#there is something so wrong with him but it’s fine | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

solarmorrigan · 3 days

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Saw someone mention how Steve tends to get defensive when he's anxious and it stuck with me, so here's my take on the "Steve breaks a dish and has a panic attack about it" trope

cw: descriptions of nonstandard panic attack, implied/referenced child abuse

The distinct sound of shattering porcelain is followed by a vehemently hissed, “shit,” and then silence.

“Steve?” Eddie calls from the couch into the kitchen. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve calls back, but his voice sounds tight in the way it does when something definitely isn’t okay.

Eddie pushes himself up and moves to the doorway, looking in to see what the trouble is. The kitchen of the house he and Wayne had been “gifted” by the government isn’t exactly huge, and he has a straight line of sight to where Steve is standing by the sink, eyes squeezed shut as he pinches the bridge of his nose, and to the red and white shards of porcelain on the floor by his feet.

“Hey,” Eddie says, but Steve doesn’t look up; if anything, his posture only gets tenser. “You’re not cut or anything, are you?”

“No,” Steve says, and his tone is still a little off, but he doesn’t sound like he’s lying.

“What was that, anyway?” Eddie asks.

Finally, Steve takes a deep breath in and opens his eyes, looking down at the mess on the laminate. “Mug.”

As soon as he says it, Eddie recognizes the colors for what the design must have been. “Shit, the Campbell’s one?”

Steve doesn’t say a word, just gives one sharp nod.

Eddie sucks a hiss of breath in through his teeth. “Shit,” he says again. “That was Wayne’s favorite.”

“I know,” Steve says tersely. “I’m sorry.”

His tone is definitely weird. “I mean, I’m sure it was an accident, Steve–” Eddie starts.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says again, almost snapping this time. “I’ll clean it up.”

“O-kay,” Eddie says slowly, watching as Steve jerks into motion and moves over to the corner where they stash the broom and dust pan.

“I’ll apologize to Wayne when he gets home,” Steve says as he starts sweeping up, even though Eddie hasn’t said a word.

“He gets home at, like, six in the morning.”

“I’ll make sure I’m up,” Steve says shortly.

“Steve, you can just tell him what happened later, he’s not going to stand around demanding an explanation. I mean, seriously, you think Wayne is gonna be pissed if you’re not there, immediately scraping at his feet when he comes through the door?” Eddie scoffs, but Steve remains silent. Eddie watches as he finishes sweeping in short, sharp motions, brows pulling together as Steve apparently fails to pick up on the joke. “…he won’t be, y’know.”

Steve shrugs. His expression has gone eerily blank, and he takes the dustpan over to the garbage can to dump it.

“Hey, don’t–” Eddie reaches out, and Steve jerks to a stop just in time. “You don’t have to toss it, man, we might be able to glue it back together.”

Steve sends Eddie a sharp look. “I’m not gonna be able to hide that it was broken, Eddie,” he says slowly, as though this should be painfully obvious.

“I’m not suggesting we hide it, I’m just saying we might still be able to use it,” Eddie answers in the same slow manner. “It’s not junk until you’re sure you can’t fix it.”

“Right,” Steve snaps, dropping the dustpan on the counter so sharply that the shards of porcelain clink against each other. “Can’t even clean up right.”

Eddie frowns, stirrings of defensiveness rising up in his gut at Steve’s continued sour mood. “I didn’t say that. I just said we might be able to fix it.”

“Fine. We’ll try to fix it,” Steve bites out, turning away from Eddie so he can put the broom back in the corner.

Eddie shakes his head, unwilling to engage with whatever snit Steve’s got himself worked into. “What happened, anyway?” he asks instead.

Apparently, this is the wrong tactic.

“What happened is, I’m too stupid to even do the dishes right,” Steve declares as he whirls back around. “Is that what you want to hear?”

“What?” Eddie is baffled, suddenly caught in the middle of an argument he hadn’t even realized was happening. “No! Why would I want to hear that?”

Steve throws his arms up, a demonstration of giving in. “Well I already said I’m sorry, and I am, and I don’t know what else you want from me!”

The heat of Eddie’s own temper is beginning to flare, but he does his best to shake it away because he still doesn’t know what the hell is going on and he doesn’t think getting angry will help. “I don’t want anything else from you! Why are you acting like I’m yelling at you? I’m not, I’m not even upset about the stupid mug, so what the hell is your deal?”

He takes a couple of steps into the kitchen, reaching out for Steve, hoping just to touch some part of him. Physical contact has always been grounding, has always been a comfort for them both; it almost seems like they can communicate better if they can just be in contact somehow. Instead of reaching back, though, Steve tenses up; it’s not exactly a flinch, but it’s as if he’s bracing himself, as if he’s waiting for Eddie to–

Eddie takes in the painfully blank expression on Steve’s pale face, the way his chest is rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths that he can’t quite seem to control, the way he’s angled himself just slightly away from Eddie, and suddenly Eddie feels cold.

It’s as if he’s waiting for Eddie to hit him.

Eddie wonders how the hell he hadn’t realized he was walking through a minefield until he was already standing in the middle of it.

(It still takes him by surprise, sometimes, that Steve’s anxiety, his panic, tends to look more like anger. That he tends to lash out like a wounded animal when he feels backed into a corner, hurt too many times in moments of vulnerability to do otherwise.)

(It takes him by surprise, but he’s learning.)

“Steve,” Eddie says softly, dropping his hand slowly back to his side, “I’m not angry.”

Steve stares at him, almost confused, like Eddie’s not doing it right, like this isn’t what’s supposed to come next. Eddie sort of wants to break something (he thinks, briefly, that he’d like to start with the fingers on Mr. Harrington’s right hand, and then move on to his left).

“It’s just a mug, Steve, it’s okay. No one’s upset about it,” Eddie says. “I’m preemptively speaking for Wayne, because I know he’s not gonna be mad at you. Seriously, getting upset over a broken cup? Does that sound like something Wayne would do?”

Slowly, once he seems to realize that Eddie is waiting for an answer, Steve shakes his head.

“Does that sound like something I would do?” Eddie asks.

Steve shakes his head again, though he’s still watching Eddie with something approaching trepidation.

“I promise it’s fine. I’m not angry,” Eddie repeats, and chances a couple of steps closer to Steve.

Steve doesn’t react this time, no tensing, no flinching, no verbally lashing out, and so Eddie lifts a hand again, reaching slowly for Steve’s. Steve lets him.

When he gets his fingers wrapped around Steve’s own, Eddie can feel how cold they’ve gone, can feel the fine tremble of adrenaline working through them, and can’t quite choke down the noise of sympathy in his throat. He tugs on Steve’s hand.

“C’mere,” Eddie says, invites him by lifting his other arm, but leaves it up to Steve.

It only takes a moment for Steve to step in close, and when Eddie lets go of his hand to wrap his arms around Steve’s shoulders, Steve reciprocates by cinching his own arms tight around Eddie’s waist. He takes one sharp breath, and then another, and Eddie can hear the way they shake going in and out.

“There you go,” Eddie says quietly, rubbing Steve’s back.

“I just dropped it,” Steve says, his voice a little hoarse. “It was an accident.”

“I know it was,” Eddie assures him. “It’s okay.”

“It was an accident,” Steve says again, and Eddie wonders how often someone has believed him – how often he’d ever even been given a chance to explain.

“It was an accident,” Eddie agrees. “You’re okay, Steve.”

Steve lets out a little noise, like maybe he’s trying to laugh, but then he pulls in another shuddery breath and rests his chin on Eddie’s shoulder. “Okay.”

In a little bit, Eddie might lead Steve to sit down on the couch, or maybe just take them both up to bed, because fuck doing the dishes after this anyway; he’ll make sure to leave a note for Wayne about the mug (ask him not to bring it up until Steve does, to not even jokingly make a thing about it), but for now, he concentrates on holding Steve close.

He’ll stand with him as long as it takes for the shaking to stop, for his breathing to even out, for him to relax even just a little against Eddie, and he'll promise, as many times as Steve needs to hear it, that it’s okay. Things will be okay.

[Prompt: Embracing your partner]

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #eddiesteve #solar wrote #cw child abuse #referenced but does not take place in the fic #cw panic attack #even if it doesn't look like one at first #soft ending though as always I promise

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cute-sucker · 3 days

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note: thank you @.princessbrunette for creating boxer!rafe !!

˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.

you clutched the pregnancy test, clammy hands shaking as you felt more scared than ever. rafe was still in his match, and you- you were forbidden from coming to his matches. the last time you came his opponent had made a pass at you after rafe brutally beat him.

the guy plummeted to the ground before he could utter another word, and rafe decided that enough was enough. so he sat you down, in your little cameo shorts and baby white tee. your thick lashes battered as he tried to come out the truth. the two of you were in the completely vacant locker room.

"listen, kid, i don't think you should come to my matches anymore," he said gently, as you gripped his arm. you had a sweet expression on your face before you heard what he had said - quickly wilting as you frowned at him. before you could open your mouth he had already cupped your face as softly as he could.

his hands were rough and warm on your face, you could smell the brutality on them, yet you felt yourself at ease in his embrace. you could never admit it - but rafe had some control over you that you could never explain.

"i know you're going to say it's your calling," he quipped, leaning in closer. his hot breath fanned your neck, as his mouth nipped at your cheek, "but baby i don't think this place is good for you." you felt yourself unwind and opened your mouth to blubber something.

you finally gasped out, "but i wanna see you!"

he groaned, steady hand moving down to your waist. there was an amused expression on his face, but he stayed firm.

"rafe? please."

"no."

that was it. so you got another job, and later on, rafe told you to stay at tanyhill with him. you were overjoyed that you would get to see him more and that he was being so gracious. all the girls in the ring had told you he was a playboy and nothing more than that. and you would never tell rafe but it was nice not being a ring girl. sure it was a way to get money fast, but your thighs ached from the amount of times you shined and plucked them.

but it wasn't just that. it was also the dark humid lights that dawned upon you, and trotting while people eyed you like a piece of meat. and now, you felt free, and while rafe would never understand why you chose it - you were a waitress.

the owner, delany liked you, so she didn't give you a hard time about anything. it was a cafe where time seemed to slow and it was as if nothing could go wrong. you got up early in the morning, giving rafe a goodbye kiss while he was in bed as he groaned about you leaving so early. you took life at strides. things were great.

but here it was. a sign that maybe everything was going to go to shit. be fine. your heartbeat quickened and you could barely breath - that was when you knew it was going to be bad. you could barely imagine yourself pregnant.

how old were you? 25? yeah, that was too young and quite frankly did rafe even want a baby? sure he mentioned it sometimes, when you went to baby showers and cooed a baby clothes. but would he-? it was another mouth to feed and god you didn't know if you could support that. rafe, sure, but if he left you? and it was an actual human being to love.

finally, you found yourself rushing out of the bathroom. you had to tell him now, as your heart was on fire, and your hands were stinging. quickly you gathered your stuff and headed over to delany.

"i have to go."

˚❀༉‧₊˚.

the ring was the same as usual. the same musty smell, and that feeling of everything being possible. you weren't recognised - though you did see a couple of familiar faces in the crowd. but you weren't here to chit-chat.

urgency drummed through your veins as you found rafe. 12:35. it was almost time for his first match, and you couldn't dump on him like that. no, you really could there was this feeling. this feeling that ran through you like wildfire as you stumbled to him.

he looked good, better than good, but he looked alarmed as you twisted yourself around his body.

"hey, hey kid," he laughed at you furiously hugging his middle, "i love that you're here but i told you about visiting me, didn't i? we had this conversation-" he was stopped right there as you kissed him, cupping his face. he was out of breath, pupils dilated when it finally set in.

maybe he saw the way you sweet doe eyes were welling up with tears, or the way you swayed in his arms as if he let you go you could crumble, or the way you were trying to mouth words, but nothing was coming out of your mouth. he furiously swore under his breath, and pulled you along with him - you followed like a puppy.

the dim lights of the corner he had pulled you in soothed your state. no longer did your skin ich, but your head still pounded. rafe looked down at you with a worried expression, as he rubbed your back. you were still holding on to him, wide-eyed.

"hey?" he snapped his fingers, "can't be doing that here. not right now. what's wrong?" he asked harshly, and you shook your head, completely nonverbal. he raised a hand through his buzzed hair, concern evident in his eyes. whenever you got like this- which was never he had to remind himself to be gentle.

finally, he dropped himself, voice quiet. he didn't care if people saw him like this- all vulnerable. "sweets are you okay?" he probed again. finally with trembling hands, you reached out into your bag to get the pregnancy test- and broke into tears. the two double lines spread fear throughout his heart.

rafe had changed. that was a fact, he no longer was plagued by his fathers words as much as before. but could he be a father? suddenly he looked down at you, wispy lashes wet, and doe eyes pleading. suddenly, he felt something blossom in his heart. he imagined you running around in tannyhil, round with his kid. you would be wearing a pretty sun dress, as laughter rang through you.

finally, he closed his eyes, "it's gonna be okay."

you seemed to take that as a bad sign, gasping out muffled words, "no, rafe, i didn't know what was going to happen, please-" your hand reached out for his, hoping that things were going to be okay.

rafe was still looking at the test, as he closed and opened his mouth before shaking his hand, "we're gonna get married, all right? yeah, and i want you to stay here with me. 'cause i need you here." he said tapping your head. there was a watery smile on your face, as you jumped into his arms.

he held you tightly, and you sniffed. before letting go of him to look into his eyes. it was at that moment that you realised how much he loved you. when he's staring at you like you are his world, and his steel eyes are soft. when his eyes are welling up with tears.

"just really happy and shit," he chuckled, "i can't believe this," he murmured out before pressing his lips on yours. finally, he pulled apart from you, still gazing into your eyes.

"you should go," you found yourself whispering out "it's time for your match." yet your hand found a deathly hold on him.

you saw him smile, and give you a peck on the lips, "want you to watch, 'kay? i'm fighting this match for you," and then his hands travelled down to your stomach, "you and baby."

dazed you watched him step up into the ring and sighed. if this was love, you'd fight for it any day.

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 2 days

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the pro

Pairing: Art Donaldson x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only. minors, please get off my lawn.

Notes: My brain chose violence this morning. Not beta-read because when is it ever.

Length: 4.8K

Warnings: Slow burn; unhappily married reader; divorced Art Donaldson; infidelity; oral sex (female receiving); vaginal sex; unsafe sex

Summary: Every lesson becomes an exercise in self-control. You force yourself to try, really try, and not make silly mistakes for the sake of Art coming closer, grasping your arm or elbow, pressing close and redirecting your swing. You don’t know what you crave more these days: his praise or his touch.

He's the biggest men's tennis star since Andy Roddick.

That’s what your husband says, as if it’ll entice you. As if you know anything about tennis, about the pro that your husband says will be coming to the house to teach you to play.

It’ll be good for you. You need a hobby.

You don’t gripe or argue. You don’t tell him that five months into your marriage shouldn’t have you looking for a new hobby. You should still be in the honeymoon stage, spending all of your time with him, hanging off of his arm, off of his every word. But he works so much and he’s away so often—

I don’t want you to get bored.

It’s a sweet gesture. The maid handles the housework; you have a chef that handles most of the grocery shopping and cooking, unless you insist on making something yourself; you have a housekeeper that arranges for anything you need—dry cleaning, maintenance. And it’s no wonder that with all of his money, his power, he can just order a retired pro tennis player up to your house, like you’d order a pizza. There’s a tennis court in the back of the mansion, a few feet from the pool. You’ll get some new outfits, the best sneakers, the nicest rackets. You’ll finally have something to do to fill your days.

Art Donaldson.

You know his name before the lean, fair-skinned patrician man turns up at your front door. He trails you through the house, politely declines your offer of a beverage.

“You ever played tennis before?” He asks.

You haven’t. Before your husband arranged this for you, you hadn’t so much as given the sport more than a passing thought. You don’t have the heart or confidence to tell that to a man that’s made tennis his whole life, so you just give him a small, guilty smile and say no, you haven’t. He nods, waves you off, insists that it’s fine.

“We’ll start with the basics.”

Two months of lessons on the basics make your arms tired, and your hands sore. But where your swings are clumsy and your grip is weak at first, you can see improvement in the way that you move. Your steps are less clumsy when you go after a ball; you’re more aware of the service line and the base line; your forehand stroke from contact to your left shoulder is smoother; your rotation and follow-through on your backhand is coming along, but has a long way to go.

Art’s instruction is calm and steady. He explains technique as much as he demonstrates it. When you get something wrong, he doesn’t scold, just lightly corrects. When you do something well, his encouragement is constant and free-flowing. Every accurate move and motion is met with, “Nice,” or, “Perfect,” or, “That’s it.”

On the days when you don’t have a lesson with Art, you practice. You order a tennis ball machine to work on your forehand and backhand. You attempt (and fail) to learn how to slice on your own. You try anyway—you can only imagine the way his eyes might light up if you manage to surprise him.

You’ve tried to ignore the rising interest that you have in Art, but you can’t help the little…Crush that’s developed. He’s just so attentive, and kind. When you find yourself smiling these days, it’s often because of something that he said, or did. You can’t remember the last time your husband made you feel giddy this way. It was probably when you started dating—before you’d made the decision to marry for comfort, rather than love. Your husband is practical, rarely physically affectionate, more heavily involved in his job and social circles than with you.

But you’ll have to find a way to thank him. He’s given you a hobby, and a man that grins at you like you just painted the goddamn Mona Lisa when you serve your first ace.

“So, tell me about the Mark Rebellato Academy.”

Art smiles, dipping his head as he reaches for his coffee. It’s taken a few months, but you finally convince him to have something to drink with you after practice. Your chef is blessedly out shopping for ingredients for dinner, so you have the kitchen all to yourself. Art has watched you putter around, seeming surprised that you know where everything is. You can’t blame him; the kitchen is chef-grade, and you don’t cook much these days.

“Did your husband tell you that’s where I went?”

“No.”

“Then how do you know?”

You’re too embarrassed to admit that you’ve done some googling, and watched a couple of clips of him interviewing before and after his matches.

“I’ve just heard,” You fib. “Tell me about it?”

He leans back in his seat, eyes skating across your face as he seems to consider something.

“What do you wanna know?”

“Did you enjoy it? I mean—” It feels like a dumb question once it’s out, and you hurry to redirect, “With what you know now, if you had the choice, would you have learned how to play tennis somewhere else?”

He considers for a moment, trailing his finger over the side of his cup. Your gaze flits to his fingers, and your own flex around your mug handle. You’ve spent far too much time looking at and thinking about Art’s fingers—their length and quickness; the slight roughness of his calloused hands; the lingering tan line from where his wedding band used to sit.

“Yeah,” He admits, drawing your full attention back to his face. “I would. It was foundational, you know. I’ve been thinking of sending Lily there.”

“Lily?”

A bittersweet smile twists his lips. “My daughter.”

“Oh!” It catches you off-guard.

“Tashi, uh—” He clears his throat, “Lily’s mother, my ex-wife. She and I are thinking about schools.”

“I’m sure they’d be glad to have her. Does she play tennis?”

“Little bit. She didn’t start until last year, but she's a natural.” He clears his throat again, presses, “Are you and your husband planning on having kids?”

“Oh god no.” You blurt it out, and realize as he raises his brows that you’ve spoken too quickly. You lean back in your seat, stirring your coffee quickly to distract yourself from your growing embarrassment. “He actually has kids already. Two girls, seven and ten. They’re at boarding school and they stay with their mother when they're on vacation. I haven’t gotten to spend much time with them.”

“...He seems to be pretty busy.”

“He is.”

“So it’s just you in this big house?” He tips his head to the side, brows knitting with curiosity. “What do you do all day?”

“Play tennis.”

He grins, chuckling, and your stomach flips at the sound.

“It shows, you know,” He says.

“What do you mean?”

“I can tell you’re practicing without me. And,” He leans across the table, running his fingers lightly over the exposed skin of your bicep, “You’re getting stronger.”

You wonder if he can see or feel the goosebumps that break out across your skin at the gentle sweep, his gaze heavy on yours.

“I have a good teacher,” You murmur. Art’s lips twitch with a soft smile, his hand gently cupping your arm.

“Just good?” He plies.

“The best. A real pro.”

His smile widens, and the flash of his tongue sweeping across his lower lip makes your face go hot. You know that you’re caught when Art’s touch becomes firmer, pulling your arm toward him just a little.

The sound of approaching footsteps startles you, and you hurriedly tug your arm away. The sight of your husband makes your heart leap into your throat.

“There you are,” He smiles. “Art, how’s she doin’?”

“She’s killing it.”

You don’t dare look at him, but you can feel the weight of his attention lingering on you still. You just give your husband a smile, tipping your cheek up obligingly as he leans down to kiss it.

“Actually, Art,” Your husband straightens up, hands resting on your shoulders. “I’m glad I caught you. There’s a charity event for a local club this month. It’s for uh…What is it?” He squeezes your shoulders for answers, and you have to keep from rolling your eyes.

“It’s a charity tennis match to raise funds to fix up the local courts. They need resurfacing and they’re raising funding to keep the fees down.”

“We could use a sponsorship from the foundation,” Your husband adds.

“Honey,” You glance back, wary of insulting Art. But—

“I’ll do it,” Art agrees. “Send me the details.”

“Excellent,” Your husband grins. “Maybe we could coax you into a match or two.”

You don’t chastise him this time—not when you see something light up in Art.

“Maybe.”

You haven’t seen Art play before. You’ve specifically avoided it. You’ve known that when you saw it, you would be too intimidated to do a damn thing on the court with him. But now, you can’t stop watching him. You don’t even care that you probably look so out of place—where everyone else is watching the ball, you’re just watching him.

His movements are so neat, so precise. It’s like watching a dance. He’s running the poor guy on the other side of the net up and down the court. And the sounds that he’s making—god. Every little grunt and groan is weaving increasingly filthy thoughts in your mind. You already know that you’ll seek out the memory of those sounds, as you reach between your legs later. His shirt clings to his chest, showcasing the muscles that you’ve always suspected he has. Strands of hair plaster to his forehead as sweat drips over his cheekbones, down the bridge of his nose, over his jaw.

When he scores a match point and he looks toward the cheering crowd—when his eyes land on you instantly, without having to search—it’s like you’ve been hit by a bolt of lightning. You can’t think, or move. You barely have the focus to applaud, but you manage to raise your hands and clap.

Every lesson becomes an exercise in self-control. You force yourself to try, really try, and not make silly mistakes for the sake of Art coming closer, grasping your arm or elbow, pressing close and redirecting your swing. You don’t know what you crave more these days: his praise or his touch.

Coffee becomes a post-lesson ritual. He starts to stick closer and closer to you as he follows you into the house until he begins to rest his hand on your lower back, guiding you to your door. He keeps nearby when you’re making it, brushes droplets of sweat off of your forehead or neck. Every touch is electrifying; you have to make a concentrated effort to keep your hands steady, your face neutral as your heart pounds and your stomach floods with butterflies.

He pushes you harder on the court, and you force yourself to meet the level that he sets for you, even when you don’t feel confident in it. But you want to make him proud.

It spurs you to lunge a little too far.

The sharp stabbing pain in your left ankle makes you shriek, and you tumble to the ground, dropping the racket with a clatter. You hear the pounding of his feet, glance up just in time to see him clear the net before he’s on the ground at your side.

“What hurts?”

“My ankle,” You grit out, hissing softly as he helps you straighten your leg out. He smooths his hands over your calf, leaning over you and gently guiding your foot in a few different directions. You whimper as he starts to guide your foot to the left.

“Okay, okay,” He soothes, “Let’s get you inside.”

For as much as you damn the throbbing in your ankle, you thank it a little, too. You lean heavily against Art, making the slow, arduous journey back to the house with his arm wrapped tightly around your middle.

When your husband comes home, he finds you with on the couch with Art coming back in from the kitchen, an ice pack in your hand.

You’d hope for concern, but your husband frowns, glances at the swelling knob of your ankle, and simply asks: “What did you do?”

“She lost her balance.” Art sits down on the other end of the couch, soothing you as the chill of the ice pack makes you shift with discomfort.

“Are you going to be able to walk tomorrow?” Your husband presses. “We have dinner at the Fineman’s.”

“I'm still going, don't worry about that."

“...Tomorrow might be a bit soon,” Art warns.

“I’ll be okay. It’s just a sprain, right?” You tip your brows up, hoping, praying that he’ll agree for your sake. His fingers flex around the ice pack, jaw ticking as he clenches it. He doesn’t say a word as your husband sighs heavily, grumbles, “I hope so. Still, we should put a pause on the lessons until she’s fighting fit again.”

Art finally tears his eyes from yours, a tight smile on his lips.

“Of course.”

“How’s the ankle?”

It takes you a moment to scrounge up an answer. You can’t believe that he called. You knew that Art had gotten your number when you started taking lessons with him, but he’s never used it beyond texting to confirm a lesson time now and again.

You look down at the still-swollen flesh as it strains against the thin strap of your slingbacks.

“Fine,” You lie, “It’s um—” You glance over your shoulder, listening for your husband. “It’s not that bad.”

“Good enough to walk on?”

Hardly.

“Yes.” You think you’ve gotten away with it, but when you hear Art sigh and chastise, “You should rest,” You know that you haven’t.

“I have,” You insist, “All day.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes.”

“You can tell him no, you know.”

Your mouth works wordlessly, body going hot with indignation. You can’t think of a thing to say. You can’t tell him that he’s wrong, that your husband’s connections are the lifeblood of his business. You can’t tell him that if your husband’s business falls apart, you won't be able to afford those tennis lessons, and then how the hell are you supposed to see Art again?

You just yank your phone away from your ear and hang up.

I invited Art.

It shouldn’t be a surprise, but your husband’s statement makes you feel like you’ve swallowed your tongue. You haven’t seen or spoken to Art in nearly two weeks. Your doctor recommended putting off any physical activity, which your husband surely relayed to him. He was the one whose name was on Art’s checks, after all.

Your husband has always thrown a massive party to kick off the summer. Every year, 150 of your husband’s closest family, friends, and business associates flooded into the house. It shouldn’t be such a surprise that your husband invited Art after the performance he had given at the fundraiser—$25,000 from the foundation, and ticket sales went through the roof when it had been announced that the Art Donaldson would be making an appearance. Your husband owed Art a lot, and probably saw this as an opportunity for him to network, to take on more clients. He had been evangelizing Art’s training to any of your friends that would listen—how good you are on the court, how engaged and energetic you seem to be these days.

It’s one thing to know that you’ll have to put on a happy face for the crowd, but to know that Art will be among them makes your insides twist with nerves. You can’t stop thinking about the way that he had spoken to you when you were hurt; his calm, steadying demeanor as he’d gotten you inside; the careful coaxing and gentle touch that he’d used as he’d taken your shoe off and examined your ankle more closely.

You think about it now, as you strap on another pair of heels. Your ankle really is doing well, though you have a little lingering pain in shoes like these. You’ll likely be on your feet for the length of the party; it’s going to be a long night. You look over yourself in the mirror, self consciously tipping your ankle from side to side for anything that he may spot or catch out. But there’s nothing, you reassure yourself. You slide your hands over the skirt, plastering on a smile as your husband pokes his head into your dressing room.

“Almost ready in here?” He asks.

“All set!”

He doesn’t come over to you. On the crowded patio, you can feel him watching you—you’ve gotten so used to seeking out the sensation that you can’t ignore it now. The first true look at him is agony. He watches you from just a few feet away, a glass of champagne in hand as he speaks with your husband and the Finemans. He openly looks you over, eyes drifting over your body to the flash of ankle revealed by the slit in your dress. He tips his head to the side just a little, squinting before his eyes flit back up to your face, lips twitching with a small smile.

You want to hate how good it feels; you want to be angry with him for his smug knowing, his insistence of You can tell him no, you know. But it feels so goddamn good to have his attention again that you can’t bring yourself to be annoyed. You know that you’re staring—that you both are—and you force yourself to turn away and excuse yourself from the conversation you’re in. You go inside, murmuring your thanks for the waitstaff that pass you along the way.

The house isn’t nearly as busy as the patio, and you're able to slip into your darkened study unnoticed. You leave the lights off, certain that if you turn them on, people will be drawn in to bug you, like moths to a flame. The party’s lights and music filter in through the partially-closed blinds.

You lean against the desk, circling your ankle and wincing a little. You’ll hide for a few minutes, let it rest—

Your breath catches in your throat as the door opens. You expect your husband, ready to scold and usher you back to the guests.

You only have a second to get a look at Art before he shuts the door behind himself, plunging the room back into darkness. Your fingers tighten around the edge of the desk as you use it to ground yourself.

“...Do you need something?” You ask, voice wobbling with nerves.

“Wanted to come say hi.”

“Well. Hi.”

You hear him chuckle, his footsteps muted by the carpet.

“Thanks for the invite.”

“It wasn’t my idea.” It’s not polite to admit, but you want it to sting him, just a little. Maybe it does; in the dim of the room, you can’t see Art’s expression as he comes to a stop just a couple of feet from you.

“Do you want me to go?” He asks. You know what you should say, but you can’t bring yourself to say it.

“No,” You whisper. You feel the heat of him as he comes closer, his hands resting on the desk and caging you in. You bite your lip as gently brushes his nose against yours.

“He isn’t taking care of you.”

“My ankle is fine.”

“I’m not talking about your ankle.” He lifts a hand, smoothing it over your hip as your breath mingles. Art’s fingers drift from your hip to stroke over the apex of your dress’s slit. His fingers slip further down, and you nod as he palms your thigh. Before you can say or do a thing, Art sinks to his knees. He curls his hand around your left calf, lifting it. You shiver as his lips press a gentle kiss to your ankle. His hand and lips travel up, easing the fabric of your dress higher with each second. The first brush of his knuckles against your panty-covered clit makes you jolt. Your hands dig into the wood of the desk as his fingers hook between the fabric and your skin. You lift your hips without a word, allowing him to draw them down.

Art presses a kiss to your mound before he lowers his head, giving your lips a sweet, sucking kiss. You gasp softly as his tongue swipes across your clit. You look down despite the fact that you can’t see him well. You can just make out his blissful expression, his eyes closed as his laps broadly across your aching cunt. You lower your hand to his neat hair, winding your fingers through it, unable to help grasping it. His heady moan vibrates against you and you nearly cry out at the sensation. You manage to just catch it, the sound dying in your throat as Art buries his tongue inside you. He sweeps his thumb over your clit in rush, harried circles, panting against your heated flesh. You rock your hips down against his lips, tightening your grip on his hair as you guide him. He lets you do as you please, whining against your skin as your movements become less controlled.

“Art,” You warn, “I—Oh, oh god—”

He hums in encouragement, sucking your clit back between his lips and lashing it with his tongue. Your jaw drops open, your hand shoving Art even more tightly against your skin as you cum suddenly. A stunned, breathy moan slips from your lips as Art leans back, smearing his lips against the inside of your thigh.

You use your grasp on Art’s hair to draw him back up off of his knees, giving him a crushing kiss as he catches his balance. You swipe your tongue across his lips, whining against his lips as you taste yourself on him. He presses close, his hard cock straining against the fabric of his pants. You reach down, palming and squeezing his length as you trade slick, messy kisses. He steers you back onto the desk as you fumble to undo his belt, button, and zip.

“Condom?” He asks.

“Pill,” You reassure, shoving his pants down. You lap broadly across your palm, grasping Art’s length and guiding him closer. He brushes the tip of his cock against your still-throbbing clit, smiling as you whine. You’re going to ache tomorrow, but you’ve never been so happy to be sore.

“Art.”

“Sssh.”

“Please—” It’s hardly out of your mouth before he shoves his hips forward, seating himself fully with a single thrust. You bite down on your lip to quiet your moan, curling your arms around your shoulders. He rocks into you with firm, quick strokes, his mouth covering yours. You can hear things on the desk rattling with each thrust, kisses growing less controlled as he hoists your thigh up around his hip.

“Oh, god,” You breathe, “We have to be quick—He’ll come looking—”

“Not until you cum for me again,” He urges. “I need to feel it, sweetheart.”

“Art—”

“When’s the last time he did this? Hmm?” He presses, “When’s the last time he made you cum? When’s the last time he tasted you?”

“Never,” You admit with a shiver. It seems to renew Art’s passion, his thrusts and hold growing more intense. You squeeze your eyes shut, hands hooking tightly in the fabric of his jacket. He yanks the front of your dress down, bowing over you and drawing one of your nipples between his lips. You whimper as he toys with the bud, tugging it gently with his teeth before swiping across it. You arch into the slick heat, using your leg to tug him even closer as you chased the swelling curl of your orgasm.

“Just like that,” You urge, “Ffffuck—yes, yesyesyesyes—”

Your eyes squeeze shut as your hips buck down against his, pussy pulsing as he spills into you. Your heart pounds in your chest as the two of you slow and still. Art rests his forehead heavily against your neck, peppering gentle kisses across the exposed skin. You have to move—now. You don’t know if anyone heard you, but if someone did, you’re screwed. If no one did, your husband will probably be looking for you anyway, ready with a scold for neglecting your hostess duties.

“...I have to go,” You warn softly. It takes Art a moment to move, but he does, gently drawing himself back from his still-throbbing cunt. You hear the clanking of his belt buckle as he tucks himself away, and you reach down, righting your dress where it’s been pulled away. You take up your panties from where they’d been discarded on the floor, tugging them on before you straighten your skirt and hurry out of the room.

“Can I see you?”

It’s only been an hour since the last guest has left, and you are so, so fucking tired. You glance toward the bathroom door. You know that you locked it, and you’re certain that your husband can’t hear you over the shower running, but you can’t help but be paranoid.

“You just saw me,” You remind him.

“Tomorrow,” Art clarifies.

“Where?”

“I’ll send an address.”

You bite your lip, toying with your earring. Your pussy is still aching from the stretch of him, your ass sore from getting fucked on the desk.

“...You regret it?” He asks.

“No,” You don't give your answer a second thought.

“I’ll send an address. Whether or not you see me is up to you. Just…think about it. Okay?”

“Okay.”

You lower your phone, hanging it up and watching his contact information blink away. It’s only a moment before a text with an address lights up your phone. You don’t have to think about it. You already know what you’re going to do.

You know that you’re staring, but you can’t bring yourself to stop. Art has spent so much time in your home, so you feel entitled to look around a little bit. You eye the row of trophies on his mantle, photos of him playing when he was young. You come to a stop at a picture of him with a young girl, a racket in her hand and a medal around her neck.

“Is this Lily?” You ask.

“Yeah,” He nods. “First competition.”

“Already getting gold,” You smile. “The Mark Rebellato Academy isn’t ready for her.”

Art chuckles, nodding as he steps around you.

“You, uh…You want something to eat, or drink, or…?” He trails off, tucking his hands into his pockets as he takes a couple of steps back toward his kitchen. You turn to face him, taking him in more fully.

“Art?”

“Yeah?”

“Why am I here?”

He doesn’t answer for a few moments. You can see him weighing his options before he comes closer.

“I…I’ve been thinking about last night.”

Fear shoots through you, but you force yourself to stand tall. “Okay.”

“I could lie and tell you that it should be a one-time thing, but I can’t remember the last time I got through a day without thinking about you. And I think you’ve been thinking about me, too.” Art stops as the tip of his shoes brush against yours, and you let your eyes slip closed as he rests his forehead against yours.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” He pleads. “Tell me to fuck off right now and I will never say another non-tennis related thing to you again.”

When he fucks you, he curls close, chest pressing against yours as he catches your lips in a kiss. You sink back against his pillows, your head cradled by his broad palm as he rolls his hips achingly slowly. You don’t bother to hide your whines and moans, and you revel in his. Every grunt and whimper and groan that Art lets out lights you up.

And when you cum, you don't have to quiet yourself. His name tumbles out of your mouth, cushioned between expletives as your nails dig into his shoulders.

"What time is he home tonight?"

You don't want to think about it. You want to stay in this cozy little bubble, trailing your fingers over his muscled chest as he massages your nape and kisses your forehead.

But you know that you'll have to let the world back in sometime.

"I don't know," You admit. "Late."

"...Could stay."

"He'll be suspicious if I'm not home when he gets there."

Art sighs softly, running his hand down to rub between your shoulder blades.

"This isn't going to be easy, is it."

"What?"

"Letting you go every day."

"Every day?" You tease, pushing yourself up to get a better look at him. "Don't get greedy, Mr. Donaldson."

He smiles, raising his hand and cupping your cheek. "Is it greedy to know what I want?"

You shake your head a little, lowering your lips to brush against his.

"Not when I want it, too."

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @amneris21

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity

@millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ;

@buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989

#Art Donaldson x Reader #Art Donaldson x You #Art Donaldson/Reader #Art Donaldson/You #Art Donaldson fic #Art Donaldson imagine #the pro

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harunayuuka2060 · 2 days

Text

Vil: What is Professor Vargas thinking by partnering those two?

Azul: Yuurin is one of the top performing first-year students while Malleus is the top performing student among third-years.

Vil: And?

Azul: ...

Azul: I don't know.

Vil: ...

Ace: Will Yuurin be alright?

Deuce: They'll just be doing the exercise together. I think there's nothing to be worried about haha...

Jack: You don't sound reassuring at all, Deuce.

Deuce: Well...

Deuce: We're talking about Draconia-senpai here.

Ace: Right...

Malleus: How are you, Yuurin?

Yuurin: I'm fine. How about you, Malleus-senpai?

Malleus: *chuckles* I'm doing great. What will we be doing today?

Yuurin: Catch and throw.

Malleus: I see.

Malleus: I'll try to be considerate with you.

Yuurin: Thank you, Malleus-senpai.

The students: ...

Professor Vargas: ...

Professor Vargas: I don't know what's going on but I'm liking it!

Malleus and Yuurin: *throwing and catching the ball at each other at the speed of light*

Malleus: *laughs* I never imagined that a simple game of catch and throw could be this enjoyable!

Yuurin: ...

Yuurin: Malleus-senpai, it seems the PE class is almost over.

Malleus: Is it? We should wrap this up then.

Yuurin: *nods* *catches the ball and doesn't throw it again*

Malleus: *smiles* How's your hand, Yuurin?

Yuurin: ...

Yuurin: *there are cuts in her hand*

Yuurin: I may have injured myself a bit.

Malleus: Hm. Come here, dear. I'll treat it for you.

Jack: ...

Ace: What did he just call him?

Deuce: ...

Deuce: "Dear".

Yuurin: ...

Yuurin: Leona-senpai?

Leona: Don't mind me. *applying a whole bottle of disinfectant to her hands*

Yuurin: ...

Jack: ...

Ruggie: *wheezing*

Leona: By the way, Aki is going to visit here next week.

Yuurin: Huh?

Leona: He told you before, didn't he?

Yuurin: ...Yes.

Leona: ...

Leona: He'll be visiting together with his husband.

Yuurin: ...

Ruggie: I— Leona? I thought Aki would tell her that himself?

Jack: ...

Leona: My tongue slipped.

Yuurin: ...

Jack: So Yuurin is a protective sister...

Leal: *shivers*

Leal's sister: What's wrong?

Leal: ...

Leal: I-I don't know. But it's scary...

Leal's sister: Huh?

Akihiko: ...

Akihiko: Leona must've told Yuurin already.

Leal: Ah! Master Akihiko?

Akihiko: Hm?

Leal: Are you sure that I should visit Night Raven College with you?

Akihiko: Yes. *smiles* You're my husband. You need to accompany me.

Leal: Right...

Yuurin: Aki.

Akihiko: *soft chuckles* Sorry.

Yuurin: Who is it? *sounds stern*

Akihiko: You'll meet him soon.

Yuurin: Is he a good person?

Akihiko: *chuckles again*

Yuurin: ...

Akihiko: Don't be mad, bluebell. I wanted to tell you, but I'm sure you would go against it.

Yuurin: ...

Yuurin: Couldn't you have waited a little longer?

Akihiko: I'm sorry, bluebell.

Yuurin: ...

Yuurin: *sigh* What can I do? It has been done.

Akihiko: By the way, how are you feeling, bluebell? Are you experiencing any side effects from stopping all your medications?

Yuurin: Hm. No.

Akihiko: ...

Akihiko: How about your voice?

Yuurin: ...

Yuurin: I won't be using my feminine voice to you because you kept something important from me.

Akihiko: Aww... But will I get to hear it in my visit to Night Raven College?

Yuurin: ...

Yuurin: Yes.

Akihiko: *chuckles* I'm excited.

Yuurin: ...

Yuurin: Can't you tell me his name at least?

Akihiko: You can ask for his name when you meet him.

Yuurin: ...

Yuurin: Fine.

Leal: ...

Leal: There's that shiver again.

Leona: I can't tell you who it is.

Leona: But he's not that handsome. Don't worry.

Yuurin: ...

Yuurin: Leona-senpai.

Leona: Nah. I already broke my promise once.

Leona: I won't be doing that twice.

Yuurin: ...

#twisted wonderland #twst yuurin #twst akihiko/akane #twst malleus #twst leona #twst jack #twst ruggie #twst ace #twst deuce #twst vargas #twst vil #twst azul #twst oc leal #twst unveil

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lnlightning81 · 1 day

Text

Positive P2 [LN4]

Summary : Surprising Lando after a race with the results to your pregnancy test

Pairing/s: Lando Norris x Reader

Word Count:

Warning/s: Pregnancy, Talk of not being able to have kids

Watching Lando with kids has always been a beautiful sight. However, watching Lando with Mila and Athena was a totally different experience. There was a different connection watching the two of them. Normally, kids cried when they saw Lando because their hero was right in front of them, but with Mila and Athena, he was just ‘Lala’ and not Lando Norris.

The video of Lando playing with Mila when she was just a little baby throwing his phone about the place had started to circulate your social media; it only made your baby fever start to grow.

You were due to meet Lando at the paddock as he had gone a little early for the media and you just wanted to lie in but it wasn’t until you felt ill that you messaged Lando asking if he had time to quickly come back to the hotel after stopping at the shop for something. To which he replied obviously still in that state of life where you could ask him to murder someone, and he would.

There was very little chance you could actually be pregnant with not only you and Lando being extremely careful but with you being told that there was little chance of you ever getting pregnant throughout your life but with your baby fever and how you were feeling everything pointed towards that actually maybe coming true.

Lando had wanted to wait and see the results but you knew that he couldn’t or he’d get fined so you forced him out of the hotel room telling him that he’d be the first person to know. Except he wouldn’t be. If the test came back positive, you had the perfect way to tell him.

But when you saw that positive result that’s when you panicked, you never thought you’d actually see the day when that test actually came back positive after many years of being told it would never happen.

Now, standing in the Mclaren motorhome, you still hadn't told Lando the results. You didn’t want to stress him out before a race. Never mind a race when he was starting on the front row with the chance of winning but you did tell Zak knowing the perfect way to tell him after a good or bad race and hopefully he’d be happy with the news.

Lando finished P2 just as he started. No one was getting past Max Verstappen any time soon, so it was basically a win for him, and you knew he’d say that when asked about it. Zak waved you over, and you walked over to the pit wall standing behind him as he placed his headphones over your ears and pressed the radio button for Lando’s car. Nodding to you with a smile

“Hey baby. That’s a positive P2” You hummed, hoping he’d catch on to what you were saying without Sky or F1TV or any other showings catching it.

“Positive?” He asked with a frown. You could hear the frown on his face

“Wait? What are you doing on the radio?” Now very confused as to everything

“Yep. Positive P2” You smiled

“Zak let me tell you your position for the day” You looked at Zak, who was smiling at you

“Oh my god, Y/N. This is brilliant. I love you so much!” He exclaimed

“I’ll see you at the podium baby” You gave Zak his headphones back

“Got a podium to get to. Let’s go” He smiled, and you walked with him. Zak’s more than just the CEO to you and Lando. He was always a phone call away if anything went wrong or if you didn’t travel out to a race and couldn’t get a hold of Lando the next best person to call was Zak because he’d always answer.

Zak would invite you, Lando, Oscar, and Lily out for food whenever he got the chance or would send you little gifts during Christmas or your birthday. He was kinda like a father figure to you both. Standing watching the podium next to Zak, you could see how big the smile on Lando’s face was compared to normal.

Meeting Lando back in his driving room, you were instantly wrapped in a hug with his hands landing on your stomach as he kissed your neck from behind

“I can’t believe it, baby. You’re serious, right? We’re going to have a baby? I got the message, right?” He asked, and you nodded

“I’m very serious. We're going to have a baby. I’m so glad you got that message, though. I was a little worried you wouldn’t understand what I was saying” You smiled, turning in his arms as he kissed you properly this time.

“Oh my god, a little baby. Oh love you’re parent’s. They’re gonna be so happy they’re getting a grandbaby” Lando was very excited as he basically jumped around the room like a little kid in a sweet shop.

“If it’s okay with you, I don’t want to tell anyone for a few months” you whispered, sitting down on the couch in his driver's room. Lando looked over at you

“Whatever you want” He smiled, and you nodded

“After being told I probably would never have kids, I don’t want to tell people. There’s a risk that everything might go wrong and I don’t want to tell everyone we’re having a kid to be reminded that actually we aren’t” You explained quietly and he wrapped you in a hug

“Whatever you want to do we will do darling but I do know that I love you very much and whatever happens will never change my mind but we’ll do it together” He smiled kissing you around your face causing you to giggle from his stubble tickling your skin

Tag List

@bearryyy

@thewannabewriter

@lozzamen3

@barcelonaloverf1life

@hiireadstuff

@mxdi0

@f1kenzzz

@evie-119

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comfortless · 2 days

Note

i have been thinking about this for a while and i love how you write, so what do you think of biker!könig with a gf that studies in uni? how did they meet? does he get jealous easily of her classmates? what is the aftermath of his jealousy (😏)?

thank you so much 🩷

-🌵

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. fem (afab) reader, suggestive, but mostly just two sillies attempting to flirt.

They first cross paths at a gas station. Sundown and desolate apart from the woman who approaches the tiny shop on foot whilst he straddles his bike at the pump.

She doesn’t notice him, and that’s just fine. More often than not, people do but for the wrong reasons. It’s always the height or the face only his mother could love. This is a good thing, shows she’s not hasty with her judgment, shows she’s just unaware enough to let something like him in.

It’s stupid, completely ridiculous at how he feels his heart thump to life, ribcage squeezing and stomach a whirl with butterflies at the mere sight. The furthest thing from love comes to mind at the sight: plush thighs peeking out against the hem of shorts that cut off just below her bum, the tight tanktop that displays her cleavage in a way so enticing. But that’s what he immediately thinks of, that word that seems foreign to him even in his mother tongue.

Love.

König could be a gentleman, lie her down in his bed instead of fucking her over the bike, if she were kind enough to follow him home. That offer feels heavy as lead on his tongue, lost someplace in his throat when he really gets a good view of her.

He’s never been good with talking to women, anyway. Especially not an angel so far out of his league she would surely only scoff with her sweet drink in hand, turn away from him with her nose held high and dark circles under her eyes as she suffers through another paper back at her dorm or wherever she came from.

So, he leaves her be as much as he can and should, only watches her with his helmet in place and that dark visor masking where his eyes wander from her face down to the retreating view of her legs as she walks.

The next time time is during the rain.

König is good at refraining from acting on base instinct. There’s a lot to consider before stealing away some miserable dove on the sidewalk, the light drizzle from above soaking into her dress and battering her lashes as she sits and waits for a ride that just doesn’t seem to be coming. He’s got his military background, keeps his house tidy and rarely muddles in the affairs of other people.

It’s just that she’s cold.

He tells himself that the only reason he stops his bike some meters away is because she will get sick if he doesn’t offer her a ride. He’s just being a gentleman. There’s nothing more to it.

So he does. Keeps his helmet on and masks his face as well as the weird excitement and nervousness in his voice when the muffled offer taints the wet air.

It doesn’t matter that he wouldn’t have never considered any of this if she weren’t so cute. If she didn’t look so fragile and sweet. She smiles and nods immediately, fusses with her dress a bit when she climbs onto the bike behind him when she tells him that she’s only just been on a date. It just hadn’t turned out well and whoever the bastard had been had dipped before even the entree was served.

It sends his mind spiraling when it shouldn’t.

It’s deranged to think of her misfortune as fate when it isn’t.

“I’m sorry… I don’t know where to put my hands,” she laughs someplace against his shoulder, chin just slightly tilted up to bump his damp t-shirt. It’s the nicest thing he’s ever heard, not mocking at all, only shy.

“Around me.”

He sounds like an old pervert, feels just like one when he takes her hands into his own and guides them around his middle. Presses in a bit too tight, because it’s been a long time since he’s had a woman so close and it feels good to be held like this.

She makes some quiet noise, a soft gasp, then presses her face into the darkness of his shirt to hide away from the rain or maybe…

“You can come home with me. It’s close.”

She laughs again, and he’s reminded of just how little tact that he has with the fairer sex. She must think him an idiot, some hopeful vigilante that scoops women up from the street after nightmare dates with bad food or bad dick. It sounds so stupid to his own ears, he knows he’s burning crimson beneath the black helmet.

Until she squeezes him a bit, gives what must be her best attempt at a hug from their positioning. Again, too, maybe out of surprise that there’s muscle there. Something a woman like her might like.

“I’ve got nothing to lose, huh?” and then “You seem a lot nicer than he was, anyway.”

The air gets stolen from his lungs and his jaw grows loose. She had only told him yes to maybe sitting on his couch, watching some miserable war film until he brought her back to her academic wasteland, but not a part of him had expected that.

It takes a moment for him to realize he hasn’t said a word, that he’s sat panting like some stay being offered a meaty bone. He takes a moment to reposition her grip around him, too ashamed of the way his cock springs to life at her closeness and the ridiculous fantasy playing out in his head.

“Right… you can dry off there.”

He doesn’t immediately remove the helmet when she steps into his abode, just guides her over to the washroom when she asks if he would mind if she used his shower and lets her be. That room has never known a woman’s touch, and the shirt he gives her to change into isn’t comparable to the cute, floral thing she was wearing.

He takes her dress to the dryer to distract himself from the fact that she’s naked in there, just a flimsy door away. Changes out of his own sopping wet clothes after considering that maybe she would want to touch him again. Maybe it felt nice for her too, just to hold someone. He could hold her too, if she wanted that, bring her right to his bed and keep her safe and warm.

“You’re out of conditioner,” she peeps as she steps back out of the bathroom. “Just thought you would want to…”

Her eyes trail over him for a time as her words taper off to nothing. Then, they’re locked to his face and any hope goes up in an inferno. The scars are probably scary, the dark circles from weeks of minimal sleep are probably even worse. She probably thinks him some sort of monster or a demon, something no girl should be left alone with.

Then, she smiles.

“Wow…”

“What…?”

He expects the worst and instinctively casts a sideways glance toward the helmet sat by the door. The perfect covering to avoid situations like this. It’s not that he’s dependent on it, but… maybe he would have had some sort of chance had he not taken it off.

“I’m sorry for staring, you’re just really…”

Ugly. Scary. Whatever words she’s considering, he doesn’t care to hear them. She could just ask to go home, save herself some fear and save him from another rejection.

“… cute.”

“Okay.”

Scheisse.

That wasn’t a “thank you” or anything of substance, but this is more mortifying than anything prior. Even the women who had pitied him with a date before had never called him something so endearing, never likened him to some adorable little thing or stared up at him like she does now. She only seems giddy, a fire burning behind her eyes like she’s just discovered some secret treasure.

“… cuter than your date?,” he hazards, rolls his shoulders and tilts his head at her. His attempt at sounding confident only comes across bitter and jealous. Maybe he is, but that fucker blew his chance, and she’s blessing König with far too many.

“Definitely.”

The tension feels tangible, despite the absurdity of all of this. He’s not sure what to do with his hands, where to look, what to say or how long to take between breaths.

She’s stood there in his shirt, looking as if she’s already his and he’s the one left feeling ashamed and embarrassed.

“I think you’re pretty.”

“Yeah?”

“Ever since I first saw you, I…” He’s babbling too much, losing any composure because she just keeps her eyes trained on him, that adorable smile curling at her lips. If he sounded creepy, like he’s been following her, she doesn’t even seem to notice.

“Maybe you could take me on a date sometime,” she suggests, her voice coming as a breathy little whisper. Maybe she is shy, but she’s giving him the OK to push and prod and see just how far he can go, to expend all of his luck on this very night.

The rain outside only grows louder, threatening to cut the power and leave this docile angel in some dark pit with a mad king. He wishes it would, it grows harder to keep the prominent excitement in his crotch concealed the more that she talks and bats her eyelashes at him.

Being over-eager was a turn-off, right? He weighs his next words the best he can, considers playing it safe for just half a moment before they escape him anyway.

“Come here.”

There’s a darker storm brewing in his eyes when she takes those first, fragile steps toward him. But she graces him with the light of a spark when her hand finds his chest and presses there, feels his heart beating like it’s a normal thing to search for, like she’s just as mesmerized and surprised as she is now.

She’s snared in an instant with a face buried into her damp hair, lifted up with her legs guided to wrap around his waist. A decade worth of luck spent just like that, but he’s always been greedy.

The demand for more comes with a callused hand guiding her chin up. Her lips part immediately, eyelashes fluttering until they rest atop her cheeks, already warmed with the anticipation of what’s to come. His kissing begins gentle, soft for a second as he tries to memorize the plushness and curvature of her lips with his mouth alone.

Then, it’s only punishing.

He tries to hold himself back, but knowing he could have had this weeks ago while she was wandering about barely dressed drives him insane. The moment she gasps against his mouth, his tongue slips inside to find hers, rolls over it with such a ferocity that the corner of her mouth begins to glisten with their shared drool. She whines, then moans as her hands curl over his neck, petting at the short hair at the base of his skull.

His hands fall to her ass to keep her in place, gives her a pinch and then a grope when he realizes she’s not wearing underwear at all.

And that’s where the well must have run dry, because she tilts her face away with a series of soft pants, squeezes her trembling thighs around him as if to make a silent demand to stop, or maybe not. Everything she does makes him feel both hot and crazy; she doesn’t even attempt to wind out of his grip here, only looks up at him sultry and helpless. She must be wet, he can smell it, practically taste her already, but he doesn’t persist when she halts this dance.

“Wait… waitwait. I don’t even know your name.”

“König.”

She laughs breathlessly, then dips her head to press against his shoulder. His hand immediately rises to pet at her hair, twirling a few strands between his fingers as she tells him her name in turn.

“I don’t really want this to just be… one night, you know?,” she says, and that intrigues him.

“That so..?”

“Mhm…”

He slowly lowers her back down until her feet meet the carpeted floor, then takes her face into both hands while she gives him a cute pout. He could be sympathetic, could make her love him even… she’s left the door open for him already, after all.

“I could just hold you,” he mutters, tracing a circle into her cheek, savoring in the way her eyes seem to light up at that.

“I would like that.”

#könig x reader #konig x reader #being gifted this ask after that one anon put the thought in my head to begin with? you all are a godsend actually

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emmasbrain · 3 days

Text

Miscommunication (the fun kind)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Warnings: slight alcohol consumption? i think that’s all, nothing NSFW in this one

Synopsis: Your good friend Penelope sees you in a bar and begs you to sit with her and her work friends. You realise you like one. She also realises you like one. She however, thinks you like the wrong one.

The moment Penelope spotted you, she gasped. “Oh my god!” You spun round on your seat on the bar towards her running over to you in unrunnable heels, a brilliant smile gracing her face and a surprised one falling to yours as you saw each other.

“Penelope?” You hopped off your bar stool and pulled her into a hug. “It’s been too long darlin’. I feel like we haven’t seen each other in years.” You gushed, definitely over exaggerating your circumstances.

“Didn’t we go for coffee last Thursday?” She giggles, and you see the familiar glint in her eye that she only got after a couple of margaritas.

“Like I said, years!” You giggled right back, and she held your hands, leaning in towards you more.

“Who are you here with?” She questioned, looking around.

You shrugged casually, “I came with some girls from work, but they all left with guys and I decided to drink my loneliness away… Except I haven’t actually had a drink yet because I’ve been sitting here debating whether I really want to drink alone.” Your words, though holding a little weight, came out with a laugh and a self deprecating sigh.

Penelope gave you a look, and you knew she was brewing something. “What if… you come sit with us?” Before you can ask questions or protest, she continues, “You know I’ve always wanted to introduce you to the team, which is who I’m here with, and it would be good for you too ‘cus it means you can drink not on your own.” She gives you puppy dog eyes, and clasps her hands together waiting for your answer.

You relent, deciding the sooner you had an interaction with her FBI friends the sooner it was over. You had heard some things, and they seemed lovely, but they were her friends and you had the feeling you wouldn’t be very welcome with your job as a journalist. “Okay fine, but you can’t mention my job. I don’t want them to hate me on the first impression.”

“It’s okay they know, I told them ages ago about what you do. Alright you stay here, I’ll go tell them and then I can introduce you.” She was practically buzzing, so excited you could see it in the air around her. She shuffled away happily, and came back to drag you over a moment later.

As you approached the group, she introduced you in order of where they sat around the table. “That’s JJ, Derek, David, Hotch, Emily, and Spencer. Everybody, this is my friend Y/N.” She smiles all big and goofy and then scrunches up her face in disappointment. “There’s no chairs left.”

You take this as an opportunity. “Well, I suppose that means I should g-“

“Here, you can have mine. I’ll grab one from over there.” Spencer quickly finds a solution, standing to walk over to an unused table and fetch another chair. You follow him with your eyes as he lifts it over. Doctor Spencer Reid. Penelope had mentioned the man on multiple occasions. Ever the problem solver, you gathered from her ramblings on the things he would do and say.

Penelope sits in the chair between JJ and Derek, and the latter lets his arm rest on Penelope’s shoulders. As you sit down in Spencer’s sacrificed chair, he pulls another one in between you and JJ, and you both awkwardly smile at each other before you look down to your hands in your lap. “Thank you.” You whisper to him.

“What for?” He whispers back.

“The chair.” You mumble, and he nods.

“It’s no problem.”

“Okay, I say we get some drinks. How bout it, pretty girl?” Derek's words snap you from your awkwardness, and you smile, realising he’s given you a nickname already.

“I am in dire need of a beer.” You reply, and Emily looks at you from your right.

“Beer, huh? I woulda coined you for a vodka redbull kinda girl. All for the thrills.” She looks at you with a smirk and you shake your head with a giggle.

“I’m normally a whiskey kinda girl actually, I get that from my parents. I only very rarely drink vodka, it just makes me want to make out with people.” The embarrassment soaks in the moment the words come out of your mouth and you realise you’ve just told a group of behavioural analysts that vodka makes you horny.

“Alcohol oftentimes does have the effect of making you sexually confident and can heighten feelings of affection and make you more open to try things sexually. One could assume that your specific set of hormones are just more affected by the chemicals in vodka in comparison to other alcohols.” Spencer pulls his lips into a straight line, and you giggle at his readily available information. Penelope wasn’t joking.

“Thanks, Doc.” You bump his shoulder, and he looks a little confused but mumbles a “No problem” anyway. As he looks away towards Derek and Penelope, you take the chance to study his features discreetly. The angle of his jaw perfectly contrasts the softness of his eyes, the honey brown colour almost sparkling within the dim lighting of the bar. His cheeks are tinged pink from the currently inaudible teasing from Derek, and there’s a little smile on his lips that you could almost envision yourself kissing.

Derek breaks you out of your head a second time. “Hey pretty girl, you wanna go get those drinks now?” He flashes you a grin and you smile, nodding.

“Yea let’s do it. Does everyone know what they want?” As you’re trying to split everyone’s orders between you and Derek, Penelope gives you a look that says “do you have the hots for my friend?” and you give her a look back that says “maybe..” she gasps and the whole table turns to look at her, making her realise that she’d turned the conversation into an out loud one now.

“You know what? Us girls can handle those drinks, Derek. Why don’t you have a seat.” She drags you up to the bar and orders quickly before she forgets, and then whips round to face you.

“You like him. I saw it on your face. You like him!!” She whisper shouts and you glance back to Derek and Spencer hunched over the table chatting. You smile.

“Look at him! Of course I like him, who wouldn’t like him? He’s simultaneously cute and hot and I swear men aren’t supposed to work like that.” You whisper shout back at her, and her smiles sadly.

“I wish I could set you up, but he’s taken. And his girlfriend is amazing so I can’t even be mad about it.” She sighs, and you slightly deflate.

“Oh man, I can’t believe the first time in years that I actually want a guy he’s taken. Just my luck, I suppose.” You laugh, and grab the drinks that have been sat on the bar. “Well, it was nice while it lasted.” You shrug your shoulders and head back over to the table with her, handing everyone their drinks and sitting back next to Spencer to sip your own.

After an hour or so, conversation was going a tad dry, and you decided to use an old icebreaker your college roommate had taught you to get things flowing again. “Okay, one after the other I want everyone to tell the group something embarrassing. It can be anything, as long as it’s about you.” Everyone nods in agreement, and Derek starts.

“There was this one time I was flirting with a girl while I was out with my mom. Now that was my first mistake, my mom comes over and starts talkin to this girl askin if she’s my girlfriend. I said momma I’ve only just met her, and she said ‘well then you better hurry up, this girl is far too beautiful for you to pass up’. Before I could even speak, the girl says ‘I think you’re too beautiful to pass up’. She was talkin to my mom! And I just thought hey maybe she’s just tryna get on moms good side, you know? You win over mom, you win over me. But then she spent 10 minutes flirting with my mother until I had to drag her away. My mom will not stop bringing it up just to mock me.”

Spencer cracked up beside you at the story, and you couldn't help laughing a little with him.

Penelope pipes in, “Tell them when this happened.” He grimaces.

“Last year.” He barely says it loud enough to hear, but you all catch it and it sends you all into a fit of laughter.

Rossi reminisces about the time he proposed to one of his ex wives, and she said no. In public. Then later in the day said yes, telling him she just wanted to embarrass him the way his public proposal had embarrassed her.

Hotch talks of the time he finished work early and decided to pick up Jack from school. The teacher had asked him if he was Jack’s grandfather, and he had to explain that he most definitely was not.

“I once hugged my friend from behind to tell her goodbye at a party. It wasn’t my friend.” Is all Emily gives for details. She grimaces at the sheer memory of it, and you can’t help the little smile that graces your lips.

“My turn then?” You question the group, and they nod. “I probably should’ve used this time to think of what I was gonna say. Well I suppose I’ll use the only one that’s currently present in my mind,” You turn to face Spencer, “I was gonna ask you out before Penelope had to drag me away and tell me you were taken. Which was slightly embarrassing for me in the moment, but as I’m saying this I realise I’ve just embarrassed myself even more.” You nod through your internal pain at how stupid you felt, and took a deep breath before trying to move on. Spencer looked too taken aback to let that happen.

“You were gonna ask me out? And Penelope told you I was in a relationship? Why would she do that?” He looks plain confused now, and you mirror his expression.

“I never told you Spencer was in a relationship. I told you Derek was in a relationship, because I thought he was the friend you said you liked! Wait. So when you said he was hot you meant Spencer?” Now even Penelope looked confused, although not exactly for the same reason you were.

“Yes! Of course I meant Spencer! No offence Derek, you’re lovely but you’re not my type.” You rushed, giving him a sheepish smile.

“And I am?” Spencer speaks again.

“Pretty much yea.” The smile he gives you at your words makes you look away nervously.

“So what you mean is that if you hadn’t been told I was taken I could have went on a date with you?” He’s looking inquisitively at your face now, tracing for signs of a lie as he waits for you to respond.

“You still could go on a date with me.” You suggest, with a little shrug and a smile that reaches your eyes.

“I’d like that.” He nods, slightly enthusiastic but trying to play it cool.

“Me too.” You nod with him. “I should probably be heading home, I have work I still need to catch up on. But I could give you my number and you could take me to your favourite place or something. Somewhere I can get to know you just from looking around.” You suggest, gathering your things and scribbling your number down on a spare napkin.

“That sounds good- great. That sounds great.” His eyes are filled with a mixture of excitement and something else you’re not sure about, but the look on his face makes you smile.

“Call me then.” You nod finally, getting up to leave. You give everyone their goodbyes, hugging them all lightly and giving Spencer a little wave.

Over the next few days the anticipation of his call is almost overwhelming. And when your phone begins to ring, an unfamiliar number popping up on the screen, you bite your nail before clicking the answer button. “Hello?”

“Hi.”

A/N: I don’t actually really like this, but it’s fine. I wanna do a part two, someone tell me to do a part two plsplsplspls. (May rewrite this once i’m not jet lagged and cramming it between studying but idk)

#doctor spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds

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faetima · 2 days

Note

THE AVEN + HANAHAKI THING YESSS I'VE BEEN THINKING ABOUT THIS FOR SO LONG BECAUSE LIKE. I know it's always super angsty when it's the reader that gets hanahaki but rine having it. imagine pushing your s/o away because you don't think you can do a relationship rn just to get hit by the stupid idiot in love disease. damn sucks to be you man

(tbh hanahaki as fun as the angst is I love aventurine so much and usually just alter hanahaki to be like less deadly because a) I DONT WANT TO BE SAD and b) the whole guilt of "I developed hanahaki because of you now love me or I WILL die" feels strange to me)(but also yum angst and the consequences of pushing someone away) ((sorry I talk a lot teehee okay bye))

𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐫. 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠. .

. . too bad he wasn't your darling anymore.

// tws ; slight cursing, blood ; gn reader ; modern au, hanahaki au

a/n: finally wrote the aventurine exes hanahaki au lol ,, had no idea how to finish this but i might make a part 2 !! :3

ever since you had started dating aventurine, you felt like you were a burden to him in some way. but you were never sure if you were actually a burden to him, or if that was your mind playing tricks on you.

but last week had just solidified your beliefs.

you both had fought over something petty--you couldn't be bothered to remember what it was--and harsh words had been thrown around in the process.

words that cut deep into you, practically making you bleed out.

and after that?

aventurine had ignored you for the rest of the entire week. he hadn't even glanced in your direction. it was fine if he needed some space to think, but he didn't even tell you, he just started fucking ignoring you.

your efforts to talk to him had just been met by blank uninterested violet eyes.

everything that happened in the last week had all led up to yesterday.

you stood in front of his door, swallowing your nerves. why were you so nervous?

after everything that happened, everything you felt, everything he said, you didn't think you could handle a relationship at that point.

so, when aventurine answered the door, his blonde hair unruly and lavender eyes tired, you took a deep breath and finally said the words you had been so scared of saying.

"i want to break up."

now, you were rethinking your decision.

on one hand, it felt like a large weight had been lifted off your shoulders.

on the other hand, breaking up with him had left you in your current predicament: crouched on the cold tiled floor of your apartment, hurling up bright yellow marigolds. you coughed them up, unwillingly watching as they hit your newly polished floor. they hit the ground ungracefully, clumped together with a disgusting mixture of mucus and blood. you gagged on the flowers as the sickly sweet smell of the marigolds hit you, making you feel lightheaded and sick to your stomach.

you didn't think you would get the disease again after aventurine asked you out.

you had it once, albeit briefly. it was before you had even talked to aventurine, too scared to do so. maybe it had been your shyness, or maybe you were just scared of rejection. you weren't too sure which, but it had caused you to cough out a few lemon yellow petals.

but, as quickly as the disease had started, it had ended. aventurine talked to you and started getting close to you, and your hanahaki had eventually diminished into nothing. after that, you thought it would never start again.

but you guessed you were wrong, since the disease decided to plague you.

marigold petals--slick with mucus--fell out your mouth as you coughed your lungs out. they fell almost gracefully onto the small flower pile.

you took fast and shaky breaths, collapsing. you were too exhausted to move, the hanahaki sucking all the life out of you.

it had been a week now, and the disease had just gotten worse. at this rate, it would only take a month or two until you suffocated on the fucking marigolds.

you could talk to aventurine, but he would probably just ignore you again.

you could get the surgery, but you would rather die than forget aventurine. you still loved him.

at this point, you couldn't do anything but hope that the disease would just somehow go away.

aventurine was growing increasingly worried as the days passed.

he hadn't seen you at all after you had broken up. sure, that was normal, but his gut told him something was wrong.

horrible thoughts of what could've happened to you plagued his mind, and he couldn't take it anymore.

he grabbed his keys, his coat, and headed towards your apartment.

maybe it was an invasion of privacy, but even your friends felt as if something were terribly wrong. he'd just check on you once, and never speak to you again. you'd be okay with that, right?

aventurine had knocked about a dozen times by now, but had received no answer.

he swallowed. he still had a spare key to your apartment, but what if you didn't want him to come in? what if you were just busy? what if he was breaching your privacy?

he took a shaky inhale.

fuck it.

he stepped inside your apartment, and was hit by the extremely potent smell of marigolds.

he glanced around, and froze at what he saw.

#୨୧ -- aventurine #aventurine x reader #aventurine #hsr aventurine #hanahaki #hanahaki au #modern #modern au #angst #hanahaki disease #light angst #shy reader #how to angst #aventurine come home #pls #might make a part 2 #you can tell i've never been in a relationship before #anyways hopefully yhis was acceptable

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emphistic · 2 days

Text

Greedy

A/N: requested by @charbunxxi — i did something a little different, lmk if you would rather me repost a more accurate version to your request

The first thing Sukuna thought about after getting off his shift was you. You were the only thing he thought of while working, too. And, on the drive home, he almost crashed his car due to the fact that you were the only thing on his mind.

Some might say he's obsessive. Some might say he's deranged. Some might say he's a man deserving of nothing.

But then there's you, who says he's just a man in love.

He's a man who makes you breakfast and coffee — the way you like it. He's a man who draws you baths and washes your hair. He's a man who carries your bags after having gone shopping — with his card, obviously. He's a man who arrives at the apartment and — even then, still looks for home. He's a man who looks for you.

However, this time — unlike all other times, after slipping off his footwear and coat, he is unable to find you.

Maybe you were taking a shower? No. Maybe you were watching TV in the living room? Nope. Maybe you were doing laundry? Not even close.

When Sukuna finally succeeded in his search for you in your shared bedroom, he facepalmed. "'m so fuckin' stupid," he grunts out, as he crawls into bed.

You had fallen asleep while trying — but failing — to stay up in order to greet Sukuna after he returned home from work; but, he had had a longer shift than usual, and forgot to tell you.

He didn't mean to wake you. After all, it's not his fault that your pet cat just had to let out the world's loudest meow, announcing his arrival.

"You've got to be kidding me," he whispered, glaring at the little nuisance laying in the bed, cuddled up in your loving arms. The loving arms where he should be, not some ugly, good-for-nothing feline.

"My bad, baby. Swear, didn't mean to wake you—" He goes in to place a kiss on your cheek, but you simultaneously swerve away from him.

"No," you softly whine, shoving your head into the pillow.

"The fuck you mean 'no'? You seriously gonna deprive me of my well deserved kiss? After working a twelve hour shift?"

"No kisses." You mumble, your voice muffled.

Sukuna blinked at you, once, twice, thrice, until he finally concluded that you weren't just fucking around with him, and you were actually denying him of something totally essential to his well-being.

How was he meant to go on without your kisses? How would he live, breathe, eat, sleep, without your affection?

He tried to remove you from the pillow, but you instantly shoved your face back. "Noo."

"Sweetheart, I love you, y'know that already. And I wouldn't force you to do anything against your will. But, you don't understand, baby. What you're doing is completely and utterly cruel. This is wrong, on so many levels." He tried, again, to peel your face away from the pillow. And he succeeded, this time. But this time, you had a nasty pout on your face.

"You wanna know what's cruel? The fact you haven't showered, and yet, still have the audacity to crawl into bed. I'll have you know, I just replaced the bedsheets, and now here you are — dirtying them up."

"Babe, please—" He started.

"You are stinking up the whole goddamn apartment, Sukuna."

"You don't gotta be this way. We can talk it out."

"Sukuna—"

"C'mon, pretty girl. Just one? For little ol' me?"

You grumbled, but complied, albeit begrudgingly. "Fine, only one. But you have to take a shower after—mmph!"

Sukuna grabbed your face in his hands and tackled you down onto the bed, smashing his lips against yours so zealously that even the cat jumped out of your arms and off the bed.

It, indeed, was not just one kiss. But, it wasn't a total loss. Sukuna did end up taking that shower. And he gave you a reason to, as well.

Taglist: @beyond-your-stars @sad-darksoul @mochimoee @r0ckst4rjk @lillycore @deepchromatose @yinyinyinyinyinyin @fivehoneyharg @desihopelessromantic @taiyakii @hannas16 @acroso @msvalsius @call-memissbrightside @kelerina-ballerina @emikokomura

#sukuna x reader #ryomen x reader #sukuna x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #sukuna fluff

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j4ygyu · 1 day

Note

🫐 - jake! maybe about reader having some hardships during her pregnancy but baby daddy jake would be ready to do anything for her comfort !!

rejecting his kisses | sjy

pairing: husband!jake x wife!reader

genre: fluff bro what else i write 😭😭

synopsis: reader is growing sensitive day by day to touches and snaps at jake, jake being a mature husband handles the situation well.

everything felt so much more overwhelming, jake kept a family dinner and everyone was over, his members and his family.

“how are my babies doing?” jake said as he nuzzled his nose in your neck as you moved back in annoyance.

oh he noticed it but shrugged it off, maybe it was just a silly reaction right?

the sound of everyone talking at the same time in their own conversation rings around in your ears making it hard for you to keep up with everything jake had his hands on you the whole day, hugging you from behind, talking to his friends and family with a hand on your bump, rubbing your nose agaisnt his, kissing your cheeks, lips and forehead. yeah sounds cute but not when you’re feeling everything a little too much.

what is going on.

it was so bad that you had to shut your room door so loud and settle on the bed,

there you were, pregnant and finally on your thrid trimester with your annoying husband being extra touchy anywhere he could find you at.

rubbing your temples you sat on the bed, grabbed the water from the beside table and starting chugging it down.

meanwhile, jake who already spotted your absensce in the living room came in “bub?” you heard his voice and your brain gave a reaction not again.

he walks in as you don’t even dare to look at him in the eye, your eyes closed as you take deep breath.

“did i do something” he leans over to your face while staring deep “no..” u say as he hums in question he sits beside you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder “are you oka-“ you cut him off,

“no- just no- please okay? please just get your hands off of me please jake. stay away from me i am not feeling all your touches just leave me the fuck alone.” you say raising your voice.

the next thing you see is tears in jake’s eyes as he looks away from you trying to hold them in.

“i am sorry.”

a moment of complete silence goes by as you rest your head on the headboard.

you notice him avoiding your looks and turning to the other side, hesitant to ask you if you need anything again.

“did i do something wrong?” he asks out of curiosity “i won’t touch you if—“

“no i dont know.. i am sorry i dont feel like getting touched i dont know.. i don’t know why i am being like this i don’t know” as you’re saying he turns around and comes closer to you.

attentively listening as he brings a hand to tug your hair strand back.

“hey no no it’s fine, its completely fine yeah, this is super normal for pregnant women to feel..” he says as tears start spilling from your eyes because of how understanding he is.

jake has always put your perspective before his, always understanding everything you did, always finding a reason for your actions and letting you express yourself, god you think what did you do to deserve him.

“b-but jake” you say as he holds your face in his hands and squishes your cheeks trying to calm you down.

“at this stage you’ve grown more sensitive. to touches to words to noises to everything” he says bringing his hands back to himself, “isn’t it?”

you nod in agreement as he adds “so don’t ever blame yourself about all this okay? i love you just how it is. nothing will ever change that”

you look at him and take his hand and place it on your belly, he makes sure to keep it exactly where you kept and not rub it because of muscle memory

he pauses and lets out a little laugh as he feels the baby kicking where his arm is placed “just try not to be as aggressive as you were okay?” you nod once again as he kisses your cheeks wiping your tears off his lips.

“baby doesn’t like hearing mum and dad argue does it?” he says as he feels another kick to his palm as you both laugh out of surprise.

it makes you giggle, mood swings are crazy.

#enhypen fluff #enhypen x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen #sim jaeyun #enha #enhypen scenarios #jake #enhypen jake #jake sim #jake enhypen #jake x reader #jake fluff #enhypen soft hours

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 12 hours

Note

AITA for pressuring my friend to listen to women who make pop music?

(🏳️‍🌈 to find this)

so in my (25M) friend group (mid-20s) we're all at least some flavor of queer - I'm a gay guy, there's two enbies, a trans woman, a lesbian, a pan girl, a bi guy... so this is about the bi guy, let's call him Josh.

Josh is a pretty chill dude, he's a good friend and I can't complain about him as a person. but he listens to very uhh "traditionally" masculine music - I looked up some of the bands from his Spotify playlist and all I could find was, quote "metal, heavy metal, power metal, gothic metal, nu metal, metalcore"... and yk what, I do think some metal artists are fine af with their long hair and their muscles, I do think they have talent... I have NOTHING against them. however it is known their audience has never been particularly queer-friendly. personally I prefer to hype up women and I LOVE pop stars, this isn't just me - some of my online mlm friends love women pop stars as much as I do.

I started telling Josh he could get into pop artists as well. he's respectful when it comes to what I like but he's not into it. I won't lie to you I feel like he just says it's not his kind of music without even giving it a chance. I kept telling him to try, and eventually Josh told me to stop pressuring him. he also said something like "dude there's no right or wrong way to be queer, I'm bi regardless of what I listen to". tbh I had no idea I was making him feel that way. I apologized bc I felt like an asshole who "gatekeeps" being queer, but I'm also a dramatic overthinker so was I TAH in this situation or am I just thinking too much?

#aita #am i the asshole

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honeipie · 1 day

Text

TWO MINUTES

katsuki x fem!reader

synopsis: your child is learning how to brush their teeth for the first time, but need a little extra motivation

“torami, baby, at least hold it for me-“

“no!” your little girl went running out of the bathroom making you throw your head back with a groan.

“it’s not gonna hurt you! it’s just a toothbrush okay?” you walked out of the bathroom to chase your little girl. torami was about three and a half, so you were trying to teach her how to be a bit more independent. she wasn’t up for it though. at every turn she’s given you some sort of problem.

you stopped in the living room where katsuki sat reading his book. there was a lump of blankets on the couch next to him moving more than regular blankets should. the annoyance you once felt dispersed from your body as you walked closer. carefully you plucked the book out of his hand and placed it upside down on the table so he wouldn’t lose his spot.

“i was reading that” but even through his feigned irritation he placed his hands securely on your waist.

“hm were you? didn’t notice” you placed your head down on his shoulder eyes going over to the restless lump of blankets “i dunno what to do with her kats. no matter what i do she just doesn’t wanna brush her teeth”

he let out a scoff moving his one hand up and down your side “you gotta be firm that’s why. can’t let her wiggle away”

speaking of wiggling away, torami had enough time hiding under the blanket and decided to crawl out slowly, but she wasn’t fast enough. katsuki grabbed her one ankle and pulled her right back to the both of you. giggles erupted from her tiny body as he flung her over his shoulder “watch and learn”

the two of you got up from your spot on the couch and headed back into the bathroom. katsuki placed your daughter on the counter her face still flushed from laughter.

“listen brat, you have to brush your teeth-“

“no!”

"hey! you can't just tell me no! i'm your fa-"

"no!"

katsuki looked back at you in absolute disbelief and all you could do was give him a smirk "c'mon kats, put your foot down. be firm."

katsuki didn't give you any type of look. instead he took the classier route, flipping you off. you didn't have time to be shocked, your daughter did that for you.

"daddy that's not nice! say sorry!"

his eyes widened as he sputtered to get his next words out "what? but she- that's not-" with an annoyed huff he placed two fingers on the bridge of his nose "fine.. i'm very sorry y/n-"

"it's not y/n. it's mommy!"

"i'mverysorrymommy. are we happy now?" he asked looking between both of you.

"yeah, that's fine" you shrugged deciding that was enough teasing for today. with a relived sigh, katsuki went to reach under the sink. the three of you had went toothbrush shopping hoping that it would make her more excited, you were both wrong.

"alright pick one of these you wanna use" his eyes scanned the selection of toothbrushes just as hers did. he scoffed seeing the one at the end. he lifted it up giving you a confused look "how the hell did this get in there?" in his hands was a deku themed toothbrush.

"i mean we were just letting her pick up any toothbrush she wanted. maybe that got into the mix"

wanting to be in the conversation, she leaned her tiny body over to see which one you were talking about. her eyes got big at the sight of the green colored toothbrush in his hand.

"i want that one! the green one!" leaning over just a bit more she was successful grabbing the toothbrush from his hands "uncle deku!" she squealed showing it off to you "mommy it's uncle deku!"

"that's right amibaby! i'm glad you found something you like, and so is daddy" you placed both hands on his shoulders feeling them tense up at the toothbrush "let it go blondie. just be happy that she's excited to brush her teeth" He nodded straightening up his back.

"nice toothbrush you got there kid. now we put some toothpaste on" katsuki grabbed the kiddie toothpaste from its cup on the sink. he placed a pea sized amount on the tiny toothbrush before placing the cap back on “and now brush”

torami looked down at the toothbrush and then at him. her chubby little hands switching the toothbrush from one hand to the other until she reached it out to them “you do too”

if there was one thing you could both agree on, it was that your daughter had this power over both of you. the way she tilted her head so slightly, and made her eyes look just a bit bigger. it always seemed to work.

“let’s do it” you said scooping her up from the counter. the three of you made your way into yours and katsuki’s shared bathroom. gently, you placed her down on this counter and got your own toothbrush ready. katsuki reached for his, which looked like it had been used for a good while even if he had just replaced it.

“now remember we have to brush for how many minutes?” you asked setting up your phone. one of the ideas you saw that worked with other kids was playing a fun little video with music and a countdown.

“two mommy!” torami said an excited look on her face.

“alright! three.. two.. one.. go!” at the same time you all started to brush your teeth as the music started. which was quickly drowned out by the sound of aggressive brushing from your husband. turning your head, you watched as he aggressively scrubbed his teeth, making sure to reach every single one.

torami looked at him rather concerned and shook her head “daddy not like dat” the toothbrush still being in her mouth affected her words slightly. torami went to stand up right in front of him. reaching both of her hands out she placed them over his. he stopped watching as she moved his hands gently back and forth “be nice..” she mumbled.

katsuki almost melted on the damn spot. he focused on her face, the face that he helped make. the one that was a perfect mix of both you and him. she had the same messy, blonde hair pulled back into two ponytails. but the eyes were all your doing. every time he looked into them he thought of you. the day you told him that you wanted kids, the day you told him you were pregnant. damn, he remembers them like it was yesterday.

he snapped out of it when you bumped your hip into his. all you did was give him a look, and he knew exactly what it meant.

‘you good?’

He sent back a nod your way along with moving his arm to rest lazily around your waist.

‘i’m good’

this became a special moment in the day for each one of you, though katsuki would never admit it. you could tell by his actions. how he would pick torami up, and turn her upside down mumbling something about ‘time to brush’. or how he would usually take night shifts, but now somehow ‘his schedule didn’t benefit him anymore’.

you never brought it up though. katsuki loved in his own way, and you loved it.

a/n: a little extra to brighten your day :)

torami sat in her college dorm room on her newly decorated bed that she'd be sleeping in for the next year. it was a hard concept to grasp, being this far from home even though she begged you both to go here. there was an unfamiliar twisting in her stomach that she couldn't quite place.

her eyes glanced to the open window that had been decorated with white curtains. the sun had already set, even though she felt like she had been sitting here for only a couple of minutes. you and katsuki had left early that afternoon. he insisted that you all woke up early to get a head start before the rest of those "extras". the one trait that he most definitely didn't pass onto your daughter was being an early bird. so even though she complained through half of the process, she was happy to know that she wouldn't have to stress setting up with a sea of people wandering through the halls.

deciding that it was time to stop wallowing on her butt, torami got to her feet to get herself ready for bed.

right before she could go into her bathroom, she heard soft vibrations from her phone. leaning over, she noticed your face flash across the screen. torami answered it as she headed into the bathroom.

“hi mom. i’m alright if that’s what you called for”

you shuffled on the other end of the line before showing your full face “hi baby! don’t rush me off the phone so quick! i just wanted to see you settling in and say goodnight. you’re not out partying are you? is that a boy?”

“better not fuckin’ be!” katsuki yelled across the room and quickly made his way over into the camera “where the hell is he?”

“mom was messing with you”

you had bent over in laughter, but the other two bakugou’s didn’t think it was that funny “oh boo! y’all are no fun!” you and katsuki bickered all the way into your shared bathroom, but all was forgiven when he sent a slap to your ass and whispered something in your ear.

torami groaned loudly on the other line “guysss! if you’re going do be nasty at least don’t do it while i’m on the phone please”

you set the phone down on the counter, propped up against the wall “no! we’re sorry, tora” your eyes glanced over to the cup on the side, yours and katsuki’s toothbrushes sitting next to each other. with a smile you grabbed it putting it in the camera “wanna brush our teeth?”

torami gave you a look through the phone, but quickly caught herself “i’m a little old for that don’t you think?”

you shrugged grabbing katsuki’s brush and handing it to him “not to us, but you don’t have to if you don’t want to”

torami thought for a moment before smiling “let me get my toothbrush”

#x reader #drabble #bnha x reader #mha #anime #writing #bnha bakugou #bakugou katsuki #katsuki #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki x y/n #honeipie

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mikkomacko · 3 days

Note

Thank u for doing requests ! What about giiving kisses on mob boss Nico’s scars (if any)?🥹🥹

This is so sweet oh my god I’m gonna cry. (This also somehow turned into a smut scene at the end so happy first smut scene of mob boss Nico!)

Thank you so much for requesting! I hope I did it justice!

————————————————————————-

It wasn’t a big dead, not really. Just an off-handed remark Jack had made after Nico chirped him for getting a bad haircut.

“You should spend more time worrying about that lip of yours than my haircut.” He’d yapped, motioning to the recently split lip Nico had gotten. “Eventually your girl’s not gonna wanna kiss it better.”

It had healed just fine and yeah for a bit there you’d avoided the raw wound, but now that it’s just a sliver of a scar it’s fine, right?

Nico can’t help it. He’s picking at it, smears of shaving cream still splattered across his jaw and cheeks. He picks at it until the skin of his lip is red and raw, and it hurts so badly he has to stop.

In a frantic spiral he’s suddenly spotting all the little marks on his face. Every scar left over from teenage acne to fist fights to hitting his head on the coffee table as a child, Nico feels manic as he takes them all in.

Maybe he shouldn’t have shaved. Maybe he should’ve let his beard grow out, creep up his cheeks and down his neck to hide all the ugly marks.

Down and down and down the rabbit hole he goes. Wiping the shaving cream off with a towel, Nico spots the ugly mark on his collar bone from where he’d been nicked with a knife. The one on his abdomen from where he’d been kicked with steel toe boots.

Something ugly and ashamed rises in his chest, threatens to choke him. He scrambles out of the bathroom, haphazardly shutting off the light as he rushes to the closet. In his haste to cover himself he misses you already lying in bed. It’s not until he’s yanked on a hoodie and sweatpants, finally able to breathe easy, does he notice you watching him with bewilderment.

“You ok boss?” You ask him, slightly amused.

Nico runs a hand through his hair, feels like throwing up. What if you saw all of them? Like really saw them? Sat in front of him and saw all those ugly spots at once, all his ugly spots?

“Fine,” he mumbles, climbing into his side of bed. He feels stiff and awkward, ignoring your gaze as he reaches to shut off the bedside lamp.

You make a confused noise in the dark and Nico blinks until his eyes adjust. Then he’s lying back on the pillows, staring up at the ceiling. His fingers ache to reach for you, to touch your skin. But he’s terrified of you touching his skin and suddenly deciding you don’t want to anymore.

Stupid fucking Jack and his big mouth.

The sheets shuffle, the mattress moving with your weight. “Nico?” A hand pats down the duvet, then slithers across the blanket until it’s resting over his chest.

“Hm?”

“Baby you’re on the edge of the bed.”

“M’just hot.”

“Maybe it’s the winter clothes you just put on?”

Nico hesitates, scrambles for an excuse. “Not feeling well either. Don’t want to get you sick.”

“You ate three plates of pasta, Schoa. I don’t think that’s contagious.”

Clearing his throat, Nico pathetically shrugs. Something’s welled up in his esophagus, is choking him and he wants you to reach over and make it better.

“Do you want to tell me what’s wrong or am I gonna have to piss you off first?”

He closes his eyes, feels the weight of your hand on him. That feeling chokes him again, makes him panic until he’s spiting out his worst fears to you.

“Do you still want to kiss me?”

Nico expects you to laugh, to kick at his leg and tell him he’s being ridiculous. But he thinks the pathetic whimper of his words has given away how dire this topic is to him.

“Oh baby,” you breathe out, “I want to kiss you all the time.” You sound sincere, like you’re thinking about kissing him right now. It makes his face hot, embarrassed and insecure for some reason.

His silence is thick, hanging in the air so heavily you have to sit up in bed and crawl over him. Nico can’t help it, his hands moving on their own to find your hips as you push the blankets back and straddle his thighs.

“Nothing could ever make me not want you.” You whisper. In the dark he finds your eyes, the moonlight coming through the window gleaming in them. They look shiny and blurry, warped by the night- no by him. Because he’s got tears in his waterline.

“You didn’t want to kiss my lip,” he mumbles like a child, “when it was hurt.”

You stroke through his hair, press your palm to his cheek. “Because I didn’t want to hurt you, not because I didn’t want to kiss you.”

“What if next time it’s worse? What if the cut is bigger and then the scar is and it doesn’t get better?”

“What-Nico where is this coming from? Did something happen?”

He’s silent, embarrassed again. “Jack said if my scars get any worse you won’t want to kiss them better anymore.”

“Oh Nico baby,” you huff in disbelief. “Have you ever noticed that Jack doesn’t even have someone to kiss his scars better? Who does he think he is?”

You’re right, but he doesn’t feel better. So he just shrugs, makes some weird noise of protest in his chest because he’s scared and hurt.

“Can I please turn the light on?”

Nico leans into your palm, heart thumping loudly in his chest but he mutters his consent. The lamp flicks on and at first he’s blinded. But then you come into view, one of his shirts on your shoulders and you’re pretty hair frizzy on top of your head.

You look so beautiful over him.

“Oh my god, what has Jack done to you?” You ask softly, stroking your thumb under his droopy eyes that are still wet with unshed tears.

“I don’t know,” he mumbles.

Your fingers trace his face, over the soft skin of his freshly shaved cheeks and the slope of his nose. Your thumb outlines his lips, your eyes following its movement with such adoration in them it makes his heart ache.

“You are the most beautiful man I have ever seen,” you say with earnest, stroking the scar on his lip. “No cut or bruise or scar is ever going to change that.”

“Yeah?”

You lean down, ghost your lips over his. “Yeah Nico,” you promise, sealing it with a kiss. He runs his hands up your back, holds you as you trail kisses over the little marks of his face.

Nimble fingers dip beneath his hoodie, touch the warm skin of his stomach. “Can I take this off my love?”

Sluggish, Nico nods. He sits up enough to help you wiggle it off of him, falling back into the pillows as you throw the hoodie to the side.

You sit back, admiring the skin of his chest and abs with your hands and lidded eyes. “All I see when I look at you, is the brave and strong man that I love.”

Sliding down his body, you mouth at his collarbone with soft and needy lips. Nico sighs contently, lets your breath tickle his skin and grows warm at the way you touch him so sweetly.

Sometimes he wonders how you can treat him so softly, how you can take him in those soft hands and turn him into a puddle.

“Baby,” he whines, unsure of what he’s even calling for. All he knows is that he loves you and you’re making him feel so good.

“Let me love on you,” you request, word pressing into the column of his throat. “Let me show you how beautiful and sexy you are Nico.”

He tangles his fingers in your hair, shudders as pleasure nips at his belly and blood rushes to his cock.

“Fuck, yes, please.”

You’re slow and diligent, finding any and every place on him that is marred or changed and showering it in kisses and loving touches. He’s sweating and panting when you get to the edge of his pants, peeling the band down to reveal more and more of the scar there.

“This one’s my favorite,” you say so quietly he almost doesn’t hear you.

“Huh?”

He lifts his head, brain foggy with lust. You peer up at him through thick eyelashes, blinking sultry over the planes of his body. Lips hovering over the mark that trails down the v of his hips and the top of his thigh.

“My favorite,” you mumble into his skin, kissing at the point of his hip. Then you’re pulling his sweats down even more, innocent eyes watching him hiss when his cock jumps free, red and hard against his abdomen.

“Why?”

Your lips curl up, wicked as you bite into the inside of his thigh just enough to make him twitch. “Because I get to see it every time I’m down here.”

Nico’s brain short circuits, shuts down when you bite into his skin again and it feels so good he might come untouched. He doesn’t want to though, not that he needs to tell you that.

You nose at his cock, mouth wet and hot against the base of him and his bones turn to jelly. He falls back into the mattress, widening his legs for you to get closer.

Grounding himself with fingers in your hair, Nico whimpers when you drag the flat of your tongue up his length, gentle fingers wrapping around his girth.

“Baby,” Nico whines again, and you’re already kissing at the thick head of his cock, all teasing flicks of the tongue and lips sticky with precum.

“I know pretty boy,” you assure, sweet and loving. Nico moans, ears growing hot at the pet name. “So pretty, from those big eyes of yours all the way down to your pretty cock, huh?”

His hips buck up, eyes rolling back and he twitches in your hand. Jesus Christ, now he knows why you love when he talks you through sex. The rawness of your words, the truth in your tone, how utterly sweet you sound saying such filthy things.

“Make me cum,” he begs, tugging on your hair encouragingly. “Please just -fuck!”

You swallow him down easy, fitting his cock into your warm mouth just how he taught you. Like it’s habit now, to have his cock dripping into the back of your throat while your tongue licks at the underside of him.

Nico’s so worked up and sensitive he’s already throbbing and threatening to blow his load. That fire licks at the base of his spine, curls his toes and has him blubbering nonsense. You bob your head, drooling down his length and cupping his balls in your palm.

You’re so soft and warm, so loving in everything you do. Nico thinks it might kill him one day, how much you love him. But that would be a hell of a way to go.

His cock throbs, twitching in the hollow of your cheeks and you stroke a free hand over that favorite scar of yours. That’s at it takes and he’s seeing stars, coming so hard on your tongue it twists painfully at the pit of his stomach.

Dropping his hands from you, heavy like his bones are made of lead, Nico fights to catch his breath. Your merciful on him, easy and gentle as you kiss your way back up his torso and to his mouth.

Nico doesn’t peel his eyes open until you’re messily mouthing at his parted lips. Your tongue tastes like him, breath hot and he groans into your mouth as he kisses you back.

“I lied,” you pant when you part from the kiss. “This one’s my favorite actually,” and your pecking a kiss to the scar on his lips.

“Baby you just sucked the soul out of me,” Nico croaks, wrapping his arms around you and pinning you into his sweaty chest. “I can’t take anymore compliments.”

You giggle, touching your nose to his. “It’s the truth this time, I love that one. It’s the first thing I see every morning, the first thing I see after you kiss me.”

Nico hums, smacks a kiss to the corner of your lips. “Yeah? Do you think that’s pretty too?” He goads, smirking when you blush and roll your eyes. “Pretty like my cock? Or pretty like my eyes?”

Laughing, you wiggle in his hold to try and get away. “Oh shut up!”

“Noooo keep telling me how pretty I am, boss please?”

#him and i #him and I blurb #nico hischier #mob boss Nico #mob boss Nico hischier #nico hischer x reader #nico hischier smut #requested

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gh0stsp1d3r · 2 days

Text

𝒟𝓇ℴ𝓅 𝒾𝓉．

this came to me in a dream

Masterlist

Naive!reader, manipulative!rafe, mentions of murder

You made your way back up the stairs when you heard shouting from the backyard. You furrowed your eyebrows, glancing around. No one was here but Wheezie and you.

You moved and peeked out the curtain, seeing Rafe shout at Barry. The two argued over something you couldn’t quite hear, you watched them argue for a little bit more, watching them stop and Barry let out a sigh, shaking his head to himself and motioning to the ground.

You watched them both pick up something, a black bag of some sort. Rafe’s muscles flexed as he picked it up, both of them slowly trodding over to the boat with the bag.

You looked closer at the thing they carried, a large dark bag, it could be bricks, or something else. But the figure it made, you realized, was a body. You stumbled back slightly, the curtains falling back into place as you practically ran up the stairs.

You dropped your cup as well, the glass shattering on the stairs. You shut the door to the bathroom, your eyes wide and blown, your mind racing.

You were in there for a while. You washed your face, mumbling quietly to yourself. Maybe it’s not a body, maybe it was just-

Your thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Y/n?” Rafes voice called out, rapping on the door again.

“Y-yeah?”

“You okay…? Is that your glass on the stairs?” He asked, fumbling with the locked doorknob. His head was against the door, he smoothed down his hair.

“I’m fine. I just.. don’t feel good right now.” You said, unlocking and opening the door, giving him a false smile.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m just… think i got a fever.” You lied. He frowned, putting the back of his hand up to your forehead.

“You feel fine. C’mon, let’s get you to bed, I guess.” He muttered to you, but when he began to walk, your feet were planted into the bathroom.

He turned back, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Did you… did you kill someone, Rafe?” You asked him, your voice a whisper. You stared down at the ground, eyes on the pink, fuzzy socks you had on.

“W- what?” He said with a nervous laugh, a hand going to the back of his head. “What are you talking about, baby?” He began to step closer, but you backed up from him. He frowned at you.

“C’mon, are you- are you serious right now?” He said, tone changing. “Baby, why would I have-“

“I saw you and Barry, i went to get a glass of water- and- and.. i saw you both carrying a bag. Like- like a body bag… don’t lie to me, rafe.” You said, tears escaping your eyes. You sniffled and wiped them, looking back at him.

“Baby, I don’t know what you saw but it wasn’t what you thought… I mean,” he laughed again. “I haven’t… no. So, can we please, just… get back to bed now?” He spoke, his hands pinching his bridge of his nose.

“Rafe…”

“I didn’t.. I didn’t kill anyone, okay? Why don’t you believe me? Me and Barry were taking bricks to the boat. He’s building some shed, I didn’t ask.” He shrugged. “So just fucking drop it!” He said, his voice raising.

Your bottom lip quivered, he sighed and shook his head, he came closer, wrapping his arms around you, his hand on your head.

“I’m sorry, baby. Didn’t mean to scare you, jus’ can’t be.. can’t be accusing me of shit, got that?”

You nodded against him, he sighed and gave you a small smile when you looked at him and pulled away.

“‘m sorry, Rafey.”

“Let’s just… go to bed, yeah?”

#rafe fluff #rafe cameron x you #obx rafe cameron #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron imagines #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron

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sunglassesmish · 3 hours

Text

okay so a very long post incoming.

the shock still hasn’t worn off. i asked misha about bi buck after days. weeks. of talking about it as a hypothetical and i got the BEST answer ever and caused extreme disarray in the destiel fandom.

people in my discord group can attest how often i was like ‘ooh i hope someone asks misha in a panel this weekend.’ ‘maybe we can all go in on a cameo and ask him that way instead?’ i was pretty annoying about it, i just. i NEEDED TO ASK.

so i got to the con thinking if only i could ask a question. then i went to misha’s solo panel but didn’t line up for some reason and then by the end, i regretted it because there was no last question and even misha commented on it. i thought damn now i only have tomorrow’s panel to do it. but i wrote down my question anyways and i thought i’m already here, i have to at least TRY.

i complained to my mother about how i really wanted to ask a question, but no way could i tell her i wanted to ask about buck and tommy kissing and destiel. she doesn’t even know destiel is a thing and she would not approve if she did. but i went to the panel by myself, luckily she didn’t have a ticket to the con anyways so she just waited in the hotel lobby after checking out (which was her choice. she listened to misha’s first panel on saturday from outside the room and didn’t want to sit through one again)

anyways so i go to the tomer/karen panel that was before his panel, and i’m on the right side right at the back, the complete opposite side where the people who ask questions are. then towards the end of that panel i move to the left side. i’m still at the back but i’m at the end of the row so i can easily move when i need to. then when the panel ends i go to ask a person who works at the con about asking a question. she says there are still people who didn’t get to ask their questions yesterday so they get priority, and the rest aren’t lining up yet. now i’m pretty confused because there was a distinct lack of questions at the end yesterday but whatever.

so i go to sit back down but there’s a line of people right where the question line was on saturday, so i join it thinking just in case she was wrong. well more people start to line up and she says ‘nobody is lining up to ask yet!!’ and i’m like okay so it’s fine, we really aren’t going yet.

then i sit back down and a few minutes later i see her directing like 4 or 5 people onto seats after she raises a paper saying ‘reserved for questions’ or something like that. so i think okay it’s my chance. i go up and she directs me into these seats that are closer to the front and is filled with like TEN people who are sitting in that ‘reserved for questions’ section. i think oh my god. there are so many people here. i text the discord saying ‘IM IN THE LINE.’

then the panel starts and i’m like okay well i’m towards the end and i’m close to the front now, i’ll take some pics. and as people ask their questions and sit in their original seats, we have to keep moving along the row of seats so we keep getting closer to the middle near the mic.

but then there’s half an hour and one of the people working for the con comes and says to the girl after me in the queue and the people behind her that they weren’t gonna get to ask. she tells the people at the front of the queue ‘i think just the first few of you will get to ask’ - at this point i’m like the 5th/6th in line (after the person at the mic and the person waiting behind them) so i’m not very optimistic at all. and then.

so i tell my discord ‘yeah i don’t think i’m gonna get to ask’ because i’m still pretty far from the end by the mic.

and then the panel goes on and there ends up being two people, one at the mic, one standing behind them. and one of the people working for the con tells me, THE NEXT PERSON IN LINE, ‘sorry, you won’t get to ask.’ and i am DEVASTATED. i tell the discord ‘yeah i’m definitely not gonna ask.’

i’m thinking I SERIOUSLY just wasted this whole panel shuffling seats and worrying for nothing (i had also just left my bag with all my stuff on a random seat!) so i sit there annoyed and sad for a minute until i see sean (the con organiser) by the stage and he tells her that i can go up last i guess. so she comes up to me and tells me i will be up next and to stand behind the people at the mic and i’m SHAKING.

i get in the line and i text on the discord that i’m the last question.

then i stand there listening to the questions before me just thinking oh my god misha is right there and i’m gonna be the last question and oh my god it’s gonna be such a good question. because i saw how much chaos misha caused with his questions on saturday and in this panel i don’t think anyone asked about destiel. so i thought!!! this is gonna be good!!!

and then i get to the mic and they’re all on stage and sean is next to it and says it’s the last question so it’s gotta be a good one. and then alex and rob and misha are all like oohhh it’s the last question but then MISHA. FUCKING. comes off the stage and comes up to me holding the mic and is two feet from me and looks me in the eyes and says ‘don’t fuck it up.’ but i’m like it’s on my phone! i got it written down! and well you’ve all seen the pictures of him looking right into my eyes but i’ll show you again.

so the first two four of these next photos we were making eye contact. i remember when he came up to me i was looking at all the lines on his face thinking man he’s so pretty and he’s right in front of me what the fuck.

but in these last two i wasn’t looking at him. he was just looking at me. which is just insane to see in retrospect.

after this i think he went back to the stage and i was like okay this last question is for misha and he cheered i guess. i think i blacked out tbh.

now when he got back to the stage i think this was when rob started singing the last question song because i remember thinking like damn i need to ask this question before i cry or something. misha was just standing there and looking at me - from the stage this time and i was. freaking out.

after that singing was done i said ‘this question is kinda about destiel, just to warn you in advance.’ and then apparently rob said ‘perfect last question’ and i started asking my question.

i started with saying ‘so there’s this show called 911’ and SO many people started cheering. i was immediately so much more comfortable because i could tell people would know where this was going. especially when after i carried on with: ‘it moved networks from fox to abc in it’s 7th season. and there’s a main character named buck who in the 4th episode kissed another man’ and then people started cheering AGAIN.

and anyways you all know the rest by now. i said ‘the actor who played him reported that they wanted to do something like it earlier in the show, but when they moved networks they were allowed to make it happen. if supernatural moved networks earlier on, or if it was made later on, do you think something like that could have happened with dean and cas?’

and we ALL know misha’s reply by now. ‘if the cw wasn’t so homophobic, dean and cas would have been balls deep for sure.’ i vividly remember being like OH MY GOD (in my head) and then i put my head in my hands a little and apparently. so did misha. which is to be expected i mean that was wild.

after that he said he was gonna actually give a semi earnest answer and said some things that are shown in these tweets. i remember bits and pieces because i was trying to hold eye contact with misha but i occasionally looked down and played with the mic a little but didn’t want to seem too uninterested. i loved his answer. the thread in this tweet has the general gist of it.

and if you wanna see the question i had written down and open on my phone, which i edited RIGHT before the panel as you can see from the timestamp (don't judge me for the second question it was just a backup) and a picture of misha looking at my phone. here it is.

#cr8 #misha collins #destiel #spn #long post #sorry for not writing his whole answer out myself i wish i recorded it somehow because i forgot all the little detaiks #i’ll remember someday i guess #and if you read this whole thing. i salute you

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