#and i have TWO WEEKS to live here if she wants me to move before summer because i have to go back home anyway in early may

[myfictionaldreams]

⁀➷ Beneath the Bubbles // Poly!Marauders x F!Reader

Summary: A playful bet between her three boyfriends turns an innocent pool day with friends into a secret game of distraction, control, and quiet desperation—and she has no idea she’s the prize.

Requested by: @fictionalgoddess -- thank you so so much for this request! I absolutely loved writing this, I hope you enjoy!

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, dom marauders, sub reader, big dick!Remus (!!), public sex, cockwarming, praise kink, teasing, size kink (!), dirty talk

Words: 3.1k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

The bag sitting by your family's fireplace had been packed and ready for days. It had also been packed and repacked multiple times to help pass the time.

“Why so glum, love? Only another ten minutes.”

You tried to fake a smile as you stared down at the two-way mirror in your hand, staring at Sirius's relaxed expression. He was lying in bed, arm behind his head, and hair curling over his forehead. The mirror was a creation of Sirius and James. It was used initially to talk while Sirius was home with his hellish parents; however, now that he was living at the Potter mansion, you were the safe keeper of the mirror.

It had been great over the last couple of days when missing your boyfriends, though Remus’ face was still one that you needed to see, missing the sound of his calming voice.

Now, you were becoming unsettled. You wanted to be in their arms, smell their bodies, and feel the warmth of their skin rubbing against yours.

“Ten minutes is a long time,” you explain with a defeated tone, shoulders hunching over from where you’re waiting on your sofa.

“Aww Darling, I know it is. But it’ll be worth it, and we’ve got to make sure Moony gets here first so you both don’t clash in the floo network. I don’t want to risk  your pretty little head.”

“Hmm.”

You’re being grumpy, but really, you’re excited. Seven days seems like such a short amount of time to be away from your boyfriends in the grand scheme of things, but having been at Hogwarts for months, waking in their arms, constantly being attached to one of them, it was easy to fall into a comfortable routine. 

Sleep had been difficult to come by, and the amount of masturbating you’d been doing was probably unhealthy. But once again, you were going to put it down to the fact that you’d been having sex with three men daily, and now, you had a large appetite for all things pleasurable.

“PADS HURRY UP! MOONY IS HERE!” came the distant shout of James in the background, where Sirius was.

“Coming!” he shouts with a handsome grin, his eyes lighting up with excitement as he sits up on his bed. “See, I told you it wouldn’t take long, Darling. Safe travels, see you in a couple of minutes. Say hi to your parents for me.”

“Will do! See you soon!” you say with rejuvenated motivation. Rushing from the sofa, you say your goodbyes to your parents and collect the bag you’d been staring at for too long.

You’ve barely had the chance to step out of the green flames in the Potter’s dining room before you are wrapped in a blur of bronze skin, wild hair and frantic voices.

James was the first to tackle-hug you, arms circling your waist as he picks you up and spins in a circle as you cling to his neck. “You’re here! Finally!”

You laughed even as your feet planted back onto the floor again, only to be pulled away by Sirius, who practically buried his face into your neck, fingers digging into the back of your shirt as your hands moved into his hair. “A week without you? Torture, Honey. I almost set fire to the Potters’ kitchen again to feel something.”

“I thought you said seven days wasn’t that long!” you exclaim, looking back into his pouting face.

“Fine, I lied. I missed you every single second. " With a soft kiss to the tip of your nose, he finally releases you to allow the tallest Marauder his reunion.

Remus steps forward, calmer as always compared to James and Sirius, but you could see in his eyes how they softened when he looked you over. His jaw had a subtle clench like he’d been holding something in all week. He didn’t say anything. Just stepped up, taking your face carefully in his big hands, and kissed you slowly, steadily, and so full of longing that your knees nearly gave out.

“Hi,” you whisper as he pulls back, in a daze and breathless.

“Hi, love.”

When I was back with them, everything fell back into place—the laughter, the comfort, the safety. It was just right. However, James’ parents were only away for the weekend, so the four of you took the opportunity of an empty, beautiful home to host a little gathering with your friends.

An hour later, the mansion is buzzing with life. Lily and Marlene have brought drinks, Dorcas, Mary, and Alice are setting up the music on the back patio, and Frank has thrown pool floaties everywhere.

James’ parents' house was always breathtakingly beautiful, no matter how many times you visited. Despite its size, it still felt homely, thanks to Mrs Potter’s effort. The garden was really the prize, though, with freshly cut green grass that spread for acres, surrounded by a thick forest. More towards the house is a sizeable pool, with a hot tub to one side that bubbled away and the patio that stretched the width of the house.

You were lounging in one of James’ quidditch shirts, your bikini underneath, leaning against Sirius on a pool chair while he ran his fingers up and down your arm. Remus sat beside the two of you with a book, one hand always resting on your thigh, which was pulled into his lap.

James, meanwhile, had energy to burn. He was shirtless and loud, tossing a quaffle with Frank, and flexing his arms and abs every time he caught your admiring eye.

“I’ve decided”, James announces loudly, making sure he’s heard over the music, grinning. “I’m the hottest person here.”

“Not even close, “Sirius deadpanned, leaning over to take a sip from your drink. “Look at this face.” He points at his own smug expression.

“Look at her face, “Remus interrupts, not looking up from his book. “Much better view.”

Your face warms immediately as you pull your shirt collar up to hide your face, and the others laugh at your embarrassed response.

Hours later, after the shared butterbeer, a failed BBQ attempt ends with charred food and pizzas ordered instead. Everyone is having a good time, catching up on each other's summers, giggling, laughing, and singing. The sun has since set, which means that the floating orange lights gently illuminate the back garden with the help of the now roaring fire. It’s a memorable evening with friends.

You didn’t think twice as Remus began to pull on your clasped hand, dragging your body towards the hot tub portion of the pool.

“We’ll only be a minute”, Remus calls over his shoulder to where the others were dancing around the fire. “She���s cold.”

You thought it was an odd excuse considering that Remus had perfectly kept you warm as you rested in his arms, laughing at your friends, but you went along with him, glad to have some quiet time with him.

After removing James’ shirt from your body, Remus helps you into the warm, bubbling water. The water was surprisingly loud, and you struggled to hear your friends even if they were only a couple of meters away. Remus then eases himself in, sitting on the bench in the tub, pulling your body into his lap.

Sighing into the touch, your fingers dig into his forearms, which curl against your waist as his chin rests against your shoulder. It was calm and serene, and you could still smell his aftershave over the chlorine.

The dainty touch of his lips against your shoulder causes a full-body shimmer, despite not being cold. Remus smiles against your skin, moving further up the slope of your neck as you tilt your face towards him.

Your noses brush together as you tune his arms. You lean in to close the final distance, but he holds himself back. “I want you to keep looking in the direction of our friends. Do you think you can do that?”

Biting your lip, you hum in response, turning back to your friends. You notice Sirius and James moving animatedly now, whilst the others are resting on the seats surrounding the fire.

“I missed you,” Remus speaks into your ear, his voice just above a whisper so that you could hear over the noise of the hot tub machine. “I’ve missed your voice, your smell, those little giggles when you’re embarrassed. It feels like I’ve been lost with you.”

The words had emotions soon rising as you wiggle in his lap, trying to hold onto him tighter, needing to feel his entire body on yours.

With one arm still secured around your waist, the other moved to the inside of your knee, helping each of your legs onto the outside of his thighs so that when he stretched out, your legs spread, upper body slumping back against his chest until the waterline hovered up to your collarbones.

“And I know you’ve missed us, haven’t you? Sirius told me about your late-night chats, my poor needy girl,” Remus continues, his lips hovering by the shell of your ear. Your body shivers once more for an entirely different reason now as you think back to those nights when Sirius had talked you through touching yourself using the two-way mirror.

“Tell me, Sweetheart, do you want me to look after you? I think you’ve been patient enough these last seven days. Let me help you.”

Swallowing hard, you nod.

“Use your words, Love.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.”

You;d expected his fingers, maybe some teasing strokes–but what you didn’t expect was the way he shifted beneath you, the slow grind of his hips, the subtle press of his hard cock beneath the water.

“Remus,” you breathe, eyes darting toward your friends. Laughter. Singing. James is yelling about rules in a game whilst Sirius attempts to do a cartwheel dangerously close to the fire.

No one was looking.

And Remus was easing his shorts lower on his hips.

The bubbling water distorted the view so if anyone did look over, they wouldn’t necessarily see that his swim shorts were just pulled down enough that his cock was freed.

“Got to stay nice and still for me, can you do that?” Remus encouraged as his fingers ghost along the seam of your bikini bottoms.

“Yes, sir.”

The rush of water against your bare pussy was comforting for a moment. Then Remus’s bare cock is sliding between your thighs. Thick. Hot. Heavy.

And so fucking big.

Remus hears your quick breath as his thumb brushes comfortingly against your side. “I know,” he said softly, already moving your hips so that he’s able to press the tip of his cock to your clenching hole. “I know how much it hurts, baby. You always need a minute to take me.”

Because he was he biggest, Sirius may be the wildest. James might be the loudest. But Remus? The man was obscene.

He was the one who went last when you were all intimate together, had to go last, because you’d be too sore for anyone else after. You swore it didn’t even make sense how he fit, how he stretched you so wide you were surely the evidence of his cock would bulging your tummy.

And now, with your friends just a few feet away, he was sliding inside you.

Slowly. Deeply. Until your walls burn, clenching in a way that makes it feel like your body was trying to push him out of you because it was just too much.

“F-fuck,” you whimper, nails digging into his arms as your eyes flutter close, legs moving to shut on instinct, but his thighs keep them open.

“You can take it,” he encouraged, kissing your cheek sweetly. “You always do. Just sit pretty, Sweetheart. That’s it. Take every inch for me. Keep those eyes open for me, nice and quiet.”

Your eyes widened as you looked back towards your friend, now able to hear Sirius and James shouting at their friends jokingly.

You couldn’t move. Not with the stretch, the perfect and devastating stretch, pinning you open, gaping, holding you still.

Remus didn’t thrust. Didn’t pump his hips, just simply stayed inside of you. Deep and full. And already you were aching.

“You’re stuffed so tight, huh? Squeezing my cock like it’s your lifeline, Love. Bet they’d all know if they looked over what’s inside of you, there’s no hiding that pretty little face when you’ve just been fucked.”

Remus, as passive and laidback as he was with most day-to-day activities, was in charge of sex and relationships. Whether it was with you, Sirius, or James, he was the leader, giving orders, making sure you’re all in the right headspace to keep going, and that aftercare was enough.

It was difficult staying still, staying quiet. Even if you weren’t sure that you’d have the energy to move up and down on his big cock, even just not squirming in his hold was difficult to do.

Seemingly reading your mind, Remus speaks firmly, “I’m not going to fuck you, I don’t want to break you, Love. I just want to reward you. I’ve missed being inside of you. So that’s what we’re going to do. With all of our friends just over there, we are going to sit here, me inside you, nice and deep, whilst you get all wet and desperate for me.”

You were already ruined, needy, clenching repeatedly around the thickest cock you’d ever taken.

“Look at you, taking all of me without making noise. I’m so proud of you.”

Those praises had you feeling lighter, like your body was made of clouds, ready to float away.

“JAMES, YOU CANNOT THROW A BEER AT ME MID-BACKFLIP–”

“OH I ABSOLUTELY CAN SIRIUS–LOOK MARLENE, WATCH THIS!-”

Your boyfriends were being obnoxiously loud, caputinrg your friends attention and you’re so fucking thankful for this.

Warming his cock with your pussy, you eventually run out of energy, slumping further back in his hold. To anyone else, it would look like you’re falling asleep in his arms, but Remus knew it was because you were exhausted from teetering on the edge of orgasm for so long.

You were too full, too hot, too aware of Remus pulsing inside you, his cock thick and unmoving, buried to the hilt. Every breath, little shift, made you clench down violently in a helpless reaction.

He knew you were balancing on that very limit. Your thighs were trembling non stop, the fierce dig of your nails calming but only because your energy was directed to your cunt, to the muscles that were pulsing and clenching around his dick.

“Please,” you finally whimpered, tilting your head to lean back against his shoulder, face nuzzling into his neck. “Remus, sir, I can’t-”

“You can”, he gently rubs soft circles along your stomach. “You’ve been doing so well. You just need a little push, don’t you?”

You nod desperately, never having been so wound up before in your life. 

Then you felt it, his fingers dipping between your thighs, resting heavily against your clit. There was hardly any movement, just a subtle nudge, but it was enough to send you flying.

You choked on a gasp, biting on the inside of your cheek painfully. The orgasm was blinding, hot, your body quaking and clenching down. Your breath stuttered, your orgasm rolling through you like a slow, devastating tide with each squeeze of your internal muscles. 

“Good girl, my best girl. There it is. Let it out, baby. I’ve got you.”

Your head is spinning by the time you can catch your breath. The ache between your legs now from the emptiness as Remus eases out, having found his quiet release whilst you were holding on for dear life.

The others were still laughing, loud and clueless as Remus readjusted both of your swim suits.

Later, when you are wrapped in a fluffy towel, cuddled against the patio sofa with your cheeks still hot to the touch and legs wobbling. James plopped beside you, arm curving around your shoulder until you’re pulled against his chest.

“You good, baby?” he asks casually, giving you a comforting squeeze.

Tilting your face up to stare at his, you answer, “Y-Yeah.”

Irius sat on your other side, his hand resting on your thigh, grinning like he could see into your soul. “You looked like you saw Merlin himself over there.”

Your eyes widened. “I- what?”

“You came, baby”, Sirius said with a low, teasing laugh. “We saw.”

Your face lit up in horror, but before you could bolt, assuming that it meant that all of your friends saw the same thing, James reached out and gently tugged your towel tighter around you.

“Relax,” he cooed. “They didn’t notice. Not the way we did.”

Remus walks up just in time, handing you a bottle of water and a couple of blocks of chocolate.

“You said no one would notice,” you hiss with embarrassment.

Remus squats down, smirking before kissing your head. “They didn’t.”

“But they did,” you say, nodding your head towards James and Sirius on either side of you.

“Oh, Darling,” Sirius purrs, squeezing his arm under your knees and pulling your body into his lap. “How could we not?”

“You were absolutely fucked out,” James teases, moving closer to your back that now faced him. “All dazed, little pout on your lips, still clenching your thighs together like you are trying to hold him in.”

“And let’s be honest, only Remus’ cock could do that to you. Our girl always looks ruined after he’s been inside her.” Sirius kisses your temple as his arms tighten around you.

“You’re not the only one who needs comfort after him,” James adds with a wicked grin.

“Oh my god,” you groan, hiding your face in Sirius’ shoulder.

“Don’t listen to their teasing, Love. You were perfect,” Remus reassured.

You peek at him through your lashes. But James’ cheeky face pops into your eyesight as he leans over your shoulder. “Okay, so small confession time.”

Sirius chuckles as Remus rolls his eyes. “There was a bet. Remus had to make you cum without anyone noticing, so me and Sirius helped to keep the others distracted.”

Your jaw dropped, “You what?”

“You won,” Sirius said proudly. “You were so good for him, Darling. Took him so deep, didn’t even move. And then when you had to hide your face as you were cumming, just beautiful!”

“I hate you all,” you declare into Sirius’ chest, where you were hiding your face.

“Do you though?” Remus asks as his hand massages your thigh. “You looked very happy sitting on my cock.”

Your face feels impossibly hot, but you don’t move from Sirius’s lap. You just sigh softly as one of them kisses your forehead.

“Love you,” James murmurs as he leans against your shoulder.

“Love you too.” Because even if they were smug little shits, you were happy and content being in their arms.

[wheels-of-despair]

Welcome Home Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: Honey, they're hooome! Eddie and Evil Woman are back from their honeymoon and ready to move in together. Contains: Lots of cleaning, lashing out, memories of childhood trauma, getting busted, and as always, a happy ending for all. Words: 3.3k

A crunch of gravel.

They're here.

"Are we good?" you ask, skidding on the recently re-scrubbed kitchen floor as your eyes dart around the room. Two car doors close.

"We're good," Eddie confirms.

Footsteps on the porch.

A knock.

You and Eddie look at each other, out of breath from your rushed cleaning, and share a nervous smile. You nod. He opens the door.

"Welcome to our humble abode!" he announces, stepping aside to usher your mom and Gareth inside.

At the start of the summer, just a few days before your wedding, you and Eddie had put down a deposit on a trailer in Forest Hills. The renting family was planning to move when school let out, and the place was yours as soon as they vacated. You'd spent a few weeks honeymooning at Rick's hunting cabin and exploring Indiana in the van, and when finally you came back to Hawkins… the place was yours.

"It's… nice," your mom lies.

The previous tenants had cleaned it out like The Grinch on Christmas in Whoville. They'd taken every last lightbulb, and apparently wanted to show their landlord what they thought of him by leaving behind every piece of garbage they'd ever accumulated. It had taken five long days of scrubbing and hauling trash and leaving every door and window open for you to give your mom the okay to come over.

You didn't have anything but cleaning supplies and some makeshift furniture inside, including a few lawn chairs you swiped from a curb next to someone's trash cans, but dammit, it was home.

"We're gonna put a couch here, and a TV over here eventually," Eddie points proudly. "And the kitchen table here." Your kitchen table is currently a piece of plywood precariously balanced on a bucket, but you hope your mom appreciates his vision as much as you do. "Let me show you the kitchen!"

You let Eddie lead the tour of the living room, kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom. That's all there is. You weren't crazy about it the first time you stepped inside, mostly due to the smell, but you and Eddie spent a week busting your asses to make the place presentable. This is going to be your home, and dammit, you're going to make it into something you can be proud of.

"What do you think?" Eddie grins, wrapping an arm around your shoulders once you return to the living room and have the space to do so. You snake an arm around his waist and give him a squeeze. Eddie Munson is almost as proud of himself as you are.

"It's cute!" your mom smiles. "I bet those curtains we had at the old house would really brighten the place up!"

You nod, fondly remembering the yellow flower print. Probably not the aesthetic Eddie would go for, if given the choice, but who are you to refuse free anything?

"I'll see if I can find them when I get back home," she says happily. "They're in the basement, somewhere. I have some lamps you guys could use, too!"

"Thanks," Eddie beams.

"Let me look at this kitchen again," she says, already on her way to inspect the stove and the rattling fridge. "We've gotta get you some pots and pans!"

"You're being suspiciously quiet," Eddie says to Gareth, who is standing in the middle of the living room with his arms crossed. "Are you not impressed?"

"It's a piece of shit."

Eddie's face falls, and you feel it in your heart.

"What?" Mom asks from the kitchen, whirling around and staring pointedly at her offspring. They hold eye contact for a few seconds.

"It's a piece of shit," he says again, louder, planting his feet and doubling down on his scowl.

"You're a piece of shit," you counter, stepping forward, ready to deck him.

"Don't," Eddie warns, holding you back.

"HEY!" your mom barks, making you all freeze.

"Apologize."

You're not sure which one of you she's talking to, but you are absolutely not going first.

A blonde blur stomps past you and out the front door, slamming it behind him with enough force to make the walls shake. Good thing you don't have any pictures up yet.

Your mother heaves a sigh. If you had curtains, they'd be blowing with the force of it. A car door slams.

"He didn't mean it," she says.

You seethe, glaring at him through the open and curtain-less window. He's sitting in the front seat of Mom's car, arms crossed, staring at nothing.

"It's not that bad," Eddie defends.

"It's not about the house, honey," she says gently, touching Eddie's arm when she approaches. "Your new home is great, and I'm proud of you both for doing all this on your own. He's upset because he doesn't want her to leave."

"Why would I ever want to leave such a sweet and loving baby brother?" you deadpan.

"You've been his best friend and protector for sixteen years, smarty-pants," she rolls her eyes. "Eddie?"

"Yes ma'am?"

"Why don't you take me home so my children can work this out amongst themselves," she suggests, placing her car keys on the kitchen counter. "I'll teach you how to make lasagna. You two can join us when you've made up."

You nod, knowing better than to argue.

Eddie snatches his keys off of the makeshift table and gives you a quick kiss before following your mother out the door. You wait until the van has disappeared from sight before approaching the car where Gareth is still fuming.

You reach for the driver's side door handle, and he flies across the console to push the lock down. You reach for the back door, and he stretches back to lock that, too. He gets the two on his side for good measure.

"That's very mature of you," you note.

He flips you off.

You fish your mom's keys out of your pocket and dangle them in front of the window where he can see it. When you aim for the lock, he leans back over and holds it down.

This could go on for hours.

So instead of breaking off a key in your mother's car door and leaving your poor husband a widower this soon, you pocket the keys and sit on the hood with your back to him.

He'll break eventually. He'll get hungry or get bored or have to get out and pee. And then you can beat some sense into him and drive him home in time for dinner.

Much to your surprise, it's not creative ways to kick his ass that are on your mind. It's your mother's words: "You've been his best friend and protector for sixteen years, smarty-pants."

She's not wrong.

"Remember when we were little, and Mom and Dad used to fight, and you'd come hide under my bed?" you ask, not bothering to turn around and see if he's listening or not. "I'd be listening to them and waiting for door to open and the light from the hall to shine in. Then you and Bear would creep in and crawl under the bed and I'd take Mr. Buttons by the ear and lower him down to the floor to protect you."

You haven't thought about that for a very long time. You can still picture that ratty old teddy bear that Gareth carried around until it fell apart, and the cream-colored rabbit with button-eyes that you gave to him the day there wasn't enough Bear left to hold. Unlocking one memory seems to unleash a flood of others, and your chest aches as everything comes back to you.

"Do you remember The Bite?" It's a struggle to say it loud enough so that he might hear. You don't remember the whole incident, but the parts that are still with you are vivid.

"You were wearing a green and white striped shirt with a yellow collar." You swallow, closing your eyes and trying to remember. "I was in my room and I heard you screaming. I opened my door just in time to see Dad dragging you down the hall by the collar. That's what I remember. The veins bulging in his hand, clenched around the back of your shirt. You were… I don't know, three or four? Tiny. He had to lean over to avoid picking you up completely. Dragging you down the hallway, slipping and sliding and fighting every step of the way. I told him to leave you alone, but either he didn't hear me or he ignored me. And then… I remember my mouth filling with blood. Just… utter surprise. I don't know what I thought would happen, but that wasn't it. But I bit his arm and I wouldn't let go, because he wouldn't let you go. I don't remember what happened after that. I don't remember spitting it out or cleaning up or changing clothes. But I remember a few days later, I heard him tell someone on the phone that he got bit by the neighbor's dog, and I remember the feeling of satisfaction… and then wondering if I was going to Hell for it."

You wipe away the tear you just noticed rolling down your cheek. You feel his weight shift. The car door squeaks open, and shuts gently. Gravel crunches. He leans against the car, near where you're sitting, but you don't dare look at him yet.

"I hope he still has that fucking scar," he mutters.

You snort, sending a stream of snot down your lip. You swipe at it quickly, then turn to your baby brother. You don't care how old he is; that's how you'll think of him, always.

"I'm not leaving you, dummy."

"You kinda are," he argues, not meeting your eye.

You shake your head.

"We're just a few minutes away. We're gonna see you all the time."

"It's not the same."

"It's better."

He scowls, and you smile.

"You don't have to watch us suck face as much," you offer. "Instead of threatening to move, you can just tell us to go home."

"Like you'll listen to me," he grumbles.

"We won't," you laugh, "but you can still try!"

He groans.

"You wanna know the best part about me gettin' hitched?" you ask.

"What?"

"Eddie is now legally obligated to offer you the same protective services I do," you smirk. "Under pain of ass-kicking. Courtesy of moi."

Gareth lets out a snort of laughter, and you strike fast and wrap your arms around him before he can squirm away.

"I'll always be there for you, Baby Bro. Whether you like it or not."

"Fine," he sighs.

You'll take it.

"Ready to go home?" you ask, pulling away.

He looks at the trailer, then back to you.

"Sorry I insulted your house."

You hesitate before asking: "Wanna know a secret?"

He nods.

"You're right."

"I'm what?"

"You're right," you sigh, sliding off the hood. So does he. "It's a piece of shit. But it's our piece of shit," you give him a light shove, "so watch your fuckin' mouth."

"It's not that bad," he grins.

"We had to do a sweep before you got here to make sure we hid all the mouse traps and roach motels."

"Ew."

"The people who lived here last were disgusting," you confess. "Eddie went in the bathroom when we first got here and gagged and wouldn't let me in there to see why. The windows and doors have been open for days, and it STILL smells like bleach and hot garbage."

"Really?"

"Yeah," you sigh. "I bought a pack of air fresheners this morning and we hid them everywhere so you and Mom wouldn't notice how bad it was. We keep saying 'we'll let it air out one more night' and sleeping in the van instead. We're paying rent for the fucking driveway."

"That's fucked up."

"I'm aware."

"Why here, then?"

Why here? Because you can't afford anywhere else, obviously.

"They're remodeling the mansion we bought in Loch Nora," you snark.

Gareth scrunches his nose.

"It's not for forever," you shrug. "We'll survive. Don't tell Mom."

"Why, would she be less than thrilled about her favorite child living in squalor?"

"Squalor?! Look at you, learnin' fancy new words!" you tease, giving him a shove. "Get in the car, loser, let's get you out of this bad neighborhood."

"Was it always bad, or did it just get that way when you and Eddie moved in?"

You shove him against the side of the car, and he bounces off of it laughing.

The drive back to your mom's house passes by in a comfortable silence.

"You guys make up?" she asks when you step inside.

She glances at you, but your focus is on Eddie. He's wearing an apron splattered with red sauce.

"Shut up," he orders before you even speak, brandishing a sauce-covered wooden spoon at you.

"Yes, dear," you answer, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "Yeah, we're good," you tell your mother. "Right, butt-for-brains?"

"Sure thing, heifer."

"Oh, good, things are back to normal," Mom says sarcastically.

You all sat down for a normal dinner that felt just like old times. But when it was over, instead of joining Eddie on the porch for a smoke and a long kiss goodnight, you got in the van with him and went home.

Eddie killed the engine in the driveway and stared at the front door. Your heads slowly swiveled toward each other at the same time.

"One more night?" he asked.

"One more night," you echoed.

You're having a nightmare about being eaten by rats when a loud noise jolts you awake. Eddie hears it too, because you've both tensed and grabbed each other. You can't see much in the dark, but you know his eyes are as wide and terrified as yours.

Think, Evil Woman. Where are you? The van, in your driveway. Who are you with? Eddie. What's happening? You have no fucking clue.

Three more. It's knocks. Someone's knocking on the van. You're still too scared to move, but Eddie crawls toward the back door on his knees. He unlocks the door and cracks it open. The blinding sunlight streams in, making you both reach up to shield your eyes.

When your eyes adjust to the brightness, you see your mother.

"Good morning," she says, pushing her sunglasses to the top of her head so you can see the not-amused look in her eyes. "We need to talk."

Half an hour later, you and Eddie are sitting at her kitchen table staring at a plate of muffins that you have no desire to eat. She's sitting across from you with her hands wrapped around her favorite coffee mug. You have no idea what she's going to say, or why she told you to come here, or why she showed up in Forest Hills this morning. You do know that Gareth has been dropped off at Grant's, who just came back from a vacation with his mom, so at least he doesn't have to witness whatever this is.

"Have you been sleeping in the van every night?"

"That's what we did on half our honeymoon," you shrug. "It's basically home."

She heaves a sigh and leans her elbows on the table.

"I lied."

You and Eddie both look up in surprise.

"I don't like the new place. I don't like the feeling I get when I'm there, I don't like the aroma, I don't like the chain-smoking lady in curlers who sits and glares from her window into yours, and I don't like that all the clean-up was piled on you two."

And what does she want you to do about it?

"What if I found you somewhere better?" Before you can protest, she adds, "with better neighbors and lower rent."

You and Eddie glance at each other, and then focus on her.

"It's close, it's affordable, and it includes access to a working fridge and a washer/dryer… but it does come with certain strings attached," she says, taking a sip of her coffee.

Strings? What strings? Why hadn't you heard about this place before you dropped a deposit on Satan's Taint?

She stares at you, then at Eddie, then rolls her eyes to the ceiling and leans back in her chair.

"For cryin' out loud, children, it's the basement," she groans. "I want you to move into the basement! The strings are that you need to hang out with your brother! That kid has been absolutely miserable all summer. You two disappeared, and then Jeff took off to tour the college he got into and hang out with a cousin that lives nearby, and Grant's been on a cruise with his mom. He is miserable when he's alone, which means I am miserable, and you two are going to fix it."

"Mom, we're--"

"Upgrading," she cuts you off. "You will be paying rent. Significantly less than Roachtopia - you forgot to hide the trap behind the toilet, by the way - but this isn't charity. And it isn't permanent. This is so you can save up enough to move into somewhere you actually like. This is you helping me keep my sanity."

You glance sideways at Eddie, and are relieved to see his eyes twinkle.

"This is too much house for just two of us," she continues, like you're not already sold on the idea. "If you really left, I'd have to consider downsizing. And what would become of my garden? What of your goldfish?"

"Mom," you laugh, "calm down, you're gonna hurt yourself."

"You see what living alone with him has done to me?!" she cries. "It's been a month! Imagine two more years!"

"Okay!" Eddie laughs. "You win!"

"I do?" she grins.

You look at Eddie, have a silent agreement, and turn to her and nod.

"Thank God," she sighs. "Okay, some ground rules!"

"Ground rules?!" you ask indignantly. "How long have you been plotting this?"

"Since you got your college acceptance letter," she says matter-of-factly. "I figured it was either let Eddie move in here, or let you move in to Wayne's. There's more room here. I wasn't counting on you two actually putting down a deposit somewhere else without telling me."

"Really?" you ask.

"Yeah," your mom chuckles. "Wayne and I knew there was no keeping you apart after you were finished with school."

"Aww," you and Eddie say together.

"Shush. Ground Rule #1: I do not want to ever hear you having sex."

"MOM!"

"NEXT!" she changes gears abruptly. "I've grown quite accustomed to coming home to find dinner already made. I would like that to continue, please."

"Aye aye, captain," you salute.

"Next up, I want to see you both saving money. No more caviar or diamond jewelry. The swimming pool will have to wait."

"Check," Eddie grins.

"There will be no drugs in this house."

You waited just a second too long to "okay" that.

"What did I just say?"

"No drugs in this house?" you ask.

"Mhm," she hums, giving you a meaningful look. And then Eddie. He looks terrified. You can't wait to tell him that the key words were in this house. She is an occasional customer of his, after all.

"I reserve the right to modify these terms at any time, for any reason. Any questions?"

You glance to Eddie and share a smirk.

"When can we move in?" you ask.

"As soon as you move out of the House of Horrors."

"Let's see…" Eddie ponders. "A bucket, a sheet of plywood, and some stolen lawn furniture that's already falling apart. You think any of that's worth going back for?"

"Nope," you grin. "Guess we're home."

[bettelaboure]

⊹The Art of The First Time⊹ | Choi Seung-Hyun

fourth part in series "Course in Chemistry"

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

⊹ Pairing: Choi Seung-Hyun x Reader

⊹ Warnings: sexual tension, explicit sexual exploration, embarrassment, mature language, peer pressure, and high school dynamics involving gossip and judgment

⊹ Summary: the reader reluctantly agrees to be tutored by awkward and quiet Seung-Hyun, she fullfil her side of the deal to be the one teaching him life’s more intimate lessons

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

​​It was Thursday and you needed to blow off some steam.

"Come onnnn!" you groaned under your breath. "Just do it!" Your fingers moved faster, desperation tingling under your skin. "Please... please, God, let me."

Your eyes stared up at the ceiling, your other hand gripping the sheets. You were so close. So needy. So—

Knock, knock.

"Y/N?" your mom's voice rang through the door. "Is everything okay in there?"

For fuck's sake.

"Yeah! Everything's fine, Mom!" you called out, scrambling to pull the hoodie down over your legs.

"Okay. Your dad and I are leaving now. We won’t be back till late."

"Tell everyone I said hi," you muttered as you heard her footsteps fade.

You got out of bed, your legs still trembling slightly, frustration boiling just under the surface. You walked over to the mirror and looked at yourself—just a hoodie and your underwear. Your tanned skin stood out against the creamy white cotton.

"Why can't you just do it?" you whispered, cheeks flushed, hair a tangled mess. The irony wasn’t lost on you—here you were, tutoring Choi Seung-Hyun about sex, and you couldn't even finish yourself off.

Shit. Seung-Hyun.

You glanced at the clock. Less than thirty minutes to get to his place, and it was a twenty-five-minute walk if you didn’t stop.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you cursed as you scrambled to find pants. Where the hell were they?!

Tripping over your own feet while pulling them on, you barely made it into the bathroom. As you brushed your hair and splashed water on your face, your mind raced.

What the hell were you going to teach Seung-Hyun today? You'd covered kissing. You'd made out. Was it time for... fingering?

Did you even want his fingers inside you?

You shook the thought off. It was too soon. Probably.

When you arrived, only a couple minutes late, he didn’t mention the time. Instead, Seung-Hyun opened the door and let you in, his usual soft-spoken manner putting you at ease.

It was another Past-tense session. You went through the basics. Another test sheet. A five this time. Better than a two.

"Do you even attend English class?" he asked as he handed back your paper.

You shrugged, eyes averted. It was a clear 'no'.

He sighed. "Y/N, you'd improve a lot faster if you went to class. One tutoring session a week isn't a miracle cure."

"Yeah, but you're supposed to be the best tutor, right?"

"Did you even watch the documentary I sent you? The one on the History site?"

You didn’t need to respond. Your face answered for you.

"I'm not Superman. You gotta meet me halfway."

You knew he was right, but it was hard to admit. School felt like a void you were floating in, each class draining more energy than the last. Most of your teachers gave up on you last year. So what was the point?

"Have you ever dry-humped before?" you blurted, the words flying from your lips before your brain could catch up.

What. The. Fuck.

Seung-Hyun looked completely stunned. "What?"

"Never mind," you muttered, pretending to be absorbed in your test paper.

But you couldn’t stop thinking about it. The way he kissed you. The feel of his lips, the scent of spearmint gum and apple juice. He was surprisingly good at it. Better than you expected.

"What is it?" he asked, still watching you.

You looked up and took a breath. "I can show you. If you want."

He hesitated, nerves warring with curiosity in his eyes. But then he nodded.

You led him to the living room and gestured for him to sit. He did, cautiously, like he was stepping into unknown territory.

"Shit," you muttered, checking your phone. "Two percent battery."

"I got it." He handed you his phone. A playlist started streaming through the speakers.

The Blackstreet.

"You like them?" you asked, surprised.

"Yeah. They're cool. You?"

"Never listened much, but Jae-mi says they have the best sex songs."

You walked back over to him and asked, "Is it okay if I... get on you?"

His nod was small but clear. You straddled his lap, adjusting your legs to fit over his tall frame. It was intimate, awkwardly so.

"Okay," you said, steadying yourself. "Kiss me."

His eyes widened. "I thought you were—"

"Are you or are you not trying to knock Se-mi’s socks off with your sexy skills?" you raised a brow.

He knew you were right. Again. He straightened up, lifted a trembling hand. He was so nervous.

You touched his cheek. "Look in my eyes. If you're gonna kiss a girl, start there."

He met your gaze. A storm of blue and gray, with silver specks flickering near the center.

"Now look at my lips," you whispered. He did. You could see his throat bob.

"Ask to kiss me."

"Huh?"

"Consent is sexy. Ask."

"Can I kiss you?" he whispered.

"Yes."

He kissed you, and this time, he meant it. His lips were soft but eager, his hands cradling your face. As your mouths opened and tongues explored, something shifted. The kiss grew desperate. Messy.

You shifted your hips, rising slightly before settling your core directly against his.

He gasped and pulled back, eyes wide. You met his gaze. "Is this okay?"

He took a shaky breath. "Yes."

You began moving your hips, slowly, letting the friction build. His breath caught.

"What... w-what are you doing?"

"Follow me. Move with me."

His hands found your lower back, tentative at first. Then he moved, hips pressing up into yours, matching your rhythm.

"Like this?"

You nodded, breathless. "Yeah. Like that."

The friction increased. Your lips returned to his, tasting each soft groan he let slip. The tension built. Your thighs trembled.

He bucked up harder. You gasped as you felt it—the pressure against your core. He was hard. Really hard.

Holy hell.

You cursed under your breath as a sharp jolt of pleasure pulsed through you.

His breath hitched. He moved faster. Desperation took over.

Until—

"Holy shit," Seung-Hyun grunted suddenly, voice strained. "Fuck."

He pushed you off him. You fell to the rug with a soft thud.

He bolted.

You sat there, dazed, staring after him as he fled into the kitchen.

"Shit, shit, shit," he muttered to himself.

You stood, smoothing your hoodie as you followed him.

"Seung-Hyun? You okay?"

He looked pale. Terrified.

And then you saw it. The dark stain across his jeans.

Oh.

You tried to keep your expression calm. "Hey. It’s okay. This happens. Especially the first time. Let me—"

"No!" he backed away like you’d just tried to slap him. "C-Can you leave, please?"

You wanted to laugh, but held it in. Poor guy.

He wasn’t just embarrassed. He was humiliated. Like it was something shameful.

Unless...

Wait. Was that... his first orgasm?

You blinked.

Holy shit. You just gave Choi Seung-Hyun his first orgasm.

Damn, girl.

“Soooo…” Jae-mi slammed her lunch tray onto the table with the kind of dramatic flair only she could get away with. She plopped down beside you, her eyes glinting like she’d been waiting hours to say what came next.

“What does Choi Seung-Hyun’s cum-face look like?”

You choked—full-on spluttered—your water going down the wrong pipe as your face turned red. You coughed into your sleeve, struggling to recover while she looked on like she'd just asked what you thought of his shoes.

“What?!” you wheezed, clutching your chest like she’d personally tried to kill you.

She just shrugged innocently. “Haven’t you guys even... y’know?”

“We didn’t.” Your voice was flat, immediate, automatic.

But your stomach twisted because it wasn’t entirely true. He had, but the way Seung-Hyun had reacted afterward—embarrassed, fragile, wide-eyed like he’d broken something inside himself—had left you reeling. Talking about it felt like betrayal. He was new to all of this, and you couldn’t throw that sacred little moment into the lunchtime gossip pile like a used napkin.

“You didn’t?” Jae-mi tilted her head, her voice slow and disbelieving. “Then what did you do?”

“Nothing,” you lied, fiddling with your spoon.

She stared at you.

You sighed. “We just kissed again.”

Still staring.

“Oh, come on,” you groaned, feeling cornered. “You have no idea how innocent he is.”

She raised an eyebrow. You dropped your voice lower, almost whispering.

“He’s never had an orgasm before. Like... ever.”

Jae-mi paused, processing. “Wait. He’s eighteen. That’s, like, against nature.”

“I know! Every guy in ninth grade was obsessed with dick jokes and watching porn behind the bleachers. But Seung-Hyun? He’s like... a virgin Buddhist monk reborn as a K-pop visual.”

“But he must’ve gotten hard before. I mean, he’s still human, right?”

“Oh, he definitely has. Yesterday, actually. And girl, let me just say—he’s packing.”

Jae-mi almost dropped her fries. “Y/N!”

You fanned your face dramatically. “Don’t look at me like that. I wasn’t trying to see it. But the boy’s got a nuclear weapon tucked in his pants, and it went off—without warning.”

She let out a wheezing laugh.

“But he skipped tutoring today,” you added, growing more serious. “I think he’s embarrassed. Do you think he even knows how normal all this is? I mean, he’s obsessed with science books. How can someone who studies biology not understand how his own body works?”

Jae-mi’s smile softened. “It’s not about knowledge. It’s about experience. Textbooks can’t teach you what sex feels like.”

You bit your lip and looked around. Soo-ah was definitely glancing over.

“It’s like he’s never done anything,” you whispered.

“When you say ‘anything’...”

You just gave her a look.

“Well, damn.” She leaned back. “Bathroom?”

“Bathroom.”

Everyone knew what ‘bathroom’ meant. Not ‘I have to pee’ bathroom—but the ‘I need to whisper secrets where the walls are tiled’ bathroom.

The echo of your boots hit the floor as the two of you entered the empty space. No stalling girls. Just quiet and the low hum of flickering lights. Jae-mi leaned on the sink. You paced.

“I seriously don’t know what to do,” you confessed. “I can handle that he hasn’t kissed many girls—or any. But how do I teach him without making him feel like a science experiment? It’s not like I can hand him a manual.”

Jae-mi started applying lip gloss like this was just another day in her guidance counselor fantasy. “Maybe you should show him.”

“You mean jerk him off?” you deadpanned.

She paused. “I mean—yeah, eventually—but start by showing him what he’s missing. Get him used to the idea of sex. The idea of women.”

You slumped against the tiled wall. “So... a porn movie night?”

Jae-mi chuckled. “I’m serious. He’s going to drown if you throw him straight into the deep end. You need to get him comfortable with the water first.”

You crossed your arms. “Most porn is terrible. It’s all fake moans, bad lighting, and men who act like jackhammers. If he learns from that, he’s going to think choking someone is foreplay.”

“That’s why you have me,” she said, tapping the gloss to your chest like a fairy godmother. “I know the sites for women. I know the books. We’re talking detailed, healthy, educational... and hot.”

You blinked. “You think this’ll actually work?”

“I promise. That boy will be rubbing one out daily by next week.”

You snorted. “Just don’t give him any of that BDSM crap you’re into. I don’t want him asking me to tie him up before he’s even seen a naked woman.”

Jae-mi turned scarlet. “I do not—”

You cut her off, grinning. “You literally have books with whips on the cover. And don’t think I didn’t see the ‘leather harness tutorial’ tab you left open last week.”

“Okay!” she shouted, flailing her hands. “Okay! I’ll pick the right ones!”

“Perfect.” You kissed her cheek and strutted out of the bathroom.

Behind you, her voice echoed, “And stay out of my sex life!”

You laughed. “Never! As long as your short ass is still my best friend!”

Later, after school, the mall practically called your name.

Jae-mi had gone home to study like the responsible gremlin she was, leaving you to wander Victoria’s Secret on your own.

You stood in front of a wall of thongs, debating.

Dark green? Mysterious seductress. Light blue? Virgin who says "oops" after moaning your name. There was also one in blush pink that made you feel like a cupcake with a secret.

Back when you were with Jun-ho, it was always babydolls. He liked them. You didn’t. They were itchy, got in the way, and made you feel like you were trying too hard.

But the yellow lace set the salesgirl handed you? That was a whole different vibe. You stood in the dressing room mirror, staring at yourself.

Curves highlighted. Chest lifted. Ass? Glorious.

“Damn, girl,” you muttered, a satisfied smile tugging at your lips.

You bought it. And a plum set too. Because why the hell not?

At the register, just as you were feeling peak hot-girl energy, fate decided to spice things up.

“Se-mi?” you asked, spotting the petite girl a few feet over, clutching a pack of neon booty shorts.

She turned, wide-eyed. “Um... yes?”

She hadn’t expected you to talk to her. You were enemies. Most girls like her thought girls like you only existed to ruin their GPA or date their crushes.

“I didn’t peg you as the booty shorts type,” you said with an easy smile.

Her face flushed. “I... Kim Jong-in said they were sexy.”

Of course. Of course it was Jong-in. High school’s answer to a walking STI.

“You should never listen to that idiot,” you said. “He thinks Harry Potter and Ron Weasley are the same characters.”

She blinked. “They’re not?”

You sighed. “Never mind. Point is—impress someone who wants more than ass. Someone who sees you.”

Like Seung-Hyun.

“He’s not that dumb,” she defended weakly.

“The guy thinks Catcher in the Rye is a baseball drama.”

Her face fell as she stared at the booty shorts like they’d just cheated on her.

“Oh.”

Then she looked up, smiled—genuinely. “Thanks, Y/N. That means a lot.”

You shrugged. “Us girls gotta stick together, right?”

She nodded, paid, and left.

You didn’t love her. But you’d be damned if Seung-Hyun ever thought she was better than you.

He owed you. Big time.

Taglist: @petersasteria @redhoodedtoad @mirahyun @sherrayyyyy @sherxoo @dilfismz @breakmeoff @janie-osuih @forevervibezzzz1 @kuinnoa @juliskopf @maskedcrawford @szonyix6277@ldydeath

[rj-anderson]

I've just realized I never posted another update here about how we got my 93-yo mom into assisted living a couple months ago, and it is THE ABSOLUTE GREATEST STORY and I'm still just reeling with amazement over how it all came together, so here it is under the cut.

As you will know if you read my earlier posts about Mom, I've been her primary caregiver for the last few years, especially since my dad passed away in early 2020 (we were able to hold a beautiful, well attended memorial service for him right before the first lockdown, another bit of timing I am still very grateful for).

And as you will also know if you read those previous posts, Mom's mental clarity and ability to look after herself has been going downhill for the last couple years, and despite her overall sweet disposition and gratefulness for everything I was doing, by Dec. 2024 I was at my wits' end and really close to burning out. Only a blessed last-minute increase in respite care, thanks to a pilot program coordinated by my local hospital and Alzheimer's Society, enabled me to keep going while I waited and prayed for a long term care placement for Mom.

That being said, we'd already been warned that it could be up to five years before Mom got an offer, because despite her acute nerve pain attacks, chronic vertigo and increasing cognitive issues, she was not considered to be "in crisis". (I was definitely having a crisis as her caregiver, but that didn't count.) So from an outside perspective, it looked unlikely if not downright impossible that we would find a place within the next 12-18 months, unless Mom had a major health crisis.

Despite that, though, I had a strange deep-down confidence that something was going to change soon. In fact, part of me really felt sure that it would happen by spring at the latest. Now this was a bewildering feeling to have, because I am one of the least mystical woo-woo people in the world, and objectively it didn't seem likely to happen at all. So I found myself praying that God would keep me from clinging to false hopes (if they were false) and prepare me not to be discouraged or bitter if my feeling turned out to be groundless.

But I also found myself praying, "Lord, I don't how this is going to work out with Mom, but I look forward to praising you for whatever you're going to do." Because I remembered how things had gone with my Dad's care, and how the best plans I had in mind turned out to be not nearly as wise or good as the way God arranged it in the end.

Anyway, a number of things happened in December that made me question my belief that Mom would be best off in long term care, despite all the efforts I'd gone to choosing the right places for her. I took her to see the closest home on our list, thinking it would be a positive experience and put some of her fears to rest, but EVERYTHING about that tour was a disaster. It was far too big, and noisy, and overwhelming, and my mom kept saying "I could never go to a place like that, I would be totally lost. I'd rather be out on the street."

So I ended up having to take that particular home off the list, which brought our options from three down to two and made it even less likely to get a room offer. But that experience did make very clear what kind of place Mom wanted -- small, homey, quiet, and easy to navigate, with fellow residents she could talk to, and ideally some opportunity for Christian fellowship. Unfortunately, I didn't know of a single long term care home in our area that fit that description.

Until the first week of January 2025, when I joined my regular Zoom prayer meeting with three women from my old church. And as I was telling them about my difficulties, one of them said, "Oh, I wish your mom could go to the home where [a woman who also used to go to our church] is living! It would be so perfect for her!"

Now, I had heard plenty about that woman and the wonderful Mennonite assisted living home she'd moved into a few months earlier, but I never thought it could be a fit for my Mom. However, after that conversation I looked up the home's website and realized that not only was the place much closer than I'd thought it was, it sounded like they might actually be able to provide the level of care Mom needed.

I called the care home. We had a good, thorough talk about Mom's needs. I set up an appointment for a tour. And from the instant I stepped in the door, I knew this was the place our family had been praying for. Not only was it newly renovated, small, quiet and cozy, offering home-style meals and regular church services, there was a lovely vacant room with a view that immediately made me think, "This is Mom's room."

Long story short -- and skipping over a multitude of other unexpected blessings and mercies of God along the way -- we moved Mom into her new apartment in mid-February. They even allowed us to paint the room her favourite colour, and set it up with all the furniture and pictures she needed to make it feel like home, before we brought her in. And since then, she's been getting all the medical and personal care she needs, I've been able to enjoy regular visits with her while also having a life of my own again, and despite having had twelve acute pain episodes over the six months before the move, Mom has not had even one attack since she got there.

Despite all the hardships, discouragements, seeming dead ends, and other ups and downs of the past year -- even because of them, in some cases -- God has been faithful and very, very good. So I am keeping the promise I made a few months ago, when all seemed utterly hopeless, and praising Him for what He's done.

[missybluebelle]

⋆☀︎.

i might be obsessed with the idea of rafe having a breeder kink.. what's a neighbor to do, yk? He just wants you to have his babies, it's sweet..

CW; play fighting, unprotected p in v, cream pie, degrading annd anything else lmkk ♡

missy xx

Rafe Cameron was a powder keg. He was a powder keg and you hate spontaneity. You hate surprises and unpredictable scenarios. So, you hate Rafe.

Your parents buying a house in Figure Eight was unexpected. Just as unexpected for them to uproot your life and move to the Outerbanks in the middle of your senior year, just two weeks after you turned eighteen. You can't wait until you move out and can make your way back to the city.

For now, you live just a few doors down from the Cameron's. During your first few weeks here, your parents encouraged you to go out and meet the locals and make some friends. You weren't necessarily opposed to the idea, but you'd much rather focus on perfectly setting up your room.

"Get dressed princess," your mom said as she peaked into your room. "The Cameron's invited us over for dinner." She smiled warmly before stepping out, leaving you dreading the idea of dinner. The Cameron's seemed like a nice family. You liked talking to Sarah at school sometimes. She was pretty welcoming when it came to showing you around or giving small tips. Wheezie was too young for you to really want to talk to her, but everyone has that phase at her age and you won't mind watching her grow up into a young lady.

Though, unlike his sisters, there was clearly something different going on with Rafe. And no one ever said it, but everyone knew. Everyone knew what he would get up to in his neverending free time.

Anyway.. what was appropriate to wear to dinner? Was this a casual, friendly, neighborly dinner? Or was it a more semi formal kind of vibe? Well, you could only assume that it was more casual since you mom told you so last minute. You flipped through the clothes hanging in your closet and rummaged through your white dresser drawers trying to be quick. It's cooler at night, but it's 7pm during late May so it's still about 85° outside.

Rafe answered the door once you and your parents arrived. They greeted him politely but rushed past him to see Rose and Ward the actual adults of the house. You were left standing on the porch because you couldn't seem to push yourself past Rafe. He couldn't seem to move either. His eyes were trained on you. Not on your face though. You thought for a second maybe he was staring at your layered necklaces, gifts from family and friends, but you realized his eyes were focused lower. Your cleavage showed wonderfully in your white halter and maybe tonight was the wrong night to wear that pushup bra. Your tits were perky and pushed up and you swore the only reason you wore it was because it added to the look. Crossing your arms over your chest only excentuated the squish of your breasts spilling out as you squinted your eyes up at Rafe.

"Are you high?" Your tone was fueled with judgement as you snapped the boy out of his trance. Surely enough, his eyes were a little red. "God, you're unbelievable. So much for a nice dinner." You grumbled and pushed past the taller male. Rafe sucked his teeth in response as he pulled the front door shut and followed behind you. "Yer showing yer tits off for the whole world to see, but me being high is an issue? Right." As you passed him he ran his tongue over his teeth as the smell of your perfume filled his nostrils. Maybe he wasn't really high yet. Yeah, whatever.

Somehow, your parents neglected to tell you that this wasn't a family dinner. It wasn't for you. It was for them, truly. So the women could nurse the Cameron's collection of wines and the men could talk boating or hunting or something. You considered leaving marching back to your house, but decided against it not wanting to be rude. It's fine, you can just talk to Sarah.

"Sh's not here. Ran off with Topper or somethin'." Rafe spoke up as he found you helplessly standing in the middle of Sarah's bedroom. He leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms, sort of almost mocking you from earlier.

Just talk to Sarah. Rafe. Of course she ran off with her boyfriend. You couldn't stop the heavy sigh that left your lips. Rafe watched your chest rise and fall as a sly grin crept onto his face. "I can keep you company. Been wanting to get to know you for a while."

'Get to know you' to Rafe was just him being able to slip his dick into any hole of yours that he could and fucking you with no string attached. Or that's what you thought. The truth is, Rafe had been keeping his eyes on you since you moved in a few doors down. He didn't just want to fuck you- oh no, no. Rafe Cameron wanted to fill you up with his cum. With his babies. He wanted your tits tender, your ass plump, your thighs thick, your tummy soft and your cunt throbbing. It's all he could really focus on for months. Maybe he just watched too much porn, but he really had been thinking about it. He was sure you were truly the one to carry his babies. He wanted it to be you. You couldn't quite feel the lustful hunger radiating off of his gaze, not yet, but you knew he was a boy and you knew he wanted something he would never get.

Once you got into his room your dark eyes looked around for any bright red flags. Rafe flipped over the magazine on his desk that featured pretty girls in pinup poses wearing very little clothes while on the beach. As he stepped away from his desk to hide something else you snatched up the magazine to get a peak. You wanted to say something snarky, but you couldn't. Your mouth hung open in surprise. The women in this magazine were gorgeous. Even- even the girl on a page that was slightly torn. I mean it was weird because she almost looked like you!

"The fuck are you doing? Givme that!" Rafe hissed as he stalked back to where you stood and reached for the magazine and you stretched and leaned trying to keep it away from him. He was bigger and stronger than you, but you wouldn't go down without a fight. You twisted underneath him and pushed back. "Stop it! I'm just looking holy shit!" You yelled at him as his chest pressed against yours. Well- his whole body pressed up against yours as her were leaning back on his desk. With much struggle, you wiggled out of his grasp as he breath grew heavy. With a pitched grunt you jump onto his bed, still holding the magazine thinking you were close to victory, but Rafe quickly towered over you. His knees on either side of your body as his left hand gripped your right wrist and your right hand gripped your left. Straining, you pushed up against him and squirmed aggressively trying to break free. Rafe adjusted so he was holding both your wrists in only one of his large hands. He slammed your arms down on his mattress, above your head, and snatched the magazine back with his free hand. He chuckled triumphantly as a shit eating grin played on his lips. He threw the magazine aside and cursed you.

"You don't need to be such a fucking bitch, okay? Just give me my shit when I ask and I won't need to fuck you up, okay? D'ya understand me, princess?" He couldn't be more condescending if he tried. Only your family and close friends call you princess. And Rafe sure as hell wasn't either of those. "Fuck you Rafe." You spat as your chest heaved heavily as you stared up at Rafe as you suddenly realized something. Rafe realized it too as his eyes trailed down once more. Due to all the wrestling and being tossed around your pretty white halter slipped down and under your tits as did your strapless bra. Your breasts were completely on display for this stupid boy to see. His hungry gaze fixed on your perfect and soft breasts. You could fit into his palm. You huffed, irritated and wanting to be let go. But Rafe didn't let go. He just marveled at what the rest of you might look like. "Tch you really do look like that girl, huh?"

You wouldn't admit to the growing sensation down there and the fluttering in your stomach at your close proximity. Rafe, however, would admit the hard on he was growing as his shorts pressed up against your spread legs. Using one hand he groped your breast. Kneading gently as if to not hurt you. He ran his thumb over your dark brown nipples before pinching them as it got hard. He squished you carefully before leaning down and dragging his tongue I'm a circle around your tit. He gently bit at your nipples and sucked on your tits. This was where you couldn't deny that... well who didn't want Rafe Cameron? You were truly no different from anybody else. You could feel his growth push against your sex through your thin linen pants and began to squirm even more, but not because you wanted to get away from him. You tried to be subtle, so he wouldn't notice you grinding yourself against him but as soon as you started Rafe pulled back from your chest. He raised his hand and slapped your tit which caused a soft moan to erupt from you lips. You felt your face flush horribly and shut your eyes tight as you said a silent prayer.

Just then, Rafe released your wrists so his hands could trail down your waist and squeeze at your stomach and thighs. He could drool as he imagined you thicker than you are and holding you pregnant belly. He'd fuck you even harder then.

⋆☀︎.

Rafe held out maybe fifteen extra minutes as he waited for you to beg for him. He pulled your flowy pants down and got lost in the sight of your bare cunt. You, for whatever reason, hadn't bothered to put on any panties and you cunny was just seaping right through your thin pants and onto Rafe's comforter. He growled as he unzipped his pants and pulled down his boxer briefs to reveal his full, hard length. You deep brown eyes widened as you let out a surprised gasp. But it made sense. He ran his thumb over the tip and coated his shaft with the precum that dripped out of him. Rafe's cock was so thick and maybe about eight inches. You could feel your pussy throbbing at the thought of him fucking you. He bit his lip as he guided his head to your cunt. He pressed himself against your folds and smiled devilishly as both of your arousals mixed in to each other. As you kneaded your breasts and teased your nipples Rafe coated his thumb in your saliva as he requested you open your mouth and suck. Then, with that same thumb he gingerly rubbed at you hardened clit which made you twitch.

"Just put it in me already please Rafe- please," you begged him and he smirked an all knowing kind of smirk. "Anything for you, princess," without any further hesitation or teasing Rafe slammed his hard and heavy cock into your tight, soaking pussy. You couldn't control the pitiful moan that escaped your lips, but neither could he. The sensation of your tight canny wrapping and tightening around his cock with every thrust of his hips threw him forward. He panted and groaned beautifully as he held himself over you, hands resting on either side of your head. Grabbing Rafe's face you push yourself up and pull him down into a messy and needy kiss. You're whimpering and crying as he thrusts into you hitting your soft spot just right as Rafe, himself is moaning into your mouth as his tongue swirls around yours.

Rafe never bothered asking where he should cum because he had already decided. "Can't wait to meet my babies," He groaned into your ear as his his hips thrusted faster. Your hips bucked up in response as you felt your climax wash over you. "I-im cumming!" You screamed as he only thrusted deeper into you. "Mm that's my good girl. You're such a whore for me, huh?" He growled into your ear and your whole body shook with pleasure. You were cock drunk and damn near half asleep at this point. You whimpered a quiet 'Yes sir,' which earned a chuckle from him. His rhythm grew sloppy as his eyelids grew heavy with pleasure. Rafe pulled you close into him as his hips bucked one last time and he released his thick white cum into you perfect sopping wet cunny. The substance poured out of your sex from around Rafe's big cock, but he didn't remove himself. Instead he thrusted deeper into you a few more times for good measure.

"You'll be such a good mom if you're not too busy getting fucked, won't you baby?" He cooed and kissed your forehead. "My perfect fucking whore."

You're lucky you didn't wear panties. Rafe would've came all over them and let you leave with them on just to make sure his cum really stuck with you that night.

⋆☀︎.missyxx

[bangpop91writing]

I decided to expand the drable I wrote earlier as part of this collaboration with @louciferssacrament and make it part of my Grief Is Love Enduring Series.

The Viking

"Alright folks, five minutes, house is open. Twenty dollars goes in, hundred dollars pays out."

"What's the over under?"

"I got six weeks."

"Give me four, on credit. I gotta run to the atm."

"Boy Imma eat your lunch. And you better pay up cause I know the bookie and she's a mad woman. Sal you in?"

"I give him one week tops. Guys from Nebraska."

"Minnesota, actually."

"Whatever. There's New York, there's LA, and in between there's Nebraska."

"Oh Chicago's gonna kick your ass."

"Hey there's a whole lotta little leagues out there but if you ain't the Yankees you just ain't playing baseball."

"Doesn't everyone hate the Yankees?"

"Listen we've had like six captains in two years. We're like the island of misfits toys for retiring brass. Might be nice for somebody to stick around for awhile."

"All I'm saying is the bar burns down, the road needs salting, guys a rock star; fire at the fair, news at 11. LA's gonna look like Mars to this podunk and we're fresh out of training wheels."

"You're also out of half the supplies that should be stocked in this truck.

Briefing in five."

"I've got twenty on the viking."

It's a nice thought. Hen wishes she had the same unending optimism as Chimney does. But no Captain lasts at the 118.

Hen doesn't try to hold back the sobs that pour out of her, tearing out of her chest when the Army Captain comes by to inform her of Bobby's death. She can't catch her breath and she doesn't think it has anything to do with her punctured lung.

She doesn't want to believe it. It can't be true. Bobby can't be gone. He was supposed to out last them all. He'd paid in his twenty, Hen had the crisp hundred dollar bill framed for his retirement gift years ago.

Hen likes Captain Nash, she thinks if anyone could whip their little family of rag tag misfits into shape it's him. But he's a good competent captain who just needs to get his sea legs. Hen puts down $20 on three months. Thats when Captain Swan out of the 122 is retiring so him and his wife can move closer to their daughter in Washington who just had a baby.

The Wilson house is quiet. Too quiet. It has felt that was ever since Karen had brought Hen home from the hospital. Mara didn't have a chance to bond with Bobby the way Denny had.

Hen can't tell if the house it so quiet because everyone who lives there is grieving or if they are tip toeing around her grief.

Hen picked at her dinner the night before as Karen told Denny and Mara it was up to them if they wanted to attend the funeral the following morning. Hen's eyes had been on her plate but she had still seen Denny's trembling bottom lip and the way Mara looked to Denny for guidance.

The wake had been a somber affair. Hen is thankful the 118 weren't asked to stand guard over Bobby's casket. She doesn't know if she could do it. If any of them could. She's thankful to those who had offered.

Captain Ronnie Cooper and Lena Bosko out of the 136. Lucy Donato out of the 217. Captain Sal Deluca out of the 122.

Loosing Sal had been hard, but not as hard as it could have been. It hadn't been sudden. It was gradual. Sal was bonding with his new team and busier than ever with his promotion to the Captain of the 122. It wasn't until years later that Hen realized how sudden it actually was. One day Sal was their defacto leader, he was an intergel part of their band of misfits, and four years later he was a virtual stranger.

The only reason Hen and Karen stay for the full length of the wake is for Athena and the kids. Athena is her best friend. It doesn't matter how badly it hurts, how cracked open her heart is. Hen needs to be here for her best friend. She can't fall apart. Not here, not today, and not tomorrow. She can fall apart later with drinks with her team. When it's all over and she no longer has to be strong because her boys will catch her the way they always have.

The house was light up with natural light, with Denny and Mara's new favorite song playing over the blue tooth speaker as Hen put on her dress blues and Karen fretted over Denny's latest growth spurt and if his dress pants would be long enough. Mara was wearing the yellow sundress she had picked out special for today with a white bow in her hair. Hen laughed helping Karen look for the specific pair of heels she wanted to wear for the Medal Ceremony.

Even though the sun is pouring in through the large windows of the Wilson home, it doesn't feel bright or warm. This time there is no laughter or music while Hen puts on her dress blues. Hen doesn't know how she's held it together this long, but she breaks in Karen's arms, sobbing into her wife's neck.

It's better if she cries here. She can't cry once they arrive at the ceremony.

Losing Tommy has harder than losing Sal. There was nothing gradual about the loss. Tommy was there just as the 118 was becoming a family and then he was gone.

It hurt, but the team, Hen had recovered.

"I'll be honest when Bobby first brought you on board, I said he should just get a Dalmatian instead."

It had taken her and Chimney a minute to warm up to Buck, the loss of Tommy still to fresh. But once he clicks Buck slides into place like he was always supposed to be there.

"Okay that is a beautiful man."

"Where's the lie? And I like girls."

"Don't worry I'll protect you from Buck and his chainsaw."

"There's a chainsaw?"

"…he feels like he lost one family and now he's hyper focused to protect the other one, the 118. He's teaching you to make sure that you're ready. But because he's Buck, he also wants to make sure that you're worthy."

"Hey Chim, I tried getting a hold of your parents but there's a sixteen hour time difference between here and Seoul, so maybe that had something to do with it."

"That's okay. His family is right here."

Hen cant stop thinking about all those defining moments that made the 118 a family, her family.

"That should be our motto. Who cares?"

"That's not a very good motto."

"Well not if you take it out of context."

She never imagined that a funeral would be the thing that brought the 118 back together for the first time. She thought it would be births, graduations, weddings that brought Eddie home again. She never could have imagined it would be Bobby's funeral.

Hen crawls through the small pocket her team had made for her in the rubble. She has Kat holding onto her back and Paisley in front of her leading the way. Hen makes it put the other side covered in dust and debris. She looks into the eyes of her team who had come to rescue her.

"Hey guys." Hen said with a laugh. She had never doubted them.

Hen takes her seat at the front with the rest of the 118 behind Athena, the kids. Bobby's family. She selfishly wishes she didn't have to be a pallbarer, that she could sit with Karen and give into the tears threatening to fall.

Hen hears May's tears, and watches Athena comfort her children. Hen doesn't even want to think of how devastated May must be. Hen knows how much she loves Bobby.

"Cap!" The word rings out like a mantra, like a prayer as the 118 calls for their captain sifting through the rubble of the roof that had come down on him and May with increasing desperation.

The rubble falls away revealing Bobby and May both alive. Even through the sound of moving rumble and the buzz of adrenaline ringing in Hen's ears she can hear Bobby comforting May. She can see her captain using his body as a blanket to protect his child until help arrives. The 118 pulls father and daughter from the rubble and Bobby watches protectively while Hen examines May.

"It is customary and fitting that the final alarm be sounded for our brother, Captain Robert Wade Nash. He has completed his duties, a job well done." Hen takes a deep shuddering Breath as Chief Simpson speaks. She knows what is coming next and she isn't ready. She doesn't know how she will ever be ready. "Uniformed personal please stand." Hen rises especially side by side with her team, her brothers.

"Atten-hut! Present arms." Hen salutes still fighting back tears as the bell rings ten times signaling the end of Bobby's watch.

The 118 flank Bobby and May walking them out of the burnt out remains of metro dispatch, escorting them to safety and to medical care.

It's time for the 118 to escort Bobby to his final resting place.

It wasn't intentional that her, Chimney, and Tommy line one side of Bobby's casket while Buck, Eddie, and Ravi line the other, but it feels like it is. On one side, the team Bobby inherited, on the other side, the one he built. They are the only ones who know the truth though, The 118 wasn't just Bobby's team, they were his family.

The bag pipes fill the air of downtown Los Angeles the way they must fill the hills of Scotland, Hen thinks. This isn't her first funeral. It isn't even her first funeral for a fallen brother.

"We all have our breaking point."

Hen knows they are supposed to be stoic as they guard Bobby for as long as they can. Hen knows she is supposed to be stoic but she couldn't stop the tears even if she tried. She marches side by side with the 118 until their job is done, when it is time Athena, May, and Harry to make the last part of this journey on their own as they take Bobby's home to Minnesota.

"I wasn't asking about work. I already know you did a great job."

Hen and her family return home from the funeral. She doesn't strip out of her dress blues, not yet. She knows she should change, her mom would be there soon to watch the kids so Hen and Karen could join the 118 for drinks at their old haunt.

In their bedroom Hen goes to the top shelf of their closet pulling down a old wood box. Her bookie box. It's empty but Hen opens it anyway staring at the bottom of the box that hasn't been used since they had placed bets on Bobby and Athena's relationship.

Bobby thought Hen should be the next Captain of the 118, but she doesn't even know if she is up for the job. Everything feels so broken without Bobby, she doesn't know how to rebuild a firehouse, but she thinks she knows where to start.

"You know why redwoods grow so high? They move and bend with the wind. If you stay rigid, eventually you'll break."

The tones ring out across the station calling the 118 to action. Buck and Chimney flank their new captain with Ravi and May falling in line behind them as the team follows Captain Henrietta Wilson into the engines, driving out of the station, answering the call to help.

On the wall of the station hangs a large plaque with the LAFD insignia and commemorating the fallen members of the 118. At the very center hangs the portrait of Bobby Nash with a crisp hundred dollar bill behind the glass.

[mapengen-com]

Hot Upstairs Neighbor

Ingrid and Mapi live just a few floors apart from each other. Mapi thinks it's the best thing ever, Ingrid thinks they should just move in.

Mapi was leaning against her apartment wall, one hand lazily pressing the intercom button as she smirked to herself. The air outside was crisp, the kind of night that made staying in with Ingrid even more appealing. She heard the familiar crackle of the intercom before a voice filled the space.  

“Hi,” Ingrid’s voice came through, soft but amused.  

“Hey,” Mapi replied, already grinning. “I've been wanting to talk with my hot upstairs neighbor. Is she there?”  

There was a pause, then a chuckle.

“You’re speaking to her.”  

“Oh, good,” she tilted her head back, staring at the ceiling as if she could see straight into Ingrid’s apartment. “Is that silly girlfriend of yours there?”  

“No, she’s not,” the Norwegian answered, playing along.  

“Yeah, that’s nice,” Mapi let the words linger for a second, pretending to consider her next move. “So, uh, I was wondering if you wanted to come spend the night here?”  

There was another pause before Ingrid spoke again.

“Hmm, I don’t know. My girlfriend might get jealous.”  

“Oh, damn. That’s rough,” she said dramatically. “I heard your downstairs neighbor is very charming, though. Like, ridiculously attractive.”  

“She is,” Ingrid agreed. “But she’s also a little bit annoying.”  

“Annoying?” Mapi gasped. 

“Yeah,” she teased, letting out a small laugh. “Always making me come downstairs when she could just come up instead.”  

“That’s because she likes watching you come to her,” the Spaniard admitted, her voice dropping just enough to make Ingrid’s stomach flip. “It’s a little treat, you know?”

“Oh? Just like that?”

“Yeah. And, also, she’s lonely. Her bed is cold. She could use someone to warm it up.”

“Hmm. I don't know. Sounds suspicious,” Ingrid pretended to think. 

“Suspiciously romantic, maybe. C’mon, come down.”

“You’re impossible,” Ingrid sighed, but Mapi could hear the smile in her voice.  

“And yet, you’re already grabbing your keys, right?”  

There was a beat of silence. 

“I’ll be there in five.”

“Make it down to two. I miss you.”

“You saw me three hours ago. We spent the whole day together.”

“Three long, agonizing hours.”

Then the sound of Ingrid’s intercom clicking off.  

Mapi grinned, pushing away from the wall and heading toward her door after refilling Bagheera’s bowl of food. That way, the cat wouldn’t bother them too much. 

When she finally opened the front door, Ingrid was already stepping out of the elevator, rolling her eyes but smiling like she had been waiting for this all night.  

She looked adorable in mismatched socks and a hoodie Mapi was pretty sure it was hers just a week ago.

“Shut up,” Ingrid pointed a finger at her before Mapi could even speak.  

“I didn’t say anything,” she countered, pulling Ingrid inside by the wrist as she closed the door.  

“You were about to.”  

“Fine,” Mapi relented, backing them up toward the couch, arms wrapping around Ingrid’s waist. “I was going to say that my hot upstairs neighbor is also my favorite person in the world.”  

“That’s better,” Ingrid hummed, letting Mapi tug her down onto the cushions. 

They fell into easy silence, the kind that only came after years of knowing each other’s rhythms. Mapi pressed a lazy kiss to Ingrid’s shoulder, content just having her there, down as if the outside world had stopped existing.  

“I still think you should move in,” Ingrid mumbled after a while, fingers tracing random patterns on Mapi’s skin.  

“I like making you come downstairs,” Mapi smiled, nudging her nose against Ingrid’s jaw. 

Ingrid groaned, dropping her head back against the couch. 

“You’re actually the worst.”  

“And yet, here you are.”  

“Unfortunately.”  

Mapi laughed, pressing a kiss to Ingrid’s cheek. 

“Shut up. You love me.”  

“Yeah,” she sighed, turning her head to capture Mapi’s lips with her own. “I really do.”

The Spaniard only smirked as she pulled away from the kiss, her lips still hovering near Ingrid’s. 

“I knew it. You’re just a sucker for me.”

“I’m really not sure how you manage to make everything sound like an accomplishment,” she rolled her eyes, but there was a warmth in her gaze as she let herself settle more comfortably into Mapi’s embrace, her head resting right next to hers. 

“Easy,” she shrugged with a cocky grin. “It’s because I’m irresistible.”

Ingrid’s eyebrow arched playfully, her hand hovering over Mapi’s collarbone. 

“Is that so? Because I remember a certain someone saying she was too busy to hang out tonight. Something about having to spend the whole night cleaning her closet.”

“Well, yeah,” Mapi said, leaning in closer and brushing a strand of hair behind Ingrid’s ear. “I might’ve been busy... But then I realized that my hot upstairs neighbor might be free tonight, and I couldn't resist.”

“Always so charming,” she teased back, running her fingers through Mapi’s hair. “Too bad my silly girlfriend wouldn’t approve.”

“Well, lucky for me, she’s nowhere to be found,” her smile widened as she watched Ingrid’s lips curl into a soft grin. “Maybe she’s cleaning her own closet.”

Ingrid shook her head, clearly amused but clearly falling into the easy flow of their teasing banter. 

“You just love to rub it in, huh?”

“Of course. But only because I know you like it.”

The silence that followed was comfortable, the kind where words weren’t needed, and both of them knew exactly what the other was thinking. Ingrid shifted slightly, just enough for her hand to graze Mapi’s chest as she settled in, wrapping her arms around her waist even if they were lying face-to-face.

“That silly girlfriend of mine is going to be really mad when she finds out," Ingrid murmured with a teasing glint in her voice, her fingers tracing small circles on Mapi’s chest. 

For her part, Mapi only chuckled, leaning in and brushing her lips over Ingrid’s neck.

“She’ll be mad?” She asked rhetorically. “Nah, I think she’ll understand once she sees how much fun we’re having,” she smiled against Ingrid’s skin, sending a shiver down her spine.

“You’re impossible, you know that?” Ingrid laughed softly, her head falling back as she gave in to the moment.

“Yeah,” Mapi said with a grin, her lips ghosting over Ingrid’s pulse. “But you love it.”

“You’re not as bad as you seem,” Ingrid replied, but the fondness in her voice was clear.

“You’re saying that now,” she teased, shifting to kiss Ingrid’s lips once more, soft and slow, before pulling back with a smirk. “But deep down, I know you’re just waiting for the next time I ask you to come downstairs.”

“Oh, shut up,” Ingrid sighed, but the twinkle in her eyes gave her away.

“See?” Mapi smirked. “I knew you were already thinking about it.”

“Maybe,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I’ll deny it if you ever bring it up again.”

“I’d never do that,” the Spaniard replied, giving her a wink. “I’m way too charming to ruin the fun.”

“You’re such a handful. I don’t even know why I’m here.”

“Because you’re exactly where you want to be,” Mapi finished with that signature cocky grin, pulling Ingrid in for another kiss, this one more hurried, more urgent.

As the kiss deepened, both of them lost track of time. The teasing, the banter, all faded into the background, replaced by the quiet hum of their bodies pressed together, even if the couch had enough space for both of them. 

And Mapi finally pulled away, she let her forehead rest against Ingrid’s. 

After a moment, she shifted slightly, pulling Ingrid impossibly closer. They stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in each other, the teasing fading into something softer. The hum of the city outside barely reached them, the world outside Mapi’s apartment feeling distant. It was just them, like it always was, like it always would be.

Then, just as Mapi thought Ingrid was falling asleep, the Norwegian let out a slow exhale as she buried her face in Mapi’s shoulder. 

“You’re warm,” she mumbled, voice sleepy.

“See? Another reason why coming downstairs was a great idea,” she insisted, grinning into Ingrid’s hair. “Free personal heater.”

“Not free. I have to listen to your nonsense,” Ingrid hummed.

“Nonsense? I only speak the truth,” Mapi gasped, hand pressing dramatically over her chest. 

“Mhmm,” Ingrid’s fingers absentmindedly traced patterns along Mapi’s side. “The truth, huh?”

“Absolutely,” she argued as she tightened her hold around Ingrid’s waist. “And the truth is… You’re madly in love with me.”

“Oh, am I?” The Norwegian scoffed, tilting her head back to meet Mapi’s gaze. 

“Yep,” she grinned, pressing a quick kiss to the tip of Ingrid’s nose. “So in love. Like, you literally can’t resist me.”

“That’s funny,” Ingrid mused. “Because I remember saying I wasn’t sure if I even wanted to come downstairs.”

Mapi smirked, leaning in, her lips barely brushing Ingrid’s. 

“But here you are.”

“I should’ve made you come up instead,” she rolled her eyes, but the corners of her lips twitched up. 

“But then I wouldn’t have gotten to see you stepping out of the elevator looking all cute and grumpy, pretending you weren’t excited to be here.”

“I wasn’t grumpy.”

“You were a little grumpy.”

“And yet, you still dragged me inside.”

“Obviously,” Mapi ran her fingers through Ingrid’s hair, letting them tangle at the nape of her neck. “You’re my favorite person. Where else would I want you to be?”

Ingrid blinked, thrown off by the sincerity in Mapi’s voice. She swallowed, her teasing retort dying on her tongue.

“Oh,” she said softly, her fingers tightening slightly on the Spaniard’s shirt.

“Yeah. Oh,” Mapi smiled, her thumb brushing gently over Ingrid’s cheek. 

They stayed like that for a moment, Ingrid’s heart pounding in her chest, Mapi looking at her like she was the best thing in the world. And she was, to Mapi at least.

She exhaled softly, her fingers lazily tracing patterns on Ingrid’s small back. 

“You really are my favorite person, you know?”

“I should hope so, considering how you just spent fifteen minutes convincing me to come down here,” Ingrid mumbled as she wrapped an arm around Mapi’s neck.

“First of all, it was fifteen seconds,” Mapi grinned against her. “And it’s not my fault you make it fun.”

“You’re so needy,” she teased, but there was no bite to it, only warmth.

“For you? Always,” Mapi tilted her head up, letting Ingrid brush her nose against her jaw. “But I think you like it.”

Ingrid scoffed, and Mapi could feel the way her body relaxed into hers. 

“That’s debatable.”

“Oh, really?” she pulled back slightly, just enough to look at her face. “Then why are you practically melting into me right now?”

Ingrid opened her mouth, but no retort came out.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Mapi smirked, poking her side.

“You’re impossible,” Ingrid swatted her hand away, laughing. 

“And yet, here you are,” she shot back, repeating the words from earlier.

Ingrid just shook her head, clearly amused but unwilling to let Mapi win so easily. 

“To be fair, you did make a compelling argument.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” Ingrid shifted so she was fully facing Mapi now, their legs tangled together by the other end of the couch. “A cold bed? A lonely girlfriend? That’s a pretty strong case.”

“So, what you’re saying is, you came downstairs because you couldn’t resist me?”

“I’m saying I came downstairs because you asked me to,” Ingrid’s fingers trailed up Mapi’s arm, slow and deliberate. 

Mapi’s breath caught for just a second, the words settling into her chest in a way that made her heart ache, just a little. Because that was them, wasn’t it? They teased, they joked, they played their little games – but at the end of the day, Ingrid always came when Mapi asked.

She swallowed, her voice a little softer now. 

“You always do.”

“Yeah. I always do,” Ingrid smiled, small but knowing. “Just like you always do, too.”

They stayed like that for a moment, the teasing melting into something quieter. Mapi traced her fingers along Ingrid’s wrist, memorizing the way her skin felt beneath her touch. Three years, and it still never got old.

“You really should just move in,” Ingrid murmured, breaking the silence.

“We’re back to this again?” Mapi chuckled, resting her forehead against Ingrid’s again.

“Mhmm,” she hummed. “It just makes sense.”

“Does it?”

“Yes,” the Norwegian pulled back just enough to meet Mapi’s gaze. “You’re already at my place half the time anyway. And when we’re not there, we’re here.”

Mapi thought about it. She thought about the mornings spent in Ingrid’s kitchen, stealing her hoodies, the way Bagheera had practically claimed Ingrid’s couch as her own at this point. She thought about the late nights when Ingrid would come over just because she missed her.

And, yeah. Maybe it did make sense.

But still…

“I like making you come downstairs,” Mapi murmured, nudging her nose against Ingrid’s cheek.

“Of course you do,” Ingrid groaned. 

“It’s a little treat,” she just grinned, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the corner of her lips.

“You are actually the worst,” she mumbled, but she was already wrapping her arms around Mapi again, pulling her in until there was no space left between them.

Mapi smiled against her skin, pressing another soft kiss just below her jaw. 

“You’re still here.”

“Unfortunately.”

“You love me,” she murmured as she pressed her lips to Ingrid’s cheek, just because.

“Yeah. I really do,” Ingrid didn’t even hesitate this time. Mapi’s small kisses were too much for her to handle. 

Mapi felt something warm settle in her chest, something steady and sure.

She leaned back just enough to look at Ingrid, her hands framing her face gently. 

“And I really love you, too.”

“I know,” Ingrid’s smile softened. 

“I just like saying it,” she smirked. 

“Well, keep saying it,” she murmured, tilting her head to tuck hers into the space under her chin, as if she could fit there.

And Mapi did, whispering it against Ingrid’s lips, against her skin, in between laughter and teasing remarks and the comfortable silence that followed.

And maybe, she’d let Ingrid win the argument about moving in one day.

But not tonight. Because tonight, she got to have Ingrid like this – wrapped up in her arms, exactly where she was supposed to be.

After all, they’ve been together for three years already, and Mapi was still this ridiculous. 

And Ingrid? 

She still fell for it every single time.

“We should buy walkie-talkies,” Mapi thought out loud, not even registering the words that actually got out of her mouth before Ingrid started laughing against her neck.

“You’re impossible,” Ingrid giggled, her breath warm against Mapi’s skin.  

“But think about it. How fun would it be? You, upstairs. I, downstairs. ‘Breaker, breaker, hot neighbor, you there? Over,'” she grinned, pressing another slow kiss just below Ingrid’s ear. 

“I regret coming downstairs,” the Norwegian groaned, tilting her head back against the couch. 

“No, you don’t,” Mapi’s lips brushed against her pulse point, her arms wrapping even tighter around Ingrid’s waist. “You love me too much for that.”  

“Huh.”  

“Excuse me?” Mapi gasped, dramatically pulling back to stare at her. 

“I mean, I might love you a little less now that you’re seriously suggesting walkie-talkies,” Ingrid smirked, eyes glinting with mischief. 

Mapi narrowed her eyes, leaning in until their noses brushed, a very fake, but very serious face on.

“So if I were to, let’s say, order them right now…?”  

“You wouldn’t.”  

“Wouldn’t I?”  

“ María Pilar, ” Ingrid warned, her voice carrying that soft, fond exasperation that only Mapi could bring out of her.  

“Okay, okay,” she relented, laughing as she nudged her nose against Ingrid’s cheek. “I won’t order them. Yet. ”  

“You are so lucky I love you,” she sighed, shaking her head as she tucked herself against the Spaniard again. 

“I know,” Mapi murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of Ingrid’s head.  

They settled into silence again, Ingrid’s fingers drawing lazy circles on Mapi’s back, her hand idly tracing Ingrid’s spine. It was easy, and it was soothing in a way that only two people who’ve been together for such a long time would have achieved. 

After a while, Ingrid let out a small sigh.  

“…You’re not going to let this go, are you?”  

“I mean, you brought it up again. So really, this is on you.”  

Ingrid groaned loudly, burying her face in Mapi’s shoulder. 

“I swear to god, if I get a package in the mail with walkie-talkies…”  

“Too late,” Mapi cut in cheerfully.  

“You’re ridiculous.”  

“And yet…”  

“…And yet, I still love you,” Ingrid sighed, defeated but already smiling.

Mapi beamed, stealing a quick kiss. 

“That’s my girl,” she smiled against Ingrid’s mouth for a second before pulling back. “I’m serious, tho,” Mapi grinned, fingers trailing lazily up and down Ingrid’s back under her hoodie. “Imagine, yeah? Late at night, I can just grab my walkie-talkie and be like, ‘hey, my hot upstairs neighbor, do you copy?’ ”

“And I’d say, ‘go to sleep, Mapi,’ ” Ingrid let out a breathy chuckle, her lips brushing against Mapi’s collarbone. 

“Nah,” Mapi smirked. “You’d say, ‘I miss you so much, please come upstairs right now.’ ”

Ingrid groaned, shifting to press a hand over Mapi’s mouth. 

“Shhh.”

Mapi just laughed against her palm, her eyes crinkling in delight before she nipped playfully at Ingrid’s fingers. The Norwegian immediately gasped, yanking her hand back.

“Did you just bite me?”

“Softly,” Mapi grinned. “Affectionately.”

“You’re like a feral cat,” Ingrid muttered, but she didn’t move away; if anything, she melted further into Mapi’s hold. “You’re worse than Bagheera.”

“And you love me,” she grinned wider, her arms tightening around Ingrid.

“Yes, yes, we’ve established that,” she sighed, but her fingers were still idly tracing shapes against Mapi’s arm, gentle and unhurried.

There was a pause, the kind that stretched comfortably between them, no rush, no need for words. Then Mapi sighed dramatically.

“Okay, but just picture it?”

Ingrid groaned, half in amusement, half in exasperation. 

“Why do I date you?”

“Because I’m irresistible,” Mapi said smugly. “So, as you’re not buying my idea of walkie-talkies, maybe I should change the elevator passcode to my floor,” she mumbled against Ingrid’s shoulder, her voice still slightly muffled. “Make it something else.”

“You won’t,” Ingrid hummed, her fingers playing with the loose strands of Mapi’s hair. 

“What makes you so sure?”

“Because you like the fact that it’s my birthday,” she smirked. “You’re sentimental like that.”

“I am not sentimental,” Mapi scoffed. 

“Oh, sure,” the Norwegian teased, letting her short nails scrape against her scalp. “That’s why you call me after three hours apart and make your passcodes my birthdate and look at me like…”

“Okay,” she groaned, and this was her time to also put a hand over Ingrid’s mouth to shut her up. “Enough.”

Ingrid laughed against her palm, her eyes sparkling with pure love as she grabbed Mapi’s wrist and kissed her fingers softly. 

“It’s okay,” she murmured, tilting her head. “I like that you’re weak for me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mapi sighed, defeated. 

“And you love me,” Ingrid grinned, leaning in to press a kiss to her cheek.

The Spaniard exhaled dramatically, but her arms tightened around Ingrid’s waist all the same. 

“And I love you.”

“Good girl,” Ingrid teased back, her voice dripping with satisfaction.

“I take it back. I’m changing the passcode,” Mapi pulled back slightly, raising a brow. 

“Sure you are.”

“I will.”

Ingrid just smiled, her hands resting comfortably against Mapi’s chest. 

“You’re going to put my jersey numbers next, aren’t you? 2-3-0-7? Or 0-7-2-3?”

“I really shouldn’t have called you,” she groaned, sinking deeper into her warmth. 

“But then you wouldn’t have me in your arms right now,” Ingrid smiled against her jaw, letting her lips brush against the soft skin.

Mapi sighed, shaking her head fondly. 

“You’re the worst.”

“And yet,” Ingrid whispered, pressing her lips to the corner of Mapi’s mouth. “You still love me.”

Mapi didn’t even try to fight it this time.

“I do,” she murmured, finally giving in. “I really do.”

Ingrid was sure they still had to talk more about the whole ‘moving in’ thing, and definitely argue more about the whole ‘walkie-talkie’ thing, but right now, with Mapi’s arms wrapped around her, their breaths in sync, and that stupidly smug smile pressed against her, she knew exactly where she wanted to be.  

And somehow, Mapi always knew it too.

[pomegranatelycan]

Weekly dump: Busy

Hello! First I wanted to thank everyone that liked and commented on my first weekly dump! I planned to post another regardless if no one commented but seeing so many people actually reading my post and enjoying it…it made me really emotional. I’ve always felt really small and sometimes even unimportant to people in my life (not to my darling sweet wife but you get what I’m saying) so seeing so many people reading my post and enjoying what I had to say meant a lot to me.

So, why is this post titled busy? Well, I’m busy. Rather, I made myself busy. I have two weeks of school left but I decided to do all my finals this week instead of waiting. As an English major, I’m very fortunate to have final essays as opposed to in person finals, so once the paper is done that’s it. Currently I only have one more essay left!! This semester is my final one and I really wanted to relax before my graduation ceremony! This also gives me time to apply to my masters program without worrying about my current assignments! Honestly this has been the best crunch week I’ve ever had, my writing has come super easily to me and as a result I haven’t been stressed despite the numerous essays I’ve had to write!

That being said…I’ve still made time to take things slow and enjoy my time. I’ve been playing a lot more style savvy than animal crossing, I guess it’s just a bit easier since style savvy is more guided so it keeps my attention a bit longer than acnl (though I still visited my villagers this week don’t worry!) I really love choosing the random hairstyle option and building an outfit around that look!

Earlier this week we also had a sudden thunderstorm! I live in SoCal, literally an hour away from L.A. so it was very scary to suddenly get such a heavy thunderstorm! Thunder kept sounding right outside my house but a little bit before it started, when it was just raining, I went outside and took some photos! I have a tree with a face named Mel and he is my favorite plant. I want a tree in the front yard of the next place I move to so I can give it a face and a new name. Anyways here’s a moody picture of Mel for your enjoyment!

Isn’t he the cutest? I love trees with faces, they’re so delightful. Speaking of delightful, I watched Wolf’s Rain with my gf this week. I watched it all once when I was 14 and since the person I watched it with was a horrible evil woman, I decided I wanted to watch it again with the love of my life. We watched the first six episodes on what I believe may be a bootleg Blu-ray…I would love to get an official copy of it in the future but for now it’s pretty solid aside from the quick advertisement of titlovi.com at the beginning of every episode, honestly I think it adds to the show. I love physical media so even if it’s a bootleg I’m very happy with owning it lol

I can’t believe I graduate in just a few weeks, it feels surreal. I was in a very bad place mentally when I finished high school and started university so I didn’t honestly think I’d make it this far and…now here I am. About to graduate, twenty two years old, dating my dream girl and perusing my passion for writing and libraries despite all the challenges presented to me. I’m really proud I’ve made it this far and I know I’ll only continue to go further and further with time…I was also looking at photos of myself from when I was younger this week. Back when I was 19 I’d look at younger photos and mourn the girl I used to be. Now at twenty two I can’t help but feel differently. I’ve got so much more ahead of me and while my looks may change I think I’m even prettier and more importantly, I’m far more happier now than I was then.

And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for…my weekly songs + videos!

So I really love goth, new wave, and visual Kei music. However, I think my favorite musician will always be Sheena Ringo. God she’s just incredible. The song I’m about to share is super personal, I have to listen to it once a week with my eyes closed to just let the music engulf me or I have a horrible week. It’s honestly one of the best things I’ve heard ever and I hope that you’ll enjoy it as well! I still can’t fucking believe she wrote this song at 16 like holy shit she was and still is such an incredible creative.

Next song is Stray, the intro to Wolfs Rain!!! I really love the sound of this one and wanted to highlight it cause I forgot how good it was till I started rewatching the show.

And finally, video of the week! As an English literature major, I’m very interested in looking into the factors of what makes a text good or bad. I believe that a majority of the time it’s preference that determines if you like a text or find it horrible. I love Slow Damage and Towa but I think A Certain Hunger and its protagonist are insufferable in comparison. However, the actual text is a good indicator of a texts quality. When looking at creepypastas, often people consider the plot to be bad but I think the writing is much worse than the plot. That’s because for a lot of young writers, creepypasta was their first entryway into the world of writing original stories. As such, when I saw a literary analysis of Jeff the Killer recommended to me on YouTube I got HYPED. And the video delivered, for once someone wasn’t making fun of the story but rather highlighting the awkward writing of the work.

[drev-the-procrastinator]

love waking up to my mom giving me an ultimatum and ordering that i have to give up my (admittedly expensive) apartment 1n 2 weeks and move back home for good. i had stuff to do today but i guess being gripped by dread and anxiety works too

[kkusuka]

pt. 2

your roommate was a strange man.

can you even really call him a roommate if he's only home for one week every few months? but when he is home, simon riley is a pretty good roommate.

he fixes the heater that's been broken for two months, he replaces the faucet after it drenches you for turning it on too quick, he even takes a look at your car when you mention how your breaks have been squeaking. but other than his penchant for whiskey and the color black, you really don't know much about the man you've been living with for more than a year.

he's in the military, you know that for sure. he works with a team because he tells you that you have a striking resemblance to a man names "soap"? you take that as a compliment even if he didn't really mean it to be one. he wears combat boots even when he's off, you buy him a pair for his birthday that he doesn't take off until soles wear out. but all of these are merely observations, you don't actually know anything about him.

and it's not like you don't try to find out more things about him. you search his name on google- nothing. you ask him about his social media- 'don't got any'. you never ask about family because he never brings them up. all you have is a phone number and the license plate on his beat up dodge charger.

so, getting a call in the middle of the night, three months after you'd last seen simon, about a mission taking a bad turn and simon taking a bullet for an american private. all you really manage to catch after that was the hospital's address and a room number to ask for.

you feel like you're in a trance as you pack yourself an overnight bag, then move to simon's room and just start grabbing the softest clothes you can find and a bunch of snacks from his side of the pantry, then you're off.

you didn't want to see desperate or overly worried about a man whose favorite song you don't know but you're pushing into the high 90s on your way down. and your mind isn't clear until you're standing in front of a tired looking nurse in sanrio scrubs.

"um, i need to get into room 1206?" you barely choke the words out before she's getting up to lead you, "oh! mrs. riley, they told me you were on your way."

"oh-i'm, well" and if you hadn't watch so many hospital shows where they don't let anyone but family into the room you would have just told her the truth, but you just shut your mouth, give her a tight smile, and follow her down the hallway.

the room doesn’t take long to get to, but the door is shut and you can hear the people inside talking. but the nurse doesn't even hesitate to swing the door wide open, "mr. riley, your wife is here."

and then there are four sets of eyes trained on you, but all you can look at is the hulking figure of your roommate sat up in his comically small hospital bed. and all you can muster up is a slight smile and a small wave in his direction before the bags you're holding fly straight onto the floor.

"oh, shoot- i'm sorry. i didn't know if you needed anything so i just grabbed some things from your dresser- and some of those granola bars you like, and there should be a gatorade somewhere in there. and, oh my god, i'm sorry, how are you? i came as soon as they called, and they said you got shot, and-"

"calm down, sweetheart, or yer gonna be the one that needs a hospital bed." ok, simon could still speak that was good, and he was conscious and remembered you.

"i'm sorry. i just got worried, and-" simon knew you well enough to know that you'll worry yourself to death if he lets you keep going, "nothin' to worry about, sweetheart, pull up a chair, you've 'ad stressful few hours."

you practically fell back into the chair that the man with the kindest brown eyes you've ever seen pushed towards you. and for the first time since you arrived, you took a deep, long breath. hand clasped in your lap as you take simon in.

"feeling any better, mrs. riley?"

"she's fine, garrick." 

'garrick' seems utterly unphased by your roommate's- husband's? you can address that later- tone and just continues to smile at you.

"c'mon simon, we just wannae ken 'bout the bonnie lass yer hidin' from yer pals. ye 'aven't even introduced us." you're glad the scot waited until you'd calmed down to start speaking because it took you at least 30 seconds to realize he was even talking about you.

"sweetheart these are the boys, boys this is sweetheart, now fuck off before you scare 'er away"

they didn’t seem like they were going to leave until the older man practically dragged them out saying something about the heaping loads of paperwork they had to do. so will a little wave and a cheeky smile, they were gone.

"so, um, ho-how are you feeling? they, uh, said that you got shot?"

" 'm fine, sweetheart, better knowing i've got a bird at home who'll come runnin' cause she thinks 'm hurt, yeah wife?"

yeah, maybe you'll let the mrs. riley thing go on for a little bit longer.

idk i just really like the idea of simon just picking someone random and being like 'yeah this is it, you're mine now' and they have literally no idea

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Ready for Sleep

Summary: Bucky Barnes x fe!Reader -> You fall asleep with Bucky after a tough mission.

Disclaimer: mentions of body injuries from a mission, established relationship, domestic fluff, short read. Not proof read.

You were ready to sleep for a year. Three severely bruised ribs and two dozen other bruises scattered across your entire body, a stiff neck that had been reminded a little by a hot shower, at least a dozen cuts and scrapes to your skin and enough images that will probably pop up one random night in a nightmare when you’re least expecting it. It was safe to say you were tired. 

Bucky had spent most of his morning reading. After two back to back missions, he’d been ready for a break so when Banner and Cho had forced Fury’s hand and allowed both himself and Sam to take a few weeks rest, he was more than happy to take it. 

He hadn’t heard you come back. Nor had he heard you limp down the hallway towards your room a few hours before his alarm went off. But he heard you when you walked into the living area just a little after two. 

“Hey- oh-” 

Holding the book still on his chest, Bucky looked over at you as you slowly made your way inside and across the room to him. Your hair was down and wet from your shower, your clothes had been changed from your standard black tactical gear to a fresh black t-shirt and a pair of shorts. 

“No, no, stay where you are.” You said to Bucky as he began to move. But you didn’t want to have to be constantly moving. You were ready to sleep. 

“What happened? I thought you weren’t getting back until tomorrow.”

Almost as easy as breathing, Bucky spread his legs a little and helped you down onto the sofa with him until you were lying comfortably beside him. 

“We wrapped up early since we kinda got caught. Nothing’s broken, I promise.” Bucky’s hand softly rubbed at your arm as you got comfortable. He pressed a short kiss to your hairline. 

“Why didn’t somebody call-”

“I asked them not to.” You looked up at him. “You would have been worrying for nothing.”

Bucky just gave you the look of someone still should have called me. 

“I promise. I’m okay. I just want to sleep.”

Bucky nodded. “Okay.” Then he kissed you. 

If his kiss couldn’t heal you, nothing could. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

You graced him with a softened smile. “I am now.”

Bucky smiled down at you before kissing you slowly again, his hand softly wrapping around your wrist that lay on his chest. It was something he’d done since the beginning – counting the beats of your heart through your pulse. A reminder to him that you were real and not a figment of his imagination. 

“Want to tell me what happened?”

You were slow to nod. You’d already said everything on the video report on your way back home so it wasn’t like you needed to. But he was a worrier. And you found it easier talking to him than you did most people. 

“It was by complete accident. One of their new recruits didn’t know their way around the base so took a few wrong turns and ended up finding us. They did what they’d been told to do and pressed their button which alerted everyone else. From there, it was what you’d expect. Lots of noise, a lotta shouting and enough dust to give the desert a run for its money.”

Bucky chuckled and you felt the rumble in his chest under your ear. Softly, his fingers traced up and down your arm and side as you continued to explain. 

“We got what we went for. Though I paid a pretty good price for it.”

“How many?”

“Three. Bruised though, not broken. We landed this morning and I’ve already left everything for Hill on her desk.”

Bucky hummed. “You know she’s gonna be mad you broke into her office again.”

“Then she shouldn’t make it so easy for me to get in.”

Bucky chuckled again. “Anything else?”

You shook your head. “Not really. Came back here, took about an hour to get undressed and get into the shower.”

“Why didn’t you come and get me?”

“Didn’t want to wake you.”

A small scoff came from the back of his throat. “I’d rather you come and wake me up than put yourself through more pain.”

You just looked up at him. “I’m okay, Buck. I promise. Besides, it probably would have taken longer for me to get in the shower with you there.”

You didn’t miss the way the blush dusted his cheeks and ears when he realised what you were talking about. Then he laughed. “Okay, maybe you’ve got a point.”

You just smiled and kissed him again. 

“Want me to get you anything?”

You shook your head. “Not yet. I just need you and some sleep.”

With a soft smile, he kissed you again. “I think I can do that.”

Reaching to the back of the sofa, he pulled the thin blanket over you and him as you laid your head back on his chest. Within minutes you were fast asleep, his heartbeat beating steady in his chest helping you do so. 

[pellucid-constellations]

Creature Fear

And if had been clean, if there had been no strings between you, this would have been easy. But, with Azriel, you had never expected the strings to disappear. They would always be there—at least, they would for you.

An angsty piece inspired by Creature Fear by Bon Iver (2.3k words)

~~

With another kick slamming into the muscle along the Shadowsinger’s thigh, you heaved in a breath that assaulted your lungs. It burned and tasted of iron as you panted, but that was simply the natural flow of training.

This was fine. 

Everything was fine. 

You weren’t picturing Azriel with his hands on her waist, swaying to the rhythm of a song you couldn’t recall. You weren’t replaying how his lips touched her ear or how his fingers tilted her jaw to the side. No part of your brain was rehashing the smile she sent him, an expression given just moments before he led her out of Rita’s. 

No, you weren’t thinking of the events the night prior as you swung at the man before you. 

He ducked—a pity, really. 

“Something on your mind?” Azriel asked, words rushed as he moved around your attempted hits. 

You grunted. “No. I’m training. That’s why you dragged me out here.” 

“Right.” 

Another jab at his face. He dodged it. You used your leg to sweep at his ankles. 

“Are you even going to try?” you goaded, frustration creeping into your tone. 

Azriel hopped back in the ring, but when you only followed his escape, he released an impatient sigh and grabbed at your shoulders, flipping you until your back met the ground with a soft groan. 

“What’s the matter?” he huffed out above you. “You’re antsy. Your moves are sloppy and you really seem to want to hit me.” 

“I have hit you.” 

“Y/n,” Azriel warned. 

You ticked your jaw to the side, still out of breath as his chest pressed to yours. This was not an unusual position for the two of you. In fact, it was a position you had found yourself in just last week, only there was far less anger and far more pillows. And it had been dark—quite romantic if anyone had asked you, but no one was asking you. 

Because the relationship between you and the Shadowsinger was not public knowledge, and it certainly was not exclusive. No strings, Azriel had said against your mouth when you had come together the first time. And then it was we’re just blowing off steam and only one more time and we can’t tell anyone. It was unclear why Azriel needed a concrete reason to sleep with you each time he did it, but the underlying message was clear: you were not in a relationship. 

It was just sex. 

And sure, that was fine the first time—maybe even the second and third. But you had been lying to yourself when you agreed to the arrangement in between heavy breaths and rushed fingers. Azriel was not something you could do halfway, and you knew that from the start. You’d been half in love with him from the moment you met him. This had only been the nail in the coffin. 

“Get off of me,” you demanded with forearms pressing into Azriel’s chest. 

He was unrelenting. “No. Tell me what’s wrong with you.” 

“Nothing’s wrong. You’re crushing my ribs. Get off.” 

“I don’t believe you.”

“Well, luckily, believing me has nothing to do with your ability to get off of me.” 

Azriel traced his eyes along each dip and high point of your face with a scrutinizing gaze before he finally heaved himself up, landing in a seat beside you. You sucked in a dramatic breath and propped yourself up on your palms. 

“Is it something to do with the information Rhys is having you decode?” Azriel asked, tucking his knee in the crook of his elbow. 

The side of your mouth twitched as heat licked up your throat. “No. Azriel, I told you everything’s fine. I was just trying something new Cassian wanted me to practice.” 

“Cassian wanted you to practice being reckless and untrained?” 

“That was incredibly rude.” 

Azriel breathed out a semblance of a laugh. You heard his wings shift as you kept your eyes trained on the floor, but that reprieve was short-lived as a hand met the curve of your jaw. Azriel pressed at the skin there until your gaze was level with his, and then he continued his search.

You humored him—for a moment—allowing your friend to furrow his brows at the distance you were trying to create between the two of you. 

“Tell me what’s wrong.” 

“Azriel, noth—” 

“Stop lying to me,” he interrupted, sliding his hand back until his fingers wove into the hair at the base of your neck. “I know you. Something’s wrong.” 

Your chest was beginning to feel fuzzy and the heat in your throat had melted into a blissful warmth. It was always so easy to be around Azriel, and it would be just as easy to lean forward and whisper that against his lips. Since that line had been crossed all those months ago, you had been tempted to take what you wanted several times. 

But those liberties were only afforded to you in the dark aperture that was Azriel’s room. He only touched you like this when no one else was around, saving the gentleness of his fingers in the public eye for strangers in pleasure halls and nightclubs. 

You were nothing like the girl he took home the night before. She had probably woken with him wrapped in orange morning light when you were always scampering away in the bleak blues and greys that made up the middle of the night. She was probably soft and delicate and not training for battle at the crack of dawn. 

No, to Azriel, you were only a friend and you were convenient. 

You knocked his hand away. “I told you I’m fine, Azriel. I’m just having an off day. Leave it alone.” 

Azriel, who had flinched when the back of your hand met his arm, opened his mouth to speak without sound to follow. You were already on your feet by the time he could have formulated a response.

~~

You hadn’t spoken to him in three days. 

Three days of avoiding every room he frequented. Three days of avoiding his shadows as they attempted to beckon you to the training ring, the kitchens, and the balcony where he would inevitably get you to go into town with him. Three days of driving yourself insane. 

This was always going to end poorly, but you hadn’t expected you to feel so angry. Hurt, yes, but anger was not something typically in your repertoire—especially not associated with Azriel. 

The way he touched that woman played on a loop in your mind, reminding you how it had been so easy for him to do that in front of so many eyes. That, unlike you, there was no shame accompanied by his lazy fingers. He had touched you with those same hands, with that same tenderness, just the morning after—but no one was around to see it. 

It did hurt, but it was also infuriating. 

Maybe the angry heat was just a placeholder for the pain, something easier to digest, but you didn’t care to parse out the origin.

On the fourth day of stewing in your frustration, you were ending the night in bed with a candle and a book you could hardly focus on, reading and then rereading the same page as your jaw sat sewn together. 

The knock on your door was unexpected and unwelcomed

You didn’t have it in you to speak to him. 

You opened the door despite that. 

The man on the other side looked shocked for a moment, blinking as the wind from your arrival hit his eyes, and then he looked restless, bringing his hands up as if you were about to slam the door in his face. 

“Can I come in?” he asked, eyes darting over your shoulder to your bedroom and then back to you. “I know you’re avoiding me. I miss you. Let me come in.” 

“I’m not—” 

“Please, y/n.” 

His tone, rushed and panicked, made your brows come together. You opened the door a fraction wider to let him in. He stepped forward three times and then remained in place as you turned to close the door behind you. When you turned to face him once more, your senses were overwhelmed. 

Your back was pressed to the wood and familiar hands pressed divots into the skin of your waist. Azriel was kissing you—not hurried as he usually was when you met for these reasons, but almost savoring the feel of you against him. In your shock, your hands had landed on his chest, fisting his sweater between your fingers. Having him here, like this, distracted you for a moment. 

It felt natural. 

It was good. 

When Azriel deepened the kiss, you snapped back to your anger, remembering the sly way he had guided that woman out of Rita’s. You flattened your palms against his chest and pushed, hard. The Shadowsinger stumbled back with wild eyes, and it was then you saw the state of him. His rumpled clothes and the way his hair stood up as if he’d been running his fingers through it. The rings he typically wore were each missing from his fingers and he was completely unarmed, not even the Truthteller strapped at his hip. 

“I—I shouldn’t have done that,” Azriel spoke, clearing his throat as he ran his hand along his jaw. “You’re angry at me. I came in here to ask—I wanted to make it right. I didn’t mean to—” 

“Azriel, stop. I’m not angry at you.” A lie. You were angry at him, but there were no grounds to be. You straightened out your posture and fixed your nightgown where he had wrinkled it with his fingers. “We don’t… do it this way. I come to your room.” 

“I haven’t seen you in four days,” Azriel reasoned. “I miss you. I said that.” 

You ground your teeth together, unable to look him in the eye. “I’m sure I’m not the only woman in Velaris that could warm your bed.” 

Azriel stuttered over his words before replying, “That’s not what I meant. You’re—You are my friend and I miss you because you have gone to lengths to avoid me. I would like to know why.” 

Your gaze flashed up at the crack in his voice. He stood with his palms open to you, his arms hanging by his sides. 

“Friends don’t do what we were doing. Things are different between us now, Azriel.” 

“They don’t have to be. We agreed—no strings.” 

Anger grew and festered. They don’t have to change because he wouldn’t want them to. He would want a woman like the one at the pleasure hall. He would want anyone but you. 

You crossed your arms over your chest, feeling equal parts unfair and justified. “Because the world works exactly how you want it to, doesn’t it, Azriel?” 

He paused, his pleading expressed now dumbfounded. “What?” 

“You just get to have your pick of women each night and if none of them work out you know I’ll be waiting at home for you? That your friend will be available if all of the women you’ll actually acknowledge in front of our family aren’t interested?” 

“No, I—” 

“I’m not some backup plan, Azirel. What, no one else available tonight? Did you happen to round on the Archeron sisters as well? I’m last again, right?” 

As the words spewed from your mouth, you knew you would come to regret them. Azriel looked more and more confused and affronted at each accusation you made, but this was easier than crying and professing your love. Azriel had said no strings attached, and if you couldn’t avoid love, he would have to deal with anger. That was an easier string to sever.

“We’re stopping this, if that wasn’t obvious.” 

Azriel’s breath seemed to escape his lungs in one fell swoop. He took a step forward and shook his head. “Is this about that night at Rita’s? Y/n, I would never have—” 

“No, you said no strings, right?” you bit out. “So you’re allowed to do whatever and whoever you want. This has nothing to do with that. I’m just… I’m just done.”

Gods, you weren’t making sense. Why had he kissed you when he walked in? You felt like you were going to cry and that was not something you wanted to do in front of him. “Okay, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Azriel almost begged. He looked ruined and so tired. “We can go back to how it was before.” The prospect seemed to pain him. “Just—tell me how to fix this between us. I can’t… lose you. Not to this.” 

“There’s nothing to fix,” you lied. “Let’s just—let’s just stop.” 

“Okay. Okay, we can stop and—” 

“And you need to get out.” 

Azriel blinked at you, brows furrowed. “But we still—Y/n, I want to talk about this.” 

There was an incongruence in the way he was looking at you. If it had just been about sex, this would have been simple, clean. For you, it would have hurt, but for Azriel, it would have been a small variable being removed. But he was looking at you as if the world was ending, and you couldn't comprehend that. 

He had been holding another woman earlier this week. 

His hands twitched now. 

He needed to leave before you cried.

“Get out, Azriel.”

[spaceyaemonds]

pairing: dr. jack abbot x reader

sum.: jack’s working days, and you need a new desk for your office at home. (poor summary :()

warnings: age gap (jack is late 40s, reader is 23), unplanned pregnancy, jack is divorced, not a widower. minors DNI

notes: this part is more of a jack centered filler. chapters will start getting long with the next part. sorry if this isn’t the best, i rewrote it probably six times, but needed a bit of filler before i get more into the dramatics. in the next part, reader meets dana and robby, and she and jack have their first serious disagreement. i’m very very excited!!! unedited. any feedback is extremely appreciated, it helps keep me motivated. especially reblogs/comments/asks!

wc: 1k

prev next

Jack is working an unplanned series of rare day shifts following your first appointment. As a result, he spends more evenings with you in your apartment than alone in his own.

He never stays the night, just long enough to watch you start to doze off before doing your dishes and folding the blankets in your living room.

You read a lot. Most times you end up reading out loud to the baby, and by extension him, while he pretends to watch the news from the other end of your couch.

He’s unsure if he should, but he likes the way it feels. Sitting on your couch with you after eating whatever you made for dinner.

He hasn’t told anyone at work. It’s really not their business and they don’t need to know. But the picture from the ultrasound is burning a hole in his wallet.

And he’s pretty sure Robby’s caught on to the fact that his mind has been preoccupied.

Not that he lets anything distract him from work, but he checks his phone a dozen times an hour when it used to not even go on the floor with him, and he also makes a point to call you when he knows you’re at lunch to check how you’re doing.

You aren’t together. And he knows that. But there was some sort of shift in your relationship after your first appointment a little over two weeks ago.

He can see Robby hovering out of the corner of his eye as he types up his patient’s information, “Do you plan on actually saying something or are we just going to sit here with you awkwardly trying to work up the courage to say something?”

Robby sighs, “You’ve been acting, different, lately,”

Jack stops typing, “Is that a statement or a question?”

Robby moves a little closer, “I just mean, despite being temporarily moved to days, you don’t randomly show up on night shift to check in. You’ve also been checking your phone, a lot. I just want to make sure everything is okay,”

Jack looks at Robby for a long minute before sighing and pulling out his wallet. He doesn’t have to look very hard for the picture before handing it over to Robby.

Robby looks at it for a second before looking back at Jack, then back at the black and white photo.

“What is this?” Jack huffs out a laugh.

“As a medical professional, I find it extremely concerning that you’re asking me that,”

Robby gives him a glare as he hands it back over to him, “Fuck off,”

Jack holds his hands up in a mock surrender as he puts the picture back in his wallet, “It’s complicated,”

“Complicated,” Robby echoes, “Brother I hate to tell you this but that looks a little more than complicated,”

Despite their claims of not being best friends, they know each other, and their baggage, on a deeper level than most people.

“Yeah, well, we’re working it out,” A ghost of a smile appears on Jack’s face when he thinks of you and the baby.

“Who’s the other half of this ‘we’?” Robby looks genuinely curious, “I didn’t even know you were seeing someone,”

That question has Jack stopping in his tracks. That’s part of the complicated.

Not that he’s embarrassed, he doesn’t think you or your situation could ever embarrass him.

But he knows how it looks, with his rapidly approaching his foryt-seventh birthday and the fact that you just turned twenty-three not even five months ago.

“Well, I’m not. Not really?” It comes out more of a question. The tone of Jack’s voice makes Robby look at him, curiosity gleaming in his eyes.

“What? You mean to tell me you have a single one night stand in, what, probably six years, and you managed to get some poor girl pregnant?”

The laugh that leaves Robby at the end of his question makes Jack wince, the double meaning of his words lost on him.

“Yeah well that’s just half of it,”

Before either of them can say something else, Jack’s phone rings, he doesn’t even look at it before answering as he walks away from Robby.

“Hey, you okay? Normally I’m the one calling you,”

“Yeah, I just wanted to let you know they finally approved for me to start working from home full time starting on the first,” Your voice shows your excitement.

You had mentioned two nights ago that you’d been looking for an excuse to work from home since you started your job, and you felt like the baby would be a good enough reason for your boss to agree.

Apparently she did.

“Well that’s just great, honey,” He fights off a smile, you’re buzzing with excitement.

“I do have a question, though,” You’re still excited, but he can tell you’re a little nervous now.

“Anything.” You don’t even have to ask. Whatever you need, he’ll take care of it.

“I have to get a new desk, mine is too small for the set up they’re sending me home with. Can you help me get it put together tonight?”

“Yeah, yeah of course I can do that. Are you going to go pick one out now?”

You hum, “Yeah, I have to take these monitors home first, but then I’m going to go look for a desk,”

He paces for a brief second, stopping in front of his locker.

“Do you want to come here and switch vehicles with me? It may be easier to put the box in the truck bed than try to fit it in your car,”

He’d prefer to go with you, but he knows he can’t just leave in the middle of the day.

“Are you sure?” You sound extremely shocked he would even suggest it.

“Well, yeah. Unless you don’t want me driving your car around,” He says it like a joke, but he wonders if he should’ve thought of that before offering.

“No, no. I’d actually love to swap. That sounds like it’ll be a lot easier. I’m heading home with my equipment now, but I can be there in like thirty?”

“Sounds good, I’ll leave my keys with Dana in case I get busy. She’s the charge nurse, just ask Lupe for me or her, whoever isn’t busy,”

[julymusings]

you're good to me, baby

with the roar of the fire my heart rose to its feet, like the ashes of ash i saw rise in the heat. settle soft and as pure as snow, i fell in love with the fire long ago.

or; because the red hood bleeding onto your living room carpet is exactly what you need right now [3.6k]

Jason Todd x fem!reader; based on this lovely ask; ngl this turned into a personal vent jason doesn't show up until 1k words in LMAO; warning there’s blood (duh) and reader is suggested to have heavy anxiety; pre-established relationship where reader doesn’t know his identity + muzzle red hood bc HOT next: love in withdrawal

Compartmentalize. Create baskets in your mind. Analyze the situation, and drop the corresponding emotion in the appropriate basket.

One: You had a fight with your best friend. She called you selfish because you weren’t enthusiastic about her new relationship. She just can’t seem to understand that no matter how happy you want to be for her, it’s painful to see everyone find safety in another person when you can’t. Every attempt at romance is squashed by something or the other that you keep doing wrong. I thought you were hot, your latest dating attempt had said when you ran into him and asked why he never texted back. But you’re kind of a lot. Not something I have the space for right now, you know?

Two: There’s an important presentation today, one that could determine the fate of your position in the company. Your coworker, the one who’s convinced you stole his promotion (he just flirted with the higher-ups while you actually completed the requirements), refuses to let you forget how much is at stake. All it takes is one misstep, one stutter, one hesitation, and he will take it as an excuse to demand your demotion— or worse, termination. You’ve been preparing for this presentation for three weeks. If after all that effort it’s still not good enough, maybe you should be fired.

The emotions here? Frustration. Anger. Exhaustion. Jealousy. Just to name a few. But there’s no time to dwell on anxieties right now, so you shove those thoughts aside. Drop them in their compartments and move on because, after all, if you can strip them down to their bones and find where they stem, you can yank those anxieties from the ground before they have the chance to root. And then there’s no need for unnecessary heartache, right?

(Who cares if the baskets are overflowing, crumpled fragments spilling over the sides like garbage in a landfill? Who cares if the room of your mind is so packed that you’re pressed against the wall and breathing becomes painful.)

The digital clock beside your bed reads 6:12. The numbers blink in and out of the window, their red dots and dashes taunting your heavy eyelids. You still have forty-eight minutes of peace before it will scare you awake. Its beeping will ring so loud and angry that the adrenaline from the startle will power you through your morning routine, and your beating heart won’t dare still to entertain wishes of just five more minutes. 6:13 now. You have forty-seven more minutes of peace, minutes which should be spent sleeping, giving your poor brain a break from itself. But you can’t. Every time you close your eyes and begin to sink below the level of consciousness, your heart pumps a house-special cocktail of cortisol that laces through your bloodstream and convinces you that if you fall asleep you will miss your presentation and you will get fired. The off-grid escape plan formulating in your head switches from hypothetical to tentative when your neighbors, apparently awoken to lust as well as tired by it, start going at it again. You want nothing more than to bang on their door and scream obscenities until they hate each other enough to never touch again, but you resign yourself to consciousness, giving up on the dream of what would now be forty-four more minutes of sleep. 

It’s Friday morning; only one more day to get through before the sweet release of the weekend finds you. (The whole weekend will be spent contemplating the start of a project, feeling like two days is not nearly long enough to complete anything, and dreading Monday until it finds you with nothing done and the same, endless cycle awaiting.)

After completing your morning routine 44 minutes early, you use the spare time to go through your presentation once more, just for good luck, wrapping up the third run-through just in time to hear your alarm to leave for work.

The presentation goes decent, at least well enough to quell any doubts about your ability to do your job. Your coworker ate his words for sure, and you might have enjoyed the look on his face had you not mentally checked out as soon as you finished your closing remarks. Rush hour traffic has the ice cream tub you bought at the convenience store dripping condensation all over the passenger’s seat and your hips hurt from being in the same sitting position for most of the day, but you remind yourself that peace is only a few miles out. Stopped at yet another red light, your grip tightens on the steering wheel. Breathe in. Breathe out. The line of cars starts to move forward.

When you get home, your frustration is close to boiling over. You kick off your shoes right at the door, your keys and bag following close behind.

Far be it from you to break down on the floor in the middle of the room, the plan begins to formulate. There’s a box of tissues on your desk– that can go on the nightstand, along with two of the chilled water bottles you keep in the fridge for after you work out. And you’ll need something for the tissues, right? The small wastebasket from the bathroom should be fine. You drag it over to the side of your bed, sitting in your usual spot to make sure you placed it at a reachable distance. You won’t want to get out of bed to wash your face after this, so a washcloth should go next to the tissues. And an extra one, just to be safe.

You keep a set of comfortable clothes ready, the nicest, softest pajamas you own that you only wear after an everything shower. This shower, however, is a quick one, not much more than a few minutes under scalding water to comfort you, if nothing else. The light pink pajamas are a high-quality cotton and you feel like you’re in the clouds when you slip into them. Remaining is the ice cream, which you set out on the counter right before your shower so it would thaw just enough to be soft but not melted, With everything in your room ready, you go to retrieve the ice cream but stop with a startle when you round the corner.

“Jesus,” you mumble.

He’s just sitting there, doing nothing except bleeding out on your cream-colored carpet. He’s spread out on the couch like he owns the place, head leaned back against the wall as he lets his injured arm hang over the armrest and drip blood and dirt onto your cream-colored rug. The liquid seeps into the expensive wool, staining it with reddish-brown hues and the scent of iron, and he doesn’t even notice.

“Hey.” The Red Hood lifts his head when he sees you.

On any other day, you’d be quick to action, hauling him up off the couch and sprinting for the first aid kit under the bathroom sink. Today, your arms are too heavy and your gaze remains rooted on the widening splotch of red against white. Your throat feels dry. “You’re getting blood on the carpet.”

He peers over the armrest. “Oh, shit,” he curses, lifting his arm to hover it over his lap. He sounds robotic through his muzzle mask. His hood, pulled down to reveal his thick black hair curling at the ends from humidity and sweat, rests on his back.

I don’t have time for this, is what you want to say. You want to scream it in his face and kick him out for having the audacity to think he can come and go as he pleases, that you’re nothing more than a drive-through emergency room who will drop everything if he gets so much as a paper cut. But you can’t say any of this, and you do want him to come to you whenever he needs help. God knows he won’t go anywhere else.

Holding back your heavy sigh, you wordlessly walk to the bathroom. He takes that as an invitation to follow. 

It’s clinical. Rehearsed. Neither of you speak. It’s a partnered dance long since committed to muscle memory, steps you can take in your sleep. He knows to seat himself on the step stool you got just for him, for nights like these. He knows where to find the first aid kit and which supplies to hand you first. You know the exact steps to follow. Check the palms for abrasions. Antiseptic to the lacerations. Concussion exam. 

Maybe he can sense the air of tension surrounding you, because he doesn’t say as much as he usually does (though, granted, it’s still not much). It’s a reflection of your dynamic several months earlier when this arrangement began, back before you’d managed to chip away at the surface of his rough exterior. You notice the way his fingers curl against his thighs when you, somewhat carelessly, wipe the dirt from his skin with more pressure than necessary and the way his eyebrows tilt inward when you work slower than usual. You notice, but you ignore it.

We both know you have at least a dozen people who could do this for you. The words echo in your mind. Don’t act like I owe you this. If anything, you owe me a new carpet. These are things you wish you could say, but never will. Being realistic, you’ll probably never be able to say things like this. You’ll be subjected to all the shitty coworkers and unsympathetic friends and exploitative vigilantes of the world for the rest of your life.

This isn’t his fault, you remind yourself, but still, your lips turn down and your jaw feels tight with the effort to keep your face still, to not burst into tears right on the spot. In the second it takes for you to calm yourself, your hands pause. He notices. He says nothing. 

It’s not until you’re finished with cleaning the blood from his arm wound and giving him a wad of gauze to hold against it that he tests the waters and asks, “Is it too bad?” 

He sounds automated, but over the last few months, you’ve learned a thing or two about reading even these robotic actions. There's a certain quietness to the beginning of his sentence like he’s debating if he should say it or not. 

“It’s fine,” you say, shortly. 

“Sorry about your rug,” he says. He tugs at the strap of his muzzle with one finger, rubbing at the skin underneath the leather. “I can get the stain out.”

You retrieve the needle and thread from the kit and don’t respond. You don’t even look at him.

After a moment’s hesitation, he continues. “It’s easy. You just need salt and—”

“Okay.”

He goes quiet.

You don’t mean to be so tetchy, but you don’t have the energy for anything more. Every little thing has you feeling on the edge of shattering. It’s too much. It’s all too much.

It’s when you’re kneeled at his side, staring into the gaping wound on his bicep and trying to thread the needle, fingers trembling from the chill of the tiled floor with nothing but a layer of thin cotton to keep you warm, that it happens. He shifts on the stool, a mere twitch in an attempt to get comfortable, but it brushes his bloody arm against yours. Flecks of fresh red on the light pink fabric. First your carpet, now your pajamas. Your favorite, special, extra soft matching cotton pajama set, a rare splurge after your promotion that stood out among old t-shirts and sweat shorts. Ruined. Again, he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Did I say something?” Hood asks. He waits for your response, but when none comes, he adds, “I’m sorry if I did.” He speaks so quietly you may not have been able to separate his words from the whirring filter of his mask, if not for the chilling silence of the bathroom floor. The insulating brick walls of your old apartment building are something you’re usually grateful for, but tonight you find yourself wishing for the city’s commotion to seep through the walls. Something, anything to buffer his proximity to you.

You hear his inhale as he prepares to say something else.

“Can you just let me work?” You snap before he has the chance to speak again. It’s loud, louder than you’d ever dream of speaking to him, and he flinches. Your eyes shut in apology, but only for a moment before you get back to it. He looks away. His feet point towards the door.

He wants to leave, you can tell, and you don’t blame him. You just messed everything up. But you started this, so now you have to finish it.

You sit in silence for the several minutes it takes for you to clean his wound and stop the bleeding.

He’s not looking at you, gaze transfixed ahead of him on a chip in the paint. At least, you assume. It’s difficult to guess what’s going on behind the milky white covering over his eyes. His subtle body language can be read if you pay close enough attention, you’ve learned, but that’s not something you care to do right now.

(Maybe you noticed in the back of your mind that he’s not exhibiting any body language since you snapped at him, but the compartment in your head for guilt is already overflowing, so maybe you didn’t notice it, you tell yourself.)

You stare at your sleeve, at the patches of blood blooming like ink blots. The red and pink hues blend together behind your blurring vision. You sniffle.

“Are you—” Hood starts. Because now he’s looking at you.

“Excuse me,” you say, pushing yourself off the ground and stumbling out of the room without so much as a glance back at him. You stagger into your room, needle and thread still in hand, and push the door closed. The lights are off, and the darkness is calming, quieting your buzzing thoughts. You close your eyes and lean against the door. Breathe in. Breathe out. You continue this exercise, breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth to soothe your sympathetic nervous system, the same way a therapist instructed that one time you went. You wipe away the moisture that has collected in your eyes, roll out your stiff neck, dry your sweaty palms over your thighs. You toss the needle and thread aside, because they are definitely not sterile anymore, and take a few more breaths before opening the door and going back to the bathroom.

You avoid his face, following the lines of grimy grout between the tiles before resuming to your spot at his side. His inspecting eyes burn on the side of your face. You wipe down the forceps with a sterilizing wipe and rip open the plastic packaging for a new needle, holding it up to the wound, but your hand refuses to steady.

Another deep breath. Then another.

Hood sighs. It’s almost chastising. “I think I should go.”

“What?” You’re just surprised enough to be torn away from your thoughts and look him in the eye (mask) for the first time all night.

“You can’t do this,” he says, gruffly. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ll let you figure it out.”

You scoff. “Yes, I can. I’m fine.”

Before he can argue, you grab him by the wrist to hold him in place just as he starts moving to get up. He winces, but you keep your grip tight on him. You can feel his scrutiny through the cold, expressionless barrier of his disguise, practically track his pupils as they search your face.

You both pretend he couldn’t break from your hold in an instant if he wanted to.

“You’re shaking,” Hood says. His voice is much softer now.

You follow the turn of his head to your hand where it hovers the needle right over his skin. You are shaking. Trembling, in fact.

“No, I’m not.” It comes out as an empty whisper.

You focus all your strength on steadying yourself, but the harder you try to stabilize, the harder you tremor. Your other hand releases his wrist to clamp over your dominant hand and force it to stay in place. It guides the needle closer to the skin, but now your vision is blurring. You blink rapidly, but it’s not enough. The tears start falling. You look away from him, but a warm hand settles over yours. You don’t dare look at him, unable to bear showing him your shameful face, wet and blushing and screwed up in misery. You turn your face into your sleeve. Clamp your eyes shut tight, thinking maybe if you keep them closed, this darkness will swallow you up and he won’t be here anymore.

But the warmth of his skin on yours is the first feeling of softness, of relief you’ve felt in months, and then it’s gone. Your shoulders are shaking, quaking with the effort to keep your sobs quiet.

One finger ever so gently hooks around your chin, pulling it back up to face him. You keep your eyes closed, not wanting to see him see you like this, but the tears are still streaming. He brushes them away. Whether that makes it better or worse, you can’t be sure, because you cry even harder, snatching your face away from his grasp to muffle your sobs into the back of your hand. You don’t realize he’s pushed himself off his stool to sit cross-legged on the floor until you feel his hand circling your arm and pulling you closer. The tools in your hand clatter on the floor as your palms come up to press against his chest, fighting against him with half-hearted protests murmured through your cries. But even with only one good arm he’s too strong for you, and you’re pulled into him.

He’s so gentle with you, rubbing your back and resting his chin atop your head while you cry and cry and cry into his shirt. Several minutes pass like this, with your face buried in his chest and his good arm holding you tightly against him while the other dangles lamely at his side, throbbing with an intensity he’s trying to ignore.

When your sobs die down, and you’re sure you’re all cried out, you linger against him. He smells like smoke and gasoline, and his shirt is soft and warm from his body heat seeping through. His hand continues to stroke up and down the length of your back, even after you’ve quieted. The edge of his mask digs into your scalp where his chin sits, but it feels worth it. Your hands, still pressed to his chest, slide higher, completely of their own volition, out of a newfound desire to wrap your arms around his neck. You don’t hear it, but you can feel his sharp draw of breath, his chest rising quickly under your touch. Your hands lose their nerve at his clavicle as you hold your breath for fear of the smallest movement drawing attention to your forwardness. You wait for him to rebuff you, to lean away from your touch, or grab your wrists and pry them off. He doesn’t.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. His chest finally falls.

Eyes opening, your thumb swipes over the edge of the red bat symbol just below his collarbone.

His movements pause, lightly gripping the fabric of your shirt for just a moment, before releasing it. “It’s alright,” he tells you.

You pull back from his chest to look at him, the way his cold and unfeeling expression stares back at you. You wonder from time to time what’s under the mask, but tonight the desire is overwhelming; you ache with the want to know what he looks like. The color of his eyes. What his mouth looks like when he winces over a deep cut or chuckles at one of your anecdotes. You wonder if his lips are soft or chapped. If he’d like it if you dragged your thumb across the bottom one.

The metallic odor spreading through the room brings you back to the present, and you hope the flush from your tears hides your cheeks’ growing heat when you realize where your mind had wandered. 

“Oh, fuck, your arm.” You speak in a watery voice, wiping at your face as the urgency returns to your senses. Though you try to move away, his firm hand on your back pulls you back in.

“Don’t worry about it, okay?” He says, resuming his caresses up and down your back. “I can take care of it.”

“Then why do you even need me?” You sniffle with a small smile.

He stays silent. But when you search his face, waiting for an answer, his hand moves to your side, palm sliding a fraction of an inch closer to your waist and fingers tensing, you can almost see through the mechanical muzzle to the way his lips shape the words. At least, he wishes you could.

You know why.

this was lots of fun to write and thank u for your patience ik i said i was gonna "knock this out in a day" 2 weeks ago😬😬 also we're gonna pretend they aren't just letting his open wound marinate for half an hour when it should be getting stitched up bc it's fiction ok? everyone say thank you mostly-imagines for proofreading this😚

but anyway happy new year!! it's been barely 2 months but starting this account made my year so much better🫶🫶🫶and ty for 500 followers that's crazy🫣🫢

listen to the inspo song!!!

[bunnis-monsters]

Hybrid Shelter Prologue

warning: mentions of abuse, injuries, some yandereish behavior, and violence

You’ve been working at the hybrid shelter for a few weeks now. It wasn’t an easy job, tending to injured, abused, and scared hybrids, but you did your best.

This was just a part time job until you were able to find something better. Of course you cared about the hybrids, but the money you made wasn’t enough.

You had two other part time jobs that took your time away, and although you loved working at the hybrid shelter, it was only a temporary thing.

Most days were full of games, movies marathons, the occasional check up, and lots of bonding. After all, the goal was to help these hybrids figure out what they wanted. If they wanted to be independent, be a pet, or return/live in the wild.

Today was a bad day, though.

You woke up at 3 am to a call, asking you to come into the shelter early.

“It’s an emergency,” your boss said, taking a moment to breathe before continuing. “A new hybrid came in… you’ll understand when you get here.”

And your boss was right, you understood the second you walked in.

In the corner of the lounge was a cat hybrid. He was backed against the wall, hissing and spitting as his tail puffed up.

“Stay away from me, don’t you dare get any closer!”

All the other workers were covered in scratches, glancing at one another in concern.

“His file,” your boss said from behind you, handing you a folder. “A tale as old as time. Human buys a cat hybrid from a backyard breeder, doesn’t know how to take care of him. The owner abused the poor thing then dropped him off at our door… he was scared and confused, and when we said his owner abandoned him…”

Your nods gestured to the cat hybrid, sighing. “This happened.”

You took a moment to read his file, frowning before you handed the folder back. “Alright, I’ll give it a try. Get a room ready in the infirmary, we’ll need to do a checkup and make sure his vaccinations are up to date.”

The cat hybrid’s ears pinned back as you approached, his tail lashing dangerously. “Don’t take another step closer, I’ll-“

His ears unfolded when you sat down a few feet away from him, giving the scared hybrid a kind smile. “Alright, I’ll stay right here then. Is that alright?”

Though his tail continued to sway erratically, the cat hybrid slowly lowered himself to the ground to match your stance.

“…”

He stayed quiet, eyeing you. All you did was sit there, watching his body language and slowly scooting closer.

“You don’t have to be afraid. I know it can be scary coming to a new place, but there’s other cat hybrids just like you here. They’re all happy, and I take care of them myself.”

He sniffed the air to confirm your words, picking up the scent of other hybrids on you. “… and… you don’t hit them?”

Those words tore at your heart, but you didn’t let it show. You kept a calm smile on your face as you nodded slowly. “No… there’s no hitting here. No punishments either.”

He hesitantly reached out a hand, placing it on your leg before pulling it back. Testing the waters was a good sign. “Will my owner come back?”

“Most likely not… and even if we did, we wouldn’t let them hurt you. Never again.”

With that, he slowly moved forward, leaning until his head rested on your lap, a sign of trust. You gently scratched behind his ears, a soft purr coming from him.

“There you go… that’s a good boy.”

Your boss watched this interaction from a distance, picking up his phone. “Yeah, I think she’s the one. I’ve never seen a hybrid calm down so quickly, she might have the thing we’ve been looking for.”

The rest of the day, the cat hybrid cling to your side, enduring the medical exam only if it meant he got to hold onto your arm.

Already he was scenting you, just like many of the other hybrids did. You were unaware how many had already put their “claim” on you, and how that would affect your future at the shelter.

Leaving wasn’t easy, the cat hybrid, who you named Midnight because of his dark hair, was attached to your hip. He cried and buried his face into your neck when you got ready to leave, only agreeing to let go of you with the promise you’d be back tomorrow.

“Mine… don’t want you to go…” he murmured, just quiet enough for you to not hear.

The next morning you woke up to a text message from your boss. Through your bleary vision you were barely able to make out what it said.

‘Dear (Name), you have been offered a chance to work as a full time employee. You’ll be paid $30 an hour, and you can start tomorrow. Please reply to confirm.’

Although you felt happy, something about the message felt off. Regardless, you needed the money and accepted immediately.

Soon your life would become hectic and full of mystery, but you wouldn’t find that out until later.

Now, you rolled back over and went to back to sleep until your shift began.

——————

Comment to be added to the Hybrid Shelter taglist. There may be some nsfw and yandere elements in the future! For now I’m using the nsfw taglist, but the next post I’ll be tagging those who comment.

NSFW TAGLIST: @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat @bubblez-blop @sunshineangel-reads @heroneki-neko @soapybabyboop @anonymouskiwi

[cherrygirlfriend]

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ cuffing season

pairing: reader x bsf!rafe synopsis: reader isn't getting enough attention from rafe, so she has the bright idea to cuff herself to him. warnings: smut, piv, unprotected sex, MDNI! - wc: 1.7k a/n; i’ve lowkey been depressed and uninspired lately so i might just post my old content for a bit. anyway; originally posted 12/14/2024

bsf!masterlist ♡ rafe masterlist ♡

every man smarter than a fifth grader knows one thing for a fact; women thrive on attention. when you ignore a flower, leaving it in the shade, unwatered for days, it wilts up and dies. and you may have well been a gardenia in your past life with how much attention you required. and you? you were definitely wilting up.

it had been two weeks since you last saw rafe; you'd texted him, trying to make plans, but he kept saying how 'busy' he was, or telling you to buy something nice, and it'd be "his treat". what use were cute clothes and sexy lingerie when there was no one to show them off to?

to be fair, he really was busy. you preferred to keep yourself in the dark when it came to rafe's business, simply humming a song inside your head when he talked business with someone while you were sitting in his lap, but you knew he spent most of his time cooped up in his father's old office, but now, he was barely answering your texts, and you decided enough was enough.

so, one night you decided to surprise him. to help him... destress.

you put on one of the new lingerie sets you'd gotten on rafe's dime, wearing nothing over it but the classic/cliché beige trenchcoat, a surprise in your pocket.

you got out of the uber in front of the cameron household, your heels clicking against the cobblestone as you walked up to the door. normally, you'd ring the doorbell, but not wanting to ruin the surprise, you took the key rafe had given to you for 'emergencies', in this case it really was an emergency. you felt like you might die if he didn't touch you.

kicking the heels off your feet when you got inside, you looked around; the house you'd spent time in ever since you were both kids was always so strange in the dark. and now that rafe was the only one living there, the house felt... lifeless.

as you tiptoed up the stairs, you were starting to hear rafe's heated voice, sending shivers down your spine, a small heat in the pit of your stomach starting to spread as you got closer to the door, slightly ajar.

"i don't fucking care what you need to do, just get it done!" he shouted, and you could hear the springs of the office chair, before a breathy sigh left his lips.

"rafe?" you said softly, the man you were looking for startling straight in his chair, looking at you with wide eyes as you stood in the crack of the door.

"oh..." he let out a breath, relaxing again, "it's just you."

"wow!" you scoffed playfully, "what a nice way to greet me." you said as you made your way into the room, walking closer to him, a small grin starting to spread on his lips.

"what are you doing here?" he asked, looking up at you, bringing one of your hands to his lips, pressing small kisses to the back of it, "did i miss a text telling you were coming? if i did, i'm sorry, i've been on the phone for the-"

"shh." you moved your hand to cover his mouth, rafe's brows raising in amusement. "i didn't text you."

he took your hand away from his mouth, "ah, so a surprise visit. well, i hate to disappoint you, but-"

the moment your coat hit the floor, his jaw seemed to be doing the same, the smile on your lips only widening further as you spun around for him, pretending to show off the lingerie instead of tempting him.

"what do you think?" you smiled innocently, "you told me to get something nice, your treat, so i did. i thought you'd wanna see it. oh, by the way, the coat was also on you."

"shit..." his hands found your hips, and you could hear him swallow as he watched the way your ass curved around the thong. you turned your head to look at him, noticing the growing bulge in his pants, "if i didn't have to finish this right now... the things i'd do..."

you turned your body around fully to face him, a small frown on your face as you brought your arms in front of your chest, his hands still resting on your hips. "rafe cameron, you have a half-naked woman standing in front of you, and all you're worried about is work! i need attention too!"

rafe let out a breath he felt like he had been holding in for the past two weeks, "baby, just give me thirty minutes to finish-"

but you didn't even give him three seconds. before he'd even noticed anything, you'd grabbed the pair of pink fuzzy handcuffs out of your coat's pocket, cuffing one around rafe's wrist, and one around yours, the man looking at you with wide eyes.

"what the hell?!" he exclaimed as he stood up, now cuffed to you.

"no 'thirty minutes', no 'fifteen minutes', no more minutes!" you exclaimed, now looking up at him, "i've been missing you for two weeks, and if you make me wait one more second to have your lips on mine, i'm never letting you touch me aga-!"

before you could finish your sentence, rafe had pulled you to his chest, his lips crashing against yours, his lips conveying the yearning he'd been feeling for the past two weeks, mixing in with the yearning you'd felt, pure electricity transferring between the two of you, his body melding into yours, his erection pressing against your.

when you finally pulled apart, the harsh breaths you were letting out mixing in with his, your bodies, and a string of saliva still connecting you.

"you have no idea how much i've wanted you..." he breathed out, causing you to let out a small chuckle.

"me? you have no idea how much i've been craving you."

you pushed him until he was sitting in the chair, the springs of the office chair squeaking, rafe's brows lifted in surprise. you bent slightly to pull down the sweatpants he'd been wearing with your free hand, before you settled yourself onto his lap, feeling his erection through his calvin kleins.

"oh? are you taking control?" he asked in a playful tone as you ground yourself against his bulge, causing him to let out a groan, his a small wet patch already forming on his boxers as you continued grinding yourself against him.

you'd spent the past two weeks needily humping yourself against a plushie rafe had given you, watching videos you two had taken together, and even though you were only grinding your clothed cunt against his clothed cock, you knew that your moments spent alone had nothing on the moments you got to spend with him.

"i need you..." you whispered into his ear, tugging down his boxers, rafe letting out a small hiss as his erection was freed, your lips sucking on the sensitive spot on his ear, a beautiful whimper leaving his lips.

"i need you even more." he said, in turn tugging down the panties you were wearing before his free hand went to your tits, cupping and squeezing them through your bra.

"wanna bet?"

you brought your cuffed hand to his, rafe's free hand on his cock, gathering some of the wetness at your entrance with his tip, and you could picture it mixing in with his precum as he brought the tip of his cock to your entrance, and he was so close, but somehow it felt like you were both in whole different universes.

"i'm sorry..." rafe mumbled, intertwining your fingers, "i promise i'll pay more attention to you... i've just been so busy..."

"i don't ca-"

your sentence was interrupted when you felt his tip enter you, both of you letting out similar groans.

"fuck... has your pussy somehow gotten even tighter, huh? it feels so nice n snug around me, baby..."

"maybe she's just missed daddy..." you sink even further down his cock, rafe letting out groans that were so similar to the first time you two ever had sex, his eyes fixed on you as you sunk lower and lower on his cock until you felt him right there, causing you to let out a gasp.

"looks like she has..." rafe chuckled, bringing his free hand to your hips, as well as the hand intertwined with yours, "you wanna help daddy, hm?" he chuckled, but you were too drunk on the feeling of him in you, under you, around you, to even react to his teasings, so rafe started to move you on his cock, helping you with his hips and his hands.

soon, you were bouncing on his cock without even really realizing what was happening. his cuffed hand was still intertwined with yours, both of them pressed against your hips, as his free hand held onto you, rafe basically guiding you on him, at least until his free hand moved closer to your tummy, his thumb pressed against your clit, slowly circling it, but even without his guidance, your hips knew the rhythm, knew exactly what to do.

your head was thrown back, completely lost in the ecstasy, rafe's touch the only thing you could feel, every time the head of his cock hit your cervix, every circle he drew on your clit with his thumb, and before you even realized it, you were moaning and practically panting his name uncontrollably, the squeeze of your wall around his cock causing rafe to let out grunts as you felt the knot in your stomach finally coming undone.

but as rafe continued fucking up into you, you knew he was nowhere near done with you.

"how does three orgasms sound?" rafe chuckled, lifting his hips with slightly more vigor, the man hitting your cervix right in the middle of your orgasm, squeezing your cuffed hand. "that enough attention for you?"