#I really really needed to hear something like this you have no idea

[oikarma]

muse

pairing: lando norris x poet!reader

summary: you're notoriously picky about your muses. no wonder lando's all flattered when he manages to figure out that you've written a few poems about him.

a/n: please enjoy! as per usual any songs/poems i reference are not my work. thank you so much for the request, i didn't follow it entirely but i loved the idea of an artistic!reader

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yourinstagram found a new muse

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user1 new collection WHEN

user2 that cat is so cute is it yours? ♥︎ liked by yourinstagram

yourinstagram yes! her name is stevie

user3 she's picking up the pen again!

mothercain well? show it to me

yourinstagram i'm in the editing process 🤕 art takes time mothercain or you're getting shy

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yourinstagram oh...technology

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user1 y/n and f1 crossover??

user2 collab we didn't know we needed

user3 we see you alex

alexandrasaintmleux send me the pictures you took please 🩷 think i found my new favorite photographer

yourinstagram too kind. usually i'm more of a pen and paper girl alexandrasaintmleux well the artistry certainly carries over user4 i KNEW they'd like each other

user5 waist who

user6 love you SM

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yourinstagram teaser

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user1 OH MY GOD WHERE CAN I ORDER

user2 ur such an inspiration y/n

mothercain proud of you

yourinstagram thanks ml <3

user3 wtf is f1 admin doing here

f1 we love y/n's poetry, doesn't everyone? user4 is she doing a f1 special or sth

user5 the signature is sooo cute

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lando i'm literate, i promise.

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user1 his jawline...

user2 on holiday?? don't you have a car to be driving

oscarpiastri as long as you believe it!

lando you're a horrible friend

user3 WAIT GUYS THAT'S Y/N'S BOOK

user4 who's y/n user3 @/user4 @/yourinstagram she's a poet and she recently came out with a new poetry collection user5 woah. hear me out: it's about lando?? user6 bfr no educated girl would go for that man

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mclaren Celebrated poet Y/N L/N in our garage today 🧡 Wanna write something about our cars, too?

tagged: yourinstagram

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user1 i would cry if i wrote a poem about a driver and he read it and his team read it and then they invited me and asked me to write about their cars

user2 mclaren really trying to cement their legacy

user3 oh she's STUNNING

yourinstagram was it fun tormenting me

mclaren do you not like our company ☹️ user4 @/mclaren she's only there for lando

user5 so we're basically accepting that her new collection is about a freaking racecar driver

user6 lando's fine but is he THAT fine user7 love does weird things to people user8 i mean he liked the post

lando guess i'm just more interesting

user9 y/n hasn't responded guess she's busy dying of mortification user10 oh he's going to be insufferable user11 the dad lore will go crazy "that poem you're reading in english class? yeah! it's about me!"

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f1gossipofficial Is that Y/N L/N with Lando Norris? We think it might be.

tagged: yourinstagram, lando

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user1 oh my god it's real

user2 are they car-shopping together??

user3 i'm so confused who is she

user4 YN NATION RISE SHE HAS A MAN. I REPEAT. SHE HAS A MAN!

user5 lowk can't believe the guy who bagged our girl y/n is an athlete user6 i thought she'd go for like a random college prof. or a nerd. idk. user7 remember when we thought she was dating daniel radcliffe 😭 and then it turned out she was coaching him for the kill your darlings promo LMAO let's not rush into this user8 @/user7 that was so embarrassing...we all got tricked but this time y/n's been writing about him user9 @/user8 are we SURE though

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lando thought it was time to return the favor x

tagged: yourinstagram

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user1 don't be shy, lando. show us the picture

user2 they're so book couple coded?

user3 if i write enough fanfiction will my celeb crush notice me too

yourinstagram not bad, norris.

lando so now you're all nonchalant? didn't seem like it last night user4 HELLO? freaks. FREAKS, i tell you. user5 well y/n it might be time to write your man a pr manual

user6 well she's definitely an artist for the ages. he'll be immortalized in her work. and her? her legacy speaks for itself but i suppose she might treasure that photo just as much

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a/n: have a great march!

[sudokufriend]

not putting this in the tags only because character limits make me soo sadsies but yeah idk maybe you guys don’t know anyone whose entire culture subscribes to a ‘family is the rock of your life and your father and grandfather etc etc are essentially venerated and never disrespect your elders/authority figures no matter how wrong they are.’ because you don’t have non white friends. and it’s actually really refreshing to hear someone push back against the idealistic idea that there could be a system in which the family unit is preserved that does not have these problems.

hella anecdotes beneath the cut

i’m 20. my nigerian parents ascribe to these beliefs, and indeed the foundation of igbo culture rests upon these values being intrinsic facts. i’m not going to say that therefore the igbos deserved to be colonised or anything like that, but christianity and particularly catholicism took such a hold in igbos and we are so fervent about it because of and not despite the authoritarian nature of its teachings.

your parents are always right easily translates to god is always right. my parents constantly say to me that the three questions i should ask myself before doing something are ‘what would god do? what would my parents do? and what should i do?’ i shouldn’t need to point out the issues with that.

my igbo parents are wrong. looking at this evidence, this is just true. they are bigoted in a lot of ways, from being ableist, fatphobic and transphobic towards wider society and me, to being abusive towards all of their children who they view as their subordinates. they are healthcare workers who despise their vulnerable patients, and they are racist towards every culture, including dialects of their own language. they are islamophobic and they hate refugees despite us essentially being refugees ourselves. but we are not allowed to disrespect them in any case, in which disrespect is defined as disagreeing with anything they say. both igbo culture and religion and catholicism condones and encourages the unquestioning support of your parents.

when i was in primary school and struggling with social interactions and exhibiting signs of developing ocd regarding my grades at the age of six and obvious autism, my parents’ problem was that i threw a tantrum and disgraced our family, not that i was unhappy in school.

when i reported them to my teacher for abuse in year seven with my sister supporting me, they didn’t care that their children were so unhappy that they would take such drastic action as to talk about their family when it had been drilled into their heads that it was ‘wrong’ to ever let people know your family dynamics, they instead cared that we would dare go behind their backs and complain about them.

they now often wonder why i never came or indeed still don’t come to them for emotional support and advice. when i used to complain, or my siblings used to complain, my parents would take it as a personal insult that we would dare find issue with their parenting. as far as they’re concerned, i was just a weak willed child, who refused to fall in line. but if you ask them how they could’ve produced such a child if their parenting was ‘perfect’ they don’t have an answer.

this is just my immediate family. more broadly, when we are at home in nigeria, my father and grandfather must be greeted first in the morning. if we do not greet every single ‘adult’ (by which this is defined as the previous generation, not every person eighteen and over) before we start preparing breakfast for these adults, we are talked about and loudly insulted.

my grandmother on my dad’s side lives away from my grandfather because she cannot stand him. but she will not divorce him, and hell be upon you if you say a bad word against him, because that is her husband and your grandfather, and you will show him deference at all times.

my grandmother on my mother’s side was married at sixteen, and my grandfather (36 at the time of their marriage) financially and physically abused her. but my mother has not a bad word to say about my dead grandfather, and my grandmother talks fondly about the man who abused her.

my brother, a thirteen year old child, is a titled chief in my village. my two sisters and i do not have any such opportunity because we were born girls, and therefore born in servitude to the men in our lives. when we become ‘of marrying age’ (my mum is on the lookout for a suitable partner for my twenty two year old sister) we are expected to leave our birth family and not be involved in their domestic affairs, or to inherit property. the idea is that your husband will inherit property from his father and then you will rule it ‘together’ (if that husband dies without producing a son, all of the land he inherited is given to his next oldest brother). when we visit nigeria, we spend 5-6 weeks with my fathers family. we spend less than a week with my mother’s family, and my dad does not stay, because it is ‘not right’ to spend time with my mother’s family, except to pay deference to the older generation.

slavery was in part so successful at infiltrating igbo villages because of the problems inherent to such a system of inheritance. younger brothers eyeing their older brothers’ inheritances would collaborate with transatlantic slave traders to sell their brothers to their certain deaths. the igbos are not the first you meet on your way into nigeria from the coast. and yet we make up a shockingly high percentage of the historically enslaved population.

most igbos are conservative, not because conservative policies necessarily benefit them, and indeed we have been subject to ethnic discrimination in nigeria and pogroms, but they are so because you do not question the system, and the authorities who enforce it. yes, missionaries disrupted and destroyed our culture. but ultimately they brought catholicism and it reinforces our own ways of thinking, so it must be correct.

this obsession too with finding the perfect victims of colonialism is interesting. in search for the perfect victim, liberals will often twist discriminatory indigenous practices to make them seem retroactively queer. there was nothing queer about certain igbo women who chose to live like men in order to access the rights granted to said men. again this isn’t to say that the igbos deserved to be colonised and our practices and language poisoned at the root, but by swinging hard the other way, it erases the very real oppression inherent to some cultures.

I'm still fucking thinking about people advocating neo-Confucian ~extended family~ as a better alternative to western nuclear family. like girl i know there's that assumption that everyone is a white yankee but have you literally never talked to anyone who grew up in a family like that?

our barbarous system where children are the property of their parents vs their glorious system where children are the property of their parents (mystical oriental)

it's like that broader thing where people try and thin down a criticism like "you mean organised religion", "white western nuclear family", "this is such a white people thing" etc to try and weasel their way out of association with an issue.

Misogyny is not a western invention lol, the way it manifests in a lot of societies is a product of certain cultural manifestations of misogyny being exported elsewhere, but the control and ownership of women is not a "white people thing" or a western thing.

the issues of the family are not limited to the anglo saxon protestant yankee middle class nuclear family, misogyny is not unique to one group of people, racism is not unique to one group of people, homophobia is not unique to one group of people, terfs are not all middle class white women, etc etc etc etc

it's just so frustrating and kills any fucking attempt to actually talk about issues because they get drowned out with people appending on specific identities as if that issue is unique to one fucking group of people and the rest of the world is sunshine and rainbows.

[totallyxtaurus]

Depollute me, gentle angel pt.2

Summary: Sylus is away on a business trip while you sink deeper into your depressive episode. Pairing: Sylus x gn reader Genre: Angst, some fluff (maybe, hopefully!) Trigger Warnings: depression, mental health struggles, anxiety, self-neglect, and hints of suicide. A/N: I hope this doesn't feel too rushed! I'm still trying to figure out a good pacing of how I should break these up without them being too long or too short. Posted too quickly or not quick enough, so any advice would be very welcomed and appreciated! I hope I did Sylus justice with his responses, I just took what I would want to hear essentially. But, Hozier's Wasteland, Baby! album is so Sylus coded. I got so many ideas for other fics, so stay tuned! And again, please please please take sweet care of yourselves! 💗

Prev

The chime echoes through the apartment, and for a moment there’s nothing. No footsteps, no shuffle of movement inside. Sylus exhales, fingers softly tapping on the doorframe while he waits. He already knows. He had known the moment communication stopped, when his calls went to voicemail, when even the short, tired texts faded into silence. At first, he assumed you were just busy, needing space. But the longer he waited, the clearer it became—if it were up to you, you wouldn’t come back at all. He began doing his own investigation, looking up the traits you portrayed usually compared to these moments of time and he found his answer. So, he started paying attention. Comparing your usual habits to these stretches of absence. Watching for the patterns. Having Mephisto follow you to your therapist’s office had only confirmed what he already suspected.

As advised, he gave you time—three days, exactly. Then the calls began, gentle and steady, each one a quiet pull back to him. Each time, he waited for you to let him in, to say something. But instead, he got excuses. Busy with work. Out with friends. His personal favorite: just sleeping. It’s almost amusing, how you seem to forget he has your location. He always knows where you are. 

Sylus toys with the key in his hand, should he, or shouldn’t he? Would this cross a line? You had given this to him for an emergency, wouldn’t this be considered one? It has been a full week without hearing from you. He never lets it go this long but work held him up so he couldn’t do his usual routine. He continued to ponder the ethics of his decision until he heard it, movement. A sign of life behind the door that still won’t open up for him. That’s it, he decides and inserts the key. 

As the door swings open, a gust of stale air hits him, thick with stillness. His eyes immediately scan the space, searching for the life he just heard. But as he steps inside, it’s clear- the main rooms haven’t been touched in days, especially the kitchen. He moves toward the bedroom when the bathroom door suddenly swings open. 

Both of you freeze, staring at one another in shock. 

For a moment, he just looks at you. Taking in the hollowed eyes, the tangled hair, the way your clothes sit wrong on you—looser in some places, clinging in others— like they were meant to fit differently but now just hang, like an afterthought. His chest tightens—not in disgust, never that— but in a quiet, constrained ache. He swallows it down, he knows letting you see that pain won’t help. Instead, he inhales, careful, and controlled. Just as he opens his mouth to speak, he hears it. 

Get out 

The words reach him, but his mind trips over them, grasping for meaning. 

For a second, all Sylus processes is the sound of your voice—hoarse, unsteady, faint, as if it took all your energy to speak at all. His mind is still trying to catch up, to piece everything together. But that’s when he really sees you. The way you stand there stiffly, eyes shining with unshed tears, flickering to anything that isn't him. As if meeting his gaze would break your resolve. The tension in your jaw, arms crossed tightly over your chest, shoulders hunched forward, as if you’re shielding yourself from him. And then he sees it—fear. Shame. They were there all along, laced with the exhaustion and neglect. Deeply settled, lingering long before he walked in the door. He had been so focused on finding you, making sure you were safe, that he hadn’t realized—you didn’t want to be found. Not like this. 

The tightness in his chest twisting further, a quiet reminder of his mistake. Instead, he exhales in that same rehearsed way.

"Sweetie," he tries again. His voice was low, full of gentleness. Less of a greeting, more of a reassurance. He’s not going anywhere. 

You just shake your head, a silent refusal, as if willing for him to disappear. Your stance is firm, guarded. But Sylus isn't someone who retreats at the first sign of a challenge. Especially not when it's you. 

"I know kitten, I know you don't want me to see you like this. And I know you think that pushing me away will make everything easier for you, for me. But it won't, it hasn't. You don't have to do this alone." 

He sees the tears start to fall, a quiet surrender that he takes as a response. Without hesitation, he continues, his voice softer but unwavering.

Taking a small step forward, slow yet deliberate as he speaks, "Just focus on me for a second, okay? Forget about everything else, it's just us. Can you breathe with me, my love?" As he demonstrates with measured, even breaths. Never forcing, just offering, hoping it will bring your attention back to the present instead of whatever thoughts you're trapped in.

He notices the way your hunched shoulders drop, relaxing slightly, and how your clenched arms finally loosen their grip on your body. He continues to encourage you, taking slow, careful steps closer. 

"You don’t have to do anything big. I’m not here with any expectations. Why don’t we just sit down? We don’t have to talk, I’ll just sit with you, if that’s okay." His voice is soft, low, coaxing. 

Sylus notices the immediate shift in your demeanor as you register his close proximity-the shield coming back as your body goes rigid once again. You close back in on yourself and take a step back. 

You should go. I stink and I'm sure I look horrific; you mutter as your hand comes up to your face to shield it. His heart pangs, but he doesn't let his expression falter. He can't afford to let you see how much it hurts him that you're hiding from him like this. He takes another small step closer, never pushing, just allowing the space between the both of you to remain as it is. He doesn't want to make you feel trapped, but he wants to show you, prove to you, that he's not leaving.

"Kitten," his voice steady and carrying a weight of reassurance deeper than words can convey. "I'm not leaving. If I wanted to, I would. You know I don't do things I don't want to. But I'm here, for however long you want me around. I'm yours." 

You scoff, shaking your head, still refusing to meet his gaze. "Why?" you ask, voice cracking. "Look at me, smell me, Sylus. Jesus Christ I'm disgusting. Why would you want to stay? Are you nuts?" 

"It's been suggested," he cuts in, his tone remaining gentle yet firm. Finally, you look up at him, and the anger in your gaze takes him by surprise but he holds his ground. 

"You just don't get it," you emphasize, your words sharp and full of frustration. "What's there to get?" he wonders but doesn't dare to speak it. "Sweetie," he says tenderly, "if this is you at your worst, then I've suffered far worse than this. You think I haven't smelled, or hit rock bottom before? When I did-or if I do sometime in the future, would you leave me? Would you push me away" 

"Don't be ridiculous," you say, your voice tinged with exasperation. His lips quirk into a soft smirk, his eyes never leaving yours.  

"Can I hold your hand?" he whispers, watching you closely, waiting for your response. You hesitate, then barely nod, just enough for him to catch it. He takes your hand in his, lifting it gently to his lips and pressing a soft kiss on the back of it.  

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches the way your face scrunches up, a grimace of discomfort, but the smile on his lips remains warm and unwavering. 

"How about this," he continues, his voice calm and coaxing, "I'll make you something small to eat. You don't have to finish it. Just one bite. No pressure."  

You pause, your mind working through his offer. Until, after a moment, your shoulders sag in defeat, and with a sigh, you agree. Your hand still secured in his, he leads you to the kitchen, placing another kiss on the top of your head before turning to the fridge to pull out what little food there is. 

"After we eat, can you shower with me?" The words barely escape your lips, so faint that for a moment he's unsure he heard them. He looks at you, hoping his love for you radiates in his gaze.

"Of course," he replies, his voice steady and sure. "Whatever you want, my dove." He watches as the faintest of smiles flicker across your face, the kind of smile he's willing to wait for, no matter how long it takes. 

Tag list: @withering-dream @madam8 @t4naiis @sunhooniez

[moody-alcoholic]

Inspired by: Service Dog Johnny by the amazing void-my-warranty. I had the idea of; what if the roles were slightly different. What if Johnny invited Simon to come and fuck his girl to get over his fears.

Anyway. I'm super nervous about this because I really don't think I can do SDJ justice but enjoy none the less. Also void if you're seeing this you're awesome thank you for gifting the world SDJ.❤️

Part 1

Summary: John MacTavish x reader x Simon Riley (kinda), WC: 3.2k

CW: +18 content MDNI, Voyeurism, exhibitionism, fingering, angst, implied past abuse.

Enjoy <3

---

It’s Friday when Johnny springs the news his friend is coming round that evening. He didn’t give you much time to prepare, or get the house clean but you do the best you can. Johnny does go to the store for you and picks up some beer for them both. 

“You don’t need to do anything special.” Johnny says opening a beer. 

“I don’t mind, it's not that big of a deal, I like cooking.” You say, he comes over and wraps his arm round your waist kissing your neck.

“What exactly does he need help with?” You asks stirring the food. 

“Well, it’s.” He sighs, taking another sip of the beer. You turn to look at him, he seems nervous. 

“Would you ever be up for a threesome?” He asks suddenly. The question shocks you a little, you reach over and pick up your glass of wine. You weren’t expecting that, not the most unusual thing Johnny has asked you about when it comes to sex though.

“I mean, would you?” You ask taking a sip to quell the nerves. 

“Depends on who the other person is.” He says, running his hand through his hair. You take another sip and put the glass down. 

“What has this got to do with Simon? Is he the person you would want to have a threesome with?” You ask frowning. He takes another swing of his beer. 

“It’s not that simple.” Johnny says, you shake your head, now you’re even more confused. 

“I want to help him have sex.” Johnny says, holding his hands out. 

“Help him have sex by having a threesome?” You ask. 

“There’s more to it than that. It’s not just a threesome.” Johnny says. “He’s, he’s been through alot. Being intimate, it’s something he’s not very used to.” 

“Okay. Is he shy?” You’re not sure what to say, you've never even met him. 

“Shy? No, not Simon, well-” Johnny’s sentence gets cut off by the ringing of the door. 

“Just trust me, okay?” He says coming over to you and resting his free hand on your shoulder. You nod, you trust him. Now all of a sudden you feel nervous, you weren’t nervous before now, Johnny leaves the room to answer the door. So he’s invited Simon round for sex? Did Simon ask for this or is this one of Johnny’s master plans?

Or well, maybe he’s not here for sex because Simon has intimacy issues apparently. He should be talking to a therapist, what does Johnny expect to do? You have to keep a straight face though, you don’t want to make him more uncomfortable then he probably already is.

You turn off the stove hearing Johnny laugh as he comes in with Simon. You turn and smile at him, you put your hand out to shake it as Johnny introduces you. He’s not what you expect and he doesn’t seem shy. 

He’s massive, bigger and taller than Johnny, he’s definitely good looking, fit, brown eyes and blonde hair. With the way he holds himself you can tell he’s a soldier, Johnny does the same when he’s nervous, he probably doesn’t even realise it. 

“Thank you for cooking, you didn’t have to.” Simon says as you all walk over to the dining table. 

“I told her the same,” Johnny says, nudging him.  

“I don’t mind, besides when was the last time you had a home cooked meal?” You say going back into the kitchen while Johnny and Simon sit down. You finish your glass of wine swallowing the nerves, it’s going to be fine. What's the worst that could happen, you all have sex? 

That wouldn’t be the worst thing. 

…

Johnny and Simon seem to get on great, after a beer they both relax. You just enjoy listening to them talk about their last deployment. You don’t mind letting your second glass of wine mull you out. After everyone is finished and your stomach’s have settled Johnny insists on moving to the living room.

You all end up on the sofa, you find yourself relaxing against Johnny as he wraps his arms around you. Maybe Johnny won’t bring it up or maybe he’s waiting for Simon to bring it up. It’s not your job surly, you look up at Johnny, blinking at him, maybe he’ll get the idea. 

He smiles and kisses your forehead. Maybe not. You sigh looking back over at the bottle of wine and unopened beer cans on the table. 

“When was the last time you got laid LT?” Johnny asks suddenly. You snap your head back up to look at him. He’s got a cheeky grin on his face looking over at Simon. You hear him clear his throat, now you feel bad. Fucking epitome of subtle as always Johnny.

“Why do you want to know?” Simon replies, you look over at him. He’s resting the beer on his knee, he doesn’t seem nervous. More irritated that Johnny asked him. 

“Just looking out for you Si. Need you to blow off some steam before we’re back to work and you’re busting my balls again.” Johnny chuckles, at least that makes Simon smile. 

“Do you have a girlfriend?” You ask him trying to steer the conversion away from the awkwardness hanging in the air. 

“No.” You swallow the lump forming in your throat. You let out a breath sitting up. Johnny frowns at you. 

“I’m going to the bathroom.” You say, Johnny smiles his hand resting on your hip for as long as can. 

When you make your way back down you hear Johnny talking. You hang back for a second and eavesdrop. 

“I wanna help you Simon.” Johnny says.

“You don’t have to.” Simon replies.

“Well of course I don’t have to. I want to.” Johnny replies, Simon sighs and you hear a can open. “I think it would be good for you, if you want. We’ll take it slow, promise.” 

You feel a lump rise in your throat at Johnny’s words, you always knew he was close with his unit but you didn’t know he was this close. You let out a breath and slowly walk back into the room. You see Johnny move his hand off Simon’s thigh and you go over to pick the empty cans off the table. 

“Need anything?” You ask, trying to keep your voice level. Johnny and Simon both shake their heads. You go into the kitchen anyway to throw out the cans. You hear Johnny coming in, his hands slip round your waist. You smile at his touch and turn to face him. 

“Do you mind doing this?” Johnny asks, his thumb comes up to brush your cheek. 

“Do you?” You ask. He smiles, nodding his head. You smile back, reaching up and kissing him. 

“We’ll take it slow. You want to stop at any time we will.” Johnny says his hand rubbing your arm. 

“I don’t think it’s me you need to be worrying about.” You say. 

“Sorry I sort of sprung this on you, I didn’t know if he would agree.” He says, you frown. 

“Did you speak to him about this before tonight?” 

“I hinted at the idea.” 

“Hinted?” You scoff. “John MacTavish, you're the least subtle person I have ever met.” You wrap your arm around his waist pulling him against you. He hums with that cheeky grin on his face. 

“What happened to the bra?” He asks. You smile. 

“One less obstacle.” He kisses your forehead. You follow him back into the living room, Simon has moved onto the recliner. This time when you sit back on the sofa you don’t lean against Johnny. 

Simon seems to be suddenly extremely interested in what’s going on on the news. Johnny’s hand lands on your thigh and rubs it. He turns and leans in to kiss you, he takes his time mapping your mouth out, you relax into the kiss forgetting Simon’s there for a second.

Johnny’s hand slips up your shirt groping your breast. You hum in his mouth and he pulls away from the kiss. He removes it, gripping the hem of your shirt. You raise an eyebrow at him, what you’re just going to fuck while he watches or maybe joins in.

Johnny tips his head to the side smiling. You swallow the nerves and hold your hands up so he can slip your top off. A satisfied noise leaves Johnny and before you can start to feel really embarrassed about anything he’s already locked his mouth round one of your nipples.

You can’t help moaning and running your hand through his hair. He had it cut while he was away, you want him to grow it out again so you have something to grip onto. Johnny’s tongue flicks your nipple and he gently nibbles it before he pulls his mouth off with an audible pop. 

“What do you think, Si?” Johnny asks, looking over at him. You look over to see Simon press his lips together. “Pretty ain’t she?”

You feel heat rush to your cheeks as he nods, it doesn’t last long though. Johnny pulls you closer to him, planting his lips on yours and pressing his tongue in your mouth while his thumb rubs circles on your nipple still wet from his mouth.

He breaks from the kiss pressing his forehead on yours. “How ‘bout you go show Simon how good you are?” He says, it’s almost a whisper. You nod and he gives you one last quick kiss before you stand up. 

Johnny's hand lingers on the small of your back for as long as he can as you step over to stand in front of Simon. He doesn’t look that nervous, you know he is though, the way his lips are pressed together avoiding your eye line. His hands gripping the chair arms. You’re not sure what to do, make sure you don’t freak him out is probably a good start. 

“I’m not a virgin.” He says, you clench your jaw feeling awkward. “It’s just been a while, I'm out of practice.” 

“How long?” You ask.

You bring his hand up and place it on your breast. “I like having my nipples played with.” You say letting go of his hand, encouraging him to squeeze. You smile at him, you need to keep yourself open and calm. 

“Couple of years,” he says, like it's the most embarrassing fact in the world. Now you just feel bad for him, again. You reach down for the hand resting on the chair arm and pick it up. You can see the bulge in his pants, that's good, one less obstacle you need to worry about. 

His hands are rougher than Johnny’s, his grip is tighter, you’re not sure if it’s out of nerves or not. If he relaxes it will be easier, you don’t think that's going to be happening any time soon. His thumb brushes over your nipple and you reward it with a hum, trying to make your body relax even more. 

His other hand comes up to your other beast and before you know it he has both his thumbs running over your nipples. It feels good, if this were any other situation-or Johnny you might be able to cum just like this. 

You feel Johnny step up behind you, his hands land on your waist as he pulls you back against him. 

“Wanna see what else she likes?” He asks, resting his chin on your shoulder. Simon looks up at him and nods. Johnny leaves you and Simon drops his hand as you both watch Johnny move the coffee table out the way. When he’s done he goes over to the sofa and pulls the throw down on the floor, sitting down with his back against the sofa. 

“Come.” He says gesturing at you, you raise an eyebrow and walk over anyway, he spreads his legs and pats on the floor between them.

“Pants off, back on my chest.” He says, you nod pulling them off. This time you don’t get embarrassed thinking about Simon seeing you. You sit down between his legs and rest up against his back. You look over at Simon who’s face has turned a light red. Maybe this is too much, too fast. 

He hasn’t said stop though. Johnny reaches over and pulls your knees up so Simon has a perfect view of you spread out against him. You can feel his own cock pressing against your lower back, his hands run down your thighs eventually pressing on your clit. 

You try not to squirm, keeping yourself still. You let out a breath as Johnny moves his fingers round soaking them in your juices before pressing them back on your clit. You moan this time at the new sensation, his fingers pressing little circles with ease. 

That’s good though right? You should be looking like you’re enjoying yourself. This is a fun activity not something to be afraid off. 

“She likes this too, Si. Wanna feel?” Johnny says then presses a kiss into your neck. You watch as he shifts in the chair, for a second he looks like he doesn’t know what to say. He lets out a sigh and stands up out of the chair, he steps over then kneels down in front of you. He watches for a second as Johnny changes his strokes. 

You see Simon swallow before he reaches out. Johnny’s fingers are replaced with his. It’s a whole different sensation. His movements are slower, more unsure but the pressure is there and from having them both play with your nipples your body is slowly building up to that sweet release. 

“Put your fingers in her.” Johnny says after a few seconds. Simon looks up at him then quickly to you, you smile and nod at him. He shuffles on his knees again taking his fingers off your clit almost like he’s unsure. 

You watch his adam's apple bob then he presses a finger into you. You can’t help moaning, his finger stops, you smile at him and he continues to press it in until he can’t anymore. You feel Johnny’s cock twitch behind you. He’s enjoying this, he moves his fingers back to your clit. 

“Feel good love?” Johnny asks in your ear, you nod. “Use your words darlin’ tell him how good you feel.” 

“Your finger feels good Simon, you can use more if you want.” You say looking up at him. You think you see the faintest smile creep onto his lips. The next time he pulls his finger out he adds another. The new stretch makes you part your legs further, scooting your position slightly so his fingers rub against your g-spot with each thrust. You moan again, this time tipping your head slightly. You want to come but not until Simon’s ready, you don’t want to scare him. 

“See not so scary after all.” Johnny says, you can hear the smile in his voice. You look up at Simon who seems like he’s in a world of his own, maybe that's where he needs to be to get through this. You wonder what happened to him, you didn’t bother asking Johnny. It must have been something horrible. 

You let out a moan trying not to clench down on Simon’s fingers, you don’t want to spook him. Johnny hums in your neck, you know he’ll know you’re close, sometimes it feels like he can read your body better than you. 

“What to make her cum?” Johnny asks, you almost want to nod and scream yes. Simon looks up again, he hesitates for a second, his fingers stopping in you. He nods and you smile at him. 

“Just don’t take your fingers out okay?” Johnny asks, you swallow, you don’t want either of them to take their fingers off you. Simon nods again, his fingers start moving again, he makes sure to press in all the way. He speeds up too, you’re not in control anymore, maybe it’s for the best. 

Johnny’s fingers on your clit are relentless, you’re focusing on not spooking Simon or clenching around his fingers until you cum. Johnny hums in your ear and it sends shivers down your spine. He can tell your close cock twitches behind you. You’re not sure if you need to give an audible warning to Simon though. 

Your breathing increases as does your moaning, you’re close and you need to make your mind up. 

“Johnny.” You call his name, it’s almost like you need to wait for his permission, you’re not sure what to do.

“Yeah baby, come for us.” His voice low in your ear. Christ, that's all the permission you need, you tip your head back and close your eyes moaning as you clench down on Simon’s fingers. He stops moving but you don’t care. Johnny rides you through the orgasm as Simon’s fingers leave you. 

“See, not so bad.” You hear Johnny say. You open your eyes as you feel Simon get up to his feet. 

“Si?” Johnny asks as he moves to leave the room. You sit up.

“Bathroom.” Is all he says as he leaves the living room.

“Is he okay?” You ask leaning forward between Johnny’s legs. You turn to look at him watching out the door. You both hear the downstairs toilet door close. Johnny looks back over at you and smiles, you can see the concern in his eyes though, he’s not as slick as he thinks he is. 

“You did great.” He smiles, leaning forward to kiss you. You can’t help feeling like you’ve done something wrong though. Maybe it was all too much for him. 

“I’ll go check on him.” Johnny says helping you to your feet. You smile at him and nod. Maybe he just needs a second. You feel bad all of a sudden. Johnny leaves and you shiver, the room suddenly feels cold. You’re just standing there naked, you’re not sure if things are going to continue. 

You reach over pulling the other throw off the couch and wrap yourself up. At least this way if he wants to keep going you don’t have to go through the hassle of taking all your clothes off. You want to sit down but your curiosity gets the better of you and you head over to the living room door. 

You hear the toilet door open. No one says anything, you make sure to keep out of sight of the hall, trying to focus on listening. 

You hear Johnny sigh. “You did so well mate.” There’s a sniffle in response, is he crying? Now you really feel bad for eavesdropping. 

“Wanna stay the night?” Johnny asks, there’s no response.

“Want a mask?” He asks, you frown, a mask? “Guest room, in the chest of drawers.” You hear movement and step back over to sit on the sofa. You’re still getting comfy as Johnny walks in. He smiles at you and comes over to sit next to you. His arm comes round your shoulders and he pulls you up against him. 

“Simon’s going to stay the night.” He says kissing the top of your head. You nod trying to swallow the guilt of eavesdropping on their conversation. Johnny reaches over to pick up the remote and unmute the TV. 

“Is he okay?” You ask. 

“He’s fine. He just needs a minute.” Johnny says. You nod 

“Thank you.” He says. “Really I mean it. You didn’t have to do this.” You look up at him and smile, it makes you feel all warm inside.

“I love you johnny.” You say. 

“I love you too.”

---

[anghimalaaynasapuso]

Your work is amazing, I love the way you interpret Simon’s personality and speech patterns in the prosthetic arm Simon fic.❤️

hello, anon! thank you so much for the kind words. i just wanted to take this opportunity to post this deleted part of prosthetic arm simon.

sfw. angst (?). highschool dropout simon. shame.

the prosthetic is finished.

it fits like a second skin. moves smooth, seamless, with no lag between thought and motion. it’s perfect. better than anything he could’ve gotten himself. better than the overpriced models he looked at years ago, wondering if he could stomach the debt just to feel normal again.

and for a moment, as he flexes his fingers, as he watches the metal articulate like flesh, he feels… proud. proud of you, of your work, of the precision in every detail. he turns his hand over, watching the way the joints move, the faint hum of technology so advanced he still doesn’t fully understand it.

but then— the thought creeps in, unbidden, unwelcome.

his throat tightens.

does this mean he doesn’t have an excuse to see you anymore?

his fingers still, mid-motion.

the past few months have been good. better than he expected. seeing you, talking to you, getting to know you beyond the surface-level interactions he usually keeps with people.

but now?

now there’s no more check-ups. no more adjustments. no more need for him to stop by so you can make small tweaks, run diagnostics, ensure everything’s running smoothly.

simon swallows, something cold curling in his chest. he tells himself he’s being ridiculous. that if he really wanted to see you, he could just— just call, just text, just ask.

but that’s not how he works.

he’s spent so long just coasting with people. staying at arm’s length, keeping interactions simple, necessary, easy to walk away from.

but you? you’re not easy to walk away from.

“you did good,” he says, and he means it. he just hopes you can’t hear everything else under it.

you don’t seem to notice his unease, too excited as you bounce on your heels, practically beaming.

“oh- i have news!”

he blinks. tries to steady himself. “yeah?"

“my thesis got picked to be presented at congress!”

it takes him a second. longer than it should. he hears the words, knows what they mean, but they feel far away, like his mind is still caught in the spiral from before.

but then he sees the way you’re looking at him, the pure joy on your face, and something inside him lurches

“shit,” he breathes. “that’s- that’s incredible.”

and it is. you deserve this. you deserve more than this.

he shows up to the congress.

he doesn’t tell you he’s coming. he doesn’t even decide until the last minute, standing in front of his closet, staring at the one half-decent button-up he owns.

but then he’s there, standing outside the venue, and he brings flowers.

he’s never done that before. never even bought flowers before, really. but he stands outside the venue, fingers tight around the cheap bouquet, feeling ridiculous and out of place.

he feels out of place.

too big, too rough, too obviously not part of the sleek, academic crowd milling around in suits and dresses. he tugs at his sleeves, shifting his weight, half-ready to just leave the flowers somewhere and go before—

then he sees you. scanning the crowd, eyes searching.

and when you spot him— you light up.

like he’s supposed to be here. like he’s not just some guy who stumbled in, unsure if he even belongs in moments like these.

you rush over, practically colliding into him, and he barely has time to react before you’re grabbing the flowers, pressing your face into them, laughing breathlessly.

“you came.”

his throat works. he clears it, rubbing the back of his neck.

“’course i did,” he mutters.

you smile.

…

he knew this was a bad idea.

he knew from the moment he walked into the restaurant, stiff in his chair, palm sweating against the napkin in his lap.

knew when you slid into the seat across from him, looking bright and effortless and so at ease, still glowing from your big presentation, still beaming about the congress.

knew when he looked down at the menu and realized he didn’t recognize half the words on it.

simon’s spent years in places like this— quiet, dimly lit, the air thick with the smell of good food and low conversation. but he’s always been alone. always sat in a corner with his back to the wall, a meal in front of him and no one expecting him to talk.

but now— now there’s you.

and you’re talking, telling him about the congress, about the people you met, the questions they asked. you sound so fucking excited, like the whole world is opening up in front of you, and simon—

simon just nods.

he doesn’t know what to say. doesn’t know how to keep up.

he’s never been smart like you. never been the type to sit in lecture halls, to write papers, to stand in front of a room full of academics and present something that matters.

he barely finished school. left home at sixteen, signed his life away at eighteen, spent more years holding a gun than a pen.

simon’s just good at breaking it.

he doesn’t belong in places like this. doesn’t belong next to you. you who's all bright ideas and ambition, the kind of person who builds things, who makes the world better.

he shifts in his seat, hyper-aware of how he looks— broad shoulders hunched awkwardly, big hands clumsy against the silverware, a goddamn mutt at a dinner table.

he wonders if you notice. if you see it. if you realize you could do better.

your food arrives. you thank the waiter, pick up your fork—

and before you can even take a bite, it slips out.

“i-”

you pause, fork halfway to your mouth.

simon grips his napkin under the table, flexes his fingers, heart thudding heavy in his ribs.

he shouldn’t ask. should just let this be a nice dinner, let you go home, let you move on.

but—

“would you…” he swallows, throat dry, stomach tight.

he shouldn’t ask.

“would you want to go on a date with me?”

the words hit the table like lead.

silence.

he doesn’t breathe. doesn’t move. because fuck, he actually said it.

and now there’s nothing but the space between you, the quiet hum of conversation, the faint clink of cutlery against plates—

and you. staring at him.

he braces for rejection. tells himself it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s—

“yeah,” you say, voice light with something he can’t name. “i would.”

his stomach drops.

relief. disbelief. something dangerously close to hope.

he exhales, tension bleeding from his shoulders. nods, just once, like he’s acknowledging an order. like his hands aren’t trembling under the table.

“okay,” he mutters.

then, quieter—

“good.”

[sturnioz]

ok you def don’t have to answer or go along with this idea but… imagine like bun and kitty and whoever are all having a convo about faking orgasms and chris is there not really contributing just barely listening and kitty asks bun if she’s ever faked one and she just kinda timidly shrugs and tries to change the topic. well that catches his attention and later when they’re alone chris asks if she’s ever faked with him and she just sorta shrugs again. then he makes it his mission to make her cum as many times as possible.

"i faked it, like, once or twice," you hear bee admit to kitty one morning, her voice cutting through the quietness of the kitchen. you glance up from your cereal bowl, spoon halfway to your mouth, blinking at them both with little curiosity as bee continues. "sometimes i can't be bothered, y'know? like, just wrap it up already."

kitty lets out a soft laugh, her fingers curled around a steaming mug of coffee. she takes a sip before she nods in agreement. "it takes me longer to finish, and sometimes matt knows what he's doing but other times? i just need it to be over 'cos i'm not getting anything out of it."

you remain quiet as you watch them, slowly chewing on your cereal, unsure if you should talk or not. the thought of talking about your own sexual experiences makes your cheeks feel hot, and you don't really want to embarrass yourself so early in the morning.

kitty notices your silence, and she raises an eyebrow at you. "what about you, bun? ever faked it?"

the question aimed at you catches you completely off guard, and you almost choke on your cereal. you quickly swallow as your eyes dart toward chris, who's lounging on the couch in the living room.

"uh..." you stammer, struggling to find your words. instead, you opt for the safest response possible—a slow and noncommittal shrug.

kitty grins over the rim of her mug, "is that a yes, or a no?"

your cheeks burn hotter, and you quickly drop your gaze back to your cereal bowl, stirring the milk absently. desperate to change the subject, you quickly ask, "a-are you, um... are you both doing anything later? are you still going to the store?"

"OH!" bee gasps dramatically, smacking her palm against the counter as if you've just reminded her of something. she digs into the pocket of nate's oversized hoodie, pulling out her phone and unlocking it with rapid taps as she rambles about the list of things she needs to get that's in her notes app.

the weight on your chest lifts as the conversations shifts, grateful the attention is no longer on you. kitty joins bee in a discussion about running errands, and you take the opportunity to sneak a quick, cautious glance toward chris.

he's sitting sitting on the couch, manspreading, his face buried in his phone as he scrolls mindlessly. relief washes over you in waves, thankful that he wasn't listening in.

or so you think.

it's when you're in his room, rummaging through clothes in search for something to wear to join kitty and bee on their day, you hear the door click shut behind you.

you glance over your shoulder to see chris leaning against the doorframe, his eyes trained on you. he doesn't say anything at first, he just tosses his lighter onto the desk with a dull thud.

searching for something to wear to join kitty and bee on their day out, that you hear chris walk in, his eyes trained on you as he closes the door behind himself.

"have you?" he finally asks.

your brows knit together as you turn to face him fully, blinking in innocent confusion. "have i what?"

"faked it, kid."

the question hits you like a slap, and your face heats up instantly as the realisation sets in. when you thought he wasn't paying attention to his surroundings... he did hear.

your lips part as you try to come up with something—anything to say—but all that comes out is a jumble of stuttered words that make absolutely no sense. completely incoherent.

finally, you resort to the same answer you gave before—a slow shrug of your shoulders.

chris huffs out a short, dry laugh, shaking his head as he presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek. his jaw tightens as he keeps his eyes on you, his sharp gaze making pulse quicken.

"right," he mutters, his voice low and unreadable.

it all happens so fast—one moment you’re being stared at, and the next you're pressed against the bed with a sticky mess between your thighs.

you're gripping the bedsheets tightly between trembling fingers, a choked squeal leaving your drooling lips as his hips smack harshly against your ass he he fucks into you brutally, giving you what seems to be your third or fourth or fifth orgasm.

honestly, you have no idea. you've lost count.

"c-chris! mmph—i ca—ah!!" you're unable to form a coherent sentence, your body bouncing against the bed with each thrust, your thighs flailing as his grip on your hips tighten, pulling you back repeatedly against him, driving his cock further into your snug warmth.

"shruggin' your shoulders," he scoffs to himself with a shake of his head, clicking his tongue against his teeth as one of his hand dips around the front of your body, pressing his thumb against your sore, swollen clit. "y'funny if you think you can fake shit with me, bun."

divider credits. @issysh3ll

[dollveis]

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀𝐅𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐇 !

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀you've got a fetish for my love

❝ ELLIE WILLIAMS ❞⠀ ✿ you always push ellie away because you're sure you couldn't work together, but maybe you can under the bed sheets. 3.3k words.

pairing. jackson!ellie x fem!reader content warning! mention of consuming alcohol, smut, vague plot tbh, the smut it's actually pretty light and there's more tension and making out than anything, a bit of fluff and maybe angst if you squint, kind of a enemies to lovers but they're not completely enemies (just don't get along), open ending, oral (r!receiving), fingering (r!receiving), top!ellie, bottom! reader, there's not really a dom/sub dynamic here.

☆ this is the first thing i've wrote in like a year and a half so bear with me please, this also has been sitting in my drafts for two years already and i finished it just now. i hope this isn't that bad! if there's any grammatical mistakes please let me know, english is not my first language, enjoy ♡

The party was obviously Dina's idea. She'd been going on about it for weeks now, how the younger crowd of Jackson needed a break, no one had barely time to just be and exist with all the patrolling, hunting and just surviving in general.

The party is already in full swing when you finally arrive, half the town's twenty-somethings crowding Dina's place. The warmth it's the first thing that hits you, the house is candlelit, the soft cracking of the fireplace and the strong scent of whiskey and woodsmoke fill your nostrils. The sound of laughter echoes from the living room, someone's half-drunk attempt at playing the guitar makes everyone laugh, you hear Dina's voice rising above it all, welcoming everyone, teasing people, just keeping the energy high. She really outdid herself, the whole place is alive in a way that Jackson rarely is.

And you hate it.

You immediately thought you shouldn't have come. The party is loud, too loud. It's not that you don't like the people here, you do, for most part, but crowds make you restless and you've spent the whole day convincing yourself that this? this isn't what you need, you should've stayed home but Dina insisted, said you were wound up too tight.

“Loosen up, drink a little, talk to someone who isn't your damn horse!” she said when she greeted you and saw that expression in your face, like if you were about to run back to your house.

So now you were stuck there, standing stiff against a wall, drink in hand and watching the room from a distance like it might swallow you whole.

Then your eyes land on her.

Ellie.

She's sitting in the corner, half sprawled on the couch, beer dangling from her slender fingers and her other arm resting lazily over the back of the couch, boots kicked up on the edge of a coffee table just if like she owns the fucking place. She's laughing at something Jesse just said, her head tilting back slightly, exposing the column of her throat. It's a rare sight— her guard down, her expression relaxed, warmth slipping through the usual sharp edges.

For a second you let yourself look, your gaze fixated on her. The way her shirt clings to her frame, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, her tattoo catching the dim light of the place. The way her fingers absently trace the label on her beer bottle. The way her green eyes flick across the room, scanning, searching, until they land on you.

There's a pause, a beat where neither of you look away. Then—

She smirks. Fucking smirks. She lifts her beer slightly, a silent acknowledgement of your presence, before taking a slow sip. She knows exactly what she's doing, she enjoys watching you bristle.

You scoff and turn away, pulse kicking up in annoyance. You and Ellie don't get along, y'all never have, she's stubborn, reckless, too sure of herself in a way that grates on your nerves. Every patrol together turns into a heated argument, every introduction a silent battle. It's not like she's mean, if anything, it'd be easier if she was, but she's just Ellie, all sharp words and cocky grins, pressing your buttons like it's a game. And she's determined to win it. For some reason she never lets up, not with you.

Maybe it's a game of push and pull and you always push first.

An hour passes, maybe more, two? you spend most of it trying to avoid her, talking to Dina, Jesse, anyone else but you feel her presence like a weight. Every time you glance her way, she's already looking, every time you move, she's just there and it's pissing you off.

You down the rest of your drink and push through the crowd, slipping down the back hallway, you don't run but you walk fast enough that it feels like it, you dodge Jesse's half-hearted attempt to pull you into some drinking game. You just need air, space—distance.

The first door you find is half open, a guest room, mostly unused since the bed was neatly made. You step inside, inhaling deeply, relishing the silence

Then the door shuts behind you, you don't even need to turn around to know who it is.

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter glaring at the ceiling, “do you ever take a hint?”

Ellie just chuckles, the sound low and amused, “Not when it's this much fun, to be honest,” and you don't even need to look around to know she has that stupid smirk plastered on her face.

You spin to face her, your eyes meeting her intense emerald eyes and your arms crossing tight over your chest, “What the hell do you want?”

She leans against the doorframe, her hand holding her chin like she was pretending to think, “dunno. . . maybe i just like seeing you squirm.”

Your jaw clenches and your fists close, “i'm not squirming.”

You see her smirk grow, a knowing look in her eyes, she looks at you like if she was able to read your thoughts and body language, like if she knew something you don't.

She steps closer, “no?”

You hate how easily she gets under your skin, how quickly she turns the air electric. The room feels smaller with her in it, the tension between you palpable. And the worst part? She knows.

You can feel the anger growing inside you, “why do you always do this?” you snap.

Through her lips escapes a soft chuckle as her brow raises, “do what?”

“This. You act like— like —” you exhale sharply, trying to put your mind in order and find the right words, “like you're trying to get a rise out of me.”

Another step, now you can smell the mix of beer and whiskey on her breath, the faint scent of smoke clinging to her shirt, “what if i am?” she says, her voice now lower, rougher.

You breath hitches, for a moment neither of you move, the tension is thick, suffocating, a rope pulled too tight between you, you're both too stubborn, too reckless, you'd burn each other out before you even had the chance to try.

Your heart pounds, your skin prickles, and fuck, you should push her away like you always do.

But you don't.

You take a step forward, closing the distance completely. Ellie doesn't flinch, doesn't back down, if anything she leans in, her usual green eyes now dark and heavy lidded, her smirk fading into something different. Something dangerous.

“You gonna keep pretending?” she murmurs close to your ear.

You don't answer, you can't because she's right and you both know it. So when she tilts her head, gaze flicking down to your lips— when she hesitates, waiting for you— you do the stupidest thing imaginable.

You kiss her.

The kiss is not soft, not sweet, there's frustration, months of tension unravelling all at once. Ellie makes a sound low in her throat, something between a gasp and a groan, and then she's grabbing you, fingers curling around the back of your neck, pulling you into her, pressing you against the door. The alcohol on her tongue is dizzying, her body solid and warm against yours and fuck, maybe you should stop. Maybe this is a mistake— but when she bites at your bottom lip, hands slipping under your jacket, pulling, teasing, demanding, you know there's no going back.

Ellie kisses like she fights, hungry, restless, all consuming. Her hands grip at your waist, pulling you impossibly close, fingers digging into the fabric of your shirt like she's trying to stake her claim. The taste of her mouth makes your head spin. You should stop, you really should, you keep repeating that to yourself in your mind but when she presses you harder against the wall, when she nips at your lower lip and swallows the soft, sweet sound it pulls from your throat— you don't. You won't.

Your hands move on their own, fisting into the front of her shirt, yanking her closer, until there's barely any space left between the both of you. You feel Ellie exhale sharply against your lips, a quiet, breathy curse before tilting her head to deepen the kiss. Months of pent-up frustration unraveling with every movement.

Her hands now drag under your jacket, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, her rough and calloused fingers grazing over your bare skin. The touch sends a shiver through you, your breath hitching as she maps the contours of your waist, ribs, back and dangerously close to your chest.

“Fuck,” Ellie mutters against your mouth, voice husky and almost desperate, “you're—” she cuts herself off, biting at your lip again before pulling back just enough to look at you.

Your chest rises and falls in tandem, lips swallowed and face flushed. And, God, that sight was delightful for her, she could feel herself getting wet just by looking at you, her pupils are blown wide, green eyes dark and unreadable as they flick between your lips and your gaze. She's still gripping at your waist, still pressing you into the door, but there's hesitation now— like she's waiting, like she's asking, like she needs you to make the next move.

You exhale, reaching up, letting your fingers tangle in the short hairs at the nape of her neck. She shivers under your touch, just barely, and something about that sends a thrill directly to your core, making you bolder and almost demanding.

You tug her back in, Ellie groans softly as your lips crash together again, her hands gripping tighter, wandering and exploring beneath your shirt, sometimes her hands traveling to graze your chest. She moves like she's trying to memorize you, like she's been waiting too long for this moment and doesn't want to waste a second of it.

Somewhere between kisses and touches she starts backing you up slowly, steady, until the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed and your stomach tightens.

Ellie pulls away slightly, breath ghosting over your lips, “tell me to stop.”

You obviously don't. Instead, you hook a finger into her belt loop and pull, letting yourself fall back onto the mattress, bringing her down with you. She lets out a breathless chuckle, bracing herself with her hands on either side of your head.

“Yeah?” she murmurs, voice teasing but still rough around the edges, like she's barely holding herself together.

You swallow, breath shaky, “yeah.”

And that's all she needs. She kisses you again, even deeper this time, slower, like she wants to savor it. The weight of her body presses into you, her thigh slotting between yours and pressing it softly against your core, the heat of her touch setting your skin ablaze.

She takes her time now, trailing her lips down your jaw, your neck and collarbone, her hands moving and groping deliberately, teasing your nipples over your shirt. You arch into her touch, finger gripping at her shirt, nails dragging lightly down her back.

Ellie exhales shakily, her lips barely brushing against your skin as she murmurs, “I knew you wanted me.”

You laugh, breathless and heady, tilting your head back as she marks your neck with her mouth, “shut up and prove it.”

And Ellie doesn't hesitate at all now, the second your words leave your mouth, she moves— lips tracing a slow path down your throat, hands now gripping your waist with just enough pressure to keep you grounded. The heat between you is unbearable, every inch of your body hyper aware of her. She really takes her time, dragging her fingers along the hem of your shirt but not directly touching, she's just teasing, testing. Like she's giving you again the chance to change your mind, like she wants you to stop her and you won't.

You tilt your head back, giving her more room to work, breath hitching as her lips graze over your collarbone. Your fingers curl into the fabric of her shirt, tugging her closer, needing more, she grins against your skin, clearly pleased, before shifting her weight just enough to pull your jacket off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

The room is quiet except for your breaths and soft moans, the faint crackling of a candle in the dresser, the muffled sound of the party still going outside. It feels like another world, distant, unimportant. Right now it's just you and her.

Ellie leans back to look at you, her green eyes searching your gaze, “you sure?”

And that almost made you roll your eyes, wasn't the whole situation obvious enough?

You exhale, heart pounding and voice low, “Ellie.”

That's all it takes. She kisses you again, her hands slip under your shirt, fingers warm against your skin as she softly gropes your tits, sending a shiver down your spine. You press into her touch, drinking in every sensation, every little sound she makes as your hands wander, lifting the hem of her shirt, feeling the taut muscle beneath. She groans when you drag your nails down her back and the sound sends a rush of heat directly between your thighs. A slow, aching need building, making your head spin.

The bed creaks slightly as she shifts, settling between your thighs like earlier, her weight pressing you deeper into the mattress. When her knee makes friction with your wet and aching pussy, you gasp, fingers tangling in her hair, pulling her back down to you, lips meeting in a heated, breathless rhythm.

She moves like she wants to take her time, like she's been waiting for this moment as long as you have but neither of you have the patience for that.

Clothes come off in slow, teasing increments— shirts and pants slipping, fingers tracing new paths along the bare skin. You shudder at the warmth of her mouth trailing lower and lower, her lips leaving marks you know won't fade by morning. She's restless, enjoying every reaction, every gasp and sharp inhale.

When she finally, finally, presses closer, when her wet mouth meets your core through your panties, when her fingers tighten against your hip,it's nothing like fighting. There's no sharpness, no stubborn push-and-pull, there's no battle to win.

Just heat. Just the press of her body against yours, just the slow, aching rhythm her tongue sets, the way she whispers your name like it's the only thing she knows. Just her.

She pulled away her mouth for a moment, enjoying the sight of soaking wet panties, your own fluids mixed with her saliva. With her free hand she began to rub up and down your slit, the thin fabric of your underwear making the friction even more delicious.

The way she was edging is making you crazy, she finally decide to move the fabric aside, she iz quick to attach her warm mouth directly to your, already, sensitive clit as her two of her fingers make their way to the entrance of your needy hole. A gasp escapes your lips when you feel her calloused fingers teasing it at the same time she sucks and licks your clit. The humid sounds of her mouth making your arousal grow even more and she knows.

Her lips let your clit go for a moment, she speaks in a lustful, almost velvety, tone, “i prefer when you're like this and not fighting me back,” and you can't even fight or bite back, you just whimper in response and she grins before going back to work.

She finally stops teasing your entrance and she slips one finger inside you, slick dripping down to her wrist. She was quick to find your spongy spot and she presses exactly where you need and while a soft moans leaves your lips, she inserts another finger, feeling how your walls clench against her digits.

The feeling of her fingers pressing your g-spot as her lips latching onto your bud quickly turns to be too much, you don't even know where to grip, you feel like you need something to keep you grounded, your whines and whimpers music to her ears.

And you don't know how much time passes but the room is warm, your breath stutters as Ellie moves against you, her fingers shifting slightly inside you, every touch, every word, sending a wave of arousal. She's steady, controlled, like she's savoring every second, like she's engraving this moment in her memory.

You, on the other hand? You're unravelling, your hands grip at her naked back, your fingers pressing at her warm skin, desperate to keep her close, to pull her even closer. She responds with a quiet, breathy chuckle, but there's roughness to it, a slight tremor beneath her confidence that tells you she's just as lost in this as you are.

She leans in, pressing her forehead to yours, breaths mingling, eyes half-lidded as she watches you, “you're so fucking stubborn,” she murmurs, her voice rough and teasing.

You let out a shaky laugh, tilting your head back as her lips find your throat, “look who's talking.”

Ellie hums in agreement against your pulse, her grip tightening at your waist before she started to move again inside you, it was slow and measured but intentional, the way her fingers curl inside you pulls an embarrassing sound from you, but she swallows it with her mouth, kissing you deep, hungry. She doesn't let up, doesn't rush, just takes her time learning you, every sound, every shiver, every spot that makes your breath hitch. It's infuriating and intoxicating all at once, the way she knows exactly what she's doing.

And when she finally pushes you past that point, when you can't think, can't breathe, can't do anything but feel her, when you're about to hit ecstasy— she murmurs your name against your skin, like it's a confession, like she's giving you something she hasn't given to anyone else.

When the tension finally shatters, your fingers curl against her back, scratching her, pulling her down into you as everything blurs, melts, breaks. She helps you to ride your orgasm, cooing you with sweet words and praises even if everything you can say it's just “hah-ahh” and moan.

The aftershocks leave you both breathless, tangled in each other, skin sticky with heat and effort. Neither of you move for a long moment, just lying there, letting the world settle back into place around you.

Ellie shifts first, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your shoulder before resting her head against your chest. Her fingers trace lazy forms over your side, absentminded.

You exhale, your body still trembling slightly, you lift a shaky hand to run through her hair, pushing damp strands from her forehead. Silence lingers between you, but it's not uncomfortable. It's new, uncertain, but not something you want to pull away from just yet.

The auburn haired girl lets out a slow breath, pressing a kiss to your marked collarbone before murmuring, “still think we don't work?”

You huff a quiet laugh, shifting beneath her, “i still think you talk too much.”

She grins, biting lightly at your shoulder in retaliation before settling back down, “yeah, sure,” a pause. Then quieter, more serious, “you're not gonna run, are you?”

Your stomach tightens at that, at the way she asks like she already knows the answer, like she's bracing herself. You hesitate, your fingers playing with her hair.

You don't know what this is, what it means, if it even means anything at all. Maybe you'll still fight on patrol, still push each other's buttons, still refuse to admit how deep this thing between you two really runs.

But right now, here, in the quiet warmth of this bed? You don't want to leave.

“No…” you finally murmur, feeling the way her body relaxes against yours at the answer, “not tonight.”

Ellie hums, pressing one last kiss to your skin before sighing, “good.”

And for now, that's enough.

[keferon]

In fish city, do they live outside the water or are their homes semi flooded? Like how do their homes and cities work somewhat?

I think they would have air pockets and ventilation in their cities. Located in underwater caves perhaps? I don't really know I need to think about it for more than ten minutes

Because if we try to think realistically for a second. All mers can breathe air so that automatically implies that it's something they constantly do. Otherwise they would lose that ability.

For mammalian mers like dolphins and seals it would be logical to have partially submerged living spaces. They would also probably prefer to do stuff like surgeries? Or cooking? without water.

If you have some ideas I would love to hear them because I was never good at urban design

......if we think of that. A human could probably survive in a mer city for some time but it would be really fucking hard for them. Because everything is constantly wet and cold so hello hypothermia~

[lexirosewrites]

Day 3: Love Confession

for @stmarchmm

When Eddie had initially confessed to his interest in Steve, Steve had appeared like he may faint or puke.

Or both.

Despite the obvious chemistry between them during the Upside-Down and their defeating Vecna together, Steve still hesitated.

Admittedly, that made Eddie panic a little bit too.

He’d been so sure that Steve returned his amorous feelings, but now it doesn’t feel quite so obvious.

“If I misread this completely, I can leave. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, Stevie,” Eddie chokes out, heart in his throat.

That seems to snap Steve out of it.

“No! No, you didn’t. You read it correctly, I just—”

And then he pauses. A very long pause.

One where Eddie could fit a lot of words if he wasn’t trying so hard to kick his own habit of filling awkward spaces by rambling endlessly.

“But?” he’d finally prompts Steve.

“I don’t know if I’m actually capable of doing that again.”

That’s where Steve loses him.

“Doing… what again?”

Steve avoids his eyes, arms wrapping around his middle like he needs some extra protection. From what exactly, Eddie is unsure.

“Loving someone.”

Eddie knows about Nancy.

Steve had gotten incredibly wasted one night and cried on his shoulder until he fell asleep, sobbing about how hurt he’d been by the painful rejection.

As Nancy’s friend, he’d wanted to take a neutral stance.

As an alpha falling in love with Steve, he’d been furious and wanted to tear the world apart with rage.

The sweetest omega alive had poured his heart out to his alpha girlfriend and she’d rejected him, broken his spirit with her carelessness.

She may not have meant to do it, but Nancy changed Steve fundamentally.

So, “I love you,” Eddie states plainly.

No frills, no goofy gestures, no silly voices.

Just the facts. What Steve needs to hear.

“Eddie, you really don’t have to do th—”

Steve looks like he’s going to cry. Eddie won’t allow that. Never again, if he can help it.

“I love you,” he says again, louder. “I love you and there isn’t a single thing you can say to change that, sweetheart.”

Steve stares at him then, mouth partially agape in what appears to be shock.

Eddie takes pride in the fact that he can still manage to surprise him at all. Steve’s so used to his antics that nothing seems to phase him anymore.

“You— you don’t really mean that,” he protests softly.

Except. Yes, Eddie truly does.

“I do though. I mean it more than I’ve ever meant anything else in my entire life. I love you, Steve. I love you, even if you never love me. If you decide that there’s no room in your heart for an alpha like me, I will keep loving you. I’ve made up my mind already.”

The tiniest crack of a smile. Barely there.

Did he do it? Did Eddie finally do something right in this life— so right that the most perfect omega of his dreams might actually take a chance on him?

A chance on them.

A chance for what Eddie believes is definitely the best idea he’s ever had.

“So even if I tell you that I’ll spend every day with you terrified of how this relationship could ruin me again?”

The words are serious, but he can see the clear look of amusement in Steve’s eyes.

He’s trying to play cool and unaffected. A game of testing boundaries and Eddie’s determination.

The good news is that Eddie doesn’t have healthy boundaries anyway.

If Steve needs him to wake each morning and say, “I love you,” stop every hour and declare, “I love you,” and go to bed with an, “I love you,” on his lips, Eddie will make it happen.

He’s crazy, but he’s crazy in love too.

“I’m not afraid of loving you, Steve Harrington. Whatever you need from me, it’s yours. Patience, reassurance, blind loyalty and devotion— they’re all yours, baby. You couldn’t pay me to go away, even if you wanted to!”

Steve’s beautiful, beaming smile isn’t hiding any longer.

God, he loves Steve.

[sp0o0kylights]

Steve Harrington, who has a very “in name only” relationship with his parents, the people who claim they love him lots but have simply given him cash for his last six birthdays without bothering to send a card. 

Steven Harrington, who lost his connection to the only adults in his life who actually parented him when he had his final fight with Tommy and Carol-- not that they ever really did that much. Having an adult put a bandaid on his knee and complimenting him for being tough was plenty enough. 

Steve Harrington, who drove Dustin and co. to the Byers house that one Christmas and was told by Hopper not to come in; that Joyce was still mad at him about the ‘demodog in the fridge’ and figured his exclusion was fair--it wasn’t like Hopper actually liked him. Joyce certainly had no reason to. It wasn’t like he was doing anything for Christmas anyways. 

Steve Harrington, who is fairly certain Robin’s parents have clocked her as queer but who still treats him in that careful way many parents do when he’s hanging around their daughter. There’s a barrier there, in the way of firm handshakes and “get her back safe”’s that keep things formal. (It’s never bothered him before, and he swears it doesn’t bother him now.) 

Steve Harrington, whose relationships with adults are defined by words like “networking”, “proper connections”, “favors”, and “finances”, who has at best been treated like a miniature version of his father and at worst as a spoilt moron, who encounters Wayne Munson and has no idea what to do with the man. 

Wayne Munson, who asks him actual questions about his life. Who asks him to watch the game with him. Who calls him “boy” and “son” in ways that sound affectionate and not frustrated. Wayne, who shoos him away from the dishes and compliments his cooking, who has invited Steve over when Eddie isn’t even home.

Steve Harrington, who keeps apologizing to Eddie because “I’m not trying to steal your Uncle man, I promise.” and doesn’t believe Eddie when the latter just laughs at him.

(“You can’t steal Wayne, Steve.” Eddie says with a snicker, when he finally figures out what Steve is apologizing for.  The guy apologizes a lot for things that make no sense, it’s a bad habit Eddie’s working on him with. “Though I do believe he has been trying to steal you.” 

“Oh.” This does not relieve Steve. In fact, this seems to make him more nervous looking, which Eddie does not want. 

“I uh. I don’t want to come between you guys so I guess we can just hang at my house…?” The voice he trails off with is downright painful for Eddie to hear, and he’s already slashing his hand in the air in a wild ‘No’ before Steve can even finish speaking.

“Dude you’re fine. I’m glad you guys are getting along! Wayne needs someone to talk sportsball with and clearly so do you because you keep trying to talk about it to anyone who will listen.”

“I guess if you’re alright with it…”) 

Steve Harrington, who allows himself to be adopted by the Munsons much in the way a feral cat lets itself become domesticated, and who starts looking at Wayne like the man hung the moon. 

Wayne Munson, who is referred to by Steve as “Dad” exactly once, and feels so fucking happy about it he misses the panic attack Eddie has to talk Steve through. 

He also misses that that is the moment when Steve accidentally confesses his feelings to Eddie in the Munson’s (new) cramped bathroom, on grounds that “I can’t date you and also call Wayne dad like that, that’s weird! Isn’t that weird!? It feels weird!” 

(“Sweetheart,” Eddie says, trying not to smile and failing entirely. “I get what you’re saying, but I think in your panic you missed something kinda key, there.”) 

Steve Harrington, who gets himself an entire family in the end (and gets to both call Wayne “dad” and Eddie as his boyfriend, without issue, because “we’re not related babe, you can call your inlaw whatever you want.” 

“Now who's skipping steps? When did we get married?”

“The very second it’s legal, that’s when.”) 

--and has never been happier in his life.

[shikaizer]

DIRTY PLEASURE 004.

ᯓ Paige Bueckers x Reader x Caitlin Clark

KINDLY CHECK THIS OUT FOR THE PARTS, SUMMARY AND WARNING > SERIES MASTERLIST

The day have ended with a pinkish hue in the sky that gave you the best comfort, knowing that all your hard work and dedication thru the year is finally over since its the end of your school year. you plopped yourself down on your bed feeling the cold air breeze hitting your body making you smile. "finally.. rest.." you take youe phone out to see paige's message popping up. 'take a rest pretty girl.' you smiled reacting a heart on it. while caitlin didn't message you, but i was okay because you saw her in court earlier and she explained that she was spending in to practice then gave you a kiss on the forehead. honestly you have no idea what is your relationship between these two. but your loving it. you love it so much you ignored the fact you haven't cleared up your relationship with them. only situation knows.

as your scrolling on the app your university has made, for some updates and sometimes some annonymous students who would post the most hottest tea. as you scrolled, you saw a video that was being viral, you decided to click on it.

your heart dropped feeling sick to the stomach, seeing aliyah in the disturbing video, her stomping on a poor girl and her grandmother while some few breads that looks like they sell for living is scattered around. you cant even believe what your seeing right now assuming that aliyah was the first one you have gotten close with and the first one who would help me you in any way.

she was also the reason why you have some few knowledges about the girls history, how can a girl tell you some vulgar rumors meanwhile she also has some disguting history?

you shaked your head in disbelief starting to panic, your hands starting to shake tears swelling down your face, you put your phone down to relax, the pleading screams and muffled laughs in the background still being heard.

the first one to come to your thoughts was paige and caitlin, even though you and aliyah had recently fought over the fact your still very close to those two while she have already warned you.

you called paige's number and not even a 5 second the call was answered. "hello.???" you called out and paige let out a phew making you tilt your head. "hey pretty girl." you sighed a small smile forming your face "can i stay over tonight?" you asked fidgeting with your keyboard and a laugh was heard, "whew miss us already baby?" you hear caitlin in the background followed by paige chuckling

"yeah what if i do?" you teased smirking pressing your thighs together, a silent was heard for a second before hearing a shuffle. "on our way babe, stay there." you softly smiled and hang up the phone.

waiting for them to arrive while you packed some things and essential, a good 7 minutes have passed and before you know it a message popped on your phone 'come out'. you grabbed your phone and bag going outside, making your way downstairs and finally seeing the luxurious black car they own.

opening the backseat door you placed your bag first and sat yourself down "hey princess" caitlin hummed and you smiled at her thru the rearview as she starts the engine, paige looked over to you and smiled "wonder why our pretty girl needs us all the sudden... are you sure you really miss us or its something else?" she teased caitlin letting out a small chuckle.

"oh please." you scoffed rolling your eyes, knowing them the cycle of the teasing will never stop. you reached for your phone and a unknown number has popped up on your phone, clicking on them made your eyes go wide.

:this is all your fault!

:aliyah is suffering because of you, that video was literally years ago! because of your fucking girlfriend!

:paige right or caitlin? fuck i dont even know if your taking them both you whore! and just to remind you, paige was recording and caitlin was literally in that video hyping up aliyah!

:aliyah had already apologized years ago and they did nothing! they took all the blame on aliyah! i hope your having a great day destroying someones life.

you put your phone down with mixed feelings and guilt washing over you. you decided to confront the both of them, you looked at caitlin over the rearview and she was already staring at you, she have noticed the change on your behaviour and raised her eyebrows. "whats wrong?" you hesitated for a second, finally bringing the courage to speak up.

"do you guys know aliyah?" you asked and you sense paige getting quiet but caitlin has no idea "yeah, me and paige were in a group" you raised both your eyebrows having all the answers you needed but paige was extremely quiet.

"she ever hurt someone?" you asked again this time it already seemed like you knew the answer.

"yeah alot" caitlin shrugged unsure and you hear paige shifting on her seat.

"and you guys record her?" you raised your eyebrows earning a quiet atmosphere. caitlin took another glance at you thru the rearview and you kept a firm stare. "and posted it on our community app?" you added again this time the both of them looked at each other with a knowing gaze before paige spoke up.

"what are you even talking about princess?" paige spoke up mocking a innocent tone, but your not convinced at all as you scowled.

"i know what the both of you did." you stated glaring at them and caitlin glared back at you smirking "you sure you wanna take the blame on us babe?" you felt sickened to the stomach, they know what they did yet they dont wanna admit it. "tell me, why you decided to spread that video." you desperately asked and caitlin rolled her eyes, the quiet demeanor was enough answer for you and you nodded.

"do you have any idea what you two did? she is suffering!" you shaked your head voice raising and you see caitlin signalling paige to go to the backseat with you.

"you wanna talk to us that way?" paige asked in a low voice startling you, but you didn't care less, right now your worried for aliyah. "yes! shes my fucking friend and the two of you are insane!"

at this moment you have reached their temper, paige grabbed you roughly pulling you in her lap as she pulled onto your hair roughly making you squirm.

"what the fuck did you say?" paige growled her jaw clenching causing tears to fall on the corner of your eyes "why are crying?" she scoffed furrowing her eyebrows eye squinting "shit..hurts" you hold onto her hand thats currenly gripping on your hair trying to remove it.

"paige do that shit at home. theres police around." caitlin muttured as she pulled down the window since a police will be checking our car, paige got you off her lap and took a glare at you.

caitlin finally drove off and sighed taking a glance at you thru the rearview. "shes ungrateful isn't she?" caitlin looked over at paige and clicked her tounge "damn yeah she is." paige shaked her head in disbelief. this was the first time you have seen this side of them. was it because you caught them at what they did?

"we give you anything and this is what you repay us?" paige growled grabbing your jaw roughly looking deeply in your eyes.

"fucking answer." she shaked your chin her grip tightening. "grateful." you breathe out and she tilt her head jaw clenching. "yeah? then why are you acting like your not?" you stayed quite and she pushed you by the chin falling on your back as she got on top of you.

"what the fuck did i say? i said take it home." caitlin glared thru paige at the rearview and paige rolled her eyes and glared at you to behave.

she smirked looking at caitlin scoffing "are you fucking jealous that i get to have my way with her right now?" she states and caitlin got quiet but the clench on her jaw was showing, she parked on a empty sidewalk with the only source of light is far away from their distance making the scenery scary. caitlin got out of the car and entered the backseat with the two of you.

you looked at paige with horror, and she smirked at you moving aside. "sorry baby.." looking at her like she will be saving you was not helping. you stayed there layed down while caitlin got on top of you. "you think i cant have my way with her?" she emphasized the "her" and looked at me like i was just someone who she can handle.

"say that shit again once you hear how loud i'll be making her." she states and paige shrugged. realizing what the situation will be turning to, you decided to stop it as soon as possible as the way they are acting obviously they will be rough with you.

"im sorry." you whispered and the both of them looked at you for a moment, followed by caitlin smirking amused in her eyes. "your sorry?" she leaned down her cocky smirk never leaving. "prove it then." you tilt your head confused.

"how do i..." caitlin was quick to pull your shorts down and you gasped.

"pleasure yourself infront of us." your jaw dropped your eyes widen and you tried to look at her eyes to see if she was kidding but she was dead serious.

"but..." you are cut off by her frowning tilting her head "your not sorry then?" you sighed looking down as your fingers made its way on your clit and you moaned feeling good. "if you dont want to you can stop." paige added and you shaked your head since your already turned on. and you actually wanted this. "you sure?" she asked but voice still firm not showing any comfort. "yes.." you nodded starting to rub your clit looking down but caitlin caught your chin making you look up at her. "eyes up here" she tapped your chin and sat back relaxing her body both of them watching you amused. "shes really doing it fuck." paige muttured under her breath when you begin to wet your clit throwing your head back. caitlin not being able to resist the sight of you, she yanked your arm pulling you closer to her kissing you roughly, she then tilted her head to look at your desperate expression.

"fuck." she clicked her tounge not being able to withstand the sight of you, they way your fingers are wet because of your clit and the way your legs are wide infront of them making them aroused.

and then, your phone started ringing. making them stop, looking over at the phone in your purse, paige took it and laughed, showing the screen on caitlin. "your little girlfriend is calling" she took the phone and handed it to you. "answer it." you took the phone it was aliyah. pressing the green button.

"aliyah?" you called out and gasped loudly when caitlin inserted three fingers inside you not being able to adjust. "hey..can we talk?" you squeezed your eyes shut mouthing a curse word.

"yes! yes.." you rolled your eyes biting your moutj from the sudden raise of voice which she probably noticed on the call. "well.. um im sorry for lashing out at you.. i really didn't mean it" you squeezed your eyes shut, jaw dropped. caitlins fingers curling your insides moving them in and out.

caitlins tounge poked at her cheek and smirked amused. you cocked your head trying to maintain straight words. "all good...mmmh" you gripped on the phone elicting silence on the other side. "you okay?" you threw you head back and caitlin leaned down kissing your neck.

"yes! im fine..?" voice raising once again you mentally slapped your self.

"you know...why i hated when you get close with those two cunts?" paige rolled her eyes and caitlin gripped on your neck making you whimper.

"ever since i saw you...you made me feel something." you frowned tears starting to form in the corner of your eyes.

"i like you so much... i dont-" paige grabbed the phone and threw it across the car "bullshit." cursing under her breath, clearly aliyah heard.

"fuck!" you shouted once paige slapped your face gripping on your jaw, caitlin frowning her fingers giving a harsh thrust inside you.

"so thats why your fucking defending her huh?" paige growled and caitlin clicked her tounge. "choosing her over us?" paige slapped you again seriously mad. you whimpered starting to sob. "no...." you shaked your head and paige rolled her eyes "why are you fucking crying?" paige raised her eyebrows while caitlin never stopped her fingers inside you. "we are the one whos suppose to be hurt right?" you nodded as you sighed catching your breath.

"does she fuck you this good baby?" caitlin managed to tease and paige cursed under her breath taking a blunt making her way outside the car.

"you made her mad..." she cooed leaning down to kiss your cheeks. "i didn't know... that she liked me i swear.." you pleaded and she gave you a cocky smirk nodding "i dont even fucking believe you." she shaked her head curling her fingers and giving last thrust, your eyes felt heavy while your climax reached you.

[f4dedtouch]

╰┈➤ how doll!reader met rafe cameron and somehow, never got rid of him.

pairing: doll!reader x s2 rafe

summary: doll!reader knew she made a mistake going on this dull date the moment she sat down desperate for an out, she slips away to the bathroom to bail, only to catch the kook king’a attention. amused, he decided to have some fun at her expense… and ends up leaving the worst first impression possible.

warnings: swearing, just rafe being insufferable and leaving the worst first impression.

you knew this was a mistake ten minutes in.

thirty minutes in, you were suffering.

he had not stopped talking about his dad’s yacht. or the gala his dad was hosting next week. or his dad’s latest business deal. seriously? was this asshole really sitting here, bragging about his dad’s money like he was the one who worked for it? you stared at him, expression blank as he went on and on about something called a bertram 35, which you were pretty sure was just a fancy word for a boat.

you nodded absently, twirling your straw in your drink, offering the occasional mmhm or oh, really? just to make it seem like you were listening. you should have known this was a bad idea when he would not leave you alone at the bonfire last week, practically begging for just one date. one. and now here you were, resisting the urge to bash your head into the table as he started explaining—explaining—what a fucking yacht was.

fuck this.

you glanced at your phone screen, not actually reading anything, just thinking. an escape. you needed an escape.

and then, like divine intervention, an idea formed in your head.

“shit,” you exhaled sharply, eyes widening just the right amount. “i just got a text. my mom needs me to come home.”

his face fell. “oh. uh—really?”

you forced a regretful sigh, shoving your phone into your bag. “yeah, i should probably get going.”

he hesitated. “so, can we—”

“i’ll text you,” you said quickly, already grabbing your stuff. you did not plan on texting him. ever.

before he could say anything else, you were gone.

you made a beeline for the bathroom, locking yourself inside and pressing your palms against the sink, breathing. that was fucking painful.

rafe cameron had a shitty day.

his dad was on his ass, he was out of coke, and his patience was thin. so naturally, he ended up at the country club, sitting at the bar, ordering a whiskey he probably did not need.

he was not looking for anything. not really. he just wanted to get out of his own head for a few hours.

but then he saw you.

sitting across the room, at a table with some asshole in a blazer, twirling your straw, looking bored out of your fucking mind.

rafe had seen you before. always with sarah and her little pogue friends at the bonfire, all soft curls and glossed lips, too pretty to be with that crowd. you moved different. you looked different. and right now, you looked miserable.

it was entertaining, really. he was amused.

you were staring at the guy like you were seconds away from stabbing him, nodding along as he talked, but rafe could tell you were not listening to a word coming out of his mouth. he knew that look—bored. done. looking for an escape.

and then he watched you find one.

you sat up a little straighter, eyes flickering to your phone, and rafe could already see the plan forming in your head.

you said something—he could not hear what—but whatever it was made the guy’s face drop.

and rafe?

rafe fucking grinned.

he watched you stand, grab your stuff, and slip away, practically running toward the bathroom.

it was the weakest excuse he had ever seen.

and yet, it worked.

your date sat there, annoyed, huffing like a kid who just got his toy taken away.

rafe exhaled a quiet laugh, sipping his drink.

and just like that, he knew exactly how he was going to spend the rest of his night.

waiting.

you stepped out of the bathroom, scanning the room quickly, and relaxed.

your table was empty

thank god.

you exhaled in relief, making your way toward the bar. maybe you would actually drink that overpriced cocktail now.

but the second you sat down, you felt a stare.

the presence was strong, charged, something you did not even have to look at to recognize.

but you did. you turned slightly, and there he was, grinning at you.

rafe cameron.

fuck.

you had never officially met, but you knew enough. sarah’s brother. an asshole. a cokehead. a walking red flag.

men like him could not handle you. or so you thought.

he was watching you like he knew something you did not, like he had been sitting there, waiting.

you rolled your eyes ignoring him and turned back toward the bar.

“vodka soda.”

you barely got your drink before rafe’s voice cut through the air, smooth, amused.

“oh man, you’re back.”

your stomach sank.

not at his words—but at who he was talking to.

you turned, and there he was. your date. sliding into the seat on your other side, annoyed.

“wasn’t your mom expecting you?”

you blinked. fuck.

“uh—yeah, but one of my friends was home, so they handled it.”

rafe exhaled a laugh, shaking his head.

you glared.

“since we’re all here,” he mused, “let’s have a drink.”

you straightened. “oh, i was about to go—”

“c’mon,” rafe cut in, voice dripping with something almost mocking. “we could talk about boats.”

he knew.

he fucking knew.

your date perked up instantly. “boats?”

and just like that, the two of them started talking bullshit.

you stared at rafe, burning.

your hands clenched into fists in your lap, nails digging into your skin, because if you despised him before, now?

now you wanted to kill him.

slowly. painfully.

you could break the whiskey glass sitting in front of him and shove it straight into his neck. you could strangle him with your pretty pearl bracelet you always had on your wrist. or maybe you could grab the steak knife off the waiter’s tray and just—

he was watching you, barely even engaging in the conversation, just watching you.

so fucking amused.

“you know what,” you cut in, voice tight. “i actually have somewhere to be.”

rafe’s smirk deepened. “nah. stay.”

“i can’t.”

he tilted his head, eyes gleaming. “sure you can.”

your nails dug deeper into your palm.

you had two choices.

you could stand up and leave, but something told you rafe would find a way to keep you here, just to piss you off.

or you could sit here and suffer, glaring at him so hard you could set him on fire with just your mind.

either way, rafe was winning.

and he knew it.

god you fucking hated rafe cameron. you hated those wild bangs covering his forehead and that pretty smile and those blue eyes of him.

[aealzx]

_______________________

Update Post

Prologue | AO3

Previous Next

_______________________

Luckily a multitude of text messages to the others was enough for Jason to convince them to refrain from crowding in on them, and Danny was able to have some time to cry without worry. It wasn’t the first time, or even the hundredth time Jason had held a crying child, so it was easy for him to wait and offer a silent companionship with the occasional back rub. And it was easy to tell when Danny’s energy was wearing low, the sobs turning into softer hiccups and his grip on Jason’s jacket not quite as tight. And after a stretch of almost complete silence Jason figured it was time to move. It was no surprise that having a good cry and being able to talk just a bit left Danny quite tired, he was still sporting quite the residual burn wound on his chest. But while rest would do him good, Jason didn’t think it would be the best idea to take him back to the manor just yet. “... Hey… How ‘bout we go get a batburger and go to my place?” he suggested after some time, wondering if Danny had eaten anything good for dinner yet. “We can just chill for tonight. I already let everyone know you’re safe, so don’t worry about them….Okay?”

“Batburger?” Danny repeated, voice betraying his obvious need for a tissue. He just felt more worn out more than anything else now, but didn’t miss the brief strain of amusement he got from hearing about the food. This place really did have everything named after Batman. They must really like their dark and broody superhero. It was something to envy, at least a little. And honestly, going to Jason’s place and having some time without having to deal with the others fussing over him or subtly needing him to direct them sounded amazing too. He needed time to himself to figure out what to do next before he gave them any suggestions. Which led him to looking up to Jason and nodding. “Yeah. That sounds great. Been awhile since I had a burger.”

Jason took the weak smile Danny gave him as a win, the boy’s mask having vanished long ago to make it easier to breathe, and started to move to get them on their feet again. “C’mon then. We’ll take it easy on the way there. Get some air,” he coaxed, leading Danny towards one of his safe places first so he could ditch the helmet and other vigilante attire.

“Don’t people usually say fresh air?” Danny commented, his current state making his brain to mouth distance quite short at the moment.

“Have you smelled Gotham? That’s not just this alleyway, it’s the whole city,” Jason returned easily, giving the poor kid something else to focus on for now.

Danny couldn’t help grimacing as he snorted, putting a hand to his nose and earning Jason’s pity to find some sort of tissue or fabric from his pockets for the boy to clear his nose on. A bottle of gatorade would probably be a good idea for the boy too.

Pulling Danny to his feet, Jason kept him close as they moved. A quick stop at a tiny safeplace allowed them to switch to a more inconspicuous civilian attire, with Jason loaning Danny some shoes for now. He was still in his pajamas, and even though he mentioned he could just slightly float to avoid walking on the disgusting ground Jason didn’t want any prying eyes to notice that. The kid looked pathetic in Jason’s bigger shoes and oversized jacket, but at least he looked more like he fit in with the rest of the crowd in the area. At least enough that the worker at the nearest Bat Burger didn’t think twice about the two of them stopping by. Jason did all the talking, ordering two basic combos, and Danny just lingered behind him. The gaudy colors of the fast food place littered with advertisements to read were another mild distraction that kept him occupied until Jason pushed a takeout bag into his hands. They were quiet as they walked back to Jason’s apartment, and it was only after they had passed the first entrance that the silence was broken.

“...Is there a reason other than you don’t want to that you don’t stay at the manor full time?” Danny asked while they were riding the small elevator to the second from the top floor, starting to run out of ways to keep his brain from wandering where he didn’t want it to.

“Got it before Bruce knew I wasn’t still dead. Then felt like keeping it because it’s nice to be on my own,” Jason answered simply, leading them down the hall to his own doorway and fishing his keys out of his pocket.

“...Right…you did the whole ‘died and came back wrong’ thing too,” Danny hummed, having momentarily forgotten.

It earned a small grunt from Jason while they kicked their shoes off at the entrance, which was closed and locked again behind them. “I wouldn’t say ‘wrong’, just atypical. Considering most people that die come back within a few minutes instead of a few years, like me, and also don’t end up with super powers, like you.” Maybe he would agree to the term ‘wrong’ at some other time than this, but he didn’t want Danny spiraling into any more self hate than he was hovering on already.

“Wait- a few years?”  Danny sputtered, stopping to stare at Jason. “You were dead for years?!”

“Oh yeah. I hear the funeral was nice, but I guess I was too angry about my killer still running loose that I just had to come back and take care of things myself,” Jason shrugged, gaining a slight smirk and carefully guiding his own thoughts along a path that would keep him present and talking. It was still difficult to talk about, but as long as he felt in control he could manage it for the most part. As long as the other side didn’t start asking too detailed of questions.

Something he apparently wouldn’t have to worry about with Danny. The lad was quiet for a moment as absent thoughts ran through his head about what Jason just said. And after a moment he suddenly gave a small gasp in realization. “Oh my gosh. You’re a revenant.”

“A what now?”

“A revenant. I heard about them from… was it Clockwork or someone else?” Danny repeated, trailing off as he couldn’t remember who he’d learned what lesson from. He eventually shook his head and followed Jason further into the apartment. “They’re essentially people that come back from the dead because they’re too angry to stay dead. But they usually pass on again once that anger is satiated, so that’s why I didn’t notice before- woah, that’s a lot of weapons.”

Jason was luckily saved from having a mild existential crisis when Danny noticed his wall of weapons. Was this how the two kids had felt when Raven had given their state of existence a name? Weird. Anyway, “Do they make you uncomfortable?” he asked, ready to hide them if he needed to, and flopping on the couch to dig his burger out of the bag, gesturing for Danny to join him.

“No. I was just surprised to see so many. I actually grew up with a basement full of dangerous stuff. My parents-” His voice cut off as his heart skipped several beats at the mention of his parents. He had half the thought that this was probably what it was going to be like now, just casually dropping an emotional bomb on himself in casual conversation. He probably would have cried again, but at the moment he didn’t have anything left to give yet. Luckily Jason pulled him out of that slump by patting the couch next to him again.

“C’mon, enough chatter. You ever seen Pride and Prejudice?” he prompted, grabbing the remote with the hand that wasn’t holding his burger.

“....Not this realm’s version,” Danny responded quietly after swallowing the lump in his throat back into his chest. If it was even close to the same story he had in his realm it would be a good enough distraction. He could just sit and watch a movie, pretending he was just over at a friend’s house for the night and everything was actually just fine.

Making himself comfortable on the couch, Danny eventually got around to pulling his own bat burger from the bag and unwrapping it. They had gotten it with the idea that he could try it, and if he felt sick Jason would finish it and make him something else. But as Danny bit into it he found in the moment he didn’t care if he ended up sick from it. Technically it had been almost three months since he’d had a good hamburger. And while he’d been unconscious for most of that time he still felt like this was the best thing he’d eaten in a long time. Alfred’s cooking was great, but it had still been rather mild compared to the juicy meal. Jason just chuckled and hummed in agreement when Danny made a noise of delight, reaching for a few fries as the movie started.

It was a good distraction for as long as the food lasted. And even after the meal was finished Danny eventually ended up wedged up against Jason and half buried under a blanket, staring at the tv screen with a half lidded gaze as he tried to keep from thinking about anything in particular. It wasn’t quite as blissfully comfortable as the couch in the manor study, but it still brought a sense of peaceful comfort that made him feel like maybe, just maybe, he would be okay. Maybe he would handle it better this time than the time before that the literal ghost of time had to pop up and make him correct his mistakes so some evil version of himself wouldn’t exist in the future. It was already pretty different this time anyway. He had more friends now. And his sisters and home realm friends were still there. And also Vlad was nowhere to be found, so it wasn’t like he could give himself a corrupted power boost by eating the man’s ghost half. That was a plus. Probably. Danny felt bad for even considering it was a good thing Vlad was gone for good now, but he tried not to dwell on it long. Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as he thought. After all, Clockwork and the Observants-

Danny suddenly shot upright with a gasp, thoughts cascading into his mind as he remembered a series of facts he once thought were disjointed suddenly became potentially connected.

“What’s wrong?” Jason asked, immediately concerned and wondering if he needed to grab a bucket.

Danny took a second to respond, the jumble of thoughts in his head needing a moment to settle before he could figure out how to make words with his voice. “Nothing,” he dismissed, but realized that was obviously not the case, so made himself elaborate a little. “I just realized Dani doesn’t have a reliable source of ectoplasm. I’m going to have to figure something out, I don’t want her to be tied down to me,” he rambled, running a hand through his hair and trying to calm himself down. It wasn’t a good idea for two people to be relying on one person’s energy anyway. “Didn’t… Did someone say before that Raven could access the Infinite Realms? To get some? Do you think she could teach us?”

Something felt a little off about Danny’s response, but the words he said made sense and made it hard for Jason to act on his subtle gut feeling of wariness. They would need another source of ectoplasm, for both of the half ghost kids. And Raven was the one that had gotten the last supply…. Perhaps Jason would just go along with what Danny was thinking for now, and just make sure he didn’t get himself into too much trouble. “... Yeah. I can text Damian to contact her,” he offered, grabbing his phone to do just that.

“Could she start it tomorrow?” Danny asked, twisting to look at Jason, and then adding “The sooner the better, right? And it’ll give me something to do other than wallow in despair.”

Another weird comment, but Jason just made note of it and followed along. “Sure. Makes sense. I’ll see if they’re available after school.”

“Thanks…,” Danny bid, flopping back down. That would give him more than enough time to sleep even though it was already well after midnight. And it was true that he would appreciate having something to do other than get lost in his head. He was already starting to feel better now that some ideas on actions were forming in his mind. Tomorrow then. And for tonight he could just enjoy the simple movie about rich people's problems. “...This is a good movie, by the way.”

“You know it,” Jason huffed in agreement.

Tomorrow will be better

_________________

I had Staying by Koda on repeat when writing this one.

I feel like I forgot how to draw because I ended up in a hyperfixation just writing for like a week straight and didn't draw for that time X'D Totally stole Jason's apartment layout and colors from Wayne Family Adventures.

I'm excited for the next part BD

___________

Tag list: @galaxy-sharks-and-bottled-ships, @starscreamlover, @nerdynonnativenarnian, @dragongoblet, @megacharizardx99

@bellathecatastrophe, @cj-ghostemoji-destielpie, @asexual-insomniac, @wolfeyedwitch, @tkiesai, 

@fanaroff, @raven1508, @nebulainajar, @serasvictoria02, @oliocelottafanfics,

@honeysuckletook, @omniithe-deer, @wolf-under-the-stars, @gingernutcalo, @that-random-fangirl,

@op-sys-chaos, @kirasigncomics, @ehobep, @paranoid-ira, @nomaru666

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐞-𝐭𝐨-𝐎𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 (𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏)

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors and inaccuracies.

Gilbert had been acting strangely lately.

Gilbert: "Little bunny, is there anything you want me to do for you?"

Emma: "Again?"

When I arrived at our usual spot with freshly brewed tea and pastries, he set his work aside, greeted me with a charming smile, and insisted.

Gilbert: "I want you to rely on me more."

Emma: "I've relied on you plenty already."

(Just yesterday, for example.)

------------Flashback-----------

Gilbert: "There, I finished drying your hair."

Emma: "Thanks. That felt really nice."

Gilbert: "I'm glad to hear that. So, what would you like me to do next?"

Emma: "N-Nothing, really—"

Gilbert: "What would you like me to do next?"

Emma: "T-Then maybe a shoulder massage?"

Gilbert: "Oh, good idea. You're probably the only person who could tell me to do that."

Emma: "Actually, never mind—"

Gilbert: "Nope. No need to hold back with me."

Gilbert: "If it's for you, I'd gladly do anything—no matter how selfish the request is."

---------Flashback Ends--------

(Lately, he's been overly sweet to me.)

(He's not usually like this, though.)

Gilbert: "Hey, won't you rely on me?"

Emma: "I feel completely content right now."

Gilbert: "Emma, did you forget?"

Gilbert: "You only have two choices: either listen to my request or be forced to."

(So I have to say something, no matter what?)

I set the tea and pastries down on the table and gazed into his crimson eyes, trying to read his true intentions.

Emma: "Did something happen?"

Gilbert: "Right now? Nothing at all."

('Right now'?)

Gilbert: "Hehe, come on, keep thinking. Until you ask me for something, I won't let you leave—cough!"

Emma: "Gil!?"

He suddenly started coughing, so I quickly placed a hand on his back and gently rubbed it.

Gilbert: "Hey now, aren't you overreacting?"

Emma: "Of course, I'm overreacting! I still haven't forgiven you for disappearing on me for days."

Not long ago, Gilbert had suddenly vanished from the castle.

I figured he must have caught a cold and hid so he wouldn't spread it to me, but I'd been beside myself with worry.

Whenever he was suffering, he always kept it to himself, refusing to share the burden with anyone.

That was the kind of cruel yet kind person he was.

(Maybe this whole situation is his way of making up for that.)

(I don't know the real reason behind all this, but I do have one thing I want to ask.)

Emma: "Gil."

Gilbert: "If you're about to ask me to stay by your side forever, that's a no."

Emma: "There's something I'd like to ask you."

Emma: "Is there a way to keep someone who occasionally disappears without a trace by my side?"

Gilbert: "Fufu, of course, there's a way. But before I tell you, how about you show me your method first?"

(That was… surprisingly easy.)

Gilbert ran his fingers through my hair, gently tugging—not enough to hurt, but enough to bring our faces closer.

His striking red eyes locked onto mine, silently urging me to act.

(My method, huh?)

Emma: "Please, don't go anywhere."

The moment I made my plea, looking straight into his eyes, he bit down lightly on my lip.

Gilbert: "That won't do at all. The moment you start begging, it means you're not really trying to make me listen."

Emma: "I just couldn't think of another way."

Gilbert: "That's because you're kind. But remember, the person you're dealing with is a villain."

Gilbert: "If you really want to tie down a villain, you don't beg—you control."

Gilbert: "If you and the villain want totally different things, why let him decide?"

(He has a point, but isn't forcing him to stay too selfish?)

(Asking him to rely on me is just my own selfishness in the end.)

At my silence, he let go of my hair.

Gilbert: "There are many ways to bend someone's will."

Gilbert: "But the methods preferred by a beast like me wouldn't suit someone as gentle as you."

Gilbert: "So, I'll teach you the simplest way—the one that won't weigh on your conscience."

Before I could react, he suddenly stood up, grabbed my wrist, and pinned me down against the table.

(Huh?)

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a few papers covered in his handwriting flutter through the air.

But before I could pay them any mind, my vision was completely overtaken by his handsome face.

His lips captured mine, again and again, teasing, coaxing, drawing out a heat I hadn't intended to surrender.

(What the hell is happening?)

Dazed, I instinctively accepted his kiss, only for his tongue to invade, thoroughly claiming every inch of my mouth.

Gilbert: "Make sure you never do this with anyone else, okay?"

Gilbert: "I'd hate to stain you with someone else's blood."

His crimson eyes gleamed with something dark and possessive as he slowly ran his tongue over his wet lips.

Then, without warning, he hooked his hands under my legs and lifted them—leaving me utterly defenseless.

Part 1 ╎ Part 2 ╎ Part 3 ╎ Part 4

[fireinmoonshot]

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x Reader Summary: Joaquin will always insist on you wearing his jacket when you're cold... even if it means he's freezing. Warnings: I don't think there are any other than Joaquin being a little suggestive. Word Count: 779 A/N: Just a small one tonight! I had this idea today (also at work, what a surprise) and thought it'd be a cute one to post as a drabble rather than a full one shot. I have a bigger fic coming probably tomorrow night as well! 💗

The second Joaquin notices that you’re starting to shiver he’s shrugging off his jacket and handing it to you. It’s cold outside, the middle of winter, and you’d both decided it’d be a great idea to come down and watch a soccer game – one of your friends kids were playing.

“Baby, I’m fine,” you say, trying to hand the jacket back to him. 

It leaves him in only a t-shirt – the man isn’t great at dressing for the weather sometimes – and you have two layers on. You can’t leave him without a coat, especially with the way the wind is blowing and getting icier by the second.

Joaquin insists, pushing the jacket into your arms. “I won’t have you standing around here freezing, angel. Will you just put it on? Or I’ll put it on you myself.”

With a sigh, you pull the jacket on, putting your arms through the sleeves. You have to admit, you love wearing Joaquin’s clothes. They’re always warm and always smell like him. It’s like being wrapped in a hug without actually touching him. You pull the collar up, protecting your neck a little from the breeze, and shove your hands into the pockets.

You continue watching the soccer game, cheering on your friends son whenever he scores a goal and trying your best not to get mad when a kid accidentally trips him over. Joaquin, still standing beside you, mutters a curse word under his breath – something in Spanish that you don’t hear properly.

There’s a particularly strong gust of wind that passes across the field and it’s only then that you notice Joaquin shivering beside you. His arms are crossed over his chest, his hands wedged underneath his armpits in a poor attempt to warm them up. You almost laugh at the sight of him. 

You start to pull the jacket off to give it back to him, already knowing that your two layers are going to be enough to keep you warm compared to your slowly freezing boyfriend, but Joaquin sees you out of the corner of his eye. 

“Ah, angel, what are you doing? Keep it on, it’s freezing out here,” he says, moving to stand in front of you and tug the jacket back up onto your shoulders. 

“You don’t say?” You smirk, raising your eyebrows at him. “You’re cold, Joaquin.”

“Nooo,” he drags out the word. “I’m fine, really. Not cold in the slightest.”

“I can see the goosebumps on your arms, Joaquin. You need this more than I do.” You reach up and grab one of his arms, feeling how cold his skin is. “Yeah, baby, you’re turning to ice.”

Joaquin shakes his head, a small smile making its way onto his lips. “I’d freeze to death if it meant keeping you warm.” 

“Well, as romantic as I know you meant to make that sound, the last thing I want is my boyfriend freezing to death while I’m standing here in his jacket,” you reply. You’re quicker to pull the jacket off this time and waste no time in thrusting it into his arms. “Put it on, Joaquin, or I will put it on you.”

He sighs, shaking his head as he pulls his jacket back on. “Damn, I love when you get bossy.” He moves to stand beside you, but only two seconds later steps a little further back so he’s behind you. “I’m still not gonna let you freeze.”

You smile to yourself as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you back into his chest. He hooks his hand onto his forearm to keep his arms steady and presses a kiss to the top of your head. This is clearly his attempt at keeping you warm despite you forcing him to wear his own jacket.

“I don’t know if the soccer moms are gonna approve of this PDA, baby,” you mutter, happily leaning back into his chest. Somehow, this is even warmer than wearing his jacket.

Joaquin snorts. “Angel, I just saw two parents have a celebratory make-out session when their son kicked a goal. I don’t think we’re gonna cause the soccer moms too much grief by me wrapping my arms around you,” he says. “Of course, we could always give them more of a show if you wanted…” He leans down to press a kiss to your cheek.

You’re quick to deliver a swift, yet soft, elbow backwards, right into his stomach. He grunts in pain. “Okay, didn’t know you were into that, but I can make it work.”

“Just watch the game, Joaquin,” you let out a laugh. “No one is getting a show.”

“Maybe not right now but…”

“Joaquin.”

“Fine…”

[apollo41writes]

I am sick but I came up with this idea and I need it out of my brain so I can finally sleep in peace!

So random prompt I guess. A fake/pretend marriage between Sanji and Zoro, but set in a Bridgerton-like world!

I promise it works! Grab a cup of tea and hear me out.

About Zoro:

First of all, Zoro is a trans male AFAB. But because society still sucks the only place where he can be himself is at home with his sister Perona and his adoptive father Dracule.

Plenty of space to add things about Zoro's backstory as well! Even Kuina as the catalyst of Zoro coming out to his family as trans, and the whole drama of her dying and promising that he would shape his life however he wants.

Zoro obviously loves and respects Mihawk because he did save his life and gave him a home and a family when Zoro lost his (yes, Zoro still keeps the Roronoa family name because they are another influential family or something). But Zoro also hates him, because Mihawk forces Zoro to debut in society like a girl, hoping he would find a husband for his "second daughter". Hopefully a husband that will understand that "Azura" is actually Zoro, and that will not cause a scandal when he realizes that it will be Zoro he will be married to.

Zoro also loves Perona, because once Zoro told her that he was a boy and not a girl, Perona immediately respected his wishes and started referring to him as a male. But Zoro still hates that after that he basically was still forced to participate in Perona's fake tea parties or make believe stories, this time as the prince or, when she was in a particularly grim mood (which is quite often) as the evil guy in one of her overdramatic fantastical scenarios. Also, as soon as Mihawk told them that Zoro was gonna debut as a girl with her deadname, Zoro went back to being Perona's favorite doll to dress up before a ball/party in high society.

(Zoro all dolled up and being the angriest looking wallflower ever is just an image that will be stuck in my brain forever.)

About Sanji:

So picture Sanji, the third heir of the (in)famous Vinsmokes and a man that everyone thought was dead, that suddenly pops up out of nowhere and becomes immediately the most talked about bachelor and the dream match for every meddling mama in high society. After all, they see Sanji as an extremely attractive man with perfect manners, which is absurdly galant with women and has the whole mysterious aura that attracts people like flies. Also, you know, there's the Vinsmokes name and fortune for whatever lucky girl manages to marry him and give him a male heir. (Sanji is still Sanji, so he is still gonna melt and simp over every woman. Which just means that after a while he does get the womanizer/pervert reputation.)

There is obviously a lot of gossiping and speculation about Sanji's past, but nobody knows what actually happened. Most people believe the story Judge spins: Sanji had been lost at sea during a storm while they were traveling on a ship, and that he must have washed ashore somewhere far away. That a kind man found him and took him in, but that Sanji had amnesia and didn't remember anything about his family, so he stayed for years with that man. Judge also kind of spins it to his favor that he told everyone that Sanji died because he wanted to spare the pain to his wife, who was already sick. But when his wife was on her dying bed she made him promise to look for their lost son, and Judge did so to honor his wife, that he says died of a broken heart because of Sanji's supposed death. (Sanji is ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED by this narrative, of course.)

The reality is that Judge disowned him when he was in his early teens (like 11 or 12) for some stupid reason like "you are too sensitive" (idunnow, just Judge being Judge), and tried to kill him by making it look like an incident. So Sanji really almost drowned, but he was saved by Zeff that saw the attempted murder, and decided to take Sanji in as his own child. And everything was alright for a while; Sanji travelled around Europe with Zeff, who was a renowned chef that cooked for rich people and even royalty. Years after that, Judge comes to him with blackmail/a threat: he either comes back to the family and find a good influential girl to marry, or Judge is gonna kill Zeff. Reason for this is that Judge considers his daughter as his own servant, and plans to never let her marry anyone not to squander the family money. His other sons are pieces of shit that think women are only good to be fucked and broken, so they refuse to marry because they want to abuse whores, duel people for petty reasons and get drunk all of the time (still pieces of shit, but of little use to Judge for anything other than running the weapon family business empire). And even when Judge tried to force a marriage to get at least one heir, the poor woman was so severely abused that she killed herself three days after the marriage.

Then Judge found out that Sanji was still alive (maybe from a society paper with a portrait and "his protege" after they got invited to cook for the King) and had him spied on for a while to get some leverage to blackmail him into being his obedient "long lost son" and give him a fucking heir.

Sanji loves Zeff way too much to let anything happen to him, and he decides to sacrifice himself. But he's not a child anymore, and while he's still scared of Judge, he still plans to destroy him once and for all, so he can live peacefully and as he pleases. So he will fake compliance, but will find a way not only to save Jeff, but to ruin the Vinsmokes name once and for all. He just has to carefully move through high society while he does that. While also making sure that he doesn't break a poor woman's heart or ruin her reputation.

Here comes the actual "plot". (I know this post is super long already. Sorry not sorry.)

Judge obviously wants a politically and economically convenient match, so he tries to force Sanji to marry Pudding. And while Sanji thinks that Pudding is perfectly lovely, he also doesn't want to marry her on principle, not only because he wants to disobey Judge, but also because he doesn't like Pudding's family and doesn't want to drag her in all of the familial drama. (Plenty of space for the whole Charlotte family bullshit as well, but I'm not gonna delve into it rn.)

Judge obviously has a whole scheme for trapping him in marrying Pudding (and yes, she is a "willing" part of the scheme). Like, one of those almost fake scandals where the two are found out in a compromising situation and are forced to marry not to ruin the family name bullshit. Which would absolutely work with Sanji since he would never hurt Pudding's reputation.

Everything is ruined by Zoro's abysmal sense of direction. While trying to hide from "Azura's suitors"/getting the fuck out of there, he ruins Judge's carefully planned fake misunderstanding by being the one that accidentally falls into Sanji's lap in a "secluded alcove" and is found out by gossip prone mamas in the compromising situation. Judge isn't happy about it, but still agrees to it because of Zoro's own family name and fortune that will become Sanji's, and the reputation of the Dracule himself which can still be useful to Judge.

Zoro doesn't really care for his own reputation, he almost thinks this is just perfect: if he's ruined nobody will want to marry him and he can live as he pleases. But Mihawk makes it plainly clear that if he does that he will ruin any chance for his sister to have a good match. And Perona is a romantic that hopes for a soulmate to have kids and a happy family with, so Zoro sacrifices himself for her sake.

Sanji thinks that this is just perfect. Judge was played by his own scheming! Now, he just needs to deal with his soon to be wife. She doesn't seem to want the marriage at all, so maybe if he explained the situation she would accept a marriage of convenience, and once Judge is finally dealt with, he can get an annulment for the marriage without ruining Azura's reputation.

After Sanji explains, Zoro is elated: he doesn't actually have to be a wife! And he even admits to Sanji about how he is actually a man and would like to be called Zoro. Sanji is obviously a little bit confused at first, but Zoro kind of implies that he will agree to the farcical marriage only if Sanji treats him like a man, so at the end of the day he agrees that at least in private Zoro can be whoever he wants and Sanji won't bother him.

Obviously Sanji gets rid of all the staff Judge picked for the "happy couple"'s new home, and he replaces them with both people that he trusted from his previous life with Jeff and that will never betray him by spilling his secrets to Judge, and with people picked by Dracule Mihawk's staff that already know about the whole "Zoro, not Azura" thing. Judge doesn't like it, but has to compromise because Mihawk insists that the house (the Roronoa estate maybe) and staff are his gift for the happy couple and he won't budge on it. (Zoro asked for it obviously, and Mihawk agreed since Zoro doesn't ever ask for things and he does feel a bit guilty for forcing Zoro into the marriage.)

After that there is obviously the slow burn of Sanji and Zoro actually falling in love with each other, and probably lots of shenanigans with the rest of the Strawhat crew that are members of high society as well. Or part of the staff, don't know... Not gonna do a deep dive on them as well, but they are there and crazy like always.

My brain is stunk on the idea of Sanji and Zoro riding horses together (with Zoro being dumbstruck by how pretty and carefree Sanji is; also lots of bickering because Zoro almost gets lost in a property he's supposed to know better). Sanji and Zoro having a sparring fencing match (and Sanji is both pissed and turned off when he realizes that Zoro is A BEAST when it comes to fighting and he's absolutely a better swordsman than Sanji); Zoro and Sanji getting super drunk after getting home early from a party (everyone thinks they are rushing home because they are still in the "honeymoon" phase, instead Sanji dragged Zoro home because Zoro was about to punch one of Sanji's brothers after they made fun of Sanji & made inappropriate comments on Perona); Zoro insisting that Sanji let him try smoking (and promptly making a fool of himself by choking on the smoke, while also questioning why the smells if smoke has become so comforting when the taste of tobacco sucks so much). Also Sanji cooking for Zoro until he finds out all of Zoro's favorite dishes (and being appalled by Zoro's lack of decorum when eating something he likes). Literally just these two dorks falling in love in the most domestic way.

Of course at first Sanji is still reluctant to let Zoro do manly things, since he struggles to see Azura as anything other than the lovely lady he transforms into for balls and parties. But slowly things start to change and he gets to know Zoro for real and, "Zoro has such terrible manners! How could he be anything but a man?". He obviously has to deal with the whole "does this mean that I am attracted by a man?" thing as well once he realizes that he doesn't mind being married to Zoro. And then he thinks that he doesn't even mind the idea of calling Zoro his husband and not his wife! Wtf is wrong with him?! And on and on with the crisis.

Zoro isn't doing much better because he never thought he could find marriage such a bearable ordeal. Sure, he constantly bickers with Sanji about almost anything, and he doesn't get the whole "women should be cherished" and all. But Sanji is also respectful of his boundaries and not once has he called Zoro by his deadname in private; rather, he almost slipped and used "Zoro" at parties as well multiple times. Zoro also knows that Sanji finds him attractive when he's all dolled up as Azura for whatever high society event they have to attend. But Zoro is not Azura and doesn't want to pretend he is; so will Sanji ever actually love him as a partner, an equal, a man, or will they just split and go their separate ways when they finally deal with Judge?

And in the meantime they still have to find a way to get Zeff to safety and destroy the Vinsmokes (which, Sanji realizes is quite more complicated that he thought at first, since he actually hopes to save his sister somehow after she shows how much she still cares about Sanji; not his brothers tho, they are still assholes).

The rest of the gang obviously helps Zoro and Sanji (lots of trying to actually get them together as well, since they see the love grow between them).

As for the smutty part, they get there eventually. It's for sure more of a slow burn thing compared to the usual Bridgerton vibe.

And that's all I have. I'm gonna go to sleep. Do with this damn thing whatever you want, cause I sure am NOT gonna write this monster.