#all bubbly inside from this new responsibility think to himself

[casualavocados]

@grapejuicegay pointed out to me that chen yi, who hates sweets, always celebrated his and ai di's birthday with cake bc ai di would get them cake. even after chen yi broke their tradition for 4 years he still brought a cake to prison the next time for ai di. who. ftr would not have been able to eat it because of. you know the whole prison thing. & glass separating them.

also just the implications behind chen yi, who also hates spicy food, running a garage called "cayenne auto shop"? that's all chen yi's. ai di runs the bar not the shop. so now i cant stop thinking about that. insane behavior. especially for a 17 year old being handed over the controls to a division of a gang. chen yi loves ai di so much hes so cute im gonna-

[evnseokz]

{ ☆ daddy - p.js }

pairing: dom! jay x f. reader

contents: p in v, rough sex, daddy kink, jay is kind of condescending and a lil mean, slight dacryphilia, pet name: baby, i think that’s it!

a.n: never written something like this before, w.c 753

your face was pushed into the mattress, and your back arched as jay fucked you roughly. your jaw was slack against the material of the sheets, drool starting to pool at the corners of your lips. all that can be heard in the room is skin slapping. he hits a particular place inside you that has you whining, “use your words, baby,” he taunts you. “m-more.” is all that comes out of your mouth as moans fall from your lips. within a second, jay leans into you, stilling his movements slightly as he wraps his arms around your waist before pulling you back against his chest to be parallel with him. as soon as he gets you where he wants you, his thrusts pick back up again; this new position has you seeing stars.

your head falls back onto his shoulder, hands wrapping around his own. incoherent babbles fall from your lips as jay continues fucking you dumb. you’re barely aware of what your saying when the name falls from your lips, but jay catches it immediately, slowing his thrusts down in the process. “what’d you just say?” his voice is thick with dominance, snapping you out of the trance you’ve been in. he is still moving in and out of you, but now at an almost agonizing pace. “i-i don’t know,” you mumble, eyes fluttering shut as you savor the feeling of him inside you. suddenly all of his movements halt, and one of his hands is reaching to grab you by your chin, forcing you to open your eyes and look him in the face.

he almost laughs at your fucked-out expression, “can’t hear you when you mumble, baby.” he pushes you further, moving his mouth to be right next to your ear as he waits for your response. “i said i d-don’t know,” you whine. this time jay does laugh, practically in your face. “you called me daddy, baby, so fucked out she called me daddy?” the words sound practically foreign coming out of his mouth, yet you can’t help the way arousal bubbles up in your stomach after hearing him say it. a blush coats your cheeks, your ears burning red at the realization of what slipped past your lips as you were zoning out. “y-you just feel so good,” you say to him, voice barely above a whisper.

jay has a smirk painted on his lips as his thrusts pick up again, still nowhere near the pace as before. his brows furrow as he focuses on his thrusts. “you gonna say it again, or do i need to fuck it out of you?” your head falls back against his shoulder again, eyes squeezing shut, “please, daddy. need it so bad,” you practically whine as the words come out of your mouth. he clicks his tongue, “need what, baby? hm?"  he grins slightly, egging you on. “f-faster p-please,” you’re practically begging. and jay picks up the pace again immediately. hands gripping your body as he fucks into you with agility and speed, making you go cross-eyed in pleasure. your mouth falls open, moans pouring out as he fucks you hard and fast, and low grunts are heard from jay as he presses you further into him.

his tip is prodding at your cervix, and you can feel yourself getting close. “s-so close,” you mumble, muscles tightening with every thrust. “gonna cum for daddy, yeah?” jay barks at you, his hand flying down to rub fast-paced circles on your clit as he bounces you on his cock. tears start forming in your eyes as the knot in your stomach tightens, your release approaching any minute now. and with one last hard thrust, you’re sent over the edge, loud moans fall from your lips, and tears fall from your eyes as you squeeze them shut in ecstasy. jay isn’t far behind as he shoots his load into you, thrusting a few extra times, causing you to jolt in overstimulation. once he’s sure he’s emptied himself completely, he pulls out of you slowly, adjusting himself to where he’s fully sitting on the bed and turning you to face him, straddling his lap.

he scans your face, noticing your tear stained cheeks. “fuck baby, was i too rough?” he asks, his hand coming up to wipe at your cheeks. you shake your head. “not at all; it just felt so good,” you smile at him. jay laughs.

“called me daddy, and cried because i felt so good? i could get used to that.”

.

..

…

[ozarkthedog]

Awhile ago you wrote a fanfic of someone using their gold chain and pendant to keep you quiet and now that I’m staring at all this new Lucien content that’s all I can think about 😵‍💫

Dropping his chain into your mouth as he has you pinned up against that garden wall to help you keep quiet from the rest of the party goers 😮‍💨

yeah ok, babes, i got you. i moved them to a bedroom cause i think it’s naughtier. 🙃

18+ mdni — warnings: lucien flores x afab!reader. sex with a stranger. he makes you suck on his chain. feral sex. creampie. no spoilers. w.c. 486

Another powerful thrust has your lips dropping open, a frantic moan bubbling from the tight confines of your throat as he harshens his hold on your hips and cruelly grinds the base of his pelvis against your clit.

Lucien tuts his tongue and shakes his head dismissively. The sound makes you feel small, like a child caught stealing.

“What am I gonna do with you?” He husks, leaning in to swipe his tongue across your lips, earning him another gasp. He tips his head toward his chest, his salt and peppered chin shifting as he clenches his jaw. From under his hooded, dark eyes, he burrows into your soul. “You wan' everyone to hear you fuckin’ a strange man's cock?

Your insides swirl with nervous arousal. This wasn’t like you. You’ve never fucked someone within hours of meeting them, but the moment you caught Lucien's eye across the small dining room, you knew you’d never be the same.

“As much as I love hearin’ you whimper,” he lets his words hang in the dimly lit guest bedroom before thumbing at your trembling bottom lip. “Open up, baby,” he commands, reaching for his chains.

You let him invade your space, parting your splayed thighs even wider and practically smothering you into the soft bedding. He drops one of his golden chains past your parted lips and into your mouth. “Thatta girl.” You suck on the small metal emblem without thinking. You’re so dumbstruck, and you only want to make him happy.

“Keep that pretty mouth shut. Don’t wan' anyone interruptin’ us.” He grits, forcing the tendons in his neck to swallow hard as your cunt swirls around his length.

He cants his hips and drives home, pushing past your tight, slick opening and deep into your warmth. Your eyes roll back as he molds your insides around him. He’s so fucking big you can practically feel him in your belly.

He snickers above you, shoving his hips harder as a muffled moan rumbles from your closed lips. “Lookin’ so fuckin' pretty with your holes filled.” he drawls, pawing at your hips and pulling you back onto his cock. Your cunt quivering at his words. “You like bein’ fucked by a strange man? Havin’ him take you apart in your friend's house?”

Blazing white heat erupts in your belly. He was right. You loved every depraved minute of this. Of him. Your core clenches, choking his cock as you come with a ragged, muted moan. He hisses, jaw clenching hard as he frantically thrusts his slick-coated cock past your vice-like opening. “You gonna take everythin’ I give ya, yeah?” he snarls, barring his teeth.

He doesn’t wait for a response before he comes. A deep, gravel-filled moan tumbles from his parted lips as he fills you to the brim and presses himself as deep as he can go until you’re a mewling mess around his cock and chain.

feel free to scream at me -> 💌

be sure to follow @ozzieslibrary for fic updates!

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Congratulations on the milestone love✨🎉

For my request, 'walking in on the other' with Steve Rogers? Or with any marvel character, whatever you see fit!

Thank you 💙

.⋆｡Midnight Swim｡⋆.

Steve Rogers x plus size reader

Being on the run doesn’t exactly get you a comfortable life, but finally, there’s a chance for you to relax, if only you could find your swimsuit… or not

Warnings: skinny dipping, nudity (obvi), brief mentions of the events of Civil War, implied smut WC: 1.4k

6k Follower Celebration Bingo

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

You ached, putting it lightly. Months of running from virtually every government on the planet didn’t exactly give you the luxury of relaxing or unwinding after a long day. The rooms you stayed in never had baths to soak in or even a comfy mattress to sink into so when Steve announced that the motel you were going to had not only a jacuzzi but also king sized beds, you thought you had died and gone to heaven. 

“I hope you don’t mind sleeping on the floor, gorgeous, cause I will be spread eagle on that bed.” Sam wrapped an arm around your shoulder as you climbed the cement steps up to the second floor. 

“Don’t worry about me birdie, that hot tub is calling my name.” You moaned, giving the man a light shove.

“We leave at sunup, don’t get too comfortable.” Steve’s voice broke the little bubble of happiness around the two of you. You looked back at the man, his brow was furrowed, the muscles in his jaw clenching. It wasn’t hard to see that he was different now; gone was the hopeful and starry eyed golden boy, instead you were left with a man who was only trying to survive in the face of complete betrayal of everything he held dear. Throw in a beard and a whole new uniform, Captain America was no more.

“C’mon Steve, we can afford a couple days of rest. We’re all exhausted.” Natasha laid a hand on his arm. “Besides, I think we all need to have a proper shower and do laundry.” You smiled gratefully at her as Steve sighed.

“Alright, just don’t draw too much attention to yourselves. Nat, how about you room with Sam?” 

“It’s my turn to get Y/L/N.” Sam stopped in front of the door to his room, shooting a puzzled look at you. Nat matched his expression but still stepped forward to take your spot next to the man. 

“We both know you’re gonna fall asleep immediately, just like Nat, and if Y/N is going down to the pool, someone needs to stay up to make sure she’s ok.” Steve shoved the key in the door, not bothering to even look in your direction. You met Sam’s gaze but he could only shrug at you as Nat wiggled her eyebrows.

Of course the woman knew about your crush on the ex-Captain, given that it was the one reason you had yet to room with him despite the rotating roommates you agreed to when you went on the run. Your stomach rolled as you tried to come up with any excuse to not walk in that room and have to face the reality of sharing a bed with the man who’s responsible for the mass ruining of your panties. 

The light in the room clicked on just as the door next to yours snapped shut. “Fuck me.” You hiked your duffle bag higher on your shoulder, took a deep breath and stepped inside.

Steve had already dropped his bag on the side of the bed closest to the door and shed the heavy jacket that shielded his toned physique from the world. He barely glanced at you as you entered but you knew his guard was still up, you doubted it had ever come down since what happened at the airport.

“You don’t have to wait up for me. No one else is staying here, the front desk guy said so himself.” You unzipped your bag. 

“It’s my job to look after you.” He retorted. You huffed and started pulling out your clothes in search of the singular bikini you had managed to obtain in your ‘travels’.

“Really? What’s your 401k look like?” Even without seeing it, you knew he was rolling his eyes at you. “Dammit.” You hissed as your fingers brushed the bottom of the bag, no trace of the thin material in sight. 

Steve turned from the desk where he had laid out a map of the area and raised an eyebrow at you. “I lost my swimsuit,” Your shoulders dropped in disappointment, “No hot tub for me I guess.” 

You shoved the empty bag and pile of clothes onto the floor before flopping down onto the bed. “This sucks.”

The desk chair creaked. “Just go in your underwear.”

Your head turned against the sheets, the thick cotton of the duvet brushing against your cheek. Steve was leaned forward, elbows planted firmly on his knees. Dark blue eyes stared right through you and suddenly, you couldn’t remember why you were upset. “Um, yeah I guess. But I don’t have any extra bras at the moment though.” You gestured to your discarded clothes.

Steve’s lip quirked up briefly before settling back into his now usual stern expression. “I’ll wash your stuff for you in the morning.” 

“Since when do you offer to do other people’s laundry?” Your hands slid up to rest beneath your head.

“I’ve been pushing all of you too hard. Maybe I want to start making it up to you.” He leaned back in the chair, the sheer mass of his seeming to grow as he rolled his broad shoulders. Unable to help yourself, you let your eyes trace the sharp muscles of his arms. It had been a long time since he was this relaxed in front of you.

“So maybe there is a bit of America’s Golden Boy still left in there.” He rolled his eyes and turned back to the desk.

“Go, before I change my mind.” You slinked off the bed with a smile. 

“Don’t wait up.” You cooed as the motel door shut behind you.

——————

The silence was a welcome friend. No cars or sirens, just the soft bubbling of the jets and your own happy groans as your body finally unwound. Steam billowed up from the water, disappearing into the night sky, brushing against the stars. The heat bled into your bones and it was all you could do to not melt.

You felt like you could wash away everything from this past year. 

You sank deeper into the water, the gentle ripples now brushed your neck, making you hum in satisfaction.

“Y/N, I was thinking that maybe I could grab some takeout from that 24 hour restaurant we passed a little while back, you hungry?” You lazily looked back over your shoulder just as Steve slipped past the high fence that enclosed the space. You watched as his gaze travelled from your body over to the pile of clothes on the deck, your panties and bra prominently displayed on top.

“Sure, I could eat.” You shrugged, swallowing down a smile at his now blank expression. Steve was frozen in place as the realisation dawned on him.

“Doll.” A shiver ran through you, that was definitely very new. A sudden confidence filled your veins as you watched his Adam's apple bob.

“Steven.” You turned around so that you were now kneeling on the bench, the water now barely covering your breasts. Blue eyes slowly trailed down from your face, following the droplets of water that clung to your skin. “Actually, now that I’m thinking about it, I don’t think I’m craving take out.”

The water lapped at your stomach as you sat up. Steve’s eyes immediately darted to your face as a deep blush crawled up his neck. “Doll, what is your underwear doing on the deck?” 

“I think that’s quite obvious Cap.” The muscles in his jaw rolled as his expression grew darker. Heat curled in your stomach. “I didn’t want to get them wet. Well, more wet than they already were.”

“It’s dangerous to be out here alone like this.” He took a tentative step towards you, the lock on the gate clicking shut. 

“Well then, it’s a good thing I have you here to protect me.” You sank back into the water, moving backwards until you could sit on the other side, giving yourself the perfect view of the super soldier. His jacket dropped first, then the ratty baseball cap that covered his darker hair. You bit your lip as his t-shirt followed.

There was a spattering of light hair across his chest, getting thicker and darker along his torso, until it disappeared beneath his pants. His hands interrupted your view but you wouldn’t complain, not when they were undoing his belt. You fought a moan as the button popped open and his fly was slowly drawn down. 

“You gonna join me Cap? The water is just perfect.” The dark material of his jeans slid down and you wondered if Commando was a better fitting title for the man. 

Steve smirked as he stepped into the tub. “I have to look out for you don’t I?” His hands grabbed at your wide hips and tugged you against his body effortlessly. “It is my job.”

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[biteofcherry]

POV — something that’s already happened, retold from another character’s perspective

TTD Steve's POV of meeting princess for the first time? Pretty please 🥺

Thanks for sending one of these asks, Jaqui ❤️

ahh, that dark mafia Steve holding our panties hearts in his clutches 😏

Touch The Darkness Masterlist

dark mafia!Steve Rogers x female reader

warnings: none; Steve is a hot bastard; he's also dark;

Steve was used to being bored, or annoyed by people he faced. Especially people who found themselves toe to toe with him. But there was something different in the way the noses of your pale heels touched his dark boots and your eyes shone simple determination as you strained your neck to look up at him.

It wasn't bravado that he read from your body posture, rather some inner pep talk boosting your confidence to confront him.

It was that moment he realized you were completely clueless about him.

Judging by the way you moved as you walked into your office, you weren't a bold razor type of professional, who cut through the business with balls of steel.

No, you were someone who worked on maintaining your composure.

Which only made him itch to strip you of it.

Of that boring pantsuit, too. It was very chic, not some ugly piece hiding your curves, but it was so proper and bland. As if you were void of any spark.

“Please sit, Mr Rogers.” You tilted your chin up, after closing the door to your office.

Steve waited for you to reach your chair, before he sat down himself. He could be a ruthless mobster, but nowadays to run an empire as successful as his you had to also know how to play to what people expected.

Not that Steve played those games for long.

No, he entertained it to assess the opponent. Then he stroke however he deemed necessary. Usually in brutal ways.

“I’m sure you’re a busy man Mr Rogers,” you forced your jaw to relax. Another sign of you controlling the way you appeared, which Steve noticed. “So I assume your need to see me goes beyond simply wanting to meet the new director of the center.”

Ah, so you do have a spark! Steve felt a surge of wicked elation, hearing that undertone of impertinence, despite your best attempts to remain simply professional and stern.

“It does, but you are a curiosity.” He leaned back in his chair. 

“How so?” You raised an eyebrow.

His gaze didn't stray from your face, reading the way the cogs in your head had to turn with possibilities. You were probably mauling over the fact you weren't a socialite, nor a star type of a doctor who usually mingled around Starks and their alike.

Again, thinking of your appearance and all things proper. Not even considering that he could find you a curiosity for how you were not who.

“A pretty, shiny fish being dropped into a tank full of sharks and swimming through it all calm and confident.”

It wasn't meant to be a compliment. Steve, despite his sudden fascination, was clear in his intention of getting exactly what he wanted, no matter if he had to watch you shiver in response to his threat.

There it was - your back going ramrod straight and your hands falling to your lap. You were holding yourself so hard to maintain composure and not claw at him.

Which was good. If you raised your hand, as amused as Steve could be by it, he would not let you get away with it. You were not in his circle to gain any privileges of forgiveness.

Not yet, anyway.

“If you mean dealing with health care system moguls, I assure you I have experience in that." You replied, tone barely restraining the annoyance bubbling inside of you. "Managing donations for a privately based center won’t be much different than wrapping pharmaceutical companies around a finger.”

Steve grinned, entertained with your attempt to cover a shiver as you held his gaze.

“That’s not what I mean at all.” He drawled with a slight chuckle.

“What is it that you mean, then?” You huffed, once again changing the position of your hands.

Though he was tempted to push that button harder, to see you truly snap and reveal something other than bland, clueless naivety, Steve couldn't allow you to treat him like an average demanding client. 

“You have no idea who I am, do you?” He tilted his head to the side, adding a tone of ice to his voice. 

It was best if you learned fast that he wasn't one to play those polite back and forth games for long.

“One of Howard’s benefactors?” You swallowed nervously, while still trying to remain calm on the outside.

And Steve found himself the more annoyed with it. He needed you obedient, but he wanted you to submit while being you, not some persona you were playing.

But he didn't provoke you further, more intent on driving to the point.

“Of sort.” He replied. “I’m someone who has all of those benefactors under my thumb. As well as other people.”

Your eyes ignited with realization, though Steve assumed you were suspecting it earlier, but simply didn't accept it fully. Probably thinking that a nice, unthreatening woman like you simply couldn't find herself face to face with a mobster.

There was no rule book about dealing with someone like him. You had to scramble for defense and self-preservation instinct to continue.

“What do you want exactly?” Your voice returned to the softer tune, the slight tremble in it inaudible.

But Steve was skilled in reading signs of fear. Like a predator sensed its prey's heartbeat and scent.

He saw the little gulp. The widening of your irises. The twitch in your fingers. And found it a different kind of potent thrill for his tastes.

He wanted to keep you on edge: a little scared, a lot of shocked.

Steve wondered, if he could push you to break out of that shell and do something that he'd have to meet with an iron grip and a blade at your throat; and how you'd look at him then.   

“A lot of things,” his grin was sharp and threatening, “but now, from you? I want this place.”

Your face again showed that astonishment and clueless confusion. Steve knew there's no way you would be aware of the potential this place had, but there were other possibilities to think of. Well, at least people who grazed the grey area, or were business moguls with a lot of dirt under their carpets, would come up with some ideas.

“You want to run a health center?” You asked slowly and Steve felt his glee rising at the prospect of staining that silly light bubble you were keeping around yourself.

“Not at all.” Steve shook his head, his grin not disappearing. “The grounds it stands on are of value to me.”

He wasn't sure which aspect of it exactly did it, but he triggered your response.

That wild outburst, which stirred his cock with interest as you abruptly stood up and raised your voice at him.

“I am not going to hand over this place, robbing people in need of the help they only recently received, just because you wish to broaden your show-off territory.” You circled your desk in swift steps, standing in front of him with your hands on your hips. 

As if you could scold him, or intimidate him.

“I won’t ever sell it. Or hand it over. No!”

Steve remained seated, simply watching as realization of your own behavior dawned on you. He wondered, if you were more scared of his retaliation for yelling at him, or if you were more appalled that you didn't remain this dead statue of professionalism?

“You haven’t yet heard my offer.” His fingers clenched on the armrests.

To restrain himself from touching you. Not in violence.

Well, not in painful kind of violence...

“I’m not interested in it.” Your reply was softer and your eyes widened as you hear yourself resist further, despite what your brain had to be advising you.

“You should be.” Steve slowly stood up. 

You made a step back. Of course you did, anyone would. But when Steve followed you, crowding you against your desk, he didn't feel hunger for your blood and broken bones.

“See, I’m not the only one who will show interest in this place. Word goes around, especially in this city. Others will reach out to you, too, when they find out I’ve shown interest.” He clenched and unclenched his fingers, warming them up, though he hasn't decided yet for what. “Sooner or later. For your sake, I hope it’s too late for them.”

Steve noticed the change as he spoke. It was minimal, but telling.

The way your breath hitched as he neared and the look in your eyes flicking from fear to glimpse of need.

It was soon gone as you trembled at his approach, but Steve recognized that tread - that craving for something dark and dangerous.

Honestly, a few minutes ago, when he laid his eyes on you for the first time, Steve wouldn't suspect you hid desires for depravity.

You pushed it all down into your proper box, but you couldn't help your body reacting to the fire of annoyance mixed with fear that made you tilt your chin up defiantly.

“If it’s so desired by many, as you claim, why should I take your offer instead of others?”

Steve leaned closer, catching a whiff of your sweet scent punched up by your heightened temperature due to the rush of adrenaline.

He slowly dragged his gaze down your body and up, thinking of the nice clean cuts he'd make to those dull fabrics you wore.

“Because-” he made his voice softer and warmer, studying your face and chest for reaction- “I can protect you from them. But no one can protect you from me, Princess."

The pet name rolled out on his tongue instinctively.

It fit you so well. Your sweet, proper aura, just begging to be conquered and debauched.

“There’s no need for condescending names,” you blurted out, but it was breathy.

Steve noticed the way your breasts raised in reaction, how your arms dropped to your sides defenseless and your fingers twitched.

There was no hate for that pet name, though he expected you would rage at it later, once he left you to gather your wits.

“Condescending?” He inched even closer. He slipped his hands to rest on your desk, caging you between him and the sturdy furniture.

“A Princess is a title of a royal family’s member,” he lowered his head to catch your gaze. “You may not be connected by blood, but you are now an heiress to Stark, who has been treated like royalty for decades.”

“A Princess-” Steve moved one of his hands and brushed it along your hip- “is also a girl deserving to be spoiled.”

He didn't think of pretty gifts for you, but there were other ways to spoil a woman.

If he was to spoil you, it would be with his mouth between your thighs while your naked body shimmered with gems he boldly stole as youth.

But you'd have to earn it.

For now you gave him merely a few minutes of entertainment. Steve wanted more. He wanted the center and he was going to get it. You'd better accept the fact and comply, before he lost his patience.

“Seize the opportunity while I still consider you deserving of it.” Steve pulled back, ignoring the tilt of your body following his warmth for a split of a second.

“You can keep your center, I don’t need it locked down. But you will sign the property over to my name.” He served you the cold, unyielding tone.

“You have twenty four hours to consider. This time tomorrow, I’ll come to hear you say yes to me, Princess.”

[ode-to-melpomene]

Jekyll and Hyde

Pairing: Dick Grayson x gn!reader Synopsis: Dick returns from patrol with an injury and a heavy heart. Word Count: 1914 Warnings: Established relationship. Minor gore/wound care. Surgeon!reader. A pretentious number of inferences to The Curious Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

A deep rumbling sigh filled your chest as the microwave beeped, yesterday’s leftovers reheated for today’s dinner. No, it was breakfast really, you realized as you checked your wrist watch. You groaned and pressed your palms to your face.

The tall sliding-glass doors to the balcony of your penthouse apartment let in the gray-blue early morning light as the sun began to hazily brighten Bludhaven’s skyline. The sun greeted you affectionately and chased the shadows from your home. You answered the morning bitterly, with a tired sigh and bags beneath your eyes. Too much caffeine, not enough food.

You blinked bearily as you opened your microwave. The pop of the microwave door coming unlatched wasn’t enough to drown out the sound of the balcony door slipping open.

“Late night?” called a now familiar voice, followed by sluggish footsteps.

“Always,” you answered with a dramatic sigh as you turned and leaned against the kitchen counter. Your eyes focused slowly on the figure silhouetted in your dining room. “Oh sure, please, come in. No invitation needed,” you snarked as Dick placed a gloved hand on the table and leaned against it. You furrowed your brows as you took in his posture–hunched over, eyes downcast, hand pressed to his ribs-

Damn it.

“And bleed all over my furniture while you’re at it,” you barked as you rounded the kitchen island and hastened towards him. You jerked a chair away from the table with one hand and slipped your other arm around his waist. He leaned against you, using your stability to drag himself to the chair.

“I avoided the carpet this time,” Dick said with a chipper laugh. You crouched in front of him, hands brushing over the stretchy blue and black torso of his suit. Your hand came back wet as you skated over his ribs. “New scrubs? That’s not your usual color.”

You glanced down at the blue-green scrubs you wore. “Last ones were covered in blood. Go figure- don’t laugh,” you ordered, cutting off the chuckle that bubbled up in his chest. The white film of his mask’s eyes looked down at where you crouched with a mirthful glint. “Stay put.”

“Wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”

You stood and rounded the table to the hutch backed against the wall. The bottom cabinet door squeaked on old hinges. A strip of coban wrap hit the ground with a bounce as the stack of medical supplies leaned into the now open doorway.

“You look exhausted,” Dick spoke up, drawing your attention to the items you set aside on the floor.

You hummed in acknowledgement, occupying your trembling fingers with hunting for the gauze you knew he preferred. “Long shift. Car wreck on 14th and York.”

“I heard it on the scanner. How bad?”

You shrugged and stayed quiet. He clicked his tongue in response. You heard shuffling and twisted to stare over your shoulder.

Dick reclined in the chair, one arm propped on the tall wooden back. He tipped his head, baring his throat to the auburn sunrise that filtered in through the windows. It was a striking contrast to the blue and black of his suit and the dark waves of hair that framed his face. Dick pressed his other hand to the open wound on his side, leaving a sizable tear in the side of his suit. Lithe, graceful, and heroic even while bleeding out-

You bit the inside of your cheek and cast your eyes back to the medical supplies. With a huff you gathered the items in your arms and marched back to his side.

His hand left the back of the chair and settled on your hip as you dropped the supplies on the table. “What do you think, Doc? Am I gonna make it?” he teased with a coy grin.

“You always do, despite my best efforts,” you joked sarcastically with a grumpy huff. He let out a pleasant laugh, one that warmed your heart and calmed your nerves. Years of medical work and months in the ER never prepared you for stitching him up. “Might have to cut part of your suit.”

“I’ve been meaning to upgrade to a crop top.”

“Dick…”

“Love…” he drew out the phrase to match yours, a giddy smile on his lips. 

You knelt beside his chair, scowling at the tear in his suit. It was soaked in blood by now, the wound long, thin, and jagged. You sighed as you reached for your cleaning supplies on the table. “I really should-”

“- Be wearing gloves. I know, babe,” he exhaled dramatically, his free hand reaching up to remove his mask and reveal affectionate blue eyes. “You say it every time. Haven’t gotten an infection yet.”

“One of these days,” you grumbled as you cleaned the wound. He bit back a hiss, his chest tightening at the suppression of sound. Your eyes flicked to his abs as the muscles tensed then released. “Right, big breath,” you ordered as you reached for a needle and thread, waiting for the thin sinew to flex–it wouldn’t hurt as much when he stretched if sewn while taut.

“Bet you sweet talk all of your patients like this.”

“I don’t sweet talk anyone, Dick. Don’t have time for it.” You threaded the needle and waited for him to inhale, then began weaving it through his torn skin. “Besides, it’s hard to sweet talk a patient who doesn’t talk back. Most of mine are anesthetized. You’re an unfortunate exception.”

He winced at the feeling of the cold needle dragging through his skin. You wrinkled your nose, imagining what it must feel like to have a thread sliding through your skin. Dick relaxed, the initial pain subsiding into a more familiar sting. You fell into a comfortable silence, rhythmically knitting his skin back together.

“So what happened?” you questioned, twisting the thread around your finger in a loop to draw it tighter through his flesh. “I thought we were past flesh wounds. It’s just been bumps and bruises lately.”

“Bumps and bruises for me, I can’t speak for the other guys-”

“Honey,” you spoke coldly as you pulled the next suture tight. “Don’t do that.”

Dick’s brows drew together in a furrow for just a moment before easing into that relaxed grin of his. Charming, handsome, and a large part of what drew you to him in the first place; not the cheeriness that he portrayed, but the fact that cheeriness didn’t meet his eyes.

“Do what?”

You cast him a meaningful glance, your fingers idling over his wound. His grin faltered under your scrutinizing gaze. “Don’t pretend. Wearing one mask is bad enough–don’t wear a second. What happened?”

He turned his head away, gazing out at the rising sun blanketing Bludhaven. “Nothing. Really, it wasn’t that important. Just a misstep.”

You pursed your lips in thought, eyeing his profile closely. Strong jaw, sharp nose, angular features that made him look every bit the hero he fought to be every day. The hero he didn’t always feel like he was. He was hiding it well, but he was doing what he always did– beating himself up for something out of his control.

“My patient died on the table tonight,” you spoke, voice ringing out clearly in the otherwise silent penthouse. Dick’s head snapped to the side to look down at you, eyes wide and lips parted slightly. You swallowed dryly, fighting back the lump in your throat. You always avoided talking about work. “Fourteen-year-old girl. Spinal fracture, punctured lung. It took them so long to get her out of that car… she’d lost so much blood by the time she got to the E.R. If I had just…” You exhaled slowly. “There are a hundred things I could have- should have done differently.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“No, it’s not. And the crash wasn’t her brother’s fault, even though he was the one driving. He’s the one who lived. He’s going to carry that with him forever, just like I’m going to carry her with me forever.”

Dick clamped his mouth tightly shut, lips drawn into a thin, pensive line as he stared down at you. The proverbial mask slipped away, the cracks in his marble surface finally showing. He hid it so well, hid behind that chipper wall he put up as a front of the dark thoughts he thought tainted him.

You tilted your head to the side and offered him a gentle, reassuring smile. “You can’t carry everyone’s suffering without also carrying their sins. Whatever happened tonight, it’s not your cross to bear.”

He held your gaze for a long moment, exhaustion pooling in his blue irises. It was a stoney, impassive expression. The change in tone unnerved some people–maybe that’s why he hid it so well–but it never bothered you.

When Dick finally broke eye contact and turned his attention back to the sunrise, you assumed the moment had passed. You returned to your work, tying off the suture and slicing a piece of gauze off the roll to cover the exposed thread.

“It was that trafficking ring the BPD had been tracking,” he finally spoke. Your hands froze, hovering over his damp skin. “The one we’ve been following for a while. I… I got a tip on where they might be running it out of.” Dick sighed and ran his free hand through his hair and brought it back down to cover his eyes. “I should have waited, gotten more information.”

You let out a soft mm in response and pressed the gauze to his wound, listening intently. Your fingers smoothed over the wound, holding the gauze flat against his skin as you reached for your roll of surgical tape.

“It was my fault, I- I dove in too quickly and tipped them off. The gig was gone by the time I got there.” He sighed, frustration evident in the way his shoulders stiffened. He bent as if he were going to hunch over, but your hand moved swiftly to his chest to push him back into an upright position without disturbing the wound. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for,” you answered quietly.

“Are you going to tell me it’s not my fault?”

“No,” you answered. His brows rose in surprise. “But regardless of if it is or isn’t your fault, you don’t need to carry it alone.” You stood to your full height, joints achy after being bent over an operating table for hours and now crouched on the ground for who knows how long.

He brought a hand to cover yours that was still pressed to chest, blanketing the vibrant symbol scrawled over his suit.  His affections grew like ivy, clawing over you, clinging to everything you gave him and budding with every kindness. 

“If I don’t, who will?”

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his suit as you leaned in, lips ghosting over his. He closed the distance in a gentle caress, baring the good and evil chained within his soul to you. He brought his free hand to your waist, while the other, blood-stained hand hovered inches from your figure.

You interlaced your fingers with his, the warmth of his drying blood staining your pristine flesh. Dick shivered as you deepened the kiss. You pulled away all too quickly, and he leaned in, chasing the feeling.

Your lips traced over his jaw, his cheek, and planted on his temple before withdrawing. His cheeks warmed under your gaze–soft, adoring, loving. All things he didn’t feel he deserved.

“We can carry the burden together.”

[thevillainswhore]

Spoiled and stuffed

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: Bucky surprises you with a gift on your birthday.

Warnings: Smut (use of a d-ildo fem receiving, c-lit play, a little exhibitionism/mirror kink?), established relationship, Bucky is a warning himself, okay?

A/N: Beta’d by @lunarbuck - thank you so much my love, especially on such short notice 🥰 dividers by @saradika, also wanna give a special thank you to @flordeamatista for helping me with the colouring of my moodboard and in general being so supportive 💗

A little something for one of my nearest and dearest 🥰

You dig through your wardrobe, hair styled to absolute perfection, and make-up flawlessly applied to compliment your features, searching through your clothes to figure out the perfect outfit to go out tonight. Why?

Because it is your birthday.

Bucky refuses to let you stay in tonight, already having treated you like a queen for your special day with numerous gifts and loving gestures throughout the day. A gorgeous breakfast spread put together by him to kick off, with an extra surprise of you spread over the table for seconds.

It’s fair to say he has gone all out.

The result of your gifts from him means a mountain of new stuffies are now placed carefully into their respective homes in your shared room, chocolates overflowing your sweet stash, and an overwhelming amount of love in your heart for your man, who’s been making sure he doesn’t fall short of making you happy.

You love him with your whole heart. Birthday or not.

Hearing the door open, you know Bucky is now in the room with you, not thinking to take any notice as he’s probably just coming in to check how you’re getting on.

So, as you stand in only a towel, trying to mentally match colour choices and style options, you’re too focused on your current task to see the glint of mischief in Bucky’s eyes as he walks further into the bedroom.

Already dressed in his signature combat boots and leather jacket with all-black jeans and tight shirt fit - an outfit he knows you go crazy for - Bucky can’t help the predatory glare he pins onto you as he gawks at the fabric of your towel inching up your thighs. He honestly can’t get enough of them - marks from a week ago still staining your skin, placed there from your wild night that the thought of still makes a shiver run down his spine.

Wanting to update him to make sure he knows you're not going to be late for your reservation at the restaurant you’ve been gushing about for so long, you slightly turn your head over your shoulder - not enough for him to totally come into view - and tell him, “Hi baby! I promise I’m almost done, just gotta find something to wear and then I’m ready!”.

Bucky’s been crazy for you all day. Never mind that he wants to treat his girl on her birthday - he’s ravenous for you all the time, and now that he’s got a little extra surprise for you, he’s excited to see your reaction.

He wants you. Bad.

And he’s gonna have you.

Unaware of the tension in the room, you carry on with your quest, even without a response to you, too busy with your clothing dilemma to question your boyfriend’s antics and unusual silence. You want to pick the perfect outfit to look pretty for him after all.

Soon enough though, you're snapped out of your concentration when a sudden screech from behind you startles you enough to stop you from what you're doing and look towards the sound, only to see Bucky dragging one of your wooden chairs across the floor in your direction.

His azure eyes, fixed intently on you, never leave you as his combat boots, that hold vivid memories of you riding them, thud menacingly against the floorboards, moving closer as he doesn’t say a word.

The dead silence has the hairs on the back of your neck standing up, anticipation bubbling inside of you with the arousing fear of the unknown.

Once it seems Bucky’s happy with the placement of the chair, he walks around to the front, eyes still never leaving you as he slowly sits down and spreads his thighs, licking his lips and finally speaking for the first time since he came in.

“Come here.”

It’s simple. Yet, the authority lacing his gravel baritone has your whole body on edge, hands already trembling at his deep voice and allure that’s screaming at you to do as he says.

You still can’t help but question the meaning behind his aloofness, stuttering with nerves, “B-Bucky? What’s g-going on? What-“

“I said - Come. Here.”

You gulp.

You know that tone of voice. You know what it’s led to before.

Clarity soon hits you. The look in his eyes, the tightening of his fists against his thick thighs, deliciously wrapped in denim that strains against him. It finally makes sense.

He’s going to turn you into his ruined little mess.

Taking careful steps towards him, nervous and aroused for whatever is about to happen, your legs feel like jelly as you walk to what you know will soon turn you into a puddle, knees almost buckling with each timid tip-toe in his direction.

As soon as you’re in between his legs, Bucky smooths his huge, calloused hands over the back of your thighs, going slightly under the towel to feel the crease of your ass as he grips the meat of your legs, groaning at your soft, smooth skin and the scent of your lotion applied after your shower.

Before you can even process it, Bucky yanks the end of your towel, your breath hitching as it drapes down your body, revealing your naked form.

“Bucky!”

Your shriek goes ignored as Bucky licks his lips, eyes taking in every single delicious inch of you as he slowly runs his thumbs over your hips. The cold air hardens your nipples, heightening their sensitivity.

Did he just growl? You swear he did.

Oh, you’re gonna be so fucked.

Literally.

Turning you around and gripping your bare waist to bring you down and make you sit on his lap, you can’t help the way your chest heaves as he brings your legs over his, forcing them wide by intertwining his boots between your feet - your cunt open on display for him and him only.

You’re already panting as Bucky starts to kiss all over your neck, hands smoothing over your thighs as you feel the rough denim of his jeans against your silk-smooth skin.

It’s torture not togrind your clit against the rough texture.

A violent tremor stuns your body as his deep timber ripples through your ear. “Daddy’s got another present for you, baby girl.”

Your whines are music to Bucky’s ears. He adores how worked up he’s got you already, but he doesn’t plan to stop there.

This is just the beginning.

Reaching around, somewhere you don’t see as your eyes are already half shut in apprehension for the pleasure you know he’s about to bring you, an extra weight added to Bucky’s already huge hands brings you back down to earth a little.

“Look, sweetheart.”

You do as you're told, slowly bringing your gaze down to see what’s in his hand. An unexpected moan bursts out of you at the thick, long piece of silicone he’s holding.

“You like it, baby? Daddy had it specially made, just for his birthday girl - look familiar at all?”

Of course it fucking did.

The recognisable girth. Veins bulging down the shaft that you loved to lick and tease. The unmistakable length that hit spots no one else had ever before. Even the colour was perfect - a pink tip rounding the whole look perfectly.

An exact replica of Bucky’s cock.

“Fuck.”

You can practically feel the smug smirk on the bastard’s face, too dumbed out already to call him out for his wickedness.

It’s sinister, the grin that crosses Bucky’s face. He’s proud of how well his gift has gone down with you. “That’s right, baby. You’re gonna fuck Daddy’s cock, while I watch and enjoy the show.”

Not even having the chance to prepare yourself, Bucky begins rubbing the fat tip of the toy up and down your cunt, your now soaking pussy coating it in your juices and easily sliding through your slit, catching on your hole each time.

How Bucky found a fake dick that felt so realistic was beyond your belief. Nothing could ever compare to the real thing, but right now, you’re on the verge of begging for your boyfriend to fill you and soothe the ache.

Trying to catch the tip of the dildo on your cunt, Bucky takes the utmost pleasure in making sure he moves it away just in time before you can sink down, your needy whining hardening his cock even more.

“Daddy, please please please, I wan’ it so bad.”

The strain of your legs being forced wide by Bucky’s boots has you drooling before the main events even begin. The exposure to your naked form, contrasting against your boyfriend’s fully clothed one, surrendering yourself to his control entirely.

Your head is spinning, in the best possible way, lost in the dream that Bucky is.

“I know, I’m sorry, baby girl.” But he really isn’t, his seductive chuckle, forcing your pussy to clench as he goes on to make you even more dizzy. “Daddy just fuckin’ loves watchin’ how desperate you get for me.”

With no warning, Bucky thrusts his fake cock to the hilt, your walls fluttering around the shaft as it sits deep in your cunt. Your mouth hangs open in shock to experience the same stretch only Bucky’s cock has ever given you. The veins in your boyfriend’s arm bulge from the exertion of holding you down to stop squirming and the effort to keep himself collected, inflicting torture upon himself from not having his cock in you.

Once you’ve managed to get your breath, your head falls back onto his shoulder, too heavy from the fuzzy feeling swirling through your head to carry any longer.

But Bucky’s not finished revealing all the tricks up his sleeve.

Gripping your jaw to force your head back up, Bucky coos in condescension at how dumbed out you look, gently shaking your head to try and bring you back to the present.

“Aw, baby. Don’t tell me you’re done already. Why don’t you look ahead, hm?”

And so, as Bucky keeps a firm grip on you, you look forward to the direction your man has made you face, opening your eyes a little more to get rid of the blur of your surroundings when it becomes clear as to what else has got him so giddy.

A mirror.

A perfect view of you draped over Bucky’s lap, completely bare, with a cock held inside you.

Sly fucker.

Bucky placed the chair strategically in front of your full-length mirror just so he could add an extra element to your delicious reckoning.

Whispering into your ear, his breath causes goosebumps to break out onto the curve of your neck, “You see what I see, sweetheart? How well your pretty little cunt takes Daddy?”

You do. You can see everything. The pride in Bucky’s eyes, the feral beast hiding behind the blue that’s dying to come out.

And as he holds your gaze, he finally starts to thrust the silicone cock into you. His strokes are slow and tantalising enough to make you need more. He’s always loved finding how much you could take before you snapped.

It didn’t mean he would go easy on you just because it was your birthday.

The force behind the pace of the cock gets faster, harder, your moans and whimpers causing Bucky’s grip to tighten on your arms - no doubt leaving more bruises for him to admire next time.

You would normally be embarrassed by the loud squelching from your pussy, wetness flowing from your stuffed hole as Bucky continuously fucks his silicone cock into you. But, you can’t find it in yourself to care in the least when you’re so close to your high.

“You wanna cum?”

You don’t think you’ve ever nodded so fast in your life, words escaping you as you become boneless in his hold.

That doesn’t satisfy Bucky, though. Evident in his snarl as he growls into your neck. “I want a fuckin’ answer. Do you want to cum?”

“Yes! Yes yes please, Daddy, please!” You’re almost screaming, past experiences leaving no time to be silent any longer, knowing your man will easily leave you on edge the whole night should you not answer.

Bucky must be on the same wavelength as you, that damned twinkle in his eye, proud of his girl for learning so well.

But you think you might die as he leans forward, his gaze unwavering from yours in the mirror as he states clearly, “Fuckin’ give it to me then, baby.”

And with a couple of taps to your throbbing clit and the tip of the dildo hitting your cervix just right, giving him your cum is not a problem as you practically vibrate in his hold. Belly jittering from a little overstimulation as he slows down his strokes and eventually comes to a stop.

The room is quiet apart from your heavy breathing. Bucky gives you a second for the adrenaline to ease off before slowly sliding the fake cock out of your pussy and placing it somewhere you don’t care to check right now.

Bringing his arms around your waist after untightening his grip to lean you back into him, Bucky snuggles you, allowing you to come down from your high as he obliterates your face with dozens of kisses and whispers praise into your skin.

“Did so fuckin’ good for me, gorgeous. Daddy’s so happy you like his present for you.”

Your delirious laughter is nothing new at this point for him. The energy zapped out of you enough to have you on the border of going a little loopy. Bucky would normally carry you to bed and take care of you as he tells you stupid jokes to make you giggle. But his birthday girl deserves a good night out, with some food to settle her appetite for what is to come for the rest of the night (little did you know).

The last of the sweet kisses pecked into your silk skin have you melting into his embrace. Bucky’s delicate way of taking care of you warming your heart even after his wicked antics just before you had to go out.

“Now, I’ll give you a couple of minutes, and then we’ve really gotta get going so we don’t miss our reservation, sweetheart.”

Relaxing back into bucky, you’re almost pieced back together enough to get on with your next steps, but the feel of a huge wet patch on his pants has you immediately embarrassed and stuttering to try and explain to your man how you’ve ruined his outfit.

“Bucky, - your jeans. They- they’re um, a little… wet.” Cheeks going hot as you duck your head in shyness, you attempt to get the rest of your words out, “You might need to change before we go.”

Bucky already knows the result of fucking you with your new toy has left him with a little something on his jeans.

He can’t help the dangerous chuckle he lets loose at your sheepishness after what he’s just done.

Placing his pointer finger under your chin, turning your head towards him until you look in beautiful blue eyes, he smirks, and you know what’s about to come out of his mouth won’t be good for your health or your pussy.

“Oh, pretty girl. You really think I give a fuck? I’m not gonna change, wanna know why?”

Kissing you once on the lips, your heart begins racing again, his mouth hovering over yours as he whispers, “Because this way, everyone will know who you belong to - who made you cum so hard.”

And Bucky wouldn’t truly be your man if he didn’t proceed to kill you with his final words.

“And who’s cock you’ll be taking in your tight cunt later on when I give the birthday girl her last present of the night.”

[the-fandom-is-now-my-life]

Oh my goodness! That story about Leo going into the future was SO good! The ending felt so natural (tho poor MC for being left out of the loop lol) Could you please make a continuation?! Or do other characters? No pressure or anything!

The diabolical streamer is acting weird

Leo started behaving weirdly after he saw his future with the honor student and everyone noticed.

Wc: 800

Notes: this doesn't fully capture how weird I think he would get, I'm talking full on side eyes and awkward silences.

He is having a hard time accepting that the student he almost got killed and someone he sees as an NPC to his life managed to get him whipped enough for him to marry them

I honestly was between this or him being awkward while getting them ready for a paid sponsor but couldn't decide which would be better...

There are many uncertainties in life, will your curse be cured? What is Hyde hiding under there? Where did all the staff cats come from? But now there is a new question, Why is Leo acting so weird?

Ever since last Monday he has been behaving unlike himself! Side eyeing you whenever he thought you weren't watching and huffing whenever you told him anything. What puzzles you even more is when you tell Sho about it and he just raises his eyebrows, acting but clearly not surprised.

“Uh Huh? Really? I don't believe you” his steel blue eyes focused on the quick swiped of the knife against the carrots, Sho's voice couldn't be faker.

“I’m asking seriously! Leo has been quite awkward with me lately, is it because I helped you drag him out?”

Sho lets out a knowing laugh but doesn't let you in on any insider knowledge. The night after their sneak out while bathing together Leo told him some things.

“Can you believe that stupid birdpond said I would marry the NPC?” dipping under the water until his collarbone was covered he mutters strings of words that Sho vaguely strings into something like ‘it must have been that darkwick rotted my brain, settling down with them’ and some bitter babbles into the bubbles.

“For real? With the honor student?!” Howling laughter rolls from the deepest part of his chest and he has to grab the side of the bathtub while he catches his breath to not slip “anything else interesting?”

“You recorded up getting laid, disgusting pervert” Leo jokes as he pours some Epsom salt in while relishing on the disgusted gags Sho makes.

If Leo wouldn't have sounded half as playful as he did and Sho actually took him seriously, he would have figured the dilemma Leo was facing, what would have even attracted him to that NPC? They aren't the prettiest person they have seen ever, not even in Darkwick, Romeo and Jin would take that place. Their jokes don't always fall funny with him or their responses, witty. So what was it?

But after knowing his friend for as long as he did and the little chat inside the bathroom he manages to infer it's something to do with the future shown to him.

Without turning back to you he just sighs “sometimes he has those times where he acts weird, in a week he should be as usual… speaking of the devil”

And as in cue Leo slams the kitchen door open, his eyes looking down at his phone. Without even one word he links your elbows and pulls you from the table you were sitting on to the door on the opposing wall.

“Hey! Hey! Where are you dragging me?!”

“I sent you a message. I need you to boost my stigma. Now” and without giving you one moment to question back or argue he was already out of the kitchen and reaching the back door leading to the junkyard with you in tow.

And as usual when he calls you, he plops down on the leather couch throwing you down with him “Don't stand so far away, I can barely touch your hand” his voice whines as he drapes his right arm over your shoulders, pulling you towards his chest and ducking your head under his own.

“What are-”

“Hush, I can't hear with you babbling”

Maybe because of the way his left hand holding yours tightly or the bashfulness pooling under your stomach at the compromising position and the looks some students threw at you, you didn't notice how he didn't say ‘haxs’ to start using his stigma.

After a few minutes of ‘cuddling’ he pulls away and walks off to his room, seemingly deep in thought as he usually does when eavesdropping, so you pay him no mind and return to Sho, hoping he would give you a taste of tomorrow’s food truck menu.

Inside Leo's head he mused, partially shocked and partially expecting it “it didn't feel wrong… maybe even a bit nice... This shitty school is messing with my taste”

His cheek is smooshed against his palm while he scrolls the content of a burner phone, the page showing was a semi recent Wickhive post asking about reasons people like their partners, his thumb stops scrolling over an answer, mulling over it.

“It is the feeling of calmness I get when he hugs me, his chest snug against my arm fitting just right, like it was always meant to be. Like two puzzle pieces snapping together or Orihime’s relief at meeting Hikoboshi even if it has been only a few hours since we saw each other”

Sighing over the overly flowery language he seems to accept the answer and deletes the post, content for now with what he got.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 27

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

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

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: we can breathe because the workplace sloth is gone.

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

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

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

“Right, can’t start the day without something to drink,” Hela struts in with two stemmed glasses of orange juice. “Not that I think we’ll need to work very hard. Darling, you are the perfect canvas.”

You twiddle your fingers as you shift your weight from one foot to the other. Mr. Laufeyson is perched in the armchair, his leg casually swaying side to side as he pinches his thumb to his index finger. You bite the inside of your lip as Hela nears and holds out a glass.

“For you, darling,” she insists, “ahem,” she faces her brother, “I don’t believe we require your presence, brother.”

“Hmm,” he tilts his head, “what do you mean? I have a good eye for colour. Given my line of work–”

“Oh yes, dusty artifacts and tacky antiques, please,” she scoffs, “this is a ladies’ matter. Besides, I didn’t bring enough prosecco for you.”

He squints up at her and retracts his hand to tap his chin. You sniff the orange juice, you smell more than just pulp. You don’t drink, or you never have. You don’t think you’ll like it.

“Always so generous,” he pushes himself to his feet, “I invite you to my home and you cast me out.”

“I won’t be taking manners on hospitality from you,” she retorts, “certainly, your house manager… is that what you call her? Well, she must know how welcoming you truly are.”

“Careful,” Laufeyson warns as their eyes bore into each other.

She cackles and flicks him away with her fingers as she spins on her heel. She smirks at you as she raises her eyebrows and sips from her glass. You peek over at Laufeyson and refrain from tasting your own.

“Don’t make me remove you, Loki,” Hela threatens, “let us not revert to childishness. We’ve enough of that in this family.”

He rolls his eyes and clutches his hands behind his back. He arches a brow at you. A wordless statement. Despite his sister’s orders, you obey him first and foremost. You lower your eyes sheepishly and listen to his soles click out of the room.

Hela startles you as she nudges the bottom of the glass, “go on. Loosen up,” she purrs, “I swear, my brother can be so uptight. This entire place is just as stiff as that rod up his… well, I shouldn’t say that.”

You try to smile and do as she says. You taste the orange juice tenuously. It’s not that bad. A bit sweeter than you expect and bubbly. You always heard alcohol burned. Hm.

“Now, what I would do,” she steps back and holds up a palm, “you could carry a structured shoulder. Oh, or asymmetric. Off-the-shoulder. A cinch here,” she comes closer and touches your waist, “a pencil skirt or cigarette pants.” 

She winks and eyes you up and down. She reaches to place her glass on the round end table near the end of the couch. She puts her hands on your waist and squeezes then drags them down to your hips.

“My, yes, you have a lovely shape under all that,” she praises as you squirm, “what are we looking for? To drive my brother absolutely mad?”

You blink wildly and sip once more, wiggling away to put your glass on the other side of the table lamp. “Just… for work.”

“Work,” she says skeptically, “sure,” she waves you off and goes to the rack of clothes, “come. I don’t mind giving an opinion but this is about you, darling. You choose for yourself. What catches your eye?”

You shyly come forward, rubbing your hands together. You’re not sure what you like better than the next. They’re all so pretty. There are pretty pieces you can only dream of wearing, they just wouldn’t fit you. The tight skirts wouldn’t be practical, how can you walk with your knees bound? And the white. That’s too easy to stain.

After some consideration but not much thought, your hand reaches out to feel a piece of magenta tulle. A sheer layer with polka dots over a satin liner. It’s really cute but maybe too much. You recoil and cross your arms.

“What do you think?” You ask quietly.

She snickers and grabs the magenta skirt, “I think this is gorgeous. A choice. That’ll go in the keep pile.”

“Oh,” you swallow.

“The colour will look marvelous on you, now something to go with it. I think this,” she pulls out a pale pink blouse with white detail on the shoulders, “balances out, but for an evening look,” she turns and retrieves a black camisole, “oh yes, this is lovely.”

You watch her lay each garment over the back of the couch. She pauses and crosses to the end table. She reclaims her drink and hands you yours. She drains hers and bids you finish your own. You do so with tiny sips. You’re still nursing the orange juice as she returns to the wrack.

“How about this?” She pulls out a pair of yellow pleated pants, “very bright but… very you, I’d say.”

“Nice,” you comment, “but… the colour.”

“Oh, I know my brother likes his muted tones but that’s his detriment,” she chides, “I think… oh, there are so many pieces. This,” she takes a strapless bodice with a large bow, “or this,” she chooses a plum satin blouse.

You just nod. You like the clothes, but you just struggle to see yourself wearing them. She turns to the large chest she had Mr. Laufeyson lug in and opens the lid. She presents several pairs of shoes. Flats, heels, booties, everything you could ever need.

“Darling, you must try this,” she holds up a sapphire dress, an off-the-shoulder cut sleeves that drape just off your arms. It’s calf-length and gorgeous. 

“I… that… no, I’d look–”

“Gorgeous,” she insists as she shoves it towards you, “go on, put it on.”

“Um, alright,” you put down your mostly empty glass and take the hanger. 

You feel the material as she picks up the stemmed glasses. “I’ll top us off and you get changed.”

“Oh, okay,” you turn but she stretches her arm out to stop you. 

“Here is fine,” she says, “you needn’t be shy with me.”

“I…” you don’t argue. She’s still Mr. Laufeyson’s sister and that means she’s more important.

You bow your head and turn away. You peer around as she sweeps through to the kitchen. You sling the dress over the couch arm and undress to your underwear. You shimmy up the dress and strain to push the zipper all the way up. 

As you bend your arm back painfully, the gate bell chimes. You flinch. You glance up at the ticking clock and your chest drops. Ronan! You look down at the half-zipped dress.

“Do you require some assistance?” The deep timbre rolls through you.

You squeak and face Mr. Laufeyson. His eyes glimmer as he takes you in. He grins and strides towards you, spinning his finger in the air. You put your back to him, if only to hide your embarrassment. 

He drags his fingertip down the bare skin of your back and sends a shiver along your spine. You press your hands to the fabric as he tugs up the zipper, the fabric drawing taut to your figure. His touch dances along your waist and up to your shoulders.

“Turn, let me see,” he commands.

“The carpenter–”

“Yes, yes, I’ll get to it,” he overrides you. 

You chew on your worries and face him. His eyes scan you head to toe and back again. His lips part slightly as you stand in bated silence. The gate bell buzzes again.

“Ugh, that is a nasty noise,” Hela appears again, “oh, brother, you just can’t help yourself. Go, mind your house, we are not even close to finished.”

“I can look,” he argues.

She scoffs and shoos him, charging at him and kicking out. He backs away, raising his hands defensively. He shakes his head and sneers.

“I’m going,” he sighs, “gods.”

He pivots and strides out. You watch after him, tingling strangely. You can’t tell if you're mortified or something else. You swear, you can still feel his touch along your spine.

“You certainly have your hands full with him,” she tuts, “though I hardly imagined I’d find a creature like you here. Please, don’t mistake my meaning. It is only, you’re not entirely his type. At least, from all I know of him.”

“I… I’m just the house manager,” you utter.

“Certainly,” she drawls and hands you a glass, “because a house manager requires the finest clothing, yes?”

“I…” you look at the glass. You don’t know what to say. You’re a terrible liar. So you won’t talk, you’ll drink and do what you’re told.

✨

You feel wobbly. The world won’t stay still as a giggle tickles in your chest. You don’t know what’s funny. Maybe it’s you. You look at your reflection. You look so silly in the flouncy peach skirt. It’s ridiculous.

“I can’t clean in this,” you hiccup to Hela as she stands behind you, admiring the mirror over your shoulder.

“Clean? Oh, babe, I hope not,” she places her hands on your shoulders, a gesture that reminds you of her brother. She does look and awfully a lot like him. Not Thor though, he’s the odd one out.

“That’s what I do,” you say dumbly, “don’t you know? I’m the maid.”

“Darling,” she hums and brings her hands to the sides of your face, pressing herself to your back, “I don’t think that’s the case anymore.” She caresses your cheeks then your neck, “you’re too pretty to be just the maid.”

“Pretty?” You bat your eyes and tense up.

You pull away from her. You don’t believe that. You can’t. Whatever she’s up to, is just another part of Laufeyson’s tricks. He likes those.

You cross your arms and flop down on the sofa. You stare at the beige heels on your feet. You pout and shake your head. That bubbly feeling bursts and you deflate. 

You bend forward and clutch your head. You feel so heavy, as if you might sink right through the couch and floor. You sense her come near and the cushion beside you dips. You wince as she puts her hand on your back.

“I didn’t mean to upset you. I only meant… well, you really are a pretty girl. If anything, I wonder what you’re doing with him,” she says, “you know, he’s so moody. Especially since the divorce, I don’t know how anyone–”

“What was she like?” You whisper, surprised by your own question, though she doesn’t appear to be.

“His wife? Oh, Sif, yes, she was… her own person. That was likely the problem,” he hums, “you shouldn’t worry about her. Trust me when I tell you, he is well and truly past that.”

You nod and sit up, “I’m sorry. I’m…” you blink, “dizzy.”

“Mmm, babe, you are a lightweight,” she reproaches, “you should’ve told me.”

“I’m— I don’t drink. He does. He drinks and he gets all grouchy and he says things. Confusing things,” you ramble without control. She’s right. You’re drunk and stupid, yet you can’t stop yourself.

“Oh, I’m sure he does,” she chuckles. “He sure does know how to make a mess of things, doesn’t he?”

You shrug. You can’t blame him for the mess. It’s your fault. 

“Who doesn’t like some chaos,” she puts her hand on your leg, “I can see what he does. Such a fragile little thing.”

She pets your leg and you watch her fingers as they move in your fuzzy vision. Her nails tickle you through the skirt. She pushes her shoulder against yours and reaches with her other arm to grasp your chin. She turns your head, leaning in.

“A nice little doll to dress up and play with,” she sings before her lips crash into yours.

You let out a squeak. What is she doing? Your eyes round as her tongue pokes at your lips but you keep them sealed, horrified. She’s beautiful but you don’t expect it. What do you do? Why is she doing this?

She parts, staying close, “you’re delicious,” she pushes her hand between your legs, “come on, let’s have a little girl’s time.”

She dives in to kiss you again. You’re too dazed and flustered to fight her. You squeeze your eyes shut, your thighs too as she drags her hand upward. She pushes you down, twisting your body so your back meets the cushion as your legs remain hooked over the edge. You gasp as you free your lips from hers.

“What Loki doesn’t know–”

“Hela!” Her brother snarls as if summoned by his name. 

You exclaim as she hisses and her eyes roll to the ceiling. She pushes herself off and pats her lips with her knuckles. Her dark lipstick is smeared, likely on you too. You stay as you are, paralysed, as she stands to face Mr. Laufeyson.

“We were just getting to know each other,” she says breezily.

“You certainly were,” Laufeyson approaches her staunchly, “you swore–”

“Oh, you know better,” she drawls flippantly.

“And I thought you would, especially–” he stops himself and growls. “Can I not trust anyone in this forsaken family?”

“It’s a bit of fun–”

“For who?” He challenges.

You sit up and touch your forehead. Your lashes flick as you try to see straight. Laufeyson sidesteps his sister and glares at you. You cower. He has to know, you wouldn’t do that.

His eyes search as his forehead furrows. He fixates on the end table then turns on Hela, “how much alcohol did you feed her?”

“She had two mimosas. It’s hardly a lethal dose.”

“Don’t,” he wags his finger at her. “You shouldn’t have given her any.”

“You didn’t say–”

“I shouldn’t have to teach you common sense,” he snaps.

“Now, don’t be vile. I came all the way here–”

Their argument stirs in your chest, roiling hotly. You don’t like fighting or anger. Your hands shake as you wring them and you fight the burning behind your eyes. You stand unsteadily and rock.

“I have to clean,” you say.

The siblings stop and turn to look at you. Hela gives a slanted smirk as Mr. Laufeyson frowns. He sighs and strides forward to grab your wrist.

“No, you need to sober up,” he declares.

“Oh, boo,” Hela sneers.

[lesinquietes]

Farmhand!Keigo admires the engagement ring glistening on your finger. It suits you. It’s the one you would have wanted in a few years — instead of a few months — after dating him. He saw your eyes light up when he presented it to you, a couple days after he moved back in. Beyond the horror, and the protests of its too soon, Keigo, he also noticed your face ignite with delight. Whether you want to admit it or not, it’s nice to be showered with affection and desire, isn’t it?

You got sick of resisting him. You got tired of fighting back when he isolated you, and trying to run away from him, and telling him you hate him for trapping you here. Eventually, you realized it’s for the good of you, Keigo, and the other men who live in this town that you concede to his demands.

But hey, it’s not all bad, is it? He understands that he can be possessive sometimes, so he apologizes when you say he goes too far. He doesn’t relent on his demands, mind you, but he knows how to soothe your agitation. Lapping at your clit is a fantastic way to make that pretty mind go blank and dumb for him. After he tips you over into your first orgasm, you’re dazed and overstimulated from his tongue work. It’s the perfect method to keep you pliant.

He doesn’t trust you anymore, so you’re not allowed to leave the house without him. You also aren’t permitted to use the phone or interact with people he disapproves of. He chased your last friend off a few weeks ago. She was persistent, but as soon as he mentioned paying her sister a visit, she folded like a deck of cards. You can’t blame her. If it came down to losing a friend or the death of a sibling, you know what you would choose. Still, the resentment that bubbles in your guts vies for you to despise them all for leaving. Who do you have left, except for him?

He’s taken over your farming tasks. You don’t have to do anything anymore. He expects you to cook the meals and keep the house clean. Oddly enough, you think that’s fair. As much as you would rather be farming, down time is nice, too. But there are only so many hobbies you can adopt. When you voice this complaint to him, in hopes that he invites you to help him in the field, he’s thoroughly pleased. You want somethin’ t’ do, sweetheart? Y’mean it? You walk right info his ploy by asking what he means. Didn’t know you were ready f’r a family, baby. I don’t mind if y’r a li’l pregnant at the wedding.”

You don’t know how the conversation got to this point. Even more strange is how you find yourself agreeing with him. You were never opposed to children. Maybe one or two. No more than three. So, you nod in response to his proposition, and the embrace he gives you is deeply intimate. He’s always wanted a family. He was hoping you would, too. Aren’t you glad you didn’t leave him now?

He brings you upstairs to consummate the decision. There’s a nervousness in your gut. New mother jitters, you guess. But this is what you want. He dives between your legs and suckles on your clit like it bears the sweetest nectar known to man. His tongue flicks and weaves around the nub, stimulating you until your toes curl. When you nearly reach your peak, he stops. He wants you to cum on his cock.

He pushes into you, bullying the tip of his member into your tightness. It’s euphoric. You’re deliciously wet for him. The way he slides inside makes him believe you were meant to be his wife. A low moan that reverberates from your chest to your throat causes him to clench his teeth. He leans down to kiss you on the mouth, panting how much to loves you against your quivering lips. Wrapping your legs around his hips steadies him. His thrusts are more precise. Your eyes lull back when he strikes a particularly gummy spot in your depths. He hisses. You suffocate him when he buries himself. He can’t stop pummelling your core, entranced by the sensation.

Your nails claw his back, captivated by the pleasure he’s giving you. The friction against your clit is drawing you closer to the edge. By the time your orgasm washes over you, drenching you in a wave of unbridled relief, his balls twitch, loaded with semen for your womb. He releases soon after you, holding your body against his, nibbling your earlobe while he cherishes how perfectly he fits in your overstuffed pussy.

If this one doesn’t do it, he’s happy to repeat the process every single night until the tests come back positive.

Previous l

𝔉𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔢𝔯 𝔞𝔲

[reqxxyt]

secret relationship trope with danny ric please? 🫣🫣

Second Chance

pairings: daniel r. x f!reader

warnings: a little bit of jealousy, rushed ending

masterlist requests are open!

[unedited] wc: 1.9k

_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

“This is stupid” you said, practically wanting to flip the table that stood between you and Christian. You only gave you a strong look as you huffed, “Have you spoken to Daniel about it?” 

“No, I was hoping you would be able to settle it down with him” he confessed, sighing to himself knowing how hard it was to let go of someone that seemed like part of the family in such a short amount of time. 

You couldn’t explain how angry you were, “Get one of the HR to do it then, isn’t that what their job is?” your arms crossed over to your chest standing up from the chair. He stayed silent, only getting you more mad “Hes my-” you stopped yourself, no one knew of your relationship with Daniel, considering having an engineer and driver relationship would look terrible. Your voice cracked, lips trembling near tears welling up “hes my best friend” 

He only nodded, understanding the situation you were in. “I just thought it would be better for you since you two are so close, maybe it would be easier” he shrugged. 

“Well its not” you said before leaving to not have him see you breakdown and be a witness to your sadness from the news. You would only hope they changed their mind about it but now being told about it, there was no going back. 

The entire day you stayed on edge when you were around Daniel, not telling him anything. He could tell you were acting strange considering you were always so bubbly and giddy when around him but he didn’t ask anything. You began to feel as if they may have changed their mind after so much silence, maybe they may have listened to your begging. But it all came crashing down on Friday of that week. 

Daniel arrived at your apartment with tears in his eyes, trying to contain himself thinking you had known nothing of it. He hated the idea of having to break it to you, but he had to. 

“Baby?” he came in the room, with a quiet tone making sure you were awake. You sat up seeing his frown only made your own heart drop, they told him. But you stayed silent, pretending to not know anything. 

“Whats wrong?” you asked scutting up closer to the edge as he sat down trying to organize his thoughts. Your hand laid on his, rubbing it allowing him to say something. 

“Its over, I’m no longer a red bull driver” he said it so monetonly, with little emotion while tears were starting to form in his eyes knowing how much dedication he had put into this. “Mclaren offered me a position though, so its not completely over” he held a hopeful look as you just stared back, with a small frown knowing he was only holding a hopeful look for you two but you had to break it to him. 

“We can’t stay together” your own words made your heart want to tear out of your chest, throat starting to close at his response. His eyes fluttered, attempting his best to understand the words you just let out. “Baby I’m-”

“No.” his voice had a sudden anger tone in them, picking back up your hands changing his gaze to a much softer one when he met your eyes. “We can work this out- we can still try-” but you just kept shaking your head repeating ‘no. no we can’t’. 

“You know how bad this be for the two of us” his grip had tighten, thinking if he could hold tighter you wouldn’t be able to leave. “Our careers could meet their end, I don’t want that for you” 

His forehead landed on yours and you didn’t deny the pull of his hands, only closing your eyes to not meet his own. His lips grazed your own and you still didn’t push away or lean in as his lips attempted to connect to yours meeting no response. 

“We can still try” his broken voice made your insides want to scream, to pull him close, to comfort the boy who was hurting right in front of you but you listened to your head as you pulled your hands away first before leaning back, wiping away tears in the process. 

“I’m sorry, Daniel” you apoligized one last time and he finally backed away understanding there could be nothing more to salvage this. He got up, looking back at you one last time before leaving your lone apartment. 

Tears wouldn’t stop flowing that night, having to call in sick the next day because of a headache not being able to leave. The ache in your heart was far worse, you had lost your best friend and your boyfriend in the span of a couple of minutes. 

During the next couple of weeks, it took a lot for you to properly talk to someone else even in a friendly manner. You couldn’t stop picturing Daniel walking away even if you were the one to break up with him, it hurt like hell. Max would check up on you, making sure you’re doing all right and you could only nod your head lying to him and yourself before he would leave you alone allowing your thoughts to surround you. 

When you had to meet Sergio, the driver for your engineering team you tried to remain a smile. You hated how much you resented him in the beginning, he did nothing wrong. But you found yourself glaring at him, Max spotting it too, helping you out by realizing your constant look of hatred towards him. You even started to notice how Sergio would act around you now, a bit nervous and on edge, which you had to apoligize for. 

Soon after that, you two spoke more. Nothing unusual considering you were always talking to him about some parts changing or how to better use newer upgrades but you two started to grow a friendship over the first year. 

Meanwhile, Daniel had seen this friendship growing, taking glances at the red bull garage to see you laughing about some jokes being said by Checo. How much he adored your laugh and smile, he thought he would never see it again. 

“Making daggers for the red bull driver?” Lando, his teammate would tease spotting Daniel glare lazers at the mexican driver who so happened to be in the same presence and his past girl friend. Daniel only threw the glare at Lando making him laugh a bit more before shutting up. 

He hated how jealous he was, even after a year of breaking up he still couldn’t get his mind off of her. Its the sole reason why he was doing poorly in all of his recent races, seeing you laugh so comfortably around another made him distracted. 

And while Mclaren noticed the lack of focus, you noticed with them beginning to grow worried for the australian driver. But you still strayed your distance, making sure not to interact with him no matter the amount of alcohol in your system after another victorious race. You were afraid of how fast you would give in to him, and you knew the clear consequences that Christian established. 

But all of that changed when you received news on late season of 2022, Daniel was no longer a F1 driver. You called Max that day to make sure your eyes were not crapping on you. You felt terrible for Daniel, wanting to check up on him but you denied your heart and instead focused on the plan for next season. The rest of the week was restless, constantly staying at the office almost falling asleep on your desk before you grab another cup of coffee or energy drink to give you enough boost to keep you up the rest of the night. 

Thursday was no different, you stayed making as many outlines as possible to get the best outcome and present to pitch the idea on Saturday but you just needed to perfect it. Maybe this could finally bring you a promotion. But you fell asleep by 2 in the morning, the last one in the office and stayed there the entire night. 

“Still overwork yourself?” the familiar voice julted you upwards, noticing the bright lights of the room before trying to adjust your eyes to the figure. Daniel Ricciardo was leaning against the doorframe of the office with a small smile, as if the most comfortable. 

Are you dreaming? There is no way Daniel, who was just announced former driver is standing in front of you by a couple of feet. Your mouth fell agape, slightly afraid that your mind was able to make such a detailed image until you hear him clear his throat and you finally shook your head expecting him to disappear but he still stayed there. 

“I’m back” his jazz hands didn’t help and neither did the growth of his smile work as you slowly stood up. This had to all been reasoned with sleep deprivation, right? “Okay stop staring” he joked, sounding a bit creeped out as you two walked forward each other, you lifted your hand and poked him on his chest. His eyebrows furrowed from your action and you only gave him an adored look. 

“You’re here” was all you could say, still shocked and he only laughed realizing why you had poked him. He grabbed your hand and you didn’t flinch or pull away like he thought you would,

“Red Bull took me back, not as driver but thats alright” he shrugged and finally came your smile, the one he had dreamt of, thinking at one point he had forgotten what it look like at some point. “At least you’re here, right?”

Your pushed your head forward to his figure, bringing it into his neck as he wrapped his hands around you, an action you normally did with him when you felt overwhelmed just needing contact with him. It all felt so familiar, so comfortable, and you realized you never want to leave. 

“I missed you so much” he said, voice a bit quiet as he pulled you in closer. You breathed in a deep breath, wanting to intoxicate yourself with his scent. He didn’t expect for you to say it back but you mumbled it anyways, against his skin sending goosebumps from your breath fanning over his neck. 

“I’m so sorry” you wanted to apoligize a million times, never having regretted something so much. You pulled away from his neck as he leaned down, touching foreheads, you closed your eyes not being able to bare looking at his eyes but with a touch from his hand on the side of your neck, you flickered your eyes upwards. 

“Don’t apoligize baby” his pet name came so natural yet he hadn’t said it once these past two years. He truly did understand why you did what you did, and while he doesn’t think he would have the courage to do it in your shoes, it was the smart thing to do. To no longer have to hide it from people. “But, can we not keep it a secret anymore?” 

His eyes filled with hope meeting yours that had spilled a tear or two sent your heart on a blaze, warming your insides as you just nodded causing his smile to brighten. He leaned down closer to your height, beginning to touch noses as the air mixed with each others breath. 

“Can I?” 

[thecoleopterawithana]

Even though John is under-powered in this period we still see what made him so magnetic to Paul and to others around him. There is a scene early in Part Two that I find riveting. It takes place a couple of days after George has left. The status of everything - the project, the band - remains uncertain, but they are ploughing on for now. John, Yoko, Ringo, Paul and some of the crew are sitting in a semi-circle. Paul looks pensive. Ringo looks tired. John is speaking only in deadpan comic riffs, to which Paul responds now and again. Peter Sellers comes in and sits down, looks ill-at-ease, and leaves having barely said a word, unable to penetrate the Beatle bubble. At some point they’re joined by Lindsay-Hogg, and the conversation dribbles on. John mentions that he had to leave an interview that morning in order to throw up (he and Yoko had taken heroin the night before). Paul, looking into space rather than addressing anyone in particular, attempts to turn the conversation towards what they’re meant to be doing:

Paul: See, what we need is a serious program of work. Not an endless rambling among the canyons of your mind.

John: Take me on that trip upon that golden ship of shores… We’re all together, boy.

Paul: To wander aimlessly is very unswinging. Unhip.

John: And when I touch you, I feel happy inside. I can’t hide, I can’t hide. [pause] Ask me why, I’ll say I love you.

Paul: What we need is a schedule.

John: A garden schedule.

I mean first of all, who is writing this incredible dialogue? Samuel Beckett?

Let’s break it down a little. The first thing to note is that John and Paul are talking to each other without talking to each other. This is partly because they’re aware of the cameras and also because they’re just not sure how to communicate with each other at the moment. John’s contributions are oblique, gnomic, riddling, comprised only of songs and jokes, like the Fool in King Lear. Take me on that trip upon that golden ship of shores sounds like a Lennonised version of a line from Dylan’s Tambourine Man (“take me on a trip upon your magic swirling ship”). “We’re altogether, boy”? I have no idea. Does Paul? I think John expects Paul to understand him because he has such faith in what they used to call their “heightened awareness”, a dreamlike, automatic connection to each other’s minds. But right now, Paul is not much in the mood for it. His speech is more direct, though he too adopts a quasi-poetic mode (“canyons of your mind” is borrowed from a song by the Bonzo Dog Doo Dah Band) and he can’t bring himself to make eye contact. “To wander aimlessly is very unswinging,” he says (another great line, I will pin it above my writing desk). Then John does something amazing: he starts talking in Beatle, dropping in lyrics from the early years of the band, I Want To Hold Your Hand and Ask Me Why. (To appreciate John’s response to Paul’s mention of a schedule, American readers may need reminding that English people pronounce it “shed - dule”.)

What’s going on throughout this exchange? Maybe Lennon is just filling dead air, or playing to the gallery, but I think he is (also) attempting to communicate to Paul in their shared code - something like he loves him, he loves The Beatles, they’re still in this together. Of course, we can’t know. I can’t hide, John says, hiding behind his wordplay.

— Ian Leslie, "The Banality of Genius: Notes on Peter Jackson's Get Back" (January 26, 2022).

[I was curious to read more of Ian Leslie's approach to the Beatles in general and Lennon-McCartney in particular, since he's currently writing a book about John and Paul's relationship: “John and Paul: A Love Story in Songs". He's also the author of that New York Times opinion piece that came out today.]

[leighcest]

i don't smoke (except for when i'm missing you.)

--

1.7k words

adam faulkner-stanheight x lawrence gordon

tropes: m/m, hurt / no comfort, mlm, ghost!adam faulkner-stanheight, slight headcanons, trans!adam faulkner-stanheight, slowburn(?), they're in love they just don't realize it, no happy ending, angst, religious mention once, chainshipping, suggested divorce between ali and larry, lawrence is an apprentice, canon timeline, not betaread we die like adam faulkner-stanheight

note: the title is a reference to the song i don't smoke by mitski! uh yeah! please enjoy:). posted on my ao3.

tags: @mychem1calbr0mance , @st4rcryptid

Every night had the same premise. Lawrence goes to sleep, dreams about Adam, and wakes up.

Tonight is no different. Lawrence is sawing his leg off, but it never comes off. He’s just pressing the blade against his leg and sawing. When he blinks, he has a gun pointed to Adam. Lawrence tries to stop himself from firing it, as if it would change what really happened. But it doesn’t. He puts seven rounds into Adam this time.

Adam looks so young. So painfully young. Because he was. The most youthful he had ever looked. Larry thinks about how that was the youngest and oldest he’ll ever look. And Lawrence took that away from him. Took him away from his parents, his friends, his siblings (if he had any). He murdered Adam. Shot and left him to rot. Took away his life. And now he’s gone. Because of Lawrence. He looked petrified.

He blinks one more time and Adam is bashing in his skull instead of Zepp’s. He looked even younger, even more afraid. and with that, he jerks awake.

His temples are near-exploding and his sheets are soaked. Lawrence’s chair is just far enough it’s painful to grab it and as he collapses in it, his will to shower is now gone.

A ghost dripping blood blurs his way into Lawrence’s vision. A gnawing feeling of guilt curls itself into the blond’s gut. It bubbles and hardens into a deeper feeling similar to rage. At himself, at Adam, whoever his mind can reminisce of. Somehow, Adam dissipating into a soft smoke makes Lawrence’s grief worse.

Lawrence tries to convince himself that Diana is sleeping in her room across the hall, to fill the lonely empty inside of him. It doesn’t work. He knows that Diana is at Alison’s with her new boyfriend. He knows it’s just him. Alone with the ghost of his most guilt ridden victim following him.

The shower dulls the ache in his head and the warmth consuming him like the fires of Hell themself. His foot aches, despite the fact it’s alone, rotting in a bathroom with the decaying corpse of Adam. John hadn’t told Lawrence to come in, so he has all day to pity himself.

His hair drips water down his back that makes him shiver. He can feel Adam’s presence (or the lack thereof) in the room with him. Lawrence wants nothing more than to call out. To scream at him. He closes his laptop and shoves his work to the side.

An empty balcony clouded with smoke is Lawrence’s favorite place as of recent. The sting of cigarette smoke reminds him of the irony of his job. The irony of it all. He’s a cancer doctor, who’s smoking. He’s a doctor who saves people, yet couldn’t save the one person that mattered most. He’s supposed to save people, yet he kills them in his freetime.

“Larry.” Adam chirps out. He’s smiling. “Thought you didn’t smoke?”

Lawrence’s face pulls into a mix of annoyance and longing. He sighs deeply before thinking of a response. “I didn’t. And then I did. Simple as that.”

Adam seems to take this answer before the corners of his lips quirk up once again. “You’re kinda pathetic, y’know?” He smirked like the Joker himself possessed Adam’s facial muscles. “I mean, really Lawrence. Smoking for someone you knew for six hours before you killed him? You didn’t even know me.”

“Exactly. I didn’t know you. Nobody knows you. You told me you were alive and nothing, and you were right.” Lawrence had to pause when he felt bile creep up his throat. “That’s why I feel guilty.”

That reasoning shuts Adam up quickly. Lawrence swears he heard the boy mumble a soft apology before sitting down. “I don’t blame you. I know that… Everything that happened was for a reason. I know that. I know that whatever happened to me was for the better.” He started. “I would have done the same in a heartbeat. I wish someone would have done that for me.” Adam chuckled, but it sounded more sad and pathetic than happy. Then again, everything Adam did was sad and pathetic. John was right.

The younger sits down and looks over at Lawrence. “Are you actually a ghost or did I make you up?” The blonde whispers. It was supposed to be to Adam, but came out like he was talking to no one in particular, and maybe he was. Adam hums in response. “I’m whatever you want me to be, handsome.” He winked. The older man clearly was not thrilled with this response. Adam could tell. He made a noise adjacent to clearing his throat. “Anyways, what I’m trying to say is that I’m not mad at you. Y’know, just… don’t leave me alone wondering where you are.” Adam said softer now. His smirk had melted into a soft and genuine smile.

Lawrence didn’t like how it tugged at him. He rubbed his eyes and put out the cigarette he was smoking, before staring blankly over the balcony as he nodded at Adam’s previous comment.

Paperwork was boring, and that’s all Lawrence could really do except for sleep. So he slept.

When Lawrence opens his eyes, Adam's decayed face floods his view. He's not stupid. It's been two months, he wouldn't look this dead. His jaw is eaten away and his body is pale. Adam's skin like the moonlight reflected off his window.

Lawrence squeezes his eyes closed. When he decides it's been long enough, he unclenches his body. His eyes slowly open. Adam is laying on his side, and his hand is propping up his head.

The older man desperately tries to cool the warm, tingling feeling that Adam's shit eating smirk is causing him.

"Hey, doc." His whiny voice pierces Lawrence's ears. Adam's voice to Lawrence is like a whistle to dogs or the wind humans used to hear. Lawrence feels his throat desperately constrict as he begs it to swallow his shame. "Adam. It's far too late for this."

He's still not sure if the Adam that's in his nightmares is the one haunting him, but he tolerates them both, so why fuss?

Adam stays silent, simply observing Lawrence and seemingly admiring the empty pit he leaves in Lawrence's stomach. His smirk transformed into a softer, more playfully smirk. "Sick of me already? Jeez, Lar, no wonder you left me."

A sour taste other than smoke fills Lawrence's mouth. "Don't call me that." The man said sternly, trying to hide the meek shame in his voice. Lawrence let out a breath he was holding. Talking to each other felt like walking on eggshells. Or landmines.

Looking over at Lawrence, the shorter stays unmoving. Just taking slow and deep breaths. He blinks. Adam is gone, the only remnant being a dent in Lawrence’s pillow, and the faint reminisce of a “sorry” on Larry’s lips.

Remembering Adam is cold. Touching (or the lack thereof) the ghost of Adam is colder. Lawrence is currently hugging the air, gripping it like a vice. His arms are loosely hung around Adam’s neck, and his nose is digging into his collarbone.

This is extra humiliating, because Lawrence is hovering over the air because he can’t touch Adam without his skin ripping through his hands and into the air he breathes.

Adam’s shirt is cotton. It’s soft and wet and soaked in blood. Lawrence tries to grip it but he watches as his wounded shoulder puffs into gas before resolving back. This makes the blond feel worse.

Ugly sobs rip painfully through Lawrence’s throat as it tries to close to ward off the whines and cries. He cries until he thinks he might throw up and some more after that.

He resists the urge to slam his fist desperately into a wall until his knuckles are shreds of skin and muscle. As he clenches his fist where Adam’s hair would be, the ghost whispers shushes to him. Promising he isn’t angry anymore, that Lawrence shouldn’t be either. Lawrence swears up and down he feels ghostly hands sliding up and down his back. The eldest gasps harshly for air.

Lawrence can’t remember the last time he’s cried like this, surely before Diana was born. Maybe even before Alison and him met.

“You’re fine, Lawrence, Jesus Christ!” Adam whispers, unsure of what to do. “Just take a deep breath… let it all out. I can take it… I can take it. I can take your anger, I’ll keep it safe inside me.” If Lawrence knew any better, he would think Adam was speaking gibberish. However, at that moment, Lawrence listened, leaning against Adam and wailing. He wasn’t even sure why. He drove his fist into Adam, even though he couldn’t feel it.

“Yeah, that’s it. If you need to be mean, you can be mean to me. Just lean on me as you break my heart.” Adam said softly, listening as the other tried to mumble stupidly about how he was fine. “Oh, don’t fucking bullshit me. If you were fine, you wouldn’t be crying and punching a ghost.” He scoffed to which Lawrence scoffed too.

The doctor didn’t have the strength to fight back, so he just let himself weep against Adam.

“I want to know more about you, Adam.” Lawrence said, scribbling his signature on various pieces of paper. The brunet perked up.

“What do you want to know?” He smiled up at Lawrence. “Anything.” The eldest whispered.

Adam looked up at the ceiling. “Well, I grew up catholic. I dropped out of highschool. I wanted to be a vet. I took up photography because it was the only thing my brothers weren’t doing. Oh, yeah, I have twelve brothers, I’m the youngest. I overdosed on depression medicine when I was nine. My nose bleeds randomly. I can’t really sleep. I’ve always wanted to fall in love.” Adam listed random items about himself.

Lawrence hums in response. He tries to get choked up. “What about you?” Adam asks.

“I also grew up catholic. I wanted to be in the army growing up. I tried to take my life at 19.” The silence after that was tense enough from Lawrence to make the quiet awkward and calm enough from Adam to make it nice. Lawrence thought before responding again. “And, I’ve also always wanted to fall in love.”

note: rb & comments are always appriciated 💛

[ipleadbritney]

could we please have ↻ FLIP FLOP for the first kiss scene in three-sixteenths???

thank you dear!!! 💕

- kitty 💕 (aka three-sixteenths’ biggest fan)

for @utopiastri who's really the sweetest!! ask game post here thank you for letting me revisit three-sixteenths in oscar's pov!!

3/16 the first kiss, flip flop

“Uncomfortable?” Lando repeats. 

“With my magic. I don't want to make you throw up, or, you know.”

Oscar himself is one wrong move away from throwing up, actually. Yesterday threw him in for a spinner. Every time he blinks, he conjures up the walls of Monaco around him, waiting and waiting. 

He hoped to get some rest today, to let his magic stretch over the new place. Nico Rosberg mentioned in an interview once how telekinesis in Monaco is different. Everything's lighter. Oscar wouldn't mind trying it. 

But Lando called, and, well. Oscar was already skimming teleportation crash guides in the middle of their call.

Lando and curses is a horrible combination. It's taking everything in Oscar not to panic.

Lando clears his throat. “I asked you to come here so you could probe at it. And I'm not throwing up. Magic reflects the person, right? I answered your call for a reason, and I'm glad I did.”

How can Oscar not panic when Lando just says the sweetest things like it's nothing?

But someone has to be calm between the two of them, and Oscar's not going to pass the responsibility on the person who's cursed.

He rubs at the empty space where his suppressor usually is. Calm down. “I'm glad you answered my call, Lando. I really am.” 

Better him than anyone else. If Oscar's right, then—

True Love's Kiss is a powerful spell that has wavered in popularity in recent decades. Most historians agree it is common for any spell to have crests and troughs. This particular case, however, has stumped some of the wisest living magical minds. 

Has humanity polluted our world to the point of a Great Spell extinction? Do we even need True Love's Kiss anymore?

Oscar forces a smile, ignoring his thoughts. Not much a textbook can help them with, right?

Lando smiles back. Oscar loosens up. 

Maybe it's not True Love's Kiss. 

What if it is?

It doesn't have to be. Oscar can just kiss Lando right now. Fix the curse after. Free Lando's wrist. Explain somehow along the way that he like Lando enough to think he'd break True Love's Kiss if it came down to it.

It won't. 

Lando's phone vibrates and lights up with a text notification. Oscar barely makes out the name Charlie. 

“Aren't you going to read that?” Oscar asks.

Lando shakes his head, still smiling. Dazed. “No, it's probably a stupid notif—” he checks his phone “—fucking finally, Charlie's awake.”

He's mouthing the words as he reads them, something that hasn't escaped Oscar. Cute, of course, but also. The text can't be that long. 

Lando sits up straighter. He's re-reading the text. Again and again.

Worry's bubbling up inside Oscar. Unfortunately, his worries have a nasty way of materializing through his magic.

So does Lando's. There's buzzing in the air, like static TV.

He tightens the control on his magic. He won't be of any help to Lando if he's a mess on his own.

After what must've been the 20th re-read, Oscar asks, “What did Charles say?”

“I need to kiss someone Italian. To break the curse, I need to kiss someone Italian.”

Lando all but throws his phone to Oscar for him to check. Charles’ texts confirm Oscar's suspicions, or at least part of it. Being right is such an overrated emotion. 

Can TLKs be bound by other conditions apart from the whole yeah you're my one true love? Kiss-curses that aren't TLK are even rarer. Leave it up to the Monaco Grand Prix to attract generational magic users who can randomly cast a kiss-curse.

What if Charles misheard it? Misunderstood. Mistranslated. 

What if he didn't?

“I hoped it would be different,” Oscar starts. “Not that you'll have a hard time finding someone Italian to kiss, no, but uh, Sophie will have our heads. Because it'll cause a riot, maybe. Then they'll resurrect us so Sophie can have our heads again.”

Please let the floor swallow Oscar whole.

“Thanks, I guess?” Lando says, and his face is so open, you can see every single emotion he's feeling right now. 

Oscar wonders if Lando can read him the same way. Like how he's no longer surprised when Oscar sticks close to him in public, anticipates it. Leaves a little bit of space for Oscar to slide through. It's the type of understanding and clarity Oscar's always wanted.

“You know, I'm 3/16 Italian,” Oscar blurts out. 

Lando half-splutters, half-laughs. “You don't have to cheer me up, Osc."

“I didn't say it to just cheer you up. I'm here to help. That's why I'm here, yeah?”

For the first time since coming here— which is the first time he's ever been in Lando's apartment and everything is Lando Lando Lando —Oscar's mind is clear. 

“Reckon it'll work?” 

“Won't know if we won't try."

Oscar can still backtrack. He can salvage the threads of their professional relationship. Nevermind that their professionalism has turned into Lando practically sitting on his lap during meetings because his seat doesn't “seat right”. 

But Lando's beaming. “Sure. Let's do it.”

Huh. It can't be that easy. It can only be that easy if Lando likes Oscar back. He doesn't. Probably. “Oh, okay.”

Nothing happens. Is it up to Oscar? Well, Lando's handcuffed to his bed, so. Oscar needs to, good God. Oscar needs to.

“Do you think it's supposed to be, like…” Oscar took three magic-related electives and none of them talked about breaking possible kiss-curses.

“Kiss on the mouth?” Lando’s smile grows even wider. Does he? Like Oscar back? “You're the magic nerd here.”

“I'm really not.”

“Go big or go home,” Lando says.

Suddenly Lando hooks a finger on Oscar's collar and pulls him closer. Oscar kneels in front of Lando, one of his legs bracketed by Lando's thighs. Lando's pretty like this, looking up at Oscar. 

Oscar touches Lando's cheek. “This okay?” he murmurs.

Lando closes his eyes and leans into his touch. Nods.

Oscar presses a soft kiss on Lando's mouth. The buzzing's gone, has been for a long time, maybe. 

He pulls back just the slightest, but Lando's kissing him. Oscar is reeled right back in, deeper this time. Lando holds him by his waist. Gentle but secure.

Oscar's dreamt of this before, but those didn't. Get the details correct. Lando's sighs. His taste. His magic.

Fuck, Oscar's own magic. He can feel it slipping out of his control.

Lando parts open his mouth, a permission for Oscar to take. How much can Oscar take? How much is he willing to take?

There's a clicking sound and a wash of strange magic, bursting then fading away.

The handcuffs. Oscar almost forgot about that. 

They move apart, which is a bit hard with Lando's fingers curled up in his shirt.

The curse leaves behind a cloud of gold and green glitter. A few specks land on Lando's nose then melt off. 

“I'll call you first if I ever get cursed again,” Lando says, laughing. There's a halo surrounding his head. Oscar's magic. 

“I'm 1/16 Chinese.” He returns to his spot at the foot of the bed. “Call me even if you're not cursed?” 

“Don't jinx it, mate.”

Oscar's not going to jinx it. No hexes or curses or any love spells, either. He doesn't trust his magic to not influence Lando. He puts his suppressor on, and it sucks the fucking air out of the room. 

“Sorry,” he tells Lando. “It's, I've got my suppressor back on.”

“Yeah, why?”

“Broke the curse already, didn't we?”

Lando tilts his head, assessing. “We did.”

What do they do now? 

Lando takes the lead, as he usually does. “Want lunch? I'll reserve us a spot, so don't leave. Give me, like, 15.”

As if Oscar would ever say no to lunch with Lando. “I'd like that, sure. Let's get lunch.”

If it hadn't been a kiss-curse, they would've probably kissed some more. Oscar tries not to be too hung up about it.

[00fairylights00]

*clears throat* HIGH HUMANITY P FINALLY BEING ABLE TO EAT AND SHARING ALL KINDS OF WONDERFUL TREATS WITH HIM!!!!!!!!!!!!

Oh my god Bloodbrown you are reading my mind ahhhh!!

I bet he would love baking so much, and he takes it so seriously when you tell him the best kind of treats are the ones made with love! I actually have a plot bunny about teaching P how to bake and cook floating around in my notes that I’m excited to get some time to work on.

Okay okay!

The growl of a stomach and the pang of hunger had initially concerned P, who tugged on your sleeve urgently. As you turned to face him his stomach rumbled again, you laughed at his mounting concern and explained that it sounded like he was hungry.

“You know, like how when I wake up I always have something to eat? Like that.” You soothed, the worry lines in his brow settling. 

This was something normal, something human. 

He was now very excited about the prospect of a new human thing he’d be able to try, and eating was something he’d been longing to do, watching you eat tended to be awkward and everything you made looked so appetising.

“I think I have something in the pantry you’ll really like.” You beamed, dragging him into the hotel’s kitchen.

You swung open the pantry doors and rummaged a bit, P looked over your shoulder curiously. The pantry wasn’t filled to the brim but what was in there he wasn’t familiar with at all, tins, cartons and baskets full of food and ingredients he didn’t know the name of.

“Ah hah!” You cheered, pulling a white, metal box from the pantry. “I promise you’ll love these!”

You popped off the lid and inside where multiple yellow discs with brown pieces scattered throughout them, he tilted his head and you waved the box in front of him,

“Try one! They’re homemade.” You coaxed, not that he would take much convincing when it came to you.

“Home… made?” He took a disc, the paper surrounding them crinkling, you also took one for yourself before placing the box on the countertop beside you. 

“It means it was made in the home, I made these ones myself. Some people believe the best kind of food is made with love, which you get plenty of in homemade cooking!” You explained, his eyes widened owlishly, throughly impressed once again by your abilities and your knowledge. You’d said before that they weren’t exactly difficult skills to pick up but he didn’t know how to make a… wait what is this thing?

“What… is it?” He questioned, turning the disc over in his hands. 

“It’s a chocolate chip cookie.” It was solid in his hand but the surface had a bounce to it, he brought it up to his mouth and was even more eager to try it now that he could smell it. 

You watched his reaction closely as he bit into the treat, any hesitance was quickly replaced with pure joy as he rushed to finish the rest of the cookie. 

“You like it?” You asked, and you got an enthusiastic nod in response, a giggle bubbling up from P’s throat boyishly. “Would you like another?”

“Yes!” He beamed, you held the box back out to him and he took another cookie for himself but stopped short when he noticed that you hadn’t done the same.

He frowned, looked at the cookie and then back at you before splitting the treat down the middle and offering one half to you. “Love should… be shared.”

You couldn’t agree more.

[pink-princess-pussy-pop]

Scream For Me - Rafe Cameron Ghostface! x Reader PART 5

Warnings: Language, some stalker themes, not proofed

Scream For Me Masterlist

Texts from Rafe in Blue, texts from Ghostface in Red, texts from Reader in Pink

All you could do was stare at your phone. Frozen on your stairs, the two texts staring back at you.

Rafe...

Have a good night......... babe. ;)

And of course, your new friend, the serial killer...

You look very pretty right now, sweetheart.

A noise outside makes you drop your phone. You scramble down the stairs as it falls, picking it up before double-checking that your front door is locked. You feel your phone buzz in your hand but don't check it, opting for closing the blinds in the living room.

You flip the light switch for the entryway on, half expecting to see someone in the darkness, but no one is there. Rafe's car is gone and the street is silent.

Maybe if you called him he would come back and wait for your parents with you?

You flip the switch off before speaking out loud to yourself.

"Don't be pathetic."

Then you run up the stairs to your room.

...

Rafe parked his car in an empty lot a few blocks from your house.

Seeing it was getting dark and no one really wanted to be out alone right now, he was free to grab his gear and go.

He checked both the phones to see if you had sent him any texts.

None so far but he'd guessed that would happen. You were probably running around your house making sure he couldn't get inside. But he had his ways. He had already broken in before.

He locked his car as his phone buzzed. He laughed.

It was you, replying to Rafe.

The first thing he noticed was the change in your texts. You weren't using punctuation or capitalization. You were distracted.

thanks again for taking me home

No problem at all babe.

He smiled as the bubbles appeared.

stop that

Never😈

Babe.

You didn't reply, which he was fine with, Rafe would just have to bug you again tomorrow. Besides, he was ready for you to meet his other self.

He donned his ghost-like mask and walked to your house.

...

You were sitting in your room, staring at the text from the unknown number.

He could see you?

How long had he been watching you?

Was he watching you now?

Thinking about that made your heart race.

In a good or bad way, you couldn't tell.

Which made you even more terrified.

You had sent several messages to your parents, asking when they'd be back but hadn't gotten a response.

So much for not wanting you to be home alone, right?

...

Rafe arrived at your home again, looking up at the dark house to the one light on in the window. Your room.

He shot off another text to you.

You should say thank you when someone gives you a compliment.

Rafe began walking to the back of your home. The lock on the back door was broken from the outside, which gave him easy access.

As his gloved hand reached for the handle, his other phone buzzed.

Shit.

He had thought he'd turned it off!

Rafe froze.

Incoming Call: Babe

He bolted from the door, pressing accept.

Your hushed words filled his ears.

"Rafe... can you please come back? I think..." You went silent. Listening. "I think the killer is outside my house."

FUCK!

He froze, crouching behind a fence, away from the street.

"Rafe, please."

He realized he hadn't spoken.

"Shit, yeah I'm on my way." He muted himself while he ran back to his car.

"Rafe, please hurry."

He clicked unmute as he got to his car.

"I'm coming, sw-" He caught himself. "I'm on my way." He hung up, which probably wasn't the best idea, but hey... He wasn't at your house anymore.

But you didn't know that. He started his car and whipped out his other phone.

Who are you on the phone with?

Your heart sank and genuine fear began to set in. If Rafe didn't come soon, you'd have to figure out a plan. With staggered breathing, your fingers hovered over your phone screen. Staring at the unanswered messages.

Your parents?

Why aren't they home with you, Y/N?

"Dammnit..."

Just where was Rafe?

You knew from spending time at the Cameron family's house at Sarah and Rafe's parties that they didn't live far from you.

Right on cue, your phone began to ring.

You pressed answer immediately after seeing Rafe's name on the screen.

"Rafe?"

"I'm outside, babe. I'm here."

You ran to your front door, shoulders relaxing when you see him on your doorstep. As soon as you unlock and open the door, he rushes inside, his hands grabbing your shoulders.

"Are you ok?"

"Rafe... the door. Close the door." He lets out a shaky breath and turns to close and relock the door. When he turns back around, you're staring at your phone screen, horror on your face.

"What?" You look up at him, tears welling in your eyes.

Rafe fakes shock at the photo you show him.

It's of you, upstairs in your room, sleeping. The photo had to have been taken recently.

Rafe catches you as your knees give out.

"He was here. He was inside my house. He was in my room. While I was asleep." The tears escape, streaming down your face as he holds you. "Oh my God."

Too bad you couldn't see the evil smirk on Rafe's handsome face.

...

Hi.

I start school again tomorrow so I don't really know when the next chapter will be up but I will try my best to upload it soon. :)

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