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ridingtorohan · 1 day ago

Note

hey!! i saw ur recent post about the tulpar crew walking in on reader touching themselves, could u do the same but vice versa?

Ask and ye shall receive!

𓇻 ft. tulpar crew x gn reader

𓇻 content. 18+ content, minors dni. possible second hand embarrassment. masturbation, sexual propositions, the whole shebang. this is a sequel to this post. this one can definitely be read on its own though. lightly implied that reader didn't accept swansea or daisuke's offers in the prequel but that can be left up to interpretation. jimmy's definitely happened though.

𓇻 enjoy! feel free to like, reblog, or send in asks!

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Curly is just so damn tired. Tired of the reports, faxes, checking the straps in the cargo bay. One of the few downtimes he gets is when he can sit and watch the constellations pass on the common room monitor. The Augira, Constantine and Mitena were all ones that he recognized from this sect of the system, all penned from the eyes of Saturn and further.

Movies are a scarce commodity on the screen, given Jimmy's track record of not wanting to hook the systems up, but it helps him nod off most times.

Working out, though? Working out he can do. Pony Express has given him permission to bring his weights on board, alongside a slew of magazines and audiobooks to listen to.

While Curly doesn't think of himself as a gym rat, those moments to himself are some of the best. Nothing but the burn of iron, the strain of his muscles with each rep. It's methodical work, one that sets his mind at ease and off of reports for once.

Some days, he can get Jimmy in on the action, but most of the time his co-pilot bemoans it. Each time they worked out, the stretches between the next session grew longer.

He's pleased when you agree to attend a few sessions with him. By then, it's almost amicable between you two, as if him walking in you didn't even happen. He's very much acted the part of a dutiful captain, though, he can't help his own eyes from wandering when he sees you stretch. Can't help himself from putting his hands firmly on you when he goes to correct your stance. It doesn't linger, doesn't wander, but goddamn, does he wish he could throw propriety out the window.

It's after one of his solo workout sessions when he chooses another way to unwind. Really, that's the only explanation for it. One that he tells himself anyway, because the strain of propriety is heavy. If he still thinks of you from time to time, if your face crops up in his thoughts while he touches himself, that's his business.

The only places you'd catch him in the act is either in the bathroom or his room.

Curly has always been imaginative, thoughts trailing to roads not travelled, paths that burn out of sight. Of you, sprawled out on the bed, and how he wished he had stayed. How he'd have given anything to hike your legs over his waist and kiss you senseless when he slid against you.

As it always is, every fantasy comes to an abrupt end. Every night that he had dreamed of walking in to find you waiting, you found him. Wifebeater drenched in sweat, towel draped over his shoulders, every line of his well built body on display, hand fisted around his cock.

There's a difference between wishing you'd walk in on him and actually receiving it.

A painful, terse moment lingers between you two, tension so thick he swears he can cut it. His hand completes the motion, wiping from his base to the tip, each breath deep. Despite how uncomfortable he felt (for more than one reason), he also felt more prepared. "Hold on a minute." He'll cover himself, boxers and uniform hiding himself from view.

If you believe you could flee from the room without Curly following you, you're dead wrong. He'll track you down, put this to bed once and for all. He'll catch you, half-dressed in his uniform, blue workwear draped around his waist, hand against the wall. "We have to talk about this."

Regardless if you stay or leave, not talking about it is no longer an option. You've both seen more of each other than was warranted, then what you both signed up for, but dammit he wants this. And he's so tired of shying away from things that he wants. From the person that he wants. All because of some higher-ups sitting cozy back home saying that it's wrong to do. He can't do it anymore, not when he feels like he's on the cusp of something great for once in his life.

"I know that what happened isn't what either of us expected," he'll start, voice low and perhaps far too sensual to be appropriate considered his half-dressed state. "And frankly, we can keep it to ourselves, pretend we never saw it." Biting the bullet is one of the fewest things he's done in life, but this is something that he wants to do. By fractions, Curly leans in closer, his voice entering a low murmur. "But... it doesn't have to be. We could give each other a.. hand, so to speak."

Routine. That's one thing that the Tulpar is good at. Routine. Each meal time, the rigid necessity of clocking in and out on time, even bathing. Pony Express may be a shit machine but it's well oiled, worked raw by the people under it. Delivering the payload is a smooth easy task because they all work on it together.

Part of that routine is shift work. Jimmy, ever the night-owl, works evening and night shift. This makes it so incredibly easy to avoid him if you wanted, especially since he walked in on you tending to yourself.

But he doesn't let you forget it. Since that moment, there's a smoldering heat in his gaze, eyes hooded as he watches you go about the room. Watched as you did your tasks, always standing too close - enough that you can get a whiff of his woodsy cologne, or feel his arm against yours.

He's almost helpful, even when your tasks really don't necessitate the need for another. His hands linger, hot against your uniform, his hips against the back of yours whenever he steadied you, or reached above you. Each word a rumble in his throat.

Except there's never really any change to talk to him about what happened. Not when every moment is tense, fraught with unresolved desires and need. Not when Daisuke or Curly walk into the room, silencing the burning questions and words that haunt your lips. Jimmy seems especially disgruntled about the interruptions, getting almost snappy towards the other crewmembers.

All in all, you rarely have a moment to speak with him. It's the furthest thing from your mind when you step out of the shower, more than eager to collapse face first into bed and sleep the weariness away.

If you're the sort to bring clothes into the washroom to change into, the absence of them is noted fast. No amount of scrounging around turns them up either. At a loss, it's to your sleeping quarters to wrangle up something else to wear.

Except you're very much not alone the second you step into your door. The door swishes behind you but you're effectively grounded, eyes drawn to the man lounging on your bed.

His head is tilted, messy hair falling across his hooded eyes, a dark and smoldering look to them. A slow stretch of a smirk crawls across his face, a pleased look darting into his eyes.

Jimmy is just as bare as the day he was born, an arm languidly thrown over your pillow. A leg bent up, not at all coy about having himself on display. His other arm is resting against his thigh, one hand smoothing along his flushed cock in a slow, slick motion. His fingerstips are all but slathered in precum - or actual cum, as you might suspiciously think when you look at your clothes haphazardly thrown onto the floor, looking sticky.

"There you are. Took you long enough." He breathes out your name, chin tilted upward, something primal lurking deep in his eyes. Jimmy clicks his tongue, ever the disapproving copilot. "You should know better than to keep someone waiting." Despite the curt, wanting tone to his words, he doesn't move towards you. Letting you go to him. Like he knows you will.

"I've been thinking," each word is low and deep, husky in his mouth. Jimmy's hand very much doesn't stop moving, stroking himself as you're rooted to the spot. Whenever you glance down between his thighs, his smirk deepens. "That you owe me for what I did for you."

It's not like you could dance around the topic forever; each touch, every interrupted conversation, it all would have culminated to this. Jimmy waiting for you, eager to put his hands back on you, to feel you tremble and shudder beneath him as he pulls you apart.

The thing was, you realize, it'd be terribly easy to leave him here. To not respond to his advances. The door was to your back and even Jimmy had enough sense not to walk out nude in pursuit of you. It'd be easy to walk to another crewmate's quarters and pilfer clothes. It'd be laughed off, brushed under the rug just as another incident, excused as you being unable to enter your room because of 'technical difficulties'.

The thing is, though, you can clearly remember how his hands felt, the way he moved. How Jimmy watched you with the same intensity now, his eyes a dark promise of a repeat experience, if not more.

You don't really want to refuse such an offer, do you?

Try as Anya might, she can't get the image of you out of her head. The sounds you made, how your hands moved. She'd tried to be civil, though how quickly she averts her gaze and fidgety hands betray how much it affected her. Nerves, she'd try to excuse it. Nothing ever related to you, of course, because that sounds too much like blame. She blames herself for walking in on you masturbating, and blames herself for wishing that she hadn't left.

But by god, did it make her needy and so sexually frustrated. She's found every excuse under the sun to touch you then jerk back, at war with herself. She has to act professional. Doesn't she?

Something about you, seeing you like that, had coiled something burning inside of her. Something hot, that festered low in her gut.

For the most part, she can act professional. Mostly. But she can only get so far from letting her eyes trace your silhouette, from sitting on her leg whenever you talk to her. It's risky business, even riskier when she decides to keeps a few tokens of yours. Things that smell like you, even distantly - papers, a bracelet. Things that you've lent to her before.

It's been a while since she got laid, since she's even been attracted to anyone. But something about you just sets her on fire, burning with want and need. She needs you like she's never needed anyone before.

Realistically, Anya knows it's because of the forbidden nature; because of the close proximity day in and day out, but there's something so tantalizingly beautiful about it too. She's a sucker for it.

One of her favourite places to get off is in the medbay; she can lock herself in it - but she doesn't. Because it's so much more tantalizing when she thinks about you walking in. When she thinks about pressing you against the desk and using her medical expertise on you. She wants to hear you - taste you - feel you. Is that too much to ask for?

That's exactly where you catch her. Her breath coming out in hot breaths, eyes shut tightly, uniform pulled open. It'd be so easy to mistake it for something else, such as the room being hot - if it weren't for where her hands were.

One has all but ridden up her shirt, rolling the peak of her breast between her fingers. The zipper has gone all the way down to her waist, one hand curled tightly in her underwear, motions jerky as she fingers herself.

Every inch of her wishes that it was you, your fingers working her over, touching her clit and prodding at her walls. She feels so close, having edged herself for a bit until you came in.

It was just to ask her her input on supper, or for a nonsensical question that very well could have waited for another moment.

The door swishes shut behind you and her eyes flutter, dark as she looks up at you, flush all but crawling up her neck.

Seeing how you look at her - how you came to look for her- needing her for something, a question halfway on your lips - and it's her undoing. She moans your name, guttural and hoarse, hips jerking, dripping over her knuckles. "Wait-" Singlehandedly one of the better orgasms she's had, better than when she pined endlessly.

When her senses come back, Anya is breathless and shaken - and you're long gone.

She's not letting you go this time. Not when a new, burning question lodges inside her. Did you like what you see? Did you wish you weren't there?

Anya approaches your door at night, knocking crisply and when you grant entrance, she stands there, the atmosphere almost palpably awkward. She takes a few steps closer, feeling flighty and desperate, eyes searching your face, whispering your name.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," she whispers, voice low in the room, nerves biting at her throat. She can't not know anymore. "But I'm... glad that you did."

"Is this.. tension between us all in my head, or, do you want me too?"

It's one thing after the next. Couplings came loose, Daisuke's homework is not up to par, the lightbulbs need to be changed but no one seems capable of doing it. It all amounts to a sort of frustration winding up in him. Swansea has enough grace not to lash out at anyone, but it's there, palpable in his tone.

By some saving grace, you're willing to help him out with his work. Passing over screwdrivers and wrenches, new copper wire as he needs it. Swansea has noticed that you're attentive and eager like that; willing to help. Sometimes, he really wished you were his intern instead of Daisuke, not that he blames the kid.

He really needs a damn beer.

Wanking out his frustrations as a teenager and young adult had really suited him just fine, and with each passing day, it becomes a far more likely possibility.

It surely does not help when every little moment with you feels charged. Knuckles brushing when you supply him with mechanic tools, or when his arm brushed against your thigh as he steadied the ladder for you.

Swansea finds his gaze lingering.. on how your uniform bunches, the sway of your walk, the excited chatter to your tone when you've launched into some spiel or other. Each look he gives you is in quiet contemplation, though perhaps not as obvious as to why.

He's long since brushed off your curious questions.

It's when Anya outright slipped and fell over an oil spill that Swansea called it quits. There's only so many small annoyances that he could take before it became a hazardous snowstorm.

After it's suitably cleaned, he tried to find a place to tuck himself away. Keyword: tried. Something else always needed to be fixed, and he had enough years under his belt to know the ins and out of everything. Leaky faucet? Hold his glass. Vaccuum given up? He's got it. Curly, goddammit, he has it.

It's so grueling to find a moment of peace, so he takes what he can. That just so happened to be in the utility room, frustrations to a boiling point.

He knows his body, knows just the right way to stroke himself, the perfect amount of pressure. Learned it long since his youthful days, since his amicable divorce from his wife. Sure, it might feel mechanic at a certain point, but to him, it was a small reprieve. A getaway that only booze came close to.

Foreskin pulled back, his head is tucked low, eyes heavily lidded, fingertips pressing under the tip of the head just like he likes.

Swansea has himself sticky with precum when the utility door rattles and open. "Swansea, I found your keys-"

His eyes track up, eyebrows raised. Whatever hasty attempt you may have made, it's blocked by the aging mechanics of the utility door. It's from an older rig, one that still uses keys instead of the security bars that the medbay and cockpit use. Which means it's faulty as shit.

He sighs, head tipped back, eyes still on you. "That's on me for not leaving a sock out there," he grumbles, voice gruff and husky. A reference to how he told you to ward off people when he caught you masturbating earlier.

Moving his hand from his cock, his gaze is surprisingly steady, arm draped against the back of the chair. "Listen, kid, I won't say shit about this if you don't. Keep it jammed tight better than a olive jar when making margaritas. But." He rolls his neck, feeling a satisfying crack run through him. "I can show ya a few things that the ole cap' or other men won't, if yer interested."

Daisuke has been, for lack of a better word, edgy around you. Hovering, then trying to create distance. He can't seem to decide how to act around you. Not when he's seen you that way, pleasuring yourself. When he wishes you'd involve him.

He's seen plenty of naked people before, got hard over them, but wow, did you take it to the next level. Even how you tilt your head or roll up your sleeves has him in an outright tizzy, straining hard in his pants.

Daisuke often has to excuse himself from your presence. Ignoring Swansea's rolling eyes and knowing scoffs is easy; ignoring you is harder.

It's during one of those mundane tasks, where you're prattling about your work to the others, his eyes glued to your form, absorbing every word that he can't take it anymore. Excusing himself, he pops right out of the room, awkwardly striking towards his bunk.

But of course that is the exact moment you decide you need to return his gameboy - or comic, or whatever he had lent you a few weeks prior.

Daisuke is completely in the groove, pants folded down, back propped to the wall, knees folded and lips parted with each heavy breath. He's always been loud, noisy and boisterous. But his saving (and falling) grace is that he's also often playing movies in his room, and what muffled sounds you may hear from the other side of the door is easily chalked up to that. (Or perhaps, you knew.)

You catch him like that, hand fisted around his lean cock, shirt ridden up over his stomach, his movements sharp and jerky. It's bad enough that you walk in on him like this - but another to hear Daisuke rattle out your name, the sound breathy and full of want coming from his lips.

He's a poor, flushed mess, eyes wide when he looks up at you - and it's so plainly obvious to the both of you that he didn't call out because he heard you come in.

"I- I can totally explain." Except he really can't, can he, when he has his dick in his hand, just moaning your name literally seconds ago.

Any attempt to backtrack out of the room will be greeted with a hasty, "Oh my god, no, pleasewait!" As he all but tries to leap from his bed, tripping over his pants in his haste to get to you. Daisuke is nothing but determined and will try to talk to you about this, even if you manage to successfully flee.

Choosing to stay has him utterly red-faced, almost ashamed as he rambles through a tirade of, "Okay, so," punctuated by repeated, stumbled phrases before he manages to get out, "So, me calling out your name just now - total accident. Unlessyoudon'twantittobe? But, like, I definitely understand if you want to leave but I'dreallyratheryoustaybecause I really can't stop thinking about you and, - oh hey, is that my gameboy? You can just set it-- that's not important! I just. Really don't want you to leave. Please."

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wonderjanga · 12 hours ago

Text

I May be a Kid but I’m not a Kid Kid.

When Billy’s secret identity was revealed, he started getting treated like a little kid. It really annoys him whenever these guys try to baby him.

Supes: “Billy, uhm… we were wondering if you would like to be moved to the Teen Titans.”

Marvel: “What…?” *sounds absolutely horrified at the thought of that* “Why?”

Supes: “You’d around kids your age.”

Marvel: *stares and blinks rapidly* “Are you saying you’re gonna demote me to the Teen Titans of all things? No offense.”

Supes: “Billy, it’s not a demotion.”

Marvel: “But it is. I’ve been on this team for what? Four years- almost five. You guys are acting like my age automatically means I can’t be a good hero anymore.”

Supes: “We’re not saying that. We just think it’d be good if you were on a team of heroes around your age.”

Marvel: “But you are. You’re literally all but saying it. I like those kids but not enough to want to be on a team with them.” *doesn’t know if he’d like listening to Robin’s condescension in more than small doses* “I prefer you guys. We’re still friends, aren’t we?”

Supes: “Of course!” *happy Billy is still somewhat comfortable around them*

Marvel: “Good.” *smiles* “Besides, I do hang out with kids around my age. Mary and I are the same age while Junior’s a year older than us.”

Supes: “He’s the oldest?”

This conversation got them to back off about kicking him off the team. That didn’t stop them from poking their stupid adult noses into other parts of Billy’s heroics though.

Marvel: *helping someone at like 2am because he patrols as much as he can*

Supes: “Captain! Whatcha doing up this late, champ?”

Marvel: *makes a face that being called champ, but doesn’t say anything about it* “Uh… patrolling? *finishes helping the person*

Supes: “Patrolling? It’s a little late- er early for that. Isn’t it?”

Marvel: “I guess…? I still have a couple more hours.”

Supes: “Shouldn’t you be turning in earlier?”

Marvel: “No…?”

Supes: “Aren’t you tired though? Kids need plenty of sleep.”

Marvel: *a little irked at being called a kid but brushes it off* “Stamina of Atlas, remember?”

Supes: “Oh.” *silence* “Well, maybe you could still turn in earlier?”

Marvel: *looks around for any hidden cameras* “No.”

Supes: “Oh okay…” *doesn’t really want to seem controlling so he just sulks while flying back to Metropolis*

Don’t worry, Superman trying to give him a curfew isn’t the only thing a nosy adult tried to do.

Marvel: “Mr. Batman Sir? Are the new long term mission signs up sheets out yet?”

Batman: “Ah, yes.” *hands him the sign up tablet* “There are three new ones.”

Marvel: “Great! Any potential overlaps?”

Batman: “Only these two.” *points to two missions*

Marvel: “How long would these two last?” *points to one of the overlapping missions and the one that doesn’t overlap*

Batman: “Together would be about a month and a half or longer.”

Marvel: “Cool.” *is about to sign up for them*

Batman: *remembers school exists* “And school?”

Marvel: *pauses so he can look at Bruce confused* “What about it?”

Batman: “If you sign up for these, you’ll miss at least a month or two. You’d be stuck catching up.”

Marvel: *laughs* “You say that if I actually go to school.”

Batman: “You don’t?”

Marvel: “No.”

Batman: “I see.” *takes the tablet away before Billy can sign* “Well, you’ll go now then.”

Marvel: *thinks he’s joking* “What?”

Batman: “I’ll enroll you in a school in Fawcett.”

Marvel: *stares for a solid minute* “Mr. Batman Sir, you’re not sending me to school.”

Batman: “Yes, I am. William-”

Marvel: “Don’t call me that.”

Batman: *sighs* “Billy, education is important. You shouldn’t put it off for heroics. Even Robin goes to school.”

Marvel: “Okay? I’m not a Robin though. And that only works because you guys patrol at night. If I go to school I’ll miss my day-patrol.”

Batman: “I’m sure there are plenty of other heroes in Fawcett who patrol during the day. Why not leave it to one of them?”

Marvel: “Because I don’t want to. I like saving people. The more heroes who are out in Fawcett, the less likely somebody might get glossed over and hurt because a hero wasn’t there in time to save them. I don’t wanna be the person that failed them just because I was busy with school or because I went to bed early… I say that last part because no matter what Supes thinks, he’s not subtle about wanting me to have a darn curfew.”

Batman: *stares in silence because he now feels a little bad and also empathizes with that “what if I’m not there mentality*

Marvel: *thinks that silence is Bruce still not understanding him* “Look, if you still don’t get what I’m trying to say, imagine if someone came into Gotham and tried pushing you out of the superhero business just because they thought you unfit to be hero. That’s how I feel in this situation. I don’t tell you guys how to your jobs, so why are you trying to tell me?” *reaches over to grab the tablet a sign up for the two missions he wanted to take*

Yeah… Batman started treating him normally after that. Supes also did because his superhearing caught the convo.

Then, there’s his relationship with Flash and GL. They’d taken to treating him like a little kid or nephew even though Billy doesn’t want that.

Marvel: “Could you guys uh- stop treating me like a kid?” *sounds disappointed them*

Flash: *somehow still feels dread at the disappointment even though, NO, this guy is younger than him, why does Barry still feel like he disappointed his dad?* “You are a kid though.”

Marvel: “Yeah, I know, but you didn’t used to do this before.”

GL: *also dislikes that he’s bothered by the Dad Disappointment™️ radiating off of Marvel* “That was before we knew you were a kid though.”

Marvel: “Yeah, well I don’t care. I don’t need you to act like this. I don’t want you to act like this. I want friends, not chaperones or parental figures or anything stupid like that. I don’t like that you’re treating me differently now.” *sounds bitter* “You guys seem to forget that I’ve been doing this since before most of you were even, excuse my language, sperm cells. And sure, there was suspendium, but I fought Nazis, commies, and my own villains on top of that, all without being treated like a defenseless little kid and I ended up just fine. So I don’t need any of you acting like I’m a stupid little baby.”

That shut them up. It didn’t make any of the relationships between Billy and them go back to normal though. Not completely anyways. At least it was somewhat better though.

By the way, Billy, throughout all of this, just sounds bitter about being treated like this. He misses his friends guys :(.

#billy batson #shazam #dc captain marvel #captain marvel dc #fawcett city #fawcett #fawcett comics

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lunajay33 · 2 days ago

Text

My Princess

•🪽🦇💙•

Summary: You are Feyres sister and have always been shy but when everything happens and you and your sisters become Fae, you find yourself falling in love with the mysterious shadow brother

Pairing: Azriel x Feyres sister

Content: Sneaking around, fluff, smut, getting caught

•Masterlist•

I never thought much about how my life would turn out, living in a run down home with my three sisters and father gave me no hope for what could come, I thought I would die young of either illness or starvation, I always tried to help Feyre when I could just to help and get away from Nesta and Elain, they never liked me much, I am I second youngest and they liked to point out every flaw of mine

But then one day everything changed when we were kidnapped and thrown into a cauldron changing out forms, from human to far, Nesta took an immense amount of power, Elain could feel the future and me, well I haven’t shown anyone what I’ve discovered, I can morphe into the shadows, dissapear whenever I want, it came in hand when Nesta would get in one of her fits with who ever dared step up to her

But then one night as I was slipping into the shadows I met the most adorable little tendrils of shadow that seemed were alive, they were all over me swirling around with what I assumed was joy as they led me to Azriel, he was quiet like me and I found comfort in that silence but never had the never to approach him until the shadows brought me right into his room, as I’m in the shadow of his book shelf

Noticing him straighten up and peer around as his shadows spoke to him

“I know you’re here” my heart leapt, I shifted back into my fae solid form and stood before him nervously

“So you are gifted after all” he stood infront of me, shirtless showing his broad shoulders and ripped body

“Ummm yeah, please don’t tell the others”

“And why not?” I shrugged unsure of why I had to explain my reasonings only making him smirk

“You’re not like your sisters, you’re…….different”

“Different bad?”

“No different good, you’re intriguing and mysterious, you don’t put everyone out there”

•

From that day forward we kept our nightly meetings between eachother and it was sooooo easy, sneaking through the shadows right to his room, we started just talking and getting to know eachother but along the way I fell for him, how could I not he’s so beautiful inside and out and one night when all the others were busy getting drunk at a bar I felt my soul meld with his and his mine

That night we accepted the bond and we haven’t been able to stop, it’s been a week and our hunger for eachother hasn’t been quenched and it’s getting harder to hide this relationship

“Do you think we should tell the others?” I ask him as we catch our breathes, my head resting in his shoulder, his hand dragging up and down my back

“If that’s what you want my angel, but I can’t say sneaking around doesn’t make things more hot” he smirks as he grips my hip

“Maybe just a little longer” I giggle as I turn and straddle his legs laying forward on his chest

“Ready for more already?” His voice got deeper sending shivers down my spine

“Are you able to” I love to tease him knowing he has taken me multiple times in one night

“Please woman” he grabs my hips and grinds them up and down his hardening dick, I’ve heard about the girls talking about the comparison between wingspans but there is absolutely no way Rhys or Cassian could be bigger than my man, he nearly splits me apart

“I love you Azriel” I moan as he slowly stretches me out

“Not as much as I love you Angel, fuck you feel so good” at this angle he was just hitting every part just right it was impossible to keep quiet

“Oh god more I want more” I scream when he thrusts up into me faster and faster

“OH AZRIEL YES RIGHT THERE” I scream not even caring right now who here’s

“So good, mother above I’ll never get enough of you” right as I’m about to be in heaven the door bursts open and everyone in the group is standing there wide eyed and mouths hanging

“Ummmm what the hell is going on” Nesta shouts anger written all over her face

Azriel sits up and holds me closer covering my body

“Can we have a moment to get decent” he groans his shadows pushing the others out and slamming the door

“I’m nervous, did you see the way Nesta and Elain were looking at me?” He pulled out and helped put his shirt on me as he pulled on his own sweatpants

“Don’t worry it’ll be fine come on!” He took my hand and led me downstairs to where everyone was sat around in the living room

“Congrats brother!” Cassian congratulated Azriel patting him on the back

“How long has this been going on?” Feyre asks with a little smile as she sat next to Rhys

“Well we’ve been talking for a while at night but then last week our mating bond happened and we accepted immediately” I say holding his hand tighter

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Rhys asked

“Obviously she knows she’s not good enough to be with him I mean look at her” Nesta laughed, I hung my head low before Azriel pulled me in at the waist

“Watch your mouth, don’t think I can’t destroy your life just because you’re the high ladies sister

“She’s not wrong” Elain whispered but we all heard

“That’s enough they had their reasons and it’s their relationship, Nesta and Elain you need to leave her alone I’ve had enough of you two always bashing on her just because you know she’s better than you, I’m happy for you sister” Feyre smiles

“You can go to the family cabin if you wish while still in your mating faze” Rhys adds looking happy for his brother the next instant in standing in the cabin Azriel holding me tight from behind

“You know they’re not right, your as pretty as the stars” he says placing kisses up my neck

“Thank you Az, now how about we get back to what we started”

“Don’t have to ask me twice”

#azriel one shot #azriel x you #azriel imagine #azriel fanfic #azriel x reader #eris acotar #acotar oneshot #acotar fanfiction #rhys acotar #acotar #feyre archeron #feyre acotar #y/n Acheron #cassian x y/n #cassian x fem!reader

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anndramarama · 2 hours ago

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I can speak to this as a teacher who tries to train my middle school students to write to us semi-professionally. We try to prepare them to write to strangers, prospective employers, admin at different schools, or even just send semi-polite messages to each other, and it is not easy to do!

They don't like to capitalize, not even the first and last letters of their own names, and then trying to get to an understanding of how/why we should be polite when writing to strangers is another hurdle, but most of them get there in the end and are able to use the simple format above -- greeting, body, closing, signature -- with a little practice.

I'm a stickler about capitalization and I explain it like this: capitalization, especially in names, shows respect to the recipient, and using capitals in your own name shows that you respect yourself and take the interaction seriously.

That response above about a full paragraph in the subject line is something I see every year without fail, by the way, and it's frustrating. I tell them that the subject line shouldn't be blank, and to think of the subject as the title of their message. It should be short and sweet, 3-4 words maximum.

My students are young kids who just don't have experience with email even if they text or use snapchat or other social media, and I find that providing as must context as possible, along with multiple examples of how an email should look and what they should avoid, does help, but it's important for them to be able to practice this skill before they have to do it for real and inevitably fail in a setting where there are negative consequences for failure.

Very much agree that saying "just do it, it's not hard" is not going to help anyone regardless of age if they don't have experience sending professional email, or if email isn't accessible to them without modifications.

Keeping in mind that we use gmail, here are some things that help my students:

Exemplars as above

Speech-to-text as an option, especially for longer messages

Text-to-speech to listen to a message before sending

Practice using sentence frames for message body *and* subject line

Set up a signature (kids like this part)

Set up message templates (same function as sentence frames)

Use additional in-browser assistive tech like Read&Write (not free but many organizations, including schools, either subscribe to it or will pay for it if you ask)

For teachers: have your students send you a correctly formatted email as an exit ticket occasionally. The first few times I do this, and I don't do it too often, I make it easier by sending the class a message and their reply has to answer a question (single complete sentence with correct spelling and punctuation) *and* their reply must be formatted as a professional email. Later they have to compose a message/exit ticket and I reply. I've had them write to their elementary school teachers with me cc'd and that's a fun activity too, and they can observe how we (the teachers) reply to each other as part of a thread, which provides more and varied examples of correct formatting in context.

I try to make it fun for kids because they're bored by this stuff, and sometimes I lose them if they know they have to write a single sentence, but it always gets better with practice. It's also important to note that following some formatting rules makes our communication more accessible too.

not to sound like a boomer, but I need some people to learn how to write emails in a semi-professional (at the very least) format so you're not cold emailing a business/potential employer/any other stranger about formal matters in the exact same way you'd DM a close friend on instagram

the formality/language can loosen up in the email chain once you've established a rapport and you match the other person if they're being less formal, but please don't have the very first email you send a stranger be written in all lowercase ultra-casual sms slang with no greeting or signature and a billion emojis

#technology #teaching #accessibility

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amourquinn · 2 days ago

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( short fic ) 𝐀 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐋𝐘 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

pairing : fwb!quinn x fem!reader wc. 1.3k

genre : fluff(?) angst(?) quinn and reader have too many thoughts in their heads no warnings really

summary : you and quinn navigate the blurred lines of what you have going on, each secretly wondering if there’s more between you than just physical connection

quinn sat alone in his dark apartment, the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen the only sound cutting through the stillness. his phone rested in his palm, the soft glow from the screen illuminating his face as his thumb hovered over a single contact.

he didn’t know why he felt this way tonight. maybe it was the silence, or the ache that came with sitting in a space that no longer felt like home. his teammates had plans, the usual banter and beers, but he’d turned it down, muttering some halfhearted excuse. the truth was, he didn’t feel like being around anyone who’d ask too many questions.

no one except you.

are you up?

he hit send and dropped the phone onto the couch cushion beside him, holding his breath like he was waiting for something that might not come.

it was late—later than a reasonable hour to be texting someone you weren’t technically dating. “friends” didn’t fit either. friends didn’t hold each other the way you did when the lights were off. friends didn’t seek comfort in the warmth of someone else’s bed after long, lonely nights.

a few minutes passed. quinn exhaled, leaning back against the couch, and just as his phone buzzed, his heart jumped.

y/n : yeah, i’m up. you okay?

he hesitated for a moment, fingers ghosting over the screen. he didn’t want to say too much. this thing between you didn’t have boundaries, but it had unspoken rules. don’t ask too much. don’t admit too much. don’t be too honest.

can i come over?

the typing bubbles appeared and disappeared once, twice. he imagined you sitting there, curled up in the oversized sweater you liked to sleep in, weighing the pros and cons of letting him in. finally, your answer came.

y/n : yeah. door’s open

⋆˙⟡

when he showed up at your door, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, his hair damp from a quick shower, you couldn’t help but smile faintly. it was late—too late for casual hangouts—but you didn’t mind. you hadn’t been able to shake your own restlessness, and quinn’s presence felt like a solution to a problem neither of you had named.

“hey,” you said softly, stepping aside to let him in.

“hey.” he shrugged out of his jacket and toed off his sneakers. there was an easy familiarity to his movements, like he’d done this a hundred times before. and he had.

the two of you ended up on your couch, the same couch that had seen more than a few nights like this one. you handed him a glass of water, taking a sip from your own as you curled your legs beneath you. the silence was comfortable, but it felt heavier tonight, like something unsaid hung between you.

“you okay?” you asked eventually, looking at him through the soft glow of the lamp on your side table.

quinn glanced at you, the muscles in his jaw working like he was debating whether to tell the truth. “yeah. just didn’t feel like being alone tonight.”

your heart tugged at his honesty. “me either,” you admitted, your voice quiet.

that seemed to catch his attention. he turned to face you a little more, resting his arm along the back of the couch. “why’s that?”

you shrugged, swirling the water in your glass. “i don’t know. i think i get in my own head when it’s this quiet. makes me think about… things.”

“what kinds of things?”

“things i’m not sure i want to talk about.” you shot him a small, teasing smile to lighten the weight of the conversation. “what about you?”

he didn’t smile back—not fully. “probably the same.”

and just like that, the air between you changed. it wasn’t the usual easy companionship, the stolen moments of closeness that you had both become so used to. tonight felt different, and you weren’t sure how to handle that.

“do you ever think about…” quinn trailed off, his voice low and unsure.

“think about what?”

he shifted a little, looking at his hands. “where this is going. us, i mean.”

your heart skipped a beat. “quinn…”

“i’m not saying i want to mess this up,” he cut in quickly, like he needed to get the words out before he lost his nerve. “i just—i think about it sometimes. what it would be like if we tried to be more than… this.”

you stared at him, your pulse racing in your ears. this—whatever “this” was—had worked because it was easy. there were no strings, no expectations, just you and quinn finding comfort in each other when you needed it most. but now, he was opening a door you weren’t sure you were ready to walk through.

“do you want that?” you asked softly, carefully.

quinn ran a hand through his hair, letting out a long breath. “i don’t know. maybe. i just—” he looked at you then, really looked at you, and the honesty in his eyes made your chest ache. “i like being around you. not just like this. i like talking to you and… knowing you’re here. i don’t want to lose that.”

you swallowed, trying to ignore the way your throat tightened at his words. “i feel the same way,” you admitted.

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

the two of you sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the conversation settling between you. it was terrifying to admit what you were both feeling—to acknowledge that maybe this thing you had wasn’t as casual as you’d pretended it was.

quinn shifted closer, his knee brushing against yours as he leaned back into the couch. “you don’t have to answer right now. i just… i wanted you to know.”

you looked at him, at the way his brows furrowed in that familiar way they always did when he was thinking too hard about something. you’d seen him like this before—vulnerable and quiet—but tonight, it hit you differently. maybe because you felt the same way.

“okay,” you said softly, reaching out to place your hand on his arm. “thank you for telling me.”

he nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as his shoulders relaxed slightly. then, you shifted closer, your body leaning gently against his. “you don’t have to leave tonight if you don’t want to.”

it wasn’t an offer you usually made. you didn’t stay. it was an unspoken rule. but something in the way you said it—soft, tentative—made quinn’s heart skip a beat.

“you sure?” he asked, searching your face.

you smiled faintly. “yeah. i think i’d like it if you stayed.”

quinn let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, a quiet “okay” falling from his lips. he shifted so his arm could wrap around your shoulders, pulling you close. your head rested against his chest, and for the first time in a long time, the silence didn’t feel so loud.

you stayed like that for a while—two lonely people finding solace in each other’s presence. quinn could feel himself relaxing, his eyes starting to drift shut as he breathed you in.

the admission hung in the air between the two of you, fragile but undeniable. quinn felt something shift inside him, like a door cracking open. maybe tonight wasn’t just another lonely night. maybe it was the start of something more.

you smiled—a real one this time, not the tired version you’d worn earlier—and settled back against his chest. he held you tighter, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as his eyes slipped closed.

there was still so much left unsaid, but for now, this was enough. almost something, but not quite.

and maybe that was okay. for tonight.

#[ 📁 ] short fic #quinn hughes #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes fluff #quinn hughes angst #nhl hockey #vancouver canucks

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deprivedreality · 3 days ago

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𝗚𝗼 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗶𝘁, 𝗠𝗿. 𝗗𝘆𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁!

Word Count: idk

Content: fluff. 'She' is kind of controlling, bakugo loves her anyway.

Relationship dynamics of Katsuki Bakugo being the husband to his strict and authoritarian wife who works for the heroes public safety commission.

As students...

Bakugo met her through odd circumstances. She was sent to UA for a year exchange program, being hosted by class 2A, acting as a representative from the Hero Public Safety Commission’s private training school. She was polished, disciplined, and radiated authority that made even Aizawa acknowledge her presence. Bakugo, of course, wasn’t impressed—at first.

Bakugo will never forget their first interaction. She made a point of introducing herself to the class with a sharp, confident tone. When Bakugo muttered under his breath about her “show-off attitude,” she called him out, saying, “Bakugo Katsuki, I expected better from you.” His jaw hit the floor.

Bakugo who couldn't even understand her. She had a weird, quiet fascination with the blond hot head. Something about his raw passion and unrelenting drive intrigued her. She’d casually comment things like, “You’re not bad, Bakugo. I’ll make you my partner for the next drill.” He didn’t realize “partner” meant more than just sparring.

Bakugo knew from that start she wasn't like the others. During training sessions, they were always paired together because she insisted. Their sparring matches were loud, fiery, and drew crowds. Bakugo started seeing her as a real rival, but she kept smirking and saying, “You’re still a little rough around the edges.”

Bakugo didn't even know how to respond to her asking him out. It wasn’t romantic—at all. After a particularly intense training match, she wiped her sweat and said, “You’re worth my time. Let’s go get lunch.” Bakugo, flustered but too proud to refuse, barked, “Fine, but don’t order anything weird!”

Bakugo who eventually admitted that he didn't dislike her. Despite her cold demeanor, she occasionally showed glimpses of warmth—like stitching up his torn training gloves or offering advice after a tough day. Bakugo couldn’t help but admire her determination and started seeing her in a different light.

As They Grew Older....

Bakugo who never expected experiencing LDR. She'd be all the way in America to deepen her studies and he'd be in Japan interning with jeanist. They kept in touch—she insisted on emails. But her emails were formal and to the point, but Bakugo responded with sarcastic but surprisingly detailed replies. Eventually, he convinced her to download a normal texting app. It became a habit for him to rant about his hero work, knowing she’d send back advice and assurance. On lucky days, she'd post him letters with autographs from famous foreign heroes.

Bakugo who had to learn how to balance career and love. When they started dating officially, it was a strange dynamic. She treated their relationship like a “strategic partnership” but always found time to call him after missions. Bakugo pretended to hate her constant questions about his injuries but secretly liked the attention.

Bakugo who would never admit being strangely excited when she sees her in the flesh. He has been so used to seeing her only through video calls that he freezes up when both of them have physical interactions even the slightest. She, however, would kiss him every few hours during their dates. She wouldn't allow kisses longer than a two minutes. She thinks that controlling intimate activities would lessen possibility of pregnancy.

Bakugo who lets her plan out all the dates and scheduled calls and chat times. He admits it's 'weird as fuck' to see that she has a whole calendar dedicated to it, but he follows it anyway. Bakugo knew just how tight her schedule was since she's a rising officer of the Heroes Public Safety Commission and he understands your struggles. At this point, even he's surprised she even continues to date him. (Not like he'll agree to breaking up)

Bakugo when the moment he loses his virginity immediately asks her to buy a house with him. He didn't even hesitate. Bakugo gathers her parents and his parents for dinner to ask for permission before spending all his savings buying a nice house near her workplace.

Bakugo who knew exactly her style. He made sure she had an humongous wardrobe in their shared house. On rare occasions, he would personally pick out blazers, blouses and pencil skirts he think she'd like. He would be very specific in buying shoes too, he knew she preferred stilettos just like how she preferred always having a sleek bun with side bangs. She wasn't just a employee of one of the most important organizations, she was also a fashion icon because of Bakugo.

Bakugo knew that he was favored by the Public Safety Commission. That's probably because his partner is one of the next in line to the commission’s higher positions.

Bakugo who fought with her for the first time. Their first real fight happened when she criticized his recklessness on a high-stakes mission. She'd go as far as leaving her workplace—which she never does—once she gets a call from his sidekick just to visit him in the hospital. Bakugo snapped, “You’re not my damn boss!” to which she coolly replied with crossed arms, “No, but I’m the one who has to report your failures to the Commission.”

Bakugo who proposed impulsively during one of her rare free days. After cooking a messy but heartfelt dinner in their house, he shoved a ring box at her and grumbled, “You’re busy all the damn time, so let’s make this official before you forget about me.” She smiled softly and chuckled, “I was hoping I'd be the one to propose, but you got me first.”

As a Married Couple...

Bakugo was her husband, he knows she’s dedicated to her work. While he grumbles about her long hours, he always leaves meals on the table for her, muttering, “Eat, or I'll never cook for you again.”

Bakugo who's secretly its not really a secret proud of her. Bakugo doesn’t openly say it, but he brags about her to his friends. “Yeah, my wife works for the damn Commission. She’s a fucking big deal, so don’t piss her off.” His chest puffs with pride whenever someone praises her.

Bakugo who yearns for her Attention. On particularly quiet nights, Bakugo finds himself staring at her side of the bed, wishing she’d come home earlier. When she finally arrives, he plays it cool but holds her a little tighter than usual. If she's in the mood, they'll go straight to poundtown.

Bakugo hates arguments about Work-Life balance. Bakugo occasionally snaps when he's frustrated, “You’re always busy! What about us?” Although she wishes she could give him more love, she responds calmly, “What about the people depending on us?” It’s a constant struggle, but they always reconcile because neither wants to give up on the other.

Bakugo who makes sure to make a romantic surprises every now and then. Despite his rough demeanor, Bakugo occasionally shows his soft side by surprising her with things like handwritten notes or flowers. His excuse? “Don’t make it a big deal. I just saw them and thought of you, alright?”

Later in Their Marriage...

Bakugo who saved a family from a disaster and couldn't stop thinking about starting one of his own. So when he had the chance, he casually says, “Y’know… we’d make a kickass kid.” She raises an eyebrow and replies, “Are you suggesting something?” Bakugo fidgets before blurting, “I mean, maybe. I don’t want to be old when they start kicking ass.”

It only took her a moment to think about it, and when she finally agrees, she says, “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right. No recklessness, no shortcuts.” Bakugo smirks and says, “What’d you expect? Our kid’s gonna be the best, just like me.” She's pregnant the very next day.

Despite their demanding careers, they’ve found a rhythm. Bakugo handles the home front during her busy days, making sure everything is in order so she can focus on her work. She would take care of the rest when he's out saving the world.

Bakugo and his wife who parents with style. Bakugo is the cool but overprotective dad, while she’s the strict disciplinarian. Their kids would grow up with both fiery determination and a sense of structure, making them a force to be reckoned with.

Bakugo still treats her like the first woman who ever truly challenged him, even years into their marriage. He never lets her forget how much he admires her strength and determination, even if he shows it in his typical Bakugo way: “You’re still the same badass I fell for, and don’t you forget it.”

#katsuki bakugo imagine #katsuki bakugo headcanons #katsuki bakugou #katsuki bakugo with office siren wife #bakugo male wife #bakugo x yn #bakugo katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo mha #my hero academia headcanons #my hero academia #mha #bnha #bakugo x reader

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 days ago

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compos mentis 4

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, chronic health issues, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After a long court case, your mother stays attached to her lawyer, bringing even more contention into your life.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: this decrepit pervert is back.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You’re restless. What’s worse, is you have no energy. You never really do. Living is the most exhausting thing you’ve ever done.

You lean in the window sill, half hunched as you stare out at the suburban street. It’s a nice neighbourhood. Your mother lives in a condo, on one of the highest floors. You hate it. This place isn’t so bad. It’d be nice if it was just you.

That last thought makes you sad. You don’t know that you’ll ever be able to be alone. You hate being such a burden. What you hate most, is feeling like you’re on a leash. Sometimes literally as your oxygen tube keeps you bound to the tank.

All your existence, there’s been something wrong with you. In high school, it got so much worse. You didn’t even realise until your mother pointed it out. Then the appointments doubled, the tests too, and it never stopped. Will it ever?

You’re trapped in a holding pattern. If living is so difficult, should you even try? That’s a bad thought but you can’t help it. You see your mom, you see Andy, and they don’t need all these medicines or this thing to breathe for them. They have lived full lives, they have jobs and a home. You have nothing.

You turn away from the window. The tall trees and peaked rooftops are no longer so beautiful. They’re just another reminder of everything you don’t and will never have.

A knock at the door startles you. You cross the room and inch it open. You peer out, disappointed to find Andy again. How long is your mom going to sleep?

“Hey, sweetheart, I was thinking you might want to come with me. It's pretty quiet around here,” he says.

“Come with... where?” You rasp.

“I was going to go to the pharmacy and get your script filled, like your mom said,” he explains and holds up the doctor’s paper. “Found it in her purse.”

“Oh, uh...” you hesitate. You don’t know what to do. That he’s even asking makes you feel obligated. “Sure, I... okay.”

“Take your time, I’ll warm the car up,” he assures you. “Anything I can help with?”

“No, sir, I’ll grab my bag.”

You shut the door before he can respond. You pause and feel bad. You hope that didn’t seem intentional. You go and grab your belt bag. You check that everything is in it, then drag your tank back to the door.

You come out and the hall is empty. You go around to the bathroom and rinse off your face. You don’t have a toothbrush so you use your finger to spread some paste around your teeth and rinse your mouth. You’re overly aware of your day-old outfit. You do what you can for your hair then resign yourself to being the same mess you always are.

You take the stairs slowly. One at a time as you prevent the wheels of the tank from thumping. Andy’s house is so nice, you don’t want to ruin it. You get to the front door and pull on your jacket. You put on your sneakers and awkwardly angle out the front door.

The SUV whirs in the driveway. Before you can get to the first step, Andy is there. He helps with the tank and sets it on the flat ground. You quickly take the handle and thank him.

“You alright?” He asks. You wish he wouldn’t be so worried. Your mother doesn’t ever ask, only if it’s for show.

“Fine,” you assure him.

You roll the tank past him and he calls after you as you get to the SUV. “Hey, you don’t gotta sit in the back.”

“Uh, right,” you say.

You go around to the passenger door and he opens it for you. Once again, he lifts the tank. Before you can react, he does the same to you. You lurch up into the seat and wriggle until he lets you go. He doesn’t seem to notice your discomfort.

You sit straight and steady the tank between your knees. He shuts the door and you get the seatbelt clicked in. As he climbs in the other side, you take out your vaseline and smear it under your nose. It’s particularly raw this morning.

“Shoot, is that from the AC? I can turn it down.”

“No, it’s... okay,” you stare through the windshield. You want to get this done and over with. Your brows furrow at the thought of your mom waking up to the empty house.

“What’s the matter?” He asks.

“Nothing,” you insist.

“You look worried,” he says.

“I... my mom. She’s in rough shape.”

“Hungover,” he clucks, “it’s a good thing you don’t take after her with that.”

You nod, not sure what to say. He does up his seatbelt and checks the mirrors. He shifts and backs out of the driveway.

“Feel free to put on some music. I don’t think you want to listen to my oldies,” he chuckles.

“It’s okay,” you hug yourself with one arm, your other hand on the tank.

The silence buzzes in your ears. It’s too late now to change your mind. Besides, you’re so indecisive about your music. You wouldn’t exactly brag about your taste either.

The drive stretches on as you huddle into the door, distracting yourself with the passing light poles, houses, and so on. You don’t know this area. It’s not anywhere near your usual pharmacy. You often wait in the car when you do go with your mom.

He pulls up along the curb and park. It’s a nice quaint street in the neighbourhood. There’s a park on the corner and an organic store on the opposite side. You peek out at the local pharmacy’s moniker, hand-painted unlike glowing banner of the department store where your mom usually goes.

“Should be able to get this filled,” he says as he shuts off the engine.

You just nod and hum. He gets out quickly, easily. You envy that. You can’t do anything easily. He comes around as you push the door open. He once more brings down your tank but you’re certain to climb out on your own. You nearly stagger as you do.

You wheel out of the way as he closes the door. You look around at the other pedestrians. A woman with a stroller, a family just across the way babbling in glee. You turn away before the scene can make you morose.

Andy leads you to the pharmacy door and pulls it open with a chime. He lets you in first. There’s only a few aisles inside, the pharmacist’s counter is at the back, another till near the front where they sell chocolates and candy.

You linger until Andy points you down the center row. You go ahead of him and stop before the long counter. He unfolds the prescription as he greats the man behind it boldly. Good mornings and niceties you struggle to get right.

“Hm, we have these on hand but it’ll be a wait. Been a busy morning,” the pharmacist explains.

“That’s fine, we can keep ourselves busy.” Andy says. You squirm. You can? Waiting that long will only add to the tension that makes your chest even tighter.

You back up as he turns around. He looks around for a moment, as if he thinks you wondered off, then smiles at you. “There’s a cafe across the street, how about it?”

“I don’t... drink coffee,” you say.

“I know, sweetheart, I remember,” he gently strokes your shoulder, “they have tea, too. Or smoothies. You must be hungry too.”

“I... if you want to, I guess...” you shrug.

“You know, I’m not your mom. I won’t say no,” he intones. “You don’t have to be so nervous.”

“I know, I... I’m sorry.”

“And you don’t need to be sorry,” he counters.

You almost apologise again, only to fill your cheeks with air and nod. You feel like you should be though. Like everything you do is a disappointment.

You go back down the middle aisle. Andy reaches past you to hold the door again. You come out and narrowly avoid a collision. You wait for the family of three to pass by before Andy nudges you to the curb. He takes your free hand as he tugs you with him, jaywalking through the lazy traffic.

The effort is enough to make your head spin. You get your wheels over the other curb and sway. Andy doesn’t let go. He takes you past the patio area of the cafe and swings back the door before he releases you, pointing you within.

The smell of coffee, the grind of a machine, and the chatter of diners greets you. You wait behind the two teenage girls at the counter as Andy comes up next to you. He stands close but you assume it’s because it’s such a tight space.

“Do you want to find somewhere to sit?” He wonders.

“No, I’m okay,” you say.

“Sure, uh, so what do you want?”

You look up at the hand-written menu. You might get a tea after all.

“The brioche egg sandwich is one of my favourites,” he says.

“You come here... a lot?” You wonder.

“Sure. I like to run in the mornings. I’ll grab a coffee on my cool down. And weekends I’ll have breakfast. Your mom’s usually still asleep if she’s around,” he tuts.

“Right, uh... that sounds fine. Brioche.”

The girls go to the further end of the counter and Andy waves you forward. The barista greets him by name. She’s very pretty. She has amber coloured braids with a zigzag pattern and cute freckles over her cheeks. You want to ask how she did her hair like that but you don’t want to be rude.

“Andy, how are you?” She chirps in recognition.

“Good, we were just walking through the neighbourhood,” he says, You adjust the tube under your nose self-consciously. The barista is gorgeous and reminds you of everything you��re not.

“Oh, is this your fiancee?” She asks. “She’s finally come around.”

Andy chuckles and you blanch. He doesn’t offer a protest and neither do you. You wait for him to correct her. He doesn’t.

“Sweetheart, what did you want to drink?” He looks at you and you nearly choke.

“Can I have the pomegranate tea, please?” Even your voice sounds ugly.

“Sure, what size, hon?”

“Small,” you croak out.

“Small pomegrante, and your usual?” She asks Andy.

“Yep, and two of the brioche breakfast sandwiches. Oh, and something sweet for dessert. Those cherry tarts look delicious,” he points to the display.”

“Got it, anything else?” She taps the till screen.

“That’s it,” he slips out his card and waits. He selects a tip amount before he taps, the machine beeping in acceptance. You spy the total right before it disappears. Oh, that’s expensive.

“I’ll bring it to you, Andy,” she smiles brightly, “you two enjoy.”

Andy takes your hand again before you can react. He brings you to the table and you sit across from him, right by the window. You feel like you’re on display. You hate it.

You push the tube into your nose as you think then trail your hand down the length. You stare off into the distance. You don’t know, it feels weird. It feels like he’s doing too much. Like maybe he feels bad for you.

“Whatcha thinking about?” He interrupts your trance.

You flinch and look at him, then avert your gaze to the table.

“You didn’t...” you begin then shake your head.

“What?” He prompts.

“Nothing.”

“Go on, sweetie, you don’t have to be shy with me. You can say whatever you need,” he leans forward as he crosses his arms over the table, “you know, your mom told me you’ve never really had a father figure. I’m here to help, to support you.”

You nod and pick at your dry lip then stop yourself, hiding your hands under the table. “You-- that woman... she thought I—that we—you didn’t say no.”

“Oh, I didn’t want to embarrass her,” he laughs. “It’s funny, don’t you think?”

“Yeah...” you nod at your lap. “It is really... funny. No one would really want to marry me.”

You cover your mouth as the thought slips out. You shake your head. Why did you say it?

“Huh? Sweetheart?” He leans in even closer, “you don’t think that’s true, do you?”

You shrug and peel your hand away, chewing on your sleeve as you slump low in your seat.

“You’re a nice girl. Pretty too.”

“I’m not,” you murmur into your cuff. “You don’t have to lie.”

“Well who says you’re not?” He urges. You shake your head again.

“Your mother?” He suggests. You shake your head harder. She would be livid if you told him that she did. He clicks his tongue, “well, however it is, don’t listen to them.” He reaches across to you, “hey, sweetheart, look at me.” You obey, trembling in humiliation, “you are very pretty.”

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #series #compos mentis #defending jacob #au #dark fic #dark!fic #fic

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cometconmain · 13 hours ago

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Just gonna point out here (targeted in the direction of anyone calling the CEO shooter a terrorist) that this constant slapping of 'terrorism' on shit that isn't by people in power who want to delegitimise acts of measured violence against specific people in power who actively caused the suffering and death this was about are making people stop treating that term seriously and I think that's a really big problem.

Nobody else died. Whoever did definitely kill the CEO didn't blow up an entire building to get to one guy. He didn't do a mass shooting of the building to get to the one guy. He didn't target random civillians and hold them hostage and sexually assault and slaughter them while planning killing as many people as possible regardless of what they've done or not done as individuals. He didn't attack a concert to get one guy. His only political statement with the murder was 'these people have been murdering us in the tens of thousands for decades and it's time they understood we've had enough through the only language they seem to understand because they ignored us when we were talking peacefully and went on killing us anyway because due process was never going to stop them when they have the game rigged in their favour.' And he made sure only the person responsible for these acts of horrific fatal negligence against innocent people was the one who died and no one else. That's not terrorism. At most it's assassination and we can argue about whether or not that's a helpful mindset to be accepting in the long term as much as people like but for fuck's sake people HAVE TO STOP labelling shit terrorism that isn't. It's watering the term down and people who are rightfully angry at being shut down at every turn when they do things that can't be swept under the rug (which applies to all kinds of non-fatal activism so don't come at me on that) are starting to ignore actual terrorism when it happens because their experience is that anyone using that word is just trying to remove the last shred of power a group has to stand up to their oppressors.

Do we have to just also make sure we consciously don't let ourselves redefine that term in either direction? Yes. But it's a two way street and everyone else misusing that word in the first place need to meet us in the middle in not waving it around slapping anyone and any activism they're made uncomfortable by like it's a wet noodle regardless of what the people they're slapping are ACTUALLY doing or not doing.

If we decide terrorism is bad (and obviously actual terrorism genuinely is!!), and then decide anything involving any form of violent resistance in the face of increasingly violent oppression is now terrorism, what kind of message do we send to all the people who are basically being told they're not allowed to resist that oppression now even if the situation isn't changing enough from the peaceful measures because every time they come with an olive branch they're met by a policeman/soldier's baton/tear gas/taser or even bullet?

The longer we go without listening to people when they ARE talking, and shutting down all other avenues to reach change except for the violence we also condemn as blanketly wrong regardless of circumstance, the more enraged and violent those people will get. It's basic psychology and easy enough for people not experiencing that inescapable oppression to say kindergarten level shit like 'violence is bad; killing is wrong.' If someone tries to kill you in the street and necessary escalation to stop them results in their dying, is that wrong? But they were trying to kill you. Were you supposed to limit yourself and increase your chances of death because they had a family? What about your family?

There have to be nuances to this because the world is more complicated than the play room where all the toddlers who can't handle that nuance are. Little Tommy isn't stopping little Johnny from talking to him because he doesn't have that kind of power. An adult can step in and resolve the child-level issue and make Tommy listen to Johnny and teach them to handle conflict peacefully and respectfully.

That doesn't apply to the adult-level capitalist world where money over millions of people's lives is the norm and intricately rigged and enforced so it never changes through peaceful resolution (we can keep chipping away and we do make things more bearable than the rich people want to give us, but it's a constant and exhausting battle while in the meantime everyone we love is either dead, dying or at risk of dying around us every day this goes without being properly fixed). In a world where a homeless man can be murdered in cold blood on a subway train after the attack stopped, but a CEO who has killed a horrific number of people in cold blood himself gets shot and his killer made an example of to the angry populace who see this discrepancy and understand that the powerful are only trying to maintain their status quo, there is only so much saying "Please pretty please stop killing us. We're human beings. We've justified to you over and over again why what you're doing is wrong and you still kill us with no consequences and no end in sight but maybe if we just keep talking and expecting a different result it'll happen" can do to stop the status quo that is constantly being propped up by corporate and governmental interests.

No one actually wants to be in a civil war. Most of us don't want to kill people. Bringing the rich and powerful who have killed so many to justice through due process and a proper trial is always going to be better and healthier for our society than walking up to them and shooting them.

But if you give people no other choice because you will never see that proper trial by your own design...

What else are those suffering and dying meant to do? Just keep suffering and dying quietly? Accept this constant violence toward them only to have their desperate violence called unacceptable and wrong and terrorism while yours is quietly swept under the rug?

Never target innocents. Never try to wipe out an entire group of people for the actions of a few. That IS terrorism and unjust and unacceptable because it's unnecessary force against random innocent people. But if the few who are doing those horrific actions aren't being stopped by normal societal methods of dealing with them peacefully and they continue shutting down every avenue you try to take to make them face justice non-violently and you actively make sure only to target them that's not terrorism. That's being pushed to the brink and finally breaking the way everyone will eventually under that type of oppressive violence and then making sure only the people actually committing that violence against you receive violence in return. That's self defence.

This literally is the only course left in a truly dystopian system where there truly is no end in sight except through making it clear people can't take it anymore, because they don't let people express that peacefully either. What else are those people supposed to do when you will never go to trial and ALSO refuse to let due process and proper trials happen to those you want silenced?

Terrorism stopped sounding like a bad thing to us when people made it mean anything they didn't like. And that's seriously fucked up because actual terrorism where people are targeted indiscriminately for a political or religious statement really is wrong and fucked up and unnecessary and has to stop. It's never necessary to do that even if it's about fighting the status quo and increasingly violent oppression. You can do that without killing or even risking innocents. The guy who shot the CEO proved that. There's a middle line to walk here and we have to make sure we don't let people flopping labels around like wet noodles make us think that terrorism is just ok now because it's been applied so frequently to defence of the public both violent and peaceful in a system where they shut down all other methods of change they would have to listen to otherwise.

And the people treating it like a wet noodle only to go on to committing acts of violence and aggression to terrorise the public with no repercussions themselves have to stop doing all of that and all the shit this is about in the first place. We know what the authorities are doing with this public spectacle and all it's doing is making people angrier and happier to commit more violence. This is how you get more and actual terrorism, not less of it, because people with less care for those nuances are going to see you doing this shit and decide that makes it necessary to expand the crosshairs. (Again, people need to know the difference and choose not to do that; but you know these assholes will jump on that the second it happens to lend credence to their decrying of genuinely necessary and properly measured violence against them to stop their constant unrelenting oppressive violence against everyone else. And then all the bootlickers who have not yet experienced the leopards eating their faces will tut tut and decry everything too in support of the leopards all while those leopards are eyeing up their faces next.)

Honestly I'm pretty sure the Redcoats would have called the Americans fighting for their freedom 'terrorists' during the American Revolution if that had been something they could use to delegitimise the Americans' cause in the public eye. It would be interesting to see what they did say instead because it's unfortunately a very effective tactic people in oppressive power over others use all the time now. I wonder if people used to fall for it as badly back then too as they do in the modern era.

"I’m very concerned about my client’s right to a fair trial in this case. He’s being prejudiced by some statements that are being made by government officials. Like every other defendant, he’s entitled to a presumption of innocence. But unfortunately the way this has been handled so far his rights are being violated. And as you know, Your Honor, there’s a wealth of case law guaranteeing his rights to a fair trial, but none of the safeguards have been put in place yet here — in fact it’s just the opposite of what’s been happening.

He’s a young man, and he is being treated like a human pingpong ball between two warring jurisdictions here.

These federal and state prosecutors are coordinating with one another at the expense of him. They have conflicting theories in their indictment, and they are literally treating him like he is some sort of political fodder, like some sort of spectacle.

He was on display for everyone to see in the biggest staged perp walk I’ve ever seen in my career. It was absolutely unnecessary. He’s been cooperative with law enforcement. He’d been in custody for over a week. He waived extradition. He was cooperative at all accounts. There was no reason for the NYPD and everybody to have these big assault rifles — that frankly I had no idea it was in their arsenal — and to have all the press there the media there. It was perfectly choreographed.

And what was the New York City Mayor doing at this press conference, Your Honor? That just made it utterly political. And as your honor knows under Loro v. Charles, the Court of Appeals for the 2nd Circuit has held it to be clearly established that these staged perp walks to the media unrelated to a legitimate law enforcement objective is unconstitutional. And I submit that there was zero law enforcement objective to do that sort of perp walk. There’s absolutely no need for that whatsoever.

And frankly, Your Honor, the mayor should know more than anyone about the presumption of innocence that he, too, is afforded dealing with his own issues. And, frankly, I submit that he was just trying to detract from those issues by making a spectacle of Mr. Mangione.

And there are consequences to this.

He has a right to a fair trial. And I just want to put on the record statements that the mayor made publicly about my client. Nothing saying “alleged” for example. And he said “I wanted to send a strong message with the police commissioner that we’re leading from the front. I’m not just going to allow him to come into our city. I wanted to look him in the eye and state ‘You carried out this terrorist act in my city, the city of New York that I love.’” And he wanted to show symbolism.

Your Honor, he’s not a symbol. He’s somebody who is afforded the right to a fair trial. He’s innocent until proven guilty. And the mayor was talking to jurors — future potential jurors that elected him. Those are the people that elected him that he is talking to and calling this man a terrorist.

So, Your Honor, I just want to make a record of this and put everyone on notice that this has to stop, and my client is entitled to a fair trial and the presumption of innocence."

#human rights #united healthcare #uspol #not transformers

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cakesunflower · 1 day ago

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lovelorn (and nobody knows) [rafe cameron au fic] chapter 17

Summary: Isla Carrera had planned for the summer before college to be focused on three things: helping out at her family’s restaurant (the helpful daughter), preparing for college (the good student), and having fun with the Pogues (the loyal friend). But one fateful night, where her car breaks down and her rescuer is none other than Rafe Cameron, seems to send her summer down a path she didn’t see coming–one teeming with a secret, illicit romance with the last person she expected. And if her friends and sister found out, Isla isn’t sure they’ll be so understanding, no matter what her feelings are.

A/N: oh boy.....

“Baby, can I ask you something?”

Isla tears her gaze away from the window as she watches the town go by, turning to face her mom in the driver’s seat. “What’s up?” she asks, fixing the skirt of her summer dress.

Anne blows out a breath, left elbow resting on the sill of the car door. “I know this relationship of yours with Rafe, you’re keeping it a secret from your sister and friends.” Isla bites the inside of her cheek, already feeling the anxiety brew in the pit of her stomach over the subject of this conversation. “How much longer do you think you can keep this up?”

Isla sighs, head falling back against the seat in defeat. “Mom—”

“I don’t mind keeping it quiet from your sister,” Anne cuts in with a hint of a smile, glancing at Isla briefly before her gaze returns out onto the road. “But seriously, honey—”

“I’m waiting for the right moment,” Isla says, lips twisting to the side as she looks down at her dress. Spaghetti straps with a flowing skirt that stops a few inches above her knees, a pretty yellow color with tiny white daisies patterned all over it. “But I know no matter when or how I tell them, they’re not gonna be happy. They’ll for sure think I’m insane or something.”

She sees her mom’s eyebrows furrow, forehead crease. “It can’t be that bad. They’re your friends, your sister. Give them a little more credit.”

Isla scoffs, her smile sardonic as her eyebrows raise. “Are you kidding me? Do you know how many fights the guys have gotten into with Rafe and his friends? There’s a lot of history between them all, and none of it is good. So I just—I don’t know how I’m supposed to look them all in the eye and tell them I’m dating Rafe. The only person who wouldn’t be totally pissed is Sarah. But the others? Especially Kie and JJ? They’ll think I’ve, like, betrayed them,” she mumbles, gaze dropping to watch herself anxiously play with one of the rings she wears.

It’ll hurt, when they find out. It will hurt them and it will hurt Isla, and her anxiety is preventing her from seeing the slight possibility that the reaction won’t be as big as she’s fearing, or that they might get over it quickly. It all just seems too explosive to go in any other way than badly.

“They love you,” Anna says firmly. “So they’ll get over it. It might take them some time to accept your relationship, but I know they will. Especially when they see that you’re happy with Rafe.” The idea of it makes Isla smile slightly, though she doesn’t let that seed of hope in. But Anna sits confidently next to her, which is a little reassuring for Isla, even if her stomach is still in knots. “And when your relationship isn’t a secret anymore, I’d love for Rafe to come over for dinner.”

That makes Isla’s smile widen slightly, shy yet excited at the notion as she nods, her earrings tinkling as she does. “Yeah, me too.” Then she scoffs, adding, “Just make sure Kie doesn’t poison his food.”

Anna lets out a laugh at that, shaking her head in amusement. As the car rolls to a stop at a red light, she turns to meet Isla’s gaze, her eyes soft and warm. “Look, I know you want to make sure the time is right to tell them, but don’t wait too long that you end up psyching yourself out of it, okay? It’d be better for them to hear it from you than somehow finding out some other way.”

Isla nods, chewing on the inside of her cheek, because her mom hasn’t said anything Isla doesn’t already know. Telling her friends herself is exactly what Isla wants. She knows the longer she waits, the more opportunity she is giving for the universe to play a card against her and have her friends find out about her and Rafe through another way. It would make the situation even worse if they didn’t hear it from her, even if the idea of telling them still makes her beyond anxious. She loves her friends so much. She can’t imagine her life without them.

Even so, their reactions aren’t something Isla is looking forward to. Avoiding the problem, for now, just seems easier.

Isla is still thinking about it after her mom drops her off at the dock, her mind still running on the ferry over to the mainland where she’s meeting Rafe. He already had to be at Chapel Hill for work on behalf of his dad, so he and Isla had made a plan to meet at Sutton’s for their date. Kie was working at the restaurant today, her friends occupied with something or another, so it was the perfect time for Isla to meet up with Rafe.

If anyone asked, she was meeting up with some friends she had made when she toured the university’s campus a few months ago, so no one would be the wiser.

When Isla turns the corner to get to Sutton’s, she smiles when, in the distance, she easily spots Rafe standing outside. His back is to her, but she recognizes him easily, her smile widening as she approaches him, artfully dodging any other pedestrian in the way. Rafe, though, stands in the shade of the mid-size tree along the sidewalk, seemingly busy on his phone, until Isla skips the last few steps until she’s sliding up right next to him, left arm winding around his waist.

“Excuse me, but could you by chance be waiting for someone?” she grins, giggling when he tenses up the second her arm is around him, but relaxing a split second later when he looks down at her grinning face.

Rafe’s own smile lights up his face, dancing in those blue eyes as he settles his arm around her shoulders. “Sure am,” he says, fingers brushing up and down the bare skin of her arm. It’s the middle of summer, and he’s going to make goosebumps break across her skin as his eyes drink in every inch of her. From the yellow dress against her brown skin to her wavy hair falling down her back to the gold of her jewelry; from her necklaces and rings to nose ring and several earrings. “Waiting for the prettiest girl around,” he finishes, dipping his head to press a sweet kiss to her lips.

Isla smiles, kissing him back and welcoming the fluttering in her chest. “Such a charmer,” she teases as they pull back, her right hand on his chest. “But it’s time for you to feed me.”

That pulls a laugh out of him, and Isla can never get tired of the sound. So light, making a hint of crinkles appear at the corners of his eyes, showing off perfect white teeth and a smile that could heal anyone’s heart. No wonder he takes care of a lot of Ward’s business when it comes to face-to-face time with clients; Rafe is undeniably charming, his smile disarming and effortlessly making a person forget about anything else. Isla doesn’t mind it one bit.

“Yes, ma’am. Let’s go,” he says, walking them to the front doors of Sutton’s, opening one of the doors and gently nudging her forward to walk in first, following close behind her as they enter.

Isla smiles when she’s instantly hit with the scent of burgers being cooked and the salty tinge of French fries. There’s an Icee machine towards the back on the left, and while there are tables to sit at the front, towards the back are aisles and fridges loaded with snacks and drinks. The walls are white and red tiled, a menu board along the wall behind the ordering counter, right above the window looking into the kitchen where Isla sees people bustling around.

Rafe had said this place wasn’t extraordinary, just a burger joint mixed with a store, but it’s the food that makes this place popular. It already smells amazing as they step up to the counter to order.

The man standing on the other side, an older guy with graying hair and a goatee, instantly grins when they step up. “Rafe Cameron, my man,” the man laughs, hand reaching over and Isla smiles as Rafe’s hand clasps his. “Haven’t seen you in a minute.” His gaze shifts over to Isla, his smile widening. “And who’s this lovely lady you’ve got with you?”

Isla sees Rafe grin as his arm rests on her shoulders again. “This is my girl, Isla.” Her heart skips happily at his words as he says to her, “This is Morgan. The genius behind the food you’re gonna eat today.”

Isla laughs. “I can’t wait.”

“Music to my ears,” Morgan says, waving his fingers in a come on motion. “What’ll you have?”

While Isla gets a cheeseburger deluxe, Rafe gets a steak burger, fries for both, and once he pays for their food and drinks, they claim a small round table against the wall while their food is being made. “Oh, hey,” Rafe says, shifting forward in his chair as he reaches into the back pocket of his pants. “Wheezie asked me to give this to you.”

He holds out a tiny brown cloth bag and recognition lights up Isla’s face as she reaches for it. “What is it?” Rafe asks with a chuckle, watching curiously.

Isla grins as she undoes the strings that shut the bag. “You didn’t open it and look?” she asks teasingly.

Rafe settles back in his chair. “Wouldn’t invade your privacy if it was something you wanted to keep to yourself or something.”

Her smile softens as she reaches into the bag. “You’re adorable,” she says with a gentle laugh, pulling out the beaded bracelet Wheezie made. “See?” Isla shows him, holding the bracelet up.

A smile touches Rafe’s lips, his fingers twisting his own bracelet once. “You asked her to make you one?” When she nods with a hum, he looks at the bracelet again and says, “That’s a pretty blue.”

Isla observes the bracelet, the sky blue beads Wheezie had used and white heart beads in between, the blue color absolutely perfect. Isla bites her bottom lip, hesitating for a moment, a bit shy before confessing, “Matches your eyes.”

She sees Rafe’s smile falter a bit at the revelation, surprised, but his smile returns quickly, those blue eyes lighting up while Isla’s cheeks heat. Letting herself be vulnerable with him, emotionally, is something that has become easier—though it doesn’t stop her from blushing anyway. But Rafe always seems to welcome her shyness, her vulnerability, and hasn’t made her regret being open with him.

And it feels good—to let someone in, in a way that she hasn’t in a while. Rafe is sweet to her, soft, and she finds herself falling for him more and more. Despite the secrets, despite the complications that would come from telling her friends, her feelings for Rafe aren’t something she can ignore—she doesn’t want to.

“You’re a romantic too, huh?” he muses, his smile gentle but Isla sees the sheer happiness in his gaze that makes her pulse quicken.

“Of course,” Isla grins, putting on the bracelet to join the one she already wears on her wrist, the matching thread bracelet she has with her sister, Sarah, and Cleo. Her throat works as she fiddles with the yellow bracelet, sitting nicely next to the blue beaded one, and Isla exhales slowly through her nose. “I was thinking. . .”

“Uh-oh,” Rafe smiles, chuckling when she shoots him a feigned glare. “What about?”

Isla twists her lips to the side, right leg crossing over her left knee and adjusting the skirt of her dress. Sutton’s isn’t too busy, but there’s a subtle bustle of the cooks in the kitchen and other customers scattered around at tables. Letting out a breath, she admits, “I think I’m gonna tell the others about us.”

She watches as Rafe’s expression shifts, surprise washing over his face because no doubt she took him off guard. Truthfully, they don’t have conversations, at length, about Isla telling her friends about their relationship. Rafe has given her full reign on how to go about that because, the fact of the matter is, Rafe doesn’t give much of a damn of people’s opinions on him, even his friends’. If anything, Isla knows Rafe’s friends would give him shit for dating a Pogue, even if a lot of them still see Isla, Kie, and Sarah as Kooks, but they’ll be quick to get over it.

But Isla’s friends, on the other hand, are a different story, more volatile. Anxiety has made her keep this a secret, but she and Rafe have been dating for nearly two months now, and things between them keep getting better and better. She wants to share that happiness, doesn’t want to hide it like some dirty little secret. Plus, Isla is tired of sneaking around; it started off fun, and it still has some of its thrill, but being with him publicly, without worrying about getting caught, is also something she wants.

“Are you—you’re sure?” Rafe asks, sitting up as his gaze intently searches hers. “Because I don’t want you to take that step if you’re not ready—”

“I’m sure,” Isla tells him with a nod, the corner of her mouth quirking up in a slight smile. “I’m not sure if I’ll ever be ready. You know them. They’re stubborn. I think holding it off for too long might be worse because they’ll think of how long I’ve been keeping this from them, you know?” Her eyes meet Rafe’s. “I think you and I are in a good place, right? This works between us, it feels good.” Her cheeks heat up with her smile as Rafe grins a little too. “So, yeah. I’m gonna tell them, and hope for the best,” she adds with a chuckle.

Rafe nods, taking this in while his smile remains. “You know I got your back, yeah?” With a tilt of his head, he hesitates for a moment before asking, “Do you want me to be there when you tell them?”

A gentle laugh escapes her, eyebrows rising. “I think it might be better if it was just me.” The mere sight of Rafe would be enough to raise their hackles before Isla would be able to get a word out. “Maybe I should get them drunk first.”

Rafe snorts out a laugh, just as his name is called from the counter. “I’ll follow your lead, sweetheart,” he says, pushing himself up from the chair and heading to get their food.

Isla watches him, biting the inside of her cheek and absently admiring the firm shape of his ass in those pants while also picturing the scene in her head of when she drops this bombshell on her friends. There will probably be yelling, looks of betrayal and possibly disgust—Isla just needs to mentally prepare herself for all of them. And, honestly, she’s been doing that since the minute she and Rafe decided to pursue a relationship—hell, since their first date—but no matter how much she tries to prepare herself, Isla doesn’t think she’ll be ready.

It’ll be fine. Hopefully.

“Here we fucking go,” Rafe says when he returns, placing the tray in front of them and picking up one of the styrofoam boxes labeled cheeseburger deluxe and handing it to her. “This is yours. Dig in.”

Isla places a paper napkin on her lap before opening the box excitedly, feeling Rafe’s gaze on her as she admires the picture perfect burger and a good portion of French fries. It smells delicious as she picks it up, perfectly hot in her hands, and when she lifts it to her mouth, her gaze flickers up and catches Rafe’s.

“Are you gonna watch me eat?” she asks with an amused laugh.

He matches her smile. “Just the first bite. Wanna get your honest reaction.”

Isla shakes her head, smiling at his interest and curiosity as Isla finally takes a bite of the burger. Flavor explodes on her tongue and Isla’s shoulders drop as she chews, eyes widening at Rafe, who is smiling in satisfaction. “Oh, my God,” she mumbles after swallowing, reaching for a napkin to pat at her lips. “This is amazing.”

Honestly, it’s probably better than any gourmet burger she’s had. And Isla hates to admit it, but it’s even a little better than the cheeseburger they make at The Wreck—though, she’d never tell her parents that.

“I told you,” Rafe answers smugly, reaching for his own burger. But before he takes a bite, he asks, “You wanna try mine?”

Isla smiles as he holds the burger out, putting her own down and reaching for his. She takes a bite, the steak burger colored with different sauces and spices, but delicious all the same. She tastes the familiar tang of a pickle as she chews, nodding in approval as she hands it back to Rafe. “Delicious. I ate a pickle, sorry,” she apologizes with a grin.

Rafe chuckles and takes the top of the bun off, picking up the second slice of pickle and putting it in her container. “I don’t like pickles.”

Isla blinks. “Why didn’t you ask them to keep them off?”

He shrugs. “You like pickles,” he answers simply before taking a bite, leaving Isla smiling fondly at the boy before her.

“You’re so cute,” she grins, nudging his foot with hers under the table as she picks up the pickle and tosses it in her mouth.

“Cute, whipped,” Rafe hums with a roll of his eyes, waving around a fry. “Either one works.” He flashes a smirk.

Isla wiggles her eyebrows playfully. “Regrets?”

He smiles, but his gaze is serious. “Absolutely not.”

*****

Isla’s fingers brush along the spines of the rows of books, unable to help herself any time she’s in a bookstore. After lunch at Sutton’s, which had been delicious, they began walking down the sidewalk until they came across a bookstore and, like a magnet, Isla was drawn inside. Rafe had no arguments, following her in with a smile, but about ten minutes later, he stepped outside for a work call.

Isla already has three books in her arms since he left the store, which she knows will amuse him. It’s not her fault she can’t leave a bookstore without buying something. It’s a compulsion at this point.

By the time Isla’s ready to check out, she frowns at the front windows of the store, wondering where Rafe is. That’s a long phone call.

Once she pays and is happily dangling the strap of the paper bag from her fingers, Isla exits the store, ready to pull her phone out to text Rafe—only to spot him easily out on the sidewalk. Instantly, her confusion falters and a smile spreads on Isla’s parted lips, her heart picking up its pace when she sees the small bouquet of sunflowers he’s holding.

He’s already grinning, like he’s expecting her, and a breathless laugh escapes Isla, her cheeks flushing with warmth as she walks over and he holds the flowers out. Her sandals tap against the pavement as she approaches Rafe, stopping in front of him and reaching for the bouquet—except he clicks his tongue and pulls them out of her reach.

“Ah-ah,” Rafe grins with a lift of his chin, blue eyes dancing with mirth as Isla’s eyebrows raise. “Not for free.”

She’s quick to know what he means, her smile widening as she steps closer until there’s barely any space between them on the semi-busy sidewalk. Isla is wrapped in the familiar, comforting scent of his cologne, woodsy with a delicious undertone of spices, and with a hand on his chest, she rises on her toes with an upward tilt of her chin, and Rafe’s grin widens as he meets her halfway because he’s too tall for his own good, lips pressing to hers.

Isla sucks on his bottom lip and his answering groan is enough to send desire coursing through her, desperate need for Rafe making her head spin as his tongue swipes against hers. She knows they’re in public, but can’t bring herself to care as she feels his free hand pressing to the small of her back, his touch warm even through the thin material of her dress.

Her head spins with his kisses, and she groans quietly before mumbling, “Wish we were home right now.”

“Yeah?” Rafe murmurs as Isla’s eyes flutter open, watching him look down at her with hooded eyes. His gaze flickers around them, then, before he smiles. The mischievous glint in his eyes has Isla raising her eyebrows before he says, “I’ve got an idea.”

Fifteen minutes later, her free hand clasped in Rafe’s, Isla is stifling a laugh as they walk down the carpeted hallway of an upscale hotel. “You’re insane,” she giggles as Rafe takes the keycard and taps it against the security lock of the hotel room Rafe booked for them just for the afternoon.

He holds the door open for her, using his grip on her hand to usher her into the room. The curtains are parted to let the afternoon sun brighten the room, the king sized bed practically calling their name as Isla sets the flowers, purse, and bag of books on the nearby table. It’s a simple, spacious room with a king sized bed with a bed frame against the wall, cushioned in the middle with a wooden frame. A TV opposite of the bed, a mini fridge with a glass door showing off the drinks and treats inside—though, all she and Rafe really care about is the bed, of course.

She feels Rafe come up behind her, his fingers brushing along her neck as he moves her dark hair over one shoulder, Isla’s breath catching when his lips ghost along her neck. “It’s not home—” Neither hers nor his. “But it’s the second best thing.”

“Mhm,” Isla hums as his hand snakes across her stomach, pressing her closer into him as she leans her head back against his shoulder. “You’ll hear no complaints from me,” she says, tilting her head enough to press her lips to his, grinning when he instantly returns the kiss.

Isla turns in his arms, her own wrapping around his neck and pushing herself into him, heat pooling between her legs when his hands slide down her sides before they cup her ass through the material of her dress, applying pressure to pull her closer. Isla moans and her fingers run through his hair as he moves them, no doubt moving them towards the bed.

Her skin is on fire, craving his touch, and she drops her hands to undo his belt. As his tongue teases hers, deepening the kiss, the back of Isla’s legs touch the bed. She has five seconds to toe off her sandals—thank God they don’t have clasps—and suddenly she’s being pushed down, a gasp of a laugh escaping her during the moment their kiss breaks as Rafe’s lean body climbs over hers, kissing her once again as she practically sinks into the soft mattress.

“This fucking dress,” Rafe mumbles into the kiss, Isla’s heart pounding as she feels his finger hook under one of the spaghetti straps. “Bet you wore it just to drive me crazy,” he rasps, pulling one of the straps down her shoulder.

Isla’s lips curl up because he’s totally not wrong. It’s one of her favorite dresses, for sure, but Isla had put it on with the simple thought of Rafe’s reaction to her wearing it. “Is it working?” she asks, pulling out his belt and tossing it to the side. It clatters somewhere on the floor.

Rafe growls quietly and Isla gasps into his mouth when he takes one of her hands and brings it to cup his cock over the material of his pants. He’s big and hard and Isla’s body practically sings with the desire of having him inside of her again. “What do you think?” he asks, nipping at her bottom lip and tugging at it sharply. She swears she feels the pull in her pussy.

“Gonna do something about it?” she asks breathlessly between kisses, her leg hooking around his hip to bring him closer, heart pounding as they breathe in each other’s air.

She arches slightly when she feels his hand cup her breast through her dress, the bodice fitting nicely enough that she didn’t need to wear a bra with it. “Yeah,” he grunts, the air hitching in Isla’s throat when his fingers curl under the neckline of her dress. “Gonna taste every inch of you.”

Cool air of the room hits her in the next second when Rafe tugs the front of her dress down, the material soft and stretchy enough for him to do so easily. Rafe pulls back and Isla already misses the taste of his lips, but she catches the way his gaze darkens at the sight of her exposed breasts, hunger flashing across his face before he leans down and closes his lips around her nipple.

Isla cries out at the wicked touch, hand finding the back of Rafe’s head, fingers threading through his hair as he sucks at her nipple, tongue flicking and each teasing movement has Isla’s head tilting back, lips parting and eyes fluttering at the electricity that buzzes through her veins. When his teeth graze along her nipple, Isla gasps, fingers tightening in his hair as her back arches, pushing her breast further into the warmth of Rafe’s mouth as his hand cups her other breast, fingers tweaking and playing with her nipple.

“So fucking pretty,” Rafe mumbles, switching over to the other breast, and Isla lifts her head enough to watch him suck, his lust filled blue eyes locking on her dazed green, her heart pounding when she feels his tongue flick her nipple again.

“Rafe, Rafe.” His name is all Isla can utter, lost in the head spinning ecstasy she feels from his mouth alone. “Please—”

She’s not sure what she’s begging for at this point, but he lifts off her chest and kisses her, swallowing her moans and licking into her mouth. His tongue plunders and ravages and takes, and Isla happily lets him as her fingers blindly find the hem of his shirt, giving it an upwards tug. The kiss breaks long enough for Rafe to pull the shirt off the rest of the way, Isla’s fingers admiring the hard muscles of his abdomen and feeling them flex under her touch.

“Can you do something for me, baby?” he murmurs against her lips. Isla hums in response, fairly certain she’d do anything he’d ask. Rafe kisses the corner of her mouth, brushes his lips against hers, and asks, “Sit on my face? Please?”

Oh, fuck yes.

She looks up at him, panting, admiring the lust in his eyes and pink swollen lips. She doesn’t miss the way her breasts glisten with Rafe’s saliva as she nods dazedly, and Rafe smirks at her instant agreement, moving to turn them so he’s laying down and she moves to straddle him, taking off her underwear and tossing it to the side. When her hand moves to undo the zipper on the side, Rafe’s hand gently grips her wrist.

“No.” Isla’s gaze flies to his, admiring his kiss swollen lips and the hunger in his eyes. “Keep it on,” he says, voice hoarse with need that Isla feels in her belly and between her legs.

Isla’s skin flushes, heart pounding and breath shallowing as she glances down at herself. The skirt of her dress is bunched up while the bodice has been tugged low enough to expose her breasts, nipples taut and perked not just because of the coolness of the room, but Rafe’s earlier ministrations.

His hands brush up and down her outer thighs, a ghost of a smirk curving his mouth. “Come on, baby.”

It’s all the encouragement Isla needs, desire thrumming her veins as she shifts up his body until she’s hovering right above his face. She tries to keep the skirt bunched to her waist, but the second Rafe’s hands sneak up to her hips under her clothes and he pulls her down and a gasp rips through Isla the second his mouth comes into contact with her. With his grip on her, he makes her sit on his face and Isla has to grip the top of the wooden frame of the bed, head bowing as she feels Rafe lick into her eagerly.

She remembers that day on his kitchen counter, but here, Isla doesn’t hold back the moans that escape her as Rafe’s tongue pushes through her lips, licking into her opening as already making Isla’s head spin. Her knees rest on either side of his head, but she still feels herself tremble when Rafe’s tongue flicks against her clit and Isla throws her head back.

“Oh, God, Rafe,” she gasps, hips moving against him as her grip tightens on the frame. Even if she looks down at Rafe, she can only just get a glimpse of him from beneath the skirt of her dress. The sensation of his mouth working on her sends electricity zipping through her body, his fingers digging into her hips and helping her move as whimpers escape her.

“Could stay here all fucking day, y’know,” Rafe mumbles, his words accompanied by the crude sounds of him licking and sucking. “Favorite fucking thing. Heaven.”

The last word is groaned out as he sucks her clit into his mouth and a sharp cry escapes Isla because in the next moment, she’s falling apart above him with her heart threatening to pound out of her chest and liquid fire flooding her veins. Isla chants his name, over and over, until she’s shaking on top of him and body threatening to go limp.

But then Rafe moves them swiftly. With his hands on her hips, he pushes Isla backwards and shifts himself until she’s on her back and he’s moving on top of her, her head now by the foot of the bed. Isla giggles breathlessly at the sudden movement, stomach flipping excitedly at the way Rafe moves her around so easily. He grins down at her, messed up hair and swollen lips and flushed cheeks.

When he comes back over her, capturing her lips in a slow, dizzying kiss, he asks, “You want me?”

Her hands are in his hair, tongue in his mouth. God. “Yes.”

One of Rafe’s hands finds hers, linking their fingers together next to her head as he kisses her deeply. “You have me.”

*****

“Sarah will understand, right?”

A light scoff sounds from Rafe. “We’re sitting in a bathtub, and you wanna talk about my sister?” he asks, teasingly nipping at her neck.

Isla laughs gently, her back pressed to his chest. The warm water is brilliant for her muscles, which definitely got worked out after her and Rafe were done. Since Rafe had booked the hotel room for a few hours, they still had some time to kill, and Rafe took it upon himself to fill up the tub and because this is one of those fancy hotels, there was even a small bottle of bubble bath that he practically emptied in the tub.

“I’m just thinking,” she says, sitting between his legs with her head resting back against his shoulder. One of his hands links with her, resting on the lip of the tub, while his other hand brushes his fingers across her stomach under the water, so light yet enough to tug at her center. “I’m not looking forward to their reactions but I’m hoping, you know, that at least we’ll have Sarah on our side? Maybe?”

Rafe is silent for a couple of seconds as Isla watches his fingers play with hers, chewing on her bottom lip as she waits for him to say something. “You want me to be honest?” he asks quietly, making her heart thump.

“Yes.”

“I’d say it’s fifty-fifty,” he answers and Isla’s heart drops upon hearing that. And maybe he feels her tense against him because his arm snakes around her waist, holding her close. “I have a feeling my sister’s more loyal to your friends than she is to me.”

A lump forms in Isla’s throat when she hears the hint of dismay in Rafe’s voice. She knows Rafe and Sarah’s relationship isn’t perfect; they’ve had their issues, especially when Rafe and his friends got into it with Isla’s friends. Things can get tense between them, but Sarah hasn’t had any complaints against Rafe over the last couple of months—mostly because Rafe hasn’t been getting into fights with the guys. If anything, he pulled Topper back that night at the Boneyard, and Isla recalls Sarah commenting that she was pleasantly surprised at Rafe stepping in like that.

But to know Sarah may also be upset with Isla and Rafe’s relationship makes Isla’s stomach twist in knots. She was hoping that Sarah would be their safe bet because, as much as Isla loves her own sister, she doesn’t think Kie will be too receptive to this relationship. Maybe, over time, her friends will adjust and accept, but Isla is dreading that initial reaction upon them learning the truth. It makes her stomach feel hollow with nothing in it but dread, anxiety ruling over.

“I’m sorry,” Isla whispers, eyebrows furrowing together as she squeezes Rafe’s fingers.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry about,” Rafe instantly says. “My and Sarah’s relationship is slowly getting better, which is why I think it could go either way. If this had been months ago, she would’ve totally been against us,” he adds with a gentle laugh. “But maybe she’ll be quicker to come around. Honestly, baby—” He brushes his lips across her cheekbone. “There’s no telling how any of them are gonna react, right? I don’t think you should stress yourself out by running every possible scenario, you know? They’re gonna react how they’re gonna react. It’s out of any of our control.”

Isla sighs, pouting. “That’s not as comforting as you think,” she mutters with a short chuckle.

His grip tightens and Isla feels his head drop until his lips press to her shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, sounding truly regretful, which only tugs at her heartstrings. “I’ve got you though, okay? No matter what happens or what they say, you have me.”

Now those words have Isla melting, relaxing in his embrace as her lips curl up into a gentle smile. “Nice save,” she says playfully before turning her head enough to press her lips to his cheek. “But you’re right. No point in psyching myself out.”

It’s easier said than done, of course, but it’s all the more reason why Isla needs to tell her friends sooner rather than later. Like, tomorrow, maybe. The idea makes her heart thud unsurprisingly, but it’s a feeling she has come to be familiar with—though, one she can’t wait to get rid of.

She sighs then and says, “We should probably get out before we get all pruney.”

Rafe hums against her neck. “Sounds sexy,” he quips, making her laugh as he lets out a dramatic sigh. “Alright, if we have to.”

They make quick work of drying off and getting dressed again. Fortunately, Isla’s makeup isn’t too messed up, just cleaning off some mascara residue from under her eyes and reapplying her lip oil. She pulls her hair out of the bun it had been in for the bath, combing her fingers through the wavy strands so they fall nicely around her shoulders.

He gently taps her ass when they exit the elevator once the doors open up to the lobby, and while Rafe goes to check them out, Isla sits down on one of the couches, placing the flowers next to her as she checks her phone in case her sister or friends texted her. She only has notifications from their Snapchat group chat; Kie sending a video of her making a sandwich at work, JJ sending a picture of his bike that he’s working on, and Cleo sending a picture of Pope sitting at his desk while she seems to be laying in his bed.

Isla doesn’t send a picture or video in return, not wanting her friends to see where she is. But being occupied by her phone doesn’t last too long because a few seconds later, she hears an annoyingly familiar voice ask, “What are you doing here?”

Isla freezes, her heart pounding as she very quickly realizes that this can very quickly blow up in her face. With her grip on her phone tightening, Isla slowly raises her head until her eyes find Topper standing before her. He’s standing before her in a suit and tie get up, eyebrow raised at her as he waits for an answer that Isla doesn’t want to give, and definitely doesn’t owe him.

Panic blooms in her chest, but Isla shoves it down as she puts on a mask of indifference, tilting her head at Topper. He definitely doesn’t look happy to see her, his jaw tense and eyes hard, but that’s not what Isla focuses on. She’s more worried about talking her way out of this before he sees Rafe and somehow puts two and two together.

“Visiting a friend from out of town. She’s staying here,” Isla lies smoothly, gesturing to the lobby. Her gaze flickers past him, towards a sign on an easel in front of one of the ballroom doors. It reads Thornton Conway Archer, which is the name of the law firm Topper’s mom is a name partner of. Great. How the hell did she and Rafe miss that on their way in? Isla shoots Topper a tight smile. “Nice monkey suit. If you’ll excuse me,” she says, grabbing her bags and flowers and getting up from the couch, skin heating with anxiety of needing to get away.

“A friend from out of town, huh?” he repeats, unconvinced, as he steps in Isla’s way, making her stop short. She masks her panic with a glare. “Didn’t wanna show them the glories of The Cut, huh?” he says condescendingly, making Isla feel the urge to punch him in the face. Her friends have really rubbed off on her over the years.

Isla blinks at him. “Is there a reason we’re having a conversation right now?” she asks blankly even if her nerves are skittering, needing escape. Except Topper’s gaze has already flickered over Isla’s shoulder and dread pools in her stomach when she sees realization dawn on his face.

“Rafe?” he asks and Isla’s teeth press together. Maybe she can play it off smoothly that she had no idea Rafe was here; maybe their cover isn’t totally blown yet. Topper doesn’t look too thrilled to see Rafe and Isla knows it’s because of their confrontation outside of the country club. “What are you doing here?”

Isla raises her eyebrows, hoping to give off an expression of surprise as she looks over her shoulder to see Rafe slowly approaching them. Their gazes meet, and she can easily see the annoyance—and concern—swimming in his blue eyes as he makes his way over, pocketing his wallet. His tongue presses to the inside of his cheek before his gaze slides back to Topper, eyes hardening.

“Business meeting,” he answers simply. He glanced between her and Topper and casually asked, “Everything okay here?”

Topper scoffed, one side of his mouth quirking up into a smirk. “Why? Wanna come to her rescue again? You know—” He narrows his eyes, arms crossing over his chest. “It’s pretty convenient that you two are both here.” Looking at Rafe, he asks, “Do you have a new hobby of coming to the Pogues’ rescue nowadays?”

“What can I say? Right place, right time,” Rafe lazily drawls and Isla admires his ability to appear unbothered. But there’s slight tension bracketing his mouth, so subtle yet Isla notices it because she knows him, and she knows that he’s a bit thrown off, too, to run into Topper here. Then Rafe’s glaze flicks to her meaningfully and Isla hears him loud and clear.

Isla inhales sharply, offering them a tight, close mouthed smile. “Alright, well, I’m gonna be anywhere but here,” she says with an upward flick of her eyebrows. Before Topper can stop her, she moves around them and tries not to appear that she’s fleeing—even if she is.

She’s about to head to the doors to exit, but recalls that she told Topper the so-called friend she’s visiting is staying here. “Shit,” she mutters under her breath before making a B-line towards the hall where the elevators are located.

Fortunately, she disappeared from the view of the lobby as she approached the wall at the end of the hall. Isla leans back against it, resting the bag of books by her feet as she tilts her head back and lets out a breath, eyes shutting. Goddamn—Topper has the annoying habit of popping up at the most inconvenient times. Not that his presence is ever welcomed, but lately it’s been on a whole other level.

She’s alone for maybe a couple of minutes when she hears footsteps, and by the time she opens her eyes, Rafe is approaching her. “Hey,” he says worriedly, glancing over his shoulder while making his way over. “You good?” he asks once he’s stopped in front of her, effectively obscuring her view of the hallway behind him.

Isla huffs out a breath, shooting Rafe an incredulous look. “Why is he always everywhere?” she asks in exasperation, letting out a breathless laugh that’s only slightly tinged with alarm. “Do you think he, like, suspects anything?”

Rafe rolls his eyes, shaking his head reassuringly. “He’s an idiot. He doesn’t know shit,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Let’s hope that’s true,” Isla huffs, running her fingers through her hair as she hopes to sway away the nerves that had risen.

“Hey,” Rafe says gently as he places his hands on the sides of her neck, his thumbs brushing along the underside of her jaw. “Let’s not let him ruin our day, yeah?”

Isla smiles slightly, dipping her chin in a nod before Rafe tilts her head up by placing some pressure where his thumbs are, ducking his own head to kiss her gently. Her eyes flutter shut and she sighs into the sweet kiss, lightly gripping the front of his shirt as she parts her lips to allow his tongue to slip in. God, yes. With just one touch, one kiss, Rafe manages to make everything else disappear, and it is so easy to get lost in him.

“Alright. Time to go,” he sighs, bumping his nose against hers before pulling back and smiling down at her.

They’re able to make it out of the hotel without another run-in with Topper, though just to be safe, they head out separately before meeting up a block down from the hotel. It had been a perfect, wonderful day as she and Rafe take the ferry back to the OBX, their fingers interlaced as they sat in the last row below deck, away from anyone around.

As she watches the water glitter, her phone buzzes, and she pulls it out to see Kie had messaged in the groupchat.

From: Kie🐬

can u come to jb’s, isla?

Isla arches an eyebrow, but messages back.

From: Isla

yeah, i can be there in 25

It’s not long until they get to the dock back in town, which means she and Rafe have to part ways and she has to go see her friends. Rafe offers to drop her, but she insists on taking an Uber, kissing him goodbye and heading over to John B’s, texting in the chat to let them know she’s on her way. She puts the small bouquet of flowers in the paperbag of books, the bag dangling from her fingertips as she got out of the car and thanked the Uber driver before shutting the door.

Her lips still tingled with Rafe’s kisses as she walked across the patch of grass towards the Chateau’s porch, noticing the others’ cars and bike already parked. Isla’s not sure why Kie asked her to come over, though it’s not unusual for them all to meet up here, of course.

She spots them sitting scattered around the screened in porch, the murmur of conversation dying as soon as she opens the door and walks in. “Hey,” she greets, albeit a little slowly as all gazes turn to her. For some reason, she feels the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

They all look at her, stone faced and hard eyed, and Isla blinks as she remains rooted on the spot, her gaze flickering to every face. Sarah won’t meet her gaze, instead looking down at her lap or at John B, who sits with pursed lips. When Isla looks to Kie, her sister stands by the wall, arms crossed and a furrow between her brows that creases her forehead. On the recliner, Pope sits forward with his elbows resting on his knees, chin resting atop interlaced fingers, and Cleo is fiddling with her switchblade as she sits on the arm of the chair. JJ isn’t facing her, instead looking out onto the Routledges’ land with arms crossed and every muscle of his body seemingly tense.

Isla’s throat tightens. Something is so very wrong.

In fact, Isla can feel the tension in the room, suffocating. Her pulse kicks up a few notches, the uncertainty of what she walked into filling her with unease.

“Um,” Isla starts, shattering the silence. Something tightens in her stomach, something foreign and indecipherable, as she lets out a short chuckle and tensely jokes, “Who died?”

It’s Kie who responds, a kind of hardness in her eyes that has never been directed towards Isla. “When were you gonna tell us that you’ve been hooking up with Rafe?”

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sequinsmile-x · 3 days ago

Note

would like to suggest a hotchniss christmas fic that's basically the song "i saw mommy kissing santa claus"

omg YES. YES.

Here you go bestie xo

-x-

I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus

Evie Hotchner sees something on Christmas Eve that she doesn't think she should have seen.

AKA - the one in which I've written exactly what you think I've written.

-x-

Warnings: None

Words: 2.1k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

“You excited for tomorrow, Mommy?”

Emily smiles and puts the book she’d been holding down on her lap as she turns to her daughter, “I am, baby. I love Christmas.”

Evie’s smile gets wider, the three year old no closer to sleep than she was when she’d brought her up to bed 40 minutes ago, “Me too!! Lots of presents.”

“Lots of presents,” Emily chuckles and kisses her forehead, thinking of all the gifts hidden in the attic that she’d promised to help her husband with once the kids were in bed.

“And it’s Zaccy’s first Christmas,” she says, her eyebrows furrowing, the serious look that she’d inherited from Aaron spreading across her face, “Will Santa know about him?”

Emily runs her fingers through her hair, an old trick that had helped to send her to sleep since she was a baby, and she tugs Evie closer, the love she had for her little brother enough to make Emily want to cry.

When she was first pregnant with Issac, she’d worried about Evie’s reaction to becoming a big sister. Since she was a tiny newborn, she’d always been all about Emily, desperate for her mother’s affection and attention at any given moment. It had made those early days long, when she’d refuse to settle for Aaron - something that Emily knew upset him - and she’d sit up in bed with Evie asleep on her chest because it was the only place she’d sleep for longer than 10 minutes. When they brought Issac home, the final missing piece to their family, and Evie was complacent about him at best, Aaron assured Emily that their little girl would be fine, that there would be an adjustment period for all of them, but that she loved her little brother even if she didn’t know it yet.

He was right, just like he was more often than Emily would care to admit, and Evie was obsessed with her little brother now. Sometimes they’d find her asleep on his bedroom floor, curled under her bedding that she’d pulled in after her with her favourite stuffed animal in her arms.

“Yes,” she says, kissing her forehead again, “Santa knows about Zaccy, don’t worry,” she smiles as she thinks of the 6-month-old sleeping in the next room, “And remember what we said - he’s small so he doesn’t understand it all yet.”

“It okay, I open his presents.”

She chuckles, “Okay, sweet girl, you need to go to sleep.”

Evie sighs like she has the weight of the world on her shoulders, “I’m too excited to sleep.”

She hums and continues to run her fingers through her hair, smiling to herself as she tells her daughter the only white lie she’d ever tell her, “But Santa won’t come if you don’t sleep.”

Evie’s eyes go wide before she squeezes them shut, her grip on Emily’s shirt getting tighter, “I go to sleep now.”

Emily kisses the top of her head and picks the book back up, holding it with one hand whilst the other still plays with her little girl’s hair as she reads to her. She slowly feels Evie get heavier as she falls asleep, her grip on her shirt loosening just as Emily finishes the book. She sneaks out from under Evie and tucks the covers around her, dropping a kiss against her temple before she slips out of the room, making sure she’s quiet as she pulls the door closed behind her. She checks on Issac and Jack, relieved to find them both asleep, and heads downstairs.

She smiles when she walks into the living room to find the presents all gathered around the tree already, toys and books she’d spent weeks agonising over all wrapped up and ready for her three kids to tear into them all in seconds. She sometimes had to pinch herself when she thought about the fact that this was her life. She had a family of her own, one she’d built together with the love of her life, and she was able to give her children the Christmases she’d always wanted when she was a kid herself.

Aaron would always gently make fun of her and her love of the holidays, his smile wide and full of love as he patiently stood next to her as she picked out decorations and sparkling lights. It never went further than a playful comment or a raised eyebrow because he knew how important it was to her.

She hears his footsteps behind her, and she turns, “Sorry, honey, I would have helped but Evie…” she trails off when she sees him, her words turning into a laugh as she’s met with the sight of him in the Santa Claus outfit they’d bought and hidden with all the gifts. He’d insisted on it, his eyes full of excitement as he said he’d surprise the kids with it, something she knew was his own attempt to give them what he’d never had, “Why are you wearing that?”

He shrugs and pulls the fake beard down, “I wanted to check that it fits,” he asks, and she watches as he turns as if he’s trying out a new suit for work, “What do you think?”

She hums, love for him thrumming under her skin, “It looks good.”

He chuckles and raises an eyebrow at her, “Santa? Really?”

She rolls her eyes and slaps his shoulder lightly, smiling when he captures her hand and kisses her knuckles, “No,” she exclaims, her nose scrunched up with disgust, “Not like that.”

Aaron leans in to kiss her, “I know that look, Issac exists because of that look.”

She shakes her head at him and wraps her arms around his neck, her fingers curled around the bobble on the end of his Santa hat, “It’s not the Santa suit,” she says, stamping her lips against his, “It’s you being such a good Dad.”

He hums against her lips, “Love you.”

She pulls back just enough to speak, her lips skimming his as her breath skips across his face, “I love you too.”

She kisses him again, and they get lost in each other, both of them too distracted to hear a quiet gasp from the doorway followed by their little girl's footsteps on the hardwood floor as she runs back upstairs to her bedroom.

Emily wakes up at the sound of a bedroom door opening down the hall, closely followed by thundering footsteps.

“Incoming,” Aaron says from behind her, his voice rough from sleep and misuse as he encourages her closer with the arm thrown over her waist. She has just enough to turn and kiss him before the door opens, Evie and Jack speaking in unison from the doorway, Issac smiling widely in Jack’s arms, his tiny hands already reaching out for his mom.

“Merry Christmas!”

Emily and Aaron both sit up as they smile at their children, beckoning them over to the bed as Aaron switches on the lamp on his nightstand.

“Merry Christmas,” Emily says as she opens her arms up to take Issac from Jack. She kisses the baby’s cheek several times in a row, “It’s your first Christmas, sweet boy,” she kisses his cheek again, “Are you excited?”

“He was already awake when we went into his room,” Jack says as he settles on the bed in between his parents, “He was just sitting there like he was waiting.”

“Were you waiting for your brother and sister?” She smiles as she settles Issac into her lap, “My patient little guy.” Issac was Aaron all the way through, his quietness in comparison to his older sister already pronounced at only 6-months-old. Emily had lost sleep in the early weeks of his life for an entirely different reason to Evie’s, so used to how her little girl had cried for hours at a time that she was convinced something was wrong with her newborn son. She turns to look at Evie who was sitting in Aaron’s lap, her attention focused on a loose thread on the hem of his t-shirt, “Are you okay, sweet girl?”

Evie shrugs and doesn’t look up at her, and Emily and Aaron exchange a concerned look. He adjusts his hold on the toddler so she’s looking at him.

“Do you want to go give Mommy a Christmas cuddle?” He asks, trying to pull a smile out of her by tickling her, and she shakes her head fiercely, holding on to him tightly.

“No,” she says, the tone in her voice cutting deeper than Emily thought possible as she looks up at her, “Mommy was naughty.”

Emily furrows her brow, the serious look on her little girl’s face a vice around her heart as she tries to figure out what she’d done wrong to upset her, “What do you mean, baby?”

Evie shakes her head again, “Can’t say.”

Aaron looks at Emily and doesn’t miss the hurt flashing across her face, and he knows he needs to fix whatever is going on before it ruins their first Christmas morning as a family of five, “Princess, you can tell us anything, you know that.”

The little girl sighs and looks up at her father, her lower lip sticking out as it wobbles ever so slightly, “Mommy kissed someone else,” she says, turning to look at Emily again, “I saw you kissing Santa.”

Any concern she’d had that she’d somehow upset her daughter without knowing how disappears in a second, replaced with amusement she has to swallow down. She keeps her eyes fixed on her daughter, knowing if she made eye contact with her husband she’d laugh, and that would only upset Evie more right now.

“Baby-”

“I saw you,” Evie says, her arms crossed over her chest, “Last night.”

Aaron tries this time, desperately trying to think of how he could explain this to his little girl without running Christmas for her, without shattering the illusion of Santa years before he’d hoped it would happen.

“That wasn’t the real Santa,” Jack cuts in, missing the look of panic in his parent's eyes as he tries to help.

“Jack-” Aaron warns, but Jack carries on undeterred. He’d mentioned this year that he knew Santa wasn’t real, which Emily knew Aaron found harder to accept than he’d anticipated. They’d sat him down and explained that it was important for his brother and sister to still believe it, and he’d nodded along, pleased to be in on the secret, his smile wide at Evie’s excitement when they’d gone to meet Santa in the mall a week ago.

“The real Santa is busy, right?” Jack says, cutting over Aaron. Evie nods in response and Jack carries on, “So he has Mommy’s and Daddy’s help out with putting out the presents - that was Daddy you saw Mommy kissing last night.”

Evie’s frown loosens a little, her eyes flicking back and forth between her parents, “Really?”

Emily looks at Aaron and he shrugs, both of them grateful that their eldest had come up with an answer when they hadn’t been able to, “Yeah,” she says, reaching out and tucking some of Evie’s hair behind her ear, “Really,” she looks up at her husband and winks, “Daddy’s the only person I want to kiss.”

Evie sighs in relief and finally slips into Emily’s lap, “Merry Christmas Mommy.”

She smiles and holds her close, one arm around her and the other around Issac and she drops kisses on top of both of their heads. She looks over at Aaron and Jack, both of them beaming at her, and she sighs contentedly, “Merry Christmas, baby.”

“Right,” Aaron says, throwing the covers off of his lap and standing up, “How about some Christmas pancakes?” Jack and Evie exclaim and scramble off the bed, both of them already in the hallway before he can call after them, “Jack, make sure your sister is careful on the stairs.”

“Yes, Dad!”

He turns and looks at Emily, his smile turning into a smirk as she stands up, Issac on her hip, “So-”

“Don’t even say anything,” she replies, raising her eyebrow at him, her cheeks warm with embarrassment, “I can’t believe she saw that,” she blows out a breath, “Thank fuck Jack can think on his feet. We’re going to have to be more careful next year.”

He hums and wraps his arm around her waist, tugging her close to kiss her temple, her cheek and then the corner of her lips, “We’ll keep the Santa kissing strictly to the bedroom.”

She rolls her eyes as she pulls away from him, “How many times do I have to say it was not the Santa costume I found attractive, but you being a good dad?”

He chuckles and wraps his arm around her shoulders, taking a moment to run his knuckles down Issac’s cheek before he starts to lead them out of the bedroom.

“I believe you, sweetheart,” he says, leaning in to kiss her cheek, “Thousands wouldn’t.”

#hotchniss fanfic #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #emily prentiss fanfiction #hotchniss fanfiction #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #hotchniss fan fic #aaron x emily #hotchniss

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jintaka-hane · 9 hours ago

Note

Oh hello 😊😊

Sooo your “Kiss your blorbo” event… it’a great idea 😍😍

Can I ask a kiss from my beloved doctor Hongo, with “Are you gonna be my girl” from Jet as background music?

Send you lot of love 💖💖😘😘

[Kiss your blorbo at the New Year’s Eve event]

HONGO

Summary: Hongo is far too discreet, and it’s starting to annoy you. At the New Year’s Eve party in the port, you decide to test him by making him jealous. Word count: 1100 Warning: xf!reader; fluff; kissing, some jealousy; sort of pre-established relationship All my stories are written entirely in Spanish and then translated into English, so I apologize for any mistakes I might make.

You giggle as you let him play with your hair. You’ve let him buy you another beer, and now he’s shamelessly flirting with you, throwing out compliments as he leans slightly closer. Midnight is approaching, and amidst the singing, dancing, and the strong smell of alcohol and food from the nearby stalls, you bat your lashes at the man you’re seemingly having fun with tonight.

But he’s not the one holding your full attention.

Out of the corner of your eye, you’re keeping constant track of the doctor on your crew, cursing every time you realize he’s not looking your way, completely engrossed in chatting and drinking with Shanks and the others.

Hongo seems like the reserved type. Or at least, discreet when others are around. But behind closed doors when you’re in his bed, he’s anything but restrained with you.

What began between the two of you a few months ago as innocent, casual flirting gradually evolved into bold teasing and constant banter. The tension grew with each playful joke and every provocative, defiant look until one day, you grabbed him by his shirt and gave him what would be your first kiss, heated and hungry. But spending long periods confined together in the middle of the sea quickly made clandestine kisses no longer enough. Now, more nights than not, you find yourself tangled in his sheets, breathless, sweaty, and utterly spent.

By daylight, however, things change. The embraces of the night turn into brief exchanges of words. Your once-thirsty mouths become sidelong glances.

You were never looking for a relationship. You remember the moment you froze the first time his fingers brushed your shoulders while you were talking to Yassop, prompting him to pull back and avoid touching you again in front of others. Getting romantically involved with a crewmate would only cause problems, and the way you both keep your distance in public has conveniently helped you control your own feelings. Until now.

Tonight, you can’t stand how far away he is. You can’t stand how little he looks at you. You can’t stand those hands, shoved into his pockets, not resting on your waist. So, at the lively party the locals are throwing at the port to celebrate the new year, you do everything you can to make him jealous.

But it doesn’t seem to be working. Despite the man you’re humoring leaning closer and closer to you, your doctor stays wrapped up in laughter and conversations with the others.

Frustrated, you huff and take a sip of your drink as your admirer move his hand in an alarmingly intimate gesture to your chin and stroke it. You frown, smelling the alcohol on his breath, and before his lips can graze yours, you excuse yourself.

“I... uh... I need to go to the bathroom.”

Awkwardly and muttering curses under your breath, you stride away from the party, weaving through dancing couples and dodging people offering skewers of meat and beer. The music pounds in your ears, and all you can think about is getting away as fast as possible. But just as you’re about to escape the crowd, a strong hand catches your wrist, stopping you in your tracks and pulling you back to face him.

"I know what you're doing, and I don't like it," Hongo says harshly, looking at you with the same expression he would give to a nasty wound.

“Oh?” you say, surprised to see him but unable to contain your indignation. “Excuse me, sir, you’ve been watching me?” you ask, placing a hand on your chest.

“Doll, I’m always keeping an eye on you. I’d know if you had a headache even if you were on another ship.”

“Oh, yeah?” You yank your hand, but his grip on your wrist doesn’t loosen.

“Yeah.” He mimics you, giving your wrist a small tug, causing your chests to brush against each other. “I’d know if you caught a cold even from a thousand miles away.”

You look up at him, and your lips tremble for a moment. You part them to say something sharp, but before the words can leave your mouth, the crowd starts counting down to the new year.

“Ten, Nine, Eight!”

Taking a deep breath, you swallow hard and muster the courage to keep speaking.

“And my heart?" you ask, raising your voice so he can hear you over the cheers. "Would you know if it hurts right now?” You lock eyes with him.

“Seven! Six! Five!”

The way your pupils gleam in the colorful glow of the party lights makes him sigh and lean in a little closer to you.

“I know it does…” he whispers. “Just like mine.”

“Four! Three!”

Your heart drums in your chest, and your eyes close at the feeling of Hongo’s hand now tracing the line of your jaw.

“Two! One!”

You feel his nose brush against yours, and you when you tilt your head, his mouth claims yours in a heated and senseless kiss. Right there, in public, in front of everyone. He presses his lips firmly against yours, making your knees weak like only he knows how.

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

The crowd roars and cheers around you, throwing streamers and colorful confetti as fireworks explode in the sky. His fingers lace with yours as he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling your body closer to his. You smile into his kiss and bring both hands to his cheeks, refusing to let him go. His laugh is muffled against your lips, but he doesn’t release you, leaning in even more to deepen the kiss. Then, in one final teasing move, you pull away, leaving him breathless and wanting more.

It takes him a couple of seconds to collect himself before he asks you the question he's been holding in.

“So… are you gonna be my girl?” he says, leaning in toward you again.

“Your girl?” you giggle, tilting your head and stopping him by placing a hand on his chest. “Like… officially and out in the open?”

He nods, toying with your fingers intertwined with his. “Yes, officially and out in the op—”

His words are cut off by your lips, capturing his in a long, deep kiss. Your hands trail up to the back of his shaved neck, and he hums in approval before you both pull back.

“Are we heading to your cabin?” you ask him, your cheeks warm and flushed.

“My cabin…” For a moment, you’ve disoriented him with your kiss, but he quickly recovers. “Oh, yes, absolutely, later… but for now,” he flashes that smile that always makes your heart melt, then grabs your hips and lifts you into the air, “let me show off my girlfriend!"

Merry Christmas, Laney <3

.............................................................

Taglist: @fanaticsnail @armiliadawn @pandora-writes-one-piece @i-am-vita @eustasscapitankid @nocturnalrorobin @daydreamer-in-training <3

#jintaka asks #new year event #jintaka stuff #x reader #one piece fanfiction #hongo x reader #hongo x you #hongo girl now #hongo op #hongo #hongo one piece #red haired pirates

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salternateunreality2 · 1 day ago

Text

Zack lives AU but he's still filled with bullets.

Cloud: Z-ack. S-stop s-quat.

Zack, squatting, gushing blood: Sorry Spike, it's how I think! Now, should we try to fix the helicopter I just took down?

Cloud: *distressed chocobo noises*

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

Genesis: ...what am I looking at?

Cloud: *sitting on Zack's head, staring into nothing, drooling a little*

Zack, slightly muffled: Oh. You showed up. Gonna try to eat my hair again or help us out?

Genesis: Help you, I suppose. Why is he sitting on you? Is he lucid?

Zack: Sometimes! Not right now. Unless he's giving us the silent treatment because I made a joke about being hole-y. That's why he's sitting on me.

Genesis: ...

Zack: Look! *Twists his forearm to show a still-healing bullet hole* Hole-y!

Genesis: *sits on Zack* You do not deserve freedom of movement, the chocobo is right.

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

Zack, no longer bleeding but still full of metal, standing in front of a gas station souvenir magnet display with his back to Cloud and Genesis: Guys. Hey guys.

Cloud: *knows what's coming and pretends to be comatose*

Genesis: Oh Gaia...

Zack: Neither of you are ready for...

Cloud: *suffering*

Genesis: Fair, I thought I told you to stay outside.

Zack, turning around and revealing all the magnets now stuck to his body: ...my animal magnetism!

Cloud: *dying*

Genesis, pinching his nose and hissing: So help me, I would send you to the goddess myself if she had not personally earmarked you as my eternal torment.

Zack: get it? MAGNETism?!

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

Zack, now with most of the bullets out of his bones and muscles, but with a collection still in his stomach: *jingle jingle*

Cloud: Y-ou just a-te.

Zack: but I'm HUNGRY, can't you hear my tummy rumbling?!

Genesis: I do not understand how it is anatomically possible for you to devour an entire chicken sans bones and feathers and still have room in your stomach for multiple bullets to collect, let alone jingle.

Zack: *jingle jingle* Well maybe you're not as smart as you think, :P

Cloud: *sighs and shakily hands him a sandwich*

Zack: Cloud gets it! That's why he's MY best friend!

Cloud: SIGH

#ff7 #cloud strife #zack fair #genesis rhapsodos

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sad-girl-hours23 · 2 days ago

Text

Hold Me Hostage, Arrest My Attention

For the @tevanadvent2024 Day 4: Hostage & Day 5: Attention

Rating: E

Tags: Orgasm Delay/Denial, Daddy Kink (not really, but just in case)

Word Count: 1,157

Buck hasn’t seen or heard from Tommy in three weeks. Not since Tommy checked on Maddie and him at the hospital after the kidnapping/hostage situation. They’d had a brief, neutral exchange in Buck’s hospital room, but then Bobby and Hen had shown up and Tommy snuck out before Buck could ask him to stay.

He’s wanted to reach out so many times but what would he even say?

Thank you

Why haven’t you called?

Please Daddy can you fuck me until I forget my own name and that you ever broke my heart?

Buck sighs and goes back to scrolling through Instagram until a text post catches his eye. It reads: Hostage or not, sometimes it’s just nice to be held.

He takes a screenshot. Stares at it for a minute in his camera roll. He shouldn’t. But he’s feeling a little sad and even more petulant. He still misses Tommy even if he’s no longer baking about it. He’s lonely. And he’s horny. He misses sex and he’s angry that even the thought of being with somebody else makes him sick and so he hasn’t even tried.

He sends the photo. If he can’t have Tommy, at least he’ll have gotten his attention.

His phone vibrates with a message and it sends a thrill up his spine. Before he can open the message, two more come in and the panic sets in. Fuck. What did he do?

He ignores the call coming in. Considers going for a run instead to distract himself. Thinks better of it and opts for a shower instead.

∗∗∗

There’s a knock at Buck’s door just as he’s finished drying off. He ties the towel around his waist and pads to the door.

Buck tries to act surprised, maybe a little confused, but he can’t help the smile that creeps onto his face. “Tommy?” He lets Tommy in and closes the door, resting against it.

“What is wrong with you?”

“Wha—”

Tommy shows him their text thread, already open on his phone.

Buck lifts his chin. “I meant to send that to Eddie.”

Tommy hums. “Did you also mean to like fifteen of Eddie’s photos from 2019?”

Buck smirks and shrugs. “Had to get your attention somehow.”

Tommy moves closer but doesn’t touch him and before he can do something considerate like ask if Buck’s okay with it, he grabs Tommy’s face and kisses him.

Tommy’s stubble scrapes against Buck’s freshly shaved skin and Buck gets hard so fast he’s dizzy with it. “Bed,” he says, in between kisses. “I need you in my bed like yesterday.”

Tommy looks between them where Buck’s dick is poking out of the gap in the towel, hard and already leaking, and he chuckles. “Baby, I don’t think you’re going to make it that far.”

“Oh fuck you, Kinard.”

Tommy hums. “Not tonight, dear.” Then he drops to his knees, takes Buck into the wet heat of his mouth, and gives Buck the quickest, most dizzying orgasm of his life.

Buck’s still panting and clinging to Tommy’s shoulders when Tommy suddenly lifts him in a fireman’s carry.

Buck laughs, his first genuine one in months. “Oh my god, put me down you beast.”

“Not a chance, Buckley,” Tommy says, carrying him upstairs.

∗∗∗

Buck groans and clutches the sheets underneath him, which are soaked with a mixture of his sweat and drool. His chances of crying or coming are pretty even at this point. Except, Tommy won’t let him come, not until he’s named all of the U.S. state capitals. In alphabetical order by state. Buck scoffed when Tommy had set the terms. Easy, he thought, I could do that in my sleep.

It’s not so easy with Tommy’s tongue in Buck’s ass, his cock leaking into the pillow supporting his hips and it feels like Tommy’s been eating him out for hours and he’s still a little come drunk from his first orgasm and he’s only up to—oh, fuck— “Carson,” Buck moans. “Carson City.” Memories of a late night wiki deep dive ping in his mind. “Oh hey, did you know—”

Tommy chuckles. “Darling, do you want to have to start over? Again?”

Buck whines. Tommy can’t expect him to name fifty state capitals and not go on a tangent about any of them…he knows what he’s doing. And, oh fuck, does he know what he’s doing.

When Buck finally makes it to “Cheyenne,” Tommy calls him good boy and pushes three fingers into his eager, spit-soaked hole and Buck comes so hard he passes out.

∗∗∗

When Buck comes to, Tommy’s next to him, propped up on his elbow. He slides a warm washcloth over Buck’s sticky, cooling skin and doesn’t meet his eyes.

Buck stretches and groans. “We should definitely do that again.” Right now, he thinks, and tomorrow, and every day after.

Tommy stops his movements and tosses the washcloth aside. “I’m not some toy that you can just pick up and play with when you feel like it, Buck.”

Buck’s brain isn’t completely back online yet, and flashes of a forgotten memory rise to the surface: Buck at age ten, bored and rustling through the garage for something to do. Finding a tub of Maddie’s old Barbie dolls and accessories. An hour later, marrying Ken and G.I. Joe in a gazebo.

Buck faces Tommy, thinking he would be amused by the story, but stops short at the stormy look on his face. Oh, it’s not a game anymore.

Buck sits up. “Are you serious? You broke up with me, remember?”

Tommy makes a move to get up from the bed, but Buck’s faster, pushing him back down with a firm hand on his chest.

“You decided you were done with me,” Buck grits out as he straddles Tommy’s hips. He shakes his head, even though Tommy won’t look at him. “No that’s not right—you decided I was done with you.” Buck grabs Tommy’s cleft, forcing Tommy to face him.

There’s a flash of warning in Tommy’s eyes.

“Who the fuck said I was done with you?”

Tommy stays silent, a stubborn set to his jaw, but he doesn’t look away.

Buck brings Tommy’s hands to the top of the bed, interlacing their fingers. “I’m not done with you.”

Tommy doesn’t pull away.

∗∗∗

Buck wakes the next morning, loose-limbed and lighter than he’s felt in months. The strings of anger that had been holding him up effectively cut, all the fight thoroughly sucked and fucked out of him.

There’s a solid wall of muscle and heat at his back, one hand curled possessively around his waist, small puffs of breath against his neck. Buck turns in the embrace. “Tommy?” he says quietly, like Tommy might disappear if the voice of his hope is too loud.

Tommy opens his eyes. “Evan?”

“You stayed.”

“Yeah,” Tommy says, running his hand through Buck’s curls. “ Guess I’m not done with you yet either.”

Also on AO3

#tevanadventcalendar #bucktommyadventcalendar #bucktommy fic #bucktommy #tommy kinard #evan buckley #sad-girl-hours23 does tevanadvent2024 #woo boy #this is my first rodeo guys

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andromeda-pleiades · 2 days ago

Text

Captain's Favorite

WORD COUNT: 2,183

PAIRING: John Price x NB!Oc

This is a rewrite that I felt I could do justice. I also am releasing an OC list and writing this longer story help with ideas

In one of the more secluded briefing rooms, Captain John Price stood at the head of the table, his commanding presence unshaken by the dim, flickering light above. The mission had taken an unexpected turn when the terrorist organization relocated their base to a fortified ship in international waters. The Navy intervened, sending one of their best—Captain Bee.

Price had already dealt with Bee in the past. They were capable, yes, but their constant need to challenge him grated on his patience, while beneficial in some cases it usually ended with the both of them making a fool of themselves. Beside him, Captain Bee leaned against the table, their arms crossed and expression tight. Though they often came across as confident and collected, their narrowed eyes betrayed a flicker of unease at standing so close to Price.

“John,” Bee began, their voice sharper than usual, “my team and I are clearly better suited to lead this mission. We've already reviewed the terrain, the approach, and the objectives.”

Price raised an eyebrow. “And I’m supposed to just step back and follow orders, yeah?” He crossed his arms, his gaze meeting theirs. “This isn’t about who’s better suited. We’re both here. Get on board.”

Bee bristled, their cheeks heating slightly as they looked away. “You’re impossible.” they muttered, messing with the jewelry that adorned thier fingers.

Why does he always get under my skin?

“You’ve said that before,” Price replied, his tone gruff but with a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Didn’t bother me then, either.”

Bee glared at him, their frustration bubbling over. “You’re so full of yourself. Just stay out of my way.”

“I’ll do my job,” Price shot back, his voice firm. “You focus on doing yours.”

The room fell silent as the two locked eyes, their teams exchanging awkward glances. Ghost, Soap, and Gaz sat on one side, while Bee’s five—Coma, Harpy, Hold em', Torres, and Quinn—occupied the other. Soap leaned toward Ghost, muttering, “Think we’ll make it outta here before they kill each other?”

Ghost didn’t bother responding, his masked face unreadable.

Bee eventually turned back to the table, taking a deep breath. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.” They went over the plan in clipped tones, detailing the approach to the ship, the entry points, and the objective: securing the stolen intel and disabling the ship's communications.

Price listened silently, occasionally nodding, but his stern expression never wavered. When Bee finally finished, he leaned forward slightly, his voice cutting through the tension. “One thing, Bee. My team doesn’t sit back and watch. We’ll take point on the comms. You can handle the extraction.”

Bee’s eyes flashed. “Fine. Just don’t slow us down.”

Price gave a short, gruff laugh. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The room emptied quickly, soldiers moving with practiced efficiency. Bee lingered, adjusting the straps of their gear as Price’s heavy footsteps echoed behind them. “Hope you’re ready,” he murmured, voice low.

The moon hung low over the dark sea as the teams approached the ship in separate boats. Bee’s five-member team cut through the water silently, their movements precise and rehearsed. Price’s trio followed close behind, Soap keeping an eye on the horizon while Gaz and Ghost prepped their gear.

As they reached the ship’s hull, Bee gave a quick signal to their team. “Harper, Torres, up first. Clear the Deck.”

Price watched from his boat, his jaw tightening. “Ghost, Soap, cover them. Gaz, with me.”

Bee shot him a glare as they started climbing the rope ladder. “Didn’t I say my team would handle the Deck?”

“And I said we don’t sit back,” Price replied evenly, hoisting himself up behind Ghost.

The Deck was cleared in seconds, Bee’s team securing the perimeter while Price’s team moved toward the communications tower. Bee followed, keeping a wary eye on Price. His movements were steady and efficient, and as much as they hated to admit it, he made it look easy.

“Torres, Hold em',” Bee whispered into their comms. “Stay sharp. Let’s show them how it’s done.”

Price’s voice crackled over the shared channel. “Ghost, get those comms down. We’ll sweep the upper levels.”

Bee clicked their tongue, irritation flaring. He’s always got to take charge, doesn’t he?

As the teams moved closer to the ship the energry started to get a little more competitive

“Got two hostiles down in the control room,” Gaz reported.

“Already cleared three in the storage bay,”Harpy countered smugly.

Price shot a glance at Bee, who scowled. “Don’t look at me. Just because my team’s better doesn’t mean I’m keeping track,” they muttered, though their tone was laced with pride.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Price muttered under his breath.

The teams had split momentarily, each taking different routes through the ship. Bee led their team down a narrow corridor toward the engine room while Price’s trio moved to secure the communications tower.

As Bee rounded a corner, their comm crackled to life. “Bee,” Price’s gruff voice came through. “How’s your end looking?”

“Fine,” Bee replied curtly, pausing to let Harpy and Hold ‘Em clear the next section. “We’ve taken out five hostiles already. You?”

“Seven,” Price answered, his tone laced with challenge.

Bee scoffed. “Yeah, sure you did.”

“Think I’m lying?” Price’s voice was firm, but Bee knew the subtle tease hidden in his tone. That familiar mix of irritation and something else—something they didn’t want to acknowledge—tightened their chest.

“Doesn’t matter,” Bee shot back. “Odds are in our favor.”

A beat of silence, then Price spoke again, his voice low and deliberate. “Tell you what—let’s make it interesting. Whoever racks up the most head counts owes the other. Call it... rights to brag for the next op.”

Bee smirked despite the heat creeping up their neck. “Bragging rights? That’s dull. If I win, I want something better. I want the ‘Ole Special.’”

For the first time, Price chuckled—deep, rough, and unexpectedly warm. “The ‘Ole Special’? You serious?”

“Dead serious.” Bee adjusted their grip on their weapon, willing their pulse to steady. Why does he always have this effect on me?

Price laughed again, the sound crackling through the comms. “Alright, fine. But when I win, you’re gonna swallow those words.”

Bee rolled their eyes but couldn’t suppress a small smile. “Big talk, John. Let’s see if you can back it up.”

“Always do,” Price replied gruffly, before the comms went silent.

The bet fueled the tension as the mission progressed. Bee’s team was meticulous, moving with precision and clearing each section swiftly.

“Two down in the engine room,” Torres reported over the comms.

“Three more in the storage bay,” Harpy added smugly.

Bee smirked despite themself. “Let’s keep it up. We’re not losing to them.”

Their comm crackled with Price’s voice. “Nineteen so far. How about you?”

Bee froze. “What? That’s not possible.”

“Calling me a liar again, Bee?” Price’s tone was sharp, his gravelly voice carrying that faint trace of humor that made Bee’s blood boil.

“I’m calling you delusional,” Bee snapped, even as their stomach flipped at the sound of his voice.

“Careful,” Price warned, his voice dropping an octave. “You’ve still got time to catch up—barely.”

Bee growled under their breath. “Coma, Quinn, double-time it. We’re not losing to them."

By the time the safe was cracked and the intel secured, the teams gathered at the extraction point. Bee approached Price, their jaw tight and their pulse annoyingly erratic.

“Well?” they demanded, arms crossed on their chest “What’s the count?”

Price looked up from his weapon, his smirk barely visible under his thick beard. “Twenty-four for us. You?”

Bee hesitated. “…Twenty-three.”

Soap let out a whistle, grinning as he looked between the two captains. “Close one, eh?”

Price’s eyes twinkled as he stepped closer to Bee, his imposing frame cutting through the tension like a blade. “Looks like you owe me, Captain.”

Bee glared, heat rising to their cheeks. “Don’t push it, John.”

Price leaned in, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “Told you you’d swallow those words.”

Bee’s face burned as they turned away, muttering, “You’re insufferable.”

Price’s low chuckle followed them into the chopper, settling in their chest like an ache they couldn’t quite shake.

The debrief room emptied quickly, chairs scraping against the floor as soldiers rushed out for their evening meal. Only Bee remained,a habit they picked up over the years, absently twirling the silver ring on their index finger. The familiar sound of Price's heavy boots stopped directly behind them.

"Come on, Bee," he murmured, voice low enough that only they could hear.

The walk to John's office would have been humiliating for anyone else—Price following close behind like a guard walking a prisoner to judgment. But Bee felt their pulse quicken with each step, trying to maintain their composure despite the anticipation building in their chest. It had been weeks since they'd been alone with John, and the tension between them had only grown.

Price settled against his desk when they arrived, arms crossed over his chest. The same knowing smirk from the debrief played at the corners of his mouth. "Well then," he drawled, "going to hold your end of the bet, or are you going to talk your way out of it again?"

Bee's eyes fell on the worn leather couch, memories of previous encounters flooding back. They grabbed one of the cushions and sank to their knees, having learned from experience that the hard floor left marks that were difficult to explain later. Their heart raced as they looked up at John, fighting to keep their expression neutral despite the heat building under their skin.

"I'm not going to do all the work for you, John," they said, proud of how steady their voice remained. Good, they thought, let him think I'm not excited.

John's smirk bloomed into a full smile as he began unbuckling his belt, the soft leather sliding through the loops with a whisper. "You know," he mused, "when you said you wanted the 'Ole Special,' I thought you would have tried harder to win." He traced their bottom lip with his thumb. "Guess you just love taking it."

The way Price's voice dropped when aroused sent shivers down Bee's spine, but they wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing how much power he held over them. Instead of responding, they maintained eye contact and ran their tongue along his length, satisfaction coursing through them when his words caught in his throat.

Their initial plan was to tease, to draw out the moment and maintain some semblance of control, but desire won out. Still, they forced themselves to move slowly, unwilling to reveal just how eager they truly were.

"Getting sloppy, Lieutenant," Price growled, his fingers holding the side of their head. The gentle grip turned firm as he took control, guiding their movements with increasing urgency.

Bee braced their hands against his thighs as he set a steady rhythm, the solid wood of his desk at their back. The office filled with a symphony of sounds—his low grunts, their muffled moans, and the wet sounds of their enthusiasm.

"Bloody hell, Lieutenant," Price gasped, holding them close until their nose brushed against him. "So tight and wet and obedient. So desperate you don't even care that our men are right outside

A moan vibrated in Bee's throat at his words, drawing a breathless groan from above as Price's grip tightened further.

His movements grew erratic, desperate, as he held them in place. With a final, deep thrust, Price stilled, his warmth flooding their throat as a guttural groan escaped him. Bee waited until his grip loosened before sliding back, a silvery strand briefly connecting them before breaking.

They coughed a few times, clearing their throat, then looked up at him with a cocky smirk. "You used to last so much longer," they teased, voice slightly hoarse. "Getting old, John?"

John tucked himself away, fastening his belt with practiced ease. His breathing was still slightly uneven as he looked down at them, noting the flush in their cheeks and the way their pupils were still blown wide. "Need any help with your... situation?" he offered, gesturing vaguely toward them.

Bee pushed themselves to their feet, brushing off their knees with affected casualness. "I think I'll save it," they said, smoothing down their uniform. "For next time." They stepped closer, close enough that Price could feel their breath against his ear. "When I'll have you on your knees for me."

They turned toward the door, hiding their situation. Before they could reach for the handle, Price's voice stopped them.

"Bee," he called softly, making them pause. "It was... nice to see you again. Like this."

Heat bloomed across Bee's cheeks at the unexpected tenderness in his voice. They didn't trust themselves to turn around, knowing the boyish smile spreading across their face would give away too much. Instead, they gave a quick nod and slipped out the door, their heart hammering against their ribs as they hurried down the corridor.

Only when they were safely around the corner did they allow themselves to smile

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