#anyway good chance this will be how i draw him from here on out-

[luludeluluramblings]

Smalltown!Neglected! Meta!Reader x Yandere!Batfam ☁️ Part Seven

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Part One ☁️ Part Two ☁️ Part Three ☁️ Part Four ☁️ Part Five ☁️ Part Six ☁️ Part Eight

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A/N: I’m not sure if I’m satisfied with this. But, I doubt I’ll ever be satisfied with this. I want Reader to come off as more Bruce like with the emotional suppression and planning. And, this was my actual first and third attempt at dialogue. I’m gonna need some practice. But, I tried.

A/N: Up next we get some yandere!Bats vs. yandere!Smalltown action. (Holy frick is that gonna be hard to write.) I’m also going to start work on the Dick Obsession now. Gotta fight the temptation to write the Vigilante!Smalltown!Reader story while this is still in the works.

Warning: Yandere Themes.

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As the coming months passed by, Reader could feel Gotham starting to wear on them. Or, they at the least Wayne manor starting to wear on them. They haven’t been given permission to leave the manor since the kidnapping. Not even to drive their truck for some unhealthy, but soul healing fast food. Of course, that doesn’t stop the other residents of the house from leaving whenever they wish. 

They see the Bat Burger wrappers in the trash the morning after another soundless night in the manor. God, how they’d love to try it one day. 

But, as time moves on something draws closer. An important date. Reader’s legal eighteenth birthday. They’re excited, by all means. But, there’s something significantly more important coming sooner. 

Reader’s Younger Brother’s Birthday was just a week before Reader’s. There had been many fond memories made while growing up with the week between the two different dates being filled with fun and excitement. (And love.) 

With such an important date coming up, and with Momma and Daddy no longer being here, Reader had plans to make it a fun week. 

They just have to convince Bruce to let them go back to Smalltown. Just for the week. They’re all too busy to spend time with Reader anyway, besides this is important to them. They’ve stayed in the manor like asked. They’re grades are good. They do their chores. They don’t ask for much. It should be perfectly reasonable to request to let them visit back home. 

But, just in case, Reader approaches Dick next time he's in the manor and is smothering them in affection before he goes to disappear into the library. 

“Can you help me convince Bruce to let me go, please, Dick?”

It’s a simple request. And, it makes Dick’s heart melt a bit. Reader’s the only one in the family to easily give into his affection and to have them finally ask him for help in such a sweet polite voice was heart melting.

Wholeheartedly, he agrees and he is rewarded. With Reader bouncing into his arms with an impressive amount of enthusiasm that he hasn’t had a chance to see previously. Probably due to always being so busy. Maybe he should make more time for Reader if they shower him with such genuine gratitude and affection like this. 

The thought lingers in his head as he makes his way towards the Batcave. A spring in his step despite the glares he receives as he makes his way down the stairs. 

The manor cameras had caught the entire thing, leaving the occupants in the cave to get a front row seat to Reader being sweet on Dick. 

He can’t stop the tiny smug smile from forming on his lips as Barbara gives him a disapproving ~~jealous~~ look. Or, the look of straight bitterness on Damian’s face. The mild satisfaction from Duke’s face being as blank as Cassandra’s. Stephanie’s forlorn expression. The way that Jason looks like he wants to shoot him with the gun he’s cleaning that makes him want to laugh with glee.. 

Tim doesn’t even look at him. Too annoyed with Dick as he sits at the Batcomputer furiously clicking and typing away on something. 

Bruce had been out at the moment for League Business. But, the entire family now has a competition forming. Whoever could convince Bruce for Reader would win. The prize being the winner possibly getting showered in Reader’s affection. And, the hope of visiting Reader’s hometown with them. The very idea of it makes some of them shudder with some particular emotions. 

The bombardment of pleading and puppy-dog eyes began almost as soon as Bruce stepped back into the cave. It was nearly comical how everyone petitioned Reader’s case. 

Hell, Bruce was nearly convinced they should all make the trip when Tim threw his bid in.

Pulling up all the research on Smalltown and how apparently harmless it was. He even managed to remotely bug Childhood Friend’s Brother’s phone just to double check. 

That’s when things spiral. 

Right at that very moment, a call comes through to the phone. It seems harmless at first. The guy talking to his boss. The two had immediately talked about Reader returning to town. As if the two knew without a doubt that they were coming back.

That sparked suspicions, but it's not what ignited the fire.

The fire came when the two started talking about Reader's time in Gotham. The whole kidnapping incident. Childhood Crush admitted that Reader tried to down play the incident to Nana. After which his boss ask a horrifying question.

"Do you and Grand Daddy need some help killing this guy? It might be a bit harder than the last one y'all killed."

The last one.

Immediately the phrase makes questions arise. But, once again things get worse.

"Nah, we'll let him live. He's from Gotham. He'll probably never come out this way. And, if he does them we'll drag him out where we drowned the last sorry son of a bitch. He was just in it for the money."

"That's right. The other guy just wanted to kill Reader to keep 'em for himself. Still..."

It was difficult to give the rest of the conversation their full attention after that.

It was like the blood had crystalized in their veins. Both cold fury and hot rage filling them till it seemed to shred their minds apart.

There was no way in heaven or hell or high water that they were possibly going to let Reader go back to that vile little town filled with monsters. As if Gotham wasn't filled with abominations of it's own designs.

Without a moment to delay Bruce Batman jumps into action, barking orders for Tim, Barbara, and Cassandra to start digging up everything imaginable on Smalltown. Every resident, every social media post or mention, every single person that has ever lived there, visited, and gone missing. "Find me the name of the bastard that nearly took my child to the grave. I want the memory of them wiped of the face of the earth as their bones rot in it."

The other's are ordered to cover his patrol and redouble their efforts to capture the remaining Gotham Rouges by any and all means necessary The Court of Owls is low priority until more is uncovered about Smalltown and what the hell happened.

Reader's usual pacing around the unoccupied halls of the manor conversing on the phone is interrupted by Bruce Batman stalking towards with a violence simmering under the surface of an obsidian mask. Easy to shatter and sharp to the touch. Before a words is even spoken the phone the lifeline is ripped from their hands and shattered under a pair of designer loafers.

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You could only stagger back as you watched his foot trample over the well used phone. You hadn't even chance to hang up the conversation you were having, when Bruce had come barreling down the extravagant hall way you roamed so often you 'd already practically memorized the brush strokes on each painting and the pattern of the wood grain on the walls. Not even the chance to put a hold on the plans you were making before it all came to an abrupt halt without your blessing.

For a moment your just baffled. Looking at the shattered phone screen with pieces of glass and plastic on the ground before looking up at the shattered facade your father Bruce wore.

His face was deathly still. Not even a twitch. It gave him an inhuman like visage that set off the same warning bells that Jason Red Hood had made you hear.

So that's where he got it from.

You can't help put think, trying to form the words to question his actions and confront him. It isn't long before he gives you the excuse explanation for his unwarranted action himself.

"You're not going." Is all he says. His voice was cold enough to burn.

It doesn't take a genius to know what he's talking about.

"If this is about me getting Dick to help convince you-"

"Dick agrees. Everyone agrees. You are not going." The interruption is rude, but the words sting. They thought that everyone else would be on board with it. Even the members of the family that didn't care for their presence should have been on board with it.

"I'm not asking for a vote. I was asking for your permission and yours alone." Another attempt.

"I am saying no. I am your father and you will listen to me about this." The totality found in his icy voice makes them finally feel that helpless. Like nothing they say will improve this situation. That continuing to smile will not solve a damn thing.

"What did I do?" The resentment that has locked up tightly inside beings to swirl. Ire churning into gales. The long withheld temper becoming a tempest. "What the hell did I do to make you treat me like this?"

"This has nothing to do with you. This is my decision on the matter. You need-" The sound of a notification going off interrupts his words, but they don't stop the ringing in you're ears. Even after Bruce abruptly dismisses himself, muttering about getting you a new phone, before moving towards the library. Again.

For once, you don't bother cleaning up the shattered pieces on the floor. Leaving them on the ornate carpet in the lavish and deserted hall. You have planning to do. Restraint is gone. Holding back is over. It's time to take things into your own hands. They want to ignore you, fine. You'll leave and you'll fucking live without them.

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Consequently, incoming weather reports start showing some unusual patterns on the news that week. Meteorologist say there's a massive possibility of a potential hurricane brewing off the coast. Everyone is on edge. (Gotham is already a disaster as is. No one wants another one on top of it.)

Reader's not to worried. They grew up with Hurricane parties. Besides the manor has it's own power grid says Alfred. Gotham's power grid is a bit more vulnerable, but luckily the Hospitals and Arkham are on different power grids. Everything should be alright. (Everything should also go according to plan.)

The next time Dick comes by, Reader is a bit short with him. Giving him a disgruntled look that breaks his heart a little and makes it melt. Try as he might he gets nothing other than their annoyance. Even when he finally admits it was Tim's fault they had been denied the chance to go home. It does make them pout even more, how cute. Even when he gifts them a newer phone. Their not stupid, the damn thing is probably bugged to high heaven. And, it's missing all their old contacts since Bruce slammed the SD card under his big bat toe.

Their clearly in a foul mood and everyone is being subjugated to the silent treatment. As their birthday, and their younger brother's birthday, draws closer and closer, a dark cloud seems to hang over them and Gotham.

In a moment born from guilt and ignorance, Bruce buys them a car as an early birthday present. A grandiose little luxury model. With all the bells and whistles. It's even in their favorite color. Not that anyone in the family asked what it was. (Tim might have had something to do with it. After all he did get them banned from traveling. Not that he feels guilty. No way in hell was he letting you go. Especially without him or the others.)

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"It seems kinda wasteful." You can't help saying it. To tired of putting on that pleasant people pleaser mask for once.

"I know it's a bit extravagant, but since everyone has their own car I thought you should have your own too." Bruce had such an eager smile on his face. Like the whole incident with the crushing your hopes and your phone never happened.

To bad you haven't forgotten nor forgiven.

"Still a waste. I'm not going to get to drive it anywhere." Vinegar coating your tongue as you look at the sleek design.

You can hear everyone around you stop cooing and praising the gift. There's no need to further elaborate your point. He gets it. The family gets it. The very earth you stand on gets it. You're not leaving this house. There's no need for the tank of gas to be filled. Or the damn thing to be charged since its some fucking electric hybrid, and probably filled to the brim with all sorts of nasty little tracking bugs.

You could have left it at that. But why not sink that needle deeper into his chest. Not a knife. Never a knife. You want your words to sting and stick. No taking the cut and letting it heal overtime. Let it be tattooed on the skin.

"Besides I already have Daddy's old truck. I don't need this." Don't those words hit like a strike to the soul. Bruce grows visibly still at them. That practiced mask going up and hiding the tells from all of them. Except Cassandra. There's no hiding things from her. They're all laid bare in front of her and she can tell everyone has somethings to say. While you have something to scream.

"You could at the very least be grateful for Father's gift" Damian spoke. He had been so well behaved to far. Keeping quite and watching with attentive green eyes. He could tell this wasn't going to go in the family's favor. He didn't necessarily blamed you for being disgruntled. But, would it kill you to give them a smile. They missed those. Hell, he missed those.

Something in you crackled, but you managed to hold you're tongue. The side-eye you gave him, however spoke enough volumes for you instead.

Astonishingly, it was Duke that set off the electric charge.

"I mean, it is a really nice car. You sure you don't want to take it for a spin?" You can here his attempt at trying to defuse the static in the are, but as fond of him as you are compared to the others, it just sets you off.

"Oh, and where to exactly?" You can't help but snort. "Down the driveway and back?"

"You're acting like a brat." Jason throwing in his two cents. Of course he would say that. And, he's rewarded with a voltaic look from you eyes and a snarl from your lips.

"I. Don't. Care." The words echo in the massive car garage. Bouncing of the walls and the other sleek fancy model cars in it. Your apathy and anger is reward with quiet.

It doesn't last long.

"Let's all just calm down." Dick steps between them, trying to play reconciler. All it serves to do is make you feel more isolated. The way he steps between you cuts you off from the rest of the group and makes it seem like he's singling you out.

"I am calm!" The words coming from your clenched jaw.

"They're the one acting like a spoiled little-"

"Jason, enough." Bruce finally steps in. That stoic look still on his face. Internally, he knows he miscalculated. He made a mistake, and it's humbling to know he can still make them at his age and with all his experience. Still, he wears the mask. He's too busy recalculating and coming up with another plan. Perhaps he was putting to much focus on the wrong thing. That didn't stop him from glaring at that classless truck in his garage.

"Of fucking course Daddy's princess gets away with acting like a brat." Jason doesn't stop though, looking directly at you. Always looking at you. Everyone is always looking at you. But never speaking these days.

"Fuck you." You whisper. Caution and hesitance thrown into the stirring winds.

"Uh-oh, looks like the princess finally snapped." That sickly green look appearing in his eyes. God, does he love this. He knew they had some fucking bite in them. Some spice. Something that made them even more delicious. That just enhanced their sweetness tenfold.

"Jason. Knock it off." Barbara murmurs after Cassandra places a hand on her shoulder. Signaling the direction this could easily head in.

"No, I don't think I will." He sneers, making an attempt to step around Dick and get in your face. It's Tim and Stephanie that try to stop him this time. Both muttering to him and trying to get him to calm down.

You can clearly see it. Their family dynamic. Clear as day. It's right in front of you for you to watch unfold while you stand on the outside looking in. Only getting stray remnants of it when they deem you worth it. You're always worth it though, silly little sugarplum. They’re just terrible at showing it, you poor poor thing. That'll change soon, don't worry. Actually, you should worry.

There's no need to stick around any longer. No fucking need at all. Your feet echoing as you leave the room filled with strangers family and cars. You're leaving. You're going home. And you're going home tonight.

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That night, the news is blaring over Gotham. A sudden hurricane off the coast is set to hit by nightfall. People are being asked to evacuate, already there is panic in the streets.

As much as they don't want to leave things unresolved, the family has no choice, but to respond. Making sure evacuations go smoothly. Keeping the mobs at bay in the stores. Checking that the Arkham inmates are both secure and safe.

It gets worse when the reports further come in. There was lightning spotted off the coast. A lightning storm predicted to hit before the hurricane. That would double the difficulties everyone in Gotham was dealing with.

Most everyone, but Reader.

With the family busy they had plenty of time to pack a few belongings and necessities for a long drive. Glowing eyes taking inventory as the electricity crackled under their skin and the distant skies. Brewing excitement in their chest as the skies filled with dark clouds. Some might think it ominous. But, for Reader it was freedom.

In Gotham that ominous feeling continued. It was as if Gotham itself knew what chaos was about to unfold. Chaos that it would have reveled in if not for the impending feeling of loss found not only in the empty streets, but in Wayne Manor.

As the wind started to wail, nightfall seemed to come earlier with how dark the clouds made the sky. Rain poured in sheets. Most of the Bats took cover, but when the lightning began to strike is when things really when to hell.

By luck or something else, the Gotham power grid was hit. Shutting down over half the city in the first moments of the storm. The downpour hadn't even soaked the concrete when it struck.

The darkness washed over the city and the family knew it was going to be a long long night.

Barbara, in Oracle mode in the Batcave, was focused on keeping everyone updated on new alerts and any looting. She didn't have a chance to glance at the manor cameras and see Reader walking through the halls with a bag on their shoulders before. Multiple strikes of lightning reverberated through the manor. They could be heard echoing all the way down in the cave.

And, they caused the power to go out.

It was only out for twenty minuets. Twenty long minuets of Barbara and Alfred trying to fix the power and get everyone back in contact with each other.

A lot can happen in twenty minutes. Like a garage door opening and closing manually. Like someone driving down the long driveway out of the security gate without being noticed. Like someone could escape without notice in those twenty minutes.

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@starsdotalk @sleepyghoster @maicenitas @box-of-kinderjoy @yandereheros @skwunkler @cl0esblogg @delias-stuff @rosecentury @lilyalone @addie-r-u-ok @space1crow @imaginarydreams @dhanyasri @rosalietodd013 @rissareader @rando2509 @h0rr0r-10ver-69 @interobanginyourmom @heyitsaloy @myanyan-me @animegoddess15 @resident-cryptid @schaarfyx

[unknownmads]

PRISON TOJII (he’s so addictive🤭) if he’s so bad then why does he look so good? like that’s literally my baby daddy y’all✊🏼😍 i wrote this kinda quick sorry i’ve been so busy y’all

“hey doll it’s good to finally meet you.”

the words rang through your ears having this be the first time you heard his voice, it was deep and rough his ton was teasing you quietly.

Prison Toji who’s eyes track as you reach into your bag grabbing a small notebook and pen. Opening the notebook revealed a page already full of questions you were waiting to ask him. oh how cute you are thinking about him so much just so excited. he’s pulled out of his trance when you finally speak.

“hi toji, it’s great to finally meet you too” your voice soft at first from your original anxiety about the situation. i mean your just here to meet him for your class nothing more. right? you wouldn’t be here because you love reading his letters telling you how pretty you are. how he wished he could take you out properly. Shamelessly telling you how hard he got to your pictures, but he was just flirting he’s a man in a prison it’s what happens.

Prison toji who finally speaks next the seconds feeling like eternity for him. He doesn’t want to have to sit across a table from you he wants you in his lap sitting pretty just how you are now.

“That’s a lot of writing in your lil notebook doll, you been thinkin of me?” this time his tone laced with teasing and smirk displayed on his lips. it draws attention to his scar, you had never asked about it not wanting to push things you shouldn’t, but you can’t help but ask anyways.

“where’d you get that scar?” pointing to your own lip as you looked up at him. a small chuckle escapes him surprised at your bluntness.

“well you’re quick to the questions today. you wanna get a closer look at it?” the gawking look one your face giving you away. with a quick nod you were leaning across the table to get a closer look as he did the same to help you.

Prison Toji who stops you with an almost surprised grunt when your hand reaches up to touch his lip where the scar is

“shit sorry” quietly escapes you as you looked away for a second toji takes this as an opportunity

“you’re okay sweetheart just gonna get us in some trouble if you do that.” his lips next to your ear as his breath brushing against your ear “can’t control myself around such a pretty thing like you.”

Prison Toji whose pants grow so much tighter when he sees how flustered you get from such a simple comment. You turn back to face him, his eyes instantly meeting yours challenging you telling you to do it, see how far it goes, see how bad he possibly is, and just like a moth to a flame you do just that. your hand grazing where his scar is going to cup his face, it was all so fast you could barely process it. he forced himself forward slamming his lips to yours. shock took you first then you eased into the kiss and began kissing back. and then you remembered HES A PRISONER AND THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE FOR SCHOOL.

Prison toji whose ready to snap his cuffs when you pull away. leaning into you as much as he could almost whining when your lips part from his. he sees you shocked and guilt ridden with your finger touching your lips

“whats wrong doll didn’t like it? give me another chance to try again” his body fully leaning to you practically half way over the table.

“im sorry we shouldn’t hav- it wasn’t bad- just we can’t Toji.” your thoughts swirling the world is spinning. Could you get kick out of school? what if someone saw? are there cameras in here? why do i still want to? it’s wrong.

“It’s fine sweetheart no one will know, just you and me i know you want more from the look on your face and the way your sqeezin your thighs. don’t even try to deny it.”

Caught. like a fly in a trap, he’s got you.

Prison toji whose cock jumps when you slide out of your seat and approach him looking to make sure the guards weren’t watching. unknowing to the fact that toji already blackmailed both of them to let him have all the privacy he needed with you. the look in your eyes as you approached was pure lust and need for him.

“your sure we’ll be fine right?” you say as you lean down towards him

“im positive doll i made sure of it.”

Prison Toji who finally snaps his cuffs unable to take anymore. grabbing your hips and pulling you into his lap his face clashing with your the kiss is sloppy and full of need. a small sound escaping as he deepens the kiss.

“i’ve been dreaming of this.”

TAGS: @altgojo @nanmiik @kouyoumarryme @imaslothandsowhat @dragonmaiden79 @sircatchungus

SOME OF YALL DIDNT SHOW UP WHEN I SEARCHED IM SO SORRY😭

[moonstruckme]

hi lovie!! i was wondering if i could request a poly marauders band au x reader smut (preferably fem, but gn is also fine!!) where james, sirius, and remus are rockstars and they have a gf who is very girly with like the pinks and mini skirts and bows y’know. i literally have no plot, just cute gf and poly marauders band au smut LOL. sorry if this sucks, but i am CRAVING more poly marauders band au fics on here so bad. thank so much if u do write it!! xoxo

Thank you for requesting <3

cw: smut mdni, fingering, praise, some voyerism

rockstar!marauders x coquette!reader ♡ 894 words

There aren’t very many doors that lock backstage. So while a lot of the time dating rockstars means fancy restaurants and first class flights and giant, plush hotel beds, sometimes it means being finger-fucked in a bathroom stall for lack of better options. 

“Angel,” James laughs, nose smushed against your cheek, “you know I love your sounds, but you’re going to have to be quieter than that.” 

You stifle a moan that turns into a whine. You’re honestly not sure how much of the work of keeping you upright is being done by your legs at this point, and how much is being done by James’ fingers buried in your cunt. You’re tugging anxiously on the curls at his nape, your own neck arching as you’re razed from within. 

James always has an excess of energy before shows. Lately, he’s found a new favorite way of working it off. Last week he’d dragged Remus into a storage closet, then last night Sirius had emerged from the boys’ dressing room looking even more rock-and-roll than usual, and tonight he’d plied you with kisses until the next thing you knew a stall door was being locked behind you and your panties were being pushed aside under your skirt. 

You suppress a moan as his thick fingers plunge deeper into your cunt, biting down on your bottom lip. Your fingers drive into his shoulders. 

James pushes your cardigan off your shoulder with his free hand, drawing the strap of your tank top down with it. “What do you need this for, hm?” 

“It’s always cold in here,” you manage. His hand finds your breast, squeezing the way he knows how. You push your forehead into his, and James smiles, giving you a conciliatory kiss. 

“Are you cold now?” 

You shake your head against his. He laughs, kissing you again. 

“Good.” You’re sure he’s the only thing keeping you up now, his hand under your skirt and your back propped against the wall. “Least I’m good for something, huh? I can keep my girl warm.” 

You have every intention of telling him he’s good for much more than that, as soon as you can find the words. You hear the bathroom door open before you get the chance. 

You go instantly quiet, covering your mouth with a hand and trying to steady your breathing, but James’ fingers keep moving in and out of you all the same. 

“James?” Remus calls. “You in here?” 

You sag with relief. 

“Yeah,” James says back. “S’it just you?” 

“Why?” Sirius’ voice rings with faux hurt. “Do you not want to see me?” 

“Just making sure.” James reaches over, unlocking your stall. 

“The stage manager’s got his knickers in a twist,” Sirius says as he opens the door. “He thinks you’ve run—oh. Hi, gorgeous.” 

You hide your face in James’ neck. You hear Remus chuckle as James rubs your back, half soothing you and half wrecking you as his fingers spread inside you. You make a stymied keening sound. 

“Do I need to go find him?” James asks. 

“No, probably not.” Sirius’ interest is palpable. You open your eyes to peek over James’ shoulder, and a wicked grin tilts his lips. “He seems like he’s just uptight. Having a good time, babydoll?” 

You imagine it’s a rhetorical question, but James’ fingers work another pleady whimper out of you anyway. Sirius’ eyes light, and Remus comes closer, kissing your bare shoulder. 

“Are you helping Jamie out, lovely girl?” 

“Think it’s the other way around,” you pant. James laughs. 

“No, make no mistake,” Sirius shoots you a wink, “this is one hundred percent selfish of him.” 

“‘nd I appreciate it.” James smears a kiss over your lips. “I would’ve liked to eat her out, but there wasn’t anywhere to put her down.” 

“I am not lying on the bathroom floor,” you say again, just in case he’s getting any ideas. It doesn’t sound very authoritative when your voice wobbles at the end of it, your orgasm looming. 

Remus coos, sensing your ascent. “You’ve got it,” he murmurs, kissing your shoulder again. “You look so pretty all worked open like this. Doesn’t she look pretty, Sirius?” 

Sirius hums, giving you an appreciative up-down. “Yeah, you really ought to have known this would happen when you put on that skirt, sweet thing.” 

James grunts his agreement, and then you’re tipping over the edge. Remus helps keep you from slipping down to the bathroom floor as James brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean. 

“There you are, good girl. That felt good, didn’t it, dove? Jamie?” 

“Fuck yeah,” James confirms. When your focus comes back to you, you can see the large, insistent bulge in his pants. 

“Here,” you mumble, reaching for his zipper. You start to drop to your knees, but Remus catches you, urging you back up. 

“I’ve got it, lovely,” he assures you. “So long as you don’t mind. That way Sirius can fix your hair before we have to go out.” 

You frown. “My hair?” You touch the back. It appears you’d lost track of things while you were being driven into the bathroom wall. Your bow is crumpled, your hair tangled around it. “Shit, how bad is it?” 

James offers you a half-sheepish grin. 

“It’s fine, baby.” Sirius takes you by the hand, leading you towards the mirror. “It’s rock and roll.”

[cactusdrinkstea]

─ ‧ ִ ۫✭ A rock for a dragon

Malleus Draconia x Reader

Summary: You found a rock and gave it to Malleus because it reminded you of him.

Word count: 899

I kinda want to draw him with his tiny pretty black rock.

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Malleus wasn't a stranger of people feeling uneasy around him. Everyone thought and expected too much out of him. He was used to such thing, even if he wasn't too fond of it. Not many could just approach him casually and make small talk. They either treated him too formally, too artificially or they ran because Sebek scared them off. He could count with his fingers all of the people that genuinely appreciated him and he still would have some space left. He had his friends sure, but he never quite had something true. Of course that was until a particular human came along. 

Oh how he cherished you. You would wave, talk to him and even invite him to anything you had the chance to. No one else treated him in that way. That’s why whenever your familiar head would pop up, when your voice reached his ears or when your eyes stared at him, he knew he was about to have a good day. 

“Tsunotaro!”

A familiar voice said, and the smile that appeared on his face was almost automatic. When you walked towards him, the normally unapproachable fae housewarden looked over your direction with small fondness in his eyes. That little pet name, he had grown fond of it too. It always caused that fuzzy feeling in his chest. You ran all the way to where he stood, and you seemed to be holding something between your palms. 

“Child of man, what a pleasant surprise. Is there anything you need from me?” He asked, curious green eyes peering at your shorter figure.

“Take a look at what I found!” You replied excitedly. After that, you showed him. 

There was a small rock on your palm, a black one. It looked smooth but it had some sharp edges here and there. Upon closer inspection, it looked like black obsidian. Is that why you acted so excited? How charming.

“Look! It's a shiny polished rock! I found it near Ramshackle and it reminded me of you right away!" You beamed with joy. 

Malleus focused on the last sentence. You found a rock and you immediately brought it to him because it had reminded you of him? What simple way of thinking, and yet he was delighted to know that was the reason and not casual love for minerals. 

“You thought of me from a rock?” He questioned, cocking his head to his left just slightly. 

"Oh not because it's a rock, but because it's so black and shiny. It reminded me of your horns or your hair. So I thought 'Malleus would like it' and I cleaned it up and brought it. Do you like it?" You replied right away, as if your logic made absolute sense. 

That made him even more delighted to hear. It was actually very adorable of you. Malleus carefully took the shiny rock  into his hand to look closely at it, examining the obsidian for a moment. 

“I do, I like it very much” He answered, his voice sounding almost as soft as the way he stared at you. 

"I am glad, I thought it would be silly, you know? It's just a rock, why would a fae prince be impressed when he can have thousands of rocks? But I went for it anyway” You said, and he could see where you were coming from. 

He had received thousands of gifts in the past. Lustrous jewelry, expensive treasure, accessories, trinkets, food, and more. All of that was true, and yet this one was different. It was a gift meant for him. Not because of its price or value, but because it was given from the memory of him. He was kept in your mind. What else could he ask for?

Just being in someone's mind, not because of his power or his position. Not at all, just him. Oh he wanted to do anything for you now. If you asked for all the gold in the world he would hand you even more somehow.

“It is not just a rock. It is special” He said, still touching the rock with his gloved fingers. 

"Oh you really think so? Thank you so much. I hope you treasure it. I would too if you gave me a rock" You said before suddenly looking as if you remembered something. "Oh I have to go back to Ramshackle, I will see you later!” You replied and immediately bolted through the halls. 

He only smiled politely and waved you away, since you ran off so fast. Once he lost your figure his gaze went back to the rock. He touched it close to his chest, as if it was the most valuable treasure ever. He would never lose it. He kept thinking about you. The way you showed it to him so happily and the happy look on your face when you said you liked it. It was priceless. His heart almost skipped a beat. How could you be that adorable? It was like magic. 

“So endearing…” He muttered fondly to himself before placing it in his pocket to avoid losing it. 

Since that day, he had been carrying it around with him. Everywhere. It didn’t matter where he went, the little rock was coming with him. Occasionally he would take it out and stare at it, with the most adoring look one could give to something. And he definitely wanted to give you something back, but he hadn’t found yet what could possibly summarize how much he felt for you. He could only hope that when he found it, you would be just as happy as how he feels right now. 

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┆   ┆    ┆   ┆⋆

┆   ┆    ┆જ    ✾

┆    ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ °             

┆彡   ✩      

[msflora-lynn]

Rating the fanbase of every Primarch & their legions.

This is my opinion, I love all of you ㅤ♡ྀི ₊

Lion'El Johnson & Dark Angels fans (8/10): I like the fanarts they make, also 100 points for portraying Lion like a rouge kitty cat sometimes. Oh I also like how the Lion fans are embracing the 'our primarch is obviously neurodivergent and we love him for it'

Fulgrim & E.Children fans (10/10): This part of the group always produce the best fanart?? Or at least a lot of artworks for E.Children in general. Though browsing his fanart must be done with caution cause 20% chance I might see schlongous or booty.

Perturabo & I.W fans (8/10): I'm sorry about your favorite character. Not many of them are around though :( But so far their fanart production have been solid. I like how they kinda just chill and embrace the 'neurodivergent manchild' persona for Bo and makes no attempt to refute it.

Jaghatai Khan & W.Scars fans (8/10): Surprisingly not many of them. I'm kinda bummed out about it since I like this character. Though his fanarts are mostly adorable! They're always chill, I'm happy to see them on my feed -`♡´-

Leman Russ & S.W fans (7/10): I would rate it 8/10 but I hate stimky wolf grrrr so -1 point (msflora found dead in fenris more at news 6). Anyways fanart-wise, they're so good!! I like how they always draw Leman like a scrunkly lil guy. I also love to read their fanfictions.

Rogal Dorn & I.Fists fans (6/10): WHERE ARE YOU PEOPLE?! I CAN'T FIND YOU!! I RATE IT LOW BECAUSE I'M SCRAPING THE GROUND FOR ROGAL DORN CONTENT! But in all seriousness, loving how they embrace the 'fortify' meme. I don't like the weird Black Templar larpers from twitter, but that's just a 1% of the fanbase

Konrad Curze & Night Lord fans (8/10): Your fanfictions scares me, most of the hashtags are nowhere written in the bible, but I read them all so who am I to judge. I love how this side of the fandom just embrace the 'we are bad and disturbing and creepy' schtick and go ball. I blame this side of the fandom for making me love Jago Sevatar tho.

Sanguinius & Blood Angels fans (10/10): Insane artworks from this side of the fandom, always impress me. A lot of vampire and angelic stuff, I love you guys. Sorry about your primarch tho.

Ferrus Manus & I.H fans (all six of them) (7/10): I'm sorry about your primarch, I'm sorry he get crumbs in the lore. I rate it low because I'm scraping for any IH/Ferrus content here....

Angron & World Eaters fans (8/10): Loving the contents you guys made here! A lot of red, so many red, oh god. I'm sorry about the sinking ship of Argel Tal x Kharn though.

Roboute Guilliman & Ultramarine fans (9/10): Spoiled, well-fed, their favorite guys have insane plot armor and I'm jealous >:(. Keep the bulky half-naked Rob fanarts coming tho I have them all liked & downloaded.

Mortarion & D.Guards fans (6/10): I do not like Nurgle stuff so I rarely go there... But my god most fanfictions yall made for Mortarion x reader is heartbreaking. Rating it low because I get scared of some fanarts they make, but pre-heresy Mortarion is kinda baddddddd👅

Magnus the Red & Thousand Sons fans (100 Tzaangors/10): We are so cool and awesome, not a biased rating. In all seriousness we Tsons fans r eating GOOODDD this year (thx SM2). Though we suffer from a disease called 'inconsistent writing of our favorite primarch's power levels' and it's not getting better.

Horus & L.Wolves fans (9/10): Guys I understand, Horus is big daddy, a father, he's an icon, you guys made it clear with the abundant of breeding tags in your fanfics. Sorry that the way he's corrupted into chaos is kinda bootycheeks tho :( Wishing they explore more into his corruption.

Lorgar & WB fans (Where Are You Guys/10): While being small, they make the best artworks for Lorgar. Questionable fanfic tags, but I love yall regardless. They kinda eats with all the Word Bearer fanarts tho I've seen. Sadly, Erebus is from here and everyone hates him.

Vulkan & Salamander fans (8/10): I would like to pet them. In all seriousness I'm happy to see the majority of Vulkan fanarts are created with African features in mind ♥︎!! Everyone from this fanbase are cute and sweet!!

Corvus Corax & RG fans (Birds/10): I love all the raven aesthetics often seen in their fanworks. Corvus having wings is so cool, and often I see amazing OCs spawning from this legion.

Alpharius Omegon & A.L fans (What are you guys doing/10): I can't find much about them but I fw with the entire 'we dont know what our primarch is doing so we just ball it'. BUT HEY CONGRATS ON YOUR PRIMARCH COMING BACK!!!

:3 And I love all of you... Thank you for reading this nonsense of a post.

[suguann]

tags. fem!reader, the overused 'i know we're supposed to be fwb but i fell in love with you anyway' trope, confessions, gojo mentally spiraling during sex over how much he's in love with you because that's a very him thing to do [18+ only]

Gojo can’t tear his eyes off you as you move above him—riding his cock like this would be the last time you’d ever feel it inside you. That thought twists his insides, his fingers digging into your hips as if you might float away before he ever really had a chance to voice the words he’s been too scared to say.

But he couldn’t really stop you if you wanted to leave—that’s how the groundwork of uncomplicated arrangements like these work, at least in the beginning. He likes to think that a lot has changed since that night in your living room between two drunk, lonely people with nothing to lose aside from your torn underwear in his haste to get them down your soft legs and an old condom tucked away in his wallet.

The feeling sneaks up on him without his knowing, a throbbing in his chest that festers and grows over time until he can’t ignore it anymore or contain it in the proverbial cup of his hands no matter how hard he tries.

It doesn’t dampen how much he wants to mold the shape of his cock inside your tight little cunt, to ruin you for anyone else who thought they even had a chance, to have his name be the first thing you think of when you cum. He wants to make every part of you his, and he only hopes you want the same thing, too.

He groans at the thought, gripping you tight to slam his hips up into you. “Tell me who’s fucking you so good. Tell me who’s the only one that gets to make you cum.”

“You, Toru!” you sob, holding onto his biceps to keep yourself from falling against his chest. It has his balls drawing up tight, and he sucks in a breath to stop this from being over too soon.

“That’s right, pretty girl,” he grunts. “I’m the only one who gets to see you like this. I’m the only one who gets to feel this sweet princess cunt.” He leans up to suck one of your nipples into his mouth, groaning when he feels you clench down around him.

“I-I’m gonna cum,” you choke out.

“Yeah?” His fingers circle over your clit as he shoves his cock deeper inside of you to take you there faster, nipping at the swell of your breast. “Fuck, give it to me, baby. Lemme feel it.”

His name is soft and sweet on your tongue as you cum, squeezing around him until his eyes roll back from how good it feels. It has him following after you, grinding his cock as far as it can go while he pulses and fills you to the brim. There’s so much that he feels it leak out of your little hole and drip down his balls to pool in an uncomfortable wet puddle forming beneath him.

He rolls away from the mess when you both catch your breath, his softening cock still tucked away between your wet thighs. You stroke his hair, your nails lightly scratching his scalp, and he buries his face into your chest, words weighing heavy in his chest.

Maybe he should cut the bullshit already, say what he wants to say, and get let down easy while he still has a chance to recover from rejection—

“Sleep with me?” he asks, voice muffled and a shade of red high on his cheeks.

You giggle, lightly tugging on his hair. “I probably need at least—”

“No,” he cuts you off nervously, heat rising to his ears. “No sex. Just to sleep…here. With me?”

When you don’t say anything right away, he wonders if there’s any way he can take back his words and whether you’d believe him if he told you it was all a joke. But then you tug the blanket over both of you, tucking the corners in so the air from the ceiling fan doesn’t reach your cooling skin, and continue running your fingers through his hair.

There’s a warmth in his chest, which he thinks might be what love feels like.

After a moment, you say, “If you steal the blankets, I’m kicking you off the bed.”

Gojo snorts, smiling against your breast. “But it’s my bed.”

You hum. “Yes, and I’ll do it anyway.”

“Just so we’re clear, I’m still going to fuck you later.”

“Go to sleep, Satoru.” He can’t see it but knows you’re smiling, too.

Masterlist

[eringobragh420]

🖤 Pairing: Damian Priest x f!Reader 🖤 Summary: Damian’s girlfriend is pissed off. 🛑 Warnings: NSFW. D/s undertones, rough, unprotected p in v, slapping, cum. 18+ 🖤 Notes: Spanish translations are at the end of the story. I do not speak Spanish, so if anything is incorrect, please let me know and I'll fix it! 🖤 Taglist: @eddiesrockstargirlfriend. If you'd like to be added, please click here! 🖤 MASTERLIST

“Don’t fucking touch me, Priest,” she says, yanking her arm out of his grasp before shoving his stupid, giant body as hard as she can. He stumbles back a couple steps, arms spread, palms to his girlfriend, and the unadulterated befuddlement painted on his face is enough to make her head explode.

“The hell’s wrong with you?” Damian chuckles.

“What’s wrong with me?” she screams. Damian’s smirk is gone in an instant and his muscles stiffen, bringing him to his full terrifying height, but she can’t back down now. Not after what she just saw. Fuck him and the click he claims. “The fuck is wrong with you?” she continues yelling. They’re drawing attention—well, she is, anyway—but she couldn’t care less. She wants these people—his friends, coworkers, bosses, fans—to know exactly how much Damian Priest sucks, what kind of man is, what kind of boyfriend he is.

“Come here,” he grumbles, snatching her bicep, squeezing hard enough she knows there will be a bruise left behind, and he lifts, nearly bringing her feet off the ground, making it completely impossible for her to escape this time. She feels like her shoulder is dislocating the closer they get to the locker room, and she’s nearly flung into the door when it opens unexpectedly.

“Everything … okay here?” Seth Rollins asks, chocolate eyes passing back and forth between the couple.

“Everything’s fine,” Damian roars, swinging the tiny woman inside the empty locker room. As she goes by, she lifts her middle finger at Rollins, who instantly backs away, hands up, not wanting any trouble. Damian releases his death grip on her arm before kicking the door closed behind him. “Okay.” He sets his hands on his trim hips, shrugging, big eyes and raised brows. “Seriously. What’s your problem?”

Her lips purse as she massages her arm and considers his question. On one hand, she’s pissed because the asshole should know what he did. On the other hand, she could accuse him only to have him deny it, and then what does she do? On the other, other hand—a much smaller, less significant, barely existing other, other hand—there’s a chance she’s wrong, and while it would be good news, she would be embarrassed, and their relationship would be damaged … if it isn’t already. But then the image from earlier flashes in her brain and, not only does she want to die a little, she believes she knows the truth, so decides to stay the course.

“You’re—” She clears her throat because suddenly it’s scratchy and it hurts much like the pain in her chest. “You’re cheating on me.”

The allegation hangs heavily in the ether. She feels stupid actually saying the words. She never, in a million years, would have believed him to be the type, but she knows what her eyes saw. Rhea Ripley—the incomparable, exquisitely beautiful—Rhea Bloody Ripley in Damian’s strong arms, her muscular legs wrapped around his waist. They weren’t kissing, but they might as well have been, and somehow, in her crumbling mental capacity, that alone served as plenty of evidence for an affair.

“What?” Damian asks, the tone of his voice lowering several levels. “I’m—” He pauses, shaking his head. “You think I’m cheating on you?”

“Yeah, Damian, you’re fucking cheating on me,” she replies with more force than she thought she was capable of.

He nods, plump lips forming a deep frown. “And you thought acting like a psychopath in front of everyone we know was the way to handle it?”

“I don’t hear you denying it,” she seethes, nostrils flaring. Her skin crawls at the thought of the two of them together. She wants to vomit imagining a life without her Papí. She just can’t fucking believe they’ve ended up here.

“I shouldn’t have to,” Damian replies, bending over to her height. “You’re talkin’ nonsense!”

“I saw you, Damian. I fucking saw both of you.”

He shakes his head, shoulders coming up to his ears as he considers her statement. And then it dawns on him—she watches in real time as the lightbulb flashes on above his stupid man bun. “Are you talkin’ about Rhea?”

Her mind is blank, erased like a math problem on a chalkboard, leaving her heart in control of her body—and right now?—that heart is fractured, splintering, promising to disintegrate at any given moment. She feels her feet moving of their own volition, closing the space between them. She stands before him for half a moment at less than half his height before reeling back and slapping him across the face. The palm of her hand erupts with fire, tears she’s been battling since the moment she witnessed the embrace now streaming freely down her contoured cheeks. Damian stands frozen, looking somewhere over her head. The muscles in his jaws flex as he clenches his teeth, inhaling long and hard through his nose. He opens his mouth to spin a web of lies, so she slaps him again before he can get started. She’s crying now because of the pain in her hand and the pain behind her ribcage, so she slaps him once again because it’s his goddamn fault. Damian catches her wrist as she makes another attempt, and this is a brand new pain.

“Mírame!” he bellows, backing her up until she slams into the nearest wall. She loses her breath a bit, but Damian places his free hand behind her head to prevent any impact. His grip on her wrist is unrelenting as he holds it against her chest. She is miniscule in this awkward embrace, her eyes looking everywhere but where he wants her to. But when he bends his knees and dips down to her level, ducking his head until he’s in her line of sight, she’s forced to meet his gaze. “I’m gonna make you pay for those slaps in a minute …” he cautions. His hand starts applying pressure to the back of her head. “But first I have to tell you, because for some reason you need to fucking hear it, I’m not cheating on you.” 

She swallows, having her breath stolen again because she feels the truth of his words vibrating her bone marrow. She also feels the shame and embarrassment of being wrong. With her free hand she struggles to unclamp his vice-like grip from her wrist, and having had enough of her shit, Damian grabs both wrists this time and smashes them into the wall above her.

“Do you hear me?” he carries on, with quite a bit more hostility than she’s used to, shoving his knee into the wall between her legs. His knee pad becomes a cushion for her pussy—he’s still in his gear, still sweaty, because she accosted him right after his match—elevating her to the toes of her sneakers, and she is completely at the mercy of Damian Priest.

“Yes,” she says through clenched teeth.

“Good. Do you believe me? Hmm?” Capturing both wrists in one hand, he cups her chin with the other and touches his cheek to hers. “Do you believe that I’d rather die than hear someone else call me Papí?” It’s actually an incredibly sweet confession, but the venom in his tone scorches the honey in his words.

She believes him. By all that is good and holy in this world, she believes him and she is equal parts mortified, thankful, and contrite. She’d allowed her imagination to run wild because of an act of love between close friends, never once considering having a civil conversation with either of them about how it clearly made her uncomfortable. Did she just cause a rift in their relationship? Contaminate it with her jealousy? How many people is she going to have to apologize to? Seth, for sure, although he usually deserves any middle finger aimed in his direction. Christ, what’s she gonna say to Rhea?

“Damian,” she whispers, doing everything she can to not sound pathetic, and if her own ears are to be trusted, she is failing miserably.

“No,” he interrupts her, “you started this. I’m gonna fucking finish it. Now answer me.”

She grits her teeth, rolling her hips unconsciously because the position he’s put her in isn’t all that comfortable, probably by design, and suddenly she remembers how and why she’s propped on her boyfriend’s thigh. Even the slightest friction renders a groan from her. Damian tilts his head, eyes unforgiving, a sable shade she’s never seen before, and she regrets having made any noise at all, no matter how unintentional. His cheek is transforming into a furious vermillion, and the guilt that washes over her is nearly unbearable. She has no hand left to play, not that she did in the first fucking place, and she resigns herself to the punishment she’s about to receive. Well-deserved punishment, she understands.

“Yes,” she breathes, his eyes boring into her, chipping away any residual resolve she might have left inside.

“¿Si, que?” he booms, as if he expected the incorrect response. His anger hasn’t abated.

She can’t feel her fingers anymore and she’s struggling to maintain balance on Damian’s thigh. The slightest lean this way or that sends jolts of pleasure throughout her body, and it’s a losing battle trying to keep the satisfaction off her face. “Yes, Papí,” she says, “I believe you.”

He eyes her for a long moment, searching her face for any clue she might be lying or still angry. She keeps her own eyes open and on him, seemingly baring her soul before him, feeling more vulnerable now than she has in her entire life. At last he pushes away from her and the wall, releasing her wrists, removing his thigh from between her legs, and maybe she misses that last part a little bit.

“Now take those off—” He points at her denim shorts. “—and bend the fuck over.” And then he moves his arm to the right, pointing at a giant WWE trunk on wheels wedged against the corner of the room. She knows her place, and she has her orders.

She kicks her shorts toward him, standing before him in nothing but a pair of Nike hightops, a white thong, and a t-shirt-turned-tube-top that demands the audience to ALL RISE. He doesn’t even look at her body before nodding toward the trunk, and Jesus Christ, she’s in so much trouble. She passes him while rubbing her wrists and when she’s standing less than a foot from the trunk, she realizes she’s too short for this fucking thing too. She glances at Damian over her shoulder, and he’s stomping toward her, and her heart jumps into her throat. She hops onto the trunk, tips of her shoes barely kissing the floor just like when she was straddling Damian’s thigh.

The smack to her right ass cheek echoes throughout the locker room, same with the slap to her left, and she yelps.  Damian grabs her hair and pulls, arching her back into a spine-busting half-circle. He lets go, but before she can fall forward, one of his huge hands clamps over her mouth and holds her in position. With the other, he wrenches at her thong to pull it aside—she hears the material rip at the same time—then bends her leg at the knee and props it onto the trunk beside her.

“You know, the jealousy is kinda sexy on you,” Damian comments. Now she feels his hand working at his pants as it bumps against her sore ass. Then comes a different kind of smacking as he swats the sensitive skin with the underside of his rigid cock. He traces the head along both cheeks and along the crack, on down until she feels the huge, blunt head at her soaking entrance. “But don’t you ever fucking slap me again.”

Without warning, he is wholly sheathed inside her, his hips slamming into hers. She cries out from behind his hand, clutching his wrist with one hand as the other claws at the trunk in a desperate search for leverage to launch herself away. Damian is not a small man, in any way, shape, or form, so he’s always allowed her a few minutes to get used to his size. Not this time. This is her penance. He squeezes her hip, in full control of her body, and he’s simply using her pussy to get off now, without regard for her pleasure. She feels almost like a fleshlight, but her hormones are confused because she’s wet as fuck and, whether he likes it or not, she’s liable to get off just from him fucking her.

Damian stretches across her backside, her spine still bowed, and his teeth scrape across the shell of her ear as he grunts, “Say you’re fucking sorry.” He removes his hand from her mouth.

She gulps oxygen before panting, “I’m sorry, Papí. I’m so fucking sorry.”

He kisses her sweaty neck and sighs, hanging his head over her shoulder in unison with slowing the pummeling of her pussy. “I’m sorry, too. Lo siento, mi vida.” His rhythm starts speeding up following several moments. “But I am gonna cum in this pussy,” he advises, standing up straight, gripping both hips. “And you are gonna walk outta here with it dripping down your thighs.”

“Yes, Papí.”

“Because I fucking love you.”

She groans, bucking back against him. “I love you, baby.”

One final thrust and he makes good on his promise. He even squeezes the base of his cock to make sure every drop is inside her before pulling out. He’s much more gentle with her now, his enormous hands sliding up her back to her shoulder and arm so he can assist her into a standing position. As soon as she turns to him, she grabs his face and pulls his lips to hers. Their kiss is long, deliberate, and by the time they’re finished, his hands are cupping her face and hers are clutching his neck, and goddamn it, she’s so fucking stupid. But love makes people do crazy things.

“Now what do I do?” she asks, holding up the tattered side of her thong. Damian inspects the damage, then takes the lacey material in both hands and rips it into several pieces, which fall one by one to the floor.

“Problem solved.”

🎀 Mírame - Look at me 🎀 Si, que - Yes, what 🎀 Papí - Daddy 🎀 Lo siento - I'm sorry

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

hii congrats on 5k!! i love your writing ! if you’re still celebrating could i request a carmy blurb where maybe you’re syd’s besite and carmy has this biggggest crush on you (im talking this mf is Yearning) and she gets on him sooo hard about it like teasing him and reader and him end up together ? TIA <3

Not So Secret.

carmen berzatto x female reader

warnings - cursing.

written for my 5k celebration- post here, masterlist here, inbox here.

“You’re gonna stare a hole through her fuckin’ head.”

“Shut up.”

Richie laughs, following Carmens eyeline to where it’s fixed on you.

You’re stood in the restaurant with Sydney, both of you giggling at something she’s showing you on her phone. When you look up, you smile at Carmy, all soft and sweet and like butter wouldn’t melt. He almost melts, a puddle of yearning on the kitchen floor.

Sugar appears next to the two of you, holding out a piece of paper.

“This is a really rough draft of what we kind of want them to look like. Obviously you have full control, but this is kind of the vibe?”

When Carmen mentioned wanting a more personal touch on the menus, Sydney quickly offered your services. You’re the most artistic person she knows, gifted with naturally gorgeous handwriting that almost looks like calligraphy. Plus, she knows how much everyone at The Bear likes you, having been a part of their transformation. It’s a win - win.

“Yeah, I get you. So you want the title words like Dessert in more of a cursive, and then the actual dishes and descriptions in a typeface?”

“Yes! Do your thing. We trust you.”

She gives you a side hug, careful not to hit you with her bump.

“I’m gonna need some nice paper, and probably a new calligraphy pen so I can start from scratch. I’m gonna head to the craft store, and I’ll be back.”

“Carmy will go with you!”

Richie shouts it from the doorway, where he’s been not so subtly watching the conversation. Carmy blushes, clearly caught off guard.

“He needs to go to the craft store too, right Cousin? Good. Go. Bye!”

Carmy’s practically being pushed out the door, uncomfortable and flustered. You smile reassuringly, grabbing your bag and walking over to your car.

“You’re okay with me driving?”

“Course. Shouldn’t I be?”

You laugh, and he can’t help but grin, the sound settling nicely into his ribcage to warm him up.

“I’m a good driver, I promise. Despite what Sydney might say.”

He looks worried but gets in anyway, ever trusting you and anything you do.

He can’t help but sneak glances at you as you drive. You’re completely focused on the road in front, bottom lip pulled between your teeth as you concentrate. Carmy feels heat bloom across his chest at the action, wishing he could reach out and release it for you before you draw blood.

A text chimes through the air, startling you both. You press the button on your steering wheel so your car can read the message out loud.

From Sydney: Carmy. Tell her immediately or I’ll lock you in the walk in freezer. Sick of you acting like a lovesick puppy. This is your chance. Don’t blow it, asshole. We’re all tired.

Both of you freeze, your hands tightening on the wheel. Carmy wants to throw himself out of the moving car, but decides against it at the last minute.

You pull the car into the craft store parking lot, choosing a space and yanking the handbrake on. You turn to him, looking at him for the first time since the bombshell.

He’s blushed all over, chest heaving and bottom lip pulled between his teeth. You almost want to reach out and release it for him, before he draws blood.

“Carmy.”

“I think, uh, yeah, I just - that was clearly sent to the wrong person. Not meant for you.”

You laugh, suddenly, and it spooks Carmy so much that he jumps out of his skin.

“Yeah, Carm. That I figured.”

He laughs with you then, unsure and nervous. You reach out and place a hand on his knee, trying to calm him down. It just makes his heart lurch.

“What’s Syd talking about? Tell me what?”

He looks down at his lap, hands knotted together.

“I think you know.”

“Wanna hear you say it,” you whisper.

He finds the courage to meet your gaze, taking a deep breath.

“I like you. So much. I can’t stop talking about you to anyone and everyone that’ll listen - to the point that everyone at The Bear gives me so much shit for it. Sydney won’t get off my back, either. She says I’m ‘yearning’.”

You chuckle, rubbing patterns into the material of his jeans with your thumb.

“They’ve all made bets,” he continues, “about if I’ll ever tell you or not.”

“Who bet on you? And who against?”

“Syd and Richie against me. Marcus too. Tina and Sugar are on my side. Not sure why.”

“Wanna make Tina and Sugar some money?”

He quirks a brow questioningly, eyes going wide when you lean over the centre console and plant your hands on either side of his face. You’re so close to him that your breaths tangle together, one set of lungs working overtime.

“Kiss me, Carm.”

He doesn’t think twice, closing the gap and pressing his lips to yours. You tangle your fingers in his hair, trying to pull him impossibly closer. His hands find your back, tugging you into him as much as the limited space allows.

You whine when he bites at your lip gently, and he has to pull away to take a steadying breath before he passes out.

“You should get your eyes checked.”

He tries to process for a moment.

“Huh?”

“You must be blind if you can’t see how much I like you, Carm. How much I’ve always liked you.”

He grins at you, bright and white, and you shake your head before leaning in to kiss him again.

When you don’t make it back into the restaurant that day, everyone has never been happier to not see the both you.

[gloomskulls]

LIMERENCE [tasm!peter parker]

pairings: tasm!peter parker x reader

part 2

warning(s): obessive peter, creep peter, stalking, masturbation, panty sniffing, dirty thoughts, breaking in, just peter being hopelessly in love. If any of this finds you uncomfortable, please click out do yourself (and me also) a favor. lemme know if I missed any! MINORS DO NOT READ

summary: For Peter Parker, the deepest secret is not being Spider-Man. It's that he likes you, no he loves you, wants you in any imaginable way possible. After years of quietly admiring you from a distance, everything changes after a biology project that partners you two together. Peter sees a glimpse of chance to get nearer to you, but the line of affection and obsession begins to blur

If you don't want to see my dark stories in the future please block the tag #madi: dark content

A/n: my first ever fic posted on Tumblr, yippee! This is also my first ever smut so it probs be equivalent to horse poo but anyways, this also takes place in tasm 2. don't steal any of the shit I've written or else i'm gonna turn you into Vicky from Terrifier/srs

Peter didn't understand what was so special about you, you were just a crush. Or that's what he convinced himself. Every single place you were in, Peter would carefully trail behind you, like there was a magnet strapped onto you, and Peter was the metal, he would always find himself drawing next to you. Peter Parker was no stranger to keeping secrets. It was, after all, the epitome of his double life. A mask, a costume, a name that wasn't his at all. There was one secret, however, that even the Spider-Man's mask couldn't cover—his growing infatuation towards you.

It started out really simple. You decided to give back the nerdy boy's pencil in sophomore year and defended him from Flash Thompson in his junior year, it was all simple really, something a person with decency and was taught with proper manners would do. But Peter took it as more than that.

Candid photos here and there, purposefully falling of his skateboard so you would help him, cryptic notes in your locker, sometimes a random flower if Peter was lucky to find any.

Limerence, as some might say

The first people who would ever notice Peter's strange behavior where the people who raised him. Uncle Ben would notice this girl in the screen of his nephew's computer, so did Aunt May when she saw many polaroid photos of the same face underneath Peter's bed. Peter shrugged it off, saying the same exact words to the both of them.

'she's just a crush'

Peter Parker was very good at being hidden in the open. Sure, he didn't want to be invisible, but it is what it is. One of the self-working "losers" with horrible punchlines and pretty much the face screaming "nerd". Well, it didn't bother Peter much. He had many other more important things to think about. You

It's been years now. It was already the last year of senior year, graduation was already nearing, still, he hasn't mustered up the courage to do speak to you, afraid that you won't reciprocate the same feelings he has. His been watching you from a distance, stealing glances in class and making mental notes on all the little things you did, like doodling on the corners of your notebooks or, how you tucked your hair behind your ear when you were concentrating. He knew that it was weird, creepy even, but Peter couldn't stop himself.

So, when Mr. Warren announced a paired project for biology, Peter's internal monologue kicked into overdrive.

"Pair work begins today," Mr. Warren said, his smile a gruff overture that still Peter thought unnecessary. "Choose your partners wisely, just choose somebody you will along with. You can really screw up over this project if you don't!"

The room broke out into a low buzz as students shuffled their chairs and moved toward their friends. Peter didn't move. He never did. Choosing a partner was like finding a needle in a haystack type of task for him

Alright, Pete, it is not such a big deal. You are not going to end up with her or anything. Just relax, find someone cool, and—

"Peter!"

Your voice broke through his thoughts, and he looked up to see you in front of his desk, clutching a notebook to your chest

"By any chance do you have a partner? My friends kind of made their own pairs" you asked, your lips curving into an easy smile.

Peter blinked. His brain short-circuited.

"N-nope. I'm totally solo. Flying solo. A lone wolf. A…"

"Awesome! Then let's team up."

Peter turned to you, his mind racing, he blinked, trying to absorb this. You were choosing him? He nodded frantically; his heart was hammering at a top speed that he was convinced you could hear it

You smiled at him, you fucking smiled at him

For the rest of the class Mr. Warren instructed everyone to plan for the project for the rest of the class. You kept bouncing ideas back and forth, and Peter felt a strange, thrilling sensation of in his heart. You were funny, clever, and surprisingly very easy to communicate with. Every time you laughed at one of his jokes, he felt like he was soaring.

When the bell rang, you packed your things and turned to him. "We should work on this at my place. Tomorrow after school?"

Peter nearly dropped his notebook. "Uh, yeah. Totally. I mean, yes. That works. Perfect. So super normal."

You laughed again. "Cool. Here's my address."

And with that, you scribbled it on a scrap of paper and handed it to him before walking away, leaving Peter frozen in his seat.

That night, Peter was sitting in his room staring at the address. To most people, that was just a little detail, probably not even worth a second thought. But to Peter, it was an invitation, or perhaps a key, even just for a second to get into your life. To know every little thing about you

Unfortunately, though, that's not enough.

He felt his hands shaking as he opened the drawer in his desk to reveal a small trove of hidden treasures; poorly taken pictures of you from a distance, bits of paper that you had thrown away during math class, and a small stash of hair strands that he meticulously collected from your hair comb when you weren't looking

This was love, wasn't it? The desperate consuming desire to be around her, to know everything about you.

And tomorrow, he shall get his chance.

You invited him, but Peter just knew it was really more than what you would ever willingly give.

His love was a web, and you were stepping into it, one delicate thread at a time.

Peter stood outside your house with a crumpled piece of paper clutched in his rather sweaty hand. The address on it was correct, but doubt clouded him. What if she had forgotten about this meeting? What if this was simply a joke? No, she would never do that, he tried to convince himself

Peter Parker was standing at your porch. Each thump of his heart sounded like one of the drums in the music club. He raised his hand to knock, hesitating for a moment. Maybe it was a terrible idea to come here after all; he could fake being sick, sending her an apology while rescheduling. Just then, the door swung open before he even had the chance to run.

"Hey, you found my house, I actually thought you would get lost cause I wrote the wrong color of the rooftop on the note" you said while stepping aside to let him enter.

"I was actually hesitant to knock, because it didn't look like the description" He quietly said. You actually got everything right, I was just being a huge pussy so I didn't come immediately, he thought to himself.

"Come in. I have started working on the diagram."

Peter plasted a grin and forced his legs down inside. "Well, look at you. Overachieving already. I guess I'll just sit back and let you do all the hard work."

You rolled your eyes and laughed, your voice making him feel that the world wasn't so bad after all. "Nice try, Parker. Grab a marker. You're on label duty."

"Come on, we can work in the dining area," you said, leading him across the house.

The dining table was already loaded with supplies, with textbooks scattered everywhere, colored pencils, sheets of poster paper, you name it. You positioned herself and gestured to him to join you.

You fell into a rhythm, your hand sketching the parts of the circulatory system while Peter scrawled out the labels in his neatest handwriting. He cracked jokes every few minutes, drawing out your laughter like a lifeline. It would be so easy to lose himself in the moment, pretend that you both were just two friends hanging out and not a guy hopelessly infatuated with someone who didn't even know half the truth about him.

Both of you had a relatively smooth first hour of working, few questions were asked here and there on the project. Peter kept his answers short, being extra cautious with what to share, but it seemed you did not mind. You sketched diagrams, jotting down notes with an ease that made Peter's hands tremble every time he made an attempt to help.

"So Peter," you suddenly announced after the silence, "why is it that you don't talk very much? At school I mean"

The question staggered him, rendering him blank while the colored pencil just hovered above the page.

Peter jerked up his head and looked surprised. "What do you mean? Talking is what I do. I mean, there's even people begging me to stop."

You smirked but didn't let it down. "I mean really, you're funny but I know nothing about you. What's your thing, Peter Parker?"

He didn't answer immediately but fiddled with the marker. "I'm just… some guy. Pretty boring, honestly. Not much to tell."

Your expression softened, "I don't buy that. You're not boring".

Your words made Peter's chest tighter. He wanted to believe you, yet the voice at the back of his mind reminded how wrong youwere. If you only knew the real him, the guy who had spent countless nights staring at your window, memorizing your every move, you wouldn't be smiling and sitting here before him.

"Hey, don't overthink it. You're cool. Let's just finish this masterpiece, okay?" you said, flicking his arm before he could answer.

Peter smiled forcedly

And when they finished the day's work, you walk him to the door once more, your smile as warm as ever.

"Thanks for coming over," you said. "You're actually a pretty decent partner, Parker."

"Decent?!" Peter gasped, clutching his chest in mock offense. "Wow. Don't hold back; tell me how you really feel."

And you laughed, shaking your head. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Peter waved. You waved back at him, as he strolled down the street, but he did not go very far. Instead, he found himself across the street in the same place, hidden under the shadow of the oak tree.

you were in your living room again, curled around a blanket and a pillow as you watched whatever was on your screen, your face glowing softly from the light of the television. Peter leaned against the tree with both hands shoved in his jacket pockets and simply watched.

How long he'd been there, he couldn't tell, but he didn't want to leave. This was the closest he ever felt with you, even if you didn't know he was here.

He knew this was crossing the line, but he couldn't help himself. He found himself sneaking into your house. Now he really felt like a robber trying to intrude a home, expect he wasn't really going to steal anything, or so he thought.

It was late at night, you and your family were already asleep at this point

Peter knew that the right thing to do was to head home. He knew for sure that this crossed a line even he wasn't sure he could come back from. But before he could stop himself, he was moving, slipping across the street and into the shadows of your yard.

His palms were slick with sweat as he scanned the side of the house. The metal trellis leading up to your window wasn't very solid, but it would hold him if he was careful.

He carefully climbed the trellis, not putting too much weight on it. And his heart was pounding as he got to your window, his fingers brushing against the cool glass.

It wasn't locked.

At that moment, his body froze. The rational part of him screamed to stop, to climb back down and pretend this never happened. But then his hand was on the window. And that soft sound of it sliding open seemed to be deafeningly loud in the stillness of the night.

He slipped into his feet and landed silently on the carpeted floor. Your room smelled of lavender and something warm and sweet like vanilla. A little bit of moonlight filtered through the curtains and brightened the room in pale silver.

There she was

You laid curled up in your bed, the blankets pulled up to your shoulders, your face peaceful in sleep. Peter’s breath caught in his throat. You looked so serene, so utterly perfect, that it made his chest ache.

He stood there for what felt like an eternity, just watching you. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting to feel—satisfaction, maybe, or relief. But all he felt was a strange mix of awe and guilt.

This was wrong.

He knew it.

But he couldn’t bring himself to leave.

He looked around your room, it was full of polaroids of either you or your friends.

He started walking around your room quietly, careful to not wake you up in your slumber, because God knows what will happen if you saw him in your room with all its glory, he couldn't even imagine the disgust on your face.

But one thing caught his eye

Your bathroom was open, and in your bathroom was a basket with what he assumed inside were dirty laundry.

He knew it was disgusting, heck, over the top creep award would probably go to him, but he found himself walking towards the bathroom. It was wrong, but he still did it, he needs to get help, he thought to himself.

One second ago he was walking towards your bathroom, next thing you knew he was rummaging through your dirty laundry, occasionally smelling some of your shirts. He cherished the way your scent overwhelmed his nose, he was in Cloud 9.

While he was rummaging, a little piece of clothing caught his eye. With shaky hands he picked up the piece of clothing, it was your pink underwear with little cherries scattered everywhere as design.

He brought it near to his nose. He suddenly sat down in the neat cold tiles of the bathroom floor, he smelt it as if it was his oxygen.

He let out a small moan. He didn't know if it was an invisible force making him do such things, but he found his hands unbuttoning his pants

Peter Parker sat in the rest room; hand clasped tight around the lacy edge of the pink panty. He took out his hardened length of his boxers. The scent of dirty panties wafted his nose.

He imagined you wrapped around his throbbing cock, he thought of the feeling of your tight little pussy riding his cock, he wanted the sweet nectar from your lips, while having a feast on your quivering hole. His cock throbbed in his palms, his hands were much faster now, stroking his hardened cock. He had to bite his tongue to keep himself from moaning

Why was he doing this? You were literally there, outside the bathroom, sleeping. And Peter was here, out in the open, jerking off to the smell of your used panties

He was drenched in sweat as his hairs stuck to his wet forehead. He fantasized about your perky tits; perfect little nipples erect in anticipation. Pumping the shaft rapidly, imagining you on all fours begging for more, the bounce of your tits while riding him moaning his name like a mantra, Peter, fuck Peter, Peter, oh my God!

Peter was breathing heavily, his release was near, he profusely pumped his manhood, his hands and cock covered in his sticky pre-cum.

He wanted to feel you inside him, want you to quiver in pleasure as he fucks you over and over again.

He felt a sudden wave of pleasure hitting him, before he knew it, he released a flooded torrent of jizz into sticky cum as it scattered all over the floor. He slumped against the wall, heaving as he tried to steady his racing heart. He looked outside the door, finding you in the same spot as you were. You were sleeping oh so peacefully

He gazed at you, his heart full of unfulfilled yearning. He desperately wanted to be part of your world, to be someone you chose to let in. Yet no matter how many jokes he made or how close you seemed; he knew deep in his heart that he was not enough.

A soft sound broke the silence.

Peter's eyes snap to the bed, and his stomach lurch at the realization that you were stirring. Your brows knitted, your breathing started shifting, just as if you were going to wake up.

He immediately threw your panties back into the basket as he stood up and fixed his underwear and pants

He felt panic surging him, he immediately sprinted near the window. It made a loud a thud, now he was fucked

He moved quickly and quietly without thinking as he quietly ran towards the window. Just as you were about to opene your eyes, he slipped stealthily past the fluttering of curtains.

He tried scrambling down the trellis and found the ground, shivering and shaking as he did so.

He was hidden in a shadow corner, looking up towards your window. You were sitting up now, rubbing your eyes and looking around your room with a sleepy confusion.

Peter's chest tightened.

What's the matter with him?

He hurried as he turned away, his footsteps quiet against the pavement

The cool night air wrapped around Peter Parker like a cold, suffocating blanket as he walked back toward his house. Each step seemed to slant further and further as if his sneakers were scuffing wet against the cracked pavement in a slow and deliberate rhythm.

It was as if the world had gone still—entirely quiet. No cars were heard, no distant chatter, no hum of the city. Just Peter, the quiet whistle of wind through leaves, and the pounding thuds of his thoughts.

With that, he shoved his hands deep into his jacket pockets, his fingers curling into tight fists. Replaying the scene, he heard the soft sound of your breathing, the warmth of your room, and the way you stirred in your bed as if you had felt him there.

What the heck are you doing, Parker? He hadn't intended to climb into your room. He hadn't intended for it to get this far. Watching from the shadows was one thing, but tonight… tonight he had crossed a line.

He stopped moving and leaned against the lamppost, his breath escaping him in short, sharp gasps. Above him, the light flickered, shining unevenly across his shadow on the ground.

"This isn't me," he whispered to himself, the voice trembling.

But wasn't it?

Hadn't he been staring at you for years, taking notes while you weren't looking, memorizing all of your movements, laughter, and smiles? He had told himself that it was just harmless admiration from a distance, but now it was clear.

What would you think if you knew?

He sighed, Peter threw back his head and gazed up at the sky. Above him the stars, though cold and distant, seemed on to him— judging him in silence.

With the words of Uncle Ben echoing in his mind, With great power comes great responsibility, Peter winced.

Peter's jaw clamped down. Not great power; not yet. But wasn't all this part of it? Taking responsibility for his actions, owning up to his mistakes before they spiraled uncontrollably out of hand?

It hit him like a gut punch.

He wouldn't ever be able to take it back. Nor would he ever be able to wipe away the fact that he'd violated your space, your privacy, in a way you might never forgive. But he could stop it from going any further. He could ensure that you never found out.

@gloomskulls 2024. DON'T COPY, TRANSLATE OR USE ANY OF MY WORKS HERE OR ANY OTHER WEBSITES. Photos don't belong to me

[guardianofnightmares]

Forbidden

At that moment Bumblebee finally realized that he couldn’t keep the paranoid thoughts locked inside his processor anymore.

He desperately needed to speak to his friends, consequences be damned. He had to make sure that he’s not glitched in a processor. That what he got himself into was a right course of action for any good-natured Bot.

... or, rather, for any sensible Prime.

Hence why, after making a deep inhale, a minibot finally forced the dreaded words out of his intake:

"... is it wrong that I feel... bad for the prisoners? That I... periodically... h-help them?"

----------

Hello everyone, long time no see). Can hardly believe it's been a whole year since the last @blitzbee-week event and man, was I glad to participate in it once more. All of works were submitted on time to an event chat, but, unfortunately, I am uploading them here only now (full-time job drains me up).

Anyways, here is my first drawing from BlitzBeeWeek event Promts List. I think it will be fair to mention that this and next couple of my works will be dedicated to my fanfic called "TFA: Icarus". I will leave a link [here] for anyone interested to give it (and an existing teaser) a try. And yes, I am, in fact, going to finally upload first chapters pretty soon, it's happening, guys))). Thanks a ton for everyone who left their kudos there throughout a year, you have given me courage to put this behemoth of a story on paper and actually work it through.

As for the current entry for an event, I will provide part of a draft to one of chapters which is related to a depicted scene. It'll be "hidden" under a cut line for anyone wishing to get a more... fleshed out picture of what's going on here. Hope you'll enjoy reading it)

----------

“Bumblebee… are you listening to me?”

It was beyond confusing for Ratchet to see a younger Bot acting so out of touch with reality. He’s hunched over a console, helm resting in one servo while a wielding tool was twirled slowly in digits of another. Bumblebee looked so tired, clearly not caring about a task at servo, nor about an advice coming from his elder friend.

White and red Autobot knew how cheerful Bumblebee got each time they met via video calls, clearly waiting for a chance to talk to old teammates, even if these calls didn’t last long. That’s why him being so silent and lost in own thoughts was that much more worrying to witness. 

Upon being prompted again, the young bot finally raised his optics, the weight of his gaze almost making Ratchet flinch in surprise - to think that a recently promoted Prime was capable of behaving so out of character was indeed an alarming sign of change. 

The truth was, the minibot couldn’t help but to act all secretive, as if he’s done something wrong. 

Because, all things considered, he has. 

Minibot was well aware of what his actions could lead up to. All those rendezvous and revelations were such a dangerous subject to talk about, something that surely could lead him to being court marshaled if he’s caught by anybot. And what’s even worse - Bumblebee wasn’t certain whether telling friends what’s been troubling him was a good idea. 

Surely they’d not rat him out… but would they continue interacting with a yellow Autobot if he shared said secret with them? Wouldn't it be more mature of him to leave mechs oblivious (in order to protect them) and let his fears to silently fester in his processor?

... yet, to his shame, a minibot felt his resolve to keep his intake shut breaking upon seeing a haunted expression on Ratchet’s faceplates. Bumblebee wished he hadn’t looked up into the wise optics of his, those that seemed to read him as an unlocked datapad. How could he play it cool when a medic was looking at him in such a manner?

“…kid?” Now Ratchet was truly worried for his companion. He wasn’t even certain he’s ready to hear an explanation, but knew in his spark that he had to get to the bottom of a problem for minibot's sake.

At that moment Bumblebee finally realized that he couldn’t keep the paranoid thoughts locked inside his processor anymore.

He desperately needed to speak to his friends, consequences be damned. He had to make sure that he’s not glitched in a processor. That what he got himself into was a right course of action for any good-natured Bot. 

… or, rather, for any sensible Prime. 

Hence why, after making a deep inhale, a minibot finally forced the dreaded words out of his intake:

“… is it wrong that I feel… bad for the prisoners? That I… periodically… h-help them?” 

… a fleeting moment or relief at voicing his concerns instantly evaporated, changed to regret once he saw Racthet’s optics widening beyond usual capacity and heard Optimus sputtering and coughing on his energon ration off the camera. 

Such reaction made Bumblebee hide his helm between shoulder pauldrons in a clear sign of dread - so much for the support coming from teammates it seemed. 

“What?” Optimus asked after standing up from a table he’s sitting next to, the stool screeching audibly after a mech span in it. “Help them? What do you mean by that, Bumblebee? Are you alright? Do they… force you to do something for them or..?”

Minibot didn’t answer any of those questions. Wasn’t able to do it under the searching gaze of an elder mech’s optics which seemed to pin him to his own stool. Bumblebee felt like energon was going to freeze in his lines and tubes from a rising horror. Time seemed to stop for him, not unlike inner mechanisms in a frame of his. He couldn't utter a single sound, words swimming in a jumbled mess that was his processor.

What could he possibly say in his defense, now that his teammates knew of his secret? That there was a proper reason for him to feel pity for the inmates? That he was the only one to keep those mechs alive because nobody else did? That perhaps, Primus help him, all this time they were held in prison, somebot tried to take them out of game by starving them to their deaths?

A yellow Bot clearly hasn’t thought the conversation through, just as he always did, hasn't prepared himself for such a reaction even, and now that mistake was biting his aft. 

But then… then minibot heard something that immediately tore him from a panicking state he got stuck in. 

“I’ll take care of it, Prime.” Ratchet announced in a calm tone, breaking the tense silence which settled over the video call. Bumblebee was so stunned that he didn’t register those words right away, looking dumbly at warm optics of a mech on the other side of a call line. 

“But-“ 

“Optimus.” Medic cut off his commanding officer in a stern but good-natured manner, showing that he knew what he’s doing. Trusting the judgement of an older Bot, red and blue mech nodded to him and stepped away from a console, giving both of his friends some room to talk to each other. 

Young Prime could hardly believe what he’s been witnessing in front of him. Afraid to hope that his situation might’ve not been so dire after all. Baiting his breath, he watched red and white Bot turning to him again and leaning closer to a screen.

“Bumblebee, tell me, what’s happening back on Cybertron.” Ratchet asked his young friend, trying to look as non-threatening as possible, ready to tentatively listen to everything minibot’s about to say. 

And that’s when Bumblebee understood, felt it in his spark which gleefully thrummed in his chest that his old teammates were not mad at him - only worried for his well-being. Said realization made the built up over orbital cycles tension leave his frame and gave him courage to answer as honestly as he could.  

“You don’t know even half of what's going on, guys,” He stated after a breath moment of silence, then scooted on his chair closer to a screen as well and continued speaking in a hushed tone as to not to be heard by anyone else on his side of a video call. 

While retelling the recent events, which took place in Tripticon Prison, young Prime couldn’t help but periodically glance at a screen to his right side, a list of main convicts taking up most of its surface. 

Their stern gazes seemed to burn a viewer with hostility. Evil, cold, sparkless optics on unsightly faceplates. That’s what fellow guards always tended to whisper to each other either in fear or in bold mockery while walking down the hallways.

But to Bumblebee the very same pairs of optics, those he'd looked into more times then any of the local mechs, more then his friends even, told another story. Each time he saw Decepticons, bound and stripped of their weapons, there was no rage in their expressions, nor malice or contempt - only an eternal tiredness, hopelessness... and resignation with Fate.

Warframes. Mighty mechs being brought to their knees and stripped of their pride. Truly a sight which made minibot feel more miserable then three inmates he tried to take care of.

“Bossbot… Ratchet… please, come back here as soon as you can," Recently promoted Prime finally said as a conclusion to his speech. "I… I am afraid I won’t be able to handle this situation on my own anymore.”

[seungkw1]

sketchbook — xmh

♡ pairing: xu minghao x gn!reader ♡ theme: best friends to lovers, college au, fluff ♡ wc: 3.1k ♡ warnings: none

“why did i sign up for this stupid class?”

you mumbled it under your breath, but your best friend still heard it from across the room. he looks up from the book he’s reading, a concerned frown on his face.

“what’s wrong with the class?” he closes his book, his eyes resting on yours.

“the class is fine it’s just… i’m just bad at it.”

“i highly doubt that.” he gets up, joining you at your kitchen table currently cluttered with textbooks, homework, and various drawing materials. he reaches for your sketchpad. “let me see.”

“nuh-uh,” you say, closing the book. he grabs it from you anyway.

“minghao! come on,” you shout at him. he ignores you, flipping through the pages.

“most of those are shitty reject drawings that i started and gave up on, nobody needs to see those.”

he continues perusing through the book quickly, but pauses at a particular page. you take the chance and reach for the sketchpad again, grabbing hold of it.

“wait! i like this one.”

you glance at the drawing he’s looking at. it’s the side profile of a classmate, drawn as a warm-up exercise.

“what? that was just a warm-up sketch, and it’s not even good. it looks nothing like the girl i was drawing.”

minghao looks up at you. “that doesn’t mean it’s bad. art isn’t necessarily about drawing things exactly the way they look, it’s about your interpretation of the subject. that’s like the whole point.”

“i wasn’t interpreting anything here, i was literally just trying to draw her face.”

“but look,” he says, turning the book so you can see it. “look at the way she’s looking into the distance. she looks sad, but in a nostalgic way.”

you stare at the sketch. “i don’t see it.”

“but that’s part of it too - art isn’t always about knowing the exact meaning of the piece, it’s also open to interpretation on the viewer’s perspective. and i like the way you portrayed her emotion.” 

you narrow your eyes at him. “you’re just making that up to make me feel better.”

“i’m not! i promise. i really like your art style, y/n.”

you want to roll your eyes at him, but he looks too sincere. “okay but how can i have an art style if i literally started drawing two weeks ago at the start of the semester? i don’t even know what i’m doing.”

“look at all your drawings though,” he flips the pages one at a time. “you press really hard when you draw, so it gives everything a very bold, sharp look. and combined with the way you shade, it gives it a dramatic edge.”

you look at your sketches again. they’re still unsightly in your eyes, but you do kind of see what he means.

“well, that’s good to know i guess. but it’s still hard,” you mope. “i thought this would be an easy elective to get an A in but now i’m worried.”

“it’s an intro class - i’m sure the professor isn’t expecting you to be picasso on day one. just keep practicing and you’ll be perfectly fine.”

one of the many things you love about minghao: he always knows how to make you feel reassured. 

“you’re probably right,” you reply. “i don’t know what i should draw for practice, though.”

“well, what do you want to improve the most?”

you think for a second. “our next project is a life drawing, but drawing people is so hard. so maybe that but what am i supposed to do, just draw random people?”

“sure, why not?”

“because that’s weird!”

“okay, well it doesn’t have to be a random person. here, try drawing me.”

“you?? right now?”

“yeah.”

you open your mouth to protest, but you pause, realizing it might not be a bad idea. 

you shrug as you reach for your pencils. “okay, i guess. you can't get mad when it turns out terrible though.”

minghao smiles softly. he situates himself in the chair, focusing his gaze off in the distance. you pick up your sketchbook, holding it at a comfortable angle as you hold your pencil above the page. you think for a minute - you never know where to start when you have to draw a face. you glance back up at minghao, skimming across his features - naturally, you land on his eyes. you always forget how pretty they are: dark brown, soft, calm - giving him a permanent aura of being deep in thought. 

you look back down at the blank page, it's emptiness seemingly taunting you. with a sigh you touch the dulled lead tip to the paper, making your first stroke -  the curvature of minghao’s eyelid appearing on the page. you peep back up at your subject. to your surprise, your shape isn't too far off from reality. you continue, sketching his lower eyelid, his iris, his long dark eyelashes. you erase your marks a few times when they don't look quite right, but before long the image of an eye that looks mostly like minghao’s has formed. 

you move to his nose, drawing the line of its sharp bridge, sketching a circle to render its round, button-shaped end - bringing the shape of his face to life. you peer up at his face, your pencil continuing its strokes, but you pause as you arrive at his lips. they are soft, plump, perfectly formed, highly kissable. you sketch the delicate curves, emphasizing their pillowy nature. you find yourself absentmindedly in a trance when you realize you’ve been staring at him for too long - you’ve already finished drawing his mouth. you feel your cheeks turn warm, praying he can’t see you getting flustered out of the corner of his eye. 

you move on, sketching his soft but strong jawline, his ears - adorned with his usual jewelry, adding quick wispy lines to form the shape of his long hair. before long the essence of minghao has materialized in your notebook.

as you finish, you hold your sketchpad up to compare your drawing to your subject. you don’t love it, and it’s nowhere near perfect. but it is decidedly good enough.

“okay, i’m done, i guess.” you set the notebook down, hesitantly sliding it across the table toward minghao. he picks it up, turning it to face him as he looks at it for the first time. the edges of his mouth twitch upward into a subtle smile, but he doesn’t say anything.

“you hate it.”

minghao looks up at you. “what? no, i love it.” he looks back at the paper with a pleased grin. “i’m telling you, you’re really good at portraying emotion.”

“and what emotion exactly did i portray?”

he shows you your drawing. “i look wistful - like i’m caught in a daydream of unrequieted love.”

you feel your stomach do a flip, but you play it cool, crossing your arms and rolling your eyes at him. “well, i didn’t do that on purpose. but i’m glad you like it.” you extend your hand to take back the notebook, but he turns it toward him again, taking another look. 

“can i keep it?” he looks up at you, his striking brown eyes making contact with yours. you stifle a gulp as you reply.

“um… sure, i guess so. if you really want it.”

he gives you a soft smile, pleased at your response. “i really do.” he carefully tears the page along the perforation, separating it from its spiral binding. he closes the sketchbook and hands it back to you. you return it to its place in your backpack.

“well, thanks for letting me practice on you, i appreciate it.”

“of course. if you need any more practice let me know - since i see you most days anyway.”

“you’re the best.”

“i know,” he replies smugly. you pick up your eraser and lob it at him. he manages to catch it with one hand, giving you a sly look as you jump out of your chair, running from him before he can throw it back. he follows you, chasing you around your apartment - you shout at him, feigning anger, but your laughter gives you away. 

another thing you love about minghao: being with him is always so easy.

—

you didn’t mean to make drawing minghao a regular occurrence. but on one particularly crisp fall day, you find yourself absentmindedly sketching his features as you eat lunch together in the park. he’s reading for his literature class, and you’re supposed to be studying for your sociology course, but you keep zoning out. it’s not your fault that the text is dull, and that the cherub-like rosiness coloring his cheeks makes him look more ethereal than usual. renaissance paintings of angels have nothing on how beautiful he looks right now, you think to yourself. 

you also definitely didn’t mean to start falling for your best friend, but here you are.

delicate pencil strokes paint the wisps of his bangs falling over his eyes as he is studiously engrossed in his book, his long eyelashes peeking through the curtain of hair. you focus on perfecting the shape of his face - glancing up to compare your rendering to your subject - when you notice him looking back at you.

“what are you doing?” he asks, genuinely curious.

you’re about to shut your notebook in a panic, when you realize that would only look more suspicious. 

“nothing, just…”

he reaches for your notebook, his fingers brushing over the top of the page as he tilts it down so he can see. he lets out a soft chuckle.

“practicing again, i see,” he says, casually, but clearly teasing you a little. “i thought you were supposed to be studying for your sociology exam.”

“i am,” you insist. he raises his eyebrow at you. “i was just taking a break,” you add. the look on his face tells you he’s not convinced, but he doesn’t press you further.

“it looks good, i can tell you’re getting better at drawing from a reference.”

“i guess it is getting a little easier,” you admit. 

minghao smiles. “good,” he affirms, before going back to his text without another word. 

you find yourself gazing dreamily at the man before you, lost in aimless thoughts, imagining the feel of his hair tangled around your fingers, his skin softly pressed against your cheeks, his lips brushing against yours. eventually he notices, peeking up at you through his bangs. you swiftly return to your drawing, only to realize you've already finished. his portrait looks slightly cartoonish, and nowhere nearly as beautiful as the real thing, but you decide it's not half bad. 

you half-heartedly resume your studies, sneaking glances at minghao here and there. every glimpse makes your heart flutter - you feel like an idiot, you're in college for christ's sake, and here you are having an entire crush on your closest friend. 

just tell him how you feel, part of your mind tries to convince you. 

but what if it ruins our friendship? another part of you worries. 

you realize you're staring at him again when he looks up from his book, his gaze meeting yours. 

“hmm? what is it?” he asks you calmly. 

“i…” 

you hesitate. his eyes rest on your face attentively.

you let out a small sigh. “i’m getting cold. can we go inside?”

he smiles softly, marking his page as he closes his book. “of course.”

minghao walks you to your next class, which is conveniently located in the building next to his next class. 

“well, see ya later,” you tell him as you turn to enter the building. 

“y/n…”

you freeze as he grabs your arm. you turn back around, looking at him expectantly. he lifts his hand up to your head, tenderly reaching for your hair. you realize you're holding your breath. you exhale as his fingers graze your scalp softly, plucking something off of your head. 

he holds a small yellow piece up to you. “you had a leaf in your hair.” 

your panicking ceases, leaving you a bit disappointed, but you can't help but smile at him.

“thanks, minghao. what would i do without you?”

“walk around with leaves in your hair all day, probably.”

you playfully give him a light shove. he reaches for the door, opening it for you as you head off to class. 

“i'm coming over tonight, if that's alright,” he says as you step through the doorway. 

“of course,” you say, turning over your shoulder to face him. “though, i should probably start charging you rent as much as you're at my place.”

he smiles back at you. “see you later, y/n.”

he disappears as the door shuts quickly. you spend the rest of the afternoon in a daydream, impatiently counting the hours until you see him again. 

—

“how’s the studying going?” minghao asks from the other end of the couch. he sets his book down, pausing so he can take his hoodie off. his plain black t-shirt rises up as he does, revealing his entire midriff. you try not to gawk too hard. he stares at you as he tosses the hoodie aside - you realize he is awaiting your response. 

you look down at your notebook, where you’ve once again been sketching his face. “um… pretty good,” you lie. “are you hungry?” you ask, changing the subject.

“starving, actually,” he admits.

“well, i can offer you ramen, or… actually, that’s about it.”

he grins at you. “ramen sounds great. want me to make some-”

“nope,” you respond as you flip your notebook over, setting it face down on the seat next to you. “i got it.” you rise and head to the kitchen. 

you cook the noodles, serving them into two bowls and carrying them back to the living room. you set the bowls on the coffee table, reaching over to set one in front of minghao - but you feel your leg bump against something. you look down to see your notebook fall to the floor - landing right side up. before you can grab it, minghao has already picked it up for you. he goes to hand it back to you, but pauses as he sees your sketches. you go to swipe it out of his hands, but miss as he pulls back, looking at his own face doodled on your pages.

“you were drawing me again.” it wasn’t a question.

you try to quickly think of some excuse, anything, to get you out of this one, but your mind comes up blank. you decide to try and play it off.

“yes,” you reply with feigned confidence as you sit down next to him. he looks up at you, then back down to the paper. you stare at him, waiting for him to say something else, but he says nothing.

“i like to practice whenever i can,” you add with a shrug.

he flips through your notebook. “whenever you can, or whenever you’re with me?”

“um… i-”

“because these all sure look like me, y/n.”

“so?” you ask him. you meant for your tone to be casual, but it came out a bit more defensive than intended.

his eyes meet yours again. he looks at you warmly, but you can’t tell what he’s thinking. your heart beats rapidly in your chest. 

“so,” he answers as he sets the notebook aside. “i'm wondering, if…” he scoots closer to you, lifting his hand to your face, gently brushing your cheek with his thumb. your skin feels like it's on fire. his fingers tucked under your chin delicately, he draws your face in toward his. you gasp softly. 

“if you feel the same way about me, as i feel about you.”

your heart is racing. you feel dizzy. he's so close to you, a few more inches and your noses would touch. his plump lips wait enticingly. 

“and how do you feel about me?” you manage to ask, your voice barely more than a whisper. his deep brown eyes stare longingly into yours. you’re pretty sure you know the answer, you hope you know the answer, but you need him to confirm it. 

suddenly, he kisses you. 

he kisses you, setting alight fireworks inside you. his soft lips touch against yours ever so gently, his nose pressing against your cheek, his hand holding your face tenderly in his palm, then sliding to the back of your neck, drawing you closer still into him. your chest presses against his, his other arm wrapping around your waist, his large hand settling upon the small of your back. you kiss him back, your lips locked onto his like your life depends on it. you've thought of this, dreamt of this, so many times before, all the years you've known minghao - yet you never could have imagined how thrilling, exhilarating, freeing it would be to finally be here, in his arms, world stopped, nothing matters except you and him, so lovingly embraced - together. 

electricity pulsates through your skin, every nerve in your body dancing. slowly, minghao’s lips part from yours. you lock eyes with him - in all the time you've known him, he's always been a sentimental person, but you've never seen such love and adoration beaming from him like you see now. 

and it's all for you. 

a giggle escapes you. minghao looks at you, a wide grin spreading across his face. you run your hands through his hair, a sensation you've waited so long to experience - it's every bit as delightful as you imagined. 

“hao…” you start.

he plants another kiss on your lips. “hmm?” he asks, still glowing at you. 

“how long have you felt this way?” you ask softly. 

“i've had feelings for you since the day we met, and i've loved you more every day since.” 

you boop your nose against his, giving him a fake stern look. 

“and why didn't you tell me?”

he feigns a pouty face back at you. “why didn't you tell me?”

you blow a tiny raspberry at him. he smiles, pulling you into him, wrapping his arms around you tightly as he kisses your cheek repeatedly. you laugh, held in his warm embrace, overflowing with emotions. 

finally, you can admit it: you're in love with your best friend - and he just so happens to love you back. 

[seasprincess]

nerd!rafe x popular!reader

mdni

warnings: smut-handjob, pathetic sub!rafe, this is not cannon Rafe AT ALL

Rafe Cameron is a quiet nerdy boy with about no friends. Where as you, you’re loud and popular, friends with everyone.

Ever since you had joined the school Rafe’s eyes have been on you. Watching you laugh and smile with the people that flocked to you like moths to a flame.

He couldn’t help admire you in a way. But mainly he was admiring your beauty.

He has never spoken to you of course. God no he wouldn’t dream of it. Well that’s not entirely true.

He’s dreamt of it, thought of it, imagined it while his hand was around his length. But not in a perv way of course. No no. Not in the way the other boys do it. In a sweet way. Right?

But no, he couldn’t talk to you. In the world of high school. Rafe isn’t allowed to talk to you. He’s too ‘low’ for you. Which he thinks is stupid but he can’t rewrite the social laws of the school.

So he’ll just sit in class staring at you instead of doing his work. Not like he needs to do more work in class. He’s smart enough to pass a test with just a glance. So here he’ll sit waiting for his chance to talk to you properly. Instead of that couple times you were sweet to him, sticking up for him and that one time he said thank you for you holding open the door. And god did that thought make his heart beat.

But soon enough, here’s his lucky day.

“Rafe, you’ll be working with y/n.” The teachers words ring in his head as his eyes are pulled up from the desk. He turns to face you and sees that you’re looking at him. And he c-wait-you’re looking at him.

He does a double take before seeing you wave at him. A small gesture that means so much to him you don’t even know. So he does a wave back. But he’s shy and awkward so now he’s stressing that he looked weird and seeing your friends giggling and whispering doesn’t help the feeling he’s embarrassed himself.

So quickly he turns away, back to the page on his desk. Drawing random lines on it to make it appear he’s doing something. Doing anything other than looking at you and gawking.

Why does he have to be so shy and embarrassing? Why can’t he be like the popular people like Bryce and Zach? They can just talk to everyone and just be confident all the time. He hates himself for his anxiety that is in the bottom of his stomach everytime anyone even breathes to close to him. He hates it so much th-

“Hey partner.” Rafe’s brought out of his spiral of thoughts when you speak to him. He’s frozen looking up at you, is this real? Or is he dreaming?

“H-hey.” He says, pushing up his glasses on his face as he adjust in his chair.

“So when we doing this project?”

“Anytime. Anytime that’s good for you, I’m free. Like all the time. I’m not doing…anything.” Rafe decides to stop himself from babbling and making himself look like a complete and utter loser.

But all you’re doing is smiling at him. Not pulling the disgusted face he’s use to.

“Tomorrow night? My place?”

“Yeah sure.”

“Cool, don’t have snap so I can send you the info?” You say as you pull out your phone. Waiting for him to respond to you.

Rafe rubs the back of his neck as he thinks how to reply to this. He couldn’t say that his mom doesn’t allow him to have social media and even if he was to have it he wouldn’t have enough friends anyway.

“No. I don’t use snap anymore.” He lies.

“Oh right okay. Insta? Tiktok?”

Rafe just shakes his head.

“I can give you my number?”

“Yeah sure okay.”

Rafe gets out his phone, a tiny phone that was probably made eight years ago that his mom told him was ‘cool and trendy’. She’s so wrong it almost hurts.

Rafe had been waiting and waiting for this day. Yes the plans were arranged yesterday but he’s just so excited it’s almost sad really.

But after making his way to your house and you giving him a tour of the mansion you live in. You’re now both sat on your bed.

He’s in your room.

On your bed.

“No you’ll have to tutor me.” You say as you smile before looking back at the work that’s in front of you. You’re laying on the bed as Rafe is sat stiff.

“Tutor you?” Rafe asks, adjusting his glasses again for the second time this minute.

“Well we’re doing this project and I don’t get what it’s about so you’ll have to help me.”

Earlier when Rafe started talking about the project he had presumed that he’d been doing it all himself like he’d usually do with other people. But you insisted you’d actually help. Even if you have been distracted a couple times.

“Yeah sure.” Rafe replies as he smiles, looking down at you. He’s rather close to you it’s making his heart beat so fast. If it beats any faster it’ll pop out his chest like in those cartoons. His eyes might also pop out his head too. We’re just waiting for that.

God he’s so close to you he can smell that perfume you wear every day to school. It hasn’t changed since the first time he met you.

He’s just watching you lay on your stomach on the bed, writing down some things. He just can’t seem to pull his eyes away from you. You just look so beautiful and calm. Of course he has to go and ruin it.

He’s just staring, and before he thinks he leans in and kisses you. His soft lips pressing against yours until he realises what’s happened and pulls back.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He says as he starts panicking. Of course he’s ruining things like he always does. He may be smart when it comes to academics but he’s so stupid when it comes to social situations.

But all you do is smile. Just smile at him before pushing up and climbing onto his lap.

“Oh, oh. Okay…” He says as he holds his breath and looks anywhere but you. His hands don’t touch you. Just in the air, frozen in place by this very unexpected action from you.

So you place his hands on yours hips looking at him before your hands are placed on his cheeks. Gently rubbing them as you look down at him.

“You have a crush on me Rafe?”

Rafe nods as he stares into your eyes. He’s too shy to say anything, and also incredibly aroused by having you here. On his lap. His hand sneaks as he brings it close to his face to adjust his glasses. He look looks up at you like a puppy.

He’s so cute and shy it makes him all the more attractive to you. Some people think he’s all these things but unknown to him you’ve always had some feelings for him. Even if you did try and stop them.

Your hand travels downs Rafe’s body until it reaches his zipper. His dick twitching in his pants as he lets out a low whine. He’s so pathetic it’s so hot to you.

“You want me to touch you Rafe?”

This has escalated very quickly, and as scary it is to Rafe. It’s very exciting for Rafe too. He’s never even held hands with a girl. Or spoken to one for longer than thirty minutes. Twenty minutes. Ten minutes at best.

“Yes please.” He whines out as he wriggles lightly underneath you, he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He has thought about thus situation before but this is not how he was expecting at all.

You smile as you start to kiss him, lips pressing softly against Rafe’s. His lips are soft, different to what you’ve kissed before. Your tongue slips into his mouth which is met by more whines from the boy underneath you.

Your hand slips into Rafe’s pants and before he can say a word you start to stroke him. His dick hard and leaking with precum. He feels slightly embarrassed but that’s quickly stopped as you begin to go faster. And all he can think about is how good it feels and how much better it is than his own hand.

The moans and whimper from this man is heavenly. Making those panties you chose to wear just for him wet.

“Please, please can I cum?” Rafe is begging for this. Begging for this release from you. His whole body is practically shaking. He knows he’s acting needy and pathetic. But he can’t help it. He’s practically brainwashed by you.

He’s a man who could genuinely have any job he’s ever wanted but here he is whining for you. Whinging and moaning and begging. A possible future president is begging to cum.

“Yeah baby. Cum for me.”

You will definitely be doing this again.

a/n: don’t know how to feel about this one and i am still upset over bae’s eyebrows.

[whisperofwonder]

The Best Medicine

Kageyama Tobio x reader - 1k words

Your daughter is sick. Kageyama stays home with her.

Reader is referred to as "mommy"

"She'll be fine," Tobio assures you. "I'll be here with her all day."

"I know," You sigh. Ever since you left work early yesterday to pick your daughter up from daycare, you've been fussing over her. It's just a fever and a cough, something that the doctor assured you will go away on its own with some medicine and time, but you can't help but worry just a little. It makes sense for Tobio to stay with her today - it's the off season, and he doesn't have any training scheduled. You're the one in the middle of a big project at work.

"I just gave her more medicine," You continue as you gather your things for work, "And it should keep her knocked out for a bit. The rest is good for her." You're saying it as much for yourself as for Tobio's benefit. He nods along anyway. "Just remember to have her eat a little something when she takes the next dose," You add as you pull on your coat.

"I will. Don't worry," He says more firmly, gripping your shoulders and looking you in the eye, forcing you to stop moving for just a moment. "We'll be just fine here. If anything comes up, I'll give you a call right away."

"Okay." You manage a smile. "Thanks, Tobio."

"Of course. I love you," He leans in for a peck before he releases you.

"I love you too," You reply on your way out the door, "I'll see you later."

With that, you're gone, and Tobio turns back into the quiet house. He doesn't have much lined up for the morning, he just starts a load of laundry and then settles on the couch with a replay of a recent match on the quietest setting. He takes a few notes every now and then.

Eventually, lunch time draws near. After heating up a quick meal for himself, he's slotting his few dishes in the dishwasher when he hears the call.

"Mommy!" Your daughter whimpers, and he closes the dishwasher, making his way to her room before she has a chance to call out again. It's just about time for her next round of medicine, anyway.

"Hi, baby," He says gently, brushing sweaty strands of hair away from her forehead. She's still warm, but the fever has definitely gone down.

"Want Mommy," She insists, her lower lip jutting out in a pout.

"Mommy's at work," He reminds her. You'd said goodbye to her this morning right before you left. "She'll be home later." She doesn't look pleased, but she doesn't say another word. "Are you a little hungry?" He asks, changing the subject.

"No," She shakes her head.

"Not even for some applesauce?" He asks as he gently tugs the blanket off of her. "It will help the medicine make you all better."

She hesitates for a moment. "Kay," She agrees quietly. He picks her up, carrying her to the kitchen. If she weren't sick, she would have scrambled out of bed and darted down the hallway on her own. It's clear she's still not feeling like herself.

After the snack of applesauce and dose of medicine, he lifts her to his hip again, prepared to tuck her back in bed. Her eyes are already drooping. In her room, he moves to lay her back down on the pillow, but she clings to his neck.

"No, Daddy," She whimpers into his chest.

"I'll read you a story," He suggests, settling down on the edge of the bed with her still in his arms.

"Don't wanna story." She shakes her head, scrubbing a fist at her eye. "Wanna watch TV."

He sighs and softens. "Okay," He agrees. In the living room, he puts on one of her favorite shows. He moves to set her down on the couch, but she clings to him again.

"No," She shakes her head.

"No?" He echoes, then settles her on his lap. "Alright." If she wants to stay close to him so badly, how can he say no to that? She leans against him, soft and warm in his arms, entranced by the colorful animations on the screen and clutching her bunny.

The older she gets, the less interested she has become in sitting still and cuddling. It seems she's always on the move, running around and playing. It isn't often that he gets to just hold her like this.

His eyes wander from the screen down to her, eyes drooping again as she slips her thumb in her mouth. Just this once, he decides to let it slide. She's getting so big. Sometimes he doesn't even realize how quickly. Soon enough she'll be off to school, maybe joining sports or the band, spending time with all of the new friends she'll make. She won't be his little girl who fits in his arms like this forever - he should savor this moment.

Time blurs by as he holds her, half-paying attention to the show as one short episode turns to another, half-dozing himself. He doesn't even realize how long it's been until he hears the door open.

"I'm home!" You say as you step inside. It isn't long before you find them in the living room, your daughter cradled against Tobio's chest. He smiles at you, and your daughter stirs against him, woken by the slight commotion.

"Hi my love," You coo at her, "How are you feeling?" She only hums in response, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "Why don't we let Daddy get up?" You ask, reaching for her.

"Hm-mm," She shakes her head, snaking her arms around his neck again and burying her face against him. You look at him with wide, surprised eyes, and he can only return the expression. Earlier, she'd pouted because you weren't there. He's just as taken aback.

"Well," Your expression softens as you whisper, "I guess you had a good day with Daddy then." You lean in to kiss him, and he returns it. "How long have you been sitting here?" You ask.

"A few hours," He estimates, "But I don't mind." He presses a kiss to the top of her head. "She'll be begging for you before you know it," He predicts, and you shake your head with a smile. You both know he's right. For now, if snuggles with Daddy are what she wants, how can you deny her?

[ennn]

Unpacking the Deals of Ep 8: Why and What They Mean

So episode 8 is... let's say a bit of a mess. I know there's some confusion around why Agatha proposes her terms for the first deal, why Rio flipped into cackling villain mode, why Rio makes another deal, etc.

Here's my read that hopefully helps draw a line from point A to B to C.

Let's consider the context of the first deal: Agatha's not having a good day. Two coven members who Agatha never expected to care about have died trying to protect her – a thing that has never happened before. And Death happens to be a person she can blame.

Death, who is pressing on that bruise ("Your coven is shrinking") and making her shitty day worse because she wants the kid Agatha is hardcore projecting on (and also didn't plan to care about) to die. Just like Nicky.

But Agatha then realises she has leverage on Rio. For the first time in forever, she has an advantage she can exploit. She can be in control.

And it's almost instinctive for Agatha at this point: finding the best buttons to push, the best terms for her given the opportunity.

Agatha: If I deliver Billy, you let me go. Rio: You will eventually die, Agatha. Agatha: But I want you to stop pursuing me. I want you to stop making my life hell. And when I die, a long, long, long, long, long time from now, I don't want to see your face. Rio: ... Okay.

The terms that Agatha sets out seem cruel because they are. She says what she does because she wants it to hurt. Agatha's not only rejecting Rio's continued presence in her life, she's denying all the love that Rio's given her, building on what she's said before ("You gave me nothing.")

From Rio's POV, Agatha's cutting words aside, this entire deal sucks. Because the options are:

(a) Agatha doesn't hold up her end, which Rio knows might happen: Rio knows Agatha cares about Billy ("I know how you feel about him"). Rio's constantly reminding her he's not Nicky. She was already doubting Agatha would deliver her usual number of corpses. She saw how affected Agatha was after Alice's death.

If Agatha doesn't help, she'd be choosing a boy over everything Rio's done again – and this time another woman's.

And if Rio somehow manages to take Billy anyway, Agatha will end up hating her twice forever.

(b) Agatha does hold up her end, which might also happen: Rio knows Agatha's manipulative and smart and capable. More than that, she's well aware Agatha hates her. That Agatha still doesn't see what she's done for her ("No one in history has had special treatment like you").

That she knows Agatha does care about Billy but maybe hates her so much that she's willing to go through with this to cut her out from her life. Billy would be a dear price but one Agatha's maybe willing to pay.

Even if it was a 50:50 chance for these options, I think Rio realises her relationship with Agatha is doomed either way.

Either way she does her job, with or without Agatha's help, she's going to be rejected and lose. One's just a slower path than the other.

I think that's why Rio gives in to her rage and bitterness and spite. Agatha thinks Rio's been making her life hell? She'll show her hell.

And Agatha, well I think there's some merit to the thinking that she didn't expect Rio to fold that quickly and completely.

Now for the context of the second deal, it's not clear whether Rio knows what happened with Tommy. I assume Rio doesn't – not yet anyway – as she doesn't mention it at all and seems focused on squaring that one life Billy stole.

Now here's where it gets a little squirrely, to borrow Schaeffer's language. Because if you don't look too closely, it seems to make sense: Billy stole a life so to maintain the natural balance, Rio needs to take a life, the one Billy has now.

But how does Agatha's life work as a substitute for this imbalance (“This means you’re coming with me”)? Would any other person’s life work? Could Rio have swapped someone else's life to save Nicky then? Agatha would have been all too happy to arrange for that murder.

I doubt the show is ever going to explain this so I offer few possible theories to deal with this weirdness:

Billy Maximoff is a product of chaos magic, so his existence and everything he affects already throws off the natural order, just to different orders of magnitude. Agatha’s life works as a substitute because his life is now intertwined with hers e.g. his hex probably saved her life from the Salem Seven and has the potential for greater imbalance

Rio is aware of Agatha’s tendency towards chaos and defiance of the natural order. Rio bent the rules of the universe only for Agatha. Taking her life would protect the balance in the larger scheme of things – if only so Rio won’t be further tempted to give her special treatment.

When Rio’s torturing Agatha it’s before she presents the second deal. So she’s still intending to go after Billy, she’s just removing Agatha as an obstacle while lashing out in rage and heartbreak.

In this moment Rio probably thinks Billy's in the wind. She saw how upset Billy was with Agatha at the end of episode 5. And Rio knows the reputation Agatha keeps ("Why do you let them believe those things about you?"), Rio probably thinks Agatha deliberately drove him off to keep him safe.

Then Billy pops up and Rio sees that Billy and Agatha care about each other and they're both aware they care about each other.

Fuckin’ great. Rio's not bitter at all.

Looks like you two are finally on the same page. So I'll let you decide. One of you stays with me. The other walks free.

Agatha proposed a deal designed to hurt her? Now it’s her turn.

From Rio's POV, I think here are the possible outcomes:

(a) Agatha sacrifices herself for Billy: Not impossible I think. Rio knows Agatha cares about the boy but she also knows Agatha will do anything to survive. She thinks she's above death. But again, I think Rio also knows Agatha would have sacrificed herself for Nicky if she had that choice.

What did Lorna want from the Road? To save her daughter.

This isn't an ideal outcome for Rio but she’s already resigned herself to losing Agatha I think, one way or another. This way if Agatha wants Billy to live so badly, this is the price she has to pay. The high cost of living.

(b) Billy steps up and sacrifices himself: Very possible given that Billy’s a young heroic sort and already showed up, risking his life to power up Agatha. Rio gets to do her job. Agatha will probably hate her more given the Nicky trauma but Rio’s already resigned to this on some level already, which is why she's raging.

Either way Agatha's going to hurt, and Rio's going to hurt.

It's interesting that when Billy does volunteer himself and Agatha seizes the opportunity to remind Rio of their earlier deal, Rio just shakes her head and looks amused.

You can also see for a brief moment Agatha looking almost remorseful about doing this before slipping her theatrical villainous mask on, overcompensating for her true feelings.

Do you remember pain? It kinda tickles doesn't it?

By the letter (not the spirit or intent) of the first deal, Agatha did ultimately fulfil her part:

I can arrange that. I can get him to the finish line and deliver him to you.

This is an opportunity that's almost impossible to resist for someone as calculating and ruthless and selfish like Agatha. She has power (chaos magic no less), she can have Rio leave her alone forever (she knows Rio honours her word), she knows Billy cares about her but can she really trust him?

But Agatha ultimately decides to take a risk. A calculated one sure, but still a risk.

I think the beauty in the kiss and her sacrifice is how – despite her calculating the odds – Agatha is choosing to give in to what she feels and wants in that moment.

Because she does want to protect the boy in a way no one did for her when she was young. She wants to save Billy like she couldn't with Nicky. And she does want Rio so much despite everything that's happened.

[puck-luck]

last resort | trevor zegras

warnings: face-sitting, fingering, dirty talk… etc. trevor is kind of a little subby in his words, but he’s VERY much in charge, so. pairing: trevor zegras x inexperienced!reader request: “face-sitting! she would be soooo hesitant and shy about it but he would literally love everything abt it (also trevor kinda has the perfect nose for face sitting icl)” wc: 1250

“Look how pretty you are riding my fingers,” Trevor murmurs in your ear, his head tilted down to stare at the place where your hips are bucking against his hand. He’s fully clothed beside you, one of your legs thrown across his lap and the other spread wide, dangling off the bed. “Can’t wait to see how pretty you look riding my face.”

You whine, your hips still swiveling and trying to get some friction onto your swollen clit. Trevor is torturing you, wanting to bring you to orgasm with his fingers alone. You’ve been going at it for what feels like forever, with sweat lining your brow and causing your hair to stick to your forehead in a way that is decidedly NOT sexy, but Trevor loves anyway.

“I’ve been thinking about it,” Trevor continues. 

His voice sticks to your skin and bounces around in your head like a growing fog. You throw your head back and squeeze your eyes shut, trying to focus on the way his fingers feel inside of you rather than the dirty words that are distracting you.

“You’ve gotten so good at moving your hips for me and making yourself feel good,” he says. “I love when you use me like I’m your toy.” 

He smears a kiss on your cheek and you cry out as the pads of his fingers rub over your walls, pressing incessantly against the one spot inside of you that’s causing you to see stars behind your closed eyelids. 

“I want you to fuck my tongue like you fuck my fingers, baby.”

Your orgasm is so close, just out of reach, and you can’t handle Trevor’s words.

“Stop talking and just fuck me,” you grit out, your hand finding his chest and fisting at the fabric of his shirt.

“Why don’t you shut me up?” Trevor suggests, teasing you by stilling his fingers inside of you. 

You grind down, trying to get him to move again, but he refuses. He draws his fingers out of your cunt and brings them, dripping, to his mouth. When you open your eyes, you find him sucking on the digits, staring at you like he had been waiting to make this point for ages. He moans around his fingers, drawing them out of his mouth with a pop.

“You taste so good,” he says. “So sweet. I’d die a happy man if I suffocated between your legs.”

You glare at him, still feeling incredibly empty and incredibly exposed. Your hand goes between your legs, filling yourself up for a singular moment of reprieve before Trevor takes your wrist and brings it behind your back, along with the other. He holds your wrists with one of his hands and the other comes up to cradle your breast. He squeezes, watching you squirm and grow red.

“Give it to me,” Trevor breathes out, tilting his head to ghost over your lips with his own. “C’mon, baby, it’s simple. I want you to sit on my face and you want to come. I’ll be a good boy for you, so quiet as I fill you up with my tongue. Just want to make you feel good, please?”

You whimper, your lip jutting out in a pout. “Trevor,” you reply, your voice shaking. You don’t trust yourself to say much else. 

He understands anyway.

Trevor takes the chance to kiss you, a pinch to your nipple causing you to open your mouth in a moan, and he slips his tongue inside your mouth. You lose yourself in the feeling of the kiss, following Trevor’s lips when he pulls away. 

Eyes hazy, you watch as he lays back on the bed and looks at you. 

“Come up here and take what you need,” Trevor says.

Your eyelashes flutter at the command, still feeling a little stupid from the way his tongue invaded your mouth in that kiss. You know Trevor’s good with his tongue, but you’ve never sat on his face before. The dynamics of the act fill your head. Are you supposed to sit-sit? Are you supposed to stay up on your knees and let him do the work? Are you supposed to grind down on him? Can he even breathe?

As you consider it, Trevor just smiles at you with raised eyebrows. He sticks out his tongue and wiggles it at you, making you laugh. You shuffle towards him on your knees, and his smile turns into a predatory smirk. He places a hand on one of your thighs and looks you up and down. He licks his lips.

“I want you to sit on my face,” he commands. “And I want you to ride my tongue until you come.”

You swing a leg over his body, so that now your knees are bracketing his head. “Shut up,” you tell him again, angling yourself so his mouth is right under your hole. It aches to be filled, just inches away from relief, but you can’t manage to lower yourself down yet.

Trevor wraps his arms around your thighs and pulls you down, anchoring you on his face.

You let out a loud moan at the first contact, the flat of Trevor’s tongue flexing against your entrance while he nuzzles his face into your folds. He keeps you in place as he begins to lap at the wet slick that had already accumulated while he fingered you, deciding that only once you were cleaned up, he would stick his tongue inside your entrance.

Your mouth drops open as his nose bumps against your clit, making you buck your hips forward. You can’t move much due to Trevor’s strong arms, but he allows you to make your aborted grinds against his nose while his tongue probes your hole.

You feel a bit cross-eyed when he finally licks into your entrance, your fingers finding his hair and pulling at the light brown strands. Your eyes, lids hooded and vision fuzzy, find his clear green ones below you. They’re full of a challenge and you know that if he could smile, his lips would be turned up in a smirk. He’s begging you to come undone. 

You throw your head back and whimper, little sounds escaping you with each grind against his nose. Trevor flicks his tongue inside of you and you bring one of your hands up to knead your breast. With a pinch to your nipple and a pointed thrust of his tongue, your legs shake and you come all over Trevor’s mouth. He licks you through it, continuing to suck up your juices like it’s his last meal until you’re wrenching yourself away and collapsing on the other side of him.

You breathe heavily, trying to catch your breath, and Trevor turns to lay on his side and face you. Your stomach flips at the glistening fluids dripping down Trevor’s chin, at the way his tongue darts out to swipe over his lips to capture as much of the come as he can.

You reach out and drag him closer, licking into his mouth and tasting yourself. Trevor’s hand rests on your hip, while the other returns to your chest, and you find his hair again. 

“Was it everything you dreamed?” You ask.

Trevor shakes his head. You blink in surprise, ready to open your mouth and ask why, ask what you could’ve done better, but Trevor silences you with a statement of his own. “It didn’t last long enough,” he says. “We’ll have to go again.”

notes: hi welcome back i thought i would reward y'all for your patience this past week with an inexperienced!reader oneshot! <3 loving you guys big, as always, hit me up! talk to me in my inbox! i miss you guys!

[briefalpacashark]

~Cowboys and Men = Part Two~

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“She's her own woman. Who knows not to mess with pretty little cowboys like you,” Jonny stated. He didn't like the cowboy from the moment they meet. Weather that be due to the insult or not was unimportant.

“We’ll see about that,” Arthur smiled, walking away.

“Can we kill him?” Ghost asked.

“Such a pity a civilian was caught in the crossfire,” Jonny shrugged, adding onto Ghost’s statement.

“I volunteer. I'll just say my aim was off,” Gaz offered.

“Easy boys,” Price shut down the idea. But he wasn't necessarily opposed to it.

Tommy was a good rider for his age. He stayed on the back of the beast of a bucker longer than anyone else. Then it was your turn. 

“Fucken hell,” you whispered as you climbed into the pen sitting atop the horse that moved around ready to send you straight to hell. 

“You look nervous,” your head snapped to the side to see Tommy smiling at you.

“He's wild,” you nodded down to the horse.

“You can still back out,” he suggested. That smile he wore, was he being suspicious or just a dick. “Ain't no shame in being a buckle bunny,” he stated. Your face settled into a frown at the insult.

“Lets go!” you announced. Man, that horse rocked you. You lasted an average amount of time. At one point, you lost your hat. You were thrown from the horse in a dramatic fashion tumbling across the ground. The people cheered as you got yourself to your feet. When you recovered from the fall, you looked around for your hat. It had fallen out of the arena. With your body still buzzing with adrenalin, you jogged over to it. As you were about to reach down Arthur had picked it up. 

“Than-” your words trailed off as he took off his own and placed yours upon his head. Your face flushed as you were reminded of the hat rule. He grinned, leaning down over the railing holding his own out to you.

“Ohhhhh looks like she's got an admirer. You two youngins be safe tonight,” the announcer called as wolf whistles sounded front the crowd. You brushed your nose, ducking your head in embarrassment.

“Will she take the hat?” the announcer asked. 

“Take the hat! Take the hat!” the crowd began to chant. God, how did it happen? Spotting Tommy watching from the side, you second guessed your actions. In one of the meeting Price had order you all to blend in. To play the part.

If he thinks you're a buckle bunny you'll play the part of a buckle bunny. You took Arthurs hat and placed it on your head, the crowd going wild. Arthur smiled, tipping the hat to you as you walked off. 

================================================

It was game time. You all convened drawing your hidden guns as you headed for Tommy, only when you arrived at the garage he was gone.

“The fuck?” you questioned. When returning to Arthur he meet the team halfway with a sorry look.

“He left early, right after your run,” Arthur stated in an apologetic tone.

“Let's go. We should still be able to catch him on the road,” Price suggested.

“Hey, come on. He'll be here again tomorrow. You'll have a better chance then anyway,” Arthur held his hands up to slow you all.

“Why's that?” Jonny asked.

“Less people. He stays for drinks after,” he stated. 

“You better not be fucking us around,” Ghost warned, turning fully to tower over Arthur.

“Wouldn't dream of it,” he answered. You all turned to Price ready to act on his decision.

“Fine,” Price stated. The boys walked off, ready to head back to the ranch. You walked up to Arthur with a bashful smile.

“Here,” you said, handing his hat back to him.

“You know the rules, right?” he asked. Wear the hat, ride the cowboy. If you put on a cowboy's hat, it meant one of two things. He was coming home with you or you were going home with them.

“I do. But I was playing a role. To keep Tommy thinking I'm the buckle bunny he suspects,” you said beckoning for your hat. Arthur looked slightly disappointed at your words.

“I see. But I want you to know the offer still stands,” he said, taking your hat of and stepping closer to place it on your head.

“And while I'm flattered, I'm sorry but I have to refuse,” you stated with a small smile.

“It's the Ghost boy isn't it?” he asked. You sputtered a resonance as you chuckled, stepping back.

“Funny,” you said fixing your hat so its brim covered your eyes from his gaze.

“Well, if I was him I'd get a move on,” Arthur stated with a knowing smile before walking off. With a huff you shock your head searching for the boys, unknownst to you one particular one with a skull mask was situated in a shadow watching the whole situation with an uneasy feeling in his belly. 

“If I were you I'd get a move on,” Ghost knew Price had approached him. But his statement still made him jump.

“Don't know what you're talkin bout,” Ghost muttered.

“That cowboy’s working his magic. I’s get in before you regret it,” Price stated with a knowing look. Ghost stared at his Captain a man he trusted with is his life.

“Men like us don't deserve a woman like her Captain, we don't deserve happy endings,” Ghost muttered. Price nodded. A part of him wanted to agree.

“Well she deserves the world. And if she wants you in that world are you going to refuse?” Price asked.

“She deserves better than me John,” Ghost whispered. His hands were dipped in too much blood to ever hold her.

“I don't think so,” Price shrugged.

“Oh yeah, what do you think?” Ghost almost snapped at the man.

“I think you deserve each other,” he whispered, giving Ghost shoulder a firm pat before walking away. He didn't say it with malice. He said it with a kind smile. Trying to tell his solider that he did deserve happiness.

That night you were all sat round a fire with a few of the ranch hands. All drinking and simply enjoying the night. Some shared stories. Jonny made up a few of his own playing the part of the cowboy. One of the ranch hands were plucking a banjo admitting he had just started to learn. After a few seconds he was forced to put the instrument down by the many annoyed ranchers.

“Damn thing sounds like a cat dien,” A rancher called.

“Come on now, the banjos a beautiful instrument,” you called out in defense. You were sat in between Price and Ghost on a log.

“You did hear what we hear right?” Jonny asked, pointing to the embarrassed lad. 

“No offense, but you need to hear it played right. It can be beautiful,” you said.

“Oh yeah prove it,” Gaz dared. With the help of a little alcohol you shrugged, standing up. “Hold that for me, will ya sweetheart?” You asked passing your bottle to Ghost who automatically took it. 

“Not your sweetheart,” he grumbled. You chuckled with a wink before walking over to the lad.

“May I?” you asked. He handed over the instrument and the picks which you slipped onto your fingers. 

“Didn’t want to say anything before, but it probably would help if ya tuned it,” you said plucking a few stings to get the right tune. Arthur stood from his seat, which was semi center allocated and offered it to you. 

“Why thankyou sir,” you tipped your hat as you sat down.

“Now, no one make fun of me. I'm a little rusty,” you whispered.

“There is no way you know how to play that thing,” Jonny muttered. You smirked giving him a wink as you adjusted. 

“This one's called sugar hill,” you muttered before you began. To there surprise, a cohesive and beautifully uplifting melody echoed from your fingertips. Your audience was silent as smiles settled onto their faces. It was peaceful, beautiful. It was a moment you wished you could freeze. Yet when the song ended so did your little fantasy. Everyone cheered and clapped. 

“Oncour!” Arthur called.

“Alright, if the crowd wishes,” you grinned befor diving into another song.

After a while everyone was sort of talking to themselves. You sat by the lad form before giving him a few pointers.

“So Ghost was it. What do you do?” Your head snapped up at the question much like the other boys. Next to Ghost saw a woman, drop dead gorgeous and she knew it type of woman. She sat really close to him. A seductive smile on her lips. 

“I'm on Anna’s team,” he stated simply. “I know that. What's your speciality?” she asked. She was just making conversation. Only it wasn't just a conversation for Ghost. It was an interrogation. One he need to keep his cover though. His mind went blank. All he had to say was something to do with horses, or management. After all you didn't think the boys would be asked anything past that. Laswell certainly didn't so she didn't give the boys specialised jobs in your so called team. In all Ghost’s wisdom he turned to look for help. His eyes mistakenly rested on Jonny.

“He's uh. He's our musician,” You and Price almost smacked your foreheads at the words. Out of all the jobs Jonny could have chosen he chose musician. Ghost eyes narrowed into a glare for a split second before becoming blank.

“Oh my, that's amazing, what do you play?” she asked, moving closer. So close that her chest brushes by his arm. Your frowned at the gnawing feeling that settled in your stomach.

“Guitar,” Ghost answered.

“Oh you're in luck,” the woman dispersed to the back of truck before pulling a guitar out. Great, just great. She trusted the instrument into his hands with an excited smile.

“Will you play something for me? Please,” she flashed her pretty eyelashes. 

“I don't feel like it,” Ghost stated.

“Oh come on. What, you not a real musician then?” she pressed teasingly. Ghost was a good soldier, so he knew he had to do whatever he could to keep his cover. So to all your utter shock he slipped the guitar on. And started playing.

I can't help falling in love with you, by Elvis Presley. 

I can't help fucking falling in love with you by Elvis Fucking Presley. 

His voice was beautiful, deep and steady. Like the beat of an old tribal drum. His eyes focused solely on the guitar as he sang. The team was shocked into slack jawed silence. Simon Riley was singing and play the actual guitar. You never thought you would see the day.

And you found yourself wishing. Wishing that the person he was singing to was you. A stupid dream. You didn't see it, in fact you just missed it. Ghost had looked to you, a slight flicker of his eyes caught by very few. When you looked up at him, his eyes had returned to his guitar. Two gazes so soft, only for it to have been missed by the two they were intended for. It was painful for the boys to watch. When the song finished, everyone cheered yet again. The girl wasn't wearing a hat so when she reached over and took Ghost and placed it on her head with the bite of her lips, almost everyone cheered and whistled. The girl blushed and ducked her head. The hat rule. Wear the hat, ride the cowboy.

They look good together. You thought. His eyes were focused solely on hers as she spoke. 

A sad smile spread across your face as you acknowledged the painful truth. Simon would never be someone like that to you. Sure you were friends, well, you hoped you were friends. But he had never made any clear signs. Every time you would say something sweet he would shoot it down. Just remembering his pervious comment, your throat stung bitterly. You were good at hiding dejection, you could pretend like it didn't affect you at all. But it did. 

Love wasn't in the cards for  you. You supposed you had accepted that fate long ago. Still knowing the fact didn't make it hurt any less. You tried not to think about it as you continued to teach the guy. Still, the mind rarely listens to you. Moments of the past passed through your mind, all the times you had tried to flirt. Tried to lay down a hint. Tired to be sweet. Tried to show him that you liked him. All ended in either being shot down or ignored. It wasn't like he was rude about it. He just didn't leave any room for misinterpretation. Misinterpretation you constantly enacted when you failed to see the expressions his mask hid.

And it didn't help that the only time he was sweet to you, when he held your hand so tenderly in the hospital. When he pressed his lips to your palm and leaned into your touch. Due to the drugs you couldn't remember a single moment of it.

“So what do you think, we proper cowboys now or what?” Jonny asked Arthur.

“Well you ain't proper cowboys till you've played cowboy poker,” Arthur shrugged.

“The fuck is cowboy poker?” Jonny asked. 

“This is the stupidest fucking thing I've ever done,” Jonny looked like he was about to shit himself. At the moment you all were sitting around a shitty plastic table on shitty plastic chairs. You Gaz, Jonny, Price, Ghost Arthur and another lad. In the middle of a coral.

“So we just sit here!?” Gaz asked as he breathed deeply and quickly on the point of hyperventilation. 

“Yes sir,” Arthur sung from beside you as he handed you a bottle of whiskey. You took it downing a good two gulps.

“This is stupid,” Price grumbled.

“And yet you're still sitting here,” you stated, handing the bottle to him.

“Not a word to Laswell. Understood?” he gave you all pointed looks.

“What scared you'll get in trouble from the missus?” you asked.

“The wife?” Arthur asked. You all chuckled as Price shook his head, handing it to Gaz.

“Are we really doing this?” Jonny asked. At first he thought it was just a joke, but as he saw the bull being rounded up he was staring to grasp the situation.

“Whatever you do Jonny, don't get off the seat,” you said.

“This is fucken mad,” he whispered shaking his head and snatching the bottle from Gaz.

“Forget your big boy pants back at the shop Jonny?” Ghost asked.

“Fuck you LT,” he snapped.

“SOMEONE WANNA EXPLAIN THE RULES?” Gaz asked.

“Last one at the table wins the pot,” you said watching as they slipped the bull int he chute that lead to the coral.

“Don't worry the bull always goes for the table first,” Arthur shrugged.

“THIS IS CRAZY!” Gaz screamed.

“Yeah not much smart thinking went into the creation of this. Pretty sure it was just booze and idiocy,” you stated.

“Set em free!” Arthur yelled. The sound of the gate crashing open sounded and the bull was let lose.

“Fuck this,” Gaz was the first to leave taking the bottle of whiskey with him. You all watched as the bull locked in on its target. It cleaved through the table Jonny and Price leaving before it hit. The table was destroyed and Arthur jumped out the way before the bull plowed straight through him. That just left you and Ghost. 

“Scared big guy?” You asked.

“Never,” he stated. Your eyes locked as the bull found the two of you. You were a little way aways from each other, You had sat on opposing seats so that meant the bull was going to choose one of you. It was a stare of between the two of you as you heard the bull fast approaching. 

Were you a little angry at Ghost? sure. You liked him and he didn't like you. A small flicker of childish rage bubbled within you. How dare he not like you? What was wrong with you? Why not you? It was a stupid little thought, but it was still there. So you kept his gaze, both of you refusing to look away. 

And one moment Ghost was there and the next he wasn't, broken plastic chair legs flipping through the air. The bull had slammed into him. 

“Oh shit,” a chuckle left your lips as the bull ran off. “You alive big guy?” you asked, rushing up to him in a bit of worry. Your eyes watching the bull that fought with the piece of chair stuck on his horn. You had to get out of the coral.

“No,” Ghost grunted painfully.

“Come on, don't wanna get hit again do ya?” You asked, pulling the man to his feet. The two of you rushed to the fence of the coral. Ghost found his thoughts not on the worry of the bull hitting him for a second time but focused on your hand. Which held his tightly as you pulled him away. Making it just in time, the bull pulled to a skidding stop as you both flung yourself over the top. You hit the ground beside Simon your hands still clung together. As you gazed up at the stars loud laughter erupted from your chest as you gave his hand a squeeze. Simons eye on the other hand was focused on you.

“That, my fiends is cowboy poker!” Arthur called, holding his hand out to you. You pulled your hand from Ghost’s grip and took the offered helping hand.

Later that night, when everyone was asleep, you snuck out to the field, taking the banjo in hand. You continued to drink as you rested upon a tree plucking the banjo as you tried to sort out your thoughts. Which unfortunately constantly pulled themselves back to a certain activity you though Ghost, and the girl were partaking in. Unbeknownst to you, Ghost had completely ghosted the girl, avoiding her at all costs.

 “The fuck you doing out here?” Ghost voice had you flinching, knocking the bottle of booze all over you.

“Shit,” you cursed.

“Drinking on the job?” he asked with a teasingly disapproving tone as he approached.

“Well, can't always be the model soldier now can I?” you asked, putting the bottle to the side whipping the alcohol the best you could. 

“The boys got worried when they woke up and you weren't there,” Ghost explained. You checked your watch. It was 5 am around the time you all would usually get up. You had not realized that you had sat out there for so long.

“I'm a big girl,” you shrugged.

“True,” he nodded, sitting down on the log closest to you. 

“Didn’t know you could play the guitar. Much less sing like an angle,” you muttered.

“Think I sing pretty?” he asked. You smiled.

“Like a siren Simon,” you said flashing him that smile he loved so much. 

“Didn't picture you as a Elvis fan,” you said.

“Oh, yeah?” he asked.

“Yeah, picture you more as a heavy punk. Maybe a little rock,” you shrugged with a teasing smile.

“Well for your information I partake in the enjoyment of the country quite often,” he said.

“Oh, really?’ you asked, a small chuckle leaving your lips involuntarily. A contagious one seeing as Simon's shoulder shook slightly with a chuckle of their own. 

“I wanted to be a cowboy when I was a kid. Dreamt of owning a farm of my own,” he admitted. You paused your plucking. Simon had never talked about his past before. It seemed to serious for him as he quickly changed to a joking tone.

“The guitar original started as a way to impress the ladies,” he stated.

“Well you don't need any help there. That chick seemed smitten with you,” Simon briefly caught onto the slightly bitter bite that came at the end of your sentence. He wanted to believe it, but he also believed it could be his mind playing tricks.

“Just like you are with the cowboy?” Simon didn't know why he said it. Perhaps he wanted you to repute it.

“Who? Arthur?” you asked with a snort.

“What? He's got the horses, money, he's alright looking,” Simon shrugged. You shook your head the whiskey bring out your honesty like it always did.

“Nah. He's uh, he's not the one for me,” you stated simply.

“Who is?” The blatant question caught you off guard. You chuckled nervously, casting your eyes down to the banjo as you plucked it.

“I uh, I don't know,” you muttered. Simon tried not to be dejected at it. “The fucker better hurry up though. I'm getting impatient,” you joked, your eyes flicking up to Simon”s for only a second. It was only a second they needed to be caught in the pools of brown. Simon was studying you, like he did to everyone. Taking in everything about you. But there was something else in his eyes. He seemed like he wanted to say something. Price's words burned in his mind. He wanted to offer himself up as a potential candidate. But as hard as he tried, his tongue simply wouldn't move. You waited a few moments for him to say anything. Then you waited a few more. A sad smile spread across your face. It wasn't possible.

“The girl you end up with is gonna be one lucky bitch Simon,” you whispered turning away from his gaze as you stood. You put the banjo down as you watched the sun rise.

“You think?” finally his mouth wanted to speak. It just didn't say the right thing.

“I know it,” you whispered, patting his shoulder as you walked past him, back to the house. Your hand squeezed his shoulder before slipping off. Simon’s hand reached up, his fingers missing your’s by mere millimeters. 

In a bush nearby, Soap slammed his palm over his eyes, cursing his two teammates under his breath.

Everything was going great. You and the team had a plan. You were seated at a bar area with Tommy not too far away. The second day's events came and went. And now you were just waiting. Waiting for Tommy to peel away from the group so you could nab him. 

A beer was placed down in front of you.

“Sorry I didn't order this,” you spoke up to the bartender.

“He sent it for you sweetheart,” she said, pointing to Tommy. You forced a smile, giving him a cheers motion. He politely dismissed himself from the people he was talking to and made his way over to you.

“Hell of a ride yesterday,” he said.

“It was average,” you shrugged. He smiled as he sat down beside you fairly close. So close in fact that your shoulders were pressed together. 

“Yeah, it sure was,” he stated. Your heart stopped as you heard the click of a safety. A moment later you felt a cool metal pressed through your shit into your side. 

“Well shit,” you muttered, deciding to take a large sip of the beer.

“Shit is right, sweetheart. Now listen close or i'll blow your guts over that lovely girl next to you,” he threatened nodding to the woman who sat beside you. He had a gun pressed against you.

“There's an awful lot of people here,” you stated.

“Good thing my gun has a silencer on it. And if I'm not mistaken, you look a little drunk,” he said his lips twisting into a cocky smirk. 

“Wouldn't be surprised if you passed out, you know. But being the general man I am I’d be sure to take you to a quiet spot,” he suggested. He was right. The music was blaring. Nobody was paying attention to you. And you were alone. You were the lookout. The boys were stationed elsewhere in wait for him. But he didn't know that.

“My boys are watching mate, I wouldn't,” your words got cut off by his boisterous laugh.

“No sweetheart. You see, I know they're waiting for me tucked in little hide holes around the exit. I know you're all alone. Now what you're going to do is tell your little friends that I'm on the move. Heading in a completely different direction than they think I am. Then you and I are gonna slip out the back where I have a car waiting,” he explained it all. 

“And if I don't comply?” your question was answered by the gun being pressed further into your side. Yet your gaze remained unfazed. Unshaken. There was no fear in your eyes. 

“Then I kill him,” he stated, nodding to the bartender. “And her,” he said, nodding to another random person. “And her,” he added, nodding to a little girl who walked by. You stared at Tommy trying to see if he was speaking the truth. To find any lies in his eyes. You couldn't see anything, he was good at hiding his thoughts. And you couldn't risk it.

“How did you know?” you asked. 

“I got a little tip off,” he shrugged.

“From who?” you asked.

“And why would I tell you?” he asked.

“I don't know, cowboy to cowboy?” you suggested. He chuckled again.

“You may be a cowboy kid. But there's things that are a little bit more important than that. Now on with it,” he stated. Rolling your tongue along your inner teeth, you pressed you finger to your ear.

“This is Bingo, Bushy, you there?” you asked. At the other end of the coms, the boys all frowned in utter confusion. 

“What is she on about?” Jonny asked.

“Doc? This is Bravo 6. Repeat your last?” Price asked.

“Bingo has visuals. Target on the move. Casper and Dirt are clear to engage. He's headed for the west car park,” You hoped and prayed that the boys would understand.

“Good girl,” Tommy said, reaching up to rip the earpiece off before you could get a response from them.

“Capser and dirt? What's that supposed to be? Me and Ghost?” Jonny asked. 

“She's not using out code names,” Ghost stated into his comms the realization washing over them like a wave.

“Somethin’s not right,” Price grumbled gruffly.

Tommy had quickly taken you out of the bar area to the secluded back. You were walking to the car, the gun now pressed against your back. Your hands were clasped behind your head per his orders as he had taken your concealed weapons, but he still didn't trust you.

“Isn't this the part where you say I'm not going to get away with this?” he asked.

“Don't need to say something I know is gonna happen,” you shrugged.

“What?” his question was answered by a gun shot. You moved to the side and back, slamming your body against Tommy pinching the arm that held the gun between your arm and side. His pain scream ripped through your ears, a shot having cleaved through his leg. Your hit sent him flying to the ground as you ripped the gun from his grasp falling with him. Pulling your elbow back you stuck him in the face. 

Bullets ripped above you as the boys took out the few enemies that emerged from the car. Flipping Tommy who was wallowing loudly in pain over you slipped some zip ties around his hands. Pulling them taunt you glanced back at the car gun at the ready. Finding all enemies neutralized you stood.

“Doc you alright!?” Price was the first to make it to you.

“Course. Took your time,” you muttered.

“Ghost had to get into position,” he nodded to the shadow that stood on a nearby building sniper on his shoulder. Holding your hand up in thanks, he simply nodded.

“We look like a bunch of rag tag outlaws in these getups,” you stated as you heaved Tommy up along with Price. 

“Price she alright?” Ghost voice pressed into Price comm.

“She's all good,” Price said back.

“Tell em to stop worrying. And remind Jonny he still owes me a photo,” you told Price. When Ghost joined back up with you, you flashed him your usual smile.

“Thanks for having my back Big guy,” you held you hand out for a fist bump. 

“That not your blood is it?” he asked nodding to your pants. You looked down.

“Of course it's not mine. What feel your shootings getting a bit skew?” you asked. As you went to look up your vision was blacked by the brim of a hat. A hand placing it on your head and ruffling your hair with it.

“Quick thinking Doc. Good job,” Ghost hand left your head where he had placed his hat. You tilted it back watching as Ghost loaded Tommy into the back of the truck.

He had put his hat on your head. Through your faint blush, you shock your head. He didn't know about the rule. You told yourself to stop being delusional as you got back to work.

Little did you know Ghost knew all about the rule. Thats why his heart hurt so much to see you willingly taking another man's hat. As you left Price was talking to Arthur. Arthur's eyes scanned over you all as he waved a small goodby. You waved back falling to notice Ghost standing behind you with the smuggest look of victory on his face. After all you were still wearing his hat.

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=Cowboys and Men Part 1 Here=

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=COD Master List here=

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