#Inside car window cleaner

[hwbcarwash]

Car windows are smart in saving energy, money, and time

The brakes, front and rear aluminum wheels, engine, battery, and motor of a car parked nearby Burbank playgrounds, and shopping malls need maintenance; and that too on time. If this is not taken seriously, saving thousands of dollars to be invested for higher returns will remain a dream. This blog describes the real-time strength of an Inside car window cleaner who performs amazingly in spring, monsoon, or the chilly winter. 

[windowcleankits]

Expert Guide to Streak-Free Interior Windshield Cleaning:

#cleanwindshieldfrominside #cleancarwindows #cleanwindshield #windwhieldcleaner #cleaninteriorwindshield

[bloodibambiidoll]

Nasty Girl ⟡˖ Older!Rafe Cameron x Perv!Reader ⟡˖

✰ Rafe is an arrogant dick, over a decade older than you and your dad’s boss, you shouldn’t want anything to do with him. So why can’t you stay away? ✰

۶♡ৎ This is a request from my angel @babygorewhore I love you sm, this one’s for you pookie ۶♡ৎ

✰ Age gap (Rafe is early 40s reader is mid 20s), Obsessive behaviors, perverted acts involving panties, gagging, choking, spit kink, daddy kink, unprotected sex, pussy slapping, pillow humping, pussy eating, cum eating, size kink 18+MNDI ✰

You can’t stand Rafe Cameron. And the fact that you’re so obsessed with him only makes you hate him more. No matter how much you hated the way he walked around like he owned the world, or the rotating door of women he brings around, you can’t shake this irresistible pull he has on you. You shouldn’t feel this way, not only is Rafe a huge dick he’s also over a decade older than you and your dad’s boss. It started off small, stealing glances at him every time you visited your dad at work, dressing in your most revealing dresses and skirts to his work events, making off handed comments and brushing past him when there was clearly room to go around. It wasn’t until you caught him in a bathroom with some lanky blonde bent over the counter while noises that resembled a crow left her body that you finally lost it.

You decided to leave the company charity event early, making sure to pass Rafe’s car and leave your tiny pink thong on his side-view mirror. He wouldn’t know they were yours, but he would know that they didn’t belong to the girl he was currently balls deep inside of because you saw her coral thong pushed to the side. After that it was like you couldn’t stop. You started leaving your panties anywhere you’d think Rafe would find them. In his office on his desk or the chair, his car became a favorite, you even managed to loop one around his drink while he wasn’t looking at the country club once. After the first few pairs you started leaving dirty photos of yourself along with them. Not showing your face, of course. Just shots of your ass and tits, always matching the underwear you planned to leave. You thought about maybe just texting or even emailing them to him but your dad gave him both of those things “in case of emergency”. So you decided to do it old school and take photos on your Polaroid. It was sexier that way, anyway.

But you haven’t done anything like what you’re about to do. You’re upstairs with the sound of loud voices all drowned together barely making it through the thick, high floors beneath you. It didn’t take you long to find Rafe’s room. A double door at the end of the long hall with gold ornate knobs was very clearly the master. You also weren’t surprised he had a keypad lock on his door, especially throwing a party like this. Your dad and his coworkers are everyday businessmen to the sivlian eye but behind closed doors they’re into some pretty deep criminal shit. Luckily you already managed to break into his laptop. It was almost too easy, he navigates technology like a grandpa even though he’s only forty. You had a passing thought about teaching him a more efficient way to organize his work laptop but you quickly shut it down. You’re supposed to hate him. Even if you him to fuck you until you can hardly breathe. He had a whole entire document of passwords and key combinations and you may have written all of them down. So you easily slipped inside after entering the numbers on the keypad.

You spent some time looking around and it was about what you expected. Sleek, expensive furniture, no decorations, the white walls bare aside from a random picture of a boat near the window. It's so clean it almost seems like no one lives here but you assume that’s probably due to the cleaners. You go through his drawers, nothing of interest really, unless you count all the clothes you could potentially steal. His bathroom is just as clean as his room and you can’t help but smirk when you notice a full skin care routine sitting on his counter. So vain. But, you can’t deny a man who is invested in his hygiene is extremely sexy. You smell his expensive colognes, his body wash, even his fucking shampoo. You inhale every single one like it’s your drug of choice. Though, you’re sure they smell a million times better on his skin, mixed with his musk.

After spending some time snooping, your focus turns back to the real reason you came in here. You walk into his large walk-in closet and flick on the light. There’s a glass jewelry case in the middle, filled with designer watches, rings, chains, and sunglasses. You approach it and try to pull open the top drawer when you’re met with resistance, you notice another combination lock. But a lightbulb goes off in your head, remembering the key code marked “jewelry case” before pulling out your phone, finding the numbers and unlocking the drawer with a click. The first drawer is, as expected, more jewelry that matches the items in the display case above. The second drawer though, that’s a different story. When you slide it open instead of expensive designer, it’s filled with lace and silk.

Every single pair of your panties you’ve left for him are in this drawer, along with the Polaroids stacked neatly. Upon closer inspection you notice that they’re covered not just in your cum, but his too. It has your pussy nearly dripping, you were already wet from the minute you saw him earlier tonight but now you can feel your slick dripping down your inner thighs, causing them to stick together under your micro dress. You have to practically drag yourself away from the sight of your underwear under lock and key, almost like they’re treasure, covered in a mixture of Rafe's cum and your own.

You look around the rest of the space and the entire span of the closet is lined with his clothes hanging on wracks. One side is clearly business attire and the other is more casual. Though there isn’t a huge difference, you’ve never seen Rafe in jeans and a t-shirt. You can’t decide if the thought is more sexy or comical. It’s hard to imagine him being well, relaxed. You grab a black button up before exiting the closet, undoing the buttons as you go. A thousand dirty fantasies run through your mind as your eyes roam over the king sized bed. But there’s one you can make a reality right now. The whole reason you came in here. You grab one of his silk pillows and wrap his shirt around it before placing it in the middle of the bed. You turn around to grab your Polaroid out of your bag and then crawl onto the mattress, mounting the pillow. You don’t bother taking your fuzzy platform heels off either, he can sleep on the grime from the bottom of your shoes along with the juices from your pussy for all you care.

You start off slow, running your hands along your body, groping your tits through the faux leather of your dress, imagining that they’re Rafe’s much larger hands. It doesn’t take you long to get worked up, your juices starting to make the cloth underneath you slick. You're so wet that when you start to jerk your hips back and forth on the pillow that you practically glide. The lace of your thong gets pulled tighter, adding extra pressure to your puffy clit. Your dress rides up your hips, revealing your ass and the plush of your thighs as your hips start to speed up. Once you start to really get into it you pull your panties to the side and yank the zipper that goes all the way down the front of your dress down your chest so your tits can spill out. You switch up the movement of your hips every few moments, rotating between using the pillow for leverage and running your hands down your body.

You start to get so lost in the throes of pleasure you almost forget where you are entirely until your white sock covered shin smacks against your pink polaroid camera. You smirk to yourself in remembrance as you pluck it from the bed and turn it on. You hold it above yourself while you press your tits together and spread your legs far enough to show your mound on top of his shirt and snap a photo. You take more than one this time, using almost the entire roll taking pictures of your body from various angles. You shove your fingers in your mouth. Take photos of your tiny thong string nestled between your ass. You even take one with his shirt held up between your teeth. That ends up being the last photo because the smell of his cologne hits your nostrils and it has you inhaling deeply while your hips start to subconsciously grind down again.

Rafe practically felt like a madman as he tried for the fifth time in the last twenty minutes to get out of this conversation with your father and their business partner. Every single time he tried to slip away he was pulled back in somehow. But that didn’t stop his eyes from traveling to the tantalizing view on his phone screen every ten seconds. He felt like a cat who caught a mouse it’s been chasing for months. All without even trying. You lead yourself into a trap he didn’t even set and it couldn’t be more fucking perfect. The fact that you had no idea that his entire house was bugged with cameras that he could see directly in the palm of his hand made his cock twitch. Rafe checked his phone the minute he got the notification that someone was unlocking his bedroom door, ready to send security up there to grab a thief. But he was oh so pleasantly surprised when he saw it was you. You weren’t like any of the other girls he’s ever seen in all his time living on this island. Your platform shoes and dark make-up were utterly enticing to him and your bratty attitude made him want to bend you over his knee until you cried. He also knew you were a naughty girl, with a dirty little secret only he knew. Rafe’s obsession for you only grew by the day and now it was at an all time high.

He decided to let it play out for a bit. He watched as you surveyed his blank walls and rummaged through his drawers. Then you made your way into the bathroom and he watched as you greedily inhaled his colognes and body washes. You went into his closet and somehow unlocked his jewelry case. He’d have to figure out how you managed to learn his key codes later. His heartbeat sped up when you reached for the second drawer but the way you looked down at the trophies you had ever so graciously gifted him with elation only made his appetite for you nearly unbearable. What really sent him over the edge though was how you were currently strandling his pillow as you bucked your hips with his shirt held to your nose.

The entire scene had him losing his mind with lust and you just kept taking it further. He watched you pull your tits out, the way you took all those slutty pictures for him and he wished more than anything in the world he could turn his phone up to full volume so he could hear the pretty little moans leaving your lips. He could tell from the avid speed of your hips and the way your eyes are rolled back that you’re close to your end and he’ll be damned if he isn’t there to see it. He finally excuses himself under the guise of having to go to the bathroom and slips up the large staircase with ease.

You're so close. The pace of your hips is so quick that the entire bed shakes underneath you as delicious euphoria is seconds away. You have the corner of Rafe’s shirt grasped tightly in your fist as you hold it up to your nose. The cloth is pulled taunt against your clit just right, drool drips down your chin onto the black material as you take in Rafe’s scent. Heat washes over you and you moan with reckless abandon, too lost in your tidal wave of an orgasm to care if anyone can hear you.

“I knew you were a dirty girl, but this is even better than anything my mind ever could’a dreamed up…” The sound of Rafe’s voice makes you practically scream and you clutch his shirt over your chest on instinct. Your entire body heats as you take in his large form leaning against the closed bedroom door. His arms are crossed and he has probably the most smug smirk you’ve ever seen in your life painted on his face as he looks over at you through hooded eyes.

“Rafe! I - aren’t you supposed to be hosting a party?” You scoff and roll your eyes, clearly trying to change the subject when you’re the one who broke into his room.

“Well… you see…” Rafe stalks over to you like a predator that caught his prey and stops at the end of the bed. He places his large hands on the mattress so he can lean down only inches from your face, his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip as his eyes travel down your body before connecting with your own. “This little unassuming mouse wandered into my den without even considering that I have eyes on every inch of this house.”

“How - how long have you been watching?” You clutch onto the shirt tighter, hiding your boobs and bare pussy even though he’s already seen both on multiple occasions. Something about him knowing it was you was making you suddenly nervous.

“Oh, sweetheart, I get a notification when someone opens that door… I saw everything. What do we have here?” His eyes are blue fire as they land on the Polaroids and he picks one up with delight before picking up another and another until he’s seen every single one. He sets them aside in a neat stack before abruptly gripping onto the shirt covering you and ripping it down your body with a growl. You gasp in surprise and use your arms to cover your nipples while slamming your legs shut. “Oh, no, none of that. Don’t get all shy on me now, I’ve already seen it all.” Rafe grabs the pillow and pulls it from underneath you causing you to fall backwards on the bed onto your ass. “Would you look at that…” He looks down at the pillow with hungry fascination as a low groan rumbles through his chest. You watch as he runs the pad of his finger through the creamy wetness before bringing it to his mouth and holding eye contact with you as he sucks it between his lips. His eyes immediately roll back when your taste hits his tongue. “Fuckin’ delicious. But I’m always tastin’ you secondhand.. I can’t wait to taste that sweet pussy directly from the source.”

You’re utterly stunned for a moment. You look up at him with your jaw hanging open while you do your best to cover your most intimate parts when all you want to do is throw your legs open and fully submit to him. You always told yourself if he ever caught you that you would make him work for it. But with the way he’s looking at you now? You can already feel yourself slipping and he hasn’t even touched you yet.

“Who - who said I was going to let you taste me? And what do you mean secondhand?” You tried to say it in a biting tone but your voice squeaks and betrays your facade immediately.

“Oh, little mouse… this little back and forth we’ve been playing has been fun and all. But now you’ve wandered right into my bed and I’m done playing games.” Rafe abruptly grabs onto your ankles, pulling you down to the edge of the bed until your feet are dangling off and you try to pull your knees together again but he grips onto them and pulls them back open. “Quit hiding from me.”

His hands grip tightly onto the meat of your thighs, the gold rings on his fingers pinching your skin in a way that has you holding back a moan. The look in Rafe’s eyes is nearly animalistic as he stares down at your puffy, wet pussy. Your little black thong pushed to the side, covered in creamy, white juices. His fingertips travel down your legs gripping hard enough to bruise with every inch. He brings his thumbs to the crevices of your thighs and presses his fingers hard on either side of your folds, pushing your pussy lips together. You can’t hold in the tiny mewl that leaves the back of your throat. He punches your slick cunt together roughly a few times before pulling you apart. Your pussy clicks for him from your wetness as he pulls you open.

“Been waiting for this moment, ya know?” Rafe runs his thumb along your slit, gathering your wetness before bringing his thumbs to rub along the sides of your lips, teasing you. “I knew it was you. I had my suspicions from the beginning. Ever since you walked in on me in the bathroom…”

“How?” Your voice is a broken whisper, any thoughts of fighting back slipping further and further from your mind. Embarrassingly enough, you feel like you could come from just this.

“Well, I was almost positive after that cute little cherry thong…” Rafe grazes over your clit for just a moment before going back to teasing you. “Earlier that day you were wearing these sexy little jeans and when you bent over I got a view of that same thong. Then, to my surprise, the very same pair ended up in my office later that day.” He presses hard on your clit, giving it a few strokes and you think his teasing has finally come to an end but as soon as it’s there, it’s gone. And he goes back to teasing your pussy tantalizingly. “But then, about a week later I saw you sneaking out of my office and I decided to let you get away with it.”

“You decided?” You push yourself up on your elbows and scoff with your eyebrow raised, your irritation with him returning. Rafe just smirks before shoving his thumb knuckle deep in your pussy and curving it against your walls. It makes your eyes roll back while you wriggle underneath him.

“Yes, princess, I decided.” His other thumb presses on your clit hard but doesn’t move. “Once I was positive it was you, I wasn’t ready for it to stop. Especially once you started leaving those little pictures for me. Who knew you were such a dirty slut.” He pulls his fingers from you before landing a harsh smack on your clit causing you to yelp.

“So you knew it was me and didn’t say anything? And then proceeded to keep them in a treasure box and jerk off all over them? Pervert.” Rafe slaps your pussy again, three times in succession.

“Stop being a fuckin’ brat. If I’m a pervert, what does that make you, huh?” He slaps your pussy even harder and then brings both of his hands down on your inner thighs with a loud smack. “Leaving me your panties, takin’ dirty photos for me, I saw you inhaling my cologne like it was a line of coke. And now I caught you in my bed, coming all over my pillow. You’re a nasty. Little. Girl.” He punctuates each word with a slap to your cunt and you can’t help but moan loudly for him.

“Yeah? Well you’re a nasty old man.” Your chest heaves but you still manage to paint a cheshire smirk on your face, your eyes twinkling with mischief as you use the last of your resolve against him.

“You know what? I’m sick of your bratty fuckin’ mouth.” Rafe grips onto the thin strings of your panties and pulls them down your legs before balling them up and shoving them in your mouth. The sudden intrusion makes you gag, but it’s not unwelcome. The act of dominance and the taste of yourself on your tongue has any and all attitude in you evaporating from your body. He grabs your chin and roughly shakes your head side to side. “That’s better. You gonna be a good girl and let me taste that perfect cunt now or do I need to beat the attitude out of you?”

You moan around the lace in your mouth and drop your knees to the sides, offering yourself to him. Rafe looks at you devilishly as he lays on his stomach on the mattress and throws your legs over his shoulders. He runs his nose along your inner thigh as he takes in your sweet scent before hovering over your pussy and inhaling deeply.

“Smell so fuckin’ sweet, bet you taste even sweeter.” The flat Rafe’s runs through your folds up to your clit before circling it a few times. He nips it with his teeth and shoves his tongue as far as it can go inside of you causing you to cry out and arch your back off the mattress.

“Quit wiggling.” Rafe growls into your pussy, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your body. His large hand splay on your hip, holding you down as he eats you like a man starved. He circles two fingers at your entrance before pressing them knuckle deep inside of you. He caresses your sweet spot while sucking your clit into his mouth and it has an explosion of pleasure washing over your body as your orgasm consumes you.

Rafe pulls off of you when you come down from your high and brings the fingers that were just inside you to his chin dripping with your juices. He smears it around before sucking his fingers clean, groaning like he just ate the best meal of his life. He leans forward and plucks the panties from your mouth before slamming his lips against yours. The kiss is dominating and he shoves his tongue deep into your mouth, swirling it around and coating your taste buds with your own cum. He leans back to admire you and he feels like his cock is going to burst. Your hair is a mess, your dark lipstick is smudged and slick, and the zipper on that tight little dress is barely hanging on. Your tits are on full display as you lay like a perverted little angel with your legs spread beneath him.

“God damn. I’ve gotta fuck that pussy, baby.” Rafe pulls the zipper of your dress the rest of the way down before leaning up on his knees and reaching for the buttons on his shirt. “Take that shit off. Leave the socks and shoes though.”

He licks his lips as he continues to unbutton his shirt while his eyes practically swallow you whole. You quickly rid yourself of your dress and push yourself up onto your knees to watch him undress. You have to stop yourself from jumping him when he gets his shirt all the way off, his perfectly toned body towering over you. When he gets his pants down enough to get his cock out you can’t even hold in your gasp. He’s huge. So thick you aren’t sure you could wrap a single hand around him and so long that you aren’t sure if you could take him all down your throat.

“Fuck. I don’t know if that’s going to fit…” Your eyes are the sizes of saucers as you stare at his cock with your jaw slack. Those words make Rafe feel like he’s going to go insane and his hand flies to your hair, grasping onto it at the nape of your neck and yanking your head back.

“Oh, it’ll fit.” His tongue slides over his teeth and he takes his shaft in his hand so he can rub his precum along your lips, adding to the mess. Rafe uses his grip on your head to manhandle you onto your back before throwing your legs over his shoulders. He smirks down at you while he pumps himself in his hand. “You want it?”

“Yes, fuck. I want it so bad.” You tilt your hips towards him searching for any kind of friction but his hand presses down on your hip, stilling your movements.

“Oh, come on, baby doll. You can do better than that. How bad do you want it?” He taps the head of his cock against your clit a few times before running it through your folds. You try to angle your hips to push him further inside of you and he just tuts at you like you did something naughty before pulling his cock away entirely. “Let me hear it, beg.”

“Please, daddy, I want it so bad.” Rafe breathes out heavily through his nostrils and grips onto your throat, leaning down so his face is inches from yours.

“Oh, little mouse.. you’re just full of surprises, huh? I don’t think you know what you’ve done.” Rafe chuckles darkly and leans back up onto his knees, positioning his cock at your entrance. He presses his head into you and he’s so thick you already feel so full by the time he’s only a few inches in.

“Oh, god. I don’t - I really don’t know if it’s all going to fit.” The air is nearly taken out of your lungs when he thrusts his hips forward and you’re sure he’s all the way inside of you now but he pulls almost all the way out before slamming his cock into you to the hilt with his hips flush against yours. “Holy shit, oh my god.”

“I thought you wanted it so bad, now you’re whining that it won’t fit? I’m gonna fuckin’ make it fit and you’re gonna take it like the dirty little slut you are.” Rafe rams his hips into yours at a brutal pace as he grips onto your throat again and squeezes tightly. His free hand comes to rub circles on your clit and it makes your vision blur. “Yeah fuckin, take it. You gonna come for me? I can feel your pussy squeezing me. You’re so fuckin’ tight.”

“Yes, fuck daddy, please make me cum.” Your voice is a broken sob as your makeup smears messily down your face. “I’m so fucking full.”

“Yeah, that’s right, sweet thing. Give me your cum.” That’s all it takes to have an all consuming orgasm washing over you. Your walls convulse around Rafe’s thick length and he picks up his thrusts, chasing his own high. He uses his grip on your throat to press you down into the mattress and your legs fall down onto his hips. You lace them around him and this new angle has him hitting so deep you swear you’re going to feel him for days. The hand not on your throat hooks onto your bottom teeth, pulling your jaw open so he can spit on your tongue. You swallow without asking and then suck his fingers into your mouth greedily.

“You’re so fuckin’ nasty, ya know that? Letting your dad’s boss fuck you till you cry while he’s right down stairs. Leaving me your little fuckin’ panties. This perfect god damn pussy.” Rafe is babbling like a man possessed as he pumps into you hard and deep until his cock starts to twitch inside you. He growls as he fills you with ropes of his cum. When he pulls out you feel nearly hollow and then he shoves his fingers knuckle deep inside of you, collecting some of his cum on his fingers. You pull his hand back to your mouth and lick his fingers, moaning at your combined tastes.

“Oh, I’m gonna have so much fun with you, little mouse.” Rafe stares down at you with a hunger that’s laced with obsession and you don’t even care because you’re just as obsessed as he is. “You’re mine now.”

Taglist: @nemesyaaa @strawberrydolly333 @sturnioloshacker @loserboysandlithium @gri959 @rafeinterlude @xoxohoneymoongirl @tacymbcm @bunnies-p1tst0p @starkeysprincess

Dividers by @anitalenia

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Squeaky Clean 5

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: You start work as a maid but you’re not prepared for the mess your client brings with him. (maid AU – plus!reader)

Note: damn, boy.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“So, if you terminate contract without two weeks’ notice, terms state you owe the agency an admin fee.” Jan explains over the phone. 

You sit in your car with her on speaker, idling behind the store, shellshocked.  

“How much?” You ask. 

“Based on how long you’ve been with us, four-fifty.” 

“That-- four hundred and fifty? That’s a week’s pay,” you exclaim. 

“Yes, well, we’d have to overextend other staff and then there would be training and recruiting. Seeing as you’ve not completed your probation period, we would be taking a loss.” 

“A loss? I’d still work, just for another client.” 

“There’s a lot of cleaners with seniority, they get preference. I’m sorry, but those are your options,” she says. She has no compassion, it’s all just money to her. 

You stare at the brick wall ahead of your car. Never mind about going inside. You’ll make your boxed macaroni with water tonight. Maybe as you scroll the job boards. If you get something quick, you’ll be able to cover the fee. 

Or. 

Or... 

Or you’ll have to face him again. 

You grip the wheel tight. It isn’t even your car. The fee comes out of your pay too. This whole thing is a grift. You lean forward and rest your head on the vinyl ridges. 

You see him, standing in front of the door, in his body armour and helmet. A man who could snap you like a twig. You exhale with a quake and roll your eyes back against the swell of heat. You have no choice. Not unless a miracle comes and you don’t believe in those. 

You drive home. Your apartment is small. Especially compared to his townhouse. How rotten. Look at you. Living at the bare minimum, living off his scraps based on how well you clean his floors. It’s not fair. And he can just do whatever he wants. Because what, because he wears that costume? 

You’re not hungry. You scroll through job boards. It’s all this bullshit AI training. You know it’s garbage. $100 an hour, yeah, you’re sure it will hit your bank account smoothly. Oh and Jan didn’t miss the non-compete clause. If you quit, you can work for another cleaning agency or even freelance for at least a year. 

Sleep is fractured by your anxiety. Every time you close your eyes, he’s there. Each time you move, you feel his hands on you. Your skin crawls and your insides burn. Why? Why you? Would it be the same if it was anyone else who’d taken that job? 

You stare at the ceiling as the sun rises outside your window. As the light shifts, your nerves flurry. You don’t want to get up. You don’t want to go back. 

You flinch as a soft click comes from the kitchen. There’s a length of wall between the rest of your apartment and it. A bachelor with nothing more than a clunky radiator and scratched floorboards. Another click and the grind of the coffee machine. 

You sit up, chest thumping furiously. You’re dreaming. Your frail human condition finally forced you into submission. It’s a nightmare. It has to be. You're sure of it as he appears from behind the wall, leaning on the plaster with smirk. 

Steve’s hair is slightly askew. His cowl is gone but the rest of his suit is still in place. All but his gloves, tucked into his belt. 

“You know, I was always taught not to give up. Why do you think I am who I am,” he grips his hips as he pushes away from the wall and approaches you with decisive steps. “You don’t just roll over and let the world win.” 

You blink. It’s not a dream. You’ve never felt anything more real. 

“When you get a no, you don’t stop until you hear yes,” he stops at the foot of your bed, “or until they can’t say anything.” 

“Steve,” you bend your legs and push yourself back against the metal headboard. “What...” 

“You know, it’s funny. They didn’t tell me all the side effects.” He turns and sits on the side of the bed. “Nope. They said ‘it’ll make you strong. And big.’ That’s about all they told me,” he bends his leg and brings his foot onto his knee. He unlaces his boots, the ends of the laces snapping on the leather. “They don’t tell you how much you can hear. How much you can feel. Or not feel.” 

He scoffs and shakes his head, “either they didn’t care or they didn’t know. I can’t say which is worse.” He wiggles the boot off and switches boots. “Don’t tell you that your body turns into this callous shell. The caffeine in a cup of coffee does nothing. Nope. You’re body’s on overdrive. You get nothing. You only give.” 

He rips his other boot off and drops it. He sighs and leans forward, his elbows on his thighs as he bends his head. He smooths his blond hair. 

“I can hear through a car. Even from a block away. Even through the brick wall. And I can hear your heart beating from ground level,” he sniffs and rolls his shoulders, holding his head. “I can hear it right now too.” 

You’re silent. Paralysed. It’s all a game to him. He’s been following, watching. Even if the thought crossed your mind, you wouldn’t have caught him. He shows himself when he wants to be seen. Exactly as he does at his place. 

“I just want to feel one fucking thing that makes me feel alive,” he sits up. 

You stare at him. He slowly looks over his shoulder and meets your gaze. “I put the coffee on. Your head’s throbbing. Migraine. The cells in your brain are compressed. Lack of seratonin due to lack of sleep.” 

Your mouth falls open. He can tell all that. No, another job was never an option. Quitting, like he says, isn’t a choice. Why doesn’t matter. Why is a stupid question. Why won’t change what is about to happen. 

“Have a cup, take a shower, relax,” he commands. “I want you to feel it too.” 

[five-rivers]

After months, if not years of missed curfews, failing grades and lies Maddie is done with her son’s behavior and decides to confront him once and for all, waiting in his room since he so rarely uses the door. Imagine her suprise the infamous Danny Phantom, injured and exhausted stumbles through the wall and detransforms into Danny Fenton.

She doesn't turn the light on. She doesn't know how Danny keeps getting past her and Jack, and that is one of things she intends to discover and put a stop to tonight, one way or another.

She'd prefer to talk, but if she has to nail his window shut from the outside, inside, or both, that is what she will do. It isn't safe out there at night. She and Jack did their best, but there are so many ghosts, and they can't do much about the more human dangers.

(The only good thing about this situation is that Danny showed no signs of taking drugs. Or, at least, Maddie hadn't found any of the related paraphernalia in his room.)

Outside the window, the light increased. Maddie frowned. The Fentonworks sign was bright, she knew, but it was also very specific neon colors. This was something paler, whiter, cleaner, and it wasn't bright enough, or coming from the right direction, to be car headlights.

Maddie hadn't brought her weapons with her. She didn't like going around unarmed, but she knew that going to what was almost certainly going to be an emotionally charged argument with a weapon close to hand - even a nonlethal one - wasn't wise. Thinking about herself that way made her nauseated, but no one thought they would do something like that until they did, a fact Maddie was familiar with from unfortunate personal experience.

But she couldn't help but regret this wisdom when the ghost came through the wall. And not just any ghost. Phantom.

She held her breath, trying to stay as still as possible. If she got away before he spotted her, she could activate the defense system, but in the same room, she wouldn't be able to get the words out fast enough.

Phantom hovered over Danny's bed, and for the first time tonight, Maddie was glad that Danny wasn't here. Who knew what Phantom had intended?

Ectoplasm dripped from Phantom's arm and nose, onto Danny's bed. She would have to clean it before he slept on it again. Thoroughly. He'd be annoyed to have to sleep in the guest bedroom, but it was a matter for his health.

Why had Phantom come here when he was this damaged?

Phantom suddenly flared bright, like a camera flash. The room was dark in its wake, and something fell heavily onto Danny's bed.

She blinked the light out of her eyes, furious and terrified. Was this the precursor to an attack? Did he know she was here?

When her eyes adapted again, she saw...

Danny.

Danny, in his pajamas, with the same injuries Phantom had.

Maddie watched and waited while Danny turned over, cocooning himself in his sheets. She would like to say that her hesitance was born from an abundance of caution, but really, she was too stunned to act.

But, finally, what felt like hours later, she walked over to Danny's bed. His chest was rising and falling, slow but steady. She put her hand on his shoulder and felt its warmth.

Her hand, slowly, moved to his throat. There was a pulse, there.

He was alive. Her son was alive.

She just--

She took a step back, away, back to the door, which she opened as quietly as possible.

She needed to understand what was happening, first, what she had seen. Then, she could start to figure out how to fix it.

[gardenwalrus]

Pattie Boyd on herself, George, John and Cynthia being spiked with LSD-laced coffee by their dentist, John Riley

Our dentist, John Riley, had turned us on to acid. He and his girlfriend invited John, Cynthia, George, and me to dinner at his house in Hyde Park Square one evening sometime in 1965. [...] We had a lovely meal, plenty to drink, and at the end George said, “Let’s go.” We were planning to see some friends playing at the Pickwick Club. John Riley’s girlfriend jumped to her feet. “You can’t,” she said. “You haven’t had any coffee yet. It’s ready, I’ve made it - and it’s delicious.�� We sat down again and drank the coffee she was insistent we should have. But then we were really keen to get away and John Lennon said, “We must go now. These friends of ours are going to be on soon. It’s their first night, we’ve got to go and see them.” And John Riley said, “You can’t leave.” “What are you talking about?” said John Lennon. “You’ve just had LSD.” “No, we haven’t.” “Yes, you have,” said our host. “It was in the coffee.” John Lennon was absolutely furious. “How dare you fucking do this to us?” he said.

George and I said, “Do what?” We didn’t know what LSD was. John Lennon was the only one of us who knew because he had read about it in Playboy. He said, “It’s a drug,” and as it began to take effect we felt even more strongly that we didn’t want to be there. I wondered if the dentist, who hadn’t had any coffee, had given it to us hoping the evening might end in an orgy. We were desperate to escape. John Riley said he would drive us and we should leave our car with him. “No,” we said. We piled into my Mini, which seemed to be shrinking, and drove to the club where our friends were playing. All the way the car felt smaller and smaller, and by the time we arrived we were completely out of it. People kept recognising George and coming up to him. They were moving in and out of focus, then looked like animals. We clung to each other, feeling surreal. Soon we moved on to the Ad Lib Club - we knew it and thought we might feel better if we were in familiar surroundings. It wasn’t far from the Pickwick so we walked and on the way I remember trying to break a shop window. The Ad Lib was on the top floor, above the Prince Charles Theatre in Leicester Place, and we thought the lift was on fire because there was a little red light inside. As the doors opened, we crawled out and bumped into Mick Jagger, Marianne Faithfull, and Ringo. John told them we’d been spiked. The effect of the drug was getting stronger and stronger, and we were all in hysterics and crazy. When we sat down, the table elongated. Hours later we decided to go home. We climbed into the car again and this time George drove - at no more than ten miles an hour, concentrating hard, all the way to Esher. But it felt as though he was doing a thousand miles an hour [...] it was daylight by the time we got home. We went into Kinfauns and locked the gate so that the cleaner wouldn’t come in and find us, put the cat into a room on her own, and sat down. The drug took about eight hours to wear off, but it was very frightening and we never spoke to the dentist again.

- From Pattie Boyd's autobiography Wonderful Tonight: George Harrison, Eric Clapton, and Me (2007)

[waughymommy]

Mommy Knows Best

Chapter 1

Rebecca Sullivan plugged in the vacuum cleaner and set about cleaning the master bedroom. As she pushed the vacuum to reach under the bed, she hit something she wasn’t expecting. She quickly turned off the vacuum and got down on her hands and knees to investigate. Looking under the bedframe, she discovered a box she had not seen before. She pulled out and looked inside. To her complete surprise it was a full of baby supplies. There were bottles and pacifiers, diapers and onesies. But something was odd. No baby was big enough to fit into any of the diapers. They were huge. She unfolded a baby blue onesie and held it up. She thought to herself my god this would fit a grown man. Is my husband secretly a baby? Is this why he has never wanted to have kids? What the hell? She left the set the box on the bed and returned to cleaning up the bedroom. Brian would be home soon and would have some explaining to do.

He threw his briefcase in the passenger seat and hopped in his car. He ran his hands through is hair, tired and stressed out. All he wanted to do was get home to wife and have a quiet Friday night in. Brian worked for a major marketing company. It was a great paying job, but he often worked long hours, sometimes well into the evening. The stress could just be too much at times. He turned on the radio, rolled the windows down and tried to forget about his work as he drove home. A short drive later and he was rolling into his garage. He stepped out and cast a glance at all the power tools sitting on the shelf. These were all the things that made him feel like a man. Things that made him try and ignore the child that dwelled within. He hoped that by doing all the things guys are supposed to like, he could hide the secret that he still yearned to be little, to be cared for. He loved his wife dearly and had tried so many times to tell her, but every time he tried, his nerves failed him. They had been together for ten years. They had built a life together. He had climbed the ladder in his company which afforded him all the luxuries of life he wanted Rebecca to have. In providing for them both, maybe that childish fantasy would go away. But yet, he still fantasized that one day, she would make him her baby. However that was a fantasy and this was real life. He took a deep breath and walked into the house.

As he stepped through the threshold, he noticed the pleasant aroma of dinner. Rebecca heard the door opened and turned around with a bright smile. It was the smile that had smitten him all those years ago. She embraced him in a warm hug, kissing him on the cheek. “There is my big, hardworking man. Come sit and I will get you a drink sweetheart. Dinner is just about ready.” Brian didn’t object, sitting at the table and took a big sip of the Jack and Coke she placed in front of him. “My god honey, I needed a drink. It was just meeting after meeting. I’m pretty sure my brain has turned to mush. I’m going to try and forget about work until Monday,” Brian lamented. She soon retuned with their plates and the two enjoyed their dinner. He soon finished his drink and she quicky poured him another. “After dinner sweetheart, let me take care of you. Let me help my baby boy relax and unwind, she said in a syrupy sweet tone. He was a bit taken aback by “baby boy,” but he was too tired to really care.

“Here sweetheart, have one more drink and go sit in your comfy chair while I clean up. I will come get you when I’m ready for you.” Ready for what he thought. “Um ok, honey. Thank you for making such a wonderful dinner. I am so lucky that I have you to take care of me,” he replied. She smiled and said, “Of course.” Brian walked into his den and plopped down into his favorite chair. The drinks were starting to kick and soon he was nodding off to sleep. “Is my baby boy sleepy?” she asked while caressing his hand. He opened his eyes and mumbled some apology for falling asleep. “Its ok baby boy. Come with me and we will get you all cozy.” She led him by his hand back to their bedroom. His grogginess soon turned to panic when he laid eyes on his box sitting on the bed. Oh god. I am so fucked. I have no way to get out of this now. He chest grew tight and he felt like he might be sick. For decades, he had managed to keep his secret quiet. Rebecca quickly sensed his apprehension and squeezed his hand. “It’s ok sweetheart, trust me. Everything is all ok. There is no need to scare. I know my big man needs to be taken care of,” she said with such a maternal tone. “Now lay down on the bed for me. You don’t need to say anything. I know you want this. Brian, I know you want to be a baby, I found all of your stuff. I am not mad, I promise. You know I have wanted a baby for years. And maybe that time is here.” Rebecca looked down on him, seeing his eyes dart all over the room. He was scared. She knew he was filled with guilt and embarrassment. Brian thrived on being able to take care of her. “I want to be able to do this for you, but this is the only time I will make this offer. So if you want to accept this, you don’t need to say anything. All you need to do is place your thumb in your mouth and start sucking and mommy will know that you are going to be her little baby boy.”

Brian closed his eyes, as tears rolled down his cheeks. He felt horrified and excited all at the same time. His heart was racing. What do I do? This is my only chance. This is what you have always wanted. Trust her and let go. You need this. He opened his eyes and looked at his wife’s smiling face. He took a deep breath and slowly curled his fingers into his palm. He lifted his hand to his face and placed his thumb in his mouth. There he did it. Rebecca beamed, “Oh mommy is going to take such good care of my baby.” She slowly unbuttoned his shirt and then moved onto his pants. She removed all of his clothes until he was lying completely naked on the bed. She reached into the box and produced his pacifier, “I know you want your binky honey.” Returning to the box, she pulled out one of his diapers. “Get that sweet little tushy up baby,” as she slid the diaper under his bottom. The smell of baby powder seemed to put him in a trance as he sucked harder on his pacifier. She taped up the diaper, making sure it was secure. She kissed his exposed belly and then climbed up onto her side of the bed. “Come here cutie. Let me hold my baby.” He quickly complied with her demand. He laid his head on her chest, feeling her soft bosom. He let out a sigh and melted into her. He was now her baby. A tear escaped her. She had her baby. But she wasn’t content to just pretend. If she was going to be a real mommy, he needed to be a real baby. She ran her fingers through his hair and floated off to sleep.

[fruvittea]

late night jams

💌﹒→﹒roommate!vernon x reader ﹒ ﹒ ♪

— genre: slice of life, romance, fluff

— word count: 2.3k

— warnings? none

— synopsis: Vernon becomes your roommate after responding to an ad you posted. You quickly bond over your shared love of music, and late-night jam sessions turn into something more.

1:00 PM – Move-In Day

The apartment smells faintly of fresh paint and pine-scented cleaner when you unlock the door. Two suitcases rest by your side, and a backpack hangs off your shoulder, weighing you down as you step inside. The place is small but cozy—a combination of warm wooden floors and beige walls that will look less generic once you’ve hung up some posters. Your stomach flips with a mix of excitement and nerves. This is your first time living away from home, and though you’re ready for independence, the idea of sharing the space with a complete stranger makes your palms sweat.

You’ve only exchanged a few texts with Vernon, your new roommate. His messages were polite but sparse, like he wasn’t too keen on chatting beyond the basics. He mentioned he’d arrive a bit later, so you’ve got the apartment to yourself for now. You drag your suitcases into the room on the right, claiming it as your own. The window overlooks the street below, where cars hum by and people walk briskly, the late afternoon sun glinting off storefront windows.

By the time you’ve unpacked a few essentials and stacked your books on the desk, a knock sounds at the door. Heart thudding, you head to the living room and open it. There stands Vernon, a duffle bag slung over one shoulder and a guitar case in his other hand. His dark brown hair falls slightly over his eyes, and he gives you a small, lopsided smile.

“Hey, you must be…” he starts, trailing off as he glances down at the paper taped to the doorframe with your names on it. “Yeah, you. I’m Vernon.”

“And you must be Vernon,” you reply with a grin, stepping aside to let him in.

“Nice place,” he says, setting his things down and looking around. “Smells like a pine forest, though.”

You laugh, feeling some of the tension ease. “Yeah, I think they overdid it with the cleaning spray. It’ll wear off.”

He nods and gives you another small smile before heading to the room on the left. You’re not sure what to expect from him, but his quiet demeanor makes you think he’ll be easy to live with.

-

9:00 PM – The First Jam

Later that night, the apartment is quiet except for the low hum of your laptop. You’ve spent the evening settling in and scrolling through social media, and you’re just about to call it a night when a soft melody drifts through the walls. At first, you think it’s coming from outside, but then you realize it’s Vernon.

You press your ear to the door, curiosity getting the better of you. He’s playing the guitar, the notes soft and smooth, accompanied by a low voice humming a melody. It’s unpolished but soothing, like he’s just idly strumming to unwind.

Unable to resist, you knock on his door. The music stops abruptly. “Yeah?” comes his muffled voice.

“Hey, sorry to bother you,” you say, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “But that sounded… really nice. Are you working on something?”

The door opens slightly, and Vernon’s face appears. He looks a bit sheepish, his guitar still in his hands. “Oh, uh, thanks. Just messing around.”

“Do you… mind if I listen?” you ask, surprising yourself.

He hesitates for a moment but then steps back, letting you in. His room is sparse, with only a few belongings scattered around—a stack of notebooks on the desk, a small speaker by the window, and a record player in the corner. He sits back on the edge of his bed, cradling the guitar.

“It’s nothing special,” he says, but when he starts playing again, the soft chords fill the room with warmth. You sit cross-legged on the floor, watching as his fingers move effortlessly over the strings.

“Do you write your own stuff?” you ask.

He nods. “Yeah, sometimes. It’s more of a hobby, though. Helps me clear my head.”

You find yourself mesmerized, not just by the music but by the way he seems completely at ease when he plays. It’s like the quiet, reserved Vernon you met earlier fades away, replaced by someone more open and free.

-

12:00 AM – Late-Night Confessions

What starts as one song turns into an impromptu jam session. Vernon hands you a notebook filled with lyrics, asking for your opinion. You’re surprised by how raw and honest his words are, a glimpse into a side of him you didn’t expect.

“These are really good,” you tell him, looking up from the page. “Why don’t you share them with anyone?”

He shrugs, fiddling with the tuning pegs on his guitar. “I don’t know. It’s personal, I guess. And, I mean, who’d want to hear this stuff anyway?”

“Are you kidding?” you say, incredulous. “People would love this. You’re really talented.”

His cheeks flush slightly, and he gives a small, embarrassed laugh. “Thanks. That… means a lot.”

The two of you end up talking well into the night, sharing stories and bits of your lives that you wouldn’t normally share with someone you’d just met. There’s something about the quiet intimacy of the moment that makes it easy to open up. By the time you finally head to bed, you’re struck by how comfortable you feel around him already.

-

Two Weeks Later

Living with Vernon quickly becomes easier than you’d imagined. He’s tidy, respects your space, and, most importantly, he’s just… good company. You find yourself looking forward to the evenings when the two of you sit in the living room, him with his guitar and you with whatever book or project you’re working on.

One night, you’re in the middle of cooking dinner when you hear Vernon humming in the kitchen. He’s scrolling through his phone, absently tapping a rhythm against the counter.

“That’s catchy,” you say, stirring the pot on the stove. “What is it?”

He looks up, startled. “Oh, just something I’ve been working on. It’s not done yet.”

“Can I hear it?”

He hesitates but then nods. Grabbing his guitar from the corner of the room, he plays the melody he’d been humming, adding a few lyrics. It’s rough, but you can hear the potential in it.

“You’ve got to do something with this,” you say. “Seriously, Vernon, this is too good to keep to yourself.”

He laughs softly. “Maybe someday.”

-

Late Night Breakthrough

Weeks turn into months, and your late-night jam sessions become a ritual. One night, Vernon asks you to help him come up with a chorus for a song he’s stuck on. You’re hesitant at first, but he insists, handing you the notebook and encouraging you to try.

“Just write whatever comes to mind,” he says, strumming a few chords. “There’s no wrong answer.”

You take a deep breath and scribble down a few lines, then hand it back to him. He reads them over, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “This is great,” he says, his tone sincere. “Really. Let’s try it.”

As he sings the lyrics you wrote, you can’t help but feel a swell of pride. It’s a small thing, but the fact that he values your input means more than you expected.

-

8:00 PM – The Apartment’s Atmosphere

The apartment feels alive tonight. Vernon’s guitar case leans against the couch, and the coffee table is strewn with lyric-filled notebooks and empty cups of tea. The faint scent of vanilla candles mingles with the cool breeze slipping through the slightly ajar window. It’s a typical scene for you and Vernon, but tonight, there’s a new energy.

After weeks of brainstorming, tweaking melodies, and scribbling down lyric ideas at odd hours, one of Vernon’s songs finally feels complete. It’s a quiet victory, marked by his satisfied grin as he strums the last chord. You’re sitting cross-legged on the rug, your fingers resting on a notebook, feeling like you’ve been part of something bigger than yourself.

“It’s done,” Vernon announces, his voice light with relief. “I can’t believe it.”

“You’ve been working on it for so long,” you say, your grin mirroring his. “It’s amazing, Vernon. Seriously.”

He leans back, running a hand through his hair, his expression softening. “I couldn’t have done it without you. All those late nights and random ideas you threw out? They made a difference.”

Your heart swells at the compliment. “I just threw out words. You’re the one who turned them into something magical.”

He shakes his head. “It’s a team effort.”

The room falls into a comfortable silence as the final chord lingers in the air. You both sit there for a moment, basking in the shared accomplishment.

-

9:30 PM – The Idea

“You should share it,” you blurt out, breaking the silence.

Vernon’s eyebrows lift slightly, and he sets his guitar down. “Share it? Like, online?”

“Yeah,” you say, leaning forward. “Or perform it. You’ve got talent, Vernon. People need to hear this.”

He hesitates, a shadow of doubt flickering across his face. “I don’t know. I mean, it’s personal. What if people don’t get it? Or worse, what if they hate it?”

“They won’t hate it,” you insist, your voice firm. “And even if some people don’t get it, so what? You wrote this for yourself, right? That’s what matters.”

He stares at you for a moment, his gaze searching. Then he nods slowly, a small smile playing at his lips. “Maybe you’re right.”

-

10:15 PM – Planning the Debut

You and Vernon brainstorm how to share his music with the world. He’s not one for grand gestures, so you settle on something intimate: a live stream. It’s low-pressure, just him and his guitar in the cozy apartment, playing for whoever stumbles upon the video.

“We could set up here,” you suggest, gesturing to the corner of the living room by the window. “The lighting’s nice, and it’ll feel authentic.”

Vernon nods, his confidence growing as the plan takes shape. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

You spend the next hour setting up. The coffee table gets cleared, fairy lights are strung along the windowsill, and Vernon’s guitar is tuned to perfection. You even dig out an old tripod for his phone, ensuring the angle captures him and the warm glow of the room.

As the clock ticks closer to showtime, Vernon’s nervous energy becomes palpable. He paces the room, muttering lyrics under his breath and shaking out his hands.

“You’re going to be great,” you reassure him, placing a hand on his arm. “Just play like it’s one of our late-night jams. No pressure.”

He takes a deep breath and nods. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

-

11:30 PM - The Performance

The live stream starts, and for the first few moments, it’s just Vernon sitting in front of the camera, his guitar resting on his lap. The viewer count is low at first, just a handful of usernames popping up in the corner of the screen. But as he begins to play, his voice steady and rich, more people join.

You watch from behind the camera, your heart swelling with pride. He’s in his element, completely absorbed in the music. The chat fills with comments, all variations of “Wow,” “This is amazing,” and “I needed this tonight.”

When he finishes the song, he looks up at the screen, his lips curving into a shy smile. “Thanks for listening, everyone,” he says, his voice soft. “This one’s been a long time coming.”

He plays a few more songs, the energy in the room shifting from nerves to something more celebratory. By the time he wraps up, the viewer count has climbed into the hundreds, and the chat is overflowing with messages of encouragement.

-

11:55 PM – Post-Show Glow

After the stream ends, Vernon leans back on the couch, letting out a long exhale. “That was… intense,” he says, running a hand through his hair.

“You killed it,” you reply, plopping down beside him. “Seriously, Vernon, you were amazing. Did you see how many people tuned in?”

He grins, his cheeks tinged with pink. “Yeah, that was wild. I didn’t expect so many people to care.”

“Well, they do,” you say, nudging his shoulder. “And now they’re all going to be waiting for your next song.”

He laughs, the sound light and carefree. “No pressure, right?”

-

12:15 AM – Reflection

The apartment has settled into a comfortable quiet again, the adrenaline of the live stream fading into a warm afterglow. Vernon sits cross-legged on the floor, strumming his guitar idly, while you stretch out on the couch, staring at the ceiling.

“Thanks for pushing me to do this,” he says after a while, his voice breaking the silence. “I don’t think I would’ve done it without you.”

You turn your head to look at him, a soft smile on your lips. “You would’ve done it eventually. I just sped up the process.”

He shakes his head. “No, really. You believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself. That means more than you know.”

His words settle over you, warm and genuine, and for a moment, neither of you says anything. The only sound is the soft strumming of his guitar and the distant hum of the city outside.

Vernon looks up from his guitar, his gaze meeting yours. His voice is soft but steady when he adds, “…And I don’t want to lose what we have.”

His words hang in the air, and you suddenly realize just how much these late-night moments have come to mean to both of you.

As the clock strikes midnight, you feel a quiet sense of contentment. This is what home feels like—a place where late-night jams turn into something magical, where shared dreams and quiet moments become the foundation of something bigger.

And as Vernon starts to hum a new melody, you can’t help but wonder what’s next for the two of you—as roommates, as friends, and maybe, just maybe, as something more.

✴︎🪷𓈒͏ུུ̑̑. ཉ — by @fruvittea

[hwbcarwash]

Car windows are smart in saving energy, money, and time

The brakes, front and rear aluminum wheels, engine, battery, and motor of a car parked nearby Burbank playgrounds, and shopping malls need maintenance; and that too on time. If this is not taken seriously, saving thousands of dollars to be invested for higher returns will remain a dream. This blog describes the real-time strength of an Inside car window cleaner who performs amazingly in spring, monsoon, or the chilly winter. 

[sentinelq]

The machine that tickles minds empty */tMan

He would make a pretty penny, doing this. The flier said 300$ an hour to test a sex toy, seemed great. Signature on the contract, with warning after warning, "Easy money", he thought.

The machine seemed pretty straight forward, barebones even. X shaped, a mechanical arm on each side, flimsy work. Normally, the arms of the machine would be equipped with sex toys but the students had changed it to tickling items, in a clever marketing ploy to present this as a challenge. You make it to the end, you get paid. All clothing, besides his underwear, was removed and he was strapped in.

Out popped the two arms, with what appeared to be toothbrushes for gorillas. Very wide and circular, they started their descent right on top of the boy's sides. He gasped a little, holding it in. What a nice little pattern they had, like car window-cleaners, sweep sweep sweeping the boy's sides allll the way to his belly.

His lower back thrusts upwards, trying to avoid the oversized toothbrushes. A gymnastic effort to avoid having his mouth opened by the giggles. In vain, it'd have been. Because one of them landing right on top of his belly button, where the hairs in the middle of the toothbrush descended inside.

He burst into laughter, manically squirming around, yet the toothbrush was calibrated perfectly, following his restrained movements. He thrusted forward, belly danced, swept the seat left-right with his ass, nothing worked. It. Just. Followed.

10 minutes later, these movements had thoroughly exhausted him. Just 10 minutes later. He lay there, near-motionless and having accepted his fate, giggling like a little schoolboy, the supervisor sporting a satisfied grin at the results.

"PHASE 2"

After 20 more minutes of his bravado being shattered, the supervisor finally announced that they'd be moving on to the final part of the hardware test. The underwear's value was added onto the hour's rate and promptly scissored off, exposing his boypussy. Much to his shame, he seemed to be enjoying this. Immensely.

The mechanical appendages on the sides were deactivated. Instead came three more, from between his legs. They were positioned left, right and dead center, each holding a feather. Coming together, those feathers combined into an "H", the middle part protruding forward, like a spear. What was the purpose of that, he wondered.

"I'm terribly sorry, a little bit of manual work is required here. You see, they were meant to be 5 arms." Huh? Why? The supervisor scooted right over, knelt right next to his thigh and... spread his wet boypussy wide open.

He was so embarassed. The H was rapidly approaching and... in the moment of contact, he understood why it was an H. Two feathers on the side, to slide up and down the wide open insides of his sensitive pussy lips, one right in the middle for the gentlest, softest and most unbearably ticklish penetration.

Screaming in laughter, his newfound vigor almost propelling him off the device he squirmed and thrashed, desperate to escape the feathers. The tickly feathers. The tickly feathers that were slowly... that were slowly...

After a little orgasmic torture, he figured out a way to lessen their effect. Imperfect as they were, they didn't quite have the reach the final product intended. Were he to lean as far back as he could, with great strain, he'd only suffer the torture in the middle, feathering away at his ticklish little crevice.

The supervisor was puzzled. "Are you alright? Are the restraints a little too tight? We'll fix those soon, you only have 20 more minutes! There, there" gently caressing the boy's thighs in support. The boy was ticklish there, too ticklish. He jolted forward in a sharp exhale of laughter, right into the machine's orgasmic coochie coochie coos.

The staff member had no idea they were tickling the poor boy, and kept caressing his extremely ticklish thigh, repeating "there there, you're doing so well!" forcing him to squirm right into the machine that was giving him a ticklegasm.

He tried telling them, he really did, but all they heard was an unintelligible "STA-HAHAHA- PLEA- 'M GONNA-HAHAHAHA"

He couldn't last any longer. Cum dripping as the stiff feathers explored his boypussy walls, mercilessly feathering his ultra-sensitive flesh so wickedly exposed by the supervisor. The ticklegasm came, dripping all over the front of the machine and the feathers.

They were livid. They didn't think anyone could cum from... tickling. They very awkwardly tried to comfort him, rapidly increasing the "there there"s and again, forcing the poor boy right into the feathergasmic buzzsaw, now even more sensitive and incoherent, moaning and laughter the only things they could verbalize.

Ticklegasm after ticklegasm after ticklegasm, they certainly earned those 300$.

Requested by a mutual*

[uzumaki-rebellion]

A.N.: Content Warning, violence, slave lynchings, blood, sex.

"Know that you are loved

Even if you don't love yourself

Know that you are loved

Even if you don't love yourself…"

Cleo Soul – "Know That You Are Loved"

Celeste washed away blood, tissue, and pieces of teeth from her hair that once belonged to three men she tried to help get home.

Sitting in her tub, she let the showerhead rain warm water down on her, creating steam that enveloped her in warmth. The last trickles of blood that soaked her locs ran down the drain in pink rivulets. She raised her knees to her chest and hugged her legs.

She couldn't stay in Marigny anymore.

Vampires, ghouls, and gargoyles knew where she stayed, and she felt like a lighthouse for supernatural entities to fuck up her life even more. She couldn't take a chance staying with her parents, grandparents, or older brothers and their families. Bringing danger to them had to be avoided at all costs.

She wiped her face of tears and let the shower water wash it away. Celeste needed to activate a new state of mind. One that moved in the world with intention.

Celeste scrubbed blood from the side of her car and used carpet cleaner to clear away the dark splashes that stained her passenger seat. Afterward she dropped her car off at a dealership to replace the busted window. She slept most of the day and returned to work at the chicken processing plant using an Uber. The news of the disappearance spread around fast, and she feigned shock at the news that Hector, Shorty, and Quentin disappeared with everyone else. Police detectives wandered about the facility interviewing workers that shared the same shift the previous day. She answered questions concisely and never gave up info that she was with them during their last hour. Celeste kept her head down and pushed through her work. She clocked out and used the turn of events as fodder to get a few days off from the elder care facility.

It was time to dig into Miss Irma's boxes.

Celeste fixed herself a turkey and bacon sandwich and hunkered down, opening every box she brought home. Miss Irma's meticulous organization of her private papers and photos helped her separate the records into neat piles. At the bottom of a box filled with several thick books on history, the occult, and supernatural symbolism, she found a small plastic case filled with flash drives loaded with archival images, more family photos, and copies of folders with Miss Irma's travel photography for over the last five decades. Personal correspondence, postcards, and holiday cards shared by her friends and former work colleagues were tucked inside clear plastic bags.

She spent half a day piecing together the story of Terrence Richmond Guidry, a former enslaved human and leader of a little known Black and Indigenous uprising in the swamps of Opelousas, Louisiana.

Celeste had to stop almost every twenty minutes to get up from her sewing room desk to absorb the incredible story of the man who knocked her up.

Terry had been descended from enslaved Creoles way back, the kind that negotiated plaçages and attended quadroon balls to link wealthy white men with femmes de couleur to create free-born octoroons like his mother. His family upheld the caste system and pretended to be white for years until Terry's birth threatened to expose them. Considered too dark, too curly-haired, and too full-featured to pass as white with his unwanted throwback genes, even with green eyes, his land-owning white-passing Black father didn't send him off to Paris to be educated like his fairer male siblings. His father sent him to New Orleans at fourteen to learn a respectable trade as a shipbuilder, but slave catchers captured and sold him to a sugarcane plantation. News reached Terry two years later that his own father sold him to pay off a gambling debt and to amend back taxes due on their plot of land. His mother died of grief over it. None of his older brothers tried to save him. They married white women and diluted the bloodline back to unsullied whiteness and never returned to America. Celeste closed her eyes and wept for him. Family betrayal cut the deepest.

His owner was a strict Catholic who took a liking to Terry. Allowed him to marry an enslaved woman named Delilah. They had three children. Two boys and a girl born in bondage. The daughter died of smallpox when she was three. The conditions on the sugar plantation were harsh, yet somehow Terry and his wife survived with their two sons.

Celeste jumped up from her seat and paced in her sewing room. He lied to her about having children because they came before he turned into a vampire. She drank tea and snacked on some fruit, letting her mind sit with the man's past as an abused slave. What other atrocities had he endured? She entertained the idea that it may have been a relief to become non-human in order to get away from the banality of white evil. There were more than a few times she stopped reading and cried for him.

After writing about smallpox passing through his plantation like a deadly wildfire killing one third of the enslaved population, Miss Irma's historical biography veered off the rails and entered the domain of what would be considered speculative fiction in the real world. Terry blended in with a group of newly arrived Haitian captives and saltwater Africans who had been illegally brought into the south to replace the lost human property. It was against the law to import slaves into the United States after 1808, and the influx of Black people from the Caribbean and the Western Coast of Africa secretly continued on Terry's plantation during his time there in the 1850s. Slaves were bred as Black gold for the small farmer and large plantations, often sold in lots to turn profits quickly as cotton became king of the southern economy. The devastating loss of so many able-bodied field hands made it impossible for wealthy planters to wait around twelve to fifteen years for a new crop of humans to be bred and physically capable of picking cotton. Illegal importations saved them with a fresh influx of free Black labor immediately without a long-term profit loss.

Terry learned Haitian Creole and taught his diaspora brethren the Franglais he grew up with mixed in with the Cajun dialect of the overseers who beat him constantly. Under Miss Irmas's pen, Celeste became intimate with the fierce mindset of Terry in the past.

Somehow Terry convinced the handful of Haitians, Chitimatcha Native people trapped on their own stolen land, and his own mixed African population of homegrown pre-Black Americans to rise up and kill the masters on their plantation and two others nearby. Seventy-five enslaved men and women used machetes, pickaxes, and shovels to bash in the brains and slice the bodies of white men, white women, and their white babies. Slaves who tried to snitch were slaughtered right beside their masters.

Miss Irma copied an archival photo of Terry's former plantation, and Celeste gasped at another startling photo of Terry among other unnamed slaves. The look in his fiery eyes showed how ready he was to kill if given the chance to take retribution.

On a final chapter of Terry's pre-vampire life, Miss Irma documented how Delilah and his sons were spirited away to safety by free Black abolitionists in another parish. The uprising ended when a militia used firearms, attack dogs, and horses to outrun and overpower the enslaved rebels on their defiant march toward another parish.

The militia caught Terry fleeing with five other slaves, two of them Native, who escaped capture toward the end. Days later, the militia surrounded them in a hot, mosquito-infested swamp, where they evaded gators and poisonous water moccasins that slithered on top of the brackish swamp water.

All six slaves were lynched from giant oak trees covered in drooping Spanish moss on a sweltering summer night. Celeste's eyes stayed riveted to the typewriter ink on yellowing sheets of paper. She cross-referenced the lynchings with a Google search and also looked it up in one of the old books Miss Irma kept on slave rebellions in the southeast. The event was known as the Opelousas Rebellion.

Celeste's fingers shook while reading.

The authorities buried five of the slaves' recovered bodies in a mass grave, and the lynch mob that cornered Terry and his cohorts met mysterious circumstances, resulting in their murder. Their bodies were found stacked neatly, showing ripped throats and shredded wrists. Every drop of blood in them drained. Only one witness escaped to alert others and he eventually went insane after sharing a chilling tale of night demons attacking them. Miss Irma's historical recollection of the official record switched over into what had to be Terry's personal statement as a firsthand witness and survivor.

A roaming pack of vampires came upon the lynching and slaughtered everyone they could find…except for Terry. He had been the last one hung from the tree, his body jerking in the throes of approaching death, dangling like strange fruit until a vampire turned him into one of their own, saving what insignificant life he had left.

Miss Irma had no further details other than Terry finding his way back to his family a year later and living through centuries, reinventing himself as a son, grandson, great-grandson, and so on with each generational loss. At the bottom of the last page, Miss Irma wrote a handwritten note to herself: Check on the background of T'ewati Kobebi, the Aksumite Empire, and look up biblical notes on why the mention of tattoos only occurs once in the bible from Jesus.

Scribbled below the word 'tattoos' was a hand-drawn depiction of Terry's tattoo with a complete circle. Miss Irma drew the bottom half in black ink and shaded the top half with pencil lead. Between the typed manuscript, she had inserted two folded sheets of white copy paper. Celeste unfolded the sheets to find over fifty mystical symbols of chakras, magic circles, and pentagrams. She recognized a rudimentary ankh symbol, and several Christian Coptic crosses. Most of the magic circle images were underlined or had an asterisk next to it. Several had some configuration of an eight-pointed star symbol in the center. One looked eerily similar to Terry's tattoo that she circled in red ink.

Celeste spent the rest of her time in bed looking at the gargoyle pictures from Miss Irma's various flash drives on her laptop. She smiled at how young Miss Irma was in the fifties and sixties, traveling around the world, snapping photos of ugly relics. Her looks back then reminded Celeste of Lena Horne with the silky hair and button nose. A tattered journal explained the differences in gargoyles based on their country of origin and mapped out their locations worldwide. There was a lot of biblical scholarship research on Satan and the Book of Revelations, angels, demons, and the decline of the American church. Miss Irma had a keen interest in proving that ancient myths and folklore were real. Celeste shivered in her bed. Miss Irma listed many fantastical creatures that existed alongside the few Celeste had encountered in person. It would take months, maybe even a year, to read and decipher all the written research from that brilliant mind.

With her eyes exhausted from reading and scrolling images, Celeste fell into a deep sleep. Nightmare visions of the vampire attack caused her to toss, turn, and shout in her sleep. Dark dreams of holding a brown baby with fangs woke her up with a pounding headache…and a pounding on her door. Her cell phone vibrated on her nightstand. She answered it.

"Hello?"

"Duchess, I'm outside your front door," Micah said.

His voice sounded stressed with worry. She climbed out of bed and let him inside her home.

"I've been calling you all day. Why aren't you answering your phone?" he asked.

Celeste plopped down on her sectional and covered her eyes with her hand. Micah sat next to her.

"My life is fucked up, Micah."

She glanced at her cousin. His handsome face openly conveyed how much he loved her and cared about her well-being.

"I'm pregnant. Terry is the father."

Micah squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his lips together in a disappointed line.

"I told you not to—"

"Stop! Please! I don't need you making me feel worse than I do."

"How far along are you?"

"I'll be ten weeks in a couple of days."

"Okay…okay…what are you going to do? Are you keeping it?"

"I don't think I can because…."

Celeste looked at her cousin. She chewed on her bottom lip, stopping herself from saying the word vampire out loud.

"I'm thinking of going to California to have an abortion."

Her stomach muscles cramped, and she rubbed it, letting out a breath as the pain went away.

"I can go with you. My job owes me some extra off days for covering people."

She nodded.

"I haven't told anyone except you, and I don't want others to know."

"Will you tell him?"

"I don't know where he is. We haven't spoken in person or over the phone since he left here."

"Decisions like this are hard…especially a second time. I think you should go talk to Father Mbenga."

"Confession? Why would I tell Father Mbenga about this? He'd see it as a sin and talk me out of it."

"I didn't say do a confessional…I meant seek counsel from a spiritual advisor you trust. I can see in your eyes that this is painful, and spiritual counsel always helps you, Duchess. Your voice is saying get rid of it, but your eyes…bay-buh…your eyes are full of doubt. When we were teenagers, the thought of you having a baby so young hurt me, because I knew that nigga who did it to you was bad news. We rushed you through it because it was the right thing to do for you at that time."

"What about this time?"

"You're a grown woman who wants children…a family. Maybe this is a blessing in disguise."

"I never wanted to be a single mother, Micah."

"Well…if we find that green-eyed pussy bandit, maybe you won't have to be."

"I thought you were pissed about that man."

"I am, and he needs to face his responsibilities either way."

"There'd be no point telling him about it if I don't keep it."

"You want to keep it."

"I can't."

"Listen, we can go over to the church, and you can just talk about the stress you're under…nothing about being pregnant. God always has a way of showing the way when you really need it."

Celeste teared up and wiped at her eyes.

"I'll get dressed," she said.

Micah waited for Celeste outside of the church.

She walked inside, crossed herself in the vestibule and made her way toward the space worshippers were in while the church was still being worked on. She genuflected in front of a pew and then sat down. The stillness within the sanctuary humbled the anxiety in her chest. She folded her hands across her stomach and pondered her situation quietly. As a little girl, she often imagined herself having a baby to carry inside of St. Augustine's for a christening with all of her family around, celebrating her own little bundle of joy wrapped in a soft, white lace Christening gown.

Sadly, Celeste could only see herself carrying a baby that would probably sizzle in pain if Father Mbenga poured baptismal holy water over her head. It wouldn't be right to bring a child into the world that would only face the horrors of a lonely vampire existence like her father.

She stood up quickly.

"Sister Celeste?"

Father Mbenga approached her from the back of the pew.

"Did we have an appointment?" he asked.

"No, Father Mbenga, I just…"

Celeste's lip trembled, and she closed her eyes. A tear rolled down her face.

"Sit…sit…oh, what troubles you?" he asked.

Father Mbenga slipped in next to her on the pew and Celeste choked out her words.

"I find myself in a situation that was avoidable, but I think maybe I wanted it too, and I don't know how to move forward."

She wiped a dangling teardrop from her nose.

"I came to talk to you about it, but I don't think I'm ready to do that yet."

"God is with you, no matter the problem you face. When you are ready, come back. The church is your spiritual backbone for whatever storms you may have to weather."

"Thank you," she said.

He stood with her and walked her to the exit.

Outside, the bright sun and muggy heat greeted her. Micah jumped out of his car.

"You're done already?" he asked.

"No. I changed my mind. I'll come back another time when I feel stronger…braver. I want to walk around."

"I'll come with you."

They took a slow trip around memory lane and Micah pointed out spots where they played as children or snuck out to meet boys and girls for street fights, or smoke out sessions. Her cousin made her laugh and remember what it was like to be young and carefree. An hour later, they strolled to their grandparents' home so Celeste could urinate and hear the comforting sounds of Big Chief and Grand-mère enjoying their Saturday afternoon. They ate leftover beef stew with white rice and Big Chief showed them sketches for his new Indian suit.

She left her grandparents' house with a full belly and sprinkles of love cast over her.

"You look better," Micah said.

"I feel a little better. Still a lot to think about, though."

"I'll take you home. You can think some more and call me when you want to talk it out. I would hang with you longer, but I gotta get ready for work later."

She linked her arm around his.

"Thank you for supporting me…as always," she said.

They ambled back around to his car and he drove toward her house. Her phone chirped and the auto dealership mechanic left a text stating that they had to order a new window for her and the Charger wouldn't be ready until Monday or Tuesday at the latest. Celeste sighed and didn't worry too much. She had time off from work and hadn't planned on working Sunday either. Her little fetish side hustle videos covered the elder care facility income for the Lord's day.

"Well, I'll be damned," Micah stated loudly.

Celeste's heart swelled in her chest and she gripped the door handle of Micah's sporty Lexus coupe.

Seated at the top step of her stoop was Terry. Clothed in a simple orange T-shirt and comfortable tan cargo pants, he raised his head and stood immediately the moment he noticed Celeste.

"You want me to stay?" Micah asked.

"No, I need to talk to him alone."

"Call me if it goes south, okay?"

"I will," she said.

She stepped out of the Lexus and Micah watched the both of them without leaving, making sure she was truly okay.

"Hey," Terry said.

"Hi."

"It's been a while, and I wanted to see you. Sorry for not giving you a heads up that I was coming back down."

"You stopped communicating with me. I thought maybe…maybe it was for the best since we're living in two different places."

In the sunlight, his eyes held the color of balmy Caribbean waters. No blinking meant his gaze pierced into the deepest part of her. All she could think of standing there in front of her house was that his Black father had sold him into slavery. Terrible white men strung him up in a tree…all because he wanted to free his people. Did it matter if a strange vampire pack saved his life so he could watch over his loved ones for centuries? He didn't act like a feral beast. The man loved his family. Loved her.

Her chest shuddered. Tears sprang out too fast to cover up her emotions. Terry wrapped his muscular arms around her.

"I'm sorry I had to leave. It's been difficult being away from you, Duchess."

She buried her face in his shoulder, unable to express openly everything she'd experienced since his absence. It made no sense to be terrified of him and in love equally. She pushed back from him and averted eye contact.

In the daylight, they were safe. However, she didn't think it was wise for him to know that she was aware of his lineage. She had to play it close to the vest.

"How long are you here for?"

"A couple of days and then I have to get back. I got a room at a hotel…I just needed to see you again. Baby, I miss you."

Celeste's stomach flip-flopped and she climbed the steps to her front door. Glancing around, she noticed Micah still parked in front of her place. She nodded her head for him to leave and he made a 'call me' hand motion before he pulled away from the curb.

Terry followed her inside the house.

"I'll make us some tea," she said, needing an excuse not to look at him directly.

In the kitchen she fumbled with the tea-making, spilling sugar cubes everywhere and nearly breaking a saucer for the cups. She focused on keeping her hands steady as she carried the cups and saucers out into the living room.

They sipped together in silence, the tension between them thick like the roux in her grandmother's cooking pot.

"This place still feels cozy," he said.

He put his drink down and reached for her hand. She pulled back, keeping a polite distance.

"You have every right to be mad at me for not keeping in touch, or at least telling you I couldn't see you again right away."

"Things happen. We had fun. I was upset for a minute, but I'm over it."

So many questions ran races around in her brain. What did he do while he was gone? Did he hunt people and just stay low key, hiding in trees or stalking victims near clubs? Were there others like him? Daywalkers who other vampires depended on? The Deacon said Terry was an apex predator, and yet she never picked up on anything violent about him except for when he punched those white men two months ago on her behalf.

The Deacon and his pack wanted Terry. Once the night time came, they would probably know he was there with her. What if they pretended to be nice to her just to lure him back for nefarious reasons?

Celeste didn't know what to do.

"Duchess? Why won't you look at me?"

She played it off.

"I'm still upset with you, so I don't even want to look at you. I think you should leave. What we had is over, and it's best if we both move on."

The words sounded corny and cliché flowing out of her mouth, but it was the best she could come up with. She didn't know for sure if she was protecting him or herself. Maybe both.

"If you want me to go, I will. But I want you to look me in my eyes and say it…so I'll know it's real."

Don'tdoitDon'tdoitDon'tdoit…don't…

She squeezed her eyes shut and refused to look at him.

"Be mad, but please…don't shut me out. You're all I have left," he pleaded.

Celeste rocked forward in her seat and fell apart. The pain of being alone wafted off of him and she couldn't resist touching him again. She threw her arms around him and he rested his chin on top of her head. His body trembled against her and she was so close to spilling her secret and his. She clamped her mouth shut.

He cradled her chin with his hand, and she still refused to look at him. Celeste didn't want him to read her mind or do any of the things vampires could do to break her will.

"Why won't you look at me?"

"I can't…I don't wanna fall for you again."

He pressed his forehead against hers.

"I still love you," he said. "Being away hasn't changed my feelings. Tell me you don't love me anymore and I'll go away…never to bother you again. Je t'aime tellement, j'ai besoin de toi dans ma vie. Je veux être avec toi… all your life, Duchess."

Celeste gasped. He loved and needed her in his life. Wanted to be with her for as long as she lived. She glanced at the clock on her living room wall. They had a little over five hours before the sun went down.

Celeste looked directly into Terry's eyes. If he was brazen enough to read her thoughts in the past, would he do it now?

He only sighed in relief and kissed her lips gently once.

"Your eyes tell me you still feel the same about me," he said.

She balked for a second. He didn't invade her thoughts. Terry lifted her right hand and kissed her palm.

"I want to take you somewhere special to me."

"Where?"

"Mémé's house. You can think of it as a vacation."

"Why didn't you take me there before?" she asked.

"I thought it might've been too soon, especially after her death. Time away from here has given me a chance to think."

"I've done a lot of thinking too…and we need to talk…about a bunch of things. My life is different now—"

He kissed her.

His lips covered her mouth completely, and she gave in to the passion he conveyed for her.

She loved him.

Felt sorry for him.

Feared him.

Every emotion within her became tossed about, muddying the waters of discernment. Clarity. Down…down…down she went, drowning in his kisses and his tongue sliding in her mouth. She gave back hungry kisses, too. No human could understand what it felt like to be kissed and touched by a vampire. The man knew every spot on her body to break her down further, from licking the side of her neck to plunging his tongue in her ear.

He groaned her name into her skin. She folded like a losing poker hand.

She wanted him. He wanted her. Was that so wrong? A human and a vampire feeling desire for one another? Miss Irma said he loved her, and would a ghost lie?

Terry made her feel things that she'd never experienced with a human man before. Cherished and protected. Love overflowed from him and poured into her and she was willing to be damned by it if it meant she could have that feeling forever in his arms.

He lifted her from the sectional and carried her into the bedroom. She let him undress her. It didn't take long to unbutton her summer blouse and pull down her skirt. She kicked off her sandals and watched him take off his clothes, his eyes never leaving hers.

He kissed every part of her and took his time fondling her breasts. Her nipples were sensitive and a simple flick of his fingers had them stiff. He sucked on them far longer than she expected, and she gazed at the ceiling. The light of day looked even more magical with him in her arms. His fingers slid across her locs and he played with them like they were just as sexy as her breasts. The full arousal of his dick slapped against her legs and she ignored it, knowing it would have her laid out soon enough. Once Terry put that hammer on her, wasn't no sane reason on earth to try and keep a rational mind.

He rested on his side, hugging her close to his naked warmth. His thick fingers stroked her cheek. She luxuriated in the shivers running across her skin.

"I want us to stay like this for days and days on end," he said.

She traced an index finger around his right nipple, and it hardened. Puckering her lips, she forced him to lower his head to kiss her again. He shifted his position even lower and kissed her vulva, paying close attention to the arc above her clit. She felt the thumping under her clitoral hood and moaned his name when he licked all over her inner labia. After a time, he rose with shiny, wet lips. Celeste made minimum effort to respond in kind. She remained a pillow princess and let him put forth all the effort in lovemaking. Her goal was to remain alert and experience his affections without losing herself to the lust.

He gave more effort to engage her, going so far as to place her hand on his erection, forcing her to please him. She slid her hand up and down with his hand covering hers, helping her keep on task, never going further than the thick ridge under his tip. Pre-cum spilled out, and he reached for a bottle of lube on the side table. He squeezed the dark blue plastic bottle and the odor of vanilla became strong to her nose as the sticky lubricant coated his dick, helping her hand slide with a slick pressure on his length. Rubbing some around her opening, he stared at her face, drinking in the intoxicating way he made her feel with his lovemaking prowess. Love shined in his eyes and glowed all around his face. Her heart wanted to confess about the pregnancy, but her mind fought back to keep that hidden from him. She still wasn't sure what to do, and telling him wouldn't help her. It would just add more pressure and cloud her judgement.

Terry repositioned Celeste on her side. He lifted her leg and pushed the tip of his dick against her opening.

"Terry," she murmured.

He kissed her and penetrated in two places, her mouth with his tongue, and her pussy with his dick at the same time. She gripped the sheet on her bed and braced her back against his chest. Terry made that dick move in her pussy. He dug deep in her walls and the lube had her pussy slippery to accommodate his size. She stretched around him well enough, but her lips twisted up, letting out little yelps and squeals, unable to process how good it felt to have that dick back where it belonged.

He squeezed and played with her tits, enjoying the way they bounced on the bed as he rocked into her with a steady pounding. A minute later, he lifted her right leg and kept it suspended in the air, using it to balance the thrusts he gave.

"Goddamn, this shit stays so tight around me," he moaned. "You missed me, huh?" he teased.

She smiled and reached back to touch his hair.

"Pussy gonna have me making a mess all in it…keep squeezing this dick like that and you'll have a problem on your hands."

She laughed, and he kissed her, still pumping that thick dick into her depths. Her passive energy excited him more, perhaps making him feel like he had to prove himself to her again. He grunted, kept her leg up, and complimented her sugary walls with each slap of his balls on her ass. Between thrusts, he stroked her clit, edging her so good she started getting blurry vision.

He fucked in the same way that got her pregnant and that excited Celeste, causing her pussy to spasm before she was ready, her orgasm rippling all across that heavy dick.

"Cum on my dick…keep cumming on my…dick…yessss…just like that…taking this dick like the good girl you are…ooh shit, you're still cumming…you want me to nut, don't you? Make a big mess all in this pussy…that's what you want…I can feel it…look how you're doing all this dick…all this dick…fuck all this dick…"

His mouth slammed down on her neck, and this time, Celeste was aware of everything, the initial pain, the deep sucking to snatch away her blood, the pressure of teeth that became unnatural inside her throat. She could even feel her heartbeat thrum in time to his sucking—

Terry froze.

His thrusts abruptly stopped. He dropped her leg onto the bed. His tongue and lips no longer stole her lifeblood.

Slowly…ever so slowly…he pulled his teeth out of her neck. His dick pulsed inside her pussy and she had no control over the final contractions of her orgasm. He pushed her chin, making her look at him.

She nearly screamed.

His eyes glowed with the inhuman reflection that he shared with The Deacon. His canine teeth and premolars were long, sharp, and dripping with her blood. Even with the feral gleam in his eye and the vicious, sharp teeth exposed, Terry's beauty became enhanced in his full vampire glory.

How dumb and blind she had been!

This was his true self.

"You can't be," he whispered under his breath.

He licked her blood from his teeth and around his dripping lips.

"Impossible!" he yelled.

He pulled his dick out and they both could see how close he was to cumming. His pre-cum still spilled out.

Celeste shrank into herself and stayed in a tight ball on a corner of the bed, pulling the sheet over her breasts.

"A girl…" he whispered, his eyes staring off into space.

Celeste nodded and he jumped off the bed as if she had the plague.

"Vampires can't breed with humans."

There.

He said it out loud. Naming what he was to her face.

"I know what you are," she said. "But you got me pregnant."

His eyes watered, and he bared his teeth at her threateningly.

"He called her a dhampir. Told me she was priceless," she said, rising to her knees on the bed.

"He?" Terry said, his eyes narrowing.

"The Deacon—"

Terry had her by the throat and pinned against the wall above the headboard before she could finish another word. She tried prying his hand away from her throat.

"I can't breathe…Terry…"

"When did you see him?!"

His harsh tone scared her. She burst into tears.

He dropped her back on the bed and stepped away from her, staring down at her like she was a cursed thing. She rubbed her throat and left the room. Padding into her sewing room, she grabbed a manilla folder. She returned to the bedroom and tossed Miss Irma's biography about him on the bed.

"I know all about you, Terry. How you became a slave. Your lynching. Your re-birth as a vampire."

Terry touched Miss Irma's tome and shut his eyes. He opened them back up and looked at her naked body.

"When did you see Abai?"

"Abai?"

"That's his real name. The Deacon is just something I used to call him as a joke between us."

Terry's voice sounded tired. Celeste folded her arms across her breasts.

"He came here looking for you with four other female vampires a week ago. They saved my life the other day. Another group of vampires attacked my co-workers when I helped change their tire. Abai, he knew I was pregnant. He cut my hand and tasted my blood, told me I was having a girl."

"You let him feed from you?"

Terry's nostrils flared, and his sharp teeth looked more menacing.

"I didn't let him…it happened during the attack, and I was…protecting myself…protecting what's inside me. Miss Irma…Mémé…she came to me as a ghost while I was at work and told me I was pregnant first. She knew it was a girl…she told me to look in her papers to know your story."

"Dhampirs are not real. None have ever existed. It's a myth. Humans and vampires are two different species incapable of reproducing anything."

"Nigga, I didn't think you were real either, but I've seen two different types of vampires and a ghost. Go fucking figure!"

She stomped out of the bedroom and locked herself in the bathroom. Angry and full of tears, Celeste ran the shower and cleaned herself off. She pulled on her bathrobe from the hook on the bathroom door.

"You don't have to worry about me keeping this mythical fetus. I'm going to fly out-of-state to get it taken out of me!" she shouted.

A fiery pain burned in her chest. This was the outcome she expected from him finding out. Denial. Negative behavior. The typical lame male response of not wanting to take responsibility for his part in the mess. She stared at herself in the mirror. Her face looked wet and her eyes were red and puffy from crying in the shower.

"You can leave, Terry. I'll take care of everything. Let's just act like we never met. No one would believe me about vampires anyway, so don't trip about your secret."

She flung open the bathroom door, and he was right there, bigger than life, waiting for her to come out.

"I don't want you to take care of anything," he said.

"What?"

His eyes were wet with tears and full of longing.

"Maybe…maybe this is a miracle for us, Duchess…maybe this was meant to be. I have endured the loss of so much for so long. Do you think the god you love so much took pity on me?"

"What are you saying?"

"I want to have this baby with you.

Chapter 13 HERE.

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[thealtoduck]

Homesick

Dick Grayson x BatCat!Bro Reader (Platonic)

Batfamily x BatCat!Bro Reader

Warnings: semi-angst, reader is sad and gets pissed off, fluff ending…

BatCat!Bro: Masterlist

Summary: Reader is sad because he misses his mom…

——

Dick was worried, something seemed off with you. At first he just thought you were being a regular teenager going through his angsty phase. But soon he realised there was more too it than that.

The family was having dinner and were sat around the large dining table. Dick was sat beside you and noticed you weren’t eating you were just looking down on it picking at it with your fork. Dick leaned closer to you and whispered ”Hey Y/n, you feeling alright?”.

You looked at Dick with a small smile and said a quick ”Yeah, I’m fine, just not hungry”. Then it was quiet for a while, until Jason said ”Come on, Y/n, eat something”. ”I said i’m not hungry” you said getting slightly irretated .

”Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed” Stephanie commented making you roll your eyes. ”Or he’s starting his moody teenager phase” Tim added which was the last straw as you angrily got up from the table and left. Dick looked at Jason, Stephanie and Tim and asked ”Really?” as the three looked confused. Damian then asked ”Can someone pass me the salt?” as if nothing happened.

Later that night Dick came up to Y/n’s room check on him, he also brought a plate of food, incase he had gotten hungry. The door was half open when he stopped outside and Dick asked ”Y/n? Can i come in?”… No answer came.

Dick slowly entered his bedroom to see it was completely empty. He looked around and saw that a window was open, there was some dirt on the window frame. Dick immediately went downstairs to the others and asked ”Has anyone seen Y/n?”.

”Not since dinner” Jason said as the others shook their heads or uttered a quick ”no”. Dick hurried outside yelling ”Y/n!”… Again no answer. Dick went inside told the others to start checking around the manor. Then he went and got his jacket and car keys and got in to his car.

Dick took out his phone and tried calling but no one picked up, so he called Bruce and asked him to track your phone. Then he got a text from Bruce saying ”He’s in the east end” and he drove off. A couple of minutes later he got another text from Bruce saying ”He’s in his old apartment”.

Dick stopped outside and went in to the building and looked until he found your old apartment. He knocked and heard footsteps inside and then the door unlocked. It opened slowly revealing Y/n. ”Dick, what are you doing here?” he asked in a saddened tone.

”Really? You leave home without telling anyone you’re leaving or where you’re going and expect us not to worry?” Dick scolded. ”I’m sorry” you apologised. Dick then asked ”What are you doing here anyway?”. ”Come inside” you said without answering the question.

Dick did as told and entered the apartment. It was dusty like someone hadn’t lived here for a while. He saw a vaccum cleaner in the living room as if you were in the middle of cleaning up the place. Dick sent a quick text to Bruce and the others saying he had found you.

”You want anything? Coffee? Tea?” you asked as you went in to the kitchen. ”Sure some tea would be nice” Dick answered as he looked around the place. He saw a room that was lit and went inside to check it out.

It was a bedroom, it had was decorated with posters, pictures, etc… ”Y/n was this your room?” Dick asked as you appeared behind him. ”Yeah” you said simply. ”You know i haven’t decorated my room in the manor, cause i thought that soon enough i’d be back here with mom” you explained.

You then turned walked back to the kitchen to pour up two cups of tea. You then brought them to the living room and sat down on the couch as Dick then joined you. ”It’s been over a year since she left and i’ve seen her once for 20 minutes” you told Dick and took a sip of tea.

He didn’t even need to ask to know that you were talking about Selina. ”I’m sorry” Dick said putting a supportive hand on your shoulder. ”The worst part is, I don’t even know if she’s alive or not, she could’ve been dead for months and i wouldn’t know” you told him.

”I’m sorry if i worried you guys but i just needed to come here and… feel… feel like i was home, as if mom would be climbing through the window at any moment to show me what she scored tonight” you continued.

”Don’t get me wrong, i love living at the manor with everyone but part of me wishes she took me with her just so i could know if she’s safe” you finished as a single tear was running down your cheek. Dick brought you in to a hug and whispered and understanding ”I get it”.

”How about we sleep here tonight and we can do whatever you and your mom used to do here together? Okay?” Dick suggested with a gentle smile. You smiled and nodded and the two of you, made popcorn and watched a movie together. Then you went to bed, letting Dick sleep on the couch.

In the morning you packed some stuff from your room in to a backpack as you and Dick were about to leave. As you put you shoes on Dick said ”If you want, you can come back here whenever you want. Just let us know first, i’ll even give you a ride and stay with you if you want me too”.

After those words you pulled Dick in to a tight hug, which sort off suprised him, you like Damian wasn’t known to be very affectionate. ”Thanks Dick, that means a lot” you said and the two of you left the apartment.

When you got in to Dick’s car you got a notification on your phone. It was a text from the same unknown number your mother had used before when contacting you. It read ”Don’t worry my little kitten, i’ll be back soon. Love you”. Just then Dick drove off back to the manor.

[thisismeracing]

King of my heart | MS47 | Part. 24 (ending)

― Pairing: Mick Schumacher x hamilton!reader ― Word count: 1.2k ― Warnings: none I guess. ― Summary: Mick Schumacher rode a lousy wave for quite some time, so when the sky gets cleaner and the sun brighter he just knows something terrible may be in store for him. Whereas y/n was just so magnetic, and the possibilities of life with her seemed better than anything his mind could ever create, that’s why, for the first time in forever, he threw caution carelessly through the window, hoping to get to the finish line before it catches up on him.

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part. 23 | series masterlist 

Mick paced around the room again, and for the looks of it, it wouldn’t take him long to dig a hole in the exact spot his racing boots were hitting.

“We don’t have much time, Mick, you gotta get ready,” Gary, his engineer, knocked on the door, opening it just enough to look at the German.

“Where’s Yn?” 

“You mean Yn Hamilton?” he asked, just to make sure and Mick tried to keep his eyes from rolling, too stressed to answer properly, but too polite to give a rude answer to Gannon who was friendly most of the time. The engineer took on the driver's silence, and tried, “I think she’s with Lewis. Want me to get her?” 

“Get who?” just from Yn’s voice Mick could guess she was smiling. That bright and big smile he loved so much. The only smile that would be able to calm his racing heart.

Gary waved to Yn opening the door wider for her, he motioned ‘5 minutes’ to Mick and left the lovers alone giving them as much privacy as a small driver’s room could. 

“Hey, mouse, what's the matter?” she walked inside and towards him, tipping her face up so their lips could meet in a quick peck. 

Mick, however, had other plans.

His hands found purchase on her waist, bringing her body impossibly closer, and his tongue took advantage of the surprised gasp she let out to sneak inside her mouth, tasting her sweetness. Yn grasped his blonde locks between her fingers, and corresponded the kiss as much as she could, feeling how nervous he was.

When the air made itself scarce, the driver hid his face in the crook of her neck. 

“I’m nervous, what if I fuck it up? What if I crash? What if the car is shitty? What if–” Mick started, voice trembling, finally letting his walls down, and showing someone how vulnerable he was feeling.

Sure they had this conversation before, and sure Mick Schumacher knew he was a great racing driver, but he was also a human being and, of course, he had his own insecurities and doubts. 

Yn held his face between her hands, leveling it with her own, and looking him in the eyes. His big blue orbs looked at her with adoration and fear all mixed in one, and she smiled sympathetically. 

“Close your eyes,” she commanded in a soft tone and he obeyed. “Hear this rustling of people walking around from one side of the other working non-stop?” Mick nods keeping his eyes shut, they’re chest to chest so listening to her soothing voice and feeling her breath evens his. “They’ve been working for a while now so everything is perfect for their number one driver. They’re not sure if the car will beat that Red Bull witchcraft, but they’re doing their best, and they counting on you to do your best as well. It doesn’t matter if this combo doesn’t get you a podium today, there’s always next Sunday. They got the will to make it happen, and they got the driver to do so too. Leave the past in the past, get in that car, and do what you love doing, do what you know you can do, and also what you don’t know you can do yet. We’ll be here watching, rooting, working, and praying.” 

Her comforting words and soft tone made Mick lean even more on her touch. He smiled, nodded, and kissed her forehead. 

“Where–”

“Here,” she was quick to answer, already knowing he was going to ask from where she would watch the race. Lewis was racing as well, and before Sunday rolled around Yn was asked this question by a lot of people, her brother included. “I’ll watch it from here, you may see me cheering when Lew overtakes others, but I’ll be here rooting for you too. And I don’t care about the outcome, you’re my number one.” She whispered the last part and Mick smiled, kissing her yet again. 

“I love you.”

“I love you,” she echoed back, lacing her hands around his large shoulders and enjoying his warmth. “You’re also looking hot as fuck in this new racing suit, please tell me you can sneak one in your bag tonight.”

Mick laughed and nibbled on her neck just enough to make her whine, but before he could give Hamilton a witty answer, there was a knock on the door. 

“Go out there and kick ass,” she kissed his chin, and smiled, turning to the door.

And that was exactly what Mick did. He turned the first race of the season into a show. His show. Everyone watched on the edge of their seats as time after time he overtook cars and climbed up to the podium. A fight for the podium went on on the last turn – Lewis, Mick, and Max were fighting for first place, and in the last seconds the Schumacher overtook his future-in-law, hatching the first place and surprising everyone.

The camera panned on Yn watching the race from the Porsche’s garage, and the way she smiled and cheered when Mick got his first win of the season on the first race of the season during his first year with a team that was racing for the first time. It was a first, and how sweet it tasted for everyone. Even for Lewis, who ended up getting second place, but celebrated as if that was his win too. 

The team ran for the celebration, and Mick went straight for Yn once the car was parked and the helmet was off. There wasn’t much thinking into it, he just saw her there crying and smiling wearing his team’s merch, his number on her body, his initial dangling from a chain around her neck, Mick couldn’t do anything but kiss her lips in front of the cameras. The cheers and flashes faded during the seconds their lips were sealed, he hugged her close, before jumping on top of the crew. Lewis walked to his sister after the congrats from his own team, he hugged her and they smiled as brightly as ever. 

After the podium celebration and interviews, Mick walked back to his garage finding Yn and Lewis there. They were side by side talking, both smiling, and Mick couldn’t help but remember the first time he saw Yn. That day she was talking with Lewis too, it was also the beginning of the season, and now, just like before Mick felt like he could stare at her forever. Yn looked stunning wearing Porsche’s shirt and baggy jeans, the colors of the shirt creating the perfect contrast with her black skin. Her curls were tied on top of her head after the long day. She was stunning, and now he was the one walking into the room, walking to her, his girlfriend. 

His heart was doing somersaults inside his chest. 

After so many days of worrying and agonizing about the future, he was here with a seat on a great team. After so many days of fear about his relationship, Yn was here, as sure as ever about their commitment. After so many times unsure of the future, Mick was happy with the unknown, happy to discover it with Yn, happy to build his own legacy, happy to experience life to the fullest, and even happier to rule the kingdom of Yn’s heart because he knew damn well she was the queen of his heart, body, and soul. 

She was the one he had been waiting for.

“There he is,” Yn said taking Mick from his thoughts and walking towards him again. “My number one,” she whispered hugging him, “the king of my heart.” 

And nothing ever felt as right as being in her arms.

────── ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: Hi, honeybees! I hope you guys liked this. I know it's been a while since I last updated, but it's finally here, and I'm happy to end (or give a pause to it, considering I won't stop thinking about mickyn in the context of komh) this journey. Thank you so much to each and every one of you who liked, reblogged, commented, sent asks, and gave me the motivation needed to get this together. This wouldn't be possible without you, thank you! <3 I hope to see you guys in a new series soon. Meanwhile, make sure to tune in to my account and read all the new blurbs and pieces coming. I may post a bonus piece (or rather a smau epilogue) hihi.

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[hexxedghost]

GhostSoap Sickfic Thread

Another crosspost from bluesky, hopefully this will help me get out of the writing funk I've been in. Please enjoy~

They’d made good time, the travel had been mostly silent, aside from the fog of their breaths clouding the air and the scattering crunch of snow beneath their feet. It’d been a straight forward mission, sniper duo set up. It had been a lot of waiting, but they’d had a clean hit on the target and a cleaner getaway.

Their vehicle slid for a second, the ground beneath the tyres thick with icy mud. The cold was seeping in, to the car, the heavy snowfall had shifted to sleet lashing against the windows with that harsh rasp of quickly melting ice tossed in rainwater. Soap leans forward, squinting out the window, while Ghost tries to keep them on the excuse of a dirt road they’re driving on.

They had a safehouse to take shelter in while they waited for updates from Price on their extraction. It wasn’t far at least, and the heavy rain would cover their tracks well. Still a pain in the bollocks to drive in.

“I see it.” Soap says, pointing through the windscreen. There’s a vague shape, a shadow larger than the surrounding trees. Ghost cuts the wheel in that direction, cruising as the gears grind when he shifts.

“Told you I shoulda driven.” Soap says, grin widening when Ghost glares at him.

“Enough outta you,” he mutters, as the car awkwardly slides and he pulls the handbrake.

He hops out the car, grinning to himself as Soap lets out a quiet shriek as the freezing rain hits him.  

“Cold, Johnny?” he asks over his shoulder, not bothering to hide the smugness in his voice. 

“Aye, we’re no’ all wearin hoodies are we?” Soap grumbles back. “Fuckin’ prick.”

He can hear the squelch of boots behind him and knows Soap’s following him.  

It’s not far, but they still end up drenched by the time Ghost is opening up the door, shoving inside and leaving puddles in the entryway. He moves further inside, quickly checking corners before radioing Price that they’ve arrived. Soap is clattering around somewhere, mumbling to himself as he fiddles with the heating. Price tells them to hang tight for a bit, he’ll keep them updated. Ghost radios back to affirm, taking stock of the hideout. It was well provisioned, enough supplies for at least a few weeks if it came to that. 

There’s a loud curse from the other room. Not panicked, frustrated. He finds Soap crouched in front of the heater. 

“It’s working, there’s no much heat from it though.” Soap says, looking up at Ghost from his spot on the floor. 

“Better than nowt.” Ghost shrugs, nudging open the door to the bedroom. He wants to get out of these wet clothes. His mask is damp as it sits across his skin, every inhale choking as the fabric clings to his nose and mouth. And his hoodie hadn’t fared much better under his tac-gear. 

Soap sticks his head around the door. “Do they anything in big bastard size?”

Ghost pelts a shirt at his face, the bastard just cackles. What’s worse, is that Soap’s right. Most of the clothes would fit Soap, but Ghost would be hard pressed to manage any of the shirts without ripping them. 

“Fucksake.” he closes the drawer. He doesn’t have a spare mask on him, and he doesn’t really relish the idea of stripping down to his skivvies if they end up having to leave in a few hours. He tugs his mask away from his mouth and nose at least, finally taking a breath that didn’t feel like it left water in his lungs. 

He tugs off the tac-vest and the hoodie at least, draping it over the back of a chair in the hopes of it drying out. Soap’s rattled through some cupboards and thrown…something into a pot to heat up. 

“Get us a cuppa, will ya?” Ghost calls out, holding his hands out near the heater after pulling his gloves off with his teeth. His circulation was shit, leaving his hands and feet vulnerable to the cold. Soap’s complaining in the kitchen, rambling on, but he presses a hot mug into Ghost’s hands not too long afterwards. 

He holds it between his palms, letting the heat leech in and return some feeling to his fingers. 

“Ta.” he mumbles into the cup as he takes a sip. The tea’s shit, Soap’s always is, but at least it’s warm. Soap holds out the saucepan of food, the spoon sliding against the metal with the motion. It’s edible, though Ghost couldn’t really say anything more about it, just mechanically chewing and swallowing without bothering to taste it.

His skin still feels clammy. When Soap’s shoulder bumps against him, it nearly burns, heat radiating off the Scot. He always ran hot, but not this hot. Soap’s flicked on the TV, and is chattering away, Ghost lets the words wash over him, keeping his ears honed for a crackle from their radios but settling into a hazy state as he stares blankly at the screen. At some point, his eyelids grow heavy. 

-

Soap looks to his right, words trailing off as he sees Ghost has fallen asleep, elbows resting on his knees. Isn’t the strangest position any of them have slept in, fuck, he’s seen Price sleep standing in the heli before. 

But it was odd for Ghost to sleep without sorting watch first. As his arm brushes against Ghost’s he frowns. The skin felt damp, and clammy. The water must have soaked through his gear faster than he’d thought. Soap mulls that thought over as he gets to his feet, and gently moves the big bastard so he’s lying down at least.

It’s always a delicate exercise, attempting to move Ghost in his sleep. Partly the sheer weight of him, but also his tendency to lash out if you jolted him awake. They’d worked enough ops together that Soap’s an old hand at it now, managing to settle Ghost into the couch without incident.

Guess he’s got first watch then. He gathers up the leftovers and dumps them in the fridge that buzzes in the corner of the yellowed kitchen. Most of the house is still dim, they’d not wanted too many lights in case anyone had managed to track them. He sets up by the window, debating opening it before looking at the near horizontal rain outside. Fuck it. He lights up a smoke, snagging an old can for an ashtray and watches in the sleeted gloom for anything that might cause alarm. But there’s nothing. Just this tiny corner of dry amongst the sodden hills.

-

Ghost stirs a few hours later, sitting up and blinking around blearily.

“Left me to fend for us then, LT. You must have been shattered.” Soap says brightly from his perch by the window. Ghost seems to frown at him before nodding, sluggish. Soap frowns himself. “You weren’t injured, were ye?” he asks, getting a shake of the head and a muttered grumble in response. Still, he seems pretty out of it. Maybe he’d just hit the wall, happened sometimes, adrenaline fading to leave you feeling wrung out like a crumbled paper bag.

“Go sleep some more. Reckon we’re in the clear, still phishing it doon.” Soap gestures to the window, where the rain is falling in angry sheets, slapping against the window. There’s no argument, just the creak of the couch as Ghost heaves himself to his feet. His steps sound unsteady as he stumbles towards the door, bumping into the doorway. 

“Yer awake, aren’t ye? No’ sleepwalking?” Soap teases, but there’s a prickle of unease. It’s out of character for Ghost. Even if they were taking shelter in a safehouse, Ghost didn’t really let that steely awareness drop until they’d been back on base for a day or two. There’s no response, just a dull thud of a body hitting a mattress and soft groan. 

Soap cuts his eyes back to the window, but keeps his ears sharp, just in case. Something about it doesn’t sit right with him. 

-

After a few more hours, Soap decides to catch a nap on the couch now that it’s free. The rain still hasn’t let up, and he can see deep troughs of water going by the house. The valley below them was probably flooding at this rate. At least they wouldn’t have to worry about hostiles finding them. 

He radios Price to update him, jaw cracking with a yawn as he does so. Price tells them to sit tight, as long as they held here, they’d be fine. All else fails, they’d have Nikolai do a flyby to extract them when the skies cleared. 

There’s a loud thud somewhere in the house that has adrenaline course through him, eyes sharp and hands immediately grabbing for a weapon. Silently padding down the hallway, he pauses at the bathroom door. 

“Ghost?” he calls quietly. There’s another thud, but he can hear the familiar rasp behind the door, though the words are unintelligible. The handle is cool under his palm as he twists it, peeking his head around the door. “Fuck, ye alright?” he slips inside, kneeling beside Ghost where he’s splayed on the ground. Ghost is still mumbling something, but he can’t make any of it out. 

“Alright, let’s get ye up, aye?” he gets his arms under Ghost’s and manages to get him sitting up. Ghost still feels damp, even through the undershirt he’s got on. It’s got that odd sort of bodywarm feeling that tells Soap it’s not water but sweat. 

He crouches in front of him, and Ghost manages to look at him, eyes still bleary and unfocused. 

“S’too hot.” he finally manages to say. Soap nods, tugging at the fabric. 

“Let’s get those off ye, aye? Cool down.” he murmurs gently. Ghost scoffs, but it makes a horrible rattling noise. 

“Trying to get into my pants, Johnny?” he scoffs, but his voice skips out, throat sounding dry and raspy. 

“You wouldn’t know what to do with me in this state, LT.” Soap smiles, but it lacks the usual humour. Ghost seems pretty disorientated, limbs heavy and uncoordinated as he tries to assist in getting the shirt off. As Soap checks him over, it's pretty clear Ghost is sick. His skin feels warm and feverish under the clammy sweat, and his voice is becoming more raspy as he mumbles. 

“S’warm.” Ghost says, and without ceremony tugs his mask off, letting his head thump back against the cool tiles. 

Soap tries not to stare, pale lashes and freckled skin in his peripheral as he leans over and turns the shower on. 

“We’ll get you cooled off.” he says, awkwardly shuffling Ghost around until he’s sat on the tiles in the shower. He keeps the water lukewarm to start, not wanting to shock him with a sudden blast of cold. 

There’s a heavy, rattling sigh from Ghost as the water hits him, eyes clenched shut as he curls in on himself. Soap wets a cloth and wipes down some of the sweat still clinging to him, slowly adjusting the water to something more tepid. 

“Yer alright, eh?” Soap murmurs, pushing back Ghost’s hair to check his temperature again. It’come down a bit, though Ghost’s eyes are still glassy when they look at him. Soap shuts off the water, grabbing a threadbare towel. The air is still cool, even with the heater on in the living room, and he reckons the chill is what got the poor bastard sick in the first place. 

He’s towelling off Ghost’s hair when the bigger man’s forehead thumps against his chest. 

“Don’ feel good.” he utters so quietly, Soap nearly misses it. He cards a hand through his hair sympathetically, he was in a bad state the poor sap. 

“Let’s get you to bed then, eh Ghost?” he says gently, eyes quickly taking stock of what the bathroom has. There are painkillers, at least, for the fever. There might have been honey in the kitchen cupboards when he was rifling through them.

“Buy us a drink first.” Ghost slurs into his collarbone as he slumps forward. Soap sighs, at this stage Ghost was going to be no help. At least if he was making shitty jokes, he was probably feeling marginally better. 

He groans as he manages to wrestle Ghost to his feet, mostly draped over Soap’s back, his feet proving to be unsteady beneath him. 

By the time he stumbles to the bedroom, he’s practically carrying Ghost, complaining under his breath while Ghost seems determined to be as useless as possible. The mattress protests with a loud squeak as he tosses Ghost down onto it, catching his breath before returning to the bathroom. 

“Take those, and drink that if ye can.” he says, setting the glass and painkillers beside him. It takes a few seconds for the words to register, but at least there are no protests from Ghost.

“What’re you doin’?�� Ghost asks, head lolling to the side. 

“Helpin ye.” Soap tells him. He’d have to tell Price, in case it got worse. The skin under his palm feels scalding when he checks again, and when Ghost shifts to burrow himself under the blankets, he feels like a bit of a prick when he pries them from tightly clenched fingers. 

“S’cold.” Ghost growls, glaring at him. 

Soap rolls his eyes with a sigh. “You’ll fuckin cook, Ghost.”

He finds a threadbare sheet that seems light enough as a compromise. Ghost snatches it and curls up under it, sniffing loudly and is asleep again within moments. 

Soap snags his comms from the living room, and gets a hold of Price. The rain’s still saturating the area, so they’ll have to bunker down for a while. Though Price does seem concerned when Soap mentions he’s sick. 

“Not injured?”

“No, we got away clean. Bad flu or something, think it might be from the rain. We got soaked.” Soap says, going through the cupboards again. There is a lone jar of honey tucked away that he pulls out. 

“Alright, take care of him.” Price says, voice crackling. 

“As if I wouldn’t.” Soap points out easily, digging out some tea. Given how croaky Ghost had sounded, tea would probably be a good idea when he woke up. Price is quiet for a while, before finally telling him he’d keep Nik on standby, they’d get them once they had a window. Soap frowns to himself, the silence being odd, but shrugs it off. Price was probably just eager to get them back on base. 

-

He checks in on Ghost throughout the rest of the day. For the most part, the man just seems to sleep, dozing and sometimes muttering to himself. Eventually he shakes him awake, food places on the small table beside the bed. 

“Ye need to eat something.” he says quietly. Ghost’s eyes are glassy as they stare up at him, blinking slowly. 

Soap puts an arm around his shoulders and helps him sit up, passing the bowl of food over once he’s sure Ghost isn’t going to drop it. 

“What’re you doin’?” Ghost asks, mumbling around the spoon. 

“Takin care of ye, ye dafty.” he slips the back of his hand against Simon’s neck. “Least your temperature’s come down a bit.”

“Why?” 

“Painkillers helped, probably. And not letting you cocoon yourself in blankets.” Soap says. The bowls empty, which is a relief, at least Ghost is keeping food down. He sets water and hands painkillers over, nudging Ghost’s hand when he doesn’t take them. Eventually, he looks up and sees Ghost looking at him. His mask is still off, and it’s strange to see him barefaced. The squint to his eyes in familiar but seeing the rest of his face tense with expression is something he can’t help but watch. Though there are heavy bags under his eyes, skin reddened from rubbing at the tacky feeling. 

“What?” he asks, he’s been staring too long and distracts himself by pushing Ghost’s hand so he actually takes the next dose of painkillers. 

Ghost does, draining most of the water afterwards and coughing to clear his throat. 

“Why’re ya taking care of me?” he croaks. 

“Cos you need it.” Soap says easily, confusion drawing his brows into a frown. Ghost doesn’t seem to know what to do with that answer, sitting there listlessly until Soap gently tips him onto his side and tells him to go back to sleep. 

-

The next day, he walks into the kitchen and nearly shits himself at seeing the looming figure hunched over the counter. 

“Fuckin’ hell Ghost. Nearly made me heart stop.” Soap cries, hand pressing hard against the rapid thump under his ribs. Ghost reaches out with a heavy hand and tries to grab a cup, that slips through his stiff fingers and shatters on the floor. 

“Fuck.” it was probably meant to be a shout, but with how swollen Ghost’s throat sounds, it came out a more of a weak rasp. 

“Ye could have just said something, ye stupid prick.” he chides, using his heavy boots to kick away most of the shards. He rests a hand on Ghost’s shoulder, but it’s quickly shaken off. 

“Gerroff. Can do it myself.” Ghost sounds…well like he’s trying to be angry. It’s coming out closer to grumpy. Still, he’s clearly irritated. 

“Shouldn’t have to, though.” Soap says, setting a hip against the counter. He wonders if it’s the weakness that bothers him, or having to rely on other people. Neither are things Ghost tends to allow, out of sheer stubbornness most likely. Soap’s the same when he’s sick, so it’s not like he’ll begrudge him that. 

Still, he’s being an idiot. 

“Would ye just go and fuckin rest? You’ll make it worse.” he tries, hoping rational thought would win out. It doesn’t. 

“Used to takin care of meself. Don’t need your help” Ghost mutters, glaring at the countertop.

“Too bad, you’ve got it anyway.” Soap says, crossing his arms and giving Ghost a look. Soap was the more stubborn of them, quicker to let his temper flare. But when Ghost actually worked up to anger, he was the most infuriating bastard to deal with. Nothing would shift him if he set his mind to something.  

“Fucks sake, will ye let me take care of ye, Simon?” he huffs out a breath, frustrated. Ghost ignores him, pushing away from the counter and staggering back towards the bedroom, the door slamming behind him.

Soap throws up his hands. “Fuckin sulk then, ye oversized bairn.”  he mutters to himself, staring to clean up the shards that glittered on the floor. 

-

The rain was still pelting down outside. Soap thinks the only reason half the mountain hasn’t slid down with it, is because of the dense forest just above them, old roots tying the earth together tightly. 

Ghost had mostly kept to the bedroom, though Soap hadn’t heard movement in a while. As much as it might lead to them snapping at each other, he still knocks and calls out. 

“Ye alright?” he waits and, hearing no response, opens the door slightly and peeks around. “Ye dead?” he teases, but doesn’t get a response from that either. There’s a lump of blankets in the middle of the bed, and when he shifts one to peek in, there’s Ghost curled up in a ball. 

“Ye still feeling shite?” Soap guesses. Ghost just sniffles miserably in response. Soap rubs his shoulder sympathetically. “Wait here. I’ll get ye something.” 

He’s in the kitchen for maybe 10 minutes, using his hip to push the door open. When he looks up, Ghost still hasn’t moved from his huddled position. 

“Figured soup would help, for yer throat.” he says casually, placing the bowl down and sitting on the corner of the bed. . 

“Hate being sick.” Ghost says to the mattress, voice muffled. 

“Aye. Don’t think many people like it.” Soap says, smiling when Ghost glare at him from under his arm. “Reckon you can eat that?” 

Ghost doesn’t answer, just sits up and stubborn, grabs the bowl, draining most of it without bothering with the spoon. 

“Fuckin goblin. I got ye a spoon and everything.” Soap teases, flicking him in the side when he glares again. 

His gaze is drawn to the window, where the rain still pelts down outside. There’d been a few moments of just hazy clouds, but it seems to be going strong. 

“Me mam used to make me chicken noodle when I was sick. Cannae eat it anymore now, tastes like snot to me.”

“Charming.” Ghost’s voice echoes back from the bowl.

“Ye don’t have foods like that? Ye eat too much of it when yer sick?” Soap leans back on his elbow, swinging his leg off the edge of the bed.

Ghost shakes his head. “Wouldn't know. Jus’ took care of it meself.”

Oh right. Well now Soap feels like a tit for brining it up. “How ye feeling?”

“Annoyed that you keep asking that,” Ghost shoots back. At least the food seemed to have given him some energy.

“Stop being sick then.” Soap teases, nudging Ghost’s thigh with his elbow, grinning.

“Fuck off,” the words don’t have any heat to them and Soap’s grin just widens, though he lets out a squawk when Ghost shoves him off the bed in retaliation.

“Yer a child, ye know that?” he says, rubbing at where he’d hit his arse on the bed frame on the way down. Ghost gives him the finger from where he’s cocooned himself in blankets again.

“Either way, shove over.” Soap says, motioning with his hands.

Ghost sticks his head out from the blanket, hair tousled and pointing in odd directions. He squints at him. “Wha’?”

“I’m no’ sleeping on the couch again, me backs broke with it.” Soap says, flopping down on the bed. “Ye can keep your naffy blanket, probably more sweat than fabric at this rate.” he kicks his boots off and shifts down the bed. He’d mostly been doing it to annoy Ghost, but he finds himself drifting off after a few minutes. 

-

When he wakes up, Ghost has curled into him, forehead pressed against his neck. His fever has broken, but there’s still a wheezing rattle somewhere in his chest.  

He shifts and Ghost grabs him, snuffling in his sleep in a way that should be gross, but instead Soap finds it endearing. Gaz had already teased him for his not so subtle crush on their lieutenant. Soap had questionable taste in men, apparently. 

As Ghost hacks up phlegm onto this shirt and instead of feeling sickened, Soap’s heart melts in his chest, he thinks Gaz might have a point. Christ, he was gone on him. 

He tries not to think about the trust It’s about the trust, really. It doesn’t come easy, particularly for Ghost. But he knows the trust between them runs deep. The fact that Ghost hadn’t put his mask back on, sure he was sick and overheated, but he was a stubborn enough prick that he would risk cooking his brain just out of spite. 

Soap runs a hand through Ghost’s sweatdamp hair. There’s a small pained noise from the other man, burrowing deeper into the hollow of Soap’s throat. He’d probably hit the aches stage of the illness then. Was always the part Soap hated most, besides the sore throat. Not being able to complain about being sick often left him more agitated and snapping at anyone near him. 

He presses a small kiss to Ghost’s hair as a particularly painful sounding cough racks through him, mumbling soft murmurs to his temple to try soothe him. 

Through the water stained grey of the clouds, he can see the sky becoming lighter. 

“Yer still taking care of me.” Ghost slurs into his collarbone, the last coughing fit apparently waking him up. 

“Aye.” Soap says simply, his hands still gently carding through Ghost’s hair. 

“Not used to it.” he shifts slightly but doesn’t try to move away. 

Soap doesn’t know if it's the flu or the early hour that seem to have loosened Ghost’s tongue. He’s not normally this free with his words, preferring instead to hide behind jokes and the occasional brutal jab of honesty that left you reeling from the impact.

“Figured with how stubborn ye are. Had to fight ye for it” he teases letting his eyelids blink heavily. They could probably both do with a bit more sleep. 

Ghost tucks himself closer, heaving a phlegm sigh again, before simply saying. “Ye were kissing me. On the ‘ead.”

Soap doesn’t feel tired anymore, his stomach dropping for a moment. 

“Sorry, won't do it again.” he apologises, shifting his hand away when Ghost grabs it and puts it back in his hair. 

“Liked it, was nice” he croaks. 

“Oh.” Soap waits a moment, before resuming what he now realises is basically patting Ghost’s head. “Alright then”

The sun has risen, the slow inching of light through the clouds matching the deeper breaths coming from Ghost as he fallen asleep again. Soap soon follows suit. 

-

It’s later in the day when Soap awakens. Ghost is still a warm, heavy weight draped over him, but when he cranes his neck to look down at him, whisky coloured eyes peer back up at him. 

“You wanna shift it, I’ll make us a cuppa?” Soap asks, nudging Ghost’s side with his knee. Ghost doesn’t move at first, but eventually rolls off the side with a grumble, burrowing under blankets again. 

Soap hisses as his bare feet touch the floor, the cold having seeped into the wood overnight. The rains starting to let up though, more of light drizzle than the torrential downpour that had become background noise over the last days. 

He sets the tea on the bedside table, stepping lightly when he hears Ghost snoring beneath the blankets. Least he was actually getting some sleep. 

He dug out the comms unit, and waited for Price to radio back. Apparently the forecast was looking good, if the weather kept clearing up they’d have Nik swing by tomorrow. The valley below had flooded, but they were well above the danger zone at least. 

He ducks back into the bedroom after fiddling with the heater again. Ghost is sitting up in bed, the cup held between his palms. 

“This from you, then?” he asks, raising the mug in Soap’s direction as he sits on the bed. 

“Nah, that could have been anyone.” Soap grins, “Someone could have broken in, the only race of them is that cup of tea.” he stage-whispers, still smiling at the unimpressed look Ghost gives him. 

“Know you made it.” he says after taking a sip, “It tastes like shit.” 

“Oi!” Soap swipes at him. “Make yer own then, cheeky.” 

“Didn’t say I didn't want it,” Ghost says, stubbornly holding onto the mug and hunching over it.  Soap laughs, fiddling with the corner of the blanket. Ghost drains the rest of the cup before settling back, quietly observing him for a while before he finally speaks. 

“You fancy me.”

It isn’t a question, so Soap doesn’t treat it like one. Instead, he just shrugs, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck. 

“Aye.”

“Always seemed like the type to go after what you want, Johnny?” Ghost raises an eyebrow. 

And he’s a fucking sight, isn’t he? The mask is still off, the pale light through the window makes it seem as though he’s glowing, pale skin littered with raised scars. He wishes he could capture the way Ghost looks right now, soft and sleepy eyed, the sharp intelligence in honeyed eyes flicking over him. 

“Worried about what I’d lose if I did.” Soap eventually manages to get out, throat feeling tight. It feels like his toes are hanging over a precipice, like another step will change everything. 

“Not gonna lose anything, Johnny.” Ghost says with a tilt of his head. 

“You sure about that?” Soap mumbles nervously. 

“Not going anywhere.” is the even reply, no skip in the words, just steady and true. 

Fuck it. He trusts Ghost. And if this ends up going tits up, he trusts him enough that they’ll figure it out somehow. They always do. 

He clambers over Ghost’s legs, hands digging into his shoulders as he brings their mouths together, teeth clacking at the bad angle. He doesn’t care. 

“I’ll get you sick.” Ghost mumbles against his lips. Soap kisses him again anyway. 

“You’ll just have to take care of me next time, eh?” he whispers back, dragging Ghost back to press every unsaid word into his skin. 

-

They’re back on base for a few days, when it finally happens. 

“Jesus Tav, you right?” Gaz says, glancing over after the sneeze. 

“I dinnae wanna be sick.” he complains, eyes feeling hot and tacky. 

“You look like shit.” Price says, looking concerned as Soap coughs so hard he sounds like he might dislocate a rib. 

“Warned you.” Ghost says, nudging him with a shoulder. Soap glares at him, but the warm mug of tea pressed into his hands feels like an apology. 

Later that night, when Soap’s hacking up a lung, eyes streaming and nose running, there’s a gentle hand rubbing at his back. 

“Hate being sick.”

“Reckon everyone does.” Ghost chides, as Soap half-heartedly glares at him. There’s a kiss pressed to Soap’s temple, and patient hands helping him back to bed. 

“Cannae be fucked with this, Simon.” Soap groans, curling into a ball. 

Ghost runs a gentle hand through his mohawk, “S’alright, I’ll take care of you.”

[echantedtoon]

Compassion

Sometimes all someone needs is some compassion in this chaotic world.

The day was bright and beautiful as the mid-day light fell through the window and grazed over the few patrons still in the small cafe you worked at. The murmuring hums of light talk, generic elevator like music, and the occasional care passing by outside. It combined with the sounds from the kitchen. Clinking dishes, utilities, and the occasional shout of an order ready to be served. Relatively peaceful and normal day for those whom worked the cafe life.

It was a demanding job sometimes if you had to handle multiple orders by yourself especially if you were by yourself or happened to be short-staffed that day or if there just so happened to be a large crowd. But it wasn't a bad job. The Patrons were mostly friendly aside from the occasional Karen or grumpy person in the morning who demanded their caffeine high for the morning. It always smelt nice with the lingering scents of coffee, chocolate, and various hand made baked goods in the glass display nearby.

After a while one would even start to recognize the frequent customers visiting the shoppe's doors. The old couple that always stop by on their Sunday strolls for tea and macaroons. The man in the suit with consistent eye bags always tiredly asking for coffee in the mornings. The soccer mom that brings her children in for doughnuts every Tuesday night. Not every patron ordered something though. There was the frequent college students or bookworms that just liked to sit in the cafe and do their own things. Sometimes they'd order snacks sometimes they didn't but that was life.

It was a slow day this morning in particular.

The smells of glass cleaner mixed in with the scents of coffee and sweet vanilla as a cloth ran across the shiny glass of the display case. Inside it beheld the delicious sights within it's hold. A few cupcakes and cakes ready to be bought and eaten. Tempted to take one himself. But it'd have to come out of her pockets if she did so. Not many people had come in today either. A few in the morning for a quick coffee run before work but for now it was just her alone here. She didn't mind, it was Peaceful and quiet other than the distant sounds of the cars passing by on the streets outside.

So perhaps that's why she was caught off guard when someone did come by.

Sort of.

She saw a man around her age. But VERY strange looking. he didn't come inside but sat outside at one of the tables just stationed in front of the giant window. He had a frown set on his blue face as he sat down somberly. Maybe he felt eyes on him because pure white eyes turned to her.. And he gave her a friendly wave. She just gave a polite nod back before going back to cleaning the display case. She'd best get back to cleaning up the place while there was a lapse in crowds.

Now she wasn't sure how long time had passed between the few times she glanced up again, A second time an hour later as she was sweeping the floors, he seemed to still be looking in somberly to looking at his hands. Strange he hadn't ordered anything yet. And again a third time a little bit after that and was surprised at how hunched over he was.

Slowly he slumped forward until hid forehead pressed against the table, effectively deflating like a balloon. You'd think he was hit with the saddest news in the world. You supposed he was. The man wasn't just an ordinary man, but a mutant. It was pretty obvious by his blue skin and his unusual white eyes. As the years went by they became more and more common nowadays as with the rise of heroes but the unfortunate social stigma associated with them was unfortunately still bad. That fact hitting home as regular people on the streets have his weird or disgusted looks as they passed him by. Poor man. Perhaps that's why he was so upset today?

F/c orbs partially glanced to the display case of cakes by the register...

"Excuse me, Sur." The man didn't look up from where he was splayed out across the table and honestly she was half expecting this. "I couldn't help but notice you looked upset. Is everything ok?"

He still didn't respond for a few seconds before his face slowly looked up and your eyes widened at his face. It was unlike anything you'd ever seen. Completely.. inhuman but this man was a human even if he looked different . He seemed to be inspecting you for something as she looked around.

Her bows rose higher as she scanned his body and the table for a moment curiously. "Were you.. expecting someone?"

He slowly sat up now looking both confused and weary but accepted she was speaking to him. "Ya. Though I don' think they'll be coming from how it's been going."

Oh. She got it now. A wave of irritation washed over her as the unspoken puzzle was finished. "Ah. I see. Sounds like a doged bullet then."

The hand paused in the rubbing of his face. White eyes blinking widely up to her. "W-What?"

"Listen. I don't know much about your situation but usually if a bad thing avoids you then it's a sign you have incredible luck.

Those eyes blinked wider. "Luck? Hm. I certainly have heard nein thing before." His hands lifted upwards in a shrug motion. "There's only so many times that this happens to me before it's obvious that I'm the only one who's stuck in the middle."

"You might be in the middle but that doesn't mean you're at the bottom of the barrel..." SHe sighed and his head tilted in surprise as something was placed in front of him. A pink plastic cup of..boba tea? And..a small plate of strawberry shortcake? They pushed towards him face so he was forced to sit back up to stare at the goods-"I thought you might've been hungry from just sitting out here for so long." His face turned to him mouth opening- "It's on me so don't worry about it." She offered a smile finally. "You needed it more than we did anyways."

Those eyes blinked. "But..why?"

"Because you're the luckiest girl in the world. If someone is only surface level looking then they aren't worth the gold that buried beneath the surface they miss. And just because you look different from others that doesn't make you less of a human no matter what someone says Mister-.."

"I-.." He blinked unsure looking from the food to her again. "K-Kurt?"

 She smiled brightly at him. "Well then it's nice to meet you Mr. Kurt. Enjoy your food."

White eyes blinked widely as she turned and left him there, the shoppe door sending off a cute little bell chime as the door opened and closed behind her. He lingered a little longer as he blinked before looking back to his small plate.. Slowly a hand clasped around the fork before lifting the small piece of cake to his mouth and taking a bite.

"Hm. Not bad."

He didn't notice the smile he had gotten from inside the cafe. A sign of better things to come surely-

"A cup of coffee please, Fralin."

A pair of eyes looked up from where they were currently studying a stack of styrofoam coffee cups his hands hand been restocking nearby. F/c eyes met familiar White eyes they hadn't seen for a little over four months. A large smile on blue features that had her smiling widely back in response.

"Sure." The cups were slowly placed down and she turned to the man standing there. "Will that be everything for you then?"

"Yes. ..And perhaps something else just as sweet as last time."

The smile upon her face widened. "You got it."

[lauvgoods]

hey queen could i request a little angsty rafe x reader inspired by the alcott by the national featuring taylor swift

the alcott / rafe cameron

SUMMARY : rafe has a bad habit of ruining the good parts of his life, including you, but you just can't seem to walk away

PARTNERING : rafe cameron x gn!reader

WORD COUNT : 3916

GENRE : angst , open-ended

WARNINGS : unhealthy relationship, drugs and alcohol, a few swear words, one brief mention of sex

A/N : first request! this ran a little longer and angstier than i'd expected, but i really hope i was able to do this justice and give you what you wanted! i also hope you're okay with it being so open-ended

𐙚₊˚⊹ 🦢 “it’s been a long time, but I really need to get some things off of my chest. mind meeting me at the country club? our spot?”

the text is brief, to the point. you wouldn’t expect much more from rafe given that it’s, well, rafe, but it caught you off guard nonetheless. the distance between the two of you has only grown after everything went down, after what he had done, and honestly he didn’t expect you to respond, much less agree to seeing him. then again, you always seemed to be the only one to see the best in him even if he knew he didn’t deserve it. you’d always–almost always forgiven him no matter how horrible he could act. 

rafe is wringing his hands, sitting in his car, trying to convince himself that this will be alright, though he knows that it’s just you at the end of the day. just you? he internally scoffs at his own thoughts. it has never been just you. the one person who truly made him feel alive, like he was a person outside of his mistakes. what was it you had always told him? “you are more than the worst parts of yourself.” you’d never thought of him as a lost cause, not once, but here he is thinking about how best to go about asking for your forgiveness yet again. 

two years of knowing each other, of loving each other, and yet it had all gone to shit. as usual, he knew, all because of himself. 

there’s a pool shack just near the main building, the one where he’d first spotted you, where you’d peaked his interest. rather than out getting a tan or swimming, you were sat in the corner of the building, a fancy little golden notebook propped up against your knees. it was cooler inside, so half of him couldn’t blame you, but he guesses it was that notebook that had caught his attention. a journal, diary, he didn’t much care at the time, but when he sees you in that exact same spot, with the exact same notebook, the biggest sense of deja vu washes over him. he’s stuck there, staring at you, watching you with that pen probably writing in the nicest handwriting you can. you haven’t noticed him just yet, and that’s how he knows that whatever it is, it’s captured your attention and pulled you into a little bubble like always. he isn’t stupid, though, he’s seen it on your socials, you leaning against someone else in pictures, smiling like how you did at the start of your relationship. not like the end, where everything was clear by the dimmed light in your eyes, smile not reaching them in the way he loved. he knows what you’re writing about—or rather who. 

after a few minutes of admittedly creepy staring from him, you feel that prickling on the back of your neck, that itch of eyes watching, and look up to see him. he looks different, cleaner, more alive than he had before, and your breath catches in your throat. there’s a familiar ache in your chest, a bittersweet taste on your tongue, before the corners of your lips turn up into a warm smile. rafe just stares for a moment, taking you in. you look the same, but that light has come back, and that brings him more grief than you’ll know for the conversation he has in mind. 

a couple of steps forward, and he’s sitting across from you. the sunlight coming in through the window washes you both in its warmth, melting the awkward feelings that might have otherwise arisen. there’s this look on his face, one that you know all too well. his jaw is locked tight, hands clenched into fists, and he’s avoiding your eyes. he hopes that you’ll still believe him this time when he talks, but he wouldn’t be shocked if you didn’t. he half expects you to walk out before he can get a word out, a sickly smirk on your face as you taunt him for ever thinking he could get a positive reaction out of you after it all. 

“i’m sorry.” 

it’s clear the words take effort to get out, and your eyes widen as they hit you. you can’t recall the last time he apologized, genuinely apologized. not something half-assed just to move on from another fight so you can fall back into an old routine again. kissing, falling back into bed with one another, walking on eggshells, the party, the inevitable fight, another fake apology. it was a cycle, an awful cycle that you wouldn’t dare break for fear of losing him. the truth, though, was that you’d lost him a long time ago. 

you can read him like an open book, like an instruction manual leading you to all his deepest darkest feelings that he wouldn’t dare let anyone catch a glimpse of. there’s fear, and you hate the way your heart inevitably softens at it all. you don’t reply though, placing your pen between the pages and setting it carefully on the table separating the two of you. you wait, looking directly at where his eyes would meet yours if they weren’t so carefully looking just above at your forehead. he never was good at confrontation, not heavy ones like these anyway. anger he could deal with. you’ve lost count of the number of times he’d punched a wall, or slammed a door, all out of pure rage. guilt is something he’s been quick to bury, whether under layers of other emotions or less-than-healthy outlets. 

“i hurt you, i know that. i did a lot of things i’m not proud of. i’ve–” he cuts himself off with a harsh sigh, tightly clenching his fist. words or conversations like these have never been his biggest strength. “i ruined what we had. the coke, the drinking, the fighting, and then the way i broke it all off, i never should have treated you that way.” 

“rafe, can we please go home? it’s late and you’ve had a lot to drink and i just think you should cut yourself off for the night.”

it wasn’t the first time you’d asked him that night. as a matter of fact, it was the third. still, he looked up at you with an expression that left you feeling small and insignificant in a way that can’t be described. here you were again, killing his high and, as he would probably be saying later, ruining his night as always. you knew, though, that he didn’t really mean any of it. in the morning he’d wake up beside you, pressing kisses to your cheek and apologizing for how he’d acted, saying he would try to get better, for you. 

tears filled your eyes, yet you held your tongue, knowing that angering him during a high would never be a good idea. you weren’t scared of him, knowing he would never lay a hand on you, but his shouting was almost worse than any physical blows. his words lingered in the back of your mind. 

“rafe, you know how much i hate these parties. you always end up high out of your mind and leaving off on my own to hang out with your friends. can’t we just stay in tonight?” you’d asked, eyes pleading while he turned off the ignition. 

he let your worries roll off of his back like water, shaking his head and grabbing your hand to kiss the back of it with that boyish grin you loved. “c’mon, i promise i’ll stick with you this time. promise it’ll just be a few drinks and then we can head back, ‘kay?”

promises, promises, promises. all empty even if he didn’t know it while making them. the moment he’d had two drinks, he had his eyes zeroed in on the table in the corner, and was off before you even knew he’d gone. you stood there in the kitchen, turning in circles, standing on the tips of your toes to try and spot him out among the crowd of partygoers. he’d left you again, and it took you nearly half an hour to find him. of course, the lines of white powder lined up and a rolled dollar bill clasped between his fingers. his pupils were already blown, that dazed look in his eye, and he smiled stupidly at you before waving you over. 

“c’mere, i want you to try this time.”

that one moment would come up in more fights than either of you could have known. 

you never did a single line, walking out on the party the moment he’d started getting annoyed at your lack of interest in the drugs, having a screaming match that same night, and it was one of the first times you saw him cry. fists pressed into his face, crouched down to his knees as he tried to regain some control over his emotions. there wasn’t much rafe didn’t tell you, especially regarding his situation with ward. his father had always been awful to him, never making him feel wanted. you knew that beneath that tough, hardened exterior was a boy who had been left on his own, neglected and never truly loved in the way he deserved. 

“every time i tried to tell you to hold back, to reel it all in, you’d look at me like i was an idiot, rafe. Like i was horrible for wanting to help you. you didn’t just hurt me rafe, you shattered me. you made promise after promise and then broke it all in the same night. it’s like you looked right into my mind, figured out the absolute last thing i wanted you to do, and just immediately went and did it.”

the smile is gone, the warmth from the sun fueling the sudden surge of emotions. your throat feels tight as you finally speak, memories pulling free from that little wall you’d put up, trying so hard to forget it all. to move on. that small ache in your chest seems to have burst, tearing at everything it reaches. there’s a burning in your eyes, but you blink fast in an effort to keep it all in. once that dam breaks, you know it’ll come out all at once and ruin any composure you have. 

rafe feels that spark of guilt erupt into a blaze, and despite the heat outside the cold pricks like needles at his skin. he’s already caught on to that uptick in your breathing, the way your knee bounces under the table even though he can’t fully see it. there’s a slight shake to your fingers that breaks his heart all over again. he’s painfully aware of it. 

everyone had warned you about dating rafe, how he’d only hurt you, keep you as another notch on his belt before going on to the next poor girl. despite the worries lingering in the back of your mind, you simply couldn’t attach that description to the same man you knew. the one that would ask to stay over, fall asleep with his head on your lap, the way he’d look at you like you were the sun. falling for him was like breathing, but when you hit the ground it nearly broke you. 

“i know i lied, and you deserved better than me. honestly, i wish you’d walked away just so you’d be less hurt in the end.” there’s a strained tone dripping off of his every word, rafe’s eyebrows knitting together while his eyes bore holes into the table. “god, i ruined everything.”

your bottom lip quivers, and you know that you’re done for. your vision is already going blurry, and any breath you take feels like it’s coming through a straw. 

“you ever think that you’re my problem? huh? maybe it’s you, not me. you’re always weighing me down, fucking nagging me for attention instead of going out and doing the things i wanna do. i just wanted a girlfriend that would be there for me, you know? listen to me and not try to drag me down. you hear me? you’re suffocating me!”

the words shouted at you as rafe paced back and forth across the empty parking lot were just that. words. he’d wake up in the morning no longer coked out or angry, but even this was a new low for him. as much as you tried to hide them, the tears spilled over. he didn’t really mean it, you knew that. you knew he had trouble controlling his anger, losing his grip, that he would beg you with tears in his eyes to forgive him. but it hurt. the mornings waking up, your body sore from crying yourself out until you were dehydrated and weak, then covering your puffy and red eyes with anything you could just to make him feel less guilty, knowing he didn’t actually believe the things he said. these moments, though, made you feel like a speck. a tiny speck but yet also the most enormous burden to him. you loved him so much it was killing you, had been killing you for longer than you realized.

“you even sound like my sister! ‘rafe, what’s wrong with you?’ ‘rafe, stop it!’ which side are you even on? why don’t you go ahead and hang out with her and all her shitty friends if you wanna say that shit?”

why couldn’t he ever make it easy on you, not even this one time? he’d taken everything you ever loved and blown it all up like a goddamn landmine, stepping on all the good memories that you had of him and forever tainting any other parts of your life when looking back on what your life had been like when you were dating him. you’d given all of yourself over to helping him, to trying to get him to see himself like you did. now when you try to focus on who you’d been back then, all you can remember is what stage with him you were in. that one time you had tried to spend christmas with your family? all you can think about now is how worried you were that he might be out partying and could overdose instead of truly enjoying your time together. 

your entire life had been completely focused both on loving him and on making sure he didn’t completely ruin his. 

“did you mean any of it?”

your voice sounds less like yourself with the way you’re having to hold it all in. it’s then, hearing you, that he finally looks you in the eye. tears are brimming in your eyes, droplets hanging onto the lashes before finally dripping down onto your shirt. your face has grown flushed, your throat painfully dry and constricted. 

“didn’t mean anything i said when i was high or drunk off my ass. you were never the problem, that was all me.” he sounds earnest as he speaks, and you can tell from the way he’s rubbing his hands against his pants that it’s getting to him just as much as it is you. “i was so focused on getting my next fix, but i promise you you were everything to me.”

that’s when the dam starts to crack, the tears flowing freely down your face, starting that itchy feeling on your neck as you try to wipe them with the back of your hands. 

“did i do any good?” your voice is wavering, on the edge of a full-blown sob. “loving you? did i help you any at all while we were together?”

rafe was laid out on the bed, the alcohol having long since gotten him drowsy. he didn’t get high this time, which was likely what had saved you from another fight. you simply didn’t have the energy. looking into the bathroom mirror, you were a ghost of the girl you’d been when you first started dating him. it was valentine’s day, he had made plans for a date and you’d even bought a new dress to wear out to eat. but, of course, rafe had gotten into a bottle of wine, claiming it to be the more romantic decision to start out the evening. the night had gone sour the moment he pulled the two glasses from the overhead cabinet and poured himself a generous amount. 

it was three glasses later for him–you hadn’t had a sip of yours–when he’d stumbled and knocked the entire glass down the front of your dress. 

“i’m so, so sorry, i didn’t mean to i just tripped.”

it was with tears in your eyes that you reassured him you weren’t upset, that you didn’t feel like dinner anyway. what rafe also neglected to realize was how far past the time of the dinner reservations it was. holding back another crying session, you led him up to bed where he promptly flopped down on top of it all. 

standing over the sink, still in your ruined evening gown, tears left tracks in your makeup, mascara running as your shoulders shook, yet you held in any noise for fear of making him feel guilty. every time, you reminded yourself of how kind and good he could be. you told yourself that you knew the person beneath all of this, that you knew that he had so much potential to be better, he just really needed to try and for it to stick. 

“you were the best thing i’ve ever had.”

rafe’s eyes are red, eyes glassy with tears, and you can tell he’s holding it all in. 

“you saw the best in me when no one else did. you didn’t just see a screw-up, a druggie, a disappointment, or a hopeless cause. you just saw me.” 

it’s on that last word that his voice breaks, and the gasp that he sucks in splinters any resolve you have left. you’ve never had the strongest will to walk away, only doing so after he destroyed it all. 

but rafe knew that he was poisoning you, could tell even if he refused to admit it to himself. he’d heard you crying sometimes, seen you through video calls with those puffy eyes, could see the way he was the one sucking the life out of you day by day. rather than trying to fix it or talk to you, or even get real help, he did what he does best. he self-destructed. 

that night, when he’d been calling you the problem in the middle of that empty parking lot, that was where he blew it all up. 

“i can’t do this anymore.”

red-eyed and frozen in place, you looked up at him, feeling like all the air had been sucked from your lungs. you were choking on it. he’d gone ranting and raving, had raised his voice, but never even came close to ending things. 

“rafe, no, you don’t mean that. you can’t-”

you’d started toward him, hoping that you could embrace him, console him, and things would be alright. it was a curse, the worst kind of curse, yet one that you loved because it was him. you loved him with every single part of yourself even if that meant breaking yourself to save him even in the slightest. he, however, put up his arms in front of himself and took a step back, shaking his head. 

“no, i’m done. we’re done. i don’t want to do this anymore with you, ‘cause i know all you want is to fix me. you don’t care about me for me, this is who i am. i go out and i party and i have the time of my life. it’s clear you can’t handle that.”

your breaths came out short, harsh, trying to backpedal and get him to see reason, more panicked than he’d ever heard you. “ro, rafe i promise you i can, i’m so sorry if i made you feel like i don’t really care about you. we can work on this if you just-”

“STOP!”

you were on the verge of sobbing at this point, unable to figure out where it had taken such a turn for the worst possible end. had you thought about walking away? more than once, but you rationalized that you couldn’t leave him like this. 

and he left. he walked away, back into the house party that you drove him to, claiming that topper or somebody else could take him home. he left you there, crumbling into absolutely nothing with the worst pain you’d felt in your entire life, like something in your chest was ripping apart, holding back screams. 

“i need you to help me forget you, rafe, ‘cause i can’t just go on like this.”

your hands come up to hold yourself, rubbing up and down your arms as you cry in front of the boy you loved. you want more than anything to hate him, to be able to just scream at him or tell him how much of you he’d taken. you’ve been trying to build yourself back up, trying to fix that hole in your chest. two years doesn’t just disappear in a few months. loving someone in that way leaves its mark on you, sticks to you like a second skin, comes back when you think you’re finally starting to be okay again and devastates you. it leaves you walking around as a ghost, all this love and no one to give it to because the person you hold in your heart is gone. 

the problem for rafe is, he doesn’t want to forget. he knows he can’t, that in him is that love that he’s tried so hard to bury for both of your sakes, that anything he wants will just ruin any chance of what you’re trying to achieve all over again. 

“i’m trying to get clean,” he says instead, taking in a stuttered breath. “about two months now, 'cause i know how much you hated it.”

the both of you know it, how no matter how hard you try it’s nearly impossible to walk away. it would be better for everyone, healthier for everyone. you can get with that person you’ve been posting, he can find someone that makes him happy without flashing back to every fight if something starts to go wrong. you two won’t risk falling into bad habits, and can be happy individually. 

instead, you open that golden notebook with shaky hands, your pen having held your place, and you turn it for him to read. 

“can you, um, can you read that last sentence out loud?”

he looks at you, eyes searching for some sort of meaning to how quickly the topic seems to have changed, before letting his gaze fall down to the words at the bottom of the page. 

“i’m trying, i’m really trying here, but i don’t know if i can move on from him, not with all that i’ve still got left in me.” he trails off at the end as he seems to realize what you mean, and lets out a slow breath. 

“rafe, i knew from the minute i got that text what might happen. i knew, for a fact, that i’d be falling back in love with you the minute i saw your face.” 

the air is still, a long silence stretching between the only two people in the room. the sun has gone behind a patch of clouds, leaving the room darker. 🕯️⋆˙ᝰ.ᐟ