#so you know how i mentioned before that he needs glasses

[solarsturniolo]

𝕮𝖗𝖊𝖊𝖕 // 𝕸.𝕾. // 𝕺𝖓𝖊

𝕾𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: in which Matt is failing his classes and at risk of having to repeat the semester, and his tutor is the reason behind it.

𝕯𝖎𝖘��𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗: This is a collaborative story that me and @bambi-slxt started on, but I am in charge of it now :) All characters in this story are of age. None of the characters are minors.

𝖂𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: cursing / smut / switch!matt / switch!fem reader / male masturbation / wet dreams / use of good boy / virgin!matt / p in v / oral (fem receiving) / oral (male receiving) / overstimulation / breeding kink / praise kink / mommy kink / scenes mentioning anxiety

𝖂𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝕮𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 5,906

“W-Wait, what?” Matt’s eyes widened, his eyebrows raising. “What do you mean I might not be able to graduate?”

The school counselor sighed, lifting her glasses from the bridge of her nose and placing them onto her desk. She leaned back in her plush swivel chair, looking at the nervous boy sitting across from her. Her office was comforting, a place that Matt had found solace in quite often on his bad days. She never used the overhead light, always opting for the warm glow of her floor lamps and the flicker of light from the flame in a scented candle. Her bookshelves were littered with not only books, but numerous knick-knacks and do-hickeys. Most people would have seen it as clutter, but Matt found comfort in the items she had, which more or less reminded him of his grandmother’s house.

She turned her monitor for him to see, and she visibly saw the blood drain from his face. Her screen glowed with a much harsher light, the gradebook showing Matt’s transcript laid out in front of him. “You’re proficient in your American History class, but the rest of your classes for the semester are in the gutter. Socioeconomics, U.S. Government, European Literature, and Chemistry are all greatly negatively impacting your overall grade point average.” Matt’s head fell, his hands coming up to rub his face. How could I have let it get this bad? How could I be so negligent? How was it even possible? She clasped her hands together and leaned forward, resting her arms on her desk. She had grown to like Matt, he was polite and always greeted her with a smile, he was very open with his thoughts and feelings, and he really did work hard. She empathized with him, because she knew how it felt to be in this spot. “This is a reversible situation - we can fix this. You have options, Matt.”

Matt looked up from his lap, his hands falling onto his thighs. “W-We can?”

“Yes,” she replied with a smile. She swirled her chair around, unlocking one of the drawers in her filing cabinet and opening it to reveal a number of filing folders. She fingered through them before pulling out a sheet, turning her chair back towards her desk and placing it down in front of Matt. “We have a tutoring program available, and I think you would benefit greatly from it.”

“Tutoring?” Matt frowned, staring down at the paper. He never thought in his life that he would need tutoring. How embarrassing. I’m doing so bad in my classes that I need another student to teach me. What if I know them? What if they tell everybody? Matt looked back up at the counselor, hesitation clear on his face. “Are there any other options?”

She sighed, putting her glasses back on and turning the monitor to face her once again. Matt watched intently as she clicked her mouse a few times. Matt instinctively brought his hand to his face, subconsciously beginning to chew on his nails. I can’t choose tutoring. Chris and Nick will never let me hear the end of it. This is so embarrassing. Can’t I just retake a test or something? Why did I let it get this bad?

“Unfortunately, the only other option I have here is for you to retake these classes again…which would also mean repeating senior year.”

Matt hadn’t realized he had chewed his nail off. He dropped his hand back to his lap, discreetly spitting it out when she wasn’t looking at him. “I’ll take the tutoring,” Matt sighed. The thought of not graduating with Nick and Chris made him feel queasy. His stomach turned over just thinking about his brothers walking across that stage while he sat in the audience and watched. His brothers holding their diplomas up with cheesy smiles on their faces for their pictures that would surely be framed and hung on the walls of their parents’ house for the remainder of their lives; all while Matt would have to wait another year to meet the same fate. Another year of high school, this time without his brothers. Without Chris to make him laugh, to make the day move by just a little quicker. Without Nick, who always looked out for Matt, always offering to ask the teacher any questions that Matt had to take the heat off of him, to avoid any anxiety inducing feelings that Matt might have had. I can’t do it. I wouldn’t last a day without them. Any chance to avoid that outcome is one he would take, no questions asked.

x o x o x o

I should have asked some fucking questions. Matt’s heart pounded as he pretended to look at something on his phone, switching between his social media apps anxiously; not that any of them were bustling with activity, he just needed something to make himself look busy. She was here. I wasn’t prepared to see her. Holy fuck.

For the past four years, Monday through Friday, once the bell rang after the final class of the day, Matt had booked it for the locker room. Shuffling through a crowd of boys, shoving Chris (and getting shoved right back), listening to a variety of music through his headphones (mostly Kid Ink, Lil Skies, Mac Miller, and Post Malone), and throwing on his gear for lacrosse. Today, however, he sat awkwardly in the school library, leg bouncing, chewing at the skin around his pinky fingernail. His headphones tucked away in his pocket. No music to drown out his thoughts. Why didn’t I ask more questions? I can’t do this; I can’t be here with her. This can’t be happening. She…looks so pretty.

Across from him, a few tables over, she sat on the table itself, cross-legged and completely at ease. A light blue sweater hung off her shoulders, a pair of khaki cargos crinkled over her legs, worn-out white air forces, and a pair of hoop earrings rounded out the simple, gut-wrenching outfit.

Matt hated feeling this way. She drove him insane, and she had no idea who he was. That was a lie - they had a few classes together. Incidentally, those same classes glowed red in the gradebook. It didn’t take him very long to figure out why.

For the past four years, Matt had walked into school every morning hoping in equal measure that she had shown up and that she had suddenly become homeschooled. Every single class, he would stare at the door just hoping he’d catch a glimpse of her, whether she was walking into the classroom or just passing by in the hallway. He knew where to look for her in the hallways between classes, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel his heart rate pick up when he’d see her in the flood of other students chaotically herding through the halls.

Now she was his tutor. She was the reason he was failing, and she was his tutor. His counselor had no way of knowing, but she had just doomed Matt to repeat senior year. He was not about to sit down with that girl and make a complete idiot out of himself.

Lifting his backpack and hooking the strap over his shoulder, he got up and turned for the door. At that moment she looked up from her book, her eyes locking with his, and he froze.

Her hair fell softly along the edges of her face, and she looked at him with mild curiosity. Matt’s breath hitched in his throat. Years of her never even noticing me, and now she’s looking at me and…smiling. Oh god.

Don’t you dare fuck this up, he heard Chris whisper in the back of his mind. “Fuck off,” he muttered and began to walk towards her.

“Is this where I’m supposed to be for uh…” He didn’t want to say it. Normally people would jump in and finish sentences anyway to avoid uncomfortable silences. She did not. She just continued to look at him with minimal interest, her smile growing a little in amusement. Oh god. This isn’t happening. Somebody please pinch me. Or shoot me.

Matt felt the heat rising to his face, his breath catching in his throat as she stared at him. “Tutoring. I’m here for tutoring.”

She slipped a bookmark between the pages of the book she was reading and pulled a knee up to her chest. Matt caught a glimpse of the cover of the novel, furrowing his eyebrows a bit. A hockey player? I played hockey. Should I say that? Does she like hockey players? Lacrosse is like hockey… in some ways. Should I-

“You’re Matt, right? One of the triplets?”

Matt blinked. “Yeah.”

She smiled again, placing her book down onto the table. Icebreaker? Matt made a mental note to look that up later. “I think we share a few classes, right?”

“We have Socioeconomics, European Literature, and Chemistry together, and when Chorus comes into the auditorium to practice, I run the soundboard for you. You took Workshop with me and Chris, and I could never focus on a single project me and him had together. We had Math and Introduction to Culinary together last year, all of our electives the year before that, and in ninth grade you were in my home room and study hall. You’ve always been in my lunch block, and you like to eat out in the courtyard under the willow tree far away from the picnic benches. You’re in the photography and Yearbook club because you love to take pictures, and you also run the school’s yearbook account on Instagram. You never get breakfast because it hurts your stomach to eat in the mornings but if you forgot to have dinner the night before, you’ll go through the line in the cafeteria and get an old-fashioned donut and a cup of mixed fruit. You prefer peppermint gum over spearmint, you always wear shimmer lip gloss instead of clear, you chew on your lip when you’re thinking really hard, you write sloppily when taking notes, but your papers are written in cursive. You’re terrifyingly beautiful, and I’ve wanted to talk to you for four years.”

That’s what Matt thought about saying. Instead of opting for that particular route of social suicide, however, he simply went with, “Yeah, I think we have one or two together, right?” and sat his bag down.

Don’t fuck this up. You cannot fuck this up.

x o x o x o

“Ms. Coleman said you were behind in some classes,” she said, pulling out her laptop from her bag. “Which ones?”

‘All of them’, He thought to himself. Matt sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. “What am I not behind in?” he mumbled.

She looked up at him through her lashes. Matt felt his stomach twist up in knots. He had imagined her looking at him like this more times than he could count. Usually late at night when he was in bed, his hand wrapped around his cock, his eyes screwed shut as he bit back soft whines and whimpers as his arousal leaked into his fist. He couldn’t help but feel his pants tightening around his crotch as filthy thought after filthy thought played in his head.

She smiled at him again, and Matt suddenly realized that she had been speaking. His stomach dropped. “S-Sorry, what?” he stammered. She laughed softly, a sound that made Matt’s heart leap up into his throat. “I asked if you could be a little more specific.”

Matt cleared his throat. “Um, Government, English, Socioeconomics, and Chem.” He looked down at his hands in his lap, the thoughts from earlier looming over him. I won’t graduate. Mom will be so disappointed. Dad won’t speak to me for a year. Chris and Nick will move on in life without me. She probably thinks I’m an idiot. Who the fuck fails almost every class in their last semester?

He could have sworn he felt his heart come to a full stop when he felt her hand on his shoulder, his head snapping up in an instant. “Hey,” she cooed as Matt met her gaze once more. “We’ll fix this. We have four months until graduation. You have time.”

Yeah, time to spend my afternoons drooling over you and retaining no information. Four months to sit here and gawk at you every fucking afternoon while my grades continue to plummet. Four months of me rushing home after these tutor sessions to beat off before Nick and Chris get home from their after school extra curriculars. Either way, I’m failing this semester.

“Why don’t we start with English, hm? I’m in that class with you, third period. We have a paper due on Friday.” She opened her laptop, pressing the power button repeatedly. Matt swallowed the lump in his throat – fuck. The paper… he was hoping to avoid it altogether. Sensing his hesitation, she raised her eyebrows. “Have you started it?”

Matt blinked. He licked his lips, suddenly noticing how dry they were. “...No.”

“Me neither,” she grinned, and Matt felt his shoulders relax. She had a beautiful smile, and it so rarely appeared on the Somerville High property, even less so in the classes they’d shared. It made him wonder what else he could do or say to make it stay for longer.

“It’s okay,” she continued, tapping away at her keyboard, urging the ancient relic to awaken and let her log on. “We can write it together.”

“Yeah, sure…together,” he said, taking out his own laptop, proud that he had enough focus to keep his hands steady. He wanted to make her smile again, but he hadn’t the faintest idea how. Matt also wanted to crawl into the floor and sleep for an eternity, but his wishes seemed to have no substance. His grades did, and more than anything, he knew he wouldn’t forgive himself if he made Chris and Nick leave him behind. Punctuating his thoughts with a deep sigh, Matt pulled up the assignment rubric. “Three pages, double spaced - that’s not bad - third page sources cited…” As he scanned the page, she, still waiting on her dinosaur of a computer to come to life, leaned closer to him to see for herself.

Her perfume. Waves of vanilla with floral notes. Undertones of musk. It was strong but intoxicating. Matt used every ounce of self-control to not turn towards her and inhale as much of it as he could. She had been using this perfume for the past three years, and Matt had become obsessed with it. He was like a stoner catching a whiff of weed, he could identify it from a mile away. He could sniff her out like a bloodhound if he really wanted to. Matt begged his brain to behave.

It didn’t.

The aching in his pants grew. Matt pulled his hoodie down to cover his lap, he could not let her see what she did to him. He felt his face heat up as embarrassment flooded his brain. Still, his cock remained half hard and his balls felt heavy with arousal. Despite knowing how wrong it was, he wanted nothing more than to rub one out. Matt used every iota of his self-control to focus on puling the assignment up on his computer. One hour. I just need to get through this one hour.

x o x o x o

“How long have you been tutoring?” Matt wanted to know more about her. It was a near-feverish affliction that kept his leg bouncing continuously, releasing nervous energy at speeds that could power the entire city of Boston.

She didn’t look up at him, pulling up the assignment on her computer. “I started last year…gave me a chance to get out of Johnson’s eighth period. Do you know why you’re falling behind in Philosophy?”

Matt didn’t hear her question at all. The stickers on her laptop were incredibly distracting - he caught a glimpse of Homer Simpson, the Monster logo, a few Pokémon, numerous band logos, Marilyn Monroe, a sick vaporwave statue head, and a plethora of raccoons. I like raccoons. Now is probably not the best time to tell her that. “Huh?”

She glanced over through her lashes, and Matt felt his air supply vaporize. “I asked why you’re failing.”

Because you walk into the room and I forget how to speak my own damn language. Because I want to talk to you so bad, but my throat closes up when you look at me. Because when you smile it makes my legs heavy…But more than anything, because I want you in ways that I have never wanted anyone before, and it is all that I can think about. No matter where I am at or who I am with, you manage to take over every thought in my head. Movie nights with my brothers where I can drown out the movie, daydreaming of what you might look like waking up next to me in one of my shirts. Dinner with my family, wondering if you like whatever it is that we’re eating that night. In the shower, wondering what your routine is like. Late nights in my room, the door locked and the lights off, clothes discarded onto the floor, my hand tugging at my cock. You are always there. You’re the reason why I’m failing, and you don’t even know it.

Matt settled on, “It’s hard to focus in there.” Not a lie. But not even close to the truth.

She nodded. “She talks in circles sometimes.” A pause made his eyes dart up to hers, terrified that he’d missed something again. But no, she was…studying him.

Her head tilted slightly, and her hazy eyes rested on his. He wondered what she was thinking about, and something primitive in his mind was screaming at him to hide. He felt vulnerable, weak under her gaze. His cock throbbed. Matt did his best to bite back the soft groan that fought to escape his throat.

“I think you might just need a body double.”

He blinked.

She continued. “The classes you’re failing, those are the only ones you don’t have with one of your brothers or your other friends, right?”

Matt nodded, wondering how she could possibly know that. He bookmarked that thought for later.

“Well, your brain probably knows that they expect you to do your work, and you don’t want to let them down, so the work gets done. Not in English or History, apparently. So, I’m your body double. And I expect you to do your work.” She grinned. “It’s corny as fuck but you’d be surprised how much you get done. Ready to start?”

Matt decided to process that particular heap of information later. “Yeah, sure.”

“I’m sending you my sources. You know how to cite them?”

His brain couldn’t register her words. It all made sense, but his brain felt too fuzzy to put the pieces together. “Sources, right. Y-Yeah, I uh…yes.”

“Good boy,” she purred. Matt nearly choked, his dick now fully hard. There’s no way she just said that. She gestured to his keyboard, and Matt began to shakily type the name of the website he needed into the search bar. Maybe I just imagined it…It’s been a weird day. Matt could feel her gaze burning into his skin like the heat of a thousand suns. His heart was lodged in his throat, he had begun manually breathing, not wanting his breaths to sound too heavy or too short.

Her hands kept brushing his arm, and Matt realized if he wasn’t careful, she would notice the way his face turned a bright red when she touched him, or worse… she’d see the bulge that could barely even be hidden by his hoodie. He turned away from her, pretending to look for something in his bag. “I um…thanks.”

“Go ahead and read those, throw all the relevant information into a messy doc, and then let me know when you’re done, okay?” Matt looked up and she leaned once more against the concrete column behind her, earbuds in, typing away in her own empty doc for the same assignment. He glanced at the stickers on her laptop, eyeing the one in the dead center with the name of a band he had never heard of. I wonder what she’s listening to. Would she like my music? Would I like hers?

Pulling out his own headphones, Matt shuffled his own playlist, and tried desperately to focus on the article in front of him.

x o x o x o

Forty two minutes later (he counted), Matt finally reached the end of the mind-numbing wall of text. No closer to understanding what the fuck he was doing, he reached out to tap the table near her knee. Her cargos sported faded stitching on their edges, proof of intentional wear as opposed to fashion wear.

When the flash of motion moved into her line of sight, she looked up from her own article, brows raised expectantly and eyes locked onto his. “How’s it going?”

“Well…It’s not perfect but…it’s better than nothing right?.”

“Mhmm.” She leaned forward, staring at his screen. “One and a half pages? Atta boy.”

Matt’s face flushed, his lips parting to speak but silence was all that followed.

“Did you do what I said earlier?”

“Yes ma’am.” Where the FUCK did THAT come from?

She wrinkled her face, her lips tugging up into a smile. “Down, boy.”

Matt almost puked. A lightning bolt struck his lungs, and they withered in his ribcage. “Sorry- sorry,” he stuttered. He ripped his gaze away from hers, blinking rapidly.

She laughed softly, the ghost of a smile passing over her lips. Matt’s head shot up faster than he’d ever admit. “Little weirdo,” she muttered, turning away from him to put her laptop in her bag.

“Oh, are we-”

“Mhm. Bell’s about to ring.”

He blinked again, opening his own backpack.

“Give me your snap.”

“Huh?”

“Your snapchat. So we can talk about your assignments and schedule tutoring for sometime other than boy’s athletics.”

How did she-

“Wouldn’t want you to miss lacrosse.” She tilted her head to punctuate her all-knowing tone, and put her phone in Matt’s hand.

As he typed megamett_44, Matt reevaluated the entirety of his life’s choices, and hoped she’d just…ignore it. Or not see it at all, that was preferable.

Neither of those things happened.

“Mega. Mett. Forty four?” she questioned, raising an eyebrow at him.

“...Yep.”

“You, um…” She gestured, sarcasm beginning to drip from her lips. “You wanna explain?”

“No I do not,” he replied, grinning nervously, avoiding her gaze.

“Hmm…cute,” She smirked. Matt felt his heart swell and his pants tighten even more at the comment she had made, just barely crossing the line of being a praiseful remark. He wanted to ask more about what she meant; Why did she say cute? Does she think I’m cute? Was she just saying the username is cute? But before he could think of something, the bell rang, and in one fluid motion, she swung her bag over her shoulder and slipped off the table. “Later,” she hummed before she disappeared into a river of students escaping school grounds for the weekend.

Matt exhaled and slumped into his chair, hanging his head as he dropped his bag back onto the floor. The visible bulge under the fabric of his shorts and his hoodie taunted him, his mind raced, thinking of all the things he could have done instead of gawking at her and stuttering one or two words at a time in response to whatever she said to him. Matt ran his fingers through his messy hair. His cheeks remained a rosy pink. He rubbed his lips with his fingers, an anxious habit he had picked up over the years in a desperate attempt to help with his nail biting problem, though very little progress had been made there.

“I’m done for,” he said, nodding decisively. “Yep. This is the end of Matthew Sturniolo.” Matt looked down at his phone, numerous texts from his brothers flooding the screen.

Nick: where are you

Chris: where r u ?

Nick: why weren’t you at lacrosse

Chris: coach is not happy with you lmao

Chris: helloooooooo

Chris: the van is still here so we know ur here

Chris: unless 😏

Nick: enough

Chris: man come on nick is grumpy and bitching about the weather

Nick: it’s fucking sweltering out and i’m sweating bullets. I’d appreciate getting into the air conditioned vehicle that we OWN

Matt sighed and shoved his phone into his pocket. He looked around, making sure that nobody was nearby as he stood up. Grabbing his bag, Matt hurried out of the library and pushed his way through the halls to the nearest restroom.

Ensuring that the bathroom was completely empty, he slipped into the closest bathroom stall and locked it behind him. Matt quickly dropped his bag to the floor, lifting the hem of his hoodie up and holding it between his teeth. He pulled the band of his shorts down, groaning softly as the friction sent bolts of pleasure through him. He slipped his hand under the fabric of his boxers, his eyes fluttering closed as his hand wrapped around his shaft. He hummed ever so softly as he gave his cock a few strokes.

He opened his eyes, suddenly realizing what he was doing. No, this isn’t like you. This isn’t right. You don’t do this here. He pulled his cock up into the waistband of his boxers, dissatisfied above all else, but knowing he had to hide his unpleasant erection somehow. This was a new low for him. What kind of a creep can’t even keep it in his pants until he gets home? Matt pulled his shorts back up, dropping the hem of his hoodie from where it had been between his teeth. He stepped out of the bathroom stall, taking a quick once-over in the mirror to make sure he looked put together and not a flustered horny mess, before he slipped out of the bathroom, following the mass of students rushing for the exit out into the student parking lot.

x o x o x o

Matt saw Chris and Nick leaning against the edge of his car. Matt clicked the unlock button on his key, the vehicle chirping in response. Nick opened the door to the backseat, huffing something under his breath as he got into the car. “Where the hell were you?” Chris asked, slinging his bag into the back next to Nick’s foot, closing the door behind him.

“Library,” Matt muttered, clunking into the driverseat. Chris paralleled Matt’s actions, dropping himself into the passenger seat. “Library?” Chris repeated, tasting the word with furrowed eyebrows as he turned to look at Nick, expecting he might know more about Matt’s situation.

He did not. Nick scrunched his face. “Since when do you go to the library?”

Matt groaned. “Can we just go home.”

The other two didn’t ask too many questions after that. What normally would have been a debrief session of their individual experiences from that day while feasting on whatever fast-food place the three of them had voted on, was instead a deafening silence and a painfully tense atmosphere. Matt was secretly very appreciative of this, his mind was too scattered for him to hold a conversation with his brothers, never mind care about what they were discussing.

x o x o x o

When he collapsed onto his bed, Matt checked his phone, brows furrowed in surprise. He’d gotten a notification from Snapchat (a rarity), and his heart shot up into his throat when he saw who it was from. He tapped on the notification to see that she had sent him a photo of herself - her hair fell in waves around her face, and Matt could see the glint of her earrings. She wasn’t even looking at the camera, making the edge of her eyeliner effortlessly severe. Matt’s chest went aflutter, and he stared at that picture for a very long set of minutes. “Here’s my snap”, she had typed, and once he tapped out of the photo, Matt added her back.

But they hadn’t spoken past that.

He laid on his bed trying to think of something to say to keep talking to her, but everything sounded desperate and corny. He had so many things he wanted to say, so many questions he wanted to ask. He wanted to talk to her for hours, about anything and everything. He wanted to know everything about her.

As the sky darkened, Matt scrolled aimlessly on TikTok, then Instagram, then back to TikTok, avoiding Snapchat to the best of his ability. His mind refused to let go of her, and it was starting to piss him off. What is she doing? Does she stay home on school nights? Does she go out? What are her hobbies? Does she play video games? Would she play them with me? Does she like to read outside of school too? When does she go to bed? Does she like to stay up late? Does she go to bed early? Why can't I think of something normal to say to her?

Matt dragged himself out of bed, crumpling slowly to the floor. He leaned his head against the edge of his mattress and sighed - what a fucking day.

A knock at the door had him lifting his head from where it rested against the mattress. “Hi, honey.” Mom. “You eating dinner with us tonight?”

He stood up, crossed the empty floor of his room quickly, and pulled his door open. “Hey Mom.” Matt leaned into her, and Mary Lou slipped her arms around her son.

“Hi baby. Somethin’ on your mind?”

I’m failing.

I’m failing four classes.

You and dad would be so disappointed.

I feel tired and sick all the time.

I just want to go to sleep.

Graduation is in four months.

Nick and Chris are gonna leave me.

I’ll have to repeat senior year.

It’ll all be my fault.

The girl making me fail is the girl trying to help me pass.

I can’t focus on anything.

I’m so fucking tired.

“Just missed ya.” Matt sighed. He hummed when he felt his mother's loving arms embrace him just a little tighter. “I’ll be downstairs in a minute.”

x o x o x o

A dark room. The brush of fingers over silk. A candle flickering shadows against the walls. The faint scent of vanilla. Pleasure flowing through his body. The buzzing hum of a vibrator. More waves of soft tingling flowing from the center of his body.

“Good boy…”

He sighed, lips parted, eyes closed. His hips began to shift upwards, slowly at first, pushing against the vibrator, aching for more. Instead, his leaking, rock-hard cock met a soft hand. He whimpered, digging his pelvis into the pillowy skin. “Awww…d’you wanna hump Mommy’s hand?”

“Yes…” he pleaded, his head lolling to the side, chest heaving. “P-Please, I-I... Please.”

Her fist began to slip around the head of his cock. “Please what?”

“Nnnghh…please let me hump your hand. I need it s-so bad, p-please, it hurts Mommy, I just wanna…jus wanna feel your hand around my…my…”

Another hand cupped his balls, silky-soft thumb rubbing spine-tingling circles over his pleasure-filled skin. “Hmm? What was that, pretty boy? Mommy didn’t quite catch that.”

“My cock, miss, I…p-please reward me…please, I-I’ve been so good…”

She smiled, amused by how easy it was to get him riled up. “Go ahead, baby. You’ve been such a good boy. You deserve a little treat, don’t you?”

Matt didn’t need to be told twice. His hips lifted, his jaw going slack as his shaft slipped through her fist with ease, her hand already sticky with his arousal. A whimper grew at the back of his throat, his hips beginning to buck up into her grasp. Erotic sounds filled the room; heavy panting, his wet cock slipping in and out of her grasp, the bed frame creaking ever so quietly, her quiet praises that she’d whisper to him. “Atta boy, you’ve got it,” she hummed, earning a sound from Matt that he hadn’t even known he was capable of making. A mix between a sob and a whimper, a sound that made her press her thighs together, her core aching for him. “That’s it, baby, hump Mommy’s hand. Doesn’t that feel good?”

His pace quickened, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths as he began to rut against her hand. His desire was primal. It was animalistic. The way he craved her, unlike anything he had ever craved for in his life. His balls, heavy with his arousal, slapping against her wrist as her hand reached the base of his cock with every thrust he made. His tip, swollen and pink, leaking with his desire. She could feel the way his shaft throbbed, practically begging for more. Her hand gently squeezed his tip, a guttural moan falling from his rosy lips.

He began to whine now, desperate pleas pouring from his lips like thick sweet honey. “I’ve been so good, I’ll behave, I promise, I’ll be s-so good for you Mommy, please let me cum, please, I’m b-begging you, please Mommy… y-you’re so sweet and g-good to me, I jus’ wanna make you happy, please let me make you happy…f-fuck!” White-hot liquid spurted from his tip, coating her hand and his abdomen as she continued to stroke his sensitive shaft.. “Mmmph…Mommy…f-fuck…thank you, th-thank you, mmph Mommy…thank you, y-you’re so good to me…”

Breathlessly, he pushed himself up onto his elbows, looking up at the beautiful girl in front of him. His gaze flickered down to her hand, his cock throbbing as he saw how much of a mess he had made. Ropes of thick warm cum coated her hand, and Matt couldn’t help but think of what it’d look like leaking out of her. He watched with a dazed and aroused glisten in his eyes as she brought her hand up to his lips. Obediently he licked his mess off of her fingers, paying no mind to the taste. He didn’t care, he’d do anything she wanted, even if it meant having the lingering taste of his seed in his mouth. Once her hand was cleaned up, he pressed kisses up to her wrist, trailing up her arm, keeping his eyes low in reverence.

She lifted his head with a finger under his jaw. “You’re welcome, baby. You did so good for me, hmm?” she murmured, kissing his forehead. Matt closed his eyes, never wanting to leave this moment. “Were you a good boy for mommy?”

Matt shot up in his bed and his chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. He pulled his duvet cover off of him, and in the dark of his bedroom he could still see his mess leaking through the fabric of his boxers. His torso was slick with a sheen layer of sweat. Despite having already finished, his cock refused to soften.

“Oh fuck me,” he snarled, rubbing his tired face with his hands. This is going to be the hardest four months of my life.

Tags: @mattsturniololoverr @oversturn @mattslolita @simplysturn @flowerxbunnie @soursturniolo @megamett44-lover @sturnybabes @jjmaybankswifes-blog @plasticferal @cupidsword @liz-stxrn @sturniolosreads @bernardsleftbootycheek @egirlshit @matthemunch44 @nonamegirlxsturniolo @chrizz333 @sturniolopowers @mattsleftnipple03 @worldlxvlys @hearts4chriss @tillies33ssss @janiellasblog @creamoncreamoncream2 @breeloveschris @meg-sturniolo @lustfulslxt @braindead4l @xtravrgnoliveoil @ghostlythinggoingaround @rootbeerworshiper @querenciasturniolo @whicked-hazlatwhore @m4ttslvr @sturnioloblogs @mqttittude @bewtyschooldropout @taekwite @itzdarling

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #chris sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut #i need him in a way that is concerning to feminism #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo x y/n #matt sturniolo x you #mattsturniolo #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #sturniolos #sturniolo #nick sturniolo #matthew sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplet smut #chris sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets smut #smut

[toorurs]

505 - aventurine

synopsis: the water that soaks his skin, are those the tears of his goddess, the rain - her gift for his birthday or yours that stain his pale skin? his touch is cold as he attempts to wipe away your tears but isn’t he the reason why you’re crying in the first place? 

pairing: aventurine x reader (gn) | wordcount: 1.2k | content & warnings: established relationship, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, reader cries, aventurine cries, mentions of alcohol, tba if i find more, proofreading is yeah no; ficlet

a/n: literally had to rush-write this cause i thought i was so genius for writing this. hopefully no one wrote this before me.

“tada! happy birthday ‘rine!”

colorful party garlands are adorning his walls, connected from one corner to another. in your hands you hold a small cake, grip careful so it doesn’t slip out of your grasp. on its surface there was an almost molten wax candle, glowing as it lit up his dark living room, the only other source of light was the tall floor lamp in the back that stood next to the in dust covered piano. 

once you’ve asked him if he could play you a small piece which he reluctantly agreed on - it’s been a while since his fingers flew across the tiles. they move on their own, freely like birds who seek a place where they can belong to, a place on the piano where the pads of his fingers press down on and touch to play a sound. (his hand should belong with you not somewhere on the instrument.) amidst his play you hummed the melody along, it soothed him, your voice was gently chiming in his ears. 

now your voice is ringing in his ears again, your birthday wishes go in one ear and out of the other, aventurine tries to listen but his attempts are futile. he can’t listen, no matter how much he tries. it’s the rain's fault, aventurine wants to complain. it platters against the windowpane, kissing the glass as the droplets of water pour down.

the once orange lit flame on the candle went out, it vanished just like your smile. “kakavasha, are you alright?” you gingerly set down his birthday cake on the coffee table and quickly readjust the chique white table cloth before directing your gaze back at him, a worrisome shadow gleams over your eyes as you shoot him a caring look, pursing your lips as you slightly bite down on your lower lip - a habit of yours you do when you’re anxious. he made you nervous.

a proper response doesn’t fall from his lips, instead he utters a small “i’m.. i just need some time to process this.” as he gives you an awkward smile and tries to maintain eye contact. pupils full of concern look back at him and aventurine isn’t sure if he can handle it any longer. 

someone actually cares about him, you set up and prepared all of this on your own for his sake, somebody actually knows him and remembers his birthday. so why - why isn’t there a single ounce of ecstasy in his body? 

how come he always spoils a surprise?

the freshly polished floor squeaks as he takes a step behind him, backing towards the door of his apartment. “i’m sorry.” he mutters, voice crumbling as he voices his apology as he scoots away once more. “i just need some time on my own right now.” he tries to give you a reassuring smile, one that says “don’t worry!” but he fails - he always does. after all he’s a loser; he was a loser - he’ll always be a loser, no matter what.

his back faces you now as he rushes out of his stuffy apartment out into the front yard, a faint “aventurine!” can be heard as you rush after him, not bothering to close the door and lock it as you immediately rush after him, your footsteps can be heard in the entire building, echoing throughout the shallow hallways.

you catch up to him, out of breath as you pant heavily. irritation clearly showing in your eyes, he doesn’t blame you, after all who runs aways after their partner prepared a whole birthday for them - only fools would; only he would.

“rine.” you breathe out, inching towards him and stepping closer. your voice sounds desperate, it longs for an answer. aventurine is quick to react, covering your eyes with the palm of his hand. “don’t look at me.” he whispers, his plea getting lost in the rain. “please.” his voice quivers in vain.

no one’s allowed to see him like this, not with tear stained cheeks and red puffy eyes. he’s weak when it comes to you - he’s always been.

swiftly you push his hand away from your eyes, making him take his hands off your eyes too soon. your vision was no longer blocked by him but by the tears that were starting to form in your eyes, welling up and almost spilling. “do you not like it?” you hiccup, eyes glimmering in perplexity as kaleidoscopic tears slide down your rain wetted cheeks.

it was never my intention to make you cry, he tries to apologize as he rubs circles along your cheeks and eyelids while he tries to wipe your tears away but he can’t. he’s not sure if its the rain preventing him from doing so, his gift or rather his curse that fell down on the day he was born, hinder him from making you stop tearing up or if it’s because of you. your tears fall like raindrops, droplets of water that his goddess once shedded as she gifted him with his blessing, his first ever gift: his luck.

he can only crumble as you cry, pulling you into a tight embrace, stuffing your face into his rain drenched shirt. “no, no, don’t cry.. please don’t cry.” his voice breaks, it shatters upon hearing your cries. “i liked it, i loved it, really, please believe me.” he coughs, it feels like he can’t breathe, the air is suffocating. 

“then why, why did you run away?” you ask as you stare up at him, eyes full of desperation, a look that yearns for an answer. “i.. i was overwhelmed.” he mutters. “this is the first time in forever that i've celebrated my birthday.” in the company of someone else, he wants to add but he doesn’t. 

aventurine can’t remember the last time he’s actually celebrated his birthday, perhaps it was after he got into the IPC and tried to make use of the money, thinking that he could somehow forget his worries by buying himself a cake and inviting some coworkers only to end up alone in the corner with a glass of alcohol. (he had to force himself to down that thing, he doesn’t like the taste of alcohol, it's bitter and burns on his tongue. it doesn’t do any good besides making him miserable)

you bring your hands up around his neck, your left hand slightly gripping it as your right one traces over his tattoo, he adores you even when you latch your fingers tightly around his neck, he always does. 

the way your fingers move over his tattoo is sensual, the motion’s soft as you rub the pads of your fingers over his neck. “let’s go back in ‘rine.” you whisper as you lean into his neck, your breath fans against the skin and it makes him shudder beneath you as your lips ghost over the spot before launching in and kissing it, warm lips meeting his cold skin.

he gulps down the lump inside his throat before agreeing “yeah lets.” he hums as he follows behind you.

may 5th, 505, the date is circled in a big right red in your calendar, coincidentally it’s the same number as the one from his apartment. 

he goes back to 505, back to his apartment - back to you as you lay on your side in his warm bed sheets, hands fiddling with the duvet as you later on place them on your thighs and look at him with a smile.   

and once again tags to my beloved @azullumi HII i hope youre sleeping well rn, ik you have to be up soon for school but i hope that you got enough rest!! i've just wanted to thank you for the fist time when we've talked, i immediately clicked and got along with you very well to the point where i've already vented and ranted to you even though we knew each other for a week or so? i've grown very comfortable around you in such a short time because i felt like i could trust you, you're really like a person whom i inspire to be and oh also remember that one time when i told you about how i was insecure about my writing and stuff i literally like literally cried as i texted you all that stuff and you responded so understanding to me and comforted me so well. it really soothed my worries. azul you're so incredibly dear to, i love you a lot. i think about you a lot like when seeing a stone HAHAH or a chair... and i'm always longing to talk to you. you're so fun to be around. love you a lot <3

© TOORURS 2024. stealing, copying, translating, reposting my works on other platforms is not permitted.

#honkai star rail #hsr #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail fluff #hsr fluff #hsr aventurine #aventurine hsr #aventurine x reader #aventurine fluff #aventurine angst #aventurine imgines #aventurine headcanons #hsr imagines #honkai star rail imagines #hsr headcanons #hsr drabbles #honkai star rail drabbles #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail x gn reader #𝓣𝓞𝓞𝓡𝓤𝓡𝓢: works ✯ #—stellaronhvnters.

[angel5ofp0rn]

PT 2 / PT 3 😋

been thinking ab this post 4ever and need to get it out tbh.

ExHusband!Price x f!reader

**I’ve never done something like this b4 and I haven’t proofread so pls be nice 2 me ._. **

You have been divorced from your ex husband John Price for two years. Still, he comes over and shovels your driveway for you every time it snows.

He’s come inside and warmed up in the mudroom nearly every 15-20 minutes, puffing hot breath into his hands and rubbing them together for warmth before stepping back out and shoveling again.

You meet him in the mudroom for his fourth warm-up break and hand him a mug of hot coffee. Dash of cream, one sugar.

“Still how you take your coffee, right?” You offer a small smile, hugging your arms around yourself as John takes a sip from the mug.

“Still the same.” He nods before he takes another sip, the small smile that had appeared at the corner of his mouth quickly fading.

He leans up against the doorframe, the shovel leaning against the wall next to him. He peers out of the door's window, checking over his work.

“I'll get goin' soon enough. It ain't snowing right now, the drive's nearly clear.”

You thank him again, even though you never asked him to do this in the first place. You can’t help but look up at him, meeting his blue eyes for just a moment.

Before he could reply, your two children came running around the corner cheering and squealing when they saw their dad.

John's smile brightens at their presence, his body language immediately softening as he squatted down to their level.

“Hey, my little monkeys. Come give yer ol’ dad a hug.” He opens his arms out wide, inviting both of them to come to him. It doesn't take long before they both go crashing into him, squealing, smiling. Their giggles filled the small room.

You just smile. Even if you and John aren’t always on the best of terms, you can’t deny that he’s a great father.

“Daddy’s cold.” Your youngest shivers a bit from hugging their dad, who still had snow on his clothes and frost on his beard from shoveling.

John tries to shrug it off, but you ask him to stay and warm up for a while.

For the kids, of course.

Plus dinner is nearly ready, and you definitely made too much for just you and the kids, anyway.

More cheering, more squealing, more giggling as John finally agrees and kicks his boots off, hanging his coat on the hook.

John’s blue eyes scan the new decor and different paintings on the wall, but he doesn’t comment on how much the place has changed since he moved out.

After dinner, the two of you stand in the doorway as you watch the kids play together in their playroom, that used to be John’s “man cave”.

“They're gonna make you tuck them in.” You mention, sipping your glass of wine.

John smiles, a casual shrug of his shoulders.

“Maybe you can convince them to go up and brush their teeth?” You lower your wineglass and offer a fake, pleading pout.

He looks down for a moment, pretending not to see the gesture. Instead, he looks back to the children.

“Right then, you two little monkeys. It’s gettin’ late. Go on up and brush your teeth. I’ll come tuck you in.”

Both children protest for a while, but eventually give in without too much of a fight. That’s a new one.

John lets out a chuckle as the children roll their eyes and go up the stairs. He watches them disappear from view before turning and meeting your eyes again, still smiling for this small victory.

As if he had just realized he was staring, John’s eyes darted down into his now empty mug.

"Let me take that." You reach for his mug but he shakes his head.

"I haven’t forgotten where the kitchen is," He smiles a bit. "'ll clean up and then tuck the kids in."

John makes his way over to the kitchen, placing it in the sink and starting water. You follow, and notice that he was also washing the dishes from dinner as well.

“John, you don’t have to-“

“I know.”

And that’s that.

You chew your bottom lip. This looked too familiar. It felt too familiar.

"I'm... gonna go check on them and get them in their pj's." You gesture to the stairs in the hall.

He looks up at you briefly and nods; "Be up in a bit, lovie.”

Once the water is emptied from the sink, he starts loading the dishes into the dishwasher. Once completed, he starts to wipe down the counters and stovetop, wanting to make sure he left no mess behind. Then he trekked back up the stairs to tuck in the kids.

You’re downstairs again, on the living room sofa. You wanted to let John have a moment alone with the kiddos before he left again.

He makes his way down the stairs and sees you sitting there in the dim lighting. He clears his throat a bit as he walks through the living room and back into the mudroom.

“They're tucked in. Not a whisper from ‘em.” He mentions casually as he gets his snow boots back on.

You thank him, turning to watch him leave, but notice him looking out of the door window and pause. So you make your way over to the door to see what he’s seeing.

It's started snowing and the driveway is completely covered again. It looks like he hasn't even shoveled.

John lets out a grunt of disbelief and sighs, pulling on his beanie and reaching for the shovel once again.

“Don't-“ You shake your head, placing your hand on the shovel. “It's snowing hard, there's no point in shoveling it all up just for it to be covered again. Why don't you... stay on the couch or something tonight.”

He stares down at the shovel for a moment, debating it. After a beat, he sighs a bit, nodding.

“I... could do that.”

You go upstairs to the bedroom and bring John some extra pillows and blankets to make a bed on the couch with.

You set everything on the coffee table and the two of you sit on the couch for a moment, just catching up and chatting about the kids.

“The kids both want to do soccer in the spring.” You mention, your cheeks a bit rosy from the wine you had with dinner.

“Football.” He corrects with a small smirk. You roll your eyes.

“Let me pay for the lessons.” He says; not asking.

Of course you refuse.

Of course he insists.

You settle on splitting it.

Then it happens again. Your eyes meet his. Neither one of you speaks. Suddenly you’re transported back to the first night you met; you were newly 21 and already tipsy when your eyes met those of an older man in his fatigues as he sat at the bar. You remember drunkly telling the older man that he had the prettiest blue eyes, and that you wanted a hundred of his babies that looked just. like. him.

You have two, at least.

“Oh!” You sit up a bit straighter, snapping out of your daydream. “I was going to ask you to look at something on my laptop. It's doing that thing again. It's upstairs.” You get up and head to your home office, John right behind you.

You open your laptop and hand it to John. He knew how to fix it last time, so it should take him no time.

He sits in your office chair and you step away into your bedroom across the hall to get into a pair of pajama shorts and a hoodie, since it's getting late.

The laptop whirred softly before he got it running again. Only took a minute. He sets it on the desk, leaning back in your chair with his hands behind his head as he looks up through the open door where you can be found, changing in the bedroom.

You were his wife at one point, anyway. Isn’t something he hasn’t seen before…

After you’ve changed, you lay on your bed, scrolling through your phone as you wait for John to fix the issue with your laptop, unaware that he was watching. Unaware that the laptop has been fixed for a while now, and he was just wasting time.

Eventually, his voice wafts through the doorway.

“Think I got it, love-“ He pauses for a moment. “Er, Y/N.”

“Ugh, thank you.” You sigh and sit up, taking the laptop from him and setting it on your nightstand. “Stupid thing always acting up.”

John sits on the edge of your bed as you take the laptop back from him.

“Not a problem. It was a quick fix.” He offers a small smile, rubbing the back of his head.

He takes a glance at you, noticing the pajamas you had put on.

"...Is that my sweatshirt?"

You blush a bit sheepishly, looking down at the oversized, grey 2XL Special Air Service hoodie you’re wearing. "Um..."

Another small chuckle escapes his lips. He shakes his head a bit, trying to contain his amusement.

“S’what I thought. You look... comfy." He reaches his hand out towards your leg, running his hand lightly over your bare legs, exposed by the shorts you were wearing.

Without realizing what he's doing, he has his hand on your thigh, and he gives it a light squeeze.

Eventually his hand travels higher to rest on your sex over your pajama shorts.

Usually, you'd tell him off. Monologue about how this isn't how things work because it complicated things and you both need to set boundaries.

But tonight you don't.

Maybe it's because you had two heavy-handed pours of your favorite wine with dinner. Maybe it was seeing him with your kids again. Maybe it had just been too long since you'd felt anything other than a cheap bullet vibrator.

So you let him slip his hand down your panties.

But it's a bit jarring to feel his wedding band still on his finger.

You look down at his hand for a beat when you feel it.

You look back up and place your hand on the back of his neck, pulling him in and crashing your lips together.

John wastes no time in laying you back on your bed and tugging your shorts and panties off, tossing them somewhere behind him.

His lips are on your neck, his hands spreading your soft thighs apart. You can smell the musky scent of himself on him, mixed with that familiar cologne of his, and you breathe a sigh.

“Take this off f’r me.” He mumbles against your skin, sliding your his hoodie up your body.

Your body aches for this to continue, and John doesn't plan to disappoint, but he takes a moment to admire what's sprawled out in front of him. He lets out a satisfied smirk as he pulls you closer by your thighs. He's undone his belt and shrugged out of his jeans in no time.

You pull his shirt off over his head before you close your eyes and tilt your head to give him easier access to kiss your neck.

His scruffy beard tickles your neck, his calloused hands gripping your thigh and rubbing your slick, dripping pussy.

“So needy.” John observed as your back arched and your body squirmed at his touch. "Poor thing... No one's been keepin’ you satisfied, hm?”

You shake your head a bit. You hate that he’s right. You hate that he can tell. That he knows you too well.

But he’s right; no random Tinder hookup and no blind date that your friends have set you up with could ever compare to your ex husband.

“Should’a told me...” He murmurs as he leans lower, positioning his head in between your thighs, pressing desperate kisses to your aching clit.

He’s got you figured out completely. He’s always been good at that.

A smile forms as his hands move to grip your thighs. He lets out a quiet groan as your legs instinctively clamp around his head. The look of his veiny hands gripping your plushy thighs with that damn wedding band still around his finger is doing things to you.

His tongue slowly plays in circular motions, teasing you, loving the game. He takes his time, enjoying himself, as you continue to squeeze your thighs against his head. Hell, he’d let you suffocate him if it meant he could eat your pussy this one last time.

You try not to, but you let out a desperate moan of pleasure. He knew exactly what you like, exactly where to lick, exactly where to kiss, exactly where to nibble.

Damn him.

“You sound s’pretty, lovie. S’pretty f’r me.” He pants, his praise ending with a whimper.

Your eyes roll back. Fuck, he has you. He knows he has you. Your moans and whimpers are uncontrollable as he picks up the pace, all but slamming his thick cock into your pretty little hole.

You’re his, and he knows it, and in the moment, it’s true. Just him. Just you. The rest doesn’t matter right now.

John pulls out for just a moment while he swiftly flips you over, roughly gripping your hips and pulling your backside into him. He’s got the angle just right now, and your breath catches in your throat, followed by a needy whimper.

“Mine… All mine… Isn’t that right?” He whispers, more of a command than a question.

Your face is pressed against the mattress as John’s grip on your hips tighten. This angle, this position, John is so familiar with it. He knows what it does to you. He knows the way it makes you respond.

John lets out a loud groan as your whimpers and moans get more needy, desperate. He knows that you’re about to come.

He finishes right and there, along with you.

You gasp a bit, surprised by the synchronization. Should you really be surprised, though? Only he would know your body like that. You’re his. He’s yours.

John slowly pulls his softening cock out of you, lying on the bed and pulling you into his chest. His hand grabs your thigh, draping your leg around his waist in an attempt to hold you closer.

He lets out a few deep breaths, letting the adrenaline and endorphins just fade away. Neither of you wants to move right now, both just content being in each other’s arms. Both content feeling the heat of each other’s bodies, just listening to each other breathing.

“Better than I remembered it.” John murmurs, his voice laced with a smirk.

You catch John’s left hand after he reached up to push your sweaty hair from your forehead. You hold it in yours, playing a bit with the wedding band.

**IM LITERALLY SO BAD AT ENDING THINGS LOL. I WILL DEF BE CONTINUING THO IF YALL WANT 🥺

#call of duty #captain john price #john price #captain price #captain john price x reader #price x reader #smut #cod smut #captain price smut #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod x reader #cod x you #cod x fem!reader #cod headcanons #price headcanons #he thought u were insane when you wanted to have babies w him after barely knowing him for .5 seconds but that’s his type tbh #task force 141 #141 x reader #141 headcanons #ghost cod #ghost riley #john soap mactavish #soap cod #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #gaz cod #he’s trying to baby trap u

[deathbecomesthem]

Anything We Want

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader | 3.4K Post season 4, Eddie lives.

Summary: A road trip with The Party is ill timed when a very sudden realization hit both you and Eddie. A lazy summer day at the beach, and the two of you want nothing more than to find a way to find some time alone.

Warnings: Scars are mentioned. Some suggestive scenes. Yearning.

Minors DNI - 18+ Only

A/N: It's almost summer, boys, and I need this.

---

Distracted. It’s been like that for the last few weeks, truth be told, but worse since you felt his eyes rake across your body earlier. Now you know, he wants you as much as you want him. It was unmistakable - the flash of desire in his eyes. When he walked into your bedroom expecting you to be ready for the day at the lake with the kids, instead finding you still soaked from your shower. He stood too long looking at you with your bathrobe tied loosely around your body, hair wet, water rivulets running down your legs, chest, cheeks.

The rest of the world seemed to fade into the background, just you and him seeing. If not for the sound of your front door being thrown open, you’re certain the distance between the two of you would have shrunk until –

“Hey, where are you guys?” It’s Mike. Not just Mike, you’re sure, because it’s too much noise. They’re early, but so is Eddie. Of all the days.

“Uh, I’m coming, hold up.” Eddie’s stumbling over his own feet as he turns to try to head of the boys from barging into your bedroom. You take notice of the red blooming high on his cheeks, because it’s undeniable. The moment happened. You both felt it.

When you enter the kitchen, you find the boys play fighting and digging through your cupboards while Eddie sits at the kitchen table with a glass of water. He’s unusually quiet. You’ve got your bag packed, and you push past Dustin to get into the fridge to get the sandwiches you made last night for everyone.

“Are we all ready? Suits on? Towels? Sunscreen?” You answer is a chorus of yes moms. You hate the nickname. It’s why they still use it. You can’t help the way you want everyone to be happy, be safe. How could you not after everything?

“Eddie –“ he starts, his name pulling him out of the daydream he was having. You know what he’s thinking about, his hand on your skin, his mouth on your neck, your smell in his nose, you’ve got to bring him out of that, “You ready to get going?”

He clears his throat, knocks back the rest of the water, and nods. “Let’s get moving, everyone’s gonna wonder what’s taking so long.” His attempt to save face, act like he wasn’t the reason everyone was still standing around waiting to leave, brings out smirk on your face.

The boys are shoving and pushing their way through the front door, you yell at their backs, “you little shits pile in the back, I’m riding shotgun,” they all groan in response to your demand. They’ll concede, but it’s easier for them to know the score before they even try it.

“How are we doing, Ed?” You loop your elbow in his while you steer him to the door, “do you need me to drive? You seem a little out of it.”

Your good natured and knowing ribbing seems to give him the courage he may have otherwise lacked. As you step to move your way through the front door, he pulls you back and pins you against the wall – out of sight of the rest of the crew.

He touches your still damp hair, rubbing it between his fingers. “What have you done to me?” As if you’ve done anything, you have no response to the question. You see the crease in his brow, the concern. He’s questioning his feelings, and it makes sense. You both have become something of parent figures for the kids in the last few months. So much pain and loss, you and Eddie have been the constants for them. You two are an unlikely duo, for so many reasons, but you’ve worked so hard to be consistent for everyone. Mutual sacrifice and mutual dependence on each other. This is the first time either of you have really looked at each other.

“What are you doing to me, Ed?” Your eyes are searching his. His lips are parted, as if he has something to say. Your mouths are drawn together, as if each set is magnetized to attract the other. His nose is rubbing against your own as he angles his mouth to meet you, the heat of his breath fanning across your lips –

*Hooooonk* *Hoooooooooonk* The sound of the horn from Eddie’s van has you jumping apart from one another. Two heads shaking away the fog of desire. What is going on with you two?

“I’m gonna kill those little assholes.” Eddie grabs the cooler and beach bag before slipping on a pair of flip flops at the door. He looks like a dad ready for vacation in his self-altered jean shorts while the bottoms of his sandals slap against the soles of his feet with every step. You feel giddy watching him like this. It’s a rare thing, Eddie being comfortable enough to shed his leather, his second skin, and you wonder when it happened. When he decided you were safe. It must have been when I wasn’t paying attention.

The sounds of Eddie berating Mike Wheeler can be heard over the roar of the van’s engine starting, and the blare of Iron Maiden cranking over the speakers. You grab your sunglasses and keys, before stepping into the heat of the summer day. You take your time locking the door, thinking about how just a moment ago you were lost in a moment with Eddie.

The vinyl passenger’s seat in the van sticks to your skin the moment you make contact with it, you turn to see your driver for the day’s adventure, ignoring the sounds of teenage boys bickering in the backseat. “Ready, Eddie?” You give him your best smile, and this time when he smiles back, you see that flush return to his cheeks.

“Born ready, baby.” His cheesy grin and teasing tone succeed in making you laugh hard enough to let out an indelicate snort. You feel giddy when he throws the van in reverse and slaps his hand against the steering wheel.

With the windows rolled down, the warm summer air beats against your arm as it hangs out of the window. You don’t mind the heat, the warm embrace welcome after the cold winter and spring at the edge of hell. The beach has been calling to you, and Eddie answered it by providing a reason to leave.

“I feel like this place is going to suffocate me,” you’d spent the first half of your day working at the community center and the last half sat at a desk at city hall fielding phone calls concerning revitalization plans for Hawkins.

Eddie sat with his legs splayed in front of him, tray of weed on the table in front him while you lay flat on the shag carpet of your parents’ living room, fingers weaving between the pieces of soft material.

“We can’t have that, you’re too important.” He’s concentrating on his task at hand, providing you with something to keep the nightmares at bay. It’s been bad, and like he said, you’ve become important to the community. It was unfair and exhausting.

“So, I guess running away would be considered bad form on my part, hm?” You angle your neck up to catch his reaction to your thought. You almost felt like if he told you to, you’d pick yourself off the floor and run out into the night, getting lost somewhere without the constant ringing of a telephone. Without the desperate needs of so many broken people filling your mind.

“No, probably not a great idea,” he sees your face fall, and it pings his heart, because he knows it’s not fair. He wants nothing more than to tell you to fuck this place and run off, but he’s on the list of the people that need you, “well, not a good permanent idea. How about for a day?”

It hadn’t taken much for you to be excused from your work for a day. Your boss and the volunteer coordinator could see the exhaustion on your face dragging your features lower with each passing moment. You weren’t just a hard worker, you’d lost everything and turned your pain into a gift for everyone around you instead of wallowing in your grief.

Right now, with the wind whipping through the cab of the van, the boys in the back laughing, Eddie drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, you feel alive. More alive than you have in a long time. The hours on the road move languidly, you spend the time watching the way the curls move with the air. The way the muscles of the arms flex with each turn of the wheel. The way lips move in sync with the words sung by the musicians on the cassettes playing in the tape deck.

He catches you several times, and you feel no shame. There has already been an unspoken acknowledgement between the two of you. Now that you could see, there was no going back. His eyes were better used on the road in front of him, but you could see him trace along the curve of your neck when you used a finger to draw your attention to the places you want him to kiss when you get some time alone.

It’s the crunching of gravel under the van’s tires that draws you back into the present moment. The halting of the brakes, the wind no longer moving his hair around his head. The sparkling sun high in the sky. You could hear the waves and you knew that as soon as you crossed over the top of the dunes, the wind across the lake would cool your skin already dampened with sweat.

You hand the heavy load of beach items to the 3 younger boys and share the task of carrying a couple of umbrellas with Eddie. You’re both slow, letting the boys get ahead and pick their spot. Even now, you’re both too caught up in each other, stealing looks and grins while your sandaled feet sink into the soft sand of the path laid out before you.

“How long do you think they’ll keep us here today?” Eddie’s asking, but his eyes are pleading with you. You haven’t even found a spot yet, and he’s already ready to shake the rest of them off his back. As if it wasn’t his idea to bring them along in the first place.

“Oh, I think we have at least a good 6 hours out here, Ed.” You knock your shoulder into his, “remember I packed lunch and dinner for us. You insisted we take our time and not rush back home.”

He answers you with a resigned groan, “I’m just full of great ideas,” he stops and turns you. Sweat was already beading on his neck, and under the bangs that hid his forehead, you’re sure. Without thinking, you reach into a pocket and pull out a hairband. On tiptoes, you reach up and tie his hair back into a low bun, hoping it provides him with some relief. It’s not until you look back into his face that you see the expression of yearning he has as he takes in your look of concentration.

This is bad. Unbelievably bad. The kids would pick up on this before you and Eddie even know what’s happening. You need to find a way to cool his jets, and your own, before you find the boys’ spot on the beach.

“Eddie, you can’t keep looking at me like that.” Your own eyes are pleading with him now.

“I can’t help it.” Exhaling a sigh, he brings a ring clad hand to his face, raking it down from forehead to neck as if he could wipe away the need he has written all over it. “Sorry, I’ll try. Stop being so fucking sexy and maybe we’ll get through this in one piece.”

Without letting you respond, he jogs ahead of you. He thinks I’m sexy. The thought alone makes you feel lighter and taller. The thought alone sets your skin on fire, and you’re sure you’ll both burn before the sun sets on the lake today.

Coming over the hill you see Eddie making his way to the spot, a little way from the shore. Robin, Nancy, and El should be here soon. The family. Your only family.

Towels are lain on the soft ground, umbrellas create a blanket of shadow, and you are opening the big beach bag that holds snacks, water, cans of soda, and sunscreen. You line the boys up in a row and help them get their hard to reach places before shooing them away from you. Eddie’s up last, and you can see the hesitancy he has as he reaches down and pulls his faded Metallica t shirt over his head.

He’s pretty, ink speckled skin with the still red scars scattered across his torso. You focus on the work, taking care to spread a thicker layer of lotion over the scars and his tattoos. The spots that are most sensitive to the harsh rays of the summer sun. His breath is ragged while you run your hands across his sensitive skin. You make mental notes of the places where the brush of your fingers makes his breath catch in his throat. For later.

“Hey!” Robin’s shouts from down the beach pull your thoughts back to the present, again, and you give Eddie a soft slap on the back indicating you’re done with him for the moment.

“Go play with your kids, I’ll be here.” You can feel the girls getting closer while Eddie stands stock still in his spot looking at you. His breath is still heavy, his chest flushed, and it’s enough to send a shiver of pleasure down your spine.

“Promise? I’m afraid if I take my eyes off you, you’ll disappear.” His brows are knitted together, and you understand what he’s feeling. Like this might slip away from both of you if you let it. You give him a half shy grin and nod just as El barrels herself into your back for a sneak attack hug.

He’s off, with a wave backwards, he runs down to the edge of the water. The new additions set up their own spots next to your own, while you watch Eddie and Will wrestle in the wet sand at the water’s edge.

The hours drift by lazily, the water is too cold for you to spend more than a few moments at a time letting it cool your too hot body. The heat of the sun dries your skin quickly, pieces of sand stuck to every piece exposed to summer air. Today, this is the only place that exists. Everything else has fallen away, it’s just you with your toes dug deep into the cool sand.

It’s late afternoon when you catch him staring again. Nancy and Robin are in the water, splashing each other while the rest toss a giant beach ball back and forth trying to keep it from getting caught in the wind. Your paper fan doing its best against the heat. You give up and grab some ice out of the cooler sat next to you, running it along your collarbone and up the back of your neck. When you look up, Eddie is standing a few yards away, apparently frozen by the scene in front of him. He’s watching you, and now you’re watching him back. You close the fan and rest it against your forehead while you dip the ice, down the valley of your chest.

“Not fair.” He throws his hands up in the air in frustration, while you laugh. He’s approaching slowly, looking over his shoulder to ensure that no one’s coming up behind him. “You’re doing this on purpose, and I fucking know it.” He’s standing over you, casting the shadow of his form across your body. You think, you wish, it was his own body draped across you right now.

“I don’t know what you mean. It’s hot, Eddie.” You bat your lashes at him, and he throws his body down next to you. He’s all arms and legs most of the time, and now is no different. The rest of the group is distracted, and he takes the opportunity to drape his chest, sticky with sweat across your own. As if he read your mind just a moment ago. It could be read as his typical playful wrestling, Eddie could always be counted on to make any of his friends his unsuspecting victims.

His hands find your sides, and he squeezes firmly, not a tickle. His face mouth is close to your ear, and he barely whispers, “I can’t wait until I can spend some time alone with you.” You feel his desire pushing against the outside of your thigh, and you gasp a little. You can see Mike look back over to the two of you, and you wiggle under him as a warning.

“Eddie.” You huff out as his nose nuzzles at your neck. He breathes you in deeply before adjusting his shorts and climbing off of you before he lumbers back down the beach.

The sun is a little lower in the sky now, and you know it’s time to start a fire, it will be no time before all of the gear is packed back up and everyone drags their tired bodies back to the parking lot. So, you get to work. And Nancy joins you, her eyes watching your face more than you’re comfortable with. She’s always been more perceptive than you appreciate, she always knows what you’re thinking.

You work silently with your closest friend. She lets you keep your secret. You call the rest over and settle in, it’s an easy beach dinner that takes no real effort to setup. Each person with a metal roasting fork for their hotdogs, with sun kissed cheeks and sand dusted legs. Your eyes can’t stop watching him, though. You’re both devouring each other with your eyes while the rest of the group devours their dinners.

Nancy must know, because she does something you never would have expected when the meal is over and everyone begins slowly clearing away their garbage. You might be the mom of the group, but Nancy is the manager. Nancy knows how to get everyone working together, she knows how to run an efficient ship.

“Hey, everyone,” she’s slapping her hands together to get the attention of Dustin and Mike – they started an argument about something you couldn’t even begin to comprehend – “you two, hey! Mike, Dustin, and Will are all riding back with us, we’re gonna squeeze in, and everything else can go in Eddie’s van. You’re all spending the night at my house anyway, and I’m sure those two won’t mind a quiet ride back after dragging your annoying asses out here for the day.”

The way she orders everyone around brokers no room for argument, and she gives nothing away about her true intentions. You could kiss her, but that would remind everyone that Eddie only lives a little ways from the Wheeler’s and Nancy’s plan doesn’t completely make sense, so you just shrug in agreement and try to tamp down the adrenaline surge coursing through your body. Your mind flashing to scenes of lips on lips, hands roaming across sweaty skin, your teeth sinking into the meat of his shoulder –

“Hey, you with me?” Eddie’s standing next to you now while you watch El and Will dragging the cooler down the beach. You’ve been standing here too long, lost in thought. He must have said something.

“Sorry, too much sun. What’s up?” His cheeks are tinted pink and you feel guilty for not telling him to add more sun screen at some point. He’ll be sore tomorrow.

“I said, let’s get the van loaded up, get them on the road, and we can, uh, stay for a little while. You and me?”

You put your arm through his elbow, something you do often, and you lead each other behind the rest of the gang. As they climb the top of the hill, and the tops of their heads disappear behind the dune, you stop in your tracks.

“Look, Ed.” You draw his attention back to the water. The sun’s slow descent in the western sky turning the water to a deeper blue, almost black color. It’s then that you decide, while the others load up the van, that this is alone enough. You draw his mouth to your own and close the gap between you. A prelude to the evening ahead. To the days and months ahead.

#eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #Spotify

[sweetnans]

That's not how this works.

Pairing: f.reader/bakugo katsuki.

tw: mention of break up, mention of violence but not described because bakugo isn't a bad boy, soft and persistent bakugo.

a/n: a three part sequence between you and this boy who's sorry about letting you go.

part 1

Your return to town was nothing you expected. On the first day you had Bakugo at your house professing his love to you, after a fucking year with no contact and not knowing anything about him.

After you left, you were debating on ghosting everyone you knew, even your friends, Mina and Kirishima because of him, or telling them you didn't want to know anything of him, you chose the latter.

They understood. They never mentioned him, and they never mentioned you in front of him, even if asked them how you were. They made a pact for you. They choose you over him. He could tell that he fucked up massively after their own friends denied telling him where you were or if you were settling fine.

He convinced himself that he deserved that.

The week passed without any inconvenience. You went to job interviews that were looking for someone with your profile. You were a hero, after all, and people needed heroes on the streets. In the year that you weren't in Japan, you learned other languages, so that helped you a lot to get a job in an instant.

After they called you to tell you that you were hired, you couldn't keep your content to yourself so you called your friends to tell them the news, they didn't answer right away but your phone rang after a few hour.

Mina called first. You told her the news about your job, and she told you that she was planning a party for you but she was just arranging the details.

Kirishima called in the afternoon to talk about the party, and he completely ruined the surprise by telling you everything Mina told him no to tell you.

And then he asked you.

"Is it okay if Bakugo goes to the party? I haven't invited him, so it's okay if you tell me -"

You interrupted right away.

"It's okay, don't worry" you lied

You didn't tell any of them what happened the other night. You wanted everything as normal as possible, and you knew yourself. You could be civil around him, and you knew Bakugo, too. After he spilled his emotions about you, he would mostly ignore you for breaking his ego.

Your friends, Mina and Kirishima, threw a party in your honor. Basically, it was because you made your way back to them, and they have missed you and for your new job. That was the excuse to get drunk, at least this time.

You thought the party would be less crowded, but everyone from the class 1-A had made it. Everyone was super nice to you, stopping to chat about your trip. You told them everything venting the good and the bad and told them about the people you met and how friendly everyone was.

"Oh please, you talk like you are going to abandon us," Mina said, clinging to your arm. She was quiet tipsy.

"I won't, I promise," you told her, squeezing her arm.

She smiled at you and then her smile fainted.

"Here comes trouble." she downed her glass and rolled her eyes to make her way out of the scene.

You looked at Kirishima, who made his way to you with Bakugo. He wore a black shit tucked in his black pants. He looked extremely hot. You couldn't lie to yourself.

"So she still mad at me," Kirishima stated, following Mina with his eyes.

"What did you do to her?" You asked kissing his cheek and then Bakugo's, greeting them. You haven't seen them at the party before.

"Me," Bakugo talked, trying to hide his smile.

"What?" You asked, confused. "Did I miss something?"

"Ew no." Kirishima made a gag. "I didn't do him, I invited him, Mina didn't want him to come because of you but I told her that you said it was fine"

It was weird talking about Bakugo with him standing right in front of you. You just shrugged and sipped your long cocktail.

You excused yourself and went to talk with the others.

"I heard that you got a Job in my father's agency" Todoroki said with a smile when you approached.

"Yeah, I didn't use the 'I'm friends with your son' card tho" you said, laughing. For your surprise, that made him laugh, too.

"It's okay, I'm the one that receives the possible resumes," he answered nonchalantly.

"So it was you," you said, grinning. "Jeez, one day you think you're enough, and the other you're crashed by reality itself," you joked.

"Don't do that. Your resume was above the others for many reasons"

You leaned into the wall, taking him in. He was cute in a friendly way. He never understood sarcasm. That was something that made him different from Bakugo, Bakugo spoke sarcasm, dripped sarcasm, and breathed sarcasm. He was pretty straightforward with everything that came into his mind, but he had his ways of speaking it.

"Of course her resume was above others she's fucking awesome"

A voice, louder, made its way from your back. Bakugo was right in your back, putting his hand above your shoulder to mark his presence.

"I didn't know that you two-" Todoroki tried to read the room.

"Oh no we don't" you anticipated.

His hand on your shoulder made a subtle flinch at your words. You could smell the booze emanated from Bakugo's figure. He was already drunk.

"That's exactly why I came to talk to you, princess," he said, putting himself behind you and tugging his fingers to your wrist.

"Excuse me, Sho," you said, giving him a side glance while letting you get guided by Bakugo.

He walked you to the main room. It was Mina's room. You couldn't miss the familiarity that the place gave to you, many sleepovers, many drunken nights spent there and the hungover the next day.

"What happened?" You asked. Pleading memory loss, like he wasn't in your home days prior, begging you to come back to him.

"You happened, talking to fucking half n' half" you rolled your eyes at his statement pinching your nose. Here we go again.

"For what I recall, I'm pretty fucking allowed to talk to anyone I want, you're not the boss of me" you said trying not to ruin your mood. You still wanted to catch up with all your classmates.

"You know what I mean. I know you, how you were looking at him"

"I was looking at him the same way I look at everybody," you explained. "Why are you doing this? Why right now?"

"I'm doing this because I know you still feel it," he almost screamed at you like he was desperate for you to react. He didn't know that you were doing everything to push away, trying against the feeling that emerged the other night.

He was in a drunken state, but his eyes were telling you that he knew exactly what he was doing. It wasn't a drunken haze where you spurred words meaningless. It was the opposite.

"You can't do that," you pointed to his chest. The first time you touched him in a year. You felt electricity running through your spine. You couldn't quite pin the feeling, but it was exactly what you felt when you touched him every day for almost six years.

"Do what? Realize that I was a fucking asshole for letting you go and wanting you back to demonstrate you that I'm better? That I'm different? That I'm going to love you the way you always deserved?"

He took your hands in his. Looking at you with dilated pupils. His breath was a mere inch from your face. Whisky, mint and caramel. He was sweating.

"You can't say that" you closed your eyes in pain. "You never called" you whispered.

"I know, I know," he repeated with his voice hoarse. "I messed up"

You leaned your forehead to him. He was contouring himself to be at your height. You sighed, and he did the same. It was pretty intimate.

"Remember when we say forever? I mean it now, " he said. Your nose touching his.

"Stop reminding me what we said. This is hurting me more than I thought it will hurt." You let out, embracing him slightly. You missed the proximity. You missed his smell, his antics, his humor, his ways of telling you that he loved you, but you were still afraid of him spatting and messing with your head all over again.

"I'll stop the hurting," he closed his eyes.

You'll give it a go. Maybe he was right. You could just give yourself to the feeling. You wanted him, you missed him and he felt exactly the same, maybe it was the right thing to do. Maybe you should just seal your lips and kiss him the way that you wanted to for a year.

Just an inch for your lips to be touching, his hands made their way to your neck, putting you close to him and with no escape. He put a lock of your hair behind your ear, focused completely on the task, and then he examined your face looking for hesitation in your face. There was none.

He smiled, his signature grinned smile, lips ready to smash at yours, sealing the deal. You could feel your heartbeat against his chest.

A loud knock in the door made you back from his grip, losing every step you walked. His face twisted at your maneuver.

"Guys, we are going to do Karaoke. The rules are simple, for every time you messed up a word, you have to take a shot," Kaminari said, clearly tipsy against the door. His voice sounded muffled.

Bakugo stomped to the door, and when he opened it, Kaminari nearly fell at his feet.

"Bakubro! We thought you were at your house by-" he noted that you were just behind the man that was about to howitzer his friend into the next dimension. "Oh"

"It's okay," you hurried. "I'm going to the bathroom, excuse me, I'm about to piss myself"

You took your cocktail and made your way out, ignoring the fuming blonde that tried to reach for you to stop and end what he began.

By the time you had splashed water to your face, fixed your clothes, and went back to the karaoke thing, he was nowhere to be seen.

He just bailed, like he always did.

Part 3? let me know :)

#bnha bakugou #bakugou smut #bakugo smut #bakugo x reader #bakugo headcanons #mha bakugou #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #mha bakugo katsuki #mha x reader #mha #my hero academy fanfiction #my hero academia #katsuki bakugou #katsuki bakugo x reader #bnha x reader #bnha #bakugo katsuki #bnha bakugo katsuki

[revengeghoulette]

Matcha Latte w/Rose

Part 3: The Aftermath

Part 1 2 3

Playlist: The Rosy Crown

A/N: Totally different direction than what I originally planned for, but I like this so much better.

Mentions of infidelity/cheating. Divider by @ghuleh-recs this fic isnt part of mushy may but gah, its so cute!

Tags: @obsidianghoul @gottagho-st @sentientgolfball @foxybouquet @cheerycherrycandy-resurrected @clouds-bitch @crystalameoba @hyperobsession @everybodyshusband @ghostlylivres @sovaghoul @hypnoneghoul

“Hey Momo, it's Swiss, again. Please call me,” Swiss hangs up letting out an exasperated sigh. It’s been 4 days since their date, and he hasn’t heard anything from Mountain. Swiss is worried he fucked up. Was it the latte? Was it their less than PG activities in the kitchen? That must’ve been it. He knows he shouldn't have said ‘I love you’... Fuck fuck fucking fuck. 

“Hey, how long has he been like that?” Mist asks Sunny, who’s mopping the cafe staring at Swiss slumped on one of the bookstore chairs. 

“At least 2 hours. He’s been like that since I got here, and he hasn’t moved,” Sunny sighs, placing the mop in the bucket. “I don’t think he’s even blinked.” 

Mist stares at gloomy Swiss before speaking, “Should we do something? What if we called Mountain and made up some excuse that we need help moving furniture. They need to talk, or something. ” 

“Wait… do you think they’re… y'know? There was literally a spark when their hands touched the first time they met,” Sunny wonders.

“Nooo… that’s so rare nowadays with the whole human-ghoul integration thing and stuff…” Mist stares off for a second, her eyebrows furrowing as the realization hits her, “Oh, fuck. I think you’re right. Are you okay if I leave? I’ll do inventory later.”  Mist doesn’t wait for a response and heads out the door. 

Sunny is left confused and with many questions. She puts away the mop, and heads toward the kitchen. Swiss has obviously not been eating as well as he should. She’s determined to get him to eat something today, even if it kills her. 

-

Mist walks up to Mountain’s doorstep, breathing heavily from sprinting to his house. She’s about to knock when the door opens. 

“Oh, Mountain, hi,” she pants, trying to catch her breath. “You’d think I wouldn’t be out of breath so easily having gills and all, but cardio is not my thing.”  

Mountain chuckles sadly, humor not reaching his eyes, “I felt you coming. Please come in,” Mountain lets her inside, “tea? Water?”

“Yes, water, please.”

Mist enters his apartment and takes in the messy state. Books thrown on the ground, book display case doors wide open, chess pieces thrown across the room, curtains closed, the plants scattered around were withering. Mountain himself was withering. Stubble growing on his usually clean shaven face, dark circles below his now dim green eyes, his hair a mess, looking worse than a bird's nest. He was still in his pajamas, a tattered up shirt, looking thinner than his usual lean self. 

He brings out glasses of water from the kitchen and takes a seat on the sofa. Mist sits gently next to him, taking his shaking hand into her own. 

“Mountain…” she says softly. 

“I didn’t think it was going to happen again. I thought mates were a once in a lifetime thing. I- I don’t know how this happened. And then he said ‘I love you’ and I-I- He- I can’t.” Mountain starts to rock back and forth, pulling his hand away from Mist. 

“Hey, hey, Mount, look at me,” she slides off the couch to kneel in front of him, “breathe. Look at me. It’s going to be okay. That’s it, breathe in and out. Good job Mounty.” 

It takes a few minutes for Mountain to recover with Mists help. She sits on the ground in front of him holding his hands, waiting to see if he’d continue talking.

“I- I had a mate once, and it nearly broke me,” Mountain starts. Mist gets comfortable and listens to Mountain’s story. 

Her name was Emily. A rare name for a quintessence ghoul. They met when her family moved to town. She was the most beautiful ghoul he’d ever seen. Stunning bright yellow horns adorning her head, the cheesiest lopsided smile, bright purple eyes framed by round glasses, and freckles scattered all over her body that matched the night sky. 

They did everything together. 

After a few months of knowing each other they knew they were mates. Sparks would fly every single time their hands brushed, it was impossible for them to be separate for more than a day, and they only had eyes for each other. It was easy to say they both fell hard and fast. 

After discussing it, they decided to officially become mates. They held a small celebration with just their parents and closest friends to celebrate the union. Aether, Mountain’s closest friend for hundreds of years, was the master of ceremony and oversaw that everything was according to tradition. 

A few years after mating, Emily started to become distant. Mountain felt a shift in the mating bond. It felt weak. 

One night, when Emily was out late with her friends, Mountain started to get feverish. His heart racing, sweat running down his face. He was on fire. Boiling from the inside out. He didn’t know what was happening. After a few hours of feeling strange, he was able to calm down. A few symptoms lingering. He didn’t know what was happening, and Emily wasn’t there to help him calm down. 

The next morning he was fine, but then it started again while he was at work. The sweat, the heat, confusion, dizziness, his skin felt like it was on fire. Farmer Bob tried helping him by spraying him down with the hose, thinking he was experiencing heat stroke in the record breaking heat wave. 

The cool water from the hose helped and Mount was able to regulate his own temp. Farmer Bob’s wife, Debbie, regularly brought out iced lemonade and water to the boys during their shift to help them cool off and avoid another heat stroke incident. 

The next time this happened, it was raining, so it wasn’t the heat. Mountain collapsed in the field. Farmer Bob managed to get him conscious enough to drag him to his truck. He was hot to the touch and clammy. He wasn’t sure what to do so he drove him home and called the medwitch.  

Mountain stumbled into the house with the help of Farmer Bob and he saw Emily naked, on top of Aether.

He was betrayed by his best friend and mate. 

All the crazy symptoms he’s been having are a direct result of Emily cheating on him, specifically sleeping with another ghoul. 

His heart shattered. The pain in his heart started. He felt the snap of the bond. He saw the red string snap. It didn’t affect Emily as much because she was the one doing the cheating, but he saw it in her face when the bond snapped. 

Mountain was losing his composure. He wanted to kill Aether.  Betrayed by his own best friend. His claws were out, he was swinging. Luckily the medwitch had arrived who gave him a sedative and helped him to his room. She helped him get through the initial pain of the bond breaking, and left him with herbal medicines.

Emily and Aether were shunned by the community for infidelity and not respecting the mating bond. 

He fell into a deep depression where he saw no light at the end of the tunnel. He was a robot just running through the motions. Farmer Bob had to let him go because he was killing the crops instead of keeping them alive. 

His parents did everything they could for him, but it was actually his sister that helped him the most. She would take him flowers, force him out to the fields for fresh air, the rivers for some fun in the sun. She would make him silly little flower crowns and help him see the world in color again. She never let him out of her sight. She put up with so much of his grumpy attitude, but it was worth it. She may be younger than him by a few hundred years, but was far wiser than anyone he’s ever talked to. 

“If it wasn’t for that little brat, I don’t know what would've happened,” Mountain smiles thinking about his sister, “I love Swiss. I love him so much it hurts, but I’m just scared of getting hurt like that again, especially because he doesn’t fully understand the rules of mating or ghoul traditions,” Mountain finishes. 

Mist nods understanding where he’s coming from. “Look, I know it’s not business, but Swiss is basically my brother and I’ve never seen him so devoted to someone before. Yes, he’s a big flirt, and he’s got a history, but this is so different. He wakes up thinking about you, goes to bed with you on his mind, and you fill his thoughts from sunup to sundown. I would know because he never shuts up about you. He loves you a lot Mounty. I hate seeing you two like this, all depressed and shit. You should talk to him. He’d understand,” she squeezes his hands with reassurance. 

“You’re right, I should talk to him. It’s unfair how I just cut off communication with him. I’ll talk to him when I’m ready, not tonight though. Momma needs a drink,” Mountain winks at Mist hoping she’d catch on. 

“That's my line!” Mist laughs, happy to see her friend returning to his normal self, “Want some help cleaning up?” 

“Yes, please. This is embarrassing.” Mountain says, shying away from his friend. 

“Hey, it’s okay. This is what friends are for. Just tell me where stuff goes,” Mist gets up from the floor offering Mountain a hand. He grabs her hand, but pulls her down on top of him into a bone crushing hug. She lets out a boisterous laugh while trying to tickle him.

Mountain lets out a genuine laugh, feeling a weight lifted off his shoulders.

Everything’s going to be okay. 

-

Mountain keeps his distance from Swiss and The Rosy Crown for a few more days. Mist encourages him to take a trip to see his sister. It’s been a few years since he’s seen her, and a friendly face will do him some good. Mountain takes an additional week off from work, claiming he’s been selected as a last minute keynote speaker at a conference. 

Swiss in his own world suffering. He’s fucking up drink orders, the breads not as tasty, it’s either under or over cooked, and all around he’s a mess. Patrons sympathize with him. It’s not easy going through heartbreak and running a business.

Sunny has stepped up to take charge while Swiss is down in the dumps. Sunny and Mist split up baking duties and managing the bookshop since Swiss usually did that in the mornings, after the breakfast rush. 

“Cheer up Mr. Brânză*. I’m sure professor Spruce is super busy and hasn’t had the chance to message you. You know how conferences are,” Eric, one of the bookstore employees, tells Swiss. 

Sunny got him to finally start eating again. He’s back to his normal eating schedule and he’s cheering up with every passing day. He was almost back to his silly, goofy self. 

Mountain returned from visiting his sister on Monday, but since he took the week off, he was hoping to invite Swiss on a mini-vacation and be able to explain everything. 

After taking the time to clean up, and packaging a few gifts he bought while on vacation, he heads down to the nearest market and picks out a bouquet of Swiss favorite flowers. 

Nervously, he knocks on Swiss’ door, hoping he answers the door because they have so much to discuss. 

Slowly the door opens and it's a woman… 

“Can I help you?” The woman asks. 

Swiss yells “Who is it?” in the background. The woman turns to answer him and by the time she turns back, the flowers and a small package are on the floor. 

Shit. Swiss recognizes that packaging and bolts out the door, hoping to catch Mountain. 

--

*Brânză means cheese in Romanian. Swiss Brânză. Swiss Cheese. Ba dum tss. gotta thank Spooks for this one.

#the band ghost #revenge works #matcha latte w rose fic #swiss ghoul #mountain ghoul #coffee shop au #mist ghoulette #sunshine ghoulette #aether ghoul

[cripplecharacters]

Hello! I need advice for writing a character with oculocutaneous albinism who’s a platonic love interest without descriptions of her coming off as fetishising albinism. Her name is Glass and she’s blind and an investigative journalist and will be a reoccurring character in the series. The MC is gay and he describes her very affectionately in the narrative. When she’s introduced he fondly points out (to the reader) a lot of traits about her including things related to her albinism like “slightly wavy snow white hair in a fashionable bob and striking dark blue eyes that gently danced back and forth. One eye was pointing slightly inwards as she tilted her head and smirked at him.” I got the “dancing eyes” idea from a short film made by someone with albinism and nystagmus. I’m going to try and describe other traits about her more, especially about her personality to counter this.

I also have a question that might be too specific? I’m planning on giving her a little brother with ocular albinism, OA. If someone has a daughter with OCA are they more likely to have a son with OA or are the two kinds of albinism genetically unrelated? I wanted to include him to have more then one blind character in the story. Thanks for your time. :) -Anon Blue.

Hi! We don't currently have mods with Albinism, so I'll try my best. I recommend our #albinism representation tag for resources made by people with it! :-)

If you don't put most of the attention of how she looks to her hair or skin color, I think it should be fine. It's okay to mention it - I mean, that's just how she is, would be kinda weird to fully ignore it - but don't make other characters or the narrator gush over her paleness or eye color every time she comes up. Change it up and praise her fashion sense (like you did with her hairstyle!), the shape of her nose, how bushy her eyebrows are, or how her gums show when she's smiling instead! Her appearance shouldn't be reduced to just "girl with albinism" - give her other visual traits! :-) For other descriptors, I would avoid making her "angelic" or "ethereal" because of her disability. Remember to not make it mystic or magical; there's a whole "Magical Albino" trope out here that you should try to avoid.

You mentioning nystagmus and strabismus is great! Those are often forgotten or ignored in characters with albinism because they're not seen as "pretty". I've seen some people describe their nystagmus as "dancing eyes" before too, I think it's a very cool of conveying it!

In general, a good way to avoid fetishization is to include the "boring/mundane" things. When you show the medical parts of albinism like the esotropia, avoiding the sun, having her use a white cane or a guide animal, or using Braille, the representation will be more informed overall and not just an "aesthetic" - which a lot of characters with albinism unfortunately end up being. There's a big difference between a blind journalist guided by a German shepherd who happens to not have melanin and needs a Big Hat, and an evil sniper with bright red eyes and mysterious powers. I hope this makes sense!

In case that Glass is Black, I'd recommend looking at the #albinism tag at @writingwithcolor - it's always good to make sure your descriptions don't come off as unintentionally colorist if you go into her skin color. Things like describing her as more frail or delicate (when compared to other Black characters) would be in poor taste, so look out for that intersectionality if it applies!

The brother with ocular albinism part; those two types are completely unrelated, and it would be incredibly rare (not impossible) for that to happen as far as I know. For reference, almost all OCA (1-7) and OA (1-2) types are caused by completely different genes. The only exception could be OA1 and OA3; we don't currently know what causes the third one, and there's a theory that it's just a different presentation of the first. But I'm not aware of anything like that for oculocutaneous albinism, so if Glass has OCA1 (as I'm assuming from the description), her brother would have OCA1 as well (as opposed to OCA3 or any other subtype) if anything!

One interesting thing that you could do to have him have OA that I never see in fiction is to have him be adopted. I know multiple families who had a child with a certain disability and decided to adopt a second (or third, or fourth...) one with it! I think it could be very cool and would make sense with him being the younger one. Here is an interview/vlog from a real-life family with six adopted blind kids, if you want an example of that :-)

Wanting to include multiple blind characters is a great idea - if adoption doesn't work for your story, he could have the same type of albinism as Glass or have a non-genetic cause of blindness, like CVI, Retinopathy of Prematurity, glaucoma, or a whole lot of other things!

A story about a blind investigative journalist sounds awesome! Good luck with your writing!

mod Sasza

#mod sasza #anon Blue #albinism representation #writing descriptions #intersectionality #blindness #fetishization of disability

[the-blind-assassin-12]

What Can Still Be Known

A/N: This is my submission for @wannab-urs Hozier Drabble Challenge... which I meant to have finished weeks ago, but since it's May the 4th, today seems like a good time to post it even if it is later than I originally planned. Thank you so much to Gin for putting this together! I love music prompts, so this was right up my alley. I can't wait to catch up on the other stories written for this event! Make sure you all go check them out, too! You can find them here.

Prompt: My song was Butchered Tongue from the album Unreal, Unearth, and my character was Din. I was delighted to get this prompt, because that song speaks to my soul. It's melancholic and beautiful, and I think it fits Din so damn well, so I hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: angst, mentions of canon typical violence, mention of death of parents/family, you know, Mandalorian stuff.

Word Count: 3,545 (oops.)

Summary: Din doesn't remember much about his parents or his life with them... but that doesn't stop him from wishing it were different.

Nevarro’s sun burned bright and hot as Din crossed the scrubby stretch of flatlands that separated the town from the Mandalorian encampment. Shifting the crate he carried under one arm, he tilted his head down to where Grogu hopped along beside him, using the Force to propel himself every few steps to accommodate for his father’s much longer stride. The sight, along with the string of happy gurgles and babbles spilling from the kid’s mouth, made a smile sprout beneath the man’s helmet. 

“It’s good to be back, isn’t it buddy?” 

Grogu looked up at him and squealed happily, nodding and pointing one clawed finger at the semi-permanent settlement growing closer with every step they took. 

Though the efforts to reclaim their homeworld had been successful, a small group of Mandalorians remained on Nevarro during the rebuilding process on Mandalore - mainly those responsible for teaching and raising the foundlings and other young children that were not yet ready to start their trials. There were two combat instructors, two teachers whose focus was on the tenants of the Resol’nare, one additional teacher who was responsible for teaching Mando’a, as well as a dozen or so students and their guardians. Eventually they’d all join the rest of their people on Mandalore, but until things were more solidly settled there, Nevarro was as safe an option for an outpost as could be found in the Outer Rim. 

Din chuckled. “I’m sure your friends will be happy to see you again, too.” 

That response sent the kid bouncing with excitement, hopping high enough so that he could fit in a flip before touching down again, the rondel and small pauldron he wore clinging together like chimes with his motion. 

“Go ahead,” Din urged him, jutting his chin out in front of him. “You don’t have to wait for me. I’ll be right behind -” But the child was gone before the last word left his lips. He sighed and shook his head in amusement. “-You.” He watched through the tinted screen of his visor as Grogu darted towards the sparring grounds, no doubt in search of Ragnar.  

It had been a few months since they’d been back on Nevarro, Din busy taking Grogu through his apprenticeship, teaching him skills that he would need in order to move on in his training. Tracking, hunting, navigation, survival, negotiation, just to name a few. Every lesson took them to a different planet, some of them coming with the added bonus of coinciding with a bounty or paid favor. The most recent one, a lesson in tracking on Rodia, had resulted in uncovering a stash of beskar ingots that had been defaced with an Imperial stamp. 

Immediately after finishing up on Rodia - Din showing Grogu how to incapacitate an enemy without killing them - they’d taken the recovered beskar back to the Armorer on Mandalore, so that she could fashion it into new pieces for the foundlings. It was strange, but good, to see the glass encrusted planet so teeming with life. It was a relief to know that what his people had fought for for so long, what so many had given their lives for, was finally secure. Finally theirs. 

But despite the fact that the Mandalorian people finally had a safe place to call home, Din had yet to feel that sort of connection with the planet. Unlike Bo-Katan, he hadn’t been born there, nor had he spent any time there as a child. He’d heard stories about what the Great Forge had been like in its glory, how lush the gardens of Sundari had been long ago. But to him, a foundling Child of the Watch who had never set foot on Mandalore until he was a grown man, they’d always felt like stories about some fictional, far off place. He wondered if that would change, if he would ever feel at home in a place that brought him no nostalgia or warmth. 

A part of him hoped that it would. Because it wasn’t just Mandalore that he felt that absence of connection to. It was everywhere he went. A side-effect of losing every home he’d ever had, it turned out, was not knowing where your roots would grow if they could grow anywhere they chose. 

He knew he had a home once. A true home, one where he could have collected a whole life’s worth of memories, enough of them so that when he returned there they’d all come rushing to fill his heart with warmth and welcome. He knew he had a family before the Tribe had become that for him, too. A mother and father who loved him so fiercely that they sacrificed their own lives to save his. When he closed his eyes and concentrated hard enough, he could still find their faces. His father’s was easier to recall because he himself wore so many of the same features. Every time he saw his own reflection he was reminded of the man who carried him through the battlefield that their village had become. 

His mother’s face was more difficult to recall in detail, but that didn’t mean he had forgotten her. He remembered her thick, dark hair and the way it curled at her shoulders. He remembered the texture of the red robes she wore, remembered tracing the intricate pattern of woven stitching on the cuffs of her sleeves with the tips of his fingers. He couldn’t be sure, but he had the thought that he must have remembered these things because she was the one who comforted him when he was hurt, sad or scared. That what he really recalled when he thought of his mother was the feeling of safety and warmth that her embrace provided. 

He remembered the tone of her voice, soothing but strong. His father’s was full and confident and always sounded like a smile was about to appear. He remembered that the two of them sang often. Sometimes he’d be hit with a snippet of a melody, the lyrics lost, turned to dust and ash like the rest of his homeworld, but he’d find himself humming and realize that it was one of the songs his parents used to sing. 

The forgotten lyrics were only a small part of a larger loss, though. They were written in a language that had died when the population of Aq Vetina had been snuffed out. So he could remember his parents’ voices. He could remember the melodies they sang. But the things they said, the words they used, the meaning behind them? All of that was gone. For all the languages and means of communication he did know, the first one he’d ever heard and learned escaped him. And in all of his travels since leaving his homeworld in the arms of an armored stranger that had become his Buir, Din had never met anyone who spoke his native tongue. 

It made him wonder if anyone else had survived the attack on his home that day, or if he was the last living member of a completely slain culture. 

Before he could ruminate on that thought for too long, though, Azil, one of the combat instructors, saw him walking towards the sparring grounds and waved him over. “Olarom, Djarin!” He pointed at the crate Din carried, tilting his helmeted-head in question. “Gifts from home?” 

The contents of the box shifted as Din handed it over, newly cast cuiresses ringing together in answer to Azil’s inquiry. “New beskar,” Din responded with a nod. “Freshly forged on Mandalore,” he added in answer to Azil’s question about where it came from. “I was told to deliver them to you for distribution to your students.” 

Azil set the crate down and clapped one gloved hand to Din’s shoulder. “Vor entye, vod.” 

Returning the gesture, Din did the same. “This is the Way.” 

“This is the Way,” Azil echoed, and then immediately set about unpacking the box of armor, sorting it by size, leaving Din to see where Grogu had gone. 

It didn’t take long for him to find his son. The long, green ears were a giveaway, sure. But so was the small crowd of other children gathered around to watch him levitate a black chunk of volcanic rock while Ragnar Vizsla practiced blasting it with training darts. With each successful hit, the other kids would cheer, a collective sound of amazement coming from them each time Grogu managed to evade the blast by redirecting the rock. 

Din stood watching for a few moments, silently appreciative that these children had this opportunity to laugh and learn and grow together somewhere open and safe and free. He could remember playing similar training games and showing off new skills with the few other children in his covert, though then it was all done underground, in hiding. But he couldn’t recall the kinds of games he might have played with friends in his village. If there were any nursery rhymes or tall tales he might have known once, they’d long since faded from his memory. 

It made him wonder if he’d eventually forget what little he could remember about his native culture. Would he lose it piece by piece? Until not even a familiar tune or the color red or his own reflection sparked any feeling? He hoped not, but it seemed inevitable. 

At least, it had. 

Suddenly - from a different group of children than the one gathered around Grogu, much to Din’s relief - a small child went darting by his boots, arms outstretched in front of her, the distinct sound of sniffles and cries trailing after her. Turning away from the training grounds, he watched as the child was scooped up by a woman who had just stepped out of one of the tents. He assumed that whatever sent the girl running was just the result of one of the other kids being a little too rough. Or perhaps one of Nevarro’s reptilian species had frightened the child. Either way, it was clear that there was no real danger and that the woman had things under control, so he started to turn back towards Grogu and Ragnar’s shenanigans. 

But then he overheard the woman begin to soothe the young girl in her arms. 

“Ny mo yariin, necta.” 

It stopped him in his tracks and sent his head swiveling back in the direction it came from. His heart pounded beneath the elongated diamond stamped into the center of his chestplate as he felt something unlock in his memory. 

He’d heard those same words before. So long ago that he was stunned when he recognized the phrase. So long ago that the meaning behind them was lost. But he knew they were spoken to him as comfort. He knew that they were words steeped in love. He watched the way the woman cradled the child to her armored chest, his eyes catching on the piece of red fabric that was pinned to the cowl of her flight suit. 

No matter how impossible it seemed that the words he’d just heard had survived what a whole settlement of people hadn’t, no matter how unlikely it was that it was there of all places that he’d heard it, no matter how slim the odds were that the tattered scarlet linen was the same fabric that he remembered from his home, Din found himself drawn to her. 

To you. 

—  —  — 

You were rewiring the com device in your helmet when you heard Tira’s cry. 

Though you knew that she was probably fine - there were dozens of other Mandalorian adults present in the settlement, and you knew that none of them would allow any real harm to come to the children - you immediately set your work down and stepped outside, senses heightened. But as soon as you saw her running towards you, you relaxed. She wasn’t hurt or being chased. She’d likely just been knocked over by one of the bigger kids while they played one of their games. Tira was small, but didn’t like to be told that. And since her older brother had begun his trials and wasn’t there as often to make sure she didn’t get pushed around by the others, she’d been having trouble adjusting. 

It didn’t help that less than a year ago, she and Maj had lost both of their parents in the battle to retake Mandalore, which is how the children had come to be in your care. 

As a former foundling yourself, you were more than willing to step in and raise them as your own, just as the Mandalorian who rescued you the day your village was attacked and your parents were killed would have done had he not been able to reunite you with your kin. You’d been brought to Corellia, where your mother’s sister lived with her family, and they’d taken you in and raised you instead. It wasn’t until you became an adult that you rejoined the Mandalorians and took the Creed, choosing to commit your life to the very people who had saved it. 

But though you mainly spoke Galactic Basic and were muddling your way through learning Mando’a, it was still your first language that came to you when you scooped a sniffling Tira into your arms and cradled her to your armored chest. It was still the words your parents - and then your aunt - had spoken to you when you’d been hurt or scared that you used to comfort the girl. 

“Ny mo yariin, necta.” 

You’re safe with me, sweet one.

You knew Tira and Maj didn’t speak Aquitto. They only knew the meaning of that one phrase because you’d taught it to them. And since your aunt had passed away, you knew that you were possibly the only person left in the galaxy who would even recognize it let alone speak it. As far as you knew, there hadn’t been any other survivors from your village that day. It struck you that every time you spoke it could be the last time it was ever uttered. 

Pushing that thought from your mind, you focused on Tira, kissing her cheek and letting her clutch at the sculpted pin that held a piece of red fabric - a remnant of the hooded robe you’d been wearing the day you were rescued on Aq Vetina - in place on your cowl. The pin had belonged to your mother, the woman pressing it into your hand before disappearing to go try to fight off the monstrous machines with the rest of the village. As a child you would trace the design on it with your fingertip whenever she held you, whenever she made the same promise you were making Tira. 

“Ny mo yariin, necta.” 

By the time you’d said it a second time, the girl had stopped crying. The words themselves weren’t magic, but the sentiment in them was. Even if they were the last scraps of the Aquitto language to live on, you hoped that one day Tira or Maj would pass them along to a child who needed to hear them, too.

Whatever had brought on the sudden storm of tears had passed, and Tira wriggled in your hold as she caught sight of some of the other children watching as the Jedi foundling levitated chunky rocks for Ragnar to blast with darts. You chuckled at her eagerness to get back out there with the big kids. “Okay, necta. But watch out for yourself, got it?” You set her back on the ground, stooping down to her level and ruffling her hair. “I know you’re a tough one, but you still have to be careful.” 

She nodded enthusiastically, telling you that she would be, and then she was gone, scurrying back across the crusty flatland towards the other kids. When you stood back up, you were met with the dark visor of Din Djarin - a man you’d never personally met, but who you’d heard a great deal about from the others in the settlement on Nevarro. You knew he was the Jedi foundling’s adoptive father. You knew he had previously wielded the Darksaber and that he was instrumental in helping Bo-Katan Kryze and the others take back Mandalore. You knew that he was responsible for reclaiming the beskar that your armor had been forged from. 

– – – 

“Oh, hello,” you greeted him, a small laugh in your voice that he figured was a result of the way he’d caught you off guard. You lifted a hand and reflexively tucked the piece of red fabric at your collar into place. “It’s Din, right?”

“Yes. Din Djarin. I’m sorry I don’t know your name, I-” 

You waved him off and introduced yourself. Smiling, you pointed in the direction that the little one you’d just set down had run off in. “That’s your son over there, isn’t it? Tira was excited to see him.” 

Din turned his head to follow your finger, though he didn’t need to look to know that you were indicating Grogu. “It is,” he confirmed, facing you again with a small shrug. “He likes to show off.” 

You laughed at that. “I would too, if I could do what he can.” 

“He’s a special kid,” Din replied, and you smiled again. 

“He is.” You nodded, and it was clear to him that you were still unsure of why he had approached you. “Is there-”

“Can I ask you something?” He tilted his head, hidden eyes fixed on the fabric at your neck - and on the sculpted pin that held it in place, the designs so familiar to him he could feel them on his fingers. 

You furrowed your brow, expression turning serious. “Of course. Not sure if I’ll be able to help you with it, but-” You held your hands up, palms to the sky. “Ask away.” 

“The words you just spoke to that little girl… Tira?” You nodded so he went on. “How do you know that language?” 

He watched your eyes widen with your blink. “You… You’re familiar with Aquitto?” 

Din sighed, giving a slight shake of his head. “I didn’t even remember what it was called, but… Yes. Or, that phrase, anyway. How do you know it?”

You let out a breath. “I… I was born on Aq Vetina. It was the language my parents spoke. It…” Again your fingers came up to the pin and the fabric that it secured. “It was my first language. I was lucky that my aunt knew it, too, or else I would have forgotten it completely after our village was destroyed and-” Something dawned on you and your eyes widened again. “You said you were familiar with it?” He nodded. “How?” 

You asked the question in a way that made him think you already knew the answer, but you needed - or wanted - to hear him say it. So he did. “Same as you. I was born there. It was my parents’ language. But I haven’t heard it spoken since the day droids raided our home.” He blinked, somewhat stunned that only moments before he had been mourning the loss of his native language and culture only to find a source of it right in front of him. “I didn’t know there were other survivors.” 

Your mouth fell open slightly as you stared up into the visor that hid his eyes from view. When you spoke again it was quiet, your words equally full of disbelief. “Neither did I.” Your lips twitched into a small smile despite the way your eyes had started to water. “I’m glad we were both wrong, Din.” 

“I am, too.” He felt a tightening in his chest, but it was unlike anything he felt before. It wasn’t from sorrow or anxiety, it wasn’t to alert him to a threat or caused by regret. It felt more like a connection forming - like meeting you had brought him closer to his own heart somehow. Instantly, a thousand questions popped into his mind for you, and he imagined you might have had some for him as well. But there was one thing he needed to know first. “Can you tell me what it means? What you said to Tira? My… I think my parents used to say it to me, and…” He trailed off, waiting for your response. 

“It means, ‘You’re safe with me, sweet one.’” You smiled again. “It literally translates to ‘You’re in my heart’ though. It’s… It’s what you say to the people you love most.” 

Just then, Grogu and Tira came tearing over, Din bending down to pick up his son and you settling your hand on the little girl’s head as she clung to your side. “Hey, Buddy. Remember when I told you about my parents and what I remembered about where I came from?” 

“Patu.” His head moved up and down, ears flapping with his nod. 

“Well, this lady comes from the same place that I do, and she just taught me how to say something in my old language. You wanna hear it?” 

“Patu!” He spread his clawed fingers over Din’s chestplate. 

Din looked over at you - at the warm smile on your face as you smoothed the little girl’s play-ruffled hair and gave him an encouraging nod - and then back down at Grogu. “Ny mo yariin, necta.” 

.

.

.

Thank you for reading! If you would like to be added to or removed from the taglist for this or any of my stories, please feel free to let me know in an ask or message, or you can fill out the form on my masterlist! :)

tags: @something-tofightfor ​ @pheedraws​ @beautifuldesastre​ @alraedesigns @valkblue

@dihra-vesa @marauderskeeper @littlemisspascal @mishasminion360 @stevie75

@nyctophiliiiiaaa @practicalghost @tanzthompson @harriedandharassed @woodlandmouth

@thescarletfang @trickstersp8 @imtryingmybeskar @wildmoonflower @mswarriorbabe80

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@jedi-in-crocs @hannahkatharinee @anoverwhelmingdin @chiyo13 @myloveistoolittle

@severin-proud @vickie5446 @jessthebaker @ael_xander

#hozier drabble challenge #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin fic #the mandalorian fic #butchered tongue #the mandalorian #may the 4th #star wars fic #din djarin #grogu #what can still be known #Spotify

[weirdkpopgirl]

For Once | Jeno Imagine #11

Title: For Once

Genre: Angst, friends to lovers (kinda)

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, reader being tipsy, insecurities, depressive thoughts (yay)

Word Count: ~1.06k

Author's Note: I actually came up with this story idea awhile ago, two months maybe? And I know I've written a similar story for Jeno before, so I tried to change it up a bit. But for some reason, I just feel like Jeno fits the friends to lovers trope really well. He's the type of person you could trust, and quietly care about you. Anyway, I hope for this story to reach out to those who might be hurting alone. If you are, you don't have to be. I hope there's someone in your life you can lean on. Thank you for reading ^ ^

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The exact time your feet led you away from the party and out to the balcony with a cocktail in hand, you weren’t quite sure. Maybe it was half an hour after you arrived at Chenle's house, maybe even less. You doubt anyone even noticed your absence, as you rarely came to these social gatherings anyway. To your shame, the only reason you accepted your friend’s invitation to his college party was for the alcohol. However, in contrast to the boisterous intoxicated chatter and laughter from inside the house, you opted to indulge in the effects of drinking strictly alone.

With a firm grip on the cocktail glass, you leaned against the balcony railing, allowing yourself to admire the night sky. Cityscapes have become a source of solace over the years, providing enough distraction for your thoughts to get lost in the beauty of the evening. The twinkling lights of neighboring buildings and the ceaseless stream of cars below added to the aesthetic.

Realizing how pathetically lonely you were, a single sigh escaped your lips before you downed the remnants of your drink. Contemplating the bittersweet nature of the moment, you sensed a lingering gaze upon you. Turning around self-consciously, you found Jeno closing the balcony door before joining you, standing silently by your side.

Honestly, Jeno’s presence would have caught you off guard just a month ago. However, new emotions have recently been stirring between the two of you, though neither of you was sure how best to broach the subject without letting things get awkward. Yet, his friendship was something you hadn’t fully realized how much you cherished.

“I had a feeling you’d be out here,” Jeno spoke first. “You okay?”

You hummed in reply, without meeting his eyes just yet. “Yeah. I just needed some fresh air.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Jeno’s gaze linger on you before his arm reached out to offer you a glass of water. “Here, I thought you might need some water.”

The corner of your lips upturned into a small smile of gratitude.  “Thanks,” you replied, setting the cocktail glass on the ground. Taking a long sip of the ice-cold water, you let out another exhale.

Jeno returned the smile, and the conversation flowed comfortably between the two of you from there. Talking to Jeno always felt effortless, as he was the type of person who was always willing to lend a listening ear. He was the first guy you met who was genuinely interested in getting to know you. Somehow the topic of discussion veered to bucket lists, and you found the glimmer of excitement in Jeno’s eyes as he spoke to be a little endearing—maybe more than that.

“Yeah, I’d like to travel to Japan with Jaemin one day,” Jeno expressed. “He’s the type to plan everything out, so I can just step back and relax.”

You chuckled softly, your gaze drifting back to the night sky. “That sounds nice. I’m sure you guys will have a great time.”

“How about you? Do you have anything on your list?” The male’s head tilted slightly, noticing the distant look in your eyes.

Your brows furrowed in hesitation as you pondered for a moment. Although you hadn’t given much thought about bucket lists before, there was one thing that came to mind.

“This is going to sound silly. But I want…I want to visit a waterfall one day,” you said slowly. “Where I can be alone for an hour or less and cry out loud.”

Immediately following your confession, you cringed at the vulnerability in your voice. But Jeno didn’t appear to perceive you as weak or pitiful. 

“Why would you want to do that?” Jeno asked, his expression flickering with concern.

Avoiding his gaze, you shrugged. “I’m just so sick of pretending to be fine around others all the time, but I just hate being weak in front of others. So for once, it would be nice to just go somewhere I can let it all out, you know?”

A part of you wished you had another cocktail. You weren’t the type to drink much, especially at parties. But alcohol came in handy when you didn’t want to feel your emotions. Since you were too afraid to face Jeno, you didn’t notice the realization that dawned on him. Then you felt the warmth of his hand enveloping your cold one.

“Will you let me come with you?” He asked in a tender tone, softening the deep timbre of his voice.

Turning to the boy in slight surprise, you passed him a confused look. “You’d do that for me? Why?”

“Because it might feel better to have at least someone there beside you,” he said in a sincere voice. “You don’t have to cry alone, (Y/n).”

Heat rose to your cheeks, not having expected him to make your heart flutter like that. Yet, this was Lee Jeno after all. Since meeting him, he’s inadvertently made you feel a lot of different things for the first time.

Your heart raced as you met his eyes properly this time, overwhelmed by the warmth of his offer. “Thank you, Jeno,” you whispered, smiling softly. “I don’t think I deserve to have a friend like you.

The boy held your gaze for a moment, the air crackling with this unspoken tension that had been lingering between you before this evening. He longed to lean in and kiss you right then and there, to show you just how much you meant to him. However, he restrained himself, sensing that this wasn’t the right time to act on impulses. 

Instead, he changed the grip of his hand to hold yours securely. The skin-to-skin contact sent a tingly sensation between the both of you. It felt nice, and he was relieved when you didn’t withdraw your hand. 

Squeezing just a little tighter, Jeno’s lips parted to say something. “Trust me, you deserve a lot more, (Y/n). So when we go to that waterfall together, don’t hold back, okay?”

Your lips trembled, but you were determined not to cry at this time. Perhaps you were still a bit tipsy from drinking, but this might just be the moment when Jeno captured your heart completely. And maybe you could let go of your insecurities and for once, embrace the fact that you were deeply in love with him.

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previous masterlist -> current masterlist

#nctzen #nct dream #kpop #czennie #nct dream imagines #nct dream scenarios #jeno #nct #lee jeno #jeno angst #nct dream angst #jeno x reader #jeno imagines #jeno scenarios #hurt/comfort

[penkura]

last forever [5/13]

Summary: Zoro only offered to marry you to keep you out of an arranged marriage with a man much older than you. You agreed with the caveat of ending it via annulment once you received word from your parents regarding the original engagement, despite your growing feelings for your close friend.

Pairing: Zoro x Fem!reader, mentioned Sanami later (like epilogue later so chill)

Warnings: Marriage of Convenience, Fake Marriage, referenced sex (waaaaaay later on), mutual pining, Zoro is bad at feelings but what's new there, eventual romance I promise, mention of past attempted assault (I'll warn in that chapter), creepy older dude later on

Note: Only three hours late, that's not so bad haha. I had fun with this one, adding in how our couple met, I was going to do it as a flashback but I couldn't get it to work in my head how I wanted, so it's here differently. I'm a little mean to Reader at the end, or, well, Zoro is, but he has his reasons. Things will be okay, I promise.

[Ch. 1] ● [Ch. 2] ● [Ch. 3] ● [Ch. 4]

Honestly, at this point, you shouldn’t be surprised at Zoro’s tendency to get badly injured from his own stupidity at times. Little Garden ended up being more than just an island you all passed through, with giants and more Baroque Works agents, you’d even been caught by Mr. 3 and nearly turned into a wax statue, joining Nami and Vivi shouting at Zoro that he was being an idiot with his threats to cut his own legs off at the ankle to fight the agents there.

You were relieved when Luffy and Usopp showed up, stopping your husband from doing anything ridiculous. Once the four of you had been freed and Sanji showed up, explaining where in the hell he’d been, you grabbed onto Zoro’s shirt, making him look at you while you give him a blank stare.

“…what?”

“Sit down. You need stitches. Again.”

Rolling his eyes, Zoro does listen to you, sitting down nearby the rest of your friends as they discuss your next course of action and Dory and Broggy offer to help you all leave. Vivi comes over and watches you as you stitch up Zoro’s ankles, looking impressed by your quick work and how you don’t even look a bit squeamish about it.

You just shrug when she comments.

“I’ve gotten used to it. This guy’s an idiot—”

“Hey.”

“—so I’ve had to learn to fix him up.”

Vivi laughs a bit and nods, seeming to understand. Once you’ve finished and out your small kit away, you just give Zoro a smile when he quietly thanks you, before you walk back over to the rest of your crew. You hang close to Sanji and it again causes a strange ache in Zoro’s chest, he has to bite his lip to make it stop.

You’ve started spending so much more time with your cook, he should be happy about it, maybe you’re starting to have feelings for Sanji. Some of your free time is now spent in the kitchen, if Zoro walks by he hears you laughing most of the time. The weird feeling in his chest moves to his stomach when he hears you, he’s still not sure if it’s annoyance at you and Sanji getting close or jealousy at the situation.

Shaking his head, Zoro pushes the feelings away and goes to join you all to leave.

What the hell is wrong with me?

+!+

When Nami comes down with a strange illness after you leave, leading to your crew trying to find an island with a doctor, you all take your turns watching over and caring for her. You hope and pray you all reach an island and find a doctor quickly, you don’t want to lose one of your best friends. The boys freaking out about it doesn’t help at all, leaving you and Vivi to really care for Nami and try to help her get better. Every second her fever doesn’t go down scares you, it’s worse if it’s gone up even a tiny bit.

You know nothing about medicine, it’s something your mother thought was useless for you to know. All you needed to know was how to bandage yourself or your future kids up, that’s it. She really treated you like you were made of glass at times, you always wondered if that was due to how late in her life you’d been born. Whatever the reason, you’re happy to help Nami right now, to try and make her feel better.

When you and Vivi switch off one night, instead of heading to bed like you should, you choose to go up to the crow’s nest where Zoro’s taken the first watch of the night. You stopped in the kitchen before heading up to bring something to drink with you, grabbing a coat on the way since you’re in a colder area right now.

Once you make it up the ladder, you poke your head in and give Zoro a smile when he looks at you with a raised eyebrow.

“What?”

“Wanna share a drink?”

You aren’t surprised when he seems to light up briefly at the mention of sake, nodding you over to sit by him, handing over the bottle you’d gotten from Sanji while you made yourself comfortable beside Zoro. You’re still not used to the burn of alcohol but still take a big a drink when Zoro hands the bottle to you, passing it back to him. The only reason you started drinking was because Zoro had bet you to do so on your eighteenth birthday, promising you he’d give you money if you did it, so you took a few shots that were given to you, quickly regretting it when you threw it all up outside the tavern you two had been in. He may have lost the bet but at least he was nice enough to hold your hair back and get you to your hotel room without much trouble, and you did get your money a few days later.

“I meant to thank you for the other day.”

“Huh?”

“In Loguetown when we ran into Elias,” Zoro barely looks at you, but you pay him no mind, instead watching the light snow fall against the midnight sky, “For not telling him the truth about, you know, us.”

Shrugging, Zoro takes another swig of drink, before offering it back to you which you decline.

“Wasn’t any reason to tell him. Don’t need him telling your parents the truth.”

“He wouldn’t have, but I get what you mean.”

Zoro nods, partially believing you just from the one meeting with your brother and the things you’ve told him. You were a surprise to your parents, coming along when Elias was ten-years-old, your parents in their late thirties and not planning to have another child. Elias was enthralled with you once you were born, he’d protected you from everything, especially once you turned fifteen and your parents started to sift through possible suitors. According to you, he was pissed when your parents chose someone even older than him, promising he’d never leave you alone with the man and eventually helping you run away in the dead of night.

You two were close despite your age difference.

“You know,” you draw Zoro back to paying attention to you when you speak again, “Taking care of Nami reminds me of how you took care of me when we first met. Remember?”

Your smile as you ask makes him feel like his stomach is doing flips, it must be the alcohol doing that he thinks, but he still nods a bit.

How could he forget that?

You were unexpected to him too, running into a rundown bar so quickly you’d slammed into Zoro, making him grab your arms to keep you upright as you tried to apologize but your mouth felt like it was full of cotton, you don’t even know if actual words came out. You were burning up from a fever and passed out while Zoro kept you upright. The bar owner was nice enough to put you up in a room while you recovered, and he still isn’t sure why he did it, but Zoro took care of you the entire time. Johnny and Yosaku had been there at the same time, helping out by bringing any medicine they thought would help, getting a doctor to come check on you only to confirm you had pneumonia but that you’d be fine after a few more days of medicine and rest.

Once you were better, you were so grateful to the three men that you offered to give them whatever money you had on you, which they all rejected, you definitely needed it more. You kept the truth about why you were running into a bar in your state to yourself, eventually making an offer to Zoro only that you could travel with and help him, but he'd only agree to that if you beat him in a small sparring match, he’d noticed your sword right away.

Of course you lost, but you both had a great time, to the point Zoro let you tag along the last year and a half, he helped you improve your skills and you’re still so grateful to him for everything.

The second you shiver form the cold you’re about to go back down to sleep, before Zoro moves his arm to open the blanket around him and nod you over again.

Smiling again, you scoot over and sit right up beside him, practically flush against his side when he brings his arm back down around you. You’re both used to this, used to coming to each other for simple things like warmth or food, even with the rest of your crew. It’s leftover from when it was just the two of you.

Zoro doesn’t want this to go further past your friendship and being crewmates, not now. Neither of you can or should be thinking about romance, that’s Sanji’s job.

So why does he feel disappointed when you finally go down to the bunks?

+!+

After leaving Drum Island with Nami well and Chopper aboard as your doctor, you’ve started to have a tiny second shadow following you around. The reindeer taking a liking to you right away, starting to follow you around the ship after you’d given him the initial tour. He's started staying close to you and showing you how to make medicine and dress wounds, teaching you more than you ever could’ve imagined knowing.

Chopper has also started bringing you with him to nap with Zoro, your swordsman almost rejecting it at first, before Chopper pulls you to sit beside him while your doctor lays across Zoro’s lap. It makes you laugh as Zoro tries not to have any eye contact with you. Can’t let you see him being all soft and stuff about Chopper now.

You don’t say anything about it, especially once you all make it to Nanohana and do your shopping to find desert and heat safe outfits, though you feel like you’re going to suffocate at times, you’ll be glad to avoid a severe sunburn or heat stroke.

Then you all met Luffy’s big brother Ace.

You remember seeing him in the paper before back home, briefly, the thought in your mind that wow, he’s attractive but it’s not like you’d ever meet him.

The universe laughs at you constantly, you swear, especially when it seems like Ace starts to flirt with you as he joins you all for a bit on your journey to Erumalu. You feel like you have a never-ending blush on your face and it makes Ace laugh when you shove his arm after he says something to you about how shy you seem.

“You’re so cute! I can’t believe you’re on my brother’s crew!”

“Stoooop, you’re making me blush even more!”

You do laugh alongside Ace, he’s easy to be around. Comfortable and almost familiar, you’d say. It reminds you of time spent with Elias, though, without the flirty comments. Ace throws an arm around your shoulders, trying to keep his voice down even though your crewmates are all over the place at this point either partying or sleeping nearby, in Zoro’s case.

“So, you got someone special to you or do I have a chance?”

You hum, pretending to think before giving Ace a smile after you take a sip of your fancy drink Sanji made for you girls.

“Sorry, I got my eyes on someone else.”

“A shot to the heart!” Ace throws his head back as you laugh, double checking that Zoro’s still asleep in case Ace asks you for details, “Just don’t say it’s Luffy, I couldn’t handle losing out to my brother.”

“No, no,” Shaking your head, you watch Ace as he seems to perk back up knowing it’s not your captain you’ve got the hots for, “Definitely not Luffy.”

“Is it a secret then? Promise I won’t tell nobody.”

Ace leans on close to you, your face still warm from either the sun or your blushing you aren’t sure, but the few glances you take towards Zoro tell him the answer, making him grin.

“Ooh him huh? Yeah, I can see it.”

“S-See what??”

“You guys, together. Does he not like you back?”

You wish you hadn’t been so obvious, but you shrug a bit, shake your head, then groan and hide your face behind your drink.

“I…don’t know…he’s not really the romance type.”

Nodding a little, Ace keeps his arm around you and pulls away just a bit, he’s probably making you more nervous that you already were by being so close to your face. He hasn’t known you for more than a day at this point, but he’s been able to see you and Zoro seemingly drawn to each other most of the time, or Chopper does it for shade or to be carried by one of you because of the heat.

Maybe your face is warn more from a blush than from the sun after all.

“I bet he’ll come around. You’re cute, he’d be lucky to have you.”

You almost drop your glass at that.

When Ace leaves you all the next morning, you feel sad at the fact he’s going on his own again, but when Luffy says you’ll all see him again, you agree with a smile. Zoro watches you, wondering how you’d gotten so close to Ace in such a short time, but he realizes that’s just you.

Despite your past with your parents, you trust far too easily at times. Granted, Ace is a good guy, but Zoro worried that it’s going to get you, all of you, into trouble one day.

Though, it’s more likely to be because of Luffy than you.

+!+

Alabasta is finally free from Crocodile a few days later, thanks to your crew and Vivi’s work. You’ve all been granted stay at the palace to recuperate, all of you sustaining major injuries though some were starting to heal faster than others. Luffy spent a couple days sleeping but was now up and ready to party as Alabasta celebrated their freedom.

Your worry for Zoro at the time had kept you attached to his side for the most part, latching onto his arm enough that he’d gone from flinching at the contact to quietly removing your hands from him, he doesn’t want you that attached to him, you get it, kind of.

It still hurts when he does it, Sanji sees it on your face more than anyone else. Zoro had protected you at points during the attacks going on, until you all separated to battle different members of Baroque Works, you ending up trying to stop several of the fights between Alabastan army members and the rebel forces, a few of them not taking that kindly and turning their weapons towards you. Most of your wounds were stabbings or slashes, a deep one on your abdomen that Chopper fixed up no problem.

After you’ve all healed enough to join in the celebrations, that’s just what you do, even with the Navy around. Sanji drags you along to dance with him, trying to keep you distracted from Zoro, though you gravitate towards him anyway. It’s like in Cocoyashi, you just lean against the wall Zoro’s placed himself at, giving a smile while you talk to him, brushing your arm against his whether by accident or on purpose. You’ve brought him another drink too, it makes Sanji scrunch his face in annoyance, only because it seems like Zoro just doesn’t care, like he’s that oblivious to your crush on him.

And maybe he is, the blond isn’t sure, even when you look a bit dejected and return to his side for a just moment, to tell him you’re going back to the palace to up to rest for a bit. You’ve gotten tired from the party and need a few minutes. Sanji promises to come get you after a little while, which you thank him for as you leave.

He has a half a mind to tell Zoro to go with you, but by the time he looks back, the swordsman is gone.

+!+

“Why are you up here?”

You hum a but, turning and giving Zoro a smile. Yes it was late, normally you'd be asleep, but Alabasta was still awake, having a party to celebrate the end of the their war and the rain returning to the country. You had chosen to return to the palace, watching your crewmates outside the window. Luffy and Usopp were celebrating in disguises to keep the Navy off your tails, Nami was laughing with Vivi, Chopper and Karoo nearby asleep, and you haven't seen Sanji or even Zoro until now, when your favorite swordsman found you.

“Just…wanted to rest a bit.”

Understanding, Zoro nods a bit, leaning against the wall beside you, arms crossed over his chest while he watches you.

You know that he heard you talking to Ace when he was with you all, telling him you've developed feelings for your legal husband. Honestly he's had his suspicions for a while, mainly after you all left Drum Island and you acted so odd at times, but he never wanted to confront you about it before.

It was harmless, a crush didn't mean you really believed the two of you would be a couple or anything. Despite your actually being married, since it wasn't meant to last forever, he figured he'd leave you be and maybe your feelings would fade over time. You spent a lot of time with Sanji, Zoro fully expects at one point for you to bring the annulment papers to him, saying you liked the blond or that your parents finally responded to you.

Neither of those have happened, and seeing your constant smiles and little blushes at him, Zoro feels the need to say something about it.

"Listen."

Zoro sounds so serious you can't help but sit up straighter, keeping your gaze on the still partying city outside the palace, but you nod to let him know you're listening.

"Whatever…this is between us," he's staring right at you, but you don't dare to look at him, knowing what he's going to say, "it's not going any further than our being crewmates. Whatever feelings you may have, I'm not returning them any time soon. We need to focus on our goals and helping Luffy, not romance. Got it?"

Despite the ache in your chest at that, you nod, the softest agreement coming out of your mouth in return. You knew this was coming, from the way Zoro started to distance from you after your time on Drum Island and the recent events in Alabasta, you could tell something was up and you guess this was it. Zoro was trying to put a stop to your feelings for him, he couldn't be caught playing romance with you right now, maybe never.

Of course, even with your half-hearted agreement, you know feelings can't be squashed so easily. You don't want to stop them, but Zoro wants you to so you can focus on your goals. You weren't going to become a world renowned swordswoman if you were busy focusing on a relationship with someone. Zoro would never become the greatest swordsman in the world if he was focused on you.

When he finally leaves you alone, you can't help yourself and the quietest tears start. You knew this was going to happen, Zoro doesn't like you back, he’s only still married to you because you haven't heard a thing from your parents, but damn it still hurts to basically get a rejection like this.

It feels worse when Sanji comes into the room a few minutes later, having kept his promise on bringing you back down to the party with him, and he knows you've been crying without having to see your face. He wants to go after and curse out Zoro for making you cry, whatever the reason, but chooses to quietly pull you into a hug instead, telling you that you don't have to say anything, but he's here for you.

Honestly, having Sanji around, someone who was willing to listen to you and just let you cry over something that felt stupid at the time, you felt like things would be okay after some time.

Even when he says he'll kill Zoro for making you cry once you tell him why.

#zoro x reader #roranoa zoro x reader #one piece x reader #reader insert #last forever #fem!reader

[bigtreefest]

Chapter 2: Cooks in the Kitchen

From: The Rainmaker Series

Pairing: Mob! Steve x Forensic Scientist! Reader

Summary: Everyone hates a backseat driver. And a surprise guest when you’re not at your best.

Word count: 3,234

Content/warnings: TW: dead body and all you would expect in forensic science, I tried to make this not graphic, mentions of bruising, mentions of torture and abuse, sassy and borderline mean reader, awkward Steve who overthinks, reluctant? flirting, allusions to and mentions of murder

Author’s Note: For my dearly beloved @krirebr please know that you’re loved and appreciated by us all. I hope this helps, just a little bit. (Extra angsty, hopefully to your tastes)😘

What I’m gonna say is Decks seems very on edge compared to how she was before. Her guard came up out of ‘nowhere?’ Hm, that’s weird… or is it?

Anyway, these are Loupe glasses, if you’re wondering. They let you see tiny things up close and at a better angle.

Comments, reblogs, asks, and any feedback is so welcome and appreciated. Thank you for reading!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

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After your weekend at the farm, Steve drove you home to return to your normal life. As much as you loved being out in the country, city life was definitely more your speed. You immediately went back to work and were happy to keep your busy routine going. Sure, a weekend away from screens and solvents was a breath of fresh air, but this was where you thrived.

Despite the way there were new, more outlandish cases to deal with, the days were surprisingly routine. Come in, visit a crime scene, run some tests, go home, do it again. You lived for that sort of zen. The detachment of simply putting your head down and getting to work was what you were used to, and then once you were home, it was like a sanctuary. You could lounge, pick up another hobby out of the thousand you’d already started, and crawl into your fresh sheets.

It’s not like you were entirely a hermit, though. You got along with your coworkers and would commonly joke around with them, but first and foremost, you were a proper worker, doing your job. When something really needed done, you’d lock down in the lab, music blasting, and crank out results.

Steve was the same way. He tried to keep his days as routine as possible, despite the way work brought something new everyday. Rival gangs needed monitored and law people needed bribed. Shipments and production needed to be kept on a tight schedule and up to pace with increasing demand.

There wasn’t much time for it, but he’d found certain images and memories start to take hold in his mind. They were different from the grade school ones of Bucky, or his times learning the ropes of his trade, or the first suit he’d ever worn. They were new, they were…warm? Lacked that same rigidity? They were of you. Driving his car effortlessly, petting a baby goat as it bleated happily, teaching him to dance…small, little moments that he couldn’t let go of, but he didn’t have time to replay enough.

He did his best to stay proper in his business dealings. Steve was known for his gentlemanly demeanor, truly a golden boy of the underground, or…at least as much of one as an individual could be given the legality loopholes he was constantly trying to jump through.

On the outside, he was smooth as a beach. Fluid with the crashes of waves this industry threw at him. He’d gotten good at rolling with the punches without a single blond hair out of place. But inside? It was a hurricane. The wind raged and echoed in his ears, putting him on edge. It was sensory overload.

Everyday, he found his attention wanting to wander more and more to that simpler time, not romanticizing it for the lack of pressing responsibility, but for the fact he spent genuine moments with someone who was unlike those in his world. Unlike the men so obsessed with maintaining their place on top or squashing others to get there. They were all about the money, but you were working for the people, and for the betterment of the city. To solve cases and give peace to families. And Steve knew he was all too often on the other side of that, even if he prided himself on only taking out the worst of the worst. The ones who deserved it. They were the ones endangering women and children, who to him, were the distastefully vulnerable and undeserving of wrath, despite the fates they were met with from the awful men Steve rid the world of. He wasn’t breaking his set of morals and rules, he was just breaking the law sometimes. Steve was a good man, he just happened to make his living doing bad things.

He didn’t have time to reflect on that right now, though. Things had seriously picked up in recent weeks. Bucky was soon to return, but it didn’t help that Steve felt like Lloyd was unrelentingly on their asses. Leading the organization when it came to the normal stuff was fine, but the extra protections Bucky was making him run, along with the extensive research and monitoring was already taking its toll. Steve was used to a lack of sleep, he basically lived on adrenaline and black coffee, but another night where he was fielding calls and sending out directives without a wink was causing his emotional guard to fall.

It was early morning as Steve sat at his desk. He’d ordered Sam to head out hours ago, but as the sun was cresting over the horizon, not even that searing glow could keep Steve’s tired mind at bay. The levees against the flood were weakened beyond belief. The hurricane was about to make landfall.

Just then, the phone rang. It was one of his contacts down at the police station. That wasn’t new, but the specific news was and Steve wanted to be there in person to get every bit of information he could... and perhaps catch a glimpse at the one person who could scratch that new itch in his brain. Maybe, finally, at least he could catch a nap in the car, as Steve called Gio to drive him over.

Over the couple weeks you’ve been back, you couldn’t help the way your mind wandered constantly, either. Even your favorite playlist couldn’t keep you on track, so you opted for silence, the scenes replaying of your time on the farm doing plenty to help you block out your surroundings.

You were working on a particularly difficult case currently. There was no time for distractions. The overcast sky just added to the ambiance of the feeling that something unusual was looming over you. You pulled yourself out of your thoughts, along with the keys from the ignition, and took a deep breath, letting it out sharply to get yourself ready. When you’d gotten out of the SUV and to the crime scene, Detective Lang greeted you.

“So I’ve got good news and bad news. Which do you want first?”

He guided you along the River walk and down the rocky shore where a victim laid, waves still lapping over her feet as photographers and cops gathered around the scene, surveying it for evidence. A small crowd had gathered along the pathway, held back by barricades and uniformed officers. At least you were here before the news crews.

“Bad news first, always. You know that.” You spoke with a purpose, slipping on your gloves after pushing up the sleeves of your department-issued windbreaker and cuffing your pants so they wouldn’t get wet.

“So far, looks like it was blunt force trauma with a side of torture. Very little evidence to go off of, especially considering there are no open wounds and the tools used for this kinda thing could be in any household.”

You crouched down by the body and immediately took note of the bruising. You hummed in acknowledgement and looked back up at the detective, his head framed by the cloudy, gray sky, the rising sun now hidden. Fitting for a tragedy like this. A woman your age subjected to that sort of an ending…

“And the good news?”

He sighed, looking up at the sky, hands on his hips, before he dropped his head back down towards you.

He winced. “Body’s fresh? Disposal doesn’t appear very well thought-out.”

You nodded and looked around for any piece of evidence that hadn’t washed away. He was right, it was gonna be difficult to pull many testable elements.

“Well, I’ll do the usual work-up, then, and let you know when you’re good to get everything over to the medical examiner.”

He curtly nodded and turned on his heel to speak with the witnesses before you began to pull out your kit, swabbing for anything of note.

After you finished collecting everything you could, you carefully slipped back through the background and away from the slew of reporters now blanketing the scene. Ugh, you hated those block heads. Especially Lucas Bell, the weird little ray of sunshine you went to school with growing up. For some reason, he thought the two of you were actually friends, despite never having even given him the signal you appreciated his presence. The worst part: you could tell he wasn’t hitting on you. He would genuinely seek you out at crime scenes, that gross happy smile on his face, calling you by the birth name almost no one used anymore in favor of your college nickname. Every time, it was, “hey, remember me, old pal? Great to see you! Any information you’re willing to share?” Who the hell was so chipper when their job was literally to report tragedies?

You bobbled your head as you mocked him to yourself and got back into your work SUV. Ugh, you hated that guy. And all the other reporters. You didn’t wanna be on camera. What if you wanted to work for the FBI one day? Huh? What then? Can’t have your face out there all willy nilly and then expect to be doing covert ops. Nope. You prepared to race back to the precinct, ready to drown yourself in an afternoon of attempting to suck evidence out of a cotton swab caked in river grime and essentially, air, if you could count that as evidence.

You drove back through the pouring rain. Another thing to be annoyed by. First, the longing for your simple weekend once again, then the intrusive thoughts about annoying little reporters, and now, the near-flooding on the roads. You could hear her in your head now, Bee saying “rain makes corn. It’s a good thing.” You rolled your eyes, to be honest, you liked the rainy atmosphere, but you know what rain also makes? Bad drivers. At this point, it was just best to get back to the lab, buckle down, and stay there, where no one could possibly bother you.

You were hours in to your intensive testing. Your spectrometry readings gave the smallest peaks, hard to say if the readings actually were something or just background noise. You were happy to put in the time, but something just felt…off. It was infuriating and not helping your mood, but you tried your best to keep it separated from work. It wasn’t perfect, but it was your best. Another small thing going wrong could push you over the edge, though.

You opted to just look at a small fabric sample, deciphering if there truly was some thread of note caught in the weave. You just needed to concentrate and you knew you could find something. You were purely focused and zoomed in, using your Loupe glasses, paired with several lamps overhead, with the highest hopes of even a shred of confirma-

“Decks? More like Specks.”

The sudden voice that echoed through the lab startled you, causing your head to shoot up and bump against one of the metal lamps.

“Ow!” At that same time, the forceps and piece of fabric flew out of your hands and onto the floor. It didn’t help that you knocked into your instrument tray on the way, sending all those onto the floor, as well.

Great, now you had to go to the stock room to find a new package of sterile ones. This was the last set left in the lab. You looked up from where you watched the evidence fall, rubbing your forehead with the back of your gloved hand, eyes narrow at the business man in a suit who was previously leaned against your doorway, now tentatively walking towards you to crouch on the ground.

“Steve, what the hell?” You trailed off for a second. “You and Bee really do have the same sense of humor. I thought she just told me that as a selling point.” It came out as an irritated growl. You rolled your eyes as you squatted down to start cleaning your mess.

Steve laughed. Selling point? Bee talked to you about him? And tried to make him appealing? He wasn’t sure why, but he felt a certain warmth in his stomach at that. He pushed it down as much as he could. Either way, he truly did get along well with her.

“Well you know what they say, birds of a feather and all.” He joined you near the floor after having grabbed a glove, picking up some stray instruments and placing them back in the metal holding tray.

You muttered lowly as you finally stood up and turned away from him, after grabbing the fabric off the floor gingerly and placing it in a plastic protective case. “More like wasps of a stinger.”

Steve disposed of his gloves and looked over the results on your computer. You quickly hit the keys to lock the screen, sure to cast him a nasty glare. The last thing you needed was to get accused of leaking evidence.

What was he doing here, anyway? With those broad shoulders and that skinny waist. What did he even need shoulders that big for? How did he even shop for clothes? You swear his waist was literally the same circumference as your thigh. They don’t carry stuff like that in department stores.

Steve looked at you with a confused glance as you removed your gloves and washed your hands. There was a hint of humor in his voice, but it was mostly filled with caution at your attitude.

“Um, I don’t really shop for clothes? I’ve got a tailor. He’s pretty good.”

After your hands were dry, you facepalmed harder than ever before. You couldn’t believe you said that out loud. Maybe you did need to interact with more people outside of work. You were too comfortable talking to yourself. You took a deep breath before turning around and looking at Steve again. His face now mostly held tentative kindness, and that was a nice change to the anger that was sitting in your belly all day today. You still couldn’t help what you spat back, though.

“You have a tailor? In this economy? Of course you do…rich prick.” The last part was grumbled under your breath, but Steve still caught it. Where was this hostility coming from? He thought the two of you had gotten along great before. What changed?

Steve’s hurt caused him to fire back, albeit much nicer than you had. “You’re calling me rich? Decks, I’ve seen your apartment, it’s nice. Especially for this city. Way nicer than my first place.”

First off, what was that supposed to mean? You were still suspicious about exactly what Steve and Bucky did for a living. You knew they made a lot of money. Steve wore designer suits, if he could help it, and you assumed Bucky did, as well, but what business did they have being this built?

You let go of that, though, wanting to just get back to work after the disturbance, but why had you been disturbed in the first place?

“Steven, what are you doing in my lab?”

He was taken aback. Woah, full names. He knew your full name, but didn’t dare to find out what would become of him if he used it. It didn’t seem like many did. He wanted to go about this the right way. He didn’t want abuse his delicate position as a friend of a friend when you were so close to the law…yet.

He stood upright and pressed his shoulders back. Right, he was here on business. He had to remember that. It wasn’t a personal call and he had to stay professional.

“I was actually meeting with Scott, er, Detective Lang. He called me about the new case that came in this morning.”

You nodded slowly. “You knew her?”

Why did that make you nervous? Of course Steve knew women, like, duh, but something burning rose in your chest in anticipation of his response. Why did you care? You didn’t even want him here. Right?

He shook his head lightly. “No…well, sort of? She was an employee of one of my businesses. A salon.”

One of his businesses, of course. A salon was…interesting… but you guessed not out of the question with how perfect his stupid perfect hair always was. Whatever, just because he was here for some questioning, doesn’t mean he had to pay you a visit.

“Okay…so why did you come in here?”

You looked up at him from the odds and ends you were shuffling around your work bench out of nervousness.

“I actually wanted to see you, maybe help out a little?”

You eyed him skeptically, ignoring the way your chest sent a tingle down towards your fingertips. “You know when someone offers to keep close to a case like that, it usually means they had something to do with it, right?”

Steve put his hands up in surrender. “I swear this wasn’t me. I just genuinely care for my employees. Did you check under the fingernails? Maybe there was some DNA there or something?”

Your gaze became even more burning towards him. “Yes, Steven. I checked under the nails. That’s like, the first thing you do in cases like this. But why would you know that, anyway? And how can you say you care so much about your employees if you didn’t even know the girl?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. He was usually much smoother than this. How did you intimidate him so much so suddenly. Oh no…Is that where the name ‘Decks’ came from? Were you gonna hit him? Deck him? Did you have a pension for beating guys up? If he made a wrong move, would you literally punch him? Give him a black eye? Sure, much worse had happened to him before, but he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to emotionally recover if the damage came from you.

Either way, Steve didn’t want to find out, so he continued quite cautiously and uncomfortable within your domain, lacking the confidence that came so easily to him in all his usual business dealings and the quasi-leadership role he found himself in.

“I um…I watch a lot of CSI shows?” He hoped that was believable, but he knew it came out like a squeak, almost. He may as well be a little kid losing fights in a back alley again. He cleared his throat in an attempt to get his voice back to normal. “I do care for my employees, though. And my reputation, and the ability to make sure nothing like this happens again to anyone involved with me.”

You sighed at that. You can understand the want to prevent future disasters, especially when it came to someone working so low at the bottom of the food chain for such a major company. As you slipped your Loupe glasses back on and readjusted your lamps, you gestured for Steve to take a seat in your computer chair while you moved to a stool by the lab bench.

“Okay, fine. I’ll let you hang around, but don’t tell me how to do my job.”

You couldn’t help the way the corner of your lip turned up, just out of Steve’s sight, as he strutted over and plopped down into the rolly chair, watching you with a smile and his fingers laced behind his head.

Next >

Bonus A/N: I’m very excited for what’s going to grow between Steve and Decks. She’s a lil independent thing and he’s just so “idk what to do bc I’m supposed to be in control but I’m doing everything on her terms” and I love it. Lmk what you think!!!

Series Taglist:

@evie-119

#Steve rogers #Steve rogers fanfiction #Steve rogers x reader #Steve rogers x you #steve rogers angst #Steve rogers fluff #the rainmaker #the rainmaker series #outta nowhere #outta nowhere AU #mob Steve x forensic scientist reader #mob! Steve x forensic scientist! reader #mob! Steve #mafia! Steve #mafia Steve #the rainmaker chapter 2: cooks in the kitchen #TW: dead body

[mementoasts]

jonathan sims head archivist of the magnus institute london

#IM JUST POSTING HIM RANDOMLY BECAUSE I CANNOOOOOT FOR THE LIFE OF ME DRAW ANYONE ELSE. I HAVE APHANTASIA MAN IT'S HARD OUT HERE #i just started season 3 and heard him mention the graying hair i was like hm.. what if i tried drawring some characters. #i'm actually super happy with how he looks... i had some prior inspiration bc i followed one artist who's posted fanart b4-- #(which is how i first heard of the series) and so i already kinda had a picture of him in my head bc of that (i love their art sdfghgfdjh) #so i was jus sketchin and i was like.... yeah this looks ok. i wanted his hair to be kinda just pokin up every which way in front-- #--because i imagine him constantly running a hand through it. otherwise it'd look nice n tidy. i just sketched til it looked good enough #the eyes were easy because i wanted sharp and tired. the color was just me testin shit out and being like oooo that looks pretty #the outfit..... i just googled some like business casual stuff LOL. i thought it looked nice #bag and flashlight because he's dungeon crawling #he's also filipino for no reason other than i said so #OHHH YEAH freckles. freckles are cute. also worm scars. #i gotta say i didn't wanna put glasses on him but i thought he looked nakey without em.. but also it might be bc i was strugglin w lineart #the glasses make him look younger i think. which is bad!! he needs to look at least 35!!! #i dunno if i have it in me to draw the others;;;;;;;;;; martin i can't figure out a color scheme for-- and tim & sasha.... waauugghhh.... #it's hhhhaaardd because when i'm like reading anything i cannot *picture* characters.... i just get like..... a feeling yknow..... #again i already had some vague images for jon (and martin) bc i saw fanart before lol so that's what showed up in my head #i have a good *feeling* of what sasha should look like but i cannot for the life of me draw it.... #i keep sketching and going “noo this doesn't look like her” <- i DON'T know what she looks like #i've somehow instead ended up with a sketch that really feels like melanie tho lmao #if you're somehow at the bottom of this long ramble i will send you $500. #the void given form

[bigguyenthusiast]

141 and their captain’s assistant

- it all started with a comment made by Laswell, she mentioned to John how tired he seems, how his eye bags are growing heavier each day passing

- she recommended him to get an assistant, John declined the offer and tried to get back to work, but laswell already made the call, she knew how annoying John can be when it comes to getting help

- then enters a pretty little thing, your hair in a messy bun, glasses neatly resting on your pretty face, short pencil skirt hugging your curves perfectly

- John couldn’t help himself from staring, gawking at you like some horny teenager

- the boys began seeing you scurrying around the base more often, the first to approach you was Johnny of course

- his deep voice partnered with his thick Scottish accent made you subconsciously bite your lip, staring up at him with your big doe eyes, you don’t even mean to, it’s just that more than half of the people in here were 6feet+

- Johnny’s flirtatious nature made you giggle, lightened up your day, but not your boss’

- every time the Scott decided to drop by your desk to accompany you, he’d get scolded by his captain

- “don’t need you distracting her from her job”

- “it’s her break, cap, plus, she’ a good lass, I’m sure she’s on top of…all her work” the scott would throw you a wink before his captain orders him to run laps around the base

- next came gaz, since he’s always visiting his captain’s office for reports, he saw you at the new desk in the captain’s office, the aura around you not matching anything in the dim, old and boring office, you gave him a slight smile before returning to your paperwork

- but gaz wasn’t going to let that be the end of your interactions no no

- he’d walk up to you in the mess hall, as you’re loading your plate up, striking a conversation with you, making last long enough for him to lead you to a table with his other teammates

- you shyly but politely sit down and introduce yourself to the masked man who sat opposite of you, his brown eyes staring into yours as his arms stayed locked, he just nodded and replied “ghost”

- you figured he’s not a social one, the Scot and the Brit both kept asking you questions, some may have been a bit intrusive but maybe they’re just being friendly !

- “so why ar’ ye here?”

“Kate laswell requested that I work for John price for a few months to ease the paperwork load on him”

- “I’m sure there’s a different kind of load he’s trying to get you to ease off of him”

- the three of your heads snap to the silent man, his brown eyes seemed to be crinkled, suggesting he was grinning or smirking underneath that mask

- “OI! LT’s got jokes, but he doesn’t mean anything by it” Johnny tried to reassure you, glaring at Simon as you looked down at your food

- you excused yourself as you made your way back to price’s office, you saw him still there, no signs of him moving at all “captain ? Did you eat today?” You asked sweetly

- oh what this man wouldn’t give to have the honours of eating you for every meal of the day, to have you sprawled on his desk, papers sticking to your sweaty skin, your chest rising and falling as you try to quiet yourself so nobody hears what your captain is doing to you

- “captain” fuck he’d love to hear you moan his rank, begging him to be gentle, but he knows deep down you’re a dirty girl and you want your “captain ?!”

- John snapped out of his daydream, he looked up at you, you were leaning to the side trying to check on him “have you eaten today?” You asked again, a worried look in your eyes

- John nods, not looking you in the eyes “yeah yeah” he cleared his throat as he tried to get back to work, but your soft, smaller hand stopped him from grabbing his pen, his brown eyes looked up, ab eyebrow raised as if to ask ‘what are you doing?’

- “I’m sorry, captain but I can’t allow you to get back to work if you haven’t had food” you stated, your body trembling as you stood your ground

- truthfully, price can easily launch you across the room with one arm, he knows his limits, and you’re nowhere near it, but you were right, he does need to eat, and although he wishes he could order you to spread your pretty thighs for him and let him have his fun, he doesn’t want to lose such a pretty sight so fast

- he let go of the pen, leaning back on his office chair “I haven’t brought any food”

“The mess hall still have some food there”

- “I don’t eat that rubbish”

“Well too bad, you need to eat”

- ooh… I guess his little kitty got claws now

#call of duty modern warfare #call of duty #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #john price x reader #simon riley x reader #cod x reader #ghost x reader #captain price #ghost #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #kate laswell #john soap mctavish x reader #kyle gaz x reader

[gremlingottoosilly]

Beekeeping age [Dilf!Konig x fem!Reader]

You're ex-boyfriend is an asshole, so you decided to fuck his hot military dad instead. You're going to find out why his first wife ran as fast as she did, very soon - but Konig is still the best dick that ever happened to you.

CW: Daddy kink(obvi), power imbalance, possessive Konig, perverted Konig, age gap(Reader in her early twenties, Konig in his early forties), mentions of cheating(your ex is a douchebag anyway), slightly obsessive Konig, size kink, unprotected sex.

FIRST PART (can be read separately) AO3

— Why your wife left you, again? 

You stuff your face full of…something. He cooked it – gods did he cook it well. It’s meat and vegetables and spices, and it feels like your dad cooking but twice as good. It feels like pure sin because he says you shouldn’t worry about calorie counts or how fat the meat is, or how good everything tastes fried because he needs his special girl to feel good and healthy and fatten up a little bit, and you…gods, you’re down. Bad. 

You wonder if König’s wife left because she couldn’t compete with his cooking. You wonder if his wife left because he was feeding her too good. 

— Why don’t we leave uneasy questions for later, Schatzi? 

He brushes his hand over your hair, taking in the way you look – dressed up in his shirt, skin covered in bites and bruises from his hold. He can’t see it right now but can almost testify to the way your lipstick was all over his collar – good thing he wasn't wearing his uniform shirt, wouldn’t want to make dorks from Kobra jealous. 

He brings you another plate, he fills your glass – you never knew beer could taste this good, but he whispered something about having his own little homemade brewery for wine and beer somewhere in the mountains, in his Summer house. This man has a hug apartment in Vienna and a Summer house – you think you heard him having enough land to go hunting and to keep bees, and you might have cum a little bit just here and there. 

— I would like to know the story, actually. To not repeat her mistakes, you know. 

— You won’t, Liebling. I can already picture you with a ring on your pretty finger. 

— Not so fast. Maybe I don’t believe in marriage. 

— You’re too young to stop believing in it. 

— Way to talk when you’re the divorced one, sir. 

— Shut it, Schatzen. I can still take care of a good girl like you, ja? König leans in to kiss you, his lips brushing over your mouth – it’s wet and swollen, he bite you quite a few times already, and you feel dizzy just from the way his tongue lingers just a second before going in, taking your arousal even more. His hand gently brushes some hair from your face and you giggle from the sensation of his rough fingers on the softness of your skin. It never failed to mesmerize you, just how seasoned and old the colonel might be – and his hands would still tremble as if he is handling the finest porcelain doll in his hands. He has the expression of an anxious, devoted follower – you are not sure how his wife could left him. If he was looking at you like this every day, even as you go through with pregnancy and a piece of shit kid like Paul, you would die before leaving him. 

— Could you two please stop fucking each other? 

— I thought you wanted to move to dorms.

— This is my house too!

— Not on the documents, it’s not. — You can’t just throw me away, dad! — Your new stepmom needs her space. 

König grasps your shoulder as you try to stop them from arguing again – it’s embarrassing enough that you’re fucking your ex’s dad. Colonel makes it a whole fucking show, parading you around as his controversially young girlfriend, making sure that his son will hear your moans and whimpers as you get fucked at every surface of this apartment. You were wondering if you could ask him to move to the Summer house – even with your college and all. You can take a gap year and write a journalist investigation about lonely veterans and their mastery at brewing alcohol. You can take a gap year and try your best in the new trophy wife gig. König’s hand is firm on your shoulder – you know better than to try and argue with him, the silent recognition of authority loud in your head. You sigh, trying your best to just stop yourself from acting too damn weird. It’s their male thing, and you’re just an intruder in a big T-shirt and old leggings. König said it wasn’t his wifey’s – that he burned all of her stuff when she left. Somehow, you find peace in that statement. 

— How could you even…Jesus fucking Christ, this is disgusting. She is my age! — And the most beautiful girl in the world. I can see why you liked her. — She is my girlfriend! — Schatzi came to me in distress and begged me to take her. I think we both knew you weren’t…the best option. You feel more embarrassed with each second of their conversation. You don’t want to listen, you don’t want to take in their words, you feel like a trophy being discarded between two different winners. You feel like a prized mare on a farm – and they won’t even look at you. Too distracted by the sound of their voices, you eat your dinner in somewhat somber peace because you need to eat, after all, and you really like what König cooks. You like what König does most of the time. All of the time. 

Paul storms off the room after a few minutes of bickering. You feel guilty for not stopping him because he was still kinda your boyfriend. You ex-boyfriend. Your asshole incel-ish ex-boyfriend whose assholless literally made you go and sleep with his dilfy dad, and…god, you feel like a whore. Good. Paul was calling you a whore a lot of the time, you may as well take the new name and plaster it in your new badge. 

König’s hand lingers on your back, caressing it gently. You whimper because you feel bad and you’re still in college, and Paul’s disgusted reaction reminds you that fucking a guy in his forties isn’t the best business decision. Even if the said guy is a retired colonel with shitload of money, even if he still goes to work sometimes, just because he wants to feel cool and shoot guns at bad guys, even if this guy buys you cool gifts and he promised to renovate your car or buy you a new one, and he makes plans and takes you to places that don’t make you feel like begging for attention. 

If anything, you feel like he is drowning you with attention. 

His hand lets go of your shoulder – he was holding you so tight the whole conversation, you can sense the bruises forming on your skin. You lick your lips, and he moves to kiss you again. You feel like drowning, you feel like this is all just a dream – and you’re also drunk because gods, König knows how to make a good glass of…something. 

— You shouldn’t act like this. He is your son. 

He laughs dismissingly. He dismisses a lot of things you said – you think it’s the age difference. You think he is just being traditional, and you don’t want to be too nagging. You don’t want to end up like his wife and wake up from the dear you’ve been seeing. 

König’s lips are soft, and you can look past his hands, taking you too possessively – you can close your eyes, and you can just listen to his accent, smiling as his tongue worms its way into your mouth. He is good, you think – at this whole kissing thing. At this whole “Hi there, I’m a retired old dog and I am fucking the girlfriend of my only son. I’m divorced btw” .

He has experience – you know it when he tucks your lip between his teeth, when he massages your shoulders as you spread your legs already, so wet for him, it’s almost embarrassing. You never slept much with Paul – his poor excuse of a son – it was always never enough lube, it was always never enough attention, he always needed you to shave or to leave your hair to grow a little bit, it was either your perfume being too sweet or you no wearing anything at all. You thought he would have much more fun masturbating to his anime chicks and poor gaming sessions with his friends. 

But König isn’t like this – every time he drops on his knees to eat you out like a man starving, you feel utter and complete devotion. In his tongue, in his mouth, in his teeth as he sucks little marks into your thighs, making sure you will remember it tomorrow when he will ask you to stay for breakfast and then ride you to whatever you need to come next. Last time he promised to drive you to the library, he took a few turns and took you to some restaurant instead. You gushed about not having proper attire, he was still in his half-uniform and rocking dark cargo pants, and he was apologizing every time his fingers hit that special spot in your cunt as he fingered you during the second course of meals. He said that he was so, sorry about not fucking you properly, about having to resort to public displays like this – and you were too high on loving him to care. You still are. — I don’t think we should be…

— He left. Won’t bother us anymore. 

— I’m not in the mood right now. 

— You’re always in the mood, Schatzen. Enough to drive me crazy. — You’re a pervert. Like Paul. 

— He takes on after his father, ja?

It would alarm you how much contempt he had for his own child right now. Then, again, you were the one who dumped his son for the powerhouse of a dad. Maybe it was your daddy issues, maybe it was your dumb reasoning and the summer break that you didn’t want to spend with your family. Good thing you’re spending it with the other. 

König’s face is buried between your legs, his teeth tugging on the soft fabric, forcing your leggings down. God, it feels good – he is so high on wanting you, can’t even wait to take off your clothes properly. You never had a man wanting you so badly before – it’s addicting, it’s crushing, it makes you feel like a goddess among men. Makes you feel wanted, a thing that your ex never did. 

You forget about guilt when he kisses your lower tummy, when his lips trace down to your cunt, taking sharp licks through your panties. You wore them this morning, something from a new lacy set he bought – one of the only ones that weren’t torn off from your body the moment you took them on. He always wanted you to make these little fashion shows for him, making good use of his money – you weren’t a sugar baby, not on paper, you still clutched to the last traces of your dignity, but he did buy you a lot of gifts. 

— S’ pretty for me, Liebling. The prettiest girl in the world.

— I assume after…af..ter your wife. 

You giggle when he frowns, his rugged face filled with concern. He doesn’t like jokes about his marriage – you don’t want to ask him about it because it would mean waking up from a dream you want to experience over and over again, but you heard what Paul was talking about. What his mom told him about. you heard enough to know that kissing a man like König is a safety hazard and a liability that you can’t afford, but it’s warm, and he is rich, and you don’t want to go back to your part-time job this season. You want to be dumb and you want to be young – right now, you’re doing both. — Don’t be so dumb, Schatzi. Although it suits you. 

— I’m not dumb! 

— Nein, you’re not. Just silly. 

— You just call me a different type of dumb. 

— I like it when you’re dumb. Makes you cuter. 

König is awkward and funny, and he buys you things that you could never afford. He is mysterious and kind – to you, not his enemies – and he uses German words randomly in his phrases because he knows the accent, and the pronunciation drives you crazy. You never thought of thinking of yourself as a dilf hunter but, hell, here you are. With his dark ginger stubble – and grey streaks that make you go wild every time you look at him – between your thighs. It’s tickling, and it’s a bit irritating, and he will rub some calming lotion in your skin after this, making sure to cover every inch of your skin with some expensive cream that he knows jackshit about, but you wanted it, and so he went out and bought it. Gosh, you felt dumb even asking him for this. 

He traces his kisses along your thighs, tongue lingers to press against your wet, swollen folds. Flirting in front of Paul made you embarrassingly hot, solidifying you as a shitty, bad, horny person who needs fat cock stuffed in your leaking pussy. You lick your lips, and you tremble when he pushes his tongue inside. He is starving, pushy with all of his needs – makes you almost beg for it, like a pet he took from the street. 

— I want to take you to the Summer house next week. 

You open your eyes, shocked. It’s nothing, really, you shouldn’t be this surprised about him wanting to show off his other properties. You want to check out his wine cellar and how sturdy the furniture is. You want to see if he had deers running around the house. If he had any pictures of his family – and if you could ever hope to compete with his ex-wife. It’s a petty competition, but you don’t have much to do and to think about. It’s obvious the love here won’t last until the end of the break, and you want to get as much from it as possible. Maybe even some hot bikini picks at his pool. He has to have one. — What if I have plans, sir? 

It’s innocent and you play the role well. You think some of your friends wanted to hang out or make a study group for the upcoming semester. You are a good girl at heart, with nice grades and a perfectly played-out future, and not as many working opportunities as you may like, but you could manage with something. Writing a killer essay about your life with a smoke show during Summer would be easy with someone like him. 

He laughs, his hand lightly smacks your butt. You bite your lip and whimper, not accustomed to pain feeling this good. 

— You will change them, little one. For the whole Summer. 

— I wanted to study. 

You moan when he lightly presses his tongue on your swollen clit, kissing and licking it. Slick runs down your legs, and he collects it with his mouth. You whimper again, tears prickling at the edge of your eyes – the sensation is sudden and overwhelming, makes you get your hands in his hair and slightly tug. He groans, pleasure from having you so active, so participating is overwhelming. He loves you, loves you, loves you, adores you. God, you’re beautiful. And so, so restrained – just his special good girl. Only for him. — You can study at our house. 

— You mean you and your ex’s house. 

He smacks you again for the foul language – although you know you didn’t even curse, he is still punishing you. In the lightest way possible, of course, you know you won’t handle anything too harsh – still, you feel nice and warm when he isn’t just eating you out, but also smacks you for speaking in such unpretty words again. 

You don’t even register the way he called the house yours too. All too dumb for this, again. 

— I mean our house, Schatzen. Just you and your daddy, ja? You worry too much about studying. 

— I want a nice job. Without…distractions. 

He slips one finger in your warm, tight hole – even just one digit is enough to make you shiver, clenching it like a sloppy whore. He is big in every way – just two of his fingers are bigger than a normal cock, and no, you didn’t want to compare a son with his father, but even Paul’s cock, as big as it was, was still way thinner than his father’s. 

— Why you need a job? 

— Not everyone are retired military. I need money. 

— You have me. 

— I d…don’t want to be a sugar baby. Sir. 

— I have no problems with being your daddy, Schatzen.

König is build like a powerhouse – when he slips just the tip into you, ignoring all previous preparation because, by god, you both need to feel connected, he is dragging you on top of the table, tossing aside the dirty dishes with remains of his perfectly cooked dinner…and you feel like home. Almost. 

You imagine waking up with his cock every morning, and with the nice cup of coffee only he can make. You imagine him gushing about rebuilding the house and working on his tight and neat desk job at the mercenary company – something about instructing, dumb recruits, only the most elite missions as an operator in retirement, creating strategies and tactics for the warfare – and thinking that, wow, your husband is really cool. You shouldn’t be thinking this because this is just a summer fling. Your relationships with Paul weren’t too serious either, you just didn’t want to be alone. 

König gently caresses your fingers, whispering something about numbers – you think you could recognize the word for a ring a bit later when he was making a call to some friend. In German, of course, you don’t quite understand it, but you worm your warm on his lap like a spoiled cat, purring on his crotch like a good fucking girl. But it was a while later. 

Now, you’re gasping and panting, his cock spreading you open and stuffing you like the poor bird he was cooking for dinner. You know you won’t be able to walk after a short while – would probably have to spend the day at his house, with him cooing and gushing about your sore body while he is quietly proud of himself. If you’re lucky, you could convince him to let you go in the evening. If you’re not, he will ask you to stay the night, and maybe even a bit more, and then he will just get the bag with your stuff from your room in the dorm by himself, and then… — What do you think about getting married in August?

Maybe, you do know why his wife left him. 

#cod #konig x reader #konig #yandere konig #cod x reader #call of duty #yandere cod #cod x you #fem reader #konig cod #konig x you

[izukuszn]

“Hey,” Satoru breathes, nuzzling his face into your neck, soft white hair tickling your skin. 

“Hmm.” you hum, running your fingers through his soft locks, your other hand rubbing along his back, feeling the smooth material of his cotton shirt, lingering on the muscles you can feel under it. His arms tighten around you, pulling you even more into his lap so that your chests are as close as they could be, your bodies melded together. You feel his nose press into you and the rise and fall of his body as he releases a breath when you place a delicate kiss on his shoulder. 

“You know you’re beautiful, right?” 

“Satoru…” you do your half-awkward laugh, half-breathing out thing that you always do whenever someone compliments you, now burying your own face into his neck as heat crawls up your skin. 

“You are. You truly are,” he says, pulling away from you and holding you by your waist, looking straight into your eyes with that unwavering gaze that never fails to let you know he’s being genuine. You take him in as his silver eyelashes flutter against his cheekbones, framing his azure eyes that are intensely staring back at you. His glasses are always off around you. He claims that he wants to fully see you as best as he can. 

Awkwardly smiling, you hold eye contact for a few seconds before nervously glancing away from his eyes. At times like this you can’t help but wonder, how does he see you as that? As beautiful. Doesn’t he know that he’s the beautiful one? That he’s the one that makes you stop in place multiple times a day just to think, wow. It's hard to believe him sometimes, when he says things like this. He says it so freely too, with no hesitation, no reluctance, simply opening his heart for you to look inside and do whatever you want with it. It makes you grateful that he chose you, of all people. It makes you scared, because what will you do when it's over? When it doesn't last? 

“We all know you’re the beautiful one, Satoru,” you respond, looking over his shoulder. When you’re met with silence, you glance back at him only to see his eyebrows furrowed, a pout on his lips, and without thinking you smooth your thumb over his bottom lip, smiling softly when he only pouts even more like a petulant child. 

He cups your face with his large hand, frown softening but still there when your eyes flutter and you rub your cheek into him. “Why do you always do that? Why don’t you ever believe me?” 

You keep your eyes closed. “You know why, Satoru…” You bring your front to his again, burying your face in his neck and holding him close as if he might disappear from under your fingers. 

“I’m yours forever, you know? There’s no getting rid of me. No matter how hard you try. You’re stuck with me, baby.”

“So you’ve said.” You hate when you’re not able to respond with the same thing, hate the hurt he tries to mask but fails around you when you don’t tell him how you truly feel, but you know he knows. You just need to work up the nerve to let it out.

He lets you avoid, Satoru can never deny you. Instead, you breathe him in, inhaling the comforting smell of his cologne and detergent, and he rubs soft shapes into your back, deft fingers bringing you to the edges of sleep. It's like this for a few minutes, the soft sounds of your breaths the only thing you can hear on the couch, but then he speaks again. 

“I’ll make sure to keep telling you until you believe me.” 

You sigh, “Will you now?”

You feel the jerk of his head against your neck as he nods, determined, and you smile to yourself. You can’t ever let him go. 

“I will, every single day.” You don’t mention that he already does. “You’re so incredibly beautiful, love. It kills me. I love it.”

You laugh, and he pulls away again to see the action, eyes crinkling with his own smile, dimples forming in his cheeks as his eyes sweep over your face.  

“Alright, Sa- Oh!” You’re cut off when he lifts you up with one arm, wrapping your legs around his waist and strolling over to the bedroom. “Satoru!” 

He winks at you, patting your ass. “I know a few other ways I can show you that I think you’re beautiful.” 

#*rubs hands together* heres a lil somethin' i wrote #self insert for real for real #- satoru #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo fluff #jjk x reader #- love. satoru #- drabbles

[kissitbttr]

nobody understands how you did it.

how you managed to swept him off his feet, breaking the walls he had built pieces by pieces, how the fuck did you get him to be comfortable with you? to be open with you? and only with you.

‘never seen him this happy or loose in a long time, lass. what’s your trick, eh?’ the captain pulls a joke, making the rest of the team laugh. ‘i think I speak for everyone when i say, he never brings a girl out. let alone introducing her to us.’

that one is true. years of being friends with ghost, the captain nor his closest friend ‘soap’ has ever seen him out on a date. they encouraged him though, since there have been so many women tried their ways to get close with the big guy, yet none of them succeed.

the masked men would often just shrug them off and give one hard cold answer. they would back away immediately

“guess i just have my ways” is what you always say. even soap couldn’t register how it happened. he couldn’t figure it out himself, he knows the lad way longer than you do.

they don’t believe you. because there is no way in hell that all you did was to bat your lashes, show him your adorable giggle and he was in. there’s gotta be more to it.

so what is it about you that draws him close? what is it about you that makes ghost’s eyes light up each time you step into the room? what is it about you that makes ghost’s heart skip a beat every time he talks to you?

certainly not because how you’re so patient in getting to know with him, right? not because how you trace his scars ever so lightly and call them pretty every single time he’s doubtful about himself. not because how you console him with ‘I’ve got you, baby’ each night a nightmare comes back to haunt him while rubbing his back soothingly. not because how you shower him with soft, gentle kisses to remind him that your love for him is bigger than anyone could have offered. not because how you understand why he can’t say the three letter words to you, just yet. still, you stick around.

definitely not, right? there’s no way. he’s simon ghost riley. no one or nothing could ever be good enough to make this man come out of his shell. it’s impossible, right? you’ll need a miracle for that.

“love?” you hear a voice calls, along with the sound of keys being tossed into a ceramic bowl. heavy boots thumping against the marble floor,

you step out of the kitchen. long hair tied up into a messy updo, clear frame glasses perched on the bridge of your nose. dressed in one of his favorite sleeping gown as your eyes locked with his brown ones. the balaclava still attached to mask his handsome face.

scarred lips stretch into a smile the moment his beautiful fiancé emerges from the kitchen.

he drops his bag onto the floor, pulling the mask off of him slowly. revealing his disheveled blond hair as he takes slow steps towards you.

“hi, baby” your voice brings him home. no soul could ever take away from him. he longs for that angelic tone each time he gets deployed. three or six months without listening to you speak to him is just insanity.

he’d rather lose his hearing entirely than not having to hear you at all.

he’s quick to embrace you in his arms. your face hiding in the crook of his neck, inhaling that signature scent of his that you had missed, dearly.

“what are you making?” he mumbles into the crown of your hair, giving it a peck before pulling away slightly to take a good look at you. “it smells good”

“your favorite” you kiss his chin, causing his cheeks to redden at the affection. “i even bought those lumpias down the 112th street. i know how much you love them. pretzels bites from the deli for snacks aaand, black pepper beef with rice for your dinner. sounds good?”

simon leans against the doorway as he watches you plate everything. rambling about everything. his smile widens even more at your domestic antics. the way you talk with your hands as you mention another annoying co-worker that keeps bugging you and the way you roll your eyes when a splash of gravy spill from the plate.

truly is a sight.

“why are you looking at me like that?” your lips raise into a curious smile, finger moving a dark lock that sticks into your forehead,

he gives you a small shrug. gaze not leaving you neither does his smile.

“you’re just so beautiful”

something so simple yet it makes your stomach fills with butterflies.

you chew on your lower lip to prevent you from smiling too much, but a hint of blush is dusting your cheeks betrays you.

“come, papi… don’t want the food to get cold now, do we?” you change the subject while you nod your head towards the empty seat across. “eat with me”

the two of you sit there while making a small talk. stealing glances every second. feeding each other’s food. soft laughs fall upon both of your mouths when one make a terrible joke.

something you’d see when two people are in love. c

so yes, the answer to that question. it is possible. because you made it possible. you made it possible for him to love again. even if he had to start all over. you made it possible for him to be vulnerable. you gave him a purpose the moment he thought things were looking bad for him.

he found a solace within your existence.

only you made it possible to bring the simon in him.

vbecause you. are his home

#simon riley x reader #simon riley fluff #simon riley x female reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley