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limitlessgojo · 3 years

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Too Much to Handle

Type: One-Shot (Completed)

Warnings: NSFW !!! , Explicit Content

Tags: Orgasm Denial, Smut, Slight Angst, Hurt/ Comfort, Fluff, BDSM, Edging, Crying, Creampie, Pwp

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: Noritoshi edges you every single night for 5 days. But edging you repeatedly, may not have been the best idea.

You currently have a very pleasant sex life with Noritoshi, your beloved boyfriend. Everything was in place. Trust, mood, and of course, safe words.

Adzuki (red beans) to stop. Matcha to slow down. Simple as that and usually nothing went wrong in the bedroom. You were on birth control pills, which made it so much easier for the both of you.

"Hey, how do you feel about orgasm denial?" Noritoshi asks you one night. You've been curious about it, knowing that you have good stamina and a solid track record of being patient.

"Sounds okay," You shrugged. You've done all sorts of things with him already in bed, and so far you've loved every single one. "Why not?"

Oh you were going to eat those words of yours.

You both agreed to edging you and only you for 4 days, while Noritoshi got to come over your body at the end of every session. He loves seeing you covered in him. Smelling like him.

You enjoyed it at first, loving it when he pumps his cum over your lips. Then you suck the head of his cock into your mouth, taking in as much cum as you can. His soft groans and praises make you light up.

He carefully thrusts two fingers into you, pumping in and out while he presses a vibrator against your clit. Removing them everytime you come near climax.

He was able to watch and experiment with your body a lot. Knowing exactly where your sweet spots are, and what makes you cum.

Noritoshi found it simply divine. Hearing you sob and moan his name so beautifully. Begging and promising to do anything in exchange to cum. Your hips lifting and following the vibrator everytime he moves his hands. Pink pussy watery and so wet, but unable to cum. Twitching and fluttering around nothing.

How your mouth waters as you stare at his long fingers.

He gives you consolation from time to time, letting you suck either his fingers or his dick. He also leaves sloppy wet kisses in your inner thigh and against the skin around your clit, making your hips push up.

You fall back against the bed after every session. His cuddles and kisses trying to cover up for the aching feeling down between your legs.

But on the night of the 4th day, you were at your limit. It was actually so frustrating to be edged, only to be stopped. It was difficult to fall asleep after.

You were miserable and horny, but incredibly excited for the next night.

Only for Noritoshi to suggest something else the next day, "Do you think you can try for one more night?" He asked.

You gulped, seeing him look not so secretly pleased. 'He looks like he's really enjoying this. I don't wanna disappoint him.'

"Don't worry, I'll let you come tonight. I just have some ideas in mind, but I wanted it to be a surprise." He smirked.

"Okay. I'll be good for you." You meekly answered. His smile was so warm and loving, you forgot about your needs for a bit, hugging him tight.

"Such a good girl for me darling. I love you."

"I love you too Toshi."

But you were at wits end later that night. Stark naked, with the addition of handcuffs and some ropes to hold you down. Your legs spread far apart, exposing your quivering cunt.

It's been 2 hours of edging. Scratch that, it's been 5 nights. You were close to breaking.

You sobbed for the millionth time that week as Noritoshi kissed your pussy and sat back to pause.

He pressed the vibrator against your clit, watching as your legs shook, only to remove it as you started trembling.

"You can't come yet." He said softly, yet firmly.

"Why not?" You gasped. "I've been so good for you."

Noritoshi's eyebrows raised. "Because I say so." Edging you multiple more times. He was so focused on your body that he failed to see tears streaming down against your temples.

"Toshiii," You were full on sobbing and shaking. "Please let me cum. Adzuki! Adzuki! I can't do this anymore! Adzuki!"

Static white noise.

Noritoshi heard his pulse thunder against his ears upon hearing you use your safe word. Never had you ever used it before. Not even when he tied you up and fucked you over 5 rounds that one night until you were a sobbing drooling mess.

"Nuh-no more!! No! Don't want!" You babbled and shook your head, trying to move away from him.

His heart broke to see you like this.

He dropped everything, undoing your ties and massaging your limp arms, pulling you close as you cried frustratedly into his chest, cuddling and frantically hushing you.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." You were apologising as you shook your head and pushed him away.

No. This was not how it was supposed to go.

"Baby I'm the one who's sorry. Shhhhh, Toshi is here. Okay, I'll stop, I'll make you cum. I promise." He rushed the words out in a hurry.

"I'm sorry," You kept repeating apologies, crying and shaking your head. You didn't seem to hear a word he was saying.

He pressed his lips tenderly into yours and breathed air into your mouth. "Follow my breaths." He commanded.

That tone. He used that voice you could never resist listening to and following. So you slowed down your breathing until you matched his pace. He rubbed slow circles onto your back.

"You're such a good girl. The best, my one and only angel," he softly cooed. You preened, feeling yourself slip further into a subspace. Your head felt so foggy.

"Why are you apologising?" He asked gently as he finally notices your tears and wipes it away.

Your lips started trembling, " buh-Because I cuh-couldn't do it anymore. I'm not *hic* good enough for yuh-you. I wuh-wanted to come but you…. said… hold off longer… can't-" you started breathing heavily again but he kissed you to distract you.

"No, no that's not your fault. That's mine for not taking care of you properly. I pushed you way past your limits. I'm sorry. You are more than enough for me, you know that. Can you forgive Toshi?" He nuzzled into the side of your face.

Deep inside, Noritoshi was actually losing it. Mentally slapping himself for letting you feel this way to the point you had to use a safe word. He never wanted you to feel this way with him.

"But I wuh-want t-to feel good together with you. I can handle maybe 3 days of no cumming, but 5 is too much," You hiccuped.

"Yes, I'm sorry. I know that now. Whatever you want, I'll do for you now. Okay?"

You looked up at him with the biggest eyes ever, his heart clenched. "Anything?"

"Anything. As long as it won't hurt the both of us, I'll do it for you." He promised.

For someone who was so desperate to come, he watched you become shy. But the words that came out weren't, "Make love to me. Cum inside me Toshi." You begged him.

"Okay, if that's what you want." He quickly set to removing his clothes and fixed the bed, making sure you were as comfortable as you could be.

"Like this. I wanna face you. Stay close." You whimpered, holding out two hands.

Missionary position. Noritoshi's and your personal favorite, because of how intimate it is. He pushes your legs far apart, revealing your aching hole.

You were still loose from the stretching he did earlier, but there was a slight burn as he entered you. You welcomed it wholeheartedly.

His cock was inside. His cock was inside of you. Finally!

You teared up again, wanting this for so long.

"Shhhh," he tried to calm you down as you cried some more.

"So happy, you're finally inside of me Toshi," You sniffed.

Distantly, Noritoshi thought he heard something like a tightly coiled string snap. You looked absolutely delectable right now. Pussy a bright red and your face a teary mess.

He was rock hard down there as he started out with deep and shallow thrusts.

"Yes, yes, more, give" You moaned, hooking your legs around his waist to prevent him from pulling all the way out.

"Anything for my angel." Noritoshi sucked on that tender part of skin under your ear.

You felt him glide in and out of you and it was such a relief against your vaginal walls.

You went on like that with him for a while, with Noritoshi stroking your cheek, making sure you felt good as he started to move faster.

But something felt off. "Toshi," You cried.

"What is it baby?" He looked over you in alarm.

"Can't cum. Don't know. Feels weird." Your body wasn't used to it anymore, the sensations feeling familiar but not exactly the same as before.

You felt absolutely horrible, your body was at that knife's edge of tipping into orgasm, but it wouldn't.

"Listen to me okay? Let it happen. Do you trust me? Do you trust your Toshi?"

You looked up into his eyes, and was surprised by their intensity. So dark. His hair, his eyes, his expression. His focus was 120% on you. On making you feel good.

You loved that about Noritoshi. He was incredibly sincere and pure hearted about everything he did. "Yes I trust you. I love you."

"I love you too Angel. Hold on tight." He let you grip onto his shoulders as he held onto your hips and started slamming his hips up and down, driving his cock so deep like it never did before.

He watched as you yelped at a certain angle, and changed his thrusts to hit that soft spot deep inside.

Your arms shot out to grab the sheets beside you as you keened, feeling intense pleasure while Noritoshi hits your G spot repeatedly.

"Please, please," You whined, tears falling past your cheeks, breaths uneven.

"There there now. Toshi is here. You're allowed to cum anytime. I will give it to you." He kissed away your tears and pressed close as he continued to pound into you.

Your breath hitched, feeling him poke against your tummy. "Toshii, I ugh-" you started to lose coherence as you felt a wild spark of heat down below.

"Let go." Noritoshi refused to come before you did, holding off his orgasm despite how your velvety wet insides molded and squeezed him perfectly.

He reached down with one hand to furiously rub your clit, lighting up all the nerves in your body. He used his cursed technique to move faster and faster, hips moving at an unearthly pace.

"Toshiiii-ahhhhn!" You screamed as your body violently convulsed, your pussy creaming around his cock and contracting madly as you finally came. It was the hardest and most intense one that you've ever experienced.

"That's it, my angel, come for me." He praised you as your screams increased in pitch and volume. He held you down as you thrashed about, not wanting you to slip off of him.

You tightened so much that it almost made him cum right away. Almost.

Noritoshi hooked his arms around your legs as he chased off his own orgasm. Skin slapping harshly against skin. He pushed in at a deeper angle.

"Yesyesyes," You moaned despite still reeling from your orgasm high. "Fuck me, fuck yes, more!"

Noritoshi was practically snarling as he continued pummeling into you, finally cumming and stuffing you full. "So tight! You've been so good for me, and look at you. You're perfect baby."

You trembled even harder upon feeling his dick throb and the cum slosh inside of you.

"Are you still coming? You're such a good girl, coming on my cock like this. So pretty." He grinded deeper and continued playing with your clit and nipples, making you twitch as you rode out your second orgasm gently.

You made sounds of choking and gasping which made him slow down. "Is that too much for you? It's okay baby. It's okay."

You tried to reply, but all that came out was a string of incoherent sounds, like a baby's babbling. Noritoshi smiled.

He made you cum 4 more times and stuffed you well past your capacity, feeling his seed seep out of your cunny and run down your ass. Pressing you down against the mattress as he rutted into you as he continued spurting loads inside of you.

You refused to let him pull out even when he grew soft.

"Stay."

And so Noritoshi did, because he promised you anything you wanted.

You sniffed quietly, but he heard it of course. "Baby" He cooed as he held you closer, but you refused to look into his eyes.

"Don't tell me you're still mad?"

You pouted, but shook your head. "I agreed to it. I wanted to be so good for you-"

"You are," he cut you. "You are so good. 5 days as opposed to the original 4 nights. I really was supposed to make you come tonight. And you did so well to make it this far, but I won't push you to do something like this anymore. It's my fault for extending it."

You shut your eyes. "I thought you would be disappointed if I told you I couldn't do it. You looked so excited to try out so much stuff in the bedroom." You bit your lip hard, but he reached out to stop you from doing that.

You sucked on his fingers while he pressed his lips against your forehead. "I won't be disappointed if you tell me no. I need to know the extent of your boundaries, so we can work out what's best for the both of us. Don't think I'd leave you for someone else who could last a week without cumming just because. That's not how I feel. I want to experiment with you and you only. You understand?"

You finally looked up at him and you were shocked to see how worried he was. Eyebrows all scrunched up. A big frown on his face. You kissed him, "I understand."

He pressed in closer. "Good girl. Such a good girl for Toshi. I'm so proud of you."

You let out a sob at that. And he patted your back as you cried off whatever heaviness you had left inside of your chest, emotional baggage now a lot lighter.

"You're right. I was scared you'd leave for someone who could handle you better in bed." You whispered after you finally calmed down.

"Mmm, not gonna happen. Ever. You're stuck with me. Forever."

"Forever sounds nice Toshi."

Author's Notes: When I say that I'm so down bad for Noritoshi, I legit am on Noritoshi brain rot. And me being stuck at home with a lockdown is definitely fueling this XD. I'm supposed to be working on Blood Bound, but I couldn't help but write this because I felt the sudden urge to.

Hope you enjoyed reading! - Mon

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ashenburst · 4 years

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Any Which Way

Mista x Reader, fluff (?), 4366 words - oh GOD do I hate this one and I apologize if it sucks in advance I just aaa had no coherent ideas whatsoever and I was trying to write fluff at the time my brain was screaming angst and - well, it shows. Anyway.

Mista is acting up because you fed the Pistols. Oh no.

When Mista asked you out, you told him his joke was tasteless. When Mista asked you out for the second time, you didn’t feel well enough. The third time, wondrously, your grandmother needed your assistance. He didn’t bother asking you for the fourth time.

It was a long gag running between the two of you, and the run started off wrongly. A marathon ought to begin with a leisure pace, and only by the near end should the contestants accelerate – this method would provide optimal results. Your situation was the exact opposite. Naturally, it did not turn out well enough.

At least for you, because you knew this was a silly mishap, from the beginning to the end. Yes, you may had been mean the first time, but it was an automated reaction: Mista was a jokester, and you enjoyed retorting. Many of the interactions weren’t serious, simply put. You were in Buccellati’s team for around a week and this dynamic had already been established.

So when he casually asked you out, after knowing you for such a short period, you brushed it off with a retort. For a moment, though, you were a mess. To be asked out by a guy this pretty, this… cool? Unbelievable, truly – it was only natural that shock rendered you dazed. Then, you procured a reply fitting to that disbelief you were stunned with: a snarky comeback. Afterwards, he quickly changed the subject, but did not change in behavior. There was no flinch in his voice, no meaningful allusion to the possible date, no, nothing at all. You had a valid reason to believe it wasn’t a sincere question.

And once you borrowed more thought to that matter, logic grounded your idea. You had seen Mista flirt with other girls, which meant he had a social life outside the mafia. This was not surprising, he had quite the unique charm. Therefore, he could certainly get together with people who were better than you.

However, this pondering had a side effect. The gunslinger crept onto your mind, binding your daily reflections into a slow realization that, perhaps, you had a thing for him.

But you didn’t feel bad. If anything, you were glad that he was your friend. Although his company was a gnawing reminder of your growing feelings, at the end of the day, he fulfilled you – and you supposed you fulfilled him too. Not once did he bully you, so you took that as a positive sign. On the other hand, you had a slight bullying tendency towards him. Teasing him was something he always loved to respond to, dramatically, exaggerated, which would cause much laughter to the both of you. In other words… there was no harm done.

The next two times you were asked out held terrible luck to them. You simply could not make it. Upon uttering your excuse, in both cases, Mista laughed, commented, and moved on. Swiftly and comically, just the usual. You were left to rethink the tinge in your heart.

This third fiasco had occurred just a couple of days ago. What remained of it was – null, just some void of reminiscence that irked your daydreaming. Early in the morning, in Libeccio, you couldn’t enjoy your drink. The haziness of your mind did not carry a pleasant undercurrent. You did not know what to make of it, or what to remake of it. You were left to stare at your own beverage, hand on your chin, as your empty thoughts tumbled.

It was quite peaceful. The kind of peaceful you’d see in the first morning classes back in school. People all around you were barely awake, and quietly agreed to bask in the mutual silence.

That is, until Buccellati strolled in. His lively “buongiorno” made you flinch. Where did that energy come from?

The team leader explained himself. He already had a long discussion with some Mario La-something (you weren’t focused enough to catch that) and its result was a mission. You clenched your jaw. This early in the morning? Damn. You could only pray you wouldn’t be picked, you really weren’t in the mood –

But alas, Murphy’s law was in effect.

Buccellati rightfully deduced that there was something going on between you and Mista. Therefore he stated, “I’m sending (Y/N) and Mista on this mission, due to their remarkable chemistry.” Something that was, allegedly, apparent right from the start.

Not only that. Buccellati’s decision was (objectively speaking) great, as your and Mista’s stand were a powerful combo. Speaking of the Pistols, there was the amusing fact that you would die internally whenever you saw them. You surely were looking forward to that, and… cooperating with Mista too. This might work out well.

Someone tapped on your shoulder, making you jump in your seat. Looking at the culprit, you weren’t surprised to uncover his identity. It was him.

“Let’s go, sleepyhead,” Mista urged, wiggling his thick brows. Your smile was inevitable. “Or you’d rather trade places with Abbacchio?” He questioned with a smirk.

“Huh?” You took a glance at Abbacchio, and immediately scowled. He somehow slid so much down his chair that his chin was touching his chest – and he was sleeping soundly. How come you didn’t notice?

“Too bad, you can’t trade places with Abbacchio. Duty calls. Come on, on your feet,” Mista blabbered, which barely worked on your half-conscious self. You let our yet another “huh” which was followed by a disturbed squeak – Mista started pulling you up. You had no choice but to stand up.

“(Y/N) secured, Buccellati!” Mista proudly announced. Buccellati wasn’t too impressed. You, however, were impressed by the fact Mista was so… awake, all of a sudden.

Mista then put a hand on Narancia’s shoulder. “Okay, before we go, Narancia – you know what you’re supposed to do, right?”

The boy had a similar reaction to yours. “Eh? What?”

Mista nodded towards Abbacchio. Narancia grinned. You bit your lip, both grateful and sad you’d miss this. That was how you were brought back to your senses, and how you departed for the task.

Now, the nature of the mission was simple, but it took so long. Until you got there, until you found the exact location, until Mista talked with his Pistols (and you tried to, too), etcetera, etcetera – in the end, it took you hours to complete it. Funnily enough, you didn’t even take out your own stand. So, in your eyes, this was a complete waste of time.

Luckily, with that over, you two were free to go. Not before Mista had a little chit-chat with his stand, praising them all for a job well done. However, he didn’t really get the reaction he expected – instead of the usual one, just a “yay” in unison, the Pistols began asking Mista for a reward. A snack, to be specific. Mista quickly turned them down.

“It isn’t lunchtime yet, everyone, you’ll spoil your appetite,” he explained himself, only for the Pistols to start loudly pleading him for food. Mista crossed his arms.

“Come on guys, have some patience. We’ll go back to Libeccio just in time for lunch.”

It was a solid argument. Did that help? No, not at all. The Pistols were still floating in front of Mista and screaming with their tiny voices about how hungry they were. Their user, acting like the usual tired parent, tried to subdue them – but to no avail. They continued rambling, almost every single one of them, like spoiled children. Because, although did not want to be viewed that way, they truly were children. Even the fact they denied it supported the idea.

But these were no ordinary crybabies. They were sly and awfully intelligent, all while maintaining their characteristic lighthearted aura. Those childish antics? They lead to chaos, sometimes even to brutal honesty.

Mista got to deal with the downsides of that, but you? You would just stand aside. And whenever you did get to interact with those Pistols, you were exposed to downpours of compliments and almost perfect behavior. The brutal honesty? It came in the form of their heartfelt words and actions, as you were able to discipline them better than Mista could ever hope to. They listened to you, which came as no surprise.

Because Mista always played the role of the bad cop. In contrast, you were the good cop. It was only natural – you adored them, you had every reason to.

Taking all of these things into account, you couldn’t help but feel bad for them. You took their side.

“But Mista, they performed exceptionally well on this mission. On an empty stomach! Maybe they do deserve a little something, look at them. They’re desperate,” you made sure to point out. The Pistols approved of their new advocate.

“There’s no way in hell I’m wasting my money on them when we have free food at Libeccio,” Mista said, causing various sounds of disappointment. Even you sighed. He rolled his eyes.

“Come on now, shush, let’s go.” He waved his hand at the Pistols who did their best to ignore that.

“Aww, but Mista, we deserve a reward! You told us we did a great job! And! And (Y/N) agrees!” One of the Pistols was heard clearly. You nodded in approval, which Mista didn’t notice. He was too weirded out.

“What’s up with you? Why are you so persistent all of a sudden? I told you not to do this,” his tone suddenly hushed down. Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. He had no idea how to handle the situation, evidently – the Pistols wouldn’t shut up unless they were fed. It was as simple as that.

You shot another question at him, “And why won’t you let them have a snack, Mista?”

“I think I’ve been yelling my reasons up until now,” he murmured.

“Look, your method isn’t working. They won’t calm down. Why don’t you just give in and basically do the right thing?”

Mista made a disgruntled “eh” to that.

“Don’t be on their side. Just don’t. Please,” he pleaded, irritation lowering his tone. He kept that act of an exhausted father even with you – and this confused you. “Why?”

“Because,” Mista said, then paused, waving his hand towards the Pistols who were already parading in joy, “they’re impossible.”

“Impossible? Them? Ha, I wonder why. Maybe because you aren’t a good parental figure,” you teased.

“That isn’t true,” Mista quickly responded, clearly displeased. “If anything, they’re acting like this because they are a reflection of who I am. I’m not perfect, neither are they, but as you can see, I’m trying to make them… better.” He took a deep breath, and you had to think that, woah, he truly was invested. “I know them the best, because they are me and mine, so the task is on me,” he finished.

To that verbal essay, you simply shrugged. “Yeah, sure. So you know they’ll get quiet once they have what they want.”

Reluctantly, Mista nodded. “They need to be taught patience, though,” he added.

You were quick to counter. “Or do they need to be rewarded for doing great?”

You assumed this fried Mista’s brain because he couldn’t devise a proper response. His face, however, depicted the reply quite clearly – a pout appeared, such a childish move coming from the user of a childish stand. Soon, however, he had to react. The Pistols were getting too excited.

He waved his arms in a surrendering gesture, and almost hit some of the Pistols while doing so… purposefully or not. “Fine, you win. What’s your grand idea for the reward?”

That was where your little snack came in. Something you carried around in case a mission would appear out of nowhere. You once had the displeasure of going on a day-long mission without anything proper to eat. This instance, you weren’t hungry enough for the fruit. “I… can give them my apple,” you suggested. You were sure they wouldn’t mind. Their appetite was so blind, they would eat anything.

Mista, on the other hand, once again acted baffling. His eyes widened after he had heard your offer, and he denied it. “Aw, no, (Y/N) you won’t –”

But you interrupted him. “Again? Why?” Now, why was he so insistent on not letting them eat? Out of all people in the team, he was the most relaxed one. Even if he were trying to lecture the Pistols and set an example for them, he didn’t have to go this far. It was out of character, to say the least.

Strangely, it seemed as if he too was confused – he paused, as a furrow brought his brows together. “That’s your apple. Don’t waste it on them,” he reasoned strictly. Strictly?

You sighed, already removing your backpack. Mista obviously had ulterior motives, but you couldn’t care less. The Pistols wouldn’t be silenced until they had their meal – and not only that, but they deserved it. If only Mista realized that…

Maybe he did? Nevertheless, something was going on in his mind. You looked over to him. He was staring at you, despite the mess some of the Pistols were making in front of him. Number Five was already on the verge of tears. Oh, he was definitely hiding something.

You reciprocated his stern tone. “I’m not hungry, but they are hungry. Who should eat the apple? Them. Seems pretty logical to me.”

At long last, Mista gave up. “Aw, man, there really is no arguing with you, huh?” He waved his head in disbelief. “Alright, have it your way. I suppose there’s no harm done.”

And on that cue, the Pistols all flew towards you, squeaking their gratefulness. They were already in front of your face, telling you how amazing you were and how thankful they were. Just a bunch of overjoyed little gremlins. You couldn’t help but giggle.

“Thank you, everyone, thank you,” you barely managed to utter, overwhelmed with their excitement. You had to stop and stare for a moment there – they were actually flailing their hand and feet in the air, performing a dance of sorts. They were that happy! It warmed your heart, it really did.

So, to reward them. As soon as you took it out, they were decimating the apple.

It looked like carnage. You were about to look away when you noticed something odd.

Did… did Number Three just push Number Five? Were you seeing that well? Yeah, you definitely were, since Number Three was now shoving his tiny hand into Number Five’s face.

“Number Three! Don’t be such a meanie, there’s enough for everyone,” you warned.

He looked up to you, his eyes squinted, then he huffed. “Sheesh, fine.”

“Thank you so much, (Y/N),” Number Five mumbled, his voice high-pitched on the brink of breaking, as usual.

“You’re welcome!” You offered a reassuring smile, and the little stand mustered one too. Your heart was melting. You had to squeal.

That attracted Number Three’s attention. “Ass-kisser,” he grumbled. You gasped.

That was when Mista came in. He stepped by your side, pointed at them, and ordered, “Oi, Pistols, behave yourselves! You don’t wanna leave a bad impression on (Y/N), now, do you?”

Naturally, they screamed a “nu-uh”.

You heard their user sigh. “Just as I thought, whew,” he spoke in relief.

You looked over to Mista, and he mustered a smile.

“You were asking the Pistols what’s wrong with them,” you told him, “but in reality, it’s you who has been acting weird.”

He chuckled. “What do you mean?”

The apple in your hand weighted so little that you had to give it a peek. Or at least, you gave a peek to of its last fragments as they were being devoured. They actually ate everything.

Redirecting your attention back to Mista, you told him what was on your mind. “You’re too… uptight. Relax a little, will you?”

“Ah, that. Absolutely, relaxing straight away!”

His showcase of relaxation was stretching himself. What an incredible way to put his muscles on display – but you knew better than to ogle. To avoid the possibility of being flustered, you looked away. The Pistols were a much more pleasant sight. Sitting on your palm, just enjoying the aftermath of their meal.

“Pistols! It’s go time, come here,” you heard their user’s demand, and you watched as they flew back to Mista. They vanished, and thus, the entire hassle was over with. Thanks to you, it was done so in no time. You almost felt victorious.

That would mean that only you and Mista were left – alone. This wasn’t a problem on your way to the mission, but now, after everything you had witnessed, some awkwardness spawned in the air. It was a shame, truly. You finally had some time alone with Mista and you were getting these weird vibes from him, and they unsettled you. Perhaps for a good reason.

The only way to find out more was through communication. You decided to be straightforward, and did not hesitate to inquire, “Alright, so, what’s up with you?”

Mista jumped, as if it were a gunshot he heard instead of your question. “M-me?”

“Yes, you. Have you seen the number four or something?”

“Ew, no. Why are you askin’ – have you seen it?!” He was already getting panicky.

Probably yes, but unlike Mista, you didn’t bother noticing and remembering them. “Nope. But why are you acting so weird? You okay?”

“What exactly are you referring to?”

“You being way too strict with the Pistols.”

He laughed. “Oh. That stupid thing. It’s nothing. Dontcha worry.”

“I am worried. You seemed too aggravated. Almost as if you weren’t yourself.”

He placed a hand on his chest, his expression that of astonishment. “Now that is what you call a surprise.”

You shook your head in misunderstanding. “What are you talking about?”

He then placed a hand on your shoulder and offered you his tearful answer. “You worrying about me! I didn’t know you would do that!”

You were partially offended by this act because, by all accords, you cared about him, more than he could ever imagine. Mista probably caught the meaning of your grim face, so he let go of your shoulder and talked on.

“Kidding, I know you care. Anyway, yeah, they messed up big time. We had a chat, me and the Pistols, and would you believe it, they act like brats so they could get you to take their side.”

Despite the annoyed façade you put on, you had to laugh. Those sly little gremlins, brightening your mood even when they weren’t present.

“Are they like this with everyone or?” You had to ask – because as far as you had seen, nobody was as privileged as you were.

“Nah, just you. You’re the only one who’s willing to help ‘em anyway.” He put a hand on his chin, completely discarding your sudden smile. “Come to think of it, (Y/N), you’re too… hm…”

“I’m what?” You tilted your head, and he snapped his fingers.

“Nice! I think that’s the right word. You’re just too nice.”

Well, isn’t that a lovely thing to hear. “Aww, why, thank you.”

“Yeah, now listen up, you should really take care! There are bad people out there who can take advantage of that!” He raised a finger in the air to further emphasize his point.

“Err, Mista, hate to break it to you, but I’m literally a member of the mafia. I doubt that can happen.”

“And yet you’re so sweet! Sometimes, at least,” he whispered the last bit, and before you could say anything to that, he continued. “I’m telling you this for a reason. I mean, did you know that the Pistols were abusing your kindness?”

“Not that I was aware, and not that it mattered,” you replied with staggering indifference. Mista, on the other hand, was overly jumpy. This was so odd.

He went from one extreme to another in a handful of moments. The shift was so unusually stark that it left you perplexed. Lost in thought, you didn’t pay much attention to Mista’s future ramblings.

“You get it? You – you didn’t recognize their scheme! They’re acting all whiny because they know you’ll react. As I said, you’re too good… for your own good.”

Did you hear that well? You looked at him with a raised brow. He winked.

That sort of “joke” or whatever it was, deserved only a snort. That’s what you gave him, and he wasn’t pleased in the least.

“Did you just – oh come on (Y/N), why not actually laugh? Laugher is so healthy! It prolongs life expectancy. Or am I really that unfunny?”

“You’re the funniest, Mista, don’t you worry about that,” you told him, and as a reassuring act, pat his head (or at least, his hat). His eyes widened and he smiled after the initial shock. You suddenly became aware of what you did, and you averted your gaze elsewhere to continue your explanation. “I… suppose I am simply confused as to why you are so…”

“Worried?”

“Yeah, I guess, among other things.”

He provided you with an elaboration spoken through the smile you had caused him. “Worried, yeah, I am worried because you’re too nice to some people. You see, (Y/N), just like you, I’m simply confused as fuck. Some people get that nice treatment, and sometimes they’re undeserving of that. I mean, just look at you. You’re so weak for the Pistols. Like… why do you like ‘em so much, anyway?”

You looked over to him with squinted eyes. What was this question about?

He leaned in close. “Are they cute? Or just adorably… bratty? Is that what you like?”

It clicked. It finally clicked.

“Mista… oh, Mista…” You began laughing. This was unbelievable.

You were being such a prick towards him sometimes. It was no wonder why he went crazy once he saw you were actually capable of being so caring and sweet for none other than his stand. His stand! The irony! He must’ve been so jealous, even desperate, to see you side with them and not him.

And if he truly suffered from jealousy, well, only one thing could cause it. The revelation, no, the mere possibility was so wonderful –

“You okay?”

Not at all, but he didn’t have to know that. Shit, you had to do something – but what? Maybe this was the opportunity for you to come clean after all this time, and for him to, finally, admit if he was being serious or not. You took a deep breath and decided to delve deeper.

You took him by the arm, which scared Mista, who yelped. You looked in his dark, so comfortingly black eyes, and the lashes that softened their still gaze – and he looked back into yours with unyielding focus.

“You know the saying: it’s not you, it’s me. Well, in this case, it is you,” you chiefly began, and it was enough to bewilder Mista. “You are jealous of them,” you accused, and it did not go as you expected.

Then and there, he broke into a laughing fit. So much so, that you had to let go of him. You thought that, indeed, this was too blatantly exaggerated – but it was no bad thing! It could still, somehow, turn into something good!

He finally calmed down, and naturally, denied the envy. “Pfft. Me? Jealous of them? That’s ridiculous, (Y/N), very funny, ten out of ten, top-notch humor.”

“Aww, top-notch acting, Mista,” you reciprocated the compliment boldly. Despite that sarcasm, he was a grinning mess, and he immediately moved past it.

“Say, hypothetically, what would you do if I were jealous? Just what would you do?” His question was characterized by some shy excitement, as he darted his focus away from your face, then back at it, in rapid repetitions. And you were buying it. You were totally buying it.

But not to accelerate this suddenly delicate conversation, you continued that teasing tone – although your heart was pounding, mind buzzing. You knew things were set in motion and you had to be very careful about what you said next.

And what was on your mind? Mista, who was standing right in front of you, with that heartfelt and yet undoubtedly cheesy smile; his eyes that bore into yours, expectant, so shamelessly looking for a reply. All of that, such a rightfully overwhelming visage, it was too much – and you bent your head slightly, averted your gaze slightly, and with the same rocky smoothness offered him a truthful answer, “Laugh at you, because… it’s adorable.”

His eyes widened, lips parted – now, perhaps he too was having a whirlwind inside his mind. “You think so?”

“Y-yeah, I mean, I…”

And there you have it, the embarrassment you knew would be your doom. You were so unsure what to speak, what to do, even. Should you just say it? Get it over with –

But Mista just ruffled your hair. “Save it for a better time. Say, are you hungry?”

You swallowed hard. “Are you...?”

“Yes, I am,” he confirmed.

That didn’t make any sense, because, as you recalled… “But… isn’t this the fourth time –“

Mista jumped backwards, utterly and wholly terrified. “What the fuck?! Okay, we’re skipping this one too, sorry, (Y/N), but I can’t do this! There’s no way I’m putting either of us in danger because of a date!” He waved his hands around in what you perceived as comical outrage.

In it, you found some amusement. It relieved you, and relief was what you needed. The aftermath of this conundrum left you with an obnoxious heartbeat, and at long last, it was quieting down. Therein laid some peace, and with it, you garnered a brilliant idea. “And what if I invited you to that date? As… attempt number five.”

And he was shocked. Did it align with his logic? Or was the risk of the deadly number too high?

After what seemed like an eternity of processing, Mista’s expression shifted to that of an overjoyed one. He chuckled, commented, “Honestly? I’m sure Buccellati wouldn’t mind it if we were a little late,” and pulled you by your waist, ready to drag you to that goddamned date.

#definitely not my proudest gamer moment #mista x reader #guido mista #mista #mista headcanon #vento aureo x reader #jojo x reader #jjba x reader

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jacobthespaceguy · 3 years

Text

New life, new computer & new perspective.

I wrote this half a year ago and forgot to post this. Enjoy.

Dear Cosmonauts,

Greetings! It’s me, your boy! Did you miss me? No? Yeah, not too surprised. To be honest, I would be genuinely surprised if anyone actually read these. It’ll never stop me though. I love using this as some kind of escape. I think I’m trying to say that I’m officially back to blogging! Well actually, I never was in a state of, “blogging.” I just simply make a blog post every once in a while. So instead of being back, I guess I will simply start blogging more often. At the very least, try to. In an ideal world, I would create entries at least once a month, that’s not too much to ask for... just a few paragraphs every month. Sounds easy enough... On that note, it probably isn’t. But maybe it is. It depends on your personality.

Laziness. Saying laziness defines me is an understatement. I don’t want to be lazy nor do I wish I was. I’m honestly not too sure why I'm so lazy. I think this pandemic just made it really bad. Working from home 3/5 days of the week changes you. Early on, I figured I would be able to use this extra time to work on more music and I even started being a mixing/mastering engineer for a friend of mines. However, I ended up using this extra time to stay in bed and be useless. Some would say I'm being hard on myself but I'm not. I stay in bed and I waste my time, my friend's time, and overall, I'm just a useless human being. I feel like a failure sometimes. However, I do hold on to the hope that I can change. I want to change. Some days, I tell myself, "I'll be productive this time," but then stay in bed half the day. By the time I'm up and eaten breakfast and done my whole morning routine... it'll be 2 o'clock and the day is practically over. It's not really over, but it'll feel like it. It sucks. Now the pandemic is ending and I'll probably have to go back to work full time soon. I have no idea how I'm going to cope with that. I'm already depresso mode from things changing so much around me that I feel like a hermit and want to hide under my desk for the rest of my life. I hate change. I hate it, hate it, HATE IT. I know change is good and if my music career takes off, then they'll be a lot of change. Although, I would rather endure that kind of pressure than have to go back to work. Every day to get to my work is a 40-minute drive there, and an hour drive back since traffic is so bad. I know other people have it worse, but with how tired I am after a shift, I have days where I lay on my bedroom floor doing nothing and or nap until I finally get up to shower, eat dinner and finally get to the home activities I wanted to. However, at this point, it'll be 7 PM and I'm too tired to do anything other than watch YouTube videos until 1 AM, and then it's finally time to go to bed. It's a struggle and I can't seem to escape it.

I don't even know what I'm writing anymore and lost track of where I was going with this. I guess it's to complain about hating work and or my laziness? I originally started writing this post with the intention to talk about my new computer and how writing a blog post with it is a vibe. I bought a mid-2017 MacBook Pro back in August of 2019. It was the most absolute base model and only had 128 gb of storage and 8 gb of ram. WHY DID I DO THIS TO MYSELF! I loved the flexibility of having a decent laptop for when I travel, but this was a bad purchase that left me financially ruined. I want to say that it was a terrible machine and I hated it. However, it ran decently most of the time and I must confess that Apple just knows what they're doing when designing computers. I can't argue though, since I started this blog, I became an Apple fanboy and I'm seriously buried in the Apple ecosystem. My phone, laptop, tablet at one point but sold, my credit card, my watch, earphones, and tracking devices are all connected to Apple and they basically run my life. However, my main machine will likely always be a Windows desktop.

Back to the MacBook Pro, my 2017 laptop having 128 gb made the machine unusable for me. Apple offering a 128 gb machine was a cardinal sin and I do the happy dance every morning knowing they no longer exist. After downloading Reason and Logic Pro, I had about 8 gb for any else I wanted to use. I couldn't even have all of Logic's sounds installed. Ugh. I never used the machine because I resented it so much. However, I recently started using it to record my vocals because the fans (despite going up 1000 db when I record in Reason) were quieter than having my desktop fans on when recording so I opted to use my MacBook Pro to record instead. In addition, it was really nice to have when I was on the go and needed a computer. Despite being a baseline laptop, it ran the project file for my song, "Nothing Was The Same," decently enough for me to get some mixing done at my Dad's house late last year. It still chugged pretty bad when I was traversing through Reason's sequencer. My final straw was when I wanted to try a vocal plug-in that refused to work on my PC so I pulled out my MacBook Pro and installed it on there and it worked perfectly. I was like, "Man, I wish this MacBook Pro just had a little more storage so I can actually use it efficiently." That's when the idea came to me, "Holy crap, let's just buy a new MacBook."

I would constantly go to Apple's website and look at their newest 16" MacBook Pro. It's when Apple finally let go of the butterfly switches on their keyboard and went back to a scissor-switch design and improved the heck out of the performance. It was a beautiful machine and I wanted it ever since they announced it. So I went back on Apple's website last week after testing that vocal plug-in and was reminded of the horrendous price. $3,000 for a decently specced computer was just too much. Someone on Reddit was telling me how great Apple's refurbished computers are and that they're basically brand new aside from the regular box it comes in. So I decided I wanted to get a refurbished MacBook Pro. However, the next morning, I decided to do a little more research and I thank God I did because after a little research, I saw how much better the new 13" M1 chip MacBook Pro was over the current 16" Intel MacBook Pro and that it was the best laptop to buy. Even better, it's cheaper. So after more research, I decided to buy a refurbished max specced out M1 MacBook Pro. I finally have 2 tb of storage. 2 TB!!! I have more storage on this laptop than on my Windows desktop. I also went with silver over space grey like my other MacBook simply because it looks so much cooler. I don't care for space grey anymore. Something about the classic silver is where it's at. Also, this keyboard is amazing! I'm using it right now to type this. The Touch Bar is pretty cool too. I thought it would be a weird adjustment but it was actually pretty seamless. My only complaint is that it's easier to tap it and do something while typing on the keyboard. Happened to me twice while typing this. Although, all I did was open the emoji window so it wasn't even an issue. However, I think I type a bit in an unconventional way than most of you reading this do so just ignore me. I would also like to brag about how quiet this computer is. I haven't heard the fan once and it's dead quiet. In fact, the M1 MacBook Air doesn't even have a fan, that's how good this new Apple silicon is. Lastly, I haven't had the computer heat up at all yet. I'm typing this using safari with a few tabs open, Logic Pro in the background and there's no part of the computer that's hot right now. My lap would've melted if I was using my 2017 MacBook and it's in great shape! I want to say this computer is a beast but, to be honest, I haven't had a chance to stress test it yet. I've had the computer for less than a week. I will definitely keep you all updated.

Wow, I can't believe I typed all of this simply because I imagined Adam Young in his basement late at night with his MacBook Pro writing his magnificent blog posts that inspired me to start this blog in the first place. For whatever reason, it's a real vibe for me and as I was fumbling through Logic Pro, I had the idea to write a blog and all of this entry just poured out from my brain to this text box. I sincerely apologize to anyone reading this far and to my future self who probably just spent 20 minutes proofreading and fixing errors I made. I'd imagine all the run-on sentences are probably infuriating. I think I spent 40 minutes to an hour just writing this.

In conclusion, I'm writing blog posts again and plan to release new entries at least somewhat often. I have quite a few ideas of things I want to talk about, so you guys will get to pick my brain soon enough. In addition, I may go public about this blog. It is public but I announced it a long time ago and I wasn't very big. But with my podcast and additional following over the years, I may finally get some readers. I'd be surprised if more than 3 people have seen my blog which I'm not upset about. I'm treating this as my personal time capsule and it's fun to go back and read. In addition, I'm going to die someday. I don't know when and how, but it provides a little bit of comfort knowing a potential love one may find this one day after my unfortunate death and get hours of personal content that they can read over any time. I don't mean to get morbid and I don't mean to say my blog is the second coming of Christ. I don't know what I'm saying other than I hope you enjoy it. Anywho, I plan to make blog posts more coherent and not so all over the place. I went from being lazy/hating work, MacBook Pros, and then to my death, all in the same post. I just got so excited once I started typing and couldn't stop. More posts to come. Thank you and goodnight.

-Sincerely,

Jacob McDonnell

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chalantness · 6 years

Text

Let It Snow - day four

(for my “season of shipping” giveaway)

Rating: NC-17 Word Count: ~1,900 Characters: Steve/Natasha Prompt: “one is a bell ringer for a charitable organization and the other slips their phone number in the donation bucket along with some money at Christmas” au (I hope this prompt is okay! Feel free to add smut if the occasion calls for it *winks*)”

For:@xo-stardust720

A/N: If this trope seems vaguely familiar, it’s because it is, and that’s because I wanted to give a smuttier crack at it. Because duh. Also, I ended up filling your prompt backwards, if that makes sense. Hope you don’t mind!

Read on: [ ao3 ]

She’ll blame the eggnog.

Well, the eggnog, and the amount of rum Tony deemed appropriate to spike it with. She’s willing to bet that he mixed that shit with more than just rum, too, because not even the four back-to-back rounds of shots had hit her this quickly. She’s drunk. Coherent (or, as coherent as you can expect, and even then, just barely) but definitely drunk.

Otherwise, she’d be disciplined enough to keep her hands to herself, and she’d definitely be more disciplined enough to not need Tony’s long lost friend or whoever he is to stumble her down one of the many winding hallways of the Stark house. His steps are a little clumsy, and he fumbles to catch her by her hips a couple of times as he leads her up the staircase. He maneuvers them into a guest bedroom in the right wing of the house – her favorite guest bedroom, actually, because it has the best view and the softest sheets and Maria had the door painted red because it’s her signature color – and she giggles, tugging him to the bed. He murmurs a curse as they tumble forward, bracing himself above her on his forearms.

His shoulders are broad, and she smooths her hands up his back, over the material of his dress shirt to press her palms over his shoulder blades, pressing him closer.

Fuck, he smells good. How does a man smell so fucking good?

“That’s the eggnog talking,” he answers, sounding amused. Had she said that out loud? Well, shit.

She’d been thinking some pretty explicit things on their stumble here. She wonders if she’d blurted any of that out, too.

“I don’t usually get like this.” Her voice comes out deceptively steady considering how fuzzy her mind is. Except, she knows she’s not that far gone. Not at all. Not if she can stare up into his eyes and count how many shades of blue are in the flecks, count every one of his ridiculously long eyelashes. Which she kind of wants to do right now.

“I know,” he says, lips quirking into a dangerously sexy kind of smile. “You kept insisting it when you wanted us to leave the party. And funny enough, I think I believe you.”

She furrows her eyebrows. “Funny enough?”

He laughs, and the sound of it makes her stomach flip, makes her skin flush. Oh. She’ll definitely be blaming the eggnog for how her body is reacting to the sound of his voice. “Well, you did manage to get my glass of eggnog all over the front of your dress. So you’re either drunk or clumsy.” He grins. “Since you seem graceful, I’m going to go with the first one.”

She slips her hands around his torso, runs her hands up his chest to grasp as his collars. “How do you know I’m graceful?”

“Tony mentioned you’re a dancer,” Steve answers indulgently, his eyes sparkling in amusement. But, after a moment, there’s a shift in his gaze, and suddenly she can feel the very weight of it against her skin. “And I’ve been drawn to the way you’ve moved all night.”

She feels her lips part ever so slightly, a warmth unfurling low in her stomach. He’d been drawn, not to her body, nor to the tasteful bits of skin that her dress teases, but to the way that she moved? She knows hadn’t danced at all at night. She hadn’t moved much at all, really, except for flitting from person to person, slowly making conversation with everyone in the room. And yet, he’d been drawn to her. He’d remembered some small, passing fact Tony had given out during their introduction, and he remembered it as he watched her move.

“Kiss me,” she rasps, the words coming out in a burst of breath, like she can’t get them out fast enough.

His eyes darken, his desire clear through the haze in his eyes. But there’s a little bit of concern sobering his expression at the edges. “Are you still okay with this?” he asks.

She nods, but he still hesitates, so she tips her head up, pressing a soft, slow, sweet kiss to his lips. She makes this pathetic little sound at the feel of them at the same moment he lets out a low, rumbling groan, pressing her a little harder against the mattress. “If you ask me this tomorrow, I’ll still be okay with it,” she promises.

Because she is. She may be drunk, and he’s definitely not sober, either. But she knows that she wants this. She wanted this sober, when Tony was fumbling out half-assed introductions.

She knows he believes her, too, because his expression relaxes entirely, his eyes swirling and storming with hunger. He smirks – he smirks – and practically growls out, “good,” and covers her mouth with his, kissing her harder, deeper, rougher, his hands coming into her hair. And she swears that kissing has never felt as wild as it does right now.

He kisses her until her lungs start to burn, her fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, until she get frustrated and starts ripping him out of it. He doesn’t even blink, his hands sliding down her body and grabbing the hem of her dress and pushing it up her body in one fluid motion. He dips his head down, kissing the curve of her hip, the flat of her stomach, the dip of her breasts, until he’s gotten her dress over her head and off entirely, tossing it aside. She’d gone braless because of the cut of her dress, and she’d worn a scrap of lace that’s considered panties because it matched the stockings she wanted to wear with her dress, and his eyes slide down her body, as if taking in every inch of her bared, flushed skin.

His gaze fixes between her legs, she knows that she must look as wet as she feels. Because she feels like she’s dripping.

He pauses for a moment, his eyebrows furrowing almost adorably, but just as she’s about to ask what’s wrong, he mutters a broken, “I need to—” and then just dips his head down and closes his mouth around her through the damp lace.

She moans, grasping onto the comforter and twisting it between her fingers as his tongue laps her wet folds. It’s slow at first, almost leisurely, with the kind of pace of a man who wants to savor every second. His forehead is still wrinkled adorably in concentration, and he wraps a hand around one of her ankles, still strapped in her stilettos, and slides it higher, bending her at her knee as his tongue slides inside. She lets out a whimper, her hips rolling up, but he lifts his free arm and lays it over her hips, pinning her to the mattress as he sucks her clit.

Oh, oh, oh.

She’s not sure if it’s the alcohol, or the pure pleasure, or maybe both, but she can’t tell if it takes minutes or seconds to get her to the edge. All she knows is that all of sudden she’s right there when his tongue eases off of her, and she’s barely able to let out a protest when he pulls his arm off of her and slides two fingers into her, curling and curling.

“S-Steve,” she breathes out, and he glances up at her, his expression positively wicked as he pauses entirely. And then he pulls away.

Her eyelashes flutter closed, grasping onto the comforter so tightly she swears she feels the stitching stretch under her grip. She hears him fumble with his belt and his pants, hears him yank the bedside drawer open, fumbling for a condom. Somewhere in the back of her head, she’ll remember to ask him how he knew those would be there.

(Though, if he’s known Tony for so long, she shouldn’t be surprised.)

The bed dips as he climbs over her again, except this time she can feel how hard he is against the inside of her thigh. She blinks her eyes open to find him gazing down at her, his expression rather tender considering how incredibly wild he’d been only moments ago.

“What?” she asks, voice breathy and raspy. Fuck, she already sounds wrecked, and they’ve barely just started.

He grins. “Just glad we met tonight, is all,” he says, guiding himself between her legs. She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth as he teases himself against her, sliding through her folds once, twice, three times, and then he lines up at her entrance.

She thinks it’s rather a miracle that she can pay attention to anything right now. Even more of a miracle that she answers with a steady, entirely sincere, “Me, too.”

He smiles, dimpled and boyish, and then pushes into her with a slow roll of his hips, filling her up, and she digs her nails into the muscles of his back as her spine arches and her lips part in a moan.

... ...

She wakes up the next morning in that bed, alone and tangled in the sheets, and honestly, her hangover isn’t nearly as bad as she thought it would be. Especially when she glances at the nightstand to find a bottled water already waiting for her, along with Ibuprofen and a note scrawled in Steve’s handwriting, giving her his phone number and apologizing for leaving so quickly to get to work. She wonders if it is intuition or maybe the fact that he coaxed four orgasms out of her last night, but she believes him, and she finds the gesture rather cute.

Besides, it’s not like she won’t be seeing him again. Tony had said last night that Steve moved back to the city for good.

It takes a few minutes for her to warm up to the idea of actually leaving her bed, but she needs coffee, and she doesn’t really feel like messing with the ridiculously complicated coffee maker that the Starks have in their kitchen. So she takes the Ibuprofen, changes into the leggings and sweater she’d stashed in this room for after the party, and heads outside.

There’s a coffeehouse only a few blocks away, and she feels a wide, ridiculous smile pulling at her lips as she approaches. Because there’s someone set up in front halfway down the street from the coffeehouse with a holiday charity bucket and a bell, smiling as he makes conversation with an elderly couple offering him coffee and a pastry.

Steve.

Somehow she isn’t surprised.

She ducks into the coffeehouse, orders her usual at the register and asks to borrow a pen. She scrawls her number on a napkin, tucking half of her change into it and dropping the rest into the tip jar. She cradles it in her hand as she holds her latte in the other, stepping outside and walking toward for Steve.

He glances her way as she approaches, pausing as he sees her. And that bright, boyish smile brightens his expression, warming her from the inside far more quickly than her drink.

She hands him the napkin, letting it fall open a little in his hands, so that he can see her number written on one of the corners. His eyes are twinkling as he meets her gaze, dropping the change into the bucket, then carefully folding the napkin and tucking into his jacket pocket. “Think this breaks my promise of not taking from the donations?” he teases.

“I’m sure you can convince them to overlook it.” Grinning, she adds, “You’ve got a rather skilled tongue, after all,” and he licks his lips and laughs.

#romanogers #steve rogers #natasha romanoff #chanty writes #chanty's smut #chanty's holiday 2017 #xo stardust720

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ahmumbles · 5 years

Text

Dear Ferran,

I'm writing a letter to you because it is the best way I know how to express myself wholly and truly. I know if I try talking to you about all this in person I will forget some things, misuse words, and rather than feeling relived after, I would feel an intense burden that nothing I wanted to get across actually got across. After I say everything I want to in this email, I will not mention it again. Or try my best. I will not hold a grudge about the contents in this email, but rather I will accept everything I will say and I will move on, wherever that takes us.

I don't know why I had that dream, but I can say it was within reason. I haven't stayed up all-night in... forever. So it was so strange to me that I could not fall asleep, not due to drugs, not due to resting earlier, but merely because my mind would not shut down no matter how hard I tried. And I really tried to not think too much into it, but as the hours went by and light started to open the sky, I realized that I had indeed stayed awake for 5-6 hours with that question still on my mind. It's weird because I never thought about that question, at all, until last night. I never once blamed you or got angry with you, what reason did I have, right? But once I started to think about it, it grew a soul and mind of its own and began to foster and prosper in my mind. Why did you leave me? Why did you leave me? Why did you leave me? Then, why did you get angry with me when I had zero recollection of the things that I did? I don't blame you for what I did. But I also know that I am not making an excuse for myself, because I had blacked out at a point I can't recall. Before you had even gotten home. And I think, I should be angry at the guy who gave me the spiked drink when I arrived at the party when clearly I wasn't in the right state of mind. But then, you would have seen that state too. Should I be angry with you for letting me go? Maybe, I was functioning. I don't know how I am when I'm barred out, usually people are functioning on the outside but clearly empty on the inside. You say, I thought you would take some coke and sober up. You say, I thought you wouldn't want me there because I would be on the side bored or angry looking. You say, I thought you were an adult and you're stubborn and wouldn't have let me keep you inside. I say, why didn't you wait to see if I would sober up before leaving? Why would you depend on another drug to sober me up? I say, and this point especially, how could you even fathom that I wouldn't have wanted you there? How can you think that? You are the person I am most comfortable with at this moment of my life. More than my family. You are not only my boyfriend, but my best friend, and I have said before, my home. My comfort space. My vulnerability zone. The only reason I wouldn't want you to come with me is not because I would not enjoy it, but if you truly didn't want to be there. I don't want to pressure you to be somewhere you don't want to, I never did and never will. So, if that's the case, if you did not want to be there for whatever reasons (tired, didn't want to deal with it, etc.) then you need to say that. But don't you even consider the idea that I would be annoyed by your presence. You could be sleeping or on your phone playing games or just sitting angrily in a corner of anywhere I am, but if you were there because you wanted to and just didn't enjoy the environment, then I would be ecstatic. I would still dance. I would still have fun. As long as you are there willingly, and I can do my thing, I would be so happy and comfortable because I know that you are there. That to me already means a lot. I say, I know you want to let me be free and do whatever I want. I know you don't want to restrict me, but in this case, it was not restricting me. It was taking care of me. If might suck for you, but if I am in an incapable position to make decisions for myself, I would want to be around someone who has my best interest in mind and take on that responsibility as I would theirs. I would want to feel safe with this person and like I can count on them. I initially felt like you chose your emotions, whether the 1st trip or the 2nd trip you came up, you made an active decision to choose your anger, annoyance, jealousy, and spitefulness over your care and love for me. This was an opportunity, the only opportunity, that I would have asked for you to help me and stay with me had I been able to coherently make words. I truly believe it is not 'babying' me if you took control of the situation. It's not even close. If you are too scared to make decisions, to make me upset in the moment, to deal with something that may not have been fun and nice, then I can never trust you. If you think dealing with my stubbornness, and probably rejection, maybe even a hissy fit as I complain "I'm fine! I wanna go!", is not worth it, then that changes everything. As I told you what Stephanie told me yesterday, as I had been crying on the stairs beforehand, and as I cried unashamedly in front of you about her words, I won't lie and not say that a part of me was disappointed because those words had not come from you. As I was paranoid and anxious all day with worry and wrote you that text, you reply "I'm sorry I overreacted I'm sorry I was not wiser" but those did not seem from the heart. As I told you what Stephanie said, you reply back bringing the topic to you, how you were sorry you didn't handle it better, how you should've done this, how you didn't know that. It was like a defense mechanism. For once, this morning, as I lied awake all night wondering when or even if I should ask you that question, I had truly truly hoped... in every situation that I imagined it could go, I truly truly deeply hoped that you would not get defensive. That for once, in a fight, especially this one, you would not snap back at me but instead you would simply say... "I'm sorry that I left you. I won't do it again." That is all I wanted to hear.If I'm being fair, I would still listen to all those points and reasons you have for your actions, and I would consider it, but had you after saying all that ended with, "...but I'm sorry if you felt that way." I would have been ecstatic. Yet, once again, I was left alone as you spat your words at me, what you thought, what you thought I wanted, bringing those ideas back to me, and turned around and left. You're right in your message. Something changed that night. But it wasn't only for you. I will not mention any of this again. But I wasn't lying when I said I will never forget this moment. I will never forget the emotions and actions. Don't worry. I promise I won't put myself in that position ever again. And I promise I will not expect you to save me, and please understand that I am saying this with zero sarcasm. I will take care of myself. By myself. Thanks for reading this. And I do, sincerely, apologize had I put all this on you unfairly.

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