#EVERYONE SAY THANK YOU PLOY

[blmpff]

17.10.23

[hederasgarden]

On the Horizon (2/?)

Summary: You've been pining over your coworker for a while now. He might not have realized but someone has.  Pairing:Tyler Owens x F!Reader (with minor Scott x F!Reader) Word Count: 4.3K  Rating: Mature, 18+ only. Angst and asshole!Scott who brings a side of gaslighting. Future chapters will be smutty. Not all themes are tagged.   A/N: Thanks to @writercole for the summary and @ryebecca @mermaidxatxheart @clairewritesandrambles and @a-reader-and-a-writer for their beta help.

Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my www inbox. That always makes my day.

Part 1 ♡ Masterlist

The sound of the rickety old air conditioning unit sputtering to life jolts you awake. You roll over with a groan, throwing an arm over your face to shield yourself from the sunlight trickling in through a gap in the curtains. It takes you a long moment to realize the other side of the bed is empty and cold. When you do, the remnants of sleep scatter, a wave of awareness washing over you.

You tuck your chin against your chest and pull the scratchy sheets closer to your naked body. The old clock on the bedside table stares back at you as you struggle to ignore the hollow ache in your stomach. You didn’t expect Scott to stay the night. Both of you knew it wouldn’t be smart, though it still stings, just like it did the first time. But that was Scott, you remind yourself, always thinking two steps ahead, anticipating and reacting. Whatever you two had needed to remain a secret. As he reminded you last night, when it came to sleeping with a coworker, people were always harsher on the woman. It was better this way. Wasn’t it?

You close your eyes and draw in a pained breath, catching the faint, musky scent of Scott’s cologne that still lingers in the sheets. The smell brings a rush of memories from the night before, vivid and overwhelming, like a sense memory that refuses to fade. The way his long, thick fingers curled inside you. The sound of his shuddering breath when he came. 

Your phone buzzes, and you jerk upright, expecting or perhaps hoping to see Scott’s name. Instead, it's Andy letting you know he’s grabbing coffee for everyone. You thank him and, without giving yourself a chance to second-guess yourself, shoot off a message to Scott. You watch as the status changes from “Delivered,” to “Read at 7:22 AM.” You wait for a reply but minutes tick by without an answer.

Eventually, you force yourself out of bed and prepare for the day, but as you move through your routine, your mind keeps drifting back to the unanswered message. It’s after 8 a.m. by the time you leave the hotel room with your duffle bag in hand. Outside, the parking lot is full of other storm chasers who mill around quietly, their mood more subdued than last night.

You find Scott with a clipboard in hand, talking with Javi. He spares you a glance but doesn’t otherwise acknowledge you. It’s not personal, you remind yourself, feeling better when you remember you're both assigned to Scarecrow. You’ll have a chance to talk with him then without having to worry about anyone overhearing you. 

On the way to the car, you catch up with Andy, looking dubiously at the greyish cup of gas station coffee he hands you. It's been weeks since you had a decent cup. You're half-busy lamenting the absence of Starbucks when a sharp whistle catches your attention. It's Tyler, and he’s giving you a curious look, raising his chin in Scott's direction. 

You know what he's asking. You should give him a thumbs-up so he knows the ploy worked, but before you can a sharp, unexpected wave of shame crawls up your throat. Tyler wrinkles his brow, hands on his hips. When he takes a step forward you turn away without answering him. You head for your assigned car, only to stop abruptly when you see Peter, one of the meteorologists, sitting in the passenger seat with the door ajar.

“Morning. I think you might be in the wrong car,” you say. 

“Hey,” Peter greets, looking up from his computer. “Scott changed the rotation. You’re riding with Javi. Didn’t he tell you?”

“Oh.” You stare at your coworker unblinking, for a long moment. It was probably an oversight. Scott was so busy. "O-of course he did, I must have forgotten," you lie, forcing yourself to chuckle. “Lack of sleep,” you explain.

“Tell me about it. These motel beds are killing my back.”

“For sure,” you agree, offering him a wave and promising to catch up with him later. The second you turn away, your eyes sting and you brush at them angrily. Why are you crying? It’s not even a big deal. You liked riding with Javi, everyone did even though he was the boss. 

You head in the opposite direction of the others, unsure of where you’re going. All you know is that you need to move to dislodge the pressure in your chest. It’s only when you reach the edge of the motel’s property, standing at the boundary of the farm next door, that you finally stop. You drop your bag, sending up a small cloud of dust, and press a hand to your mouth as you stare across the field of knee-high corn. This was all so stupid, a childish overreaction. There’d be time to talk with Scott tonight again. You were getting upset over nothing.

You have only a few precious seconds to collect yourself before you hear footsteps approaching. Quickly, you scrub your hands over your eyes, trying to dry the tears as best as you can. It doesn’t matter who it is; you just don’t want to be seen like this.

“You know, sweetheart,” Tyler begins, his southern drawl softening the endearment, “I’m not used to chasing after a woman.” 

He stops a few feet away, his gaze fixed steadily on the horizon. You watch him out of the corner of your eye, his cowboy hat shading his expression from view. He's not exactly who you want to talk to at the moment but it was better than someone from your team. 

“Well," you start, clearing your throat to dislodge the unwanted emotion from your voice. "You’re welcome for the unique experience, I guess."

He turns to face you, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. You’ve amused him.  “Well, don’t keep me in suspense,” he says, clearly waiting for you to elaborate.

You open your mouth but nothing comes out. Scott spent the night and that was what you wanted so why didn’t it feel that way? 

“Ah, he shit the bed, huh?” Tyler asks, understandingly. Your nose wrinkles at the euphemism and this time he laughs. “Well, we can always try again tonight.”

You realize then that Tyler thinks nothing happened between you and Scott last night. You should set him straight, but instead, you find yourself saying, “You don’t even know where we’re going.”

“Come on now. We both know everyone here is heading up to Bartlesville. The conditions look promising.” 

“What do you have planned to help me?”

Tyler tilts his cowboy hat up with a finger, stepping close enough that you find yourself beneath its brim. You look up at him and notice, for the first time, the dark stubble along his jaw and the dimples that appear when he smiles. You’ve always known he was handsome — everyone knew it, mostly because that was all Peter talked about after enough beers. But right now, it feels like you’re seeing Tyler Owens for the first time.

“You leave that up to me. Just be ready by 7 p.m. Wear that dress from last night.”

He steps away and you feel like you can breathe again. “Okay.” You agree.

“Okay?” he questions. “They don’t teach you manners up north?” He teases.

His comment catches you off guard and startles a genuine laugh from you, the first one you’ve had in a while, you realize. “Thank you,” you reply sincerely. 

Just like last night, Tyler taps your nose playfully and steps back. “7 p.m.,” he reminds you before he turns and heads off.

You don’t even notice it until you’re back at the truck, but the pressure in your chest that’s been weighing on you all morning is gone.

–

Riding to Bartlesville with Javi isn’t half bad, he’s more than willing to share the endless supply of snacks he’s got stashed all over the vehicle. You rummage through the glovebox, pushing away a questionable-looking melted bar of chocolate for a package of Skittles.

“So, you gonna tell me what last night was all about?” He asks.

You freeze, anxiety skittering up your spine. Does he know about you and Scott?

“Javi, I —”

“Tyler Owens?” he presses. “I saw you with his crew last night, and Scott mentioned he was bothering you this morning.”

At the mention of Scott’s name, there’s a familiar, painful tug in your chest. You ignore it, just like you do with the knowledge that Scott saw you and Tyler together. You don’t want to think about him right now.

“Are you asking as my friend or as my boss?” You question, propping your foot on the dashboard and tossing a Skittle into your mouth.  

“As your friend I want to make sure you’re being safe. And as your boss, I wanna know why you’re spending time with the competition,” he says. “Also, take your damn foot off the dash.”

You flash him a grin and place your other foot beside the first. Javi sighs in annoyance but extends his hand, waving his fingers expectantly. You sift through the bag and hand him the green Skittles. Despite the years that have passed from when he was a fresh-faced Corporal with a buzzcut and you were a civilian contractor feeling way out of your depth, you appreciate this part of your relationship remains unchanged.

“He was looking for some contouring tips.” You joke, earning another look. “He wanted to know where we were headed next,” you tell him, surprising yourself with how easy the lie comes to you.”Don’t worry, I told him we were going to Broken Bow.”

“He’s gonna meet us in Bartlesville, isn’t he?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you agree, rummaging through the Skittles bag to find another handful of green ones. “Does he really bother you that much?”

Javi shrugs, his expression thoughtful as he takes the Skittles from you. “He’s annoying and disruptive, but…not really, I guess. We’re still getting good data when he isn’t shooting fireworks into tornadoes.”

You laugh. “Peter loved that. He kept showing clips to everyone. I think it was the highlight of his week.”

“Yeah, how about you? You like Tyler Owens, too?”

You raise an eyebrow, a touch of exasperation in your voice. “Javi…”

“What?” he asks innocently, his gaze meeting yours. “It’s just a question.”

“Okay, if we’re just asking questions, how’s Kate doing?”

Javi shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel as he avoids your eyes. “You really shouldn’t be asking your boss personal questions like that.”

“Mmmm, okay,” you reply.

For as long as you’ve known Javi, Kate’s been a topic of conversation. It wasn’t until recently that he reconnected with her, though, flying off to New York to recruit her for the team. She turned him down but texted him sporadically. It was clear to you he was painfully in love with her.

“We’re texting again,” Javi admits finally. "And she agreed to go to dinner when I'm in New York again next week," he reveals with a smile. 

“Look at you go,” you encourage. 

“Don’t make it a big deal,” he says, reaching over to fiddle with the radio. 

Static bursts through a second later before it’s replaced by a soft, crooning voice. You settle back in your seat when you sense Javi’s done talking about the Kate situation. Based on the radar, you know it’s best to catch some sleep while you can. You close your eyes and tilt your head towards the sunlight streaming through the side window, letting the warmth wash over you. Tension drains from your body as you drift off to sleep, listening to Javi sing off-tune to the radio.  

–

At exactly 7 p.m., there’s a knock on your door. You open it to see Tyler standing there, leaning casually against the doorframe, cowboy hat tipped low. He’s wearing a pearl snap shirt and sporting an impressively large belt buckle.

“My eyes are up here, sweetheart,” Tyler reminds you with a smirk. Your cheeks heat as you meet his gaze, feeling slightly embarrassed. “It says ‘Tornado Wrangler.’ Just in case you were too distracted to read it.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you reply, though your tone lacks any real bite.

“But I do love a little flattery,” Tyler counters, extending his arm toward you. 

After a moment of hesitation, you slip your hand around his bicep, allowing yourself to be guided along. The parking lot is quiet. It seems that the weekend storm chasers have all gone home. There’s only one solitary figure in the distance, their cigarette glowing briefly with an orange flare in the darkness. Most of the motel rooms you pass are dark and you wonder if everyone on your team has gone to the bar Peter suggested in the group text. 

“Where are we going?” You ask.

“Only the finest establishment Bartlesville has to offer,” he replies.

“So the bar everyone else is headed to.”

“You city girls,” he says with a shake of his head. “Come on now,” he encourages, pulling you with him as he sprints across the road to another parking lot that’s crowded and brightly lit. 

The neon letters flashing above the entrance proclaim that you've arrived at Cowboys’ Dancehall. As you and Tyler approach, you both hand over your IDs to the bouncer stationed outside. He scrutinizes the out-of-state licenses for a long moment before waving you on. 

Inside, it’s loud and dimly lit. Couples spin around the dance floor to a fast-paced country song. The bar is crowded, but Tyler cuts through the throng of people with ease, keeping you beside him with a hand at your hip until you reach the old wooden bar. When he leans in to speak to the bartender his chest brushes your back.

“I’ll take a Bud Light, and the lady will have a rosé,” he tells her, his voice raised just enough to be heard over the music.

The bartender, an older woman with deep lines etched into her face, stares at Tyler before she pops the caps off two Bud Lights and slides them across the bar. “That’ll be $7 even,” she announces.

You press your hand to your mouth, stifling a laugh at the exchange.

“Well alright,” Tyler says, reaching for his wallet.

“I can pay for myself,” you insist, digging through your purse but he’s faster, dropping $10 on the counter. 

“A fake date is still a date.” He tells you. 

You’re relieved to escape the crush of the crowded bar as you make your way past the dance floor toward the quieter back area where tables are scattered. Peter spots you first, his face lighting up when he waves you over enthusiastically. You’re taken aback to see most of your coworkers seated at a table with Tyler’s crew. Boone greets you with a lopsided salute, while Lily gives you a fist bump. Tyler pulls out a chair for you, and you take a seat, distracted as you search the room for a familiar face.

“Don’t worry,” Peter half shouts to you over the table. “Javi and Scott are meeting with that investor guy.”

“Oh,” you respond, nodding and wondering just how often your coworkers hung out with Tyler’s team in Scott and Javi’s absence.

You were never one to go out with them before, preferring to wind down alone with a good book or movie. It’s clear that this isn’t the first time they’ve gathered like this; everyone seems pretty comfortable together. Tyler, in particular, is completely unfazed to find his crew mingling with Storm Par.

“You’re not going to rat us out to Scott are you?” Daniel asks nervously.

“City girl wouldn’t do that,” Tyler says confidently, resting an arm over the back of your chair. “Would you?” he asks.

He leans in slightly, his thumb brushing gently against your bare shoulder. The unexpectedly intimate touch startles you, and it takes a moment for you to regain your composure. 

“Your secret is safe with me,” you promise, offering Daniel a reassuring smile.

He seems to accept your words and you settle back into your chair, letting the conversation of the table wash over you. Sipping your beer, you occasionally glance toward the door. There’s no sign of Scott and you’re left wondering about Tyler’s plan. Everyone else seems confident he and Javi won’t make an appearance tonight. 

“Alright, enough sitting. Let’s dance,” Tyler announces, offering you his hand. 

You nearly choke on your beer. “Dance?” you repeat, waving him off. “No one mentioned anything about dancing.”

“I can’t have you leaving Oklahoma without learning how to two-step.”

“How do you know I haven’t?” you challenge.

“I get the impression you don’t let yourself have a lot of fun,” Tyler replies quietly. The softness of his eyes and the utter sincerity in his voice make it hard to hold his gaze. It’s unsettling how clearly he seems to see through you. 

“Come on,” he says, offering you his hand. “It’ll be fun.”

You glance at the door again before letting Tyler guide you toward the dance floor. The beat of the song is fast and you watch how effortlessly the other couples move, their steps fluid and graceful. Tyler takes your right hand and wraps his left arm around you, his palm resting firmly on your shoulder blade, drawing you close. After a moment’s hesitation, you place your left arm on his bicep. He feels warm and strong against you.

“I don’t know what I’m doing.” You say, feeling silly and out of place. 

“Nothing to it. All you gotta do is follow, I’ll lead,” Tyler promises, surging forward and taking you with him. 

You stumble a little, but Tyler’s quick to adjust his pace for you. He keeps you to the outside of the dance floor, guiding you through the moves. You watch his feet, trying to coordinate your own, but you end up stepping on his toes more than a few times. He doesn’t seem to mind, gently correcting you. It feels like you have two left feet and your anxiety flares in response.

“Look up here,” Tyler says, waiting patiently until you meet his gaze before continuing. “Don’t overthink it — just feel it”

“That’s easy for you to say,” you mutter. 

“So let’s keep that big brain busy. Tell me about yourself. Did you go to a fancy school like MIT too?” He asks, his tone playful.

“Uh. No,” you say, glancing down only to have him tap your shoulder. You look up again. “I went to a state school.”

“So did I,” he reveals. “Though it was just for meteorology and atmospheric science.”

“You did?”

“Hey, no need to sound so surprised,” he replies, feigning mock hurt.

“A cowboy and a scholar,” you tease.

“Don’t forget a pretty great dancer, too,” he adds, lifting his arm to twirl you around before pulling you back into his embrace. When he does it again, a breathless laugh escapes you.

“Atta girl,” Tyler says, pulling you even closer. “Now we’re having fun.”

Your skin tingles and you feel warm all over. The world narrows to Tyler’s handsome face, his green eyes deep and captivating in the dim light. Your chest tightens, only allowing you to pull in shallow breaths that leave you lightheaded. In that moment, you realize you haven’t stumbled once — you’re moving perfectly in sync with him.

“One more dance?” He asks. 

“Yeah,” you agree.

The current song fades into something softer and more subdued. The crowd begins to thin, but Tyler doesn’t seem deterred by the change. He lowers his hand to the small of your back, holding you close as he guides you in a slow, graceful sweep across the floor. Despite the smoky bar and the crowd of people, all you smell is Tyler's clean, crisp scent. It reminds you of the first storm of the season, the air electric and charged with energy. Full of potential. 

Tyler stares steadily at you as he continues to move you across the floor, and you find yourself unable to look away from him. The music seems to fade, leaving only the sound of his breathing and your own. Your lashes flutter and you close your eyes, allowing yourself to simply feel — weightless and free. 

It’s only when someone else bumps into you that your eyes snap open and reality comes rushing back. You stumble, but Tyler catches you, pulling you gently to the side.

“Doing alright?” He questions.

You nod, feeling strangely shaky. “I think I need some water.”

Hand still in yours, Tyler tugs you along until he reaches the end of the bar, where a large water jug sits. He hands you a cup, and you drink deeply, surveying the crowded bar. It takes you a while to realize you’re just taking in the sights and sounds, and you haven't thought about Scott at all.

“Our beers are probably warm by now. You want another?” He asks. 

“I shouldn’t.”

He smiles and pulls out his phone, opening the weather app. The screen shows a mess of red and yellow just south of you. “You’re probably right,” he admits.

You both head back to the table, where Boone groans at Tyler’s announcement that his crew should return to the motel after finishing their drinks. Your coworkers seem to agree, with some heading to the bar to settle their tabs.

“I’ll walk you back.” Tyler offers.

Outside, the moon is obscured by thick clouds and it feels cooler than when you first arrived. Your eyes roam the parking lot, catching sight of Scarecrow. Scott and Javi must be back from their meeting. A pang of disappointment hits you. You’d hoped Scott would have seen you with Tyler again. 

“Well…this is you,” Tyler says, stopping in front of your hotel room. “Not a bad night.”

“It wasn’t,” you agree. “But Scott didn’t show up.”

Tyler presses his lips together, his gaze falling away to look at something past you. His nostrils flare and then his eyes return to you, but the tension in his jaw remains.

"You had fun, didn't you?" He prods.

Even if tonight hadn't gone the way you wanted it to, you have to admit he was right. You had fun. 

"I did,” you say, offering him a shy smile. “Thank you.”

“Well, then, it wasn’t a total loss. You had a good time,” he says, his tone warm. To your surprise, he leans in, removing his cowboy hat and holding it level with your face, effectively blocking your view to the left. His hand settles lightly on your hip. “Looks like we’ve got an audience — tall, dark, and a total dipshit.”

You stare up at him, your whole body tingling. “Scott?” You whisper.

“Mmmhmm,” Tyler returns. “Now if you're asking for my advice, I'd let him stew a bit. A man should have to work for you. Put in some effort.”

You nod, and Tyler steps back, pulling his hat on. When you finally look to the left the walkway is deserted, bathed in the dim light filtering through the curtains of the neighboring rooms. Tyler insists on waiting until you're safely inside, and you watch him linger by the door for another minute before he finally turns to leave.

With a sigh, you sit on the bed and slip off your shoes, feeling strangely adrift and unsure. Your text to Scott from this morning remains unanswered and you have no idea if what you’re doing with Tyler is going to help the way you want it to. You press the heels of your hands into your eyes, trying to clear your mind. 

Lost in your thoughts, you nearly miss the soft knock at the door. You crack it open, looking up at Scott. His dark hair is damp, curling over his forehead. He smiles at you and your heart flutters in response. You almost invite him in on instinct, but Tyler’s earlier remarks rise to the surface.

“What?” Scott asks.

You straighten your shoulders, gathering the courage for what you want to ask. “Why didn’t you respond to my text message?”

His brow furrows, like he has zero idea what you’re talking about.

“I sent you a text this morning,” you clarify. 

“We’re not supposed to text and drive in a company vehicle, you know that.” 

His response immediately makes you feel silly because of course that made sense. Just last week Javi got on Daniel about texting and driving. 

“Are you really going to make me stand out here?” He asks, quickly looking down the hall. He was probably worried someone would see the two of you. 

“Of course not.” You step back to let him inside, chewing on the inside of your lip. “I just…why did you have me move cars?” 

Scott presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek and exhales loudly. You wrap your arms around yourself and take a step back, but he follows you.

“You’ve ridden with me the last two days,” he says quietly. One of his large hands cups your jaw. “I can’t have people accusing me of favoritism, can I?” 

You shake your head, frowning. He’s too close, his aftershave nearly overpowering. You need some space. 

“Scott, I —” Whatever you were about to say is cut off as both your phones suddenly buzz, and outside you hear the all too familiar wail of the tornado siren.

♡

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[persevereforahappyending]

No Man's Land |4|

Pairing: Sam Carpenter x Reader

Summary: Sam can’t help but be drawn to the cute stranger from her gym, even if everything about them makes them the perfect suspect, just when Ghostface has returned.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2.3k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15

Sam crossed her legs, trying to stop the bouncing of her foot, but it was no use. She just as quickly uncrossed them, so her foot was bouncing on the ground again. Her fists were clenched together, and her eyes hadn’t left the stained tile floor of the hospital waiting room. She tried focusing on the stain, silently debating if the brownish color was coffee or blood. She had been sitting in the waiting room since they brought you in, she wasn’t sure how long it had been.

“What were you thinking!” Tara’s voice came, making Sam’s head snap up. “A note!” She held up the little sticky note that Sam and written. “Went to gym, be back soon,” Tara read the note Sam had written, crumpling it up after she finished.

“I didn’t want you to worry,” Sam tried to defend.

“Then a text!”  Tara threw her arms in the air. “Ghostface attacked,” Tara held up her phone, reading the quick text Sam had sent. “Headed to hospital.” Tara aggressively dropped her phone back down at her side. “What the fuck! I thought we were supposed to be staying safe! And together!”

“Yeah,” Chad said, flopping down into the seat beside her. “Running off alone in the middle of the night is the opposite of that,” Chad gave her what she could only describe as a big brother look.

Sam could only roll her eyes. “I just needed to clear my head,” Sam sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“What happened?” Mindy asked, taking the seat across from her. Tara continued to stare down at Sam, shaking her head and her arms crossed. It wasn’t often Sam was on the other end of that look. Sam was usually the one giving that look to Tara and occasionally the twins. She was beginning to understand what Tara meant every time she talked about Sam hovering and being overprotective.

“Y/N was attacked.”

“What?” Tara asked with a furrowed brow.

“Oh no,” Chad whispered, bringing a hand to his heart. Sam scrunched her eyebrows, Chad seemed to have gotten really attached to you after just one conversation, she wondered what the two of you could have possibly talked about.

“They saved my life,” Sam continued. “I was down, and they came out of nowhere.”

Mindy furrowed her brow, crossing her arms as she leaned back further in her chair. “Why were they there?” she questioned.

Sam could only shrug. “Sometimes they like to work out late.” Sam had been surprised to see you, not just because you jumped in to save her life without a second thought but because she didn’t think anyone else was in the gym at the time, there had been no vehicles in the parking lot. Mindy only let out a hum at her response though.

“What?” Chad questioned.

Mindy looked at everyone but kept flicking a glance at Sam. Sam raised an eyebrow as she waited to hear whatever Mindy had to say. “Don’t you think it’s suspicious?” Mindy questioned. “This mysterious person Sam likes suddenly shows up the same time as Ghostface?” Everyone sucked in a breath as they took in what Mindy was saying. “It can’t be a coincidence.”

Sam frowned; she didn’t necessarily disagree with Mindy as much as she hated to admit it. It was oddly coincidental that you of all people showed up just the moment Sam needed you. For all they knew this was all a ploy to get them to drop their guard down around you, to let you in and then you’d help whoever Ghostface was take them down.

“Looks like we’re about to find out,” Tara mumbled.

Sam looked up to see the doctor walking towards them. She was instantly on her feet to meet the doctor when he got to their side. “Your friend is in room 582, they are clear, and you are free to take them home,” the doctor said.

“Thank you,” Sam said, giving a grateful smile to the man.

They all made their way to your room. When they got there Sam saw the door was ajar. “Wait here,” she whispered to the others. Tara frowned but Sam didn’t wait for Tara to argue back before she pushed the door open and stepped into the room.

Sam froze in the doorway when she saw you. You were standing by the bed, pulling down your shirt. Her eyes widened at the exposed skin she saw before it got covered by your shirt. There were several scars on your back, your side, and front, your body seemed to be littered with them. Several of them were knife wounds, Sam could recognize them instantly, she had some of her own after all. There were others she didn’t recognize but looked eerily similar to bullet wounds, but she had only seen those a handful of times before.

Her eyes couldn’t help but linger on the fresh stab wound, newly stitched up. It was a large wound, just under your ribs. Sam sucked in a breath, it was her fault you had a new wound, that you were stabbed. Just a little higher and you could have died, Sam could have been the reason you died.

Before Sam could say anything, she was pushed further into the room as the others piled in behind her. You whipped around when you heard them all stumbling in. “Guess patient confidentiality isn’t a thing anymore,” you mumbled. You sat down on the edge of the hospital bed as you looked at Sam and the others.

“We’re sorry,” Sam said. “We just-”

“Why were you at the gym?” Mindy asked, cutting Sam off. Sam suppressed a sigh, if they wanted to get answers from you, jumping right into questioning was probably not the best idea.

You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes at Mindy. “To work out,” you said. “That’s what one tends to do at the gym.”

“After midnight?” Mindy crossed her arms.

“Less likely to be disturbed,” you shrugged. You were answering their questions but giving them nothing, Sam couldn’t blame you for being so guarded.

“So, right place right time?”

“Not exactly the way I’d describe it.” You stared at Mindy, but your face gave away no emotion. “Considering I was stabbed.”

Mindy let out something between a hum and a scoff. “How convenient.”

“If you have something to say,” you said calmly. “Say it.” Sam wasn’t sure how you could remain so calm when you were being questioned by people you didn’t even know.

“Why’d you do it? Why risk your life for someone you don’t even know?”

“So, just because I don’t know Sam means I should let her die?”

Sam started to nod, seeing your logic when she froze. Her head, along with the others, all snapped up towards you. “How did you know her name?”

You rolled your eyes and looked at the group. Sam furrowed her brow as she realized you weren’t looking at all of them but one of them specifically. She heard someone let out a hiss and turned around to see Chad with a guilty look. “Yeah,” he said, holding up a hand. “It came up in our conversation.”

Sam glared at Chad. She knew he got your name, but she hadn’t imagined he gave you, her name. He had somehow neglected to mention that little fact when he was telling everyone about his very short time getting to know you.

“Whatever,” Mindy said, waving it off. “Do you make it a habit of throwing yourself into danger?”

“I make it a habit of not turning my back when someone needs help,” you said simply.

“Guys,” Sam finally spoke up. “Give us a minute.” She nodded towards the door. Mindy looked at her, clearly wanting to question you more but Chad grabbed her and led her out of the room, followed by Tara.

“I’m sorry,” Sam whispered. “You were just stabbed, the last thing you need is a bunch of people questioning you.”

You just shrugged; it was like none of this phased you. “You were attacked,” you said. “Of course they’d be suspicious.”

Sam nodded, you were taking everything very well, though you had yet to question them, had yet to demand answers. You hadn’t even asked why a masked psycho was trying to kill Sam. She wasn’t sure if you were that uninterested or if it was because you already knew the answer.

You stood up from the bed, barely wincing as you did so. Sam saw you eye your jacket that was next to her, she grabbed it and held it out to you. You silently reached out, taking the jacket from her. You shrugged on the jacket and moved towards the door, stopping next to Sam. “Thanks,” you whispered softly.

“You got stabbed saving me,” Sam whispered back. “I’m pretty sure I should be thanking you.” You just shrugged and pushed past Sam out the door.

Sam barely had time to process what she was doing before she followed after you. She wasn’t fully sure why, maybe it was because you saved her life, but she wanted to keep you close. It wasn’t just because she liked you, she felt responsible now, you were caught up in her mess whether you realized it or not. Even if the two of you had never talked until a few minutes ago she knew Ghostface wouldn’t just let you go, you were a target now.

“Wait!” Sam called, running to catch up with you, assuming the others would be trailing behind. “We aren’t done yet.”

You lightly chuckled to yourself and gave a little shake of your head. “I am,” you said without even bothering to turn around.

Sam suppressed a groan; she should have known you would be incredibly difficult. The two of you had talked for only a few minutes but you had told them nothing. Sam couldn’t say she was surprised you were a person of few words. You barely spoke to people at the gym, it didn’t seem like you talked much to your friends either, it wasn’t a surprise you didn’t want to talk to Sam, she is the reason you got stabbed after all.

“Gale Weathers,” Sam heard a voice she knew all too well say. “Channel Four.” Sam slowed down when she saw you come to a stop. She came around your side to see Gale standing in front of you, blocking your path to the front door. “Care to answer some questions about surviving a Ghostface attack?” Gale held her microphone out towards you.

You looked down at the microphone and back up at Gale. Sam held here breath as she waited to see what you would say or do. “No,” you said and walked right past Gale.

Sam couldn’t help but smirk at the way Gale opened and closed her mouth. She slowly brought the microphone back towards herself and flipped the switch to turn it off. “You just don’t know when to quit, do you?” Sam asked, masking her face again.

Gale rolled her eyes and stepped closer to Sam. “I’m just following the story,” Gale said with a shrug.

Sam just scoffed; it was such a typical Gale Weathers response.  She opened her mouth to say something back but stopped when she saw detective Bailey walking through the doors. She furrowed her brow and stepped past Gale, making Gale follow her gaze.

“Y/N Y/LN,” Bailey said, raising his hand to stop you in your tracks. Once again you looked down, this time at Bailey’s hand in front of you. When you looked back up at Bailey you seemed even more annoyed than when Gale had stopped you. “Mind if we have a few words?”

“Yes,” you replied with your one-word response again.

Sam couldn’t blame you for being annoyed. She could only imagine what you were going through, it was late, you were stabbed, then Sam and her friends interrogated you, then Gale stopped you, and now Bailey was stopping you. Sam assumed you only wanted to go home, probably just wanted to rest in an actual bed.

You moved to walk past Bailey when he grabbed your arm and held you in place. You glanced to the side, looking down at Bailey’s hand on you. “I’m going to need you to come down to the station,” Bailey said. “I’m not asking.”

Sam saw the way your jaw clenched but you didn’t say anything more, you just nodded. Bailey kept his hand on your arm as he led you out the front of the hospital. Sam and Gale followed behind watching him put you in the back of his police car.

“You really know how to pick ’em,” Gale mumbled.

Sam shot her a glare. She turned around to see Tara and the twins standing there. Sam rubbed her eyes, her plan worked, she was officially tired. “Go back to the apartment,” Sam said.

“What about you?” Tara asked, stepping forward. Sam sighed and looked back to where she could see Bailey’s car still making its way down the street. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Sam turned back to her sister. “I’m the reason they’re in this mess.”

“Then I’m going with you.”

“No-”

“It’s not up for discussion.” Tara crossed her arms.

“Fine,” Sam rolled her eyes.

Tara tossed her keys to Mindy and Chad, telling them to go back to the apartment and wait for them. They all agreed to keep each other updated and text each other regularly so they all knew each other was okay. Then Sam and Tara flagged down a cab and made their way to the police station. She didn’t have a plan, but she was beating herself up, if it wasn’t for her, you wouldn’t have been stabbed and you wouldn’t be on your way to be questioned right now.

Taglist: @thatshyboy1998 @artrizzler19 @btay3115

[purplecoffee13]

Been in a nerdy H mood so maybe he’s got a crush on his co worker who is the complete opposite of him on the outside yet they both have so much in common! He’s not necessarily “smooth” but the reader finds it charming and sweet.

Ah yes, love me a nerdy Harry! Here you have it! I think it turned out cute, but I hope you like it as well!!

Wc: 1.7k

Warnings: none, just Harry being an awkward cutie!

It was a Monday morning. A dull prospect for anyone with an office job, but Harry found himself to be quite excited at the idea of strolling into the office this morning.

His big fat crush on one of his co-workers, Y/N, was the main instigator of that cheeriness that he brought into the office, along with a box of doughnuts for his fellow colleagues. And yes, it may also have been a ploy to talk to Y/N.

Harry wasn't the best at communicating. No, scratch that. Harry could be great at communicating... business plans. Feelings, however? Nope. Big disaster.

There were strings in his brain he'd need to pull to hold a good flirty conversation but they seemed to be just out of reach for him, which was quite unfortunate because it's not like he had his looks working against him.

Harry knew he wasn't ugly. Plenty of times, very beautiful women had come up to him. He often times was surprised with the beauty of these women approaching him. His mates always called him the 'most handsome one', and he did work out a lot to keep himself healthy. So yes, he could say he was well groomed.

And he'd hook up regularly. With women he'd meet at a crowded bar or a dark night club. Interactions that required little talking is where he strived. He got the standard dirty talk down, and since his confidence always skyrocketed in that department, it was the only kind of conversation he could hold. Then again, that might also be because the women he'll talk to are too fucked out of their mind to say anything.

Long story short, Harry was great, until he liked someone. So, instead of being able to come up with some witty comment to kickstart a conversation, he was now walking up to his work crush with a chocolate glazed donut.

Y/N was hunched over her work, tapping her pen against the paperwork that she seemed to be completely entranced by. Harry stopped right next to her, and was suddenly filled with a terror that made him want to crawl back into the hole he came from.

He didn't get the chance to do that, though, as Y/N looked up and met his eyes just as he decided he was going to turn back around. She smiled at the sight of him.

"Hi." She greeted with her soft voice.

"Hey." Harry breathed, his heart racing like maniac, and forgetting why he was here again until he spotted the donut in his hand. Right.

“I brought you a donut.” He stated, reaching it out to her. Her eyes fell to the food in his hand, and she chuckled as she took it from him.

“Thanks.” She said as she put it on her desk before looking back up at Harry, waiting for him to say something else.

Something else… what the fuck should he say?!

“Uh— well, I brought them for the entire office. But everyone’s grabbing at them so I figured I’d bring you one before they… ran out.” His ramble slowed down near the end of the sentence, only now realizing how stupid he was sounding. He was to kick himself in the head! Maybe it’d knock some conversational skills into him, jeez.

“Thanks Harry, I appreciate it.” Y/N tilted her head slightly, taking her bottom lip between her teeth. Fuck, how could she possibly look so hot and sweet at the same time?

“N— no problem… so I, uh I should probably—”

“Hey, did you end up watching that mini series I recommended?”

Harry’s eyes widened. He hadn’t expected her to keep the conversation going for so long.

“Uh, yes actually.” He responded.

Y/N and Harry, despite it not seeming that way, had a shitload in common. They both loved the same books, movies and series. They were both obsessed with murder documentaries and they had a mutual fascination with women in jazz.

So when Y/N recommended this crazy documentary series about the Night Stalker last week, Harry immediately watched it when he got home. He stayed up until one to binge it entirely and was groggy the entire following day. But it was worth it.

In fact, every thing Y/N would rave about, he’d check out. He couldn’t help it. He wanted to understand her better, and since he didn’t know how to— well, you know, TALK to her, he took this weird route.

Y/N gasped happily. “Did you like it?!”

“It was horrifying.” Harry stated. “I loved it.”

Y/N’s face broke out into a wide smile, and she leaned over her desk to grab her phone before she got up to stand next to Harry.

“Oh, I also found this weird documentary about the titanic on YouTube. The quality isn’t very good, it’s like very old, but I’ve been wanting to watch it for ages and I couldn’t find it anywhere. It’s so interesting! They like— act it out and everything.”

Harry just stared at the excited woman next to him as she typed in all kinds of things on her phone. He only took his eyes off her when she showed the video.

“You should send it to me.” Harry said, already fascinated with the first 20 seconds she was showing him. He leaned in further, his body grazing against hers. When he felt her gaze on him, his cheeks turned pink. “Uh, via work-email, if you want—”

She let out a breathy laugh. “Or you could give me your number.”

Harry was sure he could’ve fainted. Oh my god, oh my god. He was properly freaking out, well, internally.

“Right, yes.” He said, sounding a bit absent from how shocked he was about her asking him his number. When he realized he must’ve not sounded too enthusiastic about it, he suddenly began reaching for his phone in his pocket. “Yes! Uhm, wait, let me unlock it.”

Y/N looked eager as he typed in his password, went to his contact app and handed the phone to her. She giggled as she typed in her number before giving the phone back.

“You’ll have to text me first.” She said, and he nodded, immediately going to the chat and sending a ‘hey’. He let himself sigh in relief at how good this was going for the short second her phone dinged and she was concentrated on putting Harry in her contacts. That went away the second Y/N pointed the camera of her phone to him.

“What are you doing?” Harry laughed nervously.

“Giving you a contact photo.”

“And you want to do that now?”

“No time like the present.” She peered from behind her phone. “Now, smile!”

Harry smiled, at her ridiculousness that was, but he smiled nonetheless. Y/N let out a happy squeal as she turned the phone around and showed the picture to Harry. He grinned at the picture, but inside he was freaking out a bit. Jesus, did he really look at her like that? She was going to figure out he was crushing on her if he kept staring at her like that. Stupid fool! Did he have to be so obvious.

“Beautiful.” She said so lowly it was almost a whisper as she put in the contact photo. Harry’s heart skipped a beat. He couldn’t fucking handle this anymore.

“Y/N.” He piped up before he could lose his nerve. Y/N hummed, looking up at her. “Would you like to go on a—”

“Styles! Stop chitchatting and get in here! The meeting is starting in three minutes!” Timmy, his co-worker cut off the question that Harry had been dying to ask for the past months.

“Shit. I have to go. Uh, have a good— I mean… erm, enjoy the donut.” He said and turned on his heels, racing to the meeting room. He was shouting profanities at himself in his mind. Fucking hell.

Enjoy your donut? Fool!

That was the only word he could think of that matched his personality well enough during the entire meeting. He didn’t catch any of what was said, but mindlessly nodded along anyway.

He sighed when he finally got back to his office and sat down in his chair. He whipped out his phone to put it on his desk, and his eyes flew to two unread messages from a number he hadn’t seen before. He unlocked his phone, and his stomach clenched at the sight of the messages.

Unknown Number

“Hi!”

“This is Y/N, by the way.”

Harry smiled, looking through his window to Y/N’s desk. It was how he noticed her in the first place. When she began working here, she was placed at that desk and Harry had received the luxury of being able to look at her beautiful face as many times a day as he wanted.

Harry

“Right, put you in my contacts.”

Harry wrote back, and suddenly felt a flash of boldness washing over him. Texting was easier, it wasn’t half as nerve wracking as standing in front of Y/N. He could think of his answers properly before saying them.

Harry

“I’m only missing a contact photo, though.”

A few minutes went by, and Harry was done starting up his laptop when his phone screen lit up again. He clicked on the message, and was met with a picture of Y/N.

It was a selfie of her with the donut he brought her this morning. She had placed the donut in front of her mouth, showing off her breathtaking eyes.

Y/N

“Will this one do?”

Fuck yes it did.

Harry

“It’s approved.”

He peered over at Y/N’s desk and noticed her smiling as she texted something back. His stomach fluttered. He was all giddy over this.

Y/N

“I have some bad news for you though.”

Harry looked up at Y/N again, frowning. When their eyes met, he noticed that she still had that playful grin on her face, which broke out in a mischievous laugh before she began typing again.

Y/N

“I’ve decided to revoke your access to the Titanic documentary.”

Harry bit his lip, excitement coursing through his veins.

Harry

“Now that’s just brutal. How am I supposed to watch it, then?”

Y/N

“How about Friday night, at my place? :)”

Harry’s eyes nearly popped out of his sockets as he read the text. It knocked the wind out of him, and he had to remind himself how to breathe before even thinking of a response because he’d forgotten how to do it for a second.

He was so excited he could jump through a roof.

Harry

“That sounds like a very good solution :)”

If anyone is truly interested in that Titanic documentary, here ya go.

[wisecura]

Sheets

megumi fushiguro x fem-reader

p.1  ( ⸝⸝꩜ ᯅ ꩜⸝⸝;) p.2

AN: this is still being edited and I'm not entirely sure if it'll be everyone's cup of tea. it'll be a slow burn, and a long fic but I have an idea laid out! each chapter will be around 3k just to keep things spaced and easy. Thank you for reading!

warnings: i'm putting these here for future chapters too, and ill sprinkle some in as I go. I want to make it clear, there is no underage sex, but later on there will be some more raunchy shit. this is somewhat non-canon compliant-make it up as I go

-ok for the real warnings: yandere, obsessive behavior, possessiveness, mommy kinks, mommy issues, arranged marriages, forced marriages, angst, eventual smut, clan politics, age gap (5 years from meg, and a little over 10 with toji), toji aint the best dad, mentions of child abuse, slowww build. I'm already 20,000 words into this shit so if your ready lets ride.

Short summary: Your arranged marriage to Toji Fushiguro had been sudden and unexpected, but now you found yourself living under his roof alongside his moody stepson. Your only directive from your clan head before moving in was clear: keep a close eye on Toji, the notorious Sorcerer Killer, and his son, a potential sorcerer prodigy.

Lets Begin

Your arranged marriage with Toji Fushiguro had been quick and unexpected.

The black sheep of the Zenin clan wasn’t exactly known for his well-rounded reputation, teetering on the edge of severing all ties to his family at any given moment.

He hadn’t been in contact with them for years, and financial support on their end was nonexistent. He was constantly broke, especially after Megumi was born. He assumed it was retaliation for marrying outside the clan—without their approval. But when his late wife passed, he had already taken on her surname, somewhat severing himself from the dingey clan he had once called "family."

After her death, he picked up side gigs, earning just enough to provide for the two of them. Megumi was older now, around thirteen, which made it easier to leave him alone for longer periods. Toji often took days-long "business" trips.

He’ll admit he wasn’t a great father, but he had kept his promise of keeping Megumi away from the Zenin clan and that sorcerer bullshit.

That was until he received an official notification from the Zenin clan head.

He hadn’t heard from the bastard in years, only to be met with a request—a demand—for his compliance in an arranged marriage. Initially, he planned to refuse. He wasn’t interested in an arranged marriage, wanted nothing to do with the sorcerer world, and even less to do with the Zenin clan. Hell, the only reason he bothered showing up at the clan house that day was to set that fucker straight.

Then he saw you—a pretty little thing. You couldn’t have been more than ten years younger than him, likely just turning seventeen, maybe eighteen. He couldn’t say for sure. But you were just too young for this shit—he knew that much.

They’d already brought you along for the proposal, as if they knew it would change his mind when he saw you. And, fuck, if they weren’t right.

You were beautiful. Polished and respectable. Speaking in low tones like the proper little housewife he was sure they’d trained you to be. He could see the endgame here—the reasoning behind pushing this arrangement on him. It wasn’t subtle.

The higher-ups likely wanted a presence in his home—someone to keep tabs on him and Megumi, no doubt. They hadn’t explicitly stated as much, but Toji had caught whispers through the grapevine about their interest in his son’s cursed technique. And with his own tendency to remain elusive, (and with all the whispers of him being titled a Sorcerer Killer) it wasn’t surprising that they’d want to keep a closer watch on him, too.

The thought of them using someone barely older than Megumi to achieve their goals left a bitter taste in his mouth. The arrangement reeked of manipulation—a calculated ploy to plant a spy in his home, someone to funnel information back to your clan, his clan, and the higher-ups.

Toji didn’t give a rats ass about his reputation, but it was clear they were fishing for confirmation. Likely hoping to uncover all of the unconfirmed truths. No matter how much he tried to brush it off, the whole setup just didn’t sit right with him.

But when he caught the way your eyes stayed steady, unwavering. You looked nearly indifferent to the situation, but he could tell this wasn’t what you wanted. It couldn’t be. You were really just a child. And yet, that dead expression of yours sealed the deal.

He accepted.

Another mouth to feed, another brat to deal with, no doubt. But maybe, just maybe, you’d be able to help keep Megumi in line while he was out working. Better that than leaving you to the wolves. He understood the clan system all too well—how they saw their women, how they treated them.

He’d seen how young brides were shuffled like pawns, in a game of chess. Paired with whichever man could best serve the clan’s interests. The thought of you being handed off to another pathetic bastard made his stomach churn. At least here, under his roof, you wouldn’t have to endure that.

Call it generosity if you wanted. But if he were honest, it wasn’t that. You reminded him of his late wife—the fearlessness bordering on defiance in your eyes. The sheer willpower it must’ve taken to show up in the first place. Most girls in your situation would have cried or begged, pleading not to marry some old geezer, especially one as infamous in the community.

But you didn’t beg. Didn’t cry. You just stood there, composed, unshaken. Bored. You could’ve been out shopping for groceries.

He could respect that.

And like that, the black sheep of the Zenin clan would become your husband. Your family. And your sole protector. 

He remembers the quiet way you stepped into his apartment for the first time, your gaze sweeping the room with a calm, measured air. There was no hesitation, no unease—just a quiet assessment of the space, as though you were cataloging everything in that sharp mind of yours.

The look on your face didn’t match someone your age. You carried the weight of forced maturity, a burden that stirred old painful memories he immediately shoved back down.

He could tell you were judging, though you didn’t say anything out loud. It was in the faint crease of your brow, the almost imperceptible way your lips tightened. It sparked a flicker of irritation in him, the kind he couldn’t entirely shake. If you didn’t like it, you didn’t have to stay, yeah? 

But, color him surprised, you didn’t say a word. You’d easily found your way to his bedroom, setting your things down, navigating the house easily. Then, as if you’d been living there for years, you got straight to work.

No requests, no questions—just quiet purpose.

It was like you’d already claimed your space, like you’d accepted the role handed to you without a second thought. He wasn't necessarily gonna ask you to do all that, but hell he sure as hell wasn't going to complain. 

Your former clan had trained you well. He could see it in the efficiency of your movements, the way you moved through the apartment as though it were second nature. No questions asked, no instructions, no unnecessary chatter. Just straight down to business.

Toji didn’t linger.

He slipped out quietly, already lost in his thoughts about the job he had to handle. He’d be gone for two days—maybe one, if he played his cards right. Not that he needed to tell you. You didn’t need to know the details. You were here to stay put, to take care of things while he was gone. Simple as that.

As he rounded the corner outside the apartment, that nagging feeling crept in—a vague itch at the back of his mind, like he was forgetting something.

He paused mid-step, frowning as he patted his pockets. Wallet? Keys? No, he had those.

His smirk faltered for a moment, but he quickly shrugged it off, muttering under his breath, "Can't be that important."

Megumi had taken the long way home today.

Several boys in his class had been pissing him off to no end, and he’d been itching to punch something. He needed a distraction—something to cool him off. He really couldn’t afford to get into another fight. The pitying looks his teachers gave him felt degrading, especially when Toji never bothered to show to pick him up.

The long way home was scenic, at least. Trees and plants lined the path, offering some peace as he trudged along. He wasn’t sure whether Toji would even be home when he arrived. He never really knew for certain.

And honestly, Megumi wasn’t in the mood to hear his dad’s loud TV shows or his obnoxious phone calls. If he wasn’t, then the apartment would just be empty, cold, and silent.

Either way, it didn’t matter.

What Megumi really cared about was dinner.

The fridge had been empty for weeks, and his deadbeat dad hadn’t bothered to restock it. Megumi had been scraping by, finding ways to earn enough cash for food. Sometimes he’d deliver things for the neighbors or help them with spring cleaning. Those odd jobs usually kept him going, but lately, there hadn’t been any requests. The lack of work only adding to his frustration.

He didn’t interact with Toji much. Their relationship walked a thin line between hatred and indifference.  Most of the time, Megumi ignored his father, as much as Toji seemed to ignore him. On the rare occasions Toji remembered Megumi existed, it always ended in chaos—loud arguments, dismissive grunts, relentless teasing, or worse, painfully awkward attempts to act like a parent.

It had been that way ever since Megumi turned eleven. And today, more than anything, he was just hungry. Too hungry to fight with his absentee father, even if he was home. Too tired to care.

Walking up the stairs to his apartment, something caught his eye. The kitchen window was open. That stopped him in his tracks.

Toji wasn’t the kind of guy to leave windows open, even in decent weather—a weird thing to notice, but Megumi was always acutely aware of his surroundings, always attuned to his father’s patterns.

Megumi made his way inside, creeping slowly and so, so quietly. Peeking around the corner, he froze.

Someone was in the kitchen—a girl. No, a woman?

Your back was to him as you worked at the counter, slicing onions with quick, precise movements. He blinked, his sharp eyes narrowing. You were young—maybe just a few years older than him.

Younger than Toji’s usual type, that was for sure. You didn’t fit. Toji wasn’t a stranger to bringing women around the apartment, but they never looked like you. And they never lingered. Most were gone by breakfast, hurrying out with an awkward smile and a strained “bye” when they spotted Megumi at the table.

He watched you chop onions, noticing the glint of a ring on your finger. So, you were married—

“You can come out from there, y’know.”

Megumi flinched slightly, caught off guard. For a brief moment, he felt the sting of embarrassment—spying and getting caught really wasn’t a good look—but he quickly reminded himself this was his home.

He had no reason to feel embarrassed. Straightening his posture, he stepped out from behind the doorway, his sharp eyes fixed on you as you casually wiped your hands on a towel.

You turned to face him, a soft smile playing on your lips. The first thing he noticed was how pretty you were.

Tall and poised, you stood at least a head above him, dressed in modest, traditional clothing that seemed entirely out of place in this shabby apartment. There was something elegant about you, a kind of refinement that felt worlds away from the usual sleaziness of his father’s one-night stands.

“Who are you? Why’re you here?” His tone came out sharper than he intended. Unintentionally huffy and childish, and it made him pause a second.

You studied him for a moment, and for some reason his scowl almost endearing. You introduce yourself and explain, simply, that you lived here.

Megumi’s brow furrowed, and he crossed his arms, his voice ever defiant, no doubt pushed from the shitty day he just had. “You don’t live here. Leave.”

The attempt at a threat would’ve been more intimidating if his stomach hadn’t chosen that moment to growl, easily breaking the tension. You bit back a laugh, quickly covering your mouth, but it was hard not to find the situation amusing.

The way he stood there, furrowed brow and stubborn glare, reminded you of a fussy kitten—all bristling fur and misplaced bravado. It was clear he wasn’t used to strangers lingering in his space, and his defensiveness only made him seem all the more adorable. Still, he was being serious—you really shouldn’t laugh.

He looked so much like Toji—same sharp features, same brooding energy—minus the flat hair and scar. You’d heard about him before coming here, mentioned briefly by your clan head, but the reality of meeting him was something different. He was much cuter than you’d expected, truly embodying the “fussy kitty” vibe, and you had to resist the urge to tease him outright.

“Ah,” lightly, your tone as soothing as you could make it without giggling, “but I’m in the middle of cooking. Why don’t we eat first, and then we can talk?”

Your tone was gentle, your smile genuine, and Megumi couldn’t sense any malice from you. Besides, whatever you were making smelled incredible, and his stomach had been growling from the moment he walked in.

His gaze shifted to the counter, where ingredients and half-prepped dishes were laid out. He hesitated. Sure, his dad had brought women home before, but none of them ever bothered to cook—especially not for him. Against his better judgment, he gave a small, reluctant nod.

And before long, the two of you were sitting at the kitchen table, three plates set neatly in front of you. It was late, but you still held onto the idea that Toji might come home. You made light conversation with Megumi, trying to get a feel for the boy you now understood to be your stepson.

You’d been briefed by your clan about Toji and his son—vague instructions to “watch Toji” and “get on his son's good side.” They hadn’t been specific about why, but their motives were never selfless. Still, you had no intention of playing those games. Not fully.

What you wanted was to build an honest connection with your new family, especially with this grumpy, sharp-eyed boy who seemed to have a chip on his shoulder as big as his father’s. It’s the first time you’d really been away from the clan estate, so this was just really nice.

As the meal went on, you began to learn little things about him. He remained distant, of course, his responses clipped and matter-of-fact—but the warmth of a good meal and your gentle smile seemed to soften him, if just slightly. You managed to coax his name out of him, and though he said it without much fanfare, it felt like a small victory.

It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

It was a Friday night, and you figured Megumi would be around the house tomorrow. As you finished the surprisingly comfortable dinner, your eyes lingered on the third, untouched plate at the table—Toji’s. You wondered, briefly, if he’d show up at all.

“He probably won’t be back tonight,” Megumi said, breaking your train of thought. His voice was matter-of-fact, as if he had long since grown used to this routine. He shoveled another spoonful of food into his mouth before adding, “Probably be gone for a few days.”

This surprised you, sure, but you weren’t going to complain anytime soon. As long as you didn’t have to go back to that horrid clan house, you could put up with a missing husband. In fact, you kind of preferred it this way.

You laughed softly at Megumi’s puffed-up cheeks, causing his ears to dust red as he swallowed quickly. Your constant smiles still seemed to throw him off guard.

The conversation flowed easily—a mix of lighthearted bickering and probing questions on both ends. Megumi was really curious about the random woman that showed up in his home.

“What’s the ring for?” he asked suddenly, his sharp gaze flicking to your hand. His tone was casual, but there was an underlying curiosity, as if he hadn’t noticed the simple band until now.

Your fingers instinctively twisted the warm metal as you glanced down at it, the question catching you off guard.

“Ah, well, I’ve just married,” you replied softly, your voice carrying a faint melancholy despite your attempt to sound neutral. Your eyes zone out as you stare at the heavy band.

“It’s still new…An arrangement by my family.” You hadn’t meant to let that slip, but the truth clung to the edges of your words. Quickly, you smiled, avoiding a damper on the evening. You quickly reached over to ladle another spoonful of food onto Megumi’s empty plate.

“Arranged marriage? With who?” he asked, the concept not foreign but undeniably unsettling. You seemed like such a nice person, except for the fact that you were sitting in his kitchen—someone he’d assumed was just another one of his father’s passing flings.

But unlike the others, you’d cooked for him and his father, cleaned the kitchen till it looked better than it had in weeks. And now you were sitting down to dinner with him, as if you had nothing else you’d rather be doing.

Though he’d only known you for a few hours, he didn’t think you’d be the type to cheat on your husband or worm your way into their lives without cause. Maybe that was just his full stomach talking.

His mind caught up to him, the pieces falling into place.

“…Not…Toji. Right?” His voice faltered, and you couldn’t help but think how strange it was to hear him refer to his father by his first name.

You let out a soft laugh at his shocked expression, restraining yourself from patting his head, before nodding your own. “The one and only,”

The look on his face was comical—brows raised high, his mouth slightly agape. But beneath the initial surprise, there was something darker—an unease that settled into the lines of his frown. Wary, guarded. He didn’t like this, not one bit. 

After dinner, you sent Megumi off to bed, tidying up the plates left behind. He didn’t wait for you to finish cleaning, retreating to his room with his thoughts spinning.

As he lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, he couldn’t stop replaying the conversation in his head. His father was married—to you, of all people. Supposedly. And for some reason, that knowledge left a bitter taste in his mouth.

It was weird. Megumi had left the house empty and returned to find you. If what you were saying was true, you were about to take over as his stepmother. He wouldn’t put it past his shitty father to pop up suddenly married—it was exactly the kind of thing Toji would do.

Still, the whole situation didn’t sit right with him. An arranged marriage wasn’t out of the question. You seemed way too sweet and proper to have chosen someone like Toji, willingly. Megumi’s knowledge of clan life, hierarchy, or how arranged marriages worked in the sorcerer world, was frustratingly limited thanks to his father’s insistence on keeping him far removed from all of it. 

Then there was your age. You were young—too young for his dad. Closer to his age than Toji’s. Was Toji an even bigger pervert than he originally thought? He didn’t seem like the kind of guy to settle down. What was this about, then? Did he just want a housemaid? Someone to clean up after him and Megumi while he went off on his “business trips”?

It didn’t seem fair to you. What were you getting out of this arrangement? You did say your family set it up…but what could have possibly led you to agree to marry someone like Toji?

The more Megumi thought about it, the more wrong it all felt. You seemed too kind, too proper, too... normal for this situation. Surely there was more to the story. Were you being forced into this? Did you have your own reasons that you weren’t sharing?

But then again, there was always the chance you were lying.

People lied all the time. You could be some psycho ex-girlfriend worming your way back into his father’s life. Or worse, a manipulative stranger with motives that had nothing to do with Toji at all. Maybe you’d rob the place blind, and by the time he woke up there’d be nothing left.

You might’ve seemed nice now, but Megumi wasn’t about to take anything at face value.

He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the wall, his thoughts racing. He didn’t know what to make of you, couldn’t figure out whether to trust the calm sincerity you projected or to see it for what it might be: a well-crafted facade.

One thing was certain—he wasn’t going to let his guard down so easily.

He’d just have to wait it out, keep an eye on you, and see what happened when Toji finally dragged his ass back home.

p.2?

AN: Thank you for reading! Please reblog and like if you enjoy this series!

I will also be posting updates here:

https://www.tumblr.com/communities/obsessedjjk

come home

[zorosleftmantit101]

One Piece characters as tweets I found stupidly funny Part 1

Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Nami, Robin, Law, Kid, Bartolomeo, Ace, Sabo, Shanks

A/N: shit posting is my superhero

C/W: swearing, idk like general shit post stuff,

Luffy: you'd be amazed at how many times i've fucked around without finding a single thing out

Zoro: sunscreen smells so good i be lathering that shit all up on my nuts

Sanji: when the parmesan wont come out of the container so u have to spank its little ass

Usopp: This is the worst video I've ever watched. I'm going to kill myself now thank you

Nami: My husband finally confessed to me that he's depressed and thinking about ending it all because he thinks I'd be better off without him.

I always thought he was strong and reliable, and seeing this weak side of him is making me think he's probably right.

Robin: why do they call it horseplay ive never seen horses play. they're always just standing there like they saw someone get shot

Law: noise cancelling headphones aren't enough i need everyone to die

Kid: something about saying

"your honor"

dont sit right w me... send me to jail. i aint dickriding you

Bartolomeo: thank god my anal itching was hemorrhoids

Sabo: walking downhill is so embarrassing like ooo look at me doing a little trot like a stupid fucking horse i'd rather be dead

Shanks: not liking my posts is like seeing me lying in the street covered in blood and you just keep walking

Ace: MY DAD GOT ME THIS YEARS AGO, I think it was a ploy so l'd choose him in the divorce

@zorosleftmantit101 2023

[willowsnook]

Right Place, Right Time pt. 3 (LN)

pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4

@seasonswinter @drdbnkl2008 @jaematthews15

Lily's POV

Lily was waiting in the garage on Thursday for Oscar to finish his practice when Lando sauntered over to her.

"What's up?" He asked and she smirked.

"You look happy," she said. "How was last night?" A pink tint flushed over his cheeks as he looked away.

"It was good," he mumbled.

"What's your endgame here?" Lily asked. "She lives here." He shrugged.

"I don't know," he admitted. "It's refreshing to spend time around someone who isn't obsessed with me."

"Just don't get hurt," she told him and he gave her a soft smile. Oscar had just finished up and walked over to the two.

"Hi babe," he said, leaning in for a kiss. "Are you still really ditching me tonight?"

"You will survive," Lily said with a laugh. "Both of you," she added after seeing Lando's frown.

Lando got called away by an engineer leaving Lily and Oscar alone.

"Are you sure you're good being there all night?" He asked.

"Yeah, I think so," she said. "I guess part of me is just worried it's some ploy to get to Lando."

Oscar nodded sympathetically, rubbing her arm. There had been girls before that Lily had met who were just using her for connection to F1.

"Here's an idea," he started. "Why don't you text her and see if she would want to ditch the girls night to hang with me and Lando?"

"Ooo that feels shady but is a good idea," she said pulling out her phone.

LIly: Hey, I know we had planned girls night tonight, but Osc is being clingy. How about just getting dinner with him + Lando and then all hanging out?

Y/n: Hey! Can he not live without you for one night haha? I actually already bought snacks and drinks and my two other friends are still coming so I don't want to ditch them. Would still love for you to come but totally understand if not.

Lily smiled and showed Oscar the text.

"So Lando hasn't totally snuck his claws in her yet," he joked and Lily rolled her eyes playfully.

----------------------------

Y/n POV

Someone knocked on my apartment just as I pulled cookies out of the oven.

"Coming," you yelled and headed towards the door. You opened it to see Lily standing there with a bottle of wine. You reached in to give her a hug.

"It's so good to see you," you said. "I'm glad you could come."

"Me too, Osc will live," she replied following you into the apartment.

"Welcome to mi casa," you said gesturing your hands. You had lived in this one-bed apartment ever since you moved to Austin and loved it.

"Maggie and Jaelen are running late but we can start drinking," you said and pulled out two wine glasses. You poured both of you a glass and Lily thanked you.

"Have fun last night?" She asked and you nodded.

"Yeah, it was a good time," you said not adding much else. Her head tilted as she looked at you waiting for you to say more.

"I don't know what else you want me to say Lily, we're just friends," you huffed.

"I know," she said taking a sip. "I just know I haven't seen him act like this about someone before."

"It's complicated," you said sighing. "If he wasn't the Lando Norris who travelled constantly and had a whole life overseas I would probably be head over heels by now. But that's unfortunately not the reality."

"I get that," she said. "I just like seeing him like this, that's all."

You heard your other friends come into your apartment, no curtesy of knocking of course.

"Hey guys, this is Lily," you introduced and they greeted her. "Alright everyone get drinks and let's head to the living room. Up first is Clueless and we will go from there."

Your friends got along really well with Lily which made you happy. As the night went on you all got a little more tipsy and the deep secrets started coming out. Lily gave a mini presentation on all the WAGs which you all found very amusing.

By the end of the night you were very tipsy and so was Lily. The two of you were going to share your bed while Maggie and Jaelen took the pull out in the living room.

You were in the middle of a laughing fit over some tik tok when Lily's phone rang.

"It's Oscar facetiming," she said with wide eyes.

"Answer!!!" you exclaimed and she giggled hitting accept.

"Hi baby," she slurred and you bust out laughing. Oscar looked amused.

"Hi love, how much have you guys had to drink?" He asked.

"Only this much," you said holding your fingers up in a pinch causing Lily to giggle.

"What are you doing?" Lily asked. We could see that he was outside somewhere.

"We just got done meeting with the team and are headed back to the hotel," he said panning the camera over to Lando who was next to him.

"Lando!" you cheered and his eyes crinkled in amusement.

"Hi sweetheart," he said and you folded, blushing.

"I miss you," you said and he laughed. Lily threw her hand over your mouth.

"You aren't supposed to say that," she said and you nodded.

"Oh yeah I forgot," you replied and you both fell into a laughing fit.

"Can we please come over," Lando asked, giving you both puppy dog eyes.

"No!" You both yelled and he pouted.

"It's girls night, and we're going to bed soonish," you said fake yawning. He rolled his eyes and gave the phone back to Oscar.

"I'll see you in the morning baby alright?" He asked and Lily nodded, saying goodbye.

You ended up staying awake for another two hours just talking before you eventually drifted off.

-------------------------------

Walking into the paddock the next morning was rough. You had dragged Lily to go through your favorite coffee drive thru and you had decided your sunglasses were not leaving your face today.

"This is horrible," she said as you made your way towards McLaren.

"Yeah, it's pretty bad," you agreed. You had opted for a comfy look, wearing your favorite lulu leggings paired with an oversized Monster branded tshirt. "And I have to see my boss."

"Yeah that'll be fun, when is your team getting here?"

"Around 2, which sucks because I don't want to be here that long," you said.

"Yeah but then you get to spend more time with me," she said linking arms.

You entered the garage and saw Lando leaning against a wall on his phone. Lily hip bumped you towards him giving you a look which you returned with your favorite finger. Lando looked up as you approached, his face breaking out in a big smile.

"Well don't you look well rested," he said.

"Fuck off," you whined and he laughed, pulling you into him for a hug.

"I'm glad you're here," he said in your ear and you hummed in reply. "Do you need something to eat?"

"Probably," he guided you through the garage back into the main paddock area. They had breakfast burritos laid out which you happily took advantage of.

"How were your meetings last night?" You asked and he shrugged.

"Boring, I much rather would have been at girls night," he said.

"You're a clingy one aren't you," you said raising your eyebrows and taking a bite of your burrito.

"Yeah I am, what about it?" He said and you snorted. You told him about your plans for the day and listened to him talk about how the car was yesterday and what he expected for today. You had started to head back when you felt someone sling their arm around your shoulder stopping you.

"Hey y/n," Max said and you smiled.

"Hi Max," you replied.

"What are you doing now?" He asked and Lando cut in.

"I'm taking her back to the garage before I go out," he said.

"Do you want to see the Red Bull garage?" Max asked.

"No she doesn't," Lando answered for you and you shot him a look.

"That would actually be cool, I need to get some competitive intel for Monster," you joked and Max laughed. Lando frowned and started pulling your elbow with him.

"Lando," you said causing him to stop and look at you. "You are going on the track anyways, I'll be back when you are back."

"Fine," he said turning and leaving you without a word. You rolled your eyes making Max laugh.

"He's so down bad," he said and you snorted.

Max took you on a tour of the garage which was cool even though you got shit from pretty much everyone for being in Monster gear. You enjoyed hanging out with Max, finding him funny and easy to get along with.

"Who's this we have here?" Someone called out and you turned to see a taller brunette coming towards you with a massive smile.

"This is y/n, she's a McLaren special guest," Max said. "This is Daniel."

"Hi Daniel," you said reaching out your hand and he shook it.

"Ahh I saw you on F1 gossip," he said nonchalantly and you frowned.

"First of all, why do you follow them?" You asked. "And second of all, why am I on there?"

"I like to keep up with the drama," Daniel replied.

"You were out with a driver y/n, of course people noticed," Max said.

Daniel pulled up the picture to show you. It was a candid of you and Lando at mini-golf, your face tight with concentration as you were about to putt but the more interesting part of the picture was the way Lando was looking at you. Like the world could be on fire and he wouldn't notice.

"Lovely," you said handing Daniel his phone back. You chatted with them for a little longer before being interrupted by someone in McLaren apparel.

"Sorry to interrupt Ms. y/l/n, but your presence has been requested back in the garage by Mr. Norris," the person said and you sighed.

"Sorry boys, my handler needs me back," you joked and Daniel laughed.

"I bet he's just standing there with his arms crossed watching the door," Daniel said and Max agreed.

You bid them goodbye and followed the McLaren personnel back to the garage. You did indeed find Lando by the door waiting for you.

"You are ridiculous ya know," you teased and he pouted. "Also I don't have much more time for you because my team is getting here in a bit."

"I know," he said. "Want to come hang in my driver's room before you have to go?"

"Absolutely not," you said shaking your head. "I'm already on one gossip site, I'm not looking for it to be worse. "

"Fine, hospitality it is," he grumbled. You both walked up stairs to that area and you were happy to see Lily and Oscar at a table.

You told LIly all about the tour at Red Bull mostly because it was something to talk about but also because you knew it was pissing Lando off. You pulled out a hat that Max had given you and put it on.

"And they gave me this hat, isn't it cute?" You asked and Lily gave you a knowing look. Lando snatched it off your head instantly.

"I will buy you a million hats," he said and you laughed. He pulled off the hat that was on his head and put it on yours. "There, much better."

"It's sweaty though," you said scrunching up your face.

You looked down at your phone and realized you had to be back in main paddock area in 10 minutes.

"I should probably head down there," you said getting up and Lando did the same.

"What are you doing tonight?" He asked and Oscar gave him a confused look.

"Nothing, why?" You asked.

"Be my plus one for our team dinner tonight please," he asked and you looked down at Lily.

"You should totally come, I get so bored at those things so it will be nice to have someone to talk to," she said.

"Are you sure it wouldn't be weird?" You asked. "It's not like we're dating or anything." Oscar snorted and Lando shot him a look.

"It won't be weird I promise, can I pick you up?"

"Sure," you finally agreed and he grinned. "I will see you guys tonight then."

[zbis]

matthew + choking - no explicit smut but still minors dni

today you and all of his friends had been hanging out casually at the dorms. it was all going great until one of them decided it was a good idea to start flirting with you. boredom leads to interesting scenarios between men, you figure. of course, it was playful because they all knew how matthew could be but it was mainly for fun and games and to get a reaction out of their friend.

"matthew's girlfriend looks really pretty today!" jiwoong had pointed out. a simple tongue poke through the cheek was enough to let you know that matthew was getting irritated already. his bright eyes had turned dark and you could tell his whole demeanor had changed just by the comment alone.

you bit the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from bursting out laughing because of how obvious he could be. just to rile him up because you were bored out of your mind, you decided to play along with the group's antics. a little poking fun wouldn't hurt, plus you could tell matthew had been pent up and stressed so why not lighten the mood?

matthew was definitely not happy to entertain this, not realizing that it was just a sudden ploy to get him angry on purpose. the guys liked to joke that he was just too easy to mess around with. he truly took everything to heart.

"thank you jiwoong," you blink at him flirtatiously. somewhere in the room, you hear matthew huff but you block it out of your mind. a part of you wanted to see how far this could go but a part of you knew this was a bad idea.

"can you guys not do that," matthew mumbles under his breath. he tries to pull you closer to him but you don't appreciate the force he's using so you resist.

"do what," you raise your eyebrows at him and pout. you use this chance to lean your head on gyuvin's shoulder, who was sitting nearest to you. "are they not allowed to compliment me?" you egg him on.

gyuvin laughs nervously at the way the older boy glares at him. he must not have been in the mood to feel matthew's wrath, you'd have to remember to apologize to the poor boy later.

"you know what you're doing.." matthew grunts, attempting once more to move you closer to his embrace. his arm muscles bulge every time he pulls you away from gyuvin and you appreciate it for a moment because damn, he has been working out. "im not doing anything. don't pull me so hard" you protest.

in your subtle struggle to stop him from pulling you close you don't notice how your skirt rides up and almost flashes some of the boys. most of them look away, thankfully. "y/n what's up with you??" matthew questions.

"im not doing anything wrong," you defend. "not doing anything wrong?" matthew's frustration with you starts to flare up when you say that. he huffs and stands up, almost knocking down the glasses on the table. everyone glances at him and then at you because they know what comes next.

"my room, now" he frowns at you. he walks off without waiting for you and you know you should probably not make him more upset than he already is. ricky makes a suggestive gesture in the corner of the room and you throw him a playful glare. hanbin shakes his head at you, whispering a "you're in for it".

once you get to matthew's room you see him sitting on his bed with his arms crossed. "fuck he looks so g-"

"the fuck is wrong with you?" "oh"

"nothing," you mutter. he sighs, running his hands down his face. suddenly a small part of you feels guilty. "do you enjoy making me upset y/n?"

when he repositions his arms, you shamelssly stare at them. the veins on his arms and hands are angerily popping out and you want nothing more than for him to-

"my goddamn eyes are up here"

you swallow hard, embarrassed at being caught. "i was just mesing around, its not a big deal, you're just....unbearable.

"im unbearable?!" matthew scoffs. "not with how you're being a slut around my friends every 2 seconds," he rolls his eyes.

you fold your arms across your chest but find yourself biting back a smile once again. when matthew had so gracefully yanked you off the couch, the sadistic part of you sort of hoped he would put you in your place right then and there somehow.

"no you're just possessive as fuck," you mumble. there it was. the word matthew hated the most. he stands up from the bed and takes long strides to where you stand. you back up but find that you're already up against the door. he wraps his veiny cold hands around your neck and you can feel his equally cool jewelry grazing your skin.

you gasp and grasp at his hand. "possessive?" he ponders on the word for a moment, kind of liking how it sounds for a second. "hell yeah i am" he grip around your neck tightens.

"m-matthew" you whine. you don't want to but you subconsciously rub your thighs together. this doesn't go unnoticed by him either as he rolls his eyes, realizing your motives.

"i can show you just how possessive i can be"

[jolalibrary]

isn't it

din djarin x f!reader

summary: at first, it had been you who had found a problem with each one he’d landed at. but, at some point between your clothing being around your ankles, you’re sure he’d begun to find problems with you leaving too.

warnings: mentions of smut/alludes to smut. bad star wars writing (probs, i'm new forgive me). no use of y/n. brief mention/allusion of hand necklace (thanks @rhoorl for the term), m!oral, p in v. loosely season one/two, although likely au. wordcount: 1.7k an: a huge massive thank you to @saradika for firstly convincing me i could do this, and then letting me show her this so i could be assured i didn't butcher him. ily so much 🤍

It’s beautiful.

The sound of wind rustling through it, how it waves in spots up and down the hill—moving side to side like a cosmic wave.

You thought you’d known green until now; thought you had known silver too, assumed you understood the way reflections worked and how quick movements could be. But that was before him.

Before you’d known the feel of his solid body lay on top of yours.

Then, you discovered a lot of things. Like how easy it was to spread your thighs on either side of him. For your fingers to seek in the dark—how they effortlessly hunt and find the parts he’ll expose to the night, but never to the light.

You even found you don’t hate the sound of your name when he says it. Somehow makes it longer, more impactful—like it has meaning when it comes from his mouth.

All of which were things you’d never known before you convinced him to bring you.

A promise, a barter—an exchange. Your hand clutching his blaster slugs, tears clutching to your lashes, flowing from your eyes—aware of what you look like, aware of the desperation you reek of.

Just take me to a different planet. A suitable one. Please.

At first, it had been you who had found a problem with each one he’d landed at.

A bogus reason, a ploy—all stemmed from a rising infatuation with the man under beskar. But, at some point between your cheek against the wall of his ship and your clothing being around your ankles, you’re sure he’d begun to find problems with you leaving too.

But, this place is a gift—it’s a slice of heaven.

It had been a stop gap you’d almost pleaded at him not to make, a pause in the travel plan. Now you’re not sure you want to leave it.

Because here is a sea of greens, a variety, a never-ending display of every shade between the letters which make up the name. Some are more saturated, some are deeper; some are tinged with yellows and others are blotted with dark spots that aim to discolour, but just make them more unique.

There’s no bounty here—no collection to be made.

Just a sight for your eyes and a moment for him. And, you think you could sit here for hours and bask in it. Take it in. Allow the air of this planet to fill your lungs and carve a space inside of you that no one will ever be able to rip from you.

Stroking your fingers through the ground, you feel how your tunic presses to your spine—how it’s held there by the perspiration on your spine. The fabric desperate to blow, to whip around your ribs and the sleeves to float around your arms.

You don’t care that it’s warm—don’t mind that you can feel your skin prickling under it.

Because you’re lost in it, the limitlessness of this place. How surreal it is that each blade points north to the sky, all upright, anchored pleasingly to the ground it came from.

Things had been beautiful earlier too, you remind yourself.

When you had been enveloped by darkness, not a slither of light—not that there’d be the space for it in the small cot. His hands, forever a staple, an anchor, to your hips, determined to pin you there.

He’s a man who chases after those who run, and you suppose it’s ingrained in him. This belief that everyone, at some point, will leave—will go. You think it’s why he holds you tightly when you’re nothing but bare; you suppose it’s why after, when he unsheathes himself, he always traces his thumb over the places his fingers have been, reminding your skin he’s kind, just in case you need another reminder not to leave.

“We should go.”

You hum because you should. Yet, your mind rationalises that the baby is still asleep and there are more minutes to sit in the silence, to not dwell—you suppose it’s why your hand reaches up, and brushes over the gloved fingers instead.

Action is easier than words when it comes to him.

A game the two of you play, one of silence and strategy—wondering who’d be the first to crack and speak more words than necessary. You suspect it’ll be you in time, likely soon enough.

It’s why you clutch, cling. Weaving and working until you’re holding his fingers at an odd angle, a silent plea there, a wishful hope spoken without using syllables or your lips and mouth.

“One more minute.”

“Okay,” you respond.

Watching the strands move again, swaying, dancing.

A content sigh rolls from you, and briefly—in the back of your mind, you wonder if you’re really awake. Whether this is some form of peace your brain has concocted after the sight of him stained in crimson; his palms flat in the air, modulator expelling he’s fine, it isn’t his, he’s okay, it’s okay—

For a while, you’d believed him, until you felt the bruises—all pulsing and colouring in shades you can’t imagine. An image being drawn, shaded in—forever in black and white, just outlines and half-concocted feelings you have on what lives under his armour.

He sighs next to you, it rattling out through his helmet.

And you wait to hear it, the confirmation he normally hands you. Deep, even through his modulator that this “isn’t it” either.

It’s been a routine ever since the two of you began this dalliance. Ever since you’d smuggled yourself aboard his ship with the promise that you’d never ask him for anything else.

Neither realising how false that would be.

You beg for a lot. For more, for his lips, his fingers and his cock. You wait for the darkness, count down to it—thrum with excitement for it when he steps down the ladder and his helmet is aimed in your direction.

Somehow, no words are said, just mutual acknowledgement, acceptance. Or that's what you call it. It being seemingly better than admitting that you crave it—him. That you care, that the sight of him smeared in ruby still haunts you—lingers there, bleeds into good days and casts shadows while you wait in the hull. The child in your arms, soothing him—telling yourself you’re giving him comfort, when you suppose you gain more from the small being than you could ever provide.

“This isn’t it,” he eventually says from above.

His helmet turned, and you imagine the eyes that live under it. Question if they’re almond-shaped or hooded, whether they’re brown, green or blue. You also wonder if he looks at you with curiosity or want, whether it’s with a thousand thoughts running or none at all.

“No?”

“No. Not this one.”

That’s when you close your eyes. Let your ears do the seeing.

Allow your other senses to kick in, to swallow the lack of sight and make do. You end up lingering on the gloved hand in yours—the one which sometimes slides around your neck, lightly pinches either side as you moan at the feel of him. The same hand which slides down your spine to aid your motion, or lingers there when the terrain isn't trouble-free.

It's the remembering which makes you let go of it, of him.

Quickly managing to pretend your hand doesn’t feel cold when you do. Stuff down the emptiness that begins to drown you in the space you put between you, as you stand up. A part of you admitting defeat, silently saying goodbye to tall stands of green and the rolling hills adorned with shades.

“Thought you’d be sick of me by now.”

It rumbles from you. All heavy, laced in its own metal—ready to slam into him and take him down.

It doesn’t. You’re not sure any words ever could.

You suppose it’s why he says nothing, silently following, not too far so that you’re alone, but not close enough that you can feel the ghost of his touch. The distance measured, all purposeful. It remains so until you’re back aboard, until the door closes behind you and you’re once again surrounded by metal.

A part of you knows you shouldn’t grow used to him, shouldn’t be waiting for him to flood your spine with his chest. But you do—you really fucking do.

It’s why you don’t move, don’t take a step closer to check on the baby or even unclench your hand from around the strands of green you’d stolen. The ones you’d ripped up from the ground, roots tickling your wrist—the rest remaining tucked closely between curled fingers and a sweaty palm.

Yours. The smallest piece of a place you’ll likely never see.

“You should sleep.”

It’s an order. Direct—practically thrown at you. Followed by a tight grip on your waist, fingers finding the same place they always do. His place. The one not needing a mark, but he leaves them all the same, ownership, a possession.

Sometimes in the throes of it, you hear him hiss mine, jus’ mine—your head nodding in the dark, because you are, you know you are, the same as you suspect he knows he’s yours. It’s another thing which festers behind your teeth, keeping lips clamped shut, knowing it requires no confirmation, no words in exchange for the momentary slip-up he lets escape. But then, you offer nothing when you trace mine against him with your tongue, when you muffle the words around his shaft as your mouth widens to take more of him.

It’s just pleasure, an easy-to-choose solution to another body being in proximity—a lie you tell yourself.

One you bargain with when he sleeps and you’re coated in the dark, convincing yourself until sleep carries you away and you wake to find yourself either alone or the very opposite.

Because it’s easier, simpler. Far better than admitting your heart does a double take when he returns, that you yearn for him in the days that pass when he leaves you on the ship.

It’s less complicated than asking him if you’ll ever be worthy of seeing him.

And you’re not the type of person to question. So you don’t.

And so the routine continues.

an: you don't know how long this has been burning in my head.

[muneca-lemon-steppa]

hello!!! hope you’re doing great, I kinda wanna ask about Thomas x Sister Shelby if you do that ? And if you do I’m thinking she’d be smart, has a very quick tongue and she wants to get out of the Shelby business to marry the love of her life (alfie😝😍) so she fakes her death and ofc everyone is distraught and angry than after a few years Thomas sees alfie at his home and than comes his sister who he thought had died and he berates her than she says something like you’re a worse person than me always killing for money like he can’t live without a war. Also I am in the mood for a very angst ending

A/N: Hello my love! How are you doing? I am so so sorry that this has taken forever. Truthfully, I had no clue how to do this. I thought about this long an hard, and though some things I switched up, I hope you enjoy this. I feel like this got me to stretch my writing muscles, and it was really fun. Let me know what you think darling!

Run Away With Me Darling

Alfie Solomons x Fem! Reader; 3.8k words; fluff, angst

Warnings: language, contentious family relationships, arranged marriage???

It started innocently enough.

You bringing tea and biscuits to meeting rooms where the men started their schemes. Listening and taking notes alongside your ever watchful Aunt Polly. Sneaking glances at the big brute in the chair across from your big brothers.

“Thank you treacle. Yeah that’s real kind of you.”

That brute is the only man that would say thank you for the tea you bring by. And when you go to pour more for him, he’s the only man who says, “No need for that darling. Grown men can pour their own tea yeah?”

It wasn’t meant to be anything more than professional. But you should’ve known. Known from that first encounter outside those Shelby walls… you and Mr. Solomons shared a single soul… and heaven nor hell could keep you from each other’s grasp.

It was hot. London is not a tropical city by any means. But the sheer amount of bodies, activity, and warm rain, had transformed the city into a sauna. The wisps of your hair along your neck and forehead are plastered to your body. Rivulets of sweat sneak down your chest. The heat could only be described as oppressive. You were counting down the steps till you could go home.

On the one hand… it was strange having a home all to yourself. Truthfully, it was the Shelby homestead in London, where the family would stay when business needed attending to. However, when they all left, you stayed. Carrying delicate messages. Keeping a close pulse on the going’s on of the city. And perhaps most importantly… remaining a pretty show pony for the Shelby family.

You hated to admit it. But you were desperately jealous of Ada. She had the guts to sneak past Arthur, Tommy, and John. She had the foresight to marry her true love before Tommy could marry her off to the highest bidder. You had no such luck. No childhood love. No sweetheart to campaign for. The boys had made sure of it. Despite Ada and your protests, and Polly’s discrete ploys; Tommy had decided. The sweet, pure, and innocent youngest Shelby girl will be auctioned off to the richest and most lucrative partner for the Shelby Company. And she will remain pretty and docile. A prize.

The mere thought made your stomach twist and churn and burn.

You loved them. Your family. More than most love their family. But you could barely breathe under their watch. Even in another city you felt the reach of their eyes. Felt the whisperings of potential matches for your hand and womb. The sweat on your brow burned your eyes. Taking place of the unshed tears you long abandoned.

All you longed for was cold water. A cool bath. Anything to scrub off the sweat and dirt and exhaustion. However, shade covered your front door, casting a shadow over the threshold.

“Sweetheart! Been waiting a bit for you!”

No matter where you see Mr. Solomons, he seems to take up all the space. You don’t know how he is able to stand the heat, with his coat and hat and bushy beard. But he looks unfettered. Cool even. You finally felt the kiss of the breeze on your neck as you approached.

“Mr. Solomons. How can I help you?”

“You going to invite me in like a good girl?”

“I’m not in the business of inviting strange men into my home.”

“You think me strange?”

“Oh Mr. Solomons you are the strangest man I’ve ever met.”

“Makes you a little excited though don’t it? A hint of danger yeah? Big brute standing at your door.”

You stuck your chin out, staring directly into his stormy eyes. “I’m not afraid of you Mr. Solomons.”

His mouth quirks up in the corner. A twinkle in his eyes, and your breath hitched as he leaned into your space, “Oh I know sweet. You ain’t like the others ain’t ya? I saw it… the first time I laid eyes on you I knew you were different. Those boys… cold blooded little snakes… you… nah… there’s a flame in you treacle…and I look forward to see you set things aflame.”

Before you could respond in any way, he leaned away, smiling at your response. He pulled out an envelope from his coat and handed it to you, “Contract and information for your devious brother my sweet. Don’t worry, put a little something in there for you too for your trouble.”

You snatched the envelope from his hand. Unsure of how to respond to his… behavior. His rumbling laugh set a shiver down your spine, but you pushed it down as you appraised him, “This seems below your job description… don’t you have messenger boys?”

He further smirked, “I hope you’ll forgive me, that I want to keep you to myself.”

“I’m not a kept girl.”

“That you are not. Just have to inform your brothers of the fact don’t you?”

Hot shame rose in your cheeks. The envelope in your hands crinkling sharply. You felt the cool brush of gold rings on your cheek, “I have a standing dinner every Thursday evening. Let it be our little secret, hmm?”

Before you could react, a coarse kiss is pressed to your knuckles. As he started walking away, you called out, “And if I don’t show up? What then?”

He turned, with a boyish smile, “You’re not a kept woman treacle. Not my business. I’ll just send my messenger boys in my place.”

That was a year ago. Things were so simple then. Secret dinners. Secret mornings. Secret dalliances and outings around town. And when the family came to town, you placed that mask back on. Sweet, innocent, and docile Shelby girl. Ready at the beck and call of her family. And when they left, you ran right into the arms of Alfie. Because where it all started as something to feel disobedient, it grew into something deeper and more ancient. You felt your soul intertwine with his, as if it was always searching for him. In the evenings when he whispered his love for you and kept you close, you had never felt safer. Never felt more alive.

But dreams are not forever. Sooner or later the bubble must pop.

“You’ll need to come back to Birmingham dearest.”

“For how long?”

Everyone looked up at Tommy. Tommy didn’t even look up from his dinner plate, “Permanently. I’ve got a husband for you.”

Your fork dropped. Your heart stopped beating.

You faintly hear Aunt Polly call your name.

“Husband?” You whispered.

Tommy sighed, “That is what I said. High time you married, you’re old enough. Mr. Gorman has multiple factories both here and in the states, and his son is set to inherit them all. It’s a good match, it’ll be very beneficial to the company.”

“Tommy I don’t even know him.”

“You have your entire life to get to know him. Now finish your dinner.”

“So you just decided is that it? You just decided to that I’d belong to some man? Tell me Tommy… how much did you sell me off for? How much is my womb worth?”

“Watch your mouth!” Polly hissed, with Arthur wincing at the cutting words.

“I’m not going.” You stood from your chair. Preparing for battle.

“It’s not up for discussion.”

“I’m not going! You cannot make me!”

Tommy rose from his seat, John putting his head in his hands with Arthur knocking back a drink. Low. Deadly. Tommy always could command a room with his voice. Cold finger pointing at you like a deadly weapon. “You will do as you’re told. This is not about you. This is about the family. In a week, I will come fetch you. I will drag you back to Birmingham if I have to. And you will marry the young Mr. Gorman, and you will have as many of his fucking babies as he chooses. You will be rich. You will be safe. And you will be set. I am not about to argue with a child.”

You felt the tears well up in your eyes. Sorrow. Mourning. Hatred. “I hate you Thomas Shelby. I hate you.”

“You will get over it.”

You ran to your room. Weeping the rest of the night.

Because how can your body and name be given to a man, when your heart and soul belonged to another?

They left the next morning. Arthur knocking on your door to announce the departure, and trying to convince you, “He’s a good lad darling. Trust Tommy alright? Wouldn’t let nothing bad happen to ya, even though it seems like right shit. Don’t be too angry at us. We’ll all still be close. And anyway… it’s what’s good for the family.”

You didn’t look at him. Not even a hum of acknowledgment when he kissed your hair tenderly. A regretful sigh leaves his body as Arthur walked away, taking one last look at your quivering body on your maiden bed. Arthur always had a soft spot for you. Always defensive for you unlike your other siblings. He had tried in vain to get Tommy to rethink the arrangement. You didn't need to get married. The company didn't need such an alliance. They'd get by as they always have. But Tommy's sights were set much higher. He wanted that name of honor. And to get it, he was willing to play by the rules of old money. Tommy had convinced Arthur enough. Enough that you'd eventually forgive them all.

The orange sky illuminated your bedroom in a bloody hue. Your throat dry and head hot and pounding. The creaking and settling of the house had become a steady ring in your ears, you didn't even hear the bedroom door open.

"Treacle. What are you doing? Eden said you haven't left since last night. You ill?"

Maids hear everything, you think bitterly. But you couldn't be too cross with Eden. Not really.

"He's done it Alfie."

Alfie toed off his boots after the hat and coat. Sinking into the too ornate duvet. "Who treacle? What happened?"

You faced him, deep creases of the duvet threads divide your hot wet cheeks. Lashes clumped together and soaked. "Tommy... he... he finally did it. He's married me off. In a weeks time I'm to belong to some... Mr. Gorman. His father owns factories, and I suppose that's enough for my bride price."

You feel your body being gently tugged up and into Alfie’s embrace. Despite any protest from you about how it may affect his back, he shushes you instantly, “Now now my little dove. Nah you ain’t going back to Birmingham. You ain’t getting married to some prick. Nah you’re staying here with ol’ Alfie.”

You force your face under his chin, letting his unkempt beard absorb your sobs, “No Alfie it’s true! Tommy told me yesterday at dinner! He… he’s taking me away Alfie! I hate him. I hate him so much. I don’t want to marry some man I don’t even know!”

“I already told you darling, you’re not going to! It’s not happening.”

You push his shoulder, “You’re not listening to me! Tommy said-“

“I don’t give a shit what Tommy said! You’re not marrying the shit because you’re marrying me!”

Like an unpracticed magician, he pulled out a gorgeous diamond and sapphire ring. Its glimmer and fractals made it look as endless as the night sky. You felt the breath in your lungs catch, anger and fear simmering down and cooling. You dared not touch something to precious, “Alfie Solomons…”

“Was my mother’s. Gave it to me when I came back from the war. On her death bed. Made me swear that I wouldn’t give it up for any pretty girl on the street. Had to give it to the one.”

You struggled to meet his gaze, “And I-“

“The one treacle. If you’ll have me.”

He shifted you in his lap, fully facing him, “Now… I had a whole event planned out. Garden stroll. Drinks. Music playing. And I know I’m a sorry old monster and you have loads of suitor-“

“Alfie-“

“But I swear on my life treacle, you’ll never want for anything. You will have freedom to do whatever you would hope to do. We’ll go anywhere. I’ll love you till the stars go out-“

“Alfie! Yes! Yes yes yes! I’ll marry you! You silly old man!”

You pushed him back and kissed him fiercely. With all the passion you had been hiding from your family for years. Until the acidic burn of reality came down, “But what about Tommy? Alfie you hate each other, he’ll never let me go.”

Rough hands running up and down your thighs, gazing in awe at the fiery halo surrounding you. “I was willing to go in and threaten blessing or death.”

“I won’t have you put in danger for love. This isn’t Shakespeare.”

With a laugh and kiss to your fingertips he whispers, “You got any ideas? I’m all ears.”

You try to think, but kept coming across a wall. Any option you thought of ended in bloodshed. You fell into the bed next to Alfie, curling into his chest, “I wish we could just run away.”

His arms tighten around you, “What if we did?”

It would happen three days before Tommy would come to fetch you. You dismissed Eden with an oath to secrecy, and for four days you played the part of excited bride to be. Purchasing things for a new marital home, a wedding dress and new wardrobe. Who cares if the detail of the lucky husband was slightly off?

Whenever your family called, you lied happily through your smiling teeth. At first you felt a twinge of guilt. But in the end, they stood by as your brothers sold you off. They lost the right to the truth. They hated Alfie, said as much any time they came to the house. They would never understand. They would never allow it. But this was your life. And you would be damned before you were cleaved from your beloved.

The men from the distillery made regular visits to the house in the middle of the night, picking up your things to take to Margate, dropping off love letters and updates from Alfie. With each passing day, your heart became lighter. The binds lessening. Freedom was right on your tongue.

Three days before Tommy, Arthur, and John are to pick you up, the horrific news explodes through Birmingham. The Shelby home in London: set ablaze. No survivors. The beautiful bride, burned alongside her wedding dress hanging in the window. The youngest Shelby girl, an angel amongst demons, taken too soon from the earth from a horrific accident. The fire so destructive, not even a body is there for a proper burial. Just ash and a memory of that sweet face. The funeral is horrible. Wailing and weeping from all of Birmingham. Aunt Polly could barely keep it together, blaming Tommy for it all. Even business acquaintances from London and beyond come to pay their respects. The most shocking visitor, was Mr. Solomons, who paid for the funeral itself, “I’m sorry Tommy for your loss. I really am. She was a sweet girl. But… she’s in a better place I’m sure.”

And what a better place that is. White washed home right on the beach, windows open at all times, with the sea breeze billowing pristine gossamer curtains in the wind. You spend your days reading and writing to your heart’s content, strolling the beach, playing with Cyril like a child. As Alfie settles affairs in Camden during the week, he visits during the weekend, serving and worshipping you like a goddess. He never gave you information about the family. You didn’t want it. That was your old life. A you that you couldn’t recognize. Here, in this life, you were free. Free to speak. Free to argue and give your mind.

After a month, Alfie permanently moves to Margate. Home. Retired from the gangster life with enough money to live comfortably for the rest of his life, with more than enough to comfort when he’s gone.

And the years pass blissfully. Just how it was in the beginning. Kisses and dancing and laughter and arguing and love and joy. 3 years of absolute heaven, you had nearly forgotten how it all was almost taken from you.

But the past does have a way of rearing its ugly head doesn’t it?

It’s the dawn of summer. The final kisses of spring bringing crisp clean air through your marital home. Alfie had never felt better. The pain in his body had long left him, only flaring during the coldest evenings. The dark circles under his eyes have dissolved. His face and body, fuller, firmer with the glowing health of a man at peace who works for life not death. You were upstairs, searching for the a particular spool of thread you had been working with for a blanket you had spent days on. But it needed to be done soon. Alfie shifted through the records you both had been collecting. Symphonies had become his special interest in the recent months, and he was looking for a particular composition that he felt would make your heart sing.

The heavy knock on the door sent the hair on his neck stand at attention.

Only one demon knocked like that.

His eyes shifted to the stairs. He could still hear you moving things around. Searching tirelessly for that spool. You’d be missing for a couple minutes. Enough to rebuke the vile creature from the door without your discovery.

With a deep breath, Alfie tries to remember the armor of his past. The Mad Baker. Just as another round of knocks was about to come, Alfie opened roughly, “Tommy! What are you doing here? Gates of hell need their master don’t they?”

He looked thinner than normal. It’s been years since the men had seen each other, but the difference was still shocking. Those icey blue eyes even more haunting than they were at the funeral. Gaunt cheeks and pale skin made him look like a living corpse. A flicker of a flame winked behind those eyes. Hope for another fight. Something to set him aflame. “Hello Alfie. Enjoying retirement?”

“Yeah actually I am so whatever you have up your sleeve I want no part in it so if you’ll just fuck off.”

Before Alfie could slam the door, Tommy stuck his foot in the door, “Not that simple Alfie. Worlds gone to shit and it needs Solomons to set it to right.”

“Your world not mine. Now get out.”

“I’m not going to leave until you let me in Alfie.”

Your angelic voice danced on the breeze down to the front door, “I found it! Alfie you would not believe where it was! I swear I’m losing my mind.”

Tommy’s face some how went paler. As if he heard Satan’s whisper of condemnation. Alfie tried to push the door closed, but with the strength of a mad man Tommy pushed past the threshold.

Tommy almost fainted.

This must be hell.

He must have died.

It’s the only rational idea.

God chose to lock him in the home of his biggest agitation, with the ghost of his dead baby sister.

But this couldn’t be your ghost. Your swollen belly proves this.

“Holy shit.” You drop the tea cup in your hands when you see Tommy. Tommy who wasn’t supposed to be here. Tommy who saw you buried and dead.

Alfie rushes in, pulling you behind his broad frame. Through his linen shirt, you feel the ragged breath and hammering heart of your husband. You feel faint. “Tommy… you need to leave right now.”

“You paid for the funeral.”

“Tommy we can do this later but you need to get out right now. I’m asking nicely.”

“You knew she was alive… you knew.”

“She is very delicate right now she does not need any excitement.”

“You fucking made her delicate! You compromised her you fucking bastard!”

You cried out as Tommy lunged for your husband, “Stop it Tommy! Enough! Get out of my house!”

Tommy stumbled, pointing at you, “You… you’re fucking sick. You’re demented! You caused Polly a near heart attack. You are disgusting!”

You push past Alfie, who is left watching, “I’m disgusting! You sold me off to some man. And for what? To get people to see you as a big man? Guess what Tommy, you will NEVER be good enough for them! They’ll always see people like us as trash! But you don’t care. Anything to get ahead right?! You’ll stoop as low as you need to ahead.”

Tommy laughed bitterly, holding back the urge to spit, “And what about you yeah? So spoiled that you throw the biggest tantrum of the century. Whore yourself out to the Mad Baker, and get knocked up with his bastard.”

“I’d stop talking if I were you Tommy.”, Alfie snarled darkly. Fists curling in. Like a wolf ready to devour.

“I’d rather be his whore than be a part of any family of yours. You can’t leave well enough alone. Murdering and slaughtering for some honor so quick to tarnish and fade away. You tried to lock me away, never taking a care to what I wanted or thought. But you can’t do that to me anymore. I’m a Solomons, and I carry his child. You can’t touch me.”

Tommy settled, steel washed over his face. “They have a right to know.”

“You all have a right to nothing. I’ll see the family when I’m good and ready.”

His eyes shift to Alfie, “You are evil incarnate. You are cursed.”

No sign of mirth reaches Alfie’s eyes when he smirks, “Careful Tommy. You know what they say about curses. Especially when you curse family.”

Without another word, Tommy storms out. As soon as the door slams, shaking the lamps, you let out the breath in your heavy lungs, “Holy Shit”.

Your knees give out from under you, and cold shakes roll through your body. Alfie grabbed your body, helping you into a chair. “Settle my love it’s alright he’s gone. What do you need? Baby ok?”

“No I’m ok thank you my love. I just… I need air. I can’t believe he came here. He knows. They all know.”

“Hush darling, breathe for me, settle your nerves, you don’t need to worry. They know but they can’t touch you. You’re my wife and they can’t get to you. You are your own woman. You are safe.”

“But what are we going to do. What if they come?”

“Then we’ll deal with them. I’ll have some boys come in, set up a watch. We won’t be caught off guard ever again.”

You nodded. Trusting the words of your husband. You felt an affirming kick in your ribs. The rushing of your heart. You had paradise for three years. You couldn’t run forever, no matter how far you got. The bell had finally tolled, and it was time to face it.

[artdcnaldson]

patricks sister au has me in a tizzy hes so mean my pussy is sopping wet but what if he got meaner - what if he started dating someone just to get the message across. kisses her where you can see and acts all boyfriendy. what he doesn't know is that ur certifiably insane and purposely crash dates he has with her under the guise of 'i need a ride home.' and 'i need help with homework.' art knows what you're doing, isn't impressed by it.

but one day his girlfriend takes it upon herself to snap at you - maybe you're at a party and this time its not a ploy - you really do just want to go home - and you come up to art and his girlfriend rolls her eyes like, "jesus, here comes your fucking fan club, art." looks at you like, "you know you're annoying right. that everyone knows you have a crush on him? take a fucking hint. he. doesn't. want. you."

and you get tears in your eyes, bottom lip wobbling.... you run off so you dont see the absolute look of rage that flits over arts face. the way he becomes a wall of ice. if he was mean to you the cold way he turns to his girlfriend and promptly dumps her in front of everyone is downright evil.

of course he has to come find you ☹️ and he has to say sorry ☹️ and maybe you'll forgive him and leave him alone if he tells you really truly honestly...... that he doesn't want you. and if he cant say that...... then at least, cant he be your first kiss? please? you'll milk more tears out if you have to.

GODDDD <3

It’s so obvious what you’re doing. But maybe he shouldn’t have his dates on campus, shouldn’t bring his girlfriend to parties he knows you’re going to be at. It’s like he’s asking for you to do it.

And yeah the past excuses have been total bullshit. They were so weak, not even convincing, but you could always count on Art to walk you back to your dorm with his girlfriend in tow. He stops at your door, she lingers behind, and you smile all pretty and thank him.

Alone in your room, you wonder if he’s going to take her back to his dorm to fuck her. You’ve seen the way he kisses her— sweet and gentle, the way boyfriends kiss. You wonder what it’s like when they fuck— if he keeps that same sweet, doting facade on when he’s fucking into her cunt.

Probably. Art’s sweet, he’s respectable. You’re the only one who brings out the fire in him in your brother’s absence. It must be boring when they fuck. Missionary, cowgirl, doggy when he’s feeling adventurous.

You’d never be boring for him, never let things get stale. You don’t even know why he likes her, why he wastes his time. Sure, she’s pretty, she’s… an English major? Whatever.

So the next time you’re at a party and you come up to Art, they figure it’s just jealousy. That you’re just trying to break them apart. Again.

Your DD left with a polisci major, you were drunk and ready to leave. Two hours of watching Art and his fucking girlfriend suck face and grind to shitty music had left a sour taste in your mouth. You just wanted to be home in your bed already.

So you walked up to the two of them nursing beers in a group. She rolled her eyes at the sight of you, whispered something to one of her friends. You ignored her, tugged on Art’s arm.

“Can you walk me back to my dorm, please?”

It’s supposed to be earnest, it is earnest. But Art can’t get a word in before She interrupts.

“Jesus Christ. This whole thing you’re doing isn’t cute anymore. It’s just really fucking annoying, and we’re all fucking sick of it. Find someone else to throw yourself over and leave Art alone. You’re just embarrassing him at this point.”

You try to be a Big Girl about it, to say something back, but all you can manage is a weak I’m sorry before you’re leaving with hot tears streaking your cheeks and a nauseous pit in your stomach.

You don’t hear about the aftermath until later— whispers from a friend, really. Art had laid in on her after what she said. Called her things you’d never heard him say, that you couldn’t even imagine. Calling her a fucking cunt, telling her to mind her own fucking business and keep her fucking mouth shut about you. Shoved her off of him, told her to lose his fucking number.

But you didn’t know that. All you knew was barely five minutes after you had walked into the door and crawled into bed, there was a knock on the door.

You groaned, opened the door with teary, smeared makeup and a weak frown. Because seeing Art just makes it worse.

“I’m sorry Art, I never meant to embarrass you, and I know I’ve been horrible and awful and I’ve made you do awful things, and i don’t know when to just give up and it’s not fair to you.” He walks with you into the room, shuts the door and pulls you against his chest.

He smells like cigarettes and weed and beer and his girlfriend’s perfume. It makes you cry harder. “I’m really sorry, Art. I’ll leave you alone, I promise. I’ll tell Patrick to let you off the hook, and you won’t have to see me anymore.”

He pets your hair, leans back and wipes your tears with soft brushes of his thumbs along your cheeks. “You really don’t want me?” You ask weakly. “Not even a little bit?”

He swallows hard, because he doesn’t want to lie to you. Not tonight, not when you’re already feeling so bad. But what the two of you have isn’t healthy, it’s not what you need.

You sniffle, nod. “Will you just kiss me, then? Once? Please?”

His lips meet yours gently at first, with all the sweetness you’d expected from him, the same kind of kisses he’d give a girlfriend. You feel his tongue brush against yours and moan into his mouth.

It’s short— way too short— but you lean back with your lips tasting like him and that’s all your heart can handle for the night. Really it is.

“You should go,” you say finally, blinking away your tears and wiping at your eyes. “Really, I, uh, I have plans tomorrow, so—“

You don’t have plans, none at all. But he nods, kisses your forehead once.

When you’re in bed, you open your phone, text Art. I’m really sorry. You lock it and try to sleep.

[blmpff]

PloyPhachkarin on twt 27.03.2023

[sl-vega]

08; operation: first (study) date!

project: love liason! - a scaramouche smau

You shut off your phone as you heard the ever so familiar voice of your best friend whisper-shout your name, even when she was slightly irritated at you and your carelessness.

Mona huffed quietly as she approached you, binder in her arms as she adjusted the tote bag hanging on her shoulders, her dark raven locks pulled into her iconic high twin tails as per usual.

"Good, you finally managed to spot me. Where is everyone else?"

"Oh- About that...a ton of people cancelled last minute, so it's just gonna be us and two other people, Childe and some other guy in my class. I think you know him..?"

"Really? Who-"

Mona was about to ask you something -presumably the identity of the other tag along- before cutting herself off as her eyes widened briefly before being rolled in slight annoyance, though she did still have a slightly teasing grin spread across her lips.

"-is this just some ploy to get some alone time with Childe while you pawn me off to some stranger?"

She asked, a mild accusatory tone present in her voice.

"Maybe..?" You answered, albeit a bit bashfully, she was gonna kill you once said 'stranger' appeared.

She sighed before shaking her head and chuckling dryly.

"You've got it bad. Fine, I'll play along. You owe me though."

A beaming smile spreading across your face, you gently tackled Mona into a big hug.

"Thanks! You're the best."

"I know, what would you do without me?"

She said, feigning arrogance, she gave your shoulders a quick squeeze and you a soft smile before glancing over at two figures behind one of the bookshelves you were right next too, a voice you were all too familiar with letting out a bark of laughter beyond the barrier of books.

Auburn hair, ocean blue eyes, that same hearty laugh that you could recognize in a split second every time it echoed through the hallways-

-shortly accompanied by a sharp violet gaze snapping you out of your trance and realizing that you probably looked very pathetic right now.

"So then Teucer was like- Oh! Hey (Y/N)! Hi Mona!"

He waved at the pair of you, God, that smile...

"Hi Childe!"

You just barely managed to squeak out, earning you a subtle judgemental glare from Scaramouche, who simply offered you a quick nod and quiet 'Hey.' and a brief glance at Mona. Knowing that both of you were nervous wrecks (in your own ways of course) around each of your respective crushes put you at ease. If the two of you were going down, at least you'd be failing together.

"You?!"

Mona exclaimed, glancing at you, then Scaramouche, repeating the cycle a few times before fully turning to you and shooting you a glare.

"You never asked who specifically was coming..?"

You muttered under your breath as Mona seemed to get a little more agitated, noted, loop holes weren't going to help your case...

You would say it was gonna be a long day, but knowing Mona, she might not even let things start at this rate.

additional notes:

y/n fawning over childe as if THE scaramouche isn't literally right in front of her and crushing on someone with zero intrest in him atm? (if i were her i'd be switching sides so fast)

^ vee making commentary on her own series as if she's a reader because yes, i AM that desperate for more engagement

childeyn + scaramona moments next chapter!

yes ik that these pairings are not what ANY of you came for but they help the plot continue plotting yk

scara even called y'all princess last chapter that should be enough scarayn to last you

sorry for such a boring a/n, this chapter is just to set up the NEXT one which i promise will be a lot more entertaining! <3

𝜗𝜚 SYNOPSIS: you're head over heels in love with childe, and scaramouche is (begrudingly) smitten with his "rival" mona. and, by sheer divine coincidence, you both happen to be the best friends of each other's objects of affection, so you strike a deal with each other. if scaramouche helps you ask out childe, you'll set him up with mona. so with the annual spring formal right around the corner, the two of you vow to be each other's wingmans so you can end your junior year on a high note (and maybe even kick off your senior year with a new relationship!). between, scheming, planning, and researching, you and scaramouche find yourselves developing a new relationship via helping each other out. now the real question is whether this friendship will remain as a pure platonic bond, or blossom into something more?

<PREV ll MASTERLIST ll NEXT>

🎀 - taglist!; (1/2)

@agaygothicmushroom @035814 @freyao7, @sketcheeee @tsukimara @shyentsmissingink @peachystea @aries-afk @lxkeeeee @sakiimeo @sugxryratz @shutingstar @lalaloveallmydays @bellflower1257 @haruumei @kichiyosh1 @littlemisssatanist @dee-zbignuts @candyescapism @crimxeorcremeexistspeacefully @h3ll0-kitty-4lly @franaby @la-cursii @heusalettle @automaticpatroltragedy, @c4ttheart, @meigalaxy @misswetty @introvertaku02, @daiyunjin @trulyylee @lily-lmao @kazumiku @kunikuzushis-darling @vitanye @livelaughlovekuni @imnotyizhuo @akagi0021 @rook-kisser @mitsuribe @scaraenthusiast1 @chemiru @193i3 @matolka @tamikahoshiko @jayzioxx @samyayaya @dontmindtheevie @v3ntis-lyr3 @blvdmrcnry

[floorbe]

"Desired" [Astarion x Human!Fem!Tav!Reader]

**COMMISSION PIECE** for @jesseapples , thank you sm sm for the comm!! <3

Warnings: p in v s/x, light blood play, biting, first time, hints of Astarion's past / turmoil but not much, hurt/comfort, reader is a virg/n Summary: You'd agreed to meet Astarion after everyone else had retired for the night, but you're starting to have doubts about whether you should.

or; you're a v irgin and worried about not being good enough. Pairings: Astarion / human, fem, tav reader A/N: tbh i wrote for human tav but there aren't many indicators of them when i re-read it?? so go wild! Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3, act one Tiefling party Word count: ~2.4k

~

To say you’re nervous is an understatement. 

The Tiefling’s celebration is still well underway, babbles and laughter ringing across the camp in a much welcome departure from the usual tense silence (other than the occasional grinding of Lae’zel sharpening her blades. Again). You spy Rolan casting lights into the air, preening under the praise of the group gathered around him.

You watch Cal and Lia lean in to say something to him, and judging by the affronted gasp he gives, you assume they were poking fun at him once more. You stifle a laugh into your goblet, amused at their already familiar antics. 

Though not even they could force your mind away from your current worry. Your eyes drag across the camp, attempting an air of nonchalance.The moment your eyes meet a familiar ruby red gaze you know you’ve failed at your little ploy. Astarion’s mouth is hidden behind his goblet, though you could tell by the quirk of his eyebrow that he was sending you a cocky smirk. 

You swallow hard around the bitter wine, swearing that the heat traveling down your throat was swirling up into your cheeks instead. You avert your gaze, your heart giving a small kick of… something. Anxiety? Excitement? You couldn’t tell the difference as a spark flicked in your belly, and the wine’s disorienting effect certainly wasn’t helping.

“And once everyone else is asleep… we get to know each other.”

His words echo in your mind for the umpteenth time tonight. The ridges of the goblet dig into your palm as you grip it, chewing on the inside of your lip. You had accepted, more than accepted, honestly– but thinking about it now.... 

You’d never laid with anyone before, and now you were going to lay with Astarion? You knew admittedly little of his past, and he yours, but he seemed… experienced. Much more experienced than you, if his confidence was anything to go by. Would he even enjoy it with you? Would you fumble? Disappoint him? This was beginning to sound more and more like a bad idea. 

It seems your turmoil wasn’t as well hidden as you’d anticipated, for when you glance in his direction again, he’s still staring at you. His eyebrows have moved into a furrow, his goblet lowered as his head tilts. You lock eyes with him once again, though this time neither of you make a move to look away.

You feel studied under his intense gaze, inspected, as if he was trying to unravel you from where he stood. You attempt a small smile, but if the way his frown deepens is any indicator, it must come out more as a grimace. In a moment he’s striding towards you, face twisted into something of what you think is concern. 

Before he can reach you, a hand grips your wrist and whirls you around. It’s one of the tieflings, Lia, giving you a wide grin as she drags you back to her group. “Saw you sulking over there,” she teases, nudging you as you enter the jovial conversation, “It’s a celebration! I’m not about to let you skulk in the corner!” 

When you cast a glance back to find Astarion, he’s already gone.

In. Hold. Out. In. Hold. Out. 

Your hands are still shaking as you make your way into the forest where you agreed to meet Astarion, the darkness surrounding you offering little comfort. Especially since you knew he could see perfectly fine in it– another bubble of anxiety pops up at the realization that he would see much more of you than you of him. 

“There you are,” his voice startles you as he saunters out from the bundle of trees, a quirked smile on his lips as he stalks closer, “I’ve been waiting. Waiting since the moment I met you.”

He’s in front of you now, piercing gaze freezing you in place as he advances, eyes raking down your form. You repress the urge to curl in on yourself.

“Waiting to…” his smile falters when he focuses on your face again. His eyebrows furrow deeply, searching your face. “...Darling,” he starts after a moment, resting a hand on his hip as he frowns, “I must say, out of all the lovers I’ve taken, you seem rather… unenthused by the opportunity.” 

You flounder for a response, heat swarming into your cheeks again. Your mind is blanking– everything you considered saying while pondering earlier is gone in a blink as he watches you. You can feel your throat tightening, hands gripping the fabric of your sleepwear as you try to find something, anything to say. 

Out of the corner of your eye you swear Astarion’s expression twitches into something softer, almost concerned in your behavior. He seems just as at a loss for words as you.

After a moment he takes a step back, tone considerably quieter, though his face has returned back to the neutral smile he wears, “Performance anxiety, darling? Fear not, we can save our night of passion for another–” he moves to grab his shirt. 

“N-no, no,” you finally sputter out, hands raising in a panic, “I… I’ve never done this before, is all.” 

There’s a pause as you watch Astarion process your words. You can practically hear the gears in his head turning as he looks at you almost incredulously. He lets out a sudden guffaw, head thrown back in amusement, “Oh, nice try, darling. A vision like yourself, untouched? Surely you don’t take me for a fool…” 

His words trail off into silence as he takes in how you seem to shrink even further into yourself. You hear him intake a needless breath before speaking, “...Gods, you aren’t joking, are you?” 

“...No,” you mumble, crossing your arms over your body protectively, “I’m serious.” 

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re one of those ‘I’m waiting until marriage’ people,” he scoffs lightly, though you notice his posture relax a bit at the information.

“No, it just… hasn’t been on my mind, I guess,” you shrug lamely. 

“Sex hasn’t been on your mind?” he asks incredulously, hands on his hips, “Well, you’re certainly not the first that’s said that to me, but I will say that you’ve surprised me, darling.” 

“Why? Do I seem like someone who… partakes often?” 

“...By the Hells. You do realize that every single one of our companions has been trying to seduce you, don’t you?” 

“...Huh?”

“Dear gods,” he groans, running a hand down his face, “We’ll get to that later. Now– shall we head back to camp? If we won’t be laying together, I would like to sleep on a bedroll.”

“Uh, I mean,” you laugh nervously, “Um… If… I mean…” Gods, how do you even say it?

“...Oh,” he sounds after a moment, eyes round with realization, “You– want me to be…?” 

“If you want,” you answer lamely, repressing a groan at how utterly awkward you sound. He’s silent for a moment, prompting you to look back up at him despite the flush on your cheeks. 

He’s wearing a contemplative expression, one you don’t see very often. You can almost hear the swirling thoughts running rampant in his mind, though he stays silent. You think he wants to say something, some thought that’s popped into his mind, but instead he dons his sultry smirk once again. 

“Darling…” he purrs, padding closer to you, “I’d be delighted.” His fingertips are cold against your arm as he traces up your skin, eliciting a trail of goosebumps in their wake. “I’ll be gentle, don’t worry,” he teases, the pads of his fingers stopping momentarily on your neck, tracing over the familiar pinpricks he’s gifted you almost every night.

“I’ll make sure it’s unforgettable,” his smirk breaks into a grin, fangs revealing themselves as he finally cups your cheeks. You fail to repress a shiver at the cold touch, eyes fluttering shut as his breath ghosts over your lips, “You’ll be begging for more when I’ve finished with you…” 

His lips are meeting yours within a moment, the cool feeling mixing wonderfully with your heated skin. His lips move against yours languidly, one hand slipping down your form to rest on your hip, testing. Your hands find purchase on his collar, one sliding up to tangle gently in his hair as you mold your lips against his, embarrassment forgotten. 

You feel his fang clip against your lower lip, drawing a quiet gasp from you at the prick. His tongue licks into your mouth through your parted lips, exploring and tangling with yours. You can’t help the whine that you release into his mouth as his hand slowly lowers from your hip to your lower back, tugging you flush to his form.

You barely notice that his hand that was once cupping your face has joined the other– though you let out a choked gasp as it quickly finds your ass, giving it a playful squeeze. Your head is spinning, overwhelmed with the new sensations in the best way possible, a haze covering your thoughts as he lowers you both onto the ground. 

His lips trail down to your jawline as your back hits the soft grass beneath you, and you instinctively offer your neck to him. You can feel the grin that spreads across his face at the action, and he wastes no time in sinking his fangs into their familiar spot. 

A moan slips from your lips at the brief pain, followed quickly by a soothing swipe of his tongue before he’s suckling at the points. You can feel his body pressed against yours– how his hands trail all over your form as he skillfully disrobes you, exploring each new inch of your skin with a delicate touch. 

It’s dizzying feeling his cold palms grope at your breasts, thumb rolling your nipple over as he sucks on your neck. It leaves you lightheaded, hips bucking instinctively at the feeling. “Needy girl,” he coos against your neck, “We’ll need to stretch you first, darling. Patience.” 

Despite his seemingly collected words, his free hand travels all too eagerly down to your cunt as he resumes sucking at your neck, a moan vibrating against your skin as his fingers slip over your slit. His finger gathers your slick easily before moving up to swirl over your clit, finally releasing your neck as you let out a wanton noise. He pulls back to gaze down at you, cheeks flushed and eyes hooded, all for him.

“Gods, you’re beautiful,” he whispers, running a finger teasingly through your folds, “So wet for me, aren’t you?” Any response you would’ve mustered is banished from your mind as he slips a finger into your heat, curling perfectly to hit the spot that makes you see stars. 

“Oh, there you go, darling,” he murmurs huskily. 

“‘Stari,” you whine, back arching as he hits that spot again, eliciting a delicious squeeze around his finger, “Please…” You barely notice your hands slipping down to tug at his bottoms, chewing on your lower lip to muffle the whimpers leaving your lips at every skilled curl of his finger. 

“So impatient,” he tuts, though he retracts one hand to join yours in slipping off his trousers. You let out a moan at the sight of his cock, precum already dribbling out of his tip– you can’t help how you tighten around his finger again, hips bucking eagerly at the thought of him finally filling you. 

He lets out a deep groan at the feeling, his cock twitching eagerly. “You’re a vision,” he breathes, slipping his finger out of your cunt. You barely have time to whine at the sudden emptiness when you feel his tip prodding at your hole, teasingly bucking to slide along your slit. 

“Ready for me, darling?” he asks, and though he has his trademark smirk you can hear an edge of care in his tone accompanied by a soft squeeze of your hip to reassure you. 

“Yes,” you breathe, looping your arms around his neck readily, “Just… slowly, please?”

“But of course,” he purrs, steadying his cock to prod his tip into your cunt, “Tell me if it hurts, darling. I told you I’d be gentle and I intend to keep my word.”

It stung at first, feeling his length slowly, painstakingly gradually, sink into your wet heat– it was a delicious sting, one you’re sure you’ll be thinking about in the nights to come. Your eyes flutter shut, hands clasping behind his nape as he shushes you soothingly, hands spread across your thighs to keep you spread for him. 

“That’s it, look at you,” he breathes, eyes locked on where his cock inches further and further into you, “Oh, darling, taking me so well, so good…” 

You moan brokenly as you feel his thighs press against the backs of yours, his balls resting against the cleft of your ass as you both adjust to the feeling. You watch his head bow with a silent moan, heavy breaths filling the air before he finds your eyes again. 

He moves slowly, gently, true to his word as he carefully watches your expression. Your mouth falls open in a gasped moan as his cock drags along your walls, stretching you deliciously. You can already feel the knot in your abdomen tightening, only worsened when his thumb swirls around your clit.

“Sh-shit, Astarion–” you pant, back arching. Your thighs tremble with pleasure, weakening as your pleasure climbs and climbs and climbs…

“Close already?” he purrs, doubling his efforts on your clit, “So sweet for me. Come, darling, give in, let me feel you…”

The knot snaps, pleasure washing over you as he works you through your high, cock sinking into you with a groan as his fingers stutter over your clit. He looks beautiful like this, you think amidst the pleasurable haze, eyes shut and mouth fallen open. It’s something you could get used to.

You whine brokenly, thighs trembling as wave after wave of pleasure courses through you, nearing too much but never quite crossing the line. It feels like minutes before you’re coming down from it, almost light headed as your body relaxes against the forest floor. 

“Fuck, Astarion, that…” you pant heavily, still very aware of how his cock is still hard inside you– twitching, throbbing… 

“I hope you’re not spent yet, darling,” he groans breathlessly as you tighten around him, red eyes locking with yours with a downright lewd grin, “After all, I did promise to make this unforgettable.”

[luminousbeings-crudematter]

a prompt: thick-as-thieves (and handsy) mates, johnny and reader.

When aches and pains strike, turn to giving each other remedial massages - far more efficient than a foam roller, and a useful skill to have since there's no room to pack one on a mission anyway.

And somehow, these sessions always conveniently take place in a common area. In front of ghost.

And the sighs and moans and vocal exclamations of relief and thanks? Just being grateful buddies - surely not trying to troll and get a rise out of him (while gaz tries to hold back his laughter).

Or perhaps ghost gets desperate - he's got muscles locked up tight and he’s getting desperate for relief, so finds himself asking for help. Obviously they only too happy to help - and surely if he’s going to need to strip they're more than happy to relocate to personal quarters.

A/N 1:  ooooh this was a challenging ask! I do not have the confidence to properly write for Soap yet, but I tried and I hope you like it <3   I don’t know if you wanted this to be so horny, but I feel like, you, Miya, know the vibe of this blog by now, so I like to believe you knew what you were getting into.   

A/N 2 (the real A/N):  I know you requested this a millennium ago, and I am SO sorry it’s so late but in my defence, I am truly and unconditionally a piece of shit.  18+ only MDNI

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4

At least your involvement in all of it starts innocently enough.  Johnny’s groans and whines and wincing every time he bends over or stands or sits or breathes tug at your heartstrings—you hate seeing your happy, horny puppy of a friend constantly in pain.  So you offer to work his joints for him, work on some of that tension in his back, in his shoulders, offer some sort of comfort. 

What you don’t know is that, while his pain is genuine, it’s also a ploy.  

Your relationship with Johnny is…strange but it works. You fuck each other on occasion, because you realise the need for a healthy outlet for stress relief (you tell yourself that the orgasms are a bonus!).  You leave it at that and you don’t try to search for meaning and deeper feelings where none exist.  You do love each other, but you’re friends first and foremost, that’s the rule.

Besides, you know who Soap really wants.  Everyone on base knows who Soap really wants, except, it seems, the object of his desire.  And by the time you figure out that you’re being used as a tool in the ploy, it’s too late…and you find that you don’t actually mind the means, when you finally figure out Johnny wants as the result.  It’s the same thing you’ve wanted for so long, but been too shy to ever say aloud.  So you play along.  

And so when you give Johnny your “remedial massages”, you don’t question him on why they need to be at the ass-crack of dawn in the gym.  The preferred time for the Lieutenant to use the gym, in fact, the only time he does.  You don’t question why, somehow, Ghost is always around when you’re twisting and contorting Soap’s muscles to aid him stretching, why the groans that leave Soap sound surprisingly like the ones he makes when he’s inside you, why winding up Ghost seems to have made your sex life with Soap infinitely better.       

But you’re in on the joke now.  And far be it from you not to appreciate a well thought-out strategic manoeuvre.  

And you are succeeding because you do wind Ghost up—that much is clear.  You see his body tense, fists clenching at his sides, while he watches the two of you with narrowed eyes.   It’s almost Machiavellian, you realise, Johnny’s plan. 

If you keep following his cues and try to decipher the real meaning behind the shallow words he says, it almost certainly leads you to exactly where you need to be.  Helping him stretch his legs, with your hands dancing over his thighs, his eyes wide and attentive and glossy with his arousal.  Rubbing his shoulders with your breasts pressed tight against his back and his low groans in sync with the knots you work in the muscles.  It all just works. All with Ghost as your witness.

Until Ghost decides he’s had enough.  

Until a series of events that starts with Gaz rolling his eyes at your latest iteration of the melodrama—Soap working on your back for a change, drawing low, breathy moans from you as you relish in the feeling of his warm, hard palms on your lower back—and ends with Ghost watching the two of you in rapt attention. 

It’s electrifying, the feeling of Ghost’s eyes on your body.   You can almost feel it, the way Simon’s gaze moves between your bodies, his eyes tracing the grace of Johnny’s movement, always belied by the sheer bulk of him, but always present, always drawing attention to nimble fingers and a surprisingly agile frame.

It’s the same series of events that leads you to where you are now.  Watching them, with your hand busy in between your legs.  

You have strict instructions not to.  Your Lieutenant warned you, Johnny made you promise not to touch yourself until they could touch you.

But it’s not your willingness to blindly follow instructions that got you this far. 

Besides, your Lieutenant’s too busy getting his dick sucked.  And Johnny…well Johnny’s got his mouth too full to protest.       

[discotenny]

Pet-Names (hypmic)

What nicknames your partner would call you :3 Featuring EVERYONE(except Rei cause I don't write for him woahosoohosp) !!! THIS IS A BIG ONE RAHHHHHH

Mentions of “during intimacy" in Ramuda's section but no explicit smut. Everyone has attached drabbles :3

———

Buster Bros

Ichiro

He's such a babe guy OHHHH my goodness he's such a babe guy. Maybe he'll throw a baby in there too but he throws out babe like it's your second name. It sounds so sweet and casual coming from his mouth you can just hear the smile dripping from it.

"Babe, come here for a sec!" Ichiro calls from the kitchen. With a hm in reply, you come in and see him doing nothing but stand there. You go to ask him why he called you over- only for him to bring you into a warm hug. "I just wanted to hug you baby," he says, kissing your cheeks as you chuckle.

Jiro

Jiro strikes me as the type to only call you cute nicknames as a ploy to get you annoyed. He'll snicker as he calls you his 'pookie little sunshine bear' in front of all your friends and run away cackling as you chase him down. In private he'll be more soft- picking up 'babe' just like his brother calls you.

"Hey darling little sweetie pumpkin bear pie?" He asks you with the most innocent eyes and you glare at him with the fury of a thousand suns. Your friends laugh behind you and you make a promise to get him back later. Later comes with you tickling him with no mercy in the confines of his bedroom. Through fits of laughter and cries he yells, "Babe! Babe! Stop! Please!" Too bad though, maybe he shouldn't have been such a dick :P

Saburo

He's into the classics. More so- he simply calls you by your name cause he's a bit too embarrassed to call you anything else. Once he tried to call you 'babe' like he's heard his brothers do but it sounded so foreign coming from his mouth he'd rather you forget it ever happened.

"H-hey, b-baabeee~" Saburo says, trying to sound suave and immediately regretting it. You're not sure you heard him correctly, sounding more like a squeaking door rather than an actual sentence. "What did you say Sabu?" "N-Nothing!"

Mad Trigger Crew

Samatoki

He calls you classy shit like doll, honey, love. He's so sickly sweet when he calls you these pet names that you can't help the fluster that comes to your cheeks whenever he says it.

You're just about to go to bed, Samatoki already laying down. He's half asleep so you try and get in without much attention. As you fix yourself in bed, his hand finds yours and he stirs in his sleep. "G'night, love," he mutters, voice husk with tiredness. He falls back asleep quickly, unaware of the warmth spreading in your smile.

Jyuto

mjmjmjmjmmhmmhmgmmg he's so annoying. He's gonna pull out all the stops in an attempt to get you flustered but he's so smug and obvious with it that it makes you laugh. I know people consider Jyuto this sex god type beast but in my mind but I cannot imagine him as anything other than a pathetic house plant type of man.

He's leaning over the counter of the bar, sliding a drink he just bought your way. "Why hello there, dream boat," His eyes watch you from behind his glasses to see if you'll give the reaction he desires. "Mmmmm, try better next time, love," you wink back at him and he flusters instead. "Wh- why can't you just play along," he sighs, adjusting his tie and looking down bashfully.

Rio

In my previous writing for Rio I had him call his partner "dear" and I think it's so applicable to him!! He's a classic type guy and him calling you dear is just fjdafjsdkfdsj cute!

At the grocery store you always have to ask him to reach for the items at the top of the shelves. Even if you can reach it yourself it's nice to see how sweet he is whenever he hands the items to you. "Ah, Rio can you grab that pasta up there." "This one dear?" Rio perks up, holding the box in the air. "Yep! Thanks, love."

Fling Posse

Ramuda

AAAA RAMU!! He's gonna call you all the sweets. Sweetie-pie, sweetheart, sweetie, etc etc. Augh he'll even throw out a cutie in there when he's feeling like it. When in private and in intimacy, he'll call you such sweet affectionate terms like dear and love to show just how much he cares.

Ramuda hovers above you. The sheets tickle against bare skin and he intertwines your hands. "You look absolutely wonderful," he says, a smile spreading along his face. Your face flusters at the ever closening proximity between you two as he bends down. "Thank you for making my whole world, love," your lips connect within the darkness of your bedroom.

Gentaro

In public, he'll call you the most complex, cutesy, annoying nicknames when referring to you. Just cause he likes the reaction of the people around him- looks of ludicrousness and cringe. In private, he's not the type to pull a 'baby' or 'honey'. But he is the type to pull out daarin, which translates similarly to "my darling."

Gentaro's awake in the early mornings of the day. While you're still in bed, he's preparing tea for the two of you to share. You start to wake when he sets up a table beside you. "Ah, good morning, my darling," he greets you with a warm smile.

Dice

Similarly to Ichi, Dice is also a babe guy. He's always calling you with the widest smile on his face and a cheery tone to show just how much he cares. He totally calls you babe on social media whenever he posts you two like the sicko he is.

Your phone rings in your pocket and a smile comes on your face when you see the caller. "Hey? What's up?" You say to your boyfriend on the other line. "Baaaaabe-" he starts off and you roll your eyes playfully. "Can you pick me up? I don't have enough money left for the train fair..." "Of course, baby," you say. In reply you get a bunch of fast paced thank yous and smoochie noises over the phone.

Matenrou

Jakurai

He calls you angel cause you're his angel <3. His light in life, the star in his sky. He's such a sickly sweet romantic it's gross and yucky BLAH !

It was a hot day in Shinjuku and you were sitting in front of the house fan, trying to cool yourself off. Home alone for the time being, Jakurai was expected to come back with takeout. It was wayyyy to hot to fire up the stove. As if on cue, the door opens and Jakurai holds a teddy bear patterned reusable bag filled with cold soba and iced drinks. Still in the doorway he calls out to you, "I'm home, angel!"

Hifumi

Hifumi's the type to default to a lot of food based pet names. Pudding, honey, pumpkin, sugar, etc etc. He never calls you these in public, instead calling you by name around people. But in private, he's happy to call you all the sickly sweet food based names he can think of!

Doppo's out of the apartment today and you're visiting your boyfriend. He's cooking up a meal as you sit by him, talking about your day. "Ah yeah, the trains were closed earlier- something about flooding cause of the rain yesterday..." you say, fiddling with a cup of water. "Did you take a cab instead then, honey-bun?" Hifumi doesn't even look at you as he says the term of endearment, focused on the hot pan in front of him. It just spills out so naturally, alongside the accompanying smile on his face.

Doppo

Doppo doesn't really use nicknames- also finding it embarrassing when they slip past his lips. Though, deep down he really really really wants to call you these names! He wishes to be the type that can call his lover baby, love, dear, sweetie, etc etc. Though, they only really slip out when he gets a bit toooo tipsy.

Doppo's head rests on your shoulder on the train ride home. You, as the designated guide for both Doppo and Hifumi after you three went out drinking in the streets of Shinjuku, held onto their arms as you tried to stop them from collapsing on the floor. Doppo murmurs, trying to bat your hand away from holding onto Hifumi in annoyance. "Mmmmm, baby stop holding onntoo him you- HIC- you're mine..." Doppo nuzzles himself into your neck. You silently thank the late night as the train car was basically empty at this time. "I'm the love of yer life... not him..." It'd be a cute memory if Hifumi didn't vomit on the floor as soon as you stepped out the station.

Bad Ass Temple

Kuko

Kuko thinks of you as his little baby, no matter how annoying as it may come off. He loves being really cutesy with you, calling you his baby wherever he can. He's just silly like that!

You're sweeping the floor around his family's temple- gathering the falling leaves that come with the new season. You originally came to hang out with your boyfriend but he was no where to be found (probably procrastinating on sweeping the floor). The quietness is nice, you decide as you enjoy the peaceful change of pace. When a heavy presence hugs you from the back you start attacking it with the broom. "AHHHHH! BABY NO! BABY STOP WHAT ARE- OW! OW!" Kuko screams, disrupting the peace from before.

Jyushi

He's so cute I love him. He calls you all the terms of endearment relating to beauty, handsomeness, etc etc. If you're fem he'll call you princess (HE'S SUCH A PRINCESS GUY RIGHT GUYS???). But his general petname for you no matter your gender is gonna be 'dear.' Cause he's just so cute like that.

After one of his concerts you meet him backstage. He jumps into your arms, still in his stage uniform and makeup. But still, he’s your Jyushi. And your Jyushi peppers kisses all over your face as soon as you find some alone time. “Did you see me? Did you think I looked totally cool up there dear?” He’s excited, riding off the high from his performance. He’s smiling, radiating and you can’t help but reply with a yes, of course.

Hitoya

He's like Jyuto in he intentionally tries to be suave but unlike Jyuto, he actually succeeds. He calls you cutie cause he just thinks you're so adorable- all the time.

Its' the morning and he's about to leave. You fix his tie at the door, something he always chides you for doing for but never actually stops you from doing. It's a quiet morning and you fill the air with a hum. "And... all done, Mr. Bigshot Lawyer." A break from mundane routine, Hitoya hugs you and brings his face to your neck, speaking into it. "Thanks, cutie." You push him out the door before he can tease you about the flush on your cheeks.

Dotsuitare Hompo

Sasara

SASARAA MY BABY MY BABY. Out of the goodness of my heart, totally unbiased, Sasara is a total romantic UGH. He's the type to pull shit like "my partner," "my baby," "my love," UGHHHHHH I love him.

He comes home slurred, tipsy from a night of celebration with Rosho and Rei. Dotsuitare Hompo just passed their qualifying match to compete in the DRB and they couldn't be more excited. Sasara's drunken state results in 3 things- him struggling to open the door to your shared home, him buying you a several gifts from his night out, and him dropping several gifts on the floor as he tries to open the door. You hear commotion outside and open the door hesitantly. "Hello...?" You call, before you see your partner at the other side. "My baby!" Sasara screams, pulling you outside into a hug.

Rosho

Rosho's a pretty simple man. He doesn't want to overdo it with nicknames (unlike someone he knows) and he doesn't want to be so closed off you question his affection for you. He defaults to a simple "love" when referring to or from you- because that's all he feels for you.

He's grading papers and muttering to himself as he corrects the wrongs and praises the rights. Rosho's hand is in his hair as he whispers to himself. You walk into the living room, where he sits on the floor in front of the TV. Frowning at the messy state you find your partner in so late at night, you sit down beside him rest your head on his shoulder. "Ah- hello there, love," he smiles, a hand coming to your head to pat it. "Rest well."

Rei 404 NOT FOUND !!

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Long post, even longer taglist :3 Have this to fill the void between posts ehe