#good thing the insane prices go down after a few months

[cherienymphe]

Teenage Dirtbag III (JJ Maybank x Reader x Rafe Cameron)

Warnings: attempted NON-CON, DUB-CON, abusive relationship, domestic violence, violence (+ gun violence), gun kink, dacryphilia, attempted murder, mentions of blood, public sex, jealousy, manipulation, infidelity, underage drinking, drug use, canon ages, kook!reader

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | ➥ divider by @firefly-graphics

➥ series masterlist

summary: You’re charmingly spoiled. You’re too kind for your own good. You’re the princess of Figure 8 …and you’re way out of JJ Maybank’s league, but when he realizes that Rafe Cameron’s pride and joy is actually a bruised and battered damsel, he’s determined to save you.

Your rescue just comes with a price.

~

Your brief conversation with JJ Maybank was still on your mind weeks later.

It was so funny to think that you hadn’t actually done anything wrong in the grand scheme of things, but if Rafe ever found out… The thought made you shudder, gaze focused on the pool water as the man himself laughed behind you with Kelce about something. You’d been doing so good lately. Aside from that awful night after the movies, Rafe hardly touched you.

It was a far cry from three months prior.

You still winced when you thought about his fist coming down across your face, voice loud in your ear as he screamed at you. Weeks had been spent holed up in your bedroom under the guise of being sick, and it was a miracle your parents hadn’t forced you to take some tests with how often you’d been ‘sick’ in the past six months alone. You lightly sighed, reaching up to touch your chin and just relieved it didn’t feel sore anymore.

Thoughts of that conversation with JJ instilled fear in you. Even just thinking about it made you tense up, but at the same time, it also caused irritation to bubble up inside of you. JJ Maybank was just so… You pursed your lips, taking a page out of Rafe’s book and opting to label him as ‘a little shit’. Rafe was so far from some saint, but it was plain to see that JJ enjoyed provoking your boyfriend.

However, it wasn’t JJ’s fault that Rafe took that out on you.

If you had a normal non-violent boyfriend, he’d simply ignore the other blond, or at the worst, he’d just fight him. Not you. How was JJ to know that Rafe’s jealousy would result in black eyes and swollen lips and sore wrists for you? Your eyes traced the clear blue water, a frown taking over as memories of that oh so brief conversation made you feel…warm.

It felt nice to talk to a guy and not have to worry about saying the wrong thing or making a questionable facial expression or just being so alert at all times. With Rafe, you could never relax, could never let your guard down, and you were convinced that you were going to start greying by the time you turned 30. With JJ…you didn’t have to overanalyze everything that came out of his mouth and your mouth too. You hadn’t felt the need to carefully watch his face for any sudden sign of a mood shift.

You honestly couldn’t remember the last time you felt like that.

…and that made you feel so guilty for some reason.

Rafe was your boyfriend. He wasn’t a very good one, but he was your boyfriend nonetheless, and despite the fact that it wasn’t, those few minutes in the hallway felt like…well…cheating. It was insane to say that because it wasn’t anything close to it, but you knew Rafe and what would upset him. You knew, and that’s why you were hiding it from him. It wasn’t like you were lying, but a lie of omission still counted, right?

You were pulled from your thoughts by the feel of familiar hands on your shoulders, causing you to jump out of habit, and Rafe only rubbed them in what you were sure was meant to be a soothing manner. When you looked over your shoulder, he was knelt behind you, that cheeky smile on his lips as he eyed you. Rafe knew the effect he had on you…and you swore he got off to it.

“It’s getting kind of late, so we’re heading inside,” he told you.

Rafe wasn’t telling you to be the considerate boyfriend who’s just letting you know he’s heading in. Rafe was telling you because he was going in and fully expected you to join him. It didn’t matter that you were relaxed with your feet in the water and your mind elsewhere, and so swallowing down a sigh, you let him pull you to your feet. His hand squeezed yours as he pulled you along, and out of habit, you rested your free hand on his arm.

“I think we’re gonna call it a night,” Rafe drawled to the other two men in the house.

Their initial response was chuckles, Topper eyeing you both as Kelce shook his head.

“Yeah, whatever you say, man, just wash my sheets in the morning, alright?”

Kelce’s chuckles only increased at that, and you felt heat rise to your face.

“Don’t be dicks,” your boyfriend called over his shoulder, and despite his words and his tone, there was a small grin on his face, and you only felt your chest ache.

Sex with Rafe was so complicated.

He absolutely terrified you, and so that didn’t make for the most comfortable of atmospheres whenever his lips were on yours. However, something innate in your body—call it animal instinct, conditioning, or merely self-preservation—reacted to him in ways you weren’t necessarily proud of whenever he got his hands on you.

…and Rafe always wanted to get his hands on you.

Rafe liked your fear, you didn’t need to be a mind reader to know that, and you were sure he liked the sight of bruises on your skin even more. He liked seeing his mark, and no matter how temporary, you felt that it served as some brand to him. You recalled reading once that cattle weren’t branded to be considered a part of something but instead to show where they needed to be returned to if they got lost. Something had twisted deep in your gut at that.

…because you knew that if Rafe could, he’d brand you for all to see.

Brand you to show the world where you needed to be returned.

After your quick joint shower, Rafe wrapped the large towel around you both, holding you close as he walked you into the guest bedroom. You could briefly hear Kelce and Topper talking downstairs, making drinks no doubt as Rafe shut the door behind you. When his fingers danced along your sides, you couldn’t swallow down the startled giggle, involuntarily pressing yourself against the blond to get away from them.

“You’ve been so quiet all day,” he murmured, pressing his face into your neck as he tightened his arms around you.

Blinking, you weighed your response.

“I’ve just been in my head, I guess.”

Rafe was quiet for a moment before humming, and you both felt and heard him take a deep breath.

“You’ve been in your head for weeks then.”

You froze at that, it was only for half a second, but you were sure Rafe caught it. You didn’t like that your internal conflict was noticeable, and when you tried to pull away, Rafe only refused to let you go.

“What’s going on with you?”

The question came out whispered and gentle…but you knew better.

“Just…things. Family stuff mostly.”

The lie came easy, and you let your eyes close, telling yourself that this was no longer a lie of omission, but how could you tell Rafe that you’d been thinking about JJ Maybank? How could you tell him that you’d been lingering on a single interaction that made you feel miles better than the last year and a half of your relationship?

JJ had talked to you like a friend…like an equal, and you’d forgotten what that was like.

Everyone saw you as an extension of Rafe. His dad, his friends, and even your own parents sometimes. They were always wondering where Rafe was and what Rafe was up to, and you didn’t blame them. After all, in their eyes, Rafe was perfect. Your boyfriend was a dream come true as far as future sons-in-law went, and as far as they knew, Rafe treated you like a princess.

In their eyes, this was the man who rarely let you drive your own car because he’d rather chauffeur you around. Rafe was the boyfriend who was always bringing their daughter gifts and flowers and popping in to check on the whole family. They swooned at how often Rafe called you throughout the day when he was otherwise occupied. Rafe was more than deserving of you.

On the other side of things though…

Rafe drove you around so he’d know firsthand where you were, how long you’d be, and when you were leaving. He wanted complete control over your mobility. So many of those flowers and gifts were only given to you after a particularly nasty fight that resulted in a bleeding lip or bruised back. Rafe popped in to check on everyone…but also to make sure you were exactly where you said you were. He constantly called for the same reason.

To your parents he was a dream and to you…a nightmare.

“What family stuff?” Rafe scoffed, pulling you against him and nipping at your neck. “I don’t think I’ve even seen your parents argue.”

He laughed to himself about that, but you only pressed your lips together because you knew what was coming.

“Your family’s perfect.”

He murmured it against your skin, but the bitterness was heard loud and clear.

Rafe playfully threw you onto the bed, quickly joining you and settling himself on top of you. He pressed his lips against yours, humming into the kiss, and you sharply inhaled when you could feel him hard and throbbing against your thigh. When you shifted your leg, Rafe groaned.

“Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad,” he whispered, kissing you again. “…and if it is…”

He adjusted himself, resting his forearms into the mattress beside your head. Rafe completely caged you in as he gazed into your eyes, running them over you and pulling his lip between his teeth. The tips of his fingers grazed the side of your face, and you swallowed.

“It’s nothing I can’t help you forget, right?”

He held your gaze, gently brushing his nose against yours, and reminding yourself that he wanted an answer, you nodded.

“Right,” you breathed.

You kissed him back when his lips pressed to yours again, and on instinct, you rested your hands on his lower back. His hips curved into yours, the tip of him brushing against you and making you sharply inhale. You felt Rafe smile into the kiss, and his lips traveled from your lips to your jaw and then eventually your neck. When Rafe nipped at the skin, you reached up to run your fingers through his hair.

Rafe was eager to be inside of you, and it was evident in the way he reached down between your legs, fingers rushing to brush over you. Your breath hitched at the feel, and you lifted your hips when he started to dip them into you. His lips were at your ear as he thrust his fingers into you, and your hips lifted again.

“You’re so tight, you know that?” he breathed, and you parted your legs more.

You were so afraid of Rafe, so afraid of him, but once he got his hands on you like this, he typically wasn’t hurting you. It’d been months since the last time he got angry enough to hold you down and force himself on you. In these moments though, you didn’t have to watch your every comment and observe his every move. When Rafe was kissing you and pushing his cock into you, it was one of the few times you could just be and not have to worry about setting him off.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned into your mouth, hips snapping against yours.

With every surge of them, you gasped, clinging to him in more ways than one as you arched your chest up into his. His hair was still damp from the shower, and you twisted your fingers into the wet locks. His teeth scraped over your skin and a low moan climbed out of his throat when you wrapped your legs around his waist.

The bed jostled from his movements, and when he snaked his arms around your waist, you reached down to hold onto them. The force in which he thrust into you was almost painful, but you were used to it, and it was something you’d grown to expect…welcome even. You had to if you wanted any semblance of happiness in this relationship—any brief moments of joy.

When Rafe pushed himself up to hover over you, your hands slid up his chest, and when his nose touched yours, you knew what he wanted. Lifting your head, you kissed him, and Rafe was ravenous in returning it. Every curve of his hips made your toes curl, and your nails clawed at the sheets when he fisted his hand into the hair at the nape of your neck.

He cursed into the kiss, and as the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, your other hand pressed into his back, nails dragging along his skin. You knew it was nothing at all, but leaving your own mark or two made you feel just a little bit better. You came first, but Rafe fucked you through it, continuing to plunge his cock into you and making your legs shake.

The closer Rafe got, the sloppier his thrusts became…and the more forceful he became. When he wrapped a hand around your wrist, you didn’t protest, accepting the feel of him pinning your arm down against the bed. His free hand roughly dug into your hips and then your thigh—painfully so—and you could only half hiss and half moan in response. His hips slammed down against yours, and when Rafe came inside of you, he stilled against you, completely pinning you beneath him.

Despite the fact that you were on birth control, you never not had a brief moment of panic.

“I just like feeling all of you,” Rafe had said over a year ago. “…and neither one of us are sleeping with anyone else…right…?”

The thought of getting pregnant scared you probably more than anything. Despite the fact that you’d accepted your fate and the future that was your relationship with Rafe, getting pregnant by him seemed so final. It would be the final nail in the coffin, and the last thing you needed in your relationship with Rafe. You knew it would happen eventually, but something in you desperately hoped that Rafe would just be a little better. Even just a little.

You couldn’t imagine bringing a child into this world just to be abused.

When your boyfriend rolled off of you, he pulled you with him, resting your head on his heaving chest as you kept your gaze on the wall. Rafe’s fingers gently trailed up and down your back, and you’d just closed your eyes to try and find sleep when he spoke.

“You know that I love you…right?”

It felt out of place, and you frowned slightly but eventually nodded.

“I know,” you whispered back.

You felt his hand trace patterns up your back, fingers dancing along your skin before his hand curved around the back of your neck.

“I know that I hurt you sometimes,” he murmured, making you swallow. “…but… It doesn’t mean that I don’t…”

He trailed off, his words dying in the air, and your eyes watered as you stared at the wall.

“I know, Rafe.”

When his hand landed on your cheek, you lifted your head, looking up at him. He studied your face, blue eyes flickering between your own, and you watched the way his tongue darted between his lips.

“You know how I get sometimes.”

“Rafe, I know,” you hurried to reassure him, reaching for his arm. “I get it, okay?”

You were sitting up, now, looking down at him, and you watched him lick his lips again. His hand took yours, threading your fingers together, and you felt compelled to hold eye contact. Rafe slowly took a deep breath, and you watched his eyes narrow.

“I just don’t want you to ever think you don’t mean anything to me,” he quietly told you. “…because you do. You’re my world.”

His hand tightened on yours, almost painfully, and you swallowed. His blue gaze looked so lifeless—glazed over—and you swallowed again.

“If you left, you may as well have just…died.”

You eventually nodded when he held your gaze for a few moments more, and when he pulled you back down, he gave you a sweet kiss, hand resting on the back of your head when you laid down on his chest again. Your gaze didn’t leave the wall when he reached over to turn out the lamp.

You were waiting on Rafe’s order when you saw him again.

You felt a sense of déjà vu when he walked into The Wreck, blue eyes meeting yours and a small smile thrown your way. Only the last time this same scenario had played out, you’d smiled back, and Rafe had put a gun in your mouth for it. You shuddered to remember that day, and you turned away from JJ without another thought.

You were unsurprised—but disappointed—when he saddled up next to you.

“In some places—and I’m pretty sure Outer Banks is one of them—that’s considered rude.”

You only spared the blond a brief glance, sighing.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you lied.

You heard him snort to himself, silence stretching between you for a moment before he eventually spoke again.

“Where’s your asshole boyfriend?”

You couldn’t help yourself, throwing him a scathing look at that, but the only response you got was a wider grin and one raised eyebrow. Ward had called Rafe the moment he parked, and signaling to you that it would take a minute, he’d waved you on ahead to get the food. That was what you told JJ, and you heard him whistle.

“He let you get it all by yourself? Wow, he’s really stepping up.”

His tone was light and mocking, but you merely fixed him with an unamused look.

It was only then did you realize just how close he was, and you couldn’t help but to swallow at his close proximity. Without thinking much of it, you inhaled and almost immediately regretted it. Rafe and all of his friends smelt so…sharp. They smelled like cologne and laundry detergent and the freshly cut manicured grass on the country club golf course. It was a scent you’d grown up around, a scent you were accustomed to.

JJ just smelled like fresh air.

The blond before you reminded you of the salt water at the beach and the woodsy scent of trees and fresh rain. JJ smelled warm and light, and it was a smell that made you want to just…relax. Realizing that your thoughts were heading into dangerous territory—again—you slightly moved away from him. He noticed.

“Jesus, you’d think it was you I fought on the beach.”

“What are you doing here?” you finally asked him, still staring straight ahead as you waited for your order.

“Well, not only is this place owned by my best friend’s family…” you nodded at that, having actually forgotten that. “…but like you, I also like to eat.”

You rolled your eyes, and you heard JJ chuckle to himself. You tapped your fingers against the counter, feeling his gaze on you no matter how much you ignored it. Rafe sounded irritated almost as soon as he answered the phone, so there was no doubt in your mind that he was going back and forth with Ward about something. For just a brief moment, you wished he was here just so you had a better excuse to ignore the man at your side.

“Rafe’s not here, you know,” he eventually said. “You don’t have to pretend like I don’t exist.”

“Clearly you don’t know my boyfriend as well as you’d like to think you do then,” you snorted. “…because I absolutely do.”

You were relieved when Mrs. Carrera brought out your food, and you felt it was obvious in the way your shoulders sagged. You thanked her, thinking to yourself that you couldn’t get away from JJ fast enough, stepping away just as Rafe stepped inside. Your heart only stuttered a little at the sight of him, but you covered it up with a smile.

“You ready to go?” you asked him, frowning a bit when he pecked you on the lips and proceeded to move past you.

“I want to get a drink,” he told you over his shoulder.

You watched him lean against the counter next to JJ as he talked to the other woman, and you couldn’t stop yourself from eyeing them—comparing them. Something about the sight of them together rubbed you the wrong way, and maybe it was because the last time they were in such close proximity it had ended in a brawl.

Or maybe it was because you’d talked to JJ when you knew you shouldn’t.

You watched JJ say something to your boyfriend, and Rafe’s smirk in response didn’t ease your worries. His arms were folded over the counter, and he turned his head ever so slightly to look at the other blond out of the corner of his eye. He said something—evidently something rude by the way JJ tensed—and to your disappointment, you watched Rafe pull a dollar out of his pocket before flicking it at JJ just as Mrs. Carrera returned with his drink.

“For your troubles, JJ,” you heard him say, a cruel grin on his lips. “Don’t go spending that all at once, now.”

You couldn’t stop your frown, but as Rafe neared you, something else caught your eye instead.

JJ was leaning over the counter, pointing at something towards the kitchen while Mrs. Carrera seemed to sigh in exasperation. His white t-shirt rode up a bit, and your gaze lingered on the discoloration on his side. The sight of it made your lips part, and your frown deepened the longer you stared at it. The sight of it was so familiar to you, and despite the fact that you knew Sarah’s friends didn’t lead the safest lifestyle, something in you wouldn’t let you believe that came from some dirt bike accident.

It was too perfect, too precise of a bruise…and you would know better than anyone.

When Rafe grabbed your hand, pulling you out of the restaurant, you forced yourself to pull your eyes away.

You didn’t want a repeat of the aftermath of the conversation in the hall, so the days that followed were spent trying to be as normal and as present as possible. However, you couldn’t stop your mind from drifting to the sight of JJ’s skin at The Wreck. It wouldn’t leave you, and you didn’t need to be some professional psychiatrist to figure out why.

You didn’t know much about his home life, only that his dad kind of sucked from what you’d gathered from Sarah and Rafe and Rafe’s friends. However, you never had the desire to understand what that meant in full. Now, though… You couldn’t help wondering if it encompassed something more horrific than you’d imagined.

There were times when you wanted to ask Sarah about it, but it felt weird. JJ wasn’t your friend, wasn’t even close, so you didn’t think you had a right to his personal life. Especially something so deeply personal, and even weirder, you and Sarah weren’t friends. It just felt strange to go to her about something that didn’t involve you nor her but instead her friend who you were supposed to have no kind of interactions or connections with.

It was especially present on your mind when Sarah’s friends were in the house one day. You’d been in the kitchen when you heard the van pull into the yard, and you’d only smiled in response when Sarah and her friends greeted you.

“Is Rafe here?” she asked you while they all made their way towards the backyard. “John B. can’t find his Juul and now I’m positive that was what I saw Rafe tossing in the trash the other day.”

You frowned at her with a shake of your head.

“He’s running some errand for Ward, but he should be back any minute.”

The blonde girl huffed, mumbling a dejected thanks before making her way to the backyard. You couldn’t stop yourself from staring after them, debating with yourself before thinking better of it. As you made your way towards the stairs, your gaze passed over JJ who stood near the backdoor, his gaze already on you as you climbed the stairs. Ignoring him, you made yourself comfortable in Rafe’s room.

Sure enough, as you’d told Sarah, you heard the distinct sound of Rafe’s truck pulling into the yard not even an hour later. You paid it no mind, focused on your laptop screen as you finished up some lingering homework due in a few days. Distinctly, you could hear Sarah talking to Rafe as she made her annoyance with him clear, but aside from the brief penetration into your bubble, you didn’t give it any more thought.

You were so focused that you couldn’t even really note how long Rafe had been downstairs before finally joining you. You heard the bedroom door open and close, and you briefly glanced at him over your shoulder.

“How’d it go?” you asked him, eyes preoccupied once again.

Your boyfriend didn’t answer right away, but when he did, he was much closer than you anticipated. You hadn’t heard him move.

“Fine enough,” was his simple answer, and you only hummed when you felt his fingers kneading into your shoulders.

You both felt and heard him pull away, and you were forced from your own thoughts when the sound of music reached your ears from his speakers, familiar with Rafe’s Apple Music playlist. Frowning, you turned to look at him, feeling like your efforts to study were pretty obvious. However, your face fell a tad as your gaze connected with his.

Rafe leaned against his dresser, even gaze resting on you as he simply…stared. Nothing about his expression was readable, and that was your first clue that something was very very wrong. Telling yourself that it could wait, you closed your laptop, scooting to fully face him on the bed. His hands were pressed into the wood, and your boyfriend was so still as you two just stared at each other.

“What?” you finally asked, and despite the music, it wasn’t too loud enough to where he couldn’t hear you.

Again, Rafe remained quiet, but you knew that he heard you so your frown only deepened. Moving until your feet were touching the floor, you stared up at him, and even with no words being spoken, you felt something uneasy festering deep within your gut. It had been some months since you and Rafe had one of your big fights, but you knew the signs all too well, and your heart sank when he took a deep breath.

“You apologized to JJ on my behalf?”

You heard a ringing in your ears for a few seconds as his words lingered in the air, and no matter how much you wanted to, you couldn’t look away from him. In this moment, you felt like prey, and you felt like it would be the stupidest thing in the world to take your eyes off of the man before you. Your lips parted as you struggled with what to say, and you eventually snapped them shut, struggling to find a way to talk your way out of this.

“I…”

“I already know the truth,” Rafe told you, tilting his head to the side. “I just want to hear it from you.”

Swallowing, you took a deep breath.

“I…felt bad,” you slowly told him, and you watched Rafe nod.

“You felt bad,” he repeated, pressing his tongue to his teeth and the inside of his cheek.

“Rafe-.”

“When did this conversation even happen?” he interrupted, frowning now. “I’m trying to understand when you and JJ Maybank have ever been around each other long enough to have a conversation where you’re apologizing to him for me.”

“Rafe, it lasted a minute at the most,” you quietly argued.

“Was this at The Wreck?”

You knew he was referring to days ago, and your mind ran rampant, trying to figure out if it was better to lie or not. You were already caught in a lie somewhat, and you really didn’t want to make this worse. You were pulled from your thoughts by the sound of Rafe’s bitter laugh, and when you looked at him again, you could see that he was studying your face.

“Don’t think you can sit here and lie to me. When did this happen?” he repeated.

Exhaling, you blinked back tears.

“It was a few weeks ago,” you whispered, and you watched Rafe nod. “Sarah and her friends were going to the beach. JJ was in the bathroom, and I just ran into him in the hallway.”

When Rafe didn’t react, you continued, heart racing.

“Rafe, I just felt bad, that was all. I saw his face, and I felt bad, okay?”

Rafe leaned in a bit, hands and lower back still pressed against his dresser.

“Felt bad for what?” he spat, visage finally cracking. “He was the one bothering us, and I gave him what he was looking for.”

When you opened your mouth, Rafe cut you off.

“…and to make matters worse, you lied to me.”

Your brows furrowed at that, and you didn’t miss the way Rafe’s nostrils flared.

“Family bullshit, my ass. You knew you were wrong,” he threw at you, pointing at you. “See, you think I don’t know you…but I know you like the back of my hand.”

You lowered your gaze, unable to look him in the eye when he got like this.

“I knew something was wrong, and you lied to my face.”

You weren’t able to keep your tears from spilling over, and you wiped your face, looking up at him again. Your lips trembled while Rafe stared you down, and you were very aware of your throat and how tight it felt in this moment. You whispered his name, trying to get him to see that you hadn’t meant anything by it.

“I just felt bad,” you slowly told him again, voice quiet.

You wiped your face again, but fresh tears just replaced those, and Rafe studied the action. He leaned back some, looking down his nose at you, dirty blond hair curtained along his forehead. There was nothing warm or comforting about his gaze, malice stewing there as the corner of his lips curved upwards just a tad.

“Why are you crying?” he calmly asked. “I haven’t even touched you yet.”

With a shaky breath, you pushed yourself to your feet, but Rafe had closed the distance in the same amount of time. You leaned away from him, a pleading look in your gaze.

“Do you…? Wh-what do you want me to say to him? How can I fix this?”

“Do you think I want you talking to him again? Do you really think that’s going to make me feel better, right now?”

You reached up to keep some distance between you two, but Rafe slapped your hands away. Your face was next, the action happening so fast that you only had time to gasp. You’d just touched your cheek when his hands were digging into your upper arms, violently shaking you.

“I just might do something a little impulsive if I saw you talking to him, right now, so trust me, you don’t want that,” he sneered.

“Rafe,” you gasped, grabbing one of his arms.

He only responded by grabbing that wrist, squeezing it and twisting it until you were forced to try and get him to let go. His face was so close to yours, nose brushing your cheek as his lip curled over your teeth.

“Do you know what that was like for me?” he wondered, forcing you back until you were cornered against the wall. “To have that Pogue throw it in my face that my own girlfriend went behind my back and apologized for what I did to him? For what he brought on himself?”

You pushed against his chest with your free hand, and Rafe only shoved you back, making you wince.

“I mean, have you lost your mind?” he wondered, fingers coming up to touch the side of his head. “Were you just thinking ‘God, what can I do to really piss Rafe off’?”

You were full on sobbing, now as you tried to push him away.

“Wait, no, you…you were thinking that I wouldn’t find out,” he chuckled, and you got no warning before he threw you to the floor.

Your sore wrist made it hard to push yourself up, and Rafe let his impatience show.

“Get up,” he barked at you. “Get the fuck up.”

Deciding he didn’t feel like waiting for you to do that, Rafe pulled you up by your hair, forcing you to cry out as you reached up to grab his hand. Your back was forced to arch as you tried your best to lean away from him, and when he shoved you into his dresser, a choked sound escaped you as pain flared in your stomach.

Rafe seemed to anticipate your next move the moment you took a step forward.

“Where are you going, huh?” he drawled, yanking you back.

“I’m sorry,” you screamed at him, trying to pull his arms off of you.

“No, you’re not,” he frowned at you, pressing a thumb against your throat. “You’re just sorry I found out.”

You pushed at his face, and your boyfriend retaliated by pushing at yours, forcing you to stumble and fall back, the wall barely serving to catch you. In a panic, you turned and ran into his bathroom, just narrowly shutting and locking the door the same time Rafe’s fists hit against it. He hit it again, harder this time, and you flinched, stepping back.

“Open this door,” you heard him say, breathing labored.

He kicked at it when you didn’t, and you tearfully stared at it with wide eyes.

“Baby,” he slowly said. “You do not want me to kick it down. I can promise you you won’t like it.”

Wrapping your arms around yourself, you looked around. You were at a loss, mind going a mile a minute as he told you to open the door again, and more tears just kept falling. You could feel yourself overheating, and all those moments where you anticipated his next move or tried to anticipate the best move for you became worthless. This wasn’t a conversation where you were trying to prevent the violent outcome.

The violent outcome was here.

Pushing yourself against the door was in vain, because with a few more harsh kicks, it was forced open, and you were forced to the floor. Your hands shook as you fought against Rafe’s, trying to keep them off of you, but when they wrapped around your neck, breathing became your first priority. He briefly raised your head before slamming it back down, and you felt no relief when his hands let you go because you immediately saw him reach for his pants.

Even with a tilting vision and confused mind, his intent was clear.

However, a harsh knock on his room door startled you both. With a struggle, you reached up to touch your head just as Rafe’s eyes met yours. You tearfully blinked at him, wondering what he planned to do, when another knock followed the first, their fist banging on the door, and with a huff, Rafe got off of you. You licked your lips, unsurprised by the taste of blood.

You heard Rafe open his door.

“What the hell are you doing up here?” Sarah aggressively questioned. “We can hear you banging all the way out in the yard.”

You closed your eyes as you realized that Rafe’s music hadn’t been loud enough, and with an inflamed face and aching stomach, you turned on your side. A small groan left you when you wrapped your arms around your lower half, throat starting to hurt too.

“I was just trying to move my dresser around,” you heard Rafe rudely tell her. “Didn’t mean to disturb her royal highness.”

You didn’t see Sarah’s response, but knowing the younger girl, she probably rolled her eyes.

“Whatever. Where’s Y/N?”

“She’s in the bathroom.”

Rafe’s response was immediate.

“Just keep it down. Never mind how annoying it is, but Y/N told me earlier she had some studying to do. We all know you don’t care about that, but…”

The rest of Sarah’s words were lost to you as Rafe slammed the door in her face. One of your hands came up to cover your own face as you sobbed into it, lip still bleeding from where your teeth had cut into the skin. You could hear Rafe’s footsteps as he approached the bathroom, and you were relieved when he didn’t enter, just opting to stand in the doorway.

You could feel his eyes on you, but you didn’t dare look. The thought of what almost happened—and what no doubt would later on—just made you cry harder, and Rafe’s heated sigh reached your ears.

“When you’re soaking in the bathtub tonight,” he slowly began, tone smug. “I want you to remember whose fault this is.”

…and as crazy as it seemed, you couldn’t determine if he meant you…or JJ.

#jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #dark!jj maybank #dark!jj maybank x reader #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #dark!rafe cameron #dark!rafe cameron x reader #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank fanfiction #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fanfiction #obx fanfiction #obx #outer banks #outer banks fanfiction

[the-oblivious-writer]

Touch Tank

Tara Carpenter x Reader

One-shot

Summary: Tensions are high when you go over to the Carpenters' apartment after telling Tara you would fix their sink; Sam isn't exactly what you would call your 'biggest fan'

Warning(s): Swearing, Tara & R aren't together, & no pronouns used

Notes: Another work based off of Gilmore Girls! Currently re-watching it and I'm slowly inching towards s3 ep 19... I'm avoiding it like the plague (I wanna stay in literali bliss just a lil longer 😔)

4/7 for Seven Days of Christmas

You made the mistake of agreeing to fix Tara’s sink.

Somehow Tara roped you into agreeing. Plumbers were expensive, and with paying rent in New York while also paying for college, they were already on a tight budget. You offered them a cheaper price, and you honestly didn’t mind giving Tara a favor.

That was before you remembered Sam would be there too.

You have known Tara all of five months, and in that time you haven’t exactly left the best impression on her older sister. Sam has already caught you sneaking in ten times—you got lucky every other time—and it didn’t help that you had an attitude. 

Tara wanted nothing more than for Sam to get to know you—to not just go off the you she made up in her head. So, when Sam found out you would be coming to fix their kitchen sink… she figured it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to give you another shot. Besides, she was doing this for Tara. She wasn’t sure as to why Tara was so persistent on it, but all she knows is that Tara wants you and her to get along. 

—

You walk up the stairs to the shared apartment after getting buzzed in by Tara. Once you get to the door you knock and the door opens.

“Hey,” Tara greets.

“Hey back,” you reply. Tara moves to the side, letting you in. Once you’re inside you look at Tara once again before smiling to yourself.

“You’re very punctual,” she remarked—watching as your eyes wandered.

“Yeah, well, it was either this or more apartment hunting with Danny.”

“You’re moving?”

You shrugged, “I don’t know. Don’t really get the point—the apartment’s fine. He says there’s ‘interior damage’ or whatever. Nothing I can’t fix.”

“Who knows; a new place could be nice.”

“I guess. He’s kinda eyeing the vacant apartment that’s not too far from yours.”

“Really?”

“Yeah… not saying it’s a sure thing but if we do move, can you promise you won’t get sick of me?”

“Sick of that face? Never…” She gently pinched your cheek teasingly; heat rushed to your face. 

“Did you change your hair?” You asked suddenly, changing the subject.

“What?”

“Your hair looks…different.”

“So segway’s not your thing, huh?” 

“Is it?” 

“Uh, no. I wear it like this a lot. Why?”

“Just…” You shrug, “Different.”

“Oh. Bad ‘different’?” She tugged on the hem of her shirt, suddenly feeling nervous for some reason. 

You smirk, about to answer her question, but turn your head when you hear a noise coming from down the hall. It sounded like Sam yelling a curse before Tara looked back at you with a light chuckle.

“The sink hasn’t been putting her in the best mood,” she elaborates. 

“She’s usually in a good mood?” You quip with raised eyebrows, tone laced in sarcasm. Tara scolds you with a look, causing you to back down. “Alright, alright.” 

“This fucking sink is driving me insane–” Sam cuts herself off, stopping in her tracks when she sees you. 

“Oh. Y/N. You’re here,” she says and you simply nod at her words. “Refreshing to see you use the front door for once…” She murmurs but you and Tara hear it. Tara scolds her with the same look she gave you just moments before. 

“If you want there’s Dr. Pepper in the kitchen,” Sam reluctantly offered. You looked at Tara then at Sam before briefly nodding. 

After a few seconds of silence, Sam clears her throat. “Okay, well, everything’s in the kitchen if you want to get started. The toolbox, and gloves are all there. If you need anything else just call one of us.” 

Tara looks between you and Sam before speaking up, “Come on, I’ll show you.” She extends her hand, gesturing to the direction of the kitchen. You begin to walk in that direction but before Tara follows behind, she gives Sam a look.

“I’m trying,” Sam huffed. 

“Well keep it up pleasee,” Tara requested as she walked away to the kitchen. 

By the time she was there, you were already setting up. “Question,” She states.

“Yes?” You put the pair of gloves in your back pocket, looking over at Tara.

“You come over. You seem to have a very firm grasp of the English language. You put together several full sentences—even using a couple of words that contain two or more syllables. And then my sister appears, and suddenly we need a thought bubble over your head to understand what you’re thinking. Can you tell me why that is?”

You looked down at the four-way silicone key in your hand before looking at Tara again with a  response. “The verbal thing comes and goes.” 

Tara sighed, lightly rolling her eyes. “I would really appreciate it if you would try to get along with my sister.”

“I took the Dr. Pepper,” you stated as a matter of factly. 

She furrowed her eyebrows, “I know.”

“Personally, I think it’s a little crazy to put lemon in Dr. Pepper—buuuut I took it anyhow.” You reached for the bucket and rag as you heard Tara huff.

“Stop it.”

“Ooo, stern face,” you say as you lift the tool and bucket to place by the sink. Tara continues, following you as you crouched down by the sink.

“Look. I went out on a limb for you, trying to get my sister to give you the benefit of the doubt. Okay? So, I don’t think it would hurt you to try to be nice.”

You put down the wrench you had just picked up, now fully turned and standing to look at Tara as you spoke. “Why?” You simply asked, taking off your jacket.

“Why?” Tara mirrored.

“Yeah. Why?” 

“Because she’s my sister—and she and Danny are dating.”

“So?” You tossed your jacket on top of a nearby chair.

“What do you mean ‘so’?” She asked incredulously; her eyebrows stayed furrowed.

“So, just because she’s your sister or Danny’s girlfriend doesn’t mean that I automatically have to get along with her,” you stated with pure conviction, rolling up your sleeves. 

“Y/N, my sister is a great person. She’s also my best friend—so if you care about me at all you will take that into consideration,” Tara was now crossing her arms as she stood her ground. “And you will be mildly polite to her.”

You couldn’t help but smirk, looking her up and down before responding. “What makes you think I care about you?” Tara didn’t need eyes to know you were smirking and enjoying this way too much.

She blushes, looking down at the ground and shaking her head as she grows flustered. “I–I don’t mean care-care. Like—care. I mean if you like me at all—not like-like! I just meant that–” Tara stumbles over her words, tucking in a loose strand of hair behind her ear. You watch her with amusement, a soft smile grazing your face as you let out a light snort.

“If you think of me remotely as the sort of person you could occasionally stand to talk to then you will try to get along with my sister. That’s all.” 

Your eyes never pulled from her once, only looking at her with fondness as you finally said something. “Okay,” you nod.

“Okay?”

“Can’t guarantee that it’ll work but I’ll try,” you confirm. 

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome…” You glance at the sink then back at Tara. “Should probably get to work.”

“Right. Sorry—go ahead.” She turns to walk away, looking at you one more time before leaving the kitchen. You crouch down by the sink again, not meeting her gaze but feeling it. She doesn’t see how you grin to yourself; your mind being plagued with thoughts of the younger Carpenter.

Guess it wouldn’t hurt to make an effort. 

—

Later that night, you decided to stop by Tara’s window for a surprise visit. You looked at her for a few seconds—admiring how peaceful she looked—before lightly tapping on her window. She turned to look at the window, a grin grazing her face when her eyes meets yours.

She lifted the window with a smile as you looked up at her fondly. “Hey,” you finally said after the window fully opened, expression never faltering as you leaned your head against the window frame.

“Hey back,” she replied. “Didn’t you say something to Sam about not coming through the window anymore.” Tara heard from Sam that you managed to hold somewhat of a conversation with the older Carpenter, actually making an effort to try with her. No matter how awkward it might have been on your end, at least you tried.

“You talk about me with Sam?” You asked smugly.

She rolled her eyes with an infectious smile. “Just get inside.”

“I didn’t hear a no~” You say in a sing-song voice. Tara pulled you in by your sleeve, roughly, might you add. “Watch the shirt,” you complain while you’re pulled inside her room.

“Quirk it.”

“How gentle,” you sarcastically complimented; you dusted your pants off with your free hand, not commenting on how Tara still held a grip on your other arm. 

“So,” Tara began as she sat on her bed—dragging you with her, “What are we watching tonight?”

“I can’t do Freaky Friday again.”

“Fine.”

“How about Cursed?” You inquired. Tara was leaning her back against your chest; she looked up at you with those beautiful brown eyes.

“That movie’s terrible.”

“One-hundred percent, but Milo Ventimiglia is in it.”

“Doesn’t he only have like six minutes of screen time?”

“But in it, nevertheless.”

“You drive a hard bargain… Get the laptop?”

You respond by reaching over to the night stand, grabbing her laptop. You hand it to her and she opens it on her lap. 

Tara would never comment on how she was the only one who got this side of you—the gentle, kind, and considerate side. Well, when she wants to see you squirm she comments on it. But for now, she’ll keep it to it herself.

-----------

A/N: the urge to write a paper on how jess mariano is a truly misunderstood character grows each & each day...

(I got beef with star hallows. we leave it at that.)

#tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x y/n #tara carpenter x you #jenna ortega x you #tara carpenter x gn!reader #gender neutral reader #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega #scream fanfic

[shubblelive]

— BOTTLED UP

summary : wilbur's budding music career has undergone a multitude of changes since he first started. fortunately for him, you are not one of them.

genre : fluff

warnings : i guess there's one part that's slightly suggestive?? mentions of a makeout i guess, wilbur has a few Anxiuos moments, mentions of alcohol/drinking

pairing : cc!musician! wilbur soot x reader, musicianbur x reader

pronouns : none (you/yours)

featuring : cc!musician! wilbur soot

requested : Helloo! Could you write something where Wilbur's favorite thing to soothe his pre-show anxiety is to plant loving, relaxed kisses down the reader's neck in just a really silly way?

word count : 1.1k

note : maybe a tad too much worldbuilding, but what else do you expect from me let me LIVE

Whoever wrote “the lights are so bright but they never blind me,” clearly had not been to Sam’s. It was a dingy little joint with insane prices, but it was the closest pub to Wilbur’s flat and they gave Wilbur $50 a night to play guitar and sing a few covers. The lights directed at the “stage” in that place were enough to convince Wilbur he didn’t need glasses anymore because his vision was shot. 

He’d get up there, perform to a crowd of about twenty people (some of them were sober too!) and then crash before 9 ready to get up for his early morning retail shift.

It was a pretty good life, especially when you considered he’d just moved out of home and was also taking online classes for uni. Plus, there was his number one fan sitting at the bar every Thursday, sending him flirty looks and paying for his water.

He’d come along way since Sam’s. Performing at real venues, songs he’d written, not sweating buckets under lights so strong he could barely make out the shape of you at the bar (not usually).

That part never changed. You moved positioning with each venue. Oftentimes you were in the pit of people, off to the side with the less jumpy patrons. As they graduated to venues with seats and a real stage, you’d be off backstage with a bottle of water and a hug available (no matter how sweaty he was). 

It had been hard, his first few shows at Sam’s. Just a kid with a beat up acoustic guitar that was barely legally able to buy the alcohol he needed to even get up on stage. Said stage, a stool in the corner with a microphone that did more harm than good. There were panic attacks right at the beginning, quite a number of them. He would show intermittently. Slots at Sam’s were on a weekly basis, so some weeks he simply wouldn’t show up and ask for a slot. His anxiety would get the better of him, and then after a month, he’d suddenly regain his ego and he’d be back at it. In addition to the money from the owner (not named Sam), a lot of the patrons would leave tips for him with the bar manager (coincidentally named Sam), some weeks he would leave with over $250 for three days of playing. That would keep him going, he’d play for a few weeks and then someone would roll their eyes while Wilbur was talking and he would feel physically ill any time he even thought about picking up his guitar. 

But then, you showed up. It was during one of his ego boosts, he’d finally saved up for that electric guitar he’d lusted after for months. You had been dragged out by a friend who promptly ditched you upon seeing a cute girl from one of her classes. He’d seen you before, at student services. All his classes were online, but registration hadn’t been, and you worked the desk at student services for some extra cash. He’d tried to find you on social media but with just your first name on your nametag, it had been fruitless. He didn’t want a relationship anyway, he was fine with his friends, and his coworkers and his electric guitar, he didn’t have the energy for a relationship.

At least, that was what he said before he was dragging you out the service entrance to kiss you that first night, you laughing airily. He wanted to bottle that sound, needed it more than any liquid courage Sam could possibly overcharge him for. 

And thus, a new pre-show routine was born. A quick kiss before going back to his stool turned into a backstage hug as his crowds evolved from bargoers into fans - people who paid tickets just to hear his music.

Just a kid with his acoustic guitar was suddenly four guys with a two hundred million streams on spotify. Wilbur didn’t feel any different. He was still… just a guy. He’d swapped out his guitar, traded covers for originals, Sam’s service corridor for an actual dressing room.

The venue supported nearly a thousand people, and their manager had said they managed to seel over 80% of the tickets. That was an unfathomable amount of people to Wilbur. He’d quit his job and changed his act, but right before he went out there he was wracked with the same anxiety.

You were right beside him, your elbow tucked into his. His fingers fiddled with yours, nervous energy radiating off of him. He pulled you close, closing his eyes against the chattering from the audience, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“You’re alright,” you hummed, voice light. That same airyness he’d started to crave over the last six years skipping right past his nerves and planting itself right beside his heart, right along with the rest of you. 

He planted another kiss on your temple, then beside your left eye. You were half-sitting on a vanity, the weight of your boyfriend comforting as you traced letters up and down his arm. “I know, darling,” he whispered, breath tickling your cheek as he planted another three kisses as he moved his way down to your jawline. His mouth ghosted up and down your neck as the band manager called out five minutes until opening from the hallway. You squeezed his hand as his lips came to a stop where your neck met your shoulder. He sat there for a moment, peppering that one spot with chaste kisses. 

“You have to get out there, go meet the guys,” If he didn’t know you, he’d think you were trying to be stern. Your voice was firm, but still oh so light. Just like the kisses, over and over on the same spot of your shoulder. He hummed in recognition, and the two of you stood there for a second. His mouth connected with your shoulder again and, before you could stop him, Wilbur let out a large exhale, the vibrations on your skin letting out a loud sound that startled you. You pushed him off, laughing through faux-disgust. 

“Wilbur!” He was laughing too, giddy smile beaming at you. He heard final call and knew his time with you was limited. He gravitated back towards you, mouth hovering over yours for one last kiss before he had to get out there. You gladly met him halfway, and he could feel the curve of your smile against his. “You got this.”

He smiled breathlessly at you as frantic knocking began on the dressing room door. He probably did, he’d be fine. Even if you were wrong and he didn’t “got this,” he had you, which was just as important. 

#wilbur #wishing i could write my name on it #wilbuh #wilbur soot fluff #wilbur soot headcanons #wilbur soot x you #wilbur soot fic #wilbur soot fanfiction #wilbur soot x y/n #wilbur soot imagine #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot

[icallhimjoey]

Here I come with a request after i’ve fallen in love with your writing …. How about something inspired by the song Black Treacle from the arctic monkeys? Like maybe you just moved to London in an apartment and you go up to the roof for a smoke or fresh air one night and … none other than Joe is up there, smoking ?

Again i looooove how you write, it just the perfect thing for us thirty somethings ❤️

okay SO, thank you for this request, it made my brain go SCHLOOMP and it's the first request ive done in a good while so, look what you did! (also sorry if its bad) Wordcount: 3.5K

---

Sticky Skies

Joe knew he was in trouble when he turned down hanging with a friend because it would collide with his balcony moment. Your balcony moment. He realised then, when he stayed home for it and you didn't show that night, that it had become a problem.

It took a while for it to settle within him, because for too long, he'd just wanted to believe he was being totally normal about you. His neighbour. His cute, pretty, witty neighbour that he somehow never seemed to run into outside of the moments you spent on your balconies together.

It started weeks ago. Months, if he was really honest, and he'd grown addicted way too fast. He didn't even count the first few times when you'd just smiled at each other and nothing more but a hey, or a good night, would pass your lips besides the cigarette smoke.

That first time, you'd opened the your door to an empty balcony, and immediately closed your jacket tighter around your body at the feel of the cold air. When you turned to close the door, you jumped a little when you saw your neighbour right next to you on his balcony. The banisters of either balcony might as well not have been there, if you placed two chairs next to the sides, you would practically be sharing a bench. You were close enough to touch just standing there, and so you did, out of politeness, and shook hands as you introduced yourselves.

Your neighbour seemed friendly. He had a kind face, nice hair and... big hands. None of it intimidating. Actually quite the opposite. He wore posh clothes, but, they didn't fit him right, which only made him more approachable.

Amazing. You had a kind neighbour! One that also looked... good. Hot? Good. Definitely good.

You'd only just moved in and still had get to get furniture for out there, so you leant against the cold metal, facing the door to your flat, and saw Joe copy you even though he had chairs, a small bench, a table and even a bike out on his balcony.

It was a little awkward, you didn't really say anything, but you also didn't bury yourself into your phone - neither of you did. You just stood, and smoked silent cigarettes and you stared at your own reflection in the window and would occasionally look up at the black night skies and blow up cigarette smoke into it.

It happened like that a few times, until one evening, you went out and Joe was out there too, and he immediately commented on the new chairs you'd placed outside earlier that day.

"You got chairs!"

You huffed a laugh through your nostrils, smiled and said, "I did!" before you sat down. "They're insanely uncomfortable for the price I paid," you followed in the same chipper upbeat voice, and laughed at yourself.

"They look nice, though, expensive," Joe blew out smoke and gestured behind him at all of his outdoor furniture, "This is all trash,"

You took a better look, nodded and said, "It looks it," which made Joe laugh.

Exchanging pleasantries in the dark, only illuminated by the lights from inside your flats, you smoked cigarettes and got to know each other better. You told Joe you worked in an office as an administrative assistant, very exciting stuff. Joe said he did something similar and then said he was an actor, which made you go, "Oh yea, totally the same thing, wow, we have so much in common," and you'd both laughed.

You knew the amount of rent you paid, so you immediately accused Joe of either being famous or a big fat liar, and he'd just said, "I'm sure you'll figure it out.".

So, famous, you concluded. Definitely famous.

Quick late night cigarettes on your adjoining balconies slowly turned from 5-minute quick before bed smokes to long two-hour conversations every night. You shared cigarettes if one of you ran out, would sometimes even pass the same cig back and forth for a bit, and had moved seats into the corners of your balconies so you essentially sat next to each other and talked through the metal spindles.

Joe told you about the other neighbours in your building, quietly, so none of them heard, and filled you in on who filled the halls with amazing smelling food, who would steal packages if you left them out too long, who had sex the loudest, and who complained about it the most.

You told Joe about why you'd moved into the building, about a relationship ending because your old flatmate shagged him behind your back for weeks.

Joe was shocked, said the same thing happened to him a couple of years ago. You cheersed cigarettes through the spindles, toasted to people being awful, and deemed the building you lived in the perfect spot for the heartbroken.

Right after, you both said you were actually fine, didn't want the other to think you were sad and lonely, because you didn't feel sad or lonely at all. But then neither of you mentioned that these late night cigarette chats were kind of the reason why.

"It really is a nice place, it's just... it's such a trek from the tube," you complained.

"It's a 15 minute walk," Joe chuckled.

"Not with these little legs!" to demonstrate, you took teeny tiny little quick steps around your balcony with straight legs, very obviously overdoing it for the bit.

"Is that how you walk?" Joe laughed and instantly copied you. "How do you still have functioning knees?"

If him shuffling across his balcony like an idiot didn't make you laugh, his facial expression sure did it.

It became a special thing, your balcony moments with Joe. Something you started looking forward to.

On especially cold nights, you'd drag a blanket out, and after about a month of talking, you saw Joe shiver and pushed one end of the blanket through the slats. It was a little awkward, and you both had to curl your legs up onto your seats to make it work, but then, it covered the two of you perfectly. When, after about an hour, Joe went inside to make the both of you some tea that he passed to you over the banisters, you ended up outside for far longer than you'd anticipated.

But Joe was just your neighbour, and you couldn't remember ever running into him outside. You hadn't exchanged numbers, or ever spoke about what time you'd meet again the next day - it was always accidental, sometimes right after dinner, other times just before bed, and you liked how even without setting anything up, you always found each other to end the day together.

Joe was also good looking. And very funny. Which, you know, helped.

When the temperatures softened a little, and spring slowly pushed more time into the evenings, you found yourself sitting outside just to catch the nice sunsets.

Joe caught you outside in your pyjamas, fuzzy socks, hair high up on your head and your face covered in a sheet-mask.

"Pfffff," Joe was immediately laughing at the sight of you as you were using the tips of your fingers to push the edges of the mask back onto your skin to make sure they stuck.

"Who are you and what have you done to my lovely neighbour?!"

"Yea, all right, laugh all you like," you said through narrowed eyes. "I'm going to look amazing after this, all hydrated, so moisturized," you mused and saw Joe quirk an eyebrow as he lit a cigarette. Then you saw his fingers absentmindedly find a dry patch of skin between his brows to rub at, and a smirk grew on your face.

"Hang on," you said and darted inside only to emerge seconds later, two hands unfolding another sticky sheet mask.

"Come here," you said, beckoning Joe closer to the banister with your head, and even though Joe frowned a little, he obliged and stepped closer.

"This is gonna be cold and gooey, but trust me, it'll be so nice after,"

Joe leant forward a little, cigarette held back as he closed his eyes, wholly accepting that you were about to touch his face. "Ooh that feels disgusting," he immediately commented through tight lips. "Don't talk! You'll get it in your mouth!" you said, unable to hold your giggles back.

Your fingertips softly tapped and pressed the wet fabric over every single inch of Joe's face, and Joe forgot to breathe for a moment.

You noticed how long Joe's eyelashes were, and had to be extra careful to make sure they wouldn't get trapped underneath the mask.

"Mmmh, this is like a massage," Joe said after a little while, eyes still closed, now smiling.

It was nice, being so close to Joe, having him be so open to letting you touch him all over. It made you spent way too long applying the sheet, passing your tapping finger tips all over his face twice. Cheekbones, browbones, hairline, jawline, his nose... Joe's face was nice.

You spent the rest of the night both wearing white sheet-masks, Joe trying his best not to get any of the liquid onto his cigarette until it had all dried, and you trying not to giggle every time you looked at him.

The next day, a loud knock echoed throughout your living room after you'd just walked in after work and you opened the balcony door to find Joe leaning over with a bowl of pasta.

"Here," he passed it to you, his face not giving anything away.

"Ooh, what's this?" you accepted immediately and sat down before Joe passed you a fork.

"I made too much and I'm out of town for the next four days, so I hoped I'd get you before you'd had any dinner,"

You were already munching and groaned at how great it tasted. Fuck, Joe was a good cook. This was a very welcome and a skillfully casual way of letting you know Joe wasn't going to be joining you for late night cigarettes for a few days.

"This is so great, I had an awful day but... what the fuck, I can't even remember what happened,"

Joe smiled warmly and sat down with a bowl of his own.

"Talk to me," he then said. "Why was your day so bad?"

"I honestly can't remember," you laughed, obviously joking.

For a moment you ate in silence, and then, you unleashed everything. Talked through all the shitty things. The lack of communication at work. Your new shoes that gave you blisters. The deadlines that were impossible. And Joe just listened. Ate his pasta and encouraged you to take bites in between your rambling. Joe kind of loved it. Felt like he was taking care of you a little. Fed you. Let you get all of your frustrations out. There was something cute about you when you got all worked up. He also didn't mind how you talked with your mouth full of his food. Gross, he knew, but he was weirdly into it. Couldn't explain it if he tried.

When you finished the food and your rant, you passed Joe his bowl back and asked, "Beer?" and Joe thought for a second and said, "Sure," before you both disappeared inside for a second, gathered whatever you needed for a full evening on the balcony together.

This was just what you did now. It was almost like having a flatmate. One that you didn't share your actual flat with, which, with your previous flatmate experience, was actually very nice.

You stayed out until the skies were pitch black, like molasses. You stayed out until you started getting noise complaints from neighbours, because Joe's voice carried, and your laugh was too loud. You stayed out until the temperatures dropped so much, you didn't really want to have your hands outside of your sleeves anymore.

You started noticing it was never Joe who would go inside first. It was always you who went, well, gotta get up early tomorrow.

Joe liked it too much.

None of his friends had a neighbour like he did. Sure, they had people they'd see outside in the hallways or down near the postboxes, and they'd say hi, were polite. Would sometimes run into them in the supermarket and say hi then too. But that wasn't what you and Joe had going. You'd become a very specific kind of friends. Neighbours who knew too much about each other not to at least be considered friends, Joe was sure.

And, okay, so you'd flirt with each other. But what was the big deal? There was always a banister that divided you. A barrier that you hadn't yet crossed, and Joe would wonder, would it still be like this if he did cross that barrier? He'd fantasize of going 'round and ringing your doorbell to spend an evening inside on your sofa, where it'd be warm and cozy. Or he'd dream of inviting you over for dinner instead of having to pass you a bowl of food with a weak excuse that you'd eat outside with metal spindles in between the two of you.

You never talked about dating. About your romantic lives. Joe kind of hoped the reason was that there wasn't anything to talk about. So, cue his surprise when on a Sunday evening, he caught you through the window, from the corner of his eye, on your balcony, with a man. He was just out of view from inside his flat, which was good. Joe didn't need to actually see him to know what kissing looked like.

The lack of stars that night should've warned him.

Surprised at the painful stab in his heart, Joe decided to get out. Head out, to the pub, maybe. See if some of his friends were about. He didn't need to stay inside with you out there, making out with someone that wasn't him.

Shit.

He desperately needed that to be him.

That night he let his friends talk him into confronting you tomorrow. Friends that hadn't understood this bond that Joe had with his neighbour. And then, when other friends asked him to hang out that next day, he said he couldn't, because he had plans.

But then you didn't step out onto your balcony all night, and Joe knew then, this wasn't normal.

Oh man. Joe was in serious trouble.

He imagined this is what having an addiction must feel like, where it starts interfering with your day-to-day life. Where you start saying no to seeing friends because you had secret other things to do by yourself. Like, staying out late stood on your own balcony to maybe hopefully accidentally meet your hot neighbour that you had a big fat crush on. You know, shit like that.

Joe purposefully didn't go outside for a few nights after that. Didn't need to be confronted by your absence, or your presence for that matter. Not if it was going to be you and someone else, again.

But then he had dinner out there in the sunlight with a friend and he realised how stupid he'd been.

He could be out on his balcony all day and all night if he wanted.

This was his spot.

He'd used it for smoking his cigarettes long before you'd moved in next door.

And so when a week later, he'd set up the little bench with pillows, a nice throw blanket and a fat glass of wine, he was all ready for a nice, relaxing time on his balcony by himself when suddenly, your door opened.

You made eye-contact, and for a second, you contemplated going back inside.

"Hey," Joe said when the silence lingered a little too long.

"Hi, sorry. Hi," you immediately apologised for being weird before stepping out fully and fumbling with shaky fingers to light a cigarette.

Joe eyed you carefully, and then asked if you were all right.

"Don't ask, I'll cry," you said, and chuckled humourlessly.

You kind of hoped that Joe would make a joke, would waltz right over everything, make you forget about the guy you thought might be one to stick around for a little while, if not longer, only to ghost you after you'd let him sleep over.

Men were dicks.

You needed Joe to say something dumb, to make you laugh, and then you'd be able to swiftly move on and forget about it forever.

Instead Joe got up and with his cigarette in his mouth, used both his arms to beckon you over to the banister.

You hesitated, and Joe removed his cigarette as he leant his hips against the metal bars. "Come on, in you come," and when you took a small careful step closer, Joe knew you'd be just within reach so he bent at the waist and grabbed at you with both hands, pulling you in for a hug.

It was so stupid, but you tensed under Joe's embrace and patiently waited for it to be over. Hugs between neighbours should only last two, maybe three seconds, right?

"Oh my God, relax!" Joe instructed, rubbing a flat palm strongly over your back, pushing you more into him and you exhaled. Loudly and all exaggerated. It was enough for Joe to pull back, but then he took hold of your arms and ducked down slightly to force eyecontact.

"I've got good wine," Joe then offered, eyebrows scrunched and lips spread into a caring smile.

"Ugh, yes, wine would be great," you let your shoulders slump, and Joe moved his cigarette back into his mouth before he turned to go and get you a glass.

Upon his return he nearly dropped it when he saw what you were about to do.

With one leg already flung over the banisters, you were about to hop up and fling your other leg over as well.

"What the fuck are you doing?! Stop!"

You froze, one leg dangling and Joe quickly set the glass down before you could change your mind and climb over further.

"We're on the 4th floor, are you actually joking?!" Joe's hands found your waist and he held you with strong fingers as he gently pushed you back onto your own balcony. "This is so dangerous,"

The space between your balconies was minimal, but definitely there.

"I just wanted to-" you started, and pointed behind Joe, at his bench that was laid out with nice pillows and soft blankets.

"Walk around, idiot! We have doors!" Joe interrupted, and the loudness of his voice made you flinch a little.

For a second, you and Joe just looked at each other, you now back on your own balcony, but Joe's hands still firmly holding onto your waist.

Joe then sighed, said, "Wait," and stepped back.

"Catch,"

Joe threw one of the pillows over - a risky move, you weren't the best catcher, but this one almost hit your right in the face. Joe then, much more sensibly, handed you more pillows over the banisters and instructed you to place all of them onto your chairs. The blanket followed, and then, the wine glasses.

And like Joe hadn't just told you off for trying to climb from your balcony onto his, Joe gracefully hopped and swung both legs over, landing on both feet like he'd done that a million times before. You were about to argue, let him know how unfair it was for him to not let you climb over and then deciding that jumping over himself was fine, but Joe was already arranging the pillows in your chairs.

You watched Joe move about, then before he sat down with his own glass of wine in hand, he handed you yours and told you to sit as well.

After working with one hand to drape the blanket over the both of you, you kind of looked at Joe a little bewildered.

Okay, so many not all men were dicks.

"So, will you actually cry if I ask you what's the matter?" Joe asked into his wineglass before taking a sip.

"I might," you said truthfully, but tried to dress it up as a joke. It didn't land.

"Will you let me comfort you if you do?"

"I might," you said again, this time much softer, something positive hidden within your voice.

Joe thought back to his friends who'd convinced him to just be honest with you, and he glanced up at the night sky. Black, more like black treacle than tar, with enough stars visible to persuade him to actually go ahead and do it.

He looked at your wineglass, clinked it with his own, sat back and shifted in his seat until he was comfortable.

"So," he smiled warmly, and continued, "What's wrong?"

----

The Taglisted: 

@ghostinthebackofyourhead @dirtyeddietini @jasminearondottir @josephquinned @cancankiki @sidthedollface2 @dylanmunson @munsonsgirl71 @alana4610 @emmamooney @sadbitchfangirl @thatonefan-girl @paola-carter @figmentofquinn @haylaansmi @thewondernanazombie @munsonmunster @kellysimagines @mybffjoe @chaoticgood-munson @sherrylyn628 @bdpst-massacre @05secondsofsexgods @lovelyblueness @adoreyouusugar @nadixq @prozacandnicotine @munsonswhore86 @alwayslindie @thefemininemystiquee @hauntingbastille @eddie-joe-munson @ali-in-w0nderland @pepperstories @phyllosilicate-s @thebellenouvelle @luvrsbian @joesquinns @choke-me-joey @alizztor @thelostmoonofpooosh @did-it-work @capricornrisingsstuff @quinnsbower @frogers @kennedy-brooke @daleyeahson @eddielives1986 @harringtonfan4

(taglist currently full, sorry)

#Joe Quinn #Joseph Quinn #Joe Quinn x You #Joseph Quinn x You #Joe Quinn x Reader #Joseph Quinn x Reader #Joe Quinn Fanfic #Joe Quinn fanfiction #Joseph Quinn Fanfic #Joseph Quinn Fanfiction #rpf #icallhimjoey #requested

[xxgalaxygabxx]

Hey real quick, for those who are disparaging the criticism of Watcher’s decision and wailing about the money…

Watch peguinz0’s video on the situation.

He breaks down the financial aspects of being a business on YouTube. And if he’s being honest about his own experience running two separate companies while also still being on YouTube (don’t know why he’d lie), it’s not looking good for them from, like, an ethical standpoint. You talk about “protect the indie artists” but if penguinz0 is right about his estimation of their income, they aren’t the poor creators we’ve been led to believe they are.

I do really think they have been mismanaging their finances at this rate and are scrounging for what they think is a sure fire way to get more cash to afford their unnecessarily insane production costs no one asked for and personal lifestyles (one of them has a Tesla and was talking on their podcast about buying another one, like… c’mon man). Not to mention they rejected regional pricing so non Americans are screwed even more, and the way they framed the subscription as “just $6 a month” for a pitiful amount of content—to me—speaks to less than innocent intentions.

My speculation is that this isn’t going to go well for them, even with the few fans who are sticking by the decision and are willing/able to shill out money for their content. I’ve also heard some not great things about the streaming platform that will be hosting them (Vimeo) and how predatory it is towards content creators paying to use their services, though that remains to be seen in this instance.

But hey, I may be wrong and they’ll do just fine. Only time will tell. It just feels like this decision they clearly spent time deliberating on is still somehow rushed and not thought out at all.

I’m just bummed about it all, and I only consider myself a casual fan. Trying to stay optimistic, but it’s not easy after looking at all the angles lol.

(Let’s hope I’m wrong 😮‍💨)

#watcher #ghost files #shane madej #ryan bergara #steven lim

[gabessquishytum]

Jeweler!Dream is DOING THINGS TO ME most of my ancestors on my dad’s side were jewelers including my grandpa who showed me a few things (guess I’m a jeweler by blood) and FUCK this is just some GOOD SHIT

For further jeweler!Dream consideration- when he proposes, he makes Hob’s engagement ring himself (of course, no one else is worthy of the privilege) it’s whatever Hob wants- but Hob is no basic gold and diamond boy, not after being with Dream.

He spares no expense- the band is 22 karat gold (finest/highest karat without sacrificing strength, as gold is a very soft metal and he wants this to withstand years of Hob wearing it every day) and covered in tiny yet near flawless black diamonds. The main stone is (duh) an almost 3 carat, flawless, deep blood-red ruby that Dream spent months tracking down and haggling over the price. He makes another band to wear with it, 22 karat gold inlaid with orange topaz.

Every year for their anniversary, Dream takes Hob to a gem show and lets him pick the stone for that year’s gift.

Yes, gorgeous gorgeous. Here's the original jeweller post.

Hob decked out in gold is just my favourite thing to imagine. He's got the perfect skin tone to make the metal absolutely glow. I can picture him lounging in nothing but gold necklaces and harnesses with his skin oiled to a perfect shine. He's like Dream’s very own sun god.

Of course all their marriage jewellery is unmatched by anything the world has seen: the engagement rings, the wedding bands, hell even the garter under Hob’s luxurious wedding dress. They're all constructed meticulously with no expense spared.

And of course Hob wants to return the favour and make something pretty for Dream. I can imagine him taking a very simple jewellery class so he can make a rudimentary but adorable necklace for Dream. And of course Dream treats it like it's the most beautiful, unique, priceless object he's ever handled.

Honestly Dream would probably go down a mine himself to get a specific jewel for Hob to wear. If his husband expresses the slightest interest in a stone, Dream is in obsession mode until he's made something pretty for Hob. Your honour, they are insane about it all <3

#aralezinspace #the sandman #dreamling #nsft

[fixfoxnox]

Request idea: Roach having a rough/emotional day and Soap and Ghost kiss/fuck him better, and they end the sesh with snuggles (Roach being in the middle)

PS You're an incredible author! I really loved SitO from start to finish <3

Did my best with this one, I love a good hurt/comfort so hopefully I wrote it well!

Replacement

Pairings: Soap/Roach/Ghost

Description: Roach gets put on medical leave for a few months and worries that the man brought in to temporarily replace him on the team is trying to take his spot permanently.

Warnings: NSFW, Biting/Scratching (in like a sexy way tho), hurt/comfort, hand jobs

Word Count: 6k (I did not mean to make this that long)

"I'm going to have to take you off of active duty for at least two months."

"What?" Roach lurched forward, a bad choice considering the splintering pain that rocketed up his back with the movement. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath, gritting his teeth to try and prevent the groan that threatened to pull from his lips. When he looked back up he was met with a raised eyebrow from Dr. Sanchez.

"You need rest and time for the steroid shots to work their magic," She pointed at him with her pen, "And, if in a months time we've seen no improvement we'll have to try something else out. Two months is a best case."

"But I'm fine," Roach complained, "I finished the mission just as good as usual!"

"Sergeant Sanderson," a small smile tugged at her lips, "You were hit by a car and you just told me five minutes ago that even laying down hurts your back. You'll just end up hurting yourself and being off for longer if you don't." She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and gave a slight squeeze, "Take the two months."

"I hate taking time off," Roach grumbled under his breath. He didn't argue with her any further though. As much as he hated to admit it, she was definitely correct about his back. It had been shit to deal with for the past several days and even Price had noticed the sluggishness to his usual movements and the pain he seemed to be in. Thats what had gotten him sent to the doctor and now meant that he would be taking time off.

"That seems to be a running theme with you 141 boys." Dr. Sanchez moved across the room to type a few things into a computer, "You should try to enjoy the time off. Maybe pick up a simple hobby in the meantime or," she turned to him and shrugged, "I guess take up some desk work." She paused for a moment before playfully adding, "Or just lay in bed and let your boys wait on you hand and foot."

Roach groaned, his face feeling hot at the words. He could hear Dr. Sanchez laughing at him and he gave a brief huff but said nothing. If anyone deserved to laugh over how overprotective Soap and Ghost could get when he was injured it was her. After all, not every doctor had to deal with two hulking men leering over them as they tried to stitch up a wound. He just hoped that Soap and Ghost might be a little more normal about his injury this time around.

"You guys are back early," Roach wrinkled his brow and looked up to meet Soap and Ghost's eyes. He hadn't been expecting them back for another few hours at least. Usually meetings and packing for a mission took a good four hours, but the two were back after only two.

Soap leaned down to press a kiss on his head as he passed the cozy couch Roach was seated on, "New guy made packing up quick today. He had everything done in like thirty, it was insane."

Roach stared at Soap with confusion as another kiss was pressed to the top of his head. "How's your back feeling, Bug?" He turned his attention to Ghost, though he was sure his face still showed how confused he was by Soap's words.

"Its okay, I took my pills today. PT tomorrow." He turned back toward Soap, "New guy?"

"Yeah!" Soap turned around from the little mini fridge in their shared room and tossed a bottle of water to Ghost. He kicked the door closed with his foot, "With everything that's been going on, Price brought in someone new to fill your spot."

Roach stared at him for a long moment, something heavy curling in his chest. "It's temporary, of course," Ghost assured him.

Soap's eyes widened with the words and he was quick to nod his head, "Yeah! Its just someone to help us out until you get back." He moved forward to plop himself in the seat next to Roach. He was quick to press a kiss to his cheek and nuzzle against his shoulder, "Just temporary, Bug."

Roach cleared his throat awkwardly. He didn't like feeling so useless and hearing that Price had brought someone else in, no matter how temporary, certainly didn't help. He disliked more, however, his boyfriends worrying about him and believing he was upset. He didn't want to be a burden on them. "It's no problem, I was just surprised is all. And, hey, if this new guy gets my boyfriends back to me quicker, I've got nothing to complain about."

Turns out, Roach did have something to complain about. He fucking hated the new guy. He fucking hated the new guy and he could tell that the rest of the 141 fucking loved the new guy.

He'd tried, really he'd tried, to like the new guy. He'd given him a fair chance for the first month, he'd tried to chalk everything up to his own mind and insecurities playing games with his heart. After a certain point though, he had to face the facts. And the facts, as much as he cringed to say it, were telling him that the new guy was after his job. And potentially his boyfriends, though Roach had decided to tuck that back into a corner for later.

The "new" guy was more than friendly with Roach when they'd been introduced. He was positive and helpful and never seemed to have an issue with Roach or with being a temporary member of the team. In fact, he'd been so kind that Roach hadn't felt worried in the slightest when he'd returned to the room with Soap and Ghost at his side. He'd felt more than happy having confirmation that the man knew he was only going to be working with them for a bit before going back to his own team.

The next few times that Roach had seen him had been similar. They were spread out, but the man was quite pleasant to him every time they met. Of course, as Roach knew now, that was likely only due to the fact that another member of the 141 had been with him. The first time that Roach saw the man while alone was the first time that he got an idea that things weren't quite right.

He'd been tiredly (and painfully) making his way back from his physical therapy appointment when he'd seen the man. They were passing one another in the hall and Roach had given him a quick friendly smile. It hadn't been returned, but he hadn't thought much about it at the time, at least he hadn't thought about it until the man moved over just enough that he could painfully slam his shoulder against Roach's. The move had sent Roach stumbling into the wall next to him, his back screaming. When he'd looked over his shoulder at the man, shock running through his system, he'd been met with a harsh glare.

The man had disappeared around the corner of another hall before Roach could fully comprehend what had happened. It had left him reeling for the rest of the day. Later, when he'd seen the man again while with Soap and Ghost, he questioned whether he'd hallucinated the incident. After all, the new guy was just so nice, wasn't he?

Roach hadn't told Soap and Ghost about what happened. He hadn't even told them when it happened again. Or when other incidents of the new guy being an ass to him happened. He just kept trying to convince himself that he was reading to far into things. That he was looking for a reason to be upset. He just kept trying to blame himself.

It hadn't been until he was talking to Jackson about the man's odd behavior that he finally began to accept that something was amiss.

"He sounds like an asshole?" Jackson tilted his head at him, "Have you told Soap and Ghost? Or like...Price at least?"

"No?" Roach shook his head, "Listen I'm sure it's nothing-"

"No, no, hell no," Jackson cut him off quickly, "You're doing that thing again where you try to blame yourself for other people being assholes."

"What?"

"This guy is being a dick!" Jackson pointed at him, "And he's only doing it when its just you around. Pretty fucking two-faced if you ask me."

Roach had quickly rebuffed his friend, but after the call ended, he'd found himself thinking more about what Jackson had said to him. It was true. This guy was being an absolute dick to Roach and he had no idea why. At least he had no idea until he'd overheard Soap complimenting him about how quick he was during a mission. He'd responded, "It makes you guys want to keep me around, eh?"

He'd laughed it off afterward, but Roach had heard the hope in his voice and, when he'd made his presence known, he'd seen the disgust on his face. The dots started connecting for him from there.

The way that the man always seemed to be trying to make his presence known and make himself important to the group. The way he was always complimenting and kissing ass to the rest of the group. The subtle remarks he would make about wishing his own team was like the 141. Roach had also noticed the rather unsubtle looks that he'd been giving Soap.

The issue, though, was that Roach had no proof that any of what was happening was true. He had no proof that the man was being an ass or that he wanted his job or that he was constantly staring at his boyfriend's ass. He had no proof, so he kept quiet. All he had to do was make it back into the field. All he had to do was get confirmed healthy enough for active duty at the end of his two months. After all, the 141 surely wouldn't replace him after just two months.

"Are we," Roach grit his teeth and resisted the urge to groan as Dr. Sanchez felt along his back, "done yet?"

There was another moment of pressure before she finally lifted her hands away from his skin, allowing him to collapse back into his seat with a relieved huff. He watched her move around the room for several moments, her face serious as she typed several things into her computer. He didn't like the look that she wore. He was hoping for smiles or some sort of indication that the turn out was good.

"What's the verdict?" He dared to ask. There was another moment of silence before Dr. Sanchez sighed and turned toward him, her face apologetic.

"I'm sorry," she started, "But I can't put you back into the field like this."

"But you said two months!" Roach winced a bit, but pushed himself up from his seat.

"I said two months at the least," Dr. Sanchez gave a sigh, "I know this isn't what you wanted to hear. But its going to be at least another month." Roach collapsed back to the chair his chest feeling heavy and his eyes stinging with the need to cry. He pushed it down. This was not something he was going to be crying over. "You've made a lot of progress," Dr. Sanchez placed a hand on his shoulder comfortingly, "I'm confident that with another month you'll be back in tip top shape."

Roach was on his way back to his room. He was already feeling down on himself, so it only made sense that the world would try to beat him further into the ground.

He was moving past one of the meeting rooms when he just caught the sound of Soap's voice. He paused, his lips quirking up a bit. He could always stop and say hi to his boyfriends. Surely that would make him feel better.

He stepped up to the door, intent on knocking, "I honestly wouldn't mind having him on the team permanently."

Roach froze in his place, a lump forming in his throat. "Neither would I, he's been a good addition to the team." Ghost's voice.

Roach stepped back from the door, feeling as though a bucket of cold water had just been dumped over his head. He felt numb, his mind running over itself. They didn't say that they wanted to replace him on the team, but wasn't that the implication? Wasn't that what his replacement had been hoping for? Sure, maybe they didn't want the guy over him, but with another month...Roach couldn't be sure.

He made his way down the hallway and back toward his room, feeling a slow building of dread in his chest. It seeped up his throat as he made his way into the room. By the time he'd plopped into a seat, he was already crying.

"Bug?" Roach tucked himself deeper into his blanket, trying to avoid the harsh light that was turned on in the room. He didn't look up, but he could hear Soap and Ghost shuffling around the room. A moment later and he could feel the bed next to him sink down. "We heard from Doc about you being out for another month." Soap's voice was soft and Roach could feel his hand land on his thigh through the sheets. "We're sorry."

"It's for the best," Ghost's voice was just as soft as Soap's and Roach could tell from how clear his voice was that he'd taken his mask off. "The team will be fine, we just want you to get better."

"Yeah," Soap agreed, "and besides, it isn't like we're down a man, I'm sure-"

Roach couldn't help the sob that pulled from his throat at the words, cutting Soap off. He tried to quiet himself, but it was too late, both Soap and Ghost had clearly heard him.

"Bug?" The bed dipped down again and, ever so slowly, the blankets were pulled away from his face, exposing him to the gaze of his boyfriends.

"Roach," Soap was quick to turn his face, getting a good look at him with wide concerned eyes, "Bug, whats wrong? Are you hurting? Is it your back?"

Roach turned away from him, trying to bury his face in his pillow, "I don't want to talk about it."

There was a pause before Ghost was asking, "Somethings bothering you. What is it?" There was another long pause, Roach didn't answer. "We aren't letting up until you tell us."

Roach took a moment before muttering, "The new guy wants to replace me."

There was another long pause before, "What?"

Roach shoved himself up from the bed, pushing himself into a sitting position. "The new guy wants my spot on the team! He's such an ass when you guys aren't around and he keeps making comments about wishing he could stay on the team! And he's constantly staring at Soap's ass which, like," he rubbed at his face, "I get it! Me too, but also have some respect? And did I mention that every time he and I are alone together he gives me dirty looks or says something fucking rude!"

He finally forced himself to stop talking. He didn't dare meet the gazes of Soap and Ghost. He didn't want to see their disbelief.

"Bug," Ghost's voice was low, "Why didn't you tell us?"

Roach hesitated for a moment before looking up at them. Their faces were stormy, a mix of anger and concern written across their brow. "I don't have proof," Roach hunched over slightly and fought back the desire to cry again, "I knew how much you guys liked him. Hell, I heard you guys today talking about how you'd like to have him on the team for good! I was," he took in a deep breath, "I was worried you wouldn't believe me."

Within a moment, there were arms wrapped around Roach's shoulders, holding him tightly. A kiss was pressed to his cheek as Soap nuzzled their faces together, "Bug, of course we believe you."

Roach relaxed into Soap's arms at the words, leaning into his hold. "We're telling Price about this." Roach met Ghost's gaze and he could see how serious the other man was. His tone left no room for argument.

"Later," Soap assured, pressing kisses to his face, "Right now we're staying here."

"Yes," Ghost moved closer to them, pressing his chest to Roach's shoulder, "Right now we're staying here. Right here until you feel better." He pressed a kiss to Roach's hair, then his cheek.

"How's your back feel?" Soap muttered the words against his shoulder, his mouth tracing across the exposed skin of his collarbone.

Roach sighed, trying to stretch slightly, "Better, still shit though. Its tight right now, I probably need to lay back down." He noted that his voice was still a bit shakey. Despite that, he already felt better than he had moments ago. Soap and Ghost believed him. That was what mattered.

"We'll lay back then," Ghost was quick to tug Roach over into his lap, stealing him away from Soap with an apologetic glance. Once Roach was settled, he slowly reclined so that they were laid back together with his chest to Roach's back. Soap was quick to move as well, tucking himself between Roach and Ghost's legs to lay over Roach's chest. He resumed his previous activity of placing kisses along Roach's neck.

Roach gave a small satisfied sigh. He liked being there, pressed between Soap and Ghost. It felt like exactly where he was meant to be.

Soap hummed against his neck before giving a quick and playful nip to the skin. Roach shuddered a bit. A moment later and Ghost's hands were running along his side softly, tucking his shirt up to stroke along the skin there.

Soap continued nipping at his neck, growing more and more bold with his mouth. At the same time, Ghost's hand started moving further and further under Roach's shirt, tracing the muscle of his chest until he was just missing Roach's nipples.

"I'm beginning," Roach cut himself off with a slight yelp as Soap bit particularly hard on his neck. Ghost took the opportunity to flick his fingers over one of Roach's nipples, beginning slow teasing strokes and flicks over the nub. He gave a gasp, tilting his head back against Ghost's shoulder, "I'm beginning to think the two of you are trying to do something other than comfort me."

"Now what would make you think that, bug?" Ghost's voice was teasing and he punctuated his words with a quick pinch of Roach's nipple that pulled a small yelp from his mouth.

Soap chuckled against his neck, his hands trailing down to grip at Roach's thighs. He ground himself down briefly, pulling a gasp from Roach's lips. "Our intentions are purely in the realm of making you feel good." He ground his hips down again, this time pulling a moan from all three of them as the movement pushed Roach's backside down against Ghost's cock.

"We haven't touched you in so long," Ghost tilted Roach's head back with one of his hands, the other still teasing at his chest. He connected their lips together, quickly opening Roach's mouth with his tongue. They shared sloppy kisses as Soap continued to grind against Roach, pulling the occasional moan and sigh from the three of them. His mouth was tracing further down Roach's skin, tugging at his shirt to expose more pale skin to his teeth and bruising mouth.

"Well," Roach pulled back for a moment, but his lips were quickly recaptured by Ghost's, the man's hand grabbed tight to his chin to hold him in place. Roach whimpered at the tight grip, he wasn't allowed to pull apart for several moments, "it isn't my fault that you haven't touched me." He gave Ghost a quick pout and the man nipped at his lips in response.

"You're hurt," Soap muttered against his skin, "We were being gentle."

"Are you saying you can't be gentle when you fuck me?" Roach teased slightly. He pushed himself up from Ghost's chest a bit, wincing at the tightness the move exposed in his back. He ignored it in favor of stripping his shirt off, Soap and Ghost helping him with the movement.

As soon as his chest was exposed, Soap was back on him, his mouth surrounding the nipple the Ghost wasn't playing with. Roach arched into his mouth and gave a low whine at the feeling. "You don't know how tempting you are," Ghost pressed a kiss against his cheek, "Its hard not to lose ourselves in you."

Roach gasped as Soap bit his nipple, he ground back slightly to pull a slight groan from Ghost's lips. Roach could feel his boyfriend's rapidly hardening cock pressed against his ass. Soap's was already hard and his slow grinding movements had been slowly working Roach up as well. His pants and underwear were beginning to feel uncomfortably tight.

"If I'm so tempting," Roach whimpered as Soap ground down against him again, "You'd think someone would be inside me already." He punctuated his words by grinding back against Ghost and grabbing tight to Soap's hair with one hand, tugging him up to connect their mouths in a filthy open mouthed kiss.

"Is that what you want?" Ghost chuckled lowly and nipped at his ear, "I think Johnny and I can make that happen." His hand finally moved away from Roach's chest to trail down and slip under the waistband of his pants. His hand moved between Soap and Roach's hips so that he could palm at Roach through his underwear, forcing Roach to break away from Soap's mouth with gasping breaths.

"I'll grab the lube," Soap gave a bright grin and pecked at Roach's gasping lips before pushing himself up and scrambling off of the bed.

Roach could only watch him move around the room through lidded eyes, his mind crowded with pleasure. It spiked down his spine as Ghost's hand slipped under his underwear so that he could wrap his hand fully around Roach's cock and stroke over him slowly. "Oh, fuck," Roach's hips canted up into Ghost's hand, "Si- oh, ah, Simon!"

"Perfect little thing," Ghost pressed several more kisses along his throat, his hand tightening around Roach's cock as Soap finally rejoined them on the bed, his shirt discarded and a bottle of lube tossed to the bed beside Roach's legs. His hands set to work unbuttoning Roach's pants and tugging them down his legs. Ghost helped him as much as he could, one of his hands helping to lift Roach's hips to make the slide easier. Within a few moments Roach was fully naked under their touch.

"Fucking pretty," Soap dived down to begin licking and biting at Roach's exposed hips. Roach was flushed red, a thin layer of pink settling over his skin as heat pounding at him. He jerked his hips up slightly only to have them immediately pinned by Soap's hands. "None of that now," he bit Roach's hip hard, "Be good."

Roach gave a low whine at the words but did his best to keep his hips still. His mind was completely foggy as both Soap and Ghost worked at him. Slowly arousal built in Roach's gut, pooling and curling around him in a warm sensation, he could hardly breathe with the feelings that were being pulled from him by Ghost's hand around his cock and Soap's slowly wondering mouth and hands.

"Remember what he said, Soap?" Ghost pressed another kiss to Roach's temple, "he wants one of us in him. Open him up, would you?"

Soap groaned at the words, his hands grasping quickly for the bottle of lube on the bed. "Why only one?" He poured a generous amount onto his hand, warming it up between his fingers as best as he could. "Why not both of us, hmm Bug?" His hands trailed down, stroking just lightly across Roach's balls before slipping between his cheeks to begin circling around his hole, teasing at him with his fingers.

"Maybe when he's feeling a bit better," Ghost chuckled a bit, "I don't think he could handle being stuffed so full right now."

"Aww," Soap started working a finger into Roach slowly, pulling a desperate gasp from his lips as his fingers pressed against his warm walls. "You could take it," Soap started quickly working another finger into Roach, fucking him shallowly with his hand, "Couldn't you, Bug?:

Roach nodded his head rapidly, his mind too far gone for him to even think logically. All that he wanted was one of the two men he was pressed between to split him open with their cock. To make the pleasure in him build even higher. He wanted them to make sure that he would never doubt his place with them again. "Please, please," desperate moans escaped his lips as Soap started working his fingers in and out of him faster, soon adding a third finger to help scissor and stretch him open.

Ghost hand was still tight around his cock, moving slowly in time with Soap's thrusting fingers. Roach's hips jumped again when Ghost ran his thumb over the head of his cock, fingering his slit slowly. "Simon- fuck, oh god John!" He jerked his hips again, pulling a chuckle from Ghost and a grin from Soap. "Please, please, just fuck me already!"

"He begs so sweet," Soap twisted his fingers inside Roach, pulling another long whine from his throat. "What do you say, Simon?"

Ghost hummed playfully, as though he was thinking, "Since he asked so nicely. Though, it is tempting to just keep him like this. I mean, look how he's leaking. I'm could watch it all day." Roach whined at the words. The thought of Soap and Ghost keeping him like this for hours made him breathless. He knew that the two men could and would do it too, they'd be more than willing to tease him until he was crying for them.

Ghost slowly removed his hand from Roach's cock. "Lift your hips a bit, Bug." Soap helped guide him off of Ghost just enough that Ghost could undo his own pants and pull his aching cock out. Ghost was pressed against Roach's ass, just slipping between his cheeks as Soap poured a bit more lube onto his hands. He helped Roach lift up again and wrapped his hand around Ghost's cock, giving several long slow jerks to spread the slick substance along his length.

"Fuck," Ghost latched his mouth onto Roach's neck, his hips moving just slightly into Soap's hand. After several moments Soap helped to guide the tip of Ghost's cock to Roach's entrance. Soap helped guide Roach back onto Ghost's cock, grinning wide as both of the men groaned at the sensations. Ghost was stretching Roach open pleasantly and the sensation of Roach squeezing tight around his cock was forcing desperate pants from his throat.

"There we go," Soap chuckled at the groan that left both Roach and Ghost once they were filly pressed together. He pecked at Roach's lips, spreading kisses along his face, "Feels good, doesn't it?"

Roach nodded, a whimper leaving his lips as Ghost gave one hard thrust up into him. On instinct Roach reached forward, grabbing tight to Soap's shoulders for support as Ghost started to slowly buck up into him. "God, hmm- oh fuck," he gave another long whine, "John, I- oh please, please! Can- you should-" he couldn't figure out what he was trying to say as he tugged at Soap's shoulders. Ghost's cock driving inside of him kept pleasure panging through him in an addictive way. The heat burning through him was becoming overwhelming.

"What is it, bug?" Soap pulled back just enough that he could start unbuttoning the top of his pants. Roach and Ghost watched the movement with hungry eyes, scanning over every inch of skin that Soap exposed to them. Soap pulled his cock out and wrapped a hand around himself, giving several slow strokes to his hard cock. He tilted his head back at the sensation, a satisfied sigh pulling from his lips.

"S-Simon," Roach moaned as Ghost fucked up into him harder, just brushing against his prostate. Ghost repeated the movement, his hungry eyes watching Soap jerk himself off slowly. "Please, fuck, need both of you!"

Soap moved back in between Roach and Ghost's legs and leaned down to capture Roach's lips in a quick kiss. He pulled back before leaning further to connect his lips to Ghost's in a similarly desperate kiss. When he pulled away, he buried his face in Roach's neck, latching on to the skin there with his teeth as his cock rubbed against Roach's own hard length and Ghost's hand. Ghost was quick to wrap his hand around both Roach and Soap's lengths, stroking them in time with his thrusts.

Soap whined against Roach's neck, biting down just a bit harder and lapping at the bit of blood that pricked up from the move. "Fucking hell," Ghost's voice was desperate, "So fucking tight, Bug- oh fuck!" He bucked up harshly into Roach.

Pleasure spiked through Roach's system and he felt delightfully overwhelmed. The slide of his cock with Soap's was sending jolts up his spine and pooling in his gut. Ghost was still brushing against his prostate with every thrust, the feeling both not enough and too much for him. In combination, he felt as though he couldn't breathe or think. He could only lay there pressed between two hard warm bodies to have pleasure pulled from him.

He grabbed at Soap's shoulders as the pleasure in him began to tilt toward the edge. "Simon! Oh fuck, ah, you feel so, so fucking good!" He dug his nails into Soap's skin, scrambling for some sort of purchase as Ghost picked up the pace of his thrusts and his hand over their cocks.

Soap grabbed tight to him, similarly desperate gasps pulling from his throat, "Fuck, fuck, Simon, just like that! Just like that!"

"So fucking tight around me, Bug," Ghost growled against Roach's ear, "So fucking good. Do you like this? Hmm? You like it when I take care of you and Johnny like this?"

"Yes," Roach managed to cry out, nodding his head rapidly.

"And you know," Soap joined in, "How much we love you? You know that we'd never want anyone else? Not on the team, not here. Only you." Roach didn't say anything, too distracted by the pleasure that threatened to snap in him at any moment. Soap slapped at his thigh, "Answer us, sweet boy."

"Yes," Roach clung to Soap tighter his voice going higher with every word and moan that left his mouth, "Yes, love you both! Please, please keep going! Can- oh god please, can I come? Ah, oh fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-"

"Go on, sweet boy," Ghost muttered against his ear, "Show us how good you feel."

It only took another few moments before Roach was scrambling again, the pool of pleasure in his gut snapping and sending his vision white with the intensity of the feelings that washed over him. He could only vaguely register the sounds of Ghost cursing behind him before his hips stuttered and the feeling of cum inside of him hit. He didn't mind it though, the feeling only adding to his desperation as Ghosts hand continued to work over his cock, the slide between him and Soap made even smoother by his own cum acting as further lube.

"Too, ah, too much," he groaned as Ghost continued working him and Soap, driving him into overstimulation as he finally came down. He tried to scramble away from the hand on his cock, but that only resulted in Ghost's cock hitting inside of him again, pulling a groan from both of them. A moment later and Soap was pinning his hips down, his face buried in his chest as moaned out chuckles left his lips.

"John hasn't finished yet," Ghost teased, his own voice sounding wrecked from his own orgasm, "Don't you want to make him feel good? Be good, Bug. Take what I give you."

Roach could do nothing as he found himself quickly hurtling back toward the edge of pleasure, his entire body tense. His hand grasped and clawed against Soap's back as both of their moans grew more and more desperate. Higher and higher. "Gonna- fuck, gonna come with me, Bug?" Soap bit at his chest, trailing his mouth down over his skin, "Be good for me, yeah?"

Ghost tightened his fist a bit around their cocks and it was only a few moments later that Roach was coming again, his senses fizzing out for several moments.

When he finally came back to himself it was to Soap panting against his skin, coming down from his own orgasm as Ghost carefully released their cocks from his hand. "Fuck," Soap gasped against his skin, "God I love you both."

"Hmm, love you guys too," Roach mumbled, exhaustion pulling at his bones, "I'll love you both even more if we can just...stay like this and nap."

Ghost chuckled from behind him, "Something tells me if we don't at least clean you up first you'll love us a little less when you wake up."

"Impossible," Roach whined as Soap moved off of him, nearly stumbling as he landed on his own two feet.

Soap gave a low chuckle and stretched upward. Both Ghost and Roach watched him with hungry eyes, trailing his bare chest down to the cum staining his skin, and his spent cock still hanging out of his unbuttoned pants. "I think you two did a number on me," he stretched out his legs, completely oblivious to the staring from Roach and Ghost. "Let me go get a rag to clean us up!" He shot them both a grin and turned away, heading toward the bathroom. The moved exposed several angry red scratches along his back and shoulders from where Roach had clawed at him in the midst of pleasure. A few of them were dotted red where Roach had broken the skin.

Roach and Ghost both watched quietly until Soap had disappeared into the bathroom. After a long moment of silence, Ghost whispered, "Good job."

"I did not mean to do that."

"Fucking phenomenal sight, though."

"Agreed."

"I just saw you yesterday," Dr. Sanchez raised an eyebrow at him, "You only had to stay resting for one more month!"

Roach winced slightly, a blush lighting up his face. He'd woken up that morning with a searing pain in his back and he knew that something was wrong. His back hadn't hurt so bad in weeks. "I'm sorry."

"What the hell did you even do?" Dr. Sanchez looked at her notes, "I mean its like you've regressed yourself by like a month!"

Roach winced again and avoided her gaze, his face a bright red. He knew exactly what he'd done to his back. There was a long pause before "I'm waiting, Roach? What were you doing?"

He winced again before nervously mumbling out an answer.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you."

"I was with Soap and Ghost...and you know."

There was another long pause that filled the room. Roach shot his head up, his face red as he heard a bit of laughter. He was met with the sight of Dr. Sanchez covering her mouth, laughter clearly shaking her shoulders as her eyes lit up with mirth. "You," she cut herself off with another laugh, this one nearly hunching her over.

"Hey!" Roach's face felt like it was burning and he was sure he'd never felt so mortified in his life.

"I'm sorry," Dr. Sanchez waved him off, "I'm sorry, good for you." She stood up fully, still trying to contain her laughter, "Just tell Soap and Ghost to lay you flat on the bed next time not...whatever the three of you did." She laughed for another moment. "Anyways, because of the regression, we're going to have you another shot and do another two months off."

Roach groaned, covering his face with his hands. Not only was he going to be off for another two months now, but he knew that he was never going to hear the end of it from Soap about how he and Ghost had actually managed to blow his fucking back out while fucking him.

#you asked luke #gary roach sanderson #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #call of duty #cod mw2 #cod #call of duty fanfic #cod fanfic #soap x roach #ghost x roach x soap #ghostroachsoap #ghostroach #soaproach #ghost x soap #soapghost

[aethermoose]

SoapGhostRoach Soulmate Drabble

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・

Idea: People can hear their soulmate's voice in times of great distress. For Simon, he hears it while in captivity under Roba. Simon's not expecting to even have a soulmate. Let alone two. And he definitely never planned on actually meeting them.

Word Count: 700

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・

cw // gore, blood, general nastiness with Simon’s torture | angst with a happy ending

Pain. That was the only thing he had felt for months at this point. Nonstop torture in whatever sick way Roba decided to prescribe it. Simon didn’t feel in control of his body anymore. It wasn’t his. It didn’t belong to him. Like a large part of him had died once he was brought in here. Everything left was a shell. An empty shell that refused to die. And no matter what, Simon refused to talk. He wasn’t a traitor. He wasn’t a coward. He was a good soldier. A strong man with an iron will. And he wouldn’t let these people take that away from him. That little slice of pride he had left wouldn’t allow it.

But he was beginning to rethink all of that as he felt his flesh sliced and a hole gouged into his side. When that hook pierced through muscle that was never supposed to see the light of day, Simon howled in pain. It tore through his soul, shredded it to ribbons as he was hoisted higher and higher, the chain creaking under the strain. The sound of metal groaning like that, threatening to bend to his much more pliable bone.. it was a sound that would haunt Simon for whatever sort of life he had after this - no matter how short it might be.

Numbness. It started to creep in like a sickness, a deadly poison that was leeching his lifeblood. It started in his toes and fingers as warm, sticky blood trickled down his side and dripped to the hardened earth below him. It crept up his arms, tickling the skin as flies began to buzz around the open wound, looking for a spot to land. It started to lap at his torso and that’s when the fear hit him like a truck. He was dying. This would be the end for him. There was no way he would make it out of this. Even if he talked. Even if he spilled everything he wouldn’t get out of this. Right?

Until he heard it. Like a soft caress against his ears he heard his own name spoken so softly. So sweetly. “Simon..” they called to him. He could distinctly hear it. Two voices. Two. One with a thick Scottish accent, the other a much more subdued British one - not too much unlike his own. The voices melded against him, wrapping him in imaginary arms and squeezing him tight, tight, tight. As if they were holding him together.

“Come home..” they whispered again and it took everything in Simon not to break right there. He was never under the impression he would hear his soulmate. Never. It seemed rare enough anyways and Simon had been through so much he was starting to think he didn’t have one anyways. But.. but two? That was unheard of. Unless Simon was going absolutely batshit insane, there were two voices there.

And he had to find them.

It wouldn’t be until a few years after he got back that would find the owners of those voices though. After he dug himself out of that grave and was picked up and shipped to Price’s doorstep. Ghost took time to recover. A lot of time. Until Price deemed him ready for missions again. He hid behind that hard shell mask and never left that comfort. He had given up on finding the owners of those voices by now. It wasn’t worth it.

Until he was going on a quick mission with his new team. Men he hadn’t met before but was assured by Price that they would get along.

“Nice to meet ya, L.t.!”

“Pleased to meet you."

A Scot and a Brit. Voices he knew. Voices that had pulled him from the depths of despair and hopelessness. Voices he realized very quickly had saved his life. Attached to two men that made Simon’s deadened heart stutter back to life.

If he smiled behind that skull mask as he muttered out a “fuckin’ hell”, no one needed to know.

If the sergeants’ eyes lit up when they heard him speak, again, no one needed to know.

#call of duty #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #gary roach sanderson #soapghostroach #mw2 #cod mw2 #angst #angst with a happy ending #soulmates #drabble

[midnightsunnyday]

MC And The Brothers In: Banned

******

MC: Lucifer.

Lucifer: MC.

MC: may I enter?

Lucifer: you may.

MC: *clears throat* it has come to my attention that I may have been...a bit too passionate while courting you these past few months, to the point where I have become blinded by our many differences.

Lucifer, continuing to read over his bills: is that right?

MC: indeed. It seems that in my efforts to wile you I have slowly yet surely lost sight of myself. Most days, I can no longer recognize the person I once was: young, beautiful, exceptionally witty.

Lucifer: why do I have several invoices for Cats and Pats Monthly? *rolls eyes* As if I even need to ask.

MC: and so, it is with a heavy heart that I must...keep my distance from you. Nay, to merely be in your pressence now feels me with great despair...and longing.

Lucifer: should really consider having my card reissued.

MC: *sniffles* and yet, despite your indifference, I pray that one day we both look upon this memory not with bitterness or regret, yet...with forgiveness.

Lucifer: ...

MC: ...

Lucifer: are you finished?

MC: yes. Yes I do believe I am.

Lucifer: *smiles* excellent. Oh, and you all are still banned from The Fall.

Mammon, bursting through the door to Lucifer's study: dammit, you said that would work!

Lucifer: you attempt to manipulate me with subpar theatrics and that's your conclusion?

MC: I know what I said! *cries* oh, spiteful son of morning, why do you torture us so?

MC: *gasps* subpar?

Asmodeus, falling to the floor dramatically: Lucifer how could you! The Fall is literally my territory! Who knows what will happen if I'm not there to oversee it? There will be anarchy! Carnage! Overpriced martinis!

MC, grabbing Asmodeus by the shoulders: don't you dare say that! They would never!

Mammon: oof. Though they did raise the price on their mini hellfire devil wings.

MC: *gasps* it's begun!

Asmodeus: this is unrulable, I say! The judge is biased! We demand a retrial!

Lucifer: *sighs* you have two minutes.

Asmodeus, brushing themselves off: ooh, ooh, me first! *clears throat* ok, so first off, I just want to say that I had no idea things would go as crazy as they did. I mean, all I did was simply inform a few demons worthy of my time an evening of consensual, carnal pleasure in the VIP room. How was I suppose to know they would all try to cram in at once? I simply wasn't prepared.

MC: ...

Mammon: ...

Mammon: ...bit of a low hanging fruit, don't ya think?

MC: you're right. We're both better than that.

Lucifer: alright then. MC, I suppose you have more than a few words for yourself?

MC: you know me so well, my dear. So, as you all know, never have I been one to turn down a good, sexy romp.

Mammon: hm. That right, huh?  

Lucifer: why, I never would've known.

Asmodeus: and I love you for it, sweetie.

MC: as I was saying--thank you, Asmo--that night, I was feeling a bit...overwhelmed and decided not to engage. However, there was one particular demon who insisted to have what he cannot have.

Mammon: oh man, that fight was insane! I don't think I ever saw ya--

MC: --Mammon, you're interupting my scene.

Mammon: oh yeah, sorry.

MC: anyway, it was then that I simply enacted what my species considers an inate physiological response towards a potentially threatening event. Unfortunately, for that particular demon, my flight or fight instincts are a bit...fighty, especially after 10 shots of Hennessey.

Asmodeus: you should've seen them, Lucifer! They were like a little hurricane with hands!

Lucifer: while I'm thankful you're unharmed and adept at self-defense, your little spat costed 40,000 Grimm worth of damages. Speaking of which, Mammon, care to elaborate on the 80,000 Grimm tab that was made in my name?

Mammon: w-well I mean, of course we all needed refreshments afterward, so...we informed the bartender that the Avatar of Pride would gladly pay for all expenses incurred. Which was both the responsible and mature thing to do, seeing as I would've definitely ran--I mean, would never leave an establishment without payin' proper.

MC: so in summary, my dear, clearly you can see that...well, obviously there's...when you really look at it we're all--

Lucifer: --guilty?

MC: ...

Lucifer: ...

MC: ...is such an ugly word.

Lucifer: enough. Neither one of you are to step foot inside that establishment again unless I deem it so. And if I even hear that you've gone against my word I will string you all by the ankles and hang you up from the highest pillar of the Demon Lord's Castle until the end of time.

MC: ha! Jokes on you guys. I'll be long dead by then.

Mammon: that's what you're focusin' on?

Lucifer: now get out.

Everyone: but Lucifer~~~

Lucifer: out!

*everyone running out of the room*

MC, poking their head back in: by the way, has anyone ever told you how hot you are when you're...

Lucifer: *glares menacingly*

MC: okgotitbye.

Lucifer: *rubs his forehead* start an exchange program, he said. It will change your life, he said.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me asmodeus #obey me mc #obey me headcanons #obey me scenarios #midnightsunnyday writes

[julietpricee]

Day 3 - Sharpuary (Wheelchair)

I took it as a challenge to write a positive story for this prompt so put away the tissues and settle down for this rollercoaster. Very proud of this one so I really hope you enjoy ❤️

You had finally managed to fall asleep after an almost traumatic 24 hours. Hospitals have always terrified you, but in your sound slumber, you finally felt at ease. 

Aesop sat in the armchair beside you, trying to ignore the repetitive beeping from the nearby machines. He couldn’t peel his eyes away from your peaceful face. He’d always loved you, but the last 24 hours made him realise just how much he did. 

As he smiled to himself feeling insanely proud of you, he finally stood, walking over to the cot beside your bed. His smile only grew as he watched his newborn daughter squirm in her cot as she finally awoke.

“Good morning” he whispered as he picked the baby up, cradling her in his arms. 

Aesop rocked the newborn, trying desperately to calm her in case she erupted in tears, inevitably waking you. He ambled around the room, gently rocking the baby and watching her fall straight back to sleep. Aesop let out a soft chuckle at the sight. 

“You definitely take after your mother.”

He sat back down next to you, his jaw almost starting to ache from the enormous smile he just couldn’t shake. Aesop angled himself so the newborn could look over at you, despite her eyes falling shut. 

“That’s your beautiful mother,” Aesop whispered to her. “She is the best thing that has ever happened to me.” Aesop paused for a moment, losing himself in your beauty. He looked back down at his daughter, realising what he had just said. “The best thing that happened to me before you were born… obviously.” He chuckled to himself. 

“If you turn out to be even half the woman your mother is, you’ll have done well.” Aesop brushed his thumb over his daughter's cheek, encouraging her eyes back open. “Promise me that when I’m grey and old you’ll look after her.” He looked back over at you. “I don’t know what I’d do without her.” 

A smile crept on your face, matching your excitable husbands. “I love you too” you croaked, opening your eyes slowly.  

“Did I wake you?” He asked worriedly. 

“No, don't worry. I’m finding it impossible to sleep when I know that beautiful girl is waiting for me.” You pushed yourself up in bed and held your arms open for your baby. Aesop carefully placed her in your arms and climbed onto the bed to lie down next to you. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and leaned in to place a kiss on your forehead. 

As the three of you lay on the bed, embraced in each other's arms, you realised how truly happy you were. 

After a few moments, the door opened and a young nurse walked in. 

“Well, aren’t you three just the perfect family portrait,” she exclaimed excitedly. “How are you feeling today mommy?”

“Not too bad, a little sore and I have a throbbing headache,” you replied. 

She looked over your papers. “Why don’t you go get some fresh air and I’ll sort some breakfast out for you when you get back?”

Aesop looked over at you with another gleaming smile. “That sounds like a great deal.”

“Brilliant,” The nurse replied. “There’s a wheelchair just down the hall you can use.”

Aesop climbed back off the bed and followed the nurse out of the room, holding his head high as he walked towards the wheelchair in the hallway. As he unfolded it to wheel it back to you, he was suddenly overrun with emotion. 

It felt like only yesterday when he was in Scarborough, fighting as an Auror, before being struck with that dark course of magic. The doctors swore he’d never walk again. 

He remembered the look of pity on his parents' faces as they lowered him into the wheelchair to take him home from the hospital. He remembered the pain and the nightmares he woke up from, every night for months on end. He remembered the countless times he made himself sick with guilt. The embarrassing showers he had to share with the nurses who cleaned him, the drunken nights to block out the memories, the struggle he faced when he couldn't even take himself to the bathroom. His whole life quickly turned from promising and exciting to shameful and embarrassing. 

It took him years to literally and figuratively get back on his feet and he swore that he would never let himself be bound to a wheelchair again. 

Aesop wiped a stray tear from his cheek and took a deep breath to compose himself. He continued pushing the wheelchair back towards your room, feeling a strange sense of pride. His wheelchair controlled a massive portion of his life, but this time he was the one controlling it - he was in charge. 

When he re-entered the room you were once again greeted by his enormous smile.

“There’s my beautiful girls.” 

He took your hand, lowering you into the chair as you held your precious newborn in your arms. He kissed both of you on the forehead before wheeling you out into the cold.

“Why don’t we go over there?” You suggested, pointing to a bench round the side of the hospital.

Once you approached the bench, he helped you back out of the chair, like the gentleman you always knew him to be, and lowered you both down onto the bench. He wrapped his jacket around your shoulders before perching himself next to you. 

Aesop tucked a stray hair behind your ear, admiring your natural beauty. Your hair was a mess, and you had mascara smeared under your eyes but it was barely noticeable against the dark circles that sat there too. Aesop didn’t care though - to him, you were the epitome of beauty. 

“Is it my turn yet?” He chuckled, motioning to his daughter. 

You laughed in return before handing her over. 

You both stared out at the view, admiring the fields that spread out ahead of you.

“We still need to settle on a name.” He said, whilst admiring his sleeping daughter as she lay peacefully in his arms. 

“Isla.” You simply replied. 

Aesop looked at you with tears welling up in his eyes. “Are you sure?” he stuttered. 

“Your mother was an amazing lady.” you continued. “It’d be an honour to name our baby in her memory”. You look over at the wheelchair parked up next to you. “Without Isla, you’d have never cured your leg and we may never have been in this position.” You look back over at Aesop who was staring out into the distance with a rogue tear rolling down his cheek. 

You silently wiped it away and rested your head on his shoulder. 

“I love you, Aesop.”

“I love you too.” 

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53448181/chapters/135340951

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fandom #professor sharp #aesop sharp #professor aesop sharp #aesop sharp x mc #daddy sharp #hogwarts #professor sharp x mc #professor sharp x reader #aesop sharp x reader #sharpuary #sharpuary 2024 #hogwarts fanfiction #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #hogwarts legacy fanfic

[dmc-brainrot]

Dante's reaction when he sees the reader (gender neutral) sleeping with a body pillow with his picture on it? :3c

I really had a fun time writing this! I hope you like it!!

pairing: Dante (DCM5) x gender neutral! reader

warnings: no explicit content, just fluff, a bit of angst? reader misses Dante a lot, established relationship, nothing is used to describe reader's physical appearance or gender

summary: Dante is travelling on a mission and has been out for a month and a half, and you miss him so badly you take some questionable decisions

word count: 1k

>> AO3 version

It had been almost a year since you and Dante had started dating. He was very reluctant at first to have a committed relationship with you due to his profession, worried that his missions would make your time with one another scarce, but you told him that wouldn't be a problem at all.

Although... now that it had been almost a month and a half that he was gone for a mission, it was certainly wearing you down. You were alone in his apartment, and the silence was deafening. You were doing well for the first few days, but besides your work at home and chatting with a couple friends every once in a while, things were stale without him there with you.

You were scrolling through the internet like usual, eating your morning cereal absent-mindedly until you noticed something that caught your eye: an ad. Usually you weren't interested in such things, but this one made something in your brain click. It was an ad for a custom body pillow...

Your mind immediately went to where it was expected to. What if you made a custom body pillow of Dante? Would that make you feel less lonely? The idea wasn't half bad, you had heard body pillows were also great for your posture. Before you realized, you had already clicked on it. The ad taking you to a site where you could see exactly what they could do for you. You just had to send an image for the front side and an image for the back side and they'd do the rest and send it to you. You checked the price and although it was a bit expensive, you didn't bat an eye. After gathering some....spicy images of Dante from pictures he had sent to you before, you send everything and pay. Your wallet took a massive blow, but it was worth it if this would make you feel less lonely.

It didn't take long for it to arrive... after a week, your order was there at your doorstep. You brought it inside and opened it. You were never good at opening packages so you tried to be extra careful to not cut yourself while doing it. After opening it, you gawk at the sheer size of the thing. It was your height, and the quality of the image was insane... You swallowed, standing up from the floor and leaving the body pillow on your bed, going to get rid of the packaging and whatnot.

Afterwards, walking back to the bedroom, you noticed some of Dante's perfumes and colognes in the closet and had a brilliant idea take over your head. Maybe to make it more realistic you could spray some on the body pillow...

You didn't waste any time. You went ahead and took one of your favourite colognes that Dante wore occasionally, which wasn’t very often, but you still associated the scent with him. This could potentially do the trick for now. You sprayed a little bit of it onto the body pillow and the room already filled with the scent of your partner in a bittersweet manner, only serving to remind you just how  much you missed him.

Leaving the bottle of cologne back where you found it, you crawled to the bed and laid down on your side, staring at the image of Dante in your body pillow. You weren’t going to lie, this did feel a bit pathetic. Were you this desperate? The answer was unfortunately yes. In this past year, Dante became such an important and special person to you, having him away for more than a month with no contact whatsoever was genuinely hurtful to experience, not only because he was your partner and significant other, but because you were also alone. You never had any issue being by yourself before, and you actually preferred the solitude over hanging out with friends every weekend, or chatting every day. But this was different. It was a different kind of alone, it hurt.

You felt tears filling your eyes and once you noticed, you cleaned them and sniffed a little. This was ridiculous. You stared back at the pillow again and gave in to the consuming feeling of loneliness that filled the pits of your stomach, hugging the pillow tightly and shoving your face against it, taking in the scent of the cologne. It smelled just like him…

You fall asleep hugging the pillow as if your life depended on it. You didn’t even notice but you were drained, both physically and emotionally. You were unaware of the door opening and closing, the sound of bags falling to the floor with a ‘thud’, or the footsteps pacing around the apartment.

Dante noticed the quiet atmosphere of the apartment and took his time to get to the bedroom. He was in horrible shape, dirty, exhausted, and patched up. All he wanted was a good hot bath and to be in a coma for the next 72 hours. He was about to call for you when he saw the bedroom door slightly ajar.

Once he peeked, he noticed you sleeping, making his gaze soften. He quietly walked in, before noticing what you were hugging.

“What the…” He quietly mumbled, kneeling down beside the bed and seeing the image of him on the back of the pillow. Was this what he thought it was?

He let out a quiet giggle, looking at you with a soft and loving gaze, reaching a hand and lightly caressing your hair with the gentleness of someone who was touching something precious.

“You missed me this much… huh?” He whispered in a raspy tone, before leaning close and kissing your forehead. “…I’m home now, sweetheart”

After taking a shower, getting clean clothes and going back to the room, Dante gently laid himself behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, while you still comfortably hugged the pillow.

This pillow… it was so warm… it almost felt like the real thing…

#dmc dante #oc x canon #dmc5 #canon x reader #devil may cry #dmc dante x reader #dmc fanfiction #dante fanfiction #devil may cry fanfiction #dmc dante (dmc5) x reader #fanfic request #fanfic ask #dmc-ask

[jadedrrose]

Apartment 106 - ch. one

You finally get your dream job in Grandline City as a fashion designer. You move into your new apartment, make new friends and most importantly… your new neighbor is everything you’d want in a man.

Warnings: modern au Law x fem reader. This first chapter is a little short but I felt like it was at a good stopping place.

Random notes: Bepo & Chopper are dogs in this, reader’s dog is named after Sailor Moon. Any thoughts are in italics

It was mid afternoon on a normal, sunny day in the city. And you just couldn’t believe things were starting to finally come together for you.

A lifelong dream of yours was always to be a fashion designer. For the last three years, you’d been in school for it, attending a university near your hometown. Until two months ago when you were offered a position in Grandline City, at a fast rising, popular, new fashion company. They were in need of somebody to design dresses and other runway clothing, and had found your work online. You jumped at the opportunity, packing up all your things and quickly making plans to move cities.

Today, you were finally moving into your new apartment after spending three days in a hotel. It wasn’t an awful place, but it also wasn’t exactly luxurious. It was a small one bedroom apartment on the Western side of the city. Apartment 105, to be exact.

Getting the keys was one fantastic feeling, but nothing could compare to when you’d first opened the door, stepping inside of your new home for the first time.

The windows were large, stretching from the floor to ceiling and giving you a breathtaking view of the city below. You walked with haste to them and peered down at what resided below the apartment.

It was a simple park. It had a green grassy area that currently had a couple of dogs running around in. There were a few benches and two tables surrounding the area, complete with a water fountain in the center of the walking area.

Everything was coming together, and it was all perfect. A dream job in a big city, an apartment that didn’t just look out into a run down parking lot, and a park right outside where you could bring your dog, Usagi to play.

You ran back outside to begin helping the movers that the fashion company had hired for you. They were already one step ahead of you, bringing your furniture up to the floor you now resided on.

By the end of the day, your things were all inside your home and you decided to bring out some wine to celebrate your success so far.

You stood at the built in bar-table that currently had no chairs, pouring the drink into a glass for yourself. Tomorrow, you’d purchase some chairs and anything else you needed for the place. Tonight, you’d organize and decorate the space to your liking.

—

Waking up the next day, you felt completely exhausted, but at the same time, you were excited and pumped to get out into the city and go shopping.

You threw together an outfit that you were proud of, wanting to at least dress up nicely for your first big day in the city. Up until today, you’d been working on designs to present on your first day of work next week. You needed to make a good impression, after all.

First you went to a furniture store, buying some barstools that had gold legs with your favorite color velvet cushions. They were stunning, and at a relatively good price. You settled on purchasing three.

Then it was to another store to buy decor; throw pillows, photos to hang up, plants, small things like that.

By the time lunch rolled around, you’d already spent half of what you’d decided was your limit for today. You still had grocery shopping to do.

You figured it wouldn’t hurt to grab lunch at a local place. Before leaving the parking lot, you searched for some highly rated cafes and restaurants.

There was one that had caught your eye; Strawhat Cafe. It was an odd name for a restaurant, but it had insanely good reviews from locals. It wouldn’t hurt to try it, right?

When you walked in, a red-headed woman greeted you from behind the counter.

“Hi! Welcome to Strawhat Cafe! What can I get for you?”

You looked over the menu before ordering what sounded best to you, something you knew you’d like so that you weren’t taking any chances of starving.

The woman put it into the computer, telling you it would be about ten minutes before your food would be ready.

“Until then, here’s a cup. And my name’s Nami, in case you need anything!”

“Thank you,” you politely said before heading over to a table to sit at.

A few moments in, though, Nami was speaking to you again.

“Are you new around here? Typically we only get the same locals in,” she asked.

“Hm? Oh yeah, I just moved here… found this place online and decided to try it out.” You answered.

“Why’d you move here?”

“I was offered a job at a fashion company, and they moved me out here.”

“Oh! That sounds fun,” Nami’s eyes lit up. “What do you do for them?”

“I’ll be designing runway clothes as well as designer dresses,” you replied.

“So you’re an artist?”

“I guess you could say that, yeah,” you chuckled. “How long have you been here?”

“Oh, well my friends and I all moved here together, since there’s plenty of opportunities for all of our different fields. I’m currently here, helping out two of them.”

“How many of you are there?” You asked, curiously.

“There’s eight of us,” she answered with a fond smile. “And the guy who started this whole group is always looking for new friends to meet. Maybe you should come hang out, yeah?”

“Really? Are you sure?” You hesitantly said. Nami seemed pretty genuine, but to meet all eight of them so soon?

“Totally. Usually we all meet up here at eight to have dinner. Unless if it's particularly busy, then we wait until closing at ten. You could come by in the next few days, since I’m sure you don’t wanna eat here twice in a day,” she laughed.

“That sounds nice,” you accepted the offer, “thank you.”

“Of course! Also, it seems like your food’s done, I can go-“

“I heard we had a new lady friend?” A blond man appeared in the kitchen’s doorway, your food on the plate he balanced on his right hand.

“Sanji! Don’t refer to her like that, it sounds weird.”

“My apologies, miss…” he waited for your name.

“Y/n,” you told him.

“Miss y/n. Anyway, here’s your food. Enjoy,” he placed the plate down at your table and then promptly retreated into the kitchen.

—

It was late afternoon by the time you were getting back home. You’d parked in your designated spot, and then stared dumbfounded at the trunk of your car… how would you get all this stuff up to the fourth floor?

You supposed you’d just have to make trips back and forth. It’d be a pain, but you really had no choice.

You started with the groceries as some of them needed to be refrigerated or put in the freezer right away. After that, your furniture and decor.

Bringing up the bags of decor wasn’t hard, but the barstools were another story… They were heavy, so you could only carry one at a time.

Bracing yourself, you picked one up and began the trek up to your apartment unit.

You’d gotten the first one in, and then headed back out to get the next… when you ran into someone.

The hallways weren’t very big, so you both nearly walked into each other. You quickly dodged out of the way.

“Sorry! Excuse me,” you apologized, looking up to meet the stranger's eyes.

And then all of a sudden, it was like the world around you had stopped. You felt like you couldn’t breathe correctly.

Oh my god. He’s hot.

“It’s no big deal,” he replied coolly, looking down at you for a few awkward seconds. “Did you just move in? I’ve never seen you.”

“H-huh? Oh! Yeah, I just moved in today. Apartment 105,” you informed him.

“Ah, so you’re the person moving in next door,” he mumbled. “Last neighbor was a drag. Loud day and night, making it impossible for me to catch any sleep.”

“That sounds awful. I promise not to be like that,” you awkwardly laughed. If you didn’t get out of here now you’d make a fool of yourself in front of this gorgeous man.

“Mhm. Anyway… see ya,” he lazily waved a hand up at you as a good-bye gesture, pushing past you down a couple doors to his unit.

Apartment 106.

#trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar law #trafalgar d water law x reader #trafalgar law x y/n #trafalgar law x you #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar d water law #law x reader #law x you #Trafalgar Law x fem reader

[rothjuje]

I forgot how insanely busy life is up here. January, February, and March are dead months. No one wants to do anything, the skies are grey, it’s too cold to play outside for long. April people start to come alive again, and May is an onslaught of events. There was an entire week where every day I was double-booked, I’m still recovering.

That’s probably the biggest culture shock to me. People think I’m antisocial and weird for not wanting to run from thing to thing to thing all the time. The amount of events and things to do here that everyone else is doing that I’m expected to do is crazy. The people pleaser in me is very quickly learning how to say no. I honestly don’t know how people have the energy to keep up. I think there is a collective burnout up here. People trying to do all the things all the time. I *mourned* when it was time for winter to take over. No one else did, and now I finally get why. Winter is a break from the madness here. And, honestly, I kind of miss it.

There have been so many things rattling around my brain this month that I’ve wanted to process on here, but I’ve been running around all day long and then dealing with 15 chickens in my basement and then promptly passing out from exhaustion.

I love life in New England, it’s a delicious adventure that makes my soul feel alive, but the FOMO is real. It’s a vibe up here. It’s such the culture that today instead of chilling with the kids at home, I took them to some crazy park, and this was without any social pressure, I just felt guilty/weird about relaxing at home because it feels like a sin here.

May 21st of last year was when we first saw this house in person. I remember looking at this house online and getting a weird vibe. I told Justin a few days before our house hunting trip that “there’s a house at the top of our budget in Georgetown but I think we could get it because it’s very dated for the price.” And that is exactly what happened. I am (so) relieved everything happened the way it did. I love Groton but it is so far from the beach and everything else. Plus we’ve made a few good friends in Georgetown and I’m not sure it would have happened so easily in Groton. And the size of our town is perfect, the surrounding towns are a bit too small (no real town center or restaurants) but Georgetown has its own school district, CVS, and several restaurants including Best Bagel which also has the best coffee (we have a DD too but their coffee is no bueno). I don’t think I could go back to living in a bigger town after this, Danvers feels like the city to me and I get panicky whenever I have to go to the Target there, real first world problems over here haha.

The chickens got so big so fast. We ended up with 4 roosters we had to rehome and it broke my heart. We were down to 11 but then I rescued a buff Orpington that was injured from a feed store. I named her Honey and she is the sweetest, smartest bird. I’m obsessed with my 12 ladies (well, 11 ladies and 1 gentleman that I am going to keep), I could watch them all day. They have such an interesting social structure, I had them in 3 separate brooders and all the birds from one brooder would stay together during group time with a very clear pecking order. It was like having 3 separate flocks of birds even though they all hung out for an hour every night. The girls from two brooders were moved to the coop this weekend and the girls are still in two separate groups of 4, they barely interact with each other. I was absolutely desperate to get them out of my basement but of course now that they are outside I am rather sad about it. I’m going to love on my 4 inside still and try not to get any bad ideas like ordering Polish hatching eggs off EBay…

[kitsunesakii]

     Dance?

Tonight was the Gala, a fancy word that people in suits called the Peace ball. In reality it was their way to make sure everyone was counted for. All the Supers and all the villains stuck in a room to be observed. Most people weren't naive enough to come without some sort of mask. After a few times it became tradition. People wore masks and fancy outfits to go with them. A few though, mostly the more powerful heroes and villains chose to let people see what they look like. 

     I never went. At least, that's what most of everyone thought. I would observe from a safe distance. It was in fact the safest way to go about it. Last month a fire broke out from an insane Pyre villain. And two months before that a brawl spread between the two main heros. To be fair they were both severely drunk. 

     I simply watch through an air vented window on the ceiling. While the most common powers a person could land were invisibly or flight, there was also the chance at scoring something a little more unusual. Like mine, the ability to see positive and negative spaces. 

     As most of everyone was taught in art class, positive and negative spaces are defined by something that is physical, touchable. And things that aren't, for example, a wall versus air. 

     This particular power was underestimated by the best of people. But it made checking a room for people or walking down an "abandoned" street much easier. 

     Mostly I was just a cat burglar. But I also considered myself a contracted robber. People would contact me via a P. O. Box that belonged to the city, and I would name the price and a date of deposit. Simple, easy, and effective. I made more money stealing for others than I did for myself. 

     What was great was that no one knew who I was. It was common nowadays for superheroes and villains alike to use their identity to feed the media, spreading their influences that way. 

     I preferred stealth. 

     The Gala happened once every month, inviting the newer heros to mingle freely with the veteran villains who had long since retired. Discussing territory and common motives for self destruction. To be fair, it was a very interesting conversation to listen in on. Everyone had some sort of knowledge to pass on. Honestly I think most people came simply for the thrill that comes along with it. Anything can happen at these events. 

     This time it was different. The local supervillain of 35 years was killed by a morally-compromised hero. And like wildfire the rumors spread. Territories broke down and built up like water hitting eroded rocks. Villains sprang at the chance to fill the position and heros rose to the challenge as well. 

     Chaos. 

     This time it wouldn't just be mildly thrilling. There was a chance of death. And everyone knew it. The threat that lingered in the air. The news talked about it. The weather foreshadowed it. Everything in the upcoming month lead to it like a snake cornering a mouse. 

     A small part of me wanted to go. It was a stupid thought, but it still enticed me. I wasn't made for combat, even though I knew my way around a knife it still wouldn't be enough if I got caught in a fight. Even with my own unique powers, risking the chance just wasn't a good enough reason to go. 

     Doesn't mean I would watch, at least from a safe distance. 

     The media was in an uproar, even as I made my way up the side of the building to the roof I could hear news reporters getting a catch at the hero's and investigators being interrogated for the newest info on the matter. It almost seemed silly. The event was an open, repurposed, school building that had been mostly hallowed out to make an oddly, two story shaped ball room. Loud music echoed through the halls, mimicking the coursing nerves that jumped and bubbled through everyone.     

     "You know I hear the music is much more enticing up close." 

     I nearly fell off the roof, whipping my head around and almost losing my balance, just barely catching myself at the last moment. 

     I stood, ignoring the slight dizzy whiplash that filled my head. I was slightly impressed. It took a special type of power to sneak up on me. Seeing that I feel the space around me. 

     "What?" I half breathed half spat, the music thrummed masterfully below us, and with the gentle glow I could make out the person in front of me. 

     He was on the leaner side, taller than me with an almost lazy posture. He wore an amused grin. He was dressed for the Gala. 

     He made full eye contact. 

     I shook my head, breaking it and instead using my familiar abilities to paint a more secure picture.

     He wore a knife on his left thigh. He had a pair of glasses in his jacket's right breast pocket. His phone was in his back pocket. So was his wallet. He was still staring at me. 

     "I said," he began again calmly, breaking my thought process entirely, "the music is much more enticing up close." 

     "Right," I answered, almost dumbly. He was still making eye contact. 

     I might have left something out. I don't attend the Gala for safety reasons. But, there might be one more reason. I had a condition, the doctors couldn't figure out what it was. I was extremely pale. I wasn't a vampire, I wasn't even actually sick, my skin was just an unnatural shade of white. It made having a conversation with others hard, especially when their eyes were flickering over my skin like a guard looking over a prison. And because of my skin condition many people assumed that I was a vampire, and stayed as far from me as possible. It was why I stole. Hard to get a job when people think you're creepy or weird. 

     "You'd scare away all my customers!" Would be what they'd say. 

     This made casual conversation rare for me, and eye contact even weirder. So why the hell was this fool giving the time of day. 

     "I think I'll stay up here, thanks" I replied a little too coldly. I winced at my own words, I was giving off a horrible impression. 

     "It is nice up here, the stars make your eyes glow." 

     I blinked at him. Did he just? "compliment" me? 

     I let out a nervous laugh. His smile widened a little. He had a nice smile. It made his features scrunch up, genuinely. It made him look twelve. I found myself smiling as well. 

    "Thanks" 

     "Are you planning on going down there to dance?" 

     No. That was the undeniable answer. But that wasn't what I was hooked up on. Why the heck was he still talking to me? 

     "Probably not, it's nicer up here, you know, with the stars and everything."

     Insanely, my little remark worked wonders and his smile bloomed against his face. 

     "Well, we could always bring the stars down with us." He offered his hand, "I'd love to dance with you, dancing alone is just so boring." 

      His posture was still lax, a little grin painted his face one step away from smug. Instead it gave off confidence, his eyes gave away just a hint of nervousness.           

     He was being serious

     He wanted to dance with me

     "You want me to dance with you?" 

     He chuckled, "well I would word it a little differently but yes. I'd quite like that."

     I gawked at him. Dangerous. This whole thing felt dangerous. 

     "What's your name?" I asked Instead. 

     A flicker of challenge pulsed behind his eye. "I'll tell you if you join me."

     I bit my lip. Hesitantly, I let him take my hand. 

     "Alright, let's dance then."

#writing #heroxvillain #rooftop #gala #dance #danger #villain x hero #first meet #snippet #cliffhanger

[halechief]

015.   the wine cellar of a large mansion . / i want you to know, you asked for this.

↪     𝑺𝑬𝑻𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑷𝑻𝑺 : @tahitiwoke.

it's two am on a saturday evening - or rather, a sunday morning. the kind that a few months ago would have meant waking up in about three hours, two and a half for phillip, who was always diligent in every aspect of his life, including the ones that she sometimes wished he wouldn't be. it's been a long time since she'd been able to amuse herself more with sitting on his lower back for fifty push - ups than she would have with an extra thirty minutes in bed, just lying there, more and more often because, in all honesty, they'd been getting old.

but, that's life. you make these kinds of concessions, when you're in love.

she flips the light at the top of the stairs leading down into the cellar and there's a hum that comes in reply, an audible hum, indicative of the insane levels of energy that this massive peacock - display of unconscionable wealth siphons, and this is just the cellar. there had been a time when claire had considered herself to be well - to - do. she no longer considers that a fact. not when she's now able, owed entirely to phillip's dime, to waif down the elegantly minimalist staircase into a wine cellar filled absolutely top to bottom with wines that would have gotten her impeached for even thinking of placing on the white house menu for one night only. she laughs to herself, alone, and apart from the fact of that word, alone, there is another problem with this picture.

claire's already been down here a few times, tonight. in fact, the stem of her evidentiary last glass is still slotted between her fingers with the cup cradled in her palm as she reaches the bottom step and finds her socked feet on the beautiful marble, and somewhere upstairs on the massive island in the spacious kitchen, with the vaulted ceiling, her phone is buzzing with a call from christopher brady, who she really should speak to. and she will. she will, just not right now.

in the meantime though, she is going to keep making use of all this opulence that she has started to hate phillip for, now that he's dead.

she's slow in pacing between the racks, eyeing label after label through the glass doors that wouldn't ever dream of fogging over, because the entire level is temperature controlled. she runs a finger over the surface of the door closest to her and is reminded in a brief little flicker of what it had felt like to have her back pressed against it the first time he'd brought her down to see it, the chill of the glass raising the hairs on her arms as his mouth had found the junction of her neck and shoulder, and she pulls her hand away reflexively. claire moves on to the next door, and the next, until she stands in front of the reds which had always been her intention, because white was too flimsy, too light, too apéritif to handle what she requires of it, which is to help stomach death, which is to help drown the little piece of her that wants to kill him herself for making her do this again. so no, white would never do. she's eyeing down a particularly pretentious looking cabernet sauvignon which she has no doubt is straight from napa valley and well over what he'd once called the modest price point of three thousand dollars, and she opens the door with a flourish that is for no one, because no one is there to see it.

there are a lot of things that claire has had to come to terms with, in her life. she'd lived a full one, she'd looked her own demise in the face more than once and found a way to move beyond it, she'd learned to swallow down francis' death, she'd learned to swallow down the deaths she'd delivered with her own hands either literally or metaphoric, with the signing of a directive. nothing prepares a person for what it is like to be sixty six and still in too good of shape, good enough that you might last another twenty years : mourn, another twenty years. nothing prepares for what it's like to not be able to listen to a song that you've loved for more than forty years because you cannot hear it play without thinking of someone you knew for only half that long. nothing prepares for what it's like to live alone in a beach house in cape cod that retailed for a few million dollars on its own without the enhancements he'd made to it because jesus christ, phil could not ever be frugal or rational, or — 

she flinches, for having thought of him as phil. for being reminded of yet another lapse in her traditions, another hangup he’d unwittingly helped her unlearn very much by accident. that ring is getting heavier all the time.

claire turns away and lets the door swing shut, carrying the bottle back with her toward the stairs and climbing up them, leaving the light on because it doesn't matter, because the light bill, if she cared to care, is on autopay from one of his numerous checking accounts which she has been made excruciatingly aware by his accountant that she has full control of to do with what she will. i understand the two of you never married. the suit ( phillip would have called him that ) had said. observed? pried, claire finally settles. because it had been a pry. one she hadn't bothered to offer any clarification on.

she makes her way back to the kitchen and ignores the small but steadily growing collection of bottles sitting on the counter, setting down the glass in her hand and the newest bottle in order to pick up her phone, eyeing the missed notifications for a moment before typing out a single text to the one that she actually cares about.

to: christopher brady. sorry i missed your call, winding down for the night. talk tomorrow?

claire doesn't wait for his response, setting the phone back on the counter face down and leaving it even though it vibrates against her fingers almost immediately. she picks up the corkscrew on the counter and twists it with what can only be considered aggression into the stopper at the neck of the bottle and within a few moments she's walking with the unobstructed wine and a newly full glass out onto the patio that overlooks the beach, that overlooks the pier, that overlooks the place where she'd watched the sunset sink into the cresting waves and said nothing, i'm just happy, just a few years before. she brings the glass to her lips and drinks deeply, and she is not savoring it the way that one does with a four thousand dollar bottle of wine. it's just a drink. the way that this is just a house, and this is just a death, and she will have to get over it one way or another, eventually.

his ashes are still sitting in the comically nondescript box she'd received them in. there had been a condolence card taped to the cardboard, she had opened it and there had been an urn and inside the urn there had been a bag, and she'd closed it and put it away underneath his side of the bed and that's where it had stayed. the ghost of it is sleeping with her now, and sometimes she has the most intense urge to leave them there, because it's possible if she does that the emptiness will never have a chance to feel permanent but instead keep dangling between complete and incomplete as it has been so far. but claire is not staying in cape cod. was never going to stay in cape cod, because there is no corner of that house that does not remind her of him, there is no contractor she could pay to cut him out of the place and neither would she want to. it's important to know that this black mood that's overtaken her is not just because he is dead, or because he'd left her so much more than any person should ever have to look after, but because five days after he'd died she'd found an invoice on his computer for a reserved dock in the bass river marina for a vessel, and it didn't take her long to dig up why in the wake of the spiral that had caused, and in a little folder simply called claire she'd found a picture of a small downeaster and damn it if the name painted on the side of it clear as day in a pale blue that matched the curtains she'd picked for the bay window downstairs wasn't Alexa.

she'd cried. it was a lot, and she wasn't proud of it, and when she stopped it had felt foolish because it had been something sweet between them, and she remembers what he'd said like it was yesterday, and not just because she's been obsessively keyword searching their old messages trying to stave off the growing feeling of rot in the pit of her stomach.

from: phillip coulson. [6:33 AM JAN 2023] It's funny you know. My mother used to say my Dad was a good man in a storm, that he wasn't kind or sweet or particularly loveable, but that he fought for the things he had and was steady when the bad stuff came rolling in. I always wanted to be like that.

[6:34 AM JAN 2023] It's a good song. And I'm really flattered? Maybe that's not the right word. Glad? That you think that about me

she takes another sip from the edge of the glass as it scrolls through her mind, and closes her eyes, standing under the fucking flood light he'd installed on the back of the house which is motion sensitive and which she has sometimes managed to stand under for long enough without moving in the last few days that it has forgotten her completely and plunged her into a darkness that is comforting in that it seems to match the one inside her.

tomorrow, she's going to the marina. tomorrow she's dragging his ashes from under the bed and taking them out onto his boat, or her boat, as his inheritor, since it cannot now be theirs. since nothing can be. tomorrow she'll hire someone and pay them more than anyone could ever call appropriate to take her out into the middle of the bay and she's going to dump them there because he told her that same night years ago that all he'd ever wanted was to matter, to have an impact, and she can't think of anywhere he deserves to be less than he deserves to be kept under the underside of a bed because she cannot let him go. so, tomorrow. tomorrow she'll take his downeaster out to the gulf of maine and dump his dust into the salt water because he'd done what he had to and he'd mattered to her more than either of them had ever meant him to and because yes, phillip.

a good captain can fall asleep.

#death tw / #alcohol mention / #tahitiwoke #post presidency tbt. #please do not ever try me again. #this is so long.. #anyways #this is set in like 10 years when sam fucking murders phil Again.

[lunarsilkscreen]

Fauxflation

On the back of my previous posts on bonds and the housing bubble and/or crisis, I'd like to describe a form of inflation happening that isn't direct inflation.

I've talked before about loan caps, and how bank debt (not to be confused with the country debt of 30trillion+ which is how we determine how much money the fed injects into the economy.) Can be used to inflate the country's debt outside of the control of the government (and thus outside the federal reserve's control).

Banks use debt as assets, they trade them like they would money, because they expect the money to be paid back. However, they are also allowed to give out loans based on the debt they control, and thus expect to be paid back. (This is part of the problem with bonds in 2008).

Banks loans money to Steve, and based on how Steve pays that loan back, the bank is then allowed to loan money to Geoff. Sometimes at the expected interest they expect to make from Steve. And if Geoff is paying back the bank regularly, the bank is able to make another loan out to a third person: Jenny.

If you're tracking; that means the bank has given out three loans based on one pool of money. Effectively tripling that original pool, until those loans are paid back. Which would both cause inflation while the loans are in circulation, and deflation should they be paid back, or even forgiven.

This should be controlled by the digital debt ceiling that the fed allows banks to loan against. *Should* being the operative word.

That's only part of the fauxflation equation.

The next part is companies, who have taken these loans, and are selling goods to end users. They borrow against interest rates and if the interest rates are high, that also compounds inflation. (More money is expected to pay back that initial loan. Thus creating an drain on the revenue of those companies.)

How do those companies make money? They charge the end user more and more. As much money as they are willing to pay. Companies have said as much: "They are willing to charge as much as the customers can afford".

The U.S. subsidizes certain products in order to keep prices down, and to account for increased demand. So that parents can feed their children. It's funny that even those products are starting to see insane price hikes. From $1.50 for a quart of milk to nearly $5 over the course of the past few years.

That's with the subsidies that they get to sell those products.

Simultaneously, corporate profits are at a record high.

Now, I'm going to take this time to explain why record profits might not *actually* be profit. Please bear with me it's stupid. I know.

Many loans have increased, or lowered fees after a certain time period of one-time payments. If companies have taken a loan out like you would on a credit card: "0% APR for 12 months, and then 30% annual after that". That means their payment of their loan is included on their revenue sheet

Some loans, like a car or house loan have a maximum interest based on the term of the loan. And your credit score is based on paying that interest back on time, not early, not late. If you have a six year loan, it's in your best interest to pay it back in six years. So that you have good credit for a better loan after that.

Any Earlier and the banks know that you won't be making them enough money to bother.

But if the company is making record profits, it might behoove them to include that in their future projections. If that APR kicks in at a higher % like on your credit card, then they have to hang onto that profit, possibly invest it (to try to keep up with the APR) because they know they'll be paying back that interest at a later date, since they won't be paying the whole thing off this year.

Basically: what happens if you only make minimum payments on your credit card?

With wage hikes, and with high interest, and with both of those causing fauxflation: you can see where the problem point in this chain is:

Whatever money is owed back to the banks

Now, why do the banks include things like APR increases in some products and not others? They believe it's an effective stick to the loan's carrot. They believe that you'll be encouraged to pay it back at that point, and they have calculations to prove it. (Remember what I said about banks creating higher loans to pay off lower loans because of housing inflation? That circle-k?)

They have a decade of data saying that their loans all got paid off.

So when it comes time that the economy can't handle their projections, because they ommitted the data where things like this happened last time. (Too long ago, who cares)

It's easy to say "we couldn't have accounted for this".

And it's plausible because who accounts for data that long ago?