#cozy little ghost town

[yenhan]

TF141 X Retail worker!Reader

Masterlist

a/n: tf141 x retail worker!reader because the international student au reader is busy, lol

Synopsis: Kyle is the best customer you could ask for, but his teammates aren't as easy.

At first, London seemed like a dream. Hustle, grit, fashion week, the chaos of creativity all bottled into a city that never took a breath. Too bad the reality was different. It wasn’t the long hours that crushed you, it was the people, the endless ladder climbing, the sneers hidden behind faux-kind smiles, the stinging burn of rejection from agencies that only saw numbers, not vision. For someone like you, soft around the edges, it was suffocating. So, you left. “I didn’t fail,” you told yourself. “I just chose something else.”

Now, you were here, in a sleepy tiny town tucked far from madness, working in retail in a cozy boutique on the corner of a cobbled high street. The shop had charm. All reclaimed wood shelves and vintage Edison bulbs, racks lined with pre-loved jackets, silk scarves, old military coats with stories stitched into their hems. Some days were slow. Most were, but you liked the pace. You liked knowing the regulars by name, their styles by heart.

Your signature Ferrari bomber jacket hung over your shoulder, bright red, bold white racing stripes down the sleeves. It had survived seven years and at least three attempted red wine assassinations. Half the people who walked in complimented it. The other half gave you a knowing look when they spotted the prancing horse.

“I know,” you’d sigh with a smirk. “Being a Ferrari fan is practically a tragic personality trait.” The jacket made people smile. It made you smile. And in your world, that was enough.

Your favorite customers were a group of four men who’d started showing up sometime last year. You didn’t know how they found you, though it wasn’t surprising. Most of your customers came from word-of-mouth; a recommendation from a friend, or sheer luck during a caffeine-fueled detour. Either way, once they got in, they kept coming back.

Kyle was the first. Friendly, easygoing, with a sparkle of curiosity behind those warm chocolate eyes. He liked trying new styles, often picked your brain about fabrics and cuts, and wasn’t shy about flipping through racks with genuine enthusiasm. The two of you hit it off quickly. You’d talk fashion—designers, eras, tailoring techniques, so on and so forth. Every now and then, you’d catch him scribbling notes into his phone like he didn’t want to forget what you’d said. You had a stupid smile plastered on your face for the rest of the shift.

Johnny followed soon after. Something about his roguish charm and mischief wrapped in a thick Scottish accent made your heart flip. He made a game of flirting with you, asking which shirt made him look like a rockstar, which trousers “hugged the right bits.” You didn’t mind. It wasn’t sleazy and disgustingly creepy like Mr. Lambert’s comments; it was just cheeky. “’s fun, right, hen?”

The Scot had been through something, there was a scar that curved into his hairline, and sometimes, you caught him checking exits a little too carefully, but he always smiled at you as if the world wasn’t heavy on his back.

One day, Kyle told you the others would drop by the shop for a quick tour. “The captain and lieutenant,” he explained, hanging a pressed crimson sweater on the rack. “Figured you might help. Price—John—needs to stop dressing like a dad who bought a motorcycle to impress his ex. And Ghost... well, he’s allergic to color. I won’t be there, love. Good luck.”

You laughed, finding his concerns exaggerated. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

And oh boy, you did.

—

The bell above the door chimed, and in walked two figures whose attires screamed ‘suspicious crime syndicate members.’ One was broad-shouldered, bearded, and wore a low cap over his brow. The other looming shadow wore black jeans and a hoodie, eyes unreadable under a dark skull-printed mask.

“Y’alright?” John Price’s voice was gravel and warmth, all wrapped in one delicious burrito. “You’re the one tryin’ to make us fashionable?”

“I try to guide people. Whether they listen is another matter.” You corrected him.

Ghost didn’t say anything. He stood by the door like a gothic statue, gazing from wall to window to floor, like the entire place might collapse under the weight of vintage cardigans. You offered him a polite smile. He didn’t return it.

So. That was Simon, you’d find out his birth name much much later.

Gaz had warned you. But warnings didn’t quite prepare you for the presence of someone who could dissolve into a shadow if he really wanted to. You felt your smile falter a little. “Be gentle with the lieutenant, bonnie. He’s got the fashion sense of a funeral director. Easily spooked, tha’ one.” You remembered Johnny saying it. That Hulk of a man didn’t really seem easily spooked or affected by anything at all. But you’d learned not to trust the Scotsman’s judgement on people. Last time he said your newborn nephew looked like Sid from Ice Age and you’d never felt so offended.

“Well, let me know if anything makes you feel like you’re on a runway show,” you offered lightly, mostly to Price. “Or at least less of a fashion crime.”

That earned you a huff of amusement from the captain. “That obvious, huh?”

You studied him openly, eyes running over his old leather jacket, faded jeans, boots that looked like they’d seen more mud than pavement. “I'm getting 'I'm about to start a podcast about whisky and post-divorce toxic masculinity' vibes.”

Ghost let out a short snort. Yes, that sound had come from him. Price, on the other hand, barked a laugh and pointed a finger at you.

“Cheeky. Sorry for the trouble, birdie.”

—

The next thirty minutes were… interesting.

Price started by rejecting everything. Every coat was too soft, every shirt too ‘bloody posh’, every jumper looked like something his dad would’ve worn to the pub. But he kept trying them on, kept letting you adjust the collar, roll up sleeves, hold a mirror just right. “Don’t see what’s wrong with the leather one I’ve got.”

“John, you don’t want women to guess you’re divorced and why just by your looks.” You deadpanned behind a rack. The man stopped complaining after that.

“Tell me the truth,” he inquired once, eyeing a fitted navy peacoat. “Do I look like someone who owns a boat?”

“You look like someone who pretends to own a boat to impress his Tinder date.”

He gave you a mildly confused look. “What’s Tinder?”

Meanwhile, Ghost hadn’t moved an inch. You tried subtle nudges. Held up a long black coat with silver snap buttons. No response. Picked out a designer knit jumper with a high neck. Nothing. Finally, you took a risk.

You stepped closer, gentle but not meek. “Look, I’m not gonna try and make you wear lime green or anything. But you’re a tall guy. Broad frame. You could make half of this stuff look terrifying in a clever way.”

He tilted his head just enough to make the skull motif shift with him. “Not here to impress anyone.”

“Fair. But comfort isn’t just about fabric. It’s about feeling like yourself. Or... the version of you that you don’t mind being seen.”

Silence. Again. After a moment, he reached out and you had to stifle your holy hell as he plucked the coat you’d offered off the rack. Then he disappeared into the changing room.

You turned back to Price, whose eyes held something vaguely amused. “I owe Kyle a pint,” he winked.

Ghost walked out of the fitting room, and the entire shop seemed to still for a moment. The coat suited him like it had been tailored specifically for his bulk. The wool draped across his shoulders and the belt cinched just enough to emphasize the lean strength of his torso.

…

“Could be worse.”

You beamed. That was a five-star review coming from him.

Eventually, both men found something they liked. Price left with the peacoat and a rugged forest green henley. Ghost kept the long coat and to your absolute delight, picked up a navy blue shirt as they were checking out. You didn’t mention it. You figured calling attention to it might break the spell.

At the register, Price handed over his card with a smirk. “Suppose I owe you an apology, birdie. Thought this’d be a waste of time...”

“Don’t worry. I’ll pretend you were a nightmare and insulted my entire stock.”

“Attagirl.”

—

Later that evening, Kyle poked his head back in while you tidied the place back into shape. “They liked you,” he cheered.

“I’m irresistible.”

“Nah, seriously. You made Ghost wear something that wasn’t from a tactical catalog. That’s magic.” You rolled your eyes. However, when he left and you locked the door behind him, a little glow lingered in your chest.

[drgnflyteabox]

mdni - the 141 find a cozy place to stay during an op (that's definitely all that happens). implied fat!reader

(dubcon, poly, gangbang, anal, price is in charge of everyone<3)

So blizzards can happen in the blink of an eye on high, isolated mountains, right?

And the 141 have done missions in rural places, snowy places, mountainous places, right?

And there are tons of tiny little isolated towns, all over the world, built around these mountains for one reason or another - coal mining, logging, etc.

Now imagine the 141 on a mission, somewhere cold, somewhere isolated, a place that feels like the edge of the world. Desolate.

Now imagine the 141 seeing, in the near distance, a winking pale orange light. It's a good enough place as any to approach - it isn't safe to be caught in this blizzard, anyhow. Even with their gear, the safehouse is still an hour away and the snowfall seems historic...

Now imagine you're sitting in your family home, all alone, going a little crazy with cabin fever. Your woodstove is burning hot, but you're still cuddled up in knits and a thermal underneath. You're making stew for dinner with root vegetables from the basement cellar, it's bubbling and softening for you while you crochet, trying to keep your mind off the monumental shoveling task you'll have to deal with tomorrow

Until there's a knock on the door.

"Hello ma'am, I'm just wondering if me and my friends here could rest until it's safe to continue our hike?" (I love the way gaz says ma'am)

Hike? Nobody hikes up here - you've only ever seen a couple tourists in your life, thrill seeking ice climbers who came and went.

And they certainly weren't dressed in snow camo, hiding guns behind their backs.

But you were raised right, and the man at the door has kind eyes - he's handsome, too, but you'd never say it out loud. Gaz pushes the door further in when you tentatively open it, and in comes barreling three more massive men, their boots stomping and leaving a mess.

Soap smells the stew on the stove and beelines for it, lifting his helmet to inhale deeply.

Ghost sweeps the room like it might be hiding an enemy somewhere- even though it's one room total, the stove in the middle, separating the kitchen and your bed.

Price approaches you all apologetic, apologizing for "these ruffians", holding his camo helmet to his gut like it's formalwear. "Apologies, sweetheart, we weren't expecting the weather to turn on us."

You aren't quite sure how you end up sitting on prices lap, naked except for your socks, while he squeezes your stomach and grunts in your ear not to be shy when putting your weight on him. His other hand is cupped over your pussy, murming thank yous for feeding his men.

They're eating your stew, stripped out of gear, cocks tented in their white cargos.

"We're a gaggle of lucky boys, eh?" Soap says. "Nice, cozy, soft girl. Warm cabin. A man could get used to this."

You wind up pressed down on your mattress, hands held behind you by one man while another fucks you hard, spurred on by price behind them. At first, it's johnny, whining high in his throat while price guides his hips and gaz holds your arms by your head. "Need to thank her proper, boy." The obvious authority in prices voice makes your pussy clench around him, and he shakes over you, trying hard not to come too early.

Gaz reaches down from where he's holding your arms, pinching your clit until you buck against Johnny and squirt around him.

Then it's gaz, who lifts your legs and squeezes your big thighs, locking eyes with ghost. He's steady, only breaking composure when Simon praises him. "Thats a lad. Good, just like that, Kyle." He's the first to ever make you come from penetration alone, hips moving in a way that makes your abdomen tighten and tighten and tighten until you reach the longest orgasm of your life, nearly crying with how intense it feels.

Price ends up flipping you over - nudging you up on your hands and knees, the bed creaking with the combined weight of he and his lieutenant taking their places in front and behind you.

Simon slips his cock in your mouth, staring down at you through the balaclava. You can barely make out a thick scar, one that looks like it might go through his whole face. You lose focus when price pushes his fingers in your ass, though, and you squeal.

There's no where to run except further down simons cock, though, where you gag, spit running all down your chest onto the bed.

"Shh, sh," Price rubs your flank like you're a spooked animal. He squeezes the ample flesh of your asscheek appreciatively. "Jus wanna give your poor pussy a break, aye? I reckon she's tired,"

He pushes into you impatiently and it burns a little, but he soothes it with a palm over your soft, sore cunt. Rubs a thumb over your clit slowly, jostling you back and forth over simons cock.

You come once more before the night is over, tears finally running down your cheeks, mixing with your saliva, with simons come. It's a painful orgasm, wrenched from you - but that makes it all the sweeter.

They wipe you down and spoon feed you more stew, after, to recover your energy :') price has the boys tidy their boot tracks and put away leftovers while he and Simon hold you from both sides. They can barely fit with you on your bed, but tucked in like this - on top of your furs, naked as the day you were born, praised for your soft body and "What a good girl you are, babydoll."

Sigh

I'm sure this idea has probably been written but I was listening to this and couldn't stop imagining it lmfao

[nanenna]

Jeez Louise This is a Mess

Sleepy King (Nenna edition) Master Post

Apologies in advance, I'm not very familiar with John Constantine, trying to do anything from his perspective is definitely an unwise decision. I have chosen it anyway. He's almost definitely OOC.

---

John watched the Fentons and the mayor just saunter through the brand new hole in the mayor’s wall like this was just a normal Friday for them. Considering how weird the town was as a whole, it probably was. And he meant that by the old meaning of the word and as literal as one could possibly interpret it. He’d never been anywhere where the veil was so thin over such a large area, with æther so thick in the air of course it was affecting the locals. Probably had something to do with whoever or whatever had cloaked the whole town.

John turned to Tall Dark and Broody, “So, what happened to all the bugs and trackers you put on them originally?”

Batsy frowned, “Danny’s are still in the Fenton residence, expected since he clearly changed his clothes. His parents’ trackers and bugs all went offline not long after arriving home, the ones I placed inside the residence are malfunctioning.”

“And that’s not the least bit suspicious?” John asked.

“It’s incredibly suspicious,” Batsy said with a completely straight face before turning and also walking right out the brand new hole. “I suggest you actually use the comm I gave you earlier, they’re explaining the situation to Masters.”

Unfortunately Mr. Gargles Gravel for Breakfast had a point, John sighed and did put in the comm, though he knew it would be spotty with the use of magic to follow the group. Batsy and Wonder Woman could follow however they liked, John did not have the energy for that.

The comms were staticky, cutting in and out even without John’s abuse of the thin veil to quick step around town. Not surprising, the amount of pure death magic radiating off the two dead-alive people in that tank would be enough to mess with most electronics even if the veil weren’t practically non-existent.

“Somehow this place feels cozy,” Boston commented as he followed John.

“You would think so.”

The conversation on the comm was getting worse, the bugs were clearly slowly giving up the ghost. John only caught a few words here and there, and those were only because they were Ghost Speak, something that shouldn’t be possible for flesh and blood mouths to speak. It’s just bits and pieces, names and titles mostly, but if he’s understanding this right…

“Huh, that may change the situation a bit.”

“What are you going on about?” Boston asked.

“It sounds like Pariah isn’t the Ghost King anymore. But Batsy’s bugs are losing the war against æther, so when we get there you’re gonna need to go spy on them.”

“Will that work?”

“Try to keep out of sight, but even if you get caught the worst they’ll do is kick you out. Undead solidarity.”

Boston grumbled, but when John met back up with Batsy and Wonder Woman staring through a window right to where the group was talking, Boston did as he was asked and slipped right through the wall and inside. John cast a quick spell to spy through Boston.

Boston floated slowly into the room, seemingly becoming braver as the Fentons looked right past him without reacting. Unfortunately, he got a little too close to the one person in the room that could definitely see him. The kid jumped out of his seat in surprise.

“Don't sneak up on me like that!” The kid whined as he picked himself up off the floor. Then he froze, eyes glaring at Boston. “How did you sneak up on me? You didn't activate my ghost sense at all.”

“Oh, you can see me? And ghost sense?”

“You don't know who I am?”

“Uh… Daniel Fenton?”

“Well yes, but ghosts don't usually call me that.”

“Then what do they call you?”

“How about you tell me your name first?”

“I’m Deadman.”

The kid burst into laughter. “Are you for real?”

“Danny, is it Youngblood?” The sister asked.

“Huh?” The kid looked to his older sister, then back to Boston. He gestured, “You can't see him?”

The Fentons all shook their heads.

The creepy mayor came back into the room holding a cardboard box, knocking a thin layer of dust from the top. “Here it is!” He looked up and frowned. “Who are you, and why are you in my home?”

“I’m Deadman and I’m uh… lost?”

“He didn't set off my ghost sense,” the kid added. He turned back to Boston, “Are you even a ghost?”

Batman, who’d spent the last few minutes getting into the perfect position while he waited for the most dramatic moment chose then to crash through the window. John started cursing as he rushed to climb in after the loon, already prepping a spell. The moment he had a clear line of sight he shot off the revelation spell at the kid.

It did… well not much.

Really about all it did was give the kid a couple extra accessories. He expected them, but he also expected it to somehow reveal the kid’s undead status too. Make him look all glowy and ghostly like he had when he’d first arrived last night, because John was pretty sure the kid hadn’t been kidnapped after all. Or at least not how they originally assumed, he was pretty sure some spirits considered an unwilling summons a kidnapping.

Still, there the crown was. Just floating over the kid’s head, toxic green æther flames around it like a death energy aurora. And like any teenager the kid seemed completely oblivious, having to be told the crown was even there. Once he got a hand on it though he said something odd, “Okay, crown retrieved.”

John just tucked his hands in his pockets, waiting to see what they were doing. Why did they think they needed to find the crown?

“We may have a problem,” The creepy mayor said as he pulled an identical crown from his cardboard box.

“What.” The kid looked back and forth between the crown in his hand and the one in the creeper’s. “Why are there two?”

And, well, John agreed. Why the fuck were there two? He already started muttering an identification spell as the kid turned to him.

“What did you do?!”

“I didn't do anything,” John protested, “that was purely an identification spell, it can't duplicate things!”

“Well clearly you did something wrong,” The kid’s mom said while glaring at the him.

Of course things got dicey after that, the kid and the creepy mayor got into a fight over the second crown, things turned into a right mess, and John was quite content to let them squabble among themselves. He moved to go stand next to Batsy and Wonder Woman, Boston with him, waiting to see how this went.

Of course the tussle then turned into fighting over the ring on the kid’s finger, still blaming John for just revealing the crown and ring the kid had apparently had this whole time.

“Alright, that’s enough. Shut up!” John may have put a bit of intent into that, and it worked beautifully. The whole group stopped and stared at him, finally shutting up. The parents managed to get between the kid and the creeper, each one still with one of the crowns.

The crowns he now knew were both, somehow, legitimate.

John pointed at the kid, “Just call the crown, it’ll listen.”

The kid gave him a disbelieving look. “Oh sure, I’ll just,” he hunched forward a little bit, clapped his hands, and whistled like he was calling a dog, “here Crowny, Crowny, Crowny.”

For a brief moment nothing happened, then the creeper mayor jerked forward as the crown yanked itself from his hand. It went to go join the other crown floating over the kid’s head, one of them grew wider so the other could nestle inside it, both spinning in place but in opposite directions.

Everyone was staring at the display.

“What uh… what are they doing?” The kid asked nervously.

“They… like each other?” The sister asked skeptically.

“Great, wonderful, fabulous, just what I need in my life.” The kid sighed and turned to glare at John. “What. Did. You. DO?!”

“I didn’t do shit,” John replied, much to the parents’ combined horror. “Looks like somehow they’re both legit, my best guess is one of them isn’t from this timeline.”

“Oh,” the sister said, grabbing everyone’s attention. “The Nasty Burger explosion happened after the fight with the king, right?”

“The what?” the kid’s parents asked.

“Oh,” the kid responded, “I’m starting to see why the council of eyeballs hates my guts.”

And wasn’t that a concerning sentence. John desperately needed a drink, thankfully he had a flask on him and chose that moment to take a swig. “Alright, so there should be a second ring too, no point leaving that on Dark’s finger in case he gets out again.”

“Vlad did it,” the kid said while pointing at the creeper.

“Excuse me!” Creeper actually put a hand to his neck, like some fainting Victorian lady.

“Vlad tried to steal the ring and crown, so he let Dark out of the sarcophagus and I had to go clean up his mess, like always.” The kid glared at the creeper, it was starting to paint a really concerning picture.

“I’m sure Vladdie was just trying to keep these powerful artifacts safe,” the kid’s dad said loudly and happily. Yeah, there was the concerning picture again.

“I’d believe it if all he took was the ring, but the crown was safely sealed away with Pariah and he let the guy out to steal it.”

“Just call the ring,” John said gruffly.

“Here Ragey, Ragey, Ragey.” The kid whistled and clapped his hands again. The ring showing up on the kid’s other hand was expected, the glowing green hell hound that came sprinting through the wall and practically tackled the kid wasn’t. “Cujo! Hi! Who’s a good puppy?!”

Keeriest, John needed a stiffer drink.

[goodbyehomepuppetshow]

BOO!! Happy Halloween!

First | << Previous | Next >>

“Highly doubtful, but let’s see you try.”

“Alright, here we go! Once upon a midnight gloomy, there was a little town with cobbled streets and creaky houses. Now, these folks? They liked to leave their doors open, their windows cracked, and their lights out—y’know, the perfect setup for an uninvited guest.”

“Seems irresponsible to me.”

“What did the guest look like, Barnaby?…”

“Glad you asked, Walls! This guest didn’t have a shape, or a face, or even a body you could see. But oh, you could feel it. Just like that tickle in the back of your throat when you know you’re about to sneeze but it just won’t happen.”

“A ticklish ghost? Terrifying.”

“Patience, Frank! So one night, a lady in her cottage hears this raspy, scritch-scratchin’ sound from her window. She gets up, opens it wide—without thinkin’, naturally—and sees nothin’ but fog. But when she turns around, she finds… a trail of little wet footprints, each one inching closer to her bed.”

“Maybe it was a cat…”

“That’s what she thought! She followed those footprints, muttering about how her old tabby must be trackin’ mud everywhere, but then… the prints stopped right in the middle of her room. The air grew heavy, like someone was watchin’, and when she turned around… BAM! There it was: her own reflection in the mirror, smilin’ at her in the dark!”

“Barnaby, you’re not even trying! It’s just her reflection.”

“Ah, but here’s the thing, Frankie. She tried to look away… but couldn’t. Her reflection moved when she didn’t, smilin’ wider and wider till her face split open—”

“Nonsense! That’s not how reflections work.”

“It was then she heard a whisper… soft, and slithery. It said: ‘Look closer.’ And like somethin’ had taken over her, she leaned in, closer and closer, till her nose was nearly pressed to the glass. And right before her eyes… she saw it. A face in her reflection’s mouth—a face that wasn’t hers. The mirror was swallowin’ her up, draggin’ her right inside!”

”…That’s ridiculous.”

“Then what happened, Barnaby?…”

“They say she was never seen again… but sometimes, folks in that town would walk by that same house, and on certain nights, they’d see her face in the window, smilin’ back. And the scratchin’… well, it never stopped. They just don’t know if it’s her scratchin’ to get out… or if something else is in there, scratchin’ to come out.”

Barnaby’s smile fades, his voice lowering to a whisper.

“Sometimes, if you’re very quiet and listen real close… you might hear it, too.”

For a moment, the room goes silent. Even Frank finds himself glancing in the distance, his protests dying on his lips.

“I liked that story, Barnaby. It was… cozy.”

“Cozy? Yikes, Walls, remind me never to tell you a bedtime story!”

[barefoothighlander]

never going back again - 4.5

summary: ghost finds himself at the wrong safe house, injured and unable to call for backup

simon ‘ghost’ riley x innocent fem!reader

warnings: mdni (18+), sad but also happy, insinuated alcohol abuse, mentions of PTSD and mental illness, little switch in POVs, alcohol, fluff but also angst

prev part masterlist

a/n: well, my friends, it’s been a long time. i hope this is everything you all waited for and i apologize for the extreme delay. all my love

Six months, fourteen days and twelve hours, that’s how long it had been since your heart had been torn from its place in your chest. The simmering pain of losing him stayed with you through every moment, every corner of the house lay a memory of his spirit.

There were no promises made, no vows spoken, no concrete reason for him to find his way back to you and yet, hope persisted.

There had to be a reason he wasn’t there, you knew the relative outline of what his job required, you knew he couldn’t just pack up and leave but everytime Riley’s ears perked up at a noise outside your heart skipped a beat, hoping the door would open and he would be there.

The days drew on, restless nights in a too large bed, what once was a warm and cozy cottage became an empty home, nothing felt right anymore.

•

It was Simons third meeting this month for his insubordination, disobeying a handful of direct orders gets you put on the shit list, he knew they would never discharge him, he was too much of an asset to the team considering he wasn’t even legally alive.

The day he returned to the base he had requested leave, any amount of time that would get him back to you, to his home.

It was strange to use the word and mean it so wholeheartedly, he’d never felt this type of belonging, not in Manchester with his family, not in the military with his squad, not even in the 141, and they were the closest he had to brothers.

Everyday he’d report for duty only to return to his empty flat, the clacking of beer bottles on the coffee table as he rested his feet, he had nothing left without you, and if he left without notice he knew the team would hunt him down, Shepard would probably send some kill squad after him.

So he waited, for months he waited, putting in a new leave request everytime his previous got denied, it was unfair, he’d devoted decades of his life to the service and the moment he found a reason to leave they force him to stay.

He’d used his clearance to try and track you down, find some sort of phone number or email that he could talk to you, just to hear your voice, to know you were okay, he needed to know that you thought about him just as much as he thought about you.

•

You couldn’t take it anymore, the not knowing, the constant wondering, the hoping, it was driving you mad, it was a moments decision, you had no plan, no clue where to start, but you knew you could begin somewhere.

The dial tone bleeds through the phone, “Hello?”

“I need a favour”

“Anything, what’s up?”

“Can you take Riley and Goliath for the week”

“Yea of course, is everything alright?”

“Yea, no, I mean I’m okay, everyone’s okay I just have to leave town for a bit”

“I’m home all day, drop them off whenever”

“I’ll be there in 15”

The call ends and your heart races, springing to your feet you reach under the bed, pulling out a carry on bag, stuffing the contents of your drawers into it, no time to think.

You persuade your pets into the car with various treats, tucking Goliath into a small carrier before strapping him in, Riley seems all too comfortable sitting passenger.

Making the drive to Williams house you park the car, Riley following after you as you grab Goliath, two knocks on the door and it opens.

Riley races in making himself comfortable as you pass the carrier and a bag full of the animals necessities.

“I can’t thank you enough, I won’t be gone long I promise”

“You’re acting strange”

“I just have to do this” He can sense the determination on your face, nodding.

“Good luck”

You give him a small smile before returning to your car, punching in the closest airport location to your gps.

-

“What do you mean there’s no flights to England”

“There’s none scheduled till tomorrow ma’am”

“That’s not possible, there has to be some airline flying there, please I’ll take anything”

The woman behind the counter can sense the anxiety on your face, letting a small sigh fall from her lips.

“I can get you to Scotland, maybe there another flight from there”

“When does it leave?” You tap your fingers agains the desk nervously.

“10 minutes, gate three”

You nod, picking up your bag and taking the ticket from her, eyes following her movements as she points you in the right direction.

You make your way through the halls, dodging groups of people to get to the gate, reaching for your passport and handing over your ticket before stepping onto the boarding platform.

It’s a relatively short flight, a little over four hours and you’re landing in Edinburgh, your body refusing to sleep on the plane allowing your tiredness to catch up.

It’s another argument with the airlines to get on the nearest flight but an hour later and you’re seated once again on a plane, bound for London.

Your dread settles in your stomach, the lack of planning rearing its ugly head, you had no idea where to go from there, no place to start, only instinct and an idea.

The flight is quick, struggling to grab navigate your way through the busy airport before finding a cab.

“Where’s the nearest military base?”

“S’about 20 kilometres from here”

“Let’s go there please”

There could be a hundred bases around and you had no clue which one Simon would be on, you knew he was from Manchester but that didn’t mean he lived there, you’d have to start somewhere.

-

“Ma’am I can’t let you in without authorization”

“Is there someone I can call? I need to know if the person I’m looking for is here”

“I’m afraid all of those answers are classified, I wish I could help but for security-“

“I know, security reasons, it’s the same shit I got at the last two bases”

“You’ve been around three bases looking for this guy?”

“I don’t know which one he’s on”

“And you don’t know his address or anything?”

“No, I know nothing” The realization hits that this may be a means to an end, running around South England, trying to find a man that doesn’t exist.

“Well I’ll tell you this, you go around asking about people on another base and they’re gonna detain you for questioning”

“I figured they would at some point”

He smiles, “Good luck”

-

It’s cold and wet, the rain unrelenting as you step out of the cab, after too much money spent driving around you’d decided to just check into a hotel and accept your defeat, your heart heavier than the weight of your eyelids. What a stupid idea, dropping everything to chase a man halfway across the world without a semblance of a clue as to who, or where he is. Your chest pangs as the tears begin to fall, dripping down your cheeks as the exhaustion overtakes you, there is nothing left, no clue to follow, the house doesn’t feel like home without him. Your last thoughts are of him, soft and warm, dozing in the morning sun when he looks almost peaceful as your eyes shut and sleep takes over your body.

You wake to a knock on the door, running your puffy eyes as u rise to answer it, a middle aged woman standing behind it muttering something about housekeeping, she looks thoroughly unimpressed as you wave her off and close the door. Checking the clock it’s a little before noon, you stand at the window looking out over the cityscape, trying to make sense of the maze of streets and crowds of people bustling by.

It’s not long before you���re dressed and outside, the breeze doing wonders for the dryness you feel in your throat. Just being outside feels better, atleast outside you can distract yourself with strangers and various shops, rather than sitting alone, thinking about him. You waste hours wandering around, peering into book stores and stopping for tea at a little cafe, half the day passes before you even check your watch and find its past dinner, your stomach growling to remind you that you’ve had little to eat.

You pass by stores closing and pubs opening looking for somewhere relatively quiet to grab some food before setting your eye on a rundown pub a few blocks down, the lights are on but there’s no one outside, unlike the other pubs that dot the block, groups of people outside yelling and drinking as they curse at the rugby game that plays on the television inside.

•

Simon had enough, enough of the denials, enough of the mandated meetings, if they wouldn’t give him leave he’d atleast go home for a weekend, leave the place that forbids him to spend a moment thinking about you and not about his work. That’s all he needed, one weekend alone, drinking in the quiet dark to set his mind right. He’d been stepping out of line toward his superiors, cursing them for making him take accountability for going AWOL, he was sick of always being the bad guy, that’s what he missed, being able to have a regular conversation, the freedom to be Simon rather than his darker counterpart, the peace that only came from being tucked away in the cottage with you.

He grabbed what little he had in his shacks and threw it into a bag, stowing it in the rear seat of his truck before taking off toward Manchester, he still kept an apartment near where his mum used to live, he liked the neighborhood, liked seeing the kids with their parents, with their dads. It helped him imagine what his life could’ve been if life granted him a decent father, though if it did, he would have never met you, never known real kindness, real affection, real love.

Time passes quickly as he drives, the radio almost a silent echo of the wind that passes by the window. He parks in the driveway and grabs his things, moving to unlock the door and make his way upstairs. It’s dark inside, he’s not much for interior design but there’s a bed and a couch, the latter typically where he finds himself on the nights he stays here. His hand moves to flick on the light but nothing happens - “fuckin bills” with a sigh he drops his things, rifling through the pile of unpaid electric bills that have fallen through the door slot, dropping them aside and walking toward the kitchen. He opens the fridge and it assaulted by the smell of whatever left overs had gone bad and the sight of three warm beers, cursing under his breath he throws the lot in the garbage.

He needs a damn drink, but with the group of men hanging outside and the gaggles of drunks that’ll be lining the streets in no time hes down to a limited amount of choices. Raising the hood of his sweater he locks the door, making his way outside the building and down the street. Simon keeps his eyes toward the ground, not out of cowardice or fear but rather over the chance that someone in this neighbourhood might recognize him, even though he’s 30 years older, about 190 pounds larger and covered with more scars than he can count, he knows that if someone were to look into his eyes, they’d recognize that young boy, one who’s life is filled with so much pain.

It’s a couple minutes walk from his place to get to the small pub run by an elderly man, Paddy, or Addi? He can’t remember, and odds are the man is too drunk to speak clearly even through his thick accent, it doesn’t bother Simon, the not knowing, he’s used to people around not asking questions about him, making assumptions, he’d rather take his drink alone in the corner anyway, less people to distract from watching the game.

He arrives at the pub, albeit with a few taunts from a couple of drunk teenagers a few streets back, the bell above the door ringing as he opens in breathing in the scent of wood and alcohol, the televised cheers echoing through the newley empty room. He’d been frequenting this pub for a few years, it was quiet, less people came to it considering the age of the building and the lack of air conditioning or heating, but the less people the better, and the whiskey was just as good.

He keeps his head down as he makes his way in, sure to not make eye contact with any patrons but the voice of a young woman catches his attention and he peaks up. At the bar is a girl, dressed in nice clothes with his hair done, laughing with Paddy/Addi and yelling at the television, he can’t stop staring, she’s enigmatic, almost familiar as she sips her drink, her eyes glued to the screen. He’s stuck, glued to the floor as his heart races, his stomach threatening to upturn.

“Oi, big lad, you gonna stand there like some creep or d’ya wan a drink”

The man’s voice breaks the trance and Simons dream crashes to a halt as the woman turns around.

It’s not her.

His worlds stops and starts over a hundred times in a second, of course it’s not her, how could it be, what an idiot, she’s not coming for you.

Simon nods and the man pours a whiskey, pushing it across the bar as Simon grabs it, downing the liquor before setting the glass back down, nodding for another. He finds his spot in the back, resting his sore back against the harsh wood and keeping an eye on the game as he continues to drink, his mind spiraling over thoughts of you, tucked away in your small corner, safe. It’s that part that makes him feel some comfort, the fact that if you were apart of his world, you’d be in danger, and he’d rather see a lifetime of pain and loneliness than ever put you in that position.

•

Your shoes are practically soaked through by the time you reach the steps of the pub, navigating the old streets and avoiding the drunk onlookers, your face flush and mouth dry, aching for a drink. The bell rings above the door as you step in, there’s only a few people inside but it looks to be a rather big pub, an old man tends the bar while he chats to a young woman. You shed your layers, allowing your skin a bit of air before you overheat and you make your way in.

“What’ll it be miss”

You give him your order, thanking him with a tip as you sip your drink, the cool liquid working quickly to smooth your throat, this is fine, this works, a quiet bar to drink and pretend you care about sports. This’ll do wonders for taking your mind off Simon.

“Oi, big lad, another?” The man shouts over his shoulder, you can’t see who he’s talking to but you hear him, that voice. Thousands of people in this city, all the same accent, no one with a voice like that. The man begins to pour the drink and take it over but you stop him -

“Do you mind if I take it over?”

He looks at you quizzically, “Be my guest, less work for me”

You take the drink from the man and make your way toward the back of the pub, a sigh from ahead over the rugby match making your pace quicken, your heart skip a beat. You can see the outline of his upper body, the man is so large he takes up nearly half the bench as his gaze is toward the television, he looks at his empty glass then straight ahead, as is wondering where his drink is.

Simon moves to look toward the bar but his eyes land on you, standing there, holding his drink, and you can see his face fall, his eyes squint then open as he stares at you. You can’t help the tear that escapes you, the quiver of your lip as you move closer, you clear your throat as you place the drink on the table.

“You know, it was getting lonely up there, was wondering if you wanted to have a drink with me”

He swallows, his body moving before his mind as he stands, his arms enveloping you, caging you to him as if trying to figure out if you’re real. You wrap yourself around him, out of all the outcomes, all of the possibilities, perhaps your subconscious knew this was the bar he would be in. Maybe fate intervened and brought him here, who cares, destiny, fate, god, all them be damned, he was here.

Minutes that felt like seconds trailed on as he held you, slowly pulling back to look at your face, your skin blotchy and red from the tears you failed to fight. His hand reaches up to hold your cheek, wiping away the stray tear as he leans down, his lips enveloping yours and it feels like you can breath again. No air compares to this feeling, like half of your soul returned, you stay there, inches away from eachother before he steps back.

“How” He asks

“I don’t know”

He nods slowly, moving to sit down as if needing to catch his breath and you follow, positioning yourself right at his side.

“I never thought you’d come here” He says, his face tilted down.

“I had to, i realized pretty quickly that if I wasn’t with you, i felt empty. So i got a flight, ran around a couple of military bases, definitely got myself put on some kind of warrant list. And then I decided I needed a drink to stop thinking about you”

He laughs slightly, “I needed a drink so I could think about you”

It sounds harsh but you understand,

“Does anyone know you’re here?”

You shake your head, just you.

He nods.

“Simon I-“

“Don’t say anything, not yet atleast”

You silently agree. The two of you sit, your sides glued together as the silence washes over you, your breaths practically in sync as your hearts finally slow to a steady beat.

“Thank you” he says

“For the drink?”

“For coming, no one’s- no one outside the team has ever come looking for me, and they only come cause they have to”

“You would’ve done the same for me”

He nods, despite all his attempts, all his capabilities, you were the one that came to him, you chose him.

“I’m gonna be here a while, in the city I mean”

He turns to face you, “Darling i don’t care where you are or where you’re going, as long as it’s with me”

You smile, your hand reaching for his face as you lean in to kiss him, the taste of whiskey on his breath as he kisses you back. Home, you were home, in a dirty old pub that stunk of liquor and wood, sitting in a rough seat, beside the man you loved, his eyes looking at you with nothing but hope as his lips leave yours his hand moving to hold yours.

The two of you leave the pub, your heart full and head clear, albeit a little tipsy as you walk back to your hotel room. Simon doesn’t say anything about his apartment as he helps you drag your suitcases up the stairs into it, you don’t ask. He vows the buy some proper furniture for the place and you decide to stay a little while, at least until he can figure out how to explain to his superiors that his deployment will only be with the 141 from now on. You settle in once again to life, you see him most weekends though he’s on base a lot during the week, but this life, with him, it’s better than an eternity without, and the joy in his eyes as he looks at you, even weeks later when he’s kneeling in front of you, his fingers sliding a ring onto yours, you can’t fake it, the happiness that floods your veins at the thought of being tied to him forever, no matter the consequences or struggles, it’s real, and it’s everything money can’t buy.

A lifetime of happiness with Simon, his highs and lows, the knowledge that no matter what happens, he’d fight to the death to get home to you.

tag list: @pepsicolacoochie @coolbanana44 @konigsblog @lialacleaf @mli345 @gghoulzz @fuckface-6996 @jklkverr @2dmensl @sapszilla @yahet-moi-ohorat @snixx2088 @meeom @sorryimbusytalklater @zuyilu @streetartist22 @aryiannarae @rosiesrosyroses-blog @salsa-reads-stuff @stateofcatatonia @viylikescats @kaysav608 @yourlocalmoon-lover @wordsfromshona na @elichisstuff @fanficwriterlover @thriving-n-jiving @babygirl-panda19

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

hello!! I’m a bit new to reading your stuff and I already LOVE it!!! And I was just wondering that because you did one with Ghost’s wife and baby meeting the team that maybe perhaps possibly you could do one for Gaz? If you don’t, I understand, and if you already have then I’m sorry for asking. ok, bye-bye!!!

—Lunar🐱

You Brought Who?

Pairing: Kyle “Gaz” Garrick x Wife!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, light domestic themes, found family vibes, established relationship, soft smut/spice (MDNI), affectionate teasing, Kyle being a very good husband and dad

Author's Note: This was such a joy to put together—team bonding, tiny chaos, soft!Kyle, and just the right sprinkle of heat. Hope you love it as much as I loved writing it!

Summary: When Kyle invites the team over for a casual hangout, he finally reveals the part of his life he's kept private—his wife and daughter. The surprise is mutual, the warmth is real, and the night takes a turn for the intimate once the house quiets down.

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

Kyle had always kept his personal life close to the chest.

So when he casually dropped a, "You lot free Friday? Come round mine," into the squad chat, the silence that followed was deafening.

Price was the first to respond, gruff but curious.

Did hell freeze over?

Soap followed with something less tactful.

Since when do you host things? You live in a flat or a secret underground base?

Ghost, as usual, offered just:

Fine. I’ll bring something.

The truth was… no one really knew much about Kyle Garrick’s life outside work. They knew he liked his coffee sweet, was terrifyingly efficient in combat, and had a mouth that could cut a man to ribbons if pushed. But he never really shared things—not like Johnny with his endless stories, or Price with his well-worn wisdom, or even Ghost with his rare but grounding insights.

So when they showed up at the address Kyle had dropped—nice part of town, neat little front garden, cozy semi-detached—they were already off-balance.

Then the door opened.

And everything tilted.

You greeted them with a soft smile and wide eyes, dressed in a cozy knit set that looked far too soft for someone associated with a man like Kyle. You didn’t look shocked to see them. Just… mildly amused. Like you were used to this energy, and maybe even fond of it.

"Hi," you said. "Come in. Kyle’s just finishing up in the kitchen."

Price blinked. "You must be…"

"His wife," you supplied, stepping aside to let them in.

Soap nearly tripped over the welcome mat.

"Wife?"

You laughed, nodding. "Three years this fall."

"Bloody hell," Johnny muttered, glancing toward Ghost like he’d just learned Kyle had a second identity.

You led them into the warm, softly lit living room, where a little girl—tiny, curly-haired, with big brown eyes and a tiara perched on her head—was arranging plastic cups and stuffed animals around a tea table.

She looked up and beamed.

"Hi! I’m Talia. I’m four and a half. You wanna come to my tea party?"

Ghost, who had been about to sit down, froze mid-motion.

Kyle appeared then, casual in joggers and a hoodie, a tea towel over his shoulder, and absolutely unbothered by the stunned silence.

"Everyone," he said calmly, like it wasn’t earth-shattering, "meet my girls."

It took a moment for the team to catch up.

Price recovered first, moving forward to shake your hand with a chuckle. "He’s kept you hidden well."

"We weren’t hiding," you said, smiling up at Kyle. "Just… keeping it ours."

Soap crouched to meet Talia’s eye level, eyes wide with disbelief and delight. "You’re telling me this guy is your dad?"

She nodded proudly. "He’s the best one."

Ghost, standing stiff as ever near the wall, gave her a nod. "You run the place, then?"

Talia grinned. "I’m the boss of tea parties and bedtime songs."

Soap burst out laughing. "She’s a proper legend already."

And just like that—she had them.

Ghost ended up wearing a plastic crown and holding a stuffed bear named Sir Grumbles.

Soap was dramatically “poisoned” twice and made a scene both times.

Price, ever the steady one, sipped imaginary tea like it was the finest Earl Grey in Britain.

You watched from the kitchen, hands wrapped around your mug as Kyle leaned next to you, one arm slung around your shoulders.

"They’re not what I expected," you admitted.

He kissed your hair. "They’re not what anyone expects. But they’re good men."

"They love her already," you said, voice soft.

"Course they do." He smiled. "She’s perfect."

——

Later that night, with Talia fast asleep in bed and the team lounging in the living room—Soap and Ghost bickering over whose stuffed animal was knighted first, and Price quietly watching it all with a bemused smile—Kyle pulled you aside into your shared bedroom.

He shut the door gently behind you, voice low. "You okay, love?"

You nodded, letting him press close, hands warm on your waist. "More than okay."

He kissed you—slow and sweet, like he had nowhere else to be. The noise faded behind the door, the world shrinking down to just his breath on your skin, his fingers grazing under your shirt.

"You sure?" he murmured, lips brushing your jaw. "We’ve got a full house."

You smiled, curling your fingers into his hoodie. "Then you better be quiet, Sergeant."

He laughed softly, voice thick with affection. "Not a chance."

You rolled your eyes, laughing softly, but it quickly melted into a gasp when he dipped his head to your neck, kissing slowly, lazily, like he had all night to savor you. His hands slid under your top, calloused palms skimming your skin as he laid you back against the sheets.

"You looked so damn good today," he murmured, voice low and warm. "Watching you with them. With her. Had me counting the minutes."

"Kyle—" you whispered, breath catching as he pushed your shirt up and pressed kisses down your stomach. "They’re just in the other room."

He grinned against your skin. "Then I’ll go slow."

And he did—painfully, blissfully so. He made love to you like it was a language only you two understood, soft gasps and whispered praise tangled in the dark. When you finally came undone beneath him, his name slipping past your lips like a prayer, he followed close behind, burying his face in your neck and holding you close.

——

Afterward, tangled together under the covers, you let yourself melt into him, chest still rising and falling as he brushed his fingers down your spine.

"Still glad you brought them?" you mumbled sleepily.

"Best decision I ever made," he said, kissing your temple. "Besides marrying you."

The next morning was chaos—but the sweet kind.

You found Talia sprawled on top of Ghost on the couch, a tiny hand gripping his vest while he slept rigidly beneath her, clearly unsure of what to do.

Soap was face-down in a pile of stuffed animals.

Price was already drinking tea.

Kyle slung an arm around your waist and kissed your temple.

"You see it now?" he whispered. "Why I wanted them to know?"

You leaned into him, smiling at the quiet sight of your daughter curled up against one of the world’s most intimidating men.

"Yeah," you murmured. "I see it."

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[pinkiemachine]

Hello! I've really enjoyed your work for a while and have a Batman question for you!

How do you feel about Maps?

I HAVE PLANS

I’m just a little nervous to share them because it ties into shipping…

But since someone in the comments asked...

Okay, so, before, during, and/or after Damian's crush on Amythest (link to that full story below) he was going to West-Reeve School and had a group of friends there, including Jon Kent (jus kidding, Jon had a friend group, and Damian just happened to be in it, lol). One of these friends was Mia, aka Maps. Now, like a lot of characters, I haven't gotten around to really truly reading up on Maps as much as I want, so there are a lot of details I'm missing from this story, but what I have so far is:

Maps was always getting caught up in adventures, intentionally or accidentally. She's a bit rambunctious, and very intelligent. For example, she wound up stumbling into a serious criminal case that Damian and Bruce were working on at the time, and she was completely oblivious (like, she was focused on this other thing at the time). Damian was with her during their trip into Metropolis' version of Crime Alley, so he had to protect her from (idk, scarecrow? riddler? whoever, I haven't gotten that far) all while trying to make sure she doesn't notice that he's doing all this karate and parkour and bending over backwards to keep the villains from hurting her. lol. BUT, actually, one day she does notice. One day she puts two and two together and realises that Damian is Robin. She doesn't confront him, though. She actually doesn't tell anyone. Quite frankly, she's a little starstruck at the idea of her classmate being ROBIN, and she doesn't know what to do with that information. She decides to simply keep his secret, for his sake. Imagine if the whole school found out, or worse, Gotham's criminals. But so, to sum up, Dami and Maps are good friends, nothing more.

Eventually, Damian gets kicked out of West-Reeve and starts going to Gotham Academy. Which means he and Maps part ways.

We are now in the depths of high school. I know. Ew. During this time, Damian meets and begins dating Nika, aka Flatline. They have a very exciting, very fun relationship, forged in the heat of youthful passion! Aka, it's cute. But, as time goes on, some of their flaws start cropping up. Like the fact that Damian is beginning to understand what a terrible thing death and killing are, while Nika is actively fascinated by death--drawn to it. She also looks up to Damian's mom for her awesome assassin skills. Also, it begins to become clear that while they do like one another and have fun together, there's not much more to it than that. Nika and Damian both have a hard time communicating their feelings, but after a year of being together, Damian is beginning to want to take the next step, and... Nika isn't.

Valentine's Day. Damian and Nika's first. All of Damian's bat-sibs have been in his ear about how to plan the perfect date--where to go, what to eat, what to wear--they will not shut up about it. In the end, he goes to the trouble of planning out an elaborate date and feels rather proud of himself. He waits at the table for Nika to arrive--since they had agreed to meet at the restaurant--but... she doesn't show. He waits a little longer... he texts her... she still doesn't come and doesn't text. And now he's starting to just feel depressed. He put in a lot of hard work, and she's ghosting him? Why? She's never done that before. It begins to rain outside.

While he's sitting alone at the table, who should approach him but Maps herself, a little older now, and a little more mature. She and her parents are in town for some business stuff her dad's doing and when she spots Damian--out of the manor, alone in the restaurant--she just has to stop and say 'hi.' Well, she ends up saying a lot more than just 'hi.' Damian is happy to see an old friend, and they start talking... and talking some more... there in the cozy restaurant while the rain patters against the windows. Damian is smiling. And laughing. She is too. Then Damian offers to walk Maps home, and they talk a little longer, not wanting the night to end. It's only when they're waving goodbye, and Damian watches that big smile spread across her face and feels his cheeks growing warm that he gets this sinking feeling.

He goes to Dick's house at once, seeking council. It doesn't matter that it's midnight and he's got a baby now, Damian needs to know what just happened and what to do about it. So, tired but sympathetic, Dick lets him in and they talk about the events of the evening. Dick reaffirms what Maps said, "Maybe there's a good reason why Nika didn't show" and that there's no reason to panic. Just take this one day at a time. Nothing truly bad or irreversable has happened yet.

So Damian goes and finds Nika, asking why she flaked on their date, and she says it was an honest mistake. Something (plot) related came up and she forgot to tell Damian that she wouldn't be available anymore. Whoops. So crisis averted. Damian convinces himself that the night with Maps was just two old friends catching up--his relationship with Flatline is fine--and there's nothing to worry about.

Just kidding.

Nika has a few more little incidents after this, like flaking again, or showing up when she wasn't expected (often at inconvenient times) Damian keeps getting frustrated with her, not just because of her seemingly immature behaviour, but also (as stated before) there doesn't seem to be anything truly substancial holding the relationship together besides some rather surface-level things, and Nika is intentionally trying to keep it that way. Eventually, they have a fight where Damian confronts her on this. He just wants to know the real her, he doesn't want just a "fun" relationship. Nika, however, still feels like she isn't ready, and she deflects. She falls back on old habits, she ignores, she retaliates, she tries to make things stay the way they were before, but Damian has outgrown that.

The fight ends bad. They try to make up after, but they have another fight a while later... and then, in a twist, it's Nika who breaks off the relationship. Maybe they could have worked, but... not right now.

When Maps shows up again, it's not as a rebound, don't worry. She shows up as a friend. She's there to console Damian, nothing more. She feels partially responsible for all of this, actually, and regrets any part she played in it, but Damian assures her that this was a long time coming and wasn't her fault. During her visits, they end up talking more, completely just by chance. No pressure, no elaborate dates, just two friends talking. Once Damian is moving on and getting back into his old groove, (aka a brief timeskip) he decides to call up Maps and asks if she would like to hangout.

Not sure how fast I want things to move, or what kinds of challenges they will face as a couple, all I know is... Maps is a serious contender for the title of Mrs. Damian Wayne. I'll leave it at that.

Your thoughts?

Oh, previous stuff about Dami's love life here:

[put-me-through-the-wall]

Girl Next Door- Pt. 2

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x reader

Word count: 3k

Summary: Simon finally accept your offer for dinner. Did you mention you can cook?

A/N: I was a little slow on this but the idea of them getting close was stressing me out, okay? Also my MIL was in town and I couldn't get in the groove. All the support so far is amazing, thank you guys so much! If y'all like it there will be more to come. Warning: still slow burning

Join my Taglist

Part I

━━━━⊱♡⊰━━━━

Simon sits across from you at your tiny dining table pressed against the wall of your cramped kitchen. You managed to lure him in with a fairly nice bottle of unopened scotch you found in the back of your cabinet that had potentially fallen into one of your own boxes when moving from your ex's house. 

He looks around your quaint little one bedroom apartment. It was a lot different than his own. The literal layout was the same. No extra rooms or walls but you’d done something different in here. The whole space had a cozy feeling to it. Every surface was decorated with useless gadgets and trinkets that he didn't understand the purpose of. Lots of blankets, pillows, soft things. You had music quietly playing through your TV speakers in the living room. A few lamps fill the dim room creating a subtle yellow glow that hits the high points of your face, softening your tired features.

"Do you think there's something wrong with me?" you suddenly blurt out.

"S'cuse me?" Simon asks, caught off guard by the question.

"Lately I've been feeling like there's something inside of me that attracts horrible guys. Like, is there a beacon coming out my head that says 'hey, come over here. I'm vulnerable and easy'."

Simon pauses, unsure how to respond. He watches your face closely. You're sad eyes looking to him for an answer he doesn't have. "I think you're...nice," but he has a feeling that's not what you wanted to hear.

"nice?" You let out a humorless laugh. "Maybe that's the problem. Nice must translate to doormat," You sigh and drop your head into your hands. 

Simon takes a sip of his drink. He's growing concerned this is entering too friendly territory. Then you pop your head back up.

"So, how much did you hear?"

"Not much"

"Yeah right," You toss him a coy smile. “Can I tell you what happened?”

“Sure,”

“Alright, so” you take a sip of your own drink and a deep breath before recounting your story. "I met him at work. He was really nice and offered to pick me up a coffee on his way in one day. I haven’t made any friends at work yet so it was nice just to chat over a coffee. Then we started having lunch together. Nothing serious just in the break room but it felt good to hear about something other than notes from my editor. I wasn’t looking for anything serious, I mean I moved here to focus on myself not continue dating more crappy guys. So of course he started texting me and he was really sweet. He complimented my outfits and thought all my jokes were hilarious apparently. I really wasn’t trying to get involved with this guy though. He said something about hearing I can cook and of course I said I do. It’s part of my job, duh. He’s giving my shit about it so I invited him over for dinner. I made this creamy potato gnocchi with Italian sausage that I got from that great butcher on the corner. I even hand rolled the gnocchi. I mean, who wouldn't kill for an authentic Italian meal?"

"He's sounds like some guy"

"Not really, I was testing out a new recipe for the column so, two birds one stone. Anyways, he comes up and we have some wine and listen to some music. It was going really well so far. Then I go to bring out a nice charcuterie board for an appetizer while the pasta finishes baking. While I'm bringing it to him I can see he's on his phone, texting someone and literally giggling. I walk up behind him and he is sexting. On my couch!" you throw you hands up incredulously. "Well, I thought he was. He’s looking at a picture of some girl bent over then I realize it’s me. He took a picture of my ass, while I was making him dinner. I couldn't fucking believe it. What kind of a scumbag does that to a woman preparing a fucking meal for him? Now, this is not something I'm proud of so let the record show this is very out of character for me but these were extraordinary circumstances. So, I dropped the fig chutney on his head. Right in his stupid quaffed hair. He jumps up and he's all mad and starts yelling and I'm yelling back. He calls me a crazy bitch then I call him a perv. After that he left." you conclude with a shrug.

"Wow" Simon responds, truly taken aback by the series of events. 

"Yeah, then you know the rest from there. I don't know what came over me. I guess after my last breakup I haven't felt very good about myself and this guy made me feel, I don't know- fun? That feels silly to say. I should’ve known better from a guy that works the celebrity gossip section. I probably looked like a big baby out there, how dramatic. I'm sorry about that, again."

"You don't need to apologize."

"After I moved here I thought things would be different. I thought guys in the city were classier I guess. Turns out all guys are the same. Just take what they want and go. Do you want another drink?" You point to his now empty glass. 

"Sure." You snag his cup and stand. He watches you walk over to the counter in your silky slip dress. The sleek fabric clings to your waist. Flaring around your hips and down your thighs. The warm light reflects on the shiny material, shifting with each step you take. It tightens perfectly about your waist and cinched with a neat little bow in the back. He wonders why you would wear a dress like that for this guy.

"So, do you date?" you question in a seemingly casual tone.

"No" 

"Yeah right," you laugh and look over your shoulder to see his stoney expression and your smile fades. "Oh, sorry, I just- I find that hard to believe."

"Why is that?" He tilts his head and you focus back on filling his glass. 

"It's just, you're a good looking guy. I would think you'd get plenty of female attention," You pivot back around and place the glass before him. You lean on the table with one hand and prop the other on your waist. 

"'M not interested," his gaze stays fixed on the brown liquid, grabbing it and taking another sip. He doesn't miss the way you deflated the slightest bit. 

"Maybe I should take a page out of your book, as in maybe swearing off men completely" The oven timer dings. "Oh! pasta!" You jump over and grab your oven mitts. You drop the oven door and slide out the sizzling dish. An aroma of cheese and basil fills the air. Your stomach audibly growls.

You pull down two plates from your cabinet. You serve up the steaming pasta, sprinkling parmesan and fresh chopped herbs for garnish. You proudly carry over the two dishes and place them carefully on the table. You place your hands on your hips while gazing down at the platter.

"This looks...great." Simon is truly taken aback by the incredible looking dish. 

"Wait, don't eat yet. Let me get a picture." You scamper into your living room, grabbing your phone off the coffee table and scurrying back. You hold your phone high above for a birds eye view. Simon scoots his chair back to avoid the gaze of the lens. The camera clicks with a flash. You examine the photo, seeming satisfied with the quality and finally taking a seat in your own chair. "It was okay if you were in the picture. I don't mind." 

"I do," he says simply. 

To anyone else, Simon comes off as rude or callous but you, you never seem to let his shortness affect you. You take his words and just keep going. You don't mind his lack of conversation. It seems you are totally satisfied with having someone there to listen. He was starting to think he didn't mind listening so much. 

"Oh," You shift uncomfortably in your chair. "Sorry then. Well, let me know what you think. Try to be detailed with your feelings about it if you can. You're my guinea pig and be honest. I don't want to put this out when it's garbage."

He proceeds to take a forkful in his mouth. He cannot control the groan that escapes his throat as the bold flavor hits his tongue. This is far cry from his usual take away food. He can't remember the last time he had a home cooked meal now that he thinks about it. 

"This is quite good." He grumbled between bites. Not caring to finish chewing before he's stabbing at the pasta on the plate once again. 

"Really? You don't need to be nice to spare my feelings. I don't mind criticism."

He shoves more in his mouth. "I’m serious"

"Thank you" You giggle watching him scarf down the still steaming hot meal. 

The two of you finish your respective plates without much more conversation to be had. On your last few bites you meet Simon's eyes as he reclines back in the creaky wooden chair, hands laying across his stomach. His head tips back with a satisfied grumble making a proud smile play across your lips. This may be the first time you've seen him express a true human emotion in your presence. 

"There's more if you want?"

"No, I'm stuffed." 

If you know one thing as a part time chef, food is the way to a man's heart. You knew if Simon tasted what you could make his ice exterior would melt away. You stand up and walk to the fridge. 

"Too stuffed for dessert?" you pull out a glass bowl filled with layers of custard, strawberries, cake, and whipped cream. "I made a traditional English trifle. Y'know for the holidays coming up and who doesn't love custard?" you shrug while carrying the bowl over to the table. You hurry back to the kitchen to grab two saucers and plate up the dessert.

"If I didn't know any better I'd say you're trying to butter me up." he comments, intently watching as you carefully slice through the layers. "What do you know about English food?" 

"Not much, which is why this is a special occasion. I can get some insight from a genuine Englishman," you slide the saucer to him. "Everything happens for a reason, I guess you were meant to be here tonight" you don’t realize how weird that comment is until it's already left your mouth. You suppress the feeling and internally cringe. You take a seat with your own plate and try a bite. "Hey, that's not too bad. I think Gordon Ramsey would be proud"

Simon actually chuckles when you compliment yourself making you giggle in return. This whole night is very different than you expected. Not that you were complaining.

Your leg bumps his underneath the narrow table. Your bare foot brushing up the edge of his pant leg for the briefest moment. A deep blush rises to your cheeks the second you realize it's his leg instead of the table's. 

"Oh, sorry!" you quickly draw your legs underneath your chair. Simon pauses his eating and meets your gaze. 

"S'alright," he slowly slides his long leg across the distance and nudges the shin of your tucked legs with the toe of his boot. "You scared?"

"What?" you allow your legs to relax, your calves sitting on either side of his outstretched leg. It felt natural, almost domestic. "You don't scare me." you're lying paired with an anxious laugh.

"No?" As he says this his foot shifts underneath the supports of your chair and yanks it forward causing your chair to skid a few inches across the tile, pressing you further into the table as you let you a surprised yelp. Hands brace against the edge of the table. Simon maintains his calm composure. "Are you sure?" he takes another bite of the fluffy dessert. 

You weren't sure if it was the liquor going to your head or the rush of adrenaline but you felt bold. You rest your cheek on your propped up hand, offering the most innocent eyes you can muster, as you delicately slide your foot along the smooth leather of his boot. Simon swallows and gently places his fork back on the table.

"What do you think of it?" you question in a hushed tone. your foot travels further up his ankle, dipping under his pant leg to feel his hot skin underneath. 

"It's sweet," He states simply but his words roll off his tongue smooth as butter. 

"Not too sweet?" You tilt your head the slightest bit.

"Hm," he hums in contemplation. Your eyes drift down to watch his hands grasp his drink. He grips the glass in his large palm. The rolled sleeves of his long sleeve reveal the muscles in his arm shifting when he raises the glass to his mouth. For the first time you notice a faint raised scar cutting through the outer corner of his lip and stopping just shy of the edge of his nose. He takes a long swig of the brown liquid, not quite finishing the drink. As he pulls back his lips glisten in the warm light. "Not bad when it's paired with a stiff drink," his tongue is quick to swipe across, collecting the residue. 

"I'll be sure to make a note of that." you smile sweetly. "Can I get you another drink?" You look down at the last sip coating the bottom of the glass. You make sure to flutter your lashes when you look back up at him. 

"Are you trying to get me drunk?" A smirk raises the corner of his mouth.

"No," you laugh. "Why, do you want me to?" 

He releases a deep gravelly laugh that makes your stomach stir. Then he glances at his watch and your stomach drops. 

"I need to get going." He mumbles. He pulls his leg away from yours and rises out of his chair. 

"Wait," you rush to stand, almost knocking your seat over in the process. "Can I- uh- get you a bit of pasta to go? There’s plenty left" Trying to think of any excuse to keep him here a moment longer. 

"S'okay, save it. Maybe I'll come by another time." He turns and steps out of your kitchen and into the hallway leading to your front door in only a few wide strides. 

"Are you sure?" You don't intend for your voice to come out as needy as it does. You follow on his heels like a lost puppy.

"I've got an early morning." Before he reaches the door he turns, seemingly surprised by how close you are to him. He looks down at your big round eyes. 

"Okay," you smile trying not to look defeated. "Well, you're welcome over anytime. I mean it, just knock and I'll probably be home. I'm gonna try writing at home more. Try to avoid that guy." You let out a halfhearted chuckle. "Maybe, you should get my number. Y'know, in case you want to check if I'm home."

"I'm alright, I'll just knock" His hand finds the doorknob. "Thanks for dinner, it was nice" Then he turns to go. Closing the door politely behind him. 

You rush to the peephole, watching his distorted figure step out of sight followed by the sound of his own door shutting. You rest your hot forehead against the cool wood grain of your door. 

You step back in the kitchen and begin putting away the leftovers. Piling the pasta into tupperware, rinsing the plates, collecting silverware. His glass remains in place with a sliver of scotch leftover. You hold the glass up in the light and see a faint smudge on its rim. You twist the cup around so your own mouth lines up with the imprint he left. You swallow the last bit slowly, savoring the way the sharp burn eases into a smooth, smoky aftertaste. You never liked scotch, but now you are starting to understand the meaning of an acquired taste.

The low atmospheric music is abruptly interrupted by an ad loudly cutting through the calm space. You rush into the living room to find the remote, hiding among the cushions and various throw pillows. Growing frustrated you end up walking over and manually hitting the power button. The silence that replaces it isn’t much better though. You step back and let your weak legs carry you until you collapse onto the comfort of your couch. The wine followed by the glass of scotch you polished off makes your head feel light but your limbs so heavy. You turn from your back to your side, realizing the used glass is still clutched in your hand. 

You reach across the gap and set it down on the coffee table with a thud. Your hand retreats back to rest under your head. You stare at it, taking in all the imperfections left on its reflective surface. Your eyes trace the rim once again looking for the smudge. On the corner you see the shadow of an impression peeking out underneath the red lipstick mark you have smeared over it. 

𝜗𝜚

Across the wall Simon falls back on his own couch. He looks around his dull apartment wondering what you have done differently to make your place look so welcoming. He never minded the minimal decorations he had. A photo frame with his team that his buddy gifted him and a couple of books always seemed like enough. After comparison though it just feels empty. 

He can hear you stomp across your floor. Footstep rushing from the kitchen until you're straight ahead. The sound of your TV turning off bathes the room in sudden silence. Only thing he can hear now is the rushing of his air conditioning unit. He considered your music annoying but now he couldn’t deny the way it added an unconscious energy to the small unit. Now sitting here, the cool tone of the overhead kitchen light illuminating into the living room he feels as though something is missing. Maybe a nice lamp would help. 

━━━━⊱♡⊰━━━━

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[saphiccarma]

Sex with a Ghost

Summary - You weren't sure why you were on Earth, or why you could sense the Darkhold, but you did know you encountered the most beautiful woman on earth.

Warnings - Smut, fingering (R receiving)

A/N : I've never written smut before 😭I apologise if it's really bad (which it probably is)

Wanda moved to a house out in woods after Westview, shame filling her at what she had done. She hadn't meant to take control of all those people, make them her puppets in her own little personal town where she could live out her personal fantasy of having a life with Vision. Part of, the largest part, loved that. She had children who ran around and baked with her, who loved her and she loved them.

She saw the boys now, bolting in through the room, their smiles bright. From an outside view Wanda saw herself stirring some brownie batter. They dipped their fingers in as Wanda scolded them playfully.

It was a dream. It was all a dream. At least that's what she wanted to believe. In some reality, she had this. She had her boys and presumably Vision. A sick feeling boiled in her stomach, one filled with rage and jealousy, but also sadness.

Wanda was yanked out of her dream, her perfect dream, and back to her reality. Her eyes opened blearily, blinking away sleep as she adjusted to the light coming in from the window and softly illuminating the room. Weird, she didn't remember opening the curtains. Sitting up slowly, she listened to the birds chirping, her sheep bleating, the wind swaying the trees, and footsteps. Wanda did a small double take. Footsteps, feathery light, were above her, just barely audible.

As the footsteps continued, Wanda threw on some clothes, changing out of her night gown and opened the window fully. She stepped out, using her powers to elevate her to the roof. Wanda landed softly, a contrast to her emotions, and raised her hands, prepared to fight.

She froze.

A woman stood on the roof, her legs bending and straightening as she spun around. Her arms flew through the air as she danced along the rooftops. Blowing in her face, the wind ruffled her hair and made it whip around her face. The dress she wore was dancing with her, billowing as the wind spun past. The sunlight hit her just right so that it looked like a spotlight coming from below. The oddest part was her body. The tips of her fingers, the end of her nose, the outline of her entire figure, seemed to be floating away - attempting to carry her body up in little wisps. She looked like a ghost.

The woman slowed, spinning around and making eye contact with Wanda. Slowly, she blinked, her arms coming down to rest at her side as she tilted her head in a way that reminded Wanda of a puppy.

"Hi," she said softly, her voice mixing with the wind.

"Who are you?" Wanda asked, her Sokovian accent making it through just barely.

Blinking slowly, the woman approached Wanda, her hands splayed out in a placating way, as if she were approaching a scared cat. She got into touching distance before stopping.

"You do not know me?" Curiosity dripped from her words as she titled her head once more.

Wanda shook her head, scowling at the woman, "No."

She didn't look the slightest bit familiar. Nothing about her seemed familiar. The woman sighed, her shoulders sagging.

"But you can see me?" she asked, raising a brow.

"Why wouldn't I?"

A smile crept across the woman's face, "Because I'm a ghost."

^______________________^

As you thought, Wanda was a force to be reckoned with. She contained a violent power that was meant to be controlled, one that could not run free. Her magic was a force of nature, not meant to belong to someone who ran free throughout the world. Wanda would have been raised properly and properly taught if she had raised by witches.

You drifted through her house, taking in the cozy decoration. Couches, meant for a family lined the living room, beneath a TV and in front of a roaring fireplace. Wanda led you to the kitchen, her steps hesitant, yet confident. She had a calm vibe to her house in the decor, and despite that you couldn't help but shiver. An air of darkness lingered in the house. It floated in the air, wafting through all the corridors and seeping through the floor. The Darkhold.

"You are in possession of the Darkhold," you murmured.

Wanda's head snapped towards you, her brows furrowed, and nose scrunched, "How do know that?"

Offering her a soft smile, you pointedly glanced down at her fingers, "The tips of your fingers are stained with the darkness of it, and I can feel it."

"You can feel it? How?" she asked, pausing in her walking, staring at you curiously.

You pondered her words, wondering the best way to explain it. Even you didn't quite know yourself. Your powers were a mystery to you, they simply came to be when you died. Dying wasn't a pleasant experience, having been stabbed, you could still remember the blood flowing from the wound as you limped through the snow. When you were alive you were no one of significance, not even a witch. And yet, when you died, the gates to the underworld refused to let you in. Rather you were rejected and forced to wander the world, drawn to the dark forces of life.

"I do not know," you shrugged, answering honestly, "I just do."

The woman tilted her head, regarding you in an odd way. She was a pretty woman. Red hair cascading down her back, slightly messy, that fell atop her brown jacket. Green eyes that had the ability to shine bright red, but both beautiful.

"Why are you here?" she questioned, taking a step closer.

You licked your lips, "Because I thought you could see me. No one's seen me in years."

Carefully you took a step forward, even though Wanda looked like she wanted to step back and raised your hand slowly. Eyeing you warily, Wanda didn't step back, but her breathing increased, bushing the top of your head. Ever so slowly, you placed your hand on her arm, and for once it didn't phase through her skin.

"I'm not phasing through," you whispered, pressing your hand into her skin, "It works."

You smiled up at her, a sight Wanda found adorable, the way your pale eyes shimmered and your lips curled upward in pure delight. While you were adorable, she wasn't sure what to think of you. A ghost, who appeared at her home out of blue, and somehow knew she had the Darkhold.

"Sorry," you stepped back, hand falling away, "It's been a while since I've been around someone."

"That's alright," Wanda's lip quirked upward.

You bit your lip, pondering your next question, toes bouncing just slightly, "What do you plan on doing with the Darkhold?"

Wanda's mood changed immediately, her shoulders tensing and eyes turning to daggers.

"That's none of your business," she snapped, the thinnest layer of red coming to coat her eyes.

"I can help," you offered, enjoying the way she seemed to perk up, the red dispersing from her eyes, "I've been following the Darkhold around for years."

Licking her lips, Wanda's eyes bore into you, your fingers fidgeting ever so slightly.

"I'm going to bring my kids back," she whispered.

A sadistic grin crossed your face, "I know how to do that."

^______________________^

You danced in the spare room in Wanda's house, your legs burning and lungs thumping from exhaustion. The nightmare was still in the front of your mind, phantom pain in your stomach. A knife being plunged into your stomach by a girl your age, the snow coating you as you were left to die, hauling yourself up to limp away, and finally collapsing in the snow.

There were light footsteps entering the room, ones that you ignored, hoping Wanda would go back to sleep. But she didn't, you caught a brief glance of her leaning on the doorway, her arms crossed and a small smile on her face, filled with adoration. It had been a few months since you first met Wanda, and while the woman was harsh, sometimes considered cruel, you understood her. She was kind to you, welcoming you in and caring for you.

"You should stop," Wanda said softly, her eyes taking in your sweaty face. She didn't even know ghosts could sweat or get tired; she didn't even know you could eat.

You gave her no response, continuing through the movements. Your arms hurt from being raised and if you could bleed, you were sure there would be blood staining the floors. Red wisps stopped your movements, pinning your arms to your sides, spinning you around to face Wanda who had her hand raised slightly.

Glaring at you, you huffed, "Wanda."

She approached you, gently cupping your jaw in her ring clad fingers, digging just slightly into your cheeks. The tips of her fingers were cold, stained from the magic of the Darkhold.

"I told you to stop." Her voice carried an air of dominance. One that filled you with shame.

"Sorry," you mumbled, "It just helps me to cope with stress."

While your gaze was fixed on the floor, you didn't notice Wanda's lips curl into a smirk. She leaned in close, her breath warm against the shell of your ear.

"I know a better way to help you destress." Her voice was sultry as she spoke those words, pulling back and tilting your chin up.

Your heart pounded as she pulled you in for a harsh kiss, her lips pressing up against yours. Fighting for dominance, Wanda shoved you back towards the wall, slamming you against it. Her teeth bit down on your lip, requesting permission to enter. Your lips parted to allow her tongue to slip in. It was a heated kiss, one that only ended when Wanda pulled back, her breathing heavy.

Her pupils were blown as she looked down at you, "Bedroom?"

You nodded, letting out a surprised squeak when Wanda lifted you up, your legs wrapping around her waist. Taking the opportunity, you nipped at her neck, relishing in the way she growled softly. Teasingly, you liked a strip up the column of her throat. Wanda let out a shaky breath, the palm of her hand landing on your ass.

"Stop that."

You grinned against her neck, pressing a soft kiss before biting down hard. Wanda growled once and suddenly she was no longer holding you up and you were falling flat on your back before you landed on the mattress. She climbed on top of you, trapping your body to the mattress,

"Someone's being naughty," Wanda smirked down at you, her eyes filled with mischief.

You smiled up at her cheekily as her hands snuck under your shirt, making their way to your breasts. Her hands came to tease your nipples, pulling at the little nubs and twisting. You gasped, squirming underneath her. She leaned down to kiss at your neck, nipping and soothing the marks over with her tongue.

"Wanda.." you whined, hands coming up to pull on the fabric of her shirt. Ignoring your whine, one of Wanda's hands slide down the side of your body, making its way to the waist of your pants. She tugged on the waistband, and you lifted your hips up, allowing her to pull it off with your panties and throw it to the side. She shuffled down, keeping her left hand playing with your breast, and the other resting on your waist. Her lips, soft against the wisp of your skin, trailed up the length of your thigh, kissing up to where you needed it most.

You whined, tugging at her hair, "Touch me."

Wanda chuckled, the sound cruel and cold, "I am."

A moan escaped you when she bit the inner skin on your thigh. Her index finger and thumb twisted your nipple harshly, resulting in a breathy moan from you. You tugged at her hair, trying to encourage her to get on with it. Wanda just laughed, her breath tickling your core. She swiped her fingers up your folds, your slick gathering on them.

"Aww," she cooed, not at all sweetly, "Is this all for me? I've barely touched you." Her fingers tapped on your lips before you could respond, asking for entrance. Opening your mouth, you licked her fingers clean of your slick, her fingers heavy on your tongue. "Does my needy baby want me to fuck her?"

"Yes," you pleaded when her fingers popped out of your mouth, "Please."

Wanda didn't respond, instead attaching her mouth to your clit, swirling around it. Her fingers entered you slowly, ever so tediously pumping in and out. She licked and sucked at your clit as you moaned, pulling at her hair for more. She ignored your silent please, instead continuing to swirl her tongue around your clit and pump in and out of you slowly. Picking up pace, she switched to hammering into you harshly, curling every now and then, hitting your sweet spot. Moving her mouth away, Wanda silenced your whine by attaching her lips to yours, kissing you passionately. With everything going on, you quickly reached your climax, that familiar heat coiling in your stomach. Your legs trembled as you started to let go, pressure building inside you, and just before you could have release, Wanda stopped. Her fingers pulled away and she stopped kissing you.

"No!" You cried, sitting up slightly to grab at her hand and pull it back to your core. Wanda laughed in faux pity, frowning at you. Before you could protest anymore, her fingers rammed into you once more. Wanda edged you two more times, pulling you to the edge, reading your body language, before she would pull back and look at you with regret that she didn't really mean. And for the fourth time, two of her fingers pushed into your sore pussy, her palm slapping against your clit if she went far enough. If it were any other time, you would've been embarrassed at the wet sounds that came from the room and the moans that escaped your mouth when she hit the perfect spot. Your climax came quickly, her skilled fingers bringing you to the edge.

Her fingers slipped out just slightly, causing you to panic, "Please, please, please," you begged, "Please."

Wanda continued pumping in and out of you languidly, considering your plea, "Go ahead." You sighed with relief when her fingers picked up pace, pounding into you again. Your climax came as quickly as it had gone, your body tensing as you finally let go, spilling all over her. Pulling out slowly, Wanda brought her fingers to her mouth, moaning at the taste of you.

You laid panting on the bed, arms spread out as your chest rose and fell. Wanda flopped down next to you, her other hand that wasn't in her mouth coming up to brush your hair out of your sweaty face. Smiling at her you kissed her lips softly, tasting yourself on her. She hummed softly, pulling you closer. The two of you sat in silence for a moment, your head leaning on her chest, listening to the sound of her heartbeat, her very real heartbeat. Her fingers played with your hair, stroking your neck softly as she wrapped herself around you.

"Let's get you cleaned up," she whispered, placing a kiss on the top of your head.

"No," you whined, pulling her back when she tried to pull away, "Stay here."

Wanda laughed, the sound soft and melodious, "Just a few more minutes."

You smirked in victory, whispering three words you never said until you met Wanda, "I love you."

[rafeys-baby]

𝐏𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐤𝐢𝐧-𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 ౨ৎ

Summary: Cozy day with Drew and puppies down in Salem mass during October. <3

Pairing: Drew Starkey x Artsy!Reader

౨ৎ - 🧸ྀི - ౨ৎ

The air in Salem was steeped in cinnamon and cold. That kind of crisp, coastal chill that made your breath visible and your fingers seek warmth even if it was just an excuse to tangle them in his. The streets buzzed with tourists, cameras flashing against storefronts that had leaned into the kitschy spirit of Halloween. Cobblestone sidewalks were littered with auburn and saffron leaves, crunching under your heels boots as you walked just a little too close to Drew, your shoulder brushing his arm with every step.

Click. Click. Your heeled boots tapped along the uneven path as you led Zora, her little collar jingling like a wind chime as she sniffed everything and everyone. You couldn’t stop smiling. Neither could he.

“You know,” Drew said, watching you tug your cream scarf tighter as the wind picked up, “this might be the most you place I’ve ever been.”

You smirked, tilting your head up at him. “What does that even mean?”

He reached for the coffee cup in your hand, took a sip, and made a face. “Pumpkin spice,” he said like it was a dirty word, his tongue poking out dramatically as he exaggerated a gag.

You gasped. “Blasphemy. You chose to come to Salem in October, babe.”

“I came for you,” he murmured, stealing another sip anyway. The whipped cream left a little mustache across his upper lip. He didn’t notice.

You did.

“Ugh, come here,” you said, stepping closer, the heel of your boot catching a bump in the sidewalk. Drew caught your waist like it was instinct, steadying you, hands warm even through your jacket.

“Careful,” he chuckled, voice low as he leaned in, nose brushing yours.

You wiped the cream from his mouth with your thumb, then kissed the spot softly, lingering just enough to feel him smile. “You had a little situation,” you teased.

“Mm, thanks, pretty girl.”

Your face warmed under the chill. His compliments always landed like falling leaves quiet, soft, and perfectly timed.

You walked on like that, pressed into his side with his hand tucked firmly around your waist. Zora trotted happily ahead on her leash, her tail wagging. You were wearing the vintage style wool coat he liked, the one with the scalloped buttons, and a dusky rose dress that peeked just below the hem. Every time the breeze lifted the skirt, Drew’s fingers would instinctively tug your jacket tighter around you.

“You’re gonna get cold,” he said.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not. Your nose is growing as long as Pinocchio.”

“I’m thriving.”

He huffed a laugh. “That’s not what thriving looks like.”

You paused outside a tiny apothecary shop that smelled like old paper and patchouli. Inside, dried flowers hung upside down in bunches and candles burned with handwritten labels. You looked at him.

“Let’s go in.”

He nodded. “Lead the way, little witch.”

You rolled your eyes but your heart thudded in your chest. No one here knew. You weren’t Drew Starkey’s girlfriend, not publicly. You were just a girl, in a cute skirt, holding a leash and a latte, walking through old-town Salem with a tall, broad shouldered mystery guy who looked at you like the moon only existed to light your face.

Inside the shop, he stood behind you while you sniffed amber glass jars and read tarot card packaging aloud. He rested his chin on your shoulder, his chest warm against your back.

“You’re seriously into this stuff, huh?” he whispered.

“I lovethe vibe.”

“Mm,” he hummed, “I love you.”

You turned, lips brushing his, and the kiss was slow more warmth than heat. He pulled back just enough to press his forehead to yours. You stayed like that, soft jazz playing somewhere in the background, incense curling through the rafters like ghosts.

“I wish we could do this forever,” you said, voice barely audible.

He didn’t answer right away. Just reached up, brushing a leaf from your hair with such gentle reverence it made your chest ache.

“Maybe we can,” he said finally. “Not forever here, maybe. But like this? Yeah. I’d want that.”

You didn’t know how to respond, so you just kissed him again. The soft kind. The kind you didn’t even need to open your eyes for. Outside, the sky was turning the softest shade of lavender-gray, and the town glowed with a hundred warm lights. You’d go out for cider later. Maybe split a caramel apple from that little stall on Essex Street. Maybe buy matching beanies from the thrift store you passed earlier.

But for now, you were just two people in love in the middle of a city that knew how to keep secrets.

[alwaysformike]

girlll, i am in LOVE w your page already, your so well spoken like i turned ur notifs on SO FAST.

i was wondering if we could get arguing/being mad at michael hcs? ty in advance! 🎀

ִֶָ𓏲࣪ 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓'𝐒 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔, 𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔. 🫂༉‧

In which drugs are becoming increasingly prominent in Michael Jackson's life -- needless to say, you're tired of it.

hi, yes, it is i... tati... anywayssss enjoy this guys 💋 ! and also for my requestor, i know u asked for hcs but i've had this idea for soo long.. if u still want hcs tho i got u!!!

warnings; heavy drug mentions. heavy angst, some without comfort but ultimately ends with comfort. michael being a stubborn dick😔

Neverland was dead quiet and empty. The maids had long since left for their off-home housing, chefs retired to their chambers the minute they heard their dismissal, and all was well for Michael Jackson in his fairytale dreams.

He was standing atop a large mountain, a grassy hill with plains of flowers sprawling out before him. A beautiful sight, he turns his head to see his lover admiring it too. You're rolled out onto the grass, little weeds littering your hair, and your milky-covered eyes staring over the hills.

He turns his back, seeing what is behind them.

Down below, way down below was a tiny village.

Citizens talked and chattered, passing through the town square like it was New York. He looks to his right, seeing a cozy cottage and a swing set in the front yard.

That's his house. He knows for sure.

His lover looks up at him, your lips curling down.

"Well then, are you going to just stare and sulk or are you going to come down here?" You smile slyly.

He turns away from the townsfolk and back to the rolling plains of what could've been Italy, or maybe even some quiet spot in Spain. "I do apologize, baby. I was just admiring the life we've built for ourselves."

You chuckle and lay on his chest. "I miss it sometimes, y'know?" He hums confusedly. "The heat of L.A and the city life."

He jumps up. As much as Michael loves his little countryside lifestyle, and would hate to leave it behind, theres nothing he hates more than seeing his girl unhappy. "We can be on the first flight back by tomorrow morning." Your eyes widen as she falls off his chest.

"Oomph!" You too, rise onto your elbows. "What? No no Mike, that's not what I meant. I just miss it. But I love our little life here-- our home is here Mike. Our kids, our friends, they're all here. We can't just up and leave."

He quirks a brow. "Are you sure?"

"Positive." So, with your affirmations in mind he lays back down onto the grassy hills of Italy, watching the view from down below.

All was well, Michael was relaxed and his beautiful black curls framed his face as they entangled with grass below. Until it wasn't. The sound of sniffles hits his ears, and he looks down. You're crying.

Oh god! You're crying! His lover was crying! Your face was puffy and red, swollen with dried tears that had been silently pouring until you just couldn't hold it in. "Nonono, you're crying. Why are you crying? Look at me, pretty girl."

You don't budge, and he reaches out to cup your face into his hands. But suddenly, hes no longer touching you. You fall through his chest like hes a ghost and cradle yourself into fetal position.

Ohmygosh, ohmygosh, ohmygosh.

"Baby?" He asks, attempting to console you again.

But his hand goes through you, like something straight out of his 1997 music video "Ghosts".

Suddenly he's falling, down down down like Alice in Wonderland. His breath became hard and raspy as he attempted to gasp for air. Finally, he lands down with a hard jerk and shoots up, gasping for breath. Darkness fills his vision but the man doesn't notice, too caught up in his mist of confusion and delirium.

Maybe the drugs are becoming too much.

From his left, the sound of sniffing fills his ears.

Wait a second. It all clicks. Michael rushes out of his delirious frenzy and to the side of his wife.

Shaking you panickedly, his hand doesn't go through you.

"Baby. Wake up. Baby. Baby. Get up. Hello?Helloo?? Can you hear me?"

He sighs miserably. This night had turned into a nightmare.

"Baby." Finally, he shakes you so hard you roll off the bed with a loud scream. He cringed back as the sound of your body hits the ground. You're even more panicked now, open and exposed to the cool bitter air pouring in from you two's balcony.

You had once told Michael you hated sleeping in a stuffy room. So since then, he's never let you sleep without at least a window open. Even in the freezing cold winters.

The darkness wasn't helping either. "Mike?" You ask hoarsely. When he doesn't respond, too busy caught up in his own confusion, you ask again more panicked. "Michael?"

Finally, he snaps out of it, quickly realizing he has to be the strong front in this nightmare situation.

"Baby. It's okay, I'm here." You sob again at the sound of his voice.

He helps you climb into bed, over the pillows and covers that fill your space and make it the comfortable heaven is it. But something catches your eye behind Michael, and it sends you even further into a frenzy.

It's an IV drip, halfway full with a milky warm substance that has no warmth for its users. You gulp and begin to cry again. Michaels confused, his brow quirks up and the wheels in his head begin to turn.

What in the hell could possibly have you so worked up?

The room is quiet with small sniffles and sobs, and thats when he hears it.

Веер.

Веер.

Вееер.

Tossing over, be doesn't hesitate to rip the IV cord off his arm and toss it onto his nightstand. You're sniffles slow, down to just small sobs here and there.

Michael envelopes you into his arms, cradling you protectively.

"Michael." You finally croak out.

He shushes you. "Shh, baby, i'm here."

You sobs again. "Yes, but for how much longer?" His heart seems to shatter, and with how quiet it is you must've heard it. It's no secret he was on drugs, if it wasn't the very obvious pill bottles littering the room, it was his ghastly appearance.

Thinning cheeks, not yet thin enough to frame his skeleton but still thin enough to see his sharp and chiseled jawline, his bobbing apple cheeks.

It was only a matter of time before he began to look sickly.

His skinny, slender hands cradle your face, holding you as close to him as physically possible.

You two had talked about the drug usage. In fact, talked about it is an understatement. 'Argued' would be more plausible. It didn't help that both you and Michael were as stubborn as a mule and often clashed during situations like this.

"What I do with my body is absolutely NONE of your concern. This discussion is over." He sayss sharply.

"Not my concern?" You scoff. "Serious? I am your wife. And incase your nitwitted brain can't comprehend that, your business is my business."

"I will not debate this topic with you no more. / hate when women try to tell me what to do. If you don't like it, leave it. But I am who I am and clearly you cant accept that."

Your eyebrows raise at the honesty. And, in any normal circumstances, you would've found it increasingly difficult to hold back your salty tears. But not a single tear even swelled in your eye, you were so angry it was killing you.

"Y'know what? I want a divorce. I'm tired of this Michael. You think you're so high and mighty because you're the Michael Jackson and what you do doesn't affect others but truth is, some nights when you're knocked out on propofol l sneak downstairs and sleep on the couch." Your admission makes his eyes widen in shock. His eyes harden and he almost starts spitting out anything he could to get out of this situation.

You cut him off before he even starts. "You wanna know why? Because most nights, I can't sleep. The V drip runs and runs and the cords tangle into the bed, I can't sleep knowing you're not asleep, you're in a coma. And I'm tired of it."

He shrugs carelessly. In any other circumstance, Michael would be on his hands and knees begging for your forgiveness. But drugs? Drugs were the one thing he had. The one thing that could never betray him. He couldn't let that go.

"Then leave then."

You scoff, bewildered at his carelessness. "You're willing to give away your marriage for drugs?"

"You said it not me."

"No Michael, you brought this upon yourself. I love you and I will always love you but I cannot live like this. In this house where oxygen tanks litter each room. So y'know what? You wanna use, use! But the least you could do is own that shit! And, new rule, no more wasting my time!

Stop saying you'll quit when you know you'd rather take a bullet to the head than have to be off drugs."

Luckily, the argument ended in a heavy makeout session and Michael being weaned off drugs and sober for 2 years.

2 years of your life where you saw that little Jackson 5 boy back in him. 2 years where you didn't have to sleep on the couch or worry about entanglement in V drip cords.

You stand up, your legs hurting and the ghost of soberity far behind. "I'm leaving." You croak out.

His eyebrows shoot up.

"What?"

"I can't live like this anymore, Michael. Either you quit or l quit and I take the kids. I'm done. Either you stop or it's over."

He gulps. It's now or never. Luckily for him he's had a change of heart in the past two years.

Michael nods, curls bouncing. "I'll stop. I promise. I want to be better, I want to get sober."

He's serious, you can tell. And, if it wasn't obvious by the deadpan look on his face, it was by the way he turned over, pushed the V drip away from him and knocked all the pill bottles off his nightstand.

"We'll see." You toss over and bring the blankets back over your body. Your breathing slows and you're nulled into the warm embrace of sleep--only this time its full of love and warmth. Before your consciousness slips, you feel a warm arm slip over your hips and plush lips kiss your cheeks.

You two would make it through this. You always did.

masterlist

@michaelsfavgirl @mj4eva @mjj-nostalgia @stillovrit @angeline-cake

[borathae]

“They’ve seen the centuries come and go, watched empires rise and fall and witnessed the creation of society as it is today. And now you have fallen into their arms, showing them once again that change never stops.”

Genre: Fantasy, Romance, Smut, Hurt and Comfort, Vampire!AU, Magic!AU, Polyamory!AU

“You change universities after moving towns. Your new university is an old, ancient building with secret tunnels and whispered ghost stories. There are two fraternities, which for some reason always seem to be in a quarrel. Alpha consisting of Kim Taehyung, Kim Namjoon, Park Jimin and Min Yoongi. Handsome, porcelain skinned men, who act as if they are out of another century and for some reason everyone on campus seems to be scared of. And Sanguis consisting of Jeon Jungkook, Kim Seokjin and Jung Hoseok. Men with skin just as pale and their faces just as beautiful, who always wear sunglasses when it is light outside and who never seem to open their curtains. And for some peculiar reason you always find yourself in the middle of them….”

Pairing: OT7 x f.Reader with main Taehyung x f.Reader & Yoongi x f.Reader

Genre: Mystery, Fantasy, Romance, Smut, University!AU, Vampire!AU

《 To Book One 》

“When your endless game of hide and seek with Namjoon sends your little group all over Europe, you have to fight more than just vengeful witches and bloodthirsty demons. Different morals, beliefs and mindsets bring just as much struggle to your bond as your enemies. And soon you have to accept that the world you decided to live in is darker than you initially prepared for.”

Pairing: Yoongi x f.Reader, Taehyung x f.Reader & Jungkook x f.Reader + more as the story progresses

Genre: Fantasy, Romance, Smut, Vampire!AU, Magic!AU

《 To Book Two 》

“You and your lovers visit The Plains, a magical realm created for the souls of witches and warlocks and home of your dear grandmother. She welcomes you with raspberry pie and tea. You come with many stories to tell and eager hands to help on her cottage. Golden sunlight, blue moonshine and green forests await you alongside early morning snuggles and late night kisses with your lovers.”

Pairing: Yoongi x f.Reader, Jungkook x f.Reader, Taehyung x f.Reader, Yoongi x Jungkook, Taehyung x Jungkook, platonic Yoongi x Taehyung

Genre: Magic!AU, Vampire!AU, Polyamory!AU, Slice of Life, Fluff, Romance, Smut, this is a spin-off meant to be read after the Duology

《 To the Spin-Off 》

#01 - What You Deserve [YG x JK]

#02 - The Piano Teacher [YG x OC]

#03 - Only For You ([YG x OC]

#04 - Mellifluous [TH x OC]

#05 - Safe Hands [YG x OC]

#06 - Rache [TH x JK]

#07 - Captured [YG x OC]

#08 - Illecebra [TH x OC] ​

#09 - How I Love You [YG x OC]

#10 - Stormy Nights [YG x OC]

#11 - Of Simpler Times [TH x JM]

#12 - Best Seat [YG x OC]

#13 - Deep [JK]

#14 - Painted Blue [TH x OC]

#15 - Drunk on You [YG x OC]

#16 - I Want Your Love Forever [YG x OC]

#17 - Between Friends [YG x HS]

#18 - Bed Head [JK x OC]

#19 - Don’t Tease Please [JK x OC]

#20 - Fade into You [YG x OC]

#21 - Rope Bunny [YG x OC]

#22 - Lavender Warmth [YG x OC]

#23 - The Scholar, The Princess and the Master [YG x OC x JK]

#24 - Picnics [YG x OC x JK]

#25 - Where Love Is [YG x OC]

#26 - Wake Up Call [YG x OC]

#27 - Devotion [TH x OC]

#28 - Bewitched [YG x OC]

#29 - wanna see myself inside you [JK x OC]

#30 - Princess Treatment [YG x OC]

#31 - Guilty Tears [TH x OC]

#32 - Moonlight & Campsites [YG x OC]

#33 - ILY [YG x OC]

#34 - Morning Hours [JK x OC]

#35 - Silly Fights [YG x OC]

#36 - Carefree [YG & TH]

#37 - Cozy Times [YG x OC]

#38 - Drive You Fucking Crazy [TH x OC]

#39 - FWB [HS x OC]

#40 - A Good Life [YG x OC]

#41 - Impatient [JK x TH]

#42 - Love Wins All [TH x OC]

#43 - Cozy [YG x OC]

#44 - Listen In [HS x JK x TH]

#45 - moonlight [TH x OC]

#46 - Stardust [ TH x JK]

#47 - Protective [TH x JK]

#48 - Babybun [YG x OC x JK]

#49 - Just Relax [YG x HS]

#50 - Tenderness [JM & OC]

#51 - Creamer [YG x TH]

#52 - Shut You Up [JK x OC]

#53 - Double is Best [YG x OC x HS]

#54 - Fuck Yourself [JK x OC] 

#55 - Used [TH x OC]

#56 - Grateful [YG x OC x JK]

#57 - Good Doll [TH x JK]

#58 - Prove It [YG x OC]

#59 - Cozy Nights [YG x OC x JK]

#60 - Rainy Mornings [YG x OC]

#61 - Birthday Boy [HS x OC]

#62 - Red Shirt [JK x OC]

#63 - It’s gonna be okay [YG x OC]

#64 - Killin’ It Boy [HS x OC]

[gretavanflame]

Soul Stealer

Pirate Jake Kiszka x Reader (f)

CW: Portrayals of fear, mentions of blood, murder and dying, heartbreak, grief. SMUT: oral (f) receiving, fingering, loss of virginity/first time, penetrative sex, kissing, brief mentions of pain and nervousness (handled really well), nipple play, a little bit of biting and teasing and lots and lots of talking you through it, oh and of course soul stealing.

Summary: When The Dread Pirate Jacob appeared on the dock of your town for the first time in 300 years, searching for something he couldn't have, he found you and gave you something else instead.

Word Count: 9.7k

Legend has it that the Dread Pirate Jacob died nearly 300 years ago. His ship had been attacked- hull shredded to pieces by bombs and cannon fire, and Jacob Thomas drowned. His cold corpse sank to the depths of the ocean floor, but when it hit the bottom, it passed right through. His body descended to the Underworld, yet as soon as he entered that fiery land of death, he was lifted out by the souls of all the men he ever killed. Even the land of the devil hadn’t wanted the evil that he seemed to draw with his fingertips. While they were pushing him out however, he managed to grab one. That first soul he stole kept him barely alive- just long enough to commandeer a nearby ship. It went like this: a hand emerged from the water, grabbing onto the rigging of the ship. The man hoisted himself up by the single arm, the other clutching his sword with such malice, his whole body shook with it. His devoted blade, bound to him by his father and his father before him, christened- The Beloved, slashed through the chests of the entire crew. Grasping at the threads of his own existence, held on by a weak and dying soul, he sailed that ship from town to town, in search for more. Those borrowed souls bought him time. Although stolen would be a better descriptor, save for the girls who gave theirs to him, willingly.

Some claim that there never was a Jacob Thomas Kiszka. Others swear that they’ve seen his ship far off on the horizon, searching for souls. They say you can feel the ice cold wind when he passes, smell the stench of death, hear its scream and cry. And there is disagreement, of course, among those who do believe in the great legend. Some think he was brought back from the dead, stealing souls to satiate the hollow of his chest- soul stolen by the devil himself. Others think he is dead. Merely a ghost of the infamous pirate.

You were never so sure about the tale, despite the innumerable storytellings- wide-eyed late nights cozied in bed, your mother swearing on it.

Now you know firsthand. 

There was nothing ghostly about the man who appeared on the dock that fateful day. He did not look dead, nor 300 years old. In fact, he seemed to be only a few years your senior. The age he held was in his eyes. There were flashes of stories. The blackest of storms, the reddest blood of all the men he lost.

The townspeople had fled the port on that overcast day, locking themselves up in their homes when he arrived with his crew. You hadn’t. His boots clicked calmly along the wood, drawing closer. People screamed and fainted all around you. Your feet were firmly planted on the ground. His eyes were on you. 

It wasn’t fear that you felt, but devotion. The haze that clouded your mind when his eyes took a peak at your soul was the greatest feeling you had ever felt. Like a thousand ocean breezes gracing your skin while you burn in the heart of a fire. He wanted your soul. And if he wanted it, he would have it.

He appeared in front of you like a gust of wind. He smelled of salt. His hair was long and brown. His tricorne was perched on his head, haphazardly, as if he had just thrown it on. He wore a jet black blouse, nearly ripped to shreds and open, revealing a tan chest and a silver coin necklace. On top of that, a dark jacket, fitted perfectly to his wide shoulders, and finally, a pair of trousers.

There was a sword in his belt. Gleaming, elegant, and deadly. Your curious hands had reached for it, without a thought going through your head. In that instant, you saw a flash of gold in an amused smile. Then- darkness. 

You awoke slowly to a scratchy pillow, prickling your cheek. The floor moved, rocked back and forth gently with the waves. Your head lifted, heavy with confusion and a sleep deeper than you’d ever felt before. Your eyes traveled around the room. Wooden walls, a small table covered in papers, and a thin stack of books on the floor. Turning to your other side you found a small circular window just above the bed. You watched for a moment as the water tickled the glass. You were still tired then and you soon drifted back to sleep.

Hours slipped by with Jacob passing by his door, hoping each time that your beautiful eyes would finally be open. If he waited 300 years, he could wait just a little longer. A few times he allowed himself a moment to watch your sleeping figure. He was entranced by the rise and fall of your chest. The subtle breaths falling from your parted lips- a luxury he had been deprived of for so long. Then, finally, your eyes were open when he passed by, surveying the room. He leaned his body against the door frame, waiting for you to notice him.

When you finally did, he smiled and you saw his golden tooth once more. This frightened you, and when you tried to scurry away, you felt something hit you. It wasn’t an object, but a force. Every inch of your body was frozen still. Only your eyes moved freely, searching his in terror.

“Don’t panic,” he soothed, pushing his body from the door to take a step closer. His voice was velvet. Smooth, but breathy- like the words softly sailing from his lips were the finest poetry. His voice held a knowledge that, against your better judgement, made you feel calm. “It’s only temporary.”

He said nothing else, only advanced until the distance between you was closed. He perched himself on the edge of the bed. His face was nearly blank, except for the tiniest sliver of devastation. Longing. You could see it in the way his eyebrows tipped up, and in the way his eyes glistened. 

You could finally see his eyes now. They were dark brown, holding a strange inhuman quality. They were faded- tired. When they looked at you, the feeling that washed you over was something deep and profound. It felt like a secret was being whispered.

He reached his hand out, slowly, and cupped your cheek. His thumb smoothed over the skin. You felt the icy roughness of his fingers. 

“It really is you,” he choked, face suddenly breaking with a smile dipped in sorrow. “I can’t believe it.”

Without the slightest bit of movement- the wave of a hand or the whispering of an ancient curse, your body breathed life again. You took a long inhale, staying under his touch. Time stretched as your eyes danced together, eerie familiarity racking at your brain. It was a few moments before you remembered yourself and tore your face away.

“Who are you?” you spat. 

His hand stilled in the air as he watched you retreat. It stayed there for a second and he closed his eyes, his fingers twitching with the memory of your warm skin. Finally he placed his arm back at his side. He looked down. He looked up.

“I’m Jake.”

“You’re The Dread Pirate Jacob.”

He smiled shamelessly, the gold sparkling. That was answer enough.

“Why do you think you know me?” 

“You think I don’t know you?” His lips curled into a smirk. “I think you should be asking yourself a different question, sweetheart.” His voice dropped to a gravelly whisper. “How do you know me?”

“But I don’t know you.”

“Oh but you do. You just said it yourself.” He paused. “Ask yourself this- why are you not afraid of me?”

“What, I-”

“You stood tall when I set foot on your dock, tried to duel me with my own sword, and now you’re here, having a casual conversation with a pirate. A dead pirate.”

“So you are dead?”

Jacob chuckled.

“I’m much more than that, sweetheart.” 

Your cheeks flushed as you glanced at your lap, finding his hand outstretched. You looked back to him cautiously, watching his face as you slotted your hand in his. He took it with all the care in the world, bringing it softly to his chest. 

There should have been a heart there, beating boldly with every pump. Or lungs that rattle with every breath. But there was not. Instead what your fingers felt was a rumble. Underneath his cold skin was a war of souls, swimming around, trying to find their way out. Trapped. Stolen.

You pulled your hand back in horror, looking at him with a similar expression. A flash of pain appeared on his face- something he tucked away quickly. The words that next exited your mouth were hardly your own. They came out small and weak.

“Are you going to take my soul?”

Jacob laughed this time. It boomed and bounced off the walls of his cabin before reaching your ears.

“Won’t you stay for dinner?”

-

The table was covered in foods of every size, shape and color. Heaps of fruits you’d never seen before, cheeses and meats, breads and rum. Your wide eyes raked over the delicacies, looking up to find Jacob only casually glancing.

He sat intently. His jacket and hat had been removed, leaving him in only his blouse and trousers. Even more of his skin was exposed, but you tried not to stare, even though it was difficult. His arm was thrown over the side of his chair, calm and composed. His features were bold, the curve of his lips soft, his jawline chiseled and nose sculpted to perfection. He was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen. He watched you all the same.

“Are you hungry?”

“Yes,” you admitted guiltily. You hadn’t eaten all day.

His eyes surveyed the table before he reached out to grab an interesting chunk of something white. 

“I bet you’ve never tried this before” the trace of a smile played on his lips as he held out the piece of food.

“No. What is it?”

“It’s coconut. Here, try it.”

You took the food carefully, bringing it to your lips. It smelled like almost nothing. You placed it on your tongue and rolled it between your teeth. Soon its flavor unfolded. It was glorious. Sweet and subtle, with the most amazing texture. You chewed on it until it was nothing but a bit of pulp. 

After you told him you liked it, you waited for him to have some. You soon realized that he couldn’t. You both pretended it wasn’t so.

He watched you eat and found himself smiling when your cheeks were stuffed and you struggled to swallow the mass of food. Something in him settled in the silence between you. He didn’t have a heart- not quite, but he felt something in his chest that day he hadn’t felt in a long time. 

The two of you sat like this for a little while- until you were full and the topic at hand could no longer be danced around. Jacob fiddled with a braided cloth bracelet on his wrist, his eyes cast downward.

“So what are they saying about me these days?” His eyes lifted to yours and he forced a sly smile.

“Oh. You mean the stories? Well my mother told it to me. She said her mother had told her, and her mother before her and so on, that nearly 300 years ago your ship was attacked and you… well died I suppose.” Jacob hung on every word, face tight with pain. “You drowned and sank to the ocean flo-”

“No,” Jacob barked. His hand came down hard on the wooden table, knocking down some of the food. You flinched before he quickly softened his voice. “That isn’t true. I can’t drown. I’m the best bloody sailor this goddamn ocean has ever seen.” He shook his head and pinched the space between his eyebrows. “A mockery.”

You watched carefully, the slightest bit of fear prickling your skin as he murmured a string of curses. After he finished, his eyes returned to yours. He sighed deeply, his face returning to its solemn state.  

“Let me tell you the real story,” he said.

You nodded, sitting up a little straighter. 

Jacob closed his eyes, summoning something within himself. When they opened, they were different- sad.

“300 years ago my ship stumbled upon these very waters. I was young. I was eager, and I had only been a captain for a matter of months. I made a mistake- a grave mistake. I did something that men like me aren’t supposed to do.” He paused. “I fell in love.”

He wasn’t looking at you now. It was too much. His face scrunched up and he alternated between looking down and not looking at anything at all. You thought to reach out and touch his hand, but you didn’t. 

“I tried to deny it. We sailed away and my heart broke. I saw her eyes in the stars, felt her breath in the wind, and dreamed of her soft skin. Only a couple years went by before I finally caved. I made us go back. It was selfish of me, but I saw her again. It was as if nothing had changed,” he chuckled, shaking his head back and forth. “She was the sun. She was everything. I wanted for the first time in my life to be somewhere. I wanted to be with her.”

The look on his face was terrible. His eyes looked dead and his lips quivered. Without thinking, you reached for his hand. Still he didn’t look at you, but he smiled weakly.

“That’s when I knew it was a mistake. My home could never be on any land. My heart was torn in two pieces. Half of it with her, half of it with the sea. It’s a difficult thing to explain, but I had to leave. I wanted to take her with me, but she wanted to stay. I was angry then, because I didn't understand. I just wanted everything. I wanted the whole world.” He shook his head again. “One day we woke early in the morning. The sun was peeking in through her window and I watched her sleeping face. She was an angel. I kissed her, and left before she woke up. I wouldn’t have been able to bear it. And that was the last time I ever saw her alive.”

He paused again. His eyes were shut tight- remembering, his lips, thin and quivering. All you could do was grasp his hand harder. He squeezed right back.

“We left, but not soon after, a war started to break out. I was scared although I wouldn’t admit it. We sailed back- I sailed us back to save her. When we got there it was…” 

A single tear fell down your cheek. You couldn’t help it. It was the story of course, but it was his face. Watching it made you feel the pain right along with him. You let the tear fall because both of your hands held onto his, but Jacob’s eyes suddenly opened as if he had sensed it. He leaned forward, his hand wiping away the tear. 

“Don’t break my heart all over again, angel,” he smiled softly. 

“When we got there it was too late. The town was almost completely to the ground. I blamed myself of course. But I didn’t drown,” he spit out the word, face scrunching at the absurdity. “I jumped. I tried to save her. I swam down until there was no more air in my lungs. That’s only because I didn’t need air. I had love. I was going to find her there, and bring her back or die trying.”

He let out a dry chuckle, hollow and fragile.

“I saw her swimming with all of those souls and I tried to grab her. I missed, I- I,” he shook his head. “I took someone else's. I didn’t have time to go back for hers, I was running out of life. The truth is I don’t know what happened exactly after that. I woke up and I was alive, but I wasn’t. I felt lighter, I felt empty. I knew I was borrowing time and I was weak. I had to find more… more souls.”

Your spine shivered. You felt his hand twitch as his eyes opened, gaze digging into yours. 

“You have something different.” 

His lips curled into a smile and his body leaned closer. You tried to pull your hands away, but he only held them tighter. 

“You have something I want. I knew it was you from the moment I saw you. You- you even have her eyes.”

Your blood went cold. His knuckles turned white.

“Jacob you’re hurting me,” you whispered, voice trembling with fear. 

He winced and drew back his hand. You pulled yours to your chest, clutching them tightly. His face fell again and he searched your eyes desperately. His mouth opened to speak, but he closed it again. 

“I didn’t mean to,” he urged, eyes searching yours desperately until you gave a slight nod.

“Y/n, you have a piece of my love’s soul in you. She is in your blood. If you trace it back… she’s there. Your mothers grandmother. Eight generations back to be precise.”

His tongue quickly slid along his bottom lip. You felt your heart racing in your chest. His eyes looked at you with such a certainty that there was no way to escape them. Although again, you didn’t feel fear.

You stared at each other for another long while. Finally, you spoke.

“You want to take my soul,” you stated. Not a question. Not an argument, just a statement. 

Something washed over you again. It was a haze that bathed you. Even his own eyes seemed to gloss over as he looked back. You came to realize what this meant. He wasn’t looking at you. He was looking into you. What you didn’t realize however was that you were letting him. Soul searching was a mirror that reflected two ways. An act so intimate it required the openness of not one, but two people. The feeling that you could not yet name was something so powerful that it opened up your soul. A piece of you wanted him just as badly as he wanted you.

“I don’t want to take it. I just want to borrow it,” his voice quivered, and something in you knew that he was holding back. You realized that he could take it at any moment. He didn’t want that. He wanted it to be offered. 

You didn’t think. At least not in the traditional sense. You didn’t reason, you didn’t question, you just stood. It was as if there was an invisible string pulling you to him.

He shifted his chair so that you could take a step between his legs. He gently patted his thigh and you sat, both of your legs draped over his lap and your arms secured around his neck. His eyes were half lidded and his fingertips drifted over your cheek. 

You stared into each other for a moment, and your faces were so close. You felt vulnerable, but safe.

“Will it hurt?” you asked him.

He laughed, shaking his head, his adam's apple bobbing in his throat. “No, love.”

“Okay. I’m ready,” you whispered.

His thumb smoothed over your cheek again and traveled down. He held your chin, softly between his fingers as he guided you onto his lips. Your eyes closed as you felt the soft plump of his flesh. His lips slotted between yours with a hum- the vibration tickling. His lips closed around yours, tugging gently before pulling back. His head tilted and a small groan sounded as he coaxed your lips against his once more. As the two of you stilled, mouths lazily brushing, you pulled his head closer. Your mouth opened with a sigh and his tongue slid inside. You squirmed in his lap, feeling something stir between your thighs. 

You relaxed into him, letting your mind finally clear. Just as you opened your mouth again, waiting to feel his warm, sliding tongue, you felt something else. His lips closed around yours and he drew in your breath. Your body slouched. You felt a lightness. Emptiness.

Jacob held your limp body to his tightly. He could feel his chest swimming dangerously, filling with something. His eyes were shut tight, and in all that blackness, he could finally feel.

Hello Jacob. It’s been a while hasn’t it.

It’s you.

It is. 

You sound the same.

I am the same. You’ve changed though, haven’t you.

How do you mean?

It’s okay Jacob- to be different. It’s been a long time.

I just want you back.

I know. 

You sound like an angel.

You can’t have it.

What?

Don’t take it. Please. It is all that I wish for. She may try to give it to you, but do not.

I don’t want it. I just want you.

I know that, but you can’t have either of us.

It isn’t fair.

I know.

I love you.

I love you too.

I miss you.

Jacob waited for a response that never came. After a few moments he tried again.

“I miss you,” he whispered, so softly. He waited. “I miss you,” he tried again, voice cracking. You knew the words weren’t meant for you but you couldn’t stop yourself from answering.

“I’m here, Jacob. I'm here.”

His eyes opened to find yours. You sat up tall as you stared back at him. He searched your face rapidly before crumbling against your frame. He hugged you to his chest, burying his face into the crook of your neck. You held him, stroking his back as he sobbed quietly into your hair. 

The two of you stayed like that for a while. You could feel something shifting. You didn’t only feel like yourself anymore. You felt like a half and a whole all at the same time. Like a million little pieces of you and everything else. 

Finally his grip loosened and his head came back up. His cheeks were wet and his eyes were tired. He looked as if the life had been drained out of him. You wiped away his tears with the back of your hand. He smiled, only slightly.

“Kiss me again,” you said.

Your request was spoken so sweetly that he couldn’t bear to deny you. He kissed you and felt a piece of himself mending. You quickly licked into his mouth. His tongue swirled against yours and he drew back with a wet smack. The rhythm quickened and you found yourself searching for his lips faster than he could give them to you. You pulled back with a similar eagerness. 

“Do it again. You can borrow it again. You can take it.”

You dipped back to kiss him, but he stopped you with a firm hand to your chest. Your eyes opened in confusion, finding him looking back at you with a stone cold expression. 

“No.”

“What? I thought that’s what you wanted.”

“I can’t take it.”

“Why not?”

It hit you like a stab to the heart. Your eyes broke and you searched his face desperately. He felt the weight of your soul crushing him, your heart tearing him into two. You almost forced your lips back on his, desperate to be a part of him- to make him whole again. He stopped you, shooting you a look of warning.

“I won’t do it.”

“I want you to have it, Jacob.”

“Please, call me Jake.”

“Jake, why won’t you give this to me?”

“It’s taking. I won’t take this from you.”

He swallowed the hurt on your face. He traced your skin with his hand, hoping to soothe you. If only you knew what you were doing to him. He was only one heartbreak away from a place he wouldn’t be able to come back from.  

“But it felt good. I want it again. I want you to take it.”

“I could take something else, sweetness,” he whispered, tone laced with a secret. 

Your eyes widened and you nodded slowly. His eyes glanced at your lips again. His hand found the curve of your waist. 

“Has anyone ever…” his voice trailed off and his eyes cast downward. “Touched you before?” 

You stared at him almost blankly.

“Touched you here?” The thumb of his hand dipped down, tracing the inside of your thigh through your dress.

You shook your head, feeling your heart begin to race.

“Do you want me to?” 

“How?” you breathed quickly. 

“I can show you.” 

“Okay.” 

Jake's hands both took hold of your waist, lifting you off his lap with ease to place you back down so that you faced him, sitting right on his thigh.

“Put your hands back.”

Your hands quickly found their way back around his neck. 

Jake's tightening grip slid down to your hips as he pulled you forward. You dragged against his thigh, feeling a warmness spread through your core. A soft moan fell from your lips and you quickly clamped your hand over your mouth.

He gently pulled your hand away.

“It’s okay to feel good. You can make those sounds,” he drawled, placing a quick kiss to your hand. He rolled your hips over him again, reveling in the next soft groan that made its way forth.

“Do you like it?”

“Yes,” you answered hastily. “It feels good.”

“That’s good,” Jake purred. 

His hands slid down to the curve of your ass, gripping the soft flesh, pulling you forward and back.

“Mmmh,” you mumbled, unaware that you had even made a sound.

You scooted closer until your chest was touching his. His hand drifted to the small of your back, his other at your waist. You laid the side of your head on his shoulder, your lips an inch away from his neck. 

He pulled you down, letting you grind on him as his thigh pushed up- meeting you halfway. Your hot breath moaned right into his ear.

“God,” Jake whispered at the sight of your arched back. He looked down over your shoulder at his hand as it rubbed slow circles, pushing you into him. 

“I can feel you getting warmer,” he spoke into your ear. 

You lifted your head, giggling as a smile stretched across your face. You felt drunk. Heavy with a pleasure you’d never felt before. 

“You’re a sexy thing,” Jake growled, dipping his head forward to nip at your neck. His lips secured themselves around the skin, sucking and releasing it with a pop and a little sting. 

Your head tilted back, allowing him more room as his lips moved to you again, hands still working a steady rhythm over your hips. You readied yourself for the delicious sting again, but instead you felt the hotness of his tongue licking up a bold stripe before his teeth bit down around you. You whined again, jumping at the feeling before melting back into him. 

“Y/n,” he whispered.

The sound of your name in his mouth still shocked you.

“I think you’re ready.”

“What do you m-?” you yelped as he began to stand. Your legs quickly wrapped around his waist, your arms holding you up. He walked you over to the bed, placing you down gently as one would a princess. 

His hands planted themselves firmly into the mattress, holding him to hover over you. Your legs were held together by his knees planted on either side of them. His necklace swayed above your head and his hair cascaded down, pieces of it tickling your face.

“Do you know what happens next?” he asked, lips only a few inches from yours. 

“I don’t know,” you whispered, feeling a shame prickling at your cheeks.

“That’s okay,” he soothed, leaning himself to kneel upright, still trapping your legs beneath him. “Why don’t you come up here?”

He reached out his hand and you grabbed it to help pull yourself up. As you climbed up to your knees, he drew closer. His hand smoothed over your hair as he looked down at your sparkling eyes looking back up at him. 

“You can take my shirt off, if you want,” he breathed in a sultry tone. 

You looked from his eyes to his chest, staring at the skin exposed by the lack of buttons. Your finger reached out, eyes staring wide in wonder as you traced along the metal of the coin necklace.

“We can keep that on,” he smirked, gently wrapping his fingers around your wrist, bringing the palm of your hand to his skin where his own hand rested atop.

You gasped again at the feeling of his stirring chest, still not used to the stolen souvenirs that lay beneath it. This time his smirk deepened as his hand let go. Your fingertips slid down his torso until they reached the first button of his shirt. Your eyes quickly glanced to his.

He gave you a nod.

You unfastened the first button. The fabric fell away from his skin, revealing his navel and the small trail of hair underneath it. You undid the second button and then the third and the shirt opened up.

You looked back up at him again. His eyes were watching you, his mouth hanging open slightly. 

“You can do it.”

You reached up to lift the shirt off his shoulders. He let it fall off them before pushing it to the floor. Your eyes lit up at the sight of his bare chest. His skin looked smooth to the touch but there were faded scars along it. Your fingers found one that you softly traced.  

“That one’s from a little brush with a man called William. You should have seen what I did to him,” Jake teased, grinning at the longone memory. 

You smiled, staring up at him in subtle awe- his whole face seemed to melt you with its perfection. Your heart was bursting and your head was swelling.

You moved your hand to travel up his chest. You let yourself explore the skin, taking your time as you touched there and there. Your hands drifted over to his arms- he flexed for you and the curves of muscles appeared. You blushed, running your hands along their strength.

You took your time feeling his collarbones and then his shoulders before finally touching his chin, and then his lips. He took your wrist again, stopping you so that his lips could slowly close around your index finger. Your eyes fluttered as he drew it into his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue around it before pulling it out with a knowing smirk. 

Your breath picked up as you felt the warmth spread through you again. His touch was like a thousand hot pins dancing on your skin.

His tongue quickly darted across his lips. He paused.

“Now I take this off.” His hands found the bottom of your dress. “Is that okay, sweetheart?”

An excitement thrilled through you. Your eyes were locked on his, waiting for some sort of answer to put itself forth. You finally nodded slowly, feeling a nervousness ghost in as well.

He lifted up the bottom until it reached your chest. You lifted up your arms to allow it over your head. He tossed that too to the floor and his eyes shifted over the chemise that tightly hugged your skin. His hands traced over your hips again before tucking into the bottom of the under garment. When your eyes met his he smirked, pulling it up above your hips. You lifted your arms again as he pulled the thin linen away from you.

As he placed it on the floor his eyes never left your body. They hazed over and his mouth hung slightly open as he took in every inch of your skin. 

Instinctively, you clamped your arms across your chest. It felt strange to be undressed in front of someone, especially with the way he was looking at you. It felt intoxicating and addicting, but somewhat overwhelming all the same.

“Hey, it’s okay. What happened?” He looked away from your nakedness, searching your eyes with a concerned expression. 

“Just got nervous,” you looked down, embarrassed. 

He picked up your chin until you were looking at him. He brushed the back of his hand over your cheek. “Do you want to stop?”

“No,” you rushed out. “I want to keep going.”

“Are you sure?”

You nodded firmly.

“Can I look at you, angel?”

You nodded again and slowly put your arms by your sides. You watched his eyes rake over you. The expression on his face held a wildness that you could tell he tried hard to hide. 

“You’re beautiful,” he sighed.

Your face flushed a deep pink. 

He forgot himself for a moment and his hand twitched forward to touch you. He held it back and quickly looked to your face. “Can I?”

“Yes,” you quivered. 

The coolness of his hands as they first touched your stomach caused you to jump. They slid along the skin and around to your back before drifting lower. They cupped your ass, squeezing it lightly. He then brought them to your hips and then to your waist. His eyes followed his hands as they came up to your breasts. He took one in his hand, drifting his palm over your nipple before kneading at the supple flesh.

“Oh,” you sighed. His eyes snapped to yours, watching your flushed expression. “I like it when you do that.”

“Yeah?” He smirked, tilting his face closer. “What about this?”

He wrapped his lips around your other breast, suckling at your nipple. A quiet whimper struggled at your closed lips. Then you remembered what he had said about making sounds. He did it again, using more suction this time as his hand worked over the other. You sighed again, grabbing onto his shoulder to steady yourself. Jake’s tongue lapped over the bud, softly, before drawing it back into his mouth while his fingers squeezed and pinched at the other. You whined and hissed. He switched where his mouth and his fingers were, leaving one nipple cold against the cool air. 

“Jake.”

He pulled off of you for a second, looking up. You looked at him back in that same drunkenness.

“That feels good, but I really liked it when I was sitting on your lap.”

He stretched up, a smirk on his face as he began to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” you blushed.

“Nothing, you're just adorable.”

You scrunched your face up as he laughed again.

He looked at you for a moment without saying anything. His pupils were dark and his smile, twisting.

“I can show you something that feels even better. Do you want that?”

“What is it?” you asked him with wide eyes. 

“Down here,” his hand slid down your stomach, stopping just above the space between your thighs. A shiver went down your spine and you watched his face carefully. “It’s like a flower. It’s delicate, and beautiful, and it can feel really good when you open it up.” 

“How do you do that?”

“Well I can show you, sweetheart. Is that what you want?” 

“Yes,” you blurted, so sure this time that you felt as if you could burst.

His hand dipped even lower and his fingers slid down your folds, feeling wet to the touch.

“Oh,” you moaned, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. 

“Does that feel good?” he asked, tone slightly teasing.

“Mmmh.” 

He took that as a sign to keep going, sliding his fingers back up to draw slow circles around your soft bud. Your body twitched slightly, falling into him as he continued the motion. His own moan, just barely audible, drifted off his tongue, his eyes zeroed in on his hand. You watched the look on his face, wondering if it was similar to how you looked- or rather felt. His own face seemed dipped in the pleasure you were experiencing. He licked over his lips, biting his teeth down around them, his eyebrows tipped up ever so slightly. 

“Can you feel how wet you are?” He slid back down, gathering up more of your slick. You felt your thighs begin to tremble. 

You nodded.

“Do you know what that means?”

You shook your head.

“It means you’re ready to be opened. But you have to feel ready too. Do you feel ready?” 

“Yes. I do.”  

“Okay pretty girl. Come here.”

You scooted closer and he grabbed your hand. 

“Can I borrow this?” he asked with a charming smile.

Your face flushed again as you nodded yes.

He brought your hand to his trousers, cupping it over something hard and warm in his pants. He squeezed your hand around him, letting out a low sigh. He let go and started to undo the cloth that held up the pants. When he pushed them off his legs, a stiff mass bobbed up which he took it in his hand. You watched, amazed, as his fist stroked it up and down. He bit his lip as he sighed out a moan. 

He let go and stalked closer, the piece of hardened flesh still poking outwards. Jake grabbed your chin, bringing your eyes up to meet his. 

“You can touch it. Do you want to?”

You nodded. 

He took your hand and brought it back down. You felt the softness of his skin. He helped wrap your hand around him. It fit perfectly.

“It's kind of like a sword,” he smiled bashfully, the hints of a smirk. “This is where I feel good.”

You wanted to make him feel good. You did what you had seen him do- moving your hand up his length. He softly cursed under his breath, muttering the words, “so soft.”

He leaned his face down, leveling his lips with yours. “This is what goes inside here,” he whispered as his hand pressed back between your thighs. You felt a fast shock of pleasure as his fingers touched you, but they drew away just as quick. 

You looked up at him, blushing as a smile crept along your face.

“But first, I want to kiss you there.”

“Okay.”

“Lay back on the bed,” he coaxed, tilting his chin up to motion.

You settled into the pillow as he crawled back over you. You watched his hardness swing as his hips moved. He leaned down to kiss your neck. His lips drifted across your breasts. He kissed you there, and on your stomach and all the way to the top of your thigh. Once he reached there he sat back on his heels, hand replacing his mouth.

His palms ran over the tops of your thighs. You squirmed deliciously below him, the anticipation making you restless. His eyes flicked carefully to yours as his hands tucked into the inside of your thighs. He pried them apart, lifting them to pull to the side, leaving you spread wide open, feet planted on the bed. It felt strange to be so openly on display and you had to stop yourself from closing your legs, but you wanted it all the same. Your breath caught in your throat at the sight of him looking at you. He looked out of breath, almost. His eyelids fluttered and he licked his lips. He closed his eyes, capturing the moment to store away in his memory. 

He moved back on the bed to give himself room to lay down. He took his time positioning his face right in front of you. Next he fastened his hair back into a low bun. A single curl fell to the front of his face which he blew out of the way.

“You’re beautiful. Every inch of you.” He looked to your face, expression painted in awe. 

You blushed, turning away to bury your face in the pillow. His hand smoothed over the inside of your thigh. 

“Tell me if you want me to stop, okay?”

“Okay.”

Jake leaned his face closer and with his eyes trained on yours, pressed his tongue against your entrance. In one steady movement he ran it upwards between your folds until stopping at the top. Your head fell back with pleasure and your hand gripped at the sheets. 

“Oh,” was all you could say.

Jake’s hand held the insides of your thighs, spreading them wider to go back for more. He hummed against your skin as he kissed your soft bud. His lips opened, allowing it to slip inside. It felt like hot silk when his tongue lapped you over, mixing with your juices.

When his mouth pulled off of you it sounded wet. He looked at you wearing a teasing grin.

“Darling, you taste just as sweet as you look. I never want to stop,” he rasped, eyes lustful.

He slid his arms under your legs, wrapping his hands around them to pull you down onto his tongue. Your body slid forward, feet falling from their place on the bed to wrap over his back. His eyes closed in concentration and his brows furrowed. His tongue flattened and he dragged it up again. You struggled to keep your head up as he began to devour you, sucking you into his mouth, letting his tongue lap over you again and again.

You felt something building inside you. Like the warmness from before, only this time it was spreading. Jake pulled his mouth away, leaving a thin trail of spit connecting the two of you. His lips curled into a smirk as he landed a wad of spit right to your core. His tongue slid over you again and the added slickness made it feel all the more heavenly. 

He kept going and you felt yourself slipping into a new state. Your body began to move with him- hips chasing his mouth and hands finding his hair. It surprised you how easy it was to be connected to him like this. Everytime he pulled his tongue away it felt like a piece of you was missing. Your body started to twitch and clench, growing more and more impatient. 

Jake kissed you once more, then his eyes turned back to you.

“Want to try the last part?”

“Which part?”

Jake’s hand fell from your thigh to the mattress where he teased his fingertip near the bottom of your slit. Already you began to feel the momentum wearing off, your body returning to its natural state. He pressed the finger against you, just rubbing the outside of your entrance. You watched him carefully.

“This part.” 

He sat back up to his knees, brandishing his hardness which he took in his hand. He pushed his finger into you only slightly- not more than an inch. You gasped suddenly and a low smirk settled on his face.

“Does that feel good too?”

“Yes,” you nodded.

“Good. It’ll feel even better with this,” he stroked himself again.

“Will that…” you looked down, then back to his face. “Hurt?”

He bit his lip. “It might, just a little.”

Your face flashed with panic. He quickly took your hand in his.

“But it only hurts for a second. Then it feels really, really good.” His lips curled even more wickedly. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” you said, smiling at its truth. Fear was not something you felt with him.

“That’s it, sweetheart.”

He walked forward on his knees until he was right between your legs. They were still spread open and you could feel the air on your core. One of his hands grabbed your waist and the other pushed the hair away from your face. You looked up at him with twinkling eyes that almost broke his heart all over again.

“I’ll go slow, okay angel? And you just tell me what to do. You can tell me you want to stop, or go slower…” he paused, letting his tongue dart over his lips. “Or you can tell me to go faster, or harder.” The side of his lips curled up. “It’s whatever you like.” 

Faster, harder. A new wave of warmness tingled through you. You smiled, staring deep into his eyes as you nodded. 

Jake planted his hand into the mattress right by your head. He leaned down until his face was directly over yours- you could smell yourself on his breath. The hand at your waist moved to his length, bringing it closer to your center. Holding himself in his hand, he dragged the tip through your folds. 

You both sighed deeply, your bodies seeming to melt into each other's. He did it a second time and a soft moan drifted out of you. Your hand twitched closer to his face, but you pulled yourself back at the last second. 

“You can touch me,” he said.

You let your hand slide to his shoulder, grabbing on just to hold something. He pressed himself to where his finger had been, just at the front. You could feel the resistance already. Your body tensed up.

“Slow, okay?”

You nodded.

He started to push himself into you and you felt the force it took to do so. He only reached an inch inside by the time your face scrunched up, hand twisting into the sheets. The pain was interesting. It was pressure, and dull.

“See, not so bad right?”

“Not so bad,” you chuckled.

He smiled.

He sank in an inch deeper. This time you hissed in a breath through your teeth. It felt like you were being ripped open. His face tilted back and you watched his adam's apple move as he let out a tight groan. He pulled back, leaving you feeling empty once more.

Using his hand, he gathered up some of your wetness to smooth over himself. Jake moved back, sliding in a bit deeper, stretching you out from the inside. Your fingers dug into the skin of his shoulders of their own accord. He drew in a sharp breath.

“Oh, sorry!” you blurted, pulling your hand away from him.

“No, sweetheart.” His eyes danced wildly. “I liked it. Give me a couple more scars.”

You felt a flush of pleasure surging through you. He looked feral as he hung above you, eyes dark and muscles straining.

It took every ounce of self control for him not to slam into you. Already, you were enveloping him in a softness he knew all too well- one he was bound to crave. 

His hips gave a slight jerk, just sinking in another inch. You gave a wince of pain and he pulled away again.

“Hey hey, it’s okay. Look at me alright?” 

You found his face.

“Just relax, sweetheart. Take a deep breath in…” he soothed, rubbing the side of your face. You breathed in deeply, keeping your eyes on his. “Now let it out...”

At the moment you let out the breath, Jake sank the rest of the way into you. A strangled moan burst from your lips and your fingers dug into his back. His mouth was hanging open, his eyes fluttering closed. He stilled for a moment, letting you adjust to the sting, your bodies pressed tightly together. You took another breath, feeling the pain starting to melt away. 

“Did that hurt?”

“A little bit, but I thought it would hurt more,” you grinned.

“That’s right. You’re okay,” he reassured, dipping down to kiss you.

He hummed into your cheek as his lips pressed against it. He nuzzled his nose, sending you into a short fit of giggles. He smiled toothily.

“I’m gonna move now. Alright, angel?”

“Okay, Jake.”

“You just keep being so good.” He gave your cheek a heavy kiss. “So pretty.” A kiss to your other cheek. “So adorable.” Another. “So good for me, right?”

Your softened eyes looked up at him. You gave a bashful nod. 

He beamed back at you before looking down to your body. His hand held your waist as he withdrew from you. He inched back inside making you feel so full. He bit his bottom lip in concentration, repeating the action to push back a little harder.

And then you started to like the stretch. The feeling of you being wrapped around him so tightly, he has to push himself inside. He was so rock hard and warm inside you. He filled you up so nicely. There was no pain, only that same warmth that started to creep up your toes.

Your hand smoothed down his back as he repeated the action. There were soft mumbles on your tongue that seemed to float out of you, sans permission. The feeling was similar to what it was before, only this time stronger. There was a connection that you’d never felt before. When he pressed his body flush to you, you just needed more.

“Jake,” you sighed. “Do it again. Do it… can you just- deeper,” your words floated. 

His lips twisted into an evil smirk. He brought himself back, rippling down to the hilt, pressing inside even harder. 

A long stretched out moan fluttered out of you. Your eyes were closed as your hands gripped his flesh. He did it again, pulling out to press back inside, pushing your body up on the bed with the pressure. His strokes were slow and long, reaching a place so deep inside you- it felt like heaven. 

He pulled back again, only this time his hips jutted forward, snapping back into you. Your body jolted and your stomach muscles contracted, leaving you sitting half upright. Jake groaned loudly, clutching your waist as he pulled himself out to thrust back inside.

“Oh god,” you choked out.

“Princess,” he muttered, hand absentmindedly drifting over your face as his hips found a steady rhythm. “How’s this?”

The pillow soft head of his length was tucking into you with every sweet thrust. His hands were on your waist, holding you in one place so he could thump into you. His eyes watched your face, hungry with desire. When he shifted his hips to thrust up into you, the sensation heightened and you loudly sighed his name.

“Yeah?” he purred, voice dripping with amusement. “Is that the spot?”

He got a little faster, every thrust building the pleasure until your head fell back on the pillow and your mouth opened. You could hear the connecting of your bodies. The dull slapping of skin coated in wetness.

Your hands dug into his back and your eyes started to flutter to the back of your head. You had heard him speak, but you couldn’t seem to answer. You were making sounds that you didn’t intend to. Your throat seemed to constrict with breaths that came out sounding shaky and high pitched. You could feel something coming.

“Are you still in there, angel?” Jake asked, wearing a proud smile at the sight of you lost in the pleasure he was granting you. 

A strangled moan tumbled from your lips as a particularly hard thrust slammed his length into you. You could feel the wetness coating you both, aiding his movements to be faster. You nodded your head, gripping at his shoulder.

“I feel like…” your voice trailed off as waves of pleasure swam through you. A wanton whine climbed its way out of your mouth. “Somethings…” you bit your lip, scrunching your eyes shut to try and force out the words. “...happening I think.” Every inch of your body felt light and tingly, your head so dizzy that the words seemed to get lost.

“It’s okay, darling. You’re almost there, just let it happen,” he cooed, hand sliding up to your face. 

He leaned down on one elbow with his other arm extended- hand planted next to your head. His body rolled over yours, your chests flush with each other, lips almost touching as he whispered, “You’re about to cum, sweetie,” his voice softened, his next words spoken in a near teasing manner. “And it’s gonna feel reaal good. Just let go and let me get you there.”

Your body shuddered at the closeness of his words. 

It didn’t take long for his powerful and steady thrusts to push you over the edge. It started small. Little moans and sighs tumbled from your lips. You sounded lost, almost broken.

As the pleasure rose, your skin started to prickle with it. Your legs began to shake and your heart beat faster. Your hands were relentless in their scratching and clawing as he continued to drive into you. Soon the moans became whimpers. You could feel yourself growing more needy. The heat rose to your body and you started to feel even lighter.

“Come on, sweetie. Cum for me,” Jake urged, his voice ragged and eager.

Soon you let go. The subtle shaking of your legs turned into uncontrollable twitches. You could feel yourself exploding underneath him, bursts of ecstasy going off like cannons. It was so intense that you lost your ability to speak. You were gasping, sighing, moaning and whimpering, making every sound under the sun. It was like being bathed in light with its warmness as it spread through you. You tried to reach out to hold him, to hold anything as your body shook.

Off in the distance you could hear him speaking his praise as you lost yourself beneath him- “That’s it angel, let it out. You’re so good, squeezing me so tight. I bet it feels soo good. So adorable. I’m gonna cum too.”

In seconds Jake stilled, letting out a huge groan as you felt something shoot inside you. It coated your walls as he drove it in and out. Your own body still twitched with the remnants of pleasure when he finally slowed to a stopping point. He let out a big breath, his eyes hazy, a sheen of sweat covering his forehead.

You took a deep breath yourself as you began to come back to reality. You all of a sudden felt tired. Your hands slide from his back to his face, pulling him in to kiss you. He did, so softly that it almost hurt. 

As his lips kissed yours, he snaked his hand under your back to flip you over. He lay on the pillow, you on top of him and your bodies still connected. You rested your head on his chest, letting the rest of you sink into him. His hand rubbed circles on your back. 

“What did you think, angel?”

“That was perfect.”

You soon fell asleep, laying on his chest. His eyes were wide open as he stared at the ceiling. He continued to rub slow circles into your back. He could feel the tickle of your hair on his skin, the warmth of your breath. He felt a part of himself breaking just by looking at you. It was over and he wouldn’t be able to give you anything else, ever again. He wouldn’t be able to give you what you wanted.

-

You finally woke, finding him in his daze. You touched his face softly, and he stirred to look back at you. He didn’t smile.

“Jake?”

He took your hand in his, searching deep within you, hoping, willing you to understand so that he didn’t have to break your heart with words. You watched him. Part of you knew, part of you didn’t, but all of you pretended not to.

You leaned forward, hoping to catch his lips once again, but his hand came firmly to your chest. You could feel your throat closing as your eyes prickled with tears.

He looked so different somehow.

“Are you… leaving?” you whispered.

Jake’s face turned to the window. He watched the slow rise and fall of the waves, the sunset out on the horizon.

“No. No you can’t!” your voice trembled, rising in volume.

His hand squeezed yours, but his face did not look back at you.

“Please Jake! Stay! You have to stay!”

“You know I can’t. My home isn’t on any land.”

“Then take my soul. Please take it, I don’t want it anymore!”

“Y/n,” he warned, voice rising, eyes shooting to yours. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“I do know what I’m asking for! You can’t just come here and then leave again! I thought you were supposed to take things. That’s what pirates do. Take it, please I don’t want it anymore.” 

He didn’t move. He wouldn’t look at you. Your body crumpled on the bed. Hot tears streaked your cheeks as you watched him ignore you. It wouldn’t be fair not to mention the look on his face, however. He looked completely empty. Like he had never known happiness in his entire life. He couldn’t bear to look at you because he felt all of the same feelings you did. But he was a sailor. His home wasn’t on any land. 

You climbed over on the bed, grabbing his shoulders to shake them. “Why won’t you look at me! I hate you!” 

You tried to push him over but he seized your wrists, holding you back as you kept screaming and crying in his face. He wanted to hug you. He wanted to kiss you. He wanted to cry with you and sleep with you and comfort you. His chest was aching. His absence of a heart was breaking in two and he simply couldn’t bear it.

A single tear fell down his cheek. And that was the last time you ever saw him.

-

You woke hours later in your bed, the sun pouring in through your window. When you sat up, you were confused, and tired. Your head was heavy and your eyes were puffy. It took a few moments for you to remember what had happened. 

Was it just a dream?

Something slumped around your neck. You reached your hand to your chest, feeling cold, hard metal. You looked down and found Jake’s coin necklace hung around your neck. Your heart leapt. You searched desperately around your room, but he was nowhere to be found. 

When you got up to look outside your window, the tears already in your eyes, you could see the ocean, and you knew he was home. 

.

.

.

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[muletia]

dude I wanna get earthspark soundwave preggo. he literally has childbearing hips, like come on that's mother. you can totally just grab his slutty little waist and go to town on his valve lmao. I'll give him as many replacements for Rumble as he wants (sorry I had to 😭)

-💕

This ask motivated me to finally start watching Earthspark, so thank you anon. I’ve been meaning to get to it for a few weeks now. Very silly show, sometimes it annoys me with dumb lines and character decisions, but dork Optimus and his relationship with Megatron (he’s such a hunk, oh my god I need him pregante too asap) save this show for me

And yes. YES. Bro is literally begging to be sparked up and to lovingly raise a cute little bunch of sparklings. I need him as an adorable sparked-up housewife. In some cozy wooden cabin in the middle of nowhere, so he can finally get a break from all the GHOST shenanigans

[404-brain-notfound]

There was a time—not even that long ago—when Tumblr felt like home in the truest sense of the word. Around 2021, maybe even parts of 2022, logging in felt like walking into a cozy room filled with people who understood you. Not just your interests or your aesthetics, but you. Your quiet sadness, your weird little obsessions, your anxious ramblings, your awkward humor, your culture, your contradictions. And still, they stayed. They talked to you. They cared.It felt like being wrapped in a blanket after a long day. It felt like being known.But now? Now it feels like coming back to a house that still stands but is no longer yours. The walls are the same. The usernames, some of them, are still there. But the warmth is gone. The light has changed. It’s colder. Quieter. Lonelier.Everything feels scattered. Fragmented. People are in their own little circles now—private little ecosystems that you can’t enter unless you were there at the right time, said the right things, knew the right people. And if you didn’t? You’re just... background noise. Forgotten. Overlooked. Like an old song no one plays anymore.Even desiblr, which once felt like a chaotic, comforting corner of shared identity and inside jokes and soft understanding, now feels distant. Disconnected. A ghost town with echoes of laughter that used to be mine.And I get it—platforms change. People move on. But there’s something so heavy about seeing the place that once held so much of you turn into something you no longer recognize. It’s not anger I feel. It’s not even bitterness. It’s just... grief. Quiet, aching grief.I miss the version of Tumblr that felt like a messy, accepting family. I miss the version of this site that made me feel like I wasn’t alone in my head. Now I scroll and scroll, hoping to feel that again, and all I get is static.I don’t know if anyone else feels this. Maybe they do, maybe they’ve already left. But I had to say it. I had to grieve it out loud. Because it mattered to me. Because this place mattered to me. And now it’s slipping away, and I don’t know how to stop it.

[moonwateraura]

“Clay and Craving”

Adult Van x reader.

—————————————————————————

The front door creaked open with a soft jingle of the bell Van insisted on hanging above it—said it gave her “cozy small-town store vibes,” even though they lived in a cramped apartment above the VHS shop. Van stepped in, a little grease on her biceps from fixing the tape rewinder again, the faint scent of old plastic and lavender soap clinging to her. She kicked off her boots and looked up to see you on the living room floor, cross-legged in front of the couch, a half-formed ceramic bowl spinning between your wet fingers.

You had a movie playing-Ghost, of course. Van grinned. Of course.

“There’s my girl,” she murmured, crossing the room to plant a slow, affectionate kiss on top of your head. Her hand dragged lazily across your back before she plopped down onto the couch behind you, wide-legged, thighs spreading like she owned the entire piece of furniture and everything in front of it—including you.

Van rested her arm casually across the back of the couch, watching you with a smirk. “That for me?” she asked, nodding at the lopsided pottery you were shaping.

“Yeah,” you said without looking up, a little shy but proud. “It’s… gonna be a mug. Maybe. Kinda.”

Van chuckled low in her throat. “Come here, sweetheart.”

The way she said it—soft, smug, warm—made your body pulse like it had its own heartbeat. You looked back, only to catch the sight of her sprawled comfortably, t-shirt riding up just slightly, her thighs relaxed and open like an invitation she knew you couldn’t refuse.

Still keeping your damp, clay-covered hands behind your back, you stood and climbed onto her lap, knees pressing on either side of her hips, careful not to ruin her clothes.

“Hands?” she asked.

“Wet,” you mumbled, mouth just a breath away from hers.

Van didn’t care.

She kissed you immediately-hot, deep, and hungry. Her hands slid under your shirt like she was trying to learn you all over again, groping boldly through your clothes while your clay-streaked fingers stayed suspended awkwardly behind your back.

“I should go wash—” you tried to say against her mouth, but Van was already kissing you again, swallowing your words like they didn’t matter.

“Mhm,” she hummed, barely letting you speak.

You leaned back, just a little, trying to end it with a soft kiss, but Van wasn’t finished. Her hand slid up the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair as she pulled you in again, her lips slanting over yours in a slow, messy, possessive kiss that left you gasping.

Then she finally let go, her lips brushing your cheek as she said, low and smug:

“Go ahead, baby. Wash up. I’ll finish what I started when you get back.”

You stumbled off her lap, flushed and breathless, practically fleeing to the kitchen with clay-covered fingers and trembling legs.

Van leaned back and watched you go, grinning like she already knew you wouldn’t last five minutes without her touch again.