#and you hear its ring but you do not answer

[rxzennia]

with love, happy birthday

– tales of the voracity pathstrider

✎𓂃 happy (late) birthday, kakavasha. somewhat established relationship, pet names, aventurine’s real name, sleepy/ affectionate aventurine who’s probably very ooc. a quick one (i lied, this is like 2k worth of yapping and its 12am) because i was busy playing the update and haven’t been writing at all; i hope i did his lore justice ;-;

kakavasha stirs as the sun shines in his face. weird, doesn’t he usually have an alarm set? or, at the very least, don’t you usually wake him up?

he feels around the bed for you, but his hand lands on smooth scales instead of you. when he reaches further, he grabs a handful of sheets, and he realizes you’ve gotten up before him and left a few of your serpents with him. he sits up with a yawn, his hand subconsciously seeking out the creature curled up into a ball next to him.

“mm, where’s your…” kakavasha takes a moment to find a word to describe you, and he very quickly gives up. it’s too early for this. “where’s your main body?”

main body…? i mean, he was almost going to say “host”, like… possessed host? parasite host?

the serpent makes a little noise as it opens and closes its maw

drooling, as usual, as it hangs around his hand

does it even understand him?

it does. just needed a moment to comprehend

it slithers up his torso and settles around his neck after doing a few loops

he used to be horrified because your serpents are, like, huge, and what if they decide to strangle him???

but he knows by now that they’re friendly and won’t hurt him

it tries to guide him to you by tugging on either the right or the left sides as he gets out of bed

he finds himself outside of your office… is this where you’ve been?

he lifts his hand to knock, but then he hears you; you seem to be on the phone?

“thank you. then i will leave it to you,” you say, in your typical detached business voice. you glance towards the door when kakavasha enters without knocking, your eyes softening almost immediately at his disheveled appearance of having just gotten out of bed. 

you wave him over; he doesn’t hesitate to settle in your lap and snuggle up against you. the serpent around his neck moves over around yours as well and finds itself a nice position there, essentially tying you two together. kakavasha watches as you spin the pen in your hand idly as you listen to whoever you’re talking to, and he admires you as you work – you’re so different when you’re serious! which makes how sweetly you treat him all the more special to him.

“of course, rest assured,” you answer, to whatever question the other party asked, “yes, a quick rundown report will do. is that all?”

it seems that is, indeed, all, as you end the call and practically slam the phone back onto its stand.

you wrap your arms around him and rubs your nose against his exposed collarbone

this man never uses the buttons on his pajamas properly

“honey?” you ask, using the pet name you have for him as both a tease an an endearment

“do i not have plans today?” he slurs a little, he’s still not quite up yet. “my alarm didn’t ring, and you didn’t wake me up…”

“no,” you answer quickly, lifting your head to peck him on his jaw, “you’re free today.”

you probably either took on a bunch of his work for yourself, or you’ve delegated to his team

he’s so happy when he hears that from you

he got a day off without having to use his vacation days? 

kakavasha can’t quite believe it. you, voluntarily clearing his schedule for him? “really?”

“really, mr aventurine.” you sigh, giving him a playfully harsh pinch on the nose. “kakavasha, i hear it’s your birthday today.”

the pout on his face when he hears you call him aventurine fades immediately upon hearing the next part of your sentence. he’s suddenly wide awake, because in no world had he expected anyone to celebrate his birthday for him again.

“what would you like to do?” you ask, signalling for your serpent to set him free from its coils.

he has no idea

he doesn’t celebrate his birthday anymore, unless someone gives him a cake 

and even then, it’s as simple as he can make it

the day is associated with far, far too many bad memories

so much for being blessed, he thinks, but now that he’s let you into his life…

maybe this day doesn’t have to be filled with only painful memories now

and it’s not like he’s particularly worried about losing you in terms of death

and you seem pretty content staying with him right now

he’s still thinking. he’s still thinking about the things he wants to do.

there’s so much, but none significant enough to be done with you on such a special day

he wants to do something unique with you

something more than just go on a date(?), share a cake and cuddle

you stare at him, and you sigh, “your morning routine, at least.” you nudge him off your lap as you carefully swipe your thumbs along his lashes. “you have eye boogers.”

kakavasha sputters and flushes. oh, you’ve just ruined his ethereal sleeping beauty image by pointing out he has eye boogers. he almost teleports into the bathroom after you’ve said that, and you run your hands along your serpent like you didn’t just almost give him a heart attack.

you have no plan either, if we’re being honest

all you can think of is to shift everything off his schedule so he can take a break

you did think about taking him on a day trip

but like… where? it’s not like you have a hometown to show him

but just going anywhere doesn’t quite feel right, either

you’ve also thought of giving him an audience with your primal form as a gift, but…

isn’t that nightmare fuel?

and also, you’ve never outright told him about your path, or much about yourself (though you’re pretty sure he’s made some guesses)…

so that’s a no

“what should we do?” you mumble, as your leviathan curls around your neck and stares at you with its maw

it does a biting motion with its maw and tilts its head

“brunch?” you raise a brow at its suggestion

how the hell did you get to brunch from that one little move

also, who would’ve thought that you knew how to cook? 

then again, if anyone’s been around as long as you have, they’d know a few handy skills

“woah… you can cook?” kakavasha walks out, looking fresh, as he sees you sliding plate after plate onto the countertop. “i thought you didn’t need to eat?”

“not a need, but i like flavors.” you reply, pointing him towards a chair with your spatula. “sit. i’m almost done.”

while you’re at it, you slide him a mug of mildly sweetened coffee mixed with milk tea

non-authentic xianzhou beverage because you only have access to whatever expensive coffee and teas your boss has stocked at home

you’re not cooking up anything fancy, really, just quick things

like… breakfast items level quick and simple

except you’ve never once cooked in front of him, so he thinks this is all really new

plus it’s you, you’re cooking for him, putting your heart into it, how could he not feel all tingly inside?

!!! do you even know !!! how much you make him swoon !!! with these subconscious things you do !!!

(you generally don’t, though you have the tiniest, tiniest idea in the far back of your mind)

when you finish up and sit down across him, his instinct is to try to feed you

you flinch backwards because what you saw was a fork coming straight at your face

and then you see it’s him trying to feed you, but now you’ve spooked him

he’s got the saddest pout you’ve ever seen on him

did you not like being fed?? :(

before he could pull his hand away, however, you gently take his wrist and let him feed you

you have no idea how much he loves how careful every touch of yours is

this is kakavasha’s first time having food made by someone dear to him since he became aventurine, and he could almost cry at the mere emotional implications of such a gesture, especially when it's from you.

“if you don’t mind…” kakavasha pokes at his plate with his fork as he slowly starts, “i… don’t want to go anywhere. just stay here with me?”

“of course,” comes your reply, “anything you want.”

he’s the birthday boy, come on, there’s no way you’re going to deny him his wishes?

you don’t think you’ve ever seen someone eat while crying and still somehow manage to scarf down so much

but you’re having your eyes opened right now

“it’s not going anywhere,” you say, knowing full well your words will fall on deaf ears, “slow down…”

well, whatever makes him happy, you suppose

you made all this mostly for him anyway

you pick up a few pieces of this and that and feed it to the leviathan waiting on your shoulder

and then you pick up a pancake for yourself

and when you turn back to the table, he’s cleared out every dish

granted, you made like five in total, so it’s really not a big feast…

but still, you didn’t think it was possible

you ask, “should i cook more often?” 

he hops off his chair and decides to squeeze next to you in yours

you naturally slip an arm around his waist and pull him into your lap

“will you?” he raises his question in a trembling whisper, like he’s just been offered the world

“i don’t mind.” you say, as you stack the dishes together and prepare to clean up

he buries his face in your neck. “the housekeeper can do it… i want to cuddle.”

you find yourselves on the rooftop. obviously, kakavasha is latching onto you this whole time, so you’re the one who lugged both him and you up the stairs. time passes by quickly, even if you spend it in comfortable silence; before you know it, the moon hangs high in the sky and the glittering stars are out.

“you really like it here.” you state, an observation based on how many times you’ve found him up here late at night.

“that i do,” he replies quietly, wanting nothing more than just to melt into you. “give me your hand?”

you raise a brow as you offer him your hand

he runs his fingers over yours, holding your hand with both of his, tracing every knuckle and every finger

“do you pray?” he asks, suddenly, breaking the trance you’ve fallen into as he touched your hand

you’re not a particularly religious person, but… 

“i’m not opposed to the idea,” you say

then it’s enough, he thinks, then he’ll entrust you with a ritual of his people

he’ll give you a very, very important piece of him

after all, he knows he’s in good hands now – you’ll take care of him, won’t you?

he moves your hand around, then, until your palms are flat against each other

you can tell right away what he’s trying to do, and your heart swells with a torrent of emotions

“may the mother goddess thrice close her eyes for you...” kakavasha begins, his voice shaky just as his person. he interrupts himself with a breathless whisper – “repeat after me.” 

he takes a deep breath, calming his mind as he comes to terms with how much he will be baring before you. it’s alright, isn’t it? you’ll treasure all that he is. “– keeping your blood eternally pulsing. may your journey be forever peaceful, and your schemes forever concealed.”

you repeat his words a little clumsily, and you press your hand a little tighter against his. it doesn’t take a genius to see that this is such a fragile moment, one where kakavasha’s past, present, and future intersects. where his pain and his solace meet, and where all that he holds dear are at the very forefront of his mind as he finds his way forward. he trembles in your embrace, tiny sobs ripping from his throat as he struggles to keep your palms together.

you briefly wonder if this would be blasphemous, you holding him tightly with your free hand. “shh,” you coo, “shh. take a break, even if just for today…”

it’s too cruel to demand him to keep fighting even on his birthday. you try to shield him from all that is around you with your scarf and your figure, just as you want to shield him from all that could hurt him in the world. the night winds are chilly, but between you and him, you are warm.

“happy birthday, kakavasha.”

#honkai star rail #aventurine #aventurine x reader #honkai star rail x reader #ares's voracity pathstrider tales

[spaceclefairy]

Lonely Hours

You're beginning to suspect, much to your own exasperation, you may actually like the Ghoul. The problem is, he may actually like you, too (in his own way).

Act I - Keep That Coffee Hot

Act II - All Over Again

This is not the first gunfight the Ghoul has caused in your no-name wasteland town, and it absolutely won’t be the last. It is the first gunfight (well, that he has caused) that’s spilled into your office, though. You’re not thrilled about that, but, hey, as often as he’s come through town lately, it was bound to happen eventually. On the off chance there's anyone left roaming the streets when he shows up, there's always the possibility of him causing trouble.

You, currently, are crouched for cover behind your desk, staring down the sights of a rifle. You see the Ghoul clearly in the middle of the street, but you’re not worried about him. He’s a ghoul - resilience is part of the game. No, you’re busy picking off the horde of strangers attempting to shove their way into your office, particularly the ones killing the occasional straggling citizen of the town. Your front door is long gone (so much for that lock, huh, Cooper?), and the bars that serve as windows are barely hanging on by their bolts.

You manage to pick off most of the horde, and the Ghoul takes care of whatever your rifle won’t reach. When the gunfire tapers out and the encroaching horde is decimated, he climbs through the hole where the front door used to be, boots thudding on the dusty wooden floor. He doesn’t holster his gun.

“Get your shit,” the Ghoul orders. Dust drifts up from the wooden floor where his boots are planted. “We’re leavin’.”

You climb up from behind the desk and set your rifle to the side. “What the hell? Why?”

The Ghoul doesn’t answer for a beat. Rather, he grabs the closest bag of yours he can locate and starts shoveling shit into it (since you don’t appear to be listening to his orders).

“Because they were comin’ after you,” he finally replies, rifling through your desk drawers. He pulls out cases of chems and all the caps he can get his hands on, then looks up at you expectantly. “I said, go get your shit.”

“They couldn’t be coming after me. I’m a bounty agent,” you reply, cocking your head. “I’m off-limits”

“Well, they didn’t seem to think so,” the Ghoul replies, slinging his shoulder bag over his shoulder and tossing your pack over to you. “I’m not gonna tell you again, darlin’.”

You can’t imagine why anyone would be coming after you. Even if the plan was to rob the office and take the bounties on hand, it’s generally understood killing a bounty agent is more trouble than it’s worth. And no one, bounty hunter or otherwise, wants an agency coming down on their head for killing an agent over a few caps. 

You sigh. “I guess I’ll have to contact the agency in Filly. They won’t take kindly to this - this town is under their protection.”

“That’s just a couple days' walk,” the Ghoul says. He grabs you by the shoulder and guides you out the backdoor. “Let’s go.”

“You’re coming with me?”

“Didn’t you just hear me say we’re leavin’?”

You don’t have time to elaborate. Gunfire rings out in the distance, closer than you’d like for it to be.

“Just surprised is all…”

--- --- --- --- ---

The sun is just setting down beyond the horizon when you find a lean-to to stop at for the night. It’s just a rickety, wooden shack, riddled with holes and falling in like most everything in the wastelands, but it’ll serve its purpose just fine. There’s no way to build a fire in the lean-to, but you’d gotten your hands on a Vault-Tec contraption that gives off a queasy, dim greenish glow when you press a button

When you’ve settled in, you all but inhale one of the powdery ration packs you’d brought with you. The Ghoul takes a pull off of his inhaler and produces something unidentifiable from his shoulder back that he proceeds to eat. You do not have the capacity, nor the desire, to ask him what he just ate.

You sit cross-legged, crumple up your ration pack, and toss it into a corner of the shack. “Do you want to take the first watch?”

He grunts his acquiescence and pulls a liquor bottle out of his backpack, chasing whatever he just ate with a swig of moonshine. You’ve never seen him eat before - nor any ghoul, actually. It never occurred to you they could.

You spread your jacket out on the ground as a makeshift blanket. You curl into yourself, arm tucked under your chin, trying to stave off the impending chill of the night. It’s not the worst place you’ve ever slept, nor the worst company in whose presence you’ve slept, but you can tell that sleep won’t be coming anytime soon.

The Ghoul’s thick drawl splits the silence. “Quit fidgetin’.”

You roll over and look up at him. “I’m trying.”

“Could just fuck instead. Might help you sleep.”

You can barely see the Ghoul in the dim lamplight, but you know he’s smirking. “Here?”

He shrugs. “Got nothin’ else to do.”

“Except keep a lookout?”

He pats his thigh. “Well, if you come up here, I can still keep a lookout.”

It might be the fact that you can just barely make out the Ghoul’s face in the dim light, but he looks at you with what suspiciously appears to be genuine affection. He strips his gloves off and tosses them to the floor, right next to the gun he keeps close to his side. He takes your outstretched hand and guides you to climb up into his lap and straddle his thighs, then grabs your hips and scoots you closer to him. 

You half expect him to just yank your shirt over your head, but he doesn’t. He’s oddly gentle with you when he strips your shirt over your head and unbuttons your pants. It never fails to confuse you when he’s gentle with you, because gentle is simply not in his nature.

You decide to see how far you can push it.

You unbutton the top button of his shirt, waiting for him to tell you no, but he doesn’t. You unbutton a second, then a third, waiting for the inevitable that’s enough, but it doesn’t come. You assume he probably thinks you can’t see him well enough in the lamplight to see what his bare skin looks like, but you can. His chest and stomach are red and raw like the rest of him, build slight but still muscular under his pitted skin. You run your hands down his chest, down his stomach, and unbutton his pants. 

He sighs when you wrap your hand around his half-hard cock. He lets you palm him a good couple of times before he's pulling you closer by your hips so that your still-clothed cunt is pressing down on him. You steady yourself with hands on his chest and grind down on him.

The Ghoul’s touches are never patient, but when he wraps a hand around the back of your neck and pulls you in for a kiss that's all teeth and tongue, you get the sense he may be trying to be patient. That’s different than the last couple of times - he didn’t exactly bother to take his time when he was shoving his dick down your throat or fucking you stupid. There’s nothing else to do out here in the wasteland in the dark though, so he can take all the time he wants. You just don’t know why he wants to take his time. It doesn’t really matter, you suppose, as long as you’re both enjoying it (and you are).

The Ghoul breaks contact with you long enough to tug at the band of your unbuttoned pants. “Take these off.”

You fumble around, crawling out of his lap long enough to strip off one leg of your pants and underwear. At the same time, he lifts his hips up so he can jerk his pants down and almost completely unseats you. You’re held steady by his hands on your hips and unceremoniously yanked back down into his lap.

You can’t resist teasing him. “Oh, you want to pick up the pace now?”

“I told you last time you’re gonna ride me sundown to sunup,” the Ghoul says. He slides his fingers between your legs and spreads your lips apart, trailing a finger lightly through your folds. “I meant that.”

“I - oh - I see,” you manage. You take his heavy cock in hand, stroking him while he slides a finger into you. “Guess we’ve got plenty of - ah - of time.”

His eyes glint in the dim light, and you can just barely see him grin. “If you can hold out that long.”

It’s half challenge, half teasing, and it makes you lean forward and smash your lips against his. His unoccupied hand grabs your chin, forcing you to slow the ferocity of your kiss. 

You’re still not sure how to handle the Ghoul’s patience, but he makes that decision for you. He pulls back and presses his thumb to your lips, pushing between your teeth. You wrap your tongue around his thumb and suck, grinning when he hisses through his teeth. His cock twitches in your hand.

“You’ve got a real talent for that,” the Ghoul says, chuckling. You hum, and he pulls his thumb from your mouth. He swipes the wet digit across your nipple, then pats your hip. “Come on, sugar, climb on.”

You gladly oblige, holding him steady in your hand and sinking down onto him. It’s a stretch, but it satisfies a deep ache you didn’t realize was burning inside you. You roll your hips, lifting up and sliding back down onto him agonizingly slowly. You have every intention of doing this as slowly as you possibly can, but the feeling of you hot and wet, clenching around his cock, finally breaks the Ghoul’s patience.

The Ghoul grips your hips and thrusts up into you. Your hips come down to meet his, and it’s all you can do to keep yourself steady. You wrap your arms around his neck, and he pulls you flush against his chest. 

It's physically the closest you've ever been to him, you think. The past couple of times, you've only been able to get his pants down over his hips. He even kept wearing the duster the first time. Now, though, you feel his skin pressed to yours, and it’s warm and somehow comforting, especially here in the dark. 

When you cum, it's sharp and heavy and almost without warning. You'd gotten lost in the feeling of him slamming his hips against yours, of his skin sliding over yours, of his face pressed into your neck and teeth scraping over your flesh. It had become as familiar as your own heartbeat, his touch. Although, in the end, it's the soft grunts and groans the Ghoul makes, just loud enough for you to hear but soft enough to tell you he’s still trying to keep himself in check, that tips you soundly over the edge.

The Ghoul groans your name, hips stuttering as you clench around him. He wraps his arms around your waist, trying to hold you down flush against him. You don’t give him a break, though, and keep grinding down on his cock until he’s damn near howling in your ear. That only makes you fuck him harder, and you cum again, still riding the high of the first one. 

That’s what tips him over the edge - the feeling of you coming twice from just his fingers and his cock - and he cums deep in you, thrusting up into you until he’s spent. He sighs and pulls you off his cock, but he holds you in his lap while he comes down from his high. 

Even after you’ve both relaxed, the Ghoul holds you against him. His spend drips out of you; it runs down the back of your thigh, and you’re sure he can feel it in his lap. He doesn’t seem to care. He only moves to clean you up with the edge of his duster and wipe himself off, then grabs his inhaler and a vial of what you presume is rad-away and holds it to your lips for you to take a breath.

When he’s satisfied you’re taken care of, he gathers you up close to him and rests his chin on top of your head. “Go to sleep.”

“Thought you wanted me to ride you ‘till sunup?” you ask, face squished against his chest. “It’s still dark out.”

“We’ll give it another shot when it’s your turn to take watch.”

You fall asleep to the slow drag of his hand rubbing your back.

#cooper howard #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x fem!reader #the ghoul x reader #fallout the ghoul #fallout amazon #fallout prime #the ghoul

[shoshiwrites]

Decided to try my hand at a little postwar. Big thank you to @basilone for the prompts that inspired this ♡ Bucky Egan/War correspondent OC, also on Ao3! NSFW.

the nearness of you

The table’s littered in paper, a handful of pens, black-red-blue, the bound copy of her manuscript beside, her wristwatch, the coffee cup separated from its saucer.

The clock behind her, above the stove, reads just after one. 

She should probably try and get some sleep, she knows, but he’s due back in tonight, the tiny D. C. apartment they share until the paperwork goes through on a house. She hasn’t seen it in person yet, but he’s told her about it. Says she’ll love it. It’s got a nook for her desk, he says, a big window to the backyard.

A yard.

That’s a new thing, too. Hydrangea bushes and trees to watch the birds.

She inspects the coffee grounds at the bottom of the mug, dark specks in the dim light of the bulb above her head. There’s more sugar to be had now, a whole canister of it there on the counter, labeled in blue, and she can’t break the habit of only sprinkling a touch with the tiny spoon.

She doesn’t know if she’ll ever get used to it, waiting.

It's not like she hasn't done. The landscapes blur in her mind, the muddied boots, the blood, the tall dry grass, the leaden skies and swoops of birds — starlings, and the flies.

The radio next to the canisters of sugar and salt punches out the program sign-off in static, the tinny “Star-Spangled Banner“ that follows. She keeps it on for the baseball games, when he’s not here. The noise keeps her company, the promise that he’ll ask about the scores. Thank you for listening. Good night and good morning.

She makes it through half of the next page before she hears the turn of the lock.

“In here,” she says, like a stage-whisper, and her voice is thick, like she’s been sleeping. Like she hasn’t spoken since he left. 

“You’re up,” he says, and it’s a statement and a question at once, colored by his own face and curls that look like they might have seen a moment of shut-eye in the back of a taxi. He sounds a little surprised, maybe that she’s awake, that she’s greeted him before he’s opened his mouth. His cap must be by the door, and no need for an overcoat in the summer. She knows it’s only the hour and the neighbors that have kept him from coming in with a boom. He looks tired, the same softness to his face that she knows comes from exhaustion. She wonders how he’s been sleeping.

It’s the usual questions and answers, slow this time, and still rushed — have you eaten, how was the train, how’s the story going, hear anything good, and the last one means she gets to produce the little scrap of paper with her pencil marks, the scribbled notes. Two to one Yankees. Chandler walked nine in the first four innings but took a no-hitter into the ninth. Someone hit a one-out single. He guesses until he hits the name that rings a bell. She nods, and his eyes crinkle in delight — at the win, at the paper, at her own eyes warm with love.

He sees the manuscript pages too, the coffee grounds, the hunch of her shoulders. There’s a question in it, like maybe it’s not going as fine as she says it is. She reaches for him. “I missed you.” Maybe it doesn’t help anything, saying that, when this is what they do. Have done. Maybe it does. He smells a little bit like a smoking lounge, the faint scent of aftershave applied many hours earlier.

“Missed you too,” he says, wrapping his arms around her when she stands. “I missed my wife.”

She doesn’t know when she’ll get used to that, either.

Maybe she doesn’t feel like one, a wife, here with a dirty plate in the sink, and the coffeemaker that needs cleaning, and her slacks, and her hair curling away from her forehead.

He kisses the top of her head and maybe she does, here in his arms.

“How much,” she asks, and the feeling gathers in her throat, something tumbling.

He pulls back, the smallest smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “I’d say — a hell of a lot.” He cups her face with his hand, traces his thumb at her chin, kisses her like he’s passing a secret. “A whole hell of a lot.”

“Mmph,” she says, into his shoulder, and he looks like he might laugh.

“How much for you?”

She tucks a curl behind his ear. “”Bout the same. Maybe more.”

“More, huh?”

She pokes her tongue into his mouth, in the next kiss. His hands grasp the small of her back, his fingertips wandering lower. She shivers when he travels beneath the hem of her top, skims his fingers along the bare skin of her hip.

“John-” Her voice is a little breathy now, half-serious. “Don’t go starting something you can’t finish.”

“Now, just what are you accusing me of, Josephine?” His thumb presses against her hip, a promise. She starts to unbutton his jacket, the back of her hand falling to ghost against the front of his trousers. “Where’s the goddamn couch?”

They’d moved it to the spot themselves, not-so-gracefully accounting for the difference in their heights. It’s not as plush or as comfortably upholstered as either of them would really like, but they’re not about to waste too much time complaining. He settles himself over her, or tries to, hipbones framing hers. 

She bites her tongue with a crack about needing coffee, even though she knows he’d laugh. He’s like that, he can laugh at himself. She lets him work his hand between her legs, over the brown herringbone. 

Maybe they didn’t think it through either, as clothed as they are. It doesn’t stop either of them, her from pulling him down to her mouth, the wet kisses and flushed cheeks, the growing hardness of him under the olive wool.

They hardly wiggle out of them, the inconvenient trousers, just enough for her to grab at the back of his thigh and squeeze. “Alright there, Mrs. Egan.” 

She goes redder, a sight, and the dark tufts of hair just above the waistband. He sighs out against her throat. 

She’s wondering just how comfortable he is exactly, knee wedged like that against the couch, until she feels him against her, slick and swollen, until-

Her exhale’s sharp, the twist of it, the little gasp-groan of it, of them, her nails against the curve of his back. 

He covers her like a blanket, heavy and warm, the dull oak moss of his aftershave, like everything she’s ever missed. The movement of his hips grows quicker, spooling tight in the bottom of her stomach. 

“Got me right where you want me, huh,” he asks, and his eyes are hazy with it, stormy-beautiful-blue. 

“All I dreamed about-” she breaks off with a noise, a whine, a spot inside hit just right. 

“Missed me, huh?”

“So much-” Every day, since-

She clenches around him, the edges of her sight shimmering, watches his mouth fall open that touch it always does. A second or two before he remembers just what exactly they’re doing, how they ought to be careful if they don’t want-

She arches, her gasp swallowed with a kiss. He comes in her hand, a dribble sliding down the crease of her thigh. The sound the sticking makes, between their bodies, pulls another noise from her chest.

Heavy, unthinking kisses against her nose, her forehead, her lips. Her shoulders lift, needing more of him. 

“I kept thinking about this,” he says, hoarse. “On the train.” A fresh thrill runs through her, touches her cheeks. “Almost missed my damn stop.”

She doesn’t push the errant curl back that brushes her forehead from his. “That wouldn’t have made either of us too happy.”

“Me in Richmond, and my darling wife here on this couch.”

“My darling husband in Richmond and me here on this couch.” Her fingers play at the back of his neck, the moments before they’ll get up and clean and dress for bed. “Good thing you wised up, then.”

“With the real thing here at home? Be pretty hopeless if I hadn’t.”

She traces her thumb against the corner of his mouth, watches his eyes follow her collarbone. “Does Mr. Not Pretty Hopeless care to join the Mrs. in the shower?”

He dips his head, kisses the crook of her neck and shoulder, intent on kissing across her chest. “Care to? That’s the best offer I’ve heard all week.”

#bucky egan x oc #john egan x oc #shoshi writes #smut under the cut #jo's tag #motaverse #i have no idea what's happening here actually #big thank you to the internet for the baseball and old radio info! lifesavers! #also just need everyone to know that jo has been my oc since [redacted] and any naming coincidences are uh. exactly that! #l o l

[jerzwriter]

I just couldn't let the first chapter stand. This story is not part of my headcanon. In my HC, Trystan is in tune enough with Carolina to know she'd consider an engagement premature at this stage. But, I can conceivably see Trystan wanting to propose for... reasons. So, I wanted to do a little fix it... and here it is in two parts. Oh, and since I can suck at getting subsequent parts up, part two will be posted later today. :)

Book: Crimes of Passion: The Proposal Pairing: m!Trystan Thorne x Carolina Rose (F!MC) Characters: Ruby Webster, Luke Watanabe, Mafalda Ginovesi Words: 2,074 Rating: Teen Summary: Carolina makes an unexpected discovery in Trystan's kitchen, then runs out to seek advice from her friends. A/N: Participating in @choicesmaychallenge24 Hera: Marriage

Part Two Crimes of Passion Masterlist Complete Masterlist

There’s something special about early mornings in New York City - before the sun peeks through the clouds and the first bird has yet to sing its song. It’s the only time you’ll find the City that never sleeps at rest and it can be intoxicating. But the serenity on the streets of New York at this early hour was nothing compared to the tranquility inside Trystan Thorne’s apartment.

There, he slept peacefully with the love of his life nuzzled closely at his side. But while Trystan was adrift in dreamland, he awakened Carolina from hers, courtesy of somniloquy, or as the masses would call it... talking in his sleep.  

“Yes, Your Majesty... Right away... I’ll find it...”

Carolina opened her eyes with a smile; she had seen this show before and found it quite entertaining. It rarely had a repeat, so she never knew what was in store.

“Unhand me, you beast! Otherwise, I can’t promise the search will be thorough!”

She cocked a brow at that one, gently rubbing Trystan's back. “What the hell are you dreaming about, my prince.”

With a quick jerk, he rolled over, desperately reaching out in his sleep. “Don’t go, Carolina! I love you!”

The level of desperation in his voice tugged at Carolina’s heart, and she quickly pulled him into a protective embrace.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered, kissing the top of his sleepy head. “You silly man. I love you, too.”

Still sleeping, Trystan's face visibly changed as he snuggled closer; peace and contentment were the rules for the day. Once she was certain he was sleeping soundly, Carolina decided returning to her slumber was the best thing to do, and she was just about to reach that goal when the ring of her phone jolted her awake. Not wanting to disturb Trystan, she lowered the volume and quickly tiptoed out of his room, grumbling the whole way. She saw Mafalda’s name on her screen and answered with an exaggerated yawn.

“Who’s dead?” she asked, still rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“Excuse me?”

“If you’re calling me this early in the morning, I’m assuming someone died, and you need me to find out who did it.”

Mafalda’s sarcastic grin was so powerful Carolina could hear in her voice. “It doesn’t always have to be that deep... or tragic... But I have a case I want you to start on immediately.”

She went on to explain that one of New York’s wealthiest and most influential socialites had her dog stolen while strolling in Central Park; time was of the essence, and the heiress was willing to pay handsomely to have her precious poodle back home.

“Really?” Carolina asked. “This sounds like an easy payday to me!”

“I admire your confidence; now, see it through. The client’s name is Nina Ricci, and her address is....”

“Hold on a second,” Carolina replied, fumbling through a kitchen drawer. “I need to find a pen.”

Still groggy, she was quickly awakened when her fingers brushed over a soft, velvet box. Her heart stopped when she looked down—after all, she had only seen that color blue in movies... and she knew what it meant. It wasn’t nosiness as much as her detective’s acumen that made her open the box at once, and she gasped loud enough for Mafalda to hear when she saw what was inside.

“Carolina... are you OK?”

It was a ring. Not any old ring, but an engagement ring fit for royalty glistening in her hands.

“No... this... this can’t be....” she muttered.

“Carolina, what can’t be?” 

“Oh, uh... Mafalda... it’s uh... it’s nothing. Uhm... I’ll be at the office within the hour.”

She hung up without waiting for a reply, her heart racing as she stared at the glittering gem in her hand.  

“This can’t be...” she repeated. “He’s not planning on proposing... is he?”

She brought the ring closer, the radiant light it emanated assaulting her startled eyes. She had never been one of those girls who dreamed about engagements from childhood, so she couldn’t even begin to guess how many carats this was, though she knew it eclipsed the two-carat boulder that graced Mafalda’s left hand.

“This had to cost him more than I’ve earned in my lifetime,” she muttered. “This is crazy! And he has it in the kitchen drawer... the kitchen drawer. The man has, like... five safes in this apartment! And he keeps this in the kitchen drawer?”  

She let out a shaky breath as a million thoughts raced in her mind. She’d be lying if she said she never thought about the two of them getting married...someday... in the future. The distant future, but this... this was far too soon!

“Is he really ready for this? Am I?”

A vision of Trystan on one knee appeared before her. He cradled the precious gem in his hand, and that sweet, doe-eyed look she had become unable to deny was all over his face. She broke into a sweat. She considered Googling her symptoms. Dizziness, nausea, and a rapid heartbeat could indicate many things, but she felt guilty for hoping to find "discovering an engagement ring in your lover’s kitchen drawer" among the culprits.

The sound of footsteps plodding down the hall pulled her from her panicked state. She returned the ring to the exact spot where she found it and grabbed a container of orange juice from the fridge. Jumping into a chair at the kitchen counter, she scrolled through her phone, attempting to look nonchalant.

That's where a groggy Trystan found her. "Look at you!" He mumbled as his arms encircled her. “It should be against the law to look that good so early in the morning.”

“Really?” She grinned. “You look pretty good in the mornings, too, sir. If they make it illegal, I would have to arrest you.”

“Kinky,” he growled. “As long as we’re in the same cell, I wouldn’t mind one bit.”

He shuffled to the counter to make a pot of coffee. “What are you doing up so early?”

“Mafalda called. She has a case for me. I’ll be heading into the office momentarily.”

Trystan’s face fell. “Today! But we just got back from Drakovia! Surely, Mafalda can spare you for a day!”

 “You have a lot to learn about Mafalda... and what it’s like to be a working person,” Carolina grinned.

“Then it's time I learn. I’ll get dressed and go with you.”

“NO!” Carolina yelled, halting him in his path.

“Why? We are partners, aren’t we?”

“Uh, yeah. But Mafalda only requested me, and, uh, hon... life’s been a whirlwind lately. I think I need a few hours to focus on myself and my work... is that OK?”

“Of course it is. Maybe we could meet up later, at...”

“Oh, look at the time!” Carolina interrupted, planting a quick kiss on Trystan’s cheek before bolting toward the door. “I have to go! Talk to you later!”

“Carolina, wait...” he hollered after her, but it was pointless. She was already gone, and Trystan’s dazed look turned into one of pure amusement.

“I always knew it would be interesting to date an American,” he grinned, raising his coffee cup to his lips. “I just had no idea how interesting.”

~~~~~ 

A short time after, Carolina burst into the agency, startling Ruby and Luke, who were already there.

“Carolina,” Ruby chuckled. “Is someone chasing you?”

“Ruby!” a red-faced Carolina panted. “I need your help! I need your help right now! It’s an...emergency!”

“If it’s about finding the poodle, I’m not your woman. I don’t know much about dogs.”

“It’s not about the dog! It’s about the ring!”

Ruby scrunched her nose. “Did someone lose a ring?”

“No! No, it’s not about a lost ring; it’s about a FOUND ring! An engagement ring! In Trystan’s drawer!”

The room fell silent as the couple’s eyes grew wide. They exchanged a shocked look before Luke turned to his friend with alarm.

“You’re right. This is an emergency!”

“I know!” Carolina screeched, crumbling into a nearby chair. “This has never happened to me! What am I supposed to do with this?”

Ruby sat at her friend’s side, resting a comforting hand atop her knee.

“ Carolina, I realize this is... soon... and it's a bit of a shock, but the man you adore is planning on proposing. You may not be ready, but this isn’t exactly a tragedy.”

“Well, that depends on how you define tragedy,” Luke injected.

“Honestly, it’s not even all that surprising,” Ruby stated, glowering in Luke’s direction.

“It’s not?” Carolina questioned. “We’ve been together three months, Ruby!”

“Sure. But if you kept up with the latest royal gossip like I do, you’d know that royals operate a much different playing field than us mere mortals. Engagements tend to happen pretty quickly in their world. Granted, most of them are arranged, but still.”

“Well, I’m not a royal!” Carolina huffed. “And I haven’t talked to my Uncle Tommy today, but I’m comfortable saying that he hasn’t been having late-night conversations with Viktoria and Maksim to discuss my dowry!”

Anxiety overwhelming her, she jumped to her feet, pacing the floor furiously before her friends.

“Who does this! Who goes and buys a ring... a very expensive ring, from TIFFANY’S, I might add...”

“Oh! It’s from Tiffany’s!” Ruby cooed.

“.... without even talking about it first! In the year of our lord 2024!” She motioned for Luke to get out of his seat. “I need to sit... I’m hyperventilating!”

Knowing better than to fight her, Luke acquiesced. “Carolina, you could always just tell him you found the ring and, you know, talk about it like grown-ups?”

The three friends turned toward the sound of an exasperated sigh and found Mafalda leaning against the frame of her office door. She crossed the room and placed a steaming cup of coffee before her beleaguered employee. “You need to calm down.”

“How much did you hear?” Caronlina asked wearily.

“All of it.”

“You heard all of it, and you’re telling me to calm down!”

“Yes. Get yourself together! You’ve faced down mobsters, cult killers, and murderous evil brothers; for fucks sake, you can handle coming face to face with a ring in Trystan's apartment!"

“She has a point,” Luke agreed.

“Mafalda, you’re the only expert on marriage present,” Ruby interjected. “What advice do you have?”

“Please,” Mafalda scoffed. “The only marriage I’m an expert on is my own.” She turned to Carolina, arms crossed and a look that was both comforting and commanding on her face. “I know you love Trystan, but have you given any thought to marrying him?”

“I mean... maybe a couple times... in passing. But I imagined it the future... the distant future... Even if marriage was important to me, in the three months I’ve known him, we’ve been busy chasing down those killers and murders you mentioned... never mind clearing Trystan's name and keeping him out of a Drakovian prison! When would I have had time to be thinking about... marriage?”

Mafalda screwed her eyes shut as she rubbed the bridge of her nose. “You need to talk to him. He needs to hear these things from you, not us. Look, some people have whirlwind courtships, get married, and go on to have a beautiful life together, but Carolina, a marriage takes two people, and if you’re not ready for it yet... that’s fine. But tell him that.”

“Yeah, it’s not like he’s going to up and leave you if you say you’re not ready,” Luke added.

Carolina turned to him, and for the first time today the anxious look in her eyes was replaced with one of fear. “How... how do you know that?”

“Because I have eyes,” he half-smiled. “He’s crazy about you, and you’re crazy about him. Just... go get your timelines straight.”

“He’s right,” Mafalda agreed. I always say that if people in a relationship are honest and love each other, they’ll get through anything.”

 Carolina gulped down the rest of her coffee, appearing more at ease than she had since this morning’s discovery. “You’re right. Now, do I tell him I found the ring and have this conversation with him now? Or wait until he proposes and say...no.”

“Offh! That’s a tough one,” Ruby jumped in. “You know Trystan... he’s go big or go home. If he’s proposing, I’m sure he has a flash mob planned.”

Carolina ran a hand down her face. "Thanks for that, Ruby," she groaned.

“You’ll have to make that call,” Maflada smiled, tossing a file Carolina’s way. “But you have some time to mull it over because, right now, you have a poodle to find.”

Part Two will be up later today. :)

@choicesficwriterscreations

#crimes of passion #crimes of passion choices #trystan thorne #trystan thorne x f!mc #crimes of passion the proposal #playchoices #choices fanfic #choices stories you play #playchoices fanfic #choices

[roetrolls]

Desperate Measures

A bad dream will not be hard to come by in this place. Dread poisons every corner of the dingy apartment, as heavy and saturated as the cloying scent of vanilla that seems almost to seep from the walls. Both cling to Nymira like a veil, constricting around her with each breath she takes, and she knows before her head hits the pillow that this sleep will not be a restful one.

How could it be? Visions of a tight and hungry smile flash behind her lidded eyes, glinting fangs only growing sharper each time she expels them from her thoughts. She can almost feel his cold mirth washing over her, ebbing like a wave that threatens to drag her out to sea. He is a demon far easier to vanquish in her own domain. A flash of her tail, a moment’s shelter for whatever sorry soul she visits, and peace is restored.

If only it were so simple here.

She wants to go home. She wants to make up with Cylion and sit with her father and push this dreadful week into the depths of her subconscious where it belongs. 

She wants someone to save her.

And as always, that’s what does it.

Nymira grasps at Cylion’s dream with practiced, instinctual ease, warping it around her like a scattered beam of light as she-- Cylion’s dream? No. Cylion doesn’t dream. 

What is this?

It is a dream. Of that much she is certain. She feels aware, lucid, in a way that is at once both completely alien and utterly correct, as natural as taking breath into her lungs. A dream. She has never felt more awake.

But where is she? A look around gives little answer. She stands at a cliffside, a deep black sea lapping at the sands beneath her feet, but details are sparse. It feels almost unfinished, as if she has wandered onto the very edge of this reality. Above her, atop the craggy outcropping, a more tangible hive sits perched and overlooking the shoreline, a dreadful, icy cold creeping out from its looming silhouette.

“Back again? You’re starting to look desperate, my friend.”

Nymira’s veins turn to ice, Persep’s dulcet words filling her head with such proximity that she almost feels as though she is speaking them herself. She whips her head around, fear gripping at her lungs, when another voice rings through her skull just the same.

“You can’t have expected to be left completely unsupervised with her,” comes her brother’s terse reply.

The godling tenses. She did find Cylion.

Visiting her captor.

Did she do this? Bring them together somehow, through all her drifting thoughts of rescue? Surely that can’t be. 

Again. As the word finally registers, Nymira finds a deep, gnawing pit expanding in her stomach. Back again. 

“You’re not here to grant me a few days more, then?” Persep asks, voice light. “Pity. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, after all.” 

“Don’t push your luck,” Cylion growls.

Nymira’s heart swells, the growing void in her gut quickly replaced with its light. He knows. He’s been here already, of course he has, to demand her release. Even at rest, he is looking for her. 

Hope soaring, she gathers her skirt into her hands and scans the beach for a way up, certain the men must be conversing in the hive overhead. Cylion’s name rises to her lips, she is about to cry for him when he speaks again.

“I gave you four. That was more than generous.”

The call dies in her throat.

“Worth a try.”

Whatever Cylion says next, Nymira struggles to hear it, his voice drowned out by the ringing that suddenly fills her ears. Anguish expands to cover her like a thick and rolling fog, choking out what little comfort she has found and curling like a plume of smoke into her lungs.

She wakes up gasping for breath, hands clutching at her chest and throat as if to claw away the pain, and a horrified whine falls uselessly from her lips. 

Back again.

She has always heard of hearts being shattered. It’s such a common turn of phrase. Common enough to dilute the true weight of its violent imagery, to cover it in a veneer of mundanity thick enough to mask its gut-wrenching reality.

I gave you four.

To call Nymira’s heart shattered would not do it justice. Pain radiates from her chest and digs into her core, coursing through her veins like an army of glass shards. 

Maybe it wasn’t him. Maybe she didn’t reach him at all! Yes, maybe it was truly just a dream, a manifestation of her own worst fears, concocted by her fearful mind and Persep’s suffocating apartment.

Cylion would not put her in danger.

He would not give her away.

Just like he wouldn’t lie to you, right?

A wave of vertigo washes over her as the Dreamer pulls herself from the sofa and staggers towards the bedroom, stomach sloshing angrily all the while. Head swimming with nausea, she braces herself against the wall and sucks in a deep breath, only to gag at the acrid taste of vanilla that hits her throat. 

She stays like that a moment, head hanging low and shoulders shaking, before at last she straightens and throws open the door to where her abductor sleeps, hands rising to grip the frame.

Before she even has chance to speak, Persep begins to stir, responding to her intrusion with more alertness than he has any right to at this hour of the day. He sits up and turns his gaze to her with an eager curiosity.

“You have two days,” Nymira announces from the threshold, fighting to keep the tremor from her voice.

“Hm?” 

“Cylion gave you four,” she warbles, vision fractured by the tears that rush to fill her eyes. “And it’s been two. Y-You… You have two left.”

Persep regards her silently as he processes her words. Finally, his lips part into a grin. “Eavesdropper.”

She gulps down a whimper, shoulders buckling slightly. Any hope that the dream was a fabrication of her own design diminishes to nothing.

“You have to let me go.”

“Mhm.”

“So I… I have no reason to comply with you. I will go home whether I help you or not.”

His grin widens. “But?”

Nymira swallows thickly, shaken further by how quickly he has read her intentions. Though she cannot seem to quell her trembling under the weight of her recent discovery, she forces her back straight and raises her chin, summoning as much confidence as she can muster.

“I want to know… Everything. What you’ve learned about my abilities. How you are manipulating them. And…” She pauses, taking another breath to steel her quaking nerves. “You’re going to teach me.”

Persep hums in response, obviously amused by her attempts at conviction. “Am I?”

“You’ll get what you want. I’ll make it for you.”

She did not think his smile could get wider. Brandishing the same shining white fangs she has so come to loathe during her stay, the purpleblood rises to his feet and strides towards her, spindly hand outstretched and waiting. 

“Very well, Dreamer,” Persep coos as she sets her palm in his. “You have yourself a deal.”

#dream sequence arc #dream sequence curated #writing #nymira writing #guest star! #persep #cylion #:) #teeheeeeeee

[sad-writers]

l'appel du vide

I am afraid of dying

I am so afraid that I listen to true crime podcasts every day and watch documentaries about disasters and hospital television shows. 

I am so afraid that I walk alone at night. I never look before I cross the street. I never lock my doors.

I am so afraid that I obsess over death. I think about it all the time, I am infatuated with it. I am besotted, fascinated, enamored by it.

I am so “afraid of death” that I want it to happen to me right now. I want to be dead right now. I wish someone would come and kill me. Wish some animal would come and eat me up, piece by terrified piece. I wish my house would catch fire and no one could put it out. I wish there was a gaping fissure in the ground and it swallowed me whole. I wish the sun would collide with the Earth tomorrow. Please end me. It doesn’t matter how, just end me! Right this second preferably but I can wait an hour or two. A day even. I just can’t take it anymore. I want it. I want it so bad it keeps me up at night, my hands start to shake and I feel that feeling and I know it. I know it like anyone could ever know anything. I want to be dead. I’ll do anything. Anything at all. Anything.

n.

#silly me #:) hehe #some reflection on the fear and desire theory hahahhh #its funny isn't it? #the way that sort of gets all intertwined and messy #it makes me laugh #in a bit of a fucked up way but its funny to me #about the title #it means the call of the void #the use of it here is inaccurate but the title seemed fancy and artsy and its a real thing and i guess it kind of relates #i mean its really an ironic usage #the call of the void is an intellectual destruction #youre not frantic #it calls to you in the middle of the day #and you hear its ring but you do not answer #fear and desire #however #are animalistic #fear and desire drive people fucking crazy #they are both irrational often uncontrollable and they drive people fucking. crazy. #are we motivated by anything other than fear and desire? I mean really. #it just makes sense for them to entwine like this doesn't it? #tw death #fear #desire #oh yeah #you could listen to dance of the knights for the sort of vibe i was stuck on while writing this #idk why it was the vibe #considering how it feels so sinister #but yk

[beaulesbian]

another fun parallel with these two, and a ringing snail communicator:

luffy, chapter 549, answering a snail on a stolen navy ship while on his way to save ace in marineford after wrecking the whole of impel down prison:

zoro, chapter 614, answering a snail on the fishman island, in the ryugu palace, talking to the princes of the kingdom while the king is tied up behind him:

#they really have some similar energy in these. #even the ppl around them act similar like “wtf are you doing” akdjs its so funny #zolu #one piece #monkey d. luffy #roronoa zoro #mine #hearing a ringing snail. picking it up almost immediately even if they might not be the best person to answer that - but actually they are #thanks to their bluntness and straightforwardness it makes the whole call much better. #also i like how even before that zoro was already thinking how to get everyone out of there. getting the crew together and away #so with that plan - as a first mate- he was ready to deal about the demands to secure a way for the strawhats to leave #(at this point in the story at least) #gif:zolu #gif:op manga

[electriccenturies]

fucking hate this site still but i need to express a few things about mcr mikey way and nowhere else to do it so... here i am

1: glad to see mcr in their rat era. in fact my note to gerard would be to up the rat content by a significant amount. also sell that shirt that just says ‘rats’ cause i’ll go to great lengths to buy one

2: mikey singing along to flw like... this is an evolution from it being written about him, to him and ray high fiving at the shrine, to this :’) love seeing him 8 years sober and his illness treated and him being HAPPY and confident <3

3: have been saying for 10 years that mikey is every bit as unhinged as gerard, if not more, and now ppl are finally seeing it lol. it’s subtler bc gerard leans tf into being weird while mikey seems to either not know or not care, but he’s Weird af. ik yall thought it was frank or maybe gerard but it did not surprise me one bit to hear that mikey was responsible for the tramp stamp shirt bc that dude loves a reference, loves that MCR is so beloved, and also i just think he genuinely loves shit like that lol. thinking about smodcast and gerard going ‘well you see, he used to dress like a prostitute’. mikey doesnt do sexual shame ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

also dont want to get into this too much but while im airing my mikey thoughts and people already hate me... the whole ‘MiKeY kNoWs A gAy PoRn AcToR?!?’ bit is so old and such an obvious example of why the whole cishet mikey thing is actually super regressive and not funny. ik people are gonna be like ItS a JoKe but for real, saying that liking sports and wearing hats and tank tops makes someone straight sucks! y’all will believe that gerard is gay because he kissed a few dudes in public, and mikey was out there grinding (sorry, slow dancing) with dudes, cuddling with hey chris, getting sappy poetry written about him by pete wentz, etc, IN PRIVATE and you cannot imagine he’s bi because he says ‘bro’ or whatever? stop acting like ‘gay’ is a personality!!! idc if you think its harmless and “funny” it excludes a lot of people, escalates the bullshit fem/masc dichotomy, and contributes to a culture of people thinking they have ‘gaydar’. it also shows that you know nothing about mikey because it legit wasnt a transformation besides the hats, he’s always been like that. he’s liked sports and wrestling since he was a young kid! he’s always been very social and into parties! they’ve never hidden this! you just didn’t know because he’s quiet!!! and he actually seems to care a lot about his clothes even if it doesn’t look like it, you just cant handle it because you preferred how he dressed in his 20s. im not even mad about this on a mikey level because i doubt he cares i just hate it on a “this is a really backwards view of queerness that is being passed off as progressive” level

4: very into the flipping the script with the peppa pig thing. like mikey always has made weird random references that nobody except gerard gets (and gerard is usually pretending) but this one??? fully relevant and topical, and he justified it TO gerard while everyone else got it. idk this isnt really funny or cool or anything i just think its Sweet. bc i love that he works on word association like that and i love him being understood

5: not new with the shows (actually, not new in any sense, he’s been like this Always as far as we know) but i will forever love mikey for having a very clear idea of what he thinks is fashionable and not giving a fuck if anyone else agrees. hell yeah dude, you keep wearing what makes you happy!

#i have no followers and this is straight up a ramble about mikey so #just gonna drop more feelings about the references i guess #in the tags #because i love him so much for it #like im specifically thinking of that interview where the guy asks if he's the 'elf' because he's not wearing #'festive black' like the rest of them and like he obviously means 'christmas elf' #and mikey goes 'oh yeah this is my lord of the rings outfit' with ZERO hesitation #thats also the one where he gets called 'the new guy mike' lmao #conch shell was a reference too like i know its funny and sounded dumb but it was very much a lord of the flies ref! #its just that noone picked up on it because why tf would he be talking about that??? #i mean it makes sense to me but my brain works on word association too so yeah desert island -> lord of the flies makes sense #but it was not relevant and it was a Bad answer lol #'you bring coconuts too mikey' #anyway just one more #theres a super old radio interview where gerard says 'salad days' and mikey goes #'roy rogers fixin' bar dude!' #he hears gerard say salad and immediately is like YES AND FROM THIS PARTICULAR RESTAURANT TOO #anyway lol mikey was so important to me for the last 10 years of my life and now i have Feelings again like damn i just love watching #that dude do what he loves and living his dream and finally getting the appreciation he deserves/not being wildly mischaracterized #because fans cant separate mental illness from personality #oh ok last thing for real because i think its hilarious #those pics of fans with gerard wearing his 'i dont want to be in a picture and if u make me i will be unrecognizable' clothes #incredible

[sanguineterrain]

how about Jason with the prompt "text me when you get home"? the one time they forget/fall asleep before sending the text and Jay loses hid mind. rushes over expecting them to be dead but they passed out on the couch as soon as they got home

really superbly SCRUMPTIOUS prompt Aud. I love protective jaybird 🥰‼️ thanks for sending something in 🫶

jason todd x gn!reader. worried protective snuggly jason. no warnings really, ya boy is just paranoid and madly in love with you 💓

request something! I rb all fics to @sanguinelibrary

****

As soon as you get out of your last class of the day, your phone rings.

You answer it, wedging the phone between your ear and shoulder as you fish in your bag for a couple of bills. You're already walking to the train station.

"Hi, snookie bear," you say into the phone, slightly delirious with hunger and sleep deprivation.

Jason snorts on the other end. "That's a new one. Hey, baby. Y'heading home?"

"Indeed I am."

"Need a ride?"

You wait and listen. Eventually, you hear the sounds of hitting and grunting in the background. You roll your eyes—only Jason would be in the middle of a fight and then ask if you need a ride home.

"No, I'm okay. It's not dark yet. Plus you sound busy."

"I'm never too busy for you," he says immediately. "And it's gonna get dark in an hour. Are you sure—"

"Yes, Jay," you say gently. "I'm sure. Don't worry about me. I'm going straight home."

You're already at the station. There's a good amount of people, students and workers alike. The university is in a relatively okay part of town, especially during the day. You're not worried. It's not like you traipse through Crime Alley on your downtime.

"Okay." Jason takes a deep breath. "Just—just be careful. Text me when you get home."

You note the hint of worry in his tone. Maybe this week has been particularly saturated with crime. Jason tends to get a little overbearing about your safety when he's had a tough week. You know he had go down to Blüdhaven and help his brother—with what specifically, you don't know.

Most of the time, you're sure you don't want to know.

"I always do," you say. The train pulls up to the station. "Ooh, train's here! I'll talk to you later. I'm thinking of ordering takeout. Too tired to cook."

"Okay, sweetheart. Be safe. Love you. Lock your door."

You roll your eyes fondly. "Yes, Jay. Love you too. Bye."

You hang up as you step onto the train. You pull your headphones out of your bag and shut your brain off during the ride. By the time you get off the train, you've lost hope that you'll be doing any work tonight. You're absolutely wiped out after three back-to-back classes.

It's still light when you get home. You lock the door after you get in, the habit ingrained into you, and dump your bag onto the couch.

Takeout is a no-go. You're hungry now and about thirty seconds away from passing out on the couch.

You change into your home clothes, eat a granola bar, and call it a day. You'll eat more later.

You turn off your phone to bar any annoying notifications and fall into bed, eyes closing immediately.

****

The sound of your deadbolt being teared off its chain wakes you up. You flinch and jump awake, trying to blink through sleep. Your mouth is dry from how hard you slept, and your eyesight is slightly blurry from the sudden flood of moisture.

Your bedroom door swings open, and suddenly you're pulled into warm, heavily muscled arms. You hug back on instinct; you'd know the feel of your boyfriend anywhere.

"Jay, h—"

"You didn't text," he says, voice shaking. "You said you would. I was—I thought you were—"

You tense, guilt knocking into you.

"Shit. Jason, I'm so sorry. I meant to, I was just so tired..."

Jason pulls back to look at you, hands still on your shoulders. His expression is stern.

"I'm gonna pick you up from now on. When are your late days?"

"Jay, no, GCU is across town. You can't possibly pick me up three days a week. That's too much! What about patrol?"

"Somebody else is out at this time," he says stonily. "Crime Alley can wait an hour while I get you home."

His eyes blaze green, a side effect of the Pit. You can tell he's putting every effort into keeping a lid on the worry and fear and anger over your silence.

"Jason." You cup his face. "Honey, I'm safe. I'm sorry I didn't text you. I'm sorry I worried you. But your adrenaline is spiked right now, Jay. Everything feels magnified. I don't need to be picked up. I was perfectly safe coming home. Okay?"

He shakes his head, holding your wrists. "Anything could've happened. I was so—fuck, baby, I was so scared. I-I checked the station footage and the traffic cams, and I didn't see you after you cut through the park, and I thought—I was sure you'd—"

Jason pulls your arms around his neck and buries his face into your shoulder. He supports you by the backs of your thighs, tugging you into his lap. Then he clings tight.

"Oh, Jay," you murmur, petting his curls. "I'm alright. This end of Gotham isn't so bad. And I know you'd have found me even if something had happened. But nothing did."

"Can't lose you," he chokes out.

"You won't lose me, honey," you say. "You keep me safe."

He trembles in your embrace. You kiss the shell of his ear and continue to pet his hair.

"Let me pick you up tomorrow, at least," he pleads. "We'll get dumplings at that place you like. You barely ate anything when you came home."

"Okay, Jay," you say, because you know he needs that reassurance. He won't relax without it. "That sounds good."

You keep stroking his hair. "Y'wanna order in now?"

"In a minute."

Jason lays you both down on the bed. He throws a leg over yours and pulls you into his chest. It's now that you see just how much tension is locked in his shoulders. He's exhausted.

"Jus' wanna hold you for a bit," he says, lips resting on your shoulder.

He's drowsy, the adrenaline finally ebbing. You close your eyes and snuggle into his arms.

"You can hold me for as long as you want," you say, threading your fingers with his. "I'm not going anywhere."

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #jason todd fanfiction #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood fanfiction #batman fanfiction #dc fanfiction #inbox #blurb

[backwzzds]

ೃ⁀➷ love me, connie springer (nsfw)

thinking about babydaddy!connie fucking you nice and slow after finding out you got stood up by your date. having little constentina (his idea, but tina for short) for the weekend, your precious angel just couldn’t keep her mouth shut to her daddy when you’d told her you were going on a small ‘dinner’

“she said dinner but that really means date, daddy.”

connie isn’t surprised. no one knew how to handle you beside him. i mean, he’s had your ass in place successfully for nearly ten years; only he was man enough to handle you, your mind, and most of all your body.

you loved connie like no other, you wanted no one else to be the father of your children. but you knew the streets would eventually take him away from you, and you just didn’t wanna stick around for that. not when you had a five year old girl depending on the both of you. connie looked for other ways to make bread without selling or doing anything…illegal but it was hard to match the stacks he was bringing home every weekend.

your separation was a one sided agreement anyways it seems. to you? you two were broken up. to connie delulu ass? you were his wife and you’re ‘smoking dick if you think ion belong to you and you’on belong to me.’

you didn’t even have any words for the absence of your so called ‘date.’. after an hour of waiting, you figured you’d call in to check on tina. ringing connie, your babyfather answered on the first ring, of course with a wood in his mouth and multiple lights on his face, signaling he was watching tv.

“hey,” your voice is solemn and low. you really were tired and ashamed to say anything more.

“hey mama, you okay?” connie’s hazel brown eyes quickly flick over to yours through the screen.

you shrug though he can’t see it. “i’m okay.” you admit. “just callin’ to check on my baby.” the frame was only on your face, but from the small shake of your hand, connie had managed to get a glimpse of a pretty black dress you’d sported, breasts looking three times as big as it usually did because of your sitting position. he could tell you dressed up for the night.

“yeah? she good, just upstairs sleepin’ right now. how was your date, pretty?” you hear connie turn down the tv in the background and give you his full intention.

you furrow your brows. “what? boy, how’d you know about it?”

your baby father blows out a huff of smoke and chuckles, flashing his gold canines. he wasn’t gon snitch on his lil informant princess. “i got my ways. tell me bout it baby.”

with a roll of your eyes, you let out a tired sigh and felt your shoulders sag. “wouldn’t know. the nigga never showed.”

connie furrows his own thick eyebrows. “what you mean? he told you he couldn’t come?” he asked. from the shake of your head, you see his face soften on the screen. “come over n’ smoke with me. lemme make you feel better.”

you kiss your teeth and throw your head back, already knowing where the conversation was headed. embarrassment flooded your expression. “you eating my pussy is not gonna make me feel better, constance.”

connie kissed his teeth and waved you off dismissively. “you’on know that.”

a blush can’t help but creep its way onto your brown cheeks. “i’m supposed to be staying away from you, ya know.”

connie gives you a knowing grin, shamelessly flexing the two deep dimples in his cheeks that constentina inherrited from him. “yeah? how’s that going for you, mama?”

“obviously not good because i’m actually considering your offer of being a booty call tonight?” you laugh.

“come onnn mama, tina’s sleep, i got a wood rolled for you and i want you here.” your ex compromised with a kiss of his teeth. “lemme rub ya feet and all on ya butt i promise you’ll feel better.

“i’m tired and don’t feel like driving, con,” you whine in the same tone. you knew if he didn’t have your daughter he’d already be at your door, but you refused to risk waking her up in a car ride over here.

connie rolls his eyes and puts you on pause for the moment. a minute later he comes back on screen and takes a pull of his backwood. “your uber on the way baby.”

“ooh daddy,” you cried, trying your hardest to breathe straight. “you know i cum fast like this, oh shit,” connie had your legs spread wide open, forcing your huge tits up against the bottom of your face as he pumped in and out of you.

“you like that mama, like when i fuck you nice and slow? all romantic n’ shit?” connie teased. tears streamed down your face and he wasted no time in kissing them from your pretty face.

you’re too far in euphoria to even fully comprehend exactly what he’s saying. “yes, i love when you stroke this pussy so deep daddy.”

connie holds your breasts up damn near to your face and takes his time sucking on each of your nipples, making sure to stretch and pull it all the way back as far as it could go, grinning at the sound of it snapping back toward you. “you’on need no one else to love you like this but me, you heard?”

you can’t help but shake your head, the small responsible part of you left that hadn’t been fucked out by connie yet (though he was close) was slowly bringing you to reality. “no,” you respond.

“nah, nah, dead that shit or imma stop,” your ex threatened, straightening his back out so he stood tall, yet still very deep inside your gummy walls. you can’t help but stare down the tattoos that littered his body; many dedicated to you and your shared daughter. “you grippin’ me so tight baby, boutta make me cum, fuck,” connie throws his head back and whines. “tell me you’re mine n’ we gonna get back together.”

“no, con,” your words were saying one thing, but the cream ring of your arousal forming around connie’s tanned dick was betraying everything leaving your mouth. “w-we’re we’re toxic—oooh, yes, right there right there!”

suddenly, a large pair of hands come to wrap around your neck, gripping lightly. “tell me you’re mine or im not fuckin’ this pussy,” he orders. “you know i don’t be bluffing, mama. ‘specially when it come to your spoiled ass déjame oírte decirlo.”

more tears fall from your eyes as you feel your lower region bubble in evstasy. “con—“

“say it if you wanna cum.” connie’s grip around your neck tightens as he inevitably starts to babble. he was not gonna let up off you no matter what. “come on mama, say it n lemme give you another baby. gonna make you a mama all over again, want you so full of my babies, pretty—fuck,” he breathed out. “you know daddy sorry, you gonna forgive him?”

it wasn’t until connie started to add his thumb rubbing circles around your clit did you finally fold and give in. “oh fuck, yes! yes yes i forgive you con—please—“

“go head and cum mami, te quiero.” connie breathed out, feeling his own orgasm approach. “te amo joder joder por favor dame más hijos mami te estoy rogando déjame correrte dentro de ti,” the man curses into the atmosphere as he strokes himself in you a few more times.

“yes yes,” you nod in response to his pleads of cumming in you. a nanosecond later, connie’s cumming deep into you until he ends up shooting nothing but blanks. you’re full to the brim to the point where drops of his cum couldn’t help but ooze out between your puffy cunt.

“dio mio.”

#lora’s fics! ೄྀ࿐ #connie springer x black reader #connie springer x chubby reader #connie springer smut #plug connie x black reader #connie x black reader #connie springer x reader #connie springer #connie springer x black reader smut #connie smut #aot x black reader #aot x chubby reader #aot smut #aot connie #connie aot

[teamatsumu]

CRUSH (ushijima wakatoshi x reader)

summary: wakatoshi has a crush.

word count: 720

warnings: fem!reader, its all just fluff

tags: @keiva1000

Ushijima knows he has fans. He might be simple-minded and a little oblivious, but he’s not stupid.

He knows girls stare at him from the balcony during practice. And he can hear their giggling when he passes them in the halls. Tendou often calls him Shiratorizawa’s Golden Boy, which Ushijima wholeheartedly disagrees with, but never voices out loud. Tendou often says strange things. He doesn’t mind.

Ushijima doesn’t understand his popularity. Sure, he is a good player. The best ace in the prefecture. But most of these girls have no understanding of volleyball. So why are they spending hours upon hours in the stands, watching him play?

“They’re not watching the match, Wakatoshi-kun. They are watching you.”

Hm. Strange. His play is very consistent. Watching him do the same thing over and over has to get boring, especially when they aren’t watching for the sake of the game.

But then he sees you for the first time.

You are in his third year English class. In his three years of high school, Ushijima is sure he has never seen you before. Because if he had, there was no way he would forget you.

He is curious. And a little enamored by you.

You are, by all means, a regular girl. You sit on the same chair every day, bring your own bento instead of eating from the cafeteria. It is always wrapped in a pretty multicolored patterned cloth, done up in a knot on top. You have a small stuffed cat chain on the zipper of your backpack. And you wear your hair differently every day. Some days it is tied up, some days it is let down. And some days it is half-up and half-down. You have one pink bunny hairclip that you wear maybe once every two or three days that Ushijima thinks is very cute. Your uniform is always immaculate.

There are so many tiny details about you that Ushijima has learned, and he finally understands why girls would stay hanging over the gym balcony to watch him for hours, because he could watch you for hours too.

You are very smart, he could tell. You always answer correctly when the teacher would call on you, and he has glimpsed at your notes. Simple, but neat and easy to understand, just the way he likes it. There are no crazy colors and highlighters, and your handwriting is neat and beautiful, just like the rest of you.

You are also quiet. You have a select group of friends that you talk to, and while you are nice to anyone who interacts with you, you don't go out of your way to stand out. Again, Ushijima loves that. It seems he loved everything about you. All the minor details that make you a little bit more unique to everyone else.

When you show up at his game, he nearly loses his focus.

It in’t an important game by any means, just a practice match with another local university team. So why are you here? Have your friends dragged you along? Or are you here by your own volition? Ushijima feels how sweaty his palms are when he clenches his fists, and it surprises him.

Is he….. nervous?

Why? Because you are watching? How ridiculous. Ushijima has never once doubted his own strength, or his ability to win. How could your presence alter that? The thought annoys him, and he is determined to prove that you being here would not be a hindrance to his play.

Turns out, he needn't have worried. It seems your presence had sharpened his senses more than ever. Shiratorizawa won in straight sets, and of the 50 points they scored, 39 had been from Ushijima’s hand.

“You were on fire today, Wakatoshi-kun.” Tendou comments as the final whistle rings. Ushijima unintentionally glances at you in the stands, cheering for the team. Cheering for him.

His heart is beating a mile a minute, and he doesn’t think it is because of the game he had just played. He hears Tendou let out a dreamy sigh.

“Ah, the miracles of having a crush.”

He feels his lips tick up in a tiny smile as he throws a towel over his shoulders. Tendou is wrong. Ushijima doesn’t think he has a crush.

He thinks he is in love.

#ushijima wakatoshi #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #ushijima wakatoshi x you #ushijima wakatoshi x y/n #ushijima wakatoshi fluff #ushijima wakatoshi fanfiction #ushijima wakatoshi fic #ushijima x reader #hq ushijima #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu fanfiction #hq fanfiction #haikyuu fluff #hq fluff

[daisynik7]

Pairing: Takuma Ino x f!reader

Rating: Explicit – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~1.7k

cw: explicit language, mentions of a popular horror movie, smut – PIV sex (cowgirl position), nipple play, blow job, mask kink, slight degradation (slut, whore), use of pet names (cutie, sweetie, baby) 

Summary: You and your new boyfriend Ino decide to watch a horror movie together in honor of spooky season. Halfway through, he notices how skittish you are, making him want to play a silly prank on you with his signature ski mask. It’s all fun and games until he realizes that you actually like seeing him in this way more than he anticipated. 

Author’s Note: Happy October y'all! What can I say, I am VERY into Takuma Ino right now and I just had to get this out of my system. This is barely edited or proofread, sorry for any grammar mistakes or typos, I really was just letting my fingers fly through this in a moment of passion LOL. Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated, thank you for reading! MDNI banner by @/cafekitsune. 

You turn off all the lights, the only source of illumination coming from the TV screen, paused at the very start of the movie you decided to watch tonight. With a big bowl of freshly popped kernels in your grasp, you huddle beside your boyfriend, Ino, on the couch, covering both your legs with a fleece blanket. He wraps his arm around you, pulling you in closer, reaching to grab a handful of popcorn to stuff inside his mouth. “Ready?” he muffles, pointing the remote to the screen, finger pressed to the center button. 

Nuzzling your head against him, you answer. “Yup!”

It’s apparently one of those cult classic horror flicks according to Ino, who recommended it when you mentioned how you wanted to watch something scary for October. He’s seen it before, many times in fact, but he insists that you watch it. He has no clue how frightened you get over the silliest things, so tonight will be a treat for the both of you. 

The opening scene plays out: a beautiful blonde picks up the phone and the conversation ends quickly short because it’s the wrong number. Normal so far, good. It rings again, but now the caller seems interested in talking. Do you like scary movies? Do you have a boyfriend? The man’s voice gives you the creeps, and you find yourself shuddering from it, cuddling closer to Ino, who glances at you with a smirk on his face. 

You never told me your name.

Why do you want to know my name?

Because I want to know who I’m looking at.

This line gives you goosebumps and you lift the blankets up to hide behind it. “Ew, creepy!” Ino only laughs, throwing a few more pieces of popcorn into his mouth. 

It escalates from here, getting increasingly chaotic and violent. By the time you’re halfway into the film, the bowl is down to its last kernels and you’re crouched in Ino’s lap, peeking through your fingers. He pauses the movie after one particularly brutal kill. “Snack break! I’m going to make some more popcorn and go pee.”

“You’re leaving?!” you whine, clinging on to him as he tries to get up.

He chuckles. “Babe! It’s just a movie. I’ll be right back, okay?” He kisses you on the forehead, heading into the kitchen, leaving you alone in the living room. 

Of course it’s just a movie, but you can’t help feeling creeped out in the dark like this. You reach for one of the nightstands, turning on the lamp. You hear the drone of the microwave, and after a minute or so, the distinct sound of popping. Eventually, it comes to a stop, and the entire house is eerily quiet. You’re tempted to call out for Ino, wondering where he is, but you remember that he had to use the bathroom. 

Suddenly, a shadowy figure appears right behind on you on the couch, grabbing your shoulders and shouting gibberish at you. You scream bloody murder, ready to punch him and run away when Ino lifts his ski mask up to reveal himself, tears streaming down his face, cracking up at you. 

“Ino!” you yell at him, slapping his hands away from you. “You fucking asshole!”

He doubles over, cackling, wiping his eyes. It takes a good while for him to regain his composure as you glare at him, arms crossed over your chest. “I’m sorry, baby. I just couldn’t resist.” He sits beside you, stretching his arms out for a hug. “You have to admit, that was fucking hilarious.”

You shake your head, refusing. “You’re such a dick.”

“Oh, come on! It was just a little prank. Now you’ll be way more prepared for the rest of the movie!” He pulls the mask over his face again, everything covered except the holes for his eyes. “See? Not so scary anymore, right?”

You inspect him carefully, still pouting, not saying a word.

“I’m sorry, sweetie. Truly. I promise not to scare you again.” He scoots towards you, nudging you in the arm. 

You roll your eyes at him, relaxing. “Fine.”

“Can I get a kiss now?” 

He tries to lift his mask up, but you stop him, pulling it back down. “I don’t want to see your face right now. I’m still annoyed, you know.”

“Aw man! Really?”

You hoist it just past his nose, leaning in to give him a soft kiss on the lips. When you break apart, he smirks at you. “You like this, don’t you? Seeing me with my mask on.”

You shrug, a sly grin on your face, neither confirming nor denying his accusation. Sure, you were a bit upset at first, when he scared the shit out of you. But seeing his face covered like that may have sparked a desire in you that you never knew you had, until now. 

“Oh my god! You do, you do!” he exclaims, shaking your arm. “My cutie has a mask kink!”

“Shut up, asshole!” you yell at him, pretending to shove him off, smiling. 

“You’re a fucking freak!” he giggles, pouncing on you. He starts tickling you along your ribcage, causing you to squirm beneath him as he straddles you, trapping you between his legs. His fingers flutter under your arms, stroking your sensitive skin.

“Ino!” you cry out, laughing from the sensation. 

You can feel his cock growing hard in his pants, balls heavy on your stomach. Suddenly, he stops, mask still folded to expose his lips, leaning down to kiss you sloppily. He pins your hands above your head, locking his fingers with yours. He slips inside your mouth, grazing your tongue with his, hungry for your saliva. “Fuck,” he moans into you, nipping at your bottom lip. “You like this freaky shit, don’t you? Nasty slut.” His playful tone is laden with lust now, low and sultry, mouth brushing along your neck, sucking at your pulse points to mark you. 

You whine his name, wrapping your legs around his waist, grinding yourself against him. 

“Look at you, getting so fucking dumb all because of my mask,” he purrs. “What else turns you on, cutie? Tell me.”

Without thinking, you blurt out, “Spit. Your spit. I want it.”

“Oh shit,” he swears, licking his mouth. He traces the outline of your lips, beckoning you to open up, dribbling a thick wad of saliva inside you. You gulp it down, sticking your tongue out for more. 

“Oh��fuck, you’re nasty,” he says, doing it again. “Makes me so fucking horny seeing you like this. Seeing my cutie act like a fucking whore.” He slips beneath your shirt, fondling your bare breasts, flicking your peaked nipples with his thumbs. 

“Fuck, Ino,” you whisper, pussy throbbing in your panties, arousal leaking through the fabric. 

“You like it when I play with your tits, huh?” Like it when I pinch them hard like this.” He squeezes them between his thumb and index finger, enough pressure to stimulate you, making you moan his name again and again.

He swears under his breath, shoving his pants down his legs, shimmying out of them until he’s only in his underwear now, erection stiff in his boxers. “You gonna suck my cock now or what, slut?” 

You nod, kneeling in front of him, knees on the carpet, spreading his thighs apart. He lifts his ass off the couch to slide out of his boxers, letting them fall around his ankles. You kiss the tip of his dick, smearing his precum around your lips like gloss before swallowing him into your mouth. 

He lets out a drawn out, “Fuck,” watching you with wide eyes as you bob up and down his shaft. Voice shaky, he asks, “Can I put my hands on you?”

Something about him in this ski mask makes you want to be submissive, makes you want to be used. You grab both his hands, guiding them towards the sides of your head, giving him free rein to manhandle you.

“Holy shit,” he murmurs, gripping you tighter, gradually thrusting his hips in tandem with you. His cockhead hits the back of your throat, teasing your gag reflex, but you resist, tears collecting in the corners of your eyes, enduring it. 

Noticing you, he pulls out, a string of spit between you. “Baby, baby. Please don’t force yourself. I don’t want to hurt you.” He reaches to his side, grabbing a tissue from the table beside the couch, wiping away the spit around your mouth and the tears in your eyes. “Come here, cutie. I want to make you feel good too.”

You strip out of your bottoms, straddling his lap, pussy wet and aching against him. He moans as you rock back and forth on his shaft, pressing his thumb to your clit, massaging it. “There we go. Now we both can feel good, yeah?”

After a few more strokes, you beg him to fuck you, lifting up to guide his cock inside you slowly, sinking down on him until he bottoms out. You bounce on him, his hands gripped to your waist, guiding you, moaning your name between expletives. 

As you approach your orgasm, you pull up his mask, placing it on his head as he usually wears it. He smiles brightly at you, nuzzling his nose to yours. “There’s my pretty girl. Can you come for me now? Come all over this cock?”

You kiss him passionately, arms wrapped around his neck as he thrusts into you, hands squeezed on your ass now. You reach your climax, moaning into his mouth. He comes with you, shooting his load deep into your womb, filling you up with his cream pie. The two of you continue to kiss slowly, catching your breaths. He caresses your back while you melt into his embrace. 

“We need to establish a safe word,” he suggests, cradling you in his arms. “I want to make sure I’m not hurting you.”

You hum into his skin, saying the first thing that comes to mind. “Popcorn."

He chuckles, stroking the back of your neck gently. “Alright. Popcorn it is.” A beat later, he exclaims, “Popcorn! I totally forgot about the popcorn!”

You laugh, giving your boyfriend a wet smooch on the cheek.

#takuma ino #ino takuma #takuma ino x reader #takuma ino smut #ino takuma smut #ino takuma x reader #takuma ino x you #ino takuma x you #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader

[paymechildsupport]

"You're not my Husband..." // Doppel!Francis x Reader 🐄🩸

@cassanderasblog --> Thanks for the request <3

-!! CW: Dubcon (in a sense), – Brief mention of murder, – Very slight body horror

-!! Very brief size kink 

Spouse!Reader x doppelgänger!Francis  

▷ —--------------------

▷ —--------------------

▷ —-------------------- (s-s-s-sma-smash)

“You’re not Francis.” The words are sharp, punctuated, your glare burning straight through the mimic of a man in your living room

“No, I’m not,” The creature grins- if you could even call it that–, mouth a waning black chasm, no teeth, no tongue, nothing. How this thing managed to bypass the doormen you had no clue,-- how could someone fuck up this bad? 

“Francis’s” eyes darken, – literally. The whites turn into an inky black, eery small spheres of light peeking out where his pupils should be. 

Oh dear. 

The wired phone you keep on the kitchen counter goes off behind you. Glancing once more at your “husband” you slowly back track, hand inching to the phone. 

He just watches as you hesitantly pick up the ringing phone, making a click when it’s pulled from its cover. 

“Attention, this is the D.D.D, – we detected an unknown life force near your residency. Please, do not panic. Keep your door locked and do not approach anyone of suspicion. If you see anything weird, do not investigate. Dispatchers are coming to your location to liquidate the threat”   – Well, it was a little late for that. 

“... cancel dispatch” your lips form the words slowly. There’s silence on the other end, 

“Excuse me?... you want dispatch–” 

“Discharged. Threat neutralized.” 

Even “Francis” is stunned, – staring at you, unblinking, – flabbergasted. 

“‘Got it under control, thanks,” You hang up before they can answer, placing the phone back in its place. 

“Francis” just stares.

-

“You’re a doppelgänger , right?” 

“Perhaps.” His eyes narrow

“Alrighty then, prove it.” 

Unzips. 

—-------------

“Francis” stares, wide eyed, gaze fixed upon the water stains on your ceiling. Even with all the lights off, he can still see your snoozing frame tangled in the sheets beside him, (perks of being non-human). 

Your chest rose and fell with each breath, the movement captivating whatever posed as your husband. 

Your body looked serene, the faint light emitted from his glowing pupils illuminating your chest. 

“Ahah-!” You were practically in hysterics, tears flowing down your rosy cheeks, nails raking into the headboard of your bed. “Francis” could only lie there, enamored by your blissful expression as unfamiliar sparks of pure pleasure coiled inside, heating everything up until it was practically molten. 

“Mmph-!” you choke off your moans, slapping a hand to your mouth lest your neighbors hear you impaling yourself on your husband’s doppelgänger 's cock. 

You swivel your hips, his eyes widening; no one’s ever ridden him like you are, – no one’s ridden him period. You were surprised the doppelgänger  even had a dick, – let alone it being almost twice the size of the actual Francis’. You had stuffed yourself full of him, bouncing mercilessly. Your husband had neglected you horribly in the past,-- never coming home, always giving you the cold shoulder, even when you had gotten down and begged for him to look at you, just once –your thirst for intimate touch was at an all time high. 

“Francis” grunted, surprised at how wonderful this new sensation was. The delicious heat in his stomach bubbled over, bottoming out through his cock. Your eyes widened at the warm sensation of him, eyes rolling to the back of your head. You had to bend down, biting deeply into his shoulder to stifle the screams lodged in your throat. 

You inhaled deeply, desperately trying to catch your breath as “Francis” could only glance over, the slight pain in his shoulder from your teeth barely bothering him, (because, well, one, you were the only one who could breathe and two, he wasn’t human). Your head turns, sloppily kissing him on the cheek, to his absolute shock. 

“Francis” brings his right arm to his left shoulder, fingers gingerly grazing the marks left by your teeth. It still tingled. 

He looks over at your slumbering frame again, now tentatively reaching the same arm in your direction, hesitantly touching your peaceful face. You do not stir, so he continues downward, fingers carefully glazing over your nose, your mouth, your jaw, and finally stopping at your neck, your pulse vibrating through his hand. Humans were so interesting, he thought, – and you had just grabbed his interest by the throat with a viselike grip. 

He gently tucks a stray piece of hair plastered to your sweat slicked forehead behind your ear, grinning in that creepily endearing way of his. How the original Francis lucked out, – he almost felt bad about killing and devouring his corpse, – almost. How could he have fumbled so badly, – you were an absolute treasure, and “Francis” was now determined to keep you all to himself. 

Such a greedy little creature. 

… You’re never going to be able to get rid of him after this. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(requests for more Francis, -- doppelgänger or no, -- are open and very much appreciated !)

I love him a normal amount I swear 🙏🙏🙏

#francis mosses x reader #francis mosses #francis mosses x you #francis mosses thats not my neighbor #that's not my neighbor #milkman #milkman x reader #milkman that's not my neighbor #i love him #doppelganger #doppelganger francis mosses #thats not my neighbour milkman #milkman doppelganger #smut #tnmn milkman #tnmn smut

[omgeto]

✩ — 4:21am

summary: gojo satoru is a man of his word, and no matter what, he always promised to come home to you.

cw: minor angst, fluffy ending (I PROMISE) this is for all you sad hojoes out there that just want your man home all in one piece.

gojo satoru is a man of his word, and no matter what, he always promised to come home to you. you didn't actually think much of it, until one night, you awake in panic feeling that something's off. you are used to falling asleep as you wait for gojo to come home, but when you check the time and realise that it was later than usual, anxiety gnawed at your heart.

the clock on the bedside table mocks you with its relentless ticking. each passing second only intensifies your unease. you reach for your phone and check for messages or missed calls, but there's nothing. gojo hasn't contacted you since the last heated argument you had before he left for his mission. it's been hours since then.

you can’t even remember what you fought about, it was something trivial, him forgetting to put the milk back in the fridge, or not putting down the toilet seat—it was dumb. it hurts you even more now that the things you were just berating him for a few hours ago, you were begging for him to come back and do one more time.

fighting back the growing panic, you try calling him. his phone rings, but there's no answer. of course there wouldn’t be you knew that he doesn’t use his phone when he was out, but you just had to try, hoping that he’d sent a quick text to say he was just around the corner—but there was nothing.

you couldn’t help but conjure up terrifying scenarios about him. what if he’s injured? what if he’s been chopped up into little pieces and he’s in pain? wanting to call you and he can’t.

you can't stay still any longer, pacing back and forth in your dimly lit apartment. your thoughts are a jumbled mess, and you can't shake the feeling that something terrible has happened. the world outside is quiet, and the darkness feels suffocating. 

your mind wanders to the first time you met him, he was persistent immediately when he first laid eyes on you, claiming that he would stop at nothing to get to be with you. and that was true. you wouldn’t give him the time of day, at first, but whenever you were around him doing your ‘hard to get routine,’ he put in extra effort just to get with you.

there wasn’t anyone you could even ask to see if he was okay, since if he wasn’t, who else would be? and there’s a part of you that wouldn’t even want to know, you had to see him, alive and well for all your worries to be gone.

as the minutes drag on, each one feeling like an eternity, you cling to thoughts of him, each memory acting as a lifeline. there wasn’t even any indication that something bad happened to him, but there is something unsettling that you just couldn’t shake.

you could feel him before you could even hear the faint tapping at the door. there isn’t any hesitation as you bolt to the door, dragging a weak standing gojo into a tight hug only pulling away as you hear him softly wince at your heavy touch.

“sorry,” he murmurs, standing with his arm clutching at his lower stomach, slightly hunched over, “i lost my keys.”

“you lost your keys?” you practically yell, “that’s what you wanna focus on right now?” you ask as you look at his injured body. this is the worst you’ve ever seen him, and you could tell that he was in pain from the way his usual breezy smile, isn’t reaching his eyes like it normally does.

you quickly usher gojo inside, supporting him as he limps toward the couch. the dim living room lights reveals a deep gash on his face, and his clothes are torn and stained with dirt and blood. 

“take off your shirt,” you order, your face filled with concern as you try and properly assess all his injuries.

“aren’t you gonna buy me dinner first?” he jokes, cringing as you remove his shirt from over his head, trying not to hurt him further.

“this isn’t the time for jokes ‘toru,” you chastise, shaking your head to prevent yourself from getting emotional, “y’know i really thought that—” you sigh, not even wanting to utter the words, since it doesn’t matter as he’s here now, alive.

“i can’t even lie,” he starts, his eyes staring down, avoiding yours. “for a moment out there, i didn’t know if i could live up to my promise to you.” you couldn’t even respond, the fact that gojo could even admit that there was a chance that he wasn’t gonna get back to you, had you panicked.

“c’mere,” he says pulling your into his lap, noticing the stressed expression that has yet to leave your face.

you were quick to jump off of him, but he kept you firm in his hold, his arms wrapped protectively around you. despite the pain he must have been in, his eyes held a mixture of relief and vulnerability as he looked into yours. “satoru you’re hurt.”

but he gave you a reassuring smile, one that couldn't quite hide the pain etched on his face. "i'm okay, really," he whispers, his breath warm against your ear. “i just need you close right now."

as you settled back into his embrace, you could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips, reassuring you that he was indeed alive and home with you, where he had always promised to be.

AN: SO GUYS HOW DID I DO? im not really a drabble or fluffy girlie, as you guys know. but um tada... this is for you all. love ya. If there’s mistakes in there it’s 6am so ignore em please IF THIS IS SHIT THEN IM SORRY I TRIED. But as long as one gojo lover says “emp you’ve mended my little heart” I can die happy

#stampedwithane★ #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #jjk fluff #gojo angst #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #gojo satoru #jjk fic #gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader

[criminalamnesia]

GOD I LOVE traitor and how strong you've made the reader. It's amazing! And I eagerly await any future parts, whether it's big proper story or drabbles. BUT, you come first and your life does so you do what you gotta and go be amazing! We can wait. Proud of you X

im so late to responding, but thank you! <3

here’s part six :) also not really proofread so I apologize for any errors! I’ll fix them later!

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

you don’t know how long you’ve been sitting on the floor, cross-legged amongst broken glass, brittle flowers, and discarded clothes, when someone knocks on the door.

you don’t move, don’t say anything. the noise seems distant— too far off to be real.

besides, if someone is really knocking on your door, they know you’re in here.

and if they know you’re in here, it could be one of five people. your former squad mates, or the doctor.

the knock sounds again. it shakes you from your stupor, yet you still make no move to answer it. let them come in; let them see what they’ve made of you. of who you were. of who you could’ve been.

the person on the other side of the door is speaking now. you register the muffled baritone as it fights to be heard from the hall.

you clench your fists, then unclench them— stretching out your fingers as far as they go. clench them again. unclench. stretch. repeat.

it’s a tick— a calming habit. you don’t think it’s working at the present moment.

the doorknob turns. you still don’t move.

the door is being pushed in, light from the hallway aggressively slicing through the darkness you’d left yourself in. you fought the urge to curl in on yourself.

you’d been so consumed by your anger— are consumed by it— but coming into this room and seeing that damn note was earth-shaking. it was terrifying, and it was a tangible reminder of the team’s unapologetic tactics. simon’s unapologetic tactics.

the voice is speaking once more, clearer now that the door is out of the way— but you can’t make out the words over the ringing in your ears.

a hand gingerly lands on your shoulder, and that’s when you snap.

you whirl around, throwing yourself into the intruder like a cobra striking its prey. clearly caught off guard, the person lets loose a ‘oomph’ and falls backwards as you take out their legs.

everything is fuzzy. the ringing in your ears crescendos, and it brings pain with it. you’re striking your target with reckless abandon, still not registering who is flailing underneath you.

punches land and land and land. nails scrape and scratch and draw blood. all you see is red— all you hear is the sharpening of a knife or the whirring of a saw.

and then there are hands on you, yanking you away from your victim. the red slowly starts to recede, the ringing in your ears subsiding.

it’s only then do you release you’re screaming.

its only then do you see the swollen and bloodied face of your doctor, lying a foot away from you. she sputters a cough, blood leaving her lips and splattering onto the man leaning over her.

“you need to calm down,” a voice speaks into your ear.

“calm down, or they’ll sedate you,” it says, and you finally stop screaming. you take a breath.

clench your fists. unclench. stretch. repeat.

it takes you another minute to calm down enough to realize the person holding you is simon.

the doctor is being carried away now, and you notice it’s johnny and kyle carrying her. you notice john is standing to your left, eyes full of sympathy and guilt as he looks at you.

“get,” you huff, reaching down to slap at the arms circling your middle. “off me.”

simon releases you instantly. you don’t hesitate to put distance between the two of you. a few feet, at least. he just stands there, eyes watching with an expression you can’t place.

“what happened, love?” john’s voice is a soft rumble as he speaks. he moves a hand toward you, but decides against touching you— even if he only wanted to comfort you.

“I—” you start, glancing down at your hands. they’re bloody again.

“I thought it was—” you try again, but stop yourself.

you thought it was what? thought it was who?

you had heard man’s voice speaking to you. your mind had twisted things— had given you something you wanted to hear, deep down— because it gave you the chance to strike.

it gave you the opportunity to tear apart whichever man from the 141 had been there to check on you.

and you know you had wished it was simon.

john takes a cautious step forward at your silence. “let’s get you somewhere private, yeah? somewhere to cool down.”

the fire licking at your veins has subsided in favor of the chill of shame. of terror at what you’ve done— what you’ve done to the one person you had on your side. the person who was truly on your side.

you don’t fight this time. you give a nod, then solemnly follow him down the corridor. simon falls in behind you.

john takes you to his office, opening the door and ushering you inside. you move without protest, stepping into the dark room.

the two men enter behind you, john flicking on the light while simon pulls the door shut. you would’ve laughed at the scenario if you were in your right mind.

but you weren’t.

you weren’t okay. you knew that you weren’t, at least physically, but what you just did…

there was no way you were going to be transferred now. you doubted you would’ve even before you attacked the doctor.

you’re going to be discharged. you understand why.

but it hurts. this is your job, your life. years and years on the battlefield don’t prepare you for life off of it.

“love?”

john’s voice brings you back to the present. you realize you’ve been standing in the center of the room, unmoving and unblinking.

you feel simon’s hard gaze on your back. you want to cry.

how did things ever get this fucked up?

“im fine.” you say, not bothering to turn around. you didn’t trust yourself to keep it together if you faced them.

“you’re not,” john states, and you roll your eyes.

“im not talking about this with you,” you bite out, circling your arms around yourself. “either of you.”

“you should at least talk to someone, love— this isn’t healthy.”

“please, stop.” you tell him, but john was never good at taking orders. he gave them, not followed them.

“you hated the therapist, and you haven’t spoken to anyone else since… everything.” he continues.

“stop, john,” you try again.

“you need to let it out, love. we’re here—”

you spin around then, fists dropping to your sides. “for the love of god, john, shut the fuck up.”

that stuns him into silence, eyes slightly widened and mouth agape as he looks at you. simon doesn’t move from his position near the door.

“you are the last people i would ever fucking talk to! I don’t even want to be talking to you right now, but you won’t stop trying. trying to talk to me, trying to make it up, trying to wriggle your way back into my good graces.”

you pause, sucking in a breath. “johnny must’ve relayed the message, and that’s why you’ve back off a little— but one wrong fucking move and you’re swooping again! you aren’t my dad, you aren’t my lover, you aren’t my friend, and you’re sure as hell not my fucking captain anymore.”

“so please, john, leave me be. the four of you have done enough.”

the room is silent for a beat, then two. then three. and then simon takes a step forward, removes his balaclava, and looks you square in the face.

he doesn’t open his mouth to speak, so you take the chance to.

“don’t start with me, simon. just don’t.”

“the note,” he says. “you read it.”

you just look at him, a disbelieving scoff leaving your mouth as you give a nod. “yes, I read your fucking note. and I saw the stupid flowers, too, after seeing everything else you wrecked. tell me, how long did you wait after you tied me up to tear it all apart?”

he just watches you. you want to scream.

the note flashes back into your mind.

‘hope you can understand.’

“does it make you feel better, thinking what you did was right?” you ask him.

“I wouldn’t have done it differently.” simon tells you.

you clench your fists. unclench. stretch.

breathe in, breathe out.

“and if the roles were reversed,” you said, watching him. “if you were in my position, would you have expected me to do what you did?”

“yes.” he says, without hesitation.

“you’re unbelievable,” you huff. “is that how little I meant to you? all that time, wasted?”

“that’s not what I said.” he tells you, and you shake your head.

“no, but it’s what you meant.” anger is bubbling up again. you feel overwhelmed; shame and fury battling inside you. the ringing building up in your ears again, emerging from the background.

you can’t do this.

“what i meant is what i said.” he takes another step forward. “you’re just too damn stubborn to listen, always have been.”

“just go, simon.” you tell him. “both of you. go.”

“I wouldn’t change what I did,” he says again. “to protect my team, my family, I would do whatever it takes.”

you bite your tongue. you don’t want to keep arguing with him. he was an unmovable object— there was no way to reason with him.

“im not sorry it happened.” he speaks. “i did what i thought i had to do. what i had to do to make sure my team was safe.”

“and you should understand that, considering this team is all you have, too.”

you don’t respond— and even if you were going to, a knock on the door breaks the tense silence in the room.

johnny pops his head in, his eyes full of concern. “doc’s alrigh’.” he says, his gaze catching yours. “jus’ some bumps and bruises. she’ll be jus’ fine.”

“and she uh— said she’s not pressin’ charges or anythin’. says she still expects to see ya in a few days for your check-up.”

that’s what breaks you.

a tear slips from your eye, falling onto your cheek. another follows, then another, and you’re sobbing as you fall to the floor of price’s office.

the three men are staring, but no one makes any move to comfort you.

probably wise, considering what you did to the last person who tried.

you faintly register the click of the door as it shuts again. you don’t look up— your head in your hands as you cry.

cry about what you’ve done, what you’ve lost. mourn your career and your family and your love for the man who doesn’t regret what he did.

unbeknownst to you, simon is the only one still left in the room. his steps are silent as he approaches you— leaving only a foot of space between your bodies now.

he watches you as he sinks to the ground across from you, his long legs folded over each other, the fingers of his left hand twitching as he finds himself wanting to reach for you.

he still cares for you. his feelings for you were what made him do what he did in the first place.

the love he felt for you, twisting into betrayal and hurt and agony. fueling his actions, his desire to hear you admit your wrongdoings.

passion made people dangerous. passion in love, passion in rage. it was a fine line, and simon had crossed it.

he understood what this meant for you. recalls the conversation he had with price earlier— how laswell was planning for your discharge instead of your transfer.

this was the end of your time with them, and in the military. the hands of the 141, damaging one of their own beyond repair.

he finds himself mourning alongside you, then. mourning what was and what could’ve been.

what should have been.

“im sorry for what we did to you,” he says, but it comes out as a whisper that you don’t hear.

“im sorry.”

thank you all again for your patience! I plan on tying this little series up soon :)

as a reminder, I no longer do taglists. if you want to be notified when I post, follow @troiastitans and turn on notifications. I only reblog my works there.

I hope you all enjoyed :)

#call of duty fic #gaz call of duty #soap call of duty #ghost call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty #cod mw2 fic #cod fic #traitor!141!reader #traitor!reader #141!reader #141 x reader #task force 141 #tf 141 #simon riley x you #simon riley x gn reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #johnny mactavish #captain john price #john price #simon riley angst #ghost angst #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz #kyle garrick #john mactavish

[rafeandonlyrafe]

deliveries

words: 1.2k

warnings: ex!rafe, reconciliation, kinda sugar daddy rafe but he just likes taking care of his girl mhm iktr

“can i say no?” you sigh.

“say no? did you not place this delivery?” the man raises his eyebrows.

“i didn't. my- my ex did.”

“well, i have to deliver it, ma’am, but i don't care what you do with it afterwards. give it to your friends or throw it out.” the man sets the bags of food at your doorstep, snapping a picture before walking off.

you can't blame him, plus it's probably a situation he's never encountered before.

you sigh as you pick up the bags, carrying them into the kitchen counter. packages, deliveries and letters have been showing up on your doorstep for two weeks, ever since you broke up with rafe.

you're sick of it at this point. as you go through the food, picking out something to eat for dinner (you're not just gonna let it go to waste!) you grab your phone and unblock rafes number.

you wonder how long it will take him to realize as you sit at your desk and eat. you're in an apartment complex with pretty tight security, it's the only reason why rafe isn't knocking at your door himself, instead sending whoever he can to get a message to you, while simultaneously making sure you have plenty of food to eat and things to take care of yourself with.

you answer your phone after the first ring. you deleted his contact, but rafes number is forever memorized in your head.

“stop sending me things.” 

“baby, its a relief to hear your voice again.” rafe sighs, sounding genuinely happy, like a weight is suddenly off his chest. “please, let me just talk to you. i miss you so much.”

“no, rafe. we broke up. you need to stop.” 

“why'd you break up with me? what did you tell me princess?” rafe questions. “i wasn't giving you enough attention. now im giving you everything. please, y/n.” he pleads. “im not going to stop.”

you take a deep sigh. you really love rafe, despite your relationship being only six months old when you broke up with him, it was just too much. too much attention from your friends and too much pressure from his family. it pushed your relationship farther apart until rafe barely paid attention to you, receiving constant questions from his dad and friends.

“you have to, rafe. clearly things weren't working out. we tried. we can say that. gave it a fair shot.”

“im not done trying. yes, i let my family and other people get into my head about our relationship, but im done with that bullshit. i want you back.”

“let me think about it, okay?” it's an olive branch. the best thing that you can extend right now.

“okay.” rafe agrees. “how about i call you friday?”

you glance at the calendar hanging over your desk. two days. two days to think. you're not sure it's enough or too much.

“that works… but rafe, stop sending me stuff.”

“i can't, baby.” you can practically see the way he's shaking his head right now. “gotta take care of my girl, even if you don't wanna see me.”

“fine.” you groan. you know there's no talking rafe out of it. “order me some lemonade next time then.”

--

you yawn as you wake up with a big stretch, instinctively reaching over to the other side of the bed. your hand pats the sheets before remembering that you left rafe.

you slide out of bed, heading towards your kitchen to get something for breakfast when a knock on your door interrupts you.

“one second!” you're in pajamas, but they're far too small and tight to answer the door in. you rush back into your bedroom and pull a robe on to cover up.

“hi!” the delivery woman smiles. “y/n?”

“yup.” you nod, stepping to the side. “do you mind just setting it down on the counter?”

the woman places the bags down before saying goodbye and seeing herself out. you sigh and look into the bags, eyes bulging when you see velvet boxes carefully placed inside one of them.

you pull out one of the boxes, gasping when a beautiful diamond necklace is revealed. you continue to open them, realizing rafe bought you jewelry of almost every variety.

“oh, gosh.” you grab a note, opening it to see his handwriting.

it's just what you deserve. i love you and want you back. can't wait to talk to you tomorrow.

rafe

p.s. i paid your rent for the next three months

you grab your phone before even looking in the other bag, dialing rafes number. he picks up almost instantly.

“you know you can't buy my love, right?” 

“im not trying to.” rafe says. “im just trying to take care of you. did you get the breakfast?”

you peek into the other bag, seeing a stack of delicious looking pancakes inside a clear container, as well as some other options.

“yeah, ill eat it in a minute.”

“good.” you can practically hear rafes smile over the phone.

“how about we meet up in person to talk tomorrow instead of on the phone?”

“ill go wherever you want.”

“our first date.” is all you say before hanging up, grabbing the pancakes and container holding scrambled eggs.

--

you're aware you didn't say what time as you pull up to the pier. it's a warm day, sunny with almost no clouds in the sky, but a light breeze gives you the perfect amount of cooling.

you walk down the pier, unable to hold back your smile when you see rafe sitting on the bench where you ate ice cream on your first date after finally agreeing to let him take you out.

rafe watches you carefully as you sit down next to him.

“you're wearing the necklace i got you.” he smiles, seeing the gold chain around your neck.

“i am.” you nod. 

“can i… can i hug you? ive missed you so much baby.”

you nod again, not sure you can find your voice as rafes arms wrap around your body, holding you into his side. you snuggle into his chest, eyes sliding shut. 

“love you so much.” rafe says, pressing kisses to the top of your head. “so much i messed up the first time not trying to be too obsessed. i just didn't want to make you run away, turns out i did the exact opposite and you felt ignored. you know how my dad is…” rafe trails off as you pick your head up to look at him.

“we shouldn't have let others get between us.” you know you're not innocent in it either, contributing just as much to rafe to the tension that had grown between the two of you.

“and we won't let it happen again now that we know.” rafe says, a promising look in his eyes. you swear it looks like he might cry as you nod.

he ducks his head, pressing your lips together in a sweet kiss. you fist your hands in his shirt, keeping him close as you kiss back, having missed his lips on yours more than you'd like to admit.

“does this mean you'll tell security im allowed back in?” rafe laughs gently, cupping your face, his thumb gently stroking over your cheek.

“hmm, i guess.” you giggle.

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