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prongsx · 2 months ago

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we are not children anymore, honey.

warning: swearing, a bit insinuating, f!reader, fluff.

where jason needs to remind you that you're not kids anymore and teasing him isn't the same anymore.

1,8k words

You met Jason Todd when you were both innocent children, well, as innocent as the crime alley allowed. He was your best friend, most of the scars he had back then were from picking fights with anyone who raised their voice at you, anyone who tried to sell you drugs or tried to be aggressive with you.

You had an easy body language, both of you touched each other often and played the usual games that children do, physical touch was never a distant thing.

You secretly had a crush on that somewhat reckless and smiling boy who protected you, always holding your hand. Maybe in the back of your mind you thought that one day you would get married.

At the time, he was a little shorter than you, a fact that deeply irritated him but made you laugh. Then he was adopted by Bruce Wayne and you thought that would be the end of your friendship, but there seemed to be a thread that connected you, not even taking on the mantle of Robin could separate you.

Then Jason was taken from you in the most abrupt way possible, by the hands of death itself. But not even that which seemed inescapable separated you for long, the grief that consumed you could have destroyed you, but something in your mind repeated that Jason would never leave you alone.

When Jason appeared at your door, years later, his blue eyes looking haunted, you cried, something in your heart that was dead seemed to come out of the ground in the same way as your best friend.

At first, you simply didn't know what to do with this new Jason, he himself seemed a little lost, the well had affected his emotions. He took up more space, his arms and hands were bigger. Doubts consumed you, afraid of never rescuing the old bond, but then you bought your old favorite cookie and he smiled at you.

That dimpled smile, which lit up his blue eyes and seemed to bring a reckless air to him. And you decided right then and there that nothing would stop you from being his best friend again.

The thing was that your friendship was based on a time when you were both younger and more naive, feelings were simpler. Jason died before you could be friends during that strange time in your adolescence when touching your friend seemed strange, the only memory your body had of your friendship with Jason was a sticky friendship.

"Only you could make me go to the other side of town to get that damn donut that tasted like paper." Jason grumbles, closing the latch on your window as he moves his huge body into your living room. At that moment, you feel the room shrink, and it feels like any false move will betray your racing heart as you watch Jason remove his helmet, his black curls messy in a cute way.

"They're great." You hum, reaching out to take the package from Jason.

"Seriously, there are so many bakeries with better donuts." He retorts, crossing his arms, drawing your attention to the outline of his biceps in his skintight uniform.

"The best isn't always going to be the tastiest."

Jason rolls his eyes at your completely nonsensical choice of words, flopping his tired body on the couch next to you.

"Jason, did you just sit on my couch in your dirty patrol gear?"

"Sweetie, I just walked halfway through this shitty city looking for that donut. I have a right to dirty your precious couch."

You let out a grunt, knowing he's right. He has the right, but that doesn't stop you from lightly pinching the side of his hip, where his suit had a layer of fabric.

He doesn't even blink at your attitude, his hands holding your wrist, his long fingers holding it as delicately as was allowed.

"I thought you gave up trying to play fight with me," he whispers, his voice heavy with that accent that makes your legs a little weak.

You shrug, your body approaching him almost as a reflex, your knee touching his. It's kind of annoying how much bigger he's gotten than you, and stronger. Much stronger, you know he could flip you over with a single hand and honestly the thought is more exciting than you want to admit.

"Sweet thing?" He calls to you, still with that sly smile on his lips. You blink slowly, coming back to reality.

"Hmm?"

"Aren't you going to eat your delicious donut?"

"Yes. Yes." You say, nodding.

If before you thought Jason was cute, now you could write ridiculous poems about him, two stanzas just about his sapphire eyes.

He snuggled deeper into your couch, spreading his thighs and letting out a sigh of relief at the comfort.

"Tiring patrol?" He opened his eyes when he felt your hands lightly pinching his nose, trying to make him pay attention to you again. You would never admit it out loud, but having Jason's undivided attention was kind of addictive and intoxicating.

"You could say that."

You dropped the donuts on the living room table, suddenly feeling guilty. Even though it was just him teasing you, the store that sold your favorite donuts was really far away.

"I'm sorry I made you take my stupid donuts." He let out a breath when you rested your chin on his shoulder, staring at him from under your eyelashes.

"No. I don't forgive you." He teased, his hands going down to your waist and drawing circles there.

"Seriously, I was selfish." You repeat, looking down at the red bat symbol on his chest.

His blue eyes continued to stare at you, his hands coming up and lightly holding your chin, his eyebrows furrowed. Jason never accepted it when you seemed sad towards him, or when you made it seem like you were a hindrance in his life.

"Stop that shit."

A laugh escaped through your nostrils.

"You still have such a dirty mouth, Todd. My mother still blames you for the variety of curses I know."

He laughed, the sound going straight to your stomach. It should be forbidden for someone to have such a delightful laugh to hear. Jason wasn't as much of a laugh now as he used to be when he was a child, his innocence had been taken away from him years ago, so you drank every drop of his laughter you could.

"Well, I blame you every time I act stupid. We're even."

You reached your hands up to his hair and pulled lightly, like you used to do when you wanted to get back at him when you were kids. But this time, he didn't laugh you away or flick you in retaliation. His lips curved into a thin line and his eyes blinked so fast you thought you'd imagined it.

"Sweetie." Jason's voice was low, the nickname sending an electric shock through your body. "We're not kids anymore."

"You're still just as annoying." You joked, praying he wouldn't notice the slight crack in your voice.

"No, sweet thing, you didn't understand what I meant." He said, his blue eyes staring straight into your face. His hands moved down to your hips, pulling you closer to him, your legs almost resting on his thigh. "I'm saying we're not kids anymore." He repeated.

"Yes. I obviously know that."

He let out a long sigh, as if you were irritating him with your stupidity.

His slightly chapped lips parted as he said something that you were momentarily lost in, your hands resting on his muscular thigh. He gripped your chin tighter when he noticed your inattention and felt your hand on his thigh.

"See? That's what I'm saying." He let out a laugh that wasn't like before, it wasn't genuine and open-hearted, it was low and had a feeling you couldn't quite grasp. "You keep touching me and teasing me like we're children."

"I can stop." You stammered, very confused and feeling a little dizzy. This new Jason Todd, with more scars and less shyness, was making your throat suddenly close up.

"You're not supposed to stop." He whispered, his other hand coming back to grab the back of your neck and pull your faces so close you could feel his warm breath. "Just letting you know that now, when you lie on top of me and stare at me like that, my first thought isn't to play fight with you, darling." His hand squeezed your chin lightly as he added, his voice lower, "When you stare at me like that, all I think about is kissing you stupid."

Forming words seemed harder than ever.

"Ah."

"Ah," he mimicked you in a thin voice, a goofy smile on his face, his grip on your chin bringing your lips close to his. "I say I want to make you sigh my name and that's all you have to say?"

You clear your throat, your eyelashes fluttering slightly. The hand resting on his thigh makes an involuntary movement to lightly squeeze the muscle there. Jason's blue eyes darken, a noise close to a growl leaving his lips.

"You keep doing these things. Fuck, baby, every time you almost climb on my lap like it's nothing." He took a deep breath, as if he was losing his mind, closing his eyes so as not to get lost in his own thoughts. "You must know what you're doing to me."

"No. I. No." You repeated, still very overwhelmed by how close you were. Your best friend, staring at you like he was about to destroy you.

He smiled again at your mental confusion, brushing his lips against yours and letting out a low moan that made you gasp. "Let me kiss you, please?"

You nodded, crashing your lips against his before you had to beg for it. Jason's lips were rough against yours, as if he was punishing you for making him wait, for making him yearn for this.

Jason's ability to focus on multitasking was evident when he pulled you to sit fully on his lap, without separating your lips, his hands moving up and down your body, swallowing the small moans that came out of your mouth.

"I think I've already thought of a way for you to pay for your stupid donuts," he whispered, pulling your lips away for a few seconds to smile at you.

You laughed, feeling lighter than you had in years. Your hands cupped his face, caressing his cheek. There were so many questions and doubts swirling around your mind, but Jason pulled you into a hug, kissing your forehead.

"Honey, it took you a long time to realize that you're mine. Just relax."

You blinked away the tears, hiding your face in the crook of his neck, a genuine smile on your lips.

Your best friend was in love with you too, and everything would be okay.

I hope you liked it, sorry for the mistakes, I need to review all my works. My epub box is open, I just want to write more for Jason!! I'm stupid for him. And I'll be dying on the hill that Jason Todd has a dirty mouth. I'm trying to write for a gender-neutral reader but I've discovered that I have difficulty, I'm sorry, but I'll keep trying.

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #batfamily #fluff #dc comics #fanfic

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catgrandpa · 3 months ago

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Gotham has always been weird, so when the groundskeeper at the cemetery noticed the Wayne kid’s plot was disturbed, he just chalked it up to more of the same ol’. Alright, so ‘disturbed’ may be a tad too light of a word, but what’s an empty grave in the grand scheme of Gotham? God knows in a city like this one, they could use all the burial room they could get. He figured he’d just jot it down on the website and hope nobody noticed for a while.

Too bad he didn’t account for the 13 year old boy in Bristol who periodically checks the cemetery’s website when he’s feeling particularly lonely.

Plot Removed.

Tim Drake stared at the two words under the heading for Jason Todd’s plot number. Removed? What do they mean ‘removed’? They can’t just remove a plot? That’s a person down there! That’s Robin down there! You can’t Remove Robin!

Calm down. Deep breaths. Assess the situation.

Robin has been dead for 5 months and 14 days. There is no reason for a grave to be removed that early, especially one of a member of such an affluential family. Chances are likely it’s a simple clerical issue. He can call first thing in the morning and make them aware of the mistake. He can have it all fixed in 5 hours.

Just a phone call.

In 5 hours.

…

Tim hates talking on the phone almost as much as he hates waiting.

Well it won’t be the first time he’s snuck out to head to Gotham proper at 1am. It can’t even really be considered sneaking out if there’s no one home to catch you.

Buses stop running at 2, so he layers a couple sweaters under his coat and grabs his best running sneakers so he can comfortably make the trek back.

Just a quick trip to settle his nerves. Maybe get a few shots in if he spots Batman, but really he just wants to see with his own two eyes that things are okay and Jason can rest.

It’s 1:37 by the time he gets to the headstone reading ‘Here Lies Jason Todd’ and the gaping, muddy pit in front of it.

This- This doesn’t make any sense. This is not removal. This is destruction. Desecration. Somebody did this. Somebody-

Assess the situation.

A hole in the ground, approximately 1.5 feet in diameter.

Mud and grass flung outward but with little force.

Large chunks of earth turned over and shoved away.

No signs of tool marks or clean lines of entry into the dirt.

Dragging claw marks.

Staggering, shuffled pairs of foot prints in the mud.

A trail of dirt.

Something… Something large clawed its way out of the ground here. Something large and bipedal and- and humanoid.

Tim refuses to jump to any conclusions he can see all the facts laid in front of him. He’s going to cautiously follow the trail and simply hope to any god listening that he isn’t the world’s first line of defense against the zombie apocalypse.

He’s been walking for 23 minutes and there’s good news and undecided news. Good news: he’s closing in on the target and the trail isn’t taking him out of the way so his trip home won’t be prolonged. Undecided news: The potential Zombie Robin is heading directly for Wayne Manor.

As zombie apocalypse news, this is very bad. From Tim’s collected observational evidence, his not-so-professional opinion is that Batman, faced with a horror movie level zombie of his dead son, would not respond well, and would likely not fight back.

In Batman and Robin news? Tim’s unsure. If Jason is simply back? What could that mean for them? Batman can have his Robin. He wouldn’t have to continue nearly killing others and himself every night in his grief. Jason could-

No. Stop. Do not jump to conclusions.

Hope only brings heartbreak.

What would Batman do? Get close and see if the target is a threat.

Target is male. Mid-teens. Dark hair. Pale skin. Leaning against surfaces as he walks. Appears injured and disoriented.

Minimal risk assessed. Approaching and attempting contact.

Target identity confirmed: Jason Todd.

“J-Jason?” It comes out as a croaked whisper. Jason shows no sign of acknowledgment.

Tim clears his throat, steps right in front of his path, and tries again.

“Jason. Jason, stop I want to help you.” Still nothing.

“Please, Jason. I can help, I promise I can help!”

Why isn’t this working?! Why can’t he just do something right for once?! He wants this to work, he wants to help Bruce, he wants to fix Batman, he wants to not be alone, he wants-

“Robin!”

Robin jerks to a stop.

Tim reached out his hand.

“Robin. Robin please, I’m sorry you’re going through this, it’s really scary, I’m really scared. But I just want to help you. Help you find Batman. Help you get home.”

Jason just stares at him. Of course he does. Of course it’s not going to work. Why did he even bother hoping he could help?

Hope only brings heartbreak.

His sight blurs as his eyes fill with tears and he starts to lower his outstretched hand.

His arm is slowed as a cold hand weakly grasps his own.

“Don’t… scared… Bat… help… Dad… help.”

A relieved sob tears out from Tim’s chest and he gathers himself together. He yanks his extra sweater off and gently pulls it over Jason’s cold shoulders. Jason lets Tim drag his arm over his shoulders to try and carry some of his weight.

“Okay, Robin. Yeah. Your dad will help us.”

Batman will solve everything once Tim gets Robin home.

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moechies · 9 months ago

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morning sex w satoru + sugu (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵) cw boys kissing

light peeks through the cracks of the curtains, painting both your skins with gentle streaks of golden yellow.

your boyfriend’s head hovers in the crook of your shoulder, short soft strands of his hair tickling your face and neck;

his thrusts are sloppy, yet deep, brushing over every little crevice of your sweet cunt. a thin layer of slick covers you and himself, low noises of ‘pap pap pap’ that can be heard every time you feel him slide in and out of you.

“satoru.. feels s’good..” you whimper out with a wanton moan, eyes fluttering shut with a weak grasp on his bicep.

he hovers over you, not allowing you to see over his huge body.

“know it does, baby. sweet cunt was made to take me, hm?” his voice rasps next to the shell of your ear; it tickles.

lost in your pleasure, you seem to miss the small noise; a ‘click!’ that comes from opening the front door to your shared home. but even with the sweet moans that spill from your mouth, and the soft creaks of your moving mattress, he seems to hear..

he slows his pace, causing you to elicit a whine with a small scowl,

“huh? wh-what did i do..? why’d you st-stop..?”

“no princess,” he chuckles, “it isn’t you. suguru’s here.”

“w-what? i didn’t hear anything.. s’okay ‘toru.. jus’ keep going.. please.?”

before he can argue back, a creak comes from your doorknob, evident enough to have you both turning your heads to the door,

“mornin’,”

your boyfriend’s best friend stands leniently against the doorframe, left hand holding 2 small bags of a type of pastry. you lay back down below your boyfriend, tugging the thick blanket over your body and over your head in a panic,

“suguru.. what are you doin’ here?” satoru asks, a question with almost no intent of asking him to leave. “brought you two lovebirds some sweets and coffee, but looks like you guys had other plans..”

the room silences, and you pull down the sheets in hopes that suguru has left, fully expecting to re face your boyfriend;

“hey darlin’,” suguru greets above you.

your face has never reddened faster, hands desperately searching for a grip on the blanket before pulling it over your face again; but this time it’s stopped by a big, warm hand.

“don’t be shy.. your boyfriend’s right here, what’s there to be so scared of, hm?” he taunts, a small smile at the way your face flushes in embarrassment, turning your head to shoot another mean scowl at your teasing boyfriend.

“i-i.. s-sorry suguru.. t-this is probably w-weird.. m-m sorry..”

you can’t look him in the eyes, but you feel your body getting warmer whilst being the main attraction of the 2 men above you.

“nothing’s weird, don’t you think?” he teases again, a small pout at your boyfriend’s giggle.

“anyways, i gotta be on my way. let me give you a kiss goodbye, yeah?”

you look at your boyfriend in a panic, eyes pacing back and forth, looking for anything on his face that hints for what you should say.

gojo can’t help but smile at your fawn-like innocence and worried eyes much like a deer in headlights , waiting for you to take initiative.

“n-no.. do-don’t wanna. satoru would never want me to do that.. ‘nd i don’t wanna.” you whimper, hiding in the chest of your boyfriend.

now suguru pouts, an almost comical sight to satoru. he lets out a small chuckle,

“it’s okay princess. give suguru a kiss.”

you look at your boyfriend with a questionable stare, silently questioning the strange approval. his eyes sparkle of nothing but love for you, not a single bit of faux intention, nor jealously.

his best friend wastes no time pressing his soft lips onto yours, eyes agape before slowly melting into the palm of his hand. your boyfriend brings a hand to stroke the soft of your cheek, whispers of ‘good girl,’ as you lose yourself in his best friends mouth.

suguru pulls away with a ‘pop!’ wiping his spit covered mouth with the back of his hand with a laugh,

“desperate little girl.”

satoru only laughs at the comment, turning his head to meet suguru’s, in which they press their lips against each other as well; swapping spit between all three of you guys.

“h-hey.. th-that’s my boyfriend..” you whimper, attempting to claim your boyfriend back. suguru only chuckles before pulling away,

“sorryyy princess, you can have him back.” he says, having you pull him back quickly with a huff, hiding your body against his as you shoot geto a mean glare.

“hey.. ‘s okay if you do it, but not me?” gojo teases, a light flush coming across your face.

geto laughs again, turning himself toward the door, “alright, i’m really off now.” he raises a hand, signaling a goodbye before pulling the door closed with a slight crack,

“and hey, you two need to shut up.. neighbors are complaining to me again.”

#jjk #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #satoru fluff #gojo fluff #geto fluff #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo jjk #gojo smut #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #getou x reader

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ifwdominicfike · 29 days ago

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you give inexperienced bsf!matt his first handjob

── .✦. ──

“are y’sure you’re ready baby? need to hear you say it.” you coo softly, poor boy could barely get a word out without whimpering. “y-yes.. please— just wan’ you to t-touch me!” his hips bucking up as you palm him through the thin layer of his sweatpants.

“kay’ sweet boy..” you begin to slide off his layers, the feeling of the fabric rubbing up against him makes him whine. hiding his face from embarrassment as he let out those sweet sounds you craved to hear. “dont hide from me baby, lemme see your face. yeah?” he slowly brings down his hand, opting to grip onto the bedsheets instead. “please y/n.. need y-your hand”

you smile at his desperation, once his sweats are gone you hook your fingers in his boxers and bring them down just enough to his mid thigh. you’re met with his hard cock, he twitches from the cool air exposed to him. “look at you.. mm— y’so big and pretty baby.” your hands slide up and down his thighs, purposely not touching him where he needs you most. “pl-pleaseee” he whines “please what? don’ know what you want unless you tell me baby..”

he squirms under your touch, growing more frustrated each second “pl- fuck! to-touch me, do anything! please i ne-need you” he pleads, trying his hardest not to do the job himself “good boy, s’proud of you sweet boy. just one more thing, kay?” your hand moves up to his mouth “spit baby, go ahead..” you coax him, a sweet smile adoring your face “y-yes ma’am”

after he does so you bring your hand down to his leaking cock “o-oh! fuck— ye-yes..” he groans, throwing his head back against the pillow “yeah? that feels good huh.. better than your own hand?” he vigorously nods his head, knuckles turning white due to his grip on the bed “f-faster baby.. please!” he breathes out “of course baby, can’t deny you when you sound like that..” your grip tightens around him and your pace quickens “oh- sh- shit! m’gonna fuck!” he hurriedly says.

“y’gonna what sweetheart? come on lemme hear that sweet voice” you tease “come! fuck- fuck! m’gonna come. d-don’ stop.. mmm” his hips moving up in rhythm with the thrusts of your hand “oohh look at you, soaking my hand like a slut. s’that what you are? just a greedy slut who needs nothing but attention, yeah?” your degrading words send him over the edge, thick ropes of white shoot out from him. “fuck! yes- yes, yes!”

“good boy, look at that.. all y’needed was a little bit of mean words and you’re a mess already.” you slowly removed your hand, looking over at matt all spent with his head thrown back and eyes shut from his previous orgasm. once he opens his eyes he’s met with the sight of you licking up the mess that he made.

“fuck..” his breathing heavy, shutting his eyes once more to help him calm down until he feels his overstimulated cock in your hold again. “oh you thought we were done baby?”

- avery’s note ˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡-

“WE LOVE YOU SUB!MATT” we all say in unison. i live for sub!matt idc i need that man whimpering and whining underneath me NOW. im surprised i wrote this IN ONE SITTING?? (if there’s errors, shhh) anyway, enjoy bye i love youu !!

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 - @ellaapsworld @chrissv4mp @jetaimevous @mattsbrowser @submattenthusiast @flouvela

#— ⋆ ˚｡ writings .ᐟ ꩜#matt sturniolo imagine #sub!matt #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo blurb #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo smut #christopher sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #christopher sturniolo blurb #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo x reader

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moonstruckme · 1 month ago

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could i request poly!wolfstar or poly!jily where they’re pursuing reader and reader accidentally matches with them (like matching costumes) at a halloween party?

i think the teasing and flirting would be so cute!! 🥰

Thanks for requesting!

cw: mention of alcohol, smoking, Sirius makes lame and humorously objectifying jokes

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1.5k words

You arrive to the party late, the Gryffindor common room already bustling by the time you and your friends have finished doing your last-minute costume alterations. There are glowing pumpkins floating on the ceiling, someone has charmed the room so that a thick layer of fog drifts along the floor, and the air already smells slightly of booze and cigarette smoke.

You lose Lily’s attention immediately, but that’s to be expected. You’re more than accustomed by now to her searching for her boyfriend whenever you enter a room. What’s unexpected, however, is her reaction when she finds him.

“Uh oh.”

“Uh oh?” You look at her, following her gaze to the couch across the room. “Oh. Oh, no.”

Lily laughs. “It sort of seems like fate, doesn’t it? I think it’s sweet.”

Sitting on their usual couch are the marauders. James, predictably, is wearing a costume matching Lily’s; they’ve both come as cowboys. Unfortunately, Sirius and Remus are sitting next to him dressed as pirates.

You’re also dressed as a pirate.

“It’s not sweet,” you moan. “If I go back up, do you think Marlene will make me some of her fake blood? I can change and be a vampire instead.”

Lily hums. “Think it’s too late for that, babe.”

She’s looking back towards the couch, where the boys have already caught sight of the pair of you. Sirius is beaming something atrocious, and even Remus looks amused while his boyfriend waves you over exuberantly.

Lily takes your hand in hers, tugging you with her as she goes to them.

“Howdy, darlin’.” James puts on an exaggerated southern drawl as you approach, opening his arms to his girlfriend.

“My, my,” says Sirius as you sit between him and Lily, “don’t you look nice.”

You ignore the warmth that brings to your face. “The point wasn’t really to look nice.”

Your costume is thrown together from things you already had, the only thing that really distinguishes you as a pirate being the bandana you’ve tied around your head. Remus appears to have gone a similar route, although the white shirt he’s tucked into his pants looks a bit more on-theme than yours and he’s clearly been forced to wear an eye patch which is currently flipped up so that it’s not covering anything. Sirius, of course, does nothing halfway. He’s wearing a billowy black top that’s been unbuttoned nearly to his navel, more belts and buckles than you knew one person could have, and a captain’s hat he surely bought just for the occasion. Altogether, you make a fairly fearsome group.

“Not sure you can help it, gorgeous.” Sirius winks at you. “You always look nice. Did you plant a spy to find out what you needed to wear to match us, then?”

You roll your eyes good-naturedly. “I should probably be asking you that.”

“Must’ve just been fate,” Sirius says. It’s so close to what Lily said that your cheeks blaze, but you also don’t know if you quite believe him. Remus, too, turns to give his boyfriend a questioning look.

Sirius catches it and scoffs, holding up his hands. “I didn’t! Honestly.”

Remus nods, appeased. In a less booming voice than his boyfriend’s, he tells you, “You do look very nice.”

“Thanks.” You catch yourself fingering the ends of your hair like a nervous schoolgirl and tuck your hands underneath your thighs. “So do both of you.”

Sirius grins knowingly, and you have to fight the urge to shove your face into Lily’s shoulder for refuge. He knows as well as you do that for all of his brazen flirting, it’s Remus’ quiet sincerity that flusters you the most. You’re not sure when it started, exactly, but it’s been clear for some time now that both boys are interested in you. You’re not sure in what capacity—they could want to take you to bed for one night, integrate you into their relationship, or anything in between—but as of yet you’ve neither encouraged nor discouraged their advances.

“Thanks, dollface.” Sirius gives a winsome crack of a smile. “You know, I’ve already acquired some booty, but I wouldn’t mind winning some more.”

“Sirius…” Remus groans.

You feel your eyebrows pinch. “Some what?”

“You know, like pirate’s loot? My booty.” Sirius sidles closer to Remus, giving his thigh a solid pat.

Remus’ eyes narrow. “I will leave you here and go back upstairs right now.” It sounds as though this is not the first time this has been threatened.

“I worked hard for it!” Sirius defends himself.

You cover your mouth against an appalled giggle. “It?”

“I toiled, and I fought, and I had to battle many other fearsome ships! It’s mine.”

“Remus,” you stage whisper, “blink twice if you need help.”

Remus’ smile blooms, but when he starts to blink Sirius objects, “Oi!”

“No,” you correct him, “you’re supposed to say ‘arr.’”

Sirius is grinning again, too, clearly chuffed that you’re joking around with them even if it is at his expense. “If I say ‘arr,’ you’ll agree to be my second booty for the rest of the night?”

“I won’t make any promises. But it would be persuasive.”

He growls enthusiastically, “Arrrrgh!” and slams his fist down on the table. The sound it makes is enough to tear James and Lily’s attention away from each other.

“Merlin,” says James. “Did’ya hurt yourself there, Pads?”

“No,” Sirius replies, but he gives his hand a little shake.

Remus, rolling his eyes, takes it and kisses the side. He brings it into his lap for safekeeping. Your heart gives a painful little throb.

You must have some stupid lovestruck look on your face, because Lily peers around James to see you better, a smile playing on her lips. She knows about your crushes on the two boys, just as well as she knows that you haven’t decided what to do about them yet. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t like to help you along.

“Come on,” she says to James, standing and taking him with her. “Let’s dance, and I’ll let you pretend to lasso me.”

James beams. “Yes!”

You watch them go while Sirius seizes the opportunity to move to your other side, the three of you taking up the entirety of the couch.

“Phew,” he sighs, swinging his feet over the armrest.

“You may want to take your legs out of the fog,” Remus suggests, also using the new space to bring his feet onto the couch. “It gets sticky after a while.”

You frown but do as he says, pulling your feet from your shoes so that only your socks are on the couch. And sure enough, when you touch a finger to your ankle it feels like there’s an odd sort of coating over it.

“I thought it was just fog,” you say.

“It was supposed to be,” agrees Sirius, “but James entrusted the task of making it to Marlene, and there are some who think she might’ve laced it with some sort of drink.”

“I’m some,” Remus owns.

You smile. “So is the point that you should be able to…drink the fog?”

“No clue.” Sirius leans over the edge of the couch. “Let’s find out.”

“Sirius, no,” Remus says weakly, trailing off when it’s clear the other boy won’t be deterred. You both watch as he sucks in what fog he can, closing his mouth around it. “That’s disgusting, everyone’s been walking around in it.”

“I think it might be brandy,” Sirius muses. “It’s faint, though.”

Remus frowns. “I’m not kissing you until you brush your teeth.”

Sirius grins. “Yes, you are.”

“We’ll see, won’t we?”

“Wouldn’t you rather just get your own drink?” you ask Sirius. “Rather than sampling the faint traces of brandy that have been touched by other people’s shoes, I mean.”

“Oh, rest assured, gorgeous, I’m all covered.” Sirius picks a cup up from the table. He seems to notice at the same moment that you don’t have a cup of your own. “Would you like one, though?”

You glance to the table cluttered with alcohol and mixers, a throng of students clustered around it. “I’ll get one in a bit.”

“Let me.” Sirius stands. He edges around the table, stopping to pinch your chin affectionately and give his boyfriend a kiss. “Rem, my love, keep her company, would you?”

“You don’t have to,” you object. “I can get it.”

“No, don’t be ridiculous. A pirate has to take care of his booty, hasn’t he?”

“I never agreed to that!” you call after him. In a quieter voice, you add, “And I don’t think that’s how the relationship between a pirate and their booty works.”

“Let him go,” Remus advises you. You startle a bit when his hand finds your knee, resting there in fond commiseration. “If he’s going to degrade us like this, he can at least bring us drinks.”

You feel your lips tilt. “Are you really going to let him call you his booty all night?”

“Probably.” Remus shrugs, his eyes finding his boyfriend across the room. “Anyway, it’s nice not to be alone in it. As far as he’s concerned, you’re already his as well.”

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ceilidho · 10 months ago

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prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 1; ghoap x reader) masterlist

Johnny’s been bragging about a pretty bird lately.

Ghost listens because the periods between missions are long and colourless—he fills the time with paperwork, PT, exhausting his muscles in the gym, and dissociating in a booth at the only good pub on base when Johnny drags him along—and it’s better to tune out the thoughts in his head and replace them with something else. Besides, for as much as he gripes about poorly trained dogs barking too much, he enjoys the sound of Johnny’s voice. It quiets the faint ringing that follows him wherever he goes, an agitated humming that leaves him, on his best days, on the brink of rage.

“Tinnitus,” a doctor says when he brings it up during a routine check-up. Can you shut that fucking noise up?

“Best we can do is get you hearing aids.” Apologetic, sincere even. Stained, as always though, by a trembling, noxious unease. It emanates off the doctor in waves.

Hard not to feel uneasy around a man in a mask, Ghost assumes. That’s all part of it though. He doesn’t cultivate comfort, doesn’t attempt to engender soft feelings or put the mind at ease. His body and persona are designed to put the body and mind on the knife’s edge of fear, and then tip it over. He leaves the sweet talking and charming to men like Johnny, who babbles red language in a tongue like larkspur.

Ghost’s first language is oil slick. It stains and it covers and it darkens everything it touches.

And now, Johnny’s talking about a bird.

A couple months after Las Almas, the first picture comes out. Not a folded up keepsake tucked away in the pocket of a bag or a wallet or the inside of his jacket, but right on Johnny’s lockscreen on his phone. He disapproves at first glance. Not of the girl, but at the thought of keeping something so valuable on display for anyone to see. It’s not how he functions. Everything sacred is burned, destroyed, or—if precious enough—buried so deep underground that salt miners might greet it on the way down.

“Pretty, eh?” Johnny goads, nudging Ghost with his shoulder. He’s all wide grin, eyes electric-blue like the flames of Kawah Ijen.

She is pretty. Pretty as pie. Not a speck of grit or blood on her; if there’s any edge to her at all, it’s tempered by her smile in the photo on Johnny’s phone. A sugar sweet cunt, by the looks of it, sure it’d taste like candy if he got his mouth on it. He angles his eyes with Johnny’s lips and wonders how many times he’s eaten her out, if hers was the last cunt he ate. Likely. His boy’s the loyal kind, hard to shake off once he’s got his teeth in. Swapping spit or blood, he doesn’t leave once he’s got a taste.

“Where’d you find her?” he asks instead of agreeing, and takes a swig from the bottle in front of him. The bar’s hardly filled out yet; the two of them come early because Ghost’s an old man—that’s what Johnny would say—and doesn’t like to be around people once the sun’s set. It’s a burnished gold now, sun hovering low in the sky when Ghost turns an eye to it.

“Florist. Met her when I picked up flowers for mam’s birthday.”

Nearly a month then. “And I’m just hearin’ about this now?”

Not in this same pub three times a week since then. Not on the tarmac, suited up and sweating already beneath two layers of gear. Not in the shower beside Ghost’s, fingers reaching over the side for a bar of soap because Johnny can’t be arsed to get his own. Not with his head slumped to let Ghost shave the sides of his head nice and neat, thick fingers splayed over the delicate bone of his skull that Ghost knows would take nothing to break.

It rankles him until he looks back down at the phone in his hands—the one he’d plucked from Johnny’s fingers even while he whined about Ghost always stealing his shit—and feels his heartbeat slow. It levels out like staring into the scope of a rifle, the molecules of his breath melding with the molecules of the air until even the sound of his heartbeat dulls to the insects around him.

Johnny purses his lips. “…Wasn’t sure then. Am now.”

“Cunt’s a cunt. What’s there to be sure about?”

“No.” Johnny shakes his head vehemently. “She’s no’ like that. She’s special—I’m telling ye, Lt—” he stresses when Ghost snorts, the sound thick with scepticism, “—she’s a good egg. Smart one. Sweet as pie.”

Sweet as pie. Mutt half-shares his thoughts these days. They must have brought more home than just shellshock and keloids.

Johnny squawks when Ghost unlocks his phone and thumbs through his photos, trying to wrench it out of Ghost’s hand to no avail. He’s easy to hold back. All he has to do is put down his beer for a second and get a handful of hair and jerk, and there it is. Peace and quiet. A wince bleeding into his peripheral vision while Johnny mumbles something under his breath about him being a mean bastard.

He snorts again. Even from Johnny, he’s heard worse.

There isn’t much left of him these days. A tired husk and a taste for Guinness. He bleeds and shaves and wipes it off, smells the viscera still staining his mask that he hardly ever washes, can’t bear to honestly. Waste of fucking time, as far as he’s concerned. Just going to get dirtied again, soaked in blood again within the week. Shaves his head too just to have less to deal with, less to distract him from the single-minded intensity he brings to the job. He’d dematerialize if he could, become a ghost in name and shape, if only the laws of physics allowed.

Instead he’s saddled with a body that echoes back his age in creaking joints and low back pain. Scar tissue that aches when it gets cold.

In the months he’s known Johnny, he’s never let himself think about the world outside their bubble. His rank demands a certain level of socialising, and while he doesn’t schmooze with the brass like other lieutenants might, Ghost hardly has the privilege of isolating himself all the time, but still he can count the people he considers close on one hand.

Not family, but close. The thought of family is sheathed within him; he knows to leave the knife in lest he bleed. Still, Johnny’s fought his way onto the list and now he has to pay with his pound of flesh.

There’s a switch that’s been off for years, closer to a couple decades, and it flips back on when he finds this man that trusts him without question, that follows his orders and looks up at him with these big, puppy blue eyes. It twists something in his chest. It turns him into a thing that says maybe it’s better to take than just covet.

There are other photos of the girl in Johnny’s phone, some likely not meant for present company (Johnny flushes red when Ghost flips to a picture of his bird in a pretty little number, lace cupping her tits and ass, sitting on Johnny’s bed back home and looking back at him over her shoulder with a little grin). Still, it interests him to see this side of his boy; he’s maybe thought of it before in abstract terms. He knows that Johnny’s no stranger to a wandering eye, not with the way he’s built and his pretty boy face. He’s well acquainted with Johnny’s dick, hard not to be in such close quarters; it’s a nice, pretty thing, just like him, a good handful. Nothing like the ruddy battering ram in between Ghost’s legs. The one Johnny once got a glimpse of in the showers after a two week long stint in Kyrgyzstan and paled, mouth gaping open while he stared until he could finally laugh it off.

Ghost remembers thinking detachedly about how lovely that little gaped open mouth would feel around his cock.

Surprising that it took this long for him to cotton on to his own desires.

“Bring ‘er around then. I’ll see for myself how sweet she is.”

Johnny scowls at the sudden uproar from a nearby table. “No’ a chance in hell. Dinnae trust any of these fuckers to behave around her.”

Ghost hums. He’s not wrong to be wary; under the table, Ghost runs a hand over his bulge and gives it a squeeze, lifting his thigh to readjust. She has a lovely mouth too.

He’s been breathing fire and brimstone recently. Hungering to hear something break. It takes Johnny’s hand on his arm to hold him back, every cigarette puffed down to the filter. The pictures on Johnny’s phone make it seem easy though.

Johnny’s been bragging about a pretty bird lately, preening at every opportunity to show her off. He doesn’t know that it takes approximately eight seconds for Ghost’s brain to file the girl in Johnny’s phone under mine, slotting her right under Johnny in that category and isn’t that just perfect because it also takes approximately eight seconds for Ghost to imagine what she might look like under Johnny.

He hands Johnny back the phone, face down. “You get one week. Then I wanna meet your bird.”

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #ghost/soap/reader #ghoap x reader #soap x reader #ghost x reader #ghost/reader #ghoap x you

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misswynters · 4 months ago

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Father of the realm

Cregan Stark x Wife!reader

[synopsis: You are pregnant with a babygirl, or that’s what your husband keeps saying. He truly wishes it’s a girl.

[a/n: yet another cregan fic since i can’t get enough of him.

[note | pls don’t just like, but also reblog & give me feedback. i don’t want to get shadowbanned

Winterfell's ancient halls echoed with the sound of crackling fires and the gentle hum of activity. Outside, the snow fell softly, blanketing the courtyard in a serene layer of white. Inside, however, a different warmth filled the air. It was a warmth born of love, care, and anticipation.

You sat in your chambers, a soft, knitted blanket draped over your legs, the flickering fire casting a golden glow across the room. Your hands rested on your swollen belly, feeling the gentle movements of the life growing within you. Each flutter and kick was a reminder of the miracle you carried, and with each one, your heart swelled with love.

Cregan entered the room quietly, his footsteps almost silent on the stone floor. His eyes softened as he saw you, a tender smile playing on his lips. "How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice a soothing balm.

You smiled back at him, the sight of his concern warming your heart. "I'm well, Cregan. Just a bit tired."

He knelt beside you, his large hands gently cupping your belly. "Is she moving much today?" he asked, his eyes lighting up with excitement.

You laughed softly, placing your hand over his. "Yes, she's been quite active. She seems to love it when I'm near the fire."

Cregan's smile widened, and he pressed a gentle kiss to your belly. "She's already got a mind of her own," he said, his voice filled with affection. "Just like her mother."

You reached out, running your fingers through his dark hair. "You really think it's a girl, don't you?"

He looked up at you, his eyes filled with certainty. "I know it is. I can feel it in my bones. Our little girl."

The joy in his voice was infectious, and you couldn't help but feel your heart flutter with happiness. "I hope you're right," you said softly. "But boy or girl, as long as they're healthy, that's all that matters."

Cregan nodded, his expression growing serious for a moment. "You're right, of course. But I can't help but dream of holding our daughter, of teaching her about the North, of watching her grow into a strong, brave woman like her mother."

Tears welled up in your eyes at his words, the depth of his love and dreams for your child touching you deeply. "She'll be so lucky to have you as her father," you whispered.

"And she'll be even luckier to have you as her mother," he replied, his voice filled with conviction. He stood up, gently helping you to your feet. "Come, let's sit by the fire. It's warmer there."

As you settled into the comfortable chair by the hearth, Cregan wrapped a thick, warm blanket around your shoulders. He sat beside you, his hand never leaving yours. "You must tell me if you're uncomfortable, or if you need anything," he said, his brow furrowed with concern.

You squeezed his hand, reassuring him. "I will, Cregan. You've been so wonderful, so attentive. I don't know what I would do without you."

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "You'll never have to find out. I'm here, always."

The weeks passed, each day bringing you closer to the moment you would meet your child. Cregan's excitement grew with each passing day, his dreams of a daughter filling your conversations. He was constantly by your side, ensuring your comfort, worrying over every little thing.

One evening, as you lay in bed, the baby kicked particularly hard, making you wince. Cregan was immediately at your side, his face filled with worry. "Are you alright? Is the baby okay?"

You smiled, placing his hand where you felt the movement. "She's just making her presence known," you said with a laugh. "She must take after her father."

Cregan's eyes softened as he felt the strong kick. "She's a fighter," he said proudly. He gently rubbed your belly, his touch soothing. "Rest, my love. I'll stay here with you."

As you drifted off to sleep, you felt the warmth of his hand on your belly, his protective presence a constant comfort.

The day finally came when the midwife announced that it was time. Cregan was a bundle of nerves, his concern and excitement palpable. He stayed by your side through every contraction, his hand holding yours, his words of encouragement soothing your fears.

When the cries of your newborn filled the room, Cregan's eyes filled with tears. The midwife placed the baby in his arms, and he looked down at the tiny face, his expression one of pure love and awe. "It's a girl," he whispered, his voice breaking with emotion. "Our little girl."

You reached out, touching the soft cheek of your daughter, tears streaming down your face. "She's perfect," you said, your heart overflowing with love.

Cregan placed the baby in your arms, his eyes never leaving yours. "You did it," he said, his voice filled with pride. "You brought her into this world. Our beautiful daughter."

As you held your baby girl, feeling the warmth and weight of her in your arms, you knew that your life had changed forever. The love you and Cregan shared had brought her into the world, and together, you would give her all the love and care she deserved.

Cregan sat beside you, his arm around your shoulders, his eyes shining with tears of joy. "Welcome to the world, little one," he whispered. "We're going to take care of you, and love you, forever."

In that moment, surrounded by the warmth of the fire and the love of your husband, you felt a peace and happiness unlike any other. Your family was complete, and you knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, you would face them together, united by the unbreakable bond of love.

As winter melted into spring, the walls of Winterfell became a lively home filled with the sounds of new life. Your daughter, Lyanna, now a few months old, had quickly become the heart of the castle. Her bright blue eyes and soft giggles enchanted everyone who met her, but no one was more captivated than her father.

Cregan, the once gruff and imposing Lord of Winterfell, had transformed into a doting and protective father. He took Lyanna with him everywhere, carrying her in a specially crafted sling so she could stay close to his heart. The sight of the formidable Stark lord cradling his tiny daughter became a common one, and the people of Winterfell couldn't help but smile at the tender displays of affection.

One morning, as the sun cast its first light over the ancient walls, Cregan gently lifted Lyanna from her crib. She yawned and stretched, her tiny fists rubbing her eyes. "Good morning, my little princess," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "Ready to greet the day?"

Lyanna cooed in response, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. Cregan chuckled and secured her in the sling, making sure she was comfortable before heading out to start his day. You watched them from the bed, your heart swelling with love at the sight of your husband and daughter.

Cregan was true to his promise of taking her everywhere. Whether it was inspecting the walls, overseeing the training in the courtyard, or attending to matters in the great hall, Lyanna was always by his side. The castle's inhabitants quickly learned that the quickest way to their lord's favor was through a kind word or gentle gesture towards his beloved daughter.

The following day, as Cregan walked through the bustling courtyard with Lyanna nestled against his chest, he overheard a servant muttering something unkind about your family. His eyes darkened, and he turned to face the man, his voice a low growl. "If I hear another word of disrespect, I will see to it that you regret it. Do I make myself clear?"

The servant paled and stammered an apology, quickly scurrying away. Cregan's protective nature was legendary, and no one dared to cross him, especially where his wife and daughter were concerned.

As his beloved daughter grew, Cregan's bond with Lyanna followed suit. He spoiled her with gifts—beautifully crafted toys, soft blankets, and tiny dresses that made her look like a princess. But more than the material things, it was his unwavering presence and love that made Lyanna's world so full of joy.

The following afternoon, as you sat in the gardens with Lyanna on your lap, Cregan joined you, carrying a small, intricately carved wooden wolf. "Look what I have for you, little one," he said, his voice filled with excitement. He handed the toy to Lyanna, who grasped it with chubby fingers and examined it with wide-eyed wonder.

You smiled at the sight, your heart full. "You spoil her, Cregan. She'll grow up thinking the world revolves around her."

He knelt beside you, his eyes softening. "She deserves to know how much she is loved. Both of you do."

As the seasons changed, Cregan's protectiveness extended to ensuring your well-being as well. He insisted on walking with you whenever you went outside, his arm always ready to support you. He worried if you spent too much time on your feet and made sure you had everything you needed to stay comfortable and happy.

As you sat together in your chambers, Lyanna asleep in her crib, Cregan pulled you into his arms. "You and Lyanna are my everything," he said, his voice filled with emotion. "I would do anything to keep you both safe and happy."

You rested your head against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. "We are so lucky to have you, Cregan. I couldn't imagine a better father and husband."

He pressed a kiss to your hair, holding you close. "And I couldn't imagine a life without you both. You are my heart, my reason for everything."

As the months turned into years, the bond between you, Cregan, and Lyanna only grew stronger. Winterfell thrived under Cregan's leadership, and the people respected and admired the love and dedication he showed to his family. Lyanna grew up surrounded by the warmth and strength of her parents' love, knowing she was cherished beyond measure.

On a hot summer day when the sun was blazing hot, all you saw was joy as you watched Cregan and your daughter playing in the courtyard, your heart swelling with happiness. The sight of your husband chasing your giggling daughter, his laughter echoing through the air, was a testament to the life you had built together.

The sight of your husband chasing your giggling daughter, his laughter echoing through the air, was a testament to the life you had built together.

Cregan caught Lyanna and lifted her into the air, her delighted squeals filling the courtyard. "Got you, my little wolf," he said, spinning her around. He brought her close, kissing her cheek as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

You joined them, the three of you basking in the warmth of the summer sun and the love that bound you together. "Our family," you said softly, looking at Cregan and Lyanna with pride. "Our beautiful family."

Cregan smiled, his eyes filled with the same love and devotion that had carried you through the challenges and joys of life. In the heart of Winterfell, amidst the ancient walls and the timeless snow, your love story continued to unfold. It was a story of strength, honor, and unbreakable bonds—a story that would be told for generations to come.

taglist: @benjicotblckwood @travelingmypassion @shoxji @thornsandtulips @spn-obession

#house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #hotd season 2 #house targaryen #hotd imagine #hotd x reader #hotd cregan #cregan x you #cregan fanfiction #cregan x y/n #cregan x reader #cregan stark #house stark

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teletubbyinlipstick · 3 months ago

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Hybrid!Poly TF141 x Reader Rambles

Once again, I'm unsure what to say. I get high, I get horny for these men, and then I hallucinate scenarios with said men. Please enjoy, please feel free to send in anything about these boys! Requests are open! I really like this idea, and I might continue to add on to it. https://www.tumblr.com/teletubbyinlipstick/760241391145238528/more-hybridpoly-tf141-x-reader-pleaaasseeeee?source=share heres the second part!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

OwlHybridAU!

Captain Price has big wings. When spread, they're just shy of 26 ft. A beautiful array of ash and brindle the feathers are easily the length of your arm. He keeps them tucked nicely, looking smaller than they are. On the field, if it ever comes down to it and he needs his wings, the look on enemies' faces when they spread is, in Soaps words,"so fuckin hot."

No one disagrees.

Johnny's wings are a bit smaller, around 18ft they're a deep honey brown. In the light, in-between the feathers, an indigo blue shines just slightly. His are more pointy at the end, a ripple effect used for disguising. Simon loves nothing more than to preen him.

Usually it ends with Johnny face down, high whimpers in his throat.

Speaking of Simon, he has the biggest wings in TF141 at 30ft. They're midnight black with streaks of white. When he's moving fast, they look almost like lightning across a black sky. His second layer of feathers is a dark gray. It's hard to notice the difference, but once you do, it's harder not to notice. He's intimidating. He knows.

It's his kink.

Gaz has the prettiest wings, 20ft, and the sweetest cocoa color. He has dirty blonde undertones that fade into pure auburn. His feathers get ruffled a little easily and the boys love teasing him for it.

It's a group effort to preen his wings.

Now theres you, new to the group, younger than them at early-mid twenties. Assigned as a mate for the boys by the government in hopes of reproducing strong genes. You're a sweet little thing, lithe with a pudgy tummy. Your wings are only 15ft. And very fluffy, a gorgeous cream with strawberry blonde highlights. The edges appear light tawny.

You're very beautiful. And the boys fall in love almost immediately upon receiving your file. They nest for you, soft blankets and pillows and sweatshirts placed in the rec room for a cozy habitat. They're keen to meet you, forgoing preening their feathers the night before in hopes of pack bonding tomorrow with you.

So imagine when you end up being the most reclusive, quiet church mouse they've ever met. You speak maybe 3 sentences in total at the meeting. You were quick to bat Johnny's hand away when he reached for your shoulder for a friendly pat. Feathers ruffling just slightly.

They backed off.

Simon stood quiet the whole time, eyes zeroed in on you. Assessing.

They showed you the loft to your room. Simon kept a polite distance, leaning against a wall with his arms crossed. Gaz and Johnny were waiting for Price to make the first move and let you know about the nest they had secured for you in the rec area. But when you politely and quickly excused yourself and darted inside, closing the door with the resounding click. They realized you weren't going to the nest. Nor were you going to the rec room in general.

They slept in their shared king bed. The nest left cold and barren. Tears were wiped from Gaz's eyes, sweet cooing coming from the bed as the boys sought solstice for each other.

No one dried your tears, and you stayed curled in the corner of your bed. Scared. Alone. And unsure what the future will bring.

#imagines #one shot #idk how to tag this #cod x reader #cod #simon ghost riley x reader #johnny mactavish #john price x reader #john price #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #im not well #tf 141 x reader #tf 141 #taskforce 141 x reader #poly 141 #poly 141 x reader

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eccentricwritingbaby · 5 months ago

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family ties

lewis hamilton x reader

summary - lewis and y/n have been going out for about half a year and he can tell she’s hiding something, or somebody. her son, a little five year old boy that lewis so desperately wants to meet. but is y/n ready for that next step?

masterlist

it was a stormy london night, one that you so desperately wanted to stay in during, however you had gotten a call earlier that contradicted your feelings. lewis had informed you that he had a standing reservation at a fine restaurant in the city and he was eager to take you to it tonight. so here you were, slipping into a tasteful and beautiful black dress along with your heels, getting ready for your perfect man. everything was perfect. except for one little hidden detail. your son.

lewis knew you were withholding some sort of information from him, he just didn’t know the extent. he wanted you to tell him when you were ready, but he wasn’t sure of the seriousness with the situation. were you cheating on him? planning on leaving him? had a different identity? using him for his fame? he had no idea. and he was planning this nice outing tonight to finally get to the bottom of it.

“alright, he’s got everything he needs. just call me if anything happens,” you speak to your ex-boyfriend, alex, the father of your son as he drops by in order to pick dominic up for his weekend with him.

“y/n, we’ve been doing this for four years. i know the drill. you don’t have to worry about dom, i’ve got him,” alex says to you as he begins to leave.

“i know i know, i’m sorry. just a little paranoid, you know how it is,” you laugh off towards him as you both begin to walk out the door.

“i understand. i feel the same when he’s here,” alex shrugs as he begins to walk to his car, dominic already jumping by the door of it, excited to have his dad for the weekend, “have fun on your date tonight with the superstar,”

“oh shut up,” you laugh off to alex, “you know he’s not like that,”

“i know, i’m happy for you. just be careful with dom,”

“i already told you i wouldn’t introduce him until i talked to you,” you say to him, “and we haven’t had that talk yet, huh?”

“hey i’m not saying you can’t introduce him,” alex says to you, now getting into the drivers seat, “i’m just saying after my mistake with letting him get close to laura,” he trails off with an eye roll as you both laugh about the disaster. alex had let your son meet his girlfriend of a few months and they had hit it off, but it ended as quickly as it started once she left him. leaving dom in the dust as he cried more than alex about the breakup, “just be careful,” alex reiterates.

“i will be,” you smile at the two boys in the car, waving goodbye to them as they pull out of your driveway and into their weekend of fun. running back into the house, you finish touching up your makeup and hair, adding your jewelry, and layering your perfume before your doorbell rings. you exhale a sigh of relief, ready for a night of no stress and fun - a given when going out with lewis.

“hey, you,” you smile as you open the door, leading lewis into your home.

“you look beautiful, y/n,” he breathes out, his hands itching for your waist in order to bring you closer, “the reservation is for about seven thirty so we’ve got to get going,” you lean in closer to him, grabbing your purse off the hook and leading him out the door.

“you’re right,” you peck his lips quickly, locking up your house behind you, “can’t let sir lewis hamilton get a bad reputation of being late,”

“exactly,” he chuckles at your joke and yet his hands find your waist again, “but a few minutes can’t hurt,” and just like that, lewis spins you around to face him, bringing your lips to his yet again. once separated, you move gently past him to his car.

“are you coming or what?” you ask with a laugh, swaying towards his car as he admires the way you depart.

“oh i’m coming,” he sighs out, relishing in the way you walk and the way you look.

once seated at dinner, lewis was shaking in his seat wondering how he’d bring up your hidden actions. he had no proof and no sense to ruin what seemed to be your perfect night. you had been bubbly and upbeat the whole time, looking gorgeous and over the moon happy with seeing him. surely the thing you were being sketchy about couldn’t hurt him? right?

“look, y/n, there’s something i’ve been meaning to talk to you about,” lewis calmly puts into conversation as you begin to sip on the drink you had ordered.

“of course, what’s going on?” you ask him, assuming he would just bring up another weekend of travel or something along those lines.

“you’re clearly hiding something from me, y/n. and i want to know what it is,”

“lewis-” you try to cut in with an exasperated sigh, but instead he stops you, continuing his rambling.

“listen i know it’s only been a few months of us going out but-”

“lewis,” you try again, but his head was spinning and there was no way of stopping his mouth.

“if you’re cheating on me just say so, we can figure things out or-”

“LEWIS” you raise your voice loud enough to get his attention, without spooking the other diners around you, “i am not cheating on you,” you roughly say in his direction, your eyes not leaving the meal in front of you.

“then what is it,” he pushes, urging you to uncover your secret.

“it’s nothing like that,”

“can you look at me,” he directs, holding his hand out and taking yours with it, “please?” you look up at him, and all your strength dissipates within seconds.

“it’s not what you think,” you start, lacing your fingers with his to have some sort of grounding, “it is serious and that’s why i didn’t tell you,” his eyes stare back at you with comfort, pleading for you to continue without pushing you into uncomfort, “i-i”

“if it’s too much, y/n, you don’t have to tell me,”

“i want to tell you, i just don’t know how you’ll feel about me afterwards,”

“no matter what it is, i’m sure i’ll feel the same,”

“i have a son,”

“oh,” lewis retracts a bit, but not much, “how old?”

“he’s five, his name is dominic,” you go on.

“and his dad?”

“he’s around, he’s a good dad, just not a good boyfriend,” you laugh a little at your joke and keep going, “dom was an oopsie at the time, but since i had him he’s been a blessing. alex - that’s his dad’s name - he is a great dad. we just figured we were better friends. there was no real connection, we thought it would be better for dom if we were great co-parents rather than bad ‘together’ parents, so we split four years ago,”

“can i meet him?” lewis asks with a hopeful expression.

“dom?”

“yeah, i want to meet your son. i want to meet everyone important in your life, and that obviously includes him,”

“i don’t know, the reason it took so long for me to tell you was because i don’t want him to get too attached to someone who may leave, he’s at an age where consistency matters,”

“i am consistent, y/n. if you want me, i’m here forever. i promise that,” lewis oozes sincerity as he looks you in your eyes, giving you the reassurance needed to confirm what you already wanted.

“alright,” you sigh into your glass of wine, “you can meet him,” lewis lets out a quiet cheer of triumph across from you and you giggle at his antics, “but i must warn you,”

“what? anything, i’m ready,”

“he’s a redbull fan,”

“oh no, now that’ll have to change,”

“thank you for dropping him off,” you let out a breath of relief to alex as dom comes running into your home.

“you’re welcome, it was no problem, truly,” he says to you as he hands you your sons bag, “how’d your superstar date go?”

“he wants to meet dom,”

“oh?” alex shoots you a surprised look, “and are you going to let that happen?”

“i think so,” you shrug off, “i think it’s time,”

“good for you,” alex shoulder bumps you a little as he continues, “you deserve this, y/n. and from what you’ve told me about him, i’m sure it will all work out,”

“yeah i hope so, he’s going to come over later if that’s okay with you?”

“my son meeting sir lewis hamilton,” alex states as he begins to walk out the door, “that is more than okay with me,”

“dom? i need to talk to you about something,” you approach your five year old as he is playing in the living room with his toys.

“what mommy?” he questions without looking up, the toys in front of him grabbing his interest.

“someone wants to meet you,” you start with caution, “and he’s coming over in a minute,”

“who?”

“well…” you ponder off, not exactly knowing the right words to piece together, “he’s mommy’s special friend,”

“like laura with daddy?”

“yes!” you cheer out quickly, excited that he grasped the concept easily, “he’s like how laura was to daddy,”

“okay,” dom lets out, “is he nice?”

“yes, love,” you nod your head for the emphasis as your son gazes up at you, “he’s very nice,”

just as you finish your thought, the doorbell to your home echoes and you and dom share a look.

“best behavior, dom,” you warn with a pointed finger as he just giggles in your direction. getting up to go and get the door, your little boy trails behind you with a bit of excitement.

“hi, lewis,” you greet your boyfriend as you open the door, “come on in,”

“thank you,” he chimes in, clearly hiding something behind him, “and who is this?” he asks in the direction of your legs. with that, dom comes out of his hiding place behind you in order to greet him.

“i’m dominic,” he squeaks out shyly. lewis proceeds to get down to his knees, holding one hand still behind his back and the other out in front of him for a handshake.

“i’m lewis, it’s nice to meet you dominic,”

“i know who you are,” dom quietly says back while shaking his hand, still shy towards the new man in front of him.

“oh you do?” your boyfriend questions back.

“you drive for mercedes,”

“yes i do,” lewis smiles at him, sneaking a glance in your direction as you can’t help but blush at the scene in front of you, “are you a formula one fan?”

“yes,” dom giggles, “but i like checo,”

“oh man,” lewis shakes his head a bit, “then this gift is going to go to waste,”

dom’s ears perk up at that, eyes widening as he asks with enthusiasm, “what gift?” lewis laughs a bit at the question and finally pulls his other arm from behind his back to reveal a bag.

“why don’t we move to the couch to open it?” you put into the room, encouraging the boys to relax a bit as you gesture towards your living room. they do as you ask, moving towards the living room and perching onto the couch. you take a seat next to your son as lewis sits across from him and you on the coffee table. handing dom the bag, he begins to unwrap and look into it, finally seeing the very small and adorable hamilton mercedes jersey.

“I LOVE IT,” your son cries out, jumping off the couch and crashing into lewis’ awaited hold. as he hugs your son, you can only smile as this night had gone better than you’d hoped.

‘thank you’ you mouth towards lewis, who only laughs and smiles in your direction, hugging your son closer to his body. everything would be fine. lewis was ready for forever with you. and you had just seen your forever fully accept him into your lives.

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erwinsvow · 5 months ago

Text

ain't nothing better for me

summary: at half past midnight, you get call from your ex-boyfriend. and though you really, really shouldn't answer, you still do.

now spinning: poison by brent faiyaz

word count: 8.8k

warnings/tags: toxic exbf!rafe, heavy angst, mentions of past breakup/fighting, reader knows she deserves better but can't stay away (classic), car sex feat. fingering, backshots, unprotected sex. thank you so so so much to @zyafics for all her help with reading and editing ♡

your phone goes off when you’re putting on your nightly skincare. in between layers of moisturizer and serums, a hopeful smile graces your face. you think you know who it is, and you’re actually a little excited to check your messages.

you let the anticipation soak in for a little longer, finishing your routine first before taking a look to reply. it’s been months since you’ve even felt a hint of excitement about talking to a boy, and this one—the one you know has just texted you—is making you feel somewhat normal again.

you’re not just someone hung up on her ex-boyfriend, pretty much unable to escape him and the ghost of your old relationship wherever you go anymore. now you’re just another girl—talking to a new boy and feeling the excitement that a new crush brings.

you rub on the last layer, the one that makes your skin all glowy and soft before bed, before deciding to go check the text. you rush over to your phone, which is resting on your nightstand next your books and your water, picking it up and tapping the screen to read the message you’ve been waiting for.

rc: are you asleep?

you think your beating heart has just fallen through to your stomach. the phone falls out of your hand, thudding against the counter and hitting your glass of water before falling onto the rug.

“shit. oh, shit,” you repeat to yourself, picking up the now spilled, half-empty cup. you look at the water drip off your nightstand, dark specks of water painting your rug while you try to catch your breath.

it feels impossible to do so, and you wonder how one short text can get you so winded. you scramble to the other side of the room, grabbing a towel but unable to walk back to where your fallen phone is. picking it up and rereading that text feels impossible. every muscle is frozen in place, the towel clenched in your fist while you realize nothing you could ever do is going to make you normal again. all it takes is a few words from rafe cameron to get you completely unglued.

“okay. deep breaths,” you say quietly, as though rafe could hear you through the phone. you tread back carefully, watching your screen fade back to darkness. letting out yet another deep breath, you blot the wet patches with the towel and take a seat on the floor against your bedframe, resting your back and bringing your knees in.

it’s pathetic, you know that already. no one should permit one text to get them curling up half-fetal with a new fear of their phone, but that’s what rafe has done to you.

a tumultuous relationship had brought you here now—for every up, there was a down, and though you had once thought rafe was the most misunderstood guy you had ever met, you know now that there was a reason for it.

all of your friends had warned you, and you hadn’t listened. and it’s not as though you have something hard, something concrete to blame. maybe it would have been better if rafe had just cheated on you or gotten bored of you, maybe that would make getting over him easier.

instead you’re left the gutting realization that there was still, to this day—even four months after you two had officially broken up—no lack of love between you two. the way you’re sitting on the floor with tears brimming in your eyes is enough to prove that to you.

and of course, there’s that other feeling nudging through in the back of your mind. the one you’re trying so hard to avoid feeling the full brunt of, to avoid letting that feeling stand on its own two feet in your heart and head. rafe cameron still wants to know if you’re asleep or not.

he still wants to know what you’re doing, where you are, even how you are. and that feeling is a beast of its own, impossible to even begin to understand.

you try to let yourself soak in the feeling, when your phone screen lights up again.

rc: i know you’re up

rc: stop ignoring me

fuck. how does he know you’re even awake? setting aside yet another impossible feeling, you finally pick up your phone, rereading his texts for the third time in sixty seconds. gone was the cute profile picture, the emojis next to his name and the butterflies in your stomach when you got a text from him.

instead you stare down at messages from a boy who has always seemed to know you better than you know yourself, wondering why you had even unblocked his contact to begin with. actually, you know why, but you decide to ignore that for now.

you need to grapple with your current reality. you need your best friends to read these texts and tell you how you should feel, because you know you can’t trust your own feelings. you need an hour just to work out how you should respond, and another hour to work up the courage to actually do so.

but you don’t get any of that. your screen glows with a red button and a green button, rafe’s contact appearing and a call coming through.

“oh god,” you get out, wondering why the hell he’s calling you. you didn’t even respond. briefly, you think if you let it go to voicemail, rafe will think you’re asleep and leave you alone. you wrestle with that idea for a moment, thinking it’s the best course, coming to terms with the fact that the boy you had once loved more than anyone in the world is now getting his call screened.

and then, as if your heart has a mind and body of its own, you feel your finger hover over the green answer button. what if rafe’s hurt? what if he really needs you and you’re ignoring him, what if it’s something serious? you shouldn’t just ignore him because of your feelings when it’s closer to one in the morning than midnight, and your boyfriend knows you always sleep early.

shit. ex-boyfriend. you let this new idea of the freudian slip take over your mind, feeling like your head might explode from the amount of emotions you just went through in the last ten minutes.

heartbreak, anxiety, and a terrible sadness even imagining telling your friends about this. they’d praise you for not answering and deep down wonder how you didn’t immediately text back. everyone in your life knows how you much you love rafe cameron.

shit. that’s the wrong word. not love, but rather loved. you need to get better at this.

“oh.” it comes out in one short breath, more a noise of relief than anything else. the call went away, your screen returning to your home wallpaper, a pretty picture of the sunset on the water. you stare at it, thinking that you really, really need to go to bed now.

rc: your light is on. answer before i-

you don’t even finish reading the text, eyes going wide. you should scramble up and turn your lights off, but you don’t even get to it before the call screen comes back on. fuck, he’s calling again.

and fuck. because this time, you answer.

bringing the phone to your ear, you wait with bated breath.

“hey, kid,” rafe says, and true to form, like something out of a dramatic teen movie, you slide down against your bedframe because those two words will always, always make you feel weak in the knees.

your eyes are closed now, a stray tear making its way down your cheek. you think you’ve missed the sound of rafe’s voice like nothing else in this world. and now, realizing what an impact it’s having on you, you wonder if cutting him off cold-turkey was the smartest idea.

“how did you know my light’s on?” you ask quietly, and it seems the whole world has stopped spinning. you can picture it now, wherever he is, running a hand through his hair at your question, licking his lips before speaking.

“i’m outside.”

oh no. no, no, no. rafe cannot be outside your house right now, he can’t be anywhere near you. and he certainly can’t be looking through your bedroom window and texting you about your lights or about anything else.

“rafe, why are you-”

“‘cause we need to talk.”

“i don’t have anything to talk about, rafe.” the words sound foreign coming out of your mouth, feels like it’s wrong to even speak this way to him.

“then just listen. c’mon, kid, come outside. gimme ten minutes, okay? s’it.”

you hang up the call without answering his last question. and letting your heart call the shots again, you get up, slipping on your shoes and grabbing your phone. and then, though you know you shouldn’t, you climb down the stairs and open the front door, being greeted by rafe’s blue truck parked alongside your curb.

you stand there frozen for a moment, thinking about every time before this you had snuck out for rafe. and then you really take it in—how the hell had a two minute phone call convinced you to do this?

the night air nips at your exposed legs, and you cross your arms to feel less cold. usually you couldn’t help yourself, ignoring the chill and running up to the passenger side door that rafe would open from the inside for you.

at first you’d been too shy to greet rafe with a kiss but it had come to you over the early months of your relationship. there were times you two spent hours in his truck on the same deserted street by the forest, coming back home before dawn and soaking in the feeling that you finally had what you wanted.

now you stare at the truck, wondering why it felt so hard to even walk closer. your body tenses up at the muscle memory coursing through you, but you hold back this time. releasing a breath, you tell yourself one thing.

“ten minutes. that’s it.”

slow steps lead you to rafe’s truck, and then when you’re just a foot away, reaching for the doorhandle, you can make out rafe leaning over your seat and pulling the handle, opening the door for you like he always does.

you should turn around and run back inside.

instead, you climb up and take a seat, gently closing the door. you stay seated, eyes focused on your lap, trying your hardest not to look around and take everything back in from the countless times you’d been here before.

moments later you fail, feeling your entire body soften like butter upon taking in the memories of yourself in this car. your lip gloss sits in the cupholder, a photo of you and rafe that you had clipped into the passenger side mirror pokes out, and the air freshner you’d bought for rafe hangs around the rearview.

you smile without realizing it, thinking that maybe rafe had erased the memories of you like you had tried to do to him. you turn, finally, to look at rafe. he’s already looking at you.

“you could have thrown this away,” you say, picking up your lip gloss and avoiding his gaze quickly.

“nah. kept it safe for you.” you bite your lip, tugging on the skin much too hard. words are becoming harder and harder to find, and you want the ache in your chest to go away more than anything in the world.

“y-you said ten minutes,” you get out, your expression dipped in sadness. without knowing why, fresh tears brim at your eyes, and you stay turned ahead to make sure rafe doesn’t see.

“that was just to get y’out here.”

“rafe-”

“c’mon, kid. m’sorry. how many times do i have to say it, huh?” unfortunately, tears start streaming down before you can control them. wiping them away, you turn to look at rafe for the first time tonight, and for the first time in a while.

he looks like he always does. some of his hair falls into his forehead, and every time he runs a hand through it, it falls back in exactly the same place. his blue eyes are completely focused on you, and though there was a time where nothing could have made you happier, right now it feels like they’re burning into you. he looks upset, like this is all very serious and like you’re not getting out of this car until you accept his apology. that last thing may be the truest part.

but worst of all, rafe looks just as handsome as always. he doesn’t have to do anything to completely take your breath away, to be that guy you would give up anything for, do anything for. that boy is still here, you just had thought that you weren’t that girl anymore. but now you don’t know.

“if you think this is about.. apologizing, then i don’t know what to say to you.”

and you mean that. you don’t know what to say to him. you don’t know any sentence you can utter that will get you out of this car with your heart still in one piece.

“kid,” rafe says, and your entire body tightens up. he moves one hand to your exposed knee and you feel your skin turn to fire underneath his touch. “you wanted time. i gave you time. i gave you months. you really so much better off without me that you won’t even let us try?”

“it’s not like that,” you say through tears, a sob wrangled in your throat.

“then what’s it like? ‘cause i’ve been waiting. first you didn’t answer my calls, my texts. then you fuckin’ blocked me and you said you needed time. this is enough time.” rafe looks at you like he’s ready for this whole thing to be over, like all the two of you need to mend this relationship in the next few minutes.

“it’s not about the time, rafe. you still think this whole thing is about flowers and-and attention, and it’s just not-”

“i know i fucked up.”

the sentence hits you like a wall of bricks. the entire break-up had started from what was mostly a simple thing—you felt like rafe never got you flowers anymore. the two months leading up to this relationship starting had been everything you had dreamt of. rafe would check in on you everyday, go out of his way to see you, make sure you were okay even when you had already lied that you were fine. spontaenous dates, car rides, boat trips, he had done it all.

but it was really the effort behind the actions that had made you so head over heels. you didn’t care about anything but that simple word—effort. and rafe had put in the effort the entire time before you two agreed to date.

truth be told, you didn’t care about all the stuff you two did together. everything with rafe was fun for you, but it was really just being with him that you wanted. and for the first six months of your one-year relationship, you had his complete effort and attention. there was never anything pressing when the two of you were together, never anything that was worth leaving you for.

and the flowers. the boy who had taken you on the first date had brought you flowers. and you, being you, had beamed. those peonies had lived on your nightstand for much too long, and then you had taken one and kept it on your windowsill.

the single dried peony was still on your windowsill—you had never thrown it away, and the realization makes your heart hurt. it had been a stupid argument about flowers that had made you decide you wanted, or rather that you needed to end things with rafe. you had been sitting in this very seat, noticing for the hundredth time in the last few months that rafe was stressed about something, unhappy about something else. instead of talking to you about it, he was neglecting you.

conversations were one-sided. your efforts to try and help him, and to try and figure out what was even going on were met with silence or a gruff leave it alone, kid. a couple dates were forgotten or cut short, but that wasn’t a big deal. you wanted to be supportive, and you tried as best as you could, but you couldn’t keep burning the candle on both ends.

you wanted to take care of rafe while he was going through this, but in that process, you had to take care of yourself too. and when it came to it, sitting where you were sitting now, you had decided to put yourself first.

you snap out of your thoughts at once. you’re reflecting as though something is about to change, and for your own sanity, you know it can’t. rafe admitting he did something wrong is nice, so at least you don’t have to blame only yourself anymore, but it can’t change what you’ve decided.

“you..” you falter, unsure where your sentence is going. “it wasn’t just you. but maybe we both need to stop, rafe. this isn’t healthy.”

“no, no, it was just me.” your shut your eyes tightly, holding back a painful noise that you don’t want to release.

“rafe, please-”

“you got upset about flowers. i didn’t know what it was really about. and that’s my fault, okay? it’s not about the fuckin’ flowers. it’s about us, i get that now.”

your eyes open, though tears have made your vision blurry and your eyes hurt. you keep looking at rafe, wondering when he realized all this and when he decided he was going to keep chasing you. you don’t think you really want to know the answer. holding back another sob, you try to reply, but it comes out in a teary whisper.

“why couldn’t you figure this out four months ago?”

you start crying again, though you really wish you wouldn’t. it’s been more than ten minutes, but you have a feeling you’re not getting out of this car anytime soon. rafe grips the steering wheel so hard you see his knuckles lose color.

“‘cause i wasn’t.. i wasn’t paying attention. and m’sorry. what else can i do, huh? y’know i can’t live without you.”

the words bring up more tears, and you wipe them away with your hands.

“c’mon kid, don’t cry.”

“i can’t just forget about all of that because you’re saying this now. if this happens again i’m gonna-”

“it won’t,” rafe says it firmly, moving his hand back to your thigh. there’s goosebumps on your skin. “it won’t happen again.”

you’re staring at rafe while he stares at your thigh, where he’s touching you. you sniffle, a million thoughts running through your head. you want to know what to do, what to say. unfortunately, the one person in the world you ask every question to is the one sitting next to you right now.

you focus on wiping your tears away, crossing your legs. rafe stretches his arm to the backseat, grabbing something and bringing it to the front. he offers it to you—one of his hoodies, the navy one from his alma mater that you used to wear almost every day.

“i-i’m fine,” you say, though you’re still cold. it’s the idea of wearing it that provokes you to say that. you don’t know how you’ll feel if you put that sweatshirt on again.

you could remember the first time you wore it like yesterday. at the bonfire, wearing a dress you had thought rafe would like, you were freezing by the water with him and his friends. rafe had left to get you two new drinks and come back with it, and you had spent the rest of time curled up next to him, refusing to take it off even when the group migrated near the fire. when had you given this hoodie back? it seemed to have a new permanent home in your bedroom or your car.

“stop lyin’ to me. just put it on.” suddenly too sad to fight about this, you comply, pulling it over your head and covering your pajamas—a big shirt and your sleep shorts getting hidden.

you shouldn’t take in the scent, but you do, inhaling deeply. it smell like rafe’s cologne—which is enough to bring more tears to your eyes, since it’s been months since you’ve smelled that scent—and the laundry detergent he uses and something else you can’t place.

“thank you.”

you know what you’ve just done. someone staying in the car for another few minutes doesn’t put on their ex-boyfriend’s hoodie. you think you’ve just signed your death warrant through this simple act.

“i don’t want one of your neighbors to call the cops,” rafe says, looking into the side mirror.

this is your chance. the logical part of your brain screams at you to tell rafe to leave, to take off this hoodie and run back inside. it reminds you that no one can change instantly, no matter what they tell you and how much better they seem.

it says that the next time rafe gets stressed out, you might suffer through everything you went through all over again. you see it in flashbacks—nights spent crying into your pillow, waiting on your front porch for dates that never happened, asking rafe for flowers and deciding that you need to break up with him after he finally gave them to you.

“do you want ice cream?” you ask, blinking up at rafe.

“where are we gonna get ice right now?” you shrug at his response.

“you always found somewhere.”

rafe laughs at a little, and your heart soars.

“yeah, guess i did.”

rafe looks down at you, perched in his passenger seat like you always are, like you always should be, your face a little flushed from the tears.

“you sure you want ice cream, kid?” you don’t miss the implication in his words, the tone of his voice, or what he’s really asking you. you nod. “alright. let’s go then.”

changing gears, he pulls the car away towards the road and takes off down your street while you fasten your seat belt.

you had only suggested getting ice cream because you couldn’t find it in yourself to go back to your room and sleep after everything you just went through. rafe’s words were having an immediate, visceral impact on you, making you reevaluate everything the two of you had gone through these last few months.

he did seem different. you’re probably one of the only people in the world who would notice, but you know he has. there’s small changes—the way he talks to you, the words he’s using to apologize, how much he seems to understand everything you were feeling during the end of your relationship and the following months.

but you’re not sure yet. you can’t let a few nice words or what could end up being empty promises change your mind completely, as heartbreaking as that idea now seems.

you need to think about it, and you need more time. you push down some of your inner thoughts—they’re telling you what you really need is a good night’s sleep and an hour-long conversation with your best friends. instead you’ve decided for yourself that you need some more time with rafe. hence; the ice cream.

rafe pulls up to the drive-through window of the only place still open on figure eight. the parking lot is mostly deserted, but not empty. you don’t recognize any of the cars, but you keep looking, staring off into space, distracted with your own thoughts. you don’t look up until rafe’s driving towards the second window to pay, not realizing he’d already ordered.

“oh, i didn’t tell you-”

“s’okay. i got you what you always get.”

“oh.” you’re left a little stunned. it’s been four months since you’ve had a real converastion with rafe and he still remembers your ice cream order—is that normal?

rafe pays and hands you one of the ice creams to hold, keeping the other in his hand while he drives away, parking in an empty corner of the lot. you stare at him stupidly while holding your ice cream, watching as he picks up your lip gloss from the cup holder and puts it in your lap. he takes the ice cream in your hand first, putting it into the holder, and then does the same with the one in his hand.

you look away finally, now peering at the lip gloss on your lap.

“sorry, kid.” rafe says, picking it up from your lap. his hands are cold and even with his hoodie on, you shiver at the touch. he drops the bottle into the center console, and then looks up at you, one hand still on your thigh.

“huh?” you ask quietly, a little overwhelmed. there’s so many thoughts running through your mind, you don’t know which to focus on first. rafe remembers your order. rafe doesn’t want you to hold the ice cream since you’re cold. rafe brought you a hoodie because he knows that you wouldn’t put one on before coming out. the last thought is particularly biting—rafe knew you would come to his car if he called.

“you okay?” he asks, and truly, you don’t know how to answer.

“fine. yes, i’m fine. just tired,” you murmur, reaching for your ice cream with your hand covered by your sleeve.

“yeah. s’late for you.”

before you even take a bite, you look up at rafe. he’s just eaten a bite of vanilla soft-serve, licking the spoon before going back for another scoop. you feel your defenses slipping away while the scene infront of you unfolds. rafe doesn’t even like ice cream that much, not like you do. but he still always gets some because you hate getting it alone, and he knows that. if he remembers your order, he remembers that. rafe looks up and catches you staring, your melting ice cream in your hand.

“you sure you’re okay, baby?”

you turn away, staring down at your ice cream.

“you can’t just do that,” you mutter, all of a sudden upset at yourself more than at rafe. you’re doing it—the very thing you had told yourself to watch out for before even getting in rafe’s car. falling for him all over again, without any thought of your own mental well-being if this all goes south another year from now.

“do what? check on my girl, huh?” there’s a teasing lilt in his voice that makes you want to chuck your ice cream at him.

“i’m not your girl anymore, remember? and you-you can’t just call me baby and act like everything’s back to normal-” you feel so stupid. why were you even here? why had you even suggested this?

“i thought we just went over this, kid, i’m-”

“i can’t rafe,” the words come out a little too loud, and you put your half-eaten ice cream back in his cupholder. “i can’t just.. go back to you. you’re gonna hurt me again, i-i know you are. i know you’re fine and-and you wanna get back together but it’s gonna tear me apart all over again.”

you stay silent, holding back what you really want to say. the words even rest at the tip of your tongue. no matter how much i love you, i can’t do that to msyelf again. you hope rafe understands, that he’ll try to make this easy on you.

“there’s no.. no amount of ice cream and hoodies and flowers that can make us okay again.” your words linger in the air and you stare at your hands now, trying to avoid looking at rafe because you’ll start crying the moment you do.

“kid, i-i know i fucked up. this stuff is just to show you m’still tryin for you. m’never gonna stop. that’s all.”

your shoulders sink down, all the tightness leaving your spine.

“can y’just look at me, please?” you glance up, meeting rafe’s eyes again. “i’m gettin’ better, baby. i can’t do it without you.”

“don’t i deserve someone who doesn’t have to get better for me?” you ask, though your heart isn’t really in the question.

“you do. i know you do. and maybe m’just the idiot hopin’ for another chance, even if i don’t deserve it.”

“then why are y-”

“‘cause i can’t live without you. and i’ll hate myself forever if i don’t try again.”

rafe can see it happen, the way your eyes soften immediately. you hate when he says stuff like that, mostly because you believe every word coming from his mouth. your lips turn into a small pout, eyes looking down again.

“finish your ice cream before it melts,” he says, and you listen immediately, picking it back up.

the two of you stay like that for what feels like forever, eating ice cream. you glance up every now and then but then look back down when you catch his eye.

“you-uh, found anyone like that yet?” rafe asks, while you eat another spoonful of your own soft-serve. “that doesn’t have to get better and all that?”

you let the sugary dessert melt in your mouth, licking your lips while you try to think of the best answer. rafe’s staring at your mouth, but you don’t notice.

“no. not really, i guess.”

“you guess?”

“well, i.. i was waiting for a text from this guy, but it’s nothing, i-i barely know him.”

you notice what you’ve just done as the sentence finishes—trying to undermine everything you were going through before rafe came back into your life suddenly earlier tonight. and you know why—you don’t want rafe to think this guy means anything to you. and watching rafe finish the last of his ice cream, the one he only got because he knew you’d hate eating yours alone, you know that boy doesn’t mean anything anymore.

“waiting for? so you didn’t get it?”

“no, i don’t think so. i haven’t looked since you called. actually, when you texted me, i-i thought it was him.”

“really?” rafe asks. you nod. “were you happy? that it wasn’t?”

“i don’t know,” you say it immediately. and truthfully, you don’t. “i need to think about it.”

“what’s your gut tellin’ you?”

“my gut said not to answer your call. but here we are.” you put your empty ice cream in his cup-holder, listening to rafe laugh.

“sorry, kid. that’s my fault.”

“your fault?” you question, looking at rafe. your confused expression stares back at him while he debates the best way to tell you this.

“i had a conversation, y’know, man to man. it was his choice.”

“rafe,” you start, turning in your seat to face him. “what did you say?”

“nothin’, kid. just, y’know.. if he texted you he’s gonna get a black eye.”

“rafe-”

“if he took you out, he’s gonna get two-”

“what the fuck-”

“what? you just said it was nothin’-”

“but you decided for me! before i even had a chance. it’s not your choice to make, it’s not your-”

“-but it is. if it’s about you, s’about me.”

exasperated, you sink into the seat, unsure about how to reply to that.

“how many times have you done this?”

“not a lot,” rafe says. you don’t believe him, staring with a look that tells him as much. “once.. or twice.”

“once or twice? please tell me-oh my god. that guy last month—i thought he stood me up, you dick!” you swat at rafe’s arm, but only manage to get a few taps in before he holds your wrist in place, stopping you from moving at all. “i thought there was something wrong with me.”

“there’s nothin’ wrong with you. just thought you deserved better than those assholes, s’all.”

“oh, but your type of asshole is fine, is that right?”

“yeah, it is.”

you lock eyes with rafe for a second, before the two of you start laughing. it feels so stupid to think back to the last few months and realize you couldn’t even remember the last time you and rafe laughed together. you keep looking at him, your laugh dying down until you bite your cheek and watch rafe run a hand through his hair.

“i didn’t like him anyways,” you finally say after enough silence has passed.

“good. i didn’t either.”

“is there any guy you would like for me?”

“just one, kid.” rafe stops, taking in the way you’re looking at him. he knows where and when he fucked up, even knows how to be better for you and not let it happen again. convincing you is the hard part, and he thinks he’s even making progress with that, with the way your pretty eyes shine up. your expression is as close to hope as he’s ever seen before. hoping that he’s not just saying these things, hoping that it won’t end like last time.

but you care enough to hope, and that’s enough for him to run with.

“m’sorry about the.. threats. but it’s me, so-”

“what did i expect?” you finish, smiling back at him. the way rafe looks at you right now makes you feel things you wish you could bottle up. instead you redirect your gaze, staring at the street lights illuminating the now-empty parking lot.

“exactly. and if i let you go on a date with some guy, i couldn’t give you these.”

“rafe,” you start, though you’re not sure where your going with it. you shut up though, because rafe leans back, behind your seat. he picks up a bouquet of flowers and puts them on your lap, and the whole time you watch holding in a breath, tears automatically springing to your eyes.

it’s a nice sentiment, you think, trying to justify it to yourself. the flowers on your lap are pink peonies, dark and light wrapped in brown paper. they look just like the ones rafe had give you on your first date and you smile down at them, still trying to wrap your head around the sentence that had you dizzy all night long—maybe rafe really had changed.

“this is really cheesy,” you finally admit, your eyes flickering back up at rafe with another smile. he keeps his eyes on you for a while, not saying anything, though you’re sure you know what he’s thinking. something along the lines of how you’ve wanted cheesy, you’ve wanted flowers without asking for them.

“i wanna be cheesy for you.” you inhale, not realizing how much such simple words mean to you. “it’s not flowers. it’s you, it’s for you. the things i do. the way i show it. i thought you wanted flowers but you just wanted me, didn’t you?”

“yeah,” you breathe out.

“well i’m here now. and you have me. you have all of me. and i’m not goin’ anywhere this time.”

the feeling coursing through your veins right now is unlike anything else. you feel more than just happy, more than just like a girl about to get back together with her ex-boyfriend. you feel like you’ve just become whole again.

what a shitty metaphor—as though you’d been totally and utterly incomplete without rafe in your life. that thought lingers for much too long, because haven’t you? you’ve always been attached to rafe, teetering on the edge of codependence, but there’s no denying the plain truth so obvious to both of you right now.

you can’t live without rafe and rafe can’t live without you.

“i gotta take you home. can you imagine what your parents will say? one day back with me and already sneakin’ out until-”

“i don’t wanna go home,” you say quietly, watching as rafe reverses out of the parking spot. he swings his arm around the headrest of your seat, watching behind him. back on the road, he drives in the direction of your house.

“don’t worry, kid. i’ll see you in a couple hours, probably-”

“will you take me by the water? where we used to go?” the truck comes to a halt at the stoplight. rafe looks over, the entire car glowing in the dim red light. the two of you meet eyes for a moment.

“yeah. sure.” you smile, watching rafe take a left instead of heading straight to your street. it’s not a long drive to the water from here, but the place the two of you always frequented is tucked away between trees and dead-ends.

it’s a bit of a maze to get there, and you don’t think you could figure it out in the broad daylight. but here in the dark, with rafe driving and music playing faintly in the background, you remember it like the back of your hand.

you entire body tenses up, a tingling running from your fingers to your toes. the mere feeling is electric, to be back in yours and rafe’s spot—almost like nothing has changed. it feels like maybe nothing has changed—you’re just as happy as you once were.

the tell-tale bumpiness of the road signifies you’re close to the spot. there’s a small outlook just beyond patches of gravel, a parting between trees where you can see the ocean. it’s private, almost completley inaccessible unless you were searching for it.

and maybe something’s changed in the last few months, maybe someone is searching for it, but you can’t bring yourself to care right now. rafe puts the truck in park and you take a moment, first to stare down at your peonies, then to look over the water.

“it’s late,” you say, taking in how dark the sky is. stars sparkle above you, and when rafe turns the car off, you can even hear the waves rushing on the beach.

“nah, kid. it’s early.”

“yeah, i guess you’re right.” holding another breath, and without knowing exactly why you are, you lean forward, resting your elbows on the dash and staring up at the sky through the windshield. you release the breath suddenly when you feel rafe’s hand on your knee, first just the touch, but followed by a squeeze.

“say the word and i’ll take you home.”

“no, i don’t wanna go. it’s just so late. i’m never up at this time anymore.” you bring your arms back, sitting in your seat and staring at rafe again, like you’ve been doing this entire time. “thank you, rafe.”

you prepare yourself for his usual answer, waiting to explain why you’re thanking him and how you still feel nervous but you’re ready to jump back into this relationship if he is, the sentences and words forming in your head already.

instead he doesn’t say anything, leaning in suddenly and taking your face in his hands, bringing you into a kiss. and fuck, you’re a liar if you say you hadn’t missed this. rafe kisses you—always has, and seems like now he always will—like you’re about to slip away if he’s not holding you tight enough.

the hand on your face hold your jaw securely, tilting your face up for him. the kiss has you reeling from your seat, a wave of heat coursing your entire body. your face is hot, your palms clammy, eyes clamped shut while you try to remember if his lips have always been this soft, or felt this good on yours.

your flowers fall to the floor, rolling off your lap and landing with a rustle. you’re sure there’s loose petals and stray leaves littering the car now, but still, it’s hard to care. rafe moves his hands away from your face, pulling away from the kiss for just a second.

while you try to look down and see the damage you’ve just caused your peonies, you feel his hands on your hips, picking you up and bringing you onto his lap. you let out a noise of surprise, looking back at your boyfriend now. he doesn’t hesitate, leaning in again for a kiss.

this time, you don’t hesitate either, both of your hands migrating, traveling from his arms to his shoulders, gripping him as hard as he’s holding you.

you feel wandering hands on your waist, traveling down to your ass and grabbing hard, making you let out squeals into rafe’s mouth. it feels like nothing has changed, like the last four months have never happened, with the way you fit so comfortably, how it feels so right to be back on his lap. you move your hands again, running through his hair like you always did—how you always loved doing—when you pull away this time to catch your breath.

you meet rafe’s eyes, letting out a shuddery breath and a laugh all in one. you move your hand to his chest, pressing down against it, trying to make sure this is really happening. rafe follows your movement, taking your hand into his. your fingers intertwine with his, and rafe brings your hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss against the back of it.

you think you’ve just melted all over again, lips curling up into a happy smile but finding it so much harder to keep looking into his blue eyes. he doesn’t say anything, just brings you back for another kiss.

this might have been enough for you tonight, but everything rafe had said in the last few hours rushes back into your mind, and you can feel how hard he is beneath you. before you can even think about what you’re doing, you’ve moved to the backseat. propped up against the door, you wait for rafe to join you, biting your lower lip so hard it’s about to bleed. you watch rafe—he sighs, turning to look at you smiling in the back.

“jesus, kid,” he says, opening the driver’s door and getting out of the car. you sit up a little straighter, confused until he opens the other door, meeting you in the back. you tilt your head at him, rolling your eyes.

“you couldn’t just hop over?” you question, blinking up at him.

“no, ‘cause i’m not a runt,” rafe says, shutting the door once he got in beside you. you stay still for a moment, looking at him again.

but it really is just a moment this time—you’ve become far too impatient to wait any longer. normally you’d savor it—there’s a lot that you and rafe can get done in this tiny space—but today your mind can’t focus on any of it.

your hands go to rafe’s polo first, moving it up his abdomen, fisting the bunched cloth to get it off your boyfriend as fast as you can, until he finally pulls it over his head. you crawl back onto his lap, hands perched on his shoulders while you start kissing again.

your brain goes numb and fuzzy, feeling rafe sneak under your shirt and rub the soft skin of your back and stomach, before making his way up to your tits. he gropes while you keep kissing—and it’s a vicious cycle. you moan at every teasing touch, rutting harder against his erection.

it’s quick—he lifts your shirt up and off, and you both stay like that for a while, until you feel rafe paw at the waist of your shorts. leaning into his touch, you let him move you around like a rag-doll, now on your back on the seat, with him in between your legs. you lift your hips compliantly, letting him slide the shorts and your panties off together, laying completely exposed before him.

“not fair,” you breathe, watching as his eyes rake you over from top to bottom, like he’s memorizing every detail. “you’re still dressed.”

“don’t worry ‘bout that, kid,” he says, and you feel your walls flutter at the words, it’s nothing but it feels like everything right now, with anticipation driving you insane.

“can you just.. hurry? please?” you whine, even though it’s against your best interest. rafe likes taking his time with you, a fact you are well aware of.

“no,” he says, and you’re meant to understand the word is an entire sentence and your only answer. “y’know how long i’ve been thinkin’ about this?” you glance up at rafe from your position, watching as he hovers, your hand reaching out to touch his chest again. his silver chain glimmers in the light around his neck, and you loop your fingers around it. you want to tug, pulling him on top of you for another kiss, but you refrain for now.

“i don’t know,” you answer. “four months?” rafe laughs and so you laugh too, the sweet sound filling the tense air. he brings a hand to your exposed stomach, trailing up and down and taking in how your breath catches.

“needy, huh?” rafe starts talking and your body tenses up immediately, knowing what’s coming. “when’s the last time you came? hm?”

“i-um,” you trail off, paying more attention to how he’s unbuckling his belt and undoing his zipper. you’re close to getting what you want, the question getting lost in your mind in a swirl of thoughts—all of them revolving around how rafe’s stroking himself, his eyes scanning over you.

“s’not an answer, kid,” he says, leaning over you again. his chain dangles on your skin and the mere touch of it transports you back to every other time rafe had you like this. you clench hard around nothing, positive that you’re humiliatingly wet for rafe right now. and he’s still waiting for you to answer a question you’ve clean forgotten. “the last time you came. tell me. or y’not cummin’ this time.”

you whine, toes curling. rafe’s teasing your pussy with his fingers, two of them prodding through your folds and hovering over your wet hole. you think an answer might get him to actually fuck you with his fingers, but you still can’t piece it together with how fast your heart is beating.

“i-i think-” his fingers press into you without actually pushing inside your tight walls.

“don’t think. jus’ tell me.”

“last-last week. i was-” he gives you a little more pressure, you can feel them almost inside but it’s not nearly enough-

“you were what?”

“thinking about you-!” it comes out all in one quick gasp, rafe plunging both fingers inside you quickly. you moan, back arching off the seat, but restrained by rafe that you can’t go anywhere, can’t do anything but take it. he keeps going, finger-fucking you faster until you’re positive you’re about to tip over the edge.

“good. good girl. wasn’t so hard, was it?” he keeps going, leaning over you to bring you in for another kiss, and it seems that’s all you need. that feeling—his chain grazing your face and his fingers deep inside you is enough to have you cumming, the tightness in your stomach unwinding while you make a mess over his hand. rafe swallows your moans, keeps his motions going while you ride it out.

when he finally pulls his fingers out, you feel empty. you try to catch your breath and level out your heartbeat, looking back at him with your dopey, teary eyes. he’s stroking himself with his glistening hand, getting ready to fuck you, you think dreamily.

rafe brings one hand to where your head is, pressing his palm flat against the seat. you watch him with big, wet eyes how he lines himself up with your throbbing pussy, how he leans in for another kiss. that’s when he pushes inside—no teasing words or questions, just a kiss you groan loudly, feeling the impossible stretch you’ve missed so much again, eyes rolling all the way back. your noises are muffled by rafe’s kiss, until he pulls away to bury his face in your neck. he bites at the sensitive skin there, leaving marks you’ll have to deal with later today, but it seems like a fair exchange in this moment.

rafe pulls out and slams back in, and you moan in response with each thrust, forgetting how good he was at this. your legs are quivering, pussy impossibly sore already but you don’t think you’d make him stop even if someone knocked on the window right now. you move your hand, holding onto the seat while rafe keeps battering into you, your eyes wandering down to where the two of you are connected. rafe sucks hard above where your pulse is, and you arch your back up, legs wrapping around him.

“feels good, doesn’t it baby? better than you fingers?” he asks, and you nod, still speechless. “tell me how good-”

“rafe, rafe, i-” you moan his name but he interrupts.

“no, kid, lemme hear you-” he brings his face close to yours, your foreheads almost touching. you close the gap, kissing him again, feeling the tickle of his chain on your neck now.

“i missed you,” you cry out. you realize later it wasn’t the answer he was asking for, but you don’t really care. the words fly out of your mouth, you’ve been so desperate this entire night to keep them tucked away, but it can’t stay down any longer. “i missed you, i missed you, i missed-”

he shuts you up with another kiss, his pace picking up, if it’s even possible. your senses abandon you again, toes curling while rafe hits a spot inside you that’s been so neglected these past months. a white-hot sensation rushes over you, exploding from your stomach and spreading out, while your walls clench tightly against rafe. rafe presses back to your neck, murmuring let me hear you, and you do—finishing with a moan so loudly you’re sure someone in the vincinity has just heard you.

you need to catch your breath, but rafe doesn’t give you the chance. he pulls out of you, letting your sore pussy flutter around nothing, before he turns you around, your body folded up while he slaps your ass so hard it starts stinging.

he pushes back in and your eyes roll back again, gripping the seat and then the door handle just to stabilize yourself for a moment. rafe likes backshots—the only thing he likes more is mean backshots, slamming into you from behind while you cry out. everything feels even more sensitive like this, coming down from two highs and blindly chasing a third.

rafe’s talking but you don’t hear what he’s saying, you can’t make it out over the ringing in your ears. so you turn your head, looking up at him from this position, but you still don’t actually hear him. instead you feel it—his hips stuttering, the weight of his body collapsing on you, hot, wet streams of his cum shooting inside you.

you two stay like that for what feels like forever, listening to birds chirp and the waves crash over rocks. it’s rafe who untangles the two of you, separating sweaty, sticky limbs. he leans against the seat and brings you in to his chest, holding you tight while you let your eyes shut again. it’s comfortable—even more so when rafe picks up the discarded clothing, using it to cover you like a blanket.

you move your hand until you find his, bringing your palms together on his chest, close to your face so you can rest your cheek on his hand.

“shit. i gotta get you home,” rafe says, and you sigh in agreement, listening to the thud of his heartbeat from your position. outside, the sky is lighting up a little bit with soft early blues.

“can’t we sleep first?” you murmur back, eyes still closed.

“don’t think we’ve ever stayed here ‘til sunrise. have we?” he asks you, and you try to rack your exhausted brain for the answer.

“first time for everything.” finding some strength, you turn your head, looking up at your boyfriend. “rafe? can i ask you something?”

“yeah, kid?”

“did you mean everything you said?”

“yeah. i did.”

“oh. good.” the words are quiet coming from your mouth, and you lean back against his chest, getting comfortable again. “thanks for the flowers.”

“yeah, kid,” he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. your breathing evens out, and he knows you’ve fallen asleep. it’s fine—it’s way too late for you anyways. “thanks for answering.”

♡

#here it is! i hope everyone likes it ♡#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #ex bf rafe #... why do i not like it lol

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