getting cuz you’ve been obsessed with the smell of his feet since he used to “accidentally” always have his feet on your face when you’d fall asleep or not paying attention.

“No you stupid faggot, the trick is I know learned what drives you perverts fucking crazy, being put in your place by a real fucking man” before you could even respond his feet were on your face and you found yourself going crazy kissing and licking them as much as you can, begging for more.

“Okay that’s enough for now faggot, get me a good grade and we’ll see about letting you kiss my superior feet again, got it faggot?”

“Yes Sir, thank you Sir”

[purrrrplecats]

oh no i found it

the in correct quote generato-

(there a lot so if you don't want to read lots don't click keep reading)(theres loads i think 50-)

Scar: Grian and I are so close we even share a toothbrush. Grian: We what?

(he appoligised abt the joke later on.)

Mumbo: I’d like to live through a week that’s not a whole new verse of “We Didn’t Start the Fire.”

Grian: Hey, are you alright with swearing? Asking for a friend. Scar: Yeah? Grian: Bitch.

Mumbo: Is… Is that meant to be on fire? Grian: No… not really. Mumbo: Are you going to do something about it? Grian: Hm… nah.

Grian: Your future self is talking shit about you right now. Scar: Jokes on them. I'll ruin their fucking life.

Pearl: If looking good was a crime, you’d be a law abiding citizen.

Pearl: I’m proud to say I’ve come over my fear of ghosts! Grian: Eyy, that’s the spirit! Pearl: gasps whErE???!!!??

Impulse: So I have made the decision to trust you. Grian: A horrible decision, really.

Grian: Gem, is that my mug you’re drinking out of? Gem: No, it’s mine. Grian: It… looks just like the one I have… Gem: You don’t have one like this anymore.

(its and mug with pink and blue snails on it.)

Gem: This should be illegal! Pearl: It is.

Pearl: Okay, let's split 'em up and make 'em sing. Impulse: Two of you take Gem, the other two take Grian. Scar: Right. Bad cop, good cop. Mumbo: You know, it's interesting that they say "bad cop, good cop," because policing in this country is so broken it's really just "bad cop, bad cop". Impulse: Scar, you're with them. Scar: Got it.

Grian: Norwegia. Is. Not. A. COUNTRY! Scar: Then where are Norwegian people from!? Impulse: NORWAY!!

Impulse: Would you slap Pearl- Grian: Yes. Impulse: I didn't even finish! Grian: Sorry, continue. Impulse: Would you slap Pearl for 10 dollars? Grian: I would do it for free. Pearl: Rude…

(you could also swap Grian and Pearl around because I mean, SKYLINGS)

Grian: If you want my advice- Pearl: No offense but you’re the last person I want relationship advice from. You tried to kill your significant other. Multiple times. Grian: First off, that was before we started dating. Secondly, they’ve also tried to kill me. Scar: It’s true. It was mutually attempted murder.

Scar, to the Squad: The real secret to immortality? Not dying. You want to be immortal? Okay, that’s easy. Just don’t die. That’s it. Refuse to die. There you go. Impulse: But how- Scar, ignoring them: “But how”, you may ask. Well, easy. Just don’t do it. Refuse to. Say “no thanks”.

Gem: I am strong! I beat Grian at arm wrestling! Impulse: Anyone can beat Grian at arm wrestling! Grian: Hey-

(sure Impulse sure-)

Gem: Grian, I am nothing if not a Woman of principle. Gem: Now let’s break into this apartment.

Pearl: Would anyone know any good vendors for professional-quality brass knuckles? Gem: I know you’re serious, but you say the scariest shit sometimes.

(again you could swap them around)

Pearl: Hey, you want a tarot reading? Mumbo: Those are Pokemon cards. Pearl: You got a magikarp. Mumbo: … Pearl: It means 'fuck you'.

Grian: Pulls a glass a water from out of nowhere Gem: Where did you get that? Grian: My pocket. Gem: How do you keep a glass of water in your pocket? Grian: Skills.

Scar: I’ve been described as a ‘heartless villain’ and a 'little shit’, but I prefer… 'has alternative ways of having fun’.

Scar: Don't joke about murder. I was murdered once and it offends me.

Impulse: COMPANY IS COMING! I WANT THIS PLACE LOOKING LIKE DISNEY ON ICE IN ONE MINUTE! Impulse: SCAR IF YOU HAVEN'T MADE YOUR BED THROW IT AWAY IT'S TOO LATE TO MAKE IT NOW! Impulse: GET RID OF THE COUCHES, WE CAN'T LET PEOPLE KNOW WE S I T !

Gem: Hey Pearl, check out this funny .GIF I found! Pearl: It’s pronounced “jif”. Gem: Huh? Pearl: “Dot jif”, like the peanut butter. The creator said so. Gem: That’s dumb, it’s Graphics Interchange Format. Pearl: The P in .JPEG stands for “photographic”, but I bet you don’t say “J-pheg”. Gem: “P” on its own isn’t pronounced like “F”, that’s totally different! Pearl: It’s exactly the same! Gem: Name one word that starts with “G” pronounced like “J”. Pearl: Gentrification. Gem: Shoot, should have thought of that. I was just in San Francisco. Pearl: For your logic to be consistent, you’d have to say “skuh-bah” (scuba) or “lah-seer” (laser)! Gem: Yeah? Well, you’d have to say “J-pej”! Gem: …Wait, “laser” is an acronym? Pearl: Light Amplification by Stimulated Emission of Radiation. Gem: Huh. Didn’t know that. Gem: You’re still wrong, though. Pearl: You just hate me because I’m right. Gem: I just hate you in general. Pearl: You mean in “geh-neral”? Gem: Ugh, I’m “joing” to kill you!

Scar: What's worse than a heartbreak? Grian: Waking up in the morning and your phone wasn't charging. Mumbo: Waking up in the morning. Gem: Waking up.

Scar: I love you. Grian: Me too.

Grian: Fight me! Scar: gets on one knee and pulls out a ring Scar: Fight me for the rest of our lives.

Pearl: What’s your favorite color? Gem: Stop asking stupid questions. Ask me something logical and mature. Pearl: How many moles of sodium bicarbonate are needed to neutralize 0.8ml of sulfuric acid at STP? Gem: My favorite color is pink.

Grian: Do you love me? Mumbo: We’re literally married. Grian: Yeah, but as friends or—

(logic is that Waffle duo got married as a bit like Clingy duo (Tubbo and Tommy) but G is like Tommy and doesn't want to get a divorce because he wants to commit it the bit.)

Grian: I'm not mean. Name one mean thing I’ve ever done. Pearl: When we were younger, you convinced me eggs weren't real. Grian: They're not. Pearl: Haha, very funny. Grian: I'm serious. Didn't you hear? Pearl: No… what happened? Grian: …Why would you fall for this again-

Scar: Welcome to Fucking Applebees, do you want apples or bees? Gem: Bees? Scar: THEY HAVE SELECTED THE BEES! Gem: Wait- Impulse approaches, shaking a jar of bees menacingly

Scar: Mx. Grian, I accidentally dropped my seed into my mouth and then I accidentally ate it. Am I going to have a lemon tree grow inside my belly? Grian: Well, let's think about it. Did you also swallow a wet paper towel? Scar: Yes. Grian: Grian: Alright, let's go to the nurse.

Grian: Some people are like slinkies. Pearl: What? Grian: Not really good for much but bring a smile to your face when you push them down the stairs. Pearl: Pearl: Please don't push Scar down the stairs. Grian, pushing Scar down the stairs: Too late.

Pearl: You’re just being paranoid. Again. Scar: When have I been paranoid? Pearl: Um, when you first met Gem you thought they were an undercover cop…? Scar: No one has a wart that big, I thought it was a surveillance camera! Pearl: And last year you were sure Impulse was a mermaid! Scar: They hate wearing shirts! COINCIDENCE?! Later, when Scar’s theory is proven wrong Pearl: Do you have anything to say for yourself? Scar: I still think Impulse is a mermaid.

Grian: Scar, Pearl keeps bullying me at school. Scar: Ask your teacher for help. The next day… Grian, to their teacher: Will you help me beat up Pearl?

Pearl: Being gay isn't a choice. It's a game and I'm winning.

Scar: Being gay isn't a choice. It's a game and I'm winning.

(same quote 2 times in a row!?!?!)

Impulse, near tears: Please, Grian, I don’t speak meme! I don't know what a 'yeet' is!

Gem: I need to dye my hair. Impulse: … Gem: Or get another tattoo. Impulse: … Gem: Or a new piercing. Impulse: Why? Gem: To, you know, appease the mental breakdown gods.

Grian: aggressively throws pencil at Scar Grian, deadpan: Oh no. I’ve been stabbed. I’ve been impaled.

(Double Life = soulmates)

Scar : So you like cats? Grian: Yeah. Scar : tries to impress them by slowly pushing a glass off the table

Impulse: What have you done with Scar ?

Grian: Nothing. Why, do you think I should?

Pearl: Scar , let’s go! Grian : Oh, yeah, about telling Mom and Dad, I was thinking about writing maybe a letter. Pearl: Okay, you know what? That’s it, you had your chance. Grian : What-? Pearl: Mom, Dad, Scar smoked pot in college. Grian : You are such a tattletale! Grian : Mom, Dad, you remember that time you walked into my room and smelled marijuana? Well, I told you it was Jimmy who was smoking the pot but… It was me. I’m sorry. Pearl: And Dad, you know that mailman that you got fired? He didn’t steal your Playboy’s, Grian did. Grian : Yeah, well, hurricane Gloria didn’t break the porch swing Pearl did. Pearl: Grian hasn’t worked for a year! Grian : Pearl and Gem are living together! Pearl: Grian married Scar in Vegas and got divorced AGAIN! Jimmy: I love Jacques Cousteau! Etho: I wasn’t supposed to put beef in the trifle! Doc: I wanna gooo!!

(I changed some names, aka added Doc, Etho and Jimmy, also Etho is the mum Docs the dad, and Tim is ofc the younger brother.) (the family situation is defo not from TTSBC)

Mumbo: I will send my army to attack! Mumbo: releases a dumpster of raccoons

Gem, throwing their head into Pearl's lap: Tell me I'm pretty! Pearl, lovingly stroking their hair: You're pretty fucking annoying, that's what you are.

(awwwwww)

Squad is playing Among Us Grian: I believe Pearl is innocent, I was with them the whole time. Mumbo, what were you doing? Mumbo: Oh, I was just murdering… I mean, nothing!

(I was gonna change Pearl to Scar and change Mumbo to Impulse because Impulsetor)

Pearl, in the hospital: Will you visit me when I get out? Grian: Lol nah, I hate graveyards.

#tw lots of words #tw swearing #tw murder #grian #gtws #gtwscar #goodtimeswithscar #desert duo #scarian #mumbo jumbo #platonic grumbo #waffle duo #buttercups #murder trio #no braincells trio #mumscarian? #pearlescentmoon #skyblings #sunflower duo #geminitay #gingerbread duo #elven duo #shiny duo #impulsesv #wither duo #boatem #soup group #boatgem #buttercup soup #i think thats all of the duos and trios-

[starfxkr]

oh girl i needa see that pt 2 with dbf!rafe …

age and experience have done rafe cameron well, because how else would he have you split open around his fingers moaning like a bitch in heat.

“yea i knew that’s what you needed…walkin around here wound so tight you could break apart.” his lips attached themselves to yours to muffle the sounds coming from you.

he wasn’t wrong, you could count on one hand how many times your boyfriend made you cum, it was horrible. every night you crawled from his bed with an unsatisfied pulsing between your legs wanting to be satisfied.

little did you know all you had to do was walk down the hall.

“mmm-mr.cameron we have to stop—he’s gonna catch us.” despite your protest you make no moves to push him away, instead you bring him closer and begin to push his sweatpants down.

rafe smirks, “don’t worry about him sweetness, he’s out like a light me and you both know that. he scissors his fingers apart, the stretch making you whimper so he shushes you, “calm that shit down, gotta make sure i fit.”

rafe works you open, stretching your walls in preparation for his undoubtedly thick dick. when he circles around your swollen bud with his thumb you cant help the way your back arches—god it felt good to be with a man who could actually find the clit.

“keep it coming gorgeous, you know i got more for you.”

the moment he finally slid his cock inside you it was like your entire body was alight in pleasure. even after his fingers, you weren’t prepared for how heavy he was—you were stuffed to the brim in ways you never thought possible.

“fuck mr.cameron i-it’s too much, you’re too much.” your voice was rising in pitch with each thrust, squealing as he hit your g spot with his swollen tip.

“hey, hey you’re okay, you’re fine. taking my dick so well princess…don’t know why you’re wasting your time with my son—bless his heart—but you need a real man. one that can fuck you good and take care of you like you deserve.” rafe kisses you hard, tongues tangling sloppily as he practically eats your face, licking your chin and all. he pulls back, “you wanna be my baby, princess?”

frantically you nod, “y-yes i’ll be your baby, i want you so bad, i’ve always wanted you.”

“i know you did sweetheart, thats why you’re gonna be mine.” his slow drawl of ownership was the last straw, you body shaking at the force of your orgasm like each of your pasts abandoned ones built up to completely wreck you.

you’re vision was spotty and you’re blood was rushing in your ears so loudly you almost didn’t hear him, “there you go sweetness, knew you needed that but i cant have you passin out on me.” rafe slowly pulled out of you and you slowly began to realize his cum leaking out of you.

“mr.cameron—?”

“awh hush now you’re okay,” he spreads your lips wider with a grin, “he won’t notice. somethin tells me he doesn’t go down there often.” he pulls your panties back up with a kiss on the lips.

“you ever need anything just call me. you’re family now.”

#✨.txt #rafe cameron prompt #bfsdad!rafe

[tihgnari]

ꕤ 43. something more valuable

tw: sorta? kidnapping, violence / wc: 1k

you're currently sitting on the softest sofa known to man, staring back and forth as ayaka takes matters into her own hands. you weren't in the best of moods after getting shot down by aoki while trying to convince her to text ayato; she was so stubborn it felt like you were talking to a damn wall. 

"think of it this way," ayaka says, looking at a cross-armed aoki straight in the eye as they paced back and forth in the middle of the suite's living room. "you ask ayato where he is, he responds, then we go meet him, yn and him make up, and voila! no more wedding! happy ever after for everybody! doesn't that sound amazing?"

your eyebrows raise when you see the cogs working in aoki's brain.

ayaka sends you a tiny non-verbal message, and you immediately catch on. "right! if you ask him for us now, ayaka herself will guarantee ayato will no longer be your problem. i think that's a win-win situation right there."

aoki sighs. "...fine. i'll go ask him."

—

the hotel he's checked in may not be as fancy as the principe, but when he's too busy running away from a loveless marriage forced onto him, even a shabby inn can feel a hundred times better than the five star hotel his grandfather had arranged for them. 

"this hotel's kinda good, too, don't you think?" you whisper at ayaka inside the elevator, but there were too many people crammed into the cart for you to see her expression in the elevator's mirrored walls. 

"the carpets look unmaintained and the plants at the lobby are plastic but sure, the hotel's a-okay—ouch!" 

you pinch her side, panicked, before looking around if an employee might've overheard your conversation. 

"yn, i'm telling the truth," ayaka defends herself. "we just walked in, asked if an ayato kamisato had checked in in this establishment, they said yes and even gave us his door number. how is this safe? what if we were debt collectors or… or a gang looking for him? like—come on, is customer privacy not a thing here?"

ding!

"alright, this is our floor," you mutter, pulling a still complaining ayaka's wrist through the throng of people. you can still hear her talking as you walk down the hallway, silently chanting the door number of ayato's room as you pass by. 

502… 503… 504… there! 505!

only when you raised your fist to knock on the mahogany door did you realize there's a slight tremble in your hand. for a split second, you froze, the reality of the situation and what you're about to do and who you're about to face suddenly becomes too real and too overwhelming for you. 

"hey." 

ayaka gently squeezes your shoulder. 

"i know my brother, and i know he'll forgive you."

"thank you."

you knock. three times. your heart rate spikes when you hear movement on the other side of the door. heavy footfalls on the carpet, striding closer to the door. you see the door knob turn, practically hearing the mechanism inside turning into place as the door swings open and—

"girls, i've been expecting."

"wait, what? grandpa?!"

that was the only thing you heard, until a heavy object came in contact with the back of your head, successfully knocking you out cold. 

—

when you come to be, your head's still aching and you just want to go right back ahead to sleep, but the two people screaming didn't let that happen. the room seems to be barren and incredibly small. even in your half-conscious state, you've registered this fact solely for how loud their voices jumped within the small room. 

"what is the meaning of this, grandpa?! order them to untie me right this instant! i'm your granddaughter for god's sake!"

ayaka seems to have already grasped the full length of the situation you both were in. not that you were surprised. 

you were slowly but surely coming to, but the room has yet to notice. 

"i can't believe you just hit my best friend with a metal bat, you asshole! you're going to pay for that!" ayaka hisses at the person standing on her side. she recognizes his face. a guard his grandfather had since before she even came to be in this world. 

"i don't see any fault in my actions. she may be your friend as you so claim but to me? she's a lowly scum who managed to seduce my grandson and turn him away from me. ayato had always understood his duty of marrying for the sake of the family business—for my sake."

ayaka used to adore her grandfather as she never had a proper father figure in her entire life. but only now is she seeing the ugly truths her childlike mind had been too ignorant to miss. 

"what grandfather even makes—"

"i can't possibly fathom what this woman has that made ayato threaten his mother saying he'll renounce his inheritance! to make him want to leave behind everything i've built for this family! such selfishness should not be tolerated!"

"that's because he found something more valuable!"

you flinched at the resounding slap you heard. 

it was a split-second action. something that a normal person could've missed if he was too preoccupied with something else — but nothing slips past the current head of the kamisato family. 

"i see you're awake," he says, addressing you. "good. both of you should hear what i'm about to say next." 

their grandfather straightens his robes, adjusting the grip he has on his sterling-silver walking cane topped with an extravagant, swarovski-studded japanese camellia — the kamisato family crest. 

"i'm done tolerating your tricks, ayaka, may this punishment straighten your priorities and remind you that nothing is more important nor valuable than family. ayato and aoki are to be wed, and not one of you is to spoil those plans. you both will remain here, inside this room, locked away with no communication to the outside world at least until the ceremony is over. i'd hate to do this, but you girls left me with no choice."

he turns to leave and ayaka screams at the top of her lungs. 

"mom will never forgive you for doing this to me!"

her grandfather stops, standing at the frame of the door. 

"no, child. it's your mother that should ask for my forgiveness for raising such an insolent child like you."

LOWKEY » previous : masterlist : next

a kamisato ayato social media au

summary — it was only recently you found out kamisato ayaka was, in fact, not an only child after all! seeing ayato for the first time gave you the severest case of the butterflies but according to ayaka, he’s off limits, especially to you as her most treasured friend. well, what she doesn’t know won’t hurt, right?

notes — yay chapter bc im in a good mood cuz i won my 50/50 hehe pray i get his cons and signature weap after i offer scara all my savings lmao

🏷 i. @rinrinchin @nejibot @mich-cola @viiolettee @katsumikumo @kaz3yo @starryeyedkoko @xingqiusliegee @selenshinitai @boxdisappeared @lovelyycherries @ferumie @love6cks @kiyowoir @luvvmeilin @blackberri-jelli @moonlightbqe @kazooms @tricethecharm @lynnforever @kaedear @xiaoisahawtie @crowbird @apotatouwu @xinii @euryrue @aequha​@nuttytani @plinkuro @choco-rei @aixaingela @milesluvrrad @windasteriaa @cherrytomato2 @zannivrs @k4miyato @eishtar @wccycc @ceylestia @sweet-almonds @ayatobro @animewolflover278 @queenaveryrules @veyu002 @ukinya @ventis-dandelion @adeptusx @x-xxiaos @loveyoutothestars @ssalamanderr

#genshin imagines #kamisato ayato imagines #kamisato ayato smau #genshin smau #genshinimpact smau #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x y/n #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #genshin x reader #genshin x y/n #ayato kamisato x reader #ayato kamisato x y/n #ayato kamisato x you

[noneorother]

The grand unified theory of Good Omens S2 hangs on - you guessed it - a double meaning (and art). *Part 3*

Part 1 l Part 2 l Part 3 l Part 4 l Part 5 l The End? This is major spoilers for season 3 territory. You have been warned. I'm also going to split this into parts because wow, I have so many ✨Clues✨! My peeps, before I show you the prestige, we need to discuss Maggie. Maggie is SO WEIRD.

Right up top we get her telling us this. Who loves something since they were a baby? Since you were a kid sure, but how can you remember loving something since you were a baby?

This one's fun. The double meaning here is 1) I was a huge uptight nerd so I never went to parties and/or 2) I wasn't a human teenager so I never got to go to your earth parties. But check out when Nina and Maggie *first* meet in her coffee shop. We spend a lot of time in this scene, because it's framed as a meet cute, but it's also full of weird dialogue.

So i'm not a writer, someone feel free to tell me I'm wrong, but Maggie is remembered by Nina AS A COFFEE. She IS a skinny latte. This works on two levels again. 1) You're not important enough to me to remember you as a person, just as an order. 2) You do not fit into my memory of people I know, but subconsciously I remember you as NOT a regular human.

And then again when she leaves the shop, Nina isn't paying attention and just sort of subconsciously replies:

Again, two meanings. Maggie is unimportant to her, Maggie is also a *coffee*.

Which is weird, because as far as I can tell Maggie never drinks a coffee, or anything for that matter. Sure she orders stuff in the shop, and is offered food and alcohol, but we never see her actually drink or eat any of it. She stirs the tea but never takes a sip.

So what IS Maggie then? Many people have pointed out that Maggie and Nina are a coffeeshop AU of our heroes. Their visual presentation seems to be screaming Nina = Crowley! and Maggie = Aziraphale! And they *work* on opposite sides of the street and everything! So is Maggie just a stand-in for Aziraphale then, to make the parable work? Cool, then what's the parable?

Uh oh. What possible AU fiction ends up with the main love interests breaking up with their toxic ex, dancing in a ball and fighting demons together and then... just not ending up together? An AU written by kind of a bad writer who wants to show the two lovebirds he's trying to separate that it will never work. Oh hey look The Metatron is here:

Now, I think the same guy that has been adding bits and pieces in the past would have no problem adding stuff and/or people in the present to make a point. Maggie also seems to be pretty sure about quite a lot of things that I wouldn't be sure about, given the context.

Maggie's knows it's not going to do any good, but she has to tell them anyway? Tell them what, that Nina and Maggie talked it out and never ended up together? Wow, what a great message. Thanks Maggie. Maggie isn't just a downer of an example though, remember she's also A COFFEE! Shoved in Aziraphael's and Crowley's faces, asking them to take it and help her since the beginning.

There's a concept in magic tricks called a force, where it seems like someone has free will ; to put a card anywhere in a deck, or pick a number, or volunteer, but actually the outcome has been chosen for them by the magician for the trick to work. The actual trick is about getting the person to think they've freely chosen to participate in the trick, not the act of revealing the card. The real trick was never making Maggie and Nina try to fall in love, it was getting Aziraphael to think he had freely chosen to help Maggie get this whole thing going. And if we know one thing about Aziraphael, it's that he's actually terrible at magic. Aziraphael has been primed to take the coffee in S2E6, because he's been taking the coffee the whole season. Ready for the prestige reveal after the force? We're going right to The Metatron in Part 4.

#good omens prime #go season 2 #go3 #good omens s3 #good omens meta #good omens spoilers #good omens season 2 #go meta #ineffable husbands #art director talks good omens #nina and maggie #coffeeshop au #go spoilers

[thesupreme316]

Can you write how the AEW guys would react to the reader playfully smacking their ass like Bucky did to Seth Rollins that one time (please include MJF hehe)

AEW Stars React To: Their S/O Smacking Their Butt

Pairings: MJF x Reader, Max Caster x Reader, Christian Cage x Reader, Eddie Kingston x Reader, Nick Wayne x Reader, Ricky Starks x Reader, Hook x Reader

Word Count: 750

Supreme Speaks: hey yall, here you are and i hope you all enjoy it. I should have another react post by tomorrow. lemme know what else yall want to see. please remember that you are loved and appreciated.

Warnings: none i think, suggestive content

Taglist: @wwenhlimagines @hooks-martin @hookerforhook @eddie-kingstons-wifey @triscillal @batzy-watzy @sheinthatfandom @cassie0sstuff

I think this is the most I have ever written the word ass

MJF:

Mans would feel accomplished

Like that finally, someone has acknowledged his ass is on another level

We all know how much pride he takes in his ass just look at the edits on TikTok

If you do it in private, he will definitely laugh and try to slap your back

(Honestly he might twerk like a drunk girl)

If in public, he might be embarrassed or confused for a split second…but he’ll go right back to being arrogant

He’ll tweet about it, tagging Max Caster so he can get jealous

Will start wearing more tight-fitting pants so he can tease you more

Eddie Kingston:

Mans finds it funny but is always confused about why/how you do it before he can do it to you

Full-on laughs and cracks a smile when/after you do it

Now you two are in a competition to see who can smack the other’s ass more often

You typically drive-by slaps or wait until he’s reading/watching wrestling to slap it

He does it when you are on the phone or talking to friends

Eddie loves it because it’s y’all’s way of PDA or showing good vibes

I don’t think y’all would do it out in public like in front of fans

But the one chance you did…boi was he a mess

Christian Cage:

Christian would just stare at you with no expression

He was just looking at you as if he was saying “Really”

OR he’ll stare at you in an offended way

He’s surprised that you did it

“How dare you?”

I can totally see him “scolding” you

Says his ass is off limits and promises to “punish” you the next time you did it

To test your luck…you did it again…and let's say you couldn’t sit down for a good while

Nick Wayne:

Lil boi is so cute and he gets all shy

Immediately he blushes and gets all whiney

Face all red while saying

“I can’t believe you did that”

I think he would be too shy to smack yours back

Prolly would chase you around

Would stop after you smacked his ass twice more

Ever since then, he just accepted the smacks….with a red blushing face of course

Hook:

Nonchalant as a mothafucka

But to him, it’s a normal thing, so he doesn’t care

He just continues talking to his friends after he smacks yours as you walk away

To Hook…it’s equality

Mans just loves to have his hands on you in general

If you did it to him while y’all were in the ring…he would break character and laugh

The internet would have a field day with the clip, making it go viral

Now if you slap it extra hard, Hook would just simply pick you up and show you how a real master of the booty slapping arts does it

Ricky Starks:

Alexa…play Bongos by Cardi B

Like Hook, Ricky’s not fazed

In fact, he eats it up and then some

I can see Ricky just winking at you..and ever so gently…SPEARING YOU ON THE BED

He slaps yours back twice as hard

In public….he would pull you towards him and tell you all the things he’s gonna do to you

Particularly finds it funny when you continuously smack his ass while ya’ll are laying down

I def see it as a postcard or a couple Christmas card (merry smackmas)

Max Caster:

THIS HORNY FUCK

Would deadass put his ass out even further for you to slap again

“I can see you’re getting a little handsy”

Looks at you suggestively, probably would moon you

Probably would chase you down just to slap your ass back

If you do it in public, he’s throwing ass like a real one

OOOOOOO I BET HE WOULD LET OUT VERY LOUD AND EXAGGERATED HIGH PITCH MOAN

Which causes you to become embarrassed and swiftly leave the scene

He would at the rest of The Acclaimed and wiggle his brows…looking for someone else to smack his ass

bonus: I truly think he would be like Richard from Wasabi Productions (back from like 2011)

#aew #all elite wrestling #aew imagine #all elite wrestling imagines #aew hook #aew hook imagine #eddie kingston #eddie kingston imagine #ricky starks #ricky starks imagine #max caster #max caster imagine #aew mjf #maxwell jacob friedman #mjf imagine #aew nick wayne #nick wayne imagine #christian cage #christian cage imagine

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

Like Real People Do - Part 1

Masterlist Word count: 1.9 k Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader

Summary: Arthur Morgan doesn't quite feel like a person sometimes. Most days he's just an outlaw, a killer, a thief, a bad excuse for a good time. He's been doing this so long; he isn't even sure if he ever wanted to do anything else in life. That is until a barmaid asks him to walk her home and suddenly he gets a slice of normalcy.

Author's note: I can't for the life of me figure out why it won't let me post my whole stories on here. If anyone knows why, please let me know what I need to do.

'What can I get ya, mister?' Arthur grumbles in response before looking up at the barmaid. She looks too clean, too kind, to be here. She smiles and he hears angels singing. Cheeks rosy red, eyes like gemstones, she's pure. But she has the scars to prove she's been her a while. He notices the callouses on her hands, the scars on her arms, and the big scar running vertically through the left side of her lips to her jaw.  'Don't matter. Anything to take the edge off,' he tells her, his words raspy like crumpled up paper. She smiles a little brighter and puts a glass in front of him that she fills with bourbon.  'That should help,' she states and slides the glass over to him. He nods a thanks to her and tries to peel his eyes away to look over the bar. It's quite empty this time of day, then again, morning ain't really the time to be drinking. When he can't find anything to keep him entertained in the saloon, he looks back over to the barmaid, who is cleaning glasses in front of him with a rag that is cleaner than he has ever seen one in this particular saloon. She glances over at him. 'What brings you this early in the morn’?'  'Rough night.'  'I can imagine,' she says with a chuckle.  'Hey sweet cheeks! Can we get another bottle?' Arthur's head snaps towards the two men in the corner who so rudely interrupted their little talk, if you can even call it that. They look beyond drunk, beyond caring. But, the barmaid does as asked and brings them a bottle. 'Yeah, that's what I'm talking about,' the grimey man says when she puts the bottle down. He stands up and pulls the barmaid into his chest, groping what he can for the split second he has her before Arthur pulls him off. Like it's nothing, he pushes the man back into his chair.  'Listen here friend, I do not care about you. I do not care that you are here, I have no quarrel with you. But disrespect the lady and you have got a fight on your hands. Friend. Behave, or I'll make sure that that is your last drink.'  'Are you threatenin’ me mister?'  'No, simply making a promise.' Arthur puts his hand on the small of the barmaid's back to lead her back to the bar. She walks back behind it with a bit of shock still lingering on his face and he returns to his drink.  'Thank you mister.'  'No problem.' 

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption two #red dead redemption 2 fanfic #arthur morgan fluff #arthur morgan angst #arthur morgan fanfic #arthur morgan fanfiction #red dead redemption fanfiction #red dead redemption 2 fanfiction #rdr2 fanfiction #rdr2 fanfic #rdr 2 fanfic #rdr 2 fanfiction

[terezicaptor]

i have an offering. i was inspired by the post you made... about tubbo and pac... wrote this at work so it migth be a bit messy

A grin split across Pac's face as he finally spotted the person he had been looking for during the past hour. Shooting his hand up into the air he waved it until he got the bear's attention. Fred turned to him with a tilt of his head, the perfect picture of pure confusion. 

“Is Tubbo a good kisser?” He asked, jumping straight to the point with what he knew was a stupid grin on his face. 

Fred stared at him blankly. Although, Pac thought, he wasn't quite sure they could make any expression that wasn't blank due to the lack of human features that usually signified emotion. 

“Why?” Fred signed. 

Pac bounced on his feet, energy coursing through his body. “I'm curious. He seems like he would be a good kisser and I figured you would know since you two are…” he trailed off, not exactly sure what to call them. “You know.” 

Fred stared at him a long moment before signing, “I do not know. We have never engaged in that particular action.” 

Pac gasped, his hand instinctively flying to his mouth. “You haven't?? Wow. That's okay though. Fit hasn't kissed me yet either.” He laughed. “I would kiss him but I'm waiting for him to be ready. Take it easy take it easy you know?” he said in a humorous attempt at Fit's voice. “Hey I mean I could find out for you?” He offered, flinging his arms around to try and seem casual. Trying to not let any of the eagerness threatening to burst out of him shine through. 

“Yes.” 

Pac grinned, not being able to stop himself. “Sim, sim, great. I will find out for you, Fred.” Without another word or glance at the worker, he bounced off, pulling open his map to find out where Tubbo was. 

-

Tubhaus was loud, machinery whirring loudly from all different parts of the man's factory. Tubbo stood in the middle of the main building next to a laughing Sunny. Pac bounded over and called out to them both. They both turned with matching smiles on their faces. “Oi!” 

“Oi, Pac. What brings you here today?” Tubbo asked, one hand looped in the belt carrying his tools around his waist and the other dangling by his side. 

Pac grabbed the one dangling by his side and lowered his voice, steeling his expression. “I'm doing a very important experiment.” 

Tubbo's eyes lit up. “And you need my help?” 

Pac nodded grimly. “Sim, sim, your help is exactly what I need.” 

“Okay,” Tubbo said nervously, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “What do I do?” 

The serious expression on Pac's face was finally broken by that. “Just stand here.” 

Tubbo's eyebrows dipped down in confusion before Pac pulled him flush against his body with their connected hands and kissed him. 

Pac wasn't quite sure what he expected but this, Tubbo grabbing his face with both hands and pulling him deeper into it, was not it. A noise of surprise escaped his mouth and he reached out to grab at Tubbo's waist. It was more passionate than he had expected, desperate. 

They pulled apart with loud gasps from both parties and Pac felt dizzy looking into Tubbo's gorgeous swirling eyes. He hated water, that green and blue of waves but inside of Tubbo's eyes they were heavenly instead of scary. 

“What the fuck,” Tubbo said with a slight laugh. 

Pac pulled back giggling. “Oh you know research and stuff.” Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Sunny staring at him with wide confused eyes. “Anyway, bye Tubbo, bye Sunny!!” And before either of them could protest he was warping away. 

THIS IS SO GOOOODDDDDD OMG

Fred just being like "??? OK you can go find out what kissing my not boyfriend is like ig" is so funny to me. Their ass does Not care.

And Pac's like it's cool my bf wants to take it slow too ^^ and then he's like time to go kiss this guy's not bf

Tubbo being sooo happy that Pac is there and then acting like Pac is acting wild like he wasn't the guy definitely trying to get some tongue in there okayyyy. the internalized homophobia is alive and real in tubchunk

THEN PAC JUST DIPPING LMAOOOOOO

You know Tubbo's ass is bragging to Fit later about kissing his boyfriend before he did.

#Fic #Mcyt fav tag #asks #qsmp #Pacbo #Tubpac #poly morning crew #frubbo #keirawantstocry

[atinylittlepain]

Summer Lovin

joel miller x f!reader

joel miller masterlist

she thought he was all hers. she was wrong. but revenge is always sweet, and a little melted.

warnings | 18+ smut, serious angst, Joel is a cheater in this one and gets what he deserves (within reason)

a/n | i don't have an explanation for this one, it just sorta happened, sorry about it.

...............................

Her hands are shaking all over the steering wheel, enough to force her into pulling off the highway before the tears can fracture her vision anymore. And all she can do is laugh, a bitter thing in her throat, because she’s turned into a complete cliche now. Idling on the shoulder of the road while the texas sun splits and sinks in the sky, crying like a fool over a man she shouldn’t have given the time of day to.

But he had been so sweet, hadn’t he? A bit hopeless when they met, standing in the frozen food aisle, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand and cradling a cellphone to his ear with the other. She had made an offhanded comment that he seemed to be negotiating a hostage crisis when he hung up, a sheepish smile slanting across his face and a surprisingly earnest explanation that his twelve-year-old daughter had just gotten her first period and he had been screamed out the door for provisions.

“Don’t tell her I told you that though. Pretty sure she’d burst my eardrums for letting that slip.”

“Your secret’s safe with me. But could you use some help maybe?”

“I look that pitiful, huh?”

“Maybe just a little.” 

She was gone from the start, helping him pick out Ben and Jerry's and tampax pearls while he rambled about his daughter. Her smile spreading in sync with the flush creeping up his neck, typing her number into his phone while he leaned against the side of his truck, a nervous palm rubbing the back of his neck. He called her that night, cute and eager, wanting to thank her for the help, and to ask her out. And of course she said yes. Afterall, she had checked for a wedding ring. She thought she had been so clever for that. 

Three months, spring sliding into summer and something she thought was love slipping big and bright between her ribs. She got to know his daughter during weeknight dinners on their back porch, inside jokes zinging right over his head. And while Sarah was at her mom’s every weekend, Joel would invite her over and they’d spend the hours tangled up in his bed, bodies sticky and slick with sweat blown cool by the box fan in his window, talking in circles around each other, promises stamped into skin. 

“Don’t worry about it, darlin. We’re as good as divorced. She’s just dragging her feet signing the papers, that’s all. Haven’t lived together since Sarah was real little. I’m all yours.”

“It’s okay, Joel, I understand. It must be so hard, though, having to do all of this on your own, in a way.”

She scoffs at the sting of that memory, the way his palm had been trailing up and down her spine, the sigh he had let out at her words. She had interpreted it as a soulful weariness that only made her love him a little more. But there were warning signs too.

“Hey, darlin, I’m really sorry but I have to cancel tonight.” She was already pulling into his neighborhood when he called, new dress, the perfume he liked so much, a tray of brownies in the passenger seat, sprinkled with powdered sugar, how she knew Sarah liked them.

“Oh, is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I think Sarah picked up a stomach bug at camp today is all.”

“Oh no, can I get you guys anything from the store? Soup? Ginger ale?” 

“That’s real sweet of you, darlin, but I don’t want you to catch anything. Can we take a raincheck though?” What a good father, what a good man. 

“Of course, Joel. Tell Sarah I hope she starts feeling better soon.” He had already hung up, quick and clipped. And when she drove past his house only a moment later, she could have sworn she saw Sarah in their backyard swinging on that old playset of hers. It had been easy enough to write off as a trick of the light and her eyes tired after a day of work. Though she couldn’t figure out whose car had been parked in his driveway, not his and not his brother’s. But he made good on his raincheck that Friday, showing up at her apartment in that button-down she liked so much and a bouquet in his hand, not letting her get a word in before he was pulling her into a hard kiss that made her forget to even ask if Sarah was feeling better. He was always good at that, pulling her apart, just a little overwhelming in the wander of his hands, his mouth, laying her down right on the floor of her tiny living room after kicking her front door shut.

“Missed you so bad. Been thinking about you all week. Thinking about this pussy. How sweet she gets for me. Just for me, huh?” Already mouthing at her clit through the cotton of her panties, his words thrumming up her spine, making her hips jolt in the heavy hold of his palms. 

“Yes, Joel, it’s all for you, fuck, you’re so good.” So, so, so good, stripping her down and settling back between her thighs, tongue dragging through her cunt, a hum in his throat as he held the insistent heat of his mouth against her core, pulling pleasure from her like he owned it. The ropes of muscle in his forearm jumping, holding her down by her pelvis, not letting up until she was shaking with it, his scruff scraping against the inside of her thigh, a small mercy in the kiss he pressed there. 

“Are we seriously about to fuck on the floor?”

“What’s wrong with the floor?”

“Joel.” Total theatrics with the roll of his eyes, a petulant huff as he got up, dragging her along with him. a fumbling tangle into her bedroom, making her laugh with his feigned meanness in throwing them down onto the sheets, wide eyes and breathless beats.

“That better, darlin?” No answer, too busy tugging him out of his clothes, his cock solid and warm against her thigh. Always a stretch, pleasure mingling and mixing up with pain with the press of his hips against hers. Always careful, considerate, pressing kisses to her sternum while she opened up around him, whispering into her skin.

“Feel so good for me, darlin. Like you were made just for me.” She felt like it too, like she’d never had anything like this before. The obscene slap of slicked skin, swallowing each other’s gasps as he pushed and pulled them through a hard rhythm. Her ankles hooked around his hips, open, wanting, receiving everything he gave her, the both of them sinking their teeth into each other’s pleasure, furling up close and unraveling all at once with each other’s names held in their throats. She had told him she loved him that night, in the after of it all, her chest pressed to his back, limbs tangled up. But he didn’t respond, already asleep.

Her cell phone ringing startles her out of the past, but when she sees who it is she tosses it back into the passenger seat. And her mind settles into something like disbelief, replaying the day. How differently it began compared to how it ended. 

She woke up that morning with anticipation thick in her stomach for what the day ahead would bring. She thought it was a big step, the step, inviting her to a family cookout. Playing house with the Millers. Sarah and her in the kitchen most of the morning, crockpots bubbling and watermelons split while he and his brother putzed around in the backyard with the grill, some frivolous joke about men regressing to the stone age lobbed out easy and effortless. And then people started coming, coworkers and friends and all the rest and Joel wouldn’t look at her and she wore her new sundress so he would but he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t and she worried over the potato salad and the kebabs like maybe she could make right whatever she had clearly made wrong. Something about a man’s heart in his stomach, right? 

Everyone else eating and she couldn’t find him in the crowd, Tommy telling her he ran out to get ice cream from the HEB for dessert just as she slipped in the front door. She nearly laughed because why was she here? Who invites their ex-wife to a family cookout? 

And then, and then, and then.

“You must be the babysitter Joel mentioned. I admit I thought Sarah was a little too old for that but she absolutely loves you so thank you for helping out.”

And then, and then, and then.

“Hi, Tommy! It’s good to see you.”

And then, and then, and then.

“Oh, he didn’t tell you? We’ve decided to make another go of it after some time off. We haven’t told Sarah yet, but I think it will be good for all of us.”

And then.

“-- a family again. It’s right, don’t you think?”

And then.

“Sorry, what did you say your name was? I hope Joel is paying you well, and if he’s not, you come to me, okay? There’s gonna be some changes around here, but I’d love for you to stay on for our Sarah.” 

And then.

Out the door, white noise in her ears so loud she only barely thought to grab her keys and shuffle into her flip flops. Out the door and into her car and driving to the same HEB she met him in three months ago being a good father and a good man and a little hopeless and–

She pulled in right as he was walking out of the store, a placid expression on his face, not a care in the world. 

“Darlin? What–”

“Do not call me that.”

“What, what is it? Baby, please don’t cry.” A sick feeling in her stomach at the pull toward him, that tiny want for him to comfort her, to make it all better, quickly seared and singed into more anger.

“Were you gonna tell me, Joel? Or were you just gonna see how long you could keep this little game going, huh? Is that it? You think you’re so smart? Not gonna get caught fucking the babysitter?” Instant recognition sliding down his face, the quick slip of it made her laugh as his eyes darted around the parking lot.

“Let’s talk like adults, okay? There’s no need to make a scene.”

“Oh, fuck you. That’s what you're worried about though, right? That someone’s gonna see. Worried someone’s gonna go tell your wife what you’ve been up to all summer, huh?” His jaw slack, an answer in his silence. She shook her head, anger simmering beneath the hurt.

“Did you care about me at all?”

“Of course I did, I do. Darlin, please, I just got confused, let me–”

“Don’t do that.”

“Please, I’ll–”

“No, Joel. We are done, do you understand me? I care about Sarah too much to let any of this go on any longer. You know what? I just hope that your wife has a good enough head to figure it out for herself. I hope she leaves you, I really do.” Hurt crumpled across his face and she wanted more of it, wanted to dig her thumb into it and twist.

“I– loved– you– you– fucking– lying– lowlife– bastard.” She’s not sure how it happened, though it would be the topic of conversation at the neighborhood women’s book club for weeks to come. Some young thing tearing into Joel Miller, smacking him six ways to Sunday with her flip flop in the grocery store parking lot. Cornering him against the side of his pickup truck, big strong man curled up with his hands over his head as she rained down perfect hellfire on him. He had dropped his grocery bag, two gallon containers of ice cream sweating out in the summer sun, her bare foot stepping sticky into a puddle of vanilla. 

“Don’t you ever do anything like this to anyone ever again, Joel Miller.” The grand finale, that ice cream of his melted enough that it was too easy to pick up a carton, pop off the lid, and dump the dribbling liquid over the top of his head before primly shoving her flip flop back on and getting in her car. 

She finds herself laughing through a throat heavy with snot, the image of him in her mind, blinking hard through a thick stream of slurried ice cream, shoulders up to his ears, pure shock in his shudder. 

“Worth it.” One thing that goes right today, she leans over to rummage through her glove compartment, sighing when she finds the nearly empty carton of cigarettes, lighter tucked into the crumpled box. She quit two months ago, secondhand smoke around Sarah and all that. But how easy it is now to roll down her window and take a crackling drag that she blows out into the fading afternoon, smoke whipped away by the endless whir of cars passing by. Peace in the inhale and exhale, promptly disrupted by her phone ringing again. Cigarette dangling between her lips, she scoffs between her teeth. Ten missed calls. She doesn’t even listen to the voicemails, simply chucks the thing out her window along with her cigarette butt and shifts her car back into drive.

She’ll be okay.

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #tlou #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller angst #the last of us #joel miller fluff #joel miller smut #joel miller au #joel miller one shot #joel miller imagine

[supercorpkid]

Ace Reporter - part 4

Supergirl, Kara Danvers x Reader, Lena Luthor x Reader

Word Count: 2375.

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3.

Something brings you back from your trance. Probably the loud alarm saying that if you don't get out of this place in five minutes you're going to die. Five minutes is really not enough time to find the way out, so you run out of the bedroom and make your way to the other side to try and find the exit there.

You are met with a dead end, and on your way back you bump into Lena. She holds your arms to steady you. "Y/N! I'm glad I found you. Kara and I split up while looking for the exit."

"Dead end." You point to the hallway behind you.

Lena agrees with her head. Cleans the blood off your cheek before nodding to you, "I'm happy you're safe." She almost hugs you, but decides there are more pressing matters at the moment. "Let's find Kara and get out of here." 

Lena holds your hand, guiding you to the direction you just left. That's when Kara appears in clear panic and points to another place, not wanting you to find her secret in that creepy room, unbeknownst of your current knowledge.

You do feel kind of safer knowing Supergirl is around. She said it herself, she won't let you get hurt for a story. She certainly won't let you explode just not to compromise her secret identity. Right? Right.

On your way out the three of you find the room with all Lex's hardcopies of clear wrongdoings. You grab everything you can see and get out of there less than a minute before the whole place explodes.

You make it back to National City, digging through papers, unraveling conspiracy theories and mazes of wickedness. Kara Danvers is snoring on the chair in front of yours, tired from keeping secrets and burning bridges. And Lena is also examining the documents in silence. When you can't read another word, you turn to her,

"Tough day, huh."

"Running into the atrocities my brother is responsible for, is not exactly a walk in the park for me."

Great fucking quote. Not on record, though.

"Sorry we didn't find him. Though I have to admit, I'd be a bit scared if we did." 

"I don't blame you. I would have too." Lena smiles absently and a little bit too sincere. You can tell she immediately wishes to take it back. You're a journalist, after all.

"Well, you've dealt with all those Eve clones pretty well. I'm glad you and -" You stop yourself, looking at Kara. She is not sweet doofus Kara Danvers anymore. It's pretty much real to you that she literally is the strongest person on Earth and she could have ended all those clones in probably one blow.

Lena agrees with a nod, following your eyes. "She actually fights pretty decently, I didn't know that about Kara." 

You furrow your brows, confused. "You didn't?"

"Honestly, no. I wonder where she was hiding all those moves."

"Yeah. And I wonder why." You whisper to yourself, staring at Kara. Is she really asleep? No way to know, she is such a good liar. She might actually be the greatest actor of all time. How else would she have kept this secret from her best friend for so long?

 "Anyway, heard you need a quote from me to get back to Metropolis."

You take a deep breath, mostly annoyed with your editor for making you work so hard for a damn quote, but also kind of offended that all of your investigative skills and team work will be reduced to one scandalous quote from Lena Luthor. You literally uncovered a web of lies and terrible plans, but hey, that's not what he asked you for, so it probably won't even be used.

"I suppose it's what I came here for."

You grab your notebook next to you, waiting for her quote.

"Ready?" She asks and you nod your head, pen on the paper ready to write down whatever she says. "I think you're so much better than what the Daily Planet gives you credit for, and I believe CatCo is always in need of a fine reporter like you."

You stop writing, raising your head at her, confused. "What?"

"And I should know what CatCo needs, since I'm the owner."

"What?" How did you not know that, when it's precisely your job to know everything about the woman you came here to interview.

"And if offering you a job is not enough of a reason for you to consider staying in National City, I'd like to add that I, too, would like to have you closer." Lena's voice drops an octave and an eyebrow is raised. My God, she is sexy.

"With the risk of sounding like a broken record, what?"

Lena laughs, honest and carefree. Wrinkles under her eyes and it has to be one of the most beautiful things you've ever seen. "I'll let you consider it. If you decide not to stay, I'll give you the quote."

"Oh, ok." Your cheeks burn red. "Thanks, Lena."

When you finally make it to National City, Lena offers both of you a ride, but you and Kara decide to share an uber to your side of the town.

"We've uncovered some pretty sensible information on this trip to Kaznia." Kara says as soon as Lena gets inside her car. "And I know you must be dying to do an exposé-"

Does she know? Does Kara know what you saw in that weird bedroom? That you finally have put two and two together and noticed the obvious? Is she scared you're going to tell the world? 

"But we have to be careful on how we're going to play this. If we blow the whistle on Lex, he could just go back to hiding and-"

"What?"

"Oh sorry, sometimes I talk too fast. I meant Lex and whoever is helping him inside the government. Obviously he had help to break aliens out of the DEO facility and-"

She doesn't know. Haven't got the faintest idea. Kara Danvers is here blabbing about Lex Luthor while you have this huge information about her. And about Clark.

"Oh my God Danvers, shut up." It's out of your mouth before you can stop it. Her eyes widen and you point to the car that just arrived. "I don't wanna talk about Lex, ok? I got hurt because of him, because of this damn crusade the Daily Planet put me through." You signal for the driver then slide inside the car. Kara follows you promptly. And with no amenities the driver just goes.

"Look, I know it was tough out there. But you did so well. You-you found this!" Kara is holding the documents so tight, like they would just fly out of her hands if she didn't. 

"Yeah, and I also almost died for those stupid sheets of paper. I'm not Nancy Drew, ok?"

"You are!” You look at her in disbelief. “At least, you were out there!"

"Stop, ok? This means nothing to me! I'm not you, Danvers! I'm not ok with putting my life at risk for a fucking assignment. I really am not getting paid enough and I only have this one life."

"What are you talking about?" Kara asks and you raise your eyebrow at her as an answer, not wanting to share more. "What? You think I'm a cat with nine lives?"

You can't help a laugh that leaves your mouth. A very ironic one. Sour and hostile. It makes her wince at the sound.

"Damn, you really are the biggest dweeb I've ever seen."

She huffs, moving uncomfortably on the seat next to you. You ignore her, staring out the window. You don't even like National City that much, but you're honestly so glad to be here right now.

"I know you don't want to talk about it, but we're writing this together, aren't we? We have to decide on what can we expose and-"

"UGH." It's the only sound out of your mouth. You're so tired. You flew to Kaznia; the plane you were in almost crashed; you had to fight evil clones and you got beat up by one (which is rather embarrassing); you found out your work-colleague and your almost-nemesis' secret identities; and you also found out what the hell Lex is up to. You're exhausted. Right now, the only thing you want is to go back home, but stupid Kara Danvers won't shut up. "I wish Eve had punched your face instead of mine."

"WHAT?" Kara yells so loud, even the driver jumps in his seat. "Sorry, sorry." She apologizes to him, then turns back at you. "That's such a mean thing to say!"

"Why? It's not like you can feel anything." You roll your eyes, hand going to the cut on the side of your cheek that still burns.

"Of course I can feel things." 

She's barely finished with her sentence and you're adding, "Oh my God, you let me get punched for nothing."

"I'm so confused right now."

"I KNOW, OK?" It's your time to yell, making the driver almost lose control of the car, and you have to hold yourself on Kara not to knock your head on the window. When the car finally stabilizes again, you continue. "I know you helped land the plane. I know you could've taken down all Eves by yourself. And I know about you and- and Clark." You stare deep into her eyes. "I know who you are."

Kara swallows deep, so loud you could hear it perfectly, and you're sure the driver could too. "Stop the car."

"Ma'am, we're in the middle of nowhere."

"Stop. The. Car." She repeats strongly, commanding. Must be her Supergirl voice. And the driver is not going to argue twice, so he does. He stops the car in the middle of fucking nowhere.

Kara pulls you by the hand and there's no fighting. Not when the strongest woman on the planet wants you out of the car, anyway.

So you stand there, with nothing but trees around while your ride home leaves you behind. You cross your arms and stare at her. God, you wish you were home. You wish you were never sent to this assignment. You wish you were never entangled in this mess with Kara Danvers. You wish you could just hate her from a distance instead from up close.

"How did you figure it out?"

"Well, you fighting all those clones with your bare hands was a pretty big tell. But what confirmed my suspicions was that weird altar they had for you there."

"You saw that too?"

"Yeah, it was pretty bizarre. I mean, who would have so many pictures of doofus Kara Danvers?"

"HEY! I'm not-" She huffs, unable to defend herself. "Whatever."

Kara walks from side to side, hands on the side of her head, clearly freaking out because you know her secret and she can't trust you. How could she? You're a random reporter who just came from Metropolis to find a story. And you did, you found the biggest one you could ever look for, and now you know the secret identity of two of the most powerful superheroes on the planet. 

She finally breathes out all the weight off her shoulders, and comes closer, really close. So close she touches the cut on your cheek. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I let you get hurt." And you've known this woman for two weeks, but you know she means it. Can read it in her watery eyes. "I'm sorry I didn't realize how scared you were. I'm sorry I couldn't be Supergirl there."

"Because Lena doesn't know." 

"Well, you weren't supposed to know either." She shrugs. Hands on your chin, eyes staring right at your soul. You dare to look at her lips, so close, so so close. Right there.

"Hey," You look back at her eyes and notice how scared she is. You know her secret, her biggest secret. You know a part of her not everyone knows. Not even her best friend! So you hold her free hand. "I promise your secret is safe with me. I know you have no reason to believe me. I mean, I didn't even like you until two days ago, so I understand the distrust. But this is a big thing. Bigger than whatever is between me and Kara Danvers. I would never put people's life at risk."

"Thank you." Kara gives your hand a little squeeze. "But what do you mean you didn't like me? I thought, I thought we were…"

"What? Friends?" A little smirk.

"Flirting." She admits and you gulp, taking your hand away from hers. She understands the signal so she lets go of your face too, but doesn't stop talking.  "I thought it was all flirting banter."

It was. She is right. But you just can't admit this to her, or anyone.

So you let a sharp and deceitful laugh out. "Oh please. Even on a good day, we're barely amicable."

Kara furrows her brows, looking like a lost puppy and when she opens her mouth to argue, you cut her off, not ready for this conversation at all. 

"So, do we get another uber or is Supergirl flying me to my hotel room? I really need to lay down after all this."

"Yeah. Yeah." She won't raise her head or look you in the eyes, but still picks you up in bridal style. "Hold tight."

Kara starts flying and you can't help but to hold her with everything you have. You can't believe you just gave Kara Danvers the power to drop you from a very tall height. You venture a peek down and holy fucking shit you are way too high. If she drops you, you're dead for sure.

You hide your face in Kara's neck. Breathe her in, and oh God she smells so good even after almost exploding in Kaznia. Ugh. Your stomach is all in knots and you wish you could just rationalize this strangled feeling, but right now Kara Danvers/ Supergirl/ Whoever is carefully taking you home, might be the person you loathe the most. Or love. You can't decide.

#supergirl #kara danvers #lena luthor #kara x reader #lena x reader #reader insert