#I think I can provide an idea a day or something

[basedkikuenjoyer]

Maternophobia

I could use our bone boi getting stepped on, head cruelly cocked back so he can't see dem panties. Part of me wanted the image to be them all tied with with Nami hilariously giving Jinbei shit because he's supposed to be able to handle things. But no. Boney get a "whiteout" panel and that makes this a true red-letter day. This is subtle, but it is exactly what I wanted to see out of Brook & Gunko. He seems to recognize something about her. He's able to learn she's a fan. So even given this tense situation, he's very polite in his rejection to be a music slave. But specifically highlighting how Luffy gave him a new lease on life.

We've established the idea that Gunko might be somewhat a victim in the sense of never really knowing she had a choice. Brook is providing proof that circumstances can change and relationships can change them. Do you know how badly I wanted Brook to have a moment like this with Kiku? Obviously Gunko is an antagonist and that makes things very different in a lot of ways, but I love how even the framing here and following that bit from Nami serve to highlight what we talked about last time. Brook is getting a chance to show where his specific experience and wisdom can do what Jinbei cannot. And that is something very cool and very hard to express so I want to highlight it and admire it when it happens.

With that out of the way...iconic. You know what? No. It's peak "Wife Bad" Boomer Humor™ but it works because it is so unabashedly peak Boomer Humor™ and doesn't feel like it needs to put on pretentious airs of justifying itself. This is hilarious. The real monsters have awoken from the children's dreams...THEIR MOTHERS!!!

Fuck it, based. I have mother issues, stopped being scared of a pathetic drunk as I got older but when I was a kid that shit was terrifying. I don't think these giant moms are that bad, but they sure seem strict and imposing. A serious challenge indeed. We also have Spooky Gregg back hanging around a few panels so that's nice. It seems our eulogy was premature. But he is already a ghost so it's never fully inaccurate to honor his memory.

Jokes and personal trauma aside, there's a bit more thematic harmony with this gag than just lol scary moms. A land like Elbaph is now where kids are well behaved and focused on education kinda sounds like a land of strict, strong moms keeping them in line. Not a huge deal, the gag is good on its own, if they were actually Dorry/Brogy's wives I'd be on their side because you better not have run of on a 100yr duel if you're married. But it does connect more to what's going on than just being a silly goof.

Speaking of cool, very impressive Collun. He's jumped up to the front of the line and willingly got involved in the compulsion to follow the arrow just for a chance to help and keep things calm. Down below with Ripley & Scopper finding this out is hilarious...and kinda feeds back into that point about parents. Gaban's all like, hell yeah that's mah boy. Ripley's not having it and demanding he go save the kid. Hilarious and they're cute together.

And it leads to the cool part at the end! Sure there's a former Roger Pirate heavyweight jumping into the fray but they have angered the Devil Child and that is not a smart thing to do if you like things like being alive. I will never ever ever not love the series treating Robin like a core threat on the Straw Hats rather than a smart pawn to try and capture. Show Saul how far you've come by showing how fiercely you'll protect the friends you've found girl.

[selenographic]

i also think it's worth mentioning that, especially to a western audience, there are moments when orochimaru has shown (what they consider to be) care or kindness or mercy that are just jeered at as like some gotcha about them having a twisted personality.

for example, asking if they should be the one to kill konan, yahiko, and nagato upon the sannin encountering them; having been a war orphan, themself, in their mind, they're thinking “it would be a kindness to take on the burden of killing them so that they don't have to suffer like the rest of us who were war orphans suffered only to continue enduring more war”

another example comes later on, in the boruto era, regarding the sage mode experiments. by orochimaru’s own emotional rationalization, they're doing everything in their power to give mitsuki the most surefire way to protect himself but they also don't want him to remember those experiments firsthand. and, sure, you can tell me that they didn’t want him remembering because of some scientific reason, and something about not contaminating data or whatever… but, when mitsuki comes back after the land of earth incident, feeling intense psychological pain manifesting physically, the option they give him for pain relief is erasing his memories. i'm sure orochimaru wishes they could do that to themself some days, especially where some things related to training and war are concerned.

even with their personal obsession and desire for boundless knowledge, pain is still pain and memories can hurt. and, since there's no other tested method for awakening such a strong ability, i’m sure orochimaru considers the erasing of mitsuki's memories to be a kindness and a mercy and a comfort they never got to have. they even outright tell suigetsu that they hope they never, ever have to give him that medicine ever again, displaying clear and obvious concern for mitsuki’s wellbeing. the most important thing is that when mitsuki has very much become his own person, orochimaru gives him autonomy and choice, which is also something i'm sure orochimaru wishes they’d gotten to have, at that age.

when they were working inservice to danzō and the anbu, we saw the so-called ‘twisted’ side of orochimaru which many people like to call sadistic. i don’t think that’s the case at all, though. orochimaru, like many other shinobi in the series (not unlike itachi, actually) was led astray by a sense of duty and loyalty to a system that ultimately discarded them for doing everything in their power to meet that end; it was never that they didn’t care, it’s that their capacity to care about something was exploited by the power structure for the goals of that power structure (being, in this case, the hidden leaf village). much like the idea of mercy-killing the war orphans, they were compelled to overlook the ethics of intrinsic individual human-life-value in favor of the collective, in service to the shadow-government controlling that collective under the guise of providing security and safety for the greater good. not a lack of ethics but a purposeful justification for the ethics they chose to follow.

and the change in character that orochimaru demonstrates during the 4th shinobi war arc of naruto and beyond, into the boruto series, cannot be understated. it is evidence that they recognize their sense of purpose again, and that they had not actually lost their humanity. they made mistakes, and to err is human.

look. look. orochimaru mourned his parents, he looked after nawaki, he taught anko and he tried to save itachi from skewering himself with a bajillion kunai HE CARED HE CARED SO MUCH

[shizuedayo]

Random thought:

well not really random, I've been thinking about this for quite a while now w I was thinking of what would happen if Seele turns evil and I had this thought 🤔

what if "Seele" sides with the honkai, but still cares for her host? Like, she still very much treasures her but, she's clearly influenced by the honkai thus, she tries to drag Seele to awaken as a herrscher because she'd gain the power to protect herself from doing so? Like "Seele" has this firm belief that the honkai would bring them salvation and she's trying to convert Seele w I know it doesn't make sense because her stigmata's from PE so they would definitely get rid of the whole 'siding with the honkai' thing but personally, I think it's a fun thought

I'm no writer but I was driven to write something about this thought in 5 minutes when I first had this idea back at June w

and yes, she has two voices in her head now, one which whispers thoughts of destruction and another that doesn't do anything about it and even encourages her to embrace it She's totally sane. dw -w-)b

[solivagantingrebel]

hey guys who wants another round of tmi

[donovan-desmond-official]

this is going to be a long fucking post but please bare with me.

I think there has been a huge misunderstanding of my argument and that is on me bc my og post was fairly vague. i should also admit that i have not watched aot s4 in about a year so my opinions are not as up to date as I would like them to be. When i made that first post i was just kind of bitching and not really gearing up for a full defense.

regardless, i do appreciate you taking the time to write about your takeaways from the story. nothing that you said is particularly wrong to me. even if i don't fully agree it is not something i would go back and forth with you on. the story is complex, and there are many takeaways one can have. you do not possess the perspective that i take most issue with so i do not have any interest in debunking any of your points.

my original post was just me dumping my thoughts while rewatching the first season and only reflects a part of my issue with aot. my issue is not with the writing persay but rather the overarching narrative and real world implications of the story. within it's universe, it is fine. but when i consider real world experiences and the source of the material (ie coming Japan a country within the imperial core), it's narrative becomes offensive and problematic to me.

i will take a break here to diverge a little and provide context on myself personally. this is just to better contextualize my argument.

i was born and raised in the Caribbean. i still live here and i attend university here. as a result, i am intimately aware with the history of the region, particularly the trans Atlantic slave trade, the plantation system and the road towards independence. i recently did a course in uni that was about gender and yet i am still learning about how the history of slavery continues to inform my own experiences and the current state of the region to this very day.

the fight for independence in the Caribbean was a violent and a bloody one. the harm and dehumanization that was enacted by the Europeans for over 400 years is still felt to this very day. I have spent my entire life being told about all the ways my ancestors were brutalized, raped, murdered and exploited by colonizers and all the pathetic half baked excuses they came up with to justify the actions.

For this reason, i found the story of AOT compelling. the ways in which the Marleyans oppressed the Eldians was very relatable in a discomforting way. From the oppression on the main land, the terrorism on Paradis, to the continued spread of propaganda and fear mongering they shared with the rest of the world. That final episode of season 3 (i don't remember if it was the actual final one but the one about Grisha's back story) was one of the most horrifying and gut-wrenching moments.

for me, AOT was very personal and reflective of my life and continued experiences as a person from a formally marginalized community. and that makes very critical of how these oppressed groups are seen and how their resistance to oppression is treated.

AOT is a Japanese product and it's narrative is heavy influenced by Japan's history of oppression. Japan has been both oppressors and oppressed and that reflects heavily in the way the relationship between Marley and Eldia is developed. however, this causes AOT to suffer from a problem that forever plagues anime and most stories from the imperial core, this self-pitying idea that war is bad because everyone suffers and so we should all stop the wars and stop holding onto history. In efforts to compete with China for dominance of East Asia, the Japanese would have colonized and brutalized a vast number of East Asian countries. To this day,, the Japanese government refuses to acknowledge the violence and harm they enacted on the people of these countries. (i am over simplifying here). The intentional framing of Japan as victims of colonization will refusing to take any form of accountability for their history as colonizers is a prominent theme in Japanese media.

the idea that war is "cyclical" is problematic for a variety of reasons. it is rooted in the colonizer fear that if given the chance to those who were once oppressed will turn around and oppress their oppressors. this belief is heavily reflected in the narrative of AOT through Eren. This where my issue i mentioned in the first part of the post comes from.

Eren is the embodiment of the fears of colonizers. Eren's coldness and blood thirst, the way he is hellbent on getting revenge on Marley, the fact that he is willing to go back in time to cause his own suffering to ensure he gets the power needed to start the rumbling, is problematic and offensive. Eren's story is no longer him experiencing and responding to the actions of his oppressor, it is instead framed as a self-fulfilling prophecy. That he wanted to suffer, that he wanted to take the most violent and harmful route, that the yeagerists just wanted to be like their oppressors. Framing Eren's idea of freedom as the ability to oppress others is dishonest and harmful.

the narrative of AOT, as tight and well written as it, is still rooted in imperialist beliefs and ideas. it's construction of oppression and war is from the perspective of colonizers and results in a very insulting message to those who have experienced colonization.

in the end, eren wishes away the power of the titans and everyone is able to live merrily together. what that actually means, is that no one has to take any form of accountability, no one has to acknowledge the pain and suffering they caused others. the forgive and forget mentality is one that only serves to alleviate oppressors of their guilt and for the oppressed to shamed into compliance.

there is a reason why my history syllabus growing up was so focused on slavery. it was designed that way to ensure that the stories and the suffering of my ancestors are not washed away. it is done with the hope that we will always remember the torment and violence that they faced so that we never allow ourselves to be put back into that position again. continuing to teach and inform people about history does not perpetuate a cycle of war but rather it ensures that those who once engaged in the oppression of these people are forever reminded of their actions and the fight for true liberation is continued.

in conclusion, while i do not disagree with your analysis of the story, it is irrelevant to my actual argument. my issue goes beyond the writing. it is with the real world implications of the story and the narratives that often spread by countries like Japan. The role of violence as a form of resistance is not one of wanting to flip the script but rather about reclaiming the power that was taken by all means necessary. AOT is imperialist propaganda and a self-pitying story told by guilty colonizers to encourage a culture of silence and anti-intellectualism.

it's a damn good show ngl but man that shit really pisses me off sometimes.

rewatching season one of attack on titan and i am again reminded of just how truly terrible the final season was. perhaps this is another case of me not liking the whole idea of faith and destiny driving characters but i truly find the idea that Eren's actions were "out of his control" while simultaneously "his own doing".

I am at the end where he is hesitating to fight Annie and Armin says something particularly provoking, "to rise above our enemies we must abandon our humanity" effectively telling Eren he has to be as ruthless as Annie to win. That he must put aside his humanity and compassion for the greater good. We also see his regret for not ignoring Levi and turning in time to protect the Levi squad. These two moments combine to develop the philosophy that would inevitable cause the rumbling.

Overall, throughout the story we can truly see the anger festering in Eren and pushing him to a point of no return. For me, the true breaking point wasn't even unlocking the past memories but rather seeing the sea. By that point, Eren's sense of reality and understanding of freedom was completely skewed. He spent the story motivated to see the sea, under the impression that that was all that remained. Upon achieving his goal he also learns that is not the truth and there is so much more out there.

From that point onward, Eren lost sight of his goal but maintained that anger and relentless that was instilled into him over the past for seasons. He became a slave to his own rage, detached from his own humanity and unable to cope with the pain he had been grappling with.

more than anything else, we see his comrades suffer due to their own neglect of his psychological needs. continually pushing to the point of breaking over and over again. similarly driven by their own goals but underestimating the toll it had taken upon him.

in the end, death was his only saviour. freeing him from his own mental prison. given Eren the freedom he has always craved. Finally allowing him rest after a decade of fighting.

to reduce all of that development and pain down to some weird convoluted destiny plot is egregious. There was no need for all that time traveling crap, you already had a character whose anger and irrationality was well defined in the story.

but then again, i can see why a japanese manga would not want to imply that oppression and systemic violence can cause grave damage to someone's psyche. that would require a lot of accountability on their part. instead, find a way to blame Eren for his own suffering and destroy your wonder allegory for trauma.

[inquirenorth]

.

[3hks]

How to Write a Character with THAT *Sad Aura*

Have you ever stumbled upon a character, who, despite radiating wholesome, positive energy, also has a subtle undertone of sadness? It's kind of intriguing, isn't it? If you've ever wanted to write a perhaps more complex character or explore writing emotions, why not check this out?

What am I talking about?

Let's do a quick introduction as to what I mean. I've said this a couple times already, but to the reader, this character feels despondent even though they act nothing like it. This doesn't mean they have to act happy all the time (like my first example); they might act cold, or apathetic, but the point is they don't act visibly sad.

This faint melancholic mood provides a charming, or even nostalgic feel to the audience through ONE character! Isn't that kind of fun?

Eye Expressions

This character will not show sadness on their face--that contradicts the idea of "sad aura". But you know what they say, right? Eyes are the windows to the soul; they do not lie!

When trying to highlight some of this unhappiness, write about their eyes. Talk about how their eyes look oddly dim sometimes when they smile, or how they don't meet their friend's eyes when they laugh. These cues are simple but powerful.

Adverbs

You always have to be mindful of adverbs, but here especially, adverbs (and adjectives) unconsciously influence how your audience views the character.

For example, avoid saying too much of "smiled brightly" or "talked excitedly". If these are the adverbs you purposefully want to use to portray your character, then by all means! However, these adverbs add a happier connotation, which you must be aware of. If you want something more neutral (which I recommend for the most part), consider using lighter adverbs/adjectives, such as "smiled softly", or "offered lightly".

Reasons

A reason is normally needed for almost everything. Here, you want genuine reasons to back up why your character doesn't ask for help, thus forcing them to work through their unhappiness alone.

This could be because they think other people can't solve the problem, they don't want to bother others, they don't think their issue is a big deal, or they simply believe there's no solution.

Physical Hints

And if all this isn't enough, then drop some physical hints! Perhaps your character gets distracted often, tends to hesitate before speaking, deflects concerned comments with jokes, or has a hard time acknowledging reassurances, even when it's unrelated to their personal troubles. These habits suggest the idea your character has more than meets the eye.

Mood Changes

When people are upset, their mood tends to fluctuate. For most of us, we're typically upset for a short period, so we cycle through emotions such as anger, sadness, and even joy during these moments.

However, if your character is consistently sad, not just for a day or two, their mood might shift on different days. Maybe they're really tired one day, hardly speaking. Maybe the next, they are more frustrated, snapping at people or ignoring them. Maybe the day after that, they are overly energetic, bouncing everywhere and talking all the time, providing a bit of whiplash.

Purpose

Similar to having a reason for their reluctance of reaching out, you also want to ensure that they have a purpose for fighting. Why haven't they given up yet? This is especially crucial when considering the real world, where feeling upset leads to a lack of motivation.

So, what keeps them going, then? Do they want to fix their regrets? Do they want to change?

Backstory and Actions

To be honest, I wouldn't consider a backstory an absolute necessity, but I highly suggest creating one. Why? Because you can accurately identify the reason for your character's guilt, regret, and sorrows from the past with an actual backstory.

The events of your character's past always influence their future actions.

For example, if they were a part of a severe car accident in the past, perhaps they only feel comfortable when they are the driver in the future because that means they can control the car.

Conclusion

This character is not especially different from any other character, besides the fact that they are neither obvious nor overly secretive of their genuine feelings.

With that being said, focus on embodying their eye expressions, be careful about which adverbs and adjectives you choose to use--I recommend choosing ones with more neutral connotations for a sense of melancholy, explain why your character keeps their sadness to themselves and why they keep fighting despite it, show mood fluctuations, drop physical hints, such as actions and/or specific personality traits, and make sure to connect their past to their present!

Happy writing~

3hks ^^

[specsthesecond]

Being a waitress/bottle girl at a club that caters to monsters.

While serving a table of orcs their drinks you hear whistling from behind you and turn towards the table of werewolves calling you over,

"C'mere Doll, why don't you spend some time with us? It'd be better than looking at those ugly green faces."

The rest of the table barks out laughter and all you do is look back at the table of orcs to gauge their reactions, just incase you have to call the bouncer to stop another brawl.

"Aw yeah? Cus your slobbering snout's much more attractive, ain't it?"

One orc yells and the others hurl their chosen insults across the table as well. The werewolves grumble and snarl insults back and you just stand in the middle of this, trying to think of an escape.

"Maybe she ain't at your table for a reason!"

One of the orcs claims boldly and all the other orcs voice their agreement while the wolves clearly disagree.

"Why don't we let the lady decide." A wolf with greying fur suggests with a smirk and both tables seem to agree on this being just a wonderful idea.

"Well love? Who's better then? Us or the mutts?"

"Aye! The real question is who can treat her better, isn't that right, Doll?"

The attention of the two tables are now on you, waiting for your answer with baited breaths and half hard cocks probably.

"....I prefer minotaurs."

This deadpan response takes a few seconds to sink in before a chorus of disagreements and further arguing commences, but you're already making your way back towards the bar, you're sure they don't mind watching your tiny skirt bounce as you walk away.

That answer wasn't random, it's actually been the only thing you could think of all day. Your Minotaur coworkers cock reaching deep into your stomach while he pounds you into next week. That might be why so many customers have been extra forward with you today, maybe they can smell the need on you.

You finally make it back to the bar, getting ready to end your shift and finally get some relief.

"You causing trouble?"

You whip around to meet just the monster you were so desperate to see. He stands at the edge of the bar in his bouncer uniform, his sleeves hug his biceps very nicely and you nearly purr imagining what that arm would feel like around your throat, while he pounds you from behind. He gazes down at you with a knowing look.

"Me? Oh, I would never."

You look up at him and play with the collar of your shirt, successfully drawing his eyes to the generous amount of cleavage your uniform provides.

He huffs in amusement.

"They don't seem to think so."

He tilts his head and massive horns towards the two tables you just left where the occupants are all peering over one another to see the interaction between you and the bovine beast in front of you.

You scoff, take his arm and turn him around so that he's only focusing on you.

"I'm off. You're off in 15...maybe you could come by my place again....or something?"

You nervously bite your lip and he doesn't know why you're getting nervous.

You weren't nervous when you sent him that video of your stuffed cunt clenching around the Minotaur themed dildo you've had since before you were seeing eachother. You definitely weren't nervous when you sent him another video 6 hours ago of you stuffing said dildo into your perfect pussy in the employee bathrooms before slipping your tiny panties on over it, keeping the silicone deep in your cunt.

He pulls out his keys and leans down closer to you,

"Be ready when I get to the car."

You nearly squeal in excitement as you grab the keys and reach up to kiss his cheek. As you skip out the door to his car he looks back at the two tables just to revel a little in the disappointed grumbles and huffs emitting from the two groups as they go back to their drinks.

𓄀

[carebearbussy]

ᥫ᭡ imagining heian era! sukuna tending to his pregnant wife, and slowly warming up to having a child.

౨ৎ when he finds out you are pregnant, he goes full 'nonchalant, but worried husband' mode. he did not want kids. he thought they were lousy and annoying, and they would not bring any use to his bloodline. he told you that this would just get in his way, and that you should find a way to get rid of it. but the way you looked up at him with your adorable dazzling eyes? eh, he could make it work, just for you. but he found it hard to warm up to the idea of having children.

౨ৎ hires the best of the best to guarantee your health is in tact. doctors? you will have daily checkups, which included the doctor coming to the estate, and keeping track of your daily prgress while you are bedside. such as seeing if the baby is kicking, how large your stomach grows, and even recommending you a special diet to hold the nutrients for your baby. he is doing all of this for you, not that pesky baby. handmaidens? they will double in number. you are more fragile than ever, and in his eyes, you need all of the female support you can get that he cannot provide.

౨ৎ would host a grand babyshower. there would be hundreds, even thousands of guests at your babyshower. it would be hosted somewhere with a large, outside venue, bustling with people coming to support you. people would give you their blessings, hoping the best for the newcoming ryomen. gifts for the baby such as clothes, furniture, etc. and for you? people will gift you a plethora of things. jewelry, trinkets, and everything under the sun. the citizens of the nearby villages will bow to your feet, wishing you the best. your pregnancy will be treated as an event. around the villages, it will be talked about.

౨ৎ makes a extravagant nursery for your child. it will be in a large room, making extra space for your baby. sukuna will notice you spend alot of time there, watching you decorate the nursery to your pleasing day by day. liked seeing you struggle to put the furniture together, as you are forced to ask him for help, as you watch his assemble a bassinette. you could tell he was starting to get used to the idea of having a child around the estate. as you list off all of your ideas for how you would decorate, he liked to think you might be a suitable mother.

౨ৎ you held a giant journal of names, keeping track of each one as time goes by. you wrote in the journal with an ink pen, sometimes even letting sukuna in on the name choosing. as you sat on his lap in his large office, he would suggest 'little roach', or 'annoying brat' for some of the names, which was quickly shut down. you will think intently upon each name, asking sukuna on his opinion. sukuna thinks he should be the one naming the child, but with his suggestions, that will not be happening. you'd be better off asking some of your handmaidens for advice.

౨ৎ would ask any ladies in the estate for advice as well. this is something he thought he would never have to do. but he finds it difficult to ajust to your pregnancy, due to your influx in hormones, making you seem emotional all the time. would ask your handmaidens why you become so emotional, but they seem offended with the way he worded it. but they realize that sukuna is naturally brash, so they help him by giving him tips and tricks for fatherhood. he tries his best, mostly caring about what he thinks is best for you, not so much your child.

౨ৎ liked looking at your stomach more often than he thought he would. he never knew you would look so goddamn cute swollen with his child, but here he was, watching as you lay in bed, reading a book of poems, as he sees his future child kicking inside your uterus. you child was larger than an average one, he noticed, due to his abnormal genes. placing his large hand over your stomach, he could feel every single kick, asking you questions as it happens. "why does this brat kick so much? tell him to stop." "kuna, hes a baby..." "i do not care, he needs to learn to stop being so restless."

౨ৎ your delivery will send him into internal panic. he demands that he is in the room with you, holding your hand. but your large group of handmaidens by your side strongly disagree, reccomending that he let you be. but making sure you were okay was his top priority, so he stayed in the large bedroom where you gave birth. your head and body would be covered in towels, your hands tightly cuffing your handmaidens. it was extremely painful, as your screams could be heard from afar. but with the way sukuna had rubbed his thumb on your cheek, it made you feel slightly better. after you, he would be the first to hold your child, demanding so himself.

౨ৎ he wants a boy, 100%. he is hoping for a strong heir that can add onto his legacy, even though it isnt entirely necessary. if he ends up having a son, he will teach him the ways of manhood. teaching him how to hunt his own humans, how to properly court a lady (in his mind), and how to become as strong as him someday. and most of all, how to take care of his mother. he will not tolerate any disrespect towards you. he will call his son names like 'ryomen 2.0', or 'annoying rat'.

౨ৎ but if he gets a girl? he will be upset when he finds out. but he will come around to love her after quite a while. will go from calling her a nuisance, to hosting mini tea parties with her stuffed animals which were gifted by her auntie handmaidens, squeezing himself into a small chair at a small dining table with fake tea and pastries. he will truly care for his daughter, and will become extremely overprotective over her. he will call her 'little princess', or 'spoiled brat'.

౨ৎ enjoys watching you tend to your children. he secretly enjoyed the fact that he could call you 'the mother of his children'. being domestic with you is something he had never imagined in his life, but here he was, burping your small newborn over his shoulder with one hand. he likes to see the way your eyes light up when your child walks for the first time, or when they say their first words. he doesnt think it is important, but since its you, he doesnt say anything. "woman, what are you freaking out over?" "come quick! he just said 'papa'!" "i knew it, thats my child alright."

౨ৎ but he will absolutely refuse to change the babys diapers. do not ever ask him to do that, he will very rudely decline. bu dont worry. like everything else, he will come around to do so.

[sincere1ystar]

Loved You First

rafe cameron x fem! reader | ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 1

Two years ago, Rafe left the island without saying a word. Unknowingly to him, you were pregnant all along. When he finally comes back, he’s desperate to get you back not knowing it’s more complicated than it seems.

𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗆𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍

Two years ago. That’s when you last saw Rafe Cameron. And during those two years you were pregnant for nine months with his baby. Not that he knew though.

It was difficult to say the least, and if it wasn’t for your little girl Julie , your heart would have never recovered. She was only about a year and a half, but she was sunshine in human form. Julie had the same eyes as her father that destroyed your idea of love, but she had your kind and giving spirit. She had the same smile as the man who left you one day for good, but she had your fondness for animals. Sure many of her physical attributes came from Rafe, but her heart was all you.

Maybe Rafe disappearing without a single explanation or goodbye was the reason you swore off affection for good. Everyone knew it did, but you insisted that your decision to lock the door of love and throw awake the key was to focus on yourself and your baby. Plus it’s not like you haven’t moved on. Well, maybe not romantically speaking, but you’ve moved on with your life. You had a job as a waitress at the local diner and even though Julie didn’t have her dad in the picture, your friends made sure that she had many aunts and uncles to shower her with love and care.

Of course you still struggled. Providing for a child was expensive, especially with only having a waitress job to support the two of you. On top of it all pathetic as it was, you still thought about Rafe even though it was two years since he left without a word. What if he stayed? He hadn’t even known you were pregnant, you never got the chance to tell him.

You constantly found yourself dwelling on these what-ifs. But it’s not like anything would change, your paths would never cross for. The thought was solidified in your head until you heard the news. Rafe was back on the island.

Well he technically wasn’t back permanently. But he’s been coming back and forth for buisness trips, and each time you’ve managed to skillfully avoid him. Not like it was hard, The two main places you spent your time was the diner and home anyway.

The first time you saw him in person after everything was at the diner. One of your friends was babysitting little Julie as you were working a double shift that day. You were giggling at a joke on of your coworkers made when the door chimed open.

“Hey what can I get started for you”— The menu in your hands was now dropped onto the floor once you saw who it was. Rafe. Your ex lover and the father of your child, who didn’t even know he was a father.

You weren’t going to let him see you weak. You weren’t going to let him see you flustered while stumbling over your words. “Sorry about that. What can i get started for you again?”

“Hey.. Can we talk?”, Rafe asks not even bothering to look at the menu placed in front of him. Unlike you, he wasn’t caught off guard in the least. He must have found out you were working at the diner somehow.

Two years. Two years since he left without a word. It didn’t matter whether or not he knew you were pregnant or not, he still left. And you were determined to not let him back in that easy. “I’m sorry that’s not an option on our menu. Can I start you off with something to drink?”

“I just need five minutes—“

“So what can I get started for you today? Our appetizers are on the front page”.

“Fine play it like that. I’ll take a water then”.

Before he can say anything else you turn back, your heels stomping during each step. He’s back? Why did he have to come here out of all place? Who does he think he is asking to talk? He’s the one who left two years ago without saying a word. If your boss hadn’t let out a small cough to interrupt your thoughts, you wouldn’t have realized that the cup in your hand was overflowing as you poured the water mindlessly.

He stayed there the rest of the day. Still sitting in that little booth just ordering a glass of water over and over again. And everytime you went over to ask if he’d like the check, he’d beg for a chance to talk again and again. Why was he desperately trying to fix things after two whole years? Did he know about.. No no he couldn’t.

Of course you were closing that night, which meant that you couldn’t escape Rafe as you locked up the diner for the night. You were tired of his attempts and just wanted to go home to your daughter.

“Just five minutes”, Rafe pleaded once again. “You know what no I’ll take two minutes of your time that’s all. Promise”.

“Listen I know I’m an idiot I know”, he started, And I left and I was stupid and it took me two years to realize”-

You stop him right there not willing to hear another word. “Yeah you were stupid. I don’t want your pity or your apologizes. It was two years ago Rafe, I’m sure we both moved on”. You start walking towards the nearest bus stop as Rafe follows close behind.

“Wait! Wait okay okay! I’m not asking for your forgiveness okay?.. I uh need a place to stay”, his words rush and overflow out of his mouth. He was desperate to get you to listen to him. Even if he had to lie about needing a place to stay.

His words stop you in your tracks. “A place to stay? I know you sold your place back at Tannyhill a while back but you don’t have… a rental house or something?”

“Not anymore… I sold it. And all the hotels are fully booked around here”.

Rafe knew it was a reach, and didn’t expect you to comply. If it wasn’t peak tourism season at the island you wouldn’t have believed him. “Fine. You can stay over at my house for a night”.

You were always sweet. Even to the man that abandoned you without a word. It’s just who you were. You could pretend to be cold and heartless in front of Rafe, but you both knew deep down that wasn’t who you were.

It’s a long and awkward bus ride, Rafe tries to speak every now and then but you quickly shut him down. He’s suddenly quiet once the two of you reach your place though. It’s… modest to say the least. Not in the best neighborhood either, but who was he t judge anyway. Being judgmental wasn’t going to get you back.

He notices how you have to practically kick open the door in order to get it unlocked. He also notices how small and cramped your place is. What does catch him off guard is the little girl running into your arms the minute you open the door.

“Mamaaaaaaaa!!!!!”, little Julie squeals as she toddles over to you and throws herself into your arms. Your friend who was babysitting her just chuckles at the little girl’s reaction and gets up from her spot on the couch.

“How has it been a year and a half already? She’s growing too fast”, your friend coos as you agree.

You quickly thank her for watching your Julie, hoping she won’t notice Rafe on her way out and by some miracle she doesn’t. But little Julie does as she giggles and waves to him from over your shoulder.

The door shutting from your friend’s exit is what forces Rafe out of his thoughts. That little girl in your arms was your daughter Was she his daughter too? He didn’t even need to ask, she had to be. With those eyes she had there was no doubt about it.

You don’t have to say anything to Rafe. The look you give him says it all.

[starconchs]

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐒— bakugo katsuki

pairing: pro hero bakugo katsuki x gn reader summary: when aizawa calls and asks for a personal favor, bakugo is ready to expect the worst. genre: strangers to lovers, fluff word count: ~7k warnings: mentions of stalking, nothing happens, you take care of it notes: sorry if he's ooc, take this more as a character study. just a little test to see how i feel when writing for bakugo. description of quirk left super vague, literally just a mention of it being helpful. not proofread sorry ummm rushed too

When Bakugo Katsuki gets a call from Aizawa, he doesn't know what to expect.

There's a brief moment of silence when the call connects, and Bakugo feels himself tense slightly when Aizawa does not speak immediately. He's the first to give in, gruffly greeting his former teacher and being met with nothing but a sigh in return.

"Bakugo," Aizawa starts, his tone dull and tired. "I'm sorry to ask this of you, but i need you to do me a personal favor."

Another moment of silence ensues as Bakugo processes his request. He knows he can say no, but there's something about the fact that Aizawa— the man who has been through everything with him and his former classmates, fought with them and for them, and stood up for him when he was kidnapped by the League of Villains—personally calling and asking him that makes him hesitate before answering.

"Fine," he finally says, already thinking about how he's gonna tell Shitty Hair— Kirishima! he hears Mina correcting him in his head— that he might be out of commission for a few days. "What do you need me to do."

"Just show up when I tell you to," Aizawa says in response. "Maintain a high level of secrecy. Don't tell anyone where you're going. I'll send you the address. See you soon."

Aizawa hangs up before Bakugo can respond, and he mutters a series of curse words under his breath before tossing his phone into his duffel bag and leaving for his agency.

Three days later, Aizawa sends him an encrypted text.

Aizawa's text leads Bakugo to a fancy looking apartment complex close to Izuku's agency. When he knocks on the door of the apartment number provided, he's met with none other than Izuku himself.

"What are you doing here, you fucking nerd?" Bakugo asks, his words harsh and biting as he pushes past him and into the apartment.

"I invited him," Aizawa replies tiredly, trying to stop the fighting before it can begin. "This apartment and the other safe house are in the area that falls under his patrol route, so I thought it'd be a good idea to keep him in the loop."

"You're already pulling one of Japan's finest heroes off the streets for this stupid case, is it really necessary to get another involved?"

Bakugo turns when he hears someone new speak, his eyes narrowing when they land on you and an angry looking woman tapping away on her phone.

He knows who you are, used to seeing your pretty face plastered on advertisements and magazines throughout the country. You're a well known singer who dabbles in acting, someone he's tired of hearing about from the group of idiots he calls his friends. An irritated huff escapes his lips and he finds himself thinking about all the times he protected celebrities when he was still a new hero on the scene, and how they turned out to be nothing more than spoiled brats.

"You and Anya both know this case isn't stupid," Aizawa says patiently, shooting you an unreadable look. Bakugo waits to see how you react, studying you as you exchange a look with the other woman— Anya— and pull the blanket on your lap closer to you. Aizawa ignores the two of you, instead choosing to take the time to remind you, and reveal to the other heroes, what exactly he has called them there for. "There is a stalker out there following your each and every move. Do you understand that? And they've already proven that they will stop at nothing to get to you."

"I know," you say softly, your eyes never leaving Aizawa's. "But I can take care of myself. C'mon, you trained me yourself."

There's a moment of silence, and Bakugo thinks that Aizawa might give in. He's wrong.

"No. Hizashi and I have already decided that Bakugo will be keeping an eye on you for the forseeable future and he has agreed to do it. And Midoriya has agreed to keep an eye out during his patrols as well."

Bakugo waits for it. He braces himself and waits for the pettiness and childishness that he's seen displayed by other big names when they don't get what they want. He waits for the yelling, the waterworks, maybe even the sight of you throwing something at Aizawa. But it never comes.

Instead, you nod and stand before turning to face him, letting him catch a glimpse of the frown on your lips and defeat in your eyes before you bow deeply.

"I apologize for the inconvenience."

"O-oh! No, please don't bow," Izuku immediately says, waving his hands in an attempt to grab your attention. "That's not nec—"

"Don't gimme that shit," Bakugo interrupts, crossing his arms. His comment earns him a strangled noise from Izuku, but his gaze doesn't leave you. "Stand the fuck up and tell me whatever else I need to know."

He thinks he sees you biting back an amused smile at his words, but you quickly school your features before you let yourself fall back onto the couch. Aizawa lets himself settle into the seat next to you, a smile ghosting his lips when you reach for a mug of coffee on the table and hand it to him.

"It started a year ago," Aizawa begins. Anya walks around the couch, picking up a thick folder from the table and handing it to Bakugo. He starts looking through it, eyes scanning every individual item before passing it to Izuku. There's letters of varying lengths and pictures of you from all angles, accompanied by the occasional police evidence photo of what he assumes to be gifts you've received.

"I would receive sporadic letters, at first," you add, your voice tired and quiet. "We thought it was regular fanmail, y'know? But then things started getting weird. They would mention specific things that I'd do on my days off, or ask what I was making with the groceries I had delivered to my door on a certain day. They never signed them but the police confirmed that the handwriting matched, so we know it's one person."

"We assume it's one person," Anya corrects, earning a tired sigh from Aizawa. "We don't really know anything about them."

Her words cause you to furrow your brow, and you sigh softly before looking back up at the Pros. Bakugo's eyebrow raises when he comes across a hospital record for a Yamamoto Anya, and he angles it slightly to show Izuku.

"You were in the hospital?" Izuku asks softly, green eyes scanning the report before turning to face the two of you. Anya nods firmly but remains silent, crossing her arms before perching on the arm rest of the couch next to you.

"Anya's my manager, and my best friend," you explain, clasping your hands together. "As I said earlier, at first the incidents were sporadic. Then we went to the police to ask them to investigate. We don't know how, but the stalker found out and things started getting weirder. There were anonymous gifts being received to the apartment I have under a different name and I was receiving texts from an untraceable number. We still don't know who the target was, but the night of the Tokyo Music Awards, there was an attack."

"Wasn't that last week?" Izuku asks, looking through the file to find the corresponding police report. "It was all over the news. They said that some small time villain had attacked but that there had been enough Pros working security for the event and that it had been taken care of without issue."

"That's what we told them to say," Aizawa reveals. "In reality, it was targeted. We don't know if they intended to kidnap or to injure but things got out of hand and Anya was caught in the crossfire."

"The goal was probably to injure so I'd be easier to kidnap," you say, snorting in amusement when Aizawa sighs at your words.

"Who apprehended the villain?" Bakugo asks, unable to find the name on the police report.

"No one did, but I went after them," you admit. "I almost had them but they slipped into the crowd and got away. I returned to check on Anya and then Aizawa arrived and whisked me away. I've been here since."

"You were stupid enough to go after your stalker?" Bakugo growls, eyes shooting up to glare at you. You open your mouth to respond, only to get cut off by him "You trying to get fucking killed or something?"

A huff escapes his lips when he feels Izuku elbow him harshly, and the two of them turn to face you when you breathe out a laugh.

"Or something," you mutter, earning a swat to the back of the head from Anya. You grab her hand and toss it into her lap, only to turn and be met with a disappointed look from Aizawa. You wilt under his gaze, sighing in defeat and motioning for him to continue.

"The plan is to send you two to a safehouse, still within the city, while Midoriya and I investigate," Aizawa explains, pulling out a scrap of paper and handing it to Bakugo. "That's the address. Unfortunately, you can't just disappear off the face of the earth until we catch the stalker. There's still public appearances and interviews that need to be done, but you need to be hidden during these outings, Bakugo. We fear that if the stalker catches wind of the fact that we involved Pros, that might drive them to do something even more drastic."

Bakugo grunts in acknowledgement, unfurling the scrap of paper and studying the address written on it before glancing at Aizawa. "Can I show this to the nerd?"

He nods in response, and Izuku takes a moment to also memorize the address before nodding. The paper is gone within a second, a tiny, controlled explosion reducing it to ashes. Your eyebrows raise with interest at the display, and Bakugo meets your gaze with a scowl. It deepens when you don't immediately cower from his stare.

"The two of you should get going," Aizawa notes, glancing at his watch before standing and tossing a set of keys to Bakugo. You stand as well, taking a moment to stretch before plucking your cell phone from the couch cushion. You turn to Anya, giving her a smug look that makes her groan.

"You should just go ahead and cancel the rest of my appointments for the week. It would be unwise for me to go out in public before coming up with a surefire way to stay safe when out and about," your words are said a little too happily, and you nearly glow with joy when Aizawa contemplates your words before ultimately nodding in agreement. Anya gives you a scathing look, her hand tightening around her phone as you grin. "Let me know who agrees to reschedule! I hope no one's too upset."

The snicker that leaves your lips draws an unwilling smile from almost everyone in the room, and you swoop in to steal a hug from Aizawa before coming to a stop in front of the Pros. There's a bright smile on your lips that makes Izuku blush, and Bakugo scoffs audibly when you give him another bow.

"It's an honor to meet you, Deku. Thank you for doing this."

"Please! Call me Midoriya," he sputters out, cheeks still tinged pink as you turn and face Bakugo. There's a twinkle in your eye when you meet his gaze, and he feels a spark of irritation when he realizes that you don't seem to be intimidated by him.

"Well Mr. Dynamight, shall we get going?"

Bakugo's annoyance only grows when you manage to keep up with his quick strides.

No words are exchanged as you traverse the street, and Bakugo makes sure to keep an eye out as he opens the door and ushers you into the passenger seat, his hand pushing your head down roughly to keep you from smacking it on the roof of the vehicle. You slide into the car smoothly, buckling your seat belt and glancing around as you wait for Bakugo to get in. Silence engulfs the two of you once he does, and Bakugo finds himself reaching for his phone to play some music and fill the stillness. He feels a blush crawling up his neck when one of your songs plays, the new one that Kaminari insisted on listening to the other night when he drove him home after drinks.

A smirk tugs at your lips but you don't say anything about it, thankfully, and he finds a song he likes and plays it before taking off down the road. You're quietly humming along to the song he's chosen as you look out the window, and it isn't until you're halfway to your newly assigned safe house that you speak.

"I'm not, you know?"

That's the only thing you say and Bakugo makes a confused noise before he can stop himself, his hands tightening around the steering wheel in annoyance when you let out an amused laugh.

"I'm not trying to get killed," you clarify, earning a derisive snort from Bakugo in return. "I have a hero license, I was just doing what I've always been taught to do. Apprehend the villain."

Your admission catches Bakugo off guard, and he can't help but throw you a surprised look when he finally comes to a red light.

"You're a hero?" he asks, his curiosity winning him over.

"Mhm," you reply absentmindedly, still looking out the window. "Technically. I attended U.A., believe it or not, but I wasn't in the hero course. Aizawa and some other teachers trained me and he managed to pull some strings in order to have me take the licensing exam in my third year. He said it was better to have it just in case. Between us, I think he got even more overprotective after Nemuri, Midnight, passed."

Bakugo remembers attending the funeral after All for One had been defeated. It had been a deceptively happy day, sun bright and shining as the students, staff, and other heroes gathered to pay their respects to the fallen. He remembers a student standing next to Aizawa, their hand in his as he held onto what was left in the battle: her mask.

"She was my legal guardian, but she made sure to leave me under the care of someone she trusted just in case something ever happened."

And it did, goes unsaid.

Bakugo's left with more questions than before, but he refuses to give into his curiosity and actually ask. It isn't long until the two of you arrive at yet another upscale building, and hum quietly to grab his attention once more.

"Can I have your hoodie?"

"What the fuck? No!" is his immediate reply. There's an unpleasant look on his face, lips twisted up in what seems to be a cross between disgust and offense. "Why the fuck would you even ask?"

You give him an unimpressed look, raising an eyebrow before holding your hand out. "Listen, call me paranoid if you want, but I think it'd be a good idea for me to hide my face as we enter the top secret safehouse."

Bakugo grumbles and curses as he slips off his sweater, pissed off at the fact that you were right. His anger only intensifies when he realizes that he didn't think about that first. You waste no time in slipping the sweater over your head, pulling the hood as far forward as it can go and slipping on a pair of sunglasses. It's only then that you slip out of the car, waiting for Bakugo to get out before heading towards the entrance.

The two of you head into the elevator, and when you reach out to press the correct button, you manage to catch a whiff of a sweet, smoky smell. You turn your head to the side as the doors close, lifting the collar to your nose to see if it came from the sweater or somewhere else.

"Are you sniffin' my fucking sweater?" Bakugo asks roughly, pulling your arm back down to your side. You let out an offended noise before wrenching out of his grasp, leaning against the wall and shooting him a withering look.

"I smelled something sweet and I was curious!" you defend yourself, tilting your head back slightly to look down at him. Bakugo feels his blood boil. "I can't believe someone like you smells so good."

"What's that supposed to mean!" he nearly yells, taking a step towards you. You don't deign to give him a response, instead slinking out from beside him when the elevator finally comes to a stop. There's no hesitation in your steps as you walk past various doors, finally coming to a stop at the end of the hallway and wiggling a key into the lock.

Bakugo trails in after you, locking the door and growling when he's met with a sweater to the face. There's an innocent smile on your face as you slip off your sunglasses, placing them down onto the coffee table before traipsing down the hallway. Bakugo starts his usual sweep around the space, making sure to send a text to Aizawa to let him know the two of you have arrived safely.

"Your bedroom is at the end of the hall," your voice calls out, earning a grunt in response. "Mine is to your left and the bathoom is across from my room. They already came and dropped our stuff off!"

Bakugo's eyes narrow when you walk back into the living room, a mass of fluff held in your arms. "What the hell is that?"

"This is Pickles!" you proclaim proudly, holding your arms out. There's a fluffy cat in your hands, and she lazily eyes Bakugo as she hangs in the air. Your smile falls when Pickles twists, jumping out from your hold and beelining towards Bakugo. "Pickles, no! I'm sorry, she's wary around strangers so I'd recommend backing away if you don't want your pants scratched."

Your words fade out towards the end of your statement, your jaw falling slack as you observe the way Pickles approaches Bakugo and proceeds to rub against him. She snakes in between his legs, meowing softly and pawing at his shoe as she waits for him to pay attention to her.

"You little attention whore," you whisper, your face twisting up in disbelief when Bakugo kneels down to pet her. He shoots you a smug smirk when she starts purring, and you feel your eye twitch when she lays down, exposing her belly. "She took forever to warm up to me. How did you do that?"

"I'm just the best," Bakugo replies cockily. "Even she knows that."

"Whatever, I'm going to take a nap. I can cook dinner later if you'd like," you say softly, reaching up to rub at your eyes.

"I can cook my own damn food," Bakugo snaps, his attention shifting to you. You breathe out a laugh.

"In that case, I think I'll turn in for the night. I'll leave my door slightly open for Pickles."

"Don't be a dumbass, you have to eat."

"I'll just get up early and cook breakfast," you shout, already disappearing from sight as you make your way to your room. "Good night Mr. Dynamight!"

"It's Bakugo," he grumbles under his breath as you duck into your room. A laugh is all he gets in response, and your room goes dark as you finally settle into bed. His attention is caught by small meow, and he sighs before picking Pickles up and petting her. She curls up against his chest, swatting at his hand and making a pleased noise when she manages to grasp it between two of her paws. He looks down at the cat, raising a brow when she decides to start gnawing on his finger.

"Just you and me hairball."

The two of you fall into an admittedly easy routine throughout the rest of the week.

Bakugo's surprised by how easy this assignment has been. He's used to stubborn celebrities demanding to be let out, complaining and whining and overall just annoying him until he snaps and curses them out. However, you're a quiet housemate, waking up early to cook breakfast for the two of you before retreating to your room for the rest of the day or lounging on the couch with Pickles. Bakugo takes it upon himself to cook dinner for the two of you, and whoever is in charge of lunch is always decided with a coin toss. He loses more often than you do.

Pickles becomes a frequent presence as well, and sometimes he wakes up to see the cat curled up peacefully on the pillow next to him. How she gets into his room, he doesn't know. When he emerges from his room in the morning with her gathered in his arms, you apologize profusely, your stare lingering on the way his lips curl up into a tiny smile when you take her from him.

You inform Bakugo early on in the week that Anya has listened to you, canceling all of your prior engagements and sending you an updated schedule for the next week. He squints when you hold your hand out, cell phone in hand as you prompt him to take it.

"Mr. Dynamight, give me your number."

"It's Bakugo," he grumbles, pushing your hand away from him. "And why the hell would I do that?"

"So I can send you the schedule," you huff, extending your arm once again. He obliges reluctantly, purposefully taking his time in an attempt to annoy you. You don't react to his provocation, instead smiling sweetly at him when he hands your phone back and sending him the file.

When you begin to send him memes, he refuses to acknowledge you for the day.

The two of you spend days successfully planning how to keep you safe during your public appearances, your combined experience making the task easier than you thought it'd be. Your first week back out in public goes well, and even though you know better than to let your guard down, the knowledge that Pro Hero Dynamight is watching you from a distance helps to soothe your nerves. Your routine remains the same for the following week, during which there is an incident, but it turns out to be an overexcited fan. You then beg and beg Anya to book less appearances until she gets fed up with your fake crying.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you hate your job," Bakugo mutters one evening while making dinner. "You keep brushing off all your stupid engagements and you won't have a fucking career to go back to."

"Good thing you know better," you say playfully, your eyes glinting with mischief as you approach him. Your arm brushes against his back as you peek around him, your hand darting out to grab a slice of the strawberries he's cutting up to eat with lunch. He's too slow to stop you, not that he really tries to.

He finds that his original irritation towards the assignment has faded, and even though he misses being out on patrol and taking down bad guys, he thinks that this mission isn't the worst. Or maybe it's because of you. It takes Bakugo weeks to admit to himself that you're not as bad as he thought you'd be. In fact, you're not anything like what he expected you to be, all sly smiles and snarky words and casual touches that he's too embarrassed to reciprocate. But he doesn't like you, no, he doesn't.

You like to think he's getting used to your presence, but his occasional aloofness makes you think otherwise. There's a part of you, the side that's trying to ignore the reason that resulted in being assigned to a safe house in the first place, that enjoys your time spent with Bakugo. You like the way he's so easy to rile up, the way he carefully plates food for both of you, and the way he smiles when Pickles demands his attention. You think that maybe, just maybe, you might like him, even if everything else about his attitude makes you think he doesn't even tolerate you.

But you're too preoccupied with your ongoing case to really sit with your thoughts and try to sort out your feelings.

Updates from Aizawa and Midoriya are few and far between, and although you and Bakugo have fallen into a comfortable routine, you can tell that he's getting fed up with the situation. His restlessness is obvious, especially with the news talking nonstop about his sudden disappearance and speculating on the reasons why Dynamight might've stopped doing his duty as a hero.

"How long do you think this will continue?" you ask one night, sneaking a peek at him and waiting for his snarky reply.

"I dunno," he responds, sounding defeated. He sighs heavily and turns the television off.

He watches as you purse your lips and reach for his hand, pausing when he instinctively pulls away. There's a brief pause before you take a deep breath and let your hand fall on the sofa. He glances at you, eyes scanning your face as you keep staring at the blank screen, and lets his head fall back and eyes fall shut as he mentally berates himself for his actions. You head off to bed soon after, and Bakugo remains there for the rest of the night.

The next morning is quieter than usual, and the two of you are eating breakfast when there's a knock on the door. You waste no time in prancing to the entrance, reaching for the doorknob before a large hand grabs your wrist.

"Don't open the fucking door," he hisses, pulling your hand down. You raise an eyebrow, tilting your head in an innocent manner.

"Why not? It's only Midoriya."

"What?"

You reach over and open the door with your other hand, only to be met with a sunny smile from none other than Pro Hero Deku.

"Kacchan!" he exclaims, brightening up even more at the sight of his childhood friend. "I'm here to swap."

"What?" Bakugo bites out again. Midoriya's smile falters.

"Uh, swap. Places, I mean," he explains, smiling when he looks back at you. "I thought you said he asked?"

"Asked what?" Bakugo growls, his hand tighetning slightly around your arm.

"Yeah! He did," you respond just as cheerily. Bakugo goes ignored.

"Hey! Listen to me when I fucking talk to ya!"

"Come on in, we were just eating breakfast. Would you like any?" you ask. Midoriya shakes his head and you promptly wiggle your arm out of Bakugo's grasp and usher them into the living room.

"What is the shitty nerd doing here?" Bakugo yells, fed up with the situation.

"He's here to take your spot! Remember, Mr. Dynamight ?"

"I already told you, it's Bakugo," he snarls, eyes narrowing as they fall onto you. Your smile is unfaltering and equally as sunny as Izuku's was when he first arrived. He spares a glace at the other Pro Hero in the room, taking note of the way he nervously wrings his hands as he studies the two of you. He doesn't excuse himself before taking ahold of your arm once again, dragging you down the hallway and into his room before slamming the door.

You take a moment to glance around his room, your eyes narrowing when you spot Pickles curled up on his bed, before finally meeting his eyes. There's a fire in his eyes that you've only seen before when he's mid-battle, reserved for situations where his anger is at an all time high. You meet his gaze evenly, and he seems to calm down slightly when make a questioning noise.

"What the fuck was all that about?" he asks harshly, his voice low in order to not be overheard. The walls are thin, he knows this.

"I thought you'd like to return to your hero duties," you say coolly. "Y'know, patrolling and beating up baddies."

"Listen, when I agree to a job I don't plan on doing it half-assed," he retorts. He wonders if your sudden encouragement for him to leave has to do with his actions night before… and the rest of the week. He knows it does. "You're stuck with me, sweetheart, whether you like it or not. So get out there and tell Deku that you changed your mind and that I'll be seeing this task until the very end."

You don't move for a few seconds, and Bakugo's eyebrows furrow in confusion until he realizes the way you bashfully averted your gaze at the nickname. The corner of his lip tugs up into a smirk, but he doesn't get the chance to comment on it before you start speaking.

"Your reputation and ranking are tanking because of this and it's not very fair to you. Besides, nothing has happened in weeks. No letters, no gifts, no suspicious activity. I'm sure it'd be fine to switch spots with Midoriya for a couple of days. And I thought you were getting a little tired of staying in here all day. Maybe getting out and seeing your friends would do you some good."

Bakugo takes a deep breath before closing his eyes. "I already told you, I'm not leaving you until this assignment is done. Go out there, and tell Deku you changed your fucking mind."

"Yeah, about that," you say, your tone of voice causing Bakugo's eyes to fly open. There's impish smile on your face, and Bakugo feels a sense of foreboding as you speak your next words. "I might've told him that you requested the swap. So really, it's you that has to go out there and tell him you changed your mind."

You laugh and head back to the living room before Bakugo can yell at you, smiling softly at Midoriya before heading to the kitchen to clean up the abandoned plates.

Bakugo groans and begrudgingly heads to the living room, dragging Izuku by his collar and leading him to the front door.

He shuts the door in his face and provides no explanation.

Things are different after that.

Bakugo makes a bigger effort to interact with you, spending move evenings by your side instead of keeping his distance. Slowly but surely you begin to notice, and you can't help but wonder if this has anything to do with your discussion in his room the previous week.

You try not to show that you're flustered when the two of you begin to cook together instead of taking turns, and you have to admit that sharing the kitchen with Bakugo is intimate in a way you never knew cooking with somebody else could be. His movements are always fluid, never hesitant, and you find that you fall into a groove when you work alongside him.

The space is full of teasing and grumbling as well, and you find that fleeting touches between the two of you start to become more common. There's the occassional hip check when he tries to steal a piece of whatever you're chopping, and the occasional hand skimming your lower back when he tries to get past you in order to reach something. You tend to go rigid under his touch, and Bakugo finds that he starts doing it a little more often in order to hear the way your breath hitches when his fingertips skim over your shirt. He's thinks he likes you.

You’ve had the time to sit with your feelings, all the swirling uncertainty and aching that you feel weighing down on your heart when you see Bakugo present you with a new dish or scoop Pickles up when she won't stop pawing at his leg. Bakugo Katsuki is so perfectly imperfect, and you think that there's no one in the world who is privileged enough to get to see every single side of him that he has unintentionally and intentionally bared for you to see in your short time living together. You find that it is much easier to come to the conclusion that yes, you do like him. You think you might even love him.

You don't get the chance to wonder if he likes you as well before it all goes to hell.

It's a few days later, on a sunny Wednesday, that you finally come face to face with your stalker.

"Alright, you have one more meeting after this and then we can get you back home," Anya says, hurrying you you of the building you were in and towards the car. You mumble something under your breath, holding your sweater tightly to your body to protect yourself against the afternoon chill. Anya stops by your side when you stumble to a halt, and you quickly grab onto her when you hear something approaching quickly. "What's going on?"

You waste no time in pulling her back, something— someone, you vaguely think— crashing into the spot where you had just been standing.

"What the fuck?" Anya whispers, taking in the sight before you. There's a man standing in front of you, close to your age and surrounding by dark tendrils. His sharp, green eyes slide from Anya to you, and he breaks out into a smile before taking a step forward. Anya places herself in front of you, blocking you from his view and earning a harsh glare from the man. "Get the hell away from us."

You quickly scan your surroundings for any sign of Bakugo, and even though you know he's close by, you can't help but feel a little anxious when he doesn't immediately show up. A movement in your peripheral catches your attention, and you tighten your hold on Anya and dive out of the way before one of the dark tendrils shoots out and incapacitates her. The two of you crash into the side of the car, and you waste no time in opening the door and shoving her inside.

"Stay there!" you tell her, motioning for her to stop trying to open the door.

"No!" she argues, her shouts muffled by the window. "What about you?"

"Don't worry about me, I'll be fine. Just trust me," you say reassuringly. Anya hesitates before nodding, her hands falling to her side.

"Stay safe. You better not get fucking hurt!"

You nod once, taking a glance to see your stalker getting closer before you take off in a sprint in the direction you know Bakugo is. You whip your phone out, sending quick 'SOS' to Aizawa before turning a corner. You don't bother sending your location, knowing he's probably been tracking you for years.

The sound of footsteps following you only spurs you on, and you try to think of a game plan to deal with the situation in a safe manner before you feel something wrap around your wrist. You come to a sudden stop when the tendril pulls you back, and you let out a cry when you stumble and fall to the ground, your knees knocking harshly against the concrete.

"I've been looking for you for so long," the man breathes, kneeling down to take your hand in his. You resist the urge to tear it away from him, conscious of the way the tendril seems to loosen when you relax. "I finally found you, we can finally be together."

You take a moment to study him, trying to gather your thoughts before responding. Your voice is light as you speak, and you lean forwards slightly in an attempt to make it seem like you're giving in. "We can. But you're hurting me, you know? You're quite strong, I can't believe I didn't realize it soon."

He takes the bait, retracting the tendril and almost glowing at the words that leave your lips. His lips part to respond and you waste no time in head butting him hard enough to send him sprawling. You hop to your feet, stumbling briefly when your bruised knees almost give out, but you manage to keep your balance and dodge the tendril your stalker attacks with.

"You bitch!" he screams, earning an eye roll from you as he tries to grab ahold of you once more. "I don't know why you're doing this when it's clear we're meant to be together!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," you say under your breath, lunging forwards to land a hit. He defends poorly, and you think that his strange obsession with you has come in handy when he refuses to strike back in fear of hurting you.

When Bakugo lands on the sidewalk in front of you mere seconds later, he's met with the sight of your stalker face down on the ground, unconscious and with hands creatively tied behind his back with your sweater as you stare at him smugly. A tired laugh leaves Bakugo's lips and he wastes no time in removing the sweater, slapping on a pair of quirk canceling handcuff onto your stalker and moving to lean him up against the building behind you.

"Took you long enough," you chirp, earning a glare from Bakugo.

"I can't believe you were stupid enough to go after your stalker," he states, his words reminiscent of the ones he said when he first met you. "Actually, scratch that. Yeah, I fucking can."

"Well it's not like you were doing anything," you retort, crossing your arms. "Where were you?"

"I had it under control," he barks, motioning to the area around you. You take note of Midoriya standing on a rooftop, a couple of detectives scattered down the street as they wait for Bakugo's all clear.

"Oh!"

"What happened here?"

You turn when you see Aizawa approaching, eyes tired but alert as they scan you for injuries. You beam at him, pointing towards the unsconscious criminal before gesturing to yourself to show that you're fine, other than your bruised knees. "See! I told you I could handle myself."

"Yes, I suppose you did," is all he says before turning to Bakugo. He's caught off guard when Aizawa bows deeply. "I'm eternally thankful, Bakugo. You did a great job, even if it turned out we didn't need your help after all."

The last statement is said mockingly, and you pout when Aizawa shoots you a pointed look. You ignore it in favor of turning to Bakugo, bowing as well.

"I already told you, don't gimme that shit," he spits out, crossing his arms when you straighten up and give him a shit-eating grin.

"I just wanted to give you my thanks," you say, a teasing lilt to your voice as you take a step forward. Aizawa grunts before walking away, shaking his head as he goes. "Although I suppose that there are other—"

"You're safe!"

Anya's screams interrupt you, and you give Bakugo an apologetic look as she pulls you away, fussing over you and bending down to clean off your knees. You smile fondly as she shoves a water bottle into your hand, stealing one last glance at Bakugo before he's whisked away by the detectives to make a statement.

A week passes and Bakugo hasn't stopped thinking about you.

He wonders how often he'd get to see you now that he's not watching over you, grimacing when he realizes that he'd probably only see you at hero galas and community fundraisers that might overlap with both of your schedules. The two of you have exchanged a few messages since the mission ended, lot of memes being sent from your end that make Bakugo laugh, not that he'd ever admit it.

He's wondering if he should build up the courage to be more direct with you, to possibly follow up on how you could thank him and then ask you out on a date when he hears a knock on his door.

"Hey!" you greet him when he opens the door, bright smile on your face as you shove a bag into his hands. "I hope you don't mind but I got your address form Aizawa. I was thinking I could cook you dinner, you know, as a thank you."

His jaw is hanging as he takes you in, and you snicker when he doesn't respond.

"Hey, what's wrong? Pickles got your tongue?" you laugh at your own joke, and Bekugo snaps his jaw shut at the words, ushering you in and shutting the door behind you.

"That was a shitty joke."

"Eh, can't expect everyone to get my sense of humor."

He shakes his head fondly as he follows you into his kitchen, and you take the bag you previously pushed into his arms and place it on the counter. You look at him expectantly raising an eyebrow teasingly as he takes a step closer.

"So this dinner,” he starts, tone casual as he drinks you in. “Is it a date?"

"Do you want it to be?" you respond. Your voice is quiet and light, and he finds himself crowding you against the counter, arms on either side of you as he cages you in. You're vaguely reminded of the time the two of you argued in his room at the safe house, the only difference being the look in his eyes. Where there was anger that day, this time you see nothing but an unfamiliar tenderness, eyes warm as he mulls his answer over.

"Yeah," he says roughly, a wicked grin spreading across his face when you look at him in mild surprise. "I do want it to be."

“I didn’t think you’d admit it,” you retort. The smile he receives in return is almost blinding, but he feels that familiar sense of foreboding when you suddenly give him a coy look and wrap your arms around his neck.

"So... does this mean I'm... Mrs. Dynamight?" you ask innocently.

"Shut the fuck up," he groans before finally leaning down to silence your giggles with a kiss.

ty for reading <3

[nereidprinc3ss]

ghost in the machine

in which spencer reid coaxes reader out of an episode of extreme dissociation after a triggering therapy session

angst, fluff warnings/tags: established relationship, accidental mild injury, blood, unspecified trauma, but at the very least implied past emotional abuse, anxiety, reader has ptsd and is in #denial about it a/n: I'm hellaaaa chill sometimes I just lose hours of my day if I think about my childhood too hard

It’s normal for you to get home and immediately wash your hands—a habit you picked up from Spencer. So you walk through the door, and you close it, and you take off your shoes and you hang up your coat and he calls hey from the couch. 

You don’t respond. Or do you? You’re not sure. But you’re washing your hands, and then as you go to dry them, you notice your coffee mug from this morning, still sitting on the counter. 

I should wash that, you think, and so you pick it up and you take it back to the sink. 

Sink. Sink equals washing hands. 

You’re washing your hands again. 

What did you mean to do?

Dishes? Right. The mug is… gone, seemingly, but there’s a knife in the sink, too—you pick it up, and you’re about to rinse it off, and then it’s clattering from your hands. Somebody is pulling you back from the sink. 

Someone is saying your name a whole bunch of times. 

You turn, blinking, and there’s Spencer, glowing softly in the yellow light of the kitchen. 

He looks so concerned. He strokes your cheek but you feel it less than you seem to observe it from a distance. Says your name one more time, eyes softening a little. 

“What?” You murmur, as if in a trance. 

He blinks. 

“You dropped a mug. You’re bleeding.”

Well, that’s news to you. It seems like a preposterous claim, but you look down, and sure enough—that coffee mug which had disappeared from the sink is in pieces on the floor and the tile is smeared in red. 

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? Are you okay?”

“I’m bleeding.”

His brows furrow. 

“Yes, I see that. Do you remember breaking the mug?”

The mug. Oh, yeah. Now that you think about it—yeah, you do remember dropping it. Watching it break into a hundred pieces. That noise, of dishes breaking and clattering—suddenly you inhale deeply. 

“I broke it,” you whisper. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I broke it—”

The memory of the sound is cacophonous, deafening and completely inescapable. 

“Hey, hey. You’re okay. Nobody’s upset at you. It’s just a mug.”

But that doesn’t make it any easier to lower your shoulders from where they’ve tensed to your ears, because once a dish breaks, there’s always a second of terrible, tremulous silence, before it explodes and somebody is screaming, painting every wall in the house with their rage. You squeeze your eyes shut. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry, you whisper, wordlessly, just as you did so many years ago. 

“It’s just a mug,” he says again like that will help. “I’m gonna clean it up, okay? It’s gonna be like it never even happened.”

And that does provide some comfort—the fanciful idea of undoing. Of closing your eyes against the something terrible and wishing it away like you’ve always done and having it actually be gone when you open them. Spencer must be magic. 

“I’m gonna clean it up, but I want to make sure your foot is okay first. Is that okay?”

You take a deep, shuddering sniffle and nod, but that warm fog is pouring down the corridors in your brain like smoke in a maze. It obscures everything. Your feelings. The pain. The fear, thank god. There must be shards in your foot. Spencer apologizes from below as he peels off your bloodied sock, where he’s pulling the first aid kid from under the sink and working on you, but you don’t feel the pain. You don’t feel anything except the pressure of the bandage around your foot as he stands. 

He says your name again. 

“Hm?”

You’re scaring him. That much is evident from the look on his face. You wish you could stop, but it’s like you’re in a dream again. The brief clarity that moment of panic had provided is gone. 

“Can we just—can we go sit down?” He asks, already putting a hand on your waist. Sure. Why not. He supports your weight as you hobble around the broken mess on the ground and all the way to the couch. Oh. It’s too soft. Too forgiving. You sink into it too deeply, like you’re being swallowed, or breathed into a pair of monstrous lungs. 

Spencer is crouching in front of you, pushing hair from your face. 

“What’s going on, baby?”

“Nothing,” you murmur. “I’m fine. I just… dropped… a mug.”

“You didn’t remember or notice that you dropped the mug until I pointed it out. You washed your hands twice. You were about to try and wash a knife without a sponge.”

“No, I’m just… I’m tired. It’s…”

You trail off again, any further attempt at a meager excuse walled off a thick swirling fog. It’s like you’re trying to walk but you can’t see more than a few feet ahead of you. You can hardly think, let alone speak. 

Spencer frowns deeper. 

“It’s what?”

You pause for a long time. 

“Um… Don’t remember.”

“You’re scaring me,” he whispers, and again you wonder why, only you can’t really wonder at the moment. “Did you hit your head? Where did you come from?”

“When?” You ask. 

“Just now. When you came home, where were you coming from?”

“Diane. I was, um—I was at therapy.”

“No stops on your way home?”

“No,” you say. You’re pretty sure. You actually have no memory of what happened between leaving Diane’s office and walking through the front door. 

“Did you feel okay before you started therapy?”

“… Yeah.”

“So this started after?”

“What?”

“Your inability to put a sentence together, honey. You’re really out of it.”

“Oh.” Your eyes sting. It feels like an insult. “‘M fine.”

He reaches up to cup your cheeks. 

“What did you and Diane talk about?” He asks gently, a little less anxiously, like he’s figured out what’s wrong with you. 

At this, your mouth goes dry. What was before swirling fog has become a hulking black wall of solid obsidian. There’s nothing. 

“Um…”

“Can you remember?”

Something hot traces the length of your cheek from your eye. 

“No,” you whisper, sounding utterly distraught. “No, I can’t remember. I can't remember anything.”

More tears are coming now. How could you forget? You’re trying so hard to remember. How did you even get home?

“Okay. That’s okay, angel. You don’t have to remember.”

“I’m sorry. Something’s… wrong…”

“Don’t be sorry. I think you just got really overwhelmed at therapy and now your brain is trying to protect you. Can you tell me what you’re feeling in your body?”

Your… your body?

Nothing. It feels like nothing. 

“Why don’t you try and take a deep breath? I’ll do it with you.” He brings your hand to his chest, and your finger twitches against the hard abalone button. His chest expands, and you try to do the same, letting the cool rush of air down your throat. The room spins. 

“Woah,” you mutter, suddenly hyper aware of your breathing. 

“Slow down. We’re okay. You’re safe.”

He leads you through a few more deep breaths and you manage to get to a place where they don’t feel so precarious and unsteady. Your head sparkles with fresh oxygen and everything is too much. After a moment you’re settling your elbows on your knees and burying your face in your hands. Spencer rubs soothing lines up and down the side of your legs. 

“How do you feel now?”

“Not good,” you whisper. “My foot hurts.”

He hums. 

“Technically I shouldn’t let you take Ibuprofen because it’s a blood thinner and you have an open wound, but I think it’ll be okay just this once. You okay if I go get some?”

You nod, rubbing at your eyes with your palms until you see stars. The brain fog hasn’t lifted, but it’s thinned considerably. 

He comes back a few moments later with two round pills and a glass of cold water. The shock of it in your hand zaps your brain and you almost drop it but Spencer seems to have anticipated this so he hadn’t let go of the glass yet. He administers the pills once your hand is steady and you take them, feeling the river of ice down your throat and into the pool of your stomach. It seems to travel outward, extending into every reach of your body, bringing the sensorial world back to the forefront of your consciousness. Spencer must notice the goosebumps because he’s unfolding a blanket and wrapping it around you tightly, before pulling you into his arms where he sits and tucking your head beneath his chin. You let your eyes flutter shut, embracing the warmth, the pressure, the soft fabric against your skin. 

“I don’t know what happened,” you murmur. “I don’t… feel right.”

“That’s okay. I know it feels scary, but nothing’s wrong. I think you maybe talked about something that’s really hard to talk about when you weren’t quite ready. Sometimes when that happens, your brain tries to protect you from perceived threats by dissociating. It makes thinking straight really difficult.”

You frown. 

“How did I… How’d I get home?”

He strokes your hair. 

“The parts of your brain responsible for procedural memory aren’t as impacted during episodes of dissociation. But it’s actually not uncommon for people who don’t have PTSD to forget their commutes. It’s called highway hypnosis.”

“I don’t… I don’t have PTSD,” you insist. When Spencer doesn’t answer for a long moment, only continues stroking your hair, you swallow. 

“We don’t have to talk about this right now, angel.”

“Okay,” you whisper, like a child too weary to argue. He kisses your head. 

“It might be good for you to take a nap,” Spencer says, like he can read your mind. “I bet you’re tired.”

“How’d you know?”

“Because I know everything,” he says simply—a line borrowed from you. “Here’s what we’re gonna do, okay? I’m gonna order from Tandoori, and you’ll fall asleep, and I’ll wake you up when it’s time to eat, and we can watch your show.”

You smile despite yourself. 

“So assertive.”

“I’m thinking I can get away with it right now.”

He’s only teasing. You cuddle closer. He holds you tighter. 

“I’m the boss. And I want Thai food.”

“There she is,” he murmurs, rubbing your back over the blanket. The warm saccharine sweetness of his tone dizzies you, muddles your mind more pleasantly this time. Your heart rate slows. Your breathing goes back on autopilot. The rise and fall of his chest rocks you like the sea. Just at the cusp of sleep, he whispers one more promise. Of safety. Of love. 

When you wake up, you’ve forgotten all about it. 

But there's pad Thai on the table, and the kitchen is devoid of blood or broken glass. 

[gravegoer]

OMG sevika x reader who fills in for silco after he dies?? 🤍 but sevika is oddly shocked at her kindness—

Sevika's boss ꩜

i absolutely love this idea ! sevika pledging her loyalty to you whilst you pledge yours to her !! so this is how you met + how you treat her on the job.. and off (i fear silco didnt provide a safe work environment)

visit my masterlist HERE , part 2

Zaun needed a new leader, and you just so happened to be the second in line to the throne.

You had the option to throw Sevika out if you really wanted a different right hand man. But in your opinion, if she worked for SIlco; she would work for you.

You'd never met her before, only heard the things that Zaunites whispered about her on the street

" She took on three men at the last drop yesterday. I think Silco put her up to it. "

" The way she looked at me made me think I was going to meet my end. "

Silco was no gentle ruler, he was strong and fierce. You could only imagine how he treated his goons, and and only Gods know how he treated Sevika.

You sat in his office chair, displeased with the scattered papers on his desk and the old whiskey in a glass that now smelled rank.

You had called her in to have a chat, so that you knew who you were really working with. Not knowing what to expect; you watched as the door creaked open and you nervously drew in a quick breath.

In walked a tall woman, definitely over 6', obviously muscular with one prosthetic arm. Your eyes traveled up to her face, and now you knew why everyone talked about her gaze. It was steely and almost frightening. She looked you up and down with something in her eyes that you couldn't place. Her skin was littered with scars, the biggest one was smack dab across her cheek. How intimidating.

You spoke to her, firmly but gently, "As you know, I'm taking over for Silco until things can be.. sorted out-"

She cut you off with a brisk, "Get to the point."

You eyed her full lips as she said this, the gap between her teeth was more prominent when she spoke. Not to mention her husky voice, she sounded tired but with still a hint of determination.

"I'm not demoting you or anything, just so you know," you spoke while raising an eyebrow at her, "I just wanted to get to know you before I start ordering you around, y'know?"

She narrowed her eyes at this statement. Its obvious she expected you to immediately ask her to do things for you the way she did for her former boss. Always running around the city cleaning up his mess, fighting his battles. But no. You weren't Silco. There was something different in the air around you.

Now that you've officially met its time to put this girl to work !!

She was almost always available. This concerned you. If you asked for her presence she would be there within minutes. It was like she was waiting for you at the door 24/7.

This made you bring up off days to her, "You know, if you ever need time off or anything don't hesitate to ask me. I don't bite"

She was confused at your willingness to let her do nothing but sit around while you did the work. And even after you said this she never asked to be called off.

"Okay, you know what. If you're injured after a mission don't even think. About trying to leave your house," You called her in to run some errands but what she didn't tell you is that she got stabbed roughly in her side the night before.

This made her angry, did you think she was weak? You're making her take a break because she didn't do her job good enough for you? Trying to cut her pay by putting her out of work?

But no, surprisingly in the next few days you sent her out again, and when she came back you slid a hefty bag of coins her way. She questioned your ways but she wasn't complaining.

You tried never ask absurd or unnecessary things of her. If you needed to talk with someone in the city you would go down and do it yourself. She caught you out one day, talking to a shop owner about prices.

"Why the hell are you out without me."

You turned around to meet her eyes (also having to crain your neck to look up at her.) "Well, I don't need a body guard to walk around you know that right?" You said, tilting your head to the side.

She drug her hand over her face at this, "You could have asked me to do it for you, I'm free. Plus don't you know anyone could be trying to get at you? Are you an idiot?"

"I can handle myself Sevika. But if you're soo worried about me ill let you come next time," You teased before turning around to speak to the owner again.

She grumbled to herself before taking a seat in one of the old chairs behind you and crossing her arms. If you didn't know any better you would think a small embarrassed blush kissed her cheeks.

When you walked around in the streets with you she always walked behind you, looming over your shoulder. Sometimes you thought she would start barking if anyone came up to you. You slowed down a bit to match her pace before latching onto her arm.

Her body tensed at your touched and she looked down at you, though you didn't meet her gaze as you continued looking forward. The neon lights illuminating the angles of your face. She shook her head at your willingness to touch her, but didn't comment on it.

You felt the flex of her bicep when she tensed up at your fingers. Her arm was hot under your touch and you could feel the scars that littered her skin.

This became routine, when Sevika walked you home late at night she would get comfortable enough to drape her arm around your shoulder, her poncho sheltering you from the cold.

And yes, she started walking you home at night because she stayed in your office to keep you company whilst you did paperwork into the late hours. Saying, "Its the least I could do since you don't let me do it for you."

Lighting a cigarillo she sat on the couch, putting her feet up on the coffee table. The smoke wafted from her position to your nose, the smell oddly comforting.

When you groaned and dropped your head into your hands it was her queue to get up and pull your chair out from your desk.

"Its too late, you should get home."

Sometimes you'd fall asleep in at your desk, but this was no problem. Sevika would pick you up, gently as to not disturb you and carry you to your home. And she was careful to walk through quieter places in the city so that the hustle and bustle of people didn't wake you.

And yes she tucks you in.

If you really insisted on staying to do paperwork she would grumble a few curses but stay anyway.

You were starting to grow on her. Maybe being cuter than Silco gave you some brownie points.

thank you for reading ! if you sent an ask in the past few days, don't worry, I'm getting to them all :) I appreciate all the support !! ♡♡

[luveline]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝

You try to break up with your boyfriend. Aaron just wants to know why. (And what he can do to fix it.) [4k]

c: fem, stripper!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff epilogue, suggestive themes mdni. requested here 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

I don’t want to see you anymore. 

The text doesn’t compute at first. He reads it twice. Reads the sender’s name, his heart stopped clean in his chest. 

He puts down his pen.

The idea that the text wasn’t meant for him crosses his mind, but that might further break his heart. He knows you have clients, but you don’t contact them outside of the club. 

His second thought is that he’d been a client unknowingly, but he made it clear to you those few months ago that he liked you as you, not as a service provider, and not as something to be bought. You thought he was trying to acquire you as a private escort. He explained it as what it was truthfully, if vulnerably.

He’s being broken up with, he surmises. Over text. By a woman he adores, who he’d thought was happy. Aaron opens his phone to call you, clicking your contact, bringing it to his ear. You don’t answer. He calls again and he’s clearly declined three rings in. 

He puts his phone down and has a few minutes of unbreathable heartbreak. Just a few minutes, his hand to his stomach, trying to think of things as reasonably as he can. 

Aaron doesn’t care that you’re a stripper. He might’ve at first. Denied his attraction to you, because of course he had feelings for you when you were standing against the side of the club in your dancing lingerie, who wouldn’t fall in love with you? Every fool lucky enough to see you undressed must assume the same thing. He thought it wouldn’t work, and that you’d never be interested in a man like him. 

Interviews for information lended themselves to rare moments of conversation. He liked how you talked, how your eyes moved to his, the way you watched his mouth. Your unusual friendship with Spencer drew you closer, and activated a rare seed of jealousy within him that helped him place you in his life. He had real, tangible feelings for you. 

And now it’s over. 

He scrunches his eyes closed and gets up from his desk. Puts his coat on, but leaves his things where they are on his desk. 

“Hotch?” Morgan asks as he descends the steps down from his office into the bullpen. 

“I’m not sure when I’ll be back.” 

“What happened?” 

Aaron turns to Morgan, hiding his panic as well as he’s able to. “I have a small emergency. It’s fine. Can you make sure things are okay here?” 

“Hotch?” Morgan asks again. 

Aaron keeps on going. He tries your number again on the way down. Three times, a fourth by the time he’s at the parking garage. 

The fifth time, you answer. 

He almost breaks the phone, its plastic body creaking in his hand. “Honey?” he asks. 

“I don’t want to see you anymore, Aaron. Is it hard to understand?” 

He’s taken aback. Some part of him had held onto the hope that it was a mistake. “Yes,” he says slowly, struggling to pull his keys out as his car comes into view, “it is.” 

“I don’t want to be with you.” 

“Have I upset you?” 

“Would that make it easier?” 

“No. I don’t think anything would make it any easier. Honey, this feels so sudden. Can’t we talk about it?” 

“I don’t want to see you.” 

“Please.” He can’t imagine never seeing you again. Just a few days ago he was sitting at the dinner table with you laughing opposite, your socked toes brushing his ankle. “Please, give me the chance to fix this.” 

“Aaron, it’s not really fixable. Please don’t call me again.”

“Y/N,” he says, firmer now. Anger leaks into his tone —what’s going on? “Let me come over. We need to talk about this.” 

“No–”

“It’s not fair to me for you to do it over the phone.” 

“…Okay. Fine. I’m at home, but I have work at six.” 

“I’m on my way.” 

He hangs up. Your terse allowance is all he needs to get in the car and drive, checking his watch. There’s plenty of time between now and six. He can figure out what’s wrong and hopefully change your mind.

He thinks about it more seriously as he’s parking outside of your place. Perhaps he doesn’t want to change your mind. You aren’t acting like you, none of your kindness can be found in such a swift dismissal, but he thinks of your foot under the table, your sock rubbing along his ankle without comment. 

He takes the stairs to your apartment. It’s not the nicest place to stay, but it’s far from a slum, either. He doesn’t worry about you when you’re home beyond the usual everyday fears: Is she eating? Sleeping? Having a good day? 

Now he’s thinking, What did I do? 

He gets to your apartment and pauses at the threshold. After a moment's deliberation, he knocks. 

“Come in, Aaron.” 

He pulls down the handle and lets himself in. You’ve mail piled on the sideboard and your shoes tucked under it, a coat rack further in bragging scarves and coats and jackets of all different colours. He’s always liked the interior of your apartment. It doesn’t feel as cold as his own, parts of your personality peeking in through everything, from the flowered tiles in the bathroom to the glass lampshade in the bedroom. 

You’re sitting in the kitchen with the light off. “Hey,” he says, voice already laden with relief he doesn’t mean to share. 

“Hi.” 

“Can I sit down?” 

You gesture for him to do as he likes. 

Aaron sits down at your table. It’s a small square just big enough to share dinner, plain wood edged in a darker slate grey outline. Sometimes when you’re feeling especially pretty, you’ll lean heavily on an elbow and grin at him, enticing him in for a kiss.

“What’s this all about?” he asks quietly. 

“I just think we’re… at the end of our relationship.” 

You don’t sound truthful. He knew there was something strange in your voice over the phone. 

“What’s making you feel that way?” 

“Does it matter?” 

Again, avoiding and evasive. 

He meets your gaze unflinchingly. “I care about you. I love you,” he says. “I know I can’t be who you pictured for yourself, and if you really can’t see a future for us, then… I’ll have seen it alone. I just wish I could understand this sudden change. Did I do something wrong?” 

“You’re not who I picture for myself,” you agree. 

“No?” he asks. 

“No. You didn’t do anything wrong, but I can’t see us together. We’re not the right fit.” 

You twist a ring around your middle finger. He thinks he’s starting to understand. “Do you think we’re not the right fit?” 

“Please don’t use your psychoanalysis on me.” 

“It’s not psychoanalysis, sweetheart, it’s– I know you.” He grimaces. “I’d like to think I do. And I’m allowing myself the audacity to believe you were happy with me just a few days ago. What happened between then and now to change your mind?” 

You stare at your two-toned table. Your mouth opens to talk, little but air making it out. Your shoulders begin tightening like you’ve been keyed between them, twisting and twisting. 

“What do you want me to say?” you ask. 

Dramatic, he’d hope you could say you don’t love him, or don’t care about him enough to let him convince you the rest of the way. “Is this really what you want?” he asks instead. 

Your staring turns to squinting. With a start, he watches a small tear drip from the corner of your eye to your nostril, to your cupid's bow. 

“No,” you say carefully, “it’s not what I want. I don’t like you being against me.” 

“Then what’s making you feel this way?” 

You cover your eyes with one hand. “I wanted to do this over the phone,” you say in a squeeze. 

He reaches for you but doesn’t touch. “I couldn’t let you.” 

“I just want you to be happy,” you say, so high he can barely understand you. “I’ll never be like you, Aaron. You’re so smart, and you’ve done so much. You’re a hero, and you must look so stupid with me. What do you think people say when they realise what I am?” 

“It doesn’t matter to me what they say. I know you, and they don’t.”

“What about what I think?” 

“What do you think?” 

You wipe your face roughly, eyes lit with an anger he’s unprepared for. “I told you, don’t psychoanalyse me. I don’t want to have to explain it, I just want to say what I have to say. I don’t want to be with you because you won’t be happy, and neither will I.” 

Aaron isn’t too prideful to recognise when he needs to fight for what he wants. He reaches over the table and takes your arm into his hand, picking it up, feeling down The length of it until he’s curled his hand over your smaller fingers. “We are happy,” he says softly, giving your hand a small shake. “I understand where you’re coming from. When we first met, I couldn’t have predicted that I’d be here with you now. I do wonder what people think when they ask me what you do and I tell them you’re a performer. I know we agreed to it, but there are moments where I feel like I’m being cruel to you. But just because there’s a stigma surrounding what you do, it doesn’t mean that you’re any lesser than me. You’re not less intelligent, or less accomplished. We chose different paths and I’m glad we did. If you weren’t a dancer I never would’ve met you.” 

“Do you know how it feels for me to come home to you sometimes?” you ask weakly. 

“I’d hope it feels as it does for me. Every time I see you, I’m relieved.” 

“Aaron, I get this rush of safety, like you’re– I’m finally safe. I can take care of myself, you know that, but now I have you it’s that I don’t even want to. And that’s stupid. I know that that’s stupid.” 

“What I’m thinking,” he says, soft, not as worried about being without you now as he is of the horrible way you’re feeling, “is that you’ve thought about all of this a lot. I’m glad you’ve taken time to reflect on us and your life, but I wish you’d thought more about what we both want.” 

“I want you to be happy,” you argue, as you had a few moments ago. 

“And I’m never happier than when we’re together.” He shrugs. “Love isn’t about work. Your job shapes you as mine shapes me, but you have to know that who you are is what’s important.” 

“I don’t know who I am…” 

“I know exactly who you are,” he says, rubbing a loving thumb over your knuckles. 

“I’m… I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you, on the phone. I knew if I talked to you like this I’d be too much of a coward to really see it through.” 

“I see. You’ve planned my heartbreak weeks in advance.” 

You shake your head sadly. “Aaron, we’re not good for each other. You make me this awful, weak version of me, and I’m no good.” 

“We have been nothing but happy since we met.” Aaron pulls your hand up and kisses the side of your wrist. He isn’t ashamed of you. He doesn’t make you weak, you aren’t. “I don’t know how to explain it. Sometimes it feels like we’re from different worlds, but it’s not that melodramatic. You’re my partner. I love you. It’s hard not to think about what others think of us, but I know exactly what I think of you, and I know what you think of me, too.” 

You share a look. 

“I’ve never heard you talk so much,” you say, your frown fading. “I’m sorry.” 

“You haven’t done anything wrong.” 

“When I thought I couldn’t get any more embarrassing,” you mumble. 

“You aren’t embarrassing. Please, put the thought out of your head.” 

“Thought out of my head,” you repeat, still mumbling as you flex your fingers, pushing them between his and intertwining your hands. You bring them linked to your forehead and take a heavy breath. 

“Do you really want to break up?” he asks softly. 

Your breath warms his arm. “No.” 

“You can have the things you want, you know? I imagine that there are people who laugh when I tell them about you, but you have to know that their opinions would never matter to me.” He pulls his hand from your head to encourage you to meet his eyes. “No one else matters but me and you. We don’t have to factor in other people. We can just be together.” 

“I’m not worth all the fuss,” you say under your breath. 

“What, this fuss? Honey, a few weeks ago you cried in my lap because I got you that cake from the bakery. And you know what? I didn’t want you to cry, but getting to rub your back?” He chances a smile. “That made my night.” 

“You like making girls cry.” 

“Yes,” he says, trying not to grin like a fool as you stand from your chair and put yourself in front of him. He is no saint. He pulls you onto his thighs and wraps an arm around the small of your back, your legs either side of him. “That’s my goal in life, sweetheart.” His voice falls to a whisper as you hang your head against him, tip of your nose to a rough cheek. “Making you cry…” 

Your arms creep to his neck. Resting on him, rather than hugging. He doesn’t mind, he’ll do the hard work. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. 

“It’s okay.” He turns your face with his to press his lips to your cheek. “It’s alright, honey, bumps in the road happen with everyone.” 

“All my fault.” 

“Maybe next time, if you feel so strongly about something, you can just extend me that little bit of faith and… know that I’m here for you. Even if it did mean we wouldn’t be together, it doesn’t have to be that you’re alone, making such a big decision. Valiant,” he adds, enjoying the warmth of you seeping into his shirt, his face, his neck where your wrist is laid against it. “You’re not a coward. But I wish you wouldn’t be this brave about breaking my heart.” 

“Stop making me feel guilty.” 

His laugh is a breath against your cheek. “No, it’s fine, isn’t it? Use me and abuse me.” 

“Shut up. Stop, what is this weird guilt tripping you’re doing?” You laugh at his absurdity. “I’d never abuse you.” 

“I know. Just step on me a bit.” 

“Stop, stop,” you mumble, your voice turning slowly from self-pitying to honey, all that love for him he knew you still had like threads of gold shooting through it, “I don’t wanna step on you, I never would…” 

“Just rough me up a little.” 

“Never.” You press your face to his neck. “Thank you for not letting me do it.” 

“I won’t let you go so easily.” His hand trails up your back, feeling the softness of you beneath your t-shirt. Fat, muscle, all of it familiar, and treasured by his touching. 

He squeezes you rather tightly, then, but you don’t complain, you just sigh. 

“It’s not that you’re not who I picture for myself, like I said before,” you confess, leaning all your weight against him, barely held up by your legs either side of him. “You weren’t, but I didn’t realise that I could have you. I didn’t really know men like you existed. I should’ve known I was looking in the wrong age bracket.” 

“That’s not very nice. In my line of work they call that a feedback sandwich, honey. Something cruel between nice things to distract me.” 

“Sorry. Just had to get it in.” 

He considers your teasing a return to normalcy, guiding your head away from his with a hand to the back of your neck. “If this was a ploy to make me leave work early, consider it successful.” 

“I know your attention usually falls to other places, Mr. Hotchner–” You burst into giggles as he pinches the back of your neck, but it’s only to pull you in for a kiss, smiling against your parted lips as your laughter fades away.

You scrunch his shirt in your hand and kiss him nicely. 

“Sorry,” you say. 

“Forgiven.” Even if he did almost go into cardiac arrest at his desk. “I like begging to stay. It builds character.” 

“How long will you be like this?” you ask, shaking your head slowly, your smile poorly hidden. 

You’d needed a reminder, is all. Aaron isn’t solely business and sternness, he’s an idiot, your idiot, who likes to tease you, and doesn’t care who knows that. When he’s working he’s one person, and when he’s with you, he’s another. Both have their qualities and faults, but only one version is the one he needs to be with you. 

“At my age it’s perfectly normal to have a young and beautiful wife,” he says. “You’ve seen some of the other Section’s worker’s wives.” 

“I’m not that young,” you say. 

“So you admit it?” 

You reward him with a tired sigh, cuddling into his collar. 

—

…I'll never be your beast of burden. So let's go home and draw the curtains…

Aaron’s humming from the bedroom. He knows every classic rock song to exist, every word to every Beatles song. When the chorus comes, he sings under his breath, but you can hear him regardless. “Am I rough enough, am I rich enough? I’m not too blind…” he fades off. 

The music hums under your feet. Record player open on the floor, his Some Girls vinyl on the plate. 

You press a hand down your side. 

To inspire less worry on your part, you and Aaron are trying to be more open about the other sides of your lives. His work feels alien to you, and you worry that yours is dirty to him, despite reassurance that a job is a job. You know that already, but you can’t make yourself believe that he’s as happy as he could be if you were, say, a checkout girl. 

You’d make a cute checkout girl, he’d said. 

This is cute, too. Babydoll lingerie with feather edgings, starkly white against your skin. You fluff out the ends and neaten the crotch of your panties. Nothing is on show that shouldn’t be, but it’s still lingerie. It’s meant to excite. 

“Honey,” he says, dulcet tone carrying to the bathroom, “are you stuck again?” 

You laugh. “I bet you hope so.” 

“That’s accusatory in nature.” 

“I’m coming.” You give it a last glance in the mirror and head into the bedroom. 

Aaron’s sat against your headboard, flowery pillowcases behind his head and back. He discards the little figurine he’d been playing with out of boredom and looks you up and down, corners of his lips curling. 

“Home only,” he says. 

“I knew you’d say that.” 

“You look stunning.” His eyes seem darker. All pupil. 

“I have to wear some of these at the club, Aaron, that’s why I bought them.” 

Something in your voice makes him smile. “You said I could veto the ones that are too beautiful.” 

“I said too slutty.” 

“Honey, they’re all revealing in their ways. And I don’t have a problem with it…” He takes a breath. “Much. But some of these are meant for…” 

“The man who loves me?”

“Exactly.” 

He’d said something similar about the light blue set with darker flowers, the black set that showed the curves of your chest, and especially about the pink one-piece with white ribbons. That one gave him pause. 

“Spin?” he asks. 

One day it might bother Aaron that you dance, but for now he’s gently approving. Just wants you to be happy. So you do a little spin without any attempt to be sexy and beam when he whistles. 

“Beautiful. Really, honey, that’s the nicest so far.” 

“I have a confession.” 

“Yeah?” 

“This one was for you.” 

He’d know if you were lying. “For me?” he says, in that tone bordering stern, as much of his professionalism as you’re used to hearing these days. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Don’t,” he says, seductions gone as he tips his head back into a pillow patterned with lavender and peony. “Unless you’re done trying those on, I don’t want to hear it.” 

“This is the last one.” 

“In that case.” He covers his face with a cushion. 

You look down. Your stomach is a little bloated from lunch, and you have a shaving rash on your left knee, but Aaron won’t mind. He never does. Without worry, you tread to the side of the bed and climb onto it, one leg over his lap. The last time you’d been sitting in his lap, you’d been teary-eyed and regretful. Fuck, what was I thinking? you ask yourself, slipping a hand under his rising shirt to feel his abdomen. It’ll never not be weird, the FBI man and his stripper girlfriend, but it doesn’t have to make sense to anyone but him and you. 

You ease the pillow down his face. 

“Are you blushing, Aaron?” you ask. 

“Not purposefully.” 

“You look a little… hot.” 

“That makes two of us.” 

It starts slowly. The heat of you atop him, the pillows moved out of the way. You didn’t expect him to stay unbothered as you paraded your new spoils, but his willpower is remarkable, and he only breaks when you let yourself settle on his lap. His big hand cups your face. 

“That’s funny.” You lift up enough to be in kissing range, but don’t kiss. You just wait for him to react, holding your weight off of his chest. 

He finds the small of your back and drags. Your gasp isn’t your own, a breathy, excited thing as he brings your face to his for a kiss. Your lips almost immediately part in anticipation of his eagerness, of his hand on the back of your neck, and the unflinching heat of his mouth as he turns his head. Your noses brush. He wades in deeper, his own breath already failing him as the bridges of your nose press hard. 

They aren’t rough kisses, but there’s something desperate there. He holds you to him until he can’t, ushering you onto your back, his weight bearing down sudden and steady. 

“I can’t believe I nearly lost you,” he utters, stroking your cheek, edging back in to kiss you before you can reply. 

You wrap an arm behind his back and hike your leg, soft thigh naked and waiting for his touch. You didn’t nearly lose me, you think. To be lost, you’d have to be something worth losing, and you’re not sure you are, but Aaron? 

“I don’t think you could,” you mumble, forcing him to kiss your cheek, your jaw, the line of your throat. He nips at your neck, a shudder racing through you. 

“I have no intent of letting it come that close again, sweetheart.” 

His hand dances up your side to the soft hill of your chest. 

You hold the hair from his face and let him kiss you. He’s here to stay, no matter how odd a pairing you might make. You love him. That’s all he cares about. 

“Want me to do that thing you like?” you offer softly, mildly playful. 

He laughs into your neck. “No,” he says, “I think tonight is about you, hm? You’re all dressed up. I think that deserves a reward.” 

You knew he’d like the white babydoll. 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

[zyafics]

SHOTGUN WEDDING | Rafe Cameron

MASTERLIST (Oneshot)

Pairing – Rival!Rafe x Biker!Maybank!Female Reader

Summary — You and Rafe are nothing but casual. But when he suddenly has the idea to get married, you agree after some convincing.

Content — 18+, smut, fluff, fingering, blowjob, and banter.

Word Count — 2.2K

"Let's get married."

"What?" You say breathlessly, lifting yourself by the elbows and turning to face Rafe. You don't know if you heard him correctly.

"I said let's get married," Rafe repeats in a lower octave, pushing away the prickling feeling beneath his skin—a consequence of your reaction to his vulnerable declaration.

There it is again. Clear as day. You hadn't misheard him the first time, and the dawning strike of realization causes your heart to skip several beats. But you still don't acknowledge it. Blinking, you're trying to decipher whether this is some cruel trick. "You're not serious."

"Do I look like I'm kidding?"

Annoyance flickers through his hard features and you purse your lips, not wanting to provoke him further by providing a sharp-witted comment. Your mind is spinning—partially from all the orgasms Rafe pulled from you, but also from the proposition.

Marriage. Does he understand the absoluteness of that proposal?

You suspect he doesn't. "You're delirious," you brush it off with a casual laugh, wanting to admonish any potential embarrassment that may arise in him and to move forward. "Let's just forget about it."

"I don't want to forget about it." Rafe grits through clenched teeth. Your reaction is the complete opposite of what he'd imagined to happen. Sure, you weren't the type to jump for joy, but goddamn, you couldn't give him something? "You still haven't given me an answer."

"You don't want a real answer."

"I'm clearly asking for one."

"It's just the post-sex haze."

"It's called post-nut clarity," he rectifies, "And my mind is perfectly clear."

You're giving him exits, to pretend to forget about it and act as if it never happened, but Rafe takes none of them. He doesn't want to drop it, so, finally, you ask. "Why?"

A heavy beat passes before Rafe shrugs, attempting to appear nonchalant when all he can hear is the thrumming of his own heart. "I like being inside of you," he reasons, before meeting the unimpressed look on your face, and adds. "You make me laugh."

You scoff. "Yeah, so do small children falling over. Get off of me," you shove him off, pulling to the ledge of the bed where your wobbly legs find balance on Rafe's hardwood floor. Not knowing how to process this change in affairs, you go search for your clothes instead.

Rafe watches as you scramble around the room, a reflexive habit of yours whenever you feel uncomfortable. His agitation flares, his jaw locks, and with a narrowed gaze that follows your every move, he pulls to a sitting position and rubs his chin with the back of his hand.

"Goddammit. Stop looking for your shit and look at me," Rafe commands, his voice bleeds with a tinge of desperation, forcing you to halt your recovery search to face him. Exposed. Utterly naked. But instead of Rafe making some sexual innuendo about your body, his eyes remain on your face. "Why don't you believe me?"

"Because we've only been fucking," you list, using your manicured fingers to count out all the reasons why this is a terrible idea. "You call me whenever you want a hookup. We're never not arguing, and I swear, sometimes, you don't even like me."

"I like you just fine," Rafe shrugs a careless shoulder, but the conviction behind his tone wavers. "And all the other reasons are bullshit. So, what? If we get married, we can fuck and fight anytime we want."

"That's faulty logic," you retort and he rolls his eyes. "Plus, it's not the basis for a strong marriage. I'm giving you an out; you're not thinking straight, Cameron."

"I'm thinking just fine."

"You sure?" You take a step closer, about to raise three fingers in the air, and ask him to relay the count, when Rafe inclines forward to grab the underside of your thigh, pulling you in. You let out a little yelp of surprise, slotting between his spread legs.

He lifts his chin to meet your gaze, his thumb running absent patterns across your sensitive skin. With a low voice, Rafe asks solemnly, "Why don't you want to get married?"

"Have you not been listening?"

"Those aren't good reasons," he affirms, causing you to huff.

"Only you would tell a woman their reasons aren't good enough," you muse, drifting your hand to the nape of his neck. You tilt your head to the side. "What classifies as a bad reason?"

A beat passes before he answers. "You don't like me."

After he says that, Rafe holds his breath, his eyes searching your face to see any minuscule change in your features only to discover none. Your hand locates his chin, caressing the hard definition of his jaw. "That's not true."

Rafe exhales. "Then, it's settled."

"No, it's not settled."

He groans, tipping his head back, enough for you to see the grand column of his throat. His Adam's apple bobs over your infuriating buffers. It's amusing, and for a brief moment, you envision a future where you get to do this forever. "Do you not want to get married?"

"I never said that."

"So, you don't want to get married to me?"

"Rafe," you sigh, and he returns his gaze. You're referring to him by his first name, instead of the adorned Cameron, and his skin tightens at whatever you plan to say next. "You're a Kook. I'm a Pogue. We're barely in a relationship, and I doubt your parents would approve of this."

"Fuck what they'd say," he admits, with the relentless urgency behind his voice. He means it. "I want to. Since when do you care about what other people think?"

"Since I'm going to be entering into said family."

You say it with such dolefulness, that it sounds like you already accepted his proposal. Already imagined a future with him. The corner of Rafe's mouth lifts; he just needs to do one more thing to convince you.

Rafe hoists you onto his lap to straddle him, your ankles on either side of his waist, as your naked core rubs against the side of his cock, the sensation quickly hardening his erection.

Expecting him to lift you onto his tip, Rafe surprises you by swiping his fingers through your wet folds, causing a small whimper to rise from the back of your throat. "Listen to me," Rafe rasps, pressing gentle kisses along your collarbone before lowering to your breasts, while the tip of his fingers toys with your entrance. "You've given me your reasons why it won't work, I'm going to give you my reasons why it will."

"I'm not going to change my mind,"

"You sure?" Rafe grins, teasing your slit. Your walls clench around the nothingness, desperately needing to be filled, and it causes you to bounce up and down, rubbing yourself against Rafe's hardened cock. Your hands land on his shoulders for steadiness, and that's when he begins to pump you.

"I think we look good together," Rafe lists with a grunt, feeling your pussy rub against his length. Desire pools inside of Rafe, his cock throbbing, but he concentrates on the task at hand, adding another digit. "You're the only person that keeps me on my toes—fuck," he groans, and you smirk.

Your slickness covers Rafe's cock, but you don't sink down on it. "Are you sure you're going to win this?" You murmur against the shell of Rafe's ear, planting feather-light kisses along the edge of his jaw. Rafe squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, needing to gather himself before he slides in his ringed finger—the cold singlet grazing your heat, making you gasp and stop your movements.

Rafe holds your hips, while his fingers fully thrust inside of you with such vigor and performance, that a rich moan rips from your lips. He concludes his final reason: "And I get to fuck this every single night."

His darkened eyes lift to meet your hooded ones. His fingers work a steady but increasing rhythm inside of you, the coil of familiar pleasure twisting your gut. "Look at how pretty you are coming undone by me. Don't you want this forever?"

"Shut–shut up, Rafe," you whimper, your hands reaching for his arm between your legs, attempting to slow down the pace as your sensitivity is plowed into overdrive. Rafe snatches your wrists into one hand, dragging them away. "Too much."

Your legs attempt to close around him, but his large frame prevents such a thing. Rafe grins at the look of pleasure blooming on your face, the unsteadiness of your breaths alongside your lashes fluttering against your cheeks, and he fastens his strokes.

Whimpers and moans escape you in rising increments, and Rafe kisses your mouth, swallowing all that noise and desperation and need. "Say yes," he murmurs against your tingly lips.

"N–no," you refuse, still holding an ounce of restraint.

But Rafe simply laughs. His fingers slow its assault, leaving your mind a completely boggled mess. Nothing but the sensation of your orgasm on the near horizon resides, hooked completely on fulfilling your own pleasure, that you can't think of anything else to do but whine.

He looks back at you, sincerity capturing his face. " I like you, Maybank. It'll be fun to make it official."

"I—" You can barely comprehend a single word he's saying, the fizzling of your orgasm dissipating as you desperately try to wield it back in. "I can't think right now," you whimper, lowering yourself to give him a needy kiss, "Make me come first."

He doesn't need another reason before he reenters you, his thumb circling your clit and massaging it as his fingers thrusts in and out. Sounds of wetness echo throughout the quiet room, and when Rafe leans forward to add another mark—biting a sensitive spot on your neck—you unravel with a loud cry, tipping your head onto Rafe's shoulder.

Rafe guides you through your intense orgasm, your walls clenching around him so hard, they barely can move. Slowing his thrusts until it completely fade away, when Rafe pulls out, he presses his slick-covered fingers on the dip of your bottom lip, forcing them apart to lick clean. And when you do, he pulls you back in to seal it with a kiss.

Your chest rises and falls heavily as your eyes close for a moment of respite. Rafe's gaze, however, never strays from your face—patient and waiting.

This is such a bad idea. The whole premise of a Cameron-Maybank marriage could potentially knock the earth off its axis. You're from two different worlds and carry different viewpoints, but there's something fun, exciting, and fulfilling in being with Rafe. It can't be just because he gives you one of the best orgasms of your life.

You know JJ would hate this. He barely tolerates the idea of your hookup with Rafe as it is, and out of everyone, you value most of your brother's opinion. But, for once, you can't seem to find it in yourself to care.

"Fuck," you announce, reopening your eyes and meeting his stare. "Fuck it. Let's do it."

Rafe's lips pull to a genuine smile. "Yeah?"

You nod. "It'll be fun."

He grabs your hand, "Let's go."

"Right now?"

"Don't tell me you're getting cold feet already?"

"You think I back down from a challenge?"

"It isn't the first time."

You slap his shoulder and Rafe laughs. He moves his hand to your hips again, lifting you off when you stop him. "Wait," you say, looking between you, at the red and swollen cock that hasn't gotten its release. "I have to do something before we leave."

You sink to the floor on your knees, still between his legs, as your thumb rubs the pearly beads of precum over the tip, causing Rafe to groan. He was so focused on your pleasure and making you agree to his outrageous proposal, that he didn't get a chance to relieve himself. You want to help.

After all, isn't that the first step to marriage?

Taking him into your mouth and tasting your slick rub all over him, you hollow your cheeks as you begin to suck. Rafe moans from the contact your lips made with his length, your hand wrapping around the base to steadily pump him alongside the suction.

It feels like absolute heaven. His hands thread through your hair, pushing you deeper onto his cock, and making you gag on the girth. This made you retreat, just slightly, to glare up at him. "Don't do that."

Wanting desperate release, Rafe's willing to listen to about anything. "Yes, ma'am."

When you return to sucking him off, Rafe makes sure not to push you further on his dick without prior approval, so you can take him appropriately. At least that means he'll listen to you in the marriage. As you steadily increase your pumps, and your jaw aches from the stretch, you feel Rafe's cock twitch.

"Come on, baby, come for me," you command, lifting your gaze to meet his eyes. Not even a moment later, he comes inside your mouth, spilling to the back of your throat, and you swallow up every lick of his hot cum.

You wipe the corner of your mouth with the pad of your thumb, and Rafe assists in pulling you back to your feet. Giving him a kiss, you grin. "Good boy. Now, let's go."

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[chososdiscordkitten]

Synopsis: Reader asking to watch Choso jack off ^-^

Pairing: Switch!Choso x Fem!Reader Content: porn w/ feelings, established relationship, masturbation, spit, pussy job, riding, missionary, multiple orgasms (m), rough sex, cream pie

MDNI

You had developed an enjoyment of watching Choso. Watch him talk, watch him breathe—your eyes would always be glued onto him when he did anything. And that little glimmer in your eyes would go overlooked by him. 

You liked watching him reach into a high cupboard, the edge of his shirt revealing his hip in the slightest. Or when he would talk- most of the time, the words would be spoken, but your ears would hear them without registering in your mind. 

You would only pay attention to his expression- his eyebrows furrowing with a sudden severity in his tone. Or when his eyes would spark in the slightest when you would agree mindlessly to what he was saying. 

Usually, your face showed what you were thinking. Giving hints to what raced through your mind. And any hints your low eyes provided, or every half smirk that formed on your lips, Choso wouldn't acknowledge them.

Only Choso never could tell what you were thinking. Even if your expression should have told him all he needed to know. He never knew why you would look at him like that- or what it meant. 

And when he asked you; 

"Why do you look at me like that?" snapping you from the cloud of filth you would picture as he talked. 

You only replied with an earnest smile, "I just like lookin' at you." 

And Choso stayed with that idea- whenever he would see your gaze darken, he would remember what you said. Almost endearingly scanning the look on your face, as though your lowered eyes and lightly flushed skin meant that you were only looking. And nothing more. 

So when the topic of masturbation came up- something about how he only does it when he knows you're too tired or when he didn't want to bother you. You couldn't help but ask him, "Can I watch?" 

He looked off the side- furrowed eyebrows, unknowing why you'd want to watch him do such a menial thing- everyone does it, right? It's not some marvel and you gained no pleasure from it physically. But then he remembered what you told him. 

'I just like looking at you.'

A few days had passed since that conversation- too embarrassed to tell you when he would do it- and ask if you wanted to watch. It almost felt like he was admitting that he wanted you to watch. Even if you were the one who told Choso you wanted to- coming to you and saying the words. It felt too filthy- even for him. 

You had been catching up on school assignments for most of that day. Sitting on the couch of your shared apartment with a furrowed brow. Unaware of what Choso was concocting in his mind as you read through the work. 

He had been working up the courage to ask you since the morning, along with thinking up a way to say the actual words. He mostly looked at you with sad puppy eyes, hoping you would look at him and know what he wanted. 

All but begging for you to read his mind, just so he wouldn't have to say it. 

Slowly walking past you with his eyes locked onto your expression, hoping you would look up and see the pleading look he held. 

And when he sat on the other end of the couch, the ache in his sweats was too unbearable to continue waiting for you to pay heed to what he wanted. 

Your focused gaze unmoved from the words splayed onto your screen, he called your name. Barely considered a whisper and with a sprinkle of a whiny tone- as though it was your fault he couldn't admit what he wanted. 

Looking up from your screen- "Yes?" you spoke. Your tone was far too kind and tolerant for what he was about to ask of you. 

"You remember when you." he looked away from your gaze, "When you asked if you could watch-" you raised your eyebrows- eager to hear how he would phrase it. "If you could watch, me." Bells ringing in your brain as he spoke.

"Watch you?" you asked- playing coy to what Choso tried insinuating. Looking down at your screen again and hearing a light sigh as he shifted on the other end of the couch. 

Choso clenched his teeth- already flustered from what he was expected to say. "...Jack off?" he mumbled, facing away from you in shame. 

You flashed your eyes back to him, seeing his ears flushed with a light blush. "Yes, I remember." You closed the screen of your computer, lightly tilting your head and awaiting his response. 

"I was about to-" 

You couldn't help the light grin that rose on your lips. "You want me to watch you?" spoken with a hint of tease as Choso tensed his shoulders at the words. 

Still looking away from you- lightly nodding his head up and down. "I wanna hear you say it." You tapped him lightly with your foot- urging him to hurry. 

"I would like you to watch me—" he inhaled, "Jack off." He turned over to you. You, holding the very same expression that would look back at him when he spoke most times. 

And as you instructed him to go on as he normally would- "Pay me no mind." you grinned. Taking his shirt off before he eased onto his side of the bed, avoidant eyes and nerves spasming in his sweats. 

Choso sat up halfway, his shoulders flush against the wall, his legs extended, hands planted on either side of his hips as he looked at you. 

You sat at the foot of the bed, legs crisscrossed and waiting for him to start. Soaking in the sight of him- carved torso and blushy expression on his face. 

As Choso flashed his eyes to yours- some kind of way of asking if he could start. You only raised your eyebrows, urging him to go on. He lightly gulped, placing his hands on the band of his sweats. 

Lightly wincing when he pulled his firm cock from them- bordering on a purple hue on his tip, clear tears of his precum falling from his neglected cockhead, and his shaft lightly twitching against the sudden hit of air. 

It looked pained, and based on his expression- bordering on dizzy as he took a few breaths in, he had been this way for a while. "Were you like this the whole time?" you muttered, watching his head lightly nod. 

"Didn't know how to ask you." he spoke softly, tone bordering on a whimper and placing a hand onto his base. Tingles forming on his cheeks and falling down his broad shoulders. 

You watched with intense eyes- his lips parting in a soft sigh as he slowly stroked himself. Choso's grip was light- some attempt to not cum as soon as he started. His body buzzed with shivers of exhilaration and timidity.

Soft sighs took the shape of low moans as your eyes made work of blinking down to his pretty cock. 

Surrounded by his hand and stroking lightly. Building himself up as his eyes closed, looking at the curve of his neck. The adams apple in his throat bobbing with every light breath he took. Tipping his head back onto the wall with parted lips. 

"You don't watch anything?" eyes filled with amazement, and your panties starting to soil as you watched his hand take on a tighter grip. Choso nodded his head 'no'- a little sigh leaving his lips with the upturn of a whimper. 

Choso's chest lightly caved with an exhale, "I jus' think about you." he muttered, words he spoke without filter. Your cunt spasming at the declaration, making you consider forgetting this idea of just watching- wanting to give him more than your gaze in gratitude. 

But the sound of a choked whimper leaving his throat snapped you from that thought- his hand taking on a slightly faster pace as his other fisted the sheets. Watching his hand smear beads of precum down his shaft and back up again. 

You leaned over in the slightest- watching his hand start to lose its easy glide when he began. Somewhere in Choso's mind, he had thought you abandoned the idea of just watching as you tucked hair behind your ears. Looking down at his cock with a whimper, all but asking you to help him. 

Collecting as much saliva you could on your tongue, lightly bending over, and allowing a fat glob to slip from your lips. The ache between your thighs becoming more and more apparent with every passing second.

A light huff in the shape of your name left his throat- his hand taking a faster pace from the action. Choso's tummy clenched in the slightest as he felt the start of his orgasm pool, smearing your spit with his pre in urgency.

His eyes scanned your expression- the same one you held when he would speak, only this time, he knew why you were looking at him like that.

And the slight shame of how good it felt to have you watch him with that look in your eyes- having you spit on him- made it all the more easier for his eyes to close. Huffing your name as though it was you who was stroking him. 

Low eyes watching with your hands threatening to replace Choso's as his chest rose and fell in sync with his quick strokes. 

His lips hung open in a silent moan- abdomen spasming as his tip oozed pearly tears onto his tummy. His shoulders shivered as he continued his hand's strides, slower and with a lighter grasp. 

Working himself down from the orgasm that soiled his skin, the back of his hand falling onto the bed. Even if his breathing and expression seemed satisfied with one orgasm- his cock told you he wanted another. 

Hard and twitching against his abs. At that moment- you lost the idea of sitting on the sidelines and rose to your knees. Watching Choso's expression steady with every deep breath he took. Slipping off your panties and scooching closer to him. 

You planted one leg over his hip, hoovering directly above his laid cock and looking at his eyes blink up at you. The smile on your lips churning with intent as you placed your hands onto his shoulders.

Choso's made haste in landing on your upper thighs, delighted you abandoned the idea. 

Kneading the plush skin in his hands as you lowered your cunt onto his shaft, trapping his cock between his carved tummy and your cunt. A soft sigh leaving your lips at the contact. Using your own slick mixed with his spend and pre, you slowly slid back and forth on his shaft- soaking in the expression he wore at the stimulation. 

Leaning in with a soft whine and relishing the feeling of his lips against yours- slowly frotting your cunt back and forth against his cock. Similar to how he was stroking himself. But nowhere near as warm nor as slick as your core felt. 

Your puffy clit brushing against his tip with every grind your hips made. Huffing heavily as one of Choso's hands slid beneath the band of your hoodie. His touch searing against your skin. 

Your hands on his shoulders moving onto the side of his neck, bracing as your tongue slid against his. 

Messy and uncaring teeth clashing against each other, proving to you, that the absence of your cunt swallowing his cock, frustrated him far more than it did you. 

The hand on your thigh assisting in your slow glides, the one roaming beneath your hoodie cupping your breast. 

Fervor and urgency filling every moan Choso's lips rumbled onto yours- his hold on your hip tightening to guide you into a quicker pace. 

You pulled away from him, unable to withstand the heat boiling beneath your skin as your hands slipped off your hoodie. Tossing it aside, uncaring where it landed.

Choso's hand made contact with your breast again, a light groan leaving his lips as you connected your lips with his. His orgasm building again in his tummy. His grasp against your breast turning desperate- bordering on overstimulation as you slid against him. 

You pulled away from him, looking into his hazy eyes, and raised yourself forward. His cock following your cunt as you felt his twitchy tip brush against your entrance. You huffed a flushed smile- lowering yourself onto his cockhead with a shared whimper. 

Choso's hand trailing back down to your hip- whimpering at your walls sucking him in. Lips brushing against each other- not even trying to connect them, knowing it would be cut short as his tip nuzzled against your sweet spot.

And when his cock filled you to the hilt- you slowly started grinding. Ignoring the light sting from the stretch and watching his eyebrows knit, his lips parted in a drawn-out breath. 

The urge in Choso's hips was unable to be still, causing him to place his hands on your waist, holding you still as he started rutting up into you at a quicker speed. Your hands gripping the back of his head, lightly tugging on his hair as he thrusts into you without a pattern. 

You closed the little space held between your lips and his, callously slotting your tongue against his as he nudged into your sweet spot with every grind. 

Choso trailed his hands a little higher on your waist, guiding you to tip onto your side- rolling onto your back with Choso's knees bent on the bed. Leaving him atop you with your thighs beside his hips.

Slipping his sweats lower on his thighs as he pulled back from your cunt- sliding back into you as he desperately wanted to when he was beneath you. 

One strong hand on your thigh as he rolled his hips against you, moaning shamelessly into the air as the other planted onto your tummy with his thumb on your clit. Watching your face churn with small circles drawn against the sensitive bud. 

The crude slapping of his balls against your ass, breaking up the joined whimpers that left your lips and his.

Your back arching against the sheets as he thrusts into you- so desperate for just one more as his hand on your thigh hooked behind your knee and started applying pressure. 

Your pinned thigh gave his cock a better angle to mistreat your gspot with every rough thrust. Fever-filled eyes struggling to stay open with his hips taking on a furious pace- his lips mumbling words muffled by pretty whimpers. 

Choso's face was adorned with the lightest sheen of sweat on his airline, furrowed eyebrows, and clenched teeth as he had his way with you.

His thumb rubbed harsher circles- so fucking eager to finish together as your moans drew clearer. Threats that he was close spoken in broken mutters- a breathy string of moans leaving your lips in response. 

Air being knocked from your lungs with every mean thrust against your thighs- and with one guttural groan leaving his clenched teeth, Choso spilled his thick seed into your cunt. 

His movements with his thumb refused to stop as the fulfillment of his spend pushed you over the edge.

Walls twitching around him as he slowed his thrusts, fucking his seed further into your as your breathing steadied. Choso's tired eyes looked down at you with a heaving chest- his back unable to keep his posture as he eased himself down onto you. 

Pressing his ear against your collarbone and easing his hold on your leg. Allowing your thighs to press against his hips, arms instinctively thralling over his shoulders, a sigh laced with a moan leaving his lips. 

Choso's softening cock twitched inside of you with every after-orgasm tremble that shook in his shoulders. 

"So much," he huffed heavily, swallowing lightly. "-for just watching." he smiled, closing his eyes against your chest and feeling a half laugh rumble against his profile. 

The realization of that expression you held while looking at him most of the time— meant pure filth. He hazily thought back to every time you looked at him with bedroom eyes and smiled to himself. 

-

(a.n) tarde pero sin sueno, start of Choso week hehe