#. does sandy have a full name

[secondhello]

Cute Jeffrey and Sandy from blue velvet!!!

The…

[sun-kissy]

Hi i was wondering if you could do a poly wolfstar fic with a fem reader where she feels left out of the relationship because they start to drifting apart which then leads to them breaking up. But then Sirius and Remus realises what they did wrong but reader just doesnt want to because shes scared they'll leave her out again.💗

hi angel! thank you for the request ♡

meant to be | poly!wolfstar

part 1 | part 2

tw: angst

poly!wolfstar x reader

You lean against the doorway, quietly observing them. Something you always seem to be doing these days. Your eyes rake over Sirius, with his legs propped up on one arm of the couch while his head lies in Remus’ lap.

Sirius laughs, and the smile Remus gives him while he strokes his hair is so full of love. It makes you wonder if Remus thought he personally strung up all the stars in the sky or something.

You try not to let it get to you but it does anyway, that same stinging sensation in your chest, as though someone had pierced your heart.

It felt silly to feel as hurt as you did. The boys were so hopelessly in love, it was endearing. They had claimed to love you the same way too just a few weeks ago. When they first proclaimed their love, it felt surreal. Perfect. But now, it felt like a chore.

Not to you, never to you. Loving them would never feel like a chore to you, you were sure of that. But what if they felt that way? What if you were just an experiment gone wrong?

Maybe you were just overthinking the whole thing. Or maybe this relationship was a mistake.

Sirius and Remus perfectly complemented each other already, it was like Remus was a container and Sirius was water. And you were the lid that just never fit right. Remus was calm, peaceful, loving. Sirius was fun, snarky, and full of affection.

What were you? Just a random girl who had the fortune of stumbling across the lovely couple.

They hadn’t done anything in particular to upset you, they never would. But it was the way they instinctively walked closer together, their fingers interlaced. The way they glanced at each other, having silent conversations you would never understand. How they seemed to know everything about the other, from every inch of his skin to every thought in his head.

It was like they could see colours you couldn’t see, speak a language you didn’t understand.

You told yourself it was fine, they had just known each other longer. They stayed in the same dorm room and took the same classes, of course they were bound to be closer.

But wasn’t that exactly the problem? Their lives were inexplicably intertwined, and it felt like you were trying to wedge yourself in. It left you feeling like the side character in your own story.

You heard your name and snapped out of your daze, blinking as you find Sirius grinning stupidly at you from where he lazed on the sofa. His expression softens when your eyes meet his. “Love, come over here! We’ve been looking for you all day.”

That was a lie, your brain screamed at you. You spotted them chatting in lessons, eating together at the Great Hall, taking a walk in the garden. They were not looking for you, it was a lie.

Remus smiles softly, beckoning you over. You will yourself to move, to go sit with your boyfriends, but it’s like your legs have turned to stone.

You silently stand there, watching them. You try to muster a smile or open your mouth to say something. But nothing comes out except for a quiet wrangled sort of noise.

Remus looks at you strangely. Sirius frowns, his eyebrows creasing. He pushes his palms down on the couch, elbows buckling as he sits up a bit. “Y/N, baby? Why don’t you come on over?”

You watch Remus gently move his fingers to Sirius’ forehead to smoothen the lines between his eyebrows, and him turning around to give the sandy-haired boy a lovesick smile. That simple action causes the last ounce of willpower in you to break.

You clench your fists to stop your hands from trembling as you suck in a deep breath, feeling the ache in your chest start to grow. Was it jealousy? Anger? Hurt?

Sirius seemed ready to move to your side right that moment, looking utterly confused as to what was wrong. But Remus kept his hand wrapped around Sirius’ bicep, a silent order to let you be.

“Angel,” Remus breathes quietly. You visibly flinch at the term of endearment, not missing the flash of hurt across his face which he quickly replaced with his usual stoicism.

Your heart was thudding so loudly you wondered if the boys could hear it. You swallow the lump in your throat, stuck between wanting to burn the bridges between you or to walk across them.

“I…” your voice comes out scratchy as you try to explain yourself. You clear your throat, watching Sirius’s frown deepen and Remus bite his lip anxiously.

“I don’t think I want to,” you say quietly, feeling your heart sink to your stomach. You knew Remus would understand, always the perceptive one. It was obvious in the way his eyes widened and his grip on Sirius loosened.

But Sirius just tilts his head, looking at you quizzically. “Okay…? You can sit on the other couch then. You can sit anywhere you want to, love.”

You wince, glancing at Remus for help. But he’s looking at you with that sad look on his face now, the one he only wears when he sees Sirius crying after receiving a letter from home, or when you show up at Hogwarts after the holidays with bruises all over. Did it really hurt him that much?

A sigh escapes you as you decide to try to be gentle with it. That’s the least you could do, after the boys had so generously let you in on their already perfect relationship. You suck in a shaky breath, mustering the courage to croak out the words.

“It’s not about the couch, Siri. I… I mean this,” you mutter, gesturing between the three of you. Immediately, your head ducks down, scared of what you’ll find if you look back up at them.

An uncomfortable silence is cast over the room, the kind that makes your skin crawl. A beat of quietness passes before you find the strength to raise your head, peeking at the boys. Sirius looks cracked open, his face a picture of anguish.

“What?” he rasps out. Remus’ features are tight with something that looks like grief, his hand ghosting over Sirius’ ankle to provide the little comfort he can.

The croakiness of his voice makes your heart feel like it’s being cleaved in two. But you knew you had to do this. For your sake, and for theirs.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you mumble in a rush, eager to get it out and not have to endure watching them in pain for too long. Sirius stays silent, his lips pursed so tight you think he might burst into tears.

“Why?” Remus asks quietly, gaze still trained onto yours as he rubs circles onto Sirius’ ankle comfortingly. “I… I don’t fit in. You guys are perfect for each other. But I just don’t fit in,” you admit, feeling guilt clawing at you. “This just isn’t working,”

“We’ll make it work,” Sirius says immediately, and the sincerity in his voice almost makes you want to concede. But you know that’s not possible. “Just… just tell us what we’re doing wrong, we’ll fix it. I swear.”

Remus nods slowly, looking at you expectantly. The hope on their faces make you feel like the worst person in the world as you give them all you have to offer - a small shake of your head.

“But love,” Sirius murmurs, his voice cracking. “Why… what… where did we mess up?”

“It wasn’t you guys,” you say immediately, even though it was. You just can’t bear to see the pain etched on the black-haired boy’s face. “It’s just not meant to be. We’re better off as friends.”

“But we love you,” Remus speaks up quietly. Sirius nods earnestly.

“I can’t,” you say, relieved that your voice comes out evenly. It’s a miracle with how hard you’re fighting to hold back tears. “I can’t do this. The both of you are always together, and I'm not blaming you for it. It’s in your nature to be together-”

“It’s in your nature to be with us too, dove,” Sirius says, the anguish in his voice leaving to make way for pure sadness.

“It’s not,” your voice coming out as a pathetic sob. “I’m not like you guys. I’m not fun, I don’t take the same classes, I don’t ever get what you mean. We’re just not right for each other.”

You think you can see something break in Remus when you utter that last sentence. Sirius bites down on his quivering lip and wraps his arms around himself, as though physically restraining himself from pulling you into a hug.

This isn’t the first time they’ve ignored what you said, isn’t the first time they didn’t respond. It happened on a daily basis, for Merlin’s sake. But this is the only time it hurt as much as it did right now.

You glance at them one last time, heart breaking at their pained expressions. But none of them say a word as you turn around and leave the room, letting you go all too easily.

Perhaps you were just not meant to be.

[talkingattumble]

Hi guys! Here’s some advice from a cane user on how to spot a fake cane user/disability faker!

YOU CANT

You can not spot a “fake disabled” cane user. You can not know if someone’s “really disabled”, much less by just looking at them. Here are some common misconceptions.

“Cane users always need their canes. If they walk without it or put it away when it’s inconvenient, they’re faking”: WRONG! Many cane users are what we call “ambulatory” cane users. This means they don’t always need their canes to walk. I’m an ambulatory cane user, and I experience really horrible leg pain on the daily. However, I don’t always use my cane, and when I don’t need to walk or stand a lot in a certain place I don’t use it. And when I do use it, I may lift it off the ground or carry it in places that are sandy, gravelly, or otherwise hinder my cane.

“Cane users walk abnormally without their canes, someone who walks normally without their cane is faking”: WRONG! Many ambulatory cane users can walk in a way that seems “normal”. This doesn’t mean they’re not in pain, or not “really disabled”. This just means that their condition doesn’t cause a noticeable difference in walking, and likely manifests in a different way.

“Cane users always need their cane, someone who doesn’t use their cane at home is faking”: WRONG! Cane users may not use their canes at home, because at home they may be able to do things like sit down wherever and whenever, regain more spoons, and use other mobility aids. Additionally, some ambulatory cane users only need or use their canes when they are doing something physically taxing, like going on a hike or standing in a long line.

“My cane user friend told me this person looks like they’re faking, so it must be true”: WRONG! Being a cane user doesn’t immediately make you an expert on all different conditions and experiences. Your friend does not know the random cane user walking down the street, they are going off looks and stereotypes. Disabled people are not immune to being ableist.

“They enjoy their cane too much/they’re too happy/they decorate their cane, so they can’t actually be in enough pain to need a cane” WRONG! We’re people like everyone else, and we experience positive emotions too, even if we go through a lot of pain. To me, customizing my cane is like getting a tattoo or putting streaks in my hair, it’s a way of self expression. And we deserve to be able to talk openly about our full experience, which include the parts we’re neutral or happy about.

“They’re one of those cringey teenagers who name themselves arson and like dsmp, so they’re probably faking” WRONG! Do I even have to explain why saying someone isn’t disabled because of their name and interests is messed up and also stupid? Or did you already know that and just wanted to make fun of a disabled teenager?

“They’re too young to be using a cane, so they must be faking” WRONG! there are lots of disabilities or injuries that can cause young people to need a mobility aid. For example, I use a cane for my fibromyalgia.

“They only use it in private places, and never in places where people recognize them, so they must be faking” WRONG! In a world where anyone can just randomly take out their phone, take a picture of a cane user, and post them online to be made fun of, it can be stressful to use a cane in public areas. Also, they may not want people to ask questions, or they may feel embarrassed about it.

“I saw them switch hands, so they must be faking” WRONG! There are different reasons a cane used might do this, but I’m going to use my experience as an example. My fibromyalgia is not consistent. Sometimes one leg hurts more then the other. But as I said, fibromyalgia is inconsistent, and sometimes my other leg will start to hurt more or need more support, which is when I switch hands. And when both my legs hurt equally, I may switch my hand if it’s getting too sore.

“They told me they feel like they’re faking when they use their cane, doesn’t that mean they don’t really need it?” WRONG! Imposter syndrome is strong in a lot of disabled people, especially when for a lot of our lives we were told by doctors that we were fine and just being dramatic. Anxiety is also comorbid with a lot of physically disabilities, which only strengthens this. To add to this, something that I’ve felt and seen other disabled people talk about it, when their disability aid lessens the pain, they start thinking “well I’m not in that much pain so I don’t really need it” even though the reason they’re not in that much pain is because of the aid. I know it seems dumb, but imposter syndrome can be that strong and affects disabled people a lot.

“They don’t have a diagnosis, so they must be faking” WRONG! First of all, diagnoses are expensive. On their own they’re often already expensive, but counting the tons of tests you have to take to confirm the diagnosis? Absolutely ludicrous. Some may also choose not to get a diagnosis, so that they don’t have to deal with the prejudice and setbacks of being diagnosed. Also, some people use a cane for injuries, and for stress or fatigue related pains.

These are only a few of the things I commonly hear from fakeclaimers, and I wanted to just put out a reminder that fakeclaiming hurts the disabled community much, much more than it does ableists. Next time you see someone with a cane switch hands, or someone with a wheelchair stand up, or someone with crutches put them down, before you immediately call them out to a friend, take a picture, or write a post: does your fakeclaim rely on stereotypes? Are your reasons things that apply to ambulatory aid users?

If so, just stop. Be mindful. Please.

[uravitypng]

bird creature/hybrid keigo takami x chubby reader

KINKTOBER: breeding (+praise)

word count: 3.0k words / mdni ! 18+ / this turned into a full on fic and is pretty fluffy tbh <3 it has more plot than porn sdfgjhbmfbxfvcbsxn and i haven't read it through properly but ssshhhh

being kicked out of your party sucks, 'you don't fill the roll of beast tamer' or something, they've found someone more skilled and experienced so now you're stuck alone in the middle of a forest after accepting a quest which you currently regret taking.

it should be a simple herb collection quest but it's being more of a hassle than it's worth, you shred off the top layers of your clothes and tie it around your waist, dropping your sheep hide bag and gulping down some of your water. after a while you stumble across a clearing with a lake and it looks like you'll finally be able to have room to properly set up your tent.

you don't realise but you're being watched. golden brown eyes piercing down at you, watching you with hawk-eyed vision on high alert to his surroundings. you met him the following morning, as you were leaving your tent something suddenly blocked out the sunlight before landing next to you. a bird creature was in front of you or maybe he was a hybrid, you weren't sure but he was rather intimidating. this man has bright red feather wings with a huge wing span and sandy blonde and white small fluffy parts on his arms and chest covered with a brown flimsy tunic with a handsome human face with golden eyes and blonde windswept hair. you're already quite fearful but after you spot his talons that look like they could slice you in half you really start panicking.

you were able to calm down when he smiled and held out his hand, you flinched first but in his palms where berries. you know those berries, they were edible, very rare and very tasty. later you found out his name was keigo but everyone call him hawks, when he told you this he also told you that he wanted you to call him keigo. he has limited human speech and it was hard to communicate with each other but you both tried your best.

you don't know this but when you accepted the berries he gave you in his mind that made you his mate, it solidified it in his mind and he was very happy that you accepted his advances. he's your provider and he has to look after you. you don't know that he thinks like that though.

you should of left the forest weeks ago, there was no reason for you to stay... well apart from keigo. you knew he would stay in the forest it's his home, you couldn't ask him to go with you and why would he? 'i probably care about him a lot more than he does me, which is fine! he likely has plenty of friends and his own kind in the forest, i just miss company after what happened with my old party... i like his company.' you can't bring yourself to leave, not yet, even if that means you're getting close to the rainy season, and it's always dangerous to be out in the wild in the rainy season. it's so easy to wind up dead, your body never found either downstream or at the bottom of cliffs that people can't access.

"shit!" you were foresting for some berries when you felt a drop of rain fall on your head, that drop turned into ten, then twenty, then fifty, all in a matter of seconds. you nearly fell as you tried to turn back to the somewhat safer option of your tent but the ground below you quickly became mud and slippy causing you to trip, luckily you were able to catch yourself on a nearby tree before falling face first and getting back as fast but safely as you can.

you're soaked to the bone and as the tent finally meets your eyeline it's getting you to walk quicker. you hear something above and you look up the best you can, covering your eyes with your hand but still somehow some water gets in your eyes, looking above you see hawks flying to you. "keigo, what are you doing?! go home, get in the tent, get anywhere. i know it might be different for you, i know you're less fragile than me but it's still raining heavily. what if there's lightning!" you shout at him to the sky.

keigo lands down, water slashing you in the process and getting mud on your trousers. he's careful as he pulls you towards him, making sure his talons won't hurt you and you're pressed against his body, "come." you're confused and you try to move so you can reach your tent but as you look behind you your back straightens as you see your tent. you don't even know if you could call it a tent anymore. the wind has blown it so much that it's just broken cut up fabric tied down by one singular peg, the others already blown away. "come," he repeats himself and pulls you closer towards his warm body before flying away, you can't help but scream as you lift up off the ground and you swear over the rain you can hear keigo laugh. you always wondered what it would be like if he took you up in his wings to fly, you've always thought they were so majestic but you never envisioned it going like this.

it's hard to hear and talk over the heavy patter of the rain but you try anyway. "keigo where are we going?"

"home," he replies and you hear him loud and clear, you don't know if that's because he's louder than the rain or leaning close to you or if you hear it loud and clear because your heart is just beating out of your chest at the answer.

it seemed like a long while of flying but when you finally reached the floor keigo carefully landed and put you down. looking around to where you are you see that you're outside a cave but you don't know that you can call it a cave anymore. at a quick glance from the outside it looks like it was originally a cave but the opening is covered by rocks, wood and other building materials, keeping the inside warm and dry. there's a wooden door to the side and you think you can see a lock on it. the outside reminded you a lot of your childhood home but you can't pinpoint why. "come," he grabs your wrist cautiously with his talons and leads you inside.

a blast of heat hits you when you enter and you immediately warm up, even if it's just a little bit through your wet clothes. it looks pretty barren apart from some small trinkets along the wall and the bed is covered in blankets and other fluffy comfortable things, definitely more comfortable than anything you've been sleeping recently. you stay where you are not moving from the door, not wanting to get everything wet. keigo leaves but comes back a minute or so after with a towel for you and second one in his hand for him.

"thank you," you say quietly and shyly taking the towel from him. after doing your best to dry your hair and dry the rest of your clothes keigo leans down to your neck and nuzzles you while cooing, heat quickly rises to your cheeks and he pulls back and takes you further into his home before dropping your hand and he goes back into one of his back rooms.

you miss his hand in yours but when he returns he's holding a shirt, "for you."

"me?" you point to yourself and he nods. "i don't know if it will fit, i might be a bit small." you tell him but he looks back at you with an easygoing smile that puts you at ease. you know it probably won't fit right, you're not exactly small but you don't have much choice with how wet your clothes are. "thank you," you return his smile. you feel small under his gaze as he looks at you, it seems like he has no plan to leave you alone to get changed or look away. "um, okay, i'll-" you turn away from him and lift up your top. when you take it off and start to fold it keigo holds you from behind, wrapping his arms around you, his wings softly fluttering. you get flustered and wonder what you should do, this isn't normal human behaviour but keigo isn't human maybe this is completely normal for him, although he's never done this before, but maybe he knows how cold you are.

"k-keigo i need to put this on, i'll get cold." he's slow as he takes his hands off you, making you shiver in the process. you quickly get changed pulling on the top that you've been given and pulling down your trousers. you were right about how it doesn't fit you but at least you're dry. the top is thin and covers up to your mid-thigh, the fabric tight along your waist, stomach and breasts but it's still comfortable. you turn round to look at him and twiddle with your thumbs, he smiles at you again and rubs his face against yours, making your cheeks heat up.

"drink?"

"huh?" you ask slightly distracted by how intimate this is.

"drink? keep you warm." he gestures to you and then gestures to another room. you nod your head, not knowing what drink you're saying yes to but happy to be warm and experience what drinks keigo likes and drinks, it might just be tea you'll have to wait and see.

you feel a bit uncomfortable just standing around and you don't notice any chairs so you perch yourself on the bed, hoping keigo won't mind. when keigo comes back he's wearing different clothes and he's holding two mugs, you smile at him and you notice he doesn't smile back. 'did i do something wrong? he's not smiling. maybe i was wrong about him not minding about me sitting down on the bed, i should of just stayed standing up.' keigo is holding onto the mugs so tightly that his hands are turning white. "i'm really sorry keigo, i didn't mean to make you angry," you rush out as quick as you can, hurrying to get up but as you start lifting off the bed two feathers rapidly leave keigo's wings and pins you down to the bed by the top you're wearing. you've never seen him do that before so part of you is thinking about how impressive it is, the other part of you worried and confused hoping he'll forgive you for whatever accidental mistake you made.

keigo places the cups down on the side. "i'm sor-" before you can finish your sentence, he moves on top of you, making your eyes widen, at that moment you see his eyes, heavily dilated looking down at you tenderly but hungrily.

"do you like?" he asks stroking your chubby cheeks.

"like?" you ask confused.

"nest." he kisses your nose.

you're not one hundred percent sure what you're saying yes to but you think he's talking about what you're laying on and you do like it, it's warm and cosy and you could stay here for ever. "i like it very much. i could stay here forever."

keigo trills when he hears you say that, "did a good job?"

you never thought keigo would be one for seeking approval but you suppose everyone does. "amazing job." you nod your head and lift your hands up to his wings and run your hands through them making him shiver. after all that's happened you're still surprised as he gently bites your lip, a silent request for you to open your mouth and you grant him access, parting your lips, keigo taking the lead controlling the movement as your tongues intertwine and you kiss. you have no idea how much time goes by, so caught up in the moment, it could of been three minutes or thirty for all you know, all you know is how good everything feels.

as you move apart you open up your eyes to see him smirking at you, your cheeks are hot. he kisses the corner of your mouth and squeezes your plush thighs before gently trailing his knuckle up and down your inner thigh, slowly inching up your, his, top. keigo brings both his hands to your outer thighs and slivers up the rest of the top until he sees your hips, eyes practically glowing as he nuzzles your neck again.

at some point while all of this was happening he started rubbing his hard dick along your thigh, getting precum everywhere, you had no idea when was able to take off his clothes.

this time he uses his talons as he rips up your underwear leaving you bare and maybe you should be scared of how close his talons were to you but you weren't. he uses his knuckles again and brushes along your opening, he thrills when he feels how wet you are and before you even realise it he's slowly pushing himself into you. he sees you wince and kisses all along your neck and pauses for a second, then continues just as slow as he was before not wanting to hurt you. when he's fully in he waits and kisses you all over, touching all over your body, your hips and stomach especially, groping and squeezing. keigo feels you start relaxing around him and starts moving, slow thrusts in and out of you, not wanting to hurt you.

keigo's thrusts start to speed up uncontrollable as he kept feeling you clench around him and how wet you are, almost feral, animalistic. a white creamy ring forms at the bottom of his dick and he becomes more and more feral. you moan loudly and bury your head into the soft blankets and materials. "feel so good!" you cry out mumbled against the pillows. you ball your fists up into the covers, holding onto them tight and keigo goes harder.

"you feel good too. i'll keep making you feel good," he leans down to your ear and kisses your cheek. you nod your head even though it wasn't a question and keigo's eyes dilate even more than they have been. he touches you very gently, circling against your clit and kisses your pulse point, delicately sucking a mark on your neck. his pace stays the same, still fast. your back arches and you feel the coil in your stomach winding up more and more, so close to snapping. you whine as the coil in you snaps and you cum, body tight in an arch before shaking.

keigo smirks as he watches your body fall and go limp. he picks up your legs and folds you in half, gripping hold of your thighs tightly and his pace increases so fast that it leaves you breathless, your body bounces and he watches you ravenously. "gonna give you my seed, gonna make you a pretty mummy." keigo chokes a groan and holds onto you tighter. you should be trying to move away and tell him no but you don't, instead you clench tighter around him and nod your head rapidly in desire, you've never wanted something so badly. warm ropes of cum spills into you filling you up. keigo smirks and peppers your face with kisses.

"keigo have you seen how messy tsunagu's clothes are! it's a nightmare washing them all the time!" you complain scowling as you pick up your youngest sons shirt.

keigo chuckles and comes up behind you wrapping his arms around your waist, kissing you behind you ear, "he's such a troublemaker." you shiver as you feel his breath against your skin and his voice so close to you, he smirks.

it's been five years since you first stepped foot in your home, it's been five years since you and keigo first had sex. in those five years a lot has changed, your relationship included. you and keigo have no problem communicating anymore, both now speaking the same language with keigo learning how to write and read everything too. you have two boys together and they're wonderful. you got married and it was one of the happiest days of your life. you've practically abandoned human civilisation, by your own choice. occasionally you'll go into town if you need something but you stay in the forest most of the time. you've met keigo's friend and they all call him hawks, even the ones he's known since children. you asked him why he told you to call him keigo when you first met especially since everyone calls him hawks and he told you it's because he knew as soon as he met you that you were his mate and you would spend the rest of your life together.

"i know a way to calm him down." you hear the mischievous tone in his voice.

you play along, "oh?"

"i think he needs to be a big brother." he pulls you closer to him and rubs your soft stomach.

grinning wide, "really?"

keigo hums and kisses your neck. "yeah birdie, a little one he can help and look after will keep him out of trouble." he nuzzles against you and plays with your stomach. he turns you around to look at him, holding onto your hands and smirking. nonchalantly asking, "what are we aiming for this time? a girl or another boy?" he taps his finger to his chin, "i'm thinking girl."

"i'm thinking a girl too," you smile fondly and kiss his nose. keigo's wings flutter out when you kiss him and you giggle.

"i'll lock the door."

[bumblebeesfromvenus]

Tongue tied 🪶

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

This only took me 3 months to finally get out..... 😃

ANYWAY, have some friends to lovers with Leon <3

The order is here -> 🎂

You and Leon have been attached by the hip for as long as you can remember. A secret written language is constructed by both of you to talk in class. Little does Leon know the letter you write to him years letter, encrypted in your language, contains the deepest parts of your heart and soul.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

If there was one way to describe you and Leon, it would be thick as thieves. Always have been and always will be. Ever since you first met on your first day of elementary school, the two of you have been inseparable.

You remember it well; the excitement that coursed through your little 6 year old veins of new beginnings, friends and more. Finally you were a big girl, ready to take on the world with a determined smile.

With confidence, you left your parents at the entrance with teary eyes and pride radiating off of them as you strutted into the building, tightly holding onto the straps of your new, sparkly backpack.

You listened closely to your new teacher and fellow classmates as they introduced themselves, the smile on your face a constant throughout the day.

However, when you stepped out into recess, taking in the monkey bars and swings with wide eyes, something -or rather someone- was barely fitting into your field of vision.

A boy with sandy blonde hair and blue eyes.

He was a good bit taller than you, no surprise really, but he kept his head low and fidgeted with the zipper on his blue police-themed schoolbag.

He seemed nervous and weary, only ever rasing his head when a rowdy child zoomed past him.

Although anxiety-ridden, he didn't strike you as unaware. He had his back pressed to a wooden structure in the back of the playground, overlooking the open space.

Your brows furrowed when you finally realized that he was all alone, and you couldn't have that!

Everyone needed a friend. And you, on this fateful day, decided to be his.

Same as you, Leon remembered that day like it only happened yesterday. How he sat in the back of the class, in the very last corner. Or how he was quiet and timid when the teacher asked for his name and age.

But he particularly remembers when a girl with a bright smile and colorful bows in her hair walked up to him, carefully as not to spook him, told him her name and complimented his backpack.

He thanks the universe for that day, for you, because you've been stuck at his side ever since.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Class was in full swing, the sound of your teacher speaking and the mildly uncomfortable scrape of chalk on the blackboard broke the stagnant silence in the room.

You glanced up from time to time, trying to seem like you were paying attention, when in reality you were constructing a letter to your best friend.

You were a good student, no doubt, but the urge to yap with Leon was greater than any unsolvable math equation.

So, when you two had a sleepover last weekend, you stayed up all night coming up with a secret written language between the both of you.

You hoped it would allow you to ask quite meaningless and maybe even funny questions in class without getting into too much trouble.

You hoped the teacher would write it off as nonsensical scribbles and you'd get away with a stern look.

You carefully drew the symbols you'd come up with, checking the translated alphabet that both you and Leon had a copy of in your pencil cases.

With the last stroke you stared down proudly at your somewhat neat work before folding the piece of paper and glancing at Leon with a subtle jerk of your head.

He grinned and stuck out his hand, waiting for you to place the letter into his palm. He sank back into his seat a little, unfolding the paper and discreetly turning his eyes to the note in his hands.

When he looked up again to check his translation sheet, the teacher stood in front of his desk, arms crossed over her chest and displeased expression on her face.

"What have I said about notes in class, hm? Hand it over." She said coldly, opening her hand.

Leon grumbled, his head hanging low as he hestiated.

"Give it."

Her tone was warning, and with a slight scowl on his face, he crumbled up the paper and layed it in her palm.

Promptly, she smoothed out the note and tried to read it, only to fail miserably with a confused and irritated look.

"What's this? It's just scribbled nonsense!" She exclaimed.

You and Leon both stifled a laugh, shooting a glanced at the other. The teacher scowled and the letter creased beneath her grip.

"Don't waste my time." She scolded before tossing away the paper and continuing her teaching, always keeping an eye

on you and Leon while the both of you giggled in the back.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Those memories and many more played in your head as you sat hunched over your desk in the middle of the night, staring at a blank piece of paper. The light was starting to burn your eyes and you could feel a subtle ache crawl up your spine as Sleep beckoned you sweetly into its embrace.

You sighed deeply, rubbing at your eyes. Never in a million years had you thought you'd end in a situation like this.

The older you got, the more did your feelings for Leon change. From a strong and pure childhood friendship into a harmless crush that turned into being so in love with him that every second spend away from him was torture.

You needed to get it out. To see if he -a one in a million chance- felt the same about you and would end your suffering.

But you couldn't say it straight to his face, no, the thought alone was mortifying. The fear of rejection clasping its hand around your throat so tightly that no words would come out.

So, you thought out your options; tell him via a text message? God, the most impersonal ways of it all, a hard no.

Have a messenger deliver the news? You really didn't want to get anyone else involved, but if you had to, you'd ask Claire, a good friend from several of your classes.

And then, when you went through your old school supplies on a nostalgic night, you found the, albeit faded and worn, guide to your secret language.

And now, you had your way of confessing your love for him without seeming like a cowardly bitch or dying of embarrassment and shame.

Still, all words alluded you. You knew how you were going to say it, but not what you would say.

All these feelings that you've had felt wrong, something that should be hidden and locked away. After all this time of pushing them down, it was hard to let them spill.

It was almost impossible to release them from their heavy chains without losing control. But if you'd keep them trapped for any longer, you'd run the risk of having them wither away and die like a flower in a barren desert.

You tugged at your hair, a sound of frustration escaping your lips at your inability to think of even a single phrase.

With an unsteady grip on your pen, all you managed to get down was 'Dear Leon,'. Quite pathetic progress for all of two hours.

You leaned back in your chair with a huff, stretching your neck and shoulders from the cramped and hunched position they've been in for far too long.

Only then did it strike you as you gazed upon the many framed photos of you with your best friend, your other half.

All the memories that were confined behind glass made a smile form on your lips as you were reminded of why you loved him. Why you fell in the first place.

The words of love and passion that you held in your heart for years suddenly bubbled out of you, your hands scribbling down whatever they could.

You laid your heart bare for him, hoping he would cherish it and treat it with care and not return it to you in pieces.

And before you knew it, the page was filled with strokes and curves of the language you'd conjured up so many years ago in your youth. Your fingers were stained with graphite, leaving faint prints on the paper.

With a relieved sigh you added your signature and stuffed the letter along with a translation guide into an envelope. You'd be damned if all of this failed just because Leon didn't have his alphabet anymore.

You'd give the letter to him the next time you saw him, which you realized with horror, would be tomorrow.

You swallowed the bile that rose in your throat, slammed the door on the nerves that were creeping up your spine and sunk into the comforting embrace of your bed, waiting patiently while Sleep took your hand to lead you to your next dream.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

The enveloped crinkled under your tight grip as you watched Leon tie the laces on his shoes and throw on his jacket. You'd hung out today, the usual shenanigans.

A movie and some dinner, and, of course, laughing til your belly hurt. You prayed that he didn't notice that you were stiff as a board and sweating buckets.

You wouldn't be surprised if little salt crystals had formed on your brow.

"Alright, I'm off. I'll see you on Tuesday, yeah?" Leon spoke with a smile, closing in to pull you into a hug.

Your eyes widened and you kept your arms and the letter close to your body, resulting in a hug of such awkwardness you would've liked the earth to crack open and swallow you whole.

Leon quirked a brow at you.

"Are you feeling okay? You've been... odd."

A nervous and obnoxious giggled ripped from your throat before you could stop it.

"Who, me? Oh yeah, no, don't worry about me. I'm great. Awesome. Just peachy." You smiled, although it was so unconvincing you cringed at yourself.

He eyed you suspiciously but decided not to question it any further for now. You would tell him when you were ready, you always did.

You cleared your throat.

"I also have this for you. You need to read it at home, though. Anyway, bye!" You said cheerily, shoving the envelope into his hands and pushing him out into the hallway.

"Hey, what are you-"

he couldn't finish the sentence before the door was slammed shut and he was left dumbfounded outside your apartment.

Leon scoffed and turned the letter over in his hands but decided to follow your words and stored the envelope in his pocket.

"Weirdo." He mumbled with a smile and a huff.

You were pressed against the door, watching him through the peephole.

Leon stared directly into your eye and stepped closer.

"I know you're watching." He whispered, his close proximity giving you a hilarious angle of his face.

"Am not!"

Echoed from your side, and he laughed, shaking his head.

"See you." He waved, walking towards the stairs.

When you could no longer see him you let out a huff. Now, all you needed to do was wait and hope for the best.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

The jingle of keys echoed through Leon's home as he shut the door behind him.

His keys were returned to their place in a small bowl, and he proceeded to shrug off his shoes and jacket.

With a sigh, he plopped down on his couch, his feet propped up on the nearby coffee table with your letter in his hands.

He carefully opened the envelope, wincing when he heard the paper tear. He unfolded the paper and froze for a moment as he gazed upon the many symbols.

A small chuckle escaped him.

Of course you wouldn't make it easy on him. However, Leon Scott Kennedy was never one to back down from a challenge.

He began to decipher the language, writing down the message on a different piece of paper.

With a triumphant smile, he added the last few words.

"I've bested you once again." He murmured, looking at the finished letter.

But when he began to read it, now actually understanding its meaning, the smile melted off his face.

He was in shock, his eyes wide and lips parted as he read word for word how much you adored him. Leon's throat felt dry and his heart was beating out of his chest at your confession.

He couldn't believe it. You felt the same? You felt the torturing urge to shower him with your love only to hold back in fear of getting burned?

With the letter clutched close to his chest, he stumbled back into his shoes and rushed out the door.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Frantic and hurried knocks on wood snapped you out of your head as you were curled up on your couch, stewing in regret and doubt.

A look through the peephole showed a panting Leon with a flushed face and a kind of desperation in his eyes that you had never seen before.

"Leon? What happened? Are you okay-" You asked, worried, when you opened the door, only to be cut off by him crashing into you and connecting your lips in a fierce kiss.

Any surprise and shock was swallowed by his eager mouth as he wound his arms tightly around your middle and pulled you close to his chest. A fire lit in your heart, a blazing flame that you knew would never be able to be doused.

You let yourself melt into his embrace as you reveled in the feeling of your lips on his. He pulled away, gulping deep breaths while he stared at you with glazed eyes.

"I'm sorry that I didn't tell you, but I couldn't get myself to say the words. I don't know what it is, but you keep me tongue tied, I-" You rambled breathlessly.

He shushed you with a soft peck and cupped your face.

"I love you too." He whispered with a loving smile, making an equally as adoring smile break onto your face.

You pulled him into another kiss, giggling against his lips.

All you've ever wanted was yours.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

I hope you enjoyed 😚

More of Leon and others -> 💫

《Leon taglist》: @k-fallingstar @vampkennedy @dmitriene @allysunny @entr4p3 @leonslittlekennedy @angelstargel

Lmk if you like to be added/removed 🩷✨️

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

[inkykeiji]

you be my revolver, i got you in my hands

character: choso kamo x fem!reader

genre: curseless!au, smut

notes: eeee first choso piece ever!!! i had such a blast writing this and i wish i could’ve gotten it finished in time for christmas but alas! anyway, please enjoy this and as always please heed the warnings below and stay safe! | title credit: girl like me by dove cameron

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, pseudocest (reader + choso are family friends), age gap, bratty reader, rough sex, minimal prep, teasing, hints of manipulation, hints of dubcon, size kink, pet names

words: 6k

synopsis:

“Maybe you should stop calling me that.” “What? Why?” you pout, blinking up at him, sugared innocence coating your tone. “I thought you wanted me to call you big brother…I thought I was allowed to…”  “Bi-Big brothers don’t do stuff like this with their little sisters—” “Well, it’s a good thing we’re not actually related then, isn’t it, onii-chan.” 

Choso can’t remember the last time he saw you.

You’ve known each other for a long time—so long Choso’s lost count of the years, now, having met you when Yuuji was just a toddler (and you were, too) at the bus stop on Yuuji’s first day of Pre-K, only to discover you lived a mere few houses from each other—but you haven’t seen each other in a long time, too. 

It’s not through fault of either of you; life had gotten in the way, as it has a tendency to do so, had grown busy with intricacies and obligations that demanded time and attention, tangling around you and keeping you apart. 

You had both embarked on university endeavours; him pursuing his PhD, you continuing your undergrad, had both stuffed more and more into your lives—art shows and book readings and music festivals and tropical trips—and lost space for each other in the process.

Choso can’t remember the last time he saw you, but it feels as though no time has passed at all, as it normally does with family—you’re still just as bratty as you’ve always been (some things never change, he guesses; some things you’ll never grow out of, he supposes). 

Family.

Family is not a word he uses lightly, but you and yours had quickly become his and theirs, had quickly become ours, morphing from neighbours to friends to practically kin, members mixing to form something special, a hybrid of some sort, stuck somewhere between long-standing family friends and blood relatives. 

Which is why how you’re acting—how you’ve been acting, this entire winter break—is so undeniably inappropriate. 

And although he’s lost track of the years, everything beginning to blur together, to melt and flow and shift and breathe, he still remembers the day he told you to call him onii-chan. 

That he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget.

Yuuji’s so lucky, you had pouted, kicking at the sandy ground with the toe of your shoe and swaying a little on the swing. He has a big brother. I don’t. I’ve always wished I had one. Sighing, you looked away, fingers tangling in the chain. But I’ll never get one; it’s impossible. 

It’s not impossible, Choso had responded gently, nudging his swing against your own. I’ll be your big brother, if you want. 

And you—well, you had been so incredibly happy, all bright smiles and sunshine eyes and breathless giggles, to have a big brother to call your own.

Never in his life did he think he’d come to regret such a decision.

But you seem to be on a mission to make him, this Christmas.

Because you’re really testing his fucking patience, this Christmas.

The term of endearment oozes from your lips as if it’s melted in the wet heat of your mouth every single time, always paired with your worst behaviour: bending over in those short, sweet, slutty skirts and flashing cute Christmas panties at him; placing a hand much too high to be appropriate on his thigh as you watch a film together, leaning close to his ear to murmur out a silky question you already know the answer to; twining your ankles with his beneath the dinner table and gazing at him with eyes full of sin, leaning so far forward on the table that your tits swell, nearly spilling from the too-low neckline of your dress, then giggling when you catch him ogling. 

As a result, he’s been meticulous about avoiding being alone in a room with you—he doesn’t trust himself, doesn’t trust what he might do, especially if you start playing your little games—but he should’ve known it would only be a matter of time until you get want you want. 

Because it always is. 

And on Christmas Eve, you finally succeed. 

Somehow, you’ve managed to get him alone in his childhood bedroom—something about wanting to flip through his old sketchbooks, to search for some doodles he had drawn for you many years ago, to rip the pages from the spiral-bound spine and stuff them in your back pocket, for safekeeping, you had claimed. 

Tugging at his heartstrings, that’s how you succeeded. 

Sitting on the edge of his small twin bed, thighs slotted up against one another and both of your arms looped around one of his, he flips through the curling pages of his drawings, smudged with graphite and pastels. 

“Oh, I remember this one!” 

A dainty finger points to a cute kitten sketched out in astonishing detail, with a pink nose and a satin ribbon tied in a bow around its neck. 

“It’s you,” he smirks. “You asked me what animal you’d be, and then demanded I draw you as a kitten when I responded with a cat.” 

“You drew a lot of me,” you lean forward, swelling breasts pressed flush to his bicep, a palm sitting high on his thigh as avid eyes scan over the spread, gaze stuttering as it sweeps from doodle to doodle. 

“I drew a lot for you,” he says, the observation entirely unthinking. “You wanted a specific page, but I might as well give you this whole sketchbook. More than half the pieces in here are for you.” 

It’s a fact that shocks him in its authenticity, a realization that sends a painful, sick thrill searing through his body, saliva beginning to collect in the dips beneath his tongue.

“I’m such a lucky girl,” you hum out in a sigh, nuzzling your cheek into his arm and looking up at him with shimmering eyes. “I have such a good big brother.” 

“You’re spoiled,” he says, but his voice holds no malice, eyes softening as he stares down at you, a small smile on his lips. 

“I dunno about that,” you frown, but mischief glints in your eye. “You haven’t really given me what I’ve wanted all holiday…” 

Blood turns to shards of ice in his veins, whole body going rigid as his breath stalls in his throat, pounding heartbeat reverberating in his ears. 

“Wh-What’s that?”

He doesn’t want to ask it, doesn’t mean to ask it, but the question claws at his tongue, pries past his teeth and tumbles from his lips in a ragged, tangled heap.

And the smile that spreads across your face is nothing short of sinister, that glint flaring to a sharp shine as your pupils breathe, pulse, swallow him whole. 

“A Christmas kiss,” you say, stare unblinking and intense as your hand slips between his legs, rubbing little circles into his inner thigh, a mere centimetre or two away from his cock. 

The motion makes him jolt, hips involuntarily twitching toward your touch, brushing his half-hard cock against your knuckles.

“That’s all I want,” you sigh almost dreamily, tits pressed harder into his bicep as you lean closer, so tight they’re practically being squeezed from your sweetheart neckline. “A kiss from my onii-chan. Though…” 

Trailing off, your hand slides up a little further, pinky and ring finger tiptoeing along the rapidly hardening lump in his jeans, squealing out a short giggle as it jumps beneath your touch.

“I’m not sure that’s all onii-chan wants.”

“Onii-chan doesn’t want anything from you,” he breathes out, but his voice is rough, unconvincing, his hands curled into firm fists on his bedspread, trembling slightly, skin stretched taut across pointed knuckles.

“Another lie,” your lips tug down, voice saturated with disappointment. “You know, good big brothers don’t lie to their siblings,” you fix him with a look, glaring through feathery lashes, expression teetering dangerously on the edges of a pout.

A shiver skitters through his bones, whole body stiffening. His jaw flexes as he grinds his molars, a slow, controlled breath exhaled out his nose, his eyes flicking down. You’re still touching him, two fingertips rubbing gentle circles into his clothed cock.

“Maybe you should stop calling me that.”

“What? Why?” you pout, blinking up at him, sugared innocence coating your tone. “I thought you wanted me to call you big brother…I thought I was allowed to…” 

“Bi-Big brothers don’t do stuff like this with their little sisters—”

“Well, it’s a good thing we’re not actually related then, isn’t it, onii-chan.” 

“That—That—” he swallows hard, dense saliva pooling at the back of his tongue. “That doesn’t matter—We shouldn’t—”

“But—” your lip juts out further, forehead crinkling. “But I want to.” 

You can’t always get what you want. 

That’s what he wants to tell you. That’s what he wishes he could tell you. But it just isn’t fucking true, when it comes to you. 

“Stop,” he says instead, and although it’s supposed to be an order, it comes out as a plead, his voice hoarse, strained, thin, the proclamation high and false and tinny. 

“You’re a terrible liar,” the tip of your index finger traces the head, looking up at him through your lashes. “Did you know that?” 

He does, he does know that. He’s a terrible liar, eyes too honest, voice too sincere, expressions too candid, always giving away his true intentions and forthright thoughts.

He’s a terrible discipliner, too, incapable of saying no, of refusing his siblings anything. You know this, too. 

“St—” he tries to force the word from his tongue again, protest sticking in his throat. Stop, stop, he wants you to stop, he needs you to stop, please. 

But that’s a lie, too, the rejection refusing to take shape, to mold into something audible, something tangible, something worthwhile. 

No matter how much he wishes it were true, he can’t will it to become true—not when he wants this just as badly as you do, his straining cock exposing his real desires to you.

You’ve already taken full notice of it, yearning for you through rough denim, hot and hard and throbbing. The pad of your finger rubs over the slit in rhythmic motions, smooth and gliding, aided by the copious amount of pre-cum oozing through the material, and it jerks beneath your touch, eager for more attention. 

“It’s so hard, onii-chan,” your hand cups the impressive bulge, rolling it in your palm, a girlish giggle tickling your tongue. “It—It’s throbbing, onii-chan.” 

“Yeah? And who’s fault is that?” he breathes, attempting to keep his tone stern and his eyes stony. 

“It’s making me want to ride it,” you whimper loudly, squeezing your thighs together, completely ignoring his question. “Oh, please, onii-chan, can I ride your cock?” 

“Fu-fuck,” the curse breaks on his tongue, eyes shut tightly, breaking away from your invasive stare. “Fuck, fuck, f-fuck.” 

No. 

“I’d really like to ride it, onii-chan.”

No. 

“Can I? Pretty please?”

No-no-no-no-no! 

He wants to say no. He should say no. It’s the right thing to do. 

He’s the older brother, the eldest brother, it’s his duty to say no, to mentor, to lead by example. 

But he can’t. 

He can’t form the word in his throat, can’t mold it into a sound and push it from his mouth. 

He’s never truly been able to, when it comes to you—and he was so fucking stupid to think he would.

Because, as always, you are making it exceptionally difficult to deny, gazing up at him with shimmering eyes like that, mouth licked raw in anticipation, bottom lip bitten puffy from the front teeth constantly sinking into it.

“I—It isn’t right—” he attempts, swallowing thickly, cords in his neck straining, desperately attempting to quell the tremor in his voice.

He knows you don’t care. If he’s being entirely honest with himself, he doesn’t, either, his morality eroded to nothing more than a farce, a thin façade, not nearly strong enough to force him into doing the right thing, not nearly strong enough to fortify his rapidly waning self-discipline.

“I—I won’t tell,” you whimper, and he can see the fine film of tears lacquering your eyes, shielding lust-blown pupils. “Pinky promise! I just—I just want you so badly,” your nose twitches cutely with a sniffle, your bottom lip beginning to waver with infinitesimal quivers, soft palm caressing his cock like you love it. “Please, onii-chan?”

And Christ, you’re so pretty, so pouty, with your glistening puppy-dog eyes and pleads dripping from your lips like thick syrup. 

How could he possibly say no to something so precious? How could anyone?

“Alright,” he whispers, defeated, eyes squeezing shut as he nods. “If it’ll make you happy.”

“Really?”

And just like that, the tears are incinerated from your eyes, gaze bright and blazing with excitement, lips molded into a brilliant smile. 

You look so sickeningly beautiful when you get what you want. 

“Yes,” he nearly whimpers, and it’s pathetic, his hips twitching up into your touch, craving, desperate. “Yes, yes, ride my cock.” 

The affirmative is all you need, squealing a little with happiness as you climb into his lap, fingers up your own skirt to push your soaked panties to the side, other hand pawing clumsily at his waistband.

“Thank you,” you breathe, the words soaking into his neck, sealed with a sloppy kiss. “Oh, thank you, onii-chan.” 

He can’t help but chuckle a little as his hands find your waist, instinctive, steadying you. 

“Eager little thing, aren’t you.”

“This is all I want,” you tell him, pulling back a little to search his face. “S’all I’ve wanted for a long time.” 

He wants to ask you to elaborate on that, confusion warping his brow, but then you’re yanking at his belt loops and pulling at his zipper and wrapping a soft palm around the base of his cock, a heavy groan vibrating in his throat. 

“Wait, wait!” he chokes on a gasp as you hover over his cock, head bumping against your hole. “Let me—”

“I don’t wanna wait,” you whine out, petulant and stringy, whole face scrunched in frustration. “I’ve been waiting! I want your cock in me now!”

Fuck, you’re such a fucking brat, he’s growling as he forces you down on his cock in one swift motion, the sudden intrusion pushing a yelp from your lips. Your forehead knocks against his, sugar-stained breath wafting across his face, his tongue darting out to mop up remnants from his mouth. 

It’s really cute, the way your little cunt spasms around his shaft as he bottoms out, pressed snug and tight against your cervix, desperate in its attempt to adjust to his girth. It’s really sweet, the way your body splits itself open for him, cracking at the core and struggling to swallow him down.

“Oh, it’s so big, onii-chan!” 

“God,” he nearly sobs. “You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me, y’know that?” 

Giggling, you wind your arms around his neck tighter, nuzzling your cheek into his skin, then stringing a garland of wet kisses along the line of his jaw. 

“S’really thick, Choso-nii,” you tell him honestly, nodding in lethargic little motions. “I feel so full, onii-chan.” 

A laugh falls from his lips, breathy and exalted. 

“I don’t know if it’s that I’m big, or if it’s just that your cunt is so fucking small,” his voice tapers off into a whine, raspy and gruff. 

“H-Hurts a little, onii-chan,” you admit in a whimper, hips shifting in experimental little movements, conjuring a groan from deep within his chest. 

“Yeah? And who’s fault is that, huh?” he asks for the second time in fifteen minutes. “Who was too impatient to let onii-chan prep her?”

“Don’t care,” you mumble. “Wanted you s’bad.” 

He laughs again, warm and gentle and full of love, his hands squeezing your hips just enough to make you gasp, fingertips pressing his name into your flesh in blotchy little ovals of purple. 

“You have me,” he says, his words ringing clear and true with a painful sincerity. 

The vibrations of your responding hum seep from your chest into his, and he sighs, body deflating against yours, pleasant little tingles snuggling between his ribs. 

You stay like that for a moment to two, wound up in one another, chests pressed flush, breathing as one. Your auras ebb and flow, presences bleeding, tangling together and creating something that is neither one nor the other but both, a single shared entity. 

And it’s nice, it’s real, it’s natural.

But then you become impatient, as you normally do, as he knew you would, wiggling a little in his lap, fingers twining in the strands at the base of his neck. 

“Go on, sweetheart,” he urges gently. “Ride onii-chan’s cock.” 

And so you do, hips beginning to roll in slow, languid circles, fingers still laced at the back of his skull, half-buried in messy ink.

He allows you to set the pace, allows you to take your time, allows you to enjoy and savour every rock and grind and bounce, staring at you through heavily lidded eyes, hands on your waist merely guiding you—keeping you stable, just like a big brother should. 

He’s absolutely breathtaking; gaze glittering in the dim light overflowing with awe, spit-slicked lips licked raw and shimmering as his tongue glides over them again, swollen and bitten cherry red.

You can’t help but reach out to trace his features; the strong line of his brow, the delicate curve of his cheek, the enticing bow of his lips, hips slowing to uneven little ruts as you hone your focus, his eyes observing you with a sick sort of fascination.

“Did you—Have you—Have you thought about this before?” 

The question stings his tongue, revulsion flushing through his blood as guilt pricks his flesh, his cock throbbing eagerly.

“Course I have,” you breathe out with a little laugh, as if he’s so silly for thinking you might not have. “Actually, I—I—”

A sudden shyness overtakes you, an unsure giggle on your lips fading into a soft squeal as you hide in his shoulder, shaking your head a little. 

“What? Huh?” he shrugs, nudging your face up gently, curiosity clawing at his irises as they search your face, voracious. “What?” 

“Well, sometimes I…” 

The words tangle in your throat and you choke on them, gaze fleeing his own, and you shake your head again, chest beginning to stammer.

“It’s okay,” he says softly, rubbing reassuring circles into your flesh. “You can tell onii-chan, go on.” 

There are tears in your eyes now, mouth wobbling a little with the verging confession, and God, that’s so hot, why is that so fucking hot? 

“Where’s my brave little sister gone now? Hmm?”

“M’right here, onii-chan,” you whisper, face teetering on a wince, as if you’re bracing for a blow, terrified to admit to him, fearing reprimand. “It’s just that—Sometimes I do, um, really bad things with my stuffies while—while thinking about you…” 

Dewdrops of shame glitter in your lashes as your lids flutter, nose scrunching with a soft sniffle, tears breaking free of their wispy confines to roll down your cheeks in fat, glimmering streams—so fucking beautiful in the dim light of his bedroom—but you don’t dare break his stare, gazing at him through a thick shield of water. 

“Oh, Christ,” he coughs on the curse, hands flexing on your waist, blunt nails digging into your skin. “And what—what do you think about?” 

“Um,” your gaze flits from his own, to his wrinkled bedspread, then back to his face, wide and honest. “Riding you, like this. And—And riding your thighs, makin’ a real mess all over them, and your thick fingers too, filling me up…” 

Bolts of dizziness sear his brain as his lungs deflate, oxygen eaten up by pure lust and leaving his chest buzzing, burning, some sort of response mangling itself in his throat, escaping his lips as nothing more than a cracked moan.

“Do you think about me, onii-chan?” 

Your question pulls him from the depths of his hedonism and he blinks, your face swimming into view, a peculiar mix of hope and cognizance infusing your expression, eyebrows raised with false curiosity, a smirk twitching on your lips.

Ah, there she is, that brat he knows so well, that brat he’s come to crave, every ounce of uncertainty eradicated from your face, replaced with assured confidence, contradicting the tears still staining your cheeks.

You fucking know he does. 

And, oh, how he wishes he was stronger, how he wishes he could lie, how he wishes he could devour the smugness in your eyes and complacency in your smile, to humble you, to knock you from your high throne.

He settles for a kiss instead, mouth crushed to yours as a large hand cups your head, thumb pressing into your ear, fingertips dragging across your scalp as he yanks you closer. 

It hurts, his front teeth scraping against your lip as he practically gnaws his way to your tongue, his own big and thick and so fucking strong as it overwhelms yours, shoving it further into the cavern of your mouth and forcing it to stay put as he explores. 

He’s making a real mess as he slathers over your molars, over the inside of your cheeks and the backs of your teeth, drenching your mouth in him. Drool oozes steadily from the corners, collecting along the underside of his bottom lip and leaving his chin sticky and slick. 

“Yes,” he whispers, eyes shut so tightly his whole forehead crinkles, mouth wet and sliding against your own. “Yes, yes, I think about you—much too often.”

Nose nudging yours, he nuzzles into your face a little, planting a chaste kiss to your lips, then peppering a few more, quick and sloppy, around your mouth.

“But right now, I don’t want to think about anything. I just want to feel you creaming all over my cock—you think you can do that for me, princess?” His palms cushion your cheeks, thumbs swiping across your cheekbones, then brushing strands of damp hair from your temples. “You think you can do that for your onii-chan?” 

Yes you can, of course you can, you’re nodding, blinking the last remnants of tears from your eyes, rapid movement eliminating the final stubborn drops, clinging delicately to your outer lashes. 

“S’it, baby,” he encourages as your hips start moving again, working up a steady rhythm. “Just like that, good girl.”

A mewl slips from your lips, burrowing your scalding face in his sticky neck again, his undivided attention almost too much to bear. 

“Like it when you call me a good girl,” you murmur, lips dragging across his skin with the confession, streaking him with thick glimmers of spit. 

“Is that so?” he laughs a little, pressing a few kisses to the crown of your head. “That’s because you don’t hear it often.” 

Lifting your head, you scowl at him, though there’s no heat to your glare, fury dimmed by fondness, unable to smother the smile playing with your lips.

A dazzling smile spreads across his own face in response, and he laughs again, his eyes so bright, so brilliant they almost hurt, blazing like two small suns, scorching your skin as his gaze glides over it.

He watches you like a man possessed, a man obsessed, entirely entranced by the way pleasure passes over your face, twisting your features into the cutest little winces as you grind the head of his cock against your cervix, then smoothing them out with bliss as his shaft drags along your favourite spot, bouncing in shallow little motions to rub over that fleshy patch hard and fast, a stream of mewls spilling from your lips, stitched together with his honorific. 

“You’re so pretty when you ride my cock,” he groans, words tapering off into a hoarse whimper, as if it pains him to admit it. 

His palms run up your sides, fingers counting over each rib, hands committing every dip and curve and bulge to memory, marvelled by the way you fill his grip, as if he can’t believe you’re real, you’re here, you’re his—even if just for tonight.

“Yeah, yeah, keep going, use onii-chan like a toy, sweetheart.” 

And he tries to be patient, he swears he does—tries not to rush you, tries to relish in the moment, in each swirl of your hips and every puff of his name—except your pace never accelerates, never moves past anything but teasing as you use his now aching cock to continually edge yourself; moans building higher and higher, louder and louder, on the cusp of the crest before they disintegrate into nothing and you start the process all over again, the delicate fluttering of your cunt enough to drive him fucking insane with desire.

It has his entire form trembling with such vigour it’s quivering the mattress, muscles locked stiff and tight as he tries to keep from moving, from bucking up wildly, from forcing you to speed the hell up. Rough fingers sink into your flesh so deep it dimples, a pathetic attempt to ground himself, rapidly blooming bruises staining your flesh.

But he’s powerless to stifle the whines leaking through the gaps of his gritted teeth, hands flexing on your hips, whole body pulled taut with restraint. 

He’s sure you can feel his cock twitching inside of you, eager and impatient, begging you to move faster, to fuck him harder. 

But you aren’t going to do any of that—not unless he asks for it, he realizes dimly, after you bring yourself to near orgasm for the third time in a row, giggling a little at his crestfallen expression, his hair having fallen almost completely from its trademark spiky buns, braided fishermen sweater soaked with sweat and sticking to his now heaving chest.

He really thought it was real this time. He really thought you were finally going to cream all over him, so he could finally flip you over and fuck you properly, pound you into the mattress and stuff that pretty, cute little cunt to the goddamn brim with his seed.

He’d been trying so hard to be nice, to be the loving, doting, good big brother he is—but he’s also only human, and there’s only so much misbehaviour he can bear before, finally, he snaps. 

Because, sure, big brothers are meant to care for, to lead and to nurture, but they’re also meant to teach, to punish, to put bratty little sisters back in their fucking place. 

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing? Huh?” his grip on your hips tightens, halting you from moving. “You think I’m fucking stupid?” 

“Never, Choso-nii,” you gasp, astonished. “I would never—” 

Sincerity rings in your voice, but he can see it, the mischief tugging at the corners of your mouth, barely suppressed by your façade of innocence.

Anyone else would’ve been fooled—enchanted by your doe eyes and your dainty voice. 

But not him.

No, he knows better now. 

“Bullshit,” he cuts you off, eyes narrowed sharply. “You wanted to ride my cock, but you’re clearly incapable of it—”

“No I’m not!”

“—So it looks like I’ll have to take matters into my own hands.”

“No! I—I can do it!” you cry, face crumpled in fury, nails scrabbling at his shoulders.

“You lost your chance to prove it to me,” he growls. 

The world flips suddenly, momentarily a blur of inks and ivories, a breath of surprise punched from your ribs as your back slams against the mattress, trapped between the bedspread and your big brother’s heaving chest.

“You have been testing me all fucking holiday,” he snarls, specks of spit splattering across your cheeks. “Onii-chan shouldn’t give you his cum—onii-chan shouldn’t have given you his cock at all!” 

A certain type of haughtiness corrodes your shock, lips spreading into a pompous smirk.

“Oh, but you just couldn’t help yourself, could you, onii-chan.” 

“You little bitch!” 

His hips shove forward, forcing you further into the plush of the mattress, cockhead ramming against your cervix. A little noise of pain vibrates on the back of your tongue, shattering your arrogance, and a grin smears across his face, glinting in the moonlight. 

“I think it’s time your big brother teach you a lesson in respect.”

“Y-Yeah? And how are you gonna do that?”

“You’re going to take what onii-chan gives you, and you’re going to fucking like it. And then, at the end, when you’ve gone stupid from the cock you don’t deserve, you’re going to thank me for giving it to you at all. Do you understand me?” 

Defiance shines in your eyes, lacquered by a thin coating of tears, nose scrunching up in a glower. 

A rough thumb and forefinger, hardened by charcoals, clamps around your jaw, squeezing your cheeks with such force that your mouth puckers, a sticky little whine squealing in your throat.

“Do you understand me?” he asks again, each word said slow with purpose, each word annunciated with intent, his eyes boring into yours, sharp and painful. 

Finally, those tears push past your bloated lashes, shoved from your eyes by rapid blinking and rolling down your cheeks in glistening pairs, a half-stifled hiccup stuttering your chest. 

“Y-Yes,” you whisper, nose twitching. 

“What was that? Onii-chan couldn’t hear you.” 

“Yes, onii-chan.” 

“Good girl.”

And then his hips are snapping, hard and fast and immediate, fucking into you with such ruthlessness that it jostles your body up the bed, sheets collecting in little wrinkled bunches beneath you. Your nails sink into his shoulders, piercing flesh through the knit of his sweater, the muscles in your thighs tensing as your ankles hook around his waist, his shirt riding up, your heels digging into the those cute little dimples that cushion the base of his spine. 

It hurts, every pound of his cock producing a dull, throbbing ache low and deep in your gut, another torrent of tears rushing to flood your vision.

“Ch-Choso-nii, Ch-Choso-nii,” you whimper, face screwed up in pain, his name stuttered by his rapid thrusts.

“What’s the matter?” he pouts, and it’s so condescending, dripping from his lips in an over-exaggerated coo. “Can’t take onii-chan’s cock?”

The question wafts across your face in a panted breath and you lick at your lips, sopping it up with your tongue.

“N-No,” you say, and that telltale brattiness is back, watered down by his viciousness. “I can do it—I-I can do it for you, onii-chan.” 

A throaty curse escapes his lips, thrusts stammering out of rhythm for a moment as his cock twitches, and a helpless giggle bubbles up in your throat.

Even angry, he’s still so fucking easy. 

He regains his composure quickly, though, face hardened to stone but beginning to splinter with pleasure. 

“Brat,” he breathes out, though there’s mirth shining in his eyes, pure and fond and full of love. “You better.”

And even angry, he still sounds so fucking pretty; cracked moans and dense groans and choked gasps, all flowing from his mouth in a single stream, fractured by the piston of his hips.

The pain doesn’t fade, of course—it barely diminishes at all, the sheer massiveness of his cock making it near impossible to be dispelled, keeping the cramping pang in the pit of your belly steady and constant—but it does amplify the pleasure, nerves gnawed raw by the agony, left hypersensitive to the sparks of ecstasy that blaze through your veins with every quick, rough pump of his hips, every deep, hard slam against your bruised cervix, every rapid drag over that engorged spot.

It leaves you feeling high, leaves you feeling stupid, brain melting in a hot haze of lust and rendering you incapable of forming a single coherent thought beyond how incredible his cock is, his name and his title the only two things your sloppy, numb tongue can fully scrape together.

It’s all so much, too much, but it all feels so fucking good—s’good, Choso-nii, y’r so-so good—sentiment vibrating indistinctly in your chest.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he asks, words gone wispy, fading into a whine. “Does your onii-chan’s cock make you feel good?”

Yes, yes, yes, onii-chan, it’s so good, you’re so good! 

Your head nods frantically, fingers curling in the collar of his sweater, a mess of affirmatives fucked from your mouth. 

“Y’know, you’re kinda cute when you’re too cockdrunk to misbehave,” he chuckles a little, biting back a moan as your cunt clenches at the compliment. “May-Maybe onii-chan should fuck you stupid more often, huh?” 

Oh, God, yes, onii-chan; oh, please, onii-chan! 

“Yeah, you’d like that a bit too much, though, wouldn’t you, you little sl—ah—slut.”

Drool dribbles from the sides of your mouth as you continue nodding, eyes wide and unblinking, encrusted with stars. 

“Y’so pretty, onii-chan,” you manage to mumble out, sentiment tangled in threads of spit, fingers flexing in the fabric of his sweater, as if they yearn to touch but can’t find the strength to carry out the action.

And he is, so beautiful it’s borderline sickening, strands of onyx plastered to his cheeks, his jaw, his neck, strung together in clumps and saturated in sweat; damp skin glittering in the waning moonlight spilling through the slits of his window, dewdrops catching delicately in the beams as he pounds into you, every drive of his cock accelerating his pace.

“W-Wan’your cum now,” you slur the demand through a lax pout, lids beginning to weight with exhaustion, heavy as they frame dopey eyes.

“Yeah?” he laughs a little, gaze shining with adoration, and it’s breathless, it’s beautiful, his affection wafting over your scalding face. “Onii-chan needs you to cream all over his cock first. Can you—” a grunt cuts him off, and he whimpers, pushing through his sentence, his voice strained. “Can y’do that for me, angel?” 

“Uh-huh, uh—uh-huh,” your head begins nodding more fervently again, pushing your lids open with some effort to stare up at him, pupils swelling with devotion and determination.

“Then show me—Show me how gorgeous my good girl looks when she’s making a mess all over her big brother’s cock.” 

Three more thrusts and your cunt is obeying, convulsing on his thick shaft as heat gushes around him, so much that you can hear it—a sick, slick squelching as he jackhammers into you, your essence coating his thighs in a shiny layer of arousal. 

“Oh, fuck,” his eyes shut tightly before springing open again, suddenly rabid, ravenous. 

The bed creaks as his hips speed up, skin sticky with arousal as it slaps against your own, the sharp sound mingling with his ragged pants and your hitched mewls.

“Onii—Nii-chan,” you nearly wail, fingers tangling weakly in the hair at the nape of his neck, nails scraping against his flesh. “Please, please, cum, gimme—gimme y’r cum!” 

“Greedy little thing,” he rasps out, voice cracking into a whine. 

But you don’t care, you can’t care, pleads spilling from your lips as your thighs tense around his waist, hips twitching in erratic little motions, crudely trying to fuck yourself on him.  

“Need it, need it, onii-chan, fill my belly with it, onii-chan, please!” 

“Christ,” he chokes on the curse, pace faltering as he finally gives his baby sister what she wants, cock throbbing almost violently while it fills you with hot, thick cum, so much you swear you really can feel it, stuffing your belly as full as it can be, tummy bulging cutely with his seed.

You must tell him that, sentiment slipping from your lips without your permission, because he moans again, his cock giving another weak spurt, hips stuttering as he tries to fuck further into you, grinding the head into your sore cervix. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you’re murmuring, hips rolling up to meet his own. “Push it into me, onii-chan, push it into my cunt nice n deep, do-don’t waste a single drop!” 

“You really are gonna be the death of me,” he whines, face buried in your hair as he collapses on top of you, hips still moving in lazy little circles, shudders of overstimulation rippling through his form. 

“Mm,” you hum, on the cusp of unconsciousness, nuzzling your face into his neck like a kitten, then lapping at a few droplets of sweat streaming down the column. “What are lil sisters for?” 

[bxwitched]

To Be With You

Warnings: Mature, 18+ only. Fluff, workplace flirting, verbal sparring, angst, vulnerability, self-doubt, anxiety, swearing, pining, old school romance, sexual tension if you squint.

Character Pairing: Jake Hangman Seresin x Reader

Word Count: 4.7K

Summary: Hangman takes a shine to the Admiral's new aide.

A/N: This is my first attempt at fluff in a while so please be gentle, I also know absolutely nothing about the US Navy and how it operates. As always, comments, reblogs and likes are all appreciated! You can find my masterlist here.

You haven't been at North Island for long, having transferred when your previous admiral retired but you've come to love the sea views and the sandy beaches. Waking up to the soft crash of the waves and the fresh ocean breeze is certainly a welcome change from the hot, dry suburbs of Lemoore.

You've found that Admiral Simpson is an intelligent, respectful man, firm but fair and most importantly, he treats you well. Like all military men he's disciplined, but he's also in high demand and with such a hectic schedule and high level of responsibility he can often become stressed and lose track of things.

That's where you come in. You manage his ever-growing email inbox, file all of his reports, arrange all of his meetings and supply him with a steady flow of strong, dark coffee to keep him functioning. You've established a routine with him and with that, his days run smoothly.

Your mornings are methodical; you shower, dress, have breakfast and then make the drive over to base. You shrug off your jacket as you reach the office and flip the switch on the coffee machine as you pass it, before settling down at your desk to make a start on your emails.

Beau enters ten minutes later and mumbles out a good morning as he passes, ambling towards the door of his office. He looks tired, you think as you pour him his usual black coffee.

"Good morning, Sir." You follow him as he moves into his office and hand him the steaming mug. He thanks you as he accepts it gratefully, taking a long sip and making a sound of relief as he sinks into his chair and swallows the rich liquid.

"Ok. What's the damage today?"

It's just after midday when a knock sounds on the door and breaks the silence, startling you. You frown as you glance at the clock on the far wall, Beau is scheduled in and out of meetings for the whole day and he hadn't mentioned expecting any visitors to you this morning. You straighten in your chair, slipping your phone away into your desk drawer before calling out.

The door opens promptly and in strolls a man you haven't met before. He's handsome; all perfectly styled blonde hair and sunkissed skin and you find yourself shifting in your seat nervously as he saunters towards you with an air of confidence and a dazzling smile.

"Afternoon, miss."

"Good afternoon-"

"Lieutenant Jake Seresin." He leans in closer to your desk, holding out a hand for you to shake and you oblige, offering him your name in return before taking his larger hand in yours and giving it a light squeeze. The name does sound familiar but you can't quite place it.

"It's nice to meet you, Lieutenant. What can I do for you?" His eyes narrow then and his lips quirk up at the corners, putting the dimples in is cheeks on full display. You don't miss the way that he eyes you, his pretty greens flickering down to your left hand before locking with yours once more.

"Pleasures all mine. I have some mission reports for the Admiral." It's then that you notice the collection of the manilla folders tucked against his side and you take them from him carefully, setting them down in a neat pile on the corner of your desk.

"And-" He drawls, his Southern accent as smooth as honey. "Maybe I wanted to see for myself if the rumours were true."

You falter, your brows lifting in confusion. His expression is teasing and his lips are curved into a grin, exposing his pearly whites. Anxiety swirls in the depths of your stomach and you eye him wearily, feeling defensive.

"What rumours?" He leans down even closer, into your space and you catch a whiff of his cologne; a heady mix of cedar and amber that makes you feel dizzy.

"About how gorgeous the Admiral's new aide is. Have to say sweetheart, they don't do you justice."

He winks at you and you scoff, heat filling your cheeks as you look away in embarrassment. You've never been good with men and now that this very attractive man is in front of you, flirting with you, you feel completely out of your depth. You clear your throat awkwardly, opting to try and remain professional rather than make an idiot of yourself.

"Careful Lieutenant, you could be written up for that." His grin only widens and your eyes narrow suspiciously. That horrible voice of doubt in the back of your head is screaming that this man couldn't possibly be attracted to little old you, that he must just be messing with you for the rise.

"Please, call me Hangman."

"Hangman?" You frown and he lets out a laugh at your bemused expression, it's deep and warm and you fidget in your seat as your stomach knots at the sound.

"My callsign, I'm a pilot." His finally straightens up and his chest practically puffs with pride, his mossy eyes gleaming down at you.

It's then that the light bulb flickers in your head, you've heard the moniker several times, whispered amongst the administrative staff, accompanied by knowing smiles and girlish giggles. You've also heard it from the support crews on one of your recent trips to the hangers along with some pretty choice vocabulary.

You think back on the meeting you had attended with Admirals Simpson and Bates a few weeks ago with Captain Mitchell, discussing his newly formed-now permanent Dagger Squad and it's members. Including the one stood before you now.

"I've heard plenty of rumours about you too, Lieutenant." You don't miss the way that his cheek flexes when you ignore his request and instead address him by rank. You feel a rush of satisfaction at having put a dent in his ego but it doesn't last and his smile turns impish as he calls your bluff with a raised brow.

"Do tell." His self-assurance starts to grate on you and you shrug absently as you lean back in your chair, your eyes falling to the multitude of ribbons pinned to the left of his chest.

"They say that you're good." He makes no effort to hide his delight as he stoops down and places his palms flat on your desk, invading your space once more. He surveys you with mischievous eyes, they fall to your lips and you fidget in your seat as heat begins to creep up your neck.

"I am good darlin'. I'm very good." You inhale sharply and his grin widens further, thinking that he's won this verbal sparring match of yours. You fold your arms across your chest defiantly, levelling him with your best glare as you recall some of his notorious exploits.

"They also say that you're an arrogant narccisist with no care for anyone but himself."

His pleased expression drops in an instant, his confidence slipping before you. He opens his mouth to retort but abruptly stops when the door to your office opens and his attention is taken away from you.

You exhale as the heavy air around you dissipates and silently thank whichever higher power has sent Sarah from finance early with her weekly budget report.

"Thank you for the reports, Lieutenant."

Sarah looks on, curious at the situation she's walked in on and Hangman nods to himself, his expression unreadable before he snaps right back into that infuriatingly cocksure demeanour. He throws you a wink as he backs away from your desk and makes his way to the door, ignoring the appreciative look that Sarah gives him as he passes her and leaves.

You're three quarters of the way finished with one of your reports when there's a rap at the door and you groan under your breath, knowing that you're not going to be finished with your task as quickly as you had planned.

"Come in."

You frown as Lieutenant Seresin slips into the office, wearing a broad smile whilst carrying a stack of paperwork in one hand and a takeaway cup in the other. You nod curtly as he approaches and he tilts his politely in return.

It's been a few days since he visited your office last and whether you like to admit it or not, a part of you was terrified that you had gone too far and successfully managed to scare off one of the single most attractive men you've ever met. You clear your throat awkwardly.

"What can I do for you, Lieutenant?"

"I have some more reports for the Admiral." You nod in understanding and take the bundle of papers from his outstretched hand, careful not to brush his fingers with your own.

You turn your back on him as you move to the filing cabinet in the corner, sorting through the top drawer until you find the correct section and deposit the files. You return to your desk then, the comfortable barrier that separates you both.

"Thank you Lieutenant. Will that be all?" He tilts his head and flashes you a coy smile as he extends the takeaway coffee out to you. You eye it warily, confused by the unexpected gesture and he watches, studying your reaction.

"Call it an apology." Your eyes narrow as you accept it hesitantly, your eyes flickering between his face and the white cardboard cup as you cradle the warmth of it between your palms. You choose to remain quiet, giving him room to expand on his words.

"The other day? I was out of line and I wanted to apologise. I meant no offence." You study him carefully, looking for any sign of ulterior motive but he seems genuine and the longer that you stare at him, the more his warm smile makes your insides twist.

"Well, thank you Hangman. I appreciate that." His green eyes light up as you finally concede and address him by the moniker, his lips pulling up into a broad smile.

"Of course." You raise the drink to your lips, taking a long sip in an effort to hide your smile. Your eyes widen as the liquid warmth hits your tongue; it's from your favourite cafe and it's a million times better than any of the standard issue you have on base, but what shocks you is that it's your exact order.

"How did you?-" You throw him a questioning look but he already knows what you're going to ask him. His expression is roguish and his lower lip catches between his teeth as he grins at you, before he turns towards the door and walks out.

Can you believe that he's interested in her?

I don't get it either!

Who?

You hear your name once, then twice, before you step into the room and the chorus of chatter dies. You stop in your tracks, feeling as if you're intruding and the collective of women all turn to look at you; some of them have the decency to look guilty at having been caught while one or two simply walk away, unbothered.

You feel mortified and you grit your jaw as you carry on to your office, ignoring the feeling of eyes boring into your back as you go.

Brenda from HR catches you as you pass by and you soften slightly when the older woman flashes you a kind smile. It's almost reassuring, but then she says 'Don't worry sweetie, they're just jealous.' and your confusion deepens.

Your brows furrow as you turn away and wrap your hand around the brass knob. The gears of your mind turning as you close the door behind you with a click.

You still as soon as your eyes land on the beautiful bouquet and you can't stop the smile that tugs at the corners of your lips. It's not the first unexpected gift that you've discovered on your desk in the last week but it's by far the most extravagant.

At first it was little just things, more cups of your favourite takeaway coffee, then a pastry or two from that charming new bakery in town. Then as a few weeks passed it became a box of fine chocolates, followed by the bottle of wine that definitely cost more than ten dollars and now, a gorgeous mix of flowers and foliage all tied up in pretty ribbon.

You feel conflicted as your eyes scan over the accompanying card, on the front of it is your name, on the back, the gentle cursive that spells out his callsign. It's the kind of romantic gesture that you read about in your crappy romance novels, the type of affection that you've always wished for, and yet at the same time it all feels too good to be true.

You think about the tales you've heard; details of the drunken escapades and the one night stands, the lengthy trail of bitter women and broken hearts that he's left in his wake. The thought of becoming just another notch in the aviator's bedpost makes your stomach churn and amongst it all, the same question remains.

Why me?

Your heart wrenches as you wonder whether he may have been put up to it, whether it's some kind of bet. These men were competitive at the best of times, but he wouldn't go to all this trouble to win some twenty dollar wager, would he?

That negative voice niggles at the back of your mind then. He would if it meant getting underneath your clothes.

You startle as the door opens behind you and Beau ambles in, uttering his usual greeting as he passes. He stops when he notices the flowers, a stark pop of colour amongst all of the beige.

"It's not your birthday, is it?" His expression seems slightly panicked as his eyes flicker back and forth between you and the bouquet. You smile softly and shaking your head.

"No Sir."

"Anniversary?" His frown deepens then.

Unlike some of your previous employers, Beau didn't like to pry into his staff's private lives more than was absolutely necessary. He didn't ask you about your relationship status or what your vacation plans were, only that you were ok and you strongly appreciated that.

"No Sir." Beau's expression hardens then.

"Did someone die?" Your eyes widen and you stumble over your words in your haste to cover

"Oh! No, no! They are uh- from a friend, Sir."

"A friend?"

He eyes you suspiciously but he doesn't press the subject any further as you shift on your feet and wring your hands, uncomfortable at having to provide an explanation.

"You are to report to me if you have any concerns. Is that understood?" His voice bleeds authority as he looks at you sternly. If you were unfamiliar with the man you might've been scared but you've come to know his ways and you feel a sense of gratitude as you process the hidden meaning in his words.

Are you ok?

"Yes Sir, understood." He nods once, acknowledging your confirmation.

"Good. The last thing I need right now is another HR nightmare." He disappears through to his office, he mutters away to himself and you just about manage to suppress a snort as you catch him grumble 'horny bastards' before the door clicks shut.

It's later in the afternoon and Beau has been summoned to a high priority meeting at short notice, one that you don't have the clearance to attend.

You've finished all of your reports, filed away your paperwork and refreshed your emails three times. The boredom creeps up on you as the clock ticks obnoxiously in the background, marking each passing second, taunting you.

It's then that you find your eyes drifting back to the pretty blooms, perched atop the mahogany in an old vase you'd managed to dig out of a cabinet.

Whilst you appreciate the Lieutenant's interest in you, the awkward encounter with your superior is enough for you to realise that you need to talk have a talk about the propriety of it all.

You've worked hard to get where you are and you don't want this man's attentions, honest or not, to give anyone the opportunity to question your professionalism.

You haven't seen him around, but you know that he's going to be flying today, you'd seen his name on the approved roster. You take a deep breath as you shrug on your jacket, knowing that you just need to grab the bull by the horns and get it over with, no matter how uncomfortable.

You take the long way around base; around the administrative buildings, then the barracks, past the mess until the hangers finally come into your view.

You can hear the rush of linemen on the tarmac, the heavy thud of of their boots and their shouts as they prepare for the landing of the four F-18's you can see on the horizon. A part of you wonders how otherworldly it must feel to be up there in the skies whilst the other, more rational part is absolutely terrified by the thought.

By the time you reach the tarmac they've already landed and the pilots have exited their aircraft; the group stands off to the side, making conversation amongst themselves as the linemen carry out their post-flight checks.

You notice a shorter brunette, the only woman in the group, she looks mildly irritated as she converses with a tall head of blonde hair and you feel a pang of empathy as she rolls her eyes at him. You can tell it's him from a mile off, even with his back to you.

As if on cue, she catches your stare and a curious look laces her features, she mutters something and points a nod in your direction, urging him to turn around.

Hangman's green irises lock with yours and his lips curve up in a pleased grin. He watches as you take him in; all sun kissed and sweaty from a hard day's flying, wrapped up in that obscenely well-fitting flight suit with the sleeves turned up to expose his strong forearms.

He makes his way over with confident strides, ignoring the questioning looks from the unnamed female pilot, as well as the three males who have taken notice of his departure and are watching the scene with interest.

You shift on your feet, feeling uncomfortable under their scrutiny of their stares.

"And to what do I owe this nice surprise?" His tone is warm, teasing, as he sidles up to you and your stomach knots as he looks at you fondly. You shrug, trying to play it cool as you lean back against the hanger door.

"The Admirals' been called away and I'm at a loose end, I uh-I wanted to talk to you." His mossy eyes narrow then, something unknown dancing in his irises.

"Is that right?" He plants a hand against the hanger door, close to your head and leans into your space. Whilst you're thankful that he's somewhat shielded you from the prying eyes of him team, you falter under the weight of his heavy gaze.

"Why don't you come on and take a closer look?" He jerks his head in suggestion and your mouth falls open slightly, although you see the F-18's from a distance all the time you've never had the opportunity to get up close and personal with one.

"You're not serious?"

"As a heart attack."

"But- won't we get into trouble?" On instinct, you glance around nervously and he chuckles. You can't help but appreciate the deep timbre of it as it rumbles in his chest.

"The engines' not on and the wheels aren't gonna leave the ground, we'll be fine. Besides-" He leans in closer, looking conspiratorial as he whispers close to your ear. "What Cyclone doesn't know can't hurt him."

He gestures an arm out in the direction of the flight line and you quickly oblige as your excitement gets the better of you, falling into step with him.

"Hey Hangman! Who's your friend?" Jake ignores the moustached man's taunt as you pass the group, his focus solely on you as he asks you about your morning. You catch the moment the brunette aviator jabs her elbow into his ribs and he groans out a complaint, rubbing at his side.

She offers you an apologetic smile and you return it before you refocus and realise that Hangman has come to a stop.

His face beams as he presents his aircraft to you proudly, like it's his firstborn child. You hesitate as you reach out to touch it, feeling the smooth metal underneath your palm, running it along the panel until you get to the part with his name on it.

"Is it weird that I think it's pretty?" He laughs, moving in closer to you.

"She's very pretty, but not nearly as pretty as you." The way that he's looking at you makes feel warm all over, heat creeping up the column of your neck as you let out a nervous laugh and look away.

"I bet you say that to all the girls."

"Actually, no." You sigh, turning to face him head on.

"Listen, Hangman-"

"Jake." He insists.

"Jake-" You stumble as he interrupts you, moving in closer.

"Did you like them? The flowers?" You notice that his expression is serious now, almost apprehensive. You bite your lip as a smile threatens to split your face and everything you had planned to say goes out of the window.

"I did, very much. Thank you." He smiles broadly then, putting the dimples in his cheeks on full display. Your gut twists as you speak your next words. "But why?"

His brow furrows deeply and he looks at you like you've just told him that the sky is green. You elaborate for him.

"Why all of the wine and chocolates and flowers when we've barely spoken to each other? I don't understand?" His face is perplexed as he stares at you with those mossy eyes.

"Because, I think you're beautiful and I'd really like to take you out."

You frown, feeling taken off guard by his answer.

"Look, Jake. I know about your reputation and I'm not going to get involved with someone who's just going to break my heart and move on."

He breathes out a sigh, scratching a hand through his short hair nervously.

"I'm not gonna deny the past happened because it did, but believe me when I tell you I'm different now. I'm older and wiser and when I look at you? You make me want things I never thought I'd want. After I messed up with you the first time, I knew that I needed to do things right, the old fashioned way."

You open your mouth to speak but he doesn't give you any time to interject as he rambles.

"You're beautiful and kind and smart, you don't fawn over me just because I'm a pilot and you sure as hell don't put up with any of my shit. You're different and I like that, a lot."

"But you don't know me, Jake. I don't know anything about you."

"I'll tell you anything you wanna know, sweetheart."

You shake your head as he takes another step closer, so close now that you can feel the heat radiating off of his body, even through his flight suit.

"Look, I know that you work hard and you're damn good at what you do. I know how you like your coffee, that you like to sit on your porch in the evenings and watch the ocean and that at the weekends you spend time tending to your garden and taking long walks on the beach. Maybe I don't know what your favourite meal is yet, or colour or song, but I'd love to find out. If you'll let me."

You're left dumbstruck by his admission, devoid of all thought except one.

"You know where I live?" He blinks slowly then and exhales a laugh.

"Sweetheart, we live on the same street. I noticed you as soon as you moved in and I see you all the time." Your mouth falls open a little, your expression one of confusion as you try to figure out how you've never noticed him before, especially as handsome as he is.

Jake just grins, completely enamoured with you.

"And my coffee order?" He gives a shrug, his face coy as he admires the flush that's bloomed across your cheeks.

"I may have had to charm it out of a barista named Jenna." You dip your head as you laugh in an effort to hide your face, your heart hammering wildly in your chest.

He stoops slightly, his pretty green eyes searching your face until you concede and finally look at him once more.

"So will you let me in, sweetheart? Let me get to know you?"

That little voice in the back of your mind rears it's head and screams no! That it's a horrible, terrible idea. But what if it's not?

You swallow, summoning all of your courage as you nod slowly. Jake's face lights up, his expression is almost euphoric and you can't help but match it, your lips splitting into a grin.

You feel hot all over, your chest tight as your heart threatens to burst out. The level of emotion that you feel is both frightening and exhilarating but as you gaze into those his bright eyes of his, looking at you with so much adoration, you know that it's right.

"Alright. We can start with dinner."

[mermaidgirl30]

✨I’ve Got You, Baby Girl✨

A/N: This has been on my mind a lot this week after a rough week of cramps. This one is for all my girlies that need some extra love and care on their periods. Thank you @mountainsandmayhem and @littlevenicebitch69 for encouraging me to write it 🥰

Summary: After suffering all day alone with cramps, Joel comes home from work to take care of you and gives you exactly what you need.

Pairing: Joel x fem! reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ Only MDNI)

Word Count: 1.7k

Tags: Joel comforts you, oral receiving (fem), orgasm, Joel goes down on you on your period, sweet pet names, Joel in love

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

The warm sun glows through the sheer curtains, the velvet blanket draped loosely over your legs as you hug the heating pad to your stomach. Your body aches, your bones crushing together as you hug your knees to your chest. You hate this time of month, hate the awful cramps, hate having to stay in bed all day. It was the worst time of every month. Your period.

You can feel Joel walk into the room, his large presence hovering through the door as you feel immediate relief that he’s home from work early.

“Baby, you doin’ okay? I got worried when you told me you called into work. Can I get you anything?” he asks softly as he walks over to you with his leather work boots scuffing against the hardwood floor.

“Can you get me some water, please?” you ask pathetically as another painful cramp takes over all your senses.

“‘Course, sweetheart. Be right back.”

As he leaves the room, you roll over and pull the blanket off you as your velvet pink shorts barely graze your thighs. Maybe a little water and some air on your sweat covered skin would do you some good.

When he enters back into the room, he comes and sits on the edge of the bed as he hands you a glass of cold water. “Here ya go, sweetheart. Maybe this will help some.”

Your fingers graze his calloused fingers lightly and you smile sweetly as you take the cup and take some sips of refreshing water.

“There ya go, sweetheart,” he coos as he runs his fingers through your messy hair, the feel of his hand instantly soothing you as you relax into his soft touch.

“You’re always so good to me, Joel,” you smile as you set the glass on the edge of the mahogany nightstand and slowly turn to look at his beautiful face. His honey colored eyes staring down at you with nothing but affection as a crooked smile fills his face. He’s always so beautiful, even after a long day at his contracting job.

“Gotta take care of my best girl, don’t I? There’s nothin’ more I wanna do than make sure you’re bein’ taken care of. My perfect girl,” he says sweetly as he runs his thick fingers slowly over your cheek, caressing you in nothing but full affection. He always did know how to completely melt your heart. And he did, every single day.

“How’d I get so lucky?” you sigh as you run your fingers through his salt-and-pepper scruff and stare into warm, brown doe eyes.

“No, how’d I get so lucky is the question,” he chuckles as he rubs the back of your head softly as his other hand skates gently down your arm.

A painful cramp twinges in your gut, and you whine out in pain as you clamp down on Joel’s wrist, your long nails digging into his tanned skin as you call out his name in a plea.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m right here, baby girl. I’ve got you,” he says as he pulls a strand of hair across your glistening forehead behind your ear and soothes you with a soft kiss against your cheek. “What do you need, pretty girl?”

“I… I don’t know. Just want you here is all,” you mumble as you reach for him, another cramp making you bite your lip as you swallow down the agonizing pain.

“Mmm. I know what you need, baby. I can make those cramps go away.”

“How?” you ask, your eyebrows furrowing together as he gets up from the bed and heads to the bathroom.

“Just trust me, okay?” he asks as he comes back with a sandy colored towel, laying it out across the end of the bed.

“Joel,” you warn, your eyes sinking to the soft towel at your feet. You know what he’s planning now, and it makes your insides churn with both embarrassment and pure desire.

“C’mon, baby. I know how to soothe those cramps. This is what you need, even if you’re afraid of askin’ for it out loud. I know, sweetheart. I always know,” he smiles as the crow’s feet pull at the edges of his honey eyes. He’s always so handsome.

“But… but I’m bleeding. I’m not… I’m not…”

“You’re not what, baby? C’mon. You think a little blood bothers me?” he asks with one eyebrow cocked up, a smirk playing on his lips as his brown eyes stare down at you affectionately.

“Oh, I don’t know. Most guys don’t want…”

“I’m not most guys, sweetheart. Now c’mere. Let me take care of those cramps.”

He slides you down to the end of the bed and settles you right over the towel as your legs hang off the bed, your eyebrows knitting together as you close your eyes and cringe for what he’ll see under the short shorts.

“Hey. Open your eyes for me. You don’t have to be nervous, sweetheart. It’s just your period. You’re still as beautiful as ever. Don’t gotta hide from me, sweet girl,” he purrs as you open your eyes and stare wide-eyed at him. He’s so soft, so caring. You just love him so much.

You let him pull your shorts off, your lacy underwear coming off next as you lie bare before him with your heart beating a thousand miles an hour in your chest. He doesn’t shy away, doesn’t cringe as he takes in all your body, your legs shaking slightly as you hold your breath and watch the way he lovingly looks at you.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, you know that?” he asks as he pulls you forward and hooks your legs around his broad back as he gets on his knees and slowly glides his calloused fingers against your inner thighs.

“You make me feel beautiful, Joel,” you say in awe as he gently blows over your center, his nose softly grazing your curls as he hovers his lips right above your folds.

You tense your legs up around him, and he pushes down slightly on your lower stomach to calm you down. “Hey, relax. Let me make you feel better, okay?” he asks with gentle words, his husky voice echoing off the glowing walls as you nod your head in reply.

“Okay,” you agree.

“You ready?” he asks before his lips drop down on you.

“Mhm,” you hum as you try to relax your weight against him.

“Tell me to stop and I will. Just relax, breathe. Let me take those cramps away,” he coos. And then his mouth sinks down against you.

His tongue gently slides up and down your folds, his calloused fingers spreading you as he finds his way to your clit and swirls slowly as you feel your cramps already easing from his soft tongue on your most sensitive part of your body.

“Oh,” you moan as you twist your fingers through his tousled curls and catch him groan against the feel of you.

“There ya go, baby. Just relax. Let it all out. I’ve got you,” he coos before he dives back down and sucks your throbbing bundle of nerves into his needy mouth.

Your body writhes against him as he holds one hand down softly against the base of your stomach, the other holding your thigh down as he laps a thick strip from your dripping hole all the way to the top of your clit, dragging a tinge of blood down his throat as he drinks you down.

It’s almost an animalistic sight of him lapping you down on your period, but it’s also so fucking hot. No other man that you know would do this for you, but Joel does. He’d do absolutely anything for you. And this was one way of him showing you just that.

You feel your insides clench up as he draws slow circles over your clit, a burning feeling caking your insides as you feel your orgasm about to break. You’re already so close, his experienced tongue always making you feel so good.

“Joel,” you whine as you clench your legs around him and fist your fingers through his messy curls.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Come for me. It’s okay. Go on. Wanna make all those cramps disappear,” he murmurs as he pulls your glistening clit back into his mouth.

You feel the pressure building in your spine, feel the tingling sensations slide down your body as white hot heat starts to spill down your insides. Three more meticulous licks to your clit and you’re done for.

“Joelll, I’m coming,” you moan as you clench up over nothing and feel hot liquid pool down your thighs, your cramps no more as you ride out your blissful high of a sweet orgasm.

“There ya go. Such a good girl,” he praises as he laps up every single drop of slick between your thighs, your heart tearing at the seams as you stare lovingly down at the man that just gave you your sweet release that you so desperately needed.

You see the shine of your slick against the scruff of his beard as he gently cleans off your inner thighs and messy pussy, making sure to be thorough with his hands. He slides your underwear and shorts back on and drops the towel to the floor in a heap as he scoops you into his strong arms, bringing you back to the head of the bed as he holds you tight against his broad chest.

“You feel any better?” he asks as he kisses you gently against your cheek as his fingers run softly through your hair.

“Much better,” you smile as you place your hand on top of his and curl your fingers around his.

“Good. I love you, baby,” he purrs into the shell of your ear as you turn and lock your lips against his, letting the warmth from his plush lips fill you with nothing but peace and longing.

When you break the kiss, you whisper back to him, “And I love you, Joel Miller.”

He kisses your forehead softly and pulls you back against his warm chest. “Go to sleep, baby girl. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

You close your eyes and let the warmth from his tanned skin flood your senses. This is home. He is home, and you never want to be anywhere else but in his loving arms.

Tags: @keylimebeag @msjarvis @princesatracionera @rav3n-pascal22 @syd-djarin @lotusbxtch @laurrrra @sheepdogchick3 @casa-boiardi @pedrostories @whitewolfstar01

[sobbingscripter]

DAY 8: Eight Maids a-Milking

☃️ Office Party☃️

Tags: [mlw][semi-public][implied age gap][costume][oral (m receiving)][squirting][creampie][mdni][there's a position but idk the name but I'll leave a visual representation at the bottom (w/ stickmen)][praise]

❄️☃️❄️

An office party has always been a nightmare, especially since you're almost always an elf. Plasticky, pointy ears that poke out from between your strands and a dark green dress that ends just above your knees, brushing against your striped pantyhose.

You continue to chat with coworkers, entertaining potential clients before you do a double take, lips parting with a breath and lashes fluttering just before your eyes widen to the size of saucers, at the sight of the actual office hottie.

Nanami fucking Kento, dressed as Santa Claus.

"Don't say anything." Kento grumbles, raising a whiskey tumbler to his lips, brown liquid sloshing around the crystal amongst the ice cubes and he takes a sip, expression visibly easing at the way the taste spreads across the softness of his pink tongue.

"No no, I was just gonna say that you look like... A real Santa." You hum, munching on the cookie in your hand, the taste of chocolate and ginger mixing in your mouth. "You know, after he delivers all the presents and he's all tired and pissed off."

Kento rolls his eyes behind his glasses, before glancing towards the various faces, familiar, with faux grins and haughty laughs slipping past pinched lips, eager to appease clients and rack in sales.

In all honesty, you don't even know what kind of company it is.

You're just a receptionist and you don't care enough to learn about what you have to do, only helping clients, taking calls and booking appointments.

Your eyes move towards the heavy, red bag resting at Kento's feet.

God. He's even got the big, red sack of presents.

"What's in your sack?" You hum quizzically, eyes trained on the bag as you tilt your head, trying to focus on the various outlines in the bag.

"Cum."

You sputter, coughing as crumbs spew from your lips, and Kento's hand smacks the space between your shoulder blades lightly, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement as he tries not to laugh at your reaction.

And Kento's hand brushes along your back, up across your shoulder blades before travelling down the curve of your back, tracing the dip in your spine before he cranes his neck to meet your gaze.

His cologne is so soft.

A subtle hint of sandalwood and mint, a heady scent that you just know that being bathed in it would give you a headache and you can imagine that full Nelson with full heart. Especially when encapsulated with his musk.

Oh GOD.

Kento's voice is soft, a faint lingering of spearmint toothpaste lingering on his breath.

"You okay, pretty?"

Your knees dig into the lush carpet, candy-striped pantyhose damp from your leay pussy, as Kento keeps feeding you cock. Inch by inch, one hand resting under your jaw and the other tangled in your hair, blunt fingernails scratching at your scalp as you suck on his tip, your head bobbing.

Bleary eyes stare up at Kento, lashes fluttering as his flushed crown nudges at the back of your throat, and your nails dig into his thighs as you try to keep yourself from gagging.

Nanami's hand leaves your jaw, instead, carding through his sandy strands, moving the stray hairs away from his forehead and he hums, a low rumble in his chest.

"...it's okay, baby, you can choke on it."

His voice is gentle, a soft symphony that leaves his parted lips, alongside puffed out breaths and low groans, quiet enough to not be heard from outside the office door.

This isn't something Kento does.

Dicking around with a receptionist in his boss's office, paperwork scattered haphazardly along the mahogany desk, broad thighs still clad in that ridiculously red pants, manspread wide enough for you to kneel between his booted feet.

But you're so pretty though.

With pretty doe eyes that stare up at him intensely whenever he explains something to you, and rosy lips that make Kento Nanami question whether or not baked goods are the only kind of buns he wants in his mouth. And that's not even mentioning when the water dispenser malfunctioned, spraying cool spring water all over the front of your blouse, soaking the fabric and causing it to cling to your form, nipples pebbled under the scrutinizing breeze of the AC.

And Kento believed in God when you instantly walked towards him, eager and innocent enough to believe he wouldn't look at those pretty tits when he had the opportunity on a silver platter.

Kento's brought out of his reverie when you gag, the ball of your nose flush against that sandy carpet of hair, soft and... Oddly pleasant scented and Kento groans, lashes fluttering as your tongue traces along his shaft, lazily and messily. Thick globs of saliva trickle down your chin messily and Kento pulls out of your mouth with a wet 'pop', a pudgy thumb gently wiping away the spit, before slowly tracing along your bottom lip.

"So fucking pretty." Kento's voice is low, a quiet whisper only to be shared between the two of you, in this office, three glass windows giving you a view of the snow blanketed city below. Pedestrians look like ants from here, but you're not focused on them.

You're focused on Kento.

Pretty Kento, tapping his flushed and glistening, spittle-covered cock on your face, watching and enjoying the lewd tap-tap-tap against your cheeks.

When Kento slowly slips into you, the moan that falls from your lips makes his eyes roll back and he hums, slowly inching himself into you.

"Fuck, you're so tight."

Kento breathes out, lashes fluttering as he presses a kiss to the curve of your neck, grip tight on the backs of your thighs before he straightens up.

Carefully, Kento lifts you, his cock twitching against your fluttering and gooey walls, hands gripping the backs of your knees, and your feet hover above the carpet.

His cock bullies its way into your gummy walls, the rosy tip bumping against your cervix and your back arches against his chest. And your lashes flutter.

"...fuck..— you're so tight." Kento breathes out, his face buried in the side of your neck, breathing in that scent of cookies and perfume. That distinct floral scent that he could recognise in a crowded room.

"...'s big."

You whine quietly when Kento lifts you a bit, his tip remaining buried in your spasming and leaky cunt, before he fucks you up and down on his cock. His muscular hips tilt to meet yours, the fat of your ass cushioning the harshness of his thrusts and Kento sighs.

"Play with that pussy, baby." He hums. "Play with it."

He forces your gaze to the shaky reflection in the crystal clear windows, the nightsky creating a perfect mirror for him to watch as your shaky hands toy with your swollen clit, throbbing for affection and attention.

You don't know how long it is, how many strokes it is but with each bullying thrust of his hips, you feel that knot in your lower belly tighten, muscles tense and your tongue lolling lazily because he's so nasty. Spit and precum fucking into your already messy cunt, profanities muttered under his breath because you're just so so wet.

"Fuck—" you gasp, "you're gonna make me cum, Nanami..."

Your stomach dips inward as he keeps fucking up into you, but you're too dazed to even notice when Kento has your back pressed against the redwood desk, scattered pages fluttering to the floor as Kento's hands anchor your hips to the desk.

As he fucks into you, bullying your cervix and that pinch behind your stomach deepens, your eyes rolling back in your head and you gush, soaking Kento's Santa suit from the waist down to his thighs. And he groans.

"That's it, baby. Squirt for me."

Kento whines, hips pistoning and snapping into you, watching the way your pussy lips are split open, spasming around his cock.

Abs clench and his face is pinched into a tight little frown, an adorable furrow in his blonde brows and Kento lets out a huff of breath.

You're tight. Choking his cock in a way that has him in a tizzy, doe eyes staring up at him so sweetly and your pussy flutters each time he drags his cock against your sensitive walls.

Kento doesn't even know he's cumming until his hips are stuttering, stalling like a car on its last breath and he leans forward, your thighs spread obscenely wide as he rests his forehead against your shoulder.

Pressing a sloppy kiss against the curve of your neck.

"There..." He breathes, panting out as he tries to catch his breath, cum dripping down the crease of your ass and undoubtedly leaving messy splatters on the burgundy carpets.

"Now you know what's in Santa's sack."

❄️🎀❄️

this is the position. Like... The legs over the arms, like, at the elbows and like....

Do you see the vision?

[the-kr8tor]

Stem the Tide

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 5.7k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader, CW food mentions, TW blood, CW injury, TW death, CW vomit mention.

Between the Devil and the Sea Masterlist

Navigation

CHAPTER 8 >>> CHAPTER 9

There's water in your lungs.

Hobie's injuries scream at him to stop swimming, but he doesn't, not until he swims you to safety. He has you placed on a piece of the revenge, a shattered part of it, all splintered wood and sharp edges that dig into his skin.

The storm has subsided, the sea monsters went back into the water, the thought should ease him but he'd rather have the beasts within eyesight if possible. The sky is still dark and blue, the sun is just about waking up to the carnage floating on the depths.

His other half is paddling away from the trenches where the creatures could lie in wait. Eyes gradually searching for his crew but his main priority is you. You who haven't opened your eyes, you who haven't breathed nor moved. He worries, grief calling for him once again.

The fear of losing you is the only thing keeping him moving.

His arms ache as he tries to restart your heart. Pounding and pushing into your chest, doing his best not to crack any of your ribs. Chapped lips breathing life into you, inflating your lungs, chest heaving up but you don't expel the water. He ignores the freezing water; it's almost as cold as your skin, still it burns him with every touch he gives you.

You haven't breathed on your own for a long while.

He curses himself, wishes that he got to you faster but with all the jaws coming towards him he had to dodge in the water and with all the strong currents he let you drown. Fuck, why wasn't I fast enough? He thinks, guilt chewing him.

“C’mon, Scuttlebutt. Fuckin' breathe.”

Hobie sees land ahead so he paddles faster.

He sucks in air, then blows into your icy mouth. Pumping and pushing, his muscles are threatening to give out.

“Not you,” tears brimming in his eyes, the sun peeks in the horizon, illuminating your lifeless face. “Please, not you too.”

A large wave almost sweeps the two of you off the raft, he protects you with his own battered body. The wave helped, the makeshift raft beaching on the sandy shores of the unknown island.

He pounds his palms continuously on your chest. Thump, thump, thump. The sound echoes in his ears like death knells.

Nothing.

Your lips are turning an unnatural shade. He doesn't focus on it, instead Hobie leans in, breathing into you once again, moving his head down, he listens intently for a sign of your heart beating.

He can't even hear a faint beating.

“Fuck!” He continues the cycle, palms compressing on your chest, mouth giving you air straight from within him. “Open your goddamn eyes!”

Hobie yells your name, full of anguish and denial. He won't give up because if it was you in his shoes, you wouldn't have.

His sobs wracked his body, yet he does it again and again and again. He can't even look at your face anymore because if he fails, he doesn't want to remember your lifeless face, instead he'd want to remember you smiling, smiling at his crew, smiling at whatever joke Pav said, smiling at him.

He'll do anything to see it again. The crew can't lose you.

He can't lose you,

“No!” In his desperation, he hammers his fist harshly on your chest.

Nothing.

He does it again. Thrashing and drumming.

Nothing.

Hobie closes his eyes, leaning down to breathe life into you one last time. He's tired, too tired to continue. Lips lingering on yours, he holds onto you tight, refusing to let go.

You wake up to lips pressing on yours and salty water rising quickly from your lungs.

Gasping and coughing, you feel calloused fingers push your body to the side as you vomit out all the water. Eyes stinging, hands digging into the sand.

You hear relieved laughter behind you, hand gripping to your shoulder, the other rubbing gently on your back.

Spitting the last salty water out of your body, you fall back on the wooden raft, eyes adjusting to the sunlight. Hobie greets you with a tired smile, fatigued yet he still finds it in himself to grin from ear to ear.

The sun blankets behind him, bathing him in its light, piercings shining, and like fate's practical joke, there's a halo behind his head.

“Please don't tell me we both died and now we both ended up in the same place.” You joke with a hoarse voice. Tongue still tasting salt. “I can barely handle you while alive and now I have to be with you even in death?”

He laughs, the sound louder than the waves on the shore. “That's the first thing you say after almost dying? Miles is right, you use humour as a crutch.” with a shaking hand, he cups your cheek, laying his forehead against your own, resisting the urge to lay his head above your chest to listen to your heartbeat, just to make sure he isn't hallucinating.

You exhale against his face, breath fanning his eyelashes, it's enough proof that death has decided to give him reprieve.

“We're not dead?” You close your eyes, savoring his presence. Hands clasped around his wrist, feeling for his pulse.

He's not dead.

“No,” he leans away, relief under his sigh. “We're alive.”

You chuckle, ghosting your thumb across the gashes on his cheek. “You did good.”

Hobie shakes his head with a smile, rolling on his back, he falls on the sand softly, arms spread out. The once white sand turns into a shade of pink under him, reminding you of his injuries.

“I did good.” Eyes closed, hand reaching towards your side, he grasps your blouse in his palm like you'd fade away if he lets go of you for even a second. The cloth is warm on his skin, realizing that you're injured.

Your cough and groan was enough to ignite his adrenaline once again.

With a hand, you stop him from moving frantically. You inhale a sharp breath, “We need a fire going.” Sitting up on your own, shivering from the cold. He observes with his hands hovering over you.

“Alright, just stay here, I'll light it.”

“No, let me help.” Your wheezing says otherwise.

Hobie grasps your chin, lifting it to face him. Your skin is on fire, he smiles at life coming back to your body. “You drowned,” he doesn't want to say the other word or it might come true. “I think that trumps over a couple of stab wounds.”

“A couple?!” You blink in surprise. “Hobie—”

“Just a few slashes. Stay here, don't cause trouble, trouble. Captain's orders.”

“You're so fucking annoying.” You flop down on the raft, gripping your weeping wound, teeth chattering.

“You could say ‘thank you’ for once.” he teases in an attempt to bring back normalcy. Staring at your sand crusted hair, seafoam draped around you, he's glad he didn't give up in saving you just for him to get a glimpse of this view.

You stare at him through wet lashes, a small pout on your warming lips. “I'm losing blood, captain.”

The simple sentence gets him to clamp up, face suddenly serious.

“Bring me a coconut!” You yell, pout replaced with a small smile. You hide your wincing with a bite of your lip, drawing blood. Looking at him upside down, he has his hands on his hips, shaking his head.

“You're insufferable.” He quotes you before immediately jogging over towards the tropical forest behind you.

“And I, you.” You whisper into nothingness, touching your lips with the pads of your fingers.

—

The fire cackles next to you, the flames dance in your vision just like the fire that devoured the revenge. Smoke fills your lungs again, you cover your nose with your arm, eyes closed, trying to forget what happened. What you did.

Hobie holds a circular pendant tied to a stick, the metal glows red hot, the engraving of a wave twirls as he moves it closer to you.

You clutch the back of your head, it still stings when you press down, at least you're not freezing and wet anymore thanks to the fire next to you.

“How do I do this?” He asks, eyes flicking to your pained face.

“Just place the metal on top of my wound for a few seconds then take it off immediately. I don't want a piece of metal in me.” Your voice is muffled by your arm.

“Show me.”

Lifting up your blouse, you hiss, fabric sticking to the angry wound, revealing where the bullet pierced you. “He nicked me so there's no bullet to take out.”

“Less work for us then. Ready?”

“Yes, just use the plain side. I don't want it to leave a mark.”

“Bad news, scuttlebutt. It'll leave a mark.”

“Not what I meant. The wave, I don't want it to leave a shape.”

“I know.” Without warning, he places the bare side of the pendant on your wound. Skin sizzling, you bite into your arm, yells tamped down. Other hand gripping into his elbow. It's an unimaginable pain, you can't believe Hobie survived through two of these.

He flings it away, careful not to add to your pain. “You alright?”

You heave, a tear escaping from your eye. “I guess I deserved that.” Looking at him through half lidded eyes, he gives you a weak smile.

“You would've flinched.”

“You're right, I would've flinched. At least I'm honest about it.” You let the air kiss your searing skin. Letting your head fall on the tree trunk behind you, He watches you like you're already dead. “It was a joke, Hobie—”

“What happened to you? Below deck?” He shakes his head, glaring at your neck. You instinctively hide it under your hand, it's still tender to the touch.

“Had a run in with a very bad man. I got him though…” you nudge him with your foot. “I'm—” you can't find the right words. “I'm sorry about the ship, I had to defend myself, I didn't know the fire would—”

“The ship was already gone the moment Mathias found us.” Those grey eyes look at you intensely, remnants of the storm still leave traces behind them. “Don't apologize, you got him, that's all that matters.”

“I burned him alive, Hobie.” You blurt it out, confessing your sins. “I shot a man. I–I don't…It matters that I did that.”

He sits closer, leaving the searing metal next to him on the fire. Holding your knee, he tentatively touches your hand before he reaches for it fully. Skin meeting skin, hand holding yours, the same grey eyes soften for you.

“Let it matter then. But don't let it in, don't let them try to kill you a second time. Bury their bodies if you have to but don't mourn them.”

“Can we do that? Bury them? Not metaphorically, even without the bodies.”

“Yes, if you want to. I'll help you dig.”

You nod, gliding your thumb along the ridges of his hand. After a beat, you swallow a lump in your dry throat. “I can still hear his screams.” avoiding his eyes, you look down at the grains of sand, your tears leave patches of darker soil in its wake.

Hobie squeezes your hand. “I'll quiet it down for you.”

“How?” you look at him, eyes questioning, eyes weeping.

“I'll talk over it, make you listen to something else other than the screaming.”

You give him a tight lipped smile, forced, tears threatening to fall. You can't ignore their faces anymore. “Finn, Ned and—”

“We'll bury them too, and we'll mourn them. They deserve that much.”

“They deserve more, Hobie. Much more.” he pulls you in, seeking comfort from each other. Arms enveloping you. You let him take you in, his scent replacing the smoke clinging to your lungs.

“They do,” Mindful of each other's injuries, you lay your head on his uninjured shoulder, face buried on the crook of his neck. He does the same, nose kissing your skin. “they deserve better.”

He finds that his arms are molded to fit you.

“The others? Do you know they're alright?”

“I saw them escape, that's all I know.” You lean away, looking at him with worry. “We'll find them, but knowing Gwen they'll find us first, yeah?” he cups your jaw. “We'll get out of here, I promise.”

“I'll hold you to that.” You nod, leaving his warmth, back landing on the wood, letting yourself fall back to your old ways.

Hobie still has his hands shaped to fit you. “We have to survive first.” He taps your shoe. “Do mine next.” He lifts up his shirt, showing you all the angry gashes like a prized trophy. “Then our scars will truly match.”

—

Shoes discarded on the sand, you wade through the seafoam with Hobie. The sun glares, puffy clouds shielding you from the heat. A breeze passes by, seagulls squawk above.

“We could eat those.” He pipes up, kicking something under the sand.

“The sand?”

“The birds, thought you were supposed to be the smart one.” Leaning down, he grabs something red buried in the sand. “Help me with this.”

You stretch your shoulders, careful of your own injuries. Copying his stance, you both pull. “How do we even catch one?”

“Pistol, a spear or a trap.” He does all the work of pulling while you're still aching. His injuries still hurt but he'd rather do all the work than let you strain yourself. “Trust me, after eating fish for three days straight, you'd beg for something else to eat.”

“You think we'll be stuck here for three days?” you tug in sync, pulling it with all your strength.

“Maybe more—” he scoffs, finally hauling the fabric out. “It's our sail. Bloody hilarious.” the crimson lay half buried in the sand, tattered.

Ned would hate seeing it like this.

You trace the stitching around the edges, remembering how his expert hands once weaved around it.

“Oi” he brushes his knuckles on your hand to get your attention. You feel his broken skin briefly. “We could use this as our roof.”

“Mm-hmm, you do that and I'll continue searching around the shore. Maybe my satchel got washed up too” you let go of the cloth, already walking away.

“Nah, I'll come with.” He bunches up the sail in his arms, drowning his entire body in red.

Crimson like the eyes of the beast.

You shake your head, giving him a faint smile. “We can't stay together the entire time we're here. We'd drive each other crazy.”

Hobie catches up to you, wide strides and long legs sauntering over to your side. “Good thing I'm already bonkers.” he passes by you, looking over his shoulders to see your wide eyes looking at him. “Hurry up before the sun sets.”

You shake your head, jogging to walk by his side. “I bet in three days we'd start killing each other.”

He snorts. “I beg to differ.”

“Sure, keep telling yourself that.”

After a minute of walking along the beach, you find a washed up crate. Hobie opens it with the butt of his gun, punching a hole straight through. You pray that it's medical supplies or at least food.

He laughs, clutching his side, leaning on the box. Beckoning your confused self, he drapes his arm around your shoulder, showing you the contents.

You blink confused at the brown bricks. “Is this tea?”

He continues to chuckle like he heard an inside joke that you're not privy to. Taking one in his hand, he weighs it, surprised that it wasn't damaged by the sea water, he thanks whoever packed it well.

Opening the packaging, he brings it close to your nose. “Here.”

You flinch back, burnt skin tugging on your side. “What the hell! I'm not smelling that!”

He laughs louder, you wonder if his injuries ache too. “Just smell it and tell me what you think it is.”

“No! What if it's solid shit?”

“It's not! Solid shit? Really?” His broken lips hurt as he smiles wider. “Do you not trust me?”

You suck in your teeth, “fine, if this is shit I'm drowning myself.” With apprehension, you lean forward to sniff. “Is that?” You sniff again, this time with a laugh. “Holy shit!”

“It's bloody chocolate.” You grab his hand, smelling the sweet treat. “Guess you got your wish. An entire crate of ‘em too.”

“I can't fucking believe that it hasn't melted yet!” He hands you the entire bar and you grin. You both guessed that one of the navy ships was carrying it. “We only need a crate full of alcohol and we're good.”

Hobie clasps your arm, “We can stay here forever if we do find one.”

“Fuck off.” You say in between laughs. “I'm not staying here forever—” your smile falters, fear enters your body.

“What?” He turns around, following your line of sight.

A body, there's a body washed up on the shore. It's draped in a blue uniform and seaweed, seagulls land near it, tentatively pecking.

“Stay here.” He murmurs, draping the sail on top of the crate. You grasp his hand before he leaves your side. “Y/N, stay here.”

“No, what if he's still alive?” you hold on to him tighter.

He nods, eyes roaming your tensed face, your shoulders are straight, eyes staying on the body. “Alright, but walk behind me, yeah?”

You nod.

With every step, your fear encapsulates you further down to your feet, the warmth on your soles keeps you alert. Yet, your hand stays on the cold hilt of your dagger.

Hobie kicks the corpse, it stays unmoving. A group of crabs start to scavenge the body, pinching and taking skin.

“He's dead. No need to worry.” He looks at you over his shoulder, glancing at your tight grip on the dagger.

“What if we're not the only ones here?” your breath shudders at the thought.

“I'll sweep the island—”

“We'll sweep the island.”

He doesn't protest, knowing you won't take no for an answer. “Fine, just—” grabbing your hands, he fixes your hold on the dagger, guiding your fingers around the hilt. You freeze on the spot. “There, better.” He tugs at the weapon, it doesn't budge in your hold. “Now they can't take it from you. Don't let them take it away from you.”

“I won't, I promise.”

—

The island is small, smaller than you thought it would be. Green foliage and tropical trees cover half of the island. Dry leaves crunch under your foot, critters slither and chatter under the tall grass, making you conscious of where you land your feet. The rays of the sun peek behind the tree tops. Exotic sounding birds sing above the branches, their rainbow feathers fly overhead, leaving a breeze to flutter against your cheeks.

You almost run into Hobie when he stops abruptly. He whistles out, reaching blindly behind him to grasp your hand.

“Come on.”

Surprisingly enough, you don't let go, locking your fingers around his, letting the warmth course through your skin.

You hear rushing water.

“We're fuckin' lucky.” He pauses, watching you peek from behind to see what's in front.

You're in awe at the small waterfall, misty water cascading like unfurled silk; it splashes cool water down into a plunge pool. Before you know it, Hobie's stripping down to his knickers.

“Woah! A bit of a warning!” You cover your eyes quickly.

He hoots before you hear a loud splash.

Hobie calls your name, you can hear his smile from how he utters it.

“It's fresh water! We can drink this!” He yells over the sound of the waterfall.

“I'm not drinking your bath water!” You still avoid him, glancing all over the place except for where he swims.

“The water isn't stagnant! It's clean! Come over here!”

“No!”

“I'm not fuckin' naked, Y/N! Just fuckin' come here.”

With a stomp of your foot and a click of your tongue, you glance at him, avoiding staring at his bottom half.

“Someone else could still be here, Hobie and you're relaxing!”

“No one's here, trust me. We've swept the entire place, there's no one here. Jus’ us” He floats and you immediately look away. Laughing, he lets the water wash over him.

“Well I'm glad you're having fun!” You say sarcastically. “But I'll walk around so you don't get stabbed in the water.”

“I can finally teach you how to swim! Get in!” He teases, knowing you won't actually swim with him while he's practically in his birthday suit.

“Nope!” You walk away but still staying close to him. “Maybe when you're not naked I'll reconsider!”

“Suit yourself! Wait!” You pause, “Stay close, yeah?”

Nodding, you wave with the dagger.

You walk around the area, avoiding colorful flowers that you're too afraid to touch. Hands grazing the top of the tall grass, you gasp when a familiar plant catches your sight.

“What?!” You hear Hobie shout, “you alright?!”

“I'm fine!” You yell back. “Keep floating like a turd!”

He laughs, a second later you hear splashing.

—

You sit on the banks of the pool, tired muscles sagging into the dirt, your pockets are full of medicinal herbs. You're just glad you found the right plants that can help to stave off infection. If only you had a mortar and pestle then it'll help with digesting the bitterness better.

Drawing swirling patterns on the dirt with your dagger, you don't look at him, only flicking your eyes to see if he hasn't drowned from napping in the water. He floats aimlessly, skin glistening under the sun, toned chest and scars in full display. You huff, moving your eyes away from his body. Yet your mind wonders where he got them, it's better to think about it than letting your mind wander back to what happened on the revenge and your almost death.

The slight sting of your injuries helps keep you awake at least.

“You hungry?” You almost jump when he suddenly appears on the edge of the pool, arms tucked under his chin, grey eyes looking expectantly at you.

“A little. You?”

“Starving. We're gonna need to make a shelter soon.” Hobie twists in place, head resting on the ground, face staring up at the afternoon sky.

You scooch closer, he smiles when your upside down face fills his vision. “Do you know where we are?”

“No, I'm guessing we're in one of the thousand islands. We were near it when we—Just be glad that we didn't land on a cannibal island.”

“There's no such thing.” He reaches up, wiping the sweat off your brow. “Right?” you almost lean into his touch.

“We got attacked by a bloody sea monster, ‘m sure there's an island somewhere with cannibals.”

“True.” You shrug, trying not to remember what the beasts look like or even sound like. “Did you piss your pants too when they came up from the water?” Teasing, you fall into relaxation with him.

“No, I shat myself.” You laugh loudly. Hobie thinks he has the best seat in the house. “Can't fuckin' believe they're real.” He can't believe you're real.

“Still feels like a dream. Someone has to know those things exist.” The sun illuminates the side of your face, lighting up your features. He can't help but reach up again with the same excuse to wipe your face. “Thanks, I'm sweating a lot.”

“Really? I haven't noticed.” You roll your eyes. “Maybe if you take a dip then—”

“Nope.” To his dismay, you move away from his view. “Come on, fishman, we need to get started on shelter.”

“I just said that.” He stands up, groaning along the way, you look away. “and really? Fishman? That the best you can do, stinky?”

“Stinky?” You cross your arms on your chest, hearing clothes shuffle behind you. “What are you five?”

“Could say the same thing to you,” his face suddenly appears on your shoulder. You yelp, groaning comically, briskly walking away in annoyance. “Wrong way, scuttlebutt.”

You turn heel, trudging in a different direction while he chuckles.

—

Standing in knee deep sea water, the sun beaming down, soft sand under your toes and your stomach growling to be fed, you stand near Hobie whose trousers are folded up to his knees. The water laps at your legs, warm enough to be comfortable but cool enough to keep you in the water. Tiny fish weave around your legs, their fins brushing your skin.

“There!” you point too fast that you pull a muscle but you pay it no mind when Hobie misses the fish again with his makeshift spear.

“Fuck!” The spear is sticking out of the sand, Hobie who is equally starving kicks the water, it splashes all over your blouse.

Great, you're hungry and wet.

You huff loudly, frustrated like the man next to you. “I'm hungry.”

“I know.” He says flatly. Taking out the spear, he aims again.

The fish wiggle in the water like it's mocking Hobie.

“Maybe we can survive eating chocolates and coconut for the rest of our days?” You wipe the sweat off the back of your neck. “Or I can start catching some crabs.”

“Fuck this!” He yells, drawing his gun, he shoots at the fish, the bullet hits the water like a tiny cannonball, splashing you again.

It's a bullseye.

You scream when he grabs the still bleeding fish. Hobie smiles wildly, yelling triumphantly.

You both jump up and down in the water giddily.

—

The fire roars in front of you, your dinner needs some seasoning but it's better than sleeping hungry with only chocolate to fill your stomach. Times like this you miss Finn's cooking, and him.

Hobie looks at you through the fire, he's thinking of the same thing. Wishing that he wasn't.

“What kind of fish is this?” you break the quiet to stop your thoughts.

“The edible kind.”

“You have no idea do you?” Narrowing your eyes at him, you scoff.

“Fuck if I know.” Hobie shrugs, scrunching his nose.

“You're a pirate.” You stop chewing.

“Yes and? I'm not a bloody fisherman.”

“I thought you'd know, because you're in the sea most of the time.”

“Fishing was James’ job not mine.”

“Kinda wishing James was here then.” You murmur but he still hears.

“Give me your bloody fish, you ungrateful bastard.” he reaches towards you and in turn you pull your fish away from him.

“No!” he chuckles at your reaction, shaking his head before silence drapes over the peace you've both created.

You keep munching on the plain mystery fish. Hobie was kind enough to catch (shoot) another fish so you don't have to share one. It's flaky in your hands, now you smell like sweat, blood and fish. The greatest smell combination in the world.

You chew, “I need new clothes.” and a bath but you'll never admit it to Hobie.

“That bloke has some,” he points with his chin at the dead body, laying further at the beach.

“Ew, I'd rather stay in these.” You grimace, looking down at the tattered and singed cloth that's holding on to its last leg.

“I don't mind that, I can actually see your elbows from here.” he smirks, trying to look flirty but with him chomping on a fish head it ended up looking more hilarious than cute.

“My elbows? Oh you pervert.” Yet there's heat behind your cheeks even when his own cheek is covered in fish scales. “Should we bury him?” you change the subject.

“We should or it'll stink,” he flicks his grey eyes at you, the simple act wakes up the butterflies in your stomach, or maybe that's the fish. “like you.”

“I don't stink” a lie of course.

Hobie laughs into his half eaten fish. “I can smell you from here.”

“No you don't, that's the fish!”

“What's the difference?”

You flick a fin at him, it hits him on his head, sticking to his hair. Laughing, you take another bite, something hard almost breaks your tooth. You stop giggling, spitting out a round metallic thing.

Realization hits you, Hobie peeks at your hand,

His sudden loud guffaw makes you throw the bullet at him. He dodges it, still laughing hard and with a fish fin stuck to his hair.

“This is why fishermen don't shoot at fish!” You end up cackling too, finding his laughter contagious. “I almost bit into it!”

He guffaws louder, hiding his face and you get a full view of the fin on his hair. You shake your head, standing up to sit next to his shaking form.

“Stop moving! Let me get that thing off.” You grab it, throwing it into the fire.

His laughter subsides, staring at you with those stormy eyes. He sniffs, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for you to say something that could hurt or for him to say something that would make you leave. But you don't and he stays silent. Just reveling in each other's presence.

You read his expression, his lips still hidden under his hand but his eyes say everything. You don't want to ruin the night but you have to tell him or it'll eat at you, not letting you sleep and you ending up looking at him with pity and grief. You don't want that, you want to continue to look at him like you've recently found out from Miles, with reverence and fondness that's out of your reach.

“I'm sorry.” Your words don't hurt him but your expression brings a pang in his heart. “About…everything.”

“‘s not your fault.” Grief knocks on his door and he refuses to answer. “Nothin' to be sorry about.”

“Feels like it is.”

“You're not the one who killed them.” Grief tries to barge in on him, he blocks the door, still refusing to let it in. “There's nothin' to forgive.”

“Still, I'd like to apologize. They were good men.” Against your own better judgment, you take his hand, he doesn't flinch away, even twisting his hand to hold yours properly.

“Do you want to say goodbye? To them?” he murmurs like he isn't sure of it himself.

Hobie refuses to let it in, not again, not in front of you.

“Yes, but we'll do it once you're ready.” You whisper to him like the world could hear his secret.

Hobie sighs. Heart aching, he doesn't want to say goodbye, if it was up to him he'd never—

“Hobie?” You call his name softly, “If you need help with silencing the screams,” a shaky breath escapes you. “I'm here.”

He frowns, seeing her face and not yours for a brief second. Changing tune, he takes his hand away. “Thanks.” It's your turn to frown.

You inhale, “I'll go grab us some water for uh cleaning our wounds. I'll clean them before bed.” Walking away, you leave him alone with his thoughts, he hopes you turn back around, but you don't.

—

Hobie takes first watch, torso exposed to the sea wind, letting it calm the searing pain of his injuries. He observes for any boats or ships on the horizon, even hoping for a box full of medical supplies to wash ashore.

He rubs his heavy eyes, it's supposed to be your turn but he lets you sleep in, after everything he'd let you rest as long as you need to. Looking over his shoulder, the simple act makes him wince. He stares at your sleeping face, calm and angelic under the warmth of the fire, and he can't help but feel jealous. You're situated under the shabby shelter, protected by the red sail that's fluttering in the breeze. Foot twitching, you scrunch up your nose in your sleep,

Chuckling, he turns back around to face the beach.

There's still nothing but seagulls flying above the water and crabs digging into the sand.

Yawning, he shakes his head wildly to keep awake. So he decides to walk around the beach, stretching his throbbing muscles.

As Hobie kicks the sand between his toes, he finds himself standing next to the navy man's corpse. He stares at the lifeless eyes, lips blue, skin so pale it blends in with the sand. The crabs still eat the remains, pinching and taking bits. He scoffs, knuckles shaking, nails leaving crescent shapes on his palms.

He doesn't deserve to be buried, Hobie thinks. And he definitely doesn't need her pity. So he takes the man's legs, slowly dragging it down to the shore until it floats. The rush of waves wakes him up, cold water dousing his lower half. Hobie pushes it away roughly, letting the tides take it, letting the sea claim it like it has claimed his friends.

He watches it slowly drift away, yet his anger doesn't subside. The fire in him is still burning ever brighter. He mentally promises the crew he lost that he'll avenge them. That he'll get Mathias, even if it kills him.

Your screams bring him back to reality. Bolting away, wading through the water, the sand hinders his sprinting, he quickly runs to your side.

“Oi, oi!” Hobie watches your terrified face morph into relief when you see him. “What's wrong? Crab in your knickers?” He stops his joking when tears slide to your cheeks, your entire body is shaking. His chest heaves at your sobbing. Voice cracking when he utters your name, Hobie lets you breathe, holding on to your shoulders firmly.

You stare at him through the tears. “I–I dreamt that you left me here.” His façade breaks into two. “And I w–woke up and you weren't here. I thought—”

“I would never. I won't leave.” You continue to weep so he holds you, not to make you stop but to help steady you through it. He'd hold onto you every minute of every day if he has to.

It's frightening how well you two fit together, limbs tangled around one another. Like a pair of wings, one cannot fly without the other. And that terrifies you through the embrace.

“I'm s-sorry, I really thought.” You find your place atop his chest, face buried on his skin, his scars kissing your cheeks. Hands gripping to the small of his back, your nails almost digging.

“‘m here, ’m not leaving you, promise.” Hobie intends to keep it, not for your sake but for his.

[riddle-on-the-milk-carton]

Bench trio headcanons???? In this economy??? More likely than you think??? But they’re mainly just cbenchtrio being gross feral kids (affectionate)

-Tommy and tubbo both have curly hair but Tubbos is a lot curlier which is why his is messy, Tommy’s is more wavy in its natural state but is just really, really tangled

-people have tried to get Tommy to brush out his hair and stuff but it just gets really tangled and full of debris, really fast

-when he was a kid wilbur used to cut it but he was REALLY BAD at cutting hair and had no experience so he’d just cut it so short it couldn’t get tangled

-Tommy and tubbo have given each other lice/bugs more than once, and if one gets sick the other would be all “cough on me”

-cran got (reluctantly) pulled into their illness-sharing-trio

-ctommy is transfem but kept her name and hasn’t transitioned yet, it’s a “I’m probably a girl but I got issues rn so idrc about that”

-to contrast cran has really fine/thin, straight hair

-as surprising as it is cranboo is the Least Showered out of all of them (cus enderman/water)

-cran also gets sick really easily and has a the immune system of a Victorian child

-tommy dosent cut his nails and bites them into points

-you’d think it’s for a lore reason but it’s really because tubbo can’t peel fruit anymore after the fireworks so he grew them out so he could peel them for him

-cranboo actually has really messy handwriting in print, Tubbos is neater but Tommy’s is really messy cursive cuz wilbur taught him

-they all share food, clothes, and while they technically have separate beds they’d rather all sleep in one together like the powerpuff girls

-they end up sleeping bad but all of them sleep worse alone so they like it anyways, Tommy talks and drools in his sleep and wakes up constantly, tubbo kicks and moves around a lot and ranboo has enderwalks and will put their freezing cold hands/feet on everyone else as well as taking up a lot of space in the bed

-tubbo and ranboo had a bunk bed but they both kept on falling off so they just pushed the mattresses together on the ground and use it as kitchen storage

-Tommy has ectopic canines (like meeeeeeee :3 shameless projection)

Phil got him braces as a kid but he kept on getting stuff stuck in them and popping them out by eating popcorn and candy and shit so eventually phil just gave up after #50 of getting them reapplied, so his teeth are less crooked but he still has his canines

-cran is noise sensitive because of autism, Tommy has no volume control because of autism, tubbo is both loud and scared of loud sounds due to trauma (and autism-)

-Tommy also can’t hear for the life of him bc explosión damage and has tinnitus

-SBI used to play-fight constantly and clingyduo does to but the first time cran saw they were all “STOP FIGHTING GUYS!!😰” and got scared they were real fighting

-alliumduo are both lab grown creations while Tubbo was Schlatts illegitimate love child he left in a box on the street, he wishes he was grown in a lab too

-cran sleeps in long johns for no reason other than it’s funny

-tubbo had blond straight hair as a kid but puberty made it more of a sandy-brown and curly

-cran has readers and bad eyes bc crying burns his eyes too so he’s legally blind

-tommy hate wearing shoes and will track mud in everywhere (he’s a shoes off autistic)

-the beeduo cabin is covered in wall graffiti, Michael has joined in

-Michael is nonverbal

-he also wears a helmet because he has horrendous balance and will hit his bogas toddler head on things

-most people aren’t neurotypical here but nobody is actually diagnosed or medicated

-Tommy chews gum all the time and really loudly, it started by wanting to be like wilbur but wil would never share his cigarettes so he would chew gum to copy him

-beeduo are one of the better parents on the server, but by our standards they wouldn’t be the best, they’re the equivalent of Teen Parents, and they really try their best and love and care for Michael but they aren’t the best influence regardless (they think Adult Swim is a good cartoon for kids to watch type)

-tubbo watched a lot of South Park by that metric as a kid which is why he has the Tweek fit on in his og skin

-they definitely have a lot to learn and are trying to learn as much as they can but will mess up and fumble a lot

-a lot of headcanons for the benchtrio era show them as all cute and cottagecore and while that’s all nice I’d love to see more of them as kind of gross teenagers, they’ve all grown up pretty heavily neglected (even with Phil in the picture) so I like to think they are like recently graduated barely-adults and are all kind of gross and messy and imperfect

-their house is also pretty messy, they have the previously state Bunk Bed as kitchen storage, the walls are destroyed and full of dents from roughhousing, they got drawings and knickknacks all over the walls and wild animals in the house, there’s a clothesline cutting across the rafters,

-foolish is devastated by how hard he worked on their home only to see it looking like a stoner cave minus the weed

-Tommy and wilbur are teen runaways and ran away in the Camar van (it was Wilbur’s old Loded Diper ass garage band van) Phil was a good parent they were just idiot teenagers

-when Phil joined he found them as now adults and they have a lot of awkwardness

-Tommy has hella athsma from inhaling Wilbur’s secondhand smoke while wilbur has borderline lung cancer

[brights-place]

Branch x country rock troll

Branch X Country Rock! S/O

Pairings: Branch X Reader

Warnings: Country Slang, Fluff, Angst, and Mild swearing

A/N: Sorry for the late post I've been kind of busy hon! anyways take the request! <33

- Branch was following poppy to help get the cows that they had lost from pop village and poppy new one perosn Delta Dawn who could help them! - That's when you two first met of course, The country architecture makes use of natural colors with patchwork fabrics, using of a lot of wood and natural structures like cactuses being in common use. Colors tend to be beige, with use of sandy colors like yellow, pale orange and brown as the air smelled like BBQ and an mix of smell of spring, wild flowers, primroses and bluebells, honeysuckle, and blackthorn. - Delta nodded listening to poppy as branch raised an brow when hearing Delta call behind her to an F/C Troll fitting with all the other trolls... Well to poppy (name) did but to branch he couldn't help but purse his lips - As soon as you now stood beside Delta Dawn you chuckled smirking tipping your cowboy hat towards Branch who froze staring at you - "It's darn good ta see some awful new folk!" you said laughing crossing your arms beside Delta who rolled her eyes playfully "Meet my friend (name) queen poppy... They are the best roper in our town" Delta said placing an hand on your shoulder as you chuckled "Done heard y'all fancy pop trolls need some help" poppy squealed as branch eyes you suspiciously

- Branch didn't trust you for a bit but he can't believe eyeing your figure. - You looked like the common Country Troll you had the basic troll body type from the waist upwards, save their choice of attire, with the lower half of their bodies being that of a horse, complete with hooves and tails.  - He noticed you have large front teeth at the front of their upper jaw and either rounded or pointy ears. Your hair was puffy, but does stick up. They tend to have a beigetone coloration. -Your Colors vary per individual and they either wear full-body outfits that cover everything but their head, hooves and tail, though some are seen wearing typical 10 gallon cowboy hats and trucker caps, or just a jacket or shirt around their chest area. Their legs are quite small, and their overall body tends to be the biggest part of their physical build, with a lot of it taken up by their centaur-like part. Their upper area often is comparable to other Trolls despite this, and isn't much different in size at all. Despite the differences, they physically stand about the same height as other Trolls from head to feet, though their overall size is smaller due to how they keep their hair. At first glance, they all appeared friendly but you? He couldn't help but pause - "Ain'tcha pretty as a peach" You said bending down towards him as his eyes wiened gone from his thoughts as he raises an brow as you chuckle lightly - When you three left to help Poppy asked you everything about yourself which you laughed an enjoyed unaware that Branch was noting all the information down... He didn't know why but he just did - But when poppy asked about your genre of country you told her you wrote country rock which branch was invested in asking you about it out of nowhere taking out an note book and pencil from his hair as you explained to him. - "Country rock is a style of music that fuses traditional country music with rock 'n' roll. While country rock bears close resemblance to some folk rock and rockabilly, it is considered a genre unto itself!" you explained with an smile as Branch nodded - After helping them out and he couldn't help but watch you easily lasso all the missing cows back towards the fenced area - He couldn't help but be fascinated about how you appreciate the simpler things in life like natural beauty and spending time with those you cared for.

- Would listen to your Country rock songs and how you were able to mix the two together - You told him how The Country Trolls love Country music, and their life is one big shindig. Although all of you appear friendly at first, these Trolls can be mistrusting towards strangers, especially towards Trolls of other Tribes, and can show aggression like before they made peace - You told him that Country Children might be expected to work from the moment they're born by their parents. The typical Country Troll is simple and laid-back, but can be highly-strung when angered or things go wrong. - He wanted to be one of those people he didn't know why but he needed. - They also have a strong sense of family and community, and value traditional values. - Dating you had given branch and small break of pop trolls as when he goes hanging out with you. - Branch soon started to hangout with you on the country side when he gets to sick of everybody - He likes to sit on this tree beside you as he talks about his interests and plans he had about safety that you listened to as you tuned your guitar

- You two would start visiting each other more then usual some times staying over at eachothers people starting to suspect your dating - Branch learns country slang and had gotten used to your accent was wheezing and laughing when you curse someone out who seemed rude - He fell first and you fell harder for him

- You two would confess to each other when you made an new country rock song - he's been tryiing to confess for awhile but gave up last minute so when he was lucky and relaxed he confessed. He's so romantic and would confess to you with an huge relaxed face as you turn into an flustered mess "Heavens To Betsy! Branch" You said laughing covering your face abit

- You too would officially date after like 5 dates

- when you two are together and your speaking in slanged words in annoyance or arguing with someone. Poppy and the other pop trolls have to turn to eachother then turn to branch who has to explain with an bored expression about teh slang words or go to other country trolls who were chuckling at the scene. - You love eachother so much and when he takes you to meet his family for the first time in ever... it was whoa... so much

- When he introduced you to his brothers your jaw dropped so fast your boyfriend was in the famous boy band but you didnt care and just kissed his cheek - You would call him by weird southern pet names like baby, sweetheart, precious, buttercup, princess, love bug. The list could go on. You loves how flustered he gets whenever you call him any of these names.

reblogs + comments are appreciated ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

©brights-place 2023 — do not repost on another platform, copy, translate or edit my works! if you fit my DNI list please don't interact!

[miss-vanta-likes-to-write]

Loyalties chapter 15

Loyaties Master List

A.N: short one because this is a double post.

CW: please check main master list. MDNI

It was day two of her being at their home. Bambi was mostly sure that her work was piling up back at her own home. She had watched her Instagram stories of Symphony and Gloria complaining about a rather distressing gift that Sophia and Ananiah had gotten. Their godfather König had purchased both girls a brand new set of paintball guns, all of them quite real looking. The guns were engraved with their names and flowers. Both mothers were sick but didn't take the guns away.

“I swear he's such an ass.” Bambi grumbled from her spot on the couch.

“Wots up Bonnie?” Johnny was laying with his head in her lap, “who's an arse?”

“König…he gave my nieces four paintball guns a piece with the idea of teaching them how to handle a gun.” She rolls her eyes, “This won't cause issues down the line. They are fucking seven.”

Johnny does not offer his normal quips that she's come to know and love. Instead his blue eyes become cold and he lets out a low growl. “Don' say his name ‘round us.”

“Excuse me?” She says.

“Don' say his name ‘round us, Bambi.” He repeats as if he didn't say something outlandish.

She sighs, not really wanting to argue and just goes back to her phone. “Okay. But like it our not he is associated with my brother and for some fucking reason Xavier insists on having him around.”

“If ye donnae like it so much then move in with us.” Johnny sits up and smiles, “Yea, there's more than enough room for ye, Bonnie!”

She looked at him and frowned, “It's not right to put my nest in y'alls den without me being marked.”

“Ye ‘ready slept wit us and did sex stuff wit us multiple times. Why would it matter?” He grabbed her hands and held them. “If ye wanna, ye can have my room and put yur nest there, and I'll just move in wit Si.” His blue eyes and pleading pout almost made her say yes.

“No, Malik would strangle me. Besides, it hasn't even been a full month yet. Leaving a nest here just…” She looks away from him and refuses to say much more.

The front door swings open, ending the serious moment for the time being. There's no doubt between the both of them that this conversation will be brought up behind a closed door with John, Simon and Kyle, and Johnny won't hold back anything. The three alphas are returning from a grocery run, wanting to stock the house up with more snacks and foods that Bambi enjoys. They are laughing together, John is holding Kyle's hand, fingers interlocked. Simon walks by the couch and places his forehead against hers in greeting and he does the same to Johnny.

For a moment she's transported to a much simpler time that was also dark around the edges. She catches a glimpse of sandy hair and short baby dreadlocks when she watches John and Kyle. Her mind is playing tricks on her and she's not enchanted at all. Her skin becomes clammy as she watches them. She knew they were close, and had seen them kiss each other in the heat of their more sexual moments. Had no problem with it at all, but she at least wants to know if that is what this courtship is.

The reality is, this is a pack she's coming into. A pack of alphas that have moved their relationships beyond the standard ‘Forced Association.’ that the military packs had. These four loved each other and she hopes she's not their secret keeper. She hopes deep down that they don't want her so they won't get the odd or disapproving stares. Everyone knows what unmated alphas get into, especially a group of them. It's as bad as when a group of omegas won't let an alpha near them and actively seek out betas. Never mind those who are bitched or studded or altered in any way.

Fuck. Even her scent, undeniably an omega’s scent clings to all of them. People, outsiders know that they aren't a taboo pack of just alphas rutting each other without a care about their natural biology. She suddenly wants to be anywhere but here for a week.

“You okay?” Kyle asks her, he leans over her and presses his face into her neck and kisses her scent gland. “You look tense, Soap hasn't been annoying you has he?” His voice is soft with concern and those sweet brown eyes of his are smitten.

She shivers and looks at him, “It's nothing beloved.” She calls him that now, it slipped once and he has preened each and every time that she calls him that. He won't even answer unless it's her calling him beloved. “Johnny wants me to make a nest here.” They may as well have this talk now, she doesn't want them talking about her or a nest behind closed doors.

John sits down in his recliner, clips the end of his cigar, “Do you want to Sweetheart?”

“No, I don't.”

“Bonnie thinks it's inappropriate.” Johnny says instantly. “Tell her it's not.”

“It's extremely intimate.” John hums in thought, “putting a nest in a den conveys a level of trust and intimacy that we're working towards.”

Bambi nods along with a haughty little smirk, “Exactly. Ask again in two months.”

Johnny only grumbles and flops back into her lap, “But where we gonnae ‘elp ye wit ye heat?” He whines and his accent almost makes what he says unintelligible.

Simon comes out of the kitchen from putting away the groceries and is fully conveniently ready to participate in this conversation. Kyle nods his head agreeing with his pack mate, it was clearly something that they expected to help with in the future. John just silently puffed on his cigar waiting for her to speak first. And honestly she could and should say ‘Fuck you and your strategizing John’ because she sees that silence for what it is. It's equally attractive and irritating at the same time, but she knows alphas like that, Antony was the best of them.

But Carrie could read a room and turn anything into her favor with the batting of her lashes and a well placed pout. It's what worked when she had to be subtle about her own manipulations and make it seem like every thought that Antony had when it came to the den and the home was his idea. Bambi was her mother's daughter first and foremost.

“Well,” Bambi laughs and looks at each one of them, “my heat happens every five to six weeks when it's regular. I take relaxants to ease the onset symptoms and I know how to sweat it out for the six days I'm indisposed.” She shrugs, “Maybe I don't need help.”

“That can't be healthy or comfortable.” Simon says, and he knows he's right. He eats suppressants for breakfast, lunch, and dinner the week before a rut, and he is cuffed and tied down so Johnny can help without being hurt.

“You speak from experience Si?” She raises an eyebrow and starts playing in Johnny's hair.

“Yes.” He answers back, “are you worried we'll mark you?”

“No. I'm not, when we do cross that bridge and if I want your help, I'll wear a collar, I have one that's already fitted.” She doesn't miss how each one of them tenses up at that statement.

“We'll get you a new one.” John says with a smile, “it'll be fun and sweet making one together, it'll mean much more when you let us take care of you without it on.”

The message is glaringly clear, ‘We won't tolerate any signs of a past alpha who has had you.’

“But that's a conversation for later.” John grins, the tension in the air is gone just because he commanded it to leave. “Tomorrow we are going out and it's a surprise that Simon and I put together.”

Johnny and Kyle perk up like excited pups and Bambi just commends John silently for his clear display of control over the mood in the house. It's a skill that comes with time, something that happens when you've earned rank as a lead alpha.

She thinks it's unbearably attractive and her omega agrees. So she tucks herself into the lighter atmosphere, leaning into Kyle's kisses on her neck and plays with Johnny's hair. She knows full well the next time the talk of the nest comes up…she's gotta have a stronger argument other than, ‘it's not appropriate.’

Tag list: @curiouslittleprincess @leahnicole1219

[familyvideostevie]

october twenty-fifth

day twenty-five: steve harrington you want steve to go to the halloween party with you, but he’s being dense | friends to lovers, fluff | 1k

The diner is pretty full for an October weeknight. You had to cram into a booth that is for sure not made for five people. You sit across from Steve, both of you pressed to the window, Robin and Dustin next to you and Eddie on the other side.

The last two weren’t actually meant to be here, but they shouldn’t affect the plan.

Because this is, in fact, a plan. An ambush, really. One that you and Robin hatched and one that Steve does not realize he’s the victim of.

“We’ll take him to the diner and you’ll talk about Nancy’s party and how you’re going to ask another guy and it’ll make him jealous!” Robin had said in a rush over the phone.

“Okay, fine, but he doesn’t like me, Robin. Not like I like him.” You’d thought you kept a tight lid on your long-standing crush on Steve, but Robin, easily the smartest of all of you, figured it out no problem. She's his best friend, after all.

“Not true,” she had insisted. “I know him. And, yeah he hasn't told me about this, but I have eyes. Trust me, okay?”

So here you are.

You take a deep breath and turn in your seat to Robin. “I don’t know whether or not to ask Justin or Thomas,” you say, following the mental script you wrote. “I mean, either of them would make a good Danny.” You made sure to pick guys you know Steve isn't fond of.

“You’re going as Sandy?” Eddie asks. He doesn’t look up from his thumb war with Dustin. You feel Steve’s gaze on you, however. It'll be a miracle if he doesn't see through this ruse.

“Sure am.”

“Hot,” Eddie says. Steve elbows him. “Dude, seriously?” Steve says nothing.

“That dude, uh, what’s his name,” Robin says. She snaps her fingers. “Oh, Chris! He’s tall. He’d work.”

You stir your straw around your milkshake. “That’s true.”

She raises your eyebrows at you. You look over at Steve but he’s munching on his fries, eyes on the ketchup bottle. You raise your eyebrows back at her.

“I just don’t know any of them very well,” you say, really putting it on now. “If I’m going to take a guy to a party in a couples costume —”

“Why the fuck does any of this matter?” Dustin grumbles. Robin kicks him. “Jesus Christ, ow!”

You look at Steve again. He’s got some ketchup on the side of his mouth.

“Steve,” you say without thinking. “Hey, look at me a sec?” His eyes snap to yours. You reach across the table and swipe your thumb across the corner of his lips and then wipe it on the napkin. “You had ketchup. Got it.”

The table has gone silent. Eddie’s eyes are bouncing between the two of you like a tennis match. Oh. Was that…weird? You've done it before. Steve does it to you when you hang out all the time.

Maybe Robin has a point.

“Go with me,” Steve says suddenly.

Robin shoves Dustin out of the booth. “We have to get more soda. Both of you are coming. Get the fuck out!”

“What?” Dustin cries. “What the fuck is going on?” She hauls both him and Eddie away by their arms and winks at you.

Steve seems to take almost no notice.

“Go with me,” he says again, softer.

“Oh,” you breathe. This is what you wanted, right? “I thought you…hated Halloween.” That was his reasoning for not going in the first place when you broached the topic last week.

“Yeah, well.” He frowns. “I don’t want you to take anyone else.”

That annoys you, actually. “Is that supposed to make me want to go with you? You being territorial over me all of a sudden?”

He runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck,” he mutters.

You see Robin, Eddie, and Dustin hovering by the soda machine pretending like they’re not listening.

“Look,” Steve says. He puts his hand palm up on the table. You slowly put yours over it. “I like you. I like you a lot and I want to take you to the party, okay? I’ll wear whatever you want, I’ll do whatever you want. Just please don’t go with someone else.”

Now that's classic Steve Harrington. Brave when it counts.

“Why didn’t you tell me till now?”

The crease between his brows deepens. “I— I don’t know. I’m not good at this anymore, okay?”

“What’s this?” God, he’s making you work for it.

He motions between you. “Liking someone. Wanting to be with them and impress them and all that shit. I’m a bad boyfriend, you know.”

It’s your turn to frown. “I find that hard to believe.” Steve is always so down on himself even when he’s one of the best people you know. A stubborn idiot, sure, but he’s kind and good and there’s a reason you like him.

He shrugs. “But if you’ll let me, I want to take you to the party. I’ll make sure you have a good time, and —”

“Okay,” you say. All he needed was a little shove. Guys are so dumb.

Steve continues like he didn’t hear you. “I’ll take you on a date anywhere you want, too — wait, really?”

You laugh. “Yeah, Steve. Really. I like you, too,” you admit. You tap his ankle with your foot.

He finally smiles. It makes him look boyish and happy. “That’s — that’s good.”

His thumb strokes the back of your hand. “Next time, just tell me you like me, okay?” you say.

He groans. “There better not be a next time. Now you know.”

You shoot Robin a thumbs up, which Steve sees. His eyes narrow. “You idiots can come back now, okay?”

They stumble back into the booth and Dustin zeroes in on your joined hands.

“Oh, gross,” he says. “Really?”

“You’re a child,” Robin says.

Eddie grins. “They’re cute, Henderson. You just miss your imaginary girlfriend —”

“She’s real, asshole —”

Steve keeps his eyes on you and smiles.

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here! promptober masterlist, find all fics under #fvspromptober23

[tactician]

A VERY DESCRIPTIVE PROFILE OF YOUR MUSE.  REPOST, DO NOT REBLOG, with the information of your muse,  including headcanons, etc.

name: cato mercar! he was just cato until he was around 22 years old, though. a former gladiator 'owned' by a tevinter noble, cato eventually won his freedom in minrathous' grand proving arena. his combat prowess caught the attention of the military-focused mercar family, and he was inducted into their house as a means of granting him some more social mobility. nicknames: rook is the only big one tbh! thank u varric. but cato never abandons his actual name. age: 33 as of 9:52 race: (city) elf gender: male (he/him) orientation: bisexual zodiac: whatever the leo equivalent is in thedas LMAO moral alignment: as chaotic good as they come class/subclass: a warrior with a slayer specialization! his mentor on the gladiatorial grounds was from rivain and began training him when he was really young. he has a very high constitution and can definitely tank hits for his teammates (& has the scars to prove it), but cato focuses on damage output more than survivability. he has a brutal battle style and tends to attract a lot of attention when he fights. years of taking part in provings engrained a certain flashiness in him; he can't quite shake it off. it’s great for rage generation though… lmfao interests/hobbies: cato enjoys working out and training, so he spends most of his free time on the training grounds or trying to get people to spar with him. he also really enjoys hiking - though his sense of direction is admittedly not the best, so he gets lost very, very often while on hikes dflgkdfh. unless it’s about battle tactics, he doesn't enjoy introspection all that much - so hobbies requiring study are lost on him. he does, however, have an absolute love of nugs. he seriously adores them. he thinks they're the cutest little beasts ever. he has a pet nug named ganni and he spoils her rotten. completely unrelated to nugs (I SWEAR), he’s also interested in learning how to cook but is really, really bad at it. spoken languages: common, some elvish (his accent is atrocious), and a surprising amount of tevene. profession: cato was initially a gladiator based in minrathous. shortly after attaining his freedom in 9:41, he became a combat trainer for the mercar military force and relocated to their lands in ventus (though he never became a full-fledged soldier due to laws against former slaves joining the military). when ventus fell to qunari forces in 9:44, cato returned to minrathous and poured everything he had into bettering tevinter, particularly through hunting down slavers. he joined the shadow dragons after they saved him from a thorny situation and has definitely found his place in the world with them – though he gets into trouble quite frequently for being too hot-headed and disobeying orders in favour of his own plans. and, ofc, by some strange, strange twist of fate, he’s also the leader of the veilguard. height: ~5'2" colors: sandy browns and golds; bold, bright shades of red and blue. fruits: the humble fig… (insert figgy pudding joke here) but he also really loves poison stings – the tevinter snack of orange peels covered in chocolate. generally speaking, i associate cato with Meat a lot more than fruits (or veggies, for that matter) drinks: plain black coffee…! the stronger the better, and not fancy at all. maybe even a little burnt. alcoholic beverages: a cinnamon-infused whiskey that warms you to your core.   smokes: he smokes recreationally with the other shadow dragons! those hookahs around their base are definitely not for show. he also has one in his room at the lighthouse. drugs: he isn’t opposed. (a certain tea comes to mind… ldfkdfg) drivers license: DO NOT LET THIS MAN OPERATE A CARRIAGE!!!! ever been arrested: yes. multiple times. never for a really long period, though. so many strings get pulled for him… so many bail-outs… 😔 he has a reputation. but he's proud of it. DFL;GKDFKH and, honestly, given how much he gets up to – both for the shadow dragons and while on his own conquests - he hasn’t been arrested all that often!

tagged by: the lovely @sangre ♡ THANK YOU SO MUCH BREE!!! tagging: limiting myself to 10 of my mutuals with dragon age ocs hehe!! no pressure though ofc! and if anyone else wants to yoink this lil meme + tag me, feel totally free - i’d LOOOVE to learn about your character(s) ♡

@mintflavoredwindows @killdragons @brewswain @famewolf @adaryc (cue line break bc tumblr breaks ALL my links if i keep yall in a group fsr)

@shapeknight @pavus @keeperesque @lilactiefling @hobblehurbie

[morgandereks]

slide on through my window

@bucktommyweek Prompt: Day One - Alternate first meeting Rating: Teen and up Summary: Based on this other prompt - “You broke into my apartment drunk thinking it was your friend’s house and I should call the cops but my cat kinda likes you so we’re good.”  Notes: for #bucktommyweekend

The first inkling Tommy Kinard has that something’s wrong is when Matilda doesn’t come greet him at the front door. She's usually there as soon as the door opens, winding herself around his legs purring loudly

He steps into his apartment, tossing his keys on the kitchen counter as he cranes his neck in search of his cat.

That’s when he gets an eyeful of his second clue that his day’s gonna be off to a weird start.

There’s a half-naked man sprawled out across his couch, snoring softly. Matilda, the traitorous little fur ball, is curled up on the man’s lap, tail wrapped around her body. She opens her eyes but doesn’t lift her head, watching as Tommy creeps forward.

For a moment, all he can do is stare. Because this is weird, right? Even by LA standards. Tommy allows himself some time to take in the stranger’s appearance. By his guess, the stranger could be about his height, but isn’t quite as broad. Despite his large frame, his features are boyish, with a birthmark at the corner of his right eye and above his brow and his mouth softened in sleep. His sandy blond hair is a mess, almost as though someone had been running their hands through it. That combined with the missing shirt—Tommy doesn’t allow his gaze to linger on the tattoo on his left pec—and Tommy can’t help but wonder if there’s another half-naked stranger in his apartment somewhere.

It’s been a long night, and an even longer shift at the 127. The whole drive home, all he’d been able to think about was snuggling Matilda, and then falling face first into bed and crashing for the rest of the day. This stranger has robbed him of both those things.

“Hey.” Tommy inches forward and pokes the man in the shoulder. A loud snore is all he gets in response. He frowns and rubs a hand over his face before trying again, poking him harder this time.

“C’mon, wake up.”

“Wha’?” The stranger jerks awake, sitting upright so quickly that he almost head butts Tommy in the face. It's only reflexes honed from years of Muay Thai that save him from a broken nose. Bright impossibly blue eyes blink at him in confusion. Somehow, the man hasn’t disturbed Matilda at all, and she rests her chin on her little paws and watches the standoff through a half-lidded gaze.

“Who’re you?” the stranger asks in a sleep roughened voice.

Tommy straightens to his full height, suddenly indignant.

“Who’m I? I’m the guy whose apartment you broke into,” he snaps.

The stranger squints at him before his expression breaks into a broad, still somewhat tipsy, grin. Tommy does his best not to notice how it brightens up the guy’s whole face.

“Nah.”

Jesus Christ.

Tommy draws in a deep breath through his mouth before releasing it slowly out his mouth. Grace, he reminds himself. It’s important to always extend grace to others, even when they don’t deserve it. Even when they’re intruding on his very limited free time.

“What’s your name?”

“Ev—Buck.”

“Evbuck?”

The beautiful dimwit blinks up at Tommy, clearly baffled. He slowly lowers himself down onto his elbows—Tommy is about to warn him not to get too comfortable—and shakes his head.

“My name’s Evan. Friends call me Buck.”

Well, Tommy sure as hell isn’t this guy’s friend.

“Okay, so. Evan. You broke into my home.”

This doesn’t seem to sink in any better than it did the first time. Evan frowns at him, then glances down at Matilda. She blinks placidly back at him.

“You’re Chimney’s roommate?”

Now it’s Tommy’s turn to be confused. Is Evan simply drunk, or is he having some sort of seizure? Tommy belatedly wonders if he shouldn’t just call 911 and be done with it. This entire conversation is giving him a headache.

But Evan has apparently used the brief silence to fill in some blanks in his mind. Only, he apparently spells like a toddler, judging by the way his shoulders abruptly sag in relief.

“Man, I guess Chimney didn’t tell you I was coming.” He flops back down onto the couch, the picture of ease as he beams up at Tommy. “I’m really sorry about that. He said I could—”

“What the—who is…” Tommy takes another deep breath. It doesn’t help, so he counts to ten before saying in as calm a voice as he can manage, “Evan. Are you on drugs?”

Now Evan looks offended. Good.

“No.” A beat. “I’m just a little drunk. But,” he adds, when Tommy opens his mouth to speak, “not so drunk that I can’t read… this.” He rummages around in the back pocket of his jeans, having to arch his back and lift his hips off the couch to do so and.

Is Tommy having some kind of Freudian nightmare? Is that what this is? Did he just crash on one of the bunks in the station and this is all just a figment of his overtired imagination? Is he gonna have to pinch himself?

But no, there's no time for that. He watches as Evan pulls a worn little square of paper from his pocket and waves it under Tommy’s nose triumphantly. Tommy snatches it out of his hand to peer at it.

Jesus, no wonder the kid had gotten lost. Tommy looks down at the chicken scratch on the bit of paper, practically illegible even in the early morning light. Tommy’s eyes narrow.

“What’d you say your friend’s name is?”

“Chimney,” Evan replies promptly, as though that’s at all helpful.

“The name on his birth certificate,” he clarifies through clenched teeth. Tommy can practically feel his eye twitching.

“How the hell am I s’posed to know?” Evan’s voice rises slightly in exasperation. “He just said—Ow!”

Tommy jumps, the piece of paper fluttering from his hands to the floor as Evan lets out a loud yelp. It’s easy to guess the source of his sudden discomfort. Matilda, who’d been handling the situation a whole lot better than Tommy, had seemingly lost her patience with the way Evan kept shifting around beneath her and stuck her tiny, needle-like claws through his jeans in an effort to keep him still. Evan stares down at her, eyes wide, big body motionless.

And. It’s stupid. Utterly ridiculous. This stupid man had broken into Tommy’s apartment and stolen his cat’s affection. But even though Tommy knows first hand how much those claws hurt, Evan makes no move to push Matilda away or retaliate. And just like that, Tommy feels most of his irritation slipping away. He lets out a gusty sigh and drops down into the loveseat opposite Evan.

“Okay, let’s try to figure this out,” he says, trying to be reasonable. “I’m telling you that you’re in the wrong apartment. No one by the name of Chimney,” Tommy pulls a face, “lives here.” Evan looks like he’s about to argue, so Tommy continues hurriedly, “I also don’t believe that you’re some kind of weirdo who just breaks into people’s homes so you can sleep on their couches.”

“Good. ‘Cause I’m not.”

“Right. Glad to hear it.” They stare at each other for a moment; Evan is definitely pouting. Tommy forces himself to concentrate on the matter at hand. “So this leaves us with a third option: this was all just a big mixup. Which, given your friend’s handwriting, isn’t surprising. So. No harm, no foul.”

“You’re not gonna call the cops?” Evan asks in a small voice.

“I was tempted for a minute.” Tommy looks back over at where his cat is kneading at Evan’s thighs in an effort to make herself comfortable. Evan winces but makes no move to stop her. “But Matilda’s the boss around here, and she seems to like you.”

Evan follows the direction of his gaze and smiles. It’s soft and sweet and Tommy really needs to go to bed. He pulls his cell phone out of his pocket and starts swiping through his apps.

"Uh..."

"Relax," Tommy says without looking up. "I'm getting you an uber."

"Thanks, that really nice—" He stops, and the abrupt silence grabs Tommy's attention, worried that Matilda's somehow managed to draw blood. He glances at Evan, only to find the other man looking at him thoughtfully.

"What?"

"You never told me your name."

Oh. It's strange but he feels a flutter of something like nerves for the first time since finding Evan passed out on his couch. He glances down briefly before forcing himself to get it together.

"Tommy. My name's Tommy."

And dear God, what was it with this guy and his smile? Tommy's too old to be getting flustered by some pretty boy and his fucking dimples. He clears his throat and quickly looks away again.

"Well. Evan. It's been nice meeting you. But I think it might be time for you to go."

"Yeah." Evan's smile dims slightly. He seems to shake it off, though, as he turns his attention to Matilda. With one big, gentle hand, he reaches down to scratch under her chin. Tommy can hear her purring from here. "Sorry, babe, but I gotta go," he tells her with a grin. She pushes her face against his hand, demanding that he keep it up, and Tommy has never before been envious of a cat. "But I promise, I'll always remember our time together."

He's so stupid. And adorable. And Tommy needs him to find his shirt, stat.

It takes some coaxing—and Tommy going to the kitchen for some treats—to get Matilda off Evan's lap. Tommy does his best not to stare as the other man gets off the couch and stretches lazily. The flex of his muscles is obscene and Tommy can't help the way his eyes dip to where the happy trail disappears beneath Evan's jeans.

Shit.

Tommy feels his face burning as he rips his gaze away, looking up just in time to catch Evan's little smirk. He can feel his cheeks burning and he pointedly turns his back as Evan pulls his shirt on over his head.

Together they walk to the front door, and the silence feels kinda awkward. A sudden thought occurs to him.

"Hey. How'd you even get in?"

"Huh? Oh." Now it's Evan's turn to blush, and he ducks his head. "I, uh, I came in through the window."

"We're on the third floor."

"Yeah." Evan scratches the back of his neck, expression sheepish. "I wasn't thinking too clearly. But still," he peeks up at Tommy from beneath his lashes, "pretty impressive, right?"

Is he... flirting right now?

But there's this incorrigible grin on Evan's face, impossible to resist, and Tommy can't help smiling back at him.

"Yeah. Pretty impressive."

Tommy's phone buzzes, a notification that the uber's just around the corner. He can't help but feel a pang of disappointment.

"Hey, can I—?" He looks up to find Evan looking slightly nervous. Tommy's expecting a request to use the bathroom but, instead, Evan surprises him.

"Can I have your number?"

"My number?" Tommy scrambles to cover his astonishment and tries for teasing as he asks, "Why, d'you wanna call ahead the next time you break in?"

"No. I wanna take you out for dinner. Or, y'know, maybe for breakfast." Evan's got this cocky smirk on his face, but there's a hint of vulnerability there too.

This is a terrible idea.

That knowledge doesn't stop him from giving Evan his number and watching as he disappears down the hallway and into the elevator.

This was really not how Tommy had expected his morning to go.

But he can't say he minds.