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allfortheslay25 · 3 days ago

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Sorry to that one person who asked about more Milo in my inbox. The ask disappeared and has yet to come back after the draft refused to post so I’ll be posting it just like this.

Hopefully you see it🙏

I should probably mention I wrote this chapter years ago but only adjusted some things at the beginning of the year before January

Milo Future Spoilers

There was nothing like the humidity of South Carolina; damp, sweltering, and mouth drying.

Neil smacked his lips and wiped sweat off the back of his neck. No, nothing like it.

The press of something freezing was soothing for a split second before it was alerting. Neil flinched away from the cold glass bottle Andrew pushed against his neck before taking it.

"Thanks."

Andrew squatted next to him, picking under his armbands to collect the sweat building up under them. Neil stared because Neil liked this pair. A shade of white with the thinnest pair of double orange stripes down the inner forearm. Andrew didn't wear them for much. It didn't go with the silver and gold tone of his uniform nor the black of his wardrobe. He hadn't really put them on since Allison gifted them to him back in 2012.

Andrew took Neil's soda from him after watching the man do little to open the damn thing. He popped off the cap, licking the back before pressing it to Neil's forehead.

Neil quirked up a smile. "It's fresh."

Andrew just turned away with his own drink half done.

"Where the fuck is Nicky? It's boiling out here!" Allison shouted from where she was handing out drinks.

Aaron flicked cooler water at Matt when the man attempted to steal the last lemonade. "Probably got sidetracked talking about Germany again. He acts as if we haven't been caught up with him in the last week."

Kevin rattled the doors like a madman. "Let me in.

We're right here, let me in!"

It would have been hilarious, enough to bring smiles and teasing from the old Foxes. But recently, with Kevin's publicized relapse and his alleged divorce from Thea, well, no one was laughing at Kevin these days.

The outer court walls had seen better days too.

The orange paint had faded to a yellow hue, chipped and dusty with tagging unwashed at the corners. Neil knew the Palmetto Foxes had been on a fortunate rise and he knew sometime after his leave did it begin to fall apart. Wymack bit off more than he could chew, they said. Too many scandals, too many suicides and murders, too many delinquents being allowed on a court. But Neil supposes they did well enough to keep those doors open another year.

Neil's drink was promptly swiped from his hands, the culprit? His son, Milo.

"If you're not gonna drink it at least don't let it go hot."

Neil squinted up at the boy. He did that standing too. Milo had hit puberty and outgrew Neil sometime between 12 and 13, but then the growing never stopped. He stood now, at an even 6ft with no chance of finishing his growth spurt.

Lanky and awkward teenage limbs, freckled and messy haired, Milo somehow stopped looking like Neil. Everyone always says his baby face is nostalgic to first year Neil Josten, but if you put the pictures side by side, Milo always had something Neil didn't. There was a sharpness to him, something he couldn't hide better than Neil.

"Kevin, stop playing with the doors, you'll break them." Renee chastised. It was a miracle to have her here with them in the flesh at all. She spent most of their reunions on video chat with low internet. "I'm sure Coach will be here soon with the keys."

Milo, soda long finished, turned to Kevin with an otter pop between his teeth. "Does it bother you that much?" He mumbled.

Kevin let go of the doors with reluctance. "No... I just... I want to see it already."

Milo hummed around his treat before standing and marching over to the doors. He hip checked Kevin—an eerie sight as they stood head to head in height—and pulled something from his pocket.

Milo fiddled with the fence and it sprung open.

The Old Foxes stared in disbelief.

"You had the keys the whole time? Milo!" Dan said.

Milo shrugged, displaying a paperclip and a hairpin. He shoved the fence out the way and marched on to the doors he'd need a code for. As Milo fooled around with it, the Foxes all turned to Neil with faces of amusement and exasperation.

"He's your son alright." They said.

"Little Josten."

"Little Monster." They all cooed.

"That's 'Little Minyard-Josten' to you." Milo announced before punching a button on the door.

It beeped and clicked and Milo turned the handle to allow everyone inside.

"How did you know the code!?" Kevin wondered.

"They just had a baby, no?" Milo pointed out. "It's always been someone's birthday."

The foyer was almost the same as they'd all last seen it. Orange benches were set here and there, and the floor was white tile with orange paw prints. Orange cones were stacked in a corner, three deep and six high. A white door was on the wall to their right, and an orange door was opposite them. Only difference was there was a crack in the wall no one patched up, and the white tiles had muddled down to a moppy grey.

Milo moved past it to the gear closet. As the Old Foxes looked around and chatted about memories a decade old, Milo had suited up and stolen a racquet.

"Should we let him keep doing that?" Allison muttered to the rest.

"Leave him be, this is the most excited we've seen him since before the B R E A K U P call." Dan whispered.

"You know he can spell faster than us, right?"

Aaron whispered back.

"And you know you're a bad whisperer, right?"

Matt countered.

"Cousins!" Anything Aaron was about to say was cut off by Nicky's loud arrival. He raced towards Aaron and Andrew, bringing them into tight squeezes despite the twos wriggling.

Neil smiled because it'd been three years since Andrew had told Nicky he could hug him without asking. Andrew sometimes snapped that he was sick of it, but Andrew had also told Neil years ago that he didn't do regret.

Nicky let out a sharp gasp from his position in hugging Neil. He all but shoved the man into Matt before springing himself onto Milo. "My baby nephew! You've gotten so big! Last time I saw you you were definitely a head shorter! What are they feeding you? Is it Kevin's diet?"

Milo smiled and hugged Nicky as hard as he could despite the pads. "A mix of junk food and Kevin's dietary plan I only follow when I'm bored."

Kevin sent him a glare for that but went back to finding proper gear without a word.

"How did any of you get inside?" Wymack wondered gruffly. Standing in the flesh, was their beloved coach who hadn't seemed to age a day in their eyes. The only thing new was the baby attached to his chest.

Everyone flooded his space in an instant, cooing and awing at the little infant with orange bows in her curly hair. It was a shame Kevin had to be the one to tell them Wymack and Abby were having a baby. He was too excited to remember they wanted to surprise everyone. Sarah was adopted by them as soon as she'd been born, the baby of a previous Fox who didn't want children. None of them knew her from anything other than the tabloids that printed her face everywhere on Exy news the week after her discharge from the hospital. She dropped out of Palmetto soon after and was in the wind before Wymack and Abby could say goodbye.

"Okay you animals, get your diseased faces out of my baby's face. And Kevin, get your face out that closet and hug me dammit."

Kevin paused from where he was pulling a pair of gloves out of the gear closet to sheepishly shuffle over to his father.

"Where's Abby?" Kevin asked as he smiled at

Sarah's squinty face.

"Napping. She wanted to come by but I told her we'd be here all day and she can stop by when she's had at least an hour of sleep." Wymack said.

He tossed the court keys at Neil who used them to unlock all of the doors inside.

Before anyone finished dressing, Jeremy Knox and Jean Moreau knocked on the locker room doors. This reunion was special, a chance for Jean to see Renee, and Jeremy to see Kevin in an act of support in these dire times.

Having so many professional exy stars in one room felt charged in a way. Kevin seemed ready to cream his pants, or so Andrew commented.

Jeremy looked good in orange and Jean looked like he'd rather do the scrimmage naked. But Neil only had eyes for Andrew whose old uniform stretched on him like a wet dream.

"Can you even play like that?" Aaron smirked, silently laughing at Andrew's predicament. Aaron hadn't been on his college grind in so long, he'd lost muscle mass but gained a healthy weight that his uniform fit almost perfectly.

Andrew silently knocked Aaron on the shoulder with his racquet and clicked his tongue at the weight of it. Neil understood the feeling. Their old racquets were like feathers, Neil wasn't sure he could play with something so lightweight.

Milo was setting up cones and baskets of exy balls with cheerfulness. He was running around the court with a giddiness that rubbed off onto everyone else.

"Don't forget to stretch," Kevin reminded him.

Milo turned and threw his body into a bridge position before resting into a handstand.

"Show off." Kevin grumbled as Jeremy laughed.

Milo properly stretched afterward, first to finish as he picked up the basket of exy balls.

"I wanna show you something. Miss Renee, may you take the goal for me?" Milo asked.

“My pleasure,” Renee said with a smile. She gave Andrew a friendly pat on the shoulder and took her place in the goal.

“We don’t have all day, Milo.” Kevin complained.

“Let him do what he wants, it’s his first game playing with us.” Dan said.

“My first game playing with you guys was actually in the morning of July 14th, 2006. It was my ‘Unbirthday’ as uncle Nicky put it and Matt knocked me onto my back.” Milo said as he got into position.

“You can’t count that as a real game.” Kevin said.

Milo smiled over his shoulder, one of the ones that made the Foxes refer to him as ‘Little Monster’ at times. “Shut up, Day, and watch this.”

He looked back at Renee who nodded at him and got into position. The stance was loose but almost as sturdy as it’d been all those years ago. Milo took up a ball and tossed it to her lightly, allowing her to hit it back far enough he’d have to chase it down the court. And Milo did. He didn’t want to see where it was headed. With bullet-like speed he took off, throwing himself from the wall, flying down the court before anyone could do much as turn their heads. The ball hit a far wall and came back. Milo jumped, snatching it from the air and landing on his left foot before propelling himself forward. He made light work of the cones and within 10 steps, scored on Renee. Neil didn’t know why but when Milo had taken the ball, he waited for a pass to someone who wasn’t there. It itched at his brain in a familiarity he couldn’t place.

Andrew narrowed his eyes before his mouth quirked into one of his amused expressions.

“What?” Neil wondered a little too loud.

“He’s just doing the most for no reason.” Kevin interrupted.

“He just mimicked Neil’s exact play his first time at a Fox match.” Andrew corrected.

Everyone turned to him in confusion.

Neil looked back, running it through his head but that game had been so long ago he didn’t remember.

Dan's eyes lit up, though. “He passed to me. Neil, you did that same jump thing your first game—back when Seth was taken off and you made your debut. You passed to me because someone was on your ass.”

“There’s no way. We can’t even remember it clearly. No one can say for sure.” Allison said.

Andrew tapped his temple. “I can. Memory like a steel trap, I never took my eyes off him. I’m the one who passed the ball to Neil.”

“It’s a fluke.” Kevin said.

Milo whistled at them to get everyone’s attention. “I’m not finished.” He tossed another ball to Renee. “I’ll call it for you this time; Seth Gordon 2006.” Milo changed the grip on his racquet, hands lower as his fingers gesture higher. He straightened his back and ran a few seconds after the ball flew, watching it with his eyes and racing at a slower yet more desperate pace. Once he’d caught it, he whipped it over his shoulder with such speed and strength, it nearly clipped Renee on the shoulder.

“There’s no way to guarantee that.” Kevin hissed.

Milo tossed another ball and cocked his head at Kevin. “Really? Let’s get more famous. Let’s see…” Milo tapped the button of his racquet against the floor and passed his stick to his left hand and the movement was so specific, Jean and the Foxes straightened in disbelief. “Kevin Day, 2007.” Milo called, once again changing his posture. The ball went and Milo moved, catching it and weaving around cones with such single mindedness it was breathtaking. Renee was serious now as she waited, eager to stop Milo but incapable of accomplishing it. The ball whistled past her ear and the Foxes roared in incredulous excitement.

“Join me, will you, Mister Knox?” Milo asked.

Jeremy smirked and followed onto the court. He attempted to take up a backliner position but Milo moved him into the striker mark. He passed a ball to Jeremy and motioned for him to continue. The Foxes readied for whatever trick Milo held up his sleeve next. He moved his racquet back to his right and hunched his shoulders a bit in a way that left him open for injury. Jeremy moved to get past him and Milo hooked his foot around his and sent him stumbling. Milo then yanked his stick out of his unassuming hands with a simple twist, stealing the ball and sending it across the court to be slammed into the goal wall.

“Jean Moreau, 2005.” Milo said. Jeremy was on his ass behind him, clutching his wrist in surprise.

“That was a dirty move. I had so much faith in you.”

Milo gave him his racquet, using it to pull Jeremy to his feet. “You were expecting Jean-Yvves Moreau, 2009. But I like surprises.”

Jean frowned from his place by the Foxes. “That move is long dead. You can hurt someone with it.”

Milo held up Jeremy’s arm by the elbow, waving it at Jean. “He’s all in one piece. Now I’ve got something special for you all. Get on the court, Miss Renee, Drew, you may wait for my last demonstration off to the side.

As they all took their marks, not for a scrimmage but for shooting on the goal, Milo sauntered onto Renee’s place, tossing his racquet for hers. He spun it around and moved his hands before crouching and staring them down the court. Even with the helmet over his eyes, there was an intensity that boiled the cool air into something claustrophobic to the group. No one had to guess who Milo was mimicking now, but he still called out to them.

“Andrew Minyard, 2016.”

Neil got first dibs as he was the first to line up. He moved past Nicky and shot at the goal with a ferocity he saved for real matches. The deafening crack that boomed through the space as Milo’s racquet connected with the ball made everyone flinch in their spots. The ball sailed through the air like a jet before smacking into the other goal.

“There’s no way you did that!” Nicky screamed.

“That’s Andrew’s move. Do you know how many goalies have attempted to replicate that and succeeded?” Kevin shouted. “Eight! Only six have accomplished it in all exy history!”

“Seven, counting me.” Milo said, tossing the racquet over his shoulder. “But if I’m truly honest, I wouldn’t be able to do it again as accurately. Especially during an intense game. I’ve practiced your moves since I could hold a racquet and I've mastered your techniques in less years than you’ve all been playing. But Drew’s moves are special.”

Kevin was still staring at the ball across the court. “We need that tape. Get us that tape. You’ll need to show it to recruiters—”

“Slow down, Kevin.” Jeremy said.

“You’re turning red.” Jean said.

Kevin seemed close to fainting. When he’d had some water and Wymack promised to send him the security tape, they all got their chance to shoot on Milo who didn’t allow a single one through. After the showboating, they played a real scrimmage. Whoever won got to play with Milo next and even as Kevin lost thrice in a row, he never stopped his giddy chatter about the places Milo would go and the changes he’d bring to the sport.

#aftg #all for the game #art #doodles #oc #oc art #aftg oc #milo josten #Miloverse #all for Milo #neil josten #andrew minyard #the foxes

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graciescott27 · 3 days ago

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POKER FACE!

his classmate keeps trying to figure out a cheat sheet for his expressions…

cw: kinda angsty with his backstory, language, classmates to friends to possibly lovers (really ambiguous ending)

wc: 1.3k

Rin Itoshi has an excellent poker face. Sae had taught it to him. He never let any of his emotions show through his expressions. If his big brother could do it, then so could he. Since he had never learned emotions, he hid from them. They didn’t exist if no one could tell him what he felt.

No one ever learned how to look past Rin Itoshi’s poker face. It didn’t really benefit them to, at the end of the day. This one girl in his home room, though, always stared at him with curious eyes. It was the most unusual expression on her face every time. Rin had never seen anything like it. Her eyes were analytical with narrowed eyebrows. Her lips were sucked in and pulled to the side just a bit with just the slightest downturn to them. The first few times, he thought she was mad at him. He returned the glare.

When the observing continued long past when you should’ve stopped being mad, Rin began to think it was something else. Did you want to ask him a question? Did his hair look stupid? Had he given a dumb answer during a lesson? Maybe you had known Sad before he left for Spain somehow. He was only really popular because of his brother, after all.

Eventually, the day came where you slammed your hand on his desk and gave him an accusatory point. You were grinning wildly, though, which he found quite contradictory. You seemed to be quite bad at keeping your emotions in.

“You’re confused,” you announced proudly.

Rin looked at you like you were crazy. Well, to the best of his abilities. His brows were drawn together just a millimeter more than normal. He held his lips tighter together than usual. That was it. “Excuse me?”

“You’re confused,” you reasserted, lowering the hand you were pointing at him with. You were leaned in too close for his liking. “Right? Your right eyebrow raises a little when you’re confused, I think. Doesn’t it?”

Yeah, maybe it did. He had never thought about it before. You being right didn’t do anything to help the fact that he had no fucking clue why you were talking to him, though. “Why is this important?”

“Because you look dead all the time,” you scoffed, leaning back and crossing your arms in one fluid motion. “I’m trying to figure out the code.”

He still had no idea what you were talking about. “The code?”

“Yeah. How to read you. You don’t ever express anything, man. It’s weird.”

“You’re weird,” he scoffed, turning his head to face away from you.

You snapped and pointed at him again, laughing. “That. More of that.”

And you rushed away, grabbing your bag off your desk and running at a group of girls.

Maybe you had just escaped an asylum.

You continued to observe him over the next few months. Every day after classic you came up to him and tried to guess how he was feeling. You were right every time. Rin was beginning to think that his poker face wasn’t as good as he thought it was.

And then that horrid snowy night came. It was still winter. Rin’s practice had finished a few hours ago already. It was getting dark. He was probably going to get a bus ride back home soon. Rin had quickly made a habit of staying later after practice every day. Sae was coming back home. He had to show his brother just how much better he had gotten.

He didn’t get much of a chance to show off.

After that day, there was a change in your daily analysis. You didn’t tell him that he was excited right before he left school to play a match. You didn’t tell him that he was tired from training or that he was confused about a math lesson. Now you only gave him two answers. You’re sad. You’re angry. You’re sad. You’re angry, you’re angry, you’re angry. You’re sad. You’re sad. You’re sad, you’re sad, you’re sad, you’re sad. And still, despite how much he shrugged you off, you were still right every time.

He snapped at you one day. He told you to shut up, to fuck off, to leave him the hell alone. By some act of God, you actually listened. You stopped your interrogations completely. He only realized then just how much you talked to him. Ugh. Ignoring you might end up being more difficult than putting up with you.

Despite his newfound refusal to interact with you, You still kept track of everything he felt. You knew the answer key by that point, so it wasn’t too hard to figure out. He stopped being as sad. After just a few weeks, you could already tell how much more frequently he was angry. You didn’t know what had happened. There was no way to know why he was mad. You couldn’t ask. There was no way he would want to speak to you ever again.

He had left for the Blue Lock program pretty fast after that. You didn’t know where he was for the first few weeks, actually. You had asked at least five different people before you finally learned where he had gone. You did as much research as possible on whatever the hell this thing was, and watched his schedule just as closely as you watched your own. You had never seen him play before, so when you saw the announcement for the Blue Lock 11 v. U20 match, you decided to go. It was mostly on pure impulse, sure, but you had nothing else going on that day.

Yeaaah, turns out that he was good. You had heard about it over the years. Everyone in Japan probably had. Both of the Itoshi brothers were unstoppable. But really, you hadn’t expected any of them to be that good.

After that, Blue Lock TV became a thing. You were able to see the rankings as they were updated. Unsurprisingly, Rin Itoshi stayed number 1 nearly the entire time.

When he came back, he had absolutely no idea that you had spent so much time practically stalking him. You weren’t going to tell him, either. That would make you look utterly insane. So your relationship with him stayed static as he finished his last ever month in school. If you wanted to save anything — which you desperately did for no clear reason — you would have to act fast.

He came up to you first, though.

His expression was unsure and his eyes were shifting every direction. He finally looked at your face and mumbled, “You’re mad? Or worried?”

You cocked a singular brow, looking up at him. “I’m not mad or worried.”

“So you’re… sad?”

You laughed and shook your head. “I’m not sad.”

His face was fully scrunched as he concentrated on your face. “Happy?”

You shrugged, closing the book on the top of your desk. “I’m not sure, actually.”

“So confused?”

“You could say that, I guess.”

Confused why he was finally speaking to you again? Absolutely. You had spent all of that time watching everything related to Blue Lock just to keep an eye on him and no he was talking to you again. Did you manifest it somehow? Did he figure out that you were being a total creep and he was confronting you?

That was how you had become friends with Rin Itoshi. Through harassing him constantly over what his facial expressions meant, you had somehow earned his trust. You never learned why he had become so upset before he left for Blue Lock. You never learned why he lashed out at you. But even despite the lack of knowledge about why he felt the way he did, you at least knew that he did really feel it. The why never ended up mattering too much in the end.

You two kept in contact long after he moved to Madrid to play for Re Al. He never learned that your friends would tease you anytime an article came out about him. You never learned that his teammates would make fun of him anytime he got a notification from some unknown girl with a heart attack the end of her contact name. The lack of knowing never really mattered much in the end.

@graciescott27

#writing #fanfiction #blue lock #bllk #rin itoshi #fluff #angst #blue lock boys #drabble #headcannons #rin itoshi x reader #itoshi rin #blue lock rin #itoshi brothers

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skaiylus · 2 days ago

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Made with Love (and a Little Chaos) (Bakugou x gender neutral reader)

I wrote this piece for my lovely wifey @namjoonswifeyy. Words can't describe how much I love & appreciate you & how proud I am of you & your progress. Good job baby! 🥰

The delivery app glowed against the dim light of your room, your thumb hovering over the order button like it was a detonator.

You’d been staring at the screen for what felt like forever, scrolling through the menu, switching between restaurants, adding things to your cart only to delete them seconds later. Your stomach was growling, but every time you got close to clicking “place order,” that familiar guilt crept in.

You’d been doing so well—working out, eating better

What if this made you slip? What if you lost all your progress? What if...

You exhaled sharply and locked your phone.

Then unlocked it again.

Then locked it.

Then—

"Sweets," a familiar voice drawled from the doorway, making you nearly jump out of your skin.

"I told ya—if you want somethin’, just use my damn card and get it."

You turned sharply to see Bakugou leaning against the frame, arms crossed over his chest, head slightly tilted, his red eyes trained on you like he had you all figured out.

"You’ve been openin’ and closin’ that app so many damn times, I’m startin’ to think you’re tryin’ to teleport the food into your hands with sheer fuckin’ determination."

You huffed, locking your phone like that would stop him from knowing exactly what was going on in your head.

"I’m just thinking."

"Overthinkin’"

He pushed off the doorframe, stepping toward you with that effortless confidence that always made your stomach flip.

The bed dipped as he sat down beside you, and his warmth immediately pressed into your side. Before you could stop him, he grabbed your phone, his sharp gaze flicking over the screen.

"Knew it," he muttered, shaking his head.

"I just… I don’t know. I don’t wanna mess up." you said avoiding his gaze.

Bakugou didn’t say anything at first. His strong, scarred hand made it's way to your cheek - he makes you look at him. His face was close now, his voice lower when he spoke.

"Sweets, you ain't messin' up. You ain't 'ruinin' anything. You wanna eat somethin’? Fuckin’ eat. One meal ain't gonna make a damn bit of difference."

You frowned. "But what if—"

"No." He shook his head, cutting you off.

"No ‘what ifs.’ I ain't lettin’ you sit here and bully yourself into thinkin' you ain't doin’ good. You are.You're doing good.You hear me?"

You swallowed hard, nodding.

"Good." His fingers slid down, knuckles brushing against your cheek, his touch grounding.

"Now, we got two options. One—order the damn food, no guilt, no bullshit. Two—I’ll cook with ya, and we make somethin’ together. Either way, you’re eatin’."

You bit your lip, considering. "You'll actually cook with me? Not just stand behind me and bark orders?"

He scoffed.

"Cheeky.Yeah, I’ll cook with ya. But don’t expect me to go easy on you—I ain’t lettin’ you season like some half-assed amateur."

A laugh finally bubbled out of you, and Bakugou smirked at the sound.

"There we go,new you were in there somewhere." he murmured brushing your cheek again.

"Alright. Cooking it is" you exhaled, tension finally draining from your shoulders

"C’mon then, dumbass. Let’s make somethin’ good" he grinned, standing up and offering you his hand

And just like that, the guilt that had been eating away at you didn’t seem so heavy anymore.

Thirty minutes into cooking, it looked like a battlefield.

Flour dusted the counters, somehow got in your hair, and Bakugou had a streak of something (sauce? batter? The essence of culinary disaster?) on his cheek.

"This is the worst fuckin’ idea I’ve ever had. I should've jus' ordered ," he grumbled, staring at the mess like it had personally offended him.

You snickered, poking his side.

"You? Katsuki Bakugou?Dynamight? Admitting defeat? This is historic. Should I start recording?"

Bakugou shot you a look "Watch it, Sweets."

"Or what? You’ll throw more flour at me?"

That was a mistake. Because the second the words left your mouth, Bakugou grabbed a handful of flour and—

"DON’T YOU DARE—"

Too late. A cloud of white exploded between you as he smacked the flour against your shirt.

"KATSUKI!" you shrieked.

His shit-eating grin was worth every bit of vengeance as you grabbed a handful of flour in retaliation. Before long, it wasn’t even cooking anymore—it was war.

By the time you both called a truce, you were coated in flour, dough, and laughter, the stress from earlier completely forgotten.

"Alright, alright," you wheezed, wiping your face. "Let’s clean up before—"

Ding dong.

Both of you froze.

Slowly, you turned to Bakugou, whose expression had very suddenly turned guilty.

"Katsuki…" - your voice was low. Dangerous even.

"Did you - ?"

A beat of silence. Then—

"Tch. Maybe."

You gawked at him. "You acted all tough and made me cook, but you ordered food anyway?!"

"I—look, I wasn’t gonna.. I can't say no to you, dumbass."

He rubbed the back of his neck, grumbling

Your heart flipped. "So if I hadn’t agreed to cook"

"We’d still be eatin’," he admitted, cheeks a little pink. "I was just lettin’ ya work through your shit. But I ain’t lettin’ you go hungry, Sweets."

"Sofite"

"Shut up," he muttered, flicking your forehead before stalking off to the door.

You grinned, shaking your head as you started wiping down the counters.

Honestly? Best. Cheat day ever

Taglist - send an ask or dm to be added or removed

@buzzyboi79 @0lissa0 @nishikina @bakugosgorl @bakugosbratx @aomi04 @dabis0bitch @bakubabeyy @keisurou @hannas16 @namjoonswifeyy @neko-loogi @stormcloudsbrewing @nymphoheretic @gently-folded-paper-cranes @shoutascoffeepot @slutfor-fictionalmen @dreamcastgirl99 @effy_2000 @sparkyvibes @hotgreenteea @peony-always @fabpops1

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rowretro · 3 days ago

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𝐇𝐞'𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐞

SUNGHOON GOES TO INDIA

♡Warnings: kissing, mentions of drowning, possibly suggestive, blood, idk what else

♡Synopsis: For my desi gurlies, especially vijay fans, im personally neutral but more a thala fan, but idk, I think you'll get some of the references, for my non-desi readers, it'll just be a very cute and crazy ff of Hoon's love life<3 ill do Jungwon justice in another ff T-T (perhaps another desi reference one?)

DISCLAIMER!!! I would like to say that the idols or just names mentioned in this ff, are obviously not a representation of them irl or how I feel about it. Like it or not, I can't be bothered to look for fake names. I simply think of a name on the spot, I believe Mia is the only fake name I came up w

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He's simply here for a wedding, that's all, in India for the wedding of his dear friend, and somehow, this quiet, innocent-looking man, has caused a vehicle accident, a cone speaker landing on the head of the man who offered him a lift. Now poor Jungwon's hair is a massive cone and he doesn't even realize. Guilty, Sunghoon sat by as he watched Jungwon in the water, realization washing in as he saw his beautiful reflection. His gorgeous face and his nice hair are a big cone. "IS THIS WHY YOU KEPT LOOKING AT THE SKY WHILE I WAS YELLING AT YOU?" Jungwon asked as Sunghoon slowly nodded.

However, his guilt faded. The sound of girls giggling and splashing about could be heard, and he just couldn't focus on Won's lecture. Instead, he swam by to see the gorgeous woman, water being sprayed at her as she stood on a big stone, trying not to get in the water with her friends. Her long lashes, toothy smile, and god her body... Sunghoon get your mind out of the gutter and think of a good plan. He looked at the water he was in and smirked. He had a plan.

"Guys! Look he's drowning-" one of the girls called out as they all brought him to shore. "It's a shame such a handsome boy had to drown..." Mia said with a pout "Check if there's life in the body- I mean man" Kazuha told y/n, as she rested her head against his chest to hear for a heartbeat. Sunghoon's hand slightly shook at this feeling. He's already got a crush on this pretty woman, he's started this stupid plan, and he better go through with it without getting a restraining order.

"Let me do the deed!" Mia said, as she tried to push on his stomach to get the water out. Seeing that it didn't work, Kazuha turned to y/n, the only one who studied abroad so she wouldn't face the backlash of practically kissing someone "I'm about to get married... you know what our families are like... it's ok if you're saving a life right?" she asks as y/n bit her lip before placing them on his, trying to get water out. Sunghoon felt his heart beating. Damn, a kiss before they even get to talk? "this is so sad, look at how he's yearning to breathe!" Zuha pointed out as y/n spat the water out, her eyes on the man again, his lips pouting for another kiss. She slaps him.

"Get up and stop acting." she scolds as Sunghoon opens his eyes, sitting up mesmerized by her beauty, "look at him. how he's staring! Stupid! idiot! Nonsense! Scoundrel! You- what the hell do you think about me you little bitch" her scolds sound like music to him. "Are you crazy?! you useless illiterate goon, do you have a brain? how dare you! I will kill you! I will slap you" "he's so not cute... his face is,,, not him," Mia said. With that she left, after throwing something at him, but it landed on poor Jungwon's tall hair, knocking him into the water yet again.

Sunghoon made his way into the massive home where he'd be staying, unaware of the fact his crush was also accommodated there. She hid under the bed, waiting for him to go. Only for him to strip before her, his dirty undies landing on her head, as she saw something she didn't want to see... It's going time. Sunghoon was showering, so she unscrewed the bed and chairs, in fact why not also electrocute him?. Kazuha helped her dear friend, switching off the main as she messed with the wires, "switch it on when you hear me whistle" she said. Big mistake.

Sunghoon, unbeknownst to the danger awaiting him walks into the room whistling. Hearing the whistling, Zuha turned the main on, and poor y/n got electrocuted, nodding her head and humming due to the electrocution. "Oh, what are you doing here?... Do you want a kiss? let me close the door then... oh you don't want me to? ok let me just come over, damn you scolded me so passionately there, but want me so badly now? I just can't understand these girls" Before he knew it, he too was being electrocuted by her lips on his cheek, literally. Hell Jungwon saw this scene through an open door, poor man just had to get an expensive haircut, and here he was, to scold Sunghoon and get his money, but instead...

Both Y/n and Jungwon were kissing Sunghoon's cheeks now. Kazuha looked through the window to see how it was going, just to see the man being kissed both ways. She switched off the main, and they went flying, landing on the screwless bed, that broke down just like that. Sunghoon smiled, taking it as she was literally lying on top of him, scolding him again. Even as she left, he didn't realize he was lying on top of poor Jungwon...

Sunghoon found himself at a bar drunk out of his mind as he was paying for himself and Jungwon. A peace treaty for putting him through torture since they landed in India. "Yo, waiter... why is this CD so small?" he asks as the waiter frowns "That's not a CD that's a vada appa" he says. "A Padayappa Cd? Then put it on I wanna hear the songs-" "No it's a vada that you eat." the waiter clarifies "Then why does this one have a hole and that one doesn't?" He asks, clearly drunk.

Who knew that taking Jungwon to the bar to treat him, would become hell for Jungwon, Sunghoon walked around questioning everyone whether a fish has legs, as they ran away in fear, "Won why are you sweating so much?" he asked so casually. "For the chaos you're causing how can I possibly not sweat?" he says so calmly "Here wipe it away with this cloth" he says throwing the snake in this direction "SNAKE! SNAKE!" Jungwon yelled as everyone ran here and there scrambling to leave "a-a snake- I had a snake around me?!" Sunghoon questioned.

"HELP- HELP-" Jungwon frowned, as he heard a girl scream for help not too far away. it wasn't too loud, but he could make it out, he shook Sunghoon, as he saw her banging on the window, waving. "Hoon that girl needs help!" Jungwon said as Hoon just shrugged him off "It's the girl you keep torturing- I-I mean loving very sweetly" Before Jungwon could even turn to him Sunghoon went running. Just as she was running out of her room, he was running toward him, the 2 colliding as she fell on him. Turns out it was just a massive cockroach.

It's been a while since he left India and that girl was still on his head, should he perhaps go back to India? As he was thinking of what to do, he heard his sister rolling a suitcase into the house while dragging in a girl "You're going to love it here, I can't believe you left me for 2 weeks to go to India~ you have got to sleep over for at least a week!" Wonyoung said as pulled her dear friend to her room. Sunghoon's eyes were immediately wide, a smile on his face as he watched her. She lives here. In Korea.

"You mean he's your brother?!" Y/n asked Wonyoung as she nodded. Shit. She fucked up. Y/n saw him in the mall so she hired a few men to just gently threaten him... but apparently it went very wrong and he's in bed scared and in pain, and on top of that, he's her best friend's brother?! "I get that he's annoying but I just don't know who would do such a thing..." Wonyoung sighed "I did..." Y/n said clearly guilty, Wonyoung stared at her shocked, but she was glad she let Y/n explain. "I get it... but he's really hurt y/n... perhaps you should apologize." Wonyoung said, rubbing y/n's back as y/n nodded.

Without further ado, she found herself at the open door of Sunghoon's room. "Sunghoon?..." that sweet honey voice "NO NO DON'T HURT ME NO!" he screamed dramatically, hiding by his bed, wrapped in his duvet. "I'm so sorry- it's ok- it's just me..." she called out soothingly as he crawled back to his bed "I hear your sweet voice but I can't make out your face due to the beatings..." he said as she stepped closer, his hand went up her waist, to her arm, to her shoulder than her face, he felt her lips, squishing then a little "Y/n?" he said, as she stared in shock "yes it is me-".

Who knew her apology would result in y/n rubbing vapour rub on both sides of his chest, as he fell asleep on her lap with a smile gracing his lips. "My dear sister you helped your brother's love life... in the many mistakes I made you helped me resolve them... would you like some ice cream?" Sunghoon asked Wonyoung as she smiled "how'd it go? did you clear up you misunderstandings?... from what I heard from her she seems pretty mad and you seemed pretty annoying..." she said as Sunghoon shrugged. "I tapped so much bullshit, not even a crazy person would believe me but she did." he started as Wonyoung saw y/n behind him, but he just let him go on

After a while she felt bad and told him to look behind "why is it a snake? I help one around my neck you know?" "No it's a ghost- I have nothing to do with this!" Wonyoung claimed walking away as Y/n chased Sunghoon around the whole house, eventually tripping and falling on him. "Sunhgoon I got some- oh god... leave me out of this, me and my hair have been through enough," he said walking away as Sunghoon rested on top of her, his head in his hand staring at her. "You're so beautiful up close... it's a shame god has to force us into these scenarios no?" he asks as y/n slaps his chest and gets up to leave

Ever since she stayed over at Wonyoung's for a little, she couldn't stop thinking about him. His playfulness, the way he'd act all innocent when caught red-handed, how despite being a little annoying fuck, he kept his boundaries as much as he could, in fact, he got the chance to be sweet to her while he had her there and honestly, despite the crazy shit he's done, he seems so... sweet. She thinks about him so much, in fact, every channel every video he's there, in fact, she could've sworn she saw him in her room holding her laptop, but no, it was all in her head. She then remembered she had his number...

The 2 were sat on the beach, y/n was too shy to say anything while Sunghoon couldn't help but steal glances at her pretty face. "I'll get to the point of why I called you here... here's a picture of me and my fiancee," he said as y/n frowned. It was an edited photo of him and one of his friends, Heeseung, edited as a woman. "My dad's dad's dad and her dad's dad's dad made an agreement that their firstborn kids should get married, to their dismay, on this side was a boy, and this side was a boy then this side was a girl and that side was also a girl, to the luck of My dad's dad's dad and her dad's dad's dad, me and this girl were born, hence we now have to get married," Sunghoon explained.

If he could take a shot for all the stupid things he's done to land a girl, Sunghoon would be blackout drunk, but here he was, sitting before a very drunk, mad y/n. She slumped in her chair after downing another shot glass. "go on mate." she said "like I was saying- my dad's dad's dad-" he immediately got cut off. "Your dad's dad's dad and this lovely girl's dad's dad's dad, made an agreement that their firstborn kids should get married, to their dismay, on this side was a boy, and this side was a boy then this side was a girl and that side was also a girl, but because of fucking fate of your dad's dad's dad and her dad's dad's dad, you and this bitch was born and now you must get married right?! enough of that shit." she yelled mad. As Sunghoon gulped.

"WHAT'S GOING THROUGH THAT DUMB HEAD YOU MADAGASCAR?!" y/n asked mad as he stuttered "you know my dad's dad's dA AHHH- NOT ME DEAR GOD-" he yelled as y/n flipped the table, pulling him back when he tried to run "Yoi. I was practically one of the most gorgeous girls in my high school days, even after I graduated so many rich men would still ask me out. but no my stupid ass thought I'd end up with a smart cute, lovely man who would love me for me. Instead, I have you, you Manga." she said as Sunghoon blinked "Mango- huh?" he asked as y/n smacked him "The y/n who never thought she'd fall for anyone saw a man with such alluring eyes, despite all the mischief his face still has that innocent look, your not too over the top gym body, your gentleness, your style, your dance, your fight, seeing all this I fell for you." she drunkenly admitted, as she fell, Sunghoon catching her immediately. Y/n flipped up and looked at him with a smile "Stupid" she said one last time before passing out on him.

"And that's how my crazy brother ended up marrying such a gorgeous girl." Wonyoung ended as The friends laughed "I never thought she would fall for him, but I'm not gonna lie, they were made for each other" Kazuha added. "And I helped Jungwon find his true love too..." "Yeah, how did he repay your torture?" Jay asked as Jungwon sighed "I wouldn't say repay, but it's one crazy love story" Jungwon sighed.

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A/n: I feel this may have been too cringe and weird, but- hey Indian movies, especially arnd the 2000s-2010s era have alw been like this. What are you opinions desi and non desi readers?

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buckets-and-trees · 15 hours ago

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Red, White & True: Boston & New York [14/15]

Characters/Pairings: Steve Rogers x curvy Millennial Female!Reader Word Count: 9.1k (yes, another long one!) Summary: On the eve of the election, nerves and emotions are high, but so are your hopes for the future as a tight race becomes impossibly tighter when so many people doubted a third candidate could make a deep run. Regardless of how things turn out, you're ready to face the fact that your life will never be the same again.

Content/Warnings: political/campaign policy and discussions, marriage of political convenience, slow burn, really the slowest burn, strangers to lovers, EXPLICIT SMUT finally (vaginal fingering, cock stroking, breast play, vaginal intercourse)

Notes: This takes place in a post-Endgame scenario where Steve stays and generally most of TFATWS happened.

Author Notes: I missed getting a Friday posting out, but that's because these two had a lot to do and say in this chapter. To be honest, if I cut out all of the side characters and political plot, we'd shave down significantly, but that's part of your story with Steve, too.

Previous Chapter | Series

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

[NOVEMBER 1 - LATE EVENING - COLUMBUS TO BOSTON]

The campaign plane hums around you, a cocoon of noise both soothing and maddening. You've been staring at the same paragraph in your briefing notes for ten minutes, the words blurring together as exhaustion tugs at the edges of your consciousness. Fourteen states in thirteen days. It shouldn't be possible, and yet here you are, somehow still standing—or rather, sitting—in the final stretch of the most grueling marathon of your life.

Two weeks. Two weeks of campaign schedules that have kept you and Steve apart more than together, crisscrossing the country like stars with intersecting orbits—occasionally aligning for campaign appearances together before spinning away again to cover more territory.

You glance at your watch for the fifth time in as many minutes. Your motorcade was delayed in traffic, so you didn’t make it to the tarmac to board the plane to see Steve before his intelligence briefing started, and now it has already run twenty minutes longer than scheduled. The private meeting area at the front of the plane has been sealed off, transformed into a temporary SCIF—Sensitive Compartmented Information Facility—for the classified briefing, with Secret Service agents positioned like sentinels outside the door.

You make a conscious effort not to glare at the agents - it’s not their fault, they’re only doing their job. But inside you feel very huffy, knowing the precious hours together before landing in Boston are dwindling by the second.

You return your gaze to the briefing book in your lap, silently mouthing the words to force your tired brain to absorb them. Tomorrow's schedule in Boston includes a visit to a community health center in Roxbury, followed by meetings with healthcare advocates—you need to know these statistics cold. But the numbers swim before your eyes as the plane encounters a pocket of turbulence, jostling you in your seat.

Across the aisle, Sam catches your eye. He's been watching you fidget for the past half hour, his expression knowing as always.

"He'll be out soon," Sam says, his voice low enough that only you can hear it over the drone of the engines.

You sigh, closing the briefing book. "How can you tell?"

“I can’t, I’m just trying to make you feel better,” he replies with a wink.

“It’s only working a little bit,” you say.

Sophia is on his other side, and you smile a little, seeing that she’s managed to nod off, her head resting on Sam’s shoulder. She’s worked herself to the bone every day of the campaign, and she’s become such a rock to you. A rock and a trusted friend.

So has Sam. So have so many of the campaign staff, the lot of you walking through fire day in and day out together for this brilliantly mad quest to try and get Steve elected.

"Speaking of making me feel better," you say, suddenly struck by something you've been meaning to say for weeks, "I never properly thanked you."

Sam raises an eyebrow. "For what?"

"For all the interference you ran with my mom while she was on the campaign trail with us a couple of weeks ago." You lean forward slightly, lowering your voice even more. "You and Sophia did a lot to make her feel comfortable in this whole scene. She adored you, but I know you also took advantage of opportunities to shift her perspective on Steve and our whole arrangement.”

Sam's expression softens, a smile warming his features. "Your mom's great. She cares about you a lot - her worries were normal."

You smile wider. “You did the same with me, too, the day before I married Steve. And you did it with Steve and Bucky for me back in September. You see people and you build bridges between people.”

Sam's smile turns slightly embarrassed, but his eyes hold yours steadily. "Just part of the service," he jokes, but then grows more serious. "Everyone deserves a chance to understand each other. Especially people who matter to each other."

"Well, thank you," you say simply.

"You're welcome." Sam shifts, careful not to disturb Sophia. "Besides, your mom was right about some things. This whole arrangement was crazy."

You laugh softly. "Was?"

"Is," he corrects with a grin. "But it's working out better than any of us could have predicted, isn't it?"

Before you can answer, the door at the front of the plane opens. Steve emerges, followed by a somber-looking woman in a dark suit whom you recognize as Maria Hill.

You straighten in your seat, drinking in the sight of Steve after three days apart. He looks tired—more than tired, something about his expression unsettles you immediately. There's a tightness around his eyes, a gravity to his movements that wasn't there when you spoke over FaceTime this morning.

Steve's gaze finds yours immediately. His expression softens, but the tension doesn't fully leave his features. He exchanges a few final words with Maria, their heads bent close together, her voice too low for you to hear over the drone of the engines.

You watch as Steve nods once, decisively, before Maria turns and heads toward the rear of the plane where some of the intelligence staff are seated. Steve makes his way down the aisle toward you, stopping briefly to speak with Jake and Elspeth.

When he finally reaches you, the knot of concern in your chest tightens. Up close, the strain around his eyes is more pronounced, the set of his jaw rigid.

"Hi," you say softly as he slides into the seat beside you.

"Hi," Steve replies, his voice low and slightly rough, as if he's been talking for hours. His hand finds yours immediately, fingers interlacing with a gentle pressure that feels almost desperate in its need for connection.

You search his face. "What's wrong?"

Most of the staff are either working, sleeping, or wearing noise-canceling headphones, but he still lowers his voice to a near whisper. "Nothing immediate. Just... concerning intelligence."

The muscles in your stomach tighten. Since Steve became a serious contender in the presidential race, he's been receiving regular intelligence briefings—a tradition for major party candidates to ensure a smooth transition should they win. You've grown accustomed to the routine, to the way he emerges from these meetings with a thoughtful, typically troubled expression. Most of the information he’s given in those meetings is also highly sensitive if not outright classified.

You take his hand in both of yours, bringing it to rest in your lap. "Is it something you can talk about?" you ask, keeping your voice equally low.

Steve lets out a long, slow breath, some of the tension leaving his shoulders as you hold his hand. His thumb traces gentle circles on your skin, a grounding gesture that seems as much for his benefit as for yours.

"I can't discuss the details," he says after a moment, his voice barely audible over the engines. "But there are situations developing that will need immediate attention after the election." His eyes meet yours, troubled and deep. "No matter who wins."

You nod, understanding the weight behind his words. Steve has always carried the burdens of leadership differently than others—not as opportunities or challenges, but as sacred obligations to the people counting on him.

"Is there anything I can do?" you ask, knowing there likely isn't but needing to offer anyway.

"There is," Steve says, his voice softening as he shifts closer to you. "Just be here."

He leans back in his seat, his eyes closing briefly as he draws a deep breath. When they open again, there's something vulnerable in his gaze that makes your chest ache.

"I've missed you," he admits quietly. "These past three days felt like three weeks."

"I know," you whisper, squeezing his hand. "The swing through Wisconsin, Illinois, and Indiana was productive, but every event I kept thinking of what you would say, how you would handle it."

A small smile touches his lips. "And how did hypothetical me do?"

"Not nearly as well as real me," you tease, drawing the laugh from him you'd hoped for. "But you would have been proud. Polling suggests we gained ground with suburban women in all three states."

Steve's smile broadens, some of the tension leaving his face. "I am proud. Especially of that interview you did in Indianapolis." His hand finds the nape of your neck, fingers gently massaging the tension there.

You lean into his touch, your eyes briefly closing at the relief his fingers bring to muscles knotted from days of campaign stress.

"I just answered honestly," you say, remembering the local news interview that had unexpectedly gone viral after you'd spoken candidly about healthcare access in rural communities.

"That's what made it powerful," Steve says. His voice drops even lower, meant only for you. "Two days left. Can you believe it?"

You shake your head, still processing the whirlwind that has been your life since that fateful meeting with Pepper Potts in May. "Sometimes it feels like we've been campaigning forever. Other times, I can't believe how quickly it's all happened."

Steve's eyes hold yours, something profound shifting in their blue depths. "I keep thinking about where we were six months ago. How impossible this all seemed." His voice is a gentle rumble that vibrates through you. "Now we're two days from potentially—"

"Don't," you whisper, pressing a finger lightly to his lips. "No jinxing it."

He smiles against your finger, then captures your hand and kisses your palm. "Superstitious now?"

"Cautiously optimistic," you correct, feeling the familiar flutter in your chest that his touch evokes.

The plane encounters another patch of turbulence, more pronounced this time. Steve's arm instinctively wraps around your shoulders, steadying you as the aircraft shudders. You lean into him, and the turbulence settles.

"That's what I like to hear," Steve murmurs, his arm remaining around you even after the turbulence passes. "Cautiously optimistic is exactly where we need to be."

You rest your head against his shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of him—that perfect blend of clean cotton, subtle cologne, and something that is uniquely Steve. Despite the exhaustion dragging at your limbs, despite the worry you'd seen etched in his features moments ago, this closeness grounds you in a way nothing else can. And once again, as the two of you quietly converse, tucked comfortably into one another, you fight but are unable to keep from falling asleep in his arms.

You wake to gentle pressure against your temple—Steve's lips brushing a kiss there, his breath warm against your skin.

"We're starting our descent," he murmurs. "You've been out for about an hour."

Blinking away sleep, you straighten in your seat, embarrassed. "I didn't mean to—"

"You needed it," Steve says, his hand still resting comfortably on your knee. Through the window, you can see the scattered constellation of Boston's lights growing larger below.

"Did you sleep at all?" you ask, noting the lingering tension around his eyes.

He shakes his head. "Too much on my mind."

You reach up to smooth a strand of hair that's fallen across his forehead. "The briefing?"

"That. The polls. Tomorrow's schedule.”

"The usual campaign insomnia," you say with understanding, your fingers lingering at his temple where you can feel the tension gathered there.

"Something like that," he agrees, but there's a note in his voice that tells you it's more than just pre-election jitters.

The pilot’s voice crackles over the intercom, announcing your imminent arrival. Around you, the campaign staff begin to stir, gathering materials, checking phones that had been silenced during the flight. You deplane and the team piles into a dozen vehicles waiting on the tarmac to take you all directly to the hotel to catch the limited amount of sleep you’ll be afforded before things start back up in the morning.

[NOVEMBER 2 - BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS]

Morning arrives too soon, the pale November light filtering through the hotel curtains you forgot to fully close. For a moment, you lie perfectly still, orienting yourself in yet another unfamiliar room. Boston. The final day before the election.

The other side of the bed is empty. Though everything between you and Steve has changed, deepened, and grown, you are still dancing around sharing a room and a bed. After that night you asked him to stay with you in Tucson, your mom had come for those next few days on the campaign, and then your itineraries had split you up geographically, but even on the nights of overlap, there seemed to be this half-spoken avoidance. You have been hesitant of exploring the intimacy and domesticity of sleeping together routinely in this environment. There are so many things you and Steve have said to each other and about each other, but there are still things that have been left unsaid, and the endless circuit of the campaign cycle didn’t seem like the place to say any of it.

The digital clock reads 5:47, and though you’re annoyed you’ve woken up before your scheduled 6am start to the day, you are glad for the precious few minutes of sleepy solitude you still have. You allow yourself the luxury of stretching, muscles protesting after weeks of constant movement and too little rest. The sheets smell of hotel laundry—a scent that has become almost as familiar as your old home.

Your phone vibrates on the nightstand. A text from Steve: Good morning. Couldn't sleep, went for a run. Briefing and breakfast at 7?

You smile at his predictability—yo’ve heard about his runs, and even on the precipice of potentially becoming the next president, Steve Rogers seeks clarity in the rhythm of his feet against pavement. You don’t expect it to change, regardless of how the election results go. You type back: Yes to breakfast. Coffee already necessary. Be safe.

The three dots appear immediately, then: Always am. Sleep well?

Better than expected, but not long enough, you reply honestly. Hotel pillows are growing on me.

Dangerous adaptation, he responds with a laughing emoji. Then, a moment later: Going to catch sunrise over Boston Harbor. Wish you were here.

The simple sentiment warms you more than it should. Six months ago, such casual intimacy between you would have been unimaginable. Now it feels as natural as breathing.

Bed better than running, you send back.

His response is immediate: Debatable. Will bring you coffee when I get back.

You smile, setting your phone down and pulling yourself reluctantly from the warmth of the bed. The hotel room is elegant but impersonal, like all the others you've occupied during this campaign—luxury without personality, comfort without home. You've become an expert at navigating unfamiliar bathrooms in the dark, at finding the light switches and remembering which side of the bed you chose the night before.

The shower helps clear the fog of too little sleep. As the hot water cascades over your shoulders, you mentally rehearse today's schedule: the community health center visit, lunch with healthcare advocates, an afternoon rally at Boston University, and then the massive evening event at Faneuil Hall. The final push before Election Day.

By the time you emerge from the bathroom, wrapped in the hotel's plush robe, your phone is lighting up with notifications. Campaign updates, news alerts, text messages from Sam about last-minute scheduling changes. The bubble of morning solitude pops, reality rushing in with the force of a breaking dam.

You dress quickly in the outfit laid out the night before—a carefully selected ensemble that projects both approachability and professionalism. The campaign's messaging team has fine-tuned every visual element of these final appearances, down to the color of your scarf, which matches the campaign's signature blue.

A soft knock at the door comes just as you're fastening your watch. Through the peephole, you see Steve, looking refreshed despite the early hour, a cardboard tray holding two coffee cups in one hand.

"Morning," he says when you open the door, his smile warming his tired eyes. He's showered and changed since his run, dressed in a navy suit that makes his eyes even more blue. "Coffee as promised."

"You're a lifesaver," you murmur, accepting the cup he offers. "How was the harbor?" you ask, stepping out into the hall to walk down to breakfast with him.

"Peaceful. Water was like glass. Sun coming up behind the city." He pauses, something wistful crossing his features. "Made me wish I had my sketchbook."

You take a long sip of coffee, savoring the perfect blend—he remembers exactly how you like it. "When this is all over, we should come back. You can sketch all day if you want."

Steve's smile deepens, creating those little crinkles around his eyes that you've grown to love. "I'll hold you to that."

The two of you walk in comfortable silence down the rest of the hallway to the elevator, Secret Service agents quietly flanking you. Steve's presence beside you is solid, reassuring. In the mirrored walls of the elevator, you catch glimpses of yourselves—a little tired, a little worn, but standing tall. The potential First Couple. The thought still feels surreal.

"Sleep well?" he asks softly as the elevator descends.

"You already asked me that," you remind him with a smile.

"I know. Just checking if your answer changes in person." His hand finds the small of your back as the doors open, a gentle, protective gesture that's become second nature.

Another hotel conference room has been transformed into another campaign outpost, screens displaying polling data and schedules lining the walls. Campaign staff mill about, some already deep in conversation, others nursing coffee with the glazed look of people running on fumes and determination.

Sam spots you first, raising his coffee cup in greeting from where he's huddled with Sophia, Bucky and Jake. You're about to head their way when you notice a familiar figure standing near the breakfast buffet—Maria Hill, the same intelligence officer from the plane. She's not alone. A man in an impeccable dark suit stands beside her, his posture military-straight, his expression grave as he surveys the room with calculated precision.

Steve's hand tenses almost imperceptibly against your back. You glance up at him, catching the slight hardening of his jaw, the narrowing of his eyes.

"What is it?" you ask quietly.

"Agent Calloway," Steve acknowledges with a slight nod, his voice carefully neutral despite the tension you feel radiating through his palm against your back. "I wasn't expecting to see you in Boston."

The man—Agent Calloway—turns toward you both, his weathered face revealing nothing as he approaches with measured steps. He's older than Maria, perhaps in his mid-fifties, with close-cropped greying hair and eyes that seem to catalog every detail of the room in continuous sweeps.

"Captain Rogers," he says, extending a hand to Steve. "I’ve been assigned to personally oversee the enhanced security protocols for these final campaign events." His handshake is brief, then his attention shifts to you with professional efficiency. "Ma'am," he says with a respectful nod.

You return the greeting, a sense of unease creeping up your spine. Enhanced security protocols. The words are heavy, unexpected. Should you be more worried?

You offer what you hope is a polite smile, but Calloway's steel-gray eyes catch the flicker of worry that crosses your face. His expression softens marginally—the change so subtle you might have missed it if you weren't studying him so intently.

"Please don't be concerned, ma'am," he says, his voice dropping to a more conversational tone. "Enhanced protocols are standard procedure for the final days before an election. The heightened visibility, larger crowds—it's all part of the calculus."

You nod, attempting to look reassured, but you can feel Steve's body beside yours, taut as a bowstring.

"Standard procedure," Steve repeats, the words measured and careful. His face maintains the pleasant, diplomatic expression he's perfected during the campaign, but you know the mask. “It seems a bit unnece–”

“Captain Rogers,” Calloway interrupts, “sir, let me stop you right there. My men and women and I are more than aware of your capability to defend yourself. They assigned me because I’m the one who will take the least amount of pushback from you. We know you’re an Avenger. Should anything happen, we would not be surprised to have you fighting and defending alongside us.”

You don’t even have to look, you can feel the frown emanating from Steve. You keep your eyes on Calloway’s face.

“Our responsibility is to keep an eye on everyone and everything to keep you and the public safe. Your responsibility right now is to campaign. If elected, it will be to lead the American people. That’s why we’re here. Let us do our job so you can do yours.”

“This old man is retired anyway,” Sam chimes in, stepping up next to Steve and clapping him on the back, jostling him on purpose to loosen him up.

The tension in Steve's shoulders doesn't fully dissipate, but his expression softens at Sam's intervention. He nods once at Calloway, conceding the point without quite relinquishing his concern.

"I appreciate the dedication," Steve says, his voice measured. "Just make sure your team keeps my staff safe - I’m no more important than them."

"Consider it done," Calloway responds with crisp efficiency. "We've been briefed on all locations and have advance teams in place. They will monitor and update throughout the day.”

Maria Hill approaches, tablet in hand. "If you have a moment, Captain, there are some logistics we should review before your first event." Her tone is professional, but you catch the subtle urgency beneath.

Steve's eyes meet yours, a silent communication passing between you. "I'll catch up with you," he says, his hand squeezing yours briefly before following Maria and Calloway to a quieter corner of the room.

Sam stays beside you, his presence steady and reassuring. "Don't worry," he says quietly as you both watch Steve step away. "Extra security is normal for the final push."

"Is it?" you ask, unable to keep the doubt from your voice.

"Yes," Sam insists, then adds with a half-smile, "though having Hill still on site for national security and intelligence updates is... possibly not."

You turn to face him fully. "Sam."

He meets your gaze, “I’m genuinely not concerned yet - I’m alert, but not concerned. Bucky agrees, he thinks whatever situation is developing is probably serious, but that Maria’s staying close more out of a personal sense of duty than any real safety concern.”

You frown. “Are you just saying that to make me feel better?”

“No. I’ve been around these heroes for years, and I know sometimes they try and save us regular folk from bad news, but in the end that never helps. I don’t think Bucky will hold back with you, and I don’t think Steve would intentionally either, but I can definitely promise I’ll bullshit you now and then, but I’ll always be straight with you when it matters.”

You nod, finding comfort in Sam's directness. "Thank you. I appreciate that."

"Come on," Sam says, guiding you toward the breakfast buffet. "You need to eat something. Big day ahead."

You follow him, but your eyes drift back to Steve, who's now leaning over a tablet with Maria and Calloway, his brow furrowed in concentration. The three of them speak in low voices, their expressions grave. The knot of unease in your stomach tightens.

"He's concerned," you murmur, more to yourself than to Sam.

"He's always concerned," Sam counters gently. "It's his default setting. Has been since I met him."

You smile despite yourself. "I've noticed."

Sophia waves you over to a table where she's sitting with Bucky and Jake, campaign materials spread between their plates. As you approach, you notice the dark circles under Sophia's eyes, the slight tremor in Jake's hand as he lifts his coffee cup. Everyone is feeling the weight of these final hours.

"Morning," Jake greets you, sliding a folder across the table. "Final numbers from last night's polling.”

"How's it looking?" you ask, opening the folder as you settle into a chair next to Sophia.

"It's tight," Jake says. "The national polls still have Monroe up by two, but within the margin of error."

"The battleground states are where it matters," Sophia adds, tapping a spreadsheet with her pen. "Pennsylvania and Michigan are looking good, but Wisconsin and Arizona are razor-thin with Steve biting on both their heels."

You nod, scanning the numbers. Your stomach churns with a familiar mixture of hope and anxiety that has become your constant companion these last weeks. The race is close—closer than any of you had anticipated when this journey began.

"Florida's polling is all over the place," Bucky says, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. "Depending on which poll you believe, Steve, Monroe, or Peterson take the sunshine state, and it skews the board no matter which way it goes.”

“So, basically, we’re doing well, but no one knows how well?” you ask.

"It's an election," Jake says with a wry smile. "No one ever really knows until the votes are counted."

Bucky leans forward, his metal hand tapping lightly on the table. "What matters is that we're competitive everywhere we need to be. Six months ago, no one thought an independent candidate could seriously contend. Now..." His voice trails off as his eyes drift to where Steve is still deep in conversation with Maria and Calloway.

"Now we've got them scared," Sophia finishes, a fierce pride in her voice.

[NOVEMBER 2 - EVENING - NEW YORK CITY]

You and Steve are put into a car with Jake and Lisa once you touchdown in New York, getting off the campaign plane for the final time. Your campaign manager and press secretary want to use the short ride from La Guardia to the hotel in Midtown Manhattan to review final notes before the morning.

"The itinerary is straightforward," Jake says, scrolling through his tablet. "Early breakfast with the New York campaign volunteers at 6 AM, radio morning shows from 6:30 to 7, then straight to your polling place in Brooklyn by 7:30. We want the images of you two voting to hit the morning news cycles."

"After that," Lisa continues, "it's a series of get-out-the-vote stops across the city. We'll hit all five boroughs by mid-afternoon.”

“Then we have a break for the two of you until dinner and a final event in Central Park at 7 PM, which should give us prime placement for the evening news for all time zones," Jake says. “It should hopefully pull in some undecided voters - the ones who are debating whether to go home after work or go to the polls, and those are the voters likely to sway to you.”

Steve nods, his thumb absently stroking the back of your hand where it rests between you on the seat. "And the rest of the night?"

"We've secured the Grand Ballroom at the Plaza for the watch party," Lisa says. "Doors open to supporters at seven, but we don't expect either of you to make an appearance until at least nine, when the first results start coming in."

“This is why we’ve got the afternoon siesta for the two of you,” Jake says, his tone straightforward, logical, leaving no space to argue, “you’ll both need to be public-ready.”

"And if it's a long night?" you ask, voicing the question that's been weighing on all of you. With such a tight race, a definitive result by the end of the night is far from guaranteed.

Jake and Lisa exchange glances. "We have contingency plans," Lisa answers. “The event in Central Park will continue through the night as long as it’s viable. If there’s any need for a public address, we want you to make it to the crowd outdoors in the park.”

“Absolutely,” Steve nods, “it’ll be a cold, long night for them, and if there’s something to be said, I want to be able to show them how much they’re appreciated.”

The car glides through late-night New York traffic, the city lights reflecting off rain-slicked streets. You feel the weight of tomorrow pressing down—the culmination of months of exhausting work, of speeches and handshakes and strategy sessions. Of a marriage that began as strategy and transformed into something neither of you could have predicted.

"What about security?" Steve asks, his voice pulling you from your thoughts.

Jake nods, his expression serious. "Calloway's team has coordinated with NYPD, FBI, and Homeland. The security presence will be significant but as unobtrusive as possible. We don't want to alarm voters or create bottlenecks at polling places."

The car slows as it approaches The Plaza Hotel, the familiar choreography of arrival unfolding once more. Secret Service agents radio ahead, confirming positions.

Even though your home is in New York - the new home you have yet to truly live in yet with Steve in Brooklyn - you’re staying at The Plaza Hotel since it will be campaign headquarters for the next 36 hours, ready to go in the morning immediately with the campaign staff.

The SUV pulls to a stop under the elegant awning of The Plaza, its golden lights glowing against the darkness. Immediately, the flurry of your arrival begins—Secret Service agents materializing from seemingly nowhere, forming a protective perimeter as hotel staff stand at attention near the entrance. Despite the late hour, a small crowd of reporters and curious onlookers has gathered behind barricades, camera flashes punctuating the darkness like artificial lightning.

"Ready?" Steve asks quietly.

“Let’s do this.” You nod, summoning a smile that feels genuine despite your exhaustion. This is the final push—one more night, one more day, and then whatever comes next.

The moment the car door opens, the world rushes in—the cool November air carrying the scent of rain and the city, the sounds of late night traffic, the frenzied murmur of voices. Steve exits first, turning to offer you his hand. Camera flashes explode like silent lightning around you and Steve.

"Captain Rogers! How are you feeling about tomorrow?" "Any response to Senator Monroe's latest polling numbers?" "Are you confident about your chances?"

Steve offers a practiced wave and a warm smile that somehow manages to convey both confidence and humility. "We're focused on getting out the vote tomorrow," he calls to the reporters, his voice carrying just enough to be heard without seeming to shout. "Every American deserves to have their voice heard in this election."

His hand finds the small of your back, guiding you forward with practiced ease as the two of you navigate the gauntlet of questions and flashing cameras. The Secret Service forms a protective bubble around you, not pushing or shoving but somehow creating space through sheer presence. You've become accustomed to this dance—the careful balance of accessibility and security, of warmth and vigilance.

The Plaza's ornate lobby envelops you in sudden quiet, the thick carpets and soaring ceilings absorbing the chaos that swirls just outside its revolving doors. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over marble floors, transforming the space into something from another era—a pocket of gilded elegance that has somehow survived the city's constant reinvention.

The advance campaign staff move with practiced efficiency, checking in with each other in hushed tones. Several nod respectfully as you and Steve pass, their expressions a mixture of exhaustion and determination. These are the people who have sacrificed sleep, stability, and sometimes sanity to bring this improbable campaign to the precipice of possible victory.

Amidst the quiet bustle, you spot Eric, your logistics coordinator. When she sees you, Eric breaks away from the hotel staff, his efficiency on display even at this late hour. He's been with the campaign since June, and his ability to coordinate the movement of hundreds of people across the country with military precision has been invaluable.

"Captain Rogers, Mrs. Rogers," he greets you both with a quick nod. "Everything's set for tomorrow. Your rooms are ready—you’re on the fifteenth floor. The campaign staff is distributed across the fourteenth and fifteenth."

He hands each of you a key card in a small Plaza-emblazoned envelope. "I've had your luggage sent up. The 6 AM breakfast meeting will be in the Grand Ballroom. We've converted the Edwardian Room into our command center—all the polling data will be coming in there throughout the day tomorrow."

"Thank you, Eric. For everything." The simple words feel inadequate for the months of meticulous planning he's orchestrated, transforming the logistical nightmare of a presidential campaign into something almost manageable.

"Just doing my job," he replies with characteristic modesty, but his tired eyes brighten at the recognition. "Oh, and Mrs. Potts called. She's arriving early tomorrow morning. She'll meet you directly at the breakfast event."

Steve nods, his hand still resting gently at the small of your back, like it’s always belonged there. "Perfect.”

Jake checks his watch and stifles a yawn. "It's almost eleven. We made good time. You two head up, Lisa and I will help Eric marshal the rest of the troops as they arrive.”

You suspect Steve agrees because then he can hold you to going up as well, and he always tries to take care of you and the rest of his team. The two of you cross the lobby to the elevators, and it’s only a few moments before one arrives. Two Secret Service agents file in with you. As the lift ascends, the subtle vibration beneath your feet seems to harmonize with the nervous flutter in your chest.

Your fingers fidget with the edge of your sleeve, a small tell that you've never quite managed to control when anticipation takes hold. Steve notices—of course he notices. Those observant blue eyes miss nothing, especially when it comes to you.

"Hey," Steve's voice is gentle as his hand covers yours, stilling the restless movement. "You okay?"

You look up to find his eyes studying you with that particular intensity that always makes your heart skip—the look that sees past practiced smiles and campaign-ready expressions to the truth underneath.

"I'm fine," you say automatically, then catch yourself. After everything you've been through together, the practiced deflections feel wrong. "Actually, I'm a little nervous."

His brow furrows slightly, concern deepening the blue of his eyes. "About tomorrow?"

"No. Well, yes, of course about tomorrow, but that's not—" You pause as the elevator slows, the display indicating you've reached the fifteenth floor. The doors slide open to reveal an elegantly appointed hallway, its rich carpeting muffling the sound as the Secret Service agents step out first, performing their customary sweep.

"All clear, sir," one of them says, positioning himself discreetly near the elevator bank while the other advances down the hallway, you and Steve following behind.

You watch the numbers of the doors as you pass, then stop when you get to room 1518. “This is me,” you say.

He frowns briefly, looking at the number on his key card envelope. “Mine says 1518, too.”

“Mhmm,” you nod, looking up at him through your lashes.

The realization settles over Steve's face, his expression shifting from confusion to understanding. "Oh," he says, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I see."

You hand your key card to the agent, who taps it to the door and enters to do a security sweep.

"I asked Sophia to arrange it with Eric," you admit, heat rising to your cheeks despite your best efforts. "I thought… for our last night before everything changes one way or another, I just want to be with you."

Steve's expression softens and he steps closer, the space between you shrinking until you can feel the warmth radiating from his body.

"That’s what you were nervous about?" he asks, his voice low enough that only you can hear. "Asking me to stay with you tonight?"

You nod, feeling shy despite the months of growing intimacy between you. "We've been dancing around it. But tonight..."

Steve's hand finds yours, fingers intertwining. He doesn’t say anything, the way he looks at your face, you don’t need him to. Reassurance and longing are written and reflected there.

A moment later, the agent steps out of the room. “All clear. We’ll be monitoring the floor.”

“Thank you, Roberts,” Steve says without looking away from you.

You enter first, and the door swings open to reveal a spacious suite, elegantly appointed in the Plaza's signature style—cream walls, gold accents, plush furnishings in muted tones. Your luggage sits neatly arranged near the closet, and a small bouquet of fresh flowers brightens the writing desk.

Steve follows right behind you, the door closing behind him with a gentle thud that seems to seal you both away from the world outside. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the sudden privacy after days of constant company and scrutiny creating a bubble of stillness around you.

"So," Steve says.

The word hangs between you, heavy with unspoken anticipation. You turn to face him fully, taking in the sight of him—this man who has somehow become the center of your universe in the span of a few tumultuous months. The lines of fatigue around his eyes only enhance the intensity of his gaze as it locks with yours.

"So," you echo, a small smile playing at your lips. "Here we are."

"Here we are," he agrees, his voice a low rumble that sends a pleasant shiver down your spine. He takes a step toward you, closing the distance until mere inches separate you. "The night before everything changes."

You reach up, fingers gently tugging to loosen his tie. "Everything's already changed, Steve. Whatever happens tomorrow..."

"We face it together," he finishes, capturing your hand where it rests against his chest. His fingers envelop yours, warm and steady. "Just like we promised."

The weight of tomorrow presses against the edges of your consciousness, but here, in this moment, there is only Steve—his presence solid and real before you. The campaign, the election, the world waiting beyond these walls—all of it recedes as you lean into him.

"I'm glad you arranged this," he murmurs, his free hand coming up to cup your cheek. "Us tonight."

"I've wanted to for weeks," you admit. "But everything's been so intense, and there never seemed to be the right moment to..."

"I know." His thumb traces the curve of your cheekbone, his touch gentle yet grounding. "And I’ve never wanted to assume or rush, but I've wanted it too."

Your eyes drift closed as he leans forward, his breath warm against your lips just before they meet yours. The kiss is gentle at first, but as his arms encircle you, drawing you closer against the solid warmth of his chest, something shifts—urgency bleeding into tenderness, months of carefully banked desire kindling into something more demanding.

Your fingers thread through his hair, fusing him to you as the kiss deepens. His hands span your waist, lifting you effortlessly until your feet barely touch the ground. The sensation of being suspended, weightless in his embrace, sends a thrill through you that has nothing to do with the campaign or tomorrow's uncertainties.

When you finally break apart, both breathless, Steve rests his forehead against yours. His eyes, when they open, are darkened with desire but still impossibly blue. His eyes hold yours, a universe of emotion swirling in their blue depths. He shrugs off his suit coat, you slip out of your coat, and Steve takes both and drapes them over a nearby armchair. Then Steve steps close to you again, his hands moving to frame your face, his touch reverent as his thumbs trace the curve of your cheekbones.

"I've been hungry for this moment," he confesses, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through you where your bodies press together. "Being alone with you. Really alone."

"Me, too," you confess, fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw and his well-trimmed beard.

His smile in response is both tender and knowing, a silent acknowledgment of the journey that brought you here—from strangers to hesitant allies to something neither of you could have anticipated. His hands slide up your back, pulling you impossibly closer as his lips find yours again.

This kiss is different—deeper, unhurried yet purposeful. The careful restraint that's defined so much of your relationship begins to unravel with each passing second. His lips move against yours with increasing urgency, and you respond in kind, your body arching into his as if drawn by some invisible force.

Steve guides you backward through the suite with what feels like a dancer's grace, each step purposeful yet fluid. The world narrows to the points where your bodies connect—his hand at the small of your back, his chest against yours, his lips moving with increasing urgency against your own. The sitting room passes in a blur of cream and gold, furniture mere obstacles to navigate around as you drift through the space in this intimate waltz.

Your fingers work at his tie again, tugging the knot loose with fumbling eagerness. The silk slides free with a whisper against cotton, and you let it fall, forgotten, somewhere behind you. His mouth never leaves yours as you move together, his breath mingling with your own in the narrow space between kisses. Your shoulder bumps gently against a doorframe—the threshold to the bedroom—and Steve's arm tightens around you, steadying you against him.

"I've got you," he murmurs against your lips, the words more breath than sound.

You feel the familiar pressure of his hand at the small of your back, guiding you through the doorway and into the bedroom. The soft glow of city lights filters through the sheer curtains, painting the room in muted blues and golds.

Your fingers, trembling slightly with anticipation, move to the buttons of his crisp white shirt. The first button slips free easily, revealing a triangle of warm skin at his throat that you caress briefly before continuing your task. The second proves more challenging as Steve's kisses grow more insistent, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that makes focusing on anything else nearly impossible. You manage the third button just as the back of your knees meet the edge of the bed.

At some point between the sitting room and the bedroom, Steve had evidently unzipped your dress, because now he quickly pushes the fabric down over your shoulders, and it falls to the floor, pooling at your feet. He turns you around in his arms, pulling you flush against him. Without missing a beat, his left hand comes up to collar your throat and turn your head to the side so he can continue devouring your lips with his own. His other hand slides over the roundness of your stomach and down into your panties, no hesitation

His fingers slide against you, finding you already wet and ready for him. You gasp against his mouth at the contact, your body arching into his touch. Steve's lips trail from yours to the sensitive spot just below your ear, his breath hot on your skin, and his beard scratching pleasantly against your neck.

"I've wanted this for so long," he whispers, his voice rough with desire. "Wanted you."

You reach back, fingers threading through his hair as his thumb circles your most sensitive spot with exquisite precision. Your legs tremble, and he tightens his arm across your chest, supporting your weight as pleasure builds with each deliberate stroke.

"Steve," you breathe, the word half plea, half prayer.

He turns you in his arms once more, then pushes you back onto the mattress. He’s quick to follow, hovering over you as you both slither further up the bed, capturing your mouth in that kiss that's constant hunger and heat.

His shirt hangs open now, and you push it from his shoulders, murmuring, “Too many clothes,” desperate to feel his skin against yours. He shrugs it off, chuckling against your lips.

"I agree," he murmurs, his hands moving to unclasp your bra with surprising dexterity. As he tosses it aside, his eyes darken with appreciation, taking in the sight of you beneath him. "God, you're beautiful."

His palm cups your breast, thumb brushing across the sensitive peak as he lowers his head to press open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone. You arch into his touch, fingers working at his belt buckle with growing urgency. The metal clinks as it comes free, and Steve shifts to help you push his pants down his hips.

The bed cradles you as Steve's weight settles over you, his body a perfect counterbalance of power and restraint. Every touch feels like a revelation, each kiss deeper than the last. His hands trace the curves of your body with reverence, as if mapping territories both familiar and new.

"You're beautiful," he whispers against your collarbone, his lips tracking a slow path downward. "So beautiful."

Your fingers explore the broad expanse of his shoulders, feeling the play of muscles beneath warm skin as he moves. When his mouth closes over your breast, a soft gasp escapes you, your back arching into the sensation. His beard creates a delicious friction against your sensitive skin, the contrast between softness and roughness heightening every sensation.

He sucks and lavishes your nipple with attention that makes your head spin before moving his mouth to your other breast and delivering more of the dizzying pleasure. Only when he has you squirming beneath him is he satisfied. He moves back up your body, and his mouth captures yours again.

Your hands slide over the muscled planes of his chest, marveling at the contrast between the softness of his skin and the hardness of the body beneath. When your fingers trace the defined ridges of his abdomen, following the trail of hair that disappears beneath the waistband of his boxer briefs.

Steve shivers beneath your touch, his breath catching as your fingers dip below the elastic of his boxers. The hardness of him strains against the fabric, his physical desire for you manifested plainly. You trace the length of him through the cotton, reveling in the way his breath hitches, the way his eyes darken to midnight as they hold yours.

"I need you," you whisper, emboldened by the naked want in his gaze. "All of you."

The words act like a catalyst. Steve moves with sudden purpose, stripping away the last barriers between you until there's nothing but skin against skin, heat against heat. His weight settles partially on you, one strong thigh slipping between yours as he claims your mouth again. You’re sure you’re going to forget to breathe, the way this man - your husband - kisses you in this moment.

His hand skims down your side, tracing the curve of your hip before sliding between your bodies. When his fingers find your folds again, you gasp against his mouth, your body arching into his touch. He explores you with gentle thoroughness, learning what makes your breath catch, what draws those soft moans from deep in your throat.

"Steve," you breathe, his name a plea as tension coils tighter within you. "Please."

He understands what you're asking for, positioning himself between your thighs, the hard length of him pressing against your entrance. His eyes find yours, intense and questioning even now.

"Are you sure?" he asks, his voice rough with need but still so careful, so considerate.

In answer, you wrap your legs around his hips, drawing him closer. The first slow push of him entering you draws a moan from both your lips, the sensation of fullness, of completeness, overwhelming in its intensity. He moves with deliberate control, giving you time to adjust to him, his forehead pressed against yours.

"Yes," you whisper, tracing his cheekbone with trembling fingers. "I've never been more sure of anything."

Steve's eyes hold yours as he begins to move, setting a rhythm that quickly has you both breathing hard. The world narrows to this—to the perfect friction where your bodies join, to the sound of his breath against your ear, to the weight of him above you, anchoring you against the rising tide of pleasure.

His pace quickens, driven by your encouraging moans and the way your hips rise to meet each thrust. One of his hands slides beneath you, tilting your hips at an angle that has you gasping his name, your nails digging into the solid muscle of his shoulders.

"Steve," you breathe, his name a prayer on your lips as pleasure builds within you, coiling tighter with each movement of his hips against yours.

"Let go," he murmurs against your throat, his voice strained with the effort of control. "I've got you."

His mouth captures yours again and again, each kiss deeper than the last, as if he's trying to memorize the taste of you.

The exquisite tension builds and builds until it finally breaks like a wave crashing against shore, pleasure radiating outward from where your bodies join. Your back arches off the bed as you cry out, fingers gripping Steve's shoulders as if he's the only solid thing in a world suddenly turned liquid with sensation. He follows you moments later, his rhythm faltering as his release claims him, your name a reverent whisper against your throat.

For several heartbeats, neither of you moves, bodies still joined, breaths mingling in the narrow space between your faces. Steve's weight is carefully balanced on his forearms, his body a warm shelter above yours. When he lifts his head to look at you, the tenderness in his gaze makes your chest ache with an emotion too vast to name.

"Hey," he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead with gentle fingers.

"Hey yourself," you reply, voice slightly hoarse.

As the aftershocks subside, Steve gathers you close, rolling to his side and bringing you with him. Your head finds the perfect resting place against his chest, where you can hear the gradual slowing of his heartbeat. His fingers trace lazy patterns along your spine as the world slowly expands beyond the two of you once more.

"That was..." you begin, struggling to find words adequate for what just transpired between you.

"Worth waiting for," Steve finishes, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Though I've been thinking about it since that night in Tucson."

You smile against his skin. "Only since Tucson?”

His chuckle vibrates through his chest and into yours, a warm sound that wraps around you like a blanket. "Maybe before," he admits, his fingers still tracing gentle patterns on your skin. "Maybe since that day in the garden at the DAR headquarters when you told me what you really thought about my speech."

"That long?" you ask, tilting your head to look up at him, finding his expression soft with memory. That had been a sweltering hot afternoon in mid-July - long before you thought he viewed you as more than an ally.

"You surprised me," Steve says simply. "Not many people do that anymore."

You prop yourself up on one elbow to look at him properly, drinking in the sight of him relaxed and unguarded in the soft glow of the city lights filtering through the curtains. "For me it was the hospital visit in Chicago."

His eyebrows lift slightly. "Really? That early?"

"Not consciously," you admit, tracing the line of his collarbone with your fingertip. Chicago had been the very tail end of June. "But looking back, that's when everything started to shift. You were so you, even when no one was watching."

Steve captures your wandering hand, bringing it to his lips to press a kiss to your palm. “I love you,” he declares for the first time, no restraint, voice firm and warm.

Your heart skips a beat, but you’re quick to respond in kind, grinning when you say, “I love you, too,” your face splitting into a wide grin.

The moment hangs between you, weightless and perfect. Steve's smile widens, crinkling the corners of his eyes in that way that makes your heart flutter. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing tenderly across your skin.

“I love you,” he says again.

You settle back against him, content in the circle of his arms as the sounds of the city filter in through the windows—distant sirens, the occasional car horn, the ambient hum that is uniquely New York. Tomorrow looms beyond this moment, with all its uncertainties and possibilities, but here, now, there is only this—the steady rhythm of Steve's heart beneath your ear, the warmth of his body, the love you’ve been building together finally spoken aloud.

"I've been thinking about this," he confesses, his voice still thick with emotion. "About tonight. About us. About what happens after tomorrow."

You flatten your palm over his chest, anchoring yourself against the tide of feelings his words evoke. "What do you think happens? After tomorrow?"

He’s quiet for a moment, and you wait. "I don't know what happens with the election. But I know what I want to happen with us."

Your heart beats faster, a flutter of anticipation rising in your chest. "Tell me."

Steve takes a breath, his hands sliding up and down your back, caressing your body with gentle reverence. "I want us to continue building our life together. The real one I feel like we’ve been nurturing—not just for the cameras or the campaign. I want mornings and evenings and all the moments in between."

The raw honesty in his voice catches at something deep inside you. This is Steve—the man beneath the mantle.

"I want that too," you whisper, the words feeling like a promise. "All of it."

His arms tighten around you, pulling you closer against the solid warmth of his chest. Outside, the city continues its nighttime symphony, but in this room, in this bed, time seems suspended—a perfect bubble of peace before tomorrow's storm.

"No matter what happens with the election," Steve murmurs, his voice a low rumble against your ear, "this—us—is real. It's the most real thing in my life."

You lift your head to look at him, taking in the sincerity etched across his features, the vulnerability in his eyes that he shows to so few. "Mine too."

His smile in response warms you from the inside out. His hand cups your cheek, thumb tracing the line of your jaw with tender precision. "Get some sleep," he whispers.

“You first,” you tease.

He laughs softly before kissing you once more before you both drift off.

next part: probably coming on March 28

Did I include links for rooms at The Plaza, including the room type I decided I wanted you and Steve to spend the night together in? Yes. Yes, I did.

DID YOU ALSO GET TO FINALLY HAVE SEX WITH YOUR FANTASTIC HUSBAND? YES! THE THING WE'VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR! SLOWEST BURN OF ALL TIME, but I knew from the very beginning that I wanted your first time to be on the eve of the election, and even as the story gained more plot and put more and more chapters and developments between where we started and getting to this night, I'm so glad I stuck to that part of the original plan.

....can you believe I thought this story was only going to be six or seven chapters? 🤣

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

#steve rogers smut #steve rogers #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #slow burn #political au #steve rogers x y/n #red white & true #aspen wrote something #female reader #steve rogers x yn

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mvst4far · 1 day ago

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hii there hope you’re having a good day/night !! i was wondering if i could request a scott barringer fic inspired by or with the song something, somehow, someday by tucker pleasee

౨ৎ

A/N: thanku so so much for requesting!! i love this idea, and this song is so cute. honestly, it reminds me a little bit of when scott and juliette were dating.

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Scott Barringer x f!reader summary: Scott doesn't want to admit that he's growing a soft spot for you. includes: just fluff, usage of Y/n

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When Scott first arrived to Mount Horizon, he was cold, closed off and had a terrible reputation. He was often brooding, or always looking for a fight. He got along with no one. Nobody in the Cliffhangers, besides you. You always tried to make him feel welcome, showering him with an unfamiliar warmth. He never understood why you tried being his friend, especially when he'd often snap at you and call you rude insults.

But that didn't matter, you saw the good in everyone.

Peter had assigned the Cliffhangers for a day hike with Hannah, in goal of seeing Hope Falls. Hikes were definitely the worst, except for the fact of missing classes, which everyone enjoyed, it was still tiring. Small breaks, swatting flying bugs, and the extremely hot weather. It didn't help that there was a dress code, which meant you couldn't wear small clothes due to the heat.

The group had been walking for almost two hours in the heat, and luckily, Hannah was kind enough to grant a fifteen minute break. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing. You were currently sitting on a large log beside Scott, your chest heaving as you downed the water from your water bottle. Everyone was either sprawled out against trees or logs, sweat sticking to their foreheads.

Scott sat quietly, except for the few huffs he gave, he didn't bother interacting with anyone. He stole a few occasional glances to you, but didn't make it obvious. He was confused how you still kept a calm demeanor instead of an annoyed one, especially when everyone else was clearly frustrated.

"You have a leaf in your hair," Scott grumbled, his icy blues almost glaring at you in the corner of his eye.

You slowly turned your head towards him, screwing the lid on your water bottle. "Okay?.." You murmured with an eyebrow raising, confused by his sudden statement.

Scott sighed under his breath and rolled his eyes, "Well don't just leave it there." He turned to fully face you, his hand reaching to take the leaf from your hair.

When his fingers brushed accidentally brushed over your cheek, you could've swore his face tinted pink. Instead of commenting about it, you let him delicately take the green frond from your soft hair. His touch was a lot more gentle than expected, which surprised you no doubt. Especially since he had never showed a gentle side─not once.

"Ooo, check it out, Scotty boy is turning into a softie for Y/n." Auggie tormented, causing everyone's head to snap towards the interaction.

Scott immediately pulled his hand away from being close to you, shooting Auggie an irritated look. "Man, shut up, she had a leaf in her hair, nothing else." He shrugged, his fists clenching in his lap.

It was safe to say that Scott and Auggie never got along, no matter how many times Peter tried pairing them together. It didn't work.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, man." Auggie dismissed him with a wave of his hand and an eye roll, shifting his focus back to Ezra who was speaking to him before catching the sight of your interaction with Scott.

After the fifteen minutes were up, everyone picked up their belongings and continued the trail to Hope Falls. The earlier bicker with Scott and Auggie remained in the back of his mind.

Was he turning into a softie for you? He wasn't even sure himself.

But his thoughts were soon interrupted by your small gasp and cry for help, his head immediately turning to focus on you as you tripped over a fairly large rock and fell onto the ground. Out of instincts, Scott quickly rushed down to you and helped you up.

Once you were steady on two feet, he spoke, "You okay?" He asked, moving some hair out of your face and behind your ear. He wasn't even aware of his actions, and the fact that everyone was watching too. When you nodded your head, he cracked a small, reassuring smile and looked you over once more to see if you were telling the truth.

"You know what I believe?" Shelby spoke to Juliette with a faint, almost fond smile.

Juliette turned her head to Shelby before looking back at you two, acting all soft with each other. "What?" She murmured, her head tilting to the side.

"They're meant to be."

#hayden christensen #scott barringer #higher ground #tv shows #aj takers #james kelly #luke ryder #sam monroe #blog #star wars #stephen glass #anakin skywalker #clayton beresford

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yanderedrabbles · 3 days ago

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congrats! Ur work has rlly paid off

If ur not uncomfortable(if u r pls ignore), how'd u do it? I've started out at the same time and dont even have quarter the amount u have which rlly bums me out and makes me want to stop posting

One totally simple secret- I post a TON. Like almost every day.

The only month I didn't post almost every day was January, and while I don't have a screenshot of my activity, my notes absolutely plummeted. From about 2000/day to about 400/day. It took the whole of February and most of March to get them back to my pre-hiatus levels.

Let's look at the stats:

I didn't post a new fic yesterday or today and you can see how my notes tanked from around 2000 to about 1000 in just a day.

POSTING FREQUENTLY IS THE BEST WAY TO GROW!

I'm sorry to yell at you gorgeous, but it's true. While I put a ton of work into variety and into improving my craft, the biggest factor has been posting frequency. It keeps me on top of common tags and recommendations, so new readers are a lot more likely to stumble on my stuff. It keeps my current readers engaged. It's the main way I've gained followers.

Okay, we got that out of the way? Let's get into some of the more nuanced practices that boost reach.

You can see that my fic length varies a lot. There are plenty of posts under a thousand words, but also a few topping ten thousand.

I think that having variety keeps things interesting for my readers. Most of us don't have time to sit down and read a 10k word fic every day, but we still want to have our yandere fix. That's where my shorter stuff comes in.

I think having variety in length also draws in new readers. You might be skeptical about reading a 12k word smut if it pops up on your dash and you have no clue who the author is, but you're probably down to read the quick 600 to a 1000 word drabble. And if you like it, you might just check out more of my stuff! Yippee!

I also aim for variety in style. Let's look at some of my more popular posts:

Yandere Best Friend

Yandere Greek Champion

Yandere Yakuza

Yandere Fairytale

Did ya notice anything? All four are pretty popular fics on my blog, and they're all VERY different. In length, in formatting, in the approach to storytelling.

Variety is the spice of life! Have fun with your writing, experiment, take risks. If it doesn't work, then at least you took the chance and learnt something. Your readers are not going to complain, I promise.

Editing is also a must. You're almost always going to miss a typo or two - they're like mosquitoes in summer, they somehow always manage to slip through the cracks - but a fic should be pleasant to read. If I see five typos in the first paragraph, it's a bit of a turn-off. Most apps have a built-in spell check, and I've recently been experimenting with Grammarly. Even just doing a final comb-over before you post makes a huge difference.

Tag your stuff too! I have my go-to set of tags that I usually use on my posts, but I'm always on the lookout for new tags that are applicable to my posts. How else are people going to see your stuff? How else will Tumblr know to recommend you? Use tags babe, I promise they don't bite.

Oh, and don't forget to ask for feedback either. Beta readers and writing groups are the backbone behind so many famous real-world authors. Your Tumblr moots will be happy to skim over your stuff and give you some pointers. We're all in this together, and that means striving to get better together.

And finally, I'm always trying to learn more about writing. All the tips and tricks behind it. All the ways I can make my stuff just a little better - my dialogue a bit more snappy, my prose a bit easier to read.

My go-to writing guy is James Scott Bell. Especially Voice - the secret power behind great writing. James is funny and easy to read, so I HIGHLY recommend his books on writing. Currently, I'm reading How to Write Pulp Fiction and it's soooo helpful. Am I actually getting better as a writer? That's debatable, but I'm constantly putting in the effort and I think my readers can sense that.

"But Val, I can't write every day! I've got obligations, work, school, a hundred different things to get done! Hitting 2k words daily just isn't possible for me!"

I hear ya kid. But guess what? I couldn't clock 2000 words a day at the beginning either. But I forced myself to sit down and write as much as I could between all my other obligations. Over time, you'll learn to write faster. You'll learn to push through all the small worries holding you back. You'll learn to optimise your workflow so that you clock an easy 1k in an hour.

Every little bit counts. Even if all you can spare is 300 words a day or half an hour of editing, it adds up. By the end of the week, that's already a 2.1k fic ready to go.

I used to think writers were just insanely talented and naturally creative. And I have no doubt so many are. But it takes practice and patience to improve.

We all get those moments when we ask ourselves if we should even bother. What if I'm a total hack? What if I'm the worst person to put paper to pen since the author of My Immortal? What if what if what if -

Stop. Just keep writing.

Don't listen to those voices. If you do, you won't write anything at all, and how are supposed to improve if there's nothing to improve upon?

Sometimes, it's like a kick to the jaw to see another writer doing well. Why isn't that me? What are they doing that I'm not? I deserve it just as much as they do, so why am I not getting the same amount of notes?

Don't even bother entertaining thoughts like those. Take a deep breath and then keep writing. You have your own voice and style that your fans love. Your only competition is with yourself.

There you have it. Simple as it gets.

I promise you, you're an author worth reading. You have fans who love you, who can't help but scream when you post a new fic. Just keep putting in the hours and it WILL pay off.

#Val's writing advice

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noisyghost · 9 hours ago

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I found your art randomly and I have fallen into Ark obsession (and just your style in general, it’s so good 👏)

I was curious how Ark’s first transformation went? Was he prepared? I think you said in one of your posts that most people don’t survive the first transformation so was recovery from it like super brutal or did the werewolf healing kick in 🤔

Thank you for putting your work out into the world!!

thank you for the ask! he is very special 2 me so i am glad you enjoy him :)

the funny thing is that i am actually in the process of writing/illustrating a thing detailing this very incident! it's gotten way longer than it has any right to be so ive still got some work to do, but i'll answer your question and then put a little preview under the read more lol

Ark's first full moon transformation lasted about 12 hours and he thought he was dying for like 90% of it! Werewolf healing certainly helped him recover faster than human, but it still took over a month to get better, and then ofc the next full moon undid a good chunk of that healing again, so all in all it was likeeee 6-ish months before he really got to heal all the way.

And he was prepared. He knew what was going to happen and had a super powered babysitter (aka Mira, who was with him for the whole thing) and it was still one of the most traumatic nights of his life; he was not "normal" for a loooooong time after it.

To his (unfortunate) credit, his first full moon was somewhat more brutal than normal bc his werewolf form is so fuck off huge. Like. It would have sucked regardless, but turning into something that big definitely did not help!

So, yeah -- the transformation itself sucked and then the recovery sucked just as bad. And when i say "it sucked" i mean he broke bones, cracked ribs, tore muscle, etc etc, so he didn't really leave his house for months. He already had a general aversion to people touching him, but for years after this he still flinches at even the smallest thing :)

(CW for general gore/injury under the cut! this is like. somehow the least-gross section i could pull some paragraphs from lol)

She could not tell you when she passed out. With her last bit of consciousness she remembers picking up his limp body and carrying it back into the other room, completely ignoring the blood and grime covering the entirety of him as she put him back in bed. Her sheets don’t matter. Hell, the whole damn bed doesn’t matter at this point. His skin was blanketed in a layer of cold sweat and his body lay in her arms like rubber, but the second she’d put him down, he shook beneath her like he was freezing, numbly pawing at the sheets for salvation. He’d shrunk in size considerably and the sweltering coat of fur that’d been keeping him uncomfortably warm had all but receded back into his flesh, exposing the litany of cuts and scrapes and tears that’d cratered his skin over the course of the night. Beside each wound is a complimentary bruise, an impressionist landscape of purple and yellow and red painted across his naked body. She’d been attentively listening to his heartbeat and breathing the entire night. At least, she’d tried to. But when the chatter of his teeth and the depths of his breathing became rhythmic over the course of an hour, she quietly lost the battle against exhaustion, passing out on the bed beside him. There’s nothing more she could have done for him anyway. It’s a fight he knows he would have lost if the roles were reversed, so even if he was composed enough to know where he was, he wouldn’t have faulted her anyway. The pain had become passive, a passenger to the general fatigue and malaise of illness. His head is full of cotton, sopping up every loose incoherent thought his brain tries to put together and turning it to mush. He can’t see or hear or think, and—at this point—he can barely feel, an almost gentle haze falling over him like the fog of anesthesia. So severe was the agony that it’s wrapped all the way back around to numbness; he couldn’t move a single limb if his life depended on it, his chest barely rising and falling to allow air into his tired, barely intact lungs. If he could think in anything more than colors and shapes, he’d be reciting the mantra ‘it’s almost over, it’s almost over’. But right now, the world is little more than a soft, orange glow emanating from the dim lights scattered around her room. For nearly twelve hours, his brain had been too wired to shut off, too manic to do anything other than gawk at the monstrosity of contorted limbs his body had become. If life was fair, he would have simply passed out and awoke when it was over. But it isn’t fair. So he had to experience the whole thing, fully conscious. Though, perhaps, not fully cognizant. And that would be for the best.

#shut up bug #bug answers #the full document is. uhm. Brutal. spoiler alert his entire spine almost ripped itself out!#i love to put my ocs in the blender <3

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mykoreanlove · 18 hours ago

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The Night We Stopped Being Almost and Became Always

„Okay guys, let’s end practice for today”, I hear Minho call.

I let out a sigh as I hear what Minho had said, honestly I’m a bit relieved that we’re ending practice for the day now… I look over to the others, and see them all packing their stuff to leave. And I look at you, my eyes asking you what’s next..

“Hyunjin, can we talk for a moment?”

I’m a bit confused as to why Minho would want to talk to me, but I look over to you, giving you a look, before turning to Minho, nodding. “Yeah, what’s up?” I ask, wondering what it is that he wants to talk to me about.

“I wanted to ask… are you guys back together?” he says and points his head in your direction. I’m a bit surprised at his question, not expecting him to come out and ask something personal like that.. I look over at you for a moment, trying to decide how to answer this.

“Yeah, we are…”, I say, my eyes travelling back to him, trying to see any sort of reaction. I have no idea why he would ask such a question, I thought it was just common knowledge at this point. Minho genuinely smiles. “I’m happy for you, you know? Y/N is really perfect for you.”

I’m a bit surprised, I didn’t expect Minho to be happy for me, I guess it shows on my face because he laughs a bit at my expression. “Thanks, she really is.. I don’t think I could ask for anyone better…” I say, a genuine smile on my face; feeling touched by my friend’s happy response.

“Of course not, she is the best thing that will ever happen to you”, Felix and Changbin chime in. A small grin pops onto my face as I hear both of them expressing their thoughts, making sure I know that I’ve found something great.. I shake my head, a bit amused and touched by their words.

“Thanks guys, I know you’re right.. I’m really lucky. I just hope I don’t mess things up again, somehow”, I say, the last part a bit shy, feeling kind of vulnerable for opening up to my bandmates.

“Yah, you better! You broke her heart enough times. I have no idea why she would ever take your stinky ass back so you better worship the ground she walks on!”, Changbin proclaimed.

I’m a bit surprised by the sudden turn in energy but I guess I should have seen it coming… I let out another little sigh, my hand going back to rub my sore neck. “Yeah, I know. I’ll try to do better this time… I really will… and I want to do better this time.. I’ll be better to her”, I say softly, my expression looking a bit remorseful, remembering that I didn’t exactly treat you that great…

The others pat my back and say their goodbyes, leaving only me and you in this practice room. I let out a breath that I didn’t know I was holding, looking around to see that we’re really alone now, at last, having the room to ourselves.

“Well, I’m surprised that conversation happened.. I didn’t think they would care that much”, I say, walking over to you. I reach out my hand to you, needing to touch you desperately. But you pull me down on the couch with you instead. “What was it about?”

I fall down on the furniture, lying next to you. My hand instinctively goes to your hip as I let my head rest on your shoulder. “You didn’t hear?” I say curiously, surprised you didn’t catch a word. “I had headphones in, see?”, you point to your ears. “Didn’t want to intrude on your privacy”, you explain yourself.

“Ah, makes sense.. they asked if we were back together.. they kinda made me confirm that we were. And then they told me to be good to you this time..”, I explain, a small smile showing on my face as I remember the short interaction.

You turn your head and face me with widened eyes. “We’re back together?”

I look at you and my expression softens, as a small, yet genuine smile forms on my lips. “Yeah… that we are”, I say, my hand still resting on your hip, my thumb gently rubbing circles on your delicate skin.

“You never asked me though”, you smirk.

I laugh a little as I see the smirk and lean in close to your face, almost to the point of our foreheads touching. My smile grows, my hand moving from your hip to your waist. “Do I have to ask?”, I say softly, my eyes looking into yours, feeling you breathing as I’m centimeters away from your face.

“Please”, you nod.

I let out a little laugh as I see your reaction, your eagerness and excitement makes me smile even more. My hand is still gently holding your waist as my eyes look at your face, specifically at your lips. “Alright, sweet girl…”, I say softly, my eyes never leaving your face while my hand gently grips to your waist. I lean in a little, getting just a few centimeters from your face, our foreheads still touching; my lips almost brushing yours.

I notice you stopped breathing and let out a soft chuckle, my lips ghosting along your skin. You smell so intoxicating. I move to your ear, to let my teeth graze your earlobe, as I feel myself getting addicted to you.

“Breathe, baby. You’re not going to pass out on me, are you?”, I tease, my hand on your waist gripping a bit more tightly.

“Been there, done that”, you scoff.

A look of amusement shows on my face when I hear you say that.. and my expression gets more curious. “You have? When?”, I ask, my hand sliding from your waist to your thigh, gently squeezing it as my nose nuzzles into your neck; your scent just all over me.

“Remember when your ex showed up in the middle of the night confessing her love for you? After she left and you were unsure about your feelings for me, I collapsed on your floor. Did you really forget?”

I let out a little chuckle as you remind me of that. I did kind of forget, although it makes sense, considering how stressful that night was for both of us. “Yeah, I kinda forgot about that”, I say, a bit of guilt in my voice from knowing you were affected like that.”

"Well, I didn't."

Your words hit me like a punch to the gut, I'm still ashamed of how badly I treated you. Once more I feel grateful for your kindness and forgiveness, God knows what I did to deserve someone like you.

“So, I believe you wanted to ask me something”, you muse.

I let out another small chuckle, feeling a bit shy and nervous, my hands gently rubbing your thighs as I keep my head in the crook of your neck. “Yeah, I did.. and I guess it wouldn’t be fair unless I asked you in person”, I say softly; my face moving even more into the crook of your neck, my lips gently sucking on it.

“I’m all ears”, you’re getting impatient.

I let my lips travel from your neck to your jawline, and then to your ear, as my hand moves up to your chin and my thumb and index finger gently grab and tilt your chin up, so that your face is looking at me.

“Be with me.”

The words came out softly, my expression still a bit shy. I’m watching your reaction closely as you give me your response, a proud smirk forming on my face.

“Is that a yes, princess?” I tease, my thumb gently tracing along your chin, just below your lip. “You haven’t called me that in forever”, you wince. I laugh a bit at your reaction, my hand gently moving from your chin to cup your cheek, and I gently rub it. “Yeah, I’ve missed calling you that..”, I say softly, my lips going to your cheek, kissing it.

“Ever thine, Jinnie.”

I let out a small laugh as I hear the Shakespearean English.

“Ever thine… ever mine, ever our”, I say, repeating the words with a smirk on my face, my hand moving through your hair, my fingers gently tracing your scalp. I watch you smile, a real, genuine smile that reaches your eyes this time. “So, we’re really back together, huh? I’m your girl and all?”

“Yeah, you’re my girl. All mine. And I’m all yours. There’s nothing else I could ask for, you’re it for me”, I say, my expression turning a little sentimental, and I’m unable to help it, but my hand goes to your thigh and gently squeezes it.

“You promise?”

I let out a soft chuckle as I hear you asking me that.. and I give your thigh a little squeeze in reassurance, my thumb rubbing along the material of your pants.

“Cross my heart, hope to die, I promise”, I say, my expression still soft. “And also”, I turn to you and place my lips on yours, “sealed with a kiss.”

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spacebugarts · 10 months ago

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I wasn't gonna make an Indigo Park oc but then I started thinking about the theme park I went to as a kid and I got the idea of a beaver running a ride based on water flumes like Logger's Run or Splash Mountain :3

They're also based on wildlife education characters like Smokey the Bear and Ranger Rick!

#indigo park #indigo park oc #id imagine their ride would be close to Oceanic Odyssey so theyd be good friends with Finley :)#they also 100% sound like Velma Dinkley #this design was so fun to work on tho #and doing research on similar characters unearthed some Core Memories #like I completely forgot about Ranger Rick!!!#i used to love reading those and national geographic whenever I found an issue :)#i like to think theyre a really anxious character that tries to prepare for everything #but then their worrying causes things to go wrong #but somehow they manage to narrowly escape it every time #the name took a bit bc i wanted to name them after a tree but none of them sounded right #i almost went with Bramble but Baylee sounded better to me and wasnt as similar to Rambley #also their ride is based on Logger's Run from Michigan Adventure my beloved <3 #theres a little storyline about needing to transport the logs to fix a dam thats about to burst #and at the end you save the day and are rewarded with an honorary Ranger Badge! (sold separately)#anyways thats all i love them thx #i played a lot with overlays too i think it turned out pretty cool :)#i am not immune to cute art style and fun character design #also i remembered to sign my art for once lol #spacebug does art

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prosypepper · 3 months ago

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a/n: nsfw, cheating (on both parts), fem reader, just thinking about him rn, 18+ mdni!!!

kento “oh he’s just my work husband!!” nanami, who can’t express how much he hates your actual husband. god, he could treat you so much better, and you settled for that lowlife who obviously cheats on you every chance he gets.

nanami loathes to hear about how your weekend was spent alone because your husband was “working late”—an excuse he’d heard every monday since you started working at the same firm as him.

but it’s okay, kento can show you how a real man is supposed to treat you.

it starts off slow—a cup of coffee here and there and the occasional “you look nice today” compliments. then escalates into a cup of coffee every day, “did you do something new with your hair?” kind of compliments, and even going out of his way to buy you lunch on your lunch break (only if you go out to eat with him, of course).

which, somehow, turned into you spending your nights “working late” in kento’s apartment, and soon his bed, getting ravished by the blond man just as he wished.

how did it turn into this, really? you don’t know, and honestly, you don’t care with the way he makes you feel. it was a pleasure you’d never had the opportunity to experience before—your husband was quite lackluster in the sack—and you’d be lying if you said you felt guilty about any of it.

if there was one thing kento appreciated about your husband, it was the fact he never pleasured you, so he got to have it all to himself. the screams you couldn’t stop, the wetness your cunt produced from just a little bit of kissing, your trembling legs along with the small “thank you” he got after you were done—it was all his.

and the next night at the annual company party, when your work husband and real husband meet one another, kento shakes your husband’s hand, secretly thanking him for being so terrible so he could have you all to himself.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #kento nanami #kento nanami x reader #nanami smut #kento nanami smut

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rafeysbunny · 4 months ago

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‧₊˚ ⋅ i'll show you, rafe cameron

stepbro!rafe x fem!reader

masterlist

synopsis. in which your stepbrother kindly offers to show you porn for the first time.

warnings. stepbro!rafe, innocent!reader (but she's not an airhead), virgin!reader, smut, fingering, rafe putting in just the tip, oral sex (fem receiving), rafe licks his own creampie.

word count. 4k.

author's note. idea by @matts1andonly. english isn't my first language so there might be spelling mistakes, don't hold it against me. enjoy!

it's past midnight when you finally slide out of your bedroom without making a sound. you have been waiting patiently for your mom and ward to go to bed so you can do this without risking getting caught. wheezie is already asleep too, sarah is out with john b somewhere, and rafe left the house earlier, not telling anyone where to, so you know he's going to arrive late, as always.

it's the perfect moment.

rafe's room is down the hallway, so you make your way there quietly not to wake anyone, your barefoot feet making soft footstep sounds when you walk. once there, you open the door as carefully as you possibly can, knowing it creaks every time it gets open. this time, thanks to god, it does not.

you manage to sneak into the dormitory unnoticed, then shut the door behind you. the place is dark, only a faint glimmer of moonlight coming in through his curtains, but you want to lay low, so you don't turn on the lights. by all means, the dim lighting is enough for you to spot what you're looking for.

rafe's mac, laying there on his desk.

what's the point behind all of this? you might be wondering. well, let me answer you real quick. turns out, this handsome, muscled college guy has invited you on a date. problem is, you have never been on a date. you haven't even hold hands with a guy romantically before, much less kissed or fucked one. you simply refuse to come off as a prude, which honestly you are, but that dream of a man doesn't need to know that.

and that's why you have decided that it is a good idea to break into your stepbrother's bedroom and borrow his laptop, since yours broke last week, to watch porn in it for the first time.

well, now that you hear it out loud, it probably sounded better in your head. anyways...

you stroll towards the desk with languid steps and sit down on rafe's chair, small hands reaching hesitantly to open the laptop. you turn it on and the screen light illuminates your pretty face right away. you swear your fingers are shaking a little bit as you open up the browser and type 'porn videos' on the search bar.

somehow, you feel like you are doing something wrong, and you can't seem to shake the guilt away. either way, you don't back out. you click the enter button and, after just a few seconds, a million search results pop up. honestly, you don't know where to start, so you click on the first one, which redirects you to a website called pornhub.

the home page is full of videos, the first thing to catch your attention being the obscene thumbnails of each one of them. your cheeks flush a deep shade of red. you read some of the titles as you bite your lip nervously, realising most of them contain the word 'stepsister' in them, and you wonder if that is the only content posted on this page.

how innocent of you not to know that the website is making recommendations based on your stepbro's most searched tag.

before things escalate further, you spot rafe's airpods max sitting there on the desk and decide to grab them, connecting them to the laptop and putting them on —this way you can make sure no one overhears anything. after that, you spend a few more minutes scrolling through the page, during which you discover that there's a ton of categories to choose from.

how are you supposed to know which one to pick?

you are so invested in your little research, headphones canceling the noise, that you don't hear neither rafe opening the front door nor him walking up the stairs and, surely, don't notice him standing behind you until he speaks. and it's too late by then.

"the fuck are you doing, sweetheart?" he blurts, complete and utterly shocked to see his naive stepsister fuckin' watching pornhub.

well shit, maybe you aren't as innocent as he thought you were.

you jolt instantly, jumping out of your seat as you feel all the colour draining from your cheeks. no way rafe just caught you in the act. this can't be real. despite how bad you want to run away, you are left with no other choice but to turn around and face him, wishing the earth would swallow you up.

"i– this is not what it looks like, i swear i can explain," you stutter nervously, taking of the airpods with trembling hands. from here on, the anxious rambling begins, "i wasn't doing anything... this guy– well, i... i uhm– i got a date, 'kay? with this guy from class and– listen, i know this is silly, but..."

"jesus christ, baby, slow down, 'kay?" he stops you, his heart nearly melting from how cute you look, so shy and flustered. he almost feels bad for interrupting whatever the hell you were doing here.

the colour has returned to your cheeks, and you are all flushed now, from head to toe. your face feels like it's on fire; you have never been this embarrassed before.

"could you please start over?" he asks, hoping to hear a coherent explanation to why you are in his room, in the middle of the night, and watching porn on his laptop.

you take a deep breath, fidgeting with the hem of your top. you are so deeply ashamed that you don't seem to remember that you are wearing nothing but a flimsy white singlet and a tiny pair of matching panties. rafe's very aware of that fact, though, hungry eyes trailing all over your beautiful body.

"i've got a date with a guy from class," you start explaining, white teeth nibling occasionally on your plump bottom lip, "but i've never dated anyone, ya' know? i've no experience, and i don't want him to think i'm pathetic if we..."

"fuck?" he finishes your sentence, a roguish grin spreading across his handsome face.

if possible, your blush deepens even more at the vulgarity while you mutter a quiet 'yeah' in response.

honestly, he is a bit jealous of that guy. not only you are willing to let him fuck you, but you are also trying to learn how to do it properly so he has a good time doing it. yeez, what a shame for him he is going to kill him as soon as he finds out who he is; there's no chance rafe's letting you near any other man but him.

"i thought, uhm, maybe watching that would help..." you add coyly, his silence making you more nervous.

it is cute how you try to avoid saying words like 'fuck' or 'porn', like it is a crime to pronounce them or something.

"you know what? let's watch it together," he proposes.

there's a mischievous glint in his eyes that doesn't go unnoticed. you swear your cheeks might just explode at any second, and you can't help the pathetic stutter that comes out when you talk. "uhm, i don't think that'd be appropriate," you refuse, shaking your head.

"why not? you want help, and i can help you here, sweetheart," he answers, his voice surprisingly soft and gentle —unlike rafe, "that's what big brothers are for, aren't they?"

he takes a few steps in his direction until he is standing right beside you. then, he grabs the laptop in his large hands as he flashes you a wicked smirk, his curtain bangs falling messily on his forehead. you gulp, having him so close makes you feel a certain way; you cannot deny that.

"you, uhm, being my stepbrother is exactly why not," you stammer as you tilt your head back to look at him, his height towering over you.

"bullshit," he retorts, huffing. "you trust me?"

your first mistake is, probably, trusting rafe cameron. "yeah, i do, but..."

"that's why 'm perfect for the job, baby," he interrupts you. his words are clearly intended to manipulate you, but you are way too innocent to notice it, "i'm probably the guy you feel most comfortable with, aren't i? i can give ya' all the advice you need."

to be fair, he isn't wrong about that. you don't have any male friends, and you are honestly too embarrassed to ask your girlfriends for help on this department, not wanting them to think less of you. plus, rafe is a guy; he knows better what guys like, right?

"wouldn't it be kinda... weird ?" you ask, clearly hesistant.

"weird?" he repeats. "no, 'course not."

only a few more sweet, reassuring words is all it takes for him to gently coax you into watching his favourite pornos with him. his cock starts to harden in his pants just at the thought of having you like that. when you finally accept, he swears he's on cloud nine.

god, he's been wanting you for months now; he can't believe this is happening.

"c'mere, baby," he eagerly instructs you, getting on his bed.

he sits with his back resting on the headboard and pats the spot between his legs to invite you to sit there. he places the laptop next to him, the pornhub website still open on it. you move slowly towards him, cheeks slightly flushed from the embarrassment as you settle on the mattress in between his parted thighs, your back pressed to his hard chest.

he wraps one strong arm securely around your waist, his hand coming to rest gently on your tummy. with his other hand, he reaches for the laptop sitting beside him, carefully bringing it closer so the two of you can see the screen properly.

your heart is beating so fast in your chest that he can probably hear it, too. the way he is touching you is not making it easier for you to stay calm, either, his fingers tenderly tracing patterns on your belly over the thin fabric of your shirt while he scrolls through the page.

he seems to sense your discomfort and chuckles low in his throat, his warm breath tickling your ear. "relax, sis," he whispers teasingly, his voice laced with amusement. "i'm not gonna make you watch anything that'll traumatize you."

"it's just– this is a bad idea," you babble, fidgeting nervously when he finally clicks on a video and a pretty young woman appears on screen.

the actress is beautiful; she has a gorgeous body and face. her lips are full and pink, and she has these big, expressive eyes that appear to gleam. and you don't realize it, but she looks exactly like you.

the scene starts playing; in it, the girl is watching some movie with a guy that, apparently, is her roommate —at least that's what the title says.

"shhh..." he hushes you softly, his voice barely audible over the sounds emanating from his laptop's speakers. "just watch. don't overthink it."

"okay," you answer between gritted teeth.

your pretty eyes are fixed on the laptop while you try not to cringe at how bad the script and acting are, which is nearly impossible, to be honest. despite that, you keep watching in silence as the video plays, growing more flustered as the clock ticks.

you didn't know mouths could be used for that... interesting.

as opposed to you, rafe's pretty chill behind you, like he's unbothered by this whole situation —he's actually hard as fuck inside his pants, the thing is you haven't noticed. you wonder how he can act so unfazed, since you keep pushing your thighs together to try and soothe the throbbing sensation building in between them while you take in the lewd actions occurring on screen.

you weren't expecting your body to have this reaction, and now you don't know what to do to make it stop.

rafe soon becomes aware of the way you keep letting out soft sighs and squirming in his arms, plush ass rubbing against his cock every time you do it. it's a miracle he is still holding back, though he doesn't know how much time he will be able to.

he's not even paying attention to the video anymore, his entire focus put on you. he finally ventures to lean in, his hot breath grazing the shell of your ear as he whispers, "you know, i could do that to you..." his hand slowly slides to your plush thigh and he gives it a gentle squeeze.

his movements are measured and controlled not to scare you, but your breath hitches in your chest at his actions either way, body tensing up in his grasp. your brain is telling you to push him away, but the insistent throb in your sex doesn't like that idea, not one bit.

"you– you could?" you utter quietly, not taking your eyes away from the laptop.

rafe notices the uncertainty in your voice, but the way you haven't pushed him away yet emboldens him to continue, his large hand gradually sliding north.

"yeah, baby," he murmurs huskily against your ear, fingertips brushing along your inner thigh. "i could put my fingers inside you, just like he's doing to her..."

his words make you blush heavily as a little gasp is released from your pouty lips. "would it feel good?" you ask naively.

your eyes are transfixed in the sight of the guy on the screen pushing his fingers inside the girl's pussy. god, she seems like she's enjoying it so much... and you desperately want to feel like that too. you can't even bring yourself to care that it's your stepbrother offering to show you.

rafe's fingers creep higher and higher until they're barely brushing against your cotton panties. "yeah," he growls huskily against your ear, "it'd feel real good, sweetheart. i promise..."

you shudder, a sweet little mewl escaping your throat involuntarily. you can't help but blush at your own reaction, slightly embarrassed by it. you tear your eyes away from the screen, head falling back against his chest as you look up at him.

"it's throbbing, rafe..." you whine, self-control slipping from your hands. "can you make it better?"

rafe's fingers finally make contact with your wet underwear, pressing against your clit through the fabric. he rubs gentle circles around your sensitive nub, his other hand curling around your supple thigh to spread your legs wider.

"oh, baby, you're soaked through your panties..." he pants out.

your body literally melts into his touch like butter, perfectly shaped brows knitting together in a frown of pleasure. the girl in the video moans, and you do too, both sounds echoing in the silence of his room.

taking your moan as an invitation, rafe carefully hooks his fingers in the gusset of your panties to push them aside, exposing your sopping cunt to the cool air of his bedroom. then, he traces your wet slit slowly, leisurely, as if savoring the velvety feel of your skin.

"such a pretty little pussy..." he praises, eyes hungrily taking in the pink expanse of flesh.

you squirm and let out a soft whimper, biting your lip right after to avoid keep making noises; the last thing you want is to wake up your parents or wheezie. rafe notices your struggle and swiftly reaches up to cover your mouth with his free hand, muffling your sweet moans.

he gathers some of the wetness dripping out of your cunt before trailing his fingers all the way up to your clit, rubbing it gently. your eyes roll back, hips bucking up against his hand instinctively. the way your swollen bud throbs beneath his fingertips is going to make you mad. he begins to touch your clit in fast, tight circles, his other hand still holding your mouth shut to keep you quiet.

he leans in to whisper against your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine, "if you make a sound, i'll stop, got it?"

you nod obediently in response, making your best effort to comply; you don't want him to stop doing this, never. as a reward, rafe slides a thick finger down your slit and presses it against your clenched entry, steadily applying pressure until your tight muscles finally give in and allow his digit ingress.

"so fuckin' tight," he groans under his breath at the feeling of your narrow pussy engulfing his finger.

withdrawing his finger almost all the way out, he teases your entrance with the tip, making you tremble with anticipation before pushing it back in to the knuckle, his palm cupping your mound as he starts to thrust in a smooth, lazy rhythm. you swallow a whiny cry while your eyelids flutter shut, pretty face scrunched in a blissful expression.

rafe works his finger in and out of your slick pussy slowly, marveling at how your velvety walls flutter around the digit. he curls it inward, searching for that special spot that's guaranteed to drive you wild.

after a few experimental pokes, rafe's fingertip finally brushes over your g-spot, eliciting a muffled moan from under his palm. he smiles wickedly against your skin, and you shudder in his grasp, pleasure waves running through your body.

"that's it, sweetheart... feel good?" he croons softly, fingering you nice and deep.

you can't bring yourself to reply, the sensation of his large digit fucking your pussy, added to the constant rubbing of his palm against your puffy clit has your mind feeling all fuzzy. your body language is the only answer he needs, though.

rafe leans in to tenderly nip at your neck, his hot mouth latching onto your slender throat as he keeps pumping his finger steadily in and out of your dripping cunt. he knows you're close when he feels your inner muscles starting to clench erratically around his digit.

"rafe," you moan onto his palm as you feel this new, strange sensation building in your tummy, pussy tingling so nicely.

heaven help him. hearing you, his stepsister, moan his name like that makes rafe's hard dick throb almost painfully against his zipper.

and then it happens. the coil in your belly suddenly snaps and you have to bite onto your lip harshly to keep yourself from screaming as you cum for the very first time, on your stepbrother's hand. rafe continues to pump his finger in and out of your spasming cunt as you ride out your climax, wanting to prolong your pleasure.

when you finally come down from your high, you're all shaky and flustered in his arms, panting heavily to try and catch your breath. he has a satisfied smirk on his lips while he slowly withdraws his slick digit from your quivering hole to bring it up to his mouth and lick it clean, savoring your taste.

"did so well for me, baby," he coos as he uncovers your mouth, gently turning your head to the side to press a kiss to your swollen, red lips.

you return it sloppily, eyes fluttering shut in the process, and you sigh contently against his mouth. he can't help but rock his hips against your ass, rubbing his hard on against you.

"did i make you feel good?" he asks between little kisses, his breathing growing uneven. you nod in response. "yeah? then it's just fair you make me feel good too, sweetheart... wanna do that f'me?"

"yes," you whisper against his lips without even thinking, feeling him smirk into the kiss.

"such a good girl," he praises.

at some point, the porn video playing on his laptop ended, so he simply closes it up and tosses it away, the device landing somewhere on his king size bed. then, he turns you both around, until you are laying on the mattress and he is on top of you.

he is quick to undo his pants and yank them down, just enough to free his raging hard on, which bounces against his abs. let me tell you this, he's big, the tip pink and fat, already leaking precum.

suddenly, realization hits you. this is your stepbrother for god's sake, are you really gonna let him fuck you?

he notices how your body tenses up, one hand reaching to stroke your plush thigh reassuringly while the other wraps around his shaft, giving it a slow pump.

"hey, baby, relax..." he whispers gently, "i'll put just the tip in, yeah? there's nothing wrong with that."

you hesitate. his strong arms slide beneath your legs to tug you closer. then his cock brushes your pussy and you whimper. how are you supposed to say 'no' ?

it's just the tip.

"mhmm, 'kay" you end up agreeing with a little nod.

rafe flashes you a lopsided smirk, his hand gripping his cock again while the free one yanks your panties aside once more. keeping eye contact, he slowly glides the fat head of his dick up and down your drenched slit, coating it thoroughly in your arousal. you shudder as his tip eventually meets your puffy clit, the gentle rubbing sending shivers down your spine.

"rafe," you whimper.

rafe's eyelids droop, a low hum of pleasure escaping his throat as he continues to slowly drag the reddened head up and down your chubby pussy lips with squelching sounds. his breathing grows heavier the longer he teasingly rolls it against your slick folds, reveling in your breathy whimpers. he feels like he's about to burst already, pre-cum steadily leaking from the tip and onto your flesh.

he can't fucking take this anymore.

with a slow, gentle thrust, he sinks his cock into your warm, slippery pussy, just the head breaching your entrance before he pauses, savoring the initial penetration. his eyes lock onto yours, his pupils blown wide with lust.

"jesus, fuck." he grunts.

your cunt starts fluttering around him. he has barely slided the first two inches in, as he promised, but he's so thick that even that feels like a tight fit. you let out a moan, which mingles with a strained groan from rafe as your velvety walls clench tightly around his swollen cockhead.

"gonna– might just nut already, shit" rafe mutters through gritted teeth, fighting the urge to just drive forward and hilt himself deep. "so goddamn tight."

your hips buck unconsciously against his, making him slip in just a tad further —which nearly makes him lose all his self-control. somehow, he manages to keep his shit together, hips rocking slowly to thrust in and out of you while his veiny hand strokes the rest of his shaft.

you're totally enthralled by the sight, liquid heat pooling in your belly while you watch him use your body for his pleasure. he looks so good, you can't believe he's real. your chest fills with pride at the knowledge that you're making this greek god feel good.

this is the fastest rafe has ever cum, the movement of his hips becoming jerky and sloppy after a few minutes as he spills his sperm inside you. he's panting heavily, sweat beading on his brow while his fist squeezes the base of his cock tightly.

you're left wanting more when he slowly pulls out, pussy stretched out and leaking white spurts of cum. he gazes down at you with a smirk, lightly tapping the head of his dick against your swollen clit, which has you writhing beneath him.

"so fuckin' gorgeous stuffed full of my cum," he whispers, his cock smearing the sticky substance all over your slit. you mewl in response. "hmm, 'm sorry for making such a mess on your pretty pussy, sweetheart, lemme clean it up, yeah?"

you blush in response when he leans forward, throwing your creamy thighs over his broad shoulders, to put his mouth onto your sex. you almost cry at the heavenly feeling, his playful tongue delving between your folds to lap up his own release. he cleans you up thoroughly, only to mess you up again right after, his spit soaking your cunt as he makes you cum again.

after tonight, you are cancelling that date, that's for sure.

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itneverendshere · 5 months ago

Text

BLESS HALLOWEEN - r.c (+18)

pairing: frat!rafe/ghostface!rafe x reader (uni au) warnings: no plot; smut

inspired by this audio (+18)

between midterms, a terrible class project partner, and your roommate constant need to fuck her boyfriend at any given hour of the day, you’re half asleep most days.

the only thing you should be doing is sleeping, anywhere, for hours, but instead, you let yourself get dragged to a halloween party.

sure, you’re running on three hours of sleep and five cups of coffee, but heaven forbid you to miss a party because your roommate just had to be there. never mind that she’s been wearing her "not-so-pg sexy witch" costume since last tuesday, casting spells for her crush to notice her (like he doesn’t see half her skin every night anyway).

you look hotter than you'd like to admit. black mini dress? check. sky-high boots? check. a little lace mask that hides just enough to keep the mystery going? obviously.

you're not trying too hard, but you’re giving just enough to turn heads, with a vibe that says, “i might ruin your life, but you'll thank me for it."

you’re rocking some version of a "slutty masquerade," not that anyone could guess what that means, but it gets you a free drink within five minutes. and the best part? nobody knows it’s you.

the only downside is that you’re in his territory.

it could be anywhere, but it’s happening at his frat.

your project partner, personal headache and resident menace, rafe cameron holds court here like he’s king of the idiots.

he’s hot, you’ll give him that, guy’s all charm until it’s time to work; then he’s as useless as that cheap foundation your roommate keeps borrowing.

and now you’re here, half hoping to avoid his face entirely—his smirk that screams "’m getting credit off your hard work" and that irking attitude that makes him think he’s doing you a favor.

as if seeing him once a week in class isn’t enough of a problem. you pull your mask down a bit lower, not that he’d recognize you through the lace, but just in case.

against all odds, you’re having a good time. the drinks are good—something sugary—and you find yourself laughing, loosening up.

mid-laugh, you walk straight into someone, practically face-plant into a solid chest. you stagger back, the guy's hand catching your elbow to hold you, and you look up, only to be met with a ghostface mask.

“ohh, sorry,” he says with an amused chuckle like he's getting a kick out of startling you. "sorry, sorry—i didn’t mean to scare you," he adds, not sounding remotely apologetic.

you raise a brow, your lips curving just slightly. “hmm, you sure? cause it kinda looks like you enjoy it."

he puts a hand up in mock innocence. “nah, i swear, completely unintentional,”

you blink up at him, squinting against the red lighting to catch a better look at his mask. it’s honestly a little creepy up close, that ghostface grin somehow twisting a bit more under the lights and crowd. but you’re in the mood to get laid tonight.

"nice costume,” you don’t bother to hide the way your eyes stuck to every corner of his body, “scary.”

he doesn’t catch it though, leaning down, head tilting, “what?” he asks, chuckling a bit as he stands closer. “yeah, sorry—the music’s way too loud.”

rolling your eyes with a little attitude, you repeat yourself, a bit louder. “i said, your costume’s scary.”

he nods, shaking his head like he’s relieved, and rubs the back of his neck, as if this mask isn’t hiding the flush you think you see creeping up his neck. “oh, thanks. yeah, uh, you look…” his voice trails off a little, and he clears his throat, swallowing. “you look pretty, uh, scary too.”

you raise a brow, "you think so?"

he nods again, “yeah, ’m terrified of hot women, so…”

the music cuts him off this time around, his words getting lost in the heavy bass, it’s harder to know what he’s saying when you can’t read his lips. you frown, stepping closer into his space. “hmm?”

the guy practically jolts, “nothing, nothing—it’s, uh…” he stammers, then gestures at your face, his fingers brushing near your mask. “it’s a cool mask.”

you smile, amused. “thanks, ghostface. should i be, y’know, scared of you?”

“i don’t know, that depends. should i be scared of you?”

"nop, you're cute. i like where this is going."

the guy’s mask tilts, there’s smidge of surprise in his voice. "really? so—so you’re into masks and, like, the whole psycho-killer thing?”

you shrug nonchalantly, letting your gaze drag over him slower. "only if they're hot and built like you."

there's a short pause, and you can practically feel the amused smile hidden under his mask. “oh, okay, yeah, yeah—so what is it? do you like being scared, or?”

there’s something about a guy like him—tall, broad-shouldered, who could probably break you in half without even trying. and honestly? you like that kind of shit. you’ve always wanted a guy who could cover you with his entire body, who’d tower over you in a way that was intimidating enough to make your heart pound.

the kind that, if you begged nicely, might just be able to cut off your oxygen in bed with one hand. and here he is, looking like he could throw you around a little if you wanted him to. which you might. his hand still hovering near your waist isn’t exactly subtle either—it’s like he knows, somehow. either way, you keep your expression smooth, not giving him anything, it’s more fun that way.

you let out a giggle that’s only partly mocking. "maybe i just like danger, ghostface. or maybe i like watching people squirm."

“holy shit, that’s fucked up.”

you take a slow sip of your drink, watching his shirt cling to his chest as he takes a deep breath, every inch of that body sculpted to the fucking gods like it was made for nights like this. shit, that’s a nice body.

you can’t help the sly smirk that pulls at your lips as you murmur, “what’s wrong with liking it rough?”

he snickers, almost breathlessly, and you know you’re getting to him. “there’s something a little wrong with you.”

yeah, there is. you almost blurt out the truth—that your panties are drenched and practically glued to your skin because of him, that he’s got you feeling hornier than you’ve felt in a long time. but you choose to let your fingers trail down his arm, slow and teasing.

“you think so?” you faux-pout, giving him a look that’s all dark lashes and bad intentions.

he swallows, stumbling over his words. “y-yeah, i mean, there’s some things you need to… work on.”

you tilt your head, smiling in that way you know drives guys crazy, leaning in just enough to make him catch his breath. “would you like to help me?”

he stares at you, goosebumps rising along his arm where your fingers still rest, visibly caught off guard, “what does that mean?”

with a wicked grin, you reach up, wrapping your manicured hands around his neck, his breath all but halting as you pull him down until his face is level with yours. his breath hitches, and you take your time, letting your lips brush the shell of his ear, enough to make him shiver.

“you find me upstairs,” you murmur, voice dripping with promise, “and ’m all yours. okay?”

instead of waiting for him to process it, you’re already sneaking off into the crowd, leaving him rooted. you don’t try looking back, already feeling his stare burning into you, dazed and desperate as he takes in what you just promised. you don’t second guess yourself once, you know he’s coming.

by the time he shakes himself out of his trance, you’re halfway up the stairs.

at the top, you stop, one quick peek over your shoulder to check if he’s still watching.

you push open a random door and slip into an empty room, locking eyes with yourself in the mirror. hair a little wild, eyes glinting with that mischievous glint you know all too well. you adjust your mask, the lace sitting just right over your cheekbones. you pull your dress higher, letting it ride up just a little higher, admiring the way the fabric clings to you, showing off every curve.

you turn the lights off, letting the room fall into shadows. he’ll have to work for it if he wants to find you. you can imagine the way he’ll hesitate, hand hovering over the doorknob, wondering what the hell he’s getting himself into.

why make it easy for him?

rafe watches you leave, standing there like a fucking idiot, heart hammering in his chest as he replays what just happened. the words “find me upstairs, and i’m all yours” looping in his mind like a mantra. the confidence in your voice, the way you looked at him like you already knew he’d be following—fuck, it’s enough to make him hard just thinking about it.

he swallows, trying to be calm as he looks around, but there’s no hiding the way his breathing’s quickened, how his body is buzzing at the thought of finding you, alone, in a dark room, just waiting for him.

you’re playing with him, he tells himself, but he doesn’t care. he’s going to go after you anyway.

pushing through the crowd, he’s half-dazed, talking to himself under his breath, almost wheezing out a series of��what the fucks. his grip wraps around the banister as he ascends the stairs, his fingers still itching from where you’d brushed against him. he feels completely out of his element. girls flirt with him all the time, he’s with girls all the time, sure, but this—this is different.

he always been a sucker for a good challenge and you’d practically left him in the dust, tossing back that promise without even checking if he’d follow.

at the top, he pauses, looking down the hallway, every door holding the possibility that you might be behind it, waiting.

rafe feels that thrill coil in his stomach, his heart pounding in anticipation. he’s like a kid on halloween night, trick-or-treating at the house he’s always been too afraid to knock on. but you dared him, so there’s no way he’s backing out now.

he starts with the first door, pushing it open only to find it empty, checking the shadows, in case you’re hiding, but nothing. he goes into the next door, finding a couple already in there, and quickly shuts it again, eyes slamming shut, ignoring their annoyed stares as he backs out.

third time’s the charm, yeah? he thinks, reaching for the next door and pulling it open. the door creaks as it swings shut behind him, his footsteps are slow, hesitant, and the scuff of his shoes against the floor makes him cringe.

it takes him a second for his eyes to adjust to the dark, pupils dilating as he walks further inside.his breathing is loud and uneven, almost like he’d run all the way here. he stops in the middle of the room, his chest rising and falling hard, his breath painfully audible.

his heart is doing an annoying thing, pounding, and he swears he can hear it.

did he misread you? the space is eerily quiet, he can’t help but wonder if he’s been set up, if you’re somewhere downstairs, laughing at how eagerly he followed your trail up here like a fucking dumbass.

rafe scans the room’s edges, searching, and he notices a quick movement in the corner—something. he swallows he leans forward a little, squinting to make out any familiar shape.

“you wanna play hide and seek?” he calls out, hoping he’s not making a fool out of himself, “is that it?” he’s taking gulps of air, feeling dizzy from being in the dark for so long, “you like this?”

a quiet giggle echoes from one of the corners, inviting, and he feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. you’re playing this game too well, lurking just beyond his reach, and the longer he waits, the more desperate he feels.

he swallows, his mind spiraling as he steps walks around, slow and cautious, hands slightly trembling. he’s caught off guard by just how badly he wants you; the way you kept looking at him like he was the prey downstairs, has him all kinds of worked up.

his cock stirring against his jeans is proof enough.

“you want me to scare you or somethin’?” he provokes you, praying it’s enough to lure you out, “you think it’s smart? letting a stranger chase you into a room, with no one else around. you’re all alone with me.”

“who says you’re that dangerous?”

the second the words leave your mouth, rafe’s resolve slips.

it’s maddening, the way you’re hiding from him, how your voice seems to come to him from every dark corner of the room. he shouldn’t have drowned two shots before following you, but the liquid courage had been tempting.

you’re keeping him on a tight leash, making him wonder if he’s got a shot or if you’re just messing with his head. he wants to see you again, your expression—wants to read you, even if the last time he tried, he ended up with his mind in knots.

“you don’t even know my name,” he muses, taking a couple steps closer to the closet, “does that make it more fun for you? that you don’t know anything about me?”

his movements are cautious, almost reverent as if you’re something sacred and forbidden all at once. he stops, opening the doors, leaning inside as he half-whispers, “not here, huh?” no answer, just silence, but he swears he can feel you watching him, your gaze prickling his skin, almost burning, “where are you? c’mon come out, i’ll go easy on you.”

he sighs, sounding like more of a frustrated exhale. no sign of you anywhere. he shakes his head, letting out a soft laugh, more amused than annoyed.

“be a good girl and come out.”

rafe stalks around the room with the focus of someone hunting prey, his footsteps deliberate, his hands gliding along the walls and over furniture. he reaches the small bathroom door adjacent to the room, his fingers tightening around the handle. his lips pull into a smirk as he pauses—listening.

the room’s quiet, but then, he hears it: the faint, uneven rhythm of your breathing, a quickened inhale, almost as if his words had finally affected you. he stops dead, dropping his hand from the door and turning around with a dark gleam in his eyes.

“wait—wait,” his voice lowers with satisfaction, with the thrill of the chase. he lets out a breathy chuckle, his eyes roving the room as he zeroes in on where you’re hiding. “i can hear you, can hear you breathing.”

he takes a slow, taunting step, his head tilting, as though he’s relishing the way you’re fighting to stay silent, to keep control.

“what’s the matter? you sound a little…” he trails off in a murmur, enjoying the tables turning. “...shaken up. are you scared?”

your breath slips, just enough to betray you and his lips quirk up.

“i know exactly where you are.” with lazy confidence, he walks over to the far corner where the heavy velvet curtains seem to pool against the floor, drawn closed over the tall, narrow window.

his fingers brush the fabric, his eyes narrowing as if he can feel the warmth of you just on the other side. then, in one smooth motion, he grabs the curtain and yanks it open.

“caught you.”

moonlight spills in, illuminating you both. in a second, you’re pressed against the wall, lips parted, cheeks flushed, and his eyes rake over you, lingering on the way your costume accentuates every curve of your body.

he steps in close, his silhouette blocking the light as he cages you in, one hand pressing against the wall beside your head, the other landing on your waist. his gaze drops to your lips, taking time to roam the way you’re biting your lip.

you tilt your chin up, “maybe i just like trouble.”

rafe’s grip on your waist tightens in response, a hunger that he can’t hide, while he’s memorizing the way you’re looking up at him, ready to push him just as far as he can take it.

“you’re in trouble, alrigh’,” he shakes his head, while his hand inches down, slipping lower along your body until his thumb brushes against the curve of your hip, “don’t think you understand what you’re getting yourself into.”

your fingers slide up his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath the thin fabric of his black shirt, the way his heart hammers from your touch alone.

“maybe that’s what i want,” you whisper, tipping your head up so your lips brush against his mask.

he shudders, and you let your fingers trail slowly down, tracing over the line of his collarbone. rafe swallows hard, his body thrumming with tension. his eyes dropping to your mouth once again, wishing he’d been smart enough to take the mask off, so he could kiss you.

“you don’t know what you’re asking for,” he breathes, but the glint in his eyes says otherwise. he’s already melting under your touch, the desperation in the way he holds onto you confessing just how badly he needs it.

“you want me?” you ask, watching his pupils dilate as you lean in even closer, close enough that he can smell the fruity trace of your drink on your breath trough the mask, the lingering sweetness making him light-headed.

jesus fucking christ where have you been all his life?

“yeah,” he mutters, voice strained, eyes half-lidded as he stares down at you, “i want you.” his hand trails up your side, down the line of your dress, stopping just at the hem. he hesitates, holding himself back for your sake, the look in his eyes begging for permission, daring you to say something, to let him go further.

you smirk, letting your fingers slip lower, grazing over the top of his waistband, “’m already so wet for you.”

a rough, almost growling sound escapes his throat as his fingers taunt around you, his control slipping at the admission. “yeah?” he grunts, letting his hand glide under the hem of your dress, his fingers inching higher, grazing along the sensitive skin of your thigh, “lets find out.”

the first brush of his fingers against your thong sends a shiver from your head to your toes, his smirk growing. he’s bold now, unapologetic as he moves them up, grazing the thin barrier of fabric between his hand and you.

your panties are ruined, drenched, and stuck to you most uncomfortably, he can tell from the way you keep pushing your hips forward, begging him to do something.

he doesn’t think twice before using two fingers to pull the sticky fabric to the side.

“fuck,” he mutters to himself, “all this for me?”

you have to bite your lip to stop a moan from slipping out when he finally touches you properly. two of his long, thick fingers press against your entrance, sliding into you with no resistance. the feeling of your cunt clamping around him makes his cock twitch.

he works you open, even the slightest touches have you arching your back from the wall. the need in his eyes turns ravenous with every desperate little gasp you let out. he moves slowly, deliberately, feeling the warmth of you clenching around his him, as he curls his fingers just right,

“you’re so wet, ah, yeah—you’re gonna scream for me?”

his thumb finds your clit with ease, and he presses down, drawing gentle circles that make your knees buckle. he grins, drinking in every sound you’re trying to bite back. his thumb stays steady over your clit, circling with the perfect rhythm, applying just enough pressure to keep you breathless.

“c’me here,” his other hand moves with swift, easy dominance, capturing your wrists and pinning them above your head, holding you firmly against the wall,” you like this shit?”

“you’re gonna fuck me with the mask on?” you grind yourself harder against him, practically delusional from the way he’s making you feel, “kinky.”

he's mesmerized by the way your breasts jolt underneath your dress with each shaky breath you take, your skin feels feverish, heat radiating off it like a furnace.

“just like you wanted,” he promises, his voice filled with satisfaction as his thumb presses down harder, coaxing a soft whimper from your lips. “go on, let me hear it—ride my hand.”

he tightens his hold on your wrists, keeping you perfectly in place, not prying his eyes away from how your brows frow with every grind.

“fuckkkkk, do that again,” you whine when he hits a particular spot, your walls tightening around him in a way that makes him want to stop the foreplay and fuck you right away.

rafe leans forward to coo praise into your ear, “like this?” your skin is sticky with sweat—some saliva too—his. he’s never been this fucking hard in his life. he slows down on purpose, to torture you, doing anything in his power to make you beg, “ooh look at you— a fuckin mess.” he taunts.

“don’t be an asshole,” you groan, fingers itching to be set free, and grab his shoulders so you can slam down on him harder, “you gotta make me cum if you wanna fuck me.”

he runs deep circles into your clit making you press your legs together, knowing that he's getting exactly what he wants makes him chuckle into your skin. by this point as he mindlessly humps against your writhing body, he’s peeking down, taking a moment to admire the mess of slickness between your thighs.

“you want more?” you’re so caught up in the feeling that you don’t notice his hand leaving yours, wrapping it around your neck, pulling you closer to him, “answer me”

“another finger,” you spit out when he tightens his grip on your neck, the added touch having you on the brink.

rafe doesn’t even look at you, too entranced by your mess to make eye contact. he never got so lost during sex, but your pussy’s making him intoxicated to the point where his senses are dull, and the part of him that’s fully aware is his dick.

he’s not even inside you yet, and still, he can cum just from seeing you ride his fingers. “another?”

he groans at the way one of your hands move to flex over his, watching in amusement as you try to get him to add one more finger. he mutters a low, gruff “good girl” as he slides a third finger in, pressing just deep enough to make your legs tremble, since you asked so nicely.

“think you can handle more?” rafe prods, “you’re so tight, don’t think you can take me.”

the way his fingers work, methodical and relentless, leaves you barely able to breathe, let alone answer.

“i could take t-two of you,” you tease, letting a breath out, and turning your head to face him. god you wondered if he looked good under that mask, but if he was this good in bed, who fucking cared.

“the only thing you’re taking is this fucking costume off,” he grumbles against your shiny lips, fanning like a wild animal catching the scent of its prey. he’s already tugging at the material, pulling the straps to the side before you can, nudging it aside, “look at you. gotta get my hands on you.”

rafe moves his attention to your breast and squeezes firmly, the tips of his fingers clasping down on your nipple, pressing and pulling as he chases after those sweet sounds that leave your lips.

“look at these tits, fuck” he rasps, eyes trailing over your chest and savoring every inch, his breath almost a snarl, “this’ what you wanted?”

you pressed your lips to his neck, ignoring the deep rumble in his chest as you sucked marks into his flesh, nipping him less than gently. grunting at a particularly rough bite you landed just under his adam’s apple, “i wanted your cock not your finger—"

his pitches your nipple harder making you squirm, “watch your fuckin’ mouth.”

the way you’re creaming his hand should be illegal, but this man is clearly sent from above. someone finally listened to you and gave you exactly what you needed to survive your dry spell.

you reach down to cup him up through his jeans, “or what?”

he moans, head dropping to your shoulder, “fuck,” he mutters, his tone conveying that he’s just as distracted, watching how your puffy folds glisten with your arousal.

“hmmm, can’t hear you ghostface.”

rafe’s too entranced to put you in your place, you’ve got him eating out the palm of your hand. the sounds of your pussy sucking in his fingers are obscene, the simple act of your hand grazing cock has his knees buckling.

he can feel his heart beating miles a minute and he swears he could die right there, his hand coming down to grip the swell of your ass, kneading it firmly. you sigh contently with every slow drag of his hand, your head falling on his shoulder, nipping at his neck no doubt marking him up again.

“open your mouth.” you lift your head immediately, no smartass bullshit coming out of your lips, he chuckles breathlessly at your impatience, fingers moving from your ass to your parted hole, “suck my fingers, go on.”

it’s hard to make any coherent thought when his fingers are still inside you, dragging against your spongy walls deliciously, but your tongue automatically slips around his digits, doing your best to suck them down your throat. you’d never felt so willing to let a man bend you however he wants to, hushed curses escaping your occupied mouth, raking your nails down his arm.

“good girl, yeahhhh, that’s it,” he grunts when you prod his skin harder, “you like diggin’ your nails into me, like it rough, huh? ‘course you do,” he stammers out when you clamp harder around him, your slick making everything slippery, “course you fucking do.”

with his fingers buried deep inside you and your lips wrapped around his other hand, rafe’s fully intoxicated, drunker than he can ever get. the sounds you make, he never wanted to taste something so bad, if it wasn’t for his stupid mask—

“take this thing off—" he grinds his hips into you, the rough fabric of his jeans pressing deliciously against your bare skin, teasing you, while his hand leaves your mouth to do nothing else but rip your panties apart.

you let out a huff, glancing down at what’s left of your underwear as he tosses it aside like nothing, already sliding his back up your thigh, “you’re paying for those.”

“whatever you want.”

you’re already occupied with his stupid belt, fingers quickly working to take the damn thing off, pawing at him to help. it’s only then he leaves your pussy unattended, settling his hold on your hips while you fumble with his jeans, unbuttoning them and snapping them open, his bulge straining against the fabric of his boxers.

he grabs the underside of your thigh, picking your leg up and wrapping it around his waist, backing you two further into the wall, eyes gazing into yours, even though you can’t see him. why the fuck do your eyes look so familiar?

the tip of his dick kisses the skin of your pussy, the firm head bumping against your clit as he rubs himself against you, “happy?”

looking down, you watch his cock slide back and forth between your thighs, the friction making heat slowly rise in your core, warmth swarming in your chest. he’s so fucking big. you watch him, eyes half-lidded, your legs aching from the position, almost drooling from the sight alone.

you don’t know how much longer you can let him tease you.

“so happy,” you nod, not tearing your attention from him.

“yeah?” he cocks his head to the side, brows furrowed, concentrating not to cum on the spot with the way you’re eating his cock alive just with your pretty little eyes, “you’re gonna let a stranger fuck you?”

rafe reaches down, teasingly rubbing the tip of his dick over your folds, tracing it over your clit a few times. you look up, lips curling into the most earth-shattering smirk.“i can always find someone el—"

you both groan when he slides into you with no warning, your warm walls enveloping him perfectly, sucking him in like a vice, a perfect tight fit. he pumps you so full, not waiting for any adjustment, your walls fluttering around his girth, thick tip slightly curved up from your position.

“fuck, fuck, fuckkk,” he drawls out, rolling his hips in tight circles, slowly fucking into you, dragging himself along your walls to learn what you like, “this pussy, oh—so good.”

your head falls back against the wall, sighing in pleasure. you want him to let go and beat your walls loose, especially when he looks so good doing it. you melt into him, body sagging, downright losing it with how easily he holds you up and still pounds relentlessly into you, your breathing picking up with his change of pace.

he’s so strong.

“this good enough for ya?” he murmurs against your ear, picking on the way your body shudders, a scream for anyone outside that door to hear, “hmm? you like my voice, right here?”

“you’re gonna make me cum,” you feel yourself grip him harder, his thick cock stretching you open, dragging out moan after moan from your lips, “oh my god.”

it’s the sweetest torture, the way his pelvis smacks against your tummy with every thrust, barely even pulling out to roll back into you.

“such a fuckin’ slut, aren’t you?” he growls, “letting a stranger fuck you open—holy shit, holy shit,” he hisses, almost as if he’s in pain, when you teasingly whine your hips back into him, fluttering at the low sound he breaths right by your ear. “shit, you’re squeezing—fuck.”

“you’re so b-big,” you wheeze at a rough thrust, hand coming down to press against his lower stomach.

“yeah? good enough for you, huh?” his hips increase in rhythm, rocking into you, his thrusts precise, beating against your g-spot with vigor, “takin’ it so good baby.”

by now you’re seeing stars in your vision from the white-hot pleasure shooting up your spine, smart mouth forgotten, “harder.”

“harder?” he’s fucking into you at such a pace you feel like he’s gonna split you in half, “don’t think you can take it.”

“please.”

it sounds too pretty coming out of your mouth. having a girl like you beg feeds his ego like nothing else.

he buries himself so deep, his pelvis is pressed hard against the hilt of your mound, fingers coming down to pinch and roll your neglected clit between his fingers.

“fucking take it then.” rafe snaps his hips with every word, glaring into your teary eyes.

you gasp, nodding your head frantically, too fucked out to even use your words properly when he bottoms out properly, leaving you entirely only to slam inside harder than before. you squeal, not expecting him to use his entire body strength to almost fold in half while you’re still standing.

“no one can h-hear you down here, go ahead,” your mouth runs dry as you feel his body helplessly pressing into yours, “lemme hear those pretty noises, c’mon, scream f’me.”

you’ve never moaned so loud in your life, hands coming up to tweak your nipples, him filling you to the brim, “w-where the fuck have you b-been?”

he chuckles, though it comes out strained, “right here,” he makes a point by ramming into your g-spot perfectly, “hold your leg up f’me.”

for once in your life, you do as you’re told while focusing on his clothed stomach, feeling it constrict with every deep breath he takes.

“you look so pretty like this,” you hear him praise you, one of his hands sliding down the span of your back, coming down to wrap around your hair and forcing your head up, “could fuck you for hours.”

the tip of his dick is kissing right against your cérvix, “not stopping you.”

“yeah? that’s how good is it?” he laughs, “can’t believe stranger cock does it for you.”

you open your mouth to speak, probably to give him shit about how he wouldn’t stop teasing you, but your words run dry as you feel the familiar sensation of his fingers playing with your overstimulated clit. motherfucker.

your body tenses as he builds up the pressure, and a strangled symphony of your wails leaves your sore throat. it’s too much and not enough at the same time, the pressure of his cock as well as his fingers, he’s quite literally fucking you dumb.

“nothin’ to say now, huh?”

the better it feels, the farther gone you’re in your mind, “s-shut the fuck up.”

if you were with someone else, it would bother you that your tits are quite literally out while he’s still dressed, besides the jeans pooling by his ankles, but that stupid black wife beater looks mouthwatering on him.

somehow the outfit and the mask add to the allure, not knowing who’s behind it, but still letting him treat you like a rag doll. you’re bouncing down onto him, almost sniffling as your pussy’s still twitching and soaking, so close to your well-deserved orgasm.

“cum inside,” your head’s starting to sting from how bad you need to cum,“please.”

rafe swears he almost falls on his ass, “what?”

“inside,” you grit out, eyes closed in bliss, “want to feel you cum inside.”

he lets out a groan at the way you say it, “are you serious? oh fuck, what a little cock-slut.” he can’t help but let out a chuckle at your fucked-out state, lost in the chase of your own pleasure to care about how pitiful you look right now, “you’re gonna cum around me? go on,” he coos, kneading at the flesh of your thighs.

you nod, slipping out a high-pitched ‘mhm’, knowing this shit is about to hit you like a train. you arch yourself into him, whimpering lewdly and cutting small moon crescents into his shoulders with your long nails.

rafe feels like he’s lost all ability to fuck anyone else but you, growling at the filthy thoughts swimming through his mind, the urge to fill you up with his cum getting stronger as he enjoys watching you.

a strained whimper escapes you as you lean forward to bury your head in his shoulder, groaning against the skin, “don’t stop.”

“n-never stopping, c’mon,” you swear you see stars while he’s slipping out curses and praises that you’re not even sure make sense. “holy shit, yeahh, fuck.”

he applies a little more pressure to your clit and that’s all it takes for you to be gone, your chest touching his, blinding flashes of paradise filling your vision as you leave reality, having it ripped away from you.

your mouth is parted in the most beautiful oh shape he’s ever witnessed. tears are streaking down your eyes and he can’t help but be turned on by them.

“oh! fuck, fucking—” you squeeze your eyes shut, having no idea how you pulled the words out between continuous sobs that escape from you.

rafe feels like a fucking creep, he can’t take his eyes off you for the life of him, hips snapping animalistically into your pussy while he grunts, groans, and cries as he talks you through it, “that’sss itt, so good, so fuckin’ perfect.”

he tilts your chin up, forcing you to look at him, thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

he’s chasing his orgasm while he watches yours; he all but whines when he releases inside of you, not slowing down in the slightest as he makes sure you take every drop. his hand comes down on your stomach forcing you back down with his python grip, feeling his bulge right there makes his eyes roll as his hand tightens on your waist. you’re still clenching and spasming as you milk him dry, “fuckin’ take it.”

his hips don’t let up, grinding into your core despite him already finishing inside of you. for another ten minutes.

five minutes later, you’re both a little hazy from the endorphin rush, still processing. once he pulls away, rafe feels a lazy grin stretching across his face, feeling more satisfied than ever. unlike the past hour, the room isn’t filled with your moans, but complete silence as you both try to breathe like normal people again, collecting yourselves, adjusting clothes, and then there’s an unspoken agreement that maybe, it’s time to see who’s behind the masks.

you fumble with the edges of the fabric, hesitating for a moment before finally pulling them off, unveiling each other’s faces.

you freeze, staring at him in disbelief.

“you gotta be fucking kiddin’ me,” you nearly burn a hole through his head, eyes narrowing with pure annoyance as you process this disaster, voice dripping with irritation, “what the fuck? rafe?”

he’s completely still, staring at you with his mouth wide open, eyes wide like he’s just seen a ghost—everything you’re hurling at him is going in and out his ears. the realization that he just spent the last hour fucking you is making him dumber. the girl he’d been thinking about, dreaming about, wanting more than he’d ever admit, even to himself.

the anger in your eyes, the annoyed way you’re crossing your arms and glaring at him—it’s so perfectly you. he’s watched you in class a hundred times, always stealing glances when you weren’t looking or cursing his ass off, catching little glimpses of your attitude that only made him want you more.

but he’d never thought he’d get a moment like this.

bless halloween.

“are you even listening to me?” you snap, catching his starstruck expression, waving a hand in front of his face. “hello? earth to cameron? stop looking at me like a puppy, this was a mistake.”

more than a mistake. you can’t believe you just fucked the reason why you didn’t want to come to the party in the very first place.

and the worst part is that you’d do it again.

“i…i just…wow,” he breathes, “it’s really you.” he lets out an incredulous laugh, rubbing a hand over his jaw “can’t believe it.”

you groan, rolling your eyes and shaking your head in exasperation. “are you serious right now?

“can i eat you out?”

you blink, realizing you’ve been staring, “what?”

he takes a step closer, filling the small space between you. you swear the sound of his next words drag a whimper from your throat, “can i eat you out?”

you nearly choke to death as his hand ghost near your waist, the barest brush of contact, sending sparks dancing across your skin, “right now?”

rafe leans down to your size, eager to get on his knees and taste you.

“why not?”

well, fucking damnit.

dont go fucking strangers with ghostface masks at random parties

5K notes · View notes

noisilyscreechingsong · 7 months ago

Text

Seeing ghosts in Gotham

He’s walking alone. Despite how dark it is, he’s not particularly nervous, not like the couple of people hovering in an alley.

His shift at Batburger went a little long, not that he’s complaining, he needed the money.

Everything is fine. Splendid. Fantastic. A little quiet, enough to pretend it’s a nice stroll home like it was back in Amity. Of course that all kind of goes up in flames when a dark figure drops into a crouch right in front of him. About two arm lengths away is a guy who straightens to a little taller than Danny himself. From the flickering street light across the street he can spot red, crisscross yellow, and a dark cape.

Red Robin.

Danny shakes his head and turns around.

“Nope.”

A smaller body is already standing behind him, blocking his path. The little guy with a serious face folds his arms across his chest as if challenging Danny to try to get by him.

He’s had enough tussles with Danielle to know better than to test the kid.

Danny rubs at his eyes with a hand, purposefully keeping the other limp at his side. He turns back around.

“Okay. Fine. What? What do you want?”

“You sent in a folder of information to solve the Boothe case,” Red Robin states confidently like there wasn’t any doubt it was Danny who sent it in.

He frowns. It was sent in anonymously. As in they shouldn’t be able to know it was him. Then again they are detectives in their own right even if they dress weird.

“See? This is why no one helps out the police if they’re gonna get grilled for it later on,” he complains sourly.

“That case is connected to another string of crimes we’ve been investigating. I need to know where you got your information.”

Danny glares at him for a second, actually thinking about telling him, then he remembers how quickly these guys throw people into Arkham.

“Do you not get what anonymous means?”

“What is your source?” He asks, completely ignoring Danny’s concerns.

“What are gonna do? Dangle me over the side of a building to get me to talk like you do with the criminals you guys pick up? Go ahead. See where that gets you,” he shrugs indifferently.

“You’re a runaway.”

Danny’s eyes widen in surprise before narrowing into a warning as he turns to look at the pipsqueak that spoke.

“From your poorly made fake ID and the fact you don’t look close to eighteen, you must be a runaway minor. We could bring you in to the proper authorities if you prove to be… uncooperative.”

Danny sneers in annoyance.

“Seriously?” He turns back to Red Robin. Clearly the older of the two and the one leading this investigation. “This is what I get for trying to help? Blackmail?”

“Robin can be a bit… abrasive. I, on the other hand, can appreciate a different approach.”

Suddenly there’s a couple pieces of paper money in between his fingers. Danny couldn’t see how much it was from this far away, but it didn’t really change how he felt about the whole situation.

“Now bribery? Wow, you guys really got the whole good cop, bad cop thing down, don’t cha?”

“Then what do you want?”

“For you to stop wasting your time,” Danny answers with a snap.

Red Robin pauses.

“Our time,” he repeats calmly.

“Yea. Your time. This is a dead end and you should move on.”

“And why are you a dead end?” Presses Robin.

“Because,” Danny emphasizes with a look over his shoulder, “the guy you’re really looking for, my source as you put it, is dead, okay? So you can’t go ask him questions. I sent in everything that was relevant. Find another lead.”

Red Robin’s expression remains blank as he mentally calculates his next move. Danny hopes he takes his advice and let him go home.

“His name?”

Danny folds his arms over his chest, a pathetic attempt to protect himself. He chews on his lip a minute. To tell him or not to tell him. It’s not really ratting the guy out since he’s, you know, dead. Although there is a large chance Danny’s missing something and it’s all going to lead back to him somehow.

“I didn’t kill him.”

“I never said you did,” the vigilante replies calmly, almost nonchalant.

Danny shifts his weight with nerves. He really wasn’t getting out of this without giving them something, huh?

“Greg,” he grinds out like it’s painful.

Silence for a few moments, then-

“As in Gregory Boothe?”

The victim of this whole conversation? Yes.

Danny’s silence is answer enough and the diverted gaze just solidified their suspicions.

“Gregory Boothe’s body turned up a month ago. Presumably he’d been dead for several weeks before that.”

Red lets that damning information hang in the air like Danny didn’t already know.

“So when did he talk to you? Last week?”

Danny jerks at the off handed joke, actually taking a step back and hitching his shoulders up to his ears. He grimaces at his knee jerk response, but can’t take it back. A glance toward the vigilante shows a calculating stunned expression from what he can see ignoring the mask. He looks away again finding a discarded soda can very interesting.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Demands Robin behind him.

Danny tried to resist the urge to curl even more into himself, but knows he failed without even having to look.

“You’re a medium,” Red Robin states. It’s not even a question.

Danny flinches and shoots the guy a scared glare.

“I am not one of those scam artists,” he hisses firmly.

“No,” Red agrees, “you’re not. You didn’t ask for money or attention.”

Danny stares like it’s his first time seeing him. The lack of aggression or accusations was new and a little disarming. He was genuinely confused as to why the guy wasn’t immediately going to denial or throwing him in Arkham.

“Hell of a city to hide in when you can see ghosts,” Red Robin says in a light tone like he was teasing him. The small tug to his lips just proves it.

Danny’s shoulders practically sag at the playful demeanor. A hand reaches up to rub the back of his neck self-consciously.

“Yea, well… no one was gonna look for me here.”

Which was only half the reason he chose Gotham, but it was still truthful.

“So… Greg?”

“Isn’t here right now.” Danny pauses and snorts at himself. “Please leave a message.”

The vigilante does have a sense of humor because he smirks in response to the joke.

“Is there another way to… make contact? Summoning maybe?”

Danny raises an eyebrow incredulously.

“Summoning is rude,” he says like it’s common sense.

Instead he turns to the nearest reliable ghost in the vicinity.

“Hey, Susan, can you go-“

The vigilantes can’t hear how she interrupts him because she was standing there the whole time and knows exactly what he was going to ask.

“Okay, thanks. Meet at mine.”

The ghost woman nods and flies off to go hunt down dear old Greg and Danny turns to Red Robin. He makes a casual move with his head to say ‘follow me’ and continues walking down the sidewalk past the guy and further into the old, decrepit buildings he’s been squatting in.

They already know he’s a runaway, being homeless shouldn’t come as a shock to them. Even with his two jobs, he can’t afford to rent an apartment. No wonder so many people are in poverty or in the slums.

He ducks into his rundown building, ignoring the rats scurrying away, and hops up the rickety stairs, avoiding the ones that were unstable. It was a nightmare figuring out which steps were faulty. Lots of injuries.

At the top he turns to see Red easily copying his movements up the stairs while Robin balances along the railing like a tight rope. When they reach the top at the same time Danny just stares at them for a moment before shaking his head in exasperation. Darn vigilantes. Why did Danny have to get caught up in this mess?

He turns, walking along the floor closest to the wall before getting to what he’s deemed his room.

It used to be an office from what he can tell. A desk pushed against the far wall and a ripped sofa he’s been using as a bed on the other wall. The floors were the most stable in this room which really won out.

Danny goes to the desk where all his papers are scattered over the surface. An organizational pattern only he understands as he shuffles through the pile he pulls from the cubby above the desk. It holds all the same information he sent into the police, just in its raw form with about twice the amount of useless information. Along with it is a few other ‘cases’ that sounds familiar that he just threw together into a pile. Maybe the genius detectives could decipher what he couldn’t.

“Here,” he says, holding out the stack. Red Robin doesn’t hesitate to take it off his hands.

There’s no chair for the desk anymore so he slides some papers out of the way to hop onto the desk to wait.

“No.”

The vigilantes look at him and he shakes his head and looks over to the side.

“No, Abby. I’m not wasting their time.”

Red Robin goes back to flipping through papers. Most of them were old business papers he had found in the office and just written on the back. Some were receipts or pamphlets or some other random scrap of paper he could get his hands on.

“Because yours was an accident. There’s nothing for them to solve.”

Robin watched him cautiously as if waiting for Danny to snap or suddenly turn violent. Instead he leans back on his hands in a vulnerable position which screamed ‘I don’t want to hurt anyone’.

“There is a lot more information here than what was submitted to the police,” Red Robin comments neutrally, purposefully ignoring Danny’s exasperated sigh and one-sided conversation.

Danny shrugs in defense, “Didn’t think all of it was relevant.”

The vigilante doesn’t respond.

Robin drifts closer as Danny gives a withering glare to the corner. He examines the mess of papers surrounding the teen in the low lighting.

“Are these all files of victims?”

Danny glances over them with a knowledgeable eye.

“Most.” He twists to point at the top left corner of the cubbies. “Those are accidents though… well, what sounds like accidents.”

“There should be more.”

Danny looks at the boy with a tilted head and raises brow.

“Not everyone sticks around,” he explains simply.

Then something draws his attention away across the room. Surprisingly his eyes don’t glaze over like someone with mental illness, instead they sharpen to see something they can’t. It resembled Constantine or Thomas.

“Greg, these guys wanna talk to you.”

What proceeds is a very awkward interaction with Danny as a middle man between victim and vigilante. Despite the need for a translator, Red Robin does in fact get a lead from the conversation.

“Thank you for your cooperation.”

Danny nods. “Sure, no problem. Just don’t rat me out to the police and I can help with any other case that pops up with a ghost attached.”

“You know we can help with your living situation,” Red Robin offers with a glance around the room.

“What, and put me in foster care? No thanks, I’ll pass.”

“There are other options,” Robin chimes in with nonchalance that implies he doesn’t actually care.

“You don’t pass for eighteen, but if you let me make you a new ID we could say you’re emancipated.”

Danny frowns.

“I’d have to be sixteen to be eligible for emancipation.”

“You could be sixteen.”

No, he really couldn’t. Maybe if you squint your eyes and tilt your head, but Danny is fourteen with all the baby fat and innocent face that comes with it. His license now is a clear fake to anyone who sees it, but in this city no one’s gonna question it to his face. They just raise a brow, look at him, then shrug it off and roll with the lie.

“What do you want?” He demands. All this good will and wanting to help him can’t be free.

“We want to help,” Red says too easily.

Danny stares for a second, eyes narrowed as he tries to block out the multiple voices around him.

Insurance. He wants Danny to owe him so he can keep coming back for more information.

“I just told you I would help. Why are you still trying to get leverage?” He demands with irritation.

“We want to help-“

“You want me in your back pocket.”

Red Robin doesn’t give that a response, his lips pressing together to make a hard line.

Instead of pushing, he surprisingly takes a step back and heads towards the door, papers still in hand. Danny doesn’t argue.

Robin ducks out first, blending into the shadows without even a glance over his shoulder. Red Robin pauses in the doorway.

“Don’t try to skip town,” he states like an order. Like if Danny did in fact try, he would be found and brought back.

It didn’t even cross Danny’s mind.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he says tiredly, too fed up with the day to defend himself.

Red Robin watches him for a moment before nodding and disappearing out the room.

Danny slumps with a groan, finally sliding off the desk to shuffle to the couch, body flopping face first into the worn cushions.

It’s silent to everyone else but Danny.

“I know.”

…

“I know, Jack, but I don’t trust them. Even if he is your son.”

Danny never noticed the bug planted by Robin on the underside of the desk.

#dp x dc #dc x dp #dp x dc crossover #danny fenton #danny phantom #batman #tim drake #damian wayne #red robin #dc robin #story ideas #Danny sees ghosts #it’s his way of helping #medium #homeless #runaway #batburger

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